#Been wanting to practice drawing him for a while- :P

[pathosketches]

Papyruses- Papyri?? Papyrus³

UF papyrus belongs to @/underfell

[sysig]

i want to go on a big and elaborate date with papyrus SPECIFICALLY bc of the way u draw him bc he’s so bbg cutie patootie

PapyrACE 💚💜 Happy Valentine's Day!

[dark-moonlust]

Bunny Teasing her Minotaur

Pairing: Minotaur x fem bunny reader

Summary: you tease your Minotaur boyfriend while he is on a business call. He teases you back

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, explicit smut, oral (fem receiving), p in v sex, big 🍆, lots 💦.

This is the full one-shot. It was posted first on Patreοn as my patrons get early access to my Tumblr posts! Enjoyyy!!!! Join me there for more exclusive content! 🖤

It was a quiet evening, save for the sounds of your boyfriend talking on the phone. He was sitting at his desk, focused on his call. And you lounged quietly on the plush sofa opposite his desk. His tall, powerful form was relaxed, his free hand playing with a nearby pen. His deep voice echoed through the room as he discussed company figures and strategies. You watched him, your eyes tracing his broad chest and his firm expression.

The day had been boring and he had been focused on work calls for hours. He was supposed to rest and spend some time with you. An idea sparked in your mind, heat stirring within you at what you were about to do.

Shifting on your seat, you sat with your thighs spread open; you wore nothing but an oversized hoodie of your boyfriend’s. Innocently, you slid your hands down your sides, between your legs and began to fondle your pussy. You opened your outer labia, exposed your entrance—

A hand slammed hard on the desk.

You jerked a little, a small smile on your lips. Your minotaur had taken notice of your mischief.

Indeed, he was watching you intensely, his brows furrowed.

Hiding a big grin, you continued the show, your fingers tracing your slit then up the bud of your clit. There you whined a little. And he did, too. His eyes were dark with desire, but he quickly cleared his throat and returned his attention to the call, his voice strict as he continued to speak. You thrust a finger into your pussy and then you heard a low growl.

“I have to hung up. I’ll review the documents and get back to you,” he said, his voice clipped. He ended the call and tossed the phone aside.

Your heart thundered when his eyes locked on you, his nostrils flared. You spread your legs wider, giving him a better view. You added a second finger inside your now drenched pussy, pumping them with deliberate slowness, showing off your slickness and puffy cunt.

In an heartbeat, he stood up, kneeling in front of you, eyes on your pussy.

“You want to play, bunny? Hm?” he growled, his large hands gripping your wrists and suckling your juices off your fingers.

“I was feeling lonely so I treated myself,” you said breathlessly. “Since you were too busy.”

His rough fingers traced your ears, a predatory smile spreading across his face. “I’m never too busy to fuck my bunny."

With practiced skill, he removed the hoodie from your body, your smooth body completely exposed beneath him. His hands kneaded your pert breasts, tongue flicking your swollen nipples. You arched and sought more friction but he stayed there, devouring your breasts, his tongue leaving red marks all over your chest.

It was blissful torture. Sweet torment.

His touches traveled low, leaving wet trails on your soft belly and into your bellybutton. Hands gripping under your ass, he brought you closer, draping your legs over his wide shoulders. His breath teased your folds before he buried his face in your pussy. You thrashed and wiggled but he kept you open to his shameless prodding, his tongue licking up your essence, his nose rubbing your clit.

“Keep your pretty cunt open for me,” he ordered bringing your fingers down to part the lips of your pussy.

Dazedly, you did that, drawing apart your outer labia and almost immediately a whimper left you when he licked a thick stripe up your pussy. He was relentless and you trembled, your fingers shaking, no longer baring your pussy to him.

“I said keep yourself open for me,” he ordered again, taking your hand and bringing it back down your folds.

With a soft nod, you obeyed, fingers opening your folds for him to devour. Time lost meaning as he circled your clit with the tip of his tongue then sucked at it. You squirmed, trying to get away but he kept his hold firm around you while he prodded your entrance, his tongue teasing you, but never quite dipping in.

He made you go breathier and breathier.

Suckling, teasing, prodding with his tongue. But never giving you what you craved. He always stopped when he sensed your orgasm building.

“Pl…ease,” you whimpered, your body trembling with need. “Please— hnn—n…. need you.”

“I want you to writhe and soak my face with your juicy cunt,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You will not cum until I’m satisfied.”

And indeed you didn’t. He pleasured you but only to a point. He always drew back just in the nick of time. Restless and impatient you succumbed to him while he had his way with you. You very nearly sobbed and tugged impatiently at his shoulders.

“Too…mhh… too much!”

“That will teach your slutty pussy not to tease me again.”

“Sorry, baby,” you muttered, your eyes red and misty. “Wanted you so much—and you were so busy—“

“My little bunny wanted attention?” He drew back, his eyes sad. “Then I am to blame. Come little one. Your mate will give you what you need.”

And with that, he bent back down and began to suckle your poor clit in his warm mouth. This time he didn’t stop. His thumb added to the play and at the mere touch against your pussy, you came with a blissful cry, your whole body shaking, tears of joy at your eyes. It was the strongest, most intense orgasm and you rode it gratefully, his vibrating moans spurring you on.

You barely registered when he shifted, his pants were unfastened and his hard cock pulsed between your legs. Without a word, he thrust powerfully inside you and you cried out, hugging him tightly as he filled you to the brim. His veined shaft kissed your depths, fucking you fast and deep. The force of his slams made you see stars. You matched his movements, buckling and arching, your bodies moving in perfect harmony.

The room echoed with the sounds of you fucking— wet slaps, your moans and his growls.

Blindly, his lips captured yours and you tasted yourself in his sloppy demanding kiss. Your tongues brushed and tangled as both your pleasure rose higher and higher. You climaxed together, an explosion of sensations for both of you. He cried out your name as you milked his cock, a roar of satisfaction escaping his lips as he filled you with buckets of his seed.

“Well fucked and seed marked,” he drawled, his touch gentle as he stroked your ears, each movement making you melt further into his embrace.

Did you like it? *shakes tin can* maybe you’ll give me some hearts/comments/reblogs, please? 🥺🖤 Hugs!

[pedrospatch]

baby, i’m yours

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You remind Joel that you’re his.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION however she does wear Joel’s t-shirt and he semi lifts her onto a counter? sorta but not really? UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (Joel is in his 50’s but reader’s specific age is not mentioned). established relationship, sort of. consumption of food (if you are allergic to peanuts, i so sorry). angst, Joel and Ellie’s strained relationship is lightly implied, Joel is insecure, it’s implied reader did some horrible things in her past, reassurance, brief smut, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, consider it a quickie idk. apologies if i missed anything.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: this short lil thing has been sitting in my drafts forever. i finished it while i was in ireland and finally had the chance to sit down and do a quick edit and when i say it was quick, i flew through it so i could hop onto my next wip so please excuse any errors! here’s a spotify link to the song if anyone’s curious, it’s an oldie but a goodie although it may not be everyone’s cup of tea.

main masterlist l fic notifs

Joel rolls over in bed, his arm outstretched and seeking the warmth of your soft, naked body.

“Mmph,” a small, sleepy groan falls from his lips as his long, thick fingers feel around on your side of the bed—of his bed. Of course, you have your very own bedroom in the house you all had been placed in when you first arrived in Jackson. Your very own bed to sleep in is just down the hallway, but lately, you’ve been waking up beside him a lot more often than not, especially now that Ellie’s a bit older and she’s gone and made herself her own space out in the garage behind the house. Being under the same roof as Joel did those two more harm than it did good, and while you missed having her around, it was for the best.

“She’ll come around, Joel,” you’d assured him. “I know she will. She just needs a bit of time is all.”

“Hope you’re right, darlin’,” he had murmured sadly in response.

Still lost somewhere in between sleep and full consciousness, Joel continues feeling around for you, but all he finds are the wrinkled sheets, cold and abandoned. Confused, his eyes finally flutter open and with a painful protest from his sore, stiff back, he sits up, blinking furiously as he looks around the darkness of his bedroom. The door’s been left cracked open ever so slightly, and as his vision adjusts now that he’s fully awake, he notices the dim glow of the hallway light that’s peeking through into the room.

He turns and glances over at the old digital alarm clock perched on his nightstand, the obnoxious, bright red numbers practically screaming at him that it’s a quarter past midnight. With a small, tired grunt, Joel switches on the lamp beside the clock and swings his legs over the side of the mattress, goosebumps erupting across his flesh the instant that his bare feet meet the cold, hardwood floor. He stands and fumbles around for his clothes, which he’d tossed carelessly somewhere over his shoulder hours earlier when he’d been lost in the heat of the moment with you. He finds his faded, navy blue sweatpants strewn across a chair next to the door and pulls them on over his naked lower body before searching for his t-shirt. When he doesn’t immediately see it, he doesn’t bother, figuring that it’s just going to come back off when he climbs back into bed with you.

Padding out of his bedroom, he makes his way down the hallway, heading towards the staircase. As he draws closer, he hears it—the soft music that’s coming from downstairs.

Baby, I'm yours

and I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky

yours until the rivers all run dry

in other words, until I die

He’s led towards the kitchen and that’s where he finds you.

Joel wants to be annoyed. 

Fuck, he tries to be annoyed. But he can’t help the way that the corners of his mouth threaten to turn upwards when his eyes take in the sight before him.

You’re standing at the center island slowly swaying your hips from side to side along to the beat of the song that’s playing from the record player perched next to the instant coffee maker on the counter behind you. He’d nearly wrung your neck when he found out what all you had traded just to get your hands on it, but you loved that thing more than life itself it seemed, so he couldn’t stay mad for very long. You’re making yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—the peanut butter you’d learned how to make yourself with the old food processor he found deep in one of the kitchen cabinets, and the strawberry preserves you had picked up from the market earlier that week. Clad in nothing but his t-shirt, you’re singing along quietly to the lyrics as you finish making your late night snack.

Baby, I’m yours

and I’ll be yours until the sun no longer shines

yours until the poets run out of rhyme

in other words, until the end of time

Joel leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his bare chest as he watches you carefully lick the remnants of peanut butter off of the knife you’re using before setting it down on the counter. You then pick up the two pieces of bread and slap them together—you’d also learned how to bake homemade bread using some old nineties cookbook you had found in the commune’s library. Your sourdough is the reason he had to go up a notch in his belt.

Sandwich in hand, you do a little spin, humming happily as you take your first bite.

Joel loudly clears his throat from the doorway.

Startled, you whirl around and freeze, your eyes wide.

“Enjoyin’ yourself there, darlin’?” He asks amusedly as he approaches you.

“Jesus Christ! You scared me, Joel!” You hiss at him. You then realize what time of night it is and a look of guilt crosses your features. “Oh shit. I’m sorry, did I wake you up? I honestly thought that I had the volume down low enough in here—”

Frowning, you turn around and reach towards the record player to turn the music off, but much to your surprise, Joel stops you. “No, s’okay. I woke up on my own,” he assures you. “I reached over for you and you were gone.” The admission slips before he can even think to stop it. He notices how taken aback you are by what he’d just said and quickly asks, “What’cha doin’ up so late, anyway?”

“I was hungry,” you tell him, sheepishly holding up your food. You always have one hell of an appetite after Joel was through fucking you senseless. You take another bite and offer it to him. “Want some?”

“Sure.”

He accepts and takes a corner of the sandwich before handing it back to you. His fingers brush against yours and his face burns at the contact.

Fucking Christ. 

You’re standing there in nothing but his fucking t-shirt after he had, yet again, made you his in his own fucking bed, and that’s what gets him?

Truth be told, the only time he holds your hand is when he’s inside of you—his fingers lace with your own as he comforts you and praises you for being such a good girl for taking his cock the way you do.

For being so, so fucking good for him.

He’s thought about taking your hand in front of others. Particularly when he notices the way some of the men in town stare at you. Joel wants to make it known that you’re already spoken for. Only, you’re not spoken for, not really. 

You’re his, but you’re not really his. It’s not that he doesn’t want to take the leap and acknowledge the two of you are far more than just patrol partners, far more than just two people who fought like fucking hell to get some smart assed teenager—and the world’s only hope for a cure—across the country.

He feels undeserving of it. Of you and your heart.

Several seasons had come and gone since you’d both arrived in Jackson with Ellie in tow, and somehow, Joel still can’t fathom what you’re doing by his side. She’s out of the house now and there’s nothing tying you to him, so why are you still here?

He’s so much older. Closer and closer to being on his way out, while you still had your entire life left ahead of you. He’s worn down, hardened from the post outbreak world. And you, you hadn’t lost any of your softness, your sweetness. Not even after the things you’d been forced to do to survive because of him.

You could meet someone younger, someone closer to your own age. You could marry, even start a family. You could be with someone who could give you a good life, the life you deserve.

The life that he’s too fucking broken to give you.

“Joel?” Your voice breaks into his thoughts. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. M’fine.” He gestures to the record player with a nod of his head. “Y’know, this song’s older than me. By a few years. Came out in the early sixties.”

Joel half expects you to make some wisecrack joke and tease him over his age like you have done in the past—especially when the kid would get you going. Instead, he watches you set what’s left of your sandwich down and brush the crumbs from your hands before holding one of them out to him.

Confused, he stares at it for a moment before his dark eyes meet yours. “What are you doin’?”

“Dance with me,” you say, smiling at him.

“You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right?” When he realizes you’re being serious, he shakes his head. “Y’know I don’t—I can’t dance.”

Dropping your hand back down to your side, you turn around and flip the record, starting the song over again before whirling back around and taking Joel’s hands in yours.

“Just follow my lead,” you tell him as you place them on your waist. Your own hands settle themselves on his broad shoulders, his skin warm beneath your fingertips. “Don’t overthink it.”

“You’re fuckin’ ridiculous,” Joel grumbles underneath his breath, however he finds himself moving along with you without further protest. Subconsciously, he pulls you closer against him as the two of you slowly sway from side to side along to the beat of the music. He chuckles, “Y’know we gotta be up at the asscrack of dawn for patrol, right?”

“And your point is?” You rest your head on his shoulder and exhale a soft, contended sigh.

Joel’s lips threaten to pull down once more.

Could it be that you’re actually content with him?

Head still on his shoulder, you sing along softly with Barbara Lewis. 

“I’m gonna stay right here by your side

do my best to keep you satisfied

nothing in this world can drive me away

‘cause every day you'll hear me say…”

It quickly becomes too much for him. Joel’s hands leave your waist. Taking your wrists, he tugs your arms from around his neck and gently pushes you away from him. “Why?” he finally asks the question that’s been hanging off the tip of his tongue for the better part of the last three years. “Why me?”

You stare at him, puzzled. “What?”

“Why me?” he repeats himself. “Why me when you can have anyone else—”

Your reply is prompt and you say it so simply.

“Because I don’t want anyone else.”

“You deserve better.”

You peer at him curiously. “I deserve better?”

“You do. Ain’t got no business being with someone like me. After all the terrible shit I’ve done—”

“I did the same exact shit, Joel. Sometimes I did even fucking worse.” Somehow, softness laces your tone. You have never been angry with him and you weren’t about to start now. “What makes my hands any cleaner than yours?”

Joel begins to sputter. “M’older than you. Much older. Should’a been a lot more careful. Should’a done more so you didn’t have to do those things.”

His hands still curled around your wrists, you reach up and gingerly cradle the sides of his face. He winces, but then quickly melts into your touch, the very same touch that could heal his wounds, if only he would allow it.

“I made my own choices,” you remind him, quietly. Neither of you realize the music has stopped. “Quit acting like blood doesn’t stain my hands too because it does.”

His lips press into a tight line. “Blood stains your hands ‘cause of me. S’my fault. I was responsible for you. I was s’pposed to take care of you. I didn’t protect you the way I should’ve.”

You sigh.

“When are you going to stop blaming yourself, Joel?”

The muscle in his jaw ticks as it clenches. He averts his gaze, his eyes falling to the floor. He doesn’t answer.

You stroke the scruff of his beard lightly with your thumbs. “When are you going to stop thinking you’re not good enough for me? What’s it going to take for me to prove to you that you are all I could ever need and want?”

“You’re just wastin’ your fuckin’ life on me, darlin’. S’the truth and you fuckin’ know it as well as I do.”

Pulling your wrists out of his hands, you pivot on your heel and suck in a sharp breath, stubbornly blinking back the tears stinging your eyes. You’re frustrated.

It cuts you to your very core to know the man you’ve grown to love more than anything and anyone else on what’s left of this fucking planet can’t see that he’s enough. He’s more than enough.

Joel bites back his own frustrated sigh. He knows he can’t rely on you to tell him, rely on the reassurance—he needs to do his part and believe it. If he keeps trying to push you away, he just may very well succeed one day. He will lose you.

After a moment, he walks up behind you and wraps his arms around you, his lips lightly brushing your neck. “M’sorry,” he mumbles, his own voice thickening as a lump forms in the back of his throat. He’s quick to swallow it down. “Jus’ have a hard time believin’ you’re mine. S’almost like my mind is lookin’ to prove me wrong.”

“But I am yours, Joel. I’m yours, I’m fucking yours.”

It’s more than just reassurance. It’s an oath, one you’ll honor for the rest of your life.

He holds you tighter. “Yeah?” He nips at the delicate spot right below your ear, his teeth scraping along tender flesh. “S’that right, baby? You’re all mine?”

“All yours,” you confirm breathlessly as his hands slowly begin trailing down the length of your sides, his fingers skimming the hem of his t-shirt.

Joel swiftly turns you around in his arms and slips his hand between your thighs. The next thing you know, he has you backed up against the counter and he’s shoving his sweatpants down, freeing his hard, thick cock. With one of your legs hooked around his waist, he buries himself into the warmth of your cunt and begins to deliver smooth, languid strokes.

“Say it again, baby,” he rasps into your neck. He coaxes your other leg up and around his waist and his large hands curl securely underneath your thighs as he bucks up into you. He’d deal with the back pain later. He pants, “Need—need to hear you say it, my sweet girl.”

You hold onto the countertop behind you as he fucks you, your fingernails digging into the laminated wood. “Fuck, I’m yours,” you moan into his shoulder. “I’m all yours, Joel. Oh fuck—”

You say it over and over again and he believes it.

He finally fucking believes it.

Sweet nothings fall from his lips with each thrust.

“S’lucky you’re all fuckin’ mine.”

“My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

“Gonna keep you for the rest of my fuckin’ life.”

When he spills into you, there’s no regret on his part nor yours. You’d always wanted to feel him come inside of you—secretly, so did he. Joel’s deep, guttural groans bounce off of the kitchen walls as your pussy fills with him, with all of him, taking as much as it can before he begins leaking out of you and down the insides of your thighs.

“Jesus,” he exhales. He dips his head for a kiss. “You’re all messy now, baby,” he mumbles against your lips. “How’s about we go upstairs and get back into bed so I can clean you up?”

Giggling, you mimic him and remind him of what he’d said earlier. “Y’know we gotta be up at the asscrack of dawn for patrol, right?”

Joel grins. “And your point is?”

You laugh again as he leads you out of the kitchen and back up to his bedroom—to yours and his bedroom.

[vivwritescrappythings]

squeeze

tattoo artist!eddie munson x fem!afab!reader

Eddie is your tattoo artist and long term boyfriend, one night you have an idea of how to spice up your next tattoo session.

an: idk why I thought of this but I did

cw: fem and afab reader, needles, tattoos, unsanitary tattoo practices, don’t let anyone do this to you, p in v sex, cockwarming, masturbation, mild dubcon, mentions of marijuana use, i picture this version of eddie as older, masochism, swearing, dirty talk, not proofread.

wc: 2.3k

masterlist

MDNI

—

It was only after a few joints that you could have ever thought this was a marginally good idea. You and Eddie were well baked by the time you stumbled out of his van in the alley, eyes bloodshot and a wide smile on your face. The rest of the tattoo shop was dark as Eddie snuck you in the back door, the two of you giggling like vandals as though it wasn’t his shop. The keys jingled as he tucked them back into his pocket, nudging you toward his station.

He turned on the harsh fluorescent lamps surrounding the leather chair in the center of the small space. Paper screens separated it from the rest of the store, drawings and sketches stuck haphazardly all over the dividers and walls. “You’ve been drawing more,” you murmured, looking over the magnitude of new additions.

Eddie was already wiping down the chair and getting set up, looking over his shoulder at you with a hum of acknowledgment. You took in the way his shoulders filled out his worn Metallica shirt, his jacket hanging on a hook near the back door. There was something about his warm, chocolate-colored eyes that made your heart flutter every time he glanced at you.

“You gonna pick something out or just stare at me?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You rolled your eyes, a little too stoned to come up with a response you considered to be clever enough. The wall of flash tattoos beckoned you closer. Eddie had given you countless tattoos at that point, insisting that dating a tattoo artist meant you had to get all your work done by him.

Anyone else would just be cheating.

It was how the two of you met five years ago: you came into the shop with a crumpled piece of paper with a book quote you loved scrawled onto it looking to get your very first tattoo. Eddie had stolen you from the guy who usually took the walk-in clients with a saccharine smile, ushering you to his little sectioned off area and charging you half what he normally would for a tattoo that size. You left with fresh ink and Eddie’s number, and the rest was history.

You squinted up at dozens of drawings crudely taped to the wall, admiring the smooth linework and the variety. There were a few from his Hellfire days, fleshed out Dungeons & Dragons monsters and sets of dice high up near the ceiling. The rest were the typical subjects: skulls and flowers and doodles of food and ghosts.

It was hard to decide, your arms folding over your chest as you worried your lower lip with your teeth. Normally it was a quick decision, you’d pick something off the wall or had an idea of your own and Eddie would be off to the races.

That time it took Eddie pulling out the battered notebook he insisted he did his best work in, his name scratched into the black cover. “How about this one? Been workin’ on it, thought it would look good on you,” he murmured, flipping it open to a page in the middle.

The drawing was beautiful, detailed and delicate while still fitting with the rest of your tattoos. You realized that Eddie was listening when you told him you wanted to tattoo your sternum a few months ago, the pages littered in drawings that were suited to the smooth patch of skin over the bone. As always, he knew what you wanted more than you did.

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” you finally said, tracing it with your fingertip.

“Yeah? You sure?” Eddie asked, already rifling through drawers to put together a stencil.

You nodded, biting your lower lip as you sat back on the leather chair. “Matches everything else you’ve put on me,” you said, making yourself comfortable as he went off to trace out a stencil.

You fidgeted with the well-worn Corroded Coffin shirt you were wearing, running your fingers over the torn-up hem and looking up at the ceiling tiles Eddie had painted black.

Meeting Eddie must have been the luckiest moment of your life. You never thought that you’d find someone, for some reason you’d been convinced that you were beyond what anyone wanted—destined to be the old lady with the cats at the end of the street. But Eddie wanted you, he wanted you fiercely and with a passion that was almost startling sometimes.

“Alright, dove, shirt off,” Eddie said, startling you out of your thoughts. He rounded the corner with the stencil in hand, chocolatey eyes focused on you.

You complied, slipping the shirt off your head and tossing the fabric onto a nearby folding chair. The cold air in the shop made you shiver with just your pajama shorts on. You’d forgone wearing a bra, the trip to the tattoo parlor borne from a spontaneous idea you had in the living room of your shared apartment.

“Never gonna get tired of that,” Eddie mumbled, staring at your chest as you settled back onto the cold leather. You rolled your eyes as your face started to heat up, part of you wanting to cover your chest with your hands.

Eddie stood between your legs, rolling over the silver tray that held the little containers of ink and gloves and his machine. He’d already washed his hands, his fingers were cold as he shaved off the smattering of vellus hairs covering your skin. You squeaked when he wiped down your skin with an alcohol pad. His tongue poked out when he concentrated, his brow furrowed as he started to apply the stencil.

He pressed firm to get it to transfer, pulling the strip of paper away and reaching for a mirror for you to see it. It was weird to see yourself reflected back in the small hand mirror. You sat up to properly inspect how it looked between your tits, the U-shaped stretch marks between them catching and shining in the fluorescent light. The mirror tilted up, letting you see your own bloodshot, hazy gaze in the mirror. The blunts Eddie had rolled earlier were strong.

“Looks great, Eds,” you said, lips quirking into a grin as you settled back on the chair. Eddie hummed, letting the mirror drop with a clatter on his drawing space as he went to wash his hands again.

He came back ready, black latex gloves pulled over his hands and hair tied back in a low bun at the nape of his neck.

Bony hips knocked the insides of your thighs apart, your boyfriend curling down over you. “You still feeling up to the rest of this?” he asked, a brow lifting until it disappeared under his frizzy bangs. You were silent for a minute, taking in the sincerity of his expression. “You don’t have to if you’re not feeling right, dove. I can just do the tattoo and we can go home.”

You furrowed your brow, shaking your head and blurting out protests a little too eagerly. It made him grin, boyish charm returning to his stubble-ridden face as though he wasn’t a day out of high school.

“If you feel uncomfortable, what do you say?” Eddie prompted softly, leaning forward to nudge his nose against your temple. He didn’t touch you with his hands, keeping them sterile.

“Yoo-hoo,” you mumbled a little sheepishly. Eddie picked it, the safe word always made you roll your eyes.

He hummed sweetly, pressing a kiss just above your eyebrow. “That’s right,” Eddie said, the simple praise already making you feel warm.

You bit your lower lip as you looked up at him, watching him get the machine going and getting ink on the needles. It felt like your body was buzzing with anticipation, your knees squeezing at his waist.

“Help me out, can’t get my hands dirty,” Eddie said, twisting to fuss with something on the tray next to him. You didn’t care about what he was grabbing, only reaching forward to loop your fingers in the waistband of the sweatpants he was wearing. On a normal day he wouldn’t be caught dead here in sweatpants.

The original idea had come from you. Something in your stoned mind combined to make you ask Eddie if he’d ever thought about cockwarming while giving a tattoo. He looked at you like you’d grown a second head, but fifteen minutes later he wanted to bring your fantasy to life.

“Been so fucking hard ever since you brought this up,” Eddie hissed through his teeth as you pulled his sweatpants down over his cock. It slapped up against his stomach, the tip flushed red and already leaking. You swallowed thickly, reaching out to wrap your hand around him.

The soft moan coming from Eddie’s pink lips was gratifying in more ways than you expected, satisfaction making you feel warm as you looked up at him through your lashes.

“You want me to take my shorts off?” you asked quietly, tilting your head to one side. There was a thrill associated with being naked in the tattoo shop. Of course, it was the middle of the night as no one would have reason to be there, but it still felt scandalous all the same.

“Yeah,” he said, the harsh buzzing of the tattoo machine starting as he touched the needle to the ink. The sound was familiar to you now, part of you associating it with Eddie. “It’ll be complicated to do this if you leave them on.”

You rolled your eyes, letting go of him to strip yourself of your shorts. He cursed under his breath when he saw you completely naked on the chair. Brown eyes traveled over every curve and slope of your body, taking it all in with reverence as his tongue poked out to run over his bottom lip.

There was a brief pause, the two of you waiting for the other to do something. Eddie ended up taking charge.

“Play with yourself for me,” he mumbled, staring down at your cunt. His gloved fingers twitched. “Get her nice and wet.”

Your face heated up at his request, bashfulness binding your chest together for a moment. It was impossible not to comply with Eddie’s request, your fingers finding their place between your legs. You touched yourself without fanfare, your fingertips settling on either side of your clit and rubbing in tight circles.

His gaze was locked on your cunt, chin pressed to his chest and lips parted. Normally you would be embarrassed under that kind of focus, but the awe shining in Eddie’s eyes made your anxiety slip away.

Your movements were practiced and smooth, sending electricity up and down your spine. It was easy to get turned on, your breaths eventually becoming pants and wetness building up around your fingers. His jaw was clenching, you knew he wanted to pull your fingers away and touch you himself.

He huffed, swallowing hard before directing his gaze to your eyes. “Alright, let’s do this,” he said, stepping in closer between your legs. “Before I just decide to ruin my sterile environment and fuck you the right way.”

The idea was enticing, making you bite your lip as you considered. But you already came all the way down here and had the stencil placed and ink in the tattoo gun. And you wanted to make your fantasies happen.

You grabbed Eddie’s cock, your wet fingers smearing down the length of it. Of all the times you fucked, you almost never were the one to guide him inside of you. It was a bit clumsy as you dragged his tip through the soaked seam of your cunt, nudging against the swollen bud of your clit a few times.

Finally you hit your mark, Eddie’s deep moan filling the air as he slotted himself inside of you with a strong thrust. The patch of dark, soft curls at his base brushed against your already sensitive clit. The stretch made you see stars. Your head rolled back against the leather chair, a breathy whine pulling from you as he rubbed against every gummy ridge and gooey spot inside of you.

“Eddie,” you whimpered, brows pulling together as you looked up at him. He seemed to be going through a similar sense of euphoria, his long lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he breathed into the feeling.

His eyes open, pupils expanding like ink in water as he curled over you, readying the tattoo machine over your chest. He blinked hard, rutting softly against you once… twice… before steadying. The concentration was incredible to witness, his expression hardening and jaw flexing again.

“You ready, dove?” he asked, briefly glancing up at you before staring at the patch of stenciled skin like he could burn a tattoo into it with just his eyes.

“Yeah,” you breathed, feeling like your entire body was made up of TV static as you willed yourself to relax on the chair.

He nodded, the familiar buzz of the tattoo gun starting again. It pressed to your skin like fire, the vibration carrying from the gun all the way down into the flat bone of your sternum. You held your breath without meaning to, toes curling.

Eddie groaned, a smile finding its way onto his face. “You’re squeezing so fucking tight around me,” he said, voice a bit raspier than normal.

You made a conscious effort to relax, staring up at the ceiling and tapping the tips of your fingers along the sides of the chair. “Sorry,” you murmured, a giggle echoing from you as Eddie resumed the line he was tattooing.

Each stab of the needles kept your body alight, teetering you on the edge of pain and pleasure. “You're such a masochist.”

You smiled, your gaze hazy and your pussy fluttering a bit as you took shallow breaths. “I know, it’s gonna be a long night.”

[chiscaralight]

cw: nsfw scaramouche x reader. modern au, lowkey fratboy!scara, oral sex (m and f receiving) p in v

a reader who’s honestly out of their element at a party. this isn’t even the type of crowd you roll with, why would your friend drag you here, and then forget you?

forget is a strong word. she’s just having alot of fun! but she doesn’t realize that you’ve slipped away to the higher level of this frat house, opening up doors to find somewhere you can relax for a bit before heading back down. and it’s a clean room that you do, full of dark and dingy colors and a neatly laid bed. it’s definitely someone’s bedroom and you’d hate to invade the space for too long, so you decide to stay only about five minutes before heading back.

too bad the owner only needed three, because you’re face to face with a purple haired, stupidly beautiful guy who’s gripping a full bottle of vodka in one hand and a shot glass in the other. you squeal and apologize, trying to make your way out of the room, but he waves you off. stay if you want, just don’t bother him too much.

and it works for a bit, he’s just laying down on his phone, but the thick silence is just too uncomfortable for you. and he notices, because you’re playing with your fingers like a third grader about to present to the class. so he rolls his eyes and offers you a single shot, which you gladly take.

one shot turns to two, two turns to four, and our turns to one two many between the two of you, because now you’re laid up with him, side by side and giggling like a little kid while you talk about whatever. and he just can’t take his eyes off of you, your words going right over his head as his gaze moved from those eyes of yours to your plump lips, licking his instinctively as he imagines how soft they’d feel on his.

honestly, he was just hoping to get a kiss from you and end it there. maybe you’d even straddle him; grind against his lap. he wasn’t expecting this though, but why would he complain? after all, it’s not every day you find someone as cute as you with your lips wrapped round his hardened cock like this. and even through your drunken moans, thsy tongue of yours is rolling round his shaft so well, poking and prodding at every vein.

he’s weak, physically spent from the number you’re doing on him as you bob your head up and down his length. but it’s way to early for him to cum so against everything in his body, he’ll push you off of him and lay you back so he can dip his head into that sweet cunt of yours.

and you taste absolutely divine, mewling and arching off the bed as he assaults you with his tongue and fingers, groaning into your heat as he lets the slick stain his chin. your fingers are tangling up in his hair, tugging and pulling on his strands as he coaxes your orgasm out of you painfully hard, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you cum, humping his face like an animal throughout. he’ll hum through it, pulling up only when he’s sure he’s drank his fill. and your beautiful, fucked out face is practically begging him to go again, to plunge right back down and take another one from you.

you take dick just as well as you suck it, because scaramouche is hammering into you. your legs are hooked around his waist, face awfully close to yours as you moan out. he’s entranced by the way you look, the way you sound as you dig your fingers into his shoulders, trying to draw him in for another kiss.

it’s not that he doesn’t want to kiss you. on the contrary, he loves those lips of yours. but it’s fun to watch you struggle, which is why he’s pulling you off the bed, harshly guiding you o er to the table so he can bend you over and fuck you right.

and right it is, because you’re slobbering over his desk. in any other case he would’ve been so grossed out, but you’re whining his name in a way that makes his hips speed up, colliding with yours over and over again until you’re not sure what you’re saying anymore. he thinks it’s so cute, taunting you about how dump you look. the only response you can give him is a broken moan, pulling your hand back until it comes in contact with his.

you’re just adorable, why wouldn’t he intertwine his fingers with yours? once his hand is firmly in place. toue head falls back onto the desk like that was what you were waiting for. because within seconds you’re whining out about cumming. but that’s not good enkigh for him, he has to see that face.

he moves quick, turning and pushing you up the desk so you’re not empty for too long. your arms are locked around his neck, chest pressed into his as he fucks your orgasm out of you. you’re almost screaming, struggling to keep your eyes open as you make such a mess, head falling against his when you finally finish. he’ll pull out and cum in between you two, painting both of your stomachs with his cum. you’re still so out of it, barely registering anything he says before you actually pass out.

when you wake up, you’re naked in a bed you don’t remember. you’re already cursing yourself, ready to pull yourself out from the sheets and escape this unknown place regardless of the way your brain is banging against your skull.

but an arm draws u back, almost slamming you against a pretty toned chest that you’re just about starting to remember. your face is flushing as you try to wriggle away, but scaramouche keeps you locked in place until you give up. you’re whining for him to let you go, but he doesn’t let up. when you look at him for the first time sober or not in close contact with his cock, his beauty hits you all over again. you choose to stop fighting this time, sliding back into his grip before he plants a kiss on the back of your neck.

maybe it was a good thing to come to this party.

[mononijikayu]

strip poker — gojo satoru.

You leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping just enough for only him to hear. “Alright, Gojo Satoru. Since you’re so persistent… How about we make this interesting?”  He raised an eyebrow, a playful grin forming on his lips. “Oh? I’m listening to you, doll.” he replied, clearly intrigued by whatever you had in mind. You took a sip of your drink, letting the silence hang between you for a moment, watching as his eyes remained locked on yours, his curiosity practically radiating off him. “Strip poker.” you said finally, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Just you and me. What do you say?”

WARNING/s: NSFW (R18+), Fluff, Romance, Love at First Sight, Strangers to Lovers, Pet Names (Doll, Boy, Baby, Etc), Profanity, Stripping Clothes, Oral Sex, Fingering, P to V Sex, Kissing, Making Out, Humor, Flirting, Teasing, Mention of Stripping, Mention of Body Parts, Mention of Sexual Acts, Mention of Alcohol, Depiction of Sexual Acts, Depiction of Nudity, Depiction of Alcoholic Beverage;

WORDS: 7.8k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: lately a lot of my works were really long, so i realized people need a refreshing thing from me than my long story formats. i thought about this during a writing block and i just thought that maybe, satoru would be the type to enjoy something like this, you know? and i think shoko and suguru would just try to make gojo greet all the guests and he'll be pouty. unless its reader, because reader is loved by gojo a lot (he just met you at this party) but anyway, if i posted this, it means the majority poll meant gojo won. but anyway i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all~ 🫶

ADDENDUM: with an hour left in the vote and the gap being wide — gojo does win 🙂‍↕️

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if you want to, tip! <3

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HE WAS LOOKING FOR SOMETHING EXCITING. Gojo Satoru leaned against the doorway, his drink swirling lazily in his hand, the dim light of the room casting playful shadows across his face. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see everything and nothing at once, were fixed on you. You were standing with Shoko and Suguru, laughing at some private joke, and he couldn't help but wonder how he had never noticed you before.

It was strange. He knew everyone worth knowing, especially those who moved in Shoko's and Suguru's circles. But you... you were different. Your laughter was genuine, your smile bright, and there was a certain ease to the way you carried yourself—a confidence that wasn’t showy but quietly powerful, drawing people in without even trying.

As you spoke, he watched the way your lips curved into a grin, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief. He could see that Suguru was captivated, leaning in to listen more closely, while Shoko rolled her eyes with a fond smile that suggested she was used to whatever game you were playing. Satoru couldn't quite hear what you were saying from where he stood, but he caught snippets of your voice, warm and inviting, tinged with a teasing edge that piqued his curiosity even more.

"How is it," he muttered to himself, "that someone like you has managed to slip under my radar?"

He took a sip of his drink, his gaze never wavering, trying to piece together the puzzle that was you. Maybe you were new to their circle, or perhaps you had always been there, hidden in plain sight, and he just hadn’t been paying close enough attention. Either way, he was intrigued, and that wasn't something that happened often.

When Shoko glanced over and caught his eye, she raised an eyebrow, smirking as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. He gave her a playful wink in response, but his attention quickly returned to you.

Suguru, noticing the shift in focus, turned and followed Shoko's gaze, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Satoru, come here." he called out, motioning for him to join. "Why are you lurking over there like a ghost at a party? Come say hi."

Satoru grinned and pushed himself off the doorframe, making his way over with a casual, easy stride. "I wouldn’t call it lurking, Suguboo." he said, slipping effortlessly into the group, his gaze still locked on you. "Just... observing."

You turned to face him fully, and for the first time, he felt the full force of your presence. Up close, you were even more intriguing—eyes bright and challenging, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "Observing, huh?" you echoed, clearly amused. "Is that what they’re calling it these days?"

His grin widened, loving the way you didn’t shrink under his scrutiny but seemed to meet it head-on. "Well, you know, doll." he replied smoothly, "I like to get a feel for things before diving in."

Shoko snorted softly, rolling her eyes. "Translation: he likes to watch before he pounces."

"Careful, Satoru." Suguru added with a chuckle. "You’re starting to sound like a creep."

Satoru laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Maybe I am, Maybe I’m not." he admitted, his gaze still fixed on you. "But I like to have some good surprises for the interesting ones."

Your smile widened, clearly enjoying the attention, and you leaned in slightly, closing the distance between you. "So, am I interesting to you, Gojo?"

He felt a spark of electricity at the way you said his name, the way it rolled off your tongue like you’d known him for years. “Oh, definitely.” he replied, his voice dropping to a low, playful drawl. “Interesting enough to make me wonder how I've missed you all this time.”

You laughed softly, a sound that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Maybe you just weren’t looking hard enough.” you teased him. “Maybe you need to have a better look, don’t you think?”

He leaned in closer, his smile turning sly. “Oh, I’m looking now.”

There was a beat of silence, charged with unspoken words and possibilities, and Satoru could feel the air between you crackle with an almost tangible energy. He was used to this game, the dance of flirtation, but there was something about you that felt different—like you were two steps ahead of him, and he was enjoying every second of trying to catch up.

“Let’s see if you can keep up.” you said, your eyes glinting with challenge. “Because I’m not that easy to catch, Gojo.”

His grin widened, excitement bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I do love a challenge, doll.” he murmured, taking another sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours. “And trust me, I’m very persistent when I sense something good for me.”

“Then am I good for you?” You grinned at him, eyes full of amusement.

He returned your grin. “Why, the moment I saw you, doll — you were good for me and all of my lifetimes.”

Suguru and Shoko exchanged glances, their amusement clear as they observed the growing tension between you and Satoru. Shoko's eyes sparkled with mischief, clearly enjoying the unfolding drama, while Suguru's smirk spoke of his own quiet amusement at the game Satoru was now fully immersed in. They didn’t need to say a word; their silent communication conveyed everything—this was going to be entertaining.

Satoru, however, was oblivious to their silent exchange. His focus was entirely on you, his mind buzzing with possibilities. The playful challenge you’d just thrown at him had ignited a spark of curiosity and interest that he couldn’t ignore. As he watched you, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief and your smile held a promise of excitement, he found himself drawn in even more.

You leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping just enough for only him to hear. “Alright, Gojo since you’re so persistent… How about we make this interesting?” 

He raised an eyebrow, a playful grin forming on his lips. “Oh? I’m listening to you, doll.” he replied, clearly intrigued by whatever you had in mind.

You took a sip of your drink, letting the silence hang between you for a moment, watching as his eyes remained locked on yours, his curiosity practically radiating off him. “Strip poker.” you said finally, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Just you and me. What do you say?”

"Are you serious?" Satoru chuckled, his grin spreading wide across his face. The light overhead cast a gleam on his white hair, making him look even more striking under the dim glow of the room. 

"Dead serious, darling." you replied, eyes glinting with a playful challenge. "Unless, of course, the great Gojo Satoru is afraid of a little game."

His grin only widened at the bait. "Afraid? Not exactly my style. But I've got to admit, it's not every day someone proposes strip poker to me the first time we meet." He took a sip from his drink, eyes never leaving yours, scanning for any sign of bluff or mischief.

You shrugged, leaning against the table with an easy confidence that only intrigued him more. "What can I say? I like to keep things interesting. And you looked like you could use a little excitement."

He laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. "So, what's the catch? I lose, and you get a fun little story to tell your friends? Or do I win, and...?"

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Who says I intend to lose? Besides, winning isn't everything. It's the fun in between, Satoru."

He blinked at the use of his first name, a small surprise evident in his expression. Most people would hesitate to use it so casually, but coming from you, it felt oddly natural—like it had always been meant to be spoken by you. There was something about the way you said it, with that hint of mischief and confidence, that made it feel less like an invasion of personal space and more like an intimate invitation.

For a moment, Satoru’s gaze flickered around the room. It was then that he realized Shoko and Suguru had somehow vanished. The two had a knack for disappearing at precisely the right moment, leaving him in a situation that was both intriguing and precarious. Typical of them, really. They always seemed to know exactly when to make their exit, leaving him to fend for himself in whatever delightful predicament they had orchestrated.

A chuckle escaped his lips as he looked back at you, his eyes twinkling with both amusement and a hint of challenge. “Well, it looks like we’re on our own.” he said, his tone light but laced with a playful edge. “I suppose that means we get to make our own rules now.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the turn of events. “Seems like it, glasses.” you replied, your voice smooth and teasing. “So, what do you say?”

He grinned, the playful glint in his eyes growing stronger. “I think we should make the most of this opportunity, doll. Let’s not waste time,” he said, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “After all, it’s not every day I get to have a game of strip poker with someone as intriguing as you.”

His words were laced with a mix of flirtation and eagerness, his tone smooth and inviting. The term “doll” came out with a casual intimacy, making the moment feel even more charged. You could feel the heat between you intensify as he closed the distance, his presence commanding and electrifying.

You met his gaze with a confident smile, your heart racing a little faster. “Alright, Gojo.” you replied, your voice low and sultry. He pouts. You returned to calling him by his last name. You liked teasing him, he thinks. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“You better watch it, doll.” he said, setting his drink down and crossing his arms over his chest, still grinning. “I’ll bite. Let’s play. But don’t expect me to go easy on you. And don’t think for a second that I’ll be the one taking off anything first.” 

You laughed, a sound that made him feel strangely lighter, more at ease. “Oh, I’m counting on it.” you said, your voice full of playful confidence.

His grin widened, the challenge lighting up his expression. “You’re so interesting, doll.” He chuckled, clearly delighted. “Where have you been all my life?”

You tilted your head slightly, enjoying the way his words seemed to both flatter and intrigue. “Well, you know….” you replied, your tone teasing. “Maybe I’ve been waiting for the right moment to make an entrance. And tonight, it looks like the stars finally aligned.”

Satoru’s eyes sparkled with genuine curiosity and admiration. “I have to say, I’m glad they did, doll.” he said, leaning in a bit closer, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Because you’ve definitely made this night unforgettable.”

“You’re quite the flirt.” 

“Gotta shoot all the shots to win, doll.” He winks at you.

You shrugged, your smile teasing. “Well, you say this now….but you’ll lose to me too.” 

He laughed, a carefree, confident sound that made Shoko and Suguru glance over with a raised eyebrow from a distant space. “Oh, I never lose.” he replied, leaning closer, his voice a low, tempting drawl. “Especially not when there’s something I really want.”

You rolled your eyes, but your grin didn’t fade. “Then prove it.” you said, nodding toward a quieter, dimly lit room down the hall. “Let’s go.”

Satoru, for his part, didn’t hesitate. He set his drink down with a casual flick of his wrist, his bright cerulean eyes still locked on yours as he pushed off the wall. He reached out and took your hand, his grip warm and confident.

“Lead the way, doll.” he said, his voice dripping with playful challenge.

You felt a rush of excitement at his quick agreement, and you couldn’t help but grin. You felt a thrill of excitement as you led him down the hall, the dim lighting casting soft shadows and adding an air of intimacy to the moment. With every step, the noise of the party grew more distant, replaced by the soft thrum of your heartbeat and the electric tension between you.

As you reached the door to the quieter room, you glanced back at him, a teasing smile playing on your lips. Gojo Satoru’s gaze was unwavering, his bright eyes reflecting a mixture of anticipation and admiration. He could feel the adrenaline in him. This was exciting. And he liked it. He liked you.

You pushed open the door, revealing a cozy, dimly lit space that felt almost like a secret hideaway. The room was furnished simply but comfortably, with a plush carpet and a few scattered cushions. It was the perfect setting for the game you had in mind.

He looked around, a playful smirk still on his face. “Alright, doll.” he said, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a chair. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You grabbed a deck of cards from a nearby table, shuffling them with a practiced ease. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, Gojo.” you teased, dealing the cards out between you.

Satoru sat opposite you, his posture relaxed, but his gaze was intense, locked onto you with an almost predatory focus. “I think I’ll take my chances, doll.” he replied smoothly. “And please, call me Satoru. Gojo is too formal for your gorgeous lips to mouth.”

You smiled, enjoying the tension that hung thick in the air between you, the game already beginning before a single card was played. "Alright then, Satoru." you said, your voice dripping with anticipation. "Let’s see who’s getting undressed first."

He chuckled, picking up his cards and leaning back comfortably. “Oh, it’s on now.” 

And just like that, the game was set—a battle of wits, charm, and maybe something more.

You watched as his long legs folded with a graceful ease that didn’t quite match the competitive glint in his cocky blue eyes. He grabbed a deck of cards from a nearby table, his movements fluid, almost theatrical as he shuffled with deft, experienced hands.

You sat across from him, the distance between you feeling both vast and electric, like an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. The way you held his gaze, unwavering and unyielding, only made Gojo Satoru more intrigued. He wasn’t used to people looking at him like that—like he was just another person in the room, not just some role people fit upon him or a man with a reputation that preceded him.

“So, doll….” he began, dealing out the first hand with a practiced flick of his wrist. “How do you know Shoko and Suguru? And why haven't we met before tonight?”

You picked up your cards, smiling slyly. “Oh, I’m sure they’ve mentioned me. I’m just good at staying under the radar… when I want to.” 

He leaned back, considering your words. “Mysterious. I like that. But I'm pretty good at picking up on secrets. Better watch out.”

You chuckled softly. “I think I’ll take my chances.” 

The game began, and with each round, you both played with a mix of strategy and daring. He tried to read you, his eyes narrowing whenever you made a bold move, but you held your own, bluffing with an expertise that surprised him. His usual smug grin faltered slightly, and you could tell he was trying to decipher the mystery in your gaze. The room seemed to shrink with the tension between you, each card dealt heightening the stakes.

Satoru leaned forward, his gaze never leaving your face, a playful yet challenging spark in his eyes. “You’re a lot harder to read than I thought.” he murmured, the corner of his mouth curling upward in amusement. “But I like a good mystery.” 

You smirked in response, feeling the heat of his stare, knowing he was trying to unravel you with every glance, but determined to keep him guessing. You were sure that soon enough, a pile of discarded clothing would grow between you steadily. But so far, there has been little, with your little ties. All you had removed were little, like a hair tie or a necktie. 

You agreed it was still part of clothes. But then again, you just both wanted it to last a little longer. One after the other though was tossed aside with a flick of your wrist or a slow, deliberate grin from him, marking the razor's edge between victory and defeat. 

The room little by little crackled with tension, the air thick with challenge and heat, and every turn of a card seemed to bring you closer, like magnets drawn together by an irresistible force. The game had become something more than a little fun thing — it was a dance with a Russian roulette where every bluff was a whispered confession, every raise a daring promise. 

Your pulse quickened with every sly smile he threw your way, every calculated tilt of his head, and his eyes bore into yours, gleaming with a hunger that was impossible to ignore. The stakes climbed higher with every move, the line between a win and a loss blurring into something electric, something tantalizingly close to dangerous. 

You could feel it in your bones — this was no longer just about cards or luck; it was about who would yield first, who would surrender to the inevitable tension simmering in the space between your bodies. And you like winning. But so did he. Winning was after all, a different sort of drug to be enjoyed.

Neither of you spoke, but the room was filled with a silent conversation, an exchange of glances and gestures that spoke volumes. The game wasn’t just about winning — it was about who could push the other further, who could tease out the truth hidden behind those guarded eyes. Neither of you wanted to lose, not when the real prize was so tantalizingly close. And as another card fell, you knew this was only the beginning.

"You're not bad, doll." he admitted, his shirt still firmly on but with a hint of pink on his cheeks, likely from the alcohol. “But I’ve been known to turn the tables.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested this game if I didn’t think I could win, Satoru.” you replied confidently, leaning forward. The playful spark in your eyes never left, and it only seemed to fuel Satoru’s competitive spirit further.

Round after round, pieces of clothing slowly came off. A shoe here, a sock there. He was still confident, leaning in closer as he laid down another hand. "Full house." he declared, his grin downright wicked now.

You glanced at his cards, then backed up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Nice." you said, sounding impressed, before laying your cards down with a flourish. "Straight flush."

He blinked, then laughed—a genuine, delighted laugh that came from deep in his chest. "No way! You little—"

“Looks like someone’s going to lose a little more than just their pride, Satoru.” you teased, enjoying the way his grin faltered for a moment, his confidence taking a tiny, amusing dip.

He leaned back in his chair, pretending to think deeply, then slowly began to unbutton his shirt. “Alright, alright. I’m a man of my word, doll.” he conceded, though his eyes never left yours, sparkling with mischief. “But don’t get too comfortable. The game’s not over yet.”

As he shrugged out of his shirt, you found yourself momentarily distracted by the unexpected sight—his lean, toned frame catching the dim light. Satoru noticed, his smile turning sly. “See something you like?” 

You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral. "Just waiting for my next win."

He laughed again, a sound that seemed to fill the room, light and unburdened. “Oh, this is really crazy. I like that.” he murmured, leaning in closer, his voice dropping slightly. “I like you.”

You raise your glass, meeting his gaze with a bold smile. "The feeling might be mutual, but don't think for a second that means I'm letting you win."

For the first time in a while, Gojo Satoru felt a genuine thrill that had nothing to do with curses or danger. Just the electric spark of a moment, a challenge, and the intriguing mystery of the person sitting across from him, daring him to come closer.

The game continued on, the air thick with anticipation, each round upping the stakes. Satoru was completely absorbed now, his usual nonchalant demeanor replaced with focused intensity. For every card dealt, every sly smile exchanged, he found himself more drawn into this unexpected encounter. 

As the rounds progressed, it became increasingly clear that you were holding your own. The playful banter between the two of you had turned into something sharper, more personal. It wasn't just a game anymore; it was a test—a test of wills, of understanding, of reading between the lines of every look and laugh.

Satoru tossed his next set of cards on the table. "Three of a kind." he said, tapping his fingers lightly against the table, eyes flickering with amusement. "Not my best, but not bad."

You looked down at your own hand, considering your options. "Hmm…." you hummed, tapping your chin thoughtfully before placing your cards down. "Four of a kind."

His mouth fell open in exaggerated shock. "No way! You’re cheating!” 

You laughed, a carefree sound that seemed to light up the room. "Maybe you just need to step up your game, Gojo Satoru."

He tilted his head, pretending to look hurt, but his smile was as bright as ever. “Oh, I see how it is. You're trying to humble me. I can't let that happen. I have a reputation to uphold.”

He reached for his belt, starting to unbuckle it with deliberate slowness, making a show of every movement. "You really want to play with fire, huh?" he teased, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Careful, you might get burned."

You met his gaze head-on, your smile never wavering. "I think I can handle the heat."

He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re something else, you know that?” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his energy, his presence suddenly more intense. “But I’ve got a feeling you’re not here just for a game, are you?”

Your eyes sparkled, the corners of your lips curling up just slightly. “Maybe I’m here to see what all the fuss is about. People talk about you, you know… like you’re this untouchable legend.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest with a playful smirk. “And what do they say?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Oh, you know… that you’re the strongest, the smartest, the most arrogant—”

“Hey!” he interrupted, laughing. “I’m not that arrogant… just very self-aware.”

You laughed too, feeling the tension between you soften into something warmer, more familiar. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

His grin widened. "You think I’m a show-off, huh?”

“I think,” you said slowly, leaning in just a little closer, “that you like being the center of attention. And I think you’re not used to people seeing through that.”

Satoru blinked, the playful glint in his eyes dimming just slightly, replaced by something more genuine, more intrigued. “And what do you see when you look at me?”

You paused, considering your answer, letting the silence stretch just long enough to keep him guessing. “I see someone who likes to keep people at a distance. Someone who hides a lot behind that smile.”

He tilted his head, his expression softer now, almost contemplative. “And you think you know what I’m hiding?”

You shrugged. “Not yet. But I think you might want someone to try and figure it out.”

For a moment, he was quiet, watching you with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see everything and yet reveal nothing. Then, slowly, he smiled—a softer, more sincere smile than before. “Maybe I do.”

The tension in the room shifted again, this time to something less tangible, a mix of curiosity and possibility hanging in the air between you. The game had become secondary; it was clear now that something deeper was at play. Satoru leaned back, his grin returning, though his eyes were still searching for yours.

“Alright, doll.” he said, voice vibrant and light. “One more hand. Winner takes all.”

“All?” you echoed, arching an eyebrow. “And what exactly is ‘all,’ Satoru?”

He leaned forward again, his smile turning mischievous. “That’s the fun part—we get to decide. Maybe it’s another game. Maybe it’s just a walk under the stars. Or maybe…”

“Maybe?” you prompted, leaning in as well, feeling the pull between you tighten.

“Maybe, doll….” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper now, “it’s just finding out who you really are, and why you make me feel like I’ve met you before, even though I’m sure I haven’t.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected honesty in his words. This was not the Gojo Satoru you’d expected, not quite. But maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something neither of you had anticipated.

“Deal.” you said finally, holding out your hand for him to shake.

He took it, his grip warm and firm. “Deal.”

You felt the warmth of his hand linger longer than necessary, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. Neither of you pulled away, your hands still clasped together, as if testing each other’s resolve.

“Are you trying to distract me?” you teased, but your voice came out softer than you intended, betraying the flutter of anticipation building in your chest.

Satoru’s smile widened, a hint of something darker and more thrilling sparking in his eyes. “Is it working?” he asked, his voice low and velvety, closer now, his breath brushing against your skin.

You held his gaze, feeling the air between you grow thick with tension, the kind that made your pulse quicken. “Maybe a little.” you admitted, and his grin grew even more wicked.

He didn’t release your hand, instead using it to pull you closer across the small table, until you were only inches apart. “Good.” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that sent a thrill down your spine. “Because I’m curious… What else could I do to distract you?”

Before you could answer, his free hand reached up, his fingers lightly tracing the line of your jaw, his touch gentle but purposeful. “I’ve got a few ideas.” he continued, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, his eyes following the movement like he was memorizing every detail. 

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as his fingers moved down, tracing the curve of your neck, his touch feather-light but sending sparks of heat through your veins. “You talk a big game,” you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady, “but can you back it up?”

His eyes flashed with amusement and something else—something darker, hungrier. “Oh, I think you’ll find I’m very good at keeping my promises.” he replied softly, leaning in until his lips were a breath away from yours. “Especially the fun ones.”

And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft at first, almost teasing, before deepening with a sudden intensity that made your head spin. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, and you felt the world around you disappear, leaving just the heat of his mouth, the press of his body against yours.

You kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palms. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that sent a rush of heat through your body, your skin tingling everywhere he touched. 

He broke the kiss, just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re full of surprises,” before diving back in, his kiss rougher this time, more insistent. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you onto his lap in one swift movement. You gasped against his mouth, feeling the firmness of his body beneath you, the heat of his skin through the fabric of your clothes.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a low groan from him, a sound that sent a delicious thrill through you. “Satoru.” you breathed, his name slipping from your lips like a secret, and his response was a grin against your mouth, wicked and knowing.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in his chest, his hands roaming up your back, sliding under your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left trails of fire in their wake.

You didn’t answer, just kissed him harder, pressing your body against his, feeling the heat building between you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. His lips moved to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you gasp, your head tilting back to give him more access.

He chuckled softly, his breath hot against your neck. “Sensitive, are we?” he teased, but his voice was strained, as if he was barely holding himself back. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips and pressing you down against him, letting you feel exactly how much he wanted you.

You let out a soft moan, your fingers gripping his shoulders for support. “Maybe,” you whispered, your voice breathless. “But I think you like that.”

He laughed, a low, husky sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, I do,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I like everything about you… so far.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes, seeing the raw desire there, the need that mirrored your own. “Then maybe, Satoru, baby.” you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his, “You should stop talking and show me.”

He grinned, a wicked, knowing grin that made your heart race. “Challenge accepted, doll.” he said, and then his lips were on yours again, his kiss consuming, his hands exploring, leaving no part of you untouched, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you. 

You looked at him and grinned. “Let me make you feel good, boy.” 

“Make it happen then, lovely.” He steps out of his pants and you sink to your knees on the plush carpet beneath you, licking your lips as he frees his member.. Your eyes meeting him.

You held his gaze, your grin widening as you saw the anticipation flicker in his eyes, a mix of mischief and hunger that mirrored your own. “Oh, I will,baby.” you promised, your voice a low purr that seemed to send a shiver down his spine.

You let your gaze trail down his body, taking in the sight of his lean, toned form before letting your eyes settle on his length, now freed and hard. A spark of excitement danced through you, and you licked your lips, feeling a wave of heat wash over you as you dropped to your knees on the plush carpet, every movement slow and deliberate, keeping his attention locked on you.

Satoru watched you, his breath hitching, and you could feel his intense gaze on you, almost like a physical touch. Your hands reached up, fingertips brushing lightly against his thighs, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms as you leaned in, your breath ghosting over his length. His eyes widened slightly, a soft exhale escaping his lips, and you could tell he was already on edge, trying to maintain his composure.

You looked up at him through your lashes, meeting his gaze with a wicked grin. “Ready, Satoru?” you teased, your voice soft and sultry, letting the anticipation build for a moment longer.

His eyes darkened, a soft growl escaping him. “Stop teasing, doll.” he muttered, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, his fingers tightening slightly, betraying his eagerness. “Do your worst.”

Without another word, you leaned in, your tongue flicking out to tease the tip, tasting the salty bead of pre-cum that had formed there. Satoru sucked in a breath, his hips jerking slightly at the contact, and you felt a rush of satisfaction at the effect you were already having on him.

Slowly, you wrapped your lips around him, taking him inch by inch into your mouth, savoring the weight of him on your tongue, the way he filled your mouth completely. His hand moved to your hair, fingers threading through your strands, not pushing, but just holding, grounding himself in the sensation of your warm mouth around him.

You started to move, your mouth sliding up and down his length with slow, deliberate strokes, your tongue swirling around him, adding just enough pressure to draw soft, breathy moans from his lips. You glanced up at him, his head tipped back slightly, his mouth parted as he tried to keep his breathing steady.

“Fuck…..” he breathed, his voice strained, the hand in your hair tightening just a bit. “That’s… you’re good at this…”

You hummed around him, a low, vibrating sound that made his hips twitch, his fingers tightening in your hair. You felt a surge of triumph, your movements becoming bolder, faster, as you took him deeper, letting him feel the heat, the slick slide of your mouth, the way your lips tightened around him.

Satoru’s breathing grew heavier, and you could hear the soft sounds of pleasure escaping his lips, his usual confidence wavering under the intensity of your attention. His hips began to move with you, small thrusts that pushed him deeper into your mouth, and you welcomed it, matching his rhythm, taking him deeper still.

You felt his muscles tense under your hands, heard the low growl building in his throat, his fingers gripping your hair tighter as if he were holding on for dear life. “God… you’re driving me crazy, doll.” he muttered, his voice thick with desire, his control slipping. 

You pulled back slightly, just enough to speak, your breath warm against his length. “Good.” you whispered, your voice a husky murmur, “because I’m not stopping until you come undone for me, Satoru.”

He looked down at you, his eyes blazing with need, and you saw a flicker of surrender there, a flash of vulnerability that made your heart race. “Then don’t stop, doll.” he whispered back, his voice a low command. “Make me lose control.”

You grinned up at him before taking him back into your mouth, your movements faster, more deliberate, determined to bring him to the edge and push him over. You felt his body tighten, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hips thrusting in time with your movements, and you knew he was close.

With a few more strokes, a few more swirls of your tongue, you felt him shudder, his whole body tensing as he let out a low, deep moan, his release hitting hard and fast. His hand tightened in your hair as he rode out the waves of pleasure, his breathing heavy, his eyes closed, his lips parted in a satisfied grin.

You pulled back slowly, watching him as he came down, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his skin flushed, his hair tousled. He opened his eyes, a lazy smile spreading across his face, his gaze soft and full of something you couldn’t quite place.

“Damn.” he breathed, still trying to catch his breath. “You’re… something else.”

You smiled, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb, feeling a flush of your own. “Told you I’d make you feel good.” you replied, your voice light, teasing.

He chuckled, pulling you up to your feet and closer to him, his hands resting on your hips. “I think you’ve more than proven your point.” he murmured, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss against your lips, his smile warm against your mouth. “But now… it’s my turn.”

A soft gasp escapes your lips as his touch moves with a deliberate, tender pressure. The sensation sends ripples of pleasure through you, making your breath hitch. Your back arches instinctively, your body pressing closer to his. Every touch, every movement feels electric, your emotions swirling in a beautiful, overwhelming storm.

His lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Each kiss feels like a spark, igniting a fire that grows with every passing second. His hands glide along your back, pulling you closer still, as if he wants to feel every inch of you against him. Your breath quickens, matching the rhythm of your racing heartbeat.

His gaze meets yours, a mix of tenderness and something deeper, something that makes your heart flutter. “I want to make you feel everything, baby doll.” he whispers, his voice low and filled with promise.

You feel a surge of anticipation, your senses heightened, every touch sending a shiver down your spine. He takes his time, exploring every curve and contour, as if memorizing you. You’re lost in the sensation, in the way he makes you feel cherished, wanted, and entirely his. The world fades away, leaving just the two of you in a cocoon of shared intimacy and unspoken connection.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he responds with a soft, satisfied hum, his smile widening against your skin. “Stay with me, ‘toru.” you breathe, the words escaping almost involuntarily, a plea and a declaration all at once.

His hold on you tightens, and he nods, his eyes filled with an emotion so intense it takes your breath away. “Always.” he promises, sealing his vow with another lingering kiss that sends a wave of warmth through your entire being.

His hands roam down your sides with a deliberate slowness, tracing every curve as if savoring the feel of you beneath his fingertips. His touch is both gentle and insistent, a wordless reminder of the connection between you. As his lips move back to yours, the kiss deepens, becoming more passionate, more consuming, his tongue teasing yours in a dance that sets your nerves alight.

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, his warmth enveloping you like a blanket. Every movement is careful yet filled with an undeniable urgency. His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your clothes, his touch sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. Your breaths mingle, becoming heavier, the room thick with the electric charge of your shared desire.

He pulls back just enough to study your face, his gaze intense and filled with a hunger that sends a thrill through you. “You’re so beautiful, doll.” he murmurs, his voice husky with emotion. “Every part of you.” His hands move lower, caressing the sensitive skin of your waist, drawing a soft sigh from your lips.

You could feel the edges of your nails dig deep into Satoru’s back, leaving red marks once after another in the canvas of his supple skin. Each breath comes out in a shaky gasp, and you can feel him shiver beneath your touch, his skin heating under your fingertips. He groans softly at the sensation, the sound vibrating against your lips as he kisses you deeply, hungrily.

“‘Toru…baby….” you gasp out between moans, voice trembling with need. “You feel so good, goddddd…”

Your hips move instinctively against his hand, seeking that delicious friction, chasing the elusive climax that seems tantalizingly close but always just out of reach. You wondered where he has been all your life, where has this pleasure been all your life. 

He smiles against your lips, his voice a low whisper, almost teasing. “I’ve got you, doll.” he murmurs, his fingers pressing deeper, moving with a slow, rhythmic intensity that makes you cry out softly. “Let me take you there.”

Satoru’s thumb circles gently, adding a different sensation, his eyes fixed on yours, watching every expression, every shudder of pleasure that passes over your face. His other hand is firm on your waist, guiding your movements, coaxing you closer, pulling you toward that edge with a deliberate slowness that drives you mad. 

You feel the tension build inside you, every nerve ignited by his touch, his name spilling from your lips in a breathless whisper. “Satoru… baby....please…” you beg, the need in your voice is unmistakable.

He chuckles softly, his breath hot against your ear. “I love hearing you say my name like that, doll.” he whispers, his touch becoming more insistent, more purposeful. The heat between you grows, every sensation amplified by the intensity of the moment, his pace quickening, matching the desperate rhythm of your heartbeat.

Your body arches toward him, every inch of you attuned to his movements, and you feel yourself spiraling, that sweet ache within you growing sharper, hotter. His fingers find that perfect spot, and suddenly, you’re lost to the wave of pleasure that crashes over you, your body trembling, a moan of pure ecstasy escaping your lips as Gojo holds you close, his name a soft prayer on your lips.

“I’ll eat you out later, doll. I promise.” Satoru whispers against your ear, his voice laced with a playful promise that sends a shiver down your spine. “But right now… I need to be inside you.”

He positions himself between your spread legs, leaning down to tease the head of his member against your hungry, slick folds, rubbing himself gently against you. Each movement is torturously slow, spreading your wetness across both of you, the friction drawing a gasp from your lips. He watches your reactions with a smirk, his bright blue eyes darkened with desire.

Looking up at you, Satoru grins, his expression mischievous and full of intent. “Let’s do something else for now.” he murmurs, his voice low and inviting. He starts to push into you slowly, stretching you inch by inch, his gaze never leaving yours.

The sensation is overwhelming, your body instinctively arching to take him deeper. You can feel every part of him, the way he fills you perfectly, the way your body molds around him. His hands grip your hips, steadying you as he moves further, a low groan escaping his throat. “You feel incredible, baby doll.” he breathes, his voice rough with pleasure, his control hanging by a thread.

Your nails dig even harder into his shoulders as he continues to push in, stretching you, filling you completely. He pauses for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, his breath hot against your lips, his voice softer, seeking reassurance even amidst his own urgency.

You nod, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. “I’m okay… more than okay, ‘toru.” you murmur, a breathy moan escaping you as he begins to move again, slowly pulling back before thrusting in, setting a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

His pace quickens, each thrust more intense, more deliberate, as if he’s determined to draw every sound, every sigh, from your lips. His name falls from your mouth in a mix of gasps and pleas, and he responds with a low growl, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss.

Satoru’s hands wander, one sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, the other gripping your hip, guiding you into his rhythm. Every movement feels perfectly timed, perfectly in sync, as if he knows exactly what you need, where to touch, how to move to drive you to the brink of ecstasy.

“God, I love the way you feel, doll.” he murmurs, his voice rough and desperate, his forehead pressing against yours as his pace becomes relentless, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. Your body tightens around him, drawing him deeper, the heat between you building to a crescendo, and you feel yourself start to unravel.

“Don’t hold back.” he urges, his voice thick with need, his eyes locked on yours. “Let go, doll… I want to feel you come undone.” 

And with those words, everything inside you shatters in a wave of pure, overwhelming pleasure. Your body trembles, your breath catches, and you call out his name, your world reduced to the feeling of him moving within you, holding you, as you both reach for that beautiful, shared climax.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

epilogue 

You were exhausted. But you still had a curfew and your mother would be looking for you by now. When Satoru heard that, he immediately jumped up and said he'll take you home.

As you both fumbled to put your clothes back on in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, Gojo’s mischievous grin didn’t fade for a second. His white shirt was still unbuttoned, hanging off one shoulder, and his pants were inside out — not that he seemed to care.

You tugged your shirt over your head, smoothing down your hair with a breathless laugh. "You look like you got dressed in the dark." you teased, glancing at the ridiculous state of his attire.

Gojo chuckled, leaning in to nuzzle your neck, his lips brushing against your ear. "Well, to be fair, I was a bit distracted by you, doll."

Rolling your eyes, you gave his chest a light push. "Sure, blame me for your lack of coordination."

He winked and, with a dramatic flair, flipped his sunglasses back on, even though it was well past midnight. "Oh, definitely. It’s always your fault when I can't keep my hands to myself."

You both burst into laughter, the absurdity of the situation washing over you. Finally, Gojo took a deep breath, still grinning but with a hint of sincerity creeping into his voice. "So… now that I've seen you at your best — and, uh, at your most undressed — how about a date?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "A date? Like… a normal date?"

He nodded, his expression surprisingly earnest despite the disheveled hair and the inside-out pants. "Yeah, you know, the kind where I take you out, we eat something that isn't each other, maybe even talk about our feelings."

You snorted, trying to stifle your giggles. "You sure you can handle that, Satoru? The whole talking thing sounds like a lot of work for you."

He dramatically clutched his chest as if wounded. "Ouch, doll, that hurt. But yes, I think I could manage… if it means I get to see you smile like that again."

You pretended to consider it for a moment, then shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Fine. But I’m picking the place, and you’re wearing your pants the right way this time."

Gojo laughed, pulling you into his arms. "Deal. As long as you promise to wear something that makes me lose at poker again."

You smirked, leaning in close. "Oh, I think I can arrange that."

And as you both laughed, tangled in each other’s arms, the idea of a "normal" date didn't sound so bad after all.

[zae-heeyyy]

Boisterous

Summary: Arthur takes you to The Loft. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader Word Count: 2,095 Warnings: 18+ MDNI Tags: rough sex, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, biting

a/n: I somehow ended up spending literal hours trying to perfect this drawing. I traced a lot and freehanded a lot too, but overall, I'm happy with the final product. TYSM for taking the time to read, like, reply, and reblog; I appreciate every interaction!

Boisterous: behavior that is loud, energetic, and often unruly. It describes a person or situation that is full of noisy enthusiasm.

When Arthur found "The Loft" two nights ago, he was grateful to sleep in a bed surrounded by four sturdy walls. The accommodation would've been perfect, but you were missing from it all. Lewd images of your past escapades together infiltrated his mind as he tried to sleep, and he made his best efforts to push them aside. Your pretty face lit up his brain, and he wrapped his hand around his cock, trying his best to imitate the ecstasy only you could make him feel. No grip was as delectable as yours, though, and despite a quick release, he was more pent-up than ever. He needed you there with him and planned to sweep you up and bring you back as soon as the sun rose.

The cowboy's sonorous voice roused you from your dreams about him, the early morning sun casting a golden glow on his face as he leaned over you. His beard had grown since the few days you'd last seen him.

"Get dressed. M'taking you somewhere."

Without a second thought, you joined him on the back of his horse within the hour. Arthur spared the details of this urgent impromptu trip, keeping you in suspense for the duration of the ride.

In a few hours, you'd passed through Valentine, went by Fort Wallace, and climbed up into the mountains of the Grizzlies East. As you rode on, the clouds grew thick and gray, and the smell of petrichor filled your nostrils. Arthur caressed a hand you had wrapped around his waist, reassuring you.

"Almost there."

But you weren't close enough; the atmosphere released a torrential downpour in the last fifteen minutes of your journey, leaving you drenched. A little after noon, you reached a towering outpost that Arthur coined, The Loft. Arthur ushered you inside, futilely shielding you from the rain and promising the heat of a fireplace as he closed the door behind you.

While you stood, rubbing your arms for warmth, Arthur checked for signs of other people, climbing a ladder and peaking over the top for a second before sliding down.

You two were all alone, finally.

When he got a good look at you, he realized just how soaked you were, the layers of your clothes sticking to you and showing every curve of your body. Arthur swallowed, mouth salivating from the view of your hard nipples peeking through your blouse.

All the blood left his head and traveled south, damn near making him dizzy. Maybe he should've been embarrassed, but he was just a man, and you were the most alluring thing ever.

Two large steps were all it took to get to you. One hand found the back of your head, and the other rested on your hip as he drew your lips to his, practically swallowing you in a scalding kiss.

You could feel the groan rumbling in his chest, and you giggled against his lips. The noise crescendoed as his lips separated from yours to find your jaw and neck. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, inhaling your scent while the hand on the back of your head traveled to the small of your back.

"Mmm," he hummed, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head. "I missed y'so much."

And he had you all alone, truly alone, for the first time in your relationship. He'd been waiting to make love to you the way he really wanted. Your previous rendezvous were hushed, whispered, and sneaky, your moans muffled by Arthur's lips or hand. Even when he whisked you away to a hotel, he was keenly aware of everybody else around who could hear the two of you. Turning you into a whimpering mess filled him with fervent pride, but he wanted those parts of you, especially the sounds you made, all to himself.

The thought of finally hearing all those pretty little noises at full volume was enough to rile him up, and his hand groped your breast, kneading with a force he hadn't used on you before. You shivered against him; some of it was from your arousal, but the other part was the cold.

"The fire, Arthur," you said, shoving him off playfully. Grunting, he tore away from you, grateful for a log near the stove.

While his back was turned, you peeled the wet clothes off your body and dropped your blouse on the floor. Arthur spun back around right as you stepped out of your skirt, leaving you clad in your bloomers and nothing else. His breath hitched in his throat as if it were the first time your body had been bestowed upon him.

"Straight outta my dreams," he declared, his blue eyes shining with pure avidity. And just like that, Arthur strode across the room, dragging a chair with him and putting it against the door nob, just in case. You were back in his arms in an instant, his kisses emphasized with unadulterated sounds of pleasure. A rough hand slid into the waistband of your bloomers and grabbed a fistful of your ass, squeezing, letting go, and repeating.

You sigh breathlessly as he feels you up, leaning into his touch. Then without warning, he tastes you hungrily, tongue fucking your mouth.

His chest vibrates with titillation again, and you're hoisted up into his arms just a beat later, his hands cupping your rear. You squeal, wrapping your legs around his waist and holding on tight as he carries you across the room and dumps you on blue cotton blankets. Breathing heavily, you watch under eyes saturated with desire as he promptly removes his own damp clothes.

You were just as taken aback by his body as he was with yours. Brown curls adorned his chest and stomach and gathered in a carnal wreath around his manhood. Touching him was like running your hands over a textured map: his scars, old and new, like rivers and valleys, while his muscles, firm and hot, were mountains and volcanoes. You could spend eternity exploring that map. Arthur would never get used to you ogling him in such a way, but now your hungry eyes lured him to you.

He climbed on top of you, pinning you under his weight. Usually, he'd ask if you were okay, but you answered the question before he'd even asked by tangling your legs around his waist and crossing your ankles to bring him closer.

His hard-on brushed against your leg, making him shudder. You helped him remove the last garment of clothes between the two of you, lifting your hips to help him pull the bloomers down your legs and off your feet.

Arthur normally took his time meticulously exploring you, leaving kisses in his wake, but damn it, the thought of the sweet grip of your pussy had been on his mind for days, and he needed it now.

His forehead leaned against yours, and he clutched your jaw, holding your face still to gawk at it. If someone saw him this way, they'd think he'd just completed a full sprint, every exhale coming out in a loud pant. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, turning him animalistic. He couldn't wait any longer.

The gunslinger dipped his head to look between you, a guttural utterance escaping him as you spread your legs, exposing your needy cunt. He held his cock, nearly discolored from being so hard, and rubbed it up and down your center, coating himself in your juices.

"Need you, woman," he bellows. The bass in his voice sends goosebumps spreading down your arms, and you nod, mouth agape, eyes staring into his. His jaw also hinges as he watches himself disappear inside you. Once wholly sheathed, he moans long and loud, a stark contrast to his regular subduedness.

You'd never seen him like this, so desperate and uninhibited. Your body responds to the unexpected but welcomed change, your pussy clenching around him, making both of you jolt. Holding himself up on his forearms, he rocks his hips into you at a steady pace, leaning down to kiss your neck.

Shy and coy Arthur had left the building, replaced by wolfish Arthur, willing to howl and snarl for what he wanted. And in the moment, he wanted to brand you with his mouth. Bruising you was defacing a masterpiece, but it was a crime he was happy to commit. He was an outlaw, after all. He nipped at your neck with his teeth, leaving a mark before moving on to another spot to do the same.

You cried out, the first orgasm of the night building within you. He knew your body well and adjusted to give you what you needed, straightening his back, digging his thumbs into your ribs, and pistoning in and out, his hand going to rub your clit. Head tipped back, he moaned, no, roared, with every thrust.

You knew this was rare: Arthur Morgan losing complete control of himself. He was lost in you, lost in your wetness, lost in your tightness, and lost in those sounds. His head snapped down, and he stared right through you, eyes wild.

"Let me hear you," he demanded, slowing his strokes to get your attention. Head spinning, you gasped, too cock drunk to pay attention to what he was saying.

Grumbling, he pulled out of you to switch positions, now standing on the side of the bed. He guided you back to him, aligning your backside with his crotch. He hugged you to his chest, your back pressed into him. Your hands instantly went to his forearm, holding onto him as he practically held you in the air.

"I said let me hear you," he growled in your ear, accenting each word of his demand with an electrifying pulse of his hips. You arched your back into him, his name coming off your lips like thunder.

"That's it, darlin’."

Perverse sounds of wet skin slapping together and boisterous cries filled the cabin.

You were starting to see stars, your vision blurring as you focused on the pressure building in your insides, wanting so desperately for it to boil over. Your toes dug into the buckskin rug at your feet, trying to keep the rest of your body upright.

Arthur was a machine, pounding into you with the goal of bringing both of you to the edge. He didn't relent—didn't show any mercy for the mess you'd become under him. It was overstimulating in the best way possible.

You just needed a second, just one, to get your barrings. Attempting to scoot forward for that break was futile. Arthur moved with you, his length plunging deeper than ever.

"C'mere," he growled as his cock grazed against that sweet spot in the depths of your core, making you holler out and lose the little balance you had left. It didn't matter, though; he held you taught against him, pinning your body between him and the bed. Keeping one arm wrapped around you, the other touched you right where you craved.

"Now," he groaned into your ear, fingers circling your clit antagonizingly slow. A chuckle exited him as you melted to his touch. "Want you to come undone right here. Can you do that for me?"

Droplets of sweat fell from his head onto your back, and you moaned out, "Y-yes, Arthur."

You didn't take long then; a wave of warmth crashed over you as your velvet walls contracted around him, making the man curse into the now-hot cabin air. His hips kept their steady rhythm as you came, Arthur chasing his own climax now.

"Good girl, good girl, good girl," He moaned with every thrust as you clenched around him. He folded himself in half, once again putting his full weight on you, his heart pounding against your back like a drum. More erratic now, his rhythm lost its steady cadence as his balls tightened, his orgasm coursing through his veins.

He pulled out of you, one hand still gripping your side as the other one pumped furiously at his cock. Moaning, whimpering, and whining, Arthur threw his head back as hot spurts of his lust splattered across your back.

Hand falling from your hip, his breath slowed as clarity flowed back into his eyes. Using his discarded bandana, he wiped his sins away from your back before gently rolling you over. He scratched the back of his neck, a sly grin making home on his face as he watched you splayed out and spent. Arthur had gotten everything he'd ever wanted: a bed, four walls, and you.

[2cupids]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — dilf!jaemin x f!reader

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 — daddy k!nk, panty sniffing, p*ssy eating, f!ngering, pet names (princess, pretty girl, baby), reader’s in the fdau position. mdni (17+).

“did you miss daddy?” jaemin teasingly questions you while he’s face to face with your clothed pussy.

you hum, “missed you so much daddy.”

he presses a finger to your slick pussy lips, tracing their outline through your panties and making you gasp. you can feel your panties move as he pushes the fabric inside you with his finger, your wetness instantly soaking through the panties and onto his finger. a grin spread across his soft, plush lips, “i guess she missed me too.”

jaemin brings his face closer to your core and takes a deep breath, inhaling your intoxicating scent through your panties and it’s got your pussy clenching around air and has his dick twitching. he pulls them to the side and his eyes are glued to your pretty pussy, watching the way your arousal practically leaks out of you.

his middle and ring fingers are prodding at your entrance, further teasing you until he decides to slip both fingers in at once, barely giving you time to adjust to his thick fingers before he starts dragging them in and out of your slick core.

“always keeping this kitty nice and wet for daddy.” he says more so to himself, but it’s loud for you to hear. you whine and clench around his fingers, which he smirks at.

he lays his tongue flat against your clit, drawing circles around it before switching to using the tip of his tongue instead.

it’s been a while since you’ve had jaemin’s mouth on you and you’ve almost forgot how good it feels. you grind your hips back towards his mouth, driving his fingers deeper into your cunt and his tongue harder against your clit. jaemin groans against your core and the reverberations cause goosebumps to form on your skin and you moan into the pillows.

a few minutes have passed and now, he’s lapping at your clit like a dog and thrusting his fingers all the way into you until his knuckles meet your folds. you’ve created a steady rhythm so everytime you push your hips back it matches with the thrusts of his fingers.

“daddy.. so close,” you whine, knitting your eyebrows together as you put all your focus on coming undone all over jaemin’s fingers and face.

“yeah?” he asks, taking his mouth off you for a second before quickly going back in and attacking your sensitive clit.

your breathing starts to come in short, shallow breaths and you grip the sheets underneath you as you feel your orgasm getting closer by the second.

tears fill your eyes and you’re on the verge of cumming when jaemin suddenly stops what he’s doing and pulls away, watching as you clench around nothing.

jaemin licks his fingers clean while he waits for you to catch your breath and when you do, you turn over and lean back on your elbows. your wet eyes look up at him and you poke your glossy bottom lip out. “jae.. why did you stop?”

jaemin chuckles at you, realizing he’s the cause of this behavior and this is what he gets for constantly spoiling you. “i’m sorry princess, i just wanted you to cum on my dick instead.”

you sit up and cross your arms, still pouting. jaemin puts his hand on your thigh and proposes a way to make it up to you. “if you let me fuck you pretty girl, i’ll eat that sweet pussy later and put you to sleep. how does that sound?”

you tap your finger against your chin like you have to think long and hard of his proposal when you already accepted it before the words even left his mouth.

“hmm, i think i’d like that.” you uncross your arms and smile at him.

“really?,” jaemin asks, his voice dropping a few octaves as he crawls over to you, eyeing you like he’s a hunter and you’re the prey. “i knew you would baby.” he places a finger underneath your chin, lifting your face so he can kiss you as he guides you to lay down.

he grabs your scarf and hair tie off the nightstand and helps you tie up your braids, something he only does when he plans on fucking you for hours on end until you can’t remember your name.

yeah, this is going to be a long night.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Guilty as Sin?

Inspired by the Taylor Swift song because it has been stuck in my head and it’s just so Eddie coded

mechanic!Eddie x fem!reader

summary: Because of a misunderstanding, people think that you and Eddie slept together and are quick to judge you for it even though the only sex with Eddie you’ve had has all been in your head.

word count: 4.2k

cw, MDNI 18+ smut (p in v) hurt/comfort

Rain pattered against the building as you sat that the front desk, doodling on your little notepad, humming along to the song that was playing from your Walkman. The car repair shop where you worked had very little customers considering that it was morning and raining. You never minded when it was slow, though. You liked being able to just sit there and get paid to surf the internet or work on your drawings. In your mind, it was a win-win.

You could hear commotion coming from the back and could just tell that everyone’s favorite employee had showed up for their shift. You turned in your chair and watched Eddie Munson push through the door that led to part of shop where you were. He had yet to change into his uniform, dressed in a muscle tank and a pair of jeans. It was almost unfair that someone could be that attractive.

You turned back to your drawing and continued to doodle, trying to not make your attraction obvious. Sure, the two of you had been flirting for months, but that didn’t mean he needed to know just how much you wanted to be with him. He was just so cool and hot and you didn’t think that he felt the same way.

You felt Eddie’s hand rest on your shoulder as he leaned over to get a glimpse at what you were working on. He always complimented your skills and had even kept the little drawings you had given to him in his wallet, a reminder of his adorable coworker.

“What are you working on this time, trouble?” His mouth was right by your ear, the breath coming from his lips, tickling your skin. You closed your eyes, imaging what it would have been like having him whispering the dirtiest things into your ear while he pounded into you.

Your dirty thoughts had been getting out of hand as your crush on Eddie had progressed. Anytime you were around him, it was as if your mind had flipped a switch, the most impure thoughts taking over it.

You could practically imagine how it would all go; him saying the sweetest thing that juxtaposed the firm grip he had on your waist. Moans slipping past your lips as you left scratches down his back to signify your pleasure. Him thrusting into you fast and hard, claiming you as his and afterwards, he’d pull you into his arms, scrawling the letters M-I-N-E across your thigh to really signify that you belonged to him.

“Is that a turtle?” Eddie let out a chuckle and a chill ran down your spine at the feeling of his breath on your skin. “That’s so cute!” He gave your shoulder a squeeze and you finally turned to him, showing him the smile that he had grown very fond of.

You studied his face and noticed that he hadn’t shaved like he usually did. His facial hair was growing in quite nicely and you could practically imagine the way it would scratch against your skin as he kissed you roughly, taking exactly what he wanted from you as you were pliant underneath him.

“Even gave it a top hat.” You held the small piece of paper up to him and he took it, your fingers brushing as he did so.

You watched him hold the thing up to his face and chuckled at the fact that he never wore his glasses because he didn’t like the way they made him look. You supposed you could understand what he meant, but thought his need to see should have outweighed his want to look “cool.”

“This is really good. Mind if I keep it?” Who were you to say no when he was smiling at you, his chocolate eyes all warm and gooey?

“Of course I don’t mind.” He ripped the page from the pad then pulled his wallet from his pocket, carefully placing it with the cash he carried. He then closed the wallet before putting it back where he found it, patting the spot to make sure that it was safe and secure.

“So, what are your plans tonight?” He leaned on the counter, his face just inches from yours. You could smell the tobacco on his breath and even though you never liked the scent, it mixed nicely with whatever cologne he was wearing.

Eddie always asked what you were going to be up to after you got off work, but his tone sounded different…almost as if he was asking you out. But he couldn’t have been doing that, right? Maybe you were just reading too much into it.

You supposed that you would’ve never found out because right as you were about to answer, there was a lot of commotion coming from the shop. It wasn’t the usual yelling that you were used to, it was louder and angrier, tools clattering around as the screaming continued.

You rushed to the door that led to the shop, looking through the tiny window and you let out a loud gasp as you caught sight of Jason Carver. Eddie stood behind you and you turned to him, seeing his eyes widen in fear as he realized who you were looking at.

Jason’s head snapped in your direction and you grabbed onto Eddie’s shoulder, pulling him down with you as you ducked down out of Jason’s view. Despite your quick movements, he still caught sight of the metalhead, making a beeline for the door.

You didn’t know why, but you felt the need to protect Eddie. He had experienced so much shit in his life and you decided that he needed someone in his corner. Someone who would be there for him no matter what. And why couldn’t that someone have been you?

You grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him along, searching in panic for somewhere you could escape to. Your eyes locked on the supply closet across the room and you raced to it, opening the door as quickly as you could, pulling Eddie inside with you before shutting the door.

You pulled the string between the two of you and warm light spread through the room, showing you just how badly everything needed to be cleaned as dust covered every single surface and product that sat on the shelves behind Eddie.

You both stood there, catching your breath, trying to get your heart rates down. Your gaze locked on Eddie’s and your eyebrows furrowed, seeing that little sparkle of mischief in his chocolate eyes. Just by the look on his face, you could tell that he had been up to something. Something that had to with Jason Carver’s anger.

“You did something to Jason’s car, didn’t you?” You crossed your arms over your chest, raising one of your eyebrows. Eddie could never lie to you, but he was considering it, knowing that you wouldn’t be happy with what he had done. He couldn’t disappoint yet another person.

“Maybe,” he shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. You stepped closer to him in an attempt to intimidate him even though both of you knew that you couldn’t do it even if you tried.

“Maybe I cut his brake line.” He shrugged again, speaking so causally as if he was telling you the weather forecast.

“Eddie!” You gave his shoulder a shove. If Eddie had done it on his own time, you wouldn’t have bat an eye since you didn’t like Jason either, but you really didn’t want him to lose his job because he let his anger get the best of him.

“Hey, he deserved it,” he pointed at you. “He was walking through the shop all smug because he had gotten your number and was rubbing it in my face.” You weren’t sure where Jason would have gotten your number since you hadn’t given it to him. He had asked, but you had politely told him to fuck off.

“I didn’t give him my number.” You shook your head and Eddie stepped forward so the two of you were toe to toe.

“You didn’t?” His head titled to the side to the side. He should have known you well enough that you couldn’t have been paid to give your number to the guy.

“No, of course not. He’s an ass.” Eddie let out a sigh of relief. He had thought he had lost you for a second. Considering how much you both had shit talked Jason, he almost felt betrayed. He should have known it was all bullshit and that you wouldn’t have touched the guy with a ten foot pole.

“Which is exactly why I cut his brake line,” he grumbled. You reached and grabbed onto his arms, pulling him into a hug. He rested his head on your shoulder while his arms wrapped around your waist. He gave you a squeeze while your hands moved up to give his head a scratch.

You hadn’t hugged before in all the months of friendship, but you both had to admit that you liked it. It just felt natural. It was like two puzzle pieces fitting together with the way his head perfectly fit in your neck, your bodies pressed together.

“C’mon, Eds, let’s get out of here before we-” your words were cut off by the door being ripped open, the pair of eyes staring at the both of you in shock. You pushed Eddie away from you as quickly as possible and turned to face Mike-the person who had opened the door-fully, your face getting hot as if you and Eddie had been caught naked. All you had done was hug, nothing inappropriate at all.

“Were you guys-” You couldn’t even believe he was asking. You were fast, but not that fast. And as if you’d fuck in the supply closet where you worked. That was just unprofessional-but maybe you’d throw all of your morals out the window if Eddie had asked if you wanted to have a quickie.

“No,” Eddie cut him off. “We were hiding from Jason.”

“But you were-”

“Just hugging,” you finished. You knew that Mike was young and didn’t know much about sex, but you had hoped that even he knew that that wasn’t what you and Eddie were doing.

You headed back to the desk as Mike spread the rumor like wildfire. You didn’t know why he felt the need to tell people, especially since it wasn’t true. You could see him whispering to people and wondered why they believed him since he was known to spread to misinformation just because he thought it was funny. This however, was not.

Throughout your shift, other employees would pat you on the back in congratulations while the customers judged you with glares and some even insulted you, asking you why you would do such a thing at your place of work and most importantly, why you would have done it with Eddie, who was obviously a devil worshipper.

You couldn’t see why it was seen as a bad thing. Eddie had been a friend to you and he also just so happened to be super hot, which you didn’t understand why more people weren’t trying to hit that.

Okay, maybe you did understand why, but that didn’t mean you agreed. You thought that Eddie was just misunderstood. You had done a campaign with the Hellfire Club and could confirm that there was no satanic worship nor any cult behavior going on. In fact, it was actually just a ton of fun.

You walked home after your seemingly never-ending shift in anger, thinking about nothing but Eddie. You wanted to talk to him, but he left not long after the rumor had spread. You hadn’t blamed him at all. The whole town thought he was evil and now they thought that he had corrupted sweet, innocent you. They wouldn’t have thought you were so sweet and innocent if they saw what you had been thinking about Eddie.

You just wanted to apologize since it had technically been your fault. You honestly wouldn’t have blamed him if he never wanted to talk to you again. You thought it was what you had deserved for all the pain you had caused him.

Just as you pulled your phone out of your pocket to give him a call, Eddie’s van pulled up next to you. He rolled the passenger window down and you were confused by the bright smile on his face.

“Need a ride, trouble?” He asked, his smile getting wider. You didn’t want to be around him, but you figured that being in the air conditioned van was better than walking home in the blazing sun.

You just nodded and hopped into the passenger side, letting out a huff as you threw your purse down into the floorboard. You then slammed the door closed, eating for Eddie to drive, but didn’t. He just put the car in park and sat there, facing you, concern written all over his face.

He had a feeling he knew why you were upset, but was almost afraid to ask. Was he so bad that you had been offended that people had thought that the two of you had fucked in the supply closet? He knew about his reputation around, but he at least thought you were one of the good ones. He thought you were different.

Eddie choked down his fear and scooted as close to you as he could. He then reached out, pushing some hair behind your ear so he could see your pretty face. Your eyebrows were furrowed and you were picking at the skin around your nails, something that he noticed you did when you were upset or anxious.

“What’s going on, hm?” He asked, his voice soft, no judgment behind it. His hand rested on your shoulder and he gave it a reassuring squeeze as you turned to look at him.

The truth was that you were pissed off on Eddie’s behalf. If he was upset, he didn’t show it and that made you mad. If anyone deserved to be pissed off about anything, it was his. He had been the towns punching bag, taking blow after blow because he was accused of being something that he very much was not.

“God, why the fuck does everyone think that it’s their business what’s going on between us?” You turned in your seat to face him, trying to keep your cool but it annoyed you that he was so calm. “Why are you so okay with this? They’re spreading this stupid fucking rumor and there you are with that dopey smile on your face. What the fuck, Eddie?” Eddie’s heart broke at your words. He thought you would have considered it a compliment that people thought you guys had fucked. Maybe he had misread everything and read your flirting very wrong.

“I didn’t know that the thought of us fucking pissed you off so much,” he spit and you leaned back in confusion. You honestly had no idea what he was getting at. “My apologies. Whatever,” he turned back to the steering wheel and put his hand on the gear shift to put the van back in drive. You put your hand over his not wanting him to drive you home without knowing the truth.

“What are you talking about, Eddie?” You asked and his head snapped to you.

“What are you talking about?” It had been a long day and he wasn’t in the mood for an argument, especially not with you. He had lost too many people in his life and really couldn’t risk losing you. He just needed some time to cool off before he could forgive you.

“Do you want to know the reason why I’m pissed? I’m pissed because the rumor isn’t true.” For once, Eddie had absolutely no idea what you were talking about. Why would you have been upset that the rumor wasn’t true? Unless-yeah, no that absolutely wasn’t true. He must have misheard.

“What are you talking about?” Apparently you were going to have to spell it out for him. You took a deep breath and licked your lips before leaning closer to him, wanting him to see the sincerity in your eyes when you told him everything.

“I’ve wanted to sleep with you since the moment I met you, Eddie.” The man’s eyes widened at your confession. So he had been right. He didn’t know why he had doubted himself when the truth had been right in front of him. The very pretty truth.

“You have?” He face lit up as he leaned closer to you, bringing his lips between his teeth as he tried his best to hide his boner that was forming at the thought of actually fucking you. God, he had wanted you just as much as you wanted him. For once, his feelings were reciprocated.

“Yes,” your word came out breathy as you inched forward, your lips ghosting over his. As soon as the word left your mouth, Eddie brought his hand up to the back of you and pushed your face towards his.

His mouth crashed against yours, the kiss messy and rushed, the cause of months and months of pent up want. His hand moved to your jaw, moving your head so he could get more of you, taking exactly what he wanted from you.

The scruff of his unshaven face felt just as good as you imagined scratching at your skin as your hands grabbed onto Eddie’s shirt as your tongue slipped into his mouth, swirling around his own. The two muscles tangled together as you both tried your best to get closer to each other, your desperation getting the best of you.

Eddie’s other hand slid up your shirt, over your bra, squeezing your breast before massaging it the best he could with the fabric in the way. You pulled away as Eddie tried to chase your lips but he stopped when he realized what you were doing. He moved his hand away as you unhooked your bra and took it off before letting the thing clatter against the floor board.

You then took his hand and shoved it back up your shirt so he could continue his task. You placed your mouth back on his and he went back to massaging your tit, his thumb moving to your nipple, giving it the affection he thought it deserved with how hard it had become.

“Oh,” you let out a soft moan into his mouth and his cock hardened even more at the sound. He needed to be inside you at that moment or he swore he was going to cream his pants.

This time, Eddie was the one to pull away, your chests rising and falling at your labored breathing. He looked down at the skirt you were wearing, hoping, praying that you were as wet as he was hard. He had never needed anyone as much as he needed you, ready to have his way with you already.

“Do you want to move things to the back?” He asked, and you nodded enthusiastically, your eyes filling with lust as you did so.

You climbed over the seats and Eddie followed you, both of you kicking off your shoes and socks as you did so. Eddie fell on top of you as he got to the back and you both let out laughs but they quickly died down as his gaze shifted to your lips, nothing but fire behind them.

He pulled you in for a bruising kiss, his tongue finding yours quickly as both of your hands hurriedly undressed each other. Your shirts were off and you both let out gasps, you at his tattoos that you had no idea about and him because your tits were just as hot as he imagined.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmured as he brought his lips to yours once again. “The other women in town should be jealous. I bet they are.” Your cheeks burned at his compliments. They fell so easily from his lips and you knew that he always meant every word.

“Not true,” you scoffed as his mouth trailed kisses down to your neck.

“Very true,” he responded, peppering the spot with gentle kisses. “Want me to show you just how beautiful I think you are?” His lips were now by your ear and his hot breath sent shivers down your spine.

“Gonna be really mad if you don’t.”

“Good, because after this, you’re going to be mine.” He brought your earlobe between his teeth and gave it a soft bite, causing a gasp to fall from your lips.

His mouth was on your neck again as his fingers intertwined with yours. He lowered his body down onto yours as he gave the skin a hard suck, eliciting a moan from you.

“Eddie.”

“That’s right,” he chuckled. “Wanna make that sound again?” He gave your neck another suck and you moaned his name once again, the sound making Eddie even more hard.

He grazed your neck with his teeth as one of his hands traveled down to your skirt. He unbuttoned it and easily slid the thing out from under you, tossing it to the side. He teeth grazed your skin and you gasped loudly, your fingers digging into any skin you could find in response to the pleasure.

Eddie removed his mouth from your neck, admiring the red color that adorned it, shining with his spit. He then pulled his wallet out of his pocket. He grabbed a foil packet from it then tossed it aside. He removed his jeans and underwear and you sat up, wanting to get a view of his cock that definitely didn't disappoint. Beads of pre were dripping from it as he rolled the condom onto it and you felt your underwear dampen even more at the thought that he was finally going to be inside.

You pushed him so his back hit the floor and he let out a yelp as his eyes widened at your eagerness. You pressed your lips to his, letting your tongue roam around his mouth before pulling away. Eddie look up at you, his eyes filling with lust at the thought of you taking the reigns.

"I'm on top," you told him, pinning his wrists to the floor. Eddie gulped, his mouth going dry in response at your words. God you were so fucking hot and he hoped you knew that.

"Yes ma'am," he nodded, his breathing labored. You straddled him, slowly settling yourself onto Eddie's cock, the two of you moaning at the sensation. You rolled your hips into him as you slowly rode him, wanting to warm up before getting up to the pace that you usually liked.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he whimpered as you bucked against him.

"I know, honey. I hope you have a lot of energy because we're just getting started." You picked up the pace, riding him faster, watching him completely come undone below you. His eyes were shut tight and his pretty hair was fanned out on the floor. He looked so fucking hot and that image was definitely going to be burned into your brain forever.

Sex with Eddie had been everything you had ever wanted. He made all the noises that you had imagined and treated you with so much respect even though he was saying the most filthy things to you. Even though he hadn't written "mine" on your upper thigh, you couldn't have asked for a better partner, hoping that you could make fucking him a regular thing.

Your hands moved to his shoulder as you leaned over so his dick could reach further into your pussy, rolling your hips into his as his hands gripped your waist roughly. Your were both moving fast and hard, moan after moan falling from your lips as you reached your climaxes.

You climbed off of Eddie and after you did all of the proper things to clean the two of you up, you both laid down on the floor of the van. Eddie took one of the blankets that was folded up in the corner and draped it over your bodies, pulling your to him so you were flush to him.

He grabbed hold of your leg and draped it over his hip, holding it there with his hand as his other one reached up and wiped the sweat from your forehead. He placed a kiss to it and let his other hand lazily trace patterns along your skin, his chocolate eyes filled with so much affection.

"Can you guess what I'm writing?" He asked and you focused, trying to figure it out. His finger lightly wrote the first letter and you used all of the brain power that you had left to try and figure it out.

M-I-N-E was what he had written. You were sure of it. You had envisioned it so many times, practically feeling his fingers on your skin every single time.

"Mine," you replied so confidently before pulling him into a sweet kiss, smiling against his lips.

"Yep," he nodded, pressing a kiss to your nose. "You're mine now."

"As long as you're mine," you said, snuggling further into him, resting your head against his bare chest.

"I always was," he said with a smile that you couldn't see as he pecked the top of your head, resting his chin on top of it. After years and years of being rejected and called every single name in the book, after years of torment and resentment, Eddie finally got the girl.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Bestiary (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Your husband and you do not speak the same language. During your wedding night, you find out that High Valyrian and the Common Tongue pale when compared to the way your bodies allow you to communicate.

Warnings: Heavy smut, not much dialogue. P in V sex. First time.

A/N: Who would have thought the most enthusiastic consent I have ever written with Daemon would be in a fic with nearly no dialogue?

Being coached through your wedding vows is not a good omen for your marriage. At least, that is what your husband must think, by the thunderous look on his face. You fight the urge to scream at him that you have practiced for this moment and that you do not need to be coached through the vows. It would be no use. The two of you do not understand each other.

Everything is strange to you in Westeros, from the language to the wedding ceremony. They make you cut your lips and hand, in a procedure you do not enjoy. Your husband does the same. Your blood flows into a goblet, from which you will have to drink later on.

It's barbaric. You suppose it must symbolize the joining of bloodlines in the crudest way.

At least Daemon kisses you at the end, a cold brush of his lips against yours that tells you he is still mad. He had probably felt betrayed, being forced into this arrangement you entered willingly.

If you had known he was that petty, you would have not shown your hand so fast. Your father had wanted dragons, which meant becoming part of House Targaryen. Daemon was the only one available for you to ensnare in your web.

As any good hunter, you had watched your prey first, taking notes of his behavior. Only an afternoon was needed to understand you started the race with a disadvantage. His eyes followed Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys and her little daughter, but never lingered on other women.

While you might have lacked the silver hair, you did not lack the wits and charms necessary to be taken in consideration.

You had needed a few days to ready your song, but you had approached him not even a week later. He had been sitting in the library, so you had knocked on the table twice to draw his attention.

Daemon had lifted his eyes from the scroll he was reading, annoyed. He had a handsome face, decorated with age lines that only served to make him look more regal. He looked more the part of the King than his brother, a decaying corpse that you had heard had also acquired his own nubile bride.

Such was the fate of the daughters of powerful men. Sold to other powerful men, old enough to be their fathers, birthing them their own litter of sons and daughters. Sons that would grow up to become powerful men in their own right, daughters that would become pawns to establish dynasties. On and on it went.

Daemon had spoken then. His words were much harsher than those of the language you were used to, lacking the airy song of the languages similar to the one from the Rhoynar. You had not understood. You did not speak a lick of the Common Tongue.

No silver hair, no words, but plenty of resources. You had placed the book you had brought with you on the table, and looked at him.

His eyes had lit up with curiosity. He recognized the title. He spoke again, intrigued.

Despite his tone sounding much more auspicious, you had no other option than to shake your head and speak, with a tremulous voice.

“Bodmagho.” It's the only word you know, one that you have prepared especially for this. But just in case your pronunciation is not perfect, you open the book and mimic the gesture of passing the pages.

Daemon looks stunned. He says something else, still in the Common Tongue. You were able to tell from the intonation he was asking a question, but you didn't know what it was about.

“Bodmagho.” You repeated, stubbornly. You placed your book down and pointed to it.

Daemon sighed. He pointed to the chair. You sat, happy as a clam.

“Prince Daemon.” He pointed at himself. Then, to you. “Lady…?”

You told him your name. He nodded.

“Daor.” He shook his head. “No.”

You stared. He shook his head again. You understood that no, daor and shaking head meant the same.

“Daor. No.” You shook your head. Daemon squeezed your shoulder, a proud smile on his face.

Your father told you that afternoon that you were to be married to him. Just as you had made efforts to catch Daemon, your father had been setting his trap.

Daemon did not oppose, nor encourage the match, but he was angry at you. Angry that you knew before him and tried to charm him into doing your bidding.

Men like him, you learn, like to be the ones pulling the strings. They hate being treated like hounds, even if that is what they are.

You get no further lessons.

This is how you manage to get to your wedding feast only knowing two words. Teach and no. It makes you the most riveting company, and so, it's no wonder you are soon ushered into a chamber with your new husband.

You had not noticed before, but it is the first time you are alone with him since the morning at the library. To you, it had been a matter of no consequence. You had to marry a powerful man, one day. Your father decided it should be him because he wanted dragons. It was as simple as that.

As a rich man, your father had known rich men only get richer at times of unrest. And unrest was coming for the Seven Kingdoms. He could smell it in the air, hear it in the whispers of the common folk. Princess Rhaenyra wasn’t going to inherit without issue.

Your family moved here for that reason. An opportunity to get richer could not be dismissed. Your father had taken one look at the dragons and decided that they were the key to turning his legacy into an empire.

Giant war machines that could level castles in one afternoon. Raze a city to the ground in mere hours. Fire so hot it could melt stone. They could not be bought, you had to be a Targaryen to have them. It was only natural to turn into one, then.

Your children would get dragons. You would provide funds and as many children as you could, and House Targaryen the magic in their veins. Simple business transaction. But apparently, Daemon disagreed.

His face is thunderous. You can tell he is about to berate you. He starts talking, brows pinched together and an accusing finger pointed towards you.

Has he forgotten you do not speak his language? You step closer and poke his arm, hard.

It was the wrong choice. Daemon's face turns even more murderous. His lips twist into a snarl, teeth bared. His posture turns aggressive. He puffs up his chest, he advances on you. The Prince tries to intimidate you through his body language alone.

You are not a small woman. But you are young, and you do not train as much as he does. His looming over you feels menacing, and it reminds you once again of the fate his late wife was rumored to have suffered.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Daemon is forcing you to walk backwards, pushing your forehead and nose with his. You either move, or get a broken nose and a concussion.

Daemon is terrifying. You will not cross him again, you think to yourself. Only a fool goes around poking dragons with a stick. You feel your palms starting to sweat, a knot forming in your throat. You fight the urge to cry.

The back of your knees hits the mattress, and you fall into the furs with a small noise of surprise. Your husband does not lose any time. He gets right into your face, trying to intimidate you even more.

But if you hope to survive this marriage, to make it work as your father has requested, you can't bend. Daemon will never respect you if you do. He will see you as no more than a frightened girl, who will not disagree with him and serve for little beyond warming his bed. You are not that. You will build an empire, a dynasty out of his dragons and your wealth. The only thing you can do is persevere or break trying.

Daemon scowls at you. He notices the change in your eyes, the fight coming back to you.

“Daor.” You say, staring him down with all your might. It doesn't matter if you are lying down, and he is hovering over you, pinning you under him. You will triumph.

Daemon doesn't heed the warning. He starts tugging at the buttons of your bodice, tiny pearls sent flying all over the room. The gesture is as brutal as it is calculated. It is meant to remind you of your place, always under him from now on. Daemon has a right to your body, and he intends to exercise it as he sees fit. You are no more than an object, and if you cry or scream, it is not relevant.

Despite knowing why he is doing it, you can't avoid grimacing. He looks more beast than a man, snarling over you, ripping your clothes. It's a sight that would scare any woman, no matter how cold.

You look up at him. You give him your own little snarl. Daemon pauses. It's not the reaction he was expecting. He wanted you to cry. You would never give him the satisfaction.

It's a balancing act. You will have to bring him to heel, but soothe his pride in the next act, less he turns on you. Push away a man too much, and he will think you are disrespecting him. He will call you names, thinking you are the problem. Daemon feels entitled to you. You need to show him he is not, but that you are giving yourself to him. He needs to value you. The treasure to his dragon.

“Daor!” You say, firmly. You push him away. Whatever he anticipated, you giving him a fight wasn't something he was prepared for. It shows in the way he folds, stunned by your behavior. You give him hard little slaps to the chest, until you manage to get him off you.

Daemon's scowl turns more confused than angry. He looks at you as if you are a particularly challenging riddle to crack. He rightens his clothes and starts to retreat.

“Daor.” You repeat, grabbing at his shirt to keep him in place. You do not want him to leave.

Daemon wretches free from your grip on his arm. He mutters something, angered.

“Daor.” You use his trick against him, stepping right into his path and forcing him to back off. You use your body to make him advance backwards, toward the bed.

He sits on the edge of it, still scowling. You giggle, making Daemon madder still. You look at him with what you hope is a seductive expression and pull your bodice down.

“Bodmagho?” You ask him, as your dress pools around your feet, leaving you in a sheer shift. Daemon's eyes darken. His expression changes into an amused smile, and he gestures for you to come to him.

You do. You step closer and get on his lap. His hands envelop your waist, warm and calloused.

Then, the unexpected. Daemon grabs your hair and pulls, forcing your head back. You moan, pain and arousal mixing into an unknown emotion that makes the place between your legs slick.

You can feel his breath against your neck, making you shiver. His face comes closer, and closer. Daemon stares into your eyes, lips slightly parted. You mirror his expression, feeling as if you are being consumed by your lust.

He arches an eyebrow. Never been one to shy away from a challenge, you brush his lower lip with his thumb. Daemon parts his lips and sucks it in his mouth.

The shock must have shown on your face because he laughs, giving your thumb a playful bite. You squirm, instinct overpowering modesty, and roll your hips against his.

The two of you stare at each other. Closer, and closer, until his features blur, until two purple eyes turn into one. A dragon turned cyclops by the mere force of lust. There is hunger and want, and confusion. Both of you are so close that you are sharing the same air, the same breath. And Daemon pulls, and you are kissing, and you shake in his arms, feeling like how you think the gods must have felt when the cyclopes formed the lighting.

His hands go to greedily knead at your thighs, slipping under your shift. His palms feel rough against your skin, impatient. The shift rides up, up, up. You mewl against his mouth, desperately reaching for something unknown to you but that you know Daemon will help you reach.

You are restless as he pets you, biting at your mouth, hands sinking in his hair. You tug him towards your neck, knowing his kisses, scorching hot, would burn even sweeter along your nape and ears.

Daemon, though, has other plans. He pulls away and pecks you on the lips. “Vūjigon ” He says. He touches his mouth. “Vūjigon”

You kiss him, softly. “Vūjigon”

He pets your hair.

“Vūjigon.” And he points to his collarbones. You frown in confusion, thinking perhaps the word doesn't mean what you think it does. He sighs and leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the space between your collarbones.

“Vūjigon.” You perk up, and start kissing his shoulders. Your hands pull his shirt more open, letting you bite and lick more of his flesh. The urge to consume and be consumed is overpowering, making you desperate to touch him.

Daemon laughs. He pulls you upwards. Can't he see you are starving?

“Daor.” He says, when you try to go back to it. You give him your fiercest pout. Daemon tuts at you.

He squeezes one of your breasts, making you moan, before cruelly twisting the bud. You gasp, your nails digging on his naked shoulders.

“Shhh.” Daemon soothes you, his hand going to squeeze your breast tenderly once more. “Daor?”

You don't know how to tell him what you want, so you grab his hand and make him pinch the tender bud again. Daemon smiles. He kisses you, muttering something fervently on your lips.

He lays you down on the bed, despite your attempts to sit up. Daemon pins you down with a growl, hand on your chest.

You can't help it. No matter the warning, you squirm as if you were in pain. It certainly feels like it. There is some sort of hunger in your belly, making you want to rub your core against him. You can feel your shift starting to become wet right above your tailbone. Daemon has you so bothered you are dripping into the shift and the bed.

Daemon gives you another growl and leans down to bite your breast over the fabric of your shift. It's meant to be punishment, but you arch into it, gasping.

He laughs. He takes as much of it as it can fit in his mouth, sucking greedily. The noises are obscene. The sight must be, too. Your mouth, open, moaning yourself into a frenzy. Daemon, nipping, biting, sucking, like a man starved. Your shift with two giant wet spots, one at the chest and the other by your arse.

You moan, surprised at the feeling. You had never thought bodies could be used in such a way before. Nor had you hoped for him to please you so eagerly.

His lips close around your bud. His tongue twirls around it, lavishing it with attention. You grab at his hair, his nape, desperately trying to hold onto something. Daemon just sucks harder on your breast. You moan, and moan, and moan some more. Desperate little sounds, gathering in the air around a desperate girl.

He switches to your other breast. Your shift feels sticky on your skin, so you start trying to take it off. The task distracts you enough for his hand to find its way to your core, and you squeak at the first sensation of his fingers against it.

Daemon smiles against your skin. He presses a finger inside you, and you squeal some more. He lets go of your breast to better gaze into your overwhelmed face, seemingly getting an enjoyment out of it.

Another finger joins the first. You cry out. It stings a bit. Daemon shushes you, kissing your cheek. He rubs at something above your opening that makes you squirm in delight.

His other hand comes into your sight. Daemon makes a gesture, two fingers together, separating. You stare. He nuzzles you, his cheek against yours, before repeating it.

You nod with a pout.

He starts prying you open slowly, this time. Despite enjoying causing pain, it appears your cooperation has granted you privileges with Daemon. He understood the distress on your face, and read you correctly enough to know it was not going to go well if he kept going as he was.

Daemon rubs at your shoulders, soothingly. You understand you need to relax, and force your body to do so. He kisses you in reward, slow and sweet, coaxing you to him.

You nod again. Daemon moves back, settling himself by your side. He takes your shift away, pressing soft little kisses to each new inch of skin revealed.

The sudden removal of your last layer makes you shiver a little. Your skin is wet from his previous ministrations and rapidly cooling. You plaster yourself to him, seeking warmth.

He chuckles, grabbing your arse to move you slightly out of the way. You scowl, not sure why Daemon is doing so, until you realize he is taking off his breeches.

“Daemon.” You whisper, softly. There is a part of you that is already cringing at the promise of pain the loss of your maidenhead will bring.

“Daor?” He asks you, one of his hands petting your cunt. It makes you shiver.

“Bodmagho.” You grasp at his shoulders, steadying yourself. Daemon lines the two of you. You feel his member at your entrance, holding you open and threatening to spear you apart. It feels scorching against your skin.

He helps you impale yourself on his member. It's not pleasant at first. Property dictates that you should not let him see your discomfort. You should just bear it like a good wife and allow him to chase his pleasure unbothered.

But you know Daemon enjoys causing pain. He thrives on it. So you let your eyes fill with tears, and your face goes slack and overwhelmed.

He smiles. He licks your tears away, and mumbles something. You squeal, and it only excites him more.

“Bodamagho.” Daemon pinches the flesh on your hip, clearly calling you to focus. His hands move your pelvis back and forth, back and forth, until you are hissing in pleasure, your hands on his chest, doing the movement yourself.

“Vūjigon.” You demand, moving your hips just like he taught you. Daemon is too focused on aiding you bounce by thrusting upwards to pay attention to you. When he doesn't obey, you give a tug to his hair.

He snarls at you. You snarl back. So he grabs your wrists and pushes sideways, and suddenly, you are under him and Daemon is still thrusting into you.

You are desperate for closeness. You scrunch up your face and wrap your legs around his back. Daemon looks down at you, and bites your shoulder. He is not pleased with your perceived attempt to take control.

Realizing your mistake, you shake your head.

“Daor.” You rub at his back with your foot, gently. You hold him close, and nuzzle his neck, delighting in his scent. Never you had thought before you would enjoy the smell of sweat and some sort of aromatic oil, yet here you are. “Vūjigon.”

Daemon's expressions softens. He leans in and gives you a kiss. You make pleased, chirping noises, trying to show him that was precisely what you wanted.

He complies, releasing your hands. You enthusiastically hug him. It helps you anchor yourself against the unrelenting waves of pleasure.

His hands, now freed from yours, are everywhere. Twisting your buds, rubbing at your pearl, squeezing your waist. Daemon whispers nonsense in your ears, takes the lobe between his teeth. He aids you, tilting your hips with his hands, reaching deeper.

You heard a story once, about Westeros. A white hart was said to come to the greatest Kings alive. A magnificent beast, tall as a man, with skin made of the purest snow and antlers as long and imposing as the branches of an ancient tree. If a King encountered it, it was a good omen for his rule. It would be just and prosperous, blessed by the Gods.

What did they do with the hart? Keep it in Kingswood, perhaps? You had made the mistake of asking, once. You had been told that they used the best spear they had. That men held the hart down, and they gutted it from head to belly.

The perfect, regal beast, fur as pale as snow. The pristine white sheets under you. Blood tainting the white. What a way to go.

You understood then why they called it a small death. You were sweating, squealing like a beast being gutted, thighs trembling under Daemon's hands. It was too much and too little, and you felt yourself reaching it, yearning for it.

You did not care if you burned, moth to a flame, maiden to a dragon. Daemon seemed to realize it because his hand went to rub at your pearl, and he leaned in.

“….” He was talking, but it was in that strange language of his, and your ears were ringing, you felt about to explode. Your body responded to his tone, though. Gentle, loving, coaxing you over the edge with a scream so fierce you might as well have been one of those weeping women that appeared far north.

Daemon grinned at you. A fierce, proud expression, eyes crinkling in the corners. You pulled him into a kiss, and raked your nails down his back, feeling the skin yield like butter under your fingers. It spurred him on, and with a gasp and a bite to your shoulder, Daemon was shattering inside you.

He collapsed on top of you with a laugh. You smiled. Daemon pulled you to rest, back flush against his chest, and you understood each other better than those who spoke the same, common tongue, did.

[elikajinnie]

I Love You To The Moon And Back - S.J

P: Lycan!Jake X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Suggestive Content, Minor Angst, Possessive Behaviour, Feral Behaviour, Minor Injuries, Falling In Love.

Synopsis: You and Jake have been best friends since childhood, but as you grow feelings for him, you notice changes in his behavior, leaving you to wonder what happened to him. And you’re determined to uncover the truth

a/n: idk, i honestly dont know. i have been digging the horror au tbh.

𓃦

The swing creaked beneath you, your legs dangling, feet brushing lightly against the woodchips beneath. It was your first day at this new school, and you didn’t know anyone yet. The other kids seemed to already have friends, running around the playground, laughing in groups. You had wandered over to the swings to avoid feeling completely out of place, gently kicking your feet to push yourself higher, but not too high. You didn’t want to stand out too much, after all.

Then, out of nowhere, you felt the swing jerk forward, a gentle push. Startled, you gripped the chains tighter, turning your head to see a boy standing behind you, his small hands still on the swing. He was smiling, a carefree grin, his messy brown hair falling slightly over his eyes.

“What are you doing?” you asked, trying to sound braver than you felt.

“Playing,” he said simply, giving you another push.

You blinked, unsure what to say at first, but his easygoing smile made you feel less nervous. As the swing gained a bit of height, you found yourself smiling too, the butterflies in your stomach slowly settling. After a few more pushes, he ran around to the front, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “I’m Jake,” he said, squinting slightly in the sunlight.

You told him your name, and without missing a beat, he asked, “Wanna play?”

It wasn’t long before the two of you were running across the playground, chasing each other, laughing. You climbed on the jungle gym, played tag, and pretended the ground was lava, hopping from one safe island to the next.

By the time the bell rang, calling everyone back inside, you had a new friend. And as you walked back to class together, you knew that somehow, this day didn’t feel quite so scary anymore.

𓃦

Years passed, and you and Jake stayed inseparable. Even as you both grew up and started exploring different interests, nothing ever seemed to drive a wedge between you. While other childhood friendships faded, lost in the chaos of school, new hobbies, and changing social circles, you and Jake never drifted apart.

Middle school came, and with it, new groups of friends. Jake found his way into the soccer team, while you got into art, spending hours after school in the art room. You both made new friends along the way, but no matter how busy life got, there was always time for each other.

After practice, Jake would wait for you outside the art room, kicking a soccer ball against the wall while you finished up a drawing. Some days, you'd sit together, your sketchbook on your lap as he tried—and often failed—to draw something that wasn’t a stick figure. You’d laugh, telling him it looked like a "weird, sad robot," but he’d always insist it was "modern art." He would tease you endlessly about your doodles, and you’d remind him how bad his drawings were—but you’d still show up for his games, cheering him on from the stands.

High school brought even more changes. Jake became more popular, his team winning matches, and he started hanging out with the soccer crowd. You found your own little circle with the art club and theater kids. At times, it seemed like your lives were taking different directions. But it didn’t matter. After every win, after every school event, after every late-night study session, the two of you would find each other.

Sometimes, you'd meet at the old playground, the same swings still there, creaky but familiar. It became your spot, a place to talk about everything. Jake would tell you about his latest soccer game, the pressure he felt from his team and coach. You'd talk about your art, about the projects you were working on and the ideas you had.

When things got hard, when life felt overwhelming, it was Jake who’d be there. He’d show up at your door after a tough day, throwing pebbles at your window just like in the movies. And when he needed a break from the noise of everyone else, you’d sit together in quiet understanding, whether it was in your room or out by the swings, finding comfort in each other’s presence.

Even with different interests, different friends, and different paths, one thing never changed—you always had time for each other. It didn’t matter how busy life got, or how much things changed around you. You both made the effort, the little moments adding up over the years, a constant reminder that some friendships are just meant to last.

Because at the end of the day, Jake wasn’t just your best friend. He was home.

𓃦

It was one of those quiet afternoons, the kind where the world felt just a bit slower, perfect for getting lost in a book. You were sitting on the bleachers, absorbed in the romance novel you’d been devouring for the past few days. The plot had you hooked—an unlikely love story full of tension, banter, and those heart-fluttering moments that made you wonder if such things actually happened in real life.

As you flipped a page, you heard the familiar sound of sneakers scuffing the pavement. Jake came strolling up beside you, twirling a football between his hands, a mischievous grin already spreading across his face. “What’s this?” he asked, peeking over your shoulder. “Another one of those sappy romance novels?”

You shot him a playful glare. “It’s not sappy! And it’s not cliché like you think.”

“Oh yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Prove it.”

Without thinking, you flipped to a scene you’d just read, your finger hovering over the paragraph. It was a moment where the main character, after teasing the heroine endlessly, finally leans in close, says something flirty that catches her off guard, and leaves her completely speechless.

You handed him the book. “Here. Read this.”

Jake skimmed the passage quickly, his grin widening as he realized what it was about. "This? Really?" He set the book down on the bleacher and leaned toward you, his face only inches from yours, just like the scene. You could see the amusement dancing in his eyes as he lowered his voice, mimicking the character. “You know,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing, “if you wanted me to flirt with you, you could’ve just asked.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and your face instantly flushed. You hadn’t expected him to actually do it. Jake, noticing your reaction, let out a soft chuckle, his smile widening even more. He lightly nudged your shoulder with his own, that boyish charm never far from his teasing. “Wow, didn’t think I’d get you all flustered,” he laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “Guess the book’s rubbing off on you.”

Before you could recover, he gave you a playful wave and jogged off toward the field, calling over his shoulder, “Catch you later, romance expert!” He had no idea how those simple words left you sitting there, your heart racing, your mind swirling with thoughts you didn’t quite understand.

In the days that followed, things began to shift ever so slightly between you two. Jake seemed to take notice of how easily he could make you blush, and he started teasing you even more. He’d drop little flirty comments when you least expected it, his tone always playful, but there was something in the way he’d look at you that made your stomach flip. Whether it was during lunch, on the walk home, or just hanging out after school, he’d find ways to make your heart race.

Like when he’d lean close to you in the hall, his breath warm against your ear, and whisper something like, “Careful, someone might think you’ve got a crush on me,” before laughing and leaving you speechless. Or how he’d casually drape an arm over your shoulder, his touch light but lingering just enough to make you feel flustered. You tried to brush it off as just Jake being Jake, but something inside you was starting to shift.

One afternoon, sitting with your friend Wonyoung during study hall, you finally let it slip. “I don’t know what’s happening,” you admitted, staring down at your notebook but not really seeing it. “Lately, Jake’s been teasing me more, like… flirting teasing. And it’s different. Every time he does it, I get these… butterflies. It’s confusing.”

Wonyoung looked at you for a long moment, her smile widening like she had been waiting for this. “Girl, you’re not confused. You’ve got a crush on him.”

Your heart dropped at the realization. “What? No, I mean… we've been best friends forever. It’s just Jake.”

But as soon as Wonyung said it, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The butterflies, the way your heart would race when he teased you, the sudden flush of heat whenever he got close. You were starting to see him differently. Maybe, somewhere along the way, between the teasing, the years of friendship, and those moments where it felt like he was more than just your best friend… maybe you had started falling for him without even realizing it.

After Wonyoung’s words that day, something shifted inside you, even though you tried to ignore it. You didn’t say anything to Jake, of course. How could you? The idea of bringing it up felt terrifying, like crossing an invisible line between what you had always known and something completely new and uncertain.

Still, her words stuck with you. No matter how hard you tried to push them aside, they lingered, sneaking up on you at the most unexpected moments—when you were with Jake, especially. It didn’t matter if you were at his house playing video games, or on the football pitch, where he would call you over, grinning as he tried to teach you how to kick the ball properly. Even when he waited for you after art class, leaning against the wall with that easy smile of his, chatting about his day or teasing you about your latest drawing, you couldn’t help but feel it.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the flutter in your stomach whenever he looked at you a certain way, or the warmth that spread through your chest when he laughed at your jokes. The feelings were suffocating, growing with every interaction but always kept hidden behind the careful mask of friendship.

Even in the library, when you sat across from him at a table—him with his head buried in textbooks, you with your nose in a novel—you were painfully aware of how close he was. You could hear the scratch of his pen on paper, the occasional sigh as he concentrated on his work, and every now and then, his foot would brush against yours under the table, sending a shock of awareness through you. But you said nothing.

On the bus to and from school, when you sat together in your usual spot, Jake would always lean his shoulder against yours, sharing his earbuds or cracking jokes that made you smile despite the growing knot in your chest. His presence was comforting, as it had always been. And yet now, it felt like there was something between you that you couldn’t name, something that made the air feel thicker, harder to breathe. Still, you kept it to yourself.

Science class was no better. You were partners, as always, sitting side by side during experiments, laughing at Jake’s terrible attempts to handle the beakers and test tubes. His hand would brush against yours accidentally as you worked, and every time it happened, you’d tense up, hoping he wouldn’t notice how flustered you were becoming. But he never seemed to, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. He’d just continue on, the same way he always had, making you laugh like it was the easiest thing in the world.

The worst was the mornings, though. Jake had always shown up at your door to walk with you to the bus stop, like clockwork. He’d stand there with his backpack slung over one shoulder, grinning as you made your way outside. You’d talk about everything and nothing as you walked, your footsteps in sync, and it felt like you were both stuck in this perfect little bubble, where nothing had changed. But inside, you felt like you were suffocating. The unspoken feelings weighed on you, heavy and constant, and every time Jake smiled at you, it made it harder to keep pretending everything was the same.

And then there were the swings. The old playground had always been your special place, the spot where everything began, where the world had felt simpler. You’d sit there together after school sometimes, talking about your days, your dreams, your lives. But now, even the swings felt different. You’d sit beside him, your feet barely touching the ground, and all you could think about was how close he was, how easy it would be to lean just a little closer. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

So you stayed quiet, never saying a word, not even when the tension inside you became too much to bear. The feelings built up, day by day, moment by moment, until it felt like they were choking you. You wanted to tell him, to ask him if he felt it too, but the fear of ruining everything—the friendship you cherished so much—kept you silent.

And so, you kept pretending. Kept playing along, even though it was slowly suffocating you.

𓃦

You were sprawled across your bed, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows on the walls as you watched your latest obsession—a series about werewolves. The plot had taken a dramatic turn, and you were completely absorbed, leaning into the tension on the screen when you heard your door creak open.

Without tearing your eyes away from the show, you huffed, “Mom, I’m not hungry right now.”

But instead of your mom’s voice, you heard a familiar chuckle. “Good thing I’m not your mom.”

Your head snapped up, and there he was—Jake, standing in the doorway with that ever-present grin. He walked in like he owned the place, barely giving you time to react before he plopped down right next to you on the bed, making the mattress bounce beneath you. “Werewolves, huh?” he asked, glancing at the TV with mock seriousness. “And you said my interests were crazy.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth that spread through your chest the moment he settled beside you. “It’s not crazy. This show’s actually really good.”

Jake smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What’s next? Vampires? Maybe some shirtless brooding guy who’s half-wolf, half-whatever?”

“Shut up, it’s not like that,” you muttered, but before you could say anything more, Jake’s fingers found your side, poking you playfully.

“Oh, really?” he teased, continuing to poke you until you squirmed away, trying to bat his hands off. “C’mon, what is it? Secret romance between the werewolf and the girl? Or does she turn out to be a werewolf, too?”

“Stop!” you laughed, trying to shield yourself from his jabs. But he didn’t stop—he never did. His pokes turned into full-blown tickling, and you were soon in fits of laughter, squirming on the bed as you tried to push him away. Jake, of course, was relentless, his fingers digging into your sides as he grinned down at you.

“Jake!” you gasped between breaths, your laughter uncontrollable as you twisted and turned, trying to escape his attack. “I swear—stop!”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he stopped, flopping down beside you with a triumphant grin. You caught your breath, glaring at him, and landed a light punch on his arm. “You’re the worst.”

He laughed, rubbing his arm dramatically like you’d actually hurt him. “Hey, just keeping you entertained.”

You both lay there for a moment, the sounds of the werewolf series filling the room, the earlier tension from his teasing melting away. Without thinking too much about it, you shifted a little closer, and Jake, ever comfortable, wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his side. It felt natural, familiar—like you’d done it a hundred times before.

You settled into the warmth of his embrace, your head resting on his chest as his fingers absently traced circles on your arm. The weight of his arm around you was comforting, grounding, and for a second, it felt like nothing had changed between you two. Just like it always had been—best friends, close as ever.

“Alright, I’ll give this show a chance,” he said after a beat, his voice softer now, more relaxed. “But if there’s some cheesy love triangle, I’m out.”

You couldn’t help but smile, even though your heart was still racing a bit from the tickling—and from the way you were curled up against him. “Deal,” you murmured, your eyes drifting back to the screen, though your thoughts were far from the drama playing out in front of you.

As the episodes continued, the two of you lay there, cuddled together, and for a while, it felt like everything was normal. Like nothing had changed. Like it was just another day with Jake, watching TV, laughing, and being wrapped up in each other’s company.

But beneath the surface, the feelings you had been pushing down—the butterflies, the warmth, the way your heart fluttered whenever he touched you—were impossible to ignore. You told yourself it was just the comfort of your friendship, the way it had always been. Just like friends do… right?

But deep down, you knew things weren’t as simple as that anymore.

𓃦

Graduation day came quicker than you expected. You stood in the sea of caps and gowns, clutching your diploma, feeling a mixture of pride and dread. While everyone else seemed thrilled about what was next—about new beginnings and new places—your heart was stuck in the in-between, not ready to let go of the familiar. Jake found you after the ceremony, that wide grin on his face, as he pulled you into a tight hug.

“I can’t believe we’re going to the same uni!”

You smiled back, trying to match his enthusiasm. He looked so happy, and of course you were glad—relieved, even—that he’d be there. But deep down, something felt off. Maybe it was the weight of everything that had been building over the past few years, the growing feelings you still hadn’t found the courage to face. Being with Jake every day, pretending like things hadn’t changed between you, felt both comforting and terrifying. You nodded and said, “I know Jake! I’m so happy.”

The smile you gave him was genuine, but the anxiety underneath it was real too. You weren’t ready to unpack it, so you buried it deeper, pretending everything was just like it always had been.

Summer vacation arrived, and for a little while, everything went back to normal. The usual hangouts, lazy afternoons, and spontaneous adventures. But then one afternoon, while you were at Jake’s house, he broke some unexpected news.

“Hey, so… I’ve got something to tell you,” Jake said casually, tossing a soccer ball up and catching it as you both lounged on the couch.

You looked at him curiously. “What’s up?”

“I’m going away for a few weeks,” he said, grinning like a kid with a secret. “Family trip. We’re flying out in a few days.”

Your stomach dropped, but you tried not to let it show. “Oh… wow, that’s amazing,” you said, forcing a smile. “You’ll have the best time.”

Jake seemed oblivious to the little hitch in your voice. “Yeah, I’m really excited. But don’t worry,” he added, his smile softening, “I’ll text you every day. I’ll send you a million pictures, and we can still video call, okay?”

You nodded, your chest tightening. “Of course. Every day,” you agreed, giving him a playful nudge to keep the mood light.

The day he left came too quickly. You stood in front of his house, the early morning sun casting long shadows on the driveway as Jake loaded his suitcase into the car. You knew you’d see him again in a few weeks, but the thought of not having him around for even that short time felt strange.

When he finally walked over to say goodbye, you couldn’t help but throw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. You felt him hug you back just as firmly, his chin resting on the top of your head for a moment. “I’ll miss you,” he said softly, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak right away, so you just nodded into his chest, squeezing him a little tighter. “Miss you too,” you finally murmured.

As he pulled back and grabbed his bags, you forced yourself to smile again, waving as he got into the car. “Text me when you land!” you called, your voice a little too cheerful.

“I will!” he shouted back with a grin, giving you one last wave before the car pulled away, taking him to the airport. You stood there long after the car disappeared, feeling like something was tugging at your heart, pulling you in two different directions.

𓃦

For the first week, things went exactly as Jake promised. Every day, without fail, your phone would buzz with messages from him—pictures of the cobblestone streets, snapshots of old buildings, random selfies where he’d make some goofy face just to make you laugh. He’d text about everything he saw, about how much fun he was having, but how he still missed home. How he missed you.

You’d text back just as eagerly, sometimes staying up late to video call when he found a quiet moment between exploring and family dinners. Seeing his face on the screen, hearing his laugh, made the distance feel smaller, like he wasn’t halfway across the world. Even though your feelings for him were still swirling in that confusing, unspoken space, you were content.

But then, something changed.

At first, it was small. Messages taking a little longer to be delivered. You didn’t think much of it; after all, he was traveling and probably busy. You told yourself it was fine. Normal, even.

Then the delays became longer. His texts would come hours late, and when you’d reply, your messages would sit there, marked as "Delivered," but no response would come. You’d send a couple more, asking if everything was okay, but still—nothing.

The video calls stopped altogether. You’d sit there with your phone, waiting for that familiar ringtone, hoping for the notification that never came. You started calling him, hoping to catch him during a break, but every time it went straight to voicemail. You listened to the same generic message over and over until you stopped trying altogether.

Days passed, then a week. The silence was gnawing at you, growing heavier with every unanswered text, every missed call. You told yourself it was just because he was busy, that maybe his phone wasn’t working properly. But deep down, you knew something felt wrong.

Sitting on your bed one evening, your phone in hand, you stared at the last message you’d sent him. It had been two days. Two days of nothing but silence from the person you talked to every single day for as long as you could remember. You scrolled up through the chat, rereading the messages you’d exchanged—the jokes, the casual “I miss you,” the pictures of his trip. But now, everything felt distant, as if the closeness between you was slipping away.

With a sigh, you sent one last message, a simple, “Are you okay? I miss hearing from you.”

You watched the message shift to "Delivered" once again. And just like the others, it sat there, unanswered, as your chest tightened with the weight of the silence.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, and after days of silence, you decided you had to reach out to someone who might know what was going on.

With a deep breath, you dialed Jake’s mom, your heart racing as the phone rang. You felt a wave of relief wash over you when she finally answered, her warm voice a comforting sound amidst your anxiety.

“Hello?” she said, and you could hear the faint sounds of life around her—distant chatter, the clinking of dishes.

“Hi, Mrs. Sim, it’s me. I was just checking in on Jake,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your stomach.

“Oh, hello, dear! I’m glad you called,” she replied, her tone brightening. But then, you noticed a shift, a slight hesitance in her voice. “Um, Jake hasn’t been feeling very well. He’s been locked in his hotel room for a few days now.”

Your heart dropped at the news. “Oh no, I—I didn’t know. Is he okay?”

“He’s just been a bit under the weather. Nothing serious, but he’s been resting and trying to recover,” she explained, her voice laced with concern. “I think he might just be feeling overwhelmed. Traveling can be a lot, especially for someone like Jake who hates missing out on anything.”

You felt a mixture of relief and worry. At least he hadn’t decided to cut you out of his life completely, but the thought of him feeling unwell and isolated made your chest ache. “Is there anything I can do? I’d love to talk to him or help in any way.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll let him know you called, and maybe it’ll lift his spirits a bit,” she said kindly. “He loves talking to you. You’re a good friend to him.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Sim” you replied, your heart warming at her words. “Just let him know I’m thinking of him, okay?”

“Of course. I’ll keep you updated. Take care, sweetheart,” she said before ending the call.

You set your phone down, a whirlwind of emotions flooding your mind. You felt better knowing he wasn’t purposely ignoring you, but the worry still gnawed at you.

For the next few days, you kept your phone close, hoping for a message or a call from him. You tried to focus on other things—hanging out with friends, reading, and enjoying the last of your summer—but your thoughts kept drifting back to Jake. You wondered how he was doing, if he was feeling any better, and if he’d return to you once he was back in the groove of life.

That night, as you lay in bed, you found it hard to sleep, thoughts of him swirling in your mind. You wished you could be there, to comfort him and remind him that he wasn’t alone, even if he was miles away.

𓃦

One afternoon, your phone rang, jolting you out of your thoughts. The screen lit up with Jake’s name, and you felt a rush of relief and excitement. You answered quickly, your heart racing.

“Jake! How are you?” you asked, the words tumbling out before you could even think.

“Hey! I’m… I’m okay,” he replied, his voice slightly strained but attempting to sound casual. “Just had a bit of a stomach flu, that’s all.”

Your heart sank at his words. “A stomach flu? Is that really all? You sounded… rushed.”

He hesitated for a moment, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his mind. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a few days to rest and get better. You know how it is.”

“Are you sure? You don’t sound fine,” you pressed gently, trying to keep your voice calm. “Have you seen a doctor? I’m really worried about you.”

“Really, I’m okay! Just a little weak, but nothing I can’t handle,” he insisted, though the slight quiver in his voice gave away that he wasn’t as reassured as he wanted you to be.

You could hear faint noises in the background, muffled voices and the sound of footsteps. It made your stomach churn. “Where are you right now?”

“In the hotel,” he replied quickly. “Just had to step out for a second. It’s not a big deal; I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Your heart ached at how much he was trying to downplay it. “Jake, if you need anything… I mean, I wish I could be there with you. Just tell me the truth. You don’t have to act tough for me.”

A pause stretched between you, filled only with the sound of his shallow breaths. “I know, and I appreciate that. But really, I’ll be okay. I just need to take it easy for a bit, and I’ll be back home before you know it.”

You sighed, feeling a mix of relief and lingering concern. “Alright, but if it gets worse, promise me you’ll see a doctor. I don’t want you to push yourself too hard.”

“Deal,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice, though it didn’t quite reach his tone. “I’ll keep you posted, okay? Thanks for worrying about me.”

“Of course I worry about you! You’re my best friend,” you said, your voice softening. “I just want you to be healthy and happy.”

“Trust me, I’ll get back to being my usual self soon,” he reassured you, though you could hear the weariness beneath his words. “And then, we’ll catch up like crazy. I’ve got stories to tell you, and you’ll be sick of hearing me.”

You laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood. “I could never get sick of you. Just focus on getting better.”

“Will do. I’ll text you later, alright? I might need a distraction from all this hotel room boredom,” he said, and you could almost picture him leaning back against the wall, trying to play it cool even while you knew he was still feeling unwell.

“Okay, I’ll be here,” you replied, hoping to convey your support through the screen.

“Talk soon!” he said before hanging up, leaving you with a lingering worry in your heart. You stared at your phone, feeling a mix of relief and concern. While you were grateful to hear his voice, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still holding back.

In the days that followed, you couldn’t help but check your phone constantly, hoping for another call or message from him.

After all, that’s what friends were for, right?

After what felt like an eternity, Jake finally returned home. You could hardly contain your excitement as you made your way to his house, your heart racing at the thought of seeing him again. You knocked on the door, and when it swung open, you were greeted by a familiar face that felt both comforting and disheartening all at once.

Jake stood there, looking a little rough around the edges. His hair was messier than usual, longer than it had been when he left, and he wore a faded t-shirt that hung loosely on his frame. Dark circles under his eyes hinted at the exhaustion he must have felt after his ordeal, and your heart ached for him.

“Hey!” he said, a tired smile breaking through as he stepped aside to let you in.

“Hey,” you replied, trying to keep your voice light. But you couldn’t hide the concern in your eyes as you took in his appearance. “Wow, you look… different.”

He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been through a lot these past few weeks. Just trying to catch up on sleep and everything.”

You stepped inside and closed the door behind you, your eyes never leaving him. “Are you good? Really?”

He paused for a moment, meeting your gaze. “I’m okay,” he reassured you, though the way he said it made you wonder just how much of that was true. “Just a little tired. Traveling takes a lot out of you.”

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “It’s more than just traveling, isn’t it?”

Jake sighed, glancing away for a moment. “Yeah, it was tough over there. I didn’t expect to get sick, and then I just… I don’t know. It kind of hit me hard.”

You took a step closer, feeling the urge to comfort him. “You should have let me know. I worried about you, you know.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for the radio silence,” he said, his voice softening. “I didn’t want to worry you more than I already had. I thought I’d bounce back quicker, but… it just took longer than I expected.”

You nodded, biting your lip as you fought back a wave of emotion. “I’m just glad you’re back now. That you’re okay,” you said quietly.

He smiled, a genuine warmth spreading across his face, even as it faded quickly. “Yeah, it feels good to be home. And to see you.”'

You glanced around the living room, taking in the familiar space. “Can I get you anything? Water? Snacks?”

He shook his head. “I’m good for now. I just want to hang out and catch up. It’s been too long.”

With a small smile, you settled onto the couch, and he joined you, sinking into the cushions.

𓃦

As you both settled into university life, the first few weeks flew by in a whirlwind of classes, social events, and late-night study sessions. Everything felt exciting and new, but as the days passed, you began to notice small changes in Jake that made you raise an eyebrow.

For starters, there was his appetite. You had always known he liked to eat, but now, he seemed to be craving meat more than ever. He'd pile on burgers and chicken during lunch, his eyes lighting up at the sight of a plate full of food. “Are you trying to bulk up or something?” you teased one day as he loaded up his plate again.

“Just hungry, okay?” he replied with a laugh, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it.

Then there was football practice. Watching him on the field, you noticed how he had an intensity that was different. He was stronger, more aggressive, effortlessly sending other players flying with just a slight push. You had seen him play before, but now it felt like he was operating on another level. It was impressive, but a part of you felt uneasy—he seemed to have tapped into some hidden reserve of energy and strength that wasn’t there before.

And then there were the crowds. You had always known Jake wasn’t a huge fan of loud places, but it was as if his sensitivity had amplified. You could see him tense up during busy events, his eyes darting around as he tried to find a way to escape the noise. The first time you noticed it was during orientation week, when the crowd of students became too overwhelming for him. He started to look pale, and you instinctively reached out to take his hand, leading him to a quieter corner.

After that, you decided to get him a pair of noise-canceling headphones, and the smile that lit up his face when you handed them to him was one of the best moments of your week. “You really didn’t have to do this,” he said, beaming. “But thank you. This will help a lot.”

You also started to see how protective he was of his belongings, especially around others. If someone asked to borrow his jacket or a book, he would hesitate, giving them a wary look before declining. But when it came to you, it was a different story. He’d drape his jacket around your shoulders without a second thought, his expression softening as he did so. “You need it more than I do,” he’d insist, a playful smirk on his lips.

But then there were the moments that made your heart race. Jake seemed to have developed a stealthy ability to sneak up on you. Whether you were in the library, waiting for a class to start, or hanging out with friends, he would appear out of nowhere, catching you off guard. One day, he crept up while you were reading, and before you knew it, he had his arms around your waist, pulling you into a quick embrace.

“Gotcha!” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

Yet, there were also those times when Jake would go quiet at night, his responses to your texts dwindling to a halt. It worried you, but every morning, he would greet you with a bright smile, as if the late-night silence never happened. “Sorry, I fell asleep,” he would say with an easy laugh, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something deeper.

And during lunch or class, you discovered a new side of him when you absentmindedly played with his hair while chatting about your day. His cheeks would flush, and he’d lean into your touch, practically melting under your fingers. The sight of him so relaxed, so vulnerable, made your heart race.

But the most puzzling change was his protectiveness whenever he saw you talking to other guys. It would start with a small frown, then a quick, almost possessive stride toward you. “Hey, what’s going on here?” he’d say, slinging an arm around your shoulders or wrapping his hands around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Just chatting!” you’d laugh, but there was something deeper in his eyes, a flicker of jealousy that made your stomach twist with both excitement and confusion.

As the weeks progressed, you found yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions, trying to decipher the layers of Jake that were unfolding before you. Each small change, each interaction seemed to pull you deeper into a storm of feelings you weren’t sure how to navigate.

𓃦

As the semester rolled on, more instances of Jake's behavior began to pile up, each one both endearing and perplexing. You often found yourself caught off guard by the small things he did, but they all hinted at a change in your relationship dynamics.

One chilly afternoon, you were waiting outside your art class when you spotted a group of guys laughing and joking nearby. You knew them from a few classes, and they were friendly enough, so you struck up a conversation with them while you waited for Jake. As you laughed at one of their jokes, you suddenly felt a presence behind you. You turned to see Jake standing there, arms crossed, a frown etched across his face.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his tone slightly guarded.

“Yeah, we were just talking,” you replied, a little confused by his sudden seriousness.

“Right,” he said, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced. He shifted closer, placing himself between you and the other guys, a protective wall. It felt both amusing and oddly comforting, like he was silently claiming his territory.

Then there was the day you decided to join a study group for a particularly challenging class. You were excited to meet new people and tackle the material together. When Jake found out, he raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure you want to do that? What if they’re not nice?”

“Jake, they’re just a group of classmates. It’s fine,” you reassured him, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes. “I’ll be okay.”

“Okay, but if they give you any trouble, you let me know,” he said firmly, his expression softening as he added, “I don’t want anyone messing with you.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at how protective he had become. “I promise, I’ll call you if there’s a problem.”

During one of your late-night study sessions at the library, you noticed a few guys at the table across from you trying to get your attention, making silly faces and cracking jokes. You rolled your eyes and focused on your work, but it didn’t go unnoticed by Jake, who was sitting beside you.

He had been quiet for most of the evening, but as the teasing escalated, you felt him tense beside you. Suddenly, he stood up, stretching out as if he were getting ready to leave. “Hey, I need to grab something from my bag,” he said, but you could see the determination in his eyes.

As he walked over to the other table, you felt a wave of confusion wash over you. You watched him lean over and say something to the guys, who immediately straightened up, looking taken aback. You couldn’t hear what he said, but you could see their faces drop, and they quickly turned their attention back to their own work.

When he returned to you, he sat down with a satisfied smile, as if he had just completed some important mission. “You okay?” you asked, trying to keep the laughter out of your voice.

“Yeah, just thought I’d remind them to keep it down,” he said casually, but you could tell there was more behind it.

“Thanks, I guess?” you replied, shaking your head in disbelief. “But you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “But I didn’t like the way they were looking at you.”

Another instance that stood out was during a group project for one of your classes. You were paired with a few other students, including a guy named Alex who seemed to take a particular interest in you. Jake, who had been working quietly at the other end of the table, suddenly cleared his throat, drawing attention back to himself.

“Hey, can you help me with this part of the project?” he called out, shooting you a look that practically screamed “rescue me.” You couldn’t help but smile, recognizing his attempt to reclaim your attention.

“Sure, what do you need?” you replied, eager to help him out.

As you leaned over to see his notes, you felt Jake’s knee bump against yours, and he shifted closer, as if to shield you from the rest of the group. You caught Alex’s curious gaze and felt a mix of amusement as Jake shot him a pointed look that said, “Back off.”

But it was during one of your routine coffee runs that his behavior really hit home. You had both decided to take a break between classes and popped into a nearby café. As you waited for your drinks, you noticed a girl from your sociology class come up to Jake, smiling brightly as she engaged him in conversation.

You watched as Jake’s demeanor shifted. He went from being relaxed to immediately on guard. He answered her questions politely, but you could see the way his shoulders tensed and how his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

When she asked if he wanted to join her table, he glanced at you before shaking his head. “Nah, I’m good. I’m here with my friend,” he said, motioning towards you.

As soon as she left, he turned to you, an exasperated look on his face. “I don’t know what it is, but something about her just rubs me the wrong way.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his overprotectiveness. “Jake, she’s just being friendly!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to take any chances,” he said firmly, crossing his arms again.

Each of these instances piled on top of one another, weaving a complicated tapestry of feelings that left you questioning the nature of your friendship. Jake’s protective instincts made your heart race, igniting a spark of something deeper that you couldn’t quite define. The way he cared for you made you feel special, but the intensity of it all left you wondering where the lines between friendship and something more began to blur.

𓃦

One evening, as you were lounging in your room, scrolling through social media, a message from Hyerin popped up on your screen. “Hey, you need to check the news,” she wrote, and your curiosity was piqued. Clicking on the link she sent, you were met with a local news report that sent a shiver down your spine.

According to the report, several residents had reported hearing loud howls echoing from the nearby forest at night. Some claimed to have even spotted a large creature lurking at the outskirts of town—something that resembled a wolf, but much larger. The local authorities had dismissed the reports, attributing the sounds to normal wildlife, but the article featured alarming witness accounts that painted a more sinister picture.

You felt a rush of adrenaline mixed with unease. The thought of a creature prowling just outside your town was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. You quickly typed out a message to Jake, sharing what you had found.

“Did you see this? There are reports of howls coming from the forest, and people say they saw a giant wolf!”

His reply came almost instantly. “It’s probably just a normal wolf, nothing to worry about,” he typed back casually, as if the news was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

But you weren’t convinced. The stories echoed in your mind, and a sense of adventure began to bubble up within you. You felt the urge to explore, to see for yourself what was going on in those woods. The idea sent your heart racing, but you hesitated. You knew Jake would be against it if he knew, and you didn’t want to worry him.

After a quick glance at the clock, you grabbed a flashlight, bundled up in a warm jacket, and slipped out of your dorm room. The night air was crisp, and the stars shone brightly overhead as you made your way toward the edge of the forest. With each step, the excitement mingled with a hint of fear, but you pushed it aside, determined to uncover the truth for yourself.

As you approached the tree line, you could hear the rustling leaves and the distant sounds of the night, but your resolve remained firm. The forest loomed before you, shadows dancing between the trees. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that it was just a hike, just a bit of exploration.

You ventured deeper into the woods, the beam of your flashlight cutting through the darkness. You moved quietly, listening intently for any sounds that might confirm the rumors. As you walked, your imagination ran wild. What if there really was a creature lurking in the shadows? What if you stumbled upon something extraordinary?

But as the minutes passed, the forest seemed eerily still. You stopped occasionally to listen, straining to catch any sound, but all you heard was the faint rustling of leaves. After a while, doubt began to creep in. Was this a fool’s errand? Were you just chasing a ghost story?

Just when you were about to turn back, a loud howl pierced the night air, echoing through the trees. Your heart raced, and you froze in place, eyes wide as you turned toward the sound. It was unmistakable—a chilling howl that seemed to resonate from deep within the forest.

A rush of adrenaline coursed through you, and instinctively, you stepped further into the shadows, driven by curiosity. You followed the sound, drawn deeper into the woods. Each step felt like a leap into the unknown, but you couldn’t turn back now.

Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket. It was a text from Jake: “Where are you? You’re not out there, are you?”

Your heart skipped a beat. The worry in his text was there. You hesitated, debating whether to respond. He wouldn’t understand your need to explore, your desire to see if the stories were true. But you didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily.

“Just out for a walk,” you typed back, keeping it vague. You silenced your phone and tucked it away, pushing on into the dark.

With every howl that echoed through the trees, your fear grew. What would you find in the heart of the forest? Would you encounter whatever creature was rumored to roam these woods?

But deep down, a small part of you wondered if you should have listened to Jake, if maybe it was better to stay safe at home instead of chasing shadows.

𓃦

Jake’s heart raced as he read your message, panic setting in. “Just out for a walk.” Those words echoed in his mind, mixing with the chilling howls that pierced the night air. He felt a wave of urgency wash over him, and without thinking twice, he leaped from his chair, pulling aside his curtains to reveal the moonlit night outside.

The silvery glow bathed him in light, and he clenched his fists in the fabric of the curtains, fighting against the instinct to leap into action. He could hear it clearly now—the haunting howls from the forest calling out to him, echoing through the stillness of the night. The sounds tugged at something deep inside him, a urge that he could no longer ignore.

With a final groan of frustration, he dashed out of his room. He sprinted down the stairs, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he burst through the front door and into the night. The air was cool against his skin, but he barely noticed, his focus zeroed in on the forest where you had ventured.

Something deep within him stirred, a deep-seated calling that urged him to heed the instinct to protect and defend. The weight of the moon hung heavy in the sky, and as he ran, he could feel the change beginning to take hold. His body was alive with energy, crackling under the moonlight as it beckoned him to transform.

As he neared the edge of the forest, he stumbled momentarily, the first wave of transformation coursing through him. Pain and exhilaration intertwined as his muscles began to stretch and contort beneath his skin. He gasped, the sensation overwhelming him as his bones shifted and restructured, the very essence of his being reshaping itself under the moon's watchful gaze.

The first change came to his face. His jaw elongated, teeth sharpening as a low growl escaped his lips, mixing with the howls echoing from the forest. The ground beneath him felt closer as his spine curved and reshaped, forcing him down onto all fours. He gritted his teeth against the pain, feeling his senses heighten further—each scent more vivid, every sound clearer.

His skin tingled as the transformation progressed, a strange sensation as he felt his human form shed like an old coat. Fur erupted across his body, dark and thick, a protective layer that replaced the skin he had known. He felt bigger, more powerful, muscles rippling under his new pelt, gaining strength with each passing moment. The world shifted around him as his vision sharpened, hues of colors blooming before him in vibrant clarity.

He could feel the ground beneath him, cool and firm, and the smell of the earth was intoxicating. The forest called to him, the trees whispering secrets only he could understand. As he dropped fully onto all fours, his new claws dug into the soil, grounding him in this new form. Jake howled into the night, a sound that reverberated through the forest.

With a final surge of power, he bounded forward into the woods, his senses alive and alert. Each footfall was lighter, quicker, as he raced through the trees, branches whipping past him in a blur.

The howls continued, a symphony of sound that guided him closer to you, his mind focused solely on your safety.

𓃦

At this point the thrill of exploration slowly began to ebb, replaced by an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach. The howls had become louder, echoing through the trees with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. You gripped the flashlight tightly, shining it around, desperately searching for anything out of the ordinary.

But then, in the distance, you spotted them—eyes gleaming in the dark, watching you intently. A chill ran through you as you realized you had wandered too far into their territory. Panic surged as you turned to flee, but the sound of rustling leaves behind you made it clear you were being pursued.

You stumbled into a small clearing, breathless, but the moment you looked back, dread washed over you. A pack of wolves emerged from the shadows, their eyes reflecting the moonlight like tiny stars. They circled you, growling low, their powerful forms tense and poised for action. You felt trapped, your heart racing as they advanced slowly, their jaws snapping in warning.

Desperation surged within you, and you quickly scanned your surroundings. In your panic, you spotted a long stick lying on the ground nearby. Grabbing it, you held it out in front of you, your hands shaking as you attempted to keep the snarling pack at bay.

“Stay back!” you shouted, your voice trembling as you brandished the stick, trying to appear more intimidating than you felt. The wolves paused momentarily, their heads tilting as if considering your resolve. You knew that bluffing wouldn’t hold them off for long; the pack was far more powerful than you could ever hope to be alone.

They growled again, a low rumble that vibrated in your chest, and as they lunged forward, you swung the stick wildly, desperate to fend them off. The closest wolf dodged your swing, its fur brushing against your arm as it darted past. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you took a step back, trying to gauge their movements.

“Get away from me!” you yelled, your voice echoing in the stillness of the forest. But they were undeterred, their eyes locked on you, the alpha leading the charge as the others flanked it, their growls growing more intense.

You couldn’t let fear take over. You swung the stick again, aiming for the lead wolf. It snarled and snapped, but you managed to land a glancing blow against its shoulder, causing it to yelp and momentarily back off. But the other wolves seemed emboldened by its pain, their growls intensifying as they began to close in.

You backed away, your mind racing. You needed a way out. Just as the wolves lunged again, you heard a powerful howl pierce the night, echoing through the trees and causing the pack to hesitate.

Suddenly, a massive form leaped out from the shadows of the trees, a silhouette framed against the moonlight. The huge wolf landed gracefully in front of you. You stood frozen, your breath catching in your throat as you took in the size of the creature. Its fur was dark and sleek, rippling with muscle.

The wolves seemed to pause, studying the bigger wolf, their growls wavering as they assessed this new threat. Before you could fully process what was happening, one of the smaller wolves lunged at the big one, teeth bared and claws extended. But with a swift, graceful movement, the larger wolf sidestepped the attack and retaliated, raking its claws across the attacking wolf's side. The smaller wolf yelped in surprise and pain, tumbling backward into the underbrush.

More snarls erupted from the pack as they charged in tandem, but the massive wolf stood its ground, fighting valiantly. It was a whirlwind of fur and fangs, gracefully avoiding bites while delivering powerful blows to any wolf that dared to get too close. You watched in awe, feeling a mix of admiration and terror as the larger wolf defended you with ferocity, every growl reverberating in your chest.

Just as one of the wolves bit down on the big creature's front leg, you felt a surge of panic. It clawed and snapped, trying to gain the upper hand, but the larger wolf retaliated with a deep, rumbling growl, shaking off the smaller wolf like an annoyance. With each strike, the pack began to falter, sensing they were no match for the sheer power and tenacity of their adversary.

The battle raged for a few intense moments, the sounds of snarling and growling echoing around you, until, finally, the remaining wolves began to back off, realizing they were outmatched. With one last menacing snarl, the pack retreated into the shadows of the forest, leaving behind only the echoes of their howls and the fading rustle of leaves.

You stood there, your heart racing, watching as the larger wolf turned its attention to you. Its yellow eyes locked onto yours, and for a fleeting moment, you felt a connection that was both surreal and profound. You tilted your head, curiosity bubbling within you, and the wolf mirrored your gesture, tilting its head in return.

But then, your gaze shifted, and you spotted the blood trickling from a wound on the wolf’s front leg. Concern flooded through you, and without thinking, you reached out a hand, wanting to help this magnificent creature that had protected you so fiercely. But the wolf recoiled, stepping back from your outstretched fingers, its posture shifting to one of alertness.

With a powerful howl that shook your entire body, it filled the night with a resonant sound that seemed to resonate in your bones—a call to the wild, a statement of presence. And just like that, it turned and dashed back into the dark depths of the forest, vanishing into the shadows as swiftly as it had arrived.

You were left standing there, heart pounding, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The adrenaline of the encounter coursed through your veins, mingling with the confusion of what had just transpired.

What had just happened? Who—or what—was that wolf?

𓃦

The next day at university, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement and whispers. As you walked through the crowded halls, snippets of conversation floated around you, each more curious than the last.

“Did you hear the howls last night?” one student remarked, eyes wide with intrigue.

“I thought it was just a dog or something, but it sounded so… different,” another chimed in.

You felt a flutter of unease at the memory of your encounter in the forest, but you brushed it off, focusing on the bustling energy of campus life. Classes went by in a blur, your mind wandering back to the massive wolf and the bond you felt in that fleeting moment. You needed to talk to Jake about it, to share your thoughts and worries, to find some sense of normalcy again.

As you made your way to your usual meeting spot, you spotted him leaning against a wall, chatting with a couple of his friends. He looked as handsome as ever, his dark hair falling just above his eyes, a smile gracing his lips as he joked with them. But there was something else there, a tension that you couldn’t quite place.

You approached him, a smile breaking on your face. “Hey, Jake! Did you hear what everyone’s talking about?”

“Yeah,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Seems like everyone’s a wolf expert now.”

You laughed, trying to keep the mood light. “Right?”

Before Jake could respond, one of his friends, Sam, came up and playfully hit him on the shoulder. “Hey, man! You up for some football practice after school?”

At the friendly jab, Jake flinched, a brief flash of pain crossing his face before he quickly masked it with a grin. “Yeah, sure. I’m in,” he replied, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, how his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You felt a twinge of concern but decided against bringing it up. Instead, you played along, joining in on the lighthearted banter, though your mind kept drifting back to the moment from the day before. Why had he reacted that way? Was he hurt?

As the conversation continued, you observed Jake closely, noting how he seemed to stiffen when Sam clapped him on the back and how he carefully shifted his weight as if trying to alleviate discomfort.

Concern gnawed at you, but you decided to give him some space, figuring he might need time to deal with whatever was bothering him on his own.

You left him with his friends, offering a quick smile and a wave before heading off to your next class. Throughout the day, you kept your distance, hoping he would take the opportunity to rest or confide in someone else if he needed to. But it seemed your efforts were in vain.

Jake sought you out during school, showing up in places he normally wouldn’t. During lunch, you had decided to sit outside in a secluded corner of the campus, enjoying the quiet and fresh air. Just as you were getting comfortable, you heard footsteps approaching. You looked up to see Jake walking toward you, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Hey,” he said, plopping down beside you. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

You couldn’t help but smile back, though your concern for him lingered. “Just wanted some fresh air. What about you?”

He shrugged, leaning back on his hands. “Wanted to see how you were doing.”

You nodded, deciding not to press him on.

The two of you chatted casually, the conversation flowing easily as it always did. Despite your intention to give him space, he seemed to seek out your company more than ever.

After school, you decided to stop by a small café on the edge of town, a place you rarely visited. You thought you’d have some time to yourself, to process everything that had been happening. But as you were sipping your coffee and flipping through a book, you felt a familiar presence. Looking up, you saw Jake standing in the doorway, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you.

“There you are,” he said, walking over and sliding into the seat across from you. “I was looking for you.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Here? How did you know I’d be here?”

He shrugged again, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Lucky guess, I guess.”

𓃦

The quiet hum of the evening filled the room as you and Jake worked on homework together at his house, papers and textbooks scattered around you. The familiar scent of his room, the soft music playing in the background, and the comfortable silence between you two felt like old times.

But then, as Jake reached out for his notebook, you caught a brief flash of pain in his expression. His jaw tightened, and his hand faltered just slightly before he pulled it back. The small moment didn’t escape you; you could see something was bothering him, more than just physical discomfort.

“Jake,” you said softly, breaking the silence, “are you… okay? You look like you’re hurting.”

He looked up, caught off guard, and quickly brushed it off, frowning. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Jake,” you pressed, feeling your worry bubble over. “I’ve known you long enough to tell when something’s wrong. Please… just talk to me.”

His eyes flashed with a hint of irritation. “I already told you, I’m fine. You don’t need to keep worrying about me.”

“I care about you, Jake,” you replied, frustration seeping into your tone. “It’s not like I can just turn that off when I can see you’re in pain.”

He clenched his jaw, looking away. “You always do this, you know? Acting like you’re supposed to fix everything for me.”

Your breath caught at the sharpness of his words, and you felt your heart crack just a little. “I’m just trying to be there for you, Jake. Isn’t that what friends do?”

His eyes met yours, but instead of softening, they grew colder. “Maybe that’s the problem,” he said quietly. “Maybe I don’t need you trying to solve all my problems.”

You sat back, stunned. His words felt like a punch to the chest, knocking the wind out of you. “I didn’t realize… that’s how you saw it,” you whispered, your voice wavering. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes as you grabbed your books and notebooks, your heart pounding with hurt and anger. “Fine, Jake. I get it.”

“Wait—” His hand reached out for you, panic flashing in his eyes, but you pulled away before he could touch you. You didn’t want to hear his apologies, didn’t want him to see the tears that were already beginning to slip down your cheeks.

You bolted for the door, your vision blurry as you forced yourself not to look back. Jake called your name, his voice tinged with desperation, but you didn’t stop. You stepped out into the night, your heart breaking with each step. You didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to hear him apologize for something that had already cut too deep.

Lost in thought, you hadn’t realized where your feet had taken you until you looked up and found yourself standing at the edge of the forest. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm, fading glow over the trees as the shadows lengthened, creeping out toward you.

You sighed, staring into the darkness that stretched ahead. Your day had been ruined—by Jake, of all people. Jake, your best friend. The one you trusted, the one you cared about… the one you loved, even if you hadn’t ever admitted it out loud. You knew he didn’t mean what he’d said, deep down. You’d seen the look of regret in his eyes as you’d left, and you could imagine he was probably beating himself up over it even now.

Still, the words stung, and the distance between you now felt unbearably real. Maybe, you thought, you’d just give him a few days to cool off, let things settle. And hopefully, like always, it would be okay again.

For now, though, you needed space—a place to clear your mind. You took a few steps into the forest, staying close to the edge but just far enough in to feel the peace of nature wrapping around you.

You kept your steps light, careful not to venture too deep; the last thing you wanted was to accidentally wander into wolf territory. Even the memory of last night’s encounter sent a shiver through you, though you pushed it aside. The forest was peaceful enough, and it wasn’t long before the tension in your shoulders began to ease, your breathing slowing as you took in the fresh air.

But, as you ventured just a little further, a strange feeling crept over you—a prickling awareness, like you were being watched. You turned slowly, peering back the way you came, but saw nothing beyond the dim light filtering through the trees.

"Probably just my imagination," you murmured to yourself, hugging your arms against the chill that had suddenly settled over you. The forest felt heavier now, somehow… like a place holding its breath, waiting.

As you took a deep breath to steady yourself, a low, menacing growl echoed from behind the trees. You froze, your heart racing as you slowly turned to find a lone wolf stalking toward you, its fur matted and eyes gleaming with a wild, hostile glint. The wolf’s coat was streaked with dirt, and you could see small wounds marring its side and face—scratches and cuts that looked fresh, as if it had recently fought for its life.

You held your breath, hoping it might lose interest if you stayed still, but it took a step closer, teeth bared and eyes locked onto you with a predatory intensity. The wounded creature seemed to be caught between fight and flight, each shallow breath a reminder of its pain and anger.

Your mind raced, frantically searching for what little you knew about wild animals. Don’t run. Stay calm. Don’t look it directly in the eyes. But it was hard to keep your gaze from the wolf as it crept forward, snarling, its muscles tensing as if ready to lunge.

You raised your hands slowly, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, your voice barely a whisper. “Hey… it’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

The wolf didn’t seem to care. Its eyes narrowed, lips curling back further as it let out another snarl, the sound raw and desperate. You took a tentative step back, your heart pounding, the weight of the forest closing in around you.

The lone wolf’s snarl grew fiercer as it sized you up, its gaze fixed and threatening. You took another cautious step back, your pulse racing with fear and adrenaline, when, out of nowhere, a massive shadow streaked through the trees. The large wolf from last night leaped between you and the lone wolf, teeth bared in a fierce snarl.

What followed was a brutal clash—snarls and growls tore through the forest as the two wolves fought. They snapped and lunged, claws and teeth colliding in a flurry of movement. The lone wolf yelped, wounded and humiliated, and staggered back, casting a resentful glance at you before limping off into the trees, bloodied and beaten.

In the sudden silence, the larger wolf turned toward you, breath heaving, blood and saliva dripping from its bared teeth and maw. Its eyes were wild, gleaming yellow and intense, locked onto you. You froze, swallowing hard as it took a single step closer.

But something within you stopped you from backing away this time. You took a steady breath, raising your hand slightly. “Hey, it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The wolf’s intense gaze softened, its body visibly relaxing as it crept closer. It lowered its head, breathing heavily, and your pulse quickened as its warm breath washed over you, its massive frame towering above. Just when you thought you might be out of luck, it gave a strange, almost playful yip, leaning forward and swiping its tongue from your stomach up to your chin in a single, sticky lick.

You cringed, wiping your face. “Ew, oh my god.” The wolf leapt back, its eyes seeming almost… amused, as if it had understood your reaction. It started to bounce around in a way that almost looked like playfulness, pawing at the ground and glancing back up at you, the wildness in its gaze replaced by a warmth, an odd spark of familiarity. You stared, studying its eyes—they looked so human, so gentle.

You tilted your head as the big wolf came around, its presence both powerful and strangely comforting. It nudged your hand, its head pressing softly against your palm, and you hesitated before slowly reaching out, letting your fingers sink into its thick fur. The wolf let out a low rumble, leaning into your touch, its eyes closing as it nuzzled closer.

Then, with a quiet huff, the wolf rolled over, exposing its stomach. You couldn’t help but smile, realizing it wanted you to rub its belly like some kind of overgrown dog. As your fingers brushed through its fur, something caught your attention—a small scrap of fabric caught near its shoulder. You reached over, fingers tugging it free, only to stare in shock at the familiar material between your fingers.

It was a piece of Jake’s jacket.

You froze, your eyes darting from the scrap of fabric to the wolf’s face. The wolf’s gaze met yours, and you saw something there, a flicker of emotion that wasn’t just animal instinct.

“Jake?” you whispered, voice barely audible.

The wolf let out a soft, almost pitiful whine, its ears flattening as it looked down, its expression suddenly filled with shame. Your heart raced as the realization sunk in fully. This creature, this powerful wolf who had saved you—it was Jake.

You knelt beside him, reaching out slowly, your hand hovering before you let it rest gently on his head. “It really is you, isn’t it?” you murmured, the shock of it all making your voice tremble. The wolf closed his eyes, leaning into your hand, the shame melting away for a moment as he accepted your touch.

You stayed there, your hand resting on his head, letting the surreal reality sink in. Jake—the Jake who’d grown up beside you, who teased you endlessly and made you laugh, who’d been distant and guarded since his trip abroad—was here in front of you as a massive, powerful wolf. A whirlwind of emotions washed over you: shock, worry, relief, even an odd sense of awe. But above all, there was something oddly comforting in the way he leaned into your hand, his massive frame somehow still familiar despite his transformation.

The wolf let out another low whine, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to communicate what words could never convey. Gently, you moved your hand from his head, resting it against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath thick fur. He was still Jake. Somewhere beneath the wild exterior was your best friend, the person you cared about deeply.

Without saying a word, you sank down beside him, and he curled around you protectively, his body a warm, solid presence in the cool forest.

After a while, Jake moved, his head nudging your hand again, almost in a comforting gesture. And then, with a soft huff, he pressed his nose to your cheek, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“Jake…” you whispered again, feeling a lump form in your throat. “You don’t have to hide this from me. I’m here. I’ll help you, no matter what.”

The wolf met your gaze, his eyes shining with an emotion so raw and vulnerable it made your heart ache. He stepped closer, his gaze steady and intent, before letting his head rest on your shoulder, leaning into you as if accepting that promise.

As you stayed there, holding onto the warmth and strength he offered, you understood: whatever had changed Jake, whatever he had gone through, it hadn’t taken away the person he was. And you’d be there with him, every step of the way.

𓃦

The quiet of the house felt almost fragile as you tiptoed your way to your room, Jake trailing closely behind. Sneaking a full-sized wolf inside wasn’t exactly easy, especially with a few close calls as you both bumped into things along the way. You held your breath every time something clattered, tensing and listening for any sounds of your family stirring. But, to your relief, the house remained silent.

Finally, you managed to usher Jake into your room, closing the door quietly and locking it for good measure. When you turned around, you found him standing by the window, his large frame silhouetted by the pale moonlight. His eyes were fixed on the full moon, an otherworldly shine glinting in them as he let out a low, almost trance-like whimper. His head tilted back, as if instinctively drawn to the sight, a soft howl rising in his throat.

You quickly slipped past him, tugging the curtains closed and pressing a finger to your lips. “Shhh,” you whispered, and Jake quieted, lowering his head, though his gaze remained on the closed curtains for a long moment as he reluctantly turned away.

“Stay here, okay? I’ll be right back,” you murmured, slipping into the bathroom to change. When you returned, you saw him sprawled out by your bed, his head and front paws resting on your mattress while his hind legs remained on the floor. He looked surprisingly at ease, a bit of his usual calm replacing the restless energy that had him fixated on the moon moments earlier.

You rolled your eyes and let out a small groan, clambering into bed beside him, his massive head just inches from yours. Even as a wolf, Jake managed to take up far more space than should’ve been possible.

As you lay there, his warm breath against your skin, you could feel your nerves beginning to settle. Slowly, you reached out, your hand moving to rest on his head, fingers tangling in the fur at his ears. His tail gave a slow, contented thump against the floor, a quiet thank-you in his own way.

When you drifted off, Jake stayed still, his eyes fixed on your peaceful form beside him. The soft rise and fall of your breath, the way your hand had relaxed against his fur, all held his gaze, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. Even with the strange pull of the moon, the wild energy simmering under his skin, being here beside you made him feel…normal. Like he could set aside the instincts and chaos, if only for a little while.

He watched the way a small smile played across your lips, almost as if even in sleep, you knew he was there. His head tilted slightly, and he let out a soft exhale, careful not to disturb you. In his wolf form, he couldn’t say what he felt, couldn’t explain the relief that flooded him at seeing you safe and sound after the danger in the woods.

His ears flicked toward the window, catching the distant sounds of the night, the rustle of branches, the faint whisper of the wind. Normally, his senses would pull him toward every little sound, every flicker of movement, but not tonight. Tonight, they all faded into the background as his gaze lingered on you, steady and unwavering.

Eventually, with a gentle rumble that sounded almost like a sigh, he lowered his head beside you, his eyes closing slowly, only allowing himself to rest once he was sure you were deeply asleep. Though he knew the morning would bring questions he wasn’t sure he could answer.

𓃦

You jolted awake, your eyes snapping open to the unexpected sensation of warm, familiar arms wrapped around you. The soft fabric of your sheets clung to your skin, but it was the figure beside you that made your heart race. Turning your head, you were met with the sight of Jake—human Jake—curled into your side, shirtless, his messy hair falling over his forehead. For a split second, your mind raced with confusion before realization hit.

“Jake!” you screamed, and before you could process the panic in your voice, he bolted upright, his eyes wide with shock. In his haste, he miscalculated his position and tumbled off the side of your bed, landing in an undignified heap on the floor with a loud thud. “Whoa!” he yelped, a look of sheer bewilderment on his face. You could barely contain your laughter at the sight—his expression, a mix of shock and embarrassment, made it all the more amusing.

“Oh my god, you should see your face!” you said, trying to catch your breath as you leaned over the side of the bed to see him sprawled out, looking both flustered and slightly embarrassed.

“Okay, okay! Not funny!” Jake huffed, shooting you a mock glare as he scrambled to his feet. The flush creeping across his cheeks only made you laugh harder.

As you got up and made your way to the bathroom, you heard him rummaging around in your closet. When you returned, he had managed to find some extra clothes—an oversized T-shirt that hung loosely on his frame and a pair of sweatpants that made him look even more comfortable. He glanced at you, a sheepish smile breaking through the earlier embarrassment. “Hope this is okay,” he said, his voice slightly shy.

“Looks good on you,” you replied, giving him a playful nudge as you both made your way downstairs.

To your relief, the house was quiet—your family members had left for the day. You went into the kitchen, and together, you began preparing breakfast. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over everything as you and Jake worked side by side.

He cracked a few eggs into the pan while you sliced some fruit, and the comfortable silence between you both was laced with the occasional teasing remark about your culinary skills—or lack thereof.

After breakfast, you settled into the living room, the cozy couch inviting you both to sink into its cushions. Jake stretched out, leaning back with a relaxed sigh, while you curled up beside him, pulling a blanket over your legs.

“So,” you said, looking at him, “about last night…”

Jake turned his head toward you, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, but before he could respond, you continued, “I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything. You… you really are a wolf.”

He nodded, his expression serious now. “I know it sounds crazy, but there’s a lot more to it than just the transformation.”

You could sense the weight behind his words, the implications of what he was saying. It was clear that whatever had happened, he was still processing it himself. “You can tell me when you’re ready, Jake,” you said gently, offering him a reassuring smile. “I’m here for you.”

Jake took a deep breath, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. You could see the vulnerability in his eyes as he gathered his thoughts. “During my vacation,” he began, his voice steady yet tinged with the remnants of anxiety, “I went for a jog one night. I thought I saw a stray dog lurking in the shadows.” He paused, his expression darkening as if the memory was a physical burden.

“It wasn’t just any dog. It was a wolf,” he continued, shaking his head slightly as if trying to shake off the gravity of the moment. “I didn’t realize until it was too late. It lunged at me, and I felt this sharp pain. I didn’t think much of it at first; I just brushed it off. But then, I got really sick. I spent days locked in my hotel room, feeling like I was losing my mind.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together as he searched your eyes for understanding.

You remained silent, letting him speak, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fit together. “When the full moon came,” he went on, his voice dropping to a whisper, “that’s when everything changed. I transformed.” His eyes flicked to the floor, the weight of his words heavy. “When I woke up, I was in my hotel room, and I had no idea what had happened. I just knew I felt… different. My body was stronger, more aware, but I didn’t understand why. It was like I was… a stranger in my own body. I would feel a need to transform again, to run, to let out whatever this thing is inside me.”

“I called you because I needed to hear your voice,” he admitted, his eyes locking onto yours, filled with sincerity. “But when I got back, I realized something. The moment I saw you, all those instincts— the wild urges, the confusion— it all calmed down. Just being around you made it easier to breathe. But when you aren’t here, the need to transform is overwhelming. I don’t really remember much of what happens when I go under, just flashes of darkness. But when you’re with me… it’s like I come back to myself. I can control it.”

You swallowed hard, heart racing at the implications of his words.

He sat up a little straighter, “When I shouted at you… I didn’t mean it,” he began, sincerity in his voice. “I was confused. Everything I felt for you clashed with what was happening to me. This thing inside was overwhelming, and I was terrified. Terrified of losing control, of hurting you.” His voice trembled slightly, the raw honesty making your heart ache for him.

You opened your mouth to respond, shock flooding through you at his admission, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you could only gaze at him, wide-eyed and taken aback. “Jake… I—”

He rushed on, misreading your shock as rejection. “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” he stammered, panic rising in his voice. “You don’t have to like me back. I get it. I’m a mess right now, and it’s not fair to put that on you. I just—”

Before he could spiral further into his own uncertainty, you lunged forward, tackling him gently to the couch. Your lips found his in a swift, urgent kiss, silencing his rambling. The kiss was like a balm to both your hearts. Jake’s surprise quickly melted into warmth as he kissed you back, his hands finding their way to your waist, holding you close.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you looked into his eyes, searching for something—assurance, maybe, or confirmation.

“Jake,” you breathed, your heart racing. “I love you too.”

His eyes widened in disbelief, a grin slowly breaking across his face. “You… you really mean it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he feared that saying it out loud might make it disappear.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’ve liked you for a long time, even before all this happened,” you admitted, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. “I was just too scared to say anything.”

“God, I thought I was going crazy,” he chuckled, the tension melting away as he pulled you in for another kiss. He held you close, as if you were the anchor he’d needed to find his way back to himself.

His hands rested firmly on your waist, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you desperately needed. You could feel the gentle roughness of his fingers, each touch sending a soft flutter through your heart.

You slipped your hands to his cheeks, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin, feeling the slight stubble that had begun to grow. It felt intimate and electric, as if every lingering doubt and worry from before melted away with each gentle caress.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, you both stayed close, your foreheads pressed together. Relief washed over you, like a wave sweeping away the remnants of confusion and fear. There were no more secrets, just the two of you, open and honest.

With a soft chuckle, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace. Jake melted into the hug, his strong arms encircling you tightly. The moment felt right, like coming home after a long journey. You could feel his heartbeat steadying against yours, matching your own rhythm.

“I’m so glad we finally talked about this,” you murmured into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him that made you feel safe. “I was worried about how you felt.”

“Me too,” he confessed, his voice muffled against your hair. “I was scared I’d mess everything up. But now, it feels like… like I can breathe again.” He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, his expression earnest. “You have no idea how much you mean to me.”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling at his words. “I do now,” you replied, warmth flooding through you.

As Jake pulled you in for another kiss, the world around you faded away once more, enveloping you in the warmth of his embrace. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine, and you surrendered to the moment, feeling every worry slip away. Yet, beneath the sweet intimacy, you began to notice something different—deep, low rumbles emanating from his chest, vibrating against your body.

Curiosity tugged at you, and you tried to pull back slightly to gauge what was happening, to make sure he was okay. “Jake?” you murmured, but he didn’t let you go. Instead, he tightened his grip on your waist and pulled you back into the kiss, deepening it with an intensity that made your heart race.

But then you felt something sharp graze against your lip. You gasped and pulled back, eyes wide. His canines had elongated slightly, pressing against your skin. Your heart pounded as you looked at him, noticing how his form seemed to swell beneath you, muscles shifting and growing larger as he transformed.

“Jake!” you exclaimed, your voice filled with concern as you took in the sight before you. His hair had grown fluffier, tousled and wild, and his eyes glowed a striking yellow, reflecting the light with an otherworldly sheen, you could see the subtle signs of his transformation taking hold.

He looked at you, panting softly, his breaths coming in heavy, almost desperate gasps. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he fought to control the change happening within him. “Jake, you need to stop,” you urged, trying to maintain a calmness you didn’t entirely feel. “You’re—”

But before you could finish, he whined softly, his expression pleading as he pulled you back into a kiss, the warmth of his body overwhelming you. Despite the rush of emotions, you could sense the struggle in him—the way he wanted to hold onto you, to keep you close, even as the wolf inside threatened to take over.

Your heart raced, and panic bubbled within you. “Jake, please!” you gasped against his lips, desperately trying to catch your breath. “I don’t want to lose you to this.”

He paused, his eyes searching yours, filled with a mix of longing and confusion. For a moment, it felt as if the connection between you was all that tethered him to his human side. “You won’t lose me,” he promised, his voice barely a whisper, yet it carried a conviction that soothed the fear clawing at your chest.

You swallowed hard, your gaze steady on his. “We can face this together. Just… don’t let it take control, okay?”

Jake nodded, his gaze softening as he leaned in closer, the distance between you two disappearing. The rumble in his chest quieted, and you could see the flicker of the boy you loved shining through the fierce exterior. “I won’t,” he assured, his voice warm and earnest.

As you watched Jake begin to transform, every instinct in you urged you to step back, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away. His body, once solid beneath you, started to shift, muscles rippling under his skin as if they were being pulled by an unseen force. It was both mesmerizing and terrifying.

His back arched slightly, and you could see his spine subtly elongating, each vertebra shifting as his form adjusted to accommodate the changes. The sound of his bones cracking and reforming echoed in your ears, primal and raw, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you felt a strange sense of awe at the beauty of it all—the way he seemed to be caught between two worlds, the boy you loved and the creature he was destined to become.

His hair thickened, the strands transforming into a soft, plush fur that shimmered in the dim light of your room. You reached out instinctively, fingers brushing against the silky fur, and Jake leaned into your touch, as if it anchored him to his humanity.

His face began to elongate, the jawline widening and reshaping into a more pronounced muzzle. His nose transformed, darkening and broadening, taking on a canine shape. You watched in fascination as his lips curled back, revealing those sharp canines that had grazed your lips moments before.

With each passing second, Jake grew larger, the muscles in his arms and legs expanding, powerful and sinewy. The way he filled out beneath you was a reminder of the strength he possessed. His fingers transformed into powerful paws, claws extending and retracting with a grace that seemed both dangerous and beautiful.

Finally, with a deep, rumbling growl, he shifted onto all fours, the final stage of his transformation complete. His body was now a magnificent wolf, towering and powerful, with a coat that glistened like the night sky. You could hardly believe this majestic creature had once been your best friend, the boy who had made you laugh and smile, who had always been by your side.

As he crouched before you, the wolf’s eyes softened, the wildness within them momentarily quelled by the bond you shared. You reached out again, fingers brushing along his fur, feeling the warmth radiate from his body. The wolf leaned into your touch, letting out a low, deep rumble.

“I love you, Jake,” you said softly, the words spilling out as easily as your breath.

Jake responded with a low whine, his eyes shimmering as he nuzzled closer to you. He licked your hand gently, the roughness of his tongue sending a thrill through you. It was a simple gesture, but it was clear that he understood you.

This was not how you had imagined your life would unfold at all, but it felt undeniably right.

[et6rnalsun]

LET ‘EM KNOW, chris sturn

𝜗𝜚 pairing: chris sturn x fem! reader

warnings: 18+ smut, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up) literally js sex, chris being rough as always, slightly toxic! reader & toxic! chris

posted this cuz i needed to post something so here u go sum freaky smut. there’s a small time skip directly to the sex, hope it’s clear

your relationship with chris was complicated — and it couldn't even be called that.

something unfinished, that neither of you wanted to end. something that you had to let go but were too attached and dependent to the toxicity of the entire thing. you fucked, argued, argued while you fucked. it was a cycle that repeated itself, threats of never seeing each other again and then ending up in each other's bed with sinful moans escaping from swollen lips.

you weren't a jealous person, never been, especially towards him. you knew perfectly well he fucked other girls and pride ate you up completely before you could make a scene or something. but there was one of his hoes in particular, who made your hands tingle with the desire to beat her ass, that kept hanging around on him as if he was hers.

you fought the urge to nibble on your freshly manicured nails as you stared at that photo posted on his instagram story, their faces too close for your liking, clearly laying in his bed. so, you didn't think twice before clicking on his number, calling him. you waited one ring, two rings, and at the third he finally answered, his raspy voice saying your name slurredly.

"can you come over?" you asked shortly, getting straight to the point as you sat on the edge of your bed. chris sighed, knowing where you were going with this. "i'm busy right now, i think you know that"

"do you think i care? drop this bitch, chris, we both know you're dying to come here anyway" you huffed, not caring in the slightest that maybe you sounded too cocky. then your voice took on a more pleading tone, trying to get to him. "please, i need you. i’m not even kidding"

you could practically hear him wavering, his silence the answer you needed while you were already smiling in victory. "i'm coming. i fucking hate you" and hang up.

you then stood up, walking to the bathroom as you changed out of your underwear into his favorite thong, a smirk on your glossy lips the whole time. you had won, as always. you had confirmed that chris couldn't even resist you and your sweet voice of yours that begged him so subtly.

you didn't care if you sounded pathetic, or if you wouldn't do it for any other man anyway. you wanted him and had him again.

and then you didn't care even more as your fingers continued to pull the long curls of his hair to draw him closer to your neck, already tortured by marks and hickeys. your other hand gripping the crumpled sheets of your bed due to the inhuman rhythm of his thrusts. your moans were like music to his ears, especially after not hearing them for so long.

the tight, pink thong you had worn a few minutes before his arrival had been thrown to the floor without the slightest importance or care, like the rest of your clothes, only that one had been completely torn by chris's fucking impatient hands.

“you're such a needy slut,” he murmured through gritted teeth, one of his hands resting on your neck to keep you still. "you couldn't stand the fact that i was with someone else, huh? admit it" to those last words he added a thrust that hit right in that sweet spot, making you whimper.

“shut the fuck up” you managed to breathe out, your thighs tightening around him as you were desperate to reach your orgasm. "you didn't even - ah- didn't even hesitate to come here, didn’t you?”

he tightened his grip on your neck, lifting one of your thighs onto his shoulder with his other hand as he groaned. "fuck you" small beads of sweat had formed on his forehead at that point. “no one, no one has a pussy as fucking tight as yours” he felt like your walls were about to snap him in half, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head. "you drive me so crazy"

your moans had increased, feeling that pressure starting to persist more and more. “admit it” you whimpered, your long nails scratching his back as your arched yours slightly in pleasure. "admit that no one is like me"

his lips had found your bare shoulder, his teeth digging and biting into the sensitive skin as he whispered and moaned shamelessly into it. "no one makes me feel like you do, ma, i would gladly die inside this pussy if i could."

and you're cumming around him the minute the words leave his lips.

[stargirlrchive]

── KINKTOBER DAY SIX

car fucking w/ simon riley ─ fem!reader

cw: jealous and possessive simon :p, p in v

NSFT ✩ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST ✩ GENERAL MASTERLIST

“get in.”

you could feel the cold metal digging into your skin as simon caged you in between himself and the truck. yanking the door open as his eyes blazed with frustration.

your face scrunched up but you listened, climbing into the truck as simon followed suit. the door slammed behind him and you stared at him with confusion.

“for not wanting people to know about us, you really are one for dramatics, ghost.”

his gloved fingers twitched as you began to scoot yourself away from him, his voice twinged with hurt, “don’t call me that when we’re alone.”

the silence rang loud in the confined space of the car and he sighed, inching closer to you. you didn’t move, not that you could, but simon appreciated it all the same. his hand reaching out to tilt your face to him, “baby, come on.”

“no, simon. don’t ‘baby, come on’ me. are you gonna tell me what the hell that was about? you practically ripped that poor recruits hand off.”

your eyes met his but simon’s stomach churned as he noticed how frustrated you were. “he was touching you.”

“no he wasn’t.”

an annoyed growl left simon’s mouth as he shook his head, “yes he was. kept offering to get you drinks, kept standing too fucking close. he was undressing you with his eyes, i could see it.”

you didn’t know what to say, maybe the recruit had been a little clingy but you didn’t even notice. so why did it matter? “simon, i didn’t even notice-”

“i still didn’t like the fact that he was all over you.”

your eyes rolled as he cut you off, “why do you even care? it’s not like you want people to know you’re with me.”

the silence that filtered the car was suffocating, and it almost made you fear looking into his eyes. fearful that you’d get the confirmation you had been hoping to avoid. that he felt that you made him weak.

“that’s not-” he cut himself off to gently pull you onto his lap. “baby, that’s not fair. we had both agreed that it was best to keep this, us, just between the two. keeps us both safer.”

he was right, but it didn’t mean it didn’t sting. his fingers dug into your hips, pulling you even closer, “i’m sorry alright? i just don’t like anyone touching what’s mine.”

your eyes snapped up to meet his and your face colored at his words. he had a lazily smile behind the balclava as his finger dug into your hips, drawing small circles as you relaxed into him. “you like that, hm? you like when i remind you that you’re mine?”

you huffed softly but simon knew you, he could tell by the way your breathing picked up a bit and the way you began to squirm in his lap that you did enjoy it. he grunted quietly, “quit movin’, love.”

you bit down onto your bottom lip, staring up at him with hazy eyes as your hips began to move down on him with more purpose, undulating your hips onto his.

simon called out your name, gripping your hips as he pressed you down harder.

“what do you want, love?”

“you.”

with great difficulty simon removed his jeans, pushing your skirt up to bunch at your hips while he pushed your panties to the side. his thumb rolling against your clit as he positioned himself at your entrance.

it didn’t take much for the soft mewls of pleasure to leave your mouth. your hips bouncing effortlessly up and down his thick cock.

the windows had fogged up, and you were sure the truck was rocking from the sheer effort the two of you were putting into it. simon’s eyes closed tight with each desperate roll of your hip.

the space was crammed and tight but your warm cunt was milking him so perfectly. simon could feel the soft drag of your breast against his chest and it killed him to not be able to see you fully naked. desperate and needy.

your hand had laid flat against the window to aid in your movements. steading you with each upwards drag. “fuck, you enjoy this, hm?”

no words came out of your mouth as you bounced harder and faster, “you like getting me all worked up so i can stuff you full of my cock. so i can remind you who you belong to.”

you cried out quietly, nodding your head as your cunt tightened around him.

simon’s fingers wrapped around your wrist that was pressed against the window, tugging on it gently and it caused your body to fall flat against his, holding your hands to his chest, while the other held your hips in place. pistoning his hips in and out of you as he took over.

your head lulled forward to rest on his shoulder, your arms restricted against both of your chest as you cried out desperately. your body trembling above simon’s as your climax was fast approaching, “gonna-fuck, gonna come, si’.”

both of his hands moved to your back, caressing gently as his cock continued to plow into you. when your back tensed, simon pulled your hips flush against his.

grinding you down lazily as he grunted quietly, his head thrown back as he came, deep inside of you.

your legs trembled as you tightened around him, whining softly from every sensation coursing through you.

your thighs ached from the tight space, but simon’s lingering touches, gliding over you with practiced gentleness, began to ease it. his touch making you sleepy as your breathing evened out.

with a soft kiss to your temple he pulled out. dressing you back up before dressing himself. massaging as best he could your aching muscles as your body slumped against him. “m’sorry about earlier. just don’t like sharing.”

simon could feel your smile against his shoulder before you pulled back, staring up at his masked face. “it’s okay, neither do i.”

taglist: @trashfox @king-julian6201 @cyberfreaky @tojisun @lazystorycollector @cosmicanakin @yeoldedumbslut @httpsmama @punk-22 @youcraveet @moxiz @hisa-plush @alastairheir @ra-im @ifellinthebong @darlingvinny @aeplern @tallmanlover @screamingoverfiction @mixling-blog @pretty-npeach @babygirl-riley ; lmk if you would like to be tagged <3

[meaningofaeons]

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ emotionally unavailable p.2

⊹ character(s) - gepard landau, jing yuan, sampo koski ⊹ word count - 5.6k ⊹ notes - gn!reader (gepard, sampo), fem!reader (jing yuan, reader is referred to as 'lady'), emotionally constipated/stoic reader (but you're warming up a bit ;), confessions, fluff, love, mushy stuff! ⊹ part 1 here!

sorry this took so long !! (=´ᆺ｀=) really thought I'd have it out sooner, but I wanted to make sure it was planned and edited this time. hope you all like! and please do point out any mistakes, I know sometimes I mix up the gn pronouns with she/her so lemme know if there's any of that （ฅ＾・ﻌ・＾）ฅ

⊹ Gepard Landau

Ever since you and Gepard spoke that day, Serval had been seeing more of you around the workshop.

Rather than lounging as per your nick-namesake, however, you were frequently speaking with Gepard when he was around.

That, or you were at her desk asking when he'd be around.

It was a far cry from your former indifference for sure.

Sure, you weren't overly enthused or anything at the prospect of seeing him, but...

Serval could definitely see the gleam in your eye when you questioned about her brother.

You weren't alone in your affection, either.

The eldest Landau hadn't failed to notice the consistently at which Gepard asked about you, too.

Even though there were reports of Fragmentum corrosion being on the rise and more monsters to keep at bay, things that usually stressed the Captain out, he was in shockingly high spirits

It seems your presence was beneficial to his stress and mood.

Over time, you mellowed out a bit from your usual stoicism as well

You were more inclined to joke and be more open with Serval and Gepard both, though you still retained a bit of your standoffish nature.

This didn't mean you magically became an extrovert—Aeons knows you still treated other people just as coldly.

But to the Landaus at least, things were turning up.

You weren't running into their arms with warm salutations ready for an embrace, but at the very least, you spoke more.

Not to mention, you'd taken on a new hobby—teasing poor Gepard.

It wasn't really your fault, in your defense. He was just too easy, and his blushing cheeks were admittedly cute amusing to see.

Gepard, in spite of your embarrassing new pastime, would often count the hours, minutes, down to the seconds until he could head to the workshop and see if you were around

On the days you weren't (increasingly rare nowadays), it was quite obvious how he'd deflate. But he'd still wait around a little while longer for you

And when you were there? He'd light up immediately.

It's as if you could see the tail wagging behind him—he's like a giant golden retriever.

Eventually, it got to the point where he figured it was about time he confessed how he actually felt about you.

Serval, of course, encouraged and offered to wing-woman for him as she had done before, but he adamantly refused

As much as Gepard appreciated his sister, he wanted to do this himself.

He would find himself practicing singing, drawing, anything artistic he could do to show his affections for you.

It was an earnest, honest-to-good effort, but let's be honest—he's not the best at most artistic pursuits.

Eventually, he settled for a poem (the farthest he could get artistically without completely flubbing it) and a bouquet of the flowers that brought you two together in the first place—Ball Peonies.

He put it off for a few days out of nervousness.

Okay, no, a few weeks. Let's not kid ourselves, he had to buy a few bouquets since they kept withering (thankfully, that Silvermane Guard Captain salary is good!)

Finally, the day came.

Gepard shifted from one foot to the other, a habit of his when anxious. In battle, one always had to be on their toes. Though the matter ahead of him was far from a fight to the death on the front lines, it was a struggle nonetheless.

The brain's fight-or-flight response unfortunately didn't care to discriminate between a war with monsters and a nerve-wracking confession.

Maybe you weren't coming today.

No, no. Serval mentioned you had to swing by. You had an appliance giving you trouble, and she'd fixed it up and prepared it for delivery today.

His sister provided this opportunity for him. He couldn't back down!

However, as soon as sky blue eyes spotted your approaching figure, Gepard had to physically grab hold of his own arm to ground himself and prevent himself from running away.

He settled his anxiety as much as he could by hiding the flowers behind his back instead.

"Gepard?"

No going back now! You'd seen him!

His brain was in overdrive, and he found himself fending off trembles, face already going red. Aeons, he hadn't even gotten a single word out yet!

"That's me."

Okay, good, he'd gotten the first words out no problem.

"I thought you had patrol today. It's good to see you."

"G-Good to see you too!"

And there it was. A stutter, followed by a voice crack on the last word. The poor blonde man could've easily sank into a hole and withered away at that moment, but you only raised a brow, oblivious to his internal misery.

"Well, are you coming inside? I need to pick something up, and then I'm off. Sorry I can't stick around, especially since you're off duty for once."

"Y-Yeah, I'm coming. And it's okay!"

Gepard was far too caught up in his own gut-wrenching anxiety to notice the way you had rushed through your normally-casual sentences. Though your tone was the same, the slightest, most imperceptible tremble flitted after your every word.

When you entered, Serval was nowhere to be seen. You assumed she was in the back, and thus went to pop in and check, but as you did that, said woman snuck past and headed for the door, mouthing at her brother.

'Don't! Back! Down! Now!'

He swallowed thickly as she vanished, ducking outside to hide and await Gepard's long-overdue confession to you.

"Hm. Doesn't seem she's here. Maybe an errand..."

"Y/N!"

You raised a brow, leaning on the counter. "I'm right here, Gepard. No need to shout."

"Right! Right... Um! I just wanted to... I just... Err..."

"You alright? You're burning up, and I haven't even prodded at your singing or drawing today."

Those words only made the flare-up of his cheeks worse.

"I'm fine!" His voice had only increased in volume, and you winced. Your eyes flitted to the clock, and you sighed, taking a deep, shaky inhale.

Shift starts in a few minutes. I can always get the heater later, but... this is now or never.

Before Gepard could continue his train of thought, you interrupted, pulling out a small tin canister and slid it towards him on the counter. His ramblings cut short, he could do little more than stare down at it, calming down amidst his confusion.

"...This is?"

"Well..." you trailed off, glancing away and crossing your arms. Though Gepard was sure your expression was the same, pensive and uninterested, you adamantly hid it from him. "I didn't really know what else to get you."

...Huh?

"I could've gone for flowers, sure, but I guess they didn't seem very appropriate for you. You'd have no use for them."

Oh, but he would place them in the nicest vase money could buy, and stare at them for hours on end every day, thinking about the fact that it was you who brought them to him. No use? What nonsense.

"Then I thought chocolates, or maybe some other sweet, but I didn't know if you liked that sort of thing. I'm sorry I never asked."

What did you have to be sorry for? He'd eat anything you offered up, even if it were burnt or poisoned. And he'd accept it with the biggest smile, content in the fact that you had carefully worked on it for him.

"So, well, this seemed the most practical. Armor polish... for you. Keep up that 'Captain of the Silvermane Guards'-grade armor, and everything..."

Were he any less trained as a soldier for battle, Gepard could've shed a tear. Closed off, stoic, standoffish, yet you still remained the most considerate person he'd ever met.

He took the canister in one hand delicately, as if it were the most precious thing he'd ever touched, and then glanced up at you. A million words of gratitude and devotion were ready to spill from his lips all at once, but his brain fizzed out and he could manage but one.

"Why?"

You sighed deeply, the grip you had on your arm tightening.

"...ike you."

"...Huh?"

"I..." your voice increased in octave, but it fizzled out again at the end. "...eally... you."

"Y/N—"

"I really like you. There." With how loud you projected the words, anyone would assume you were confident and calm with their delivery, but your voice again contained the slightest timbre of anxiety beneath it. Still, with those firm eyes, you turned to look at him, confessing the thing he had taken weeks to even consider bringing up.

Perhaps, though, it had taken you weeks as well.

Gepard was silent, stunned into complete rigidity at your words. You knew he could be awkward, but the reaction he held only furthered your uncertainty, and you eventually turned to leave, somewhat dejected.

Before you could take even one step, though, a gloved hand took your arm as gently as possible, and Gepard was red and sweltering as if he'd just ran a marathon in full uniform to catch you.

"Wait! Wait!"

"Gepard, it's fine if you don't—"

"No, no! I like you, too!" Your confidence gave the Captain the boost he needed to finally blurt out the words, shoving the Ball Peony bouquet towards you. "I swear! That's, um... That's why Serval had me come by today."

It was your turn to be shocked—so shocked, in fact, that you didn't even bother to curse Serval out for setting you up like this.

Still, as Gepard slid his hand down to clasp your own, you couldn't bring yourself to feel too much enmity towards her.

"Um... If it's okay, do you want to go to dinner tomorrow night, then...?"

You tried to hide your delight as best you could.

"...Tomorrow night sounds nice."

Gepard, however, could not hide his.

⊹ Jing Yuan

It only took that one night of trickery, that one moment of Jing Yuan catching you hook, line, and sinker, for a routine to develop.

The General immediately took advantage of your acceptance and took you to the nicest restaurant the Xianzhou Luofu had to offer (and the most expensive, of course, much to your dismay).

As promised, he got his paperwork done on time.

But it wasn't more than a few days before he began slipping again.

Napping around his office, playing chess with Yanqing instead of working...

As soon as you got on his case again, you could see in the way his brow quirked that his mind was quick at work to justify himself.

Then, a wry smile had appeared—one you were both begrudgingly fond of and vehemently annoyed by.

"Well, Lady Y/N, go out to dinner with me again tonight and I promise to have my work done."

And so developed an unlikely routine—as long as you went to dinner after working hours, Jing Yuan would have his paperwork complete.

Of course, there were a few times when he slipped.

But whenever this happened, you vanished from the Seat of Divine Foresight before he could even awaken, and he found that the absence of your presence was punishment enough.

So now, him skimping his work was a rare occurrence. Even Yanqing was surprised.

"General, you've been a lot... busier, lately."

"Only as busy as I'm meant to be, my boy."

Golden eyes were immensely suspicious, and those same eyes watched the General in your presence carefully.

"...It's Lady Y/N, isn't it?"

Jing Yuan choked.

Even still, you'd be lying if you said you weren't enjoying the routine as well.

It was a win on both counts—you get a nice, expensive meal, and Jing Yuan also stops skipping important work!

Surely, it wasn't also a win to spend more time with the General. Surely...

He was still as cheeky as ever, though, especially now that you'd caved to his whims and spent more time with him.

Sometimes, he'd try to pass you alcohol and convince you to drink with him.

Of course, this was with the sly intention of getting you to open up and drop that stoic façade.

It never really worked.

Either you refused, citing work, didn't get drunk enough to become loose-lipped...

Or, in one instance, actually drank the General of the Luofu himself under the table.

Needless to say, you never did that again. Not only did you gain nothing but a raging hangover, the people of the Luofu who were present in the bar wouldn't shut up about it for weeks.

The rumors were even more ridiculous!

Though, you did gain something to tease Jing Yuan about, for once.

Dinner eventually turned into dinner along with a small walk together afterwards.

It took a lot of convincing and taking on extra work for Jing Yuan to get you to agree to the latter.

It was nice, though. Not only were you out in the fresh air, but you were free of the somewhat guilty burden of having the General paying for all your meals out of pocket.

Still, one day... he seemed different.

"General—"

"Lady Y/N—"

You both paused mid-sentence, cutting each other off. However, it was you who ultimately remained silent, gesturing for the man to continue.

Jing Yuan seemed... uncharacteristically nervous today. Was nervous even the right word for it? Perhaps it was, seeing as how his one visible eye darted back and forth.

Strange.

He cleared his throat loudly, reaching out a hand.

"I was only going to ask if you were ready to head to our usual dinner arrangement. I've made reservations."

Well, that was even more strange.

"General, you've never asked me before. You've just dragged me along. Are you feeling well?"

Despite your concern, you still accepted his hand just as naturally as always, allowing him to move your hand into position so that you were holding onto his arm. The first time he'd done this, you had recoiled, embarrassed at the proximity, but now, it was just as routine as your near-nightly dinner dates.

Dates? Were they dates? You pushed the thought as far away from your head as you could to avoid any red flush potentially springing to your cheeks.

"Of course I'm well." Jing Yuan only chuckled mildly, not meeting your gaze. "Shall we be off?"

You eyed him, but nodded slowly. On the way to the reserved seats, you began cautiously.

"...If you slacked off on your work and are trying to hide it from me..."

Honey-gold eyes met yours with a slight measure of surprise, and before you knew it, the General was laughing. A low, rumbling, and comforting sound that emanated from deep within his chest. It caused the dam you held to keep your cheeks from going red to burst.

"W-What did I say?!"

"Nothing, my dear... Absolutely nothing," he chuckled, wiping an imaginary tear. As much as the sight irked you, it also caused you to breathe a small sigh of relief.

He didn't seem as anxious any more.

"I was just a bit surprised."

"Well, I wouldn't be..." you grumbled. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Jing Yuan's smile turned crooked. "Come, now. I think I've been doing rather well at holding up my end of the deal. How long has it been since I last shirked my duties?"

"One week."

Your unimpressed response had his laugh turn nervous, but not in the same way as before. He glanced away at your dagger-like stare, murmuring some sort of excuse before giving up at the squeeze you gave his arm.

"I would say I've been doing well overall, though."

You acquiesced with a sigh. "That you have, General. Better than before, at least."

"Well, that is high praise. Coming from my poker-faced Lady Y/N, I'd have thought it'd take ten decades of work to satisfy your standards and achieve a compliment such as that."

You only grumbled in response, eliciting another laugh from your General.

So caught up in the conversation were you that it took you being seated in a private room to realize where you were.

"...This is where you first took me."

"Correct," Jing Yuan smiled, a hint of unease in his features as he fiddled with something beneath the table. "I thought it'd be appropriate."

"For...?" you trailed off, trying to recall if there was anything special happening today. "Did I forget a holiday?"

"No, no. I'll tell you later, Lady Y/N."

"Very well, General," you sighed, making your choice and setting your menu down. Surprisingly, a comforting silence filled the air until the attendant came to collect both of your orders, and even after that. Minutes passed, and the silence was now... less comforting.

Something was definitely off. By now, the General would be talking your ear off about something—whether informing you about his latest trickery with his and Yanqing's games of chess or teasing you for your uptightness in the latest meeting, he'd have something to say.

But Jing Yuan just sat there, smiling down at his hands, still fiddling. You eventually had enough, clearing your throat.

"...So, are you going to tell me why today is significant for this restaurant?"

The man jumped—did he jump? Did the famous General Jing Yuan just jump over a mere question from his advisor?—and paused, clearing his throat again. You had noticed he was doing that quite a lot this evening.

"Well, I should get it out of the way, shouldn't I? No use dwelling on it any longer, haha..." Finally, he extracted the item he had been messing with, sliding a small velvet box across to your folded hands. "Here you go, Lady Y/N."

"And just what is this?" you eyed it, then raised a brow. A small trinket from one of his expeditions, perhaps? But you weren't much of a collector or anything...

"Just open it."

"Very well." You paused momentarily, but slowly pulled the box towards yourself, pushing up the little hinged lid. In an instant, your hands clapped it back shut, your face turning thousands of shades of red.

Jing Yuan, while still anxious, found himself chuckling as he fiddled with the hem of his sleeve.

"General," you whispered harshly. "Is this some kind of joke?!"

"Well, I'd hope not, considering that little trinket cost me a fair chunk of my prior paycheck."

"General Jing Yuan, I'm being serious!" You were sweating bullets, trying to reign in your flustered state. "Explain yourself!"

The man cleared his throat again, and finally began to lay out his reasoning.

"You see, Yanqing was just getting so terribly tired of hearing me talk about you. In his words, 'You need to do something about it before I go insane, General.'" Jing Yuan was rambling. "So I went to a local jeweler and tried to find something nice, but none of them quite suit you the way I wanted. Then, I figured I should commission something, and—"

His rambling speech had given you time to process just slightly, just enough to cut him off and pose your own question.

"Are you proposing to me?"

Jing Yuan coughed.

"Well, I figured since we'd been to dinner together so many times—"

"—as General and his advisor!—"

"—but if you'd like to start with the label of dating, I'm perfectly fine with slowing it down to that. We do have nothing but time, after all."

You were about to shout some more, say anything, but the sight of Jing Yuan's somewhat flushed cheeks had you reeling, stunned into silence.

He was serious.

The General glanced up at you through his bangs.

"You don't have to give me your answer right now. But I'd be delighted to see you at least try the ring." And oh, when he beseeched you with those pleading eyes, how could you even think to say no?

You hesitantly opened the box, unable to fathom what was happening. In your state, you hadn't noticed Jing Yuan move to your side, taking your hand gently in one hand and the ring in his other.

"Allow me."

Tenderly, carefully, Jing Yuan slid the ring onto you. It fit like a glove, and you couldn't even think to wonder how he got your ring size down to a T. He gazed into your eyes with such adoration that you felt your brain going to mush.

"...It's lovely," you stammered. The General smiled.

"You're lovely."

Surely, the situation was about to escalate into something more.

An embrace? Possibly... a kiss? Just as you felt the very distinct possibility of your eyes fluttering shut in anticipation, the door to your private dining hall was slid open.

"I have the orders for one General Jing Yuan and one Lady Y/N—"

The waitress stopped short, eyes wide at the proximity between you and the General. Then, her eyes fell to your hands, the ring—

"Wait—"

"Ma'am, it's not—"

"Please forgive me! I'll leave you be!"

Without giving either of you even a moment to explain, the now beet-faced woman dashed away, shocked out of her poor mind. You exhaled shakily, and then whipped your head around as Jing Yuan laughed boisterously.

"General! The rumors!"

"Oh, they always spread some rumor or another. It's happened since we first started this little routine, and it won't cease now. But if you aren't interested, I will always happily have them dispelled."

You huffed another sigh, glancing away.

"...Who said anything about me not being interested?"

It was Jing Yuan's turn to be stunned, but he recovered annoyingly quick, immediately wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him.

"Really now? Well, I'll take that as your acceptance of my proposal. I will be stuck to your side from here on out."

"I'm accepting the dating proposal, not marriage, General!"

"For now."

"General!"

⊹ Sampo Koski

The man who formerly avoided Natasha's clinic like the plague out of intense fear for Wildfire's motherly leader now found himself frequenting the joint more than the Fight Club.

Who would've guessed?

Well, you might've.

Ever since your run-in with the infamous Sampo Koski only a few weeks prior, it seems he'd made it his personal mission to only appear when you were working.

Of course, you only really worked night shifts, and Sampo was quite the night owl himself, but who's counting?

He still annoyed you to Hell and back.

The only edge you really had over him was when Natasha was in, helping you with the patients.

Sampo would stare at you from outside the window like a puppy left out in the rain—you could practically hear the whines and see the sad droop of metaphorical ears.

Natasha always knew he was by, and she'd always tease you about it, so in a way, you were both now avoiding her.

"Y/N... Your ol' buddy Sampo Koski got himself a booboo! Won't you fix me up?"

"Get lost."

"But it really hurts!"

"That's a flesh wound. Here's some ointment. Scram."

"Ouch! You're as cold as ever... Your words sting more than this egregious injury..."

A small, tiny voice inside your head was always thankful that he was never really as injured as he exaggerated, but he still found ways to negate even that tiny bit of mercy you held for him with his antics.

Usually, he'd just swing by to hop around you and ask for attention.

Really, he didn't want anything more than a few words from you or a few minutes of your time, but you didn't have much of either to spare with your work.

To catch your eye, he'd try to ham up his pain, but it never really worked.

A bandage there, an ointment there.

Sampo never failed to notice how you would always entertain those requests at least, giving him what he needed to care for himself.

Though he did long for your tender loving care again. Even if it meant being on the receiving end of your unimpressed stares.

Then, there was the time he asked for you to kiss his wound better.

That earned him a harsh clobbering to the head.

While you hated the distraction Sampo brought while you were actively trying to cure real patients, he wasn't all bad if he came at a good time.

Not that you'd ever admit it, though.

You'd given him enough ground with your little "For me" comment last time, and he'd never let you forget it as long as you lived.

When you were packing up your supplies and getting ready to trade shifts with Natasha, it was kind of... nice to see him around.

He'd bring you small doohickeys and trinkets from his latest scams expeditions, or talk your ear off about his adventures.

Scratch the dog analogy.

Sampo was more like a crow, squawking your ear off and delivering small, seemingly-insignificant, shiny treasures.

Somehow, his unending positivity and boisterous attitude was a nice contrast to the dreary place you were stuck in.

You were begrudgingly—with harsh emphasis on that word—becoming fond of Sampo Koski.

You weren't sure if this was a good thing.

"Y/N!"

You heaved a sigh, stretching out your weary limbs as Sampo came barreling into the clinic, thankfully uninjured. You kind of wanted to hit yourself for thinking of that first, rather than how obnoxiously loud he was being, but you digressed.

It seemed as though ever since your little run-in with him while he was badly wounded, he had taken your demand to stay out of harm's way to heart. Now, he rarely got anything more than a small bleeding cut or a sizeable bruise.

"How many times do I have to remind you to be quiet in the presence of my other patients? They're sleeping, Koski."

"Some things never change! Just like your painfully frostbite-y words, Y/N~"

You only grunted at that, collecting your tools and cleaning off your table. You always did like to leave Natasha with a neat workspace when she arrived.

"Sooo, I was thinking..."

"Sampo Koski, thinking? The Overworld must be crashing down on our heads as we speak."

"Yeesh, uncalled for..." the man grumbled, his energy bouncing back fast, though. "Let me take you somewhere nice. Think of it as a reward for working so hard and helping me out so many times, yeah?"

You raised a brow at that, and the conman clasped his hands together, that familiar grin sneaking onto his lips.

"After all, Sampo Koski always repays his debts! Never leaves a friend hanging!"

"You know the clinic's services for mild cases are free, right?"

"That generous heart of yours just makes me swoon, Y/N! But I can't possibly let you do me all this kindness without doing something in return!"

You sighed raggedly. "If this is you roping me into one of your scams..."

Sampo slapped a hand over his heart and clasped his chest as though mortally wounded. "You wound my poor soul, my heart, Y/N! Would 'lil old Sampo really do that to you?"

Your utterly deadpan glance sent him into nervous chuckles as he amped up his attempts to get you to come along.

"Come now, Y/N! You can trust me! Just this once, and if I wrong ya, you can toss me to the automatons! Honest to goodness!"

You were already yanking on your coat to follow when he crossed his finger over his heart as if to swear his undying allegiance to getting you back in one piece, sweeping past him out the door and grumbling something about being in your right mind to toss him to the robots anyways. The Sampo Koski looked a bit stunned at that, staring at you from within the clinic with wide emerald eyes.

"Well? Are you going to lead me there or no?"

"Ah, yes! Of course!"

Shockingly, it didn't take long to get to where the conman wanted to go. You had to duck past a few bots and avoid a few Fragmentum monsters, but really, that was every day in a place like the Underworld.

Yet, the bright glow of the huge Geomarrow vein caught your eye at once, sending you into awed silence.

Sampo smiled at that, dragging you along by the arm to a better vantage point. You stared up, admiring the rare beauty in a place as dreary as the Underworld.

As a doctor, especially an assistant to the only other doctor in the whole of the Underworld, you didn't really get the opportunity to go out and explore much beyond Boulder Town. Sure, there'd be patients you had to go to that couldn't make the distance to the clinic, but they were rarely beyond the walls of town.

The sight before you was truly something magnificent. Something you had never seen before.

"Well, like it?" Sampo nudged your arm, snapping you out of your trance as he grinned at you. "Told you it was cool! Thought you could use some time out of that stuffy clinic."

"It's..." You didn't quite know what to say. Words escaped you as you glanced between Sampo and the marvel of mineral. "It's really something. You weren't lying."

Even though you were too awed to realize you had admitted to his truth, the man beside you still hooted with laughter at his 'victory'.

Only when his joyful whoops calmed down did you manage to fully tear your eyes away from the sight, looking over to see Sampo trying to fiddle with something in his pocket.

"Sampo?"

The man jumped, and if you were any more alert to his antics, you would've assumed he was plotting something. However, he only hid his hands behind his back, beaming.

"What's up?"

"...Thank you."

The words were quiet, begrudging, but you managed them anyways. You expected immediate feedback from your so-called friend, only to be met with thick silence. You once again called his name, and he once again jumped.

"What's the matter with you? You've not got something criminal planned, do you?"

"Nope, Sampo Koski is always loyal to his word!" His chuckles were nervous, contradicting his statement. Just as you raised a brow and were about to speak up, however, he handed you a small chain.

"Haha, almost forgot!" Lie. "I had this for ya, too."

The item was placed in your hand before you could even protest, and you nearly leapt in shock when you realized what it was, were it not for your ability to keep on your stoic disposition.

A beautifully crafted, decorative Geomarrow wrist cuff sat in your palm, a nice rustic design to it that would compliment your outfit, surely. It looked more expensive than everything you owned combined.

"...Sampo—"

"See, an old buddy of mine owed me a favor from way back when. He's a jeweler nowadays, not super useful here, but I got my hands on a chunk of Geomarrow and he worked his magic! Cool, huh?"

"Sampo—"

"And that chunk isn't stolen, no siree bob! Got it completely legitimate this time! Paid out of pocket!"

"Sampo, are y—"

"It wasn't easy, but—"

"Sampo!"

The man finally stopped rambling, pausing to glance down at you with wide eyes.

"Haha, erm, yes, my dear Y/N?"

You would've felt your face flush—in fact, you were still actively staving off the heat to your cheeks—but you had to get one question out of the way first, a hardened expression on your face.

"You stole this, didn't you?"

"No!" Sampo's insistence was so adamant that it sent you aback. "Didn't you hear what I said? Honest, I didn't steal! Not a single part of the process was made with thievery or swindling! 'Cause you don't like it, and I wasn't about to confess in a way you don't like—"

"Confess?"

The conman stopped short, scratching his cheek and whistling inconspicuously, glancing anywhere but you. You weren't having much better luck with maintaining eye contact.

You glanced down at the cuff again, reluctantly sliding it on, but unable to deny how much you were taken by it. It was also the only way to distract yourself from the shock you felt, from the warmth now prominently displayed in your cheeks.

"So... yeah. Um. I did this all. For you. To confess, 'I love you' style and all of that, if that's how ya want to put it..."

"That's how you put it."

"Can you have some mercy on my poor heart?! Sampo's trying his best here!"

At that, you snorted. Then, you giggled. Eventually, you devolved into shaky, small laughter, chuckles that couldn't be hidden even by your typically impassive countenance.

For the first time in his life, Sampo found himself utterly dumbstruck. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, in a trance as he listened to your laughter, as sweet as the chime of a bell.

To Hell with confessions and acceptance, the man was fairly certain he could die happy just hearing such a sound and seeing such a look on your face. Even if you were laughing at the notion of him being in love with you, Sampo was confident he couldn't care less.

And then, for the second time that evening, the conman was struck speechless.

"Well... fine. I suppose I can graciously accept your feelings and your heart, Sampo Koski."

His eyes lit up like the Overworld sun.

"But only if you stop getting hurt. Period."

It wasn't enough to extinguish the light in his eyes, but it was enough to get him to droop, slinking over and hanging off your shoulder pathetically with a pout.

"Aw, then how am I going to see you?! Sampo Koski needs his Y/N time, or he'll be lost! I'm lost without you!"

It took everything you had not to clobber him—but this time, you were sure that twinge of annoyance was strong-armed aside by pure fondness.

[delicrieux]

. . . l'oeuf

˙⋆✮ summary. just another evening at henry's.

pairing. henry winter x f!reader warnings. smoking, swearing, mentioned drug use, bad aspirin use specifically, use of alcohol, +18 (p n v sex, no condom henry DOES NOT care, very minimal dirty talk), pretentiousness, an inkling of classicism, bunny™ wc. 6.9k ✧˖°.

author's note. happy october everyone ! i always wanted to write smth for the loml henry winter but i never had the patience to sit down and do it. well, now i did. this was written with prompt 1. thick, acrid smoke. feel free to rqs more for the prompty thingies! x . . . side note! the fic is named by this song since i listened to it while writing. you can draw a metaphor from it if willing

creds. hd., div.

mlist | buy me coffee ♡ྀ

it was at the start of october on that fateful senior year that you had found yourself in henry winter's illustrious townhouse. from the lacquered brazillian hardwood floorboards to the ivory plasterwork on the ceilings – every corner pertained a certain degree of finery that reflected poorly on the rest of its objects: a well-worn armchair perpetually stuck in henry’s physique and fraying at the edges, the trampled rug that snaked upstairs and held all of your secrets, the coffee table with too many wine stains. in the dim light, the dried rorschach looked like blood.

the present company consisted of six and was slowly dwindling. your dear friend francis, the only boy who had never cared to peek up your skirt in childhood tennis practice, was a moment from collapsing into himself like a weary, old star. holding a champagne coupe from which he exclusively drunk only campari, he had thrown himself over henry’s couch not unlike a discontent lead from a penny dreadful novel. his face kept twisting according to the sounds: bunny’s voice was met with pursed lips and a tightly shut eye (only one, closest to bunny’s person sat by the aforementioned coffee table), charles’ – with a look of defeated boredom, and in the odd bouts of silence and music, bliss.

you offered him a cigarette, and he barely managed to crane his neck to kiss the knuckles of a helping hand before he snatched it away and searched his pockets for a lighter.

sweet camilla sat by the fire, with her knees drawn to her chest. one black stocking was torn on the side, rippling up her calf and sneaking into her inner knee, an action bunny had noted and all had taken particular interest in. there had been a metaphor about literature resembling her glossy stockings – all that language and reference weaved into a fabric that stretched till it could no more, thus marking the end of innovation and intertextuality. a book can only fit so much, and as all of them cared for ancient greek only – a language that no one spoke, and so, could never refine past its perfect state – the topic soon waned in favor of more brandy.

bunny cowed a story about richard papen, the outsider that had joined their coterie, who was not present, as he had not been invited. he was a fine orator, had a specific sense of humor that, while not always understood, could charm an audience when fidgeted with enough. only bunny was too drunk, and his glass of whiskey kept spilling on his trousers till it left an undignified blotch crowned by cigarette ashes, which only painted him a blubbering buffoon. ‘the fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool,’ came to mind as you admired the embers dancing in the halo of his blond hair.

then, there was charles, drunk as always, who had opted to lay by camilla’s feet, the place where bunny’s drunken attempts of metaphor had landed him.

lastly, there was henry, your own personal virgil, who had not wanted you to come, but allowed it still. he looked tired from across the room, an arm thrown over the cushions of the armchair in which he sat. in his left hand he held a book, a cover and a title too out of frame for your eyes to see; amber reflected in his wiry glasses, the color of his brandy bottle (half empty) before the orange glow of the fire burned it copper. a plume of cigarette smoke curled into the ceiling from his two fingers. only he could have full concentration among the chaotic symphony in the living room.

the record spun to silence, and you quickly abated your seat on the windowsill to pad to the cabinet and change the vinyl. the collection of classics had not increased since your last visit, which was roughly a week ago, and it had not changed since henry moved out the dorms during the winter of your junior year. there were chopin’s nocturnes and etudes, beethoven’s piano sonatas, and wagner’s tristan and isolda, just to name a few. something lulling, quiet. you picked debussy and placed the needle. lilting, soft and steady, like you supposed love would feel.

instantly, you were met with bunny’s ire.

“no, no,” a wave and a body too weak to stop you. you ensured he was gifted your most sly smile, “no, woman, put on somethin’, somethin’ grand,” a larger wave, like a poorly coordinated conductor, he smacked his hand too close to francis’ head. a groan from charles, as if he had grown nauseous from watching the motions, “somethin’ for me and charlie here,”

charles tried to turn away in his discontent, yet did not manage. camilla, concerned, laid a hand on his shoulder, “should we go? i think we should head home.”

“see?” bunny’s accusing tone found you once more, “you’re scaring the guests. put on some real music. like the... the...” he trailed off, lighting another cigarette. for good luck, one could imagine, “like goddamn— listen to led zeppelin, man! the rolling stones!”

you glanced to henry and found yourself surprised. a shared look.

“no such things in our humble repertoire,” you stated.

“mile davis, at least?”

“no,”

“i don’t believe you,”

“you’re free to check for yourself.”

amidst this small argument, which was much too common when dealing with bunny, camilla had somehow managed to wrestle charles into standing on his own two feet. unstable, he leaned onto his sister, the added weight making her stagger.

“goodness, take care of charles,” bunny whined, though his complaints never amounted to more than simple sulking. you chose not to pay them much mind.

it was henry that helped, carefully balancing his book on the armrest and coming to take charles from camilla’s embrace.

“should i drive you home?” he asked.

camilla shook her head, en route to retrieve her red scarf and new coat, “no, no, we’ll call a taxi.”

it was always mildly fascinating watching the two interact. camilla, never able to meet his gaze directly and for too long, and henry, who only ever extended wordless aid without prompt or reason to her only. what had she done to earn such favor was beyond you – beyond everyone, perhaps – but you were certain you weren’t the only one that saw this careful act of piety and kindness.

you observed them shuffle out after moments on the telephone, camilla’s hand ghosting henry’s arm, or grazing the bend of his elbow, and only when they disappeared past the large door to wait for the taxi did you look away.

loving henry winter was a sisyphean task, unworthy of the effort which it required. you thought yourself too smart for it, and thus, never cared to entertain the notion, not even when he kissed you.

you caught bunny staring at you: not scrutinizing, not calculating – simply staring. a curious leer that often fell on you after some semblance of mirth had worn down. almost shy, somewhat longing.

“this richard of yours,” you began, helping yourself to henry’s lucky strike. out of all the brands that you had smoked, this was the most bitter and always left a tart taste in the back of your throat. you craved it, “papen, was it?”

“yup,” bunny mumbled into his glass.

“and how is he?” your gaze jumped from him to francis.

“poor,” bunny said.

“californian,” francis tacked on.

“but he pretends he isn’t,” bunny continued.

“californian?” your brows rose. the smell, the taste – too powerful, almost choking.

“no, no,” bunny shook his head, disoriented for a moment, “rich. pretends to be rich. see, i didn’t tell you this, but,” and he reached for henry’s cigarettes, too, even if his own pack laid abandoned, two-three left untouched. he did this, at times, this odd mimicry: you smoked, he smoked what you did, you drank, he drank what you did, you decided a getaway to italy was your dream destination for a week and later learned he had haggled henry into buying tickets for the two of them, “but i, you know me: never judge a book by its cover, i say. invited him to dinner. the usual place, the one on-”

“god,” francis winced, and if he could move, surely he’d flee, “stop talking.”

“the lady asked, am i to deny her now? i thought he wouldn’t show, but he does, doesn’t he? with a goddamned tweed jacket, like i wouldn’t notice,” he hiccupped mid-explanation, the liquor long congealed into his system, “and, you know, me, i know people. i know people. i see them for what they are, and i knew he was a no good cheat from a mile away, but hey,” a straight spine, a bit proud, “i think to myself, you know what, old man, i’m gonna give this guy a chance. pop’s always-”

“aspirin,” francis interjected, this time directed at you, “bring me some, would you, juliet?”

you snorted, “a moment,”

“thank you, desdemona. you’re a midsummer night’s dream,”

“she’s from othello,”

“my point stands.”

you sauntered off into henry’s kitchen and scoured his cupboards for painkillers. the layout of this place you knew too well – perhaps, even, if you closed your eyes, you could discern each obstacle and map it in front of your eyes with the grace and certainty of a guidebook. you did just that.

behind you, a sudden coldness pierced through the humidity and a door shut harshly. the influx of fresh air was a brief slap to the face.

it’s been silent for a while now.

“what are you doing?” henry’s voice, not close, yet not too far. always observing at a distance, since closeness was never his intention. henry winter. what a fitting name.

“looking for aspirin.”

the tick of an unseen clock.

“top drawer,” there was no urgency; something you didn’t understand was what made him hurry to answer, “i hid them there. bunny keeps stealing my entire cabinet.”

your eyes fluttered open, “my, my. what a snitch,”

“don’t give him the aspirin,”

“it’s for francis,”

“very well.”

an impasse. you closed the cabinet and thought against bringing water with you, knowing it’s unneeded.

“may i?” henry asked, and when you turned to look at him, he was as always – unbreakable, unmovable. expectant, perhaps, his heavy gaze a familiar pressure upon your cheekbones, the curve of your jaw, your swollen mouth (from biting, not being kissed).

“they’re yours,” you said easily, turning the cap and spilling a few into the bed of your palm as he approached, “here.”

to make matters harder, there’s but a foot of space between the two of you. the smallest separation, every part of him and every part of you entangled into one odd constellation. an immensity of motion before him and an immensity of energy after.

“water?”

“whiskey.”

“is it also hidden?”

“no.”

so you retrieved him a glass, and then the bottle, and lastly you poured the amount enough to swallow in one gulp. when he took and drank, and you watched his adam’s apple bob, you wondered, briefly and hazily, was your act in any way similar to camilla’s. a star that constantly drew him into her orbit.

“you didn’t leave,” he uttered quietly, tired eyes flicking to the maw of the kitchen opening. down the foyer, the firelight danced. bunny’s voice rose in a toast, no doubt to shake francis out of his stupor.

“i did,” you said, a slow smile curling, “what you see before you is a specter. the delirious imaginings of an impoverished mind.”

“ridiculous,” the quirk of his eyebrows: mock-offended.

“amusing,” the narrow of your eyes: contagious, “was everything my spirit foretold the same as you saw it unfold?”

weariness. you looked for it and found it easy enough. his fingers flexed, his tongue went behind his teeth. the cogs turned. for all his genius, henry was too susceptible to fable and entirely too superstitious. he could ward himself off it well, yet when his inhibitions were down, there was a hint of something else, a spark of pious faith in the impossible, what not might come next. he kept looking at you for an extended moment, until the corner of his mouth, minutely, drew up into a not-quite-smile.

“hermia!” came francis’ voice from the other room, “i’m dying.”

henry said nothing.

you expected bunny drunkenly swinging an almost empty bottle around to try and cheer up francis (it rarely worked, unless it was wine), and yet, he wasn’t there. the living room felt very big, somehow, devoid of him and the makings of his gullible heart.

“and where is bun?” you questioned, almost scolding.

“bathroom,” francis succeeded sitting up, yet only just.

you heard henry curse under his breath. he disappeared, and soon you heard the continents of a stomach emptying down the hall and henry’s monotone behind a closed door.

“time to end this sabbath, me thinks,” you said. francis took the pills with a fresh glass of campari, nose scrunching from the taste.

“d’you think henry could drive me home?” francis asked.

“do you trust him with your life?”

“do you think he’d let me die?”

“depends,”

“no. i’ll cab it,”

“wise decision.”

henry returned, seemingly exhausted from his small adventure. no one followed after.

“bun?” you asked again, which seemed to displease him. he only shook his head. passed out, then. unfortunate, yet expected. if bunny could somehow gain authority over all of henry’s things – even the minute ones, the ones that don’t matter and exist in the peripherals without henry’s notice – he would. it was the same reason francis once insisted that bunny had been in love with you.

the incident occurred during your first year of college in early november. a rather somber and chilly day with leaves sticking to wet asphalt and stone walls amidst the rainy season. a monday. bunny had broken his ankle and complained terribly about it, and henry, who had become his caretaker, was sick of it and instead abhorred him. by accident and complete mischance, the handling of bunny corcoran had fallen onto your graceful shoulders, and in a single day – full of obsolete complaints and impulsive questions – the theorized affection was born.

if there was a way in which bunny’s countenance had changed in your presence, it was lost on you, for your attention, at the time, was solely pilfered by charles. he was, back then, the most handsome of the greek class, and oddly enough, the only one pleasant, thus you sought his favor. but charles never returned your fondness, no matter how minuscule it could be, and he never gave the impression of fleeting interest. only sometimes, when he thought you would not catch him, he would stare at you for a bit too long. you never got to figure out what he had thought in those moments.

instead, you figured yourself an actor – a pretty one at that – and decided to ignore this indelicate sort of charm and pursue a new mark. there were many, of course, plenty of faces to consider, yet the outcome was always the same. as it were, they were all terribly boring and reminded you greatly of the peers you’ve encountered in private schools, the self-proclaimed intellectuals of the new age that had too much time and too much heartbreak on their hands. good looks aside, not the slightest hint of culture nor comprehension, just money and nothing to show for it.

and then there was henry, of course, so quintessentially different that his existence, still, was hard to define. something outside the realm of you. something above or beyond, or perhaps below – always somewhere you could not reach. there was an irrecoverable arrogance to him and in his aloof demeanor. an inviolable space that never invited others.

yes, there had to be some appeal to the strangeness of him, yet never could you put your finger on what exactly it was. at least, not immediately. at first sight, though, there were more poetic reasons to it – of the tragic and of the divine kind, yet that was no truth but some novel-born whim, a pointless obsession, some meager infatuation. an involuntary fetish. he had not wanted you, which only made it so that you wanted him in turn. it wasn’t an ugly thing – it simply was.

he must’ve known. henry always seemed to possess the knowledge of things you had never dared to question or to think twice of. or, perhaps, maybe not: but, despite your inability to identify the cause of it, there was a certain change to your disposition upon entering his shared room. one, maybe, akin to the sudden fear brought by dark enclosed spaces, though a bit more subtle and complex.

it was, ironically, a winter’s night.

when you phoned the same taxi and requested it’s return, francis spoke in a hazy murmur, sluggishly trying to shrug on the coat you brought him, “god, i really need a cigarette.”

“hm?”

“do you see mine anywhere?”

a rueful search, hands grabbing the scattered glass and hardbound that littered the surface of the coffee table. a valiant attempt to move the couch cushions and dip fingers into the cracks.

“no,”

“well, fuck me,”

henry offered his, but francis refused. the living room lit up in that thick, acrid smoke anyway.

the foyer echoed with your footsteps. outside the townhouse, rain had started again. a few drops at first, tapping the windows, before quickly it grew and gained weight. soon, it was battering against the glass.

with your scarf in your hands you suddenly found yourself unsure what to do with it. the taxi was coming and it was time to go home and plead to a higher power for reprieve from the headache you knew would cripple you in the morning. perhaps, an afternoon tomorrow to mull around, dazed. yet there was no respite in any of that. you realized, then, with this abrupt trepidation, that the cause of your discomfort, or the cause that exacerbated it, was within this confided space. a chasm-deep disquiet, like an open mouth of a ravine, dark and shadowy, or the pull of a tide at sea, which was, as they say, irresistible to even the most levelheaded.

somewhat uneasily, you lingered by the coat hanger, and when francis ambled over, tripping over his own two feet, he downed the rest of his campari and shoved the glass into your useless hands. then, he kissed your cheek, quick and wet, before ripping the door open and shoving it closed behind you, hence halting your escape.

the house was deafened, and your palms itched. the overwhelming urge to twiddle with your scarf became unbearable, or it was because a pair of eyes bore into you from the depths of the room. the closest thing you’ve ever considered to a tangible aura: the smell of ozone and rain water and tobacco.

“don’t suppose he’s waiting in the rain, is he?” you said.

“no, i don’t think he is.”

it didn’t make sense, none of what happened afterward – the decision to face him instead of making off into the chilling night. your arms crossed in a quiet and peculiar motion, clutching the coupe a bit too tight.

“whiskey?” henry offered, and you felt like the silly ingénue in some high-brow noir thriller donning all that cashmere by the door, “or bourbon.”

“fine.”

a crease of his eyebrow – the sole indication of surprise. your jacket found its rightful place on the rack along with that dreaded scarf. hesitance was unfamiliar to you, as you had not known it growing up – neither a sense of propriety nor a loss of footing. the dandy act had been adopted and perfected to such a degree that to relinquish the mask itself was oddly relieving, the discomfort born merely by knowing that francis was aware of your unusual situation and the upcoming events that would take place once the theater was done. there was a brief thought to how henry might’ve perceived you then. perhaps the removal of a layer of pretense might’ve intrigued him, if anything.

you remained at a slight distance and watched him traverse his domain, stepping around the askew items left behind by bunny and a bottle of gin haphazardly upended by charles, warm by the fire. there was an anomalous sort of patience to him. the silence was an abrasion. so often, you found yourself chattering to fill the void, even with other men who took the shape of strangers.

“there’s quite a storm brewing,” you said, only to be met with more silence. when your words simpered, the feeling they left was inexplicably ominous. ‘all that is transitory is but a symbol,’ yet only a bad poet would dare to draw a soliloquy from henry’s figure by the flames.

thus, you sat down on the couch, still warm from francis, and held up the beloved champagne coupe. henry’s hand did not tremble as it poured, but your fingers quivered when his attention fell onto you.

“is it good?”

you never felt the alcohol, only the burning in the back of your throat.

“very,”

he found himself beside you, not too close. the distance was not unlike orpheus’ journey, or so it appeared in the dim firelight – the familiar pangs of the unwilling, the sudden, selfish urge of wanting to see him in his entirety, his visage unhindered

“may i?” you asked, meaning, of course, his cigarette. he acquiesced easily. the only telltale of his everlasting unbothered mien: his focus had, and always seemed to be, too acute. it was enough to unnerve anyone. flattering, perhaps, if only you could tell what he was thinking, but you never could.

in your lap, the half-empty coupe. you left a smudge of your lipstick on the cigarette butt. henry inhaled. it was not unlike a kiss.

“francis mentioned you didn’t want to see me,” you said.

“i didn’t,” he responded.

“a lie, was it then?”

“you assume to know?”

“yes.”

another drag. smoke parted his mouth, slow as molasses and heavy as clouds.

“you’ve changed,” you said.

conversation with henry had always been difficult, before and after your frequent follies in the dark. if you did speak, it was never about one another, or anything that resided past skin and bone, nestled somewhere in the marrow, only felt. in instances where you did find common ground it was only ever art – literature, specifically, and when he was in a good mood, painting. henry only had one fascination and refused to entertain others; here lied his fatal flaw. thus, in a crowd of three and more, you could exchange remarks that would seem and sound important but held no real meaning.

“what sort of change have you noticed?” henry murmured. the lighting cast shadows. his hands twitched.

you were not sure, as you remembered him in much more detail and color. here, ashen-faced and obscured, all you saw was the ghost of his image, as though he had grown morose in a way that a single season could not alter. the greek class had often suffered for the aesthetic – self-imposed punishments of grandeur and excess that to everyone outside their circle seemed quite ridiculous, along with their dark clothes and mysterious miens and enigmatic jokes. some said they were haunted or blessed, but none envied them. alas.

troubled is the closest you could find, though if you were to voice it, he might take you for a child. it was never good to seek out his vulnerability. he would say you could never find it, and, inevitably, it would end up being the truth. henry wasn’t good at love. no one of were.

you shrugged, “you’ve become quiet.”

“am i, now?”

“more so than you’ve been,”

“perhaps you’ve just gotten better at listening,”

“unlikely,”

henry cocked his head. his hand, once again, twitched and there was an urge to reach out and grasp his fingers – some sort of absolution or at least a consolation for something neither one of you might’ve cared to mention. never did the man in front of you appear unsure, yet somehow, despite his best effort to the contrary, you felt a similar trepidation of an undefined thing.

henry was impossible to read. not just a mystery, but undeciphered in ways so beyond the mundane. over the years, you had collected enough clues to form a humble dictionary, yet much of what was missing could only be determined through his own misfortune and complacency – things which would, then, by nature and by fate, stray into your arms.

it did not matter, not entirely, at least. you did not love henry, but you thought that camilla did, and he, in turn, her. once you exhausted your inspection, perhaps you would pass that glossary to her, though you doubted that she would ever find any use for it.

“well,” henry said, “i suppose that’s to be expected. anything else?”

“would you enjoy a dissection?”

henry hummed, perhaps in agreement or curiosity, but it was very possible that he thought you foolish.

“no need,” he said, “yours is transparent.”

“really?” you countered, “they never are. people, i mean.”

“who are you thinking of?”

your mind drifted to bunny, likely curled on the cold tiles of the bathroom. with the first few buttons of his shirt popped and tie loosened, there was the picture of one not withering away but merely on the incline of a steep and lonely hill. all quiet in the dark of a windowless room from which he couldn’t even turn his head and see the stars.

it felt as though he would wake soon and interrupt. his presence always breached spaces he did not occupy, and the anticipation of his arrival always lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable. perhaps bunny would always exist in the shadowy corner-room between you and henry, because, if what francis said was true, henry was the first to know of it and had you, still.

you wondered if he regretted it, if he felt like brutus sticking the first knife into caesar’s rib, closest to the heart. you considered asking: in that moment, the urge felt insurmountable. instead, you said, “a little bit of everyone.”

inclined, you caught his gaze. an abysmal color and a disorienting shade, as deep and gloomy as the woods surrounding mount cataract.

“and me?”

“of course,” you smiled and slid a bit closer, “it’s not like you to ask. have you become sentimental?”

“not exactly,” his eyes moved to his hands. then, the flecks in the fireplace, the piles on the floor, “i’ve been thinking.”

“care to elaborate?”

“no,” he said. you understood his need for privacy, and a small part of you could appreciate his effort, or maybe, rather, that you got something of an answer at all. he did, occasionally, tend to disappear in thought. he remained, despite his reluctance, sitting with you. this, in a way, spoke more to you than the words that could never leave his mouth.

“this weather makes a body wistful,” you told him, “and the greek have always liked their tragedies.”

he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth before lighting another cigarette, “what do you know of greek?”

always the same argument. always the same contradiction. your attraction was tempestuous, and so, it should have surprised you neither the sudden bite or the wicked sense of amusement.

“all that any student would, naturally,”

“so, nothing,”

“i suppose,” you would not admit, for he would win, “henry,”

something in his posture betrayed him, but it was not his eyes, nor his tone, “yes?”

you were close then, much closer than you were moments ago. his lips thinned in a brittle, noncommittal line and his eyes drooped – more of a warning than anything.

“are you going to kiss me?” you asked.

he wanted to, he must’ve, for it had been the only sensible action – you always pressed for what would hurt least. to drown and swallow poison. it was a favorite, and, for some reason, one he allowed, like an agreement reached. to your knowledge, he only ever let himself indulge in you.

henry only leaned in, which was enough for you. his mouth, a second, not any less tantalizing than the first. and you had kissed him with a brazen softness, enough that his hands snaked to grasp the back of your neck. another hit. the smoke and ash settled deep in your lungs. you had pushed it out in a groan when he dropped his hands to your thighs, pressing hard and confident as he had on those nights when you found each other too lonely. the ache he created was wonderful.

you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled it until it untucked. he swallowed and whispered in a language you were familiar with but couldn’t speak, and lifted your skirt.

you kept the cigarette between your teeth as he mouthed down your jaw and neck. his finger traced the skin at the back of your knee and that tickling spot right below your ribs. goosebumps rose and followed his touch. he nipped at the crook of your neck and dragged you onto his lap.

“you are dressed far too heavily, and terribly,” you heard him say, and when his lips found the shell of your ear, you could not stifle the shiver. the whole room felt claustrophobic, hot and steamy, like the aftermath of a scalding bath. your breaths grew labored. you closed your eyes against it and clawed into his arm.

henry said, again, this time more slowly and with a dull emphasis, “terribly.”

“how dare you insult my taste,”

“would you allow for a remediation of my sins?”

“luckily, i’m in an agreeable mood.”

henry’s own sigh was long and somewhat labored, as though a great pressure had been taken off him. and his hands flexed, moving up and down your back. a rare instance, to find him restless. you could admire this in private.

the press of lips to your neck. the collarbone, jutting sharp in the firelight.

there was the urge, sudden and quite novel, to caress his face, cup his cheek, graze the edge of the scar of the eye that’s colder than its twin, that shrouds you in a mist. such an act was outlawed, naturally, thus, the opportunity came and went, carried away on a drafting wind of smoke. an irredeemable misfortune, and you flicked the cigarette into your abandoned coupe.

“are you comfortable?” the gentle cadence of his voice sent a wave through the warmest depths of your abdomen.

“yes.”

henry, having brushed away your stockings, stroked at the insides of your thighs. there was a light feeling in your head, an almost dizzying sway. a subtle rocking, like boats at port, from where the two of you were perched. his digits dug into the firm meat. beneath his hands, a stretch of burning skin and sinew. muscle clenched and quivered, “terribly inconvenient, by the way.”

“how do you mean?”

“all the layers,” he muttered.

“good,”

“never good,”

and then, suddenly: “are you wet?”

“if you touched me properly, you could tell,”

henry ignored your response. his hand climbed upward, and found a place between the gusset and the middle seam, rubbing, testing.

“recently,” you said, “i’ve become fascinated with joseph cornell.”

“you’re stalling,” henry informed you without inflection, slipping a finger through the damp center. a harsh noise of pleasure left you when his tongue slid between your lips. one, then two, circling and sinking with the utmost delicacy.

“why? are you not curious to hear what i think of his boxes?” you managed, halfway.

another stroke. his thumb rubbing, slow and considerate, in the spot that makes your toes curl, tight and demanding. when his eyes opened and found yours, it was almost comical – his fingers in you, mouth and mind on a completely different path, yet the connection was there all the same. even more so, while trying to be detached, fumbling over buttons and laces.

“no,”

“you might learn something,”

he quirked a brow, “you truly wish to waste time talking?”

“aren’t you?”

“i am taking an assessment of your willingness to submit,”

“are you certain it’s not the other way around?”

henry rarely responded with malice; each action was carefully devised and, in conjunction, quite merciless. in this case, he dropped his hand from the vee of your legs and tugged at his shirt collar. the emptiness was startling, as was the feeling of tension that coiled tightly in your gut. then, he grabbed his drink and sipped from the sparkling glass. petty revenge, something he always assured was beneath him.

sensing defeat, you decided to placate him. after a dramatic roll of your eyes, you slipped onto the ground and knelt.

“henry,” you began, and reached for the fly of his pants. the outline of his cock was obvious beneath the smooth fabric, thick and promising, “home ruler,” in one instance of drunken curiosity, the lot of you agonized the meaning of your names, that perhaps they, somehow, unknowingly dictated your fate, “unwilling to shed his crown. is the head not heavy? most kings lost theirs, you know.”

“flattery doesn’t suit you.”

“folly, then,” you replied, dragging the flat of your palm across his groin and taking pleasure in the strained hiss, “are you going to let me do as i please?”

“i think that is,” at the peak of his inhale, you reached into his trousers and curled your fingers around his stiff cock, “quite apparent.”

you grinned, lazy but triumphant, thumbing the blunt ridge. smudging the dribble of white at the leaking head and reveling in his restrained reactions: the minute tremors, the twitch of his jaw, a gasp caught in his throat. you would have kissed him, again. his face might’ve twitched, something uncontrollable that would’ve given away his longing, if only he hadn’t pushed it down.

with a slow pump, your hand traveled. the size was admirable, familiar, nearly to the point of nostalgia. henry had touched more parts of your body than some of the lovers you took as an earnest attempt for passion. you had begged him once, half-gone, half-wild with what you thought was need and impatience, to only fuck you – without his clever mouth and his careful hands, but he hadn’t said yes, no, had only grabbed your jaw and pressed a sucking kiss to the soft and sensitive skin beneath your ear. a promise, almost. and in a way, it had been.

“you remember?”

henry’s voice snapped you to attention, and when you looked up, his expression matched his darkened eyes, intense. something flared hot and needy in you, and with it, the desire to be open and dripping for him. he curled a hand in the small hairs on the back of your neck, stroking the skin there and, even briefly, allowed himself an indulgence in the pleasure he could get from a single touch, and rocked his hips.

“vividly,” you told him.

the flames, behind you, cast him entirely in silhouette, and his shadow projected forward and rose tall, stretched. a ruler, indeed.

his chest moved slow and purposefully, and when he released your hair, the lack of contact felt like a shock to the system. his hand closed around your forearm, “come here.”

the tone, hoarse and hushed and so quietly demanding, startled you, and you stood up so quickly that your head spun. henry placed his hands on your hips, steadying, ushering you back to where you belonged.

“just there.”

legs, parted, framing his waist. fabric, bunched between your thighs. breathing, slowed. a firm, calming weight, pinning you down. the firelight glinted in his eyes.

“henry,” you called. and the only thing to signal his movement was a bob of his adam’s apple. the cufflinks of his sleeves swayed and flickered. he hummed, neither affirmation nor disagreement and entered you with a grunt.

more. skin flushed. eyes crinkled and tightened. more. nails curled and scrabbled for purchase.

there, your name on his lips. it was disorienting – not so much a cry, or a whisper, but something between the two. henry always spoke carefully, as though each word should carry the most weight, so each syllable, in turn, he would construct and cut, meticulous and mathematical. but here, breathless and wanting, they rolled out in a steady litany, never faltering.

all fire and scorching, the pitch of it high and needy. to thrust and bruise, the idea fizzed bright and brilliant at the apex of your spine. with each snap of his hips, a part of him carved a piece of you out, and each ragged noise shook loose a piece of your skin. it would fit him perfectly. then he would slide right into those hollow spaces that swelled and throbbed, expanding beyond tolerance. in moments like these, you loved him – his body, his touch, his face, everything that could not be articulated.

“please,” you begged him, trying to curl around the ache, “i want-”

“i know, i know,” he murmured, with a tilt of his head. his hair, you noticed, had lost its immaculate shape, wild and frazzled by your fingers. your heart swelled and contracted: you wanted to do it again, over and over until his whole countenance resembled nothing more than that of a ravaged man. your power, the only thing you had over him. henry closed his eyes.

“spread your legs a little wider,”

a moan slipped when his tongue flicked and curled against the side of your neck, wet and sloppy. the sweet roll of his hips, his fingers pulling at the buttons of your attire and squeezing the fleshy swell of your buttocks. it was always too much.

you licked your lip, shaking when his teeth gently pinched. and, for a moment, the smell of pine permeated the room. as though it were his own sweat and the heady musk of his natural scent, and not a waning bottle of cologne.

“hold onto me,” henry whispered and allowed for nothing more, driving the movement out of your hands. the tempo spiraled upward. at the center, the tension was building. there was a moment of vertigo.

and it was easy enough, as things had always been between the two of you, to ignore the disjointed voices in the back of your mind. how when you two first kissed, it’d been without grace. how the rain fell, trickled, all around you, drowning the dryness in your throat. how the next day, he asked if you would regret what you’d done. and here, now, a different but striking feeling: the warm haze brought on by alcohol, his palms were hot, slick with sweat, his belt digging into you.

henry grunted and swore to a god neither of you had put much faith in. the flush on his cheeks was impossible not to reach out and touch, his eyebrow scarred with the same sort of smooth texture and fading red, his lashes, long and fine, flickering against the high edge of his cheekbones. i love you, you wanted to tell him, but the high struck you ruthlessly, turning you to liquid.

in the aftermath of this brief paradise, you shared a look.

“i still despise this weather,” you said.

henry’s mouth quirked. and what had been the impulsive dalliances of two desperate people became, once more, two lonely creatures with enough distance between to fill one of henry’s beloved epics. the quiet, in the wake of catharsis, was rather terrifying, and the clatter outside – the rain, the wind, and the cold – almost accusatory. he offered you a cigarette.

you took it without thank you and let him light it.

“should i drive you home?” he offered, voice raspy. his shirt had wrinkles and his collar sat funny. the skin beneath was pink, and there was the barest mark where you had sunk your teeth or dug a nail too hard. you bit the end of the filter, watching the flame waver before rising into ash.

“you’re drunk,” it felt necessary to remind him, though it never stopped him.

“do you want me to drive you home?” he asked again. a long pull and a thin veil of smoke.

“yes,” you said, “i’ll go wake bunny.”

“no,”

“no?”

“stop it.”

“stop what?”

“speaking of him,”

“has he done something?”

silence.

“henry?”

“leave it,” he said, but his tone was tight.

“alright. i’ll get my coat, then,”

“of course,” he murmured, standing slowly. you shouldn’t have seen him put his hand against the wall to steady himself, as though any drunken spell had fled, and with it, his equilibrium. the movement was both conscious and contrived, a fact of necessity, and not like the rest of him, braced by his surroundings and firm in stature. a self-constructed illusion, designed to project a set of attributes meant to create the atmosphere of authority. he embodied it well, but he was still, stripped of the mythos, simply human.

you watched him settle and raise his head with a gentle exhale. a mere lift of his shoulders, and he resembled a man in control, content, satisfied – everything henry was, and yet, within the façade, you could see the truth of his discomfort, recently, and without fault, brought upon by an uttered name.

in the upcoming months, you would understand and wonder if there was something you could have done or said to warn him of a future that was inevitable. no matter how many nights you had spent distressing over this question, the answer would always make itself obvious.

there was nothing you could have ever done.

thank you for reading !