#Hidden Regret | Fresh

[joffyworld]

What a feast for the eyes oh my God

day 11 < Day 12 "Blood" > day 13

When you don't want to admit it but deeply in your heart you regret what you did

Some explanation here and here (same things happend in my modern au jsnssnjsnsjxn )

Prompt list

[breadandblankets]

so i took out the trash today like the good house husband i am not, leaving behind the rank smell of long forgotten noodles and the regrets of two people with memory issues

i, like any good tumblr citizen, remember the tales of the person who put two cups of vanilla extract in their oven so i did the sensible thing to get out two Caps of extract

just then, inspiration struck. a bolt of lightning straight from the muses themselves, if i could use vanilla extract.... who's to say i couldn't use other extracts?

i scoured the cabinets, i knew my partner had secreted away some illicit non-vanilla type extracts for baking, and i found it.

hidden in the back of the cabinet was a lone bottle of mint extract

i emptied my two caps with abandon into an (oven safe) glass dish and gleefully set the oven for 300 for an hour

all that was left now was to wait for the sins of the mind to be purged by the mighty mint leaf

ten minutes in... starting to smell kinda like a thin mint

fifteen minutes in, i take a nice deep breath of lovely scented air and i am greeted by searing burning minty pain

i launch myself towards the kitchen, every step closer to mint hell, every orifice on my face burning with the freezing righteous flame of menthol

im fumbling for the oven mitt to rid my home of this foul demon, i pry the oven open and am hit with a blast unlike anything else

i feel what that vine kid taking shots of mouthwash feels, i was seared raw, my tits were blown clean off, and it was just me and that devilish beguiling minty fresh taste

quickly dumping the rest into the sink i ran towards the door, begging for the sweet sweet smell of un-minted air

learning nothing from this encounter, i dare to try once more, with the tumblr-approved extract this time

wish me luck

[andypantsx3]

LOADS OF FUN : TODOROKI x READER

SUMMARY: After moving into your first apartment together, Shouto seems more amorous than ever. You're not sure why—but when he comes home to you doing a load of laundry, more than your clothes are about to get tumbled. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft (18+ only, minors please dni!), pro hero au, gn + afab reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional sex, table sex, cunnilingus, the shouto domesticity kink agenda goes absolutely crazy in this one lol (2.8k) NOTES: This piece is part of my pretty boy summer Shouto x Reader collab! Please go check out the other incredible fics people have written over the course of the summer; you will absolutely die over how good they are. This fic was also made possible through donations to the Fics for Gaza project. I cannot thank everyone who donated to one of the charities enough, as well as those who organized, reblogged, discussed, and got the word out. Lastly, I am so grateful for your immeasurable patience with me as I take time between fics to manage my workload, I hope I'm not too out of practice here lol. In summary: thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.

The sound of the door opening was hidden in the thump and glug of the washing machine starting its spin cycle.

Halfway across the house, you were oblivious—you had the clean laundry spread out on the kitchen table, hunting through the pile trying to match one of Shouto’s socks to another that seemed to have vanished into that mysterious void which opens somewhere between the laundry basket and the dryer. One of his shirts was half-folded over your shoulder, abandoned in favor of the sock search.

The rest of your things were still mostly tangled together on the table, warm and fresh and cottony, the few shirts you’d already folded sagging off the kitchen chairs.

It still gave you a little thrill—even several weeks after you’d moved in together—to see Shouto’s things twined up with yours—his enormous socks dwarfing yours, your sweaters clinging to the occasional piece of his hero suit that hadn’t seen enough action to need his agency’s industrial cleaners.

It all added to your sense of satisfaction with your afternoon—a frosty weekend day you’d spent cozy indoors, moving slowly and leisurely through some chores. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and your favorite playlist worked itself through in lazy loops. Shouto was due off his rotation soon, and you hummed contentedly to yourself, entertaining pleased little fantasies of curling up with him for the rest of the weekend.

Which of course is when something moved in the corner of your eye. Your hum sawed up into a strangled screech, and you whipped around, flailing. Shouto’s sock launched itself full force at the intruder before you even registered you’d thrown it. In your shock, your leg caught against the table and you went stumbling—

—right into a pair of warm hands that caught you about the waist.

Your hands were on the man’s shoulders to push him off before you realized you recognized the touch—and that you’d caught sight of a distinct mop of scarlet and white hair as you’d whipped around.

“Shouto! Again?” you scolded reflexively, even as your heartbeat stuttered out of its wild kick into high gear. You tipped your head back to stare your boyfriend in the face, shoulders slumping in relief, letting him take some of your weight.

Shouto peered down at you, that tiny scrunch between his brows that indicated concern. “Are you alright, love?”

Your heartbeat pounded thunderously in your chest. “I’m—fine. But my god we need to get you a bell. I almost peed.”

Shouto’s mouth shifted minutely into something that might not have registered in anyone else’s face but was most definitely a regretful downturn on his. He looked even more unfairly beautiful than when he’d left you this morning—a little flushed and windswept from the unseasonable cold, that full mouth pink and pretty.

Your mind flicked momentarily off and back on like a circuit breaker, the way it always did when you had to process Shouto.

You’d understood he was once-in-a-generation levels of beautiful before you’d even met him, his face staring up at you from the glossy pages of various tabloids over the years. But in person, even after years of knowing him and several more dating him, Shouto’s appearance still managed to cross all the wires in a person’s brain. His features were an incomprehensible blend of aloof and elegant, sensual and warm—like a cold masterpiece of a marble sculpture had suddenly found himself with a consciousness and human desires and miles of warm skin.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he said, his voice low and warm. He sounded sincerely regretful.

You knew he hadn’t meant to—you’d long suspected his silent tread was habitually ingrained in him from years of hero work. And, in your most private and ungenerous thoughts, you suspected from years of making himself unobtrusive in his father’s home. The thought sat sour in your mouth, like a slice of pickled lemon.

You resisted making an equally sour face, shoving the thought away to make space for the reflexive flush of pleasure seeing Shouto always brought you.

“Welcome home, Sho,” you said instead, smiling up at him. Shouto’s hands moved on your waist, sliding gently beneath the hem of your tee-shirt to rest on the skin there.

He was still in his hero uniform, and as usual you felt a little goofy in comparison, in nothing but a tee and a well-loved pair of fraying sweatpants, which were this afternoon decorated with little flecks of soup from a brush with the pot.

But Shouto’s eyes were warm where they rested on you, and that perfect mouth crept back into a contented set. His long fingers smoothed over your skin as he watched you, thumb brushing your hip. He did not look like he found you at all goofy.

In fact, as his eyes dropped down to your ankles, slowly dragging back up to your face, you rather thought he looked a little appreciative. He even took a rather ungentlemanly step back, still holding you, to better take in the whole picture. His eyes wandered over the swell of your hip, the lines of the shirt against your chest, before darting to his own shirt, still folded over your shoulder.

His fingers flexed tellingly on your waist, and those heterochromatic eyes were both a little bit darker as they flicked back to yours.

His obvious regard made you feel warm. You shifted on your feet, shuffling.

“I was just—doing laundry,” you said for something to say, your mouth feeling kind of dry. Something about him always made you feel sort of shy and light-headed, even after all this time together. “And I made soup. I was thinking we could eat on the couch and watch one of those horrendous old All Might films?”

Shouto’s eyes darted to the stove, then beside you to the pile of your laundry, lingering for a long minute. His long lashes dipped, almost fluttering as his gaze traced over the tangle of your things together. His eyes flicked back to you. He was still for just a moment, watching you assessingly.

And then all of a sudden the world spun in front of your eyes. The hands at your waist lifted you clean off your feet, and you let out a startled “oof!” as you found yourself laid out in the pile of laundry on the table, sheets and sweaters bunching beneath you.

Shouto moved over you, stepping between your spread thighs, right at the edge of the table.

“You have no idea,” he intoned in a deep, delicious tone that went right down your spine, “what it is to come home to you like this.”

You wondered at that, feeling a strange combination of confusion and flattery, when Shouto’s mouth descended onto yours. His mouth was soft and sweet and insistent and absolutely perfect. The table groaned as he laid some of his weight out over you, pinning you into the laundry as he kissed you.

Your fingers clutched at him immediately, curling in his silky-soft hair, cupping his face to yours. One of Shouto’s own hands shifted to your thigh, holding you against him as he pressed himself harder into you.

You heard yourself making little gasps of appreciation as Shouto’s mouth moved down to your neck, laving hot kisses down your throat. You reveled in the feeling of him over you, broad and strong, his shoulders blocking the glow of the overhead light, casting shadows over you.

He’d been a lot like this lately, ever since you’d moved in together. He’d been adequately amorous before, of course, and blessed with a pro hero’s strength and unflagging stamina. But a few weeks after you’d moved in together you’d actually decided you needed to reactivate your gym membership given the amount of incredibly athletic sex you were suddenly having over almost every surface in the house.

One of the only spots yet to be touched was the table though, which Shouto seemed determined to rectify at this very moment.

He pulled back from you, his mouth flush from your kisses, looking a little entranced as he stepped out from between your thighs. You made a little noise at the loss of weight and heat over you, but Shouto caught the fabric of your sweatpants, gently but determinedly tugging them off of you. Your underwear was tossed right over one broad shoulder as Shouto went to his knees, and then his mouth was right back on you.

A wave of wild heat licked up your stomach at the noise of appreciation he made before sealing his mouth over you, strong fingers clutching your thighs to keep them apart.

“Oh my god!” you said, pleasure zinging right up your spine with the first lave of his tongue over you. “Shouto!”

Shouto let out a deep, pleased hum, two long fingers sinking into you embarrassingly easily as he worked your clit with his mouth. Your back arched and you could feel your clothing shift with you, Shouto’s shirt balling up under your shoulder blade, still half-draped over your shoulder.

“Oh, oh!” you heard yourself saying as your fingers twisted in the clothing, shuddering with every lick and suck of Shouto’s perfect, amazing, talented mouth.

He worked you with the expertise of long, dedicated practice—everything about him calculated to drive you insane. One moment he was excruciatingly soft, mouth slack and the touch of his tongue as fleeting and light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then the next he was sucking relentlessly, teasing firmly with the tip of his tongue as his fingers played with you.

Your first climax hit you mortifyingly quickly, and Shouto seemed to know it before you did. His grip tightened on you, holding you down as you bucked against his mouth. Shouto looked more than a little smug as he got to his feet again, unbelting himself and laying back out over you.

He kissed you some more, the taste of yourself always a sort of shock to your system. But Shouto never seemed to mind, and if anything only seemed hungrier for you, mouth pulling at yours like he meant to devour you.

You felt the touch of his hand between your thighs as he lined himself up, then sank into you easily, groaning appreciatively like he’d just sunk into a hot bath. He bit carefully at your neck, one large hand pressing your stomach down to keep you pinned against the edge of the table where he wanted you.

“I always want to come home to you like this,” he intoned into the skin of your neck, his mouth sucking dizzying patterns into your skin. “Always.”

You could barely think past the slide of him inside you, thick and full and blissfully exquisite. He really was the most perfect man on earth, and he always felt like it too.

You barely managed to blink your eyes open to watch him, trying to catch his meaning in his face. Shouto watched you back, those blue and grey pinned on you like he couldn’t bear to look away from you as he moved inside you.

“You—” you panted out, trying to cling to the thoughts threatening to wiggle out of your grip. “What do you—? Of course you’ll always come home to me.”

Shouto bucked into you harder, the slap of his hip against the bottom of your thigh echoing loudly over the burble of soup on the stove. His eyelashes fluttered, mouth softening, and a realization struck you almost dizzy.

Oh, he really liked that.

You suppressed a wave of giddiness, charmed and helplessly pleased that he seemed to like the idea so much. Was that why he’d been so especially ardent this past month? Was it really because you’d moved in together?

Shouto’s arm hooked under one of your legs, drawing it up firmly over his shoulder so he could press even further inside of you. He looked so good like that that you nearly lost the thread of your thoughts, especially when his next thrust felt like that. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.

“Ah!” escaped you. “Fuck, Shouto. Like that, please!”

Shouto’s thumb pressed down on your still-sensitive clit and he had to dig the fingers of his other hand into the flesh of your leg to keep you from bucking him right out of you with the way you squirmed. Sweet fucking gods he was unreal.

Shouto fucked you harder, the sound of your skin slapping together obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.

You tried again, struggling to watch his reaction with the way you wanted to throw your head back and babble nonsense instead.

“You’ll always come home to me,” you repeated, gratified when Shouto’s grip on you tightened, a soft sound escaping him. “You want me right here for you?”

“Ah—yes, love,” Shouto panted, staring down at you again. He looked like he knew what you were doing but didn’t care. “Yes,” he hissed.

“Just like this?” you prompted, trying not to slur the edges of your speech when he gave another particularly mind-bending thrust of his hips. His chest rose and fell heavily and he looked a little wild-eyed, gazing down at you.

“Like this, for me,” he said. “In my home, in our home—”

You could hear the table squeal and groan with the force of his next thrust, and then you had to grip the sides of it to steady yourself as he fucked you, looking blissful. Your nails scrabbled at the edges of the table, caught in between a million sensations—the glorious fullness of Shouto inside you, the gentle grind of his thumb against your clit, the way he looked all flushed and beautiful and panting and wanting—

You squeezed your eyes shut, too overcome with the sight of him to look at him anymore, but it was no use. Your entire body trembled as you came, and Shouto let out a low swear at the way you clenched up around him, hunching over you and pressing himself so impossibly hard against you as he came too.

He slumped down against you, weighing you into the soft-smelling cotton of the laundry you were now definitely going to have to rewash. You could feel his chest rise and fall as he panted, his breath tickling the skin under your ear. He left an unbearably soft, sweet kiss just under the lobe, at odds with the near-wild way he’d just been fucking you.

You warmed, petting through his hair with a helpless affection.

“Well now I know what time I should always do our laundry,” you said.

Shouto huffed into your neck, but you could feel a tiny smile curve his mouth.

“It is not just that,” he said, but did not elaborate for some minutes until you elbowed him gently. He peeled himself off of you just enough to look down into your face. “It is the thought of our life together. Our clothes piled together. You in the home we chose and we made…” he said, trailing off.

But you thought you got the sentiment. It was about how easy it was, how uncomplicated. A safe place to come home to, no expectations, just soup and a pile of sweet-smelling laundry and someone happy to see you. It was something far away from what he'd grown up thinking a home was, possibly something he’d thought he’d never have—something you were determined to make him realize now that he always would.

You let your fingers pull through his hair again, smiling up at him. “I am going to have to do our laundry again, though,” you teased. “In case that interests you.”

And despite what he’d just said, Shouto did in fact look a little too interested. You watched his mismatched gaze trail over to the closet that opened onto the washer and dryer. A contemplative look snuck across his handsome face, carefully curling the corner of that plush mouth.

“There is another place we have not yet broken in,” he said slowly, voice dipping low. He looked down at you with an earnest expression completely in contrast to what he was suggesting.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and that was all the permission he needed to pull you up, gathering you up in his arms and layering a fat handful of laundry on top of you. His belt buckle rattled loosely beneath you where he'd barely done it up in his haste, and you laughed harder when he turned off the stove as you passed it.

Though it turned out to be a needed precaution—as neither of you found yourselves free to sit down to dinner for several hours yet.

[novaursa]

Where Banners Fall

- Summary: After your fall at Rook’s Rest, Gwayne takes you to safety and some hidden things come to light.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaenyra's sister and bonded with Silverwing. This part continues just after The Flames We Carry. For all parts done in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top.

-Rating: Mild 13+

- Word count: 3 320

- A/N: Yeah, this one was not ment to come out today either, but you all liked the last part very much, so, here is the continuation of it. Enjoy! ❤️

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The moon casts its pale light through the dense trees, illuminating the night in a silvery glow. The wind is cold, biting through layers of bloodied cloth, as Gwayne Hightower clutches the reins with one hand and his side with the other. His breath comes ragged, each inhalation a struggle as the gash Cole delivered sends jolts of fire down his side. But none of it matters, not when your life is in his hands. 

You lie slumped against his chest, your skin far too pale, and your breaths shallow, rattling with a sound that tears at his heart. Blood streaks your face, staining your lips, a crimson trail leaking from your nose. The fall from Silverwing... gods, he can still hear the roar of dragons and the sickening crunch of bones as you hit the ground. He couldn't—wouldn’t—leave you there, even if it meant betraying everything he'd ever known.

He halts the horse in the shadow of a large oak tree and dismounts with a groan, one arm wrapped protectively around his wounded side. The pain lances through him, nearly buckling his legs, but he grits his teeth and turns to you, his gaze softening despite the turmoil raging within.

"Y/N," he whispers, barely able to speak your name without his voice cracking. Carefully, he lifts you from the saddle, feeling your weight crumple against him, your head lolling against his shoulder. His fingers tremble as he lays you down gently on the mossy ground. You are so still, too still. 

He kneels beside you, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. "Open your eyes. Just... look at me, Y/N." His voice is hoarse, almost pleading. His hands, stained with blood—your blood, his blood—ghost over your cheeks, checking for any signs of life. 

Your eyelids flutter, and a soft moan escapes your lips, causing his heart to lurch with both relief and anguish. "Gwayne?" you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper. Each word seems to sap what little strength you have left.

"I'm here. I won’t leave you, I promise," he assures you, his voice steady though it takes everything in him to keep it that way. He cups your face in his hand, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "You're safe now."

Tears prick his eyes as he sees the pain etched across your features. It’s a stark reminder that you’re not just his princess, the sister of Rhaenyra, daughter of Viserys—you’re the woman who’s owned his heart for years, even if it was a tragic love and often denied.

"You shouldn’t have come back for me," you rasp, your breath hitching in pain. "They’ll kill you…"

"Let them," Gwayne says with a fierce intensity, voice raw with emotion. "If it meant keeping you alive, I’d suffer any fate they decide." He swallows, lowering his head so his forehead rests against yours. "But I couldn’t let you die back there. Not you."

Your eyes fill with tears, but your smile is faint and tinged with regret. "Foolish knight. Always so stubborn."

He chuckles softly, though the sound is strained. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ve finally done something right, if it means keeping you with me just a little longer."

You cough weakly, and the sound sends a fresh surge of panic through him. Blood dribbles from the corner of your mouth, and his heart twists at the sight. Desperation claws at him, urging him to do something, anything to ease your suffering, but he knows there’s little he can do out here in the wilderness with no healer, no herbs, nothing but his own two hands.

"I need to make camp," he says gently, brushing his thumb across your cheek one last time before he stands. "We’ll rest here. I’ll tend to you as best I can."

You try to protest, your voice faint. "You’re injured too… I can see the blood. You’ll bleed out if you—"

"Shh." His tone is soft but firm, silencing your concern. "You’re more important to me than any wound I bear." 

He gathers what little strength he has left and begins preparing a makeshift camp, struggling to keep his movements swift despite the burning pain in his side. He lights a small fire, the flickering flames casting shadows over your pale features. Every time he glances at you, his chest tightens with fear that he’ll lose you before the dawn.

Finally, when he’s done, he returns to your side, wrapping his cloak around your trembling form. He cradles you gently in his lap, pressing you close to share what warmth he can offer.

You turn your head weakly to look at him, tears brimming in your eyes. "Gwayne… if I don’t—"

"No," he interrupts, his voice sharp, as if the very idea of you leaving him is unbearable. "You’ll live, Y/N. We’ve both been through too much for it to end here."

There’s a long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant sound of night creatures. You rest your head against his chest, finding comfort in the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the layers of armor and cloth. Despite everything, the world seems a little less terrifying with him holding you like this.

"Thank you," you murmur softly, your fingers curling weakly against his tunic. "For saving me… for staying."

"Always," he whispers, tightening his hold on you, as if afraid you’ll slip away. "For you, I would defy the world."

His words are heavy with truth. He betrayed Cole, risked everything—his loyalty, his honor, his House—because nothing mattered more than you. As he watches your eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion, he swears to himself that he’ll see you through this, no matter the cost.

The night wears on, and as the fire crackles and the stars glimmer overhead, he keeps vigil, his thoughts solely on you. In the stillness of the night, there is only the two of you, bound by fate, by the shared loss and love that lingers unspoken between every touch, every look.

And as sleep finally claims you, Gwayne brushes a tender kiss to your brow, whispering the words he’s held back for far too long.

"I love you, Y/N."

The admission hangs in the air, soft and fragile like a promise yet to be fulfilled. But as the night deepens, with you in his arms and the world beyond fading into the distance, it is a vow he clings to with all his heart.

The first rays of dawn filter through the dense canopy of trees, casting dappled patterns of golden light over your face. The chill of the night still lingers in the air, but warmth gradually spreads as the sun climbs higher. Gwayne Hightower stirs awake, the dull ache in his side reminding him of the wound that still bleeds sluggishly beneath layers of makeshift bandages. But the pain is forgotten the moment he notices your chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. You’re alive. You’re breathing.

For a fleeting moment, all his worries and fears dissolve as he watches you. Your skin is still too pale, your breathing shallow, but your lips are no longer tinged with the blue pallor of death. When your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused at first, he releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Gwayne?” Your voice is soft, laced with confusion and pain, but it’s enough to make his heart soar.

“I’m here.” He shifts closer, gently brushing his hand over your forehead, smoothing away a few stray strands of hair. His touch is tender, reassuring, but there’s an edge of desperation to it, as if touching you is the only way he can convince himself you’re still with him. “You’re safe.”

You close your eyes briefly, a tear slipping down your cheek as you whisper, “Silverwing… she’s gone, isn’t she?”

Gwayne’s throat tightens, and he struggles to find the words. He knows how deep the bond is between a rider and their dragon, knows how it must feel like losing a piece of your soul. “She saved you, Y/N. She fought until the very end to protect you.”

A sob escapes your lips, but it’s weak, more of a trembling breath than anything. You turn your face into his chest, seeking solace in his embrace. “She was everything to me. I felt her… I felt her fear when they descended on us. She tried, Gwayne… she tried so hard.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you grieve. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “She was brave, just like you.”

For a long moment, he just holds you, letting the silence settle between you, broken only by the faint sounds of the waking forest. His thoughts, however, race. He knows they can’t stay here. His nephews’ banners surround them from every side, and it’s only a matter of time before scouts or patrols find them. He can’t risk it, not with you in this condition.

“We need to get you to Dragonstone,” he finally says, his voice low but determined. “To Rhaenyra. She’ll know how to keep you safe.”

You nod faintly against his chest, but your eyes are distant, as if lost in some faraway memory. “Dragonstone… where our son is.”

The words come so softly that at first, Gwayne thinks he’s misheard. His heart stutters, the blood draining from his face as he pulls back slightly to look at you. “What did you say?”

You blink slowly, your eyes glazed with exhaustion and pain, but there’s a haunted look in them now. “Our son… I can’t… I can’t lose him too.”

The world tilts beneath Gwayne’s feet. He stares at you, trying to make sense of what you’ve just said. “Y/N… what do you mean, our son?”

You swallow, the effort seeming to drain you. “He’s ours, Gwayne. He… he was born after… after everything. After Daemon took me.”

His chest tightens, shock mingling with something deeper, more painful. He had always known you were taken by Daemon, given to him as part of the political machinations he could never fully understand years ago. It was a decision that had shattered him at the time, but hearing this now—knowing you bore his child in secret—rips at old wounds, laying them bare.

“A son…” The words are a whisper, disbelief and awe warring in his voice. “You kept him hidden from me?”

Tears brim in your eyes again, your voice breaking. “I had no choice. Daemon… he knew the child wasn’t his. He claimed him, raised him as his own, but he’s ours, Gwayne. He’s our flesh and blood.”

Gwayne’s heart pounds in his chest, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within him—anger, sorrow, guilt, and an overwhelming sense of loss. “All this time… I never knew.”

“I wanted to tell you, but it was too dangerous,” you confess, your voice trembling. “I thought… I thought it was better if you didn’t know. To keep you safe from Daemon’s wrath.”

Gwayne’s world narrows to this moment, to the truth of a child he never knew he had, one who’s been raised by a man who has always been his rival in more ways than one. The thought of Daemon laying claim to something so precious to him—it ignites a rage deep in his chest, but it’s tempered by the sheer anguish on your face.

He tightens his grip on you, pulling you into him as if holding you closer will somehow mend the broken pieces of the life you might have had together. “We’ll get him back,” he vows, voice low and fierce. “You and I—we’ll go to Dragonstone. To your sister. To our son. I won’t let Daemon keep what’s ours.” 

The thought makes his blood run cold, but for you, he’d face even that man.

You look up at him, your gaze searching his, and for a moment, you’re not the princess caught in the bloody web of war and dragons—you’re just a woman looking at the man you love, hoping against hope that he can keep the promise he’s just made. “I’ve missed him so much,” you whisper. “And I’ve missed you.”

Gwayne’s breath hitches, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, he allows himself to hold you as if you’re the only thing that matters. “I’m here now,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there. “And I’m not going anywhere without you. We’ll get through this.”

The resolve in his words steadies the both of you. There’s a long road ahead, fraught with dangers and uncertainties, but he knows with unwavering certainty that he won’t let anything tear you away from him again—not the war, not his family’s betrayal, and not even Daemon’s machinations.

You’ve lost so much—your dragon, your freedom, your soul—but in this moment, you find a glimmer of hope in the man who’s risked everything for you. And as the morning sun rises, casting light on the uncertain path ahead, you cling to that hope, knowing that Gwayne will do whatever it takes to bring you home—to your sister, to your son, and to the life you both deserve.

Together, you’ll reclaim what’s been taken. And together, you’ll face whatever comes next.

The rhythmic pounding of hooves on uneven ground fills the tense silence between you and Gwayne as he guides the horse deeper into the wilderness. Morning light filters through the trees in shifting patterns, but it does little to ease the weight pressing on Gwayne’s chest. His mind churns, cycling through the revelation you just laid bare—a son. His son. Every heartbeat seems to echo with the implications, each thump a reminder of the child who was taken from him, raised by a man Gwayne both loathes and fears.

He clenches the reins tighter, trying to steady his thoughts as they race uncontrollably. A son. His thoughts circle back to it, gnawing at him like an itch he can’t scratch. What is the boy like? What does he look like? The questions burn in his throat, but the uncertainty of what comes next gnaws at him even more. Daemon, he thinks bitterly, the name sour on his tongue. The prince’s shadow looms over everything now, twisting this newfound truth into something almost unbearable.

But he can’t afford to let his emotions take control. Not now. You’re still weak, clinging to consciousness by a thread. The ride is perilous, the terrain rough, and every jolt of the horse draws a faint whimper from your lips. Each sound slices through him like a blade, a reminder that you’re slipping further away with every mile. His instinct is to press forward, to ride hard and fast to the nearest settlement that might offer help, but every harsh movement risks worsening your condition.

He takes a deep breath and glances down at you, leaning back against his chest, your eyes half-lidded in a haze of pain. "Y/N," he calls gently, hoping to draw you back to him, even if only for a few moments. "Stay with me. I need you to stay with me."

You stir slightly, your eyelids fluttering as you try to focus. Your breaths are labored, each one a struggle, but the sound of his voice seems to anchor you in the present.

"I’m here," you whisper, though your voice is faint and distant, almost as if you’re speaking from another world. "Just… so tired."

Gwayne swallows the lump in his throat, trying to push through the fear gnawing at him. He needs answers, needs to understand what you’ve been through, what he’s been through, if he’s going to piece together a plan that might save you both. "You spoke of our son… before," he says carefully, his voice low, as if afraid to disturb the fragile balance of reality. "Tell me about him, Y/N. I need to know."

Your gaze drifts upward, unfocused, as if you’re looking at something beyond his reach. A faint smile tugs at your lips, though it’s tinged with sadness. "He’s beautiful," you murmur, voice trembling with emotion. "He has your eyes… that same spark. But he’s stubborn, too. So stubborn, just like his father."

Gwayne’s heart clenches at the thought. He can almost see it—an image of a child with your grace and his determination, laughing with that carefree joy only children possess. But there’s a shadow over the image, a darkness that steals the warmth from it.

"He doesn’t know who I am, does he?" Gwayne asks, though he already suspects the answer.

You shake your head weakly, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He thinks… he thinks Daemon is his father. That’s all he’s known." Your voice wavers, cracking under the weight of the truth. "It was the only way to keep him safe. The only way to protect him while the world tore itself apart."

Gwayne’s jaw tightens, a surge of anger rushing through him, not at you but at the situation, at the cruelty of a world that forced such a choice upon you. "Daemon," he says bitterly, the name dripping with resentment. "He took everything from me. He even took him—our son—and you."

You turn your head slightly, struggling to focus on him, your expression full of regret. "He did it to protect him, Gwayne. As much as I hate it, I can’t deny that. In a world like this, with war tearing us all apart, who else could raise him? Who else could keep him alive?"

Gwayne’s throat tightens, the fury and sorrow tangling together in a knot that’s hard to unravel. He wants to argue, to curse Daemon’s name, but deep down, a small part of him knows you’re right. That’s what stings the most. Daemon was the one with power, the one who could shield the child from the dangers that lurked on all sides, even if it meant poisoning the boy’s mind against the truth of who he really is.

But he’s not ready to accept it. Not yet. Not when there’s still a chance to change things, to reclaim what’s his.

"I’ll find a way," he vows, more to himself than to you. "I’ll get him back, Y/N. I’ll make sure he knows who his true father is."

You smile weakly, though your eyes are growing heavier, the strain of staying conscious taking its toll. "You always were driven, my love," you murmur, voice fading. "Just… don’t lose yourself in anger. Our son deserves better than that."

Before he can respond, your eyes close again, and your body goes limp against him. Panic seizes him for a moment, but he quickly checks your pulse, relieved to feel the faint but steady beat beneath your skin. You’re slipping back into delirium, but you’re still alive. That’s all that matters now.

He looks ahead, squinting at the road as he spots the faint outlines of a small village in the distance—a neutral settlement, one of the few places where banners don’t fly for either side. It’s a place to rest, to gather supplies, and perhaps even to find someone who can tend to your wounds. But it’s not without risk. Enemies could be lurking anywhere, and he knows he can’t let his guard down.

As he rides toward the village, Gwayne’s thoughts swirl with plans and possibilities. He needs to get you to Dragonstone, needs to confront the truths that have been hidden for so long. But more than that, he needs to find a way to reunite with the son he never knew, the son who now lies in Daemon’s grasp.

And as the horse plods steadily forward, the determination in his heart hardens into something unbreakable. He will see this through, no matter what it costs. Because even in the face of betrayal, war, and loss, there’s something worth fighting for—a future that’s still within reach.

And he won’t let anyone—not even Daemon—take that from him.

[pedrasacorn]

after that little blurb about jason still caring about reader even after breaking up with her for her own safety i now desperately need an angsty but also a comfort fic where they break up, reader is comfused and sad, jason is even sadder and maybe evn regrets his decision and then something important happens to reader and jason realizes what a mistake it was to push her away and apologises and its all good again! … lol sorry if this is too long i just liked your idea a lot :)

Jason breaks up to protect you

A/n: thank you for requesting :3 it’s so exciting and getting to challenge myself was fun!

Warnings: Blood, injury, brief description of depression, not proof read

5:30pm

Far above the city Jason watches you.

The rain and smog almost conceal his view as you exit your apartment.

But he knows your habits, the way you walk.

It’s only easy to get through your window because he’s the one who goon proofed it.

Your room is clean, as if untouched. Except the bed.

He takes stock of your fridge. Rotting vegetables he tosses, along with the moldy bread and…whatever the hell that was.

His heartache is good. And earned. Deserved even.

All it took was for one rogue to mention your existence, and that was it. Didn’t have a name; just a vague idea of your existence.

He clung to the feeling of panic lacing his veins, keeping it vivid in his mind. He used it to replace the urge to hold you, to wipe your tears, and reassure you. He knew better than to have been in your life.

He uses fresh milk to replace your…chunky one.

“I did not raise you this way…” He mutters; humorously.

As he broke up, he managed to look at your face, he imagined what it would look like dead, and bloody.

It didn’t help. Because you weren’t dead, but you looked something akin to it.

Eggs, and cheese. You don’t like eggs. He knows this.

More bread even if it goes bad again. And snacks. Easy freezer meals.

He shouldn’t, but he stays. He stays hidden in the dark where he belongs, needing to know you make it home okay.

6:31pm

Everything is a fog of grey.

The half eaten sandwich you had at work tasted like nothing.

You couldn’t even cry because—what was the point? You didn’t even really feel anything.

That nothingness multiplies when you get into your apartment. Locking everything up the way Jason taught you.

Although the stab wound, and blood dripping down your side doesn’t feel like nothing.

Sweat beeds down your face, collecting in the neck of your sweater. You just have to get to the kit Jason gave you; the medical bills were not worth it right now.

Your eyes meet his.

Your heart nearly falls out of your chest, releif flooding your veins.

“Jay I’m hurt.” Your voice breaks as tears warp your vision, softening out the world.

6:34

You, are still the most beautiful thing, he has ever beheld.

What was he doing? He had only meant to bring you food. Knowing your tendency to neglect yourself when you were heartsick.

It wasn’t your fault; he’d never blame you. Just wanted to know you weren’t going to fade out of existence the way he faded out of your life.

He runs to you, immediately ripping off your sweater, pressing his hand into your side.

“I’m not going anywhere sweets. M’right here.” He murmurs against your ear, “Who did this?”

“Some stupid—son of a bitch in an alley.” You rasp as he lies you down.

“Yeah? What son’uva bitch? You tell me. Now.”

His accent was so thick when he got upset; like when you forgot to eat, or drink water instead of caffeine.

He’s stunning.

“Hi…” you rasp.

“…hi surga’…” He soothes your cheek.

8:40pm

When you come to you’re alone in your bed.

A sob breaks through the quiet.

So light on his feet, you don’t hear him until he’s halfway into your room.

“Shhh baby it’s okay…hey, hey I’m right here.” He cups your tear streaked face.

You whimper. “You left.”

“I know but I’m not ever going to leave again okay? Yeah?” He tilts your face upward.

“You…you just think you know all the things.” You sniffle.

He can’t help his fond smile; he doesn’t mention how your words make little sense.

“Yeah?” He croons.

You nod.

“You just do things. All the time and it’s…just so you.”

Your glare holds little heat.

Even if it did, any heat from you is warmth to him.

His emotions are bared to you, he’s filled with guilt. Staying wasn’t rational, but he needed you.

He smooths your cheek with his thumb.

“Can you find some forgiveness in that pretty heart of yours?” He murmurs.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but it’s the best he can do to ask without begging.

“…I just missed you…the most.” You say, a bit delirious.

“Yeah I missed you too…” He kisses your forehead.

“Is that how you kiss the love of your life?” You glare.

There’s his sweetheart.

“Well you didn’t give me permission now didya?” He smirks.

You meet each other half way, his lips caressing yours.

[alygator77]

✩ echoes of time, a love unspoken ✩

✩ pairing. satoru gojo x fem! reader

✩ summary. overwhelmed with grief and regret, you are desperate to reconnect with your closest friend and secret love, satoru gojo. when you discover an ancient relic that allows you to travel back in time, you are given the opportunity to finally share your true feelings

✩ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, spoilers for manga chapters 222 - 236, angst with comfort, friends to lovers, mostly smut (if you squint you can maybe find a hint of plot lol), dry humping, oral (f receiving), penetration, unprotected sex

✩ words: 4k

✩ a/n. writing short stuff like this makes me feel weird lol...but eh, felt like giving it a shot. i blame my whoremones. also if you know the artist let me know 🫶🏻 i found this pic on pinterest

"Satoru is dead," Shoko says, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words any louder would shatter the fragile reality you were clinging to.

“W-What?”

You blink at her, your mind struggling to process the information. Did you mishear?

The usually unflappable Shoko is visibly shaken, eyes red-rimmed and filled with sorrow.

"It was Sukuna," she continues, voice cracking. "The battle... it was too much, even for him."

Your heart felt like it had been ripped from your chest. Satoru Gojo, your closest friend and the man you had secretly loved for years, was gone. Memories of him flash before your eyes—his brilliant smile, his teasing remarks, the way he always seemed to be there when you needed him.

"No," you whisper, shaking your head in denial. "No, that can't be true."

Shoko reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," she murmurs, her own voice breaking. "I know how much he meant to you."

Her words break the dam inside you, and you feel the tears begin to stream down your cheeks.

Your knees buckle as you slump against the wall, the cool surface a stark contrast to the burning pain inside you. Your grief wraps around you like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping.

“He was... he was everything," your voice trembles. "I never told him, Shoko. I never told him how I felt."

Shoko's hand squeezes yours, offering what little comfort she can.

"He knew, y/n. Satoru always knew. He was just waiting for you to be ready."

The thought brings a fresh wave of tears, carving a river of sorrow down your face.

How could he have known?

For years, you had hidden your feelings—you had been so careful, so afraid of ruining the friendship that meant the world to you.

The pain of your regret is a sharp, gnawing ache in your chest.

How many times had you almost told him? How many moments had you let slip by, too afraid of what his reaction might be?

And now, it was too late.

He was gone, and you were left with a heart full of unspoken words and unfulfilled dreams.

Days pass in a fog. You go through the motions, but the world has lost its meaning, its color, its light. Without Satoru, everything feels hollow.

Every corner of the school is a memory of him—a reminder of what you’ve lost you. The training grounds where you would spar with him, the library where you shared quiet moments of study, even the halls where his laughter once rang out, bright and infectious. Pieces of him are everywhere, each one a dagger to your heart.

The weight of your sorrow presses down on you, and you seek solace in the school's ancient library—hoping to find a distraction, something to numb the pain.

Drowning in grief, your eyes fall upon a dusty, leather-bound book on a nearby shelf. The title catches your eye: "Chronomancy: The Art of Time Travel."

What if you could go back?

What if you could see Satoru one last time—tell him what you've always been too afraid to say?

Or perhaps, change the future?

The thought is intoxicating, a flicker of hope in your darkness.

Desperation fuels you as you delve into the book, your hands trembling as you turn the pages. The instructions are complex, but your mind is sharp, honed by years of sorcery and study. The book speaks of an ancient relic, used in tandem with cursed energy.

You vaguely remember the old stories, the legends of such a relic hidden deep within the archives of Jujutsu High, said to be from a bygone era, a powerful artifact capable of altering the very fabric of time.

You know it's risky, dangerous even—time travel was absolutely forbidden, but the pain of your unspoken love and your need to see Satoru drives you forward.

With renewed determination, you make your way to the restricted archives, a labyrinth of ancient texts and forgotten artifacts deep within the bowels of Jujutsu High. The air grows cooler and musty as you descend, the weight of history pressing down on you.

Searching through the dimly lit corridors, your hands brush over countless relics and tomes, each one whispering secrets of a long-forgotten past. Finally, you find it—the relic described in the book. It’s a small, ornate device, deceptively simple in appearance but thrumming with a powerful, ancient energy.

Carefully, you take the relic and make your way back to your room. The instructions in the book replay in your mind as you prepare the ritual. Every detail has to be perfect—there’s no room for error.

As you channel your cursed energy into the device, chanting the incantation, the air around you starts to hum and vibrate. The relic glows brighter and brighter, the light almost blinding until suddenly, the world around you dissolves into a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations—you feel yourself being pulled through time.

When the light fades and the world comes back into focus, you find yourself standing in your bedroom yet again.

Did it work?

Without a thought, you instantly run, sprinting to Satoru’s home. The familiar path is a blur as you push your body to its limits, your heart pounding with a mixture of hope and desperation. You reach his door, breathless and trembling, and knock frantically.

The door swings open, and there he is, eyes lighten up with surprise and a hint of confusion as he sees you.

"Y/n? What are you doing here?"

Seeing him, standing there alive and well, almost undoes you. Your legs feel weak, and your eyes well up with tears of relief. Without any thought, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him towards you, crashing your lips against his with a desperate fervor.

His eyes widen in shock for a moment, but then he starts to melt into the kiss, returning your passion with his own. A soft moan escapes as his arms instinctively wrap around your waist, pulling you closer while his lips move hungrily against yours.

He guides you backwards into his house, closing the door behind you as he leans you against it, returning the kiss like a man starved of touch, of you, for years. His fingers grip the fabric of your clothes, pulling you closer.

You feel his heartbeat against your chest, a steady rhythm that grounds you in the reality of his presence. Every touch, every movement, is a reassurance that he's here, alive, and with you.

"I… missed you… so much," you mutter between breaths, a fragile confession between each fervent kiss.

Satoru’s grip tightens, his hands move to cradle your face, a touch gentle yet urgent. He lets out a soft hum and reluctantly pulls away from your lips, quirking a brow with a crooked grin.

"That was unexpected. Missed me? Y/n, we saw each other earlier today."

You shake your head, tears flowing freely now.

"No, you don't understand. I missed you... so much."

His grin fades as he notices the depth of your sorrow—concern etched in his features as his gaze softens, eyes searching you with confusion and worry. He gently wipes away a tear with his thumb.

"Why are you crying?"

With a shaky breath you struggle to find the words. The weight of everything you know and everything you've felt threatens to overwhelm you. But now, in this moment, you don't want to burden him with the truth.

Not yet.

Shaking your head, you manage to whisper—

"Later... please, just let me savor you right now."

Understanding dawns in his eyes, and he nods slowly, pulling you closer once more. His touch is tender, his embrace warm and reassuring. Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then to each of your tear-streaked cheeks, as if trying to kiss away your pain.

"Okay," he murmurs against your skin. "I'm here. Not going anywhere."

Satoru's lips find yours again, and this time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate. He pours all his feelings into it—his reassurance, his comfort, his unspoken promises. As you lose yourself in the kiss, your hands move to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you pull him even closer, not wanting to let go.

The kiss deepens, a mingling of desperation and relief—his hands slide from your face to your waist, pulling you closer, before traveling down to your legs. With effortless strength, he lifts you off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.

For a moment, everything is perfect. The pain, the sorrow, the regret—all of it is swept away in the embrace of the man you love.

Between breaths, you manage to whisper again, "I missed you," each word filled with all the longing and desperation you've held inside.

Satoru responds not with words but with action. His kiss grows more fervent, his grip on you tightening as he presses your hips down on his. Your core is met with the growing pressure of his erection, causing you to mewl into his mouth.

He swallows your sounds as his kiss grows more intense, more needy, his tongue continuing to explore your mouth, tasting, claiming. You roll your hips against him, causing a low groan to rumble from his chest. His hips instinctively buckle from the friction and he presses you further against the door.

Breaking the kiss, his lips slowly make their way down your neck. He murmurs your name against your skin as his hips grind up against yours, sending a shiver through you as his fingers leave a trail of warmth in their wake, exploring every inch of your body.

With a gentle urgency, his hands find the buttons of your shirt, deft fingers undoing them one by one. As the fabric parts under his touch, his lips follow, leaving a trail of heated kisses down your exposed frame, tongue and teeth marking you with gentle nips.

As his lips find the curve of your breast, he gently bites down on it, causing a soft gasp to escape from your mouth.

“Satoru,” his name escapes you breathily as a ripple of pleasure courses through you, pooling straight between your legs.

Satoru's response is a low, guttural sound that vibrates against your skin. His hand comes up to cup your breast, his thumb stroking over your nipple as he continues to grind against you.

"I want you," he murmurs, voice hoarse with an aching need, coming out as both a statement and a request.

You meet his gaze, your breath hitching at the intensity of his desire.

"I'm yours to take," you whisper. "Take me, Satoru. I'm yours."

The words seem to ignite something deep within him—eyes darkening with a mixture of passion and determination. He immediately captures your lips in a fierce, demanding kiss.

With a swift and almost forceful movement, he lifts you from the door, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom, opening it with a nudge of his foot. His body presses against yours and he pins your wrists above your head, lowering you onto the mattress with eager vehemence.

The sensation of being held in place, of being at his mercy, sends a shiver of anticipation through you—feeling the heat between your legs intensify.

His eyes lock onto yours between loose tousles of his snowy hair, a silent question and an unspoken promise in their depths. The outline of his erection is evident through his taut clothing, a physical manifestation of his aching desire that burns for you. The heat of his body sears into you as he settles between your legs.

"I've wanted you for so long," he murmurs, voice low and ragged. "I can't get you out of my head."

He rocks his hips gently against yours as his hands move from your wrists, tracing a path down your arms. He reaches the hem of your shirt and guides it off your shoulders.

His hands then slide beneath your back, lifting you slightly as he unclasps your bra, discarding it to the side. The cool air against your bare skin is quickly replaced by the warmth of his mouth.

You gasp and writhe beneath him as his tongue grazes over your sensitive peak. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you as his hips continue their slow, deliberate rhythm, rolling against your core and creating a delicious friction through the layers of clothing that still separate you.

You arch your back in pleasure, and with a groan, Satoru allows himself to sink deeper into the sensation of your breasts against his mouth. Every lick, every suck has him growing harder, his member straining against his pants.

“Fuck..” he mutters, pulling away from your chest just long enough to tear off his own shirt and discard it carelessly.

He leans down to lavish attention on your other breast, his free hand hooking into the waistband of your pants, slowly sliding them down your legs.

Once you remain only in your underwear, he abandons your breasts momentarily, trailing kisses down your stomach. As he reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, looking up at you with a gaze so intense it makes your breath hitch—a raw need that sends a shiver of excitement throughout you.

"Satoru," you moan, your voice a plea and a promise, urging him on. "Please."

He holds your gaze for a moment, searching for any hesitation. Finding none, he moves his hand across the fabric of your panties, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles around your clothed core. The friction is maddening, each touch making your body hum in pleasure.

"Tell me what you want," he whispers, voice a husky murmur.

"I want you," you reply, voice trembling with need. "I need you, Satoru."

His eyes darken further at your words, a low groan escaping his lips as he slides your panties down your legs, discarding them with the rest of your clothes. The sensation of the cool air against your exposed skin is quickly replaced by the heat of his breath as he leans in closer.

He takes a moment to savor the sight before him, your body laid out beneath him like an offering. Then, without warning, his tongue slips between your wet folds, lapping at your juices in long, languid strokes.

Satoru groans in approval of your taste, the sound vibrating against your heated flesh as he delves deeper. His hands part your thighs, holding you open as his tongue explores every crevice and fold, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. The intensity of his ministrations has your hands fisting the sheets, your back arching as you struggle to remain grounded under his relentless assault.

"Oh my god, Satoru..." you gasp, your voice a breathless plea as you arch into him deeper, relishing in every skillful flick of his tongue. Each stroke, each swirl, drives you closer to the edge, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak.

He works with a practiced precision, knowing exactly how to push you to the brink and pull you back, teasing you with the promise of release—alternating between gentle, teasing licks and deep, intense strokes.

Your hands move from the sheets to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you hold him close, your body trembling with force as you chase your release.

Feeling your impending orgasm building, Satoru pulls away from your quivering folds, causing you to groan. He locks eyes with you as he slowly drags his tongue from your swollen clit to your dripping entrance, a grin upon his lips.

He can see your resolve cracking, your composure slipping away as you teeter on the edge of bliss. He relishes watching your face contort with pleasure as you writhe beneath him, desperate to climax.

His movements are deliberate, torturous even, each lick and suck designed to prolong your pleasure. He can taste your arousal, your desperation, and it only fuels his own hunger.

His grip is firm and possessive as he tightens his hold on your thighs, devouring every part of your womanhood. The sound of his groans, the feeling of his tongue against you, it's all too much. The tension within you coils tighter and tighter.

You gasp as he slides two fingers inside you, feeling your walls clench around him as he curls them upwards, seeking that spot that would send you over the edge.

"Satoru, please..." you beg, your voice a desperate whisper. "I can't... I'm so close..."

He suddenly pulls away, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal, causing a whine to escape your lips. The sudden loss of contact leaving you aching.

He looks up at you, a wicked glint in his eyes as his lips curl into a grin.

"Not yet," he murmurs, voice low and seductive. "Want to feel you cum around me."

He moves back up your body, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. With a groan of pure need, his hands move with a purpose as he reaches for the button of his pants.

Rising to his knees, his eyes lock with yours as he sheds the last of his clothes, freeing his throbbing cock from the confines. It springs forth, thick and rigid, the tip glistening with precum.

You watch as he gives it a few slow strokes before settling back between your legs, his erection pressing against your core, tip brushing between the folds that are coated in your essence. The teasing sensation sends another wave of desire through you.

Slowly, deliberately, he pushes forward, sheathing himself inch by tantalizing inch inside you. A low growl escapes him as he feels your warmth enveloping him, your walls squeezing him delightfully. You gasp, your back arching, your body welcoming his with a need that borders on desperation.

He pauses once fully immersed, giving you a moment to adjust to his size as he revels in the feeling of your inner muscles clenching his length. Then, with a slow, sensual thrust, he begins to move, withdrawing until just the head remains before plunging back in to the hilt.

“Ah, fuck,” he breathes out, his hips snapping forward with more urgency, his head falling back as he loses himself in the sensation. The sight of him, eyes closed in bliss, his mouth slightly open as he gasps for breath, is almost enough to send you over the edge.

The pace he sets is slow and deliberate at first, each thrust deep and measured, allowing you to feel every inch of him. The friction, the heat, it all combines to create a symphony of pleasure that has you gasping and moaning his name. Your hands move to grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you cling to him, body moving in perfect harmony with his.

"Satoru," you moan, voice trembling with need and desire. "More, please..."

He responds with a growl, his movements becoming more urgent—thrusting harder and faster as his hands move to grip your hips, anchoring you to the bed as he fucks you with a raw, primal energy. The slap of skin against skin fills the room, punctuated by your moans and his growls of pleasure.

His name escapes your lips in breathless moans, each sound driving him further, pushing him to give you everything you need.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty like this, feel so good,” he groans, his voice rough with passion. “So tight, so perfect.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, tongue mimicking the rhythm of his thrusts. Your hands move from his shoulders to his back, your nails raking down his flesh as you cling to him.

Your body responds instinctively, your hips lifting to meet his, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. The deeper angle sends jolts of pleasure through you, each thrust hitting just the right spot. The heat between you builds, the pressure mounting with every movement.

"Satoru," you gasp, your voice a mix of pleasure and urgency. "Don't stop... please..."

His response is a deep, guttural moan, his hips snapping forward with renewed intensity. The sensation of him filling you so completely, kissing your cervix with each thrust—the way his body moves against yours, it's all-consuming. The pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak, your body arching into his as you chase your release.

He feels the change in you, the way your body tightens around him, and it drives him to push harder, to give you everything. "Cum for me, princess," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a rough whisper. "I want to feel you cum around me."

His words create a tension within you, coiling tighter and tighter. With each powerful thrust, you feel yourself getting closer and closer, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak.

"Satoru... I... I'm going to..." you moan, your voice trembling with the force of your impending climax.

"That's it," he growls, his hips snapping forward in powerful thrusts. "Be a good girl and let go. Cum for me."

His command is the final push you need. With a cry of his name, you shatter, the pleasure washing over you in profound, overwhelming waves as your inner muscles clench around him, coating him with your essence.

Feeling your climax hit, Satoru's own control snaps like a brittle twig, sending him spiraling into blissful release. With a guttural roar, he spills himself deep inside you, hips jerking violently as his hot seed fills you, painting your insides white. He keeps thrusting, prolonging your orgasm and milking his own, his cock twitching as he empties himself completely dry.

Suddenly drained and spent, Satoru collapses atop you; his chest rising and falling against your own as he buries himself into the crook of your neck. The weight and warmth of his body against yours is comforting, grounding you in the aftermath of your shared passion. Not wanting to dislodge himself just yet, he drapes one arm across your stomach, holding you close, while his other hand gently caresses your cheek, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin.

You look into his eyes, now softened with a deep satisfaction and affection. The intensity of the moment lingers between you, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you've always shared but never fully expressed.

"I love you," you whisper, your voice barely audible but filled with all the emotion you've held inside. The words you've desperately been wanting to say for years now finally roll off your tongue, carrying with them the weight of your unspoken feelings. Each word is a release, a freeing of the heart that has longed for this moment.

Satoru's eyes widen slightly at your confession, and then a tender, loving smile spreads across his face. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to seal the promise of his affection.

"I love you too," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, comforting rumble. "I always have." The sincerity in his words resonates through you, filling the spaces that have long been empty with warmth and joy.

He shifts slightly, allowing you to nestle more comfortably against him. The rhythm of his breathing begins to slow, his body relaxing into a state of contented fatigue. You match his breaths, finding a perfect synchronicity that lulls you into a sense of peace.

In this moment, everything is perfect. You are his, and he is yours, and together, you can face whatever comes next.

Maybe, just maybe, this future will be different.

You can only hope.

[dilftaroooo]

tw: degradation + dubcon

Robber!ghost who intrudes your home in the wee hours of the night — duffel bag in hand, he stalks his way through the back window of your parents' home. The owners decided to take a vacation to the Bahamas as their nice getaway, thanks to the heavy research Soap indulged himself into before letting Ghost go on the mission.

Robber!ghost who infiltrates the master bedroom in search of the luxurious jewelry and gems stashed away in the tiny, little safe they have poorly hidden in the depths of their shared closet. He's quick to warm the shiny goodies in the palm of his hand before gently placing them in his duffel bag.

Robber!ghost who then walks into a room filled with baby pink and lace bedding to continue fulfilling his own greed only to stumble across a body resting elegantly upon the white sheets of the queen size bed — "Bloody hell..." Soap specifically told him everyone would be out of the house so why was this broad sleeping soundly on her sheets as if though her home wasn't getting robbed?

It isn't until robber!ghost takes a focused glance at her vulnerable state to suddenly realize just how gorgeous she was laying there, mouth agape and releasing soft snores with almost every inhale. Her hand splayed across the width of her stomach as she grins at whatever dream her pretty head blesses her with.

Robber!ghost who can't help but steal a taste of her. It'll only be a little bit as he hovers over her to take a soft whiff at her neck — his nose overflowed with daisies and peonies and hints of vanilla. She must've been fresh out the shower because no one can naturally smell like that unless she is an exception to the rule due to how sweet she looks.

Robber!ghost who mildly regrets his decision as you wake up from your slumber, eyes shot wide open as you take a moment to drink in the dark figure with the skull balaclava in front of you. If you hadn't known better you would've thought your time on God's green earth was up and the grim reaper came to fulfill his duty by dragging you with him. His hand covers your quivering lip as he reminds you repeatedly that he wasn't going to hurt you. He would never think of such a thing.

Robber!ghost who grunts at your fruitless struggling because your leg rubs against his groin and you gasp at the feeling of the hard object, mistaking it for a gun since it was so dark for you to see anything. Why would a thief not come prepared with a device to help threaten his victims? Unfortunately for you, this was a different kind of gun.

Valuing your life, you tell robber!ghost that you''ll give him anything for him to keep you breathing and ghost can't help but perk up at the offer. It sounds cliche but who can resist a cute, helpless women offering something so priceless?

Robber!ghost who doesn't hesitate to take it for what it is and submerge his hand deep into your pajama pants and feel your wetness. You must've liked it because the moan you set free was riddled in lascivious need. He'd rub his thumb across your slit, "Is this turning you on? Dirty whore likes to be fondled by strange men intruding her home. You're seriously enjoying this? Sick."

Robber!ghost feels good when he stuffs his meaty fingers in your sopping hole. All the fight you had in you perished when he made you come around him, squirming underneath the intense gaze of the man with the skull mask — eyes vantablack as he watches you without blinking like he's watching his favorite football team hit a goal.

Robber!ghost who leaves through your bedroom window and you follow suit as he climbs off using the rope he had in store. He looks back at you before saying "I'll be back for more, luv." His accent was thick and hefty, you let out a shaky sigh at the pleasurable sound. There was nothing else you can do but just wait.

[shibaraki]

KISS IT BETTER ┊ SHINSOU HITOSHI

tags: GN reader, pro hero shinsou, support engineer reader, brief descriptions of blood + injury, tending to wounds, mutual pining, fluff, idiots to lovers, love confessions

wc: 1.9k

“You know I’m not a doctor, Hitoshi,” your voice is a low murmur yet loud in the cramped space of your bathroom. Just you, his shallow breathing and the steady flow of water in the sink. “I wish you would actually go to a hospital, or someone with a healing quirk”.

Hitoshi shrugs in the reflection and immediately appears to regret it as his face twists in discomfort, the movement jostling his wound. The bullet grazed a vivid arc right across the back of his left shoulder; thankfully not deep enough to require stitches or to damage the layers of skin beneath, but given the awkward to reach area and the blood that had been streaming through his fingers upon arrival you can’t say you blame him for waking you.

“You do it better,” he rasps. The soft hair on the back of your neck stands on end as you sense his eyes on you in the mirror. “You’re gentle. And good with your hands”.

The gauze dabbed around his wound is saturated red, quickly darkening and taking on a brownish hue. Resolutely avoiding his gaze you toss it beside the molehill of stained swabs already on the counter, reaching for a clean one and running it under the cold water. “I’m good with your equipment,” you stress with a huff, willing the heat crawling up your neck to go away. Years of working with delicate machinery keeps your hands steady. “I fix gadgets, Hitoshi. Not people”.

Hitoshi hums. Rather than contemplative he sounds faintly amused at your strong denial, as though he knows something you don’t. “You fix me just fine,” comes his soft reply as you successfully staunch the bleeding. Following the steps that have become routine for you both, he passes back the usual tub from your med kit—used so often now that the label has worn off—and adds nothing further while you cover the wound with a thin layer of petroleum jelly.

“Bandage,” you say, proffering your hand once more. Hitoshi twists his good arm to give you the non-stick dressings. You mumble an apology at the quiet hiss drawn between gritted teeth as you smooth the covered edges around the wound. “And… there. You’re set. That’s as good as you’ll get from me”.

Hitoshi turns in place before you’ve the chance to step away. You find yourself closer than intended. The white luminescence drapes over his shoulders and glints off the silver studs in each earlobe. You don’t know where to look. His ribs expand as he takes a staggered breath and your chests meet; a brief touch of bare skin but enough to make the sound of your heart flood your ears.

You catch how his throat bobs and entertain the thought that he might be equally affected. “Thanks,” he says. The gentle timbre of his voice settles over you like a cold fog of longing.

Neither of you have moved. You do not address the proximity as you study his upper body. There’s old bruising on his hip that looks a bit like an abstract painting but nothing else of immediate concern. He’s lean and angular, tall enough to cast an impressive shadow; neither of you are children anymore.

“You don’t have any other injuries hidden, do you?” you ask, eyes trailing up the column of his throat and lingering on the healed scar tissue cutting through the right of his mouth. It begins beneath his nose, strikes through the dark scruff along his jaw and ends far beneath his jugular, a paint stroke left by a brush with death. The memory is fresh in your mind and guides your hands to cup his chin, thumb tracing the raised skin. You don’t recall ever being that afraid for anyone, and yet he returned to work the day after as though nothing had happened.

At the very least it gives you ample reason to stare at his mouth. You can feel his gaze on you, peering down through half lidded eyes. There’s warm intensity behind them, like he can see through your poorly strung excuse, but if that is the case then he’s allowing it to happen, and you think that reveals just as much.

“It healed perfectly. You don’t need to worry about it,” he murmurs. There’s almost a breathless quality to it that invites goosebumps. And you freeze, as if caught.

“Not worried,” his lips press thin at the sudden cold tone as you turn to gather the used gauze and throw it in the bin beside the sink. “Your funeral not mine”.

Hitoshi moves when you nudge him aside, blood staining the dispenser as you squeeze some soap into your hands and scrub yourself raw under the running tap. The murky red water gurgles down the drain, rivulets streaking higher up the basin and likely to stain. You’re so lost in the sight that you barely register the larger hand coming to cover your own.

“Stop. Let me,” he says, already prying your entwined fists apart to gently massage the soap along each finger. Body heat seeps through your sleep shirt as he loosely wraps around you. You lean into him a fraction and imagine he’s embracing you like a lover while he cleans the dried blood from beneath your nails.

Silence befalls the small space once the water cuts out. Rather than dry your hands Hitoshi keeps them there, encased in his, his thumbs stroking back and forth over your knuckles. He rests his forehead on the curve of your throat and something shifts. The atmosphere, the ephemeral thing between you that you called friendship, the hips that press closer until he’s shaped perfectly to your back.

“I’m sorry,” you hear him say.

Wild violet hair tickles your cheek. It’s shorter than last time. You stare at your conjoined reflection as you overturn your wrists, threading your wet fingers together until your palms kiss. “For what?” you prompt, watching his head lift while you speak. “For constantly breaking your support equipment? For bursting into my apartment after midnight and bleeding all over my carpet again? For scaring me and making me lose sleep? For this—” your eyes meet in the mirror and your mouth becomes dry. “For this less than professional relationship?”

At that the corner of Hitoshi’s mouth lifts in the suggestion of a smile, and suddenly exasperation and fondness is warring over your expression. He clears his throat, almost shy, and he tightens his grip on your fingers. “I guess I’m sorry for all of that, too. But that’s not what I meant”.

“What else is there?” you tilt your head. In a heart stopping move, he turns his nose into your temple.

“I’m sorry I can’t… shit. That I can’t be normal about this kind of thing,” he admits, jaw shifting as he fights the discomfort that so often accompanies being vulnerable. “I always feel like I need some dire excuse otherwise you’ll see right through me”.

“See through you—?” the clamouring in your mind comes to a standstill. Your tongue sits heavy behind your teeth. You spin in his arms, The sink counter digs into your lower back and your hands, mostly dried by the air, come to rest on his bare chest. A mottled blush spreads across his collarbones. “What, you bled on my carpet because you didn’t want me to know you liked me or something?”

Hitoshi grimaces. His eyes rose to the ceiling to avoid your scrutiny and he hesitates to hold your hips. “Sounds stupid when you put it like that,” he huffs.

“Because it is,” you remark, sliding your hands further up and around his ears. Cradling the back of his head you tip him forward and force him to look at you. “You could’ve just brought me coffee at work or something”.

“You’re missing the point,” he mutters, gaze dropping to your lips and away, staring at the space between your eyebrows. “I did it so you wouldn’t know”.

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no way that you’d…” he blinks. His words lose strength as your nose bumps his. You feel a shaky breath leave his lips.

“No way that I’d like you?” as you finish the sentence for him, unsure if he even hears you behind then far off look in his eyes. Emboldened, you pitch your voice lower, quiet enough to cover the short distance between your mouths. You stroke your thumb over the swell of his cheek and say, “You think I patch up every guy that rolls through my bedroom window?”

“Well. There better not be any other guys coming in through your windows,” he rasps, cautiously tipping forward. A playful furrow has etched into his brow. Hitoshi wets his lips, searching your expression for something—perhaps rejection or anything close to it. “I know you’re a good person. You’re good to me. I figured that’s all it was”.

“Right, I’m good to you,” you nod and hear his breathing hitch as your mouths brush. The blush across his chest has spread fingers up his throat to his cheeks, enough reach to stain his ears pink. Hitoshi sways forward. You collide. He kisses you, finally. It is every bit as solemnly sweet and respectful as the hands at your waist.

You can’t help but smile, and feel his smile in turn. There is something so boyish and coy about it; you would never expect it from a man of his status—a man that sees the worst of humanity and spends his nights both evading and preventing death.

“…Oh,” he breathes dumbly as you pull back, his focus caught on the swipe of your tongue.

“Oh,” you repeat to lightheartedly tease, pushing the heel of your hands to his cheeks together until his mouth juts into an ugly pout. Restlessness grips you seeing it paired with his dazed expression, already wanting more than he can give in his current condition.

You release his cheeks and rub them in apology. “You’re done for the night, yeah?”

“Yeah…?” fingers dig in at your soft waist, drawing you impossibly close, as though he were savouring the last of the moment. You smooth over his shoulders, down the curve of his biceps, along thick forearms to take his wrists.

“Good. You’re coming to bed with me,” you tell him. The stupefied look after tucking a kiss to the corner of his mouth will never get old, you’re sure of it. “We’re going to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll help you clean and redress your injury and then,” you press another kiss on his jaw, nuzzling the coarse stubble there, “then you can take me out for breakfast”.

You almost lose your footing. In one swift motion Hitoshi has swung the bathroom door open and begun corralling you through it toward the bedroom. There’s an echo of soft, near drunken laughter as you navigate the darkness, and you realise, belatedly, that it is coming from you.

The strong arms cinched around your middle unraveled to drop you on top of the covers. Reclining into the plush pillows at the head of your bed, you holdout your arms to welcome Hitoshi into honeyed repose. The mattress yields under his weight. Breath held, he crawls over to you—braces over you and sinks onto his forearms.

Seconds pass. Fingers dance across his back, avoiding his bandages. Your grin is concealed by the darkness but it’s clear in your voice. “Hitoshi,” you whisper. “You can breathe now”.

With an exaggerated exhale, Hitoshi sinks into the crook of your body and smooshes his face into the pillow beside your head. “I’ll try not to bleed on your bedsheets,” he says, muffled. Then quieter, much later, when he’s sure you won’t hear it, “I like you”.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Forever mine

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: I'm not gonna lie this didn't come easy but I'm glad I managed to write it. It's somewhat like a first step back to writing and it's S2 Sihtric again as he is my absolute comfort character. @volklana it's for you darling for inspiring me to write again.

Warnings: angst, fluff, SMUT 18+, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, Sihtric being a sweetheart as always

Summary: A young Dane awakens something long buried in you, but the truth threatens to shatter your stolen moments. Can love survive built on lies?

Word Count: 7,8 K

Pain had always been a constant in Sihtric’s life—a relentless reminder that he was still alive. He had learned to endure it, to push it aside and keep moving. But now, with every laboured step, he knew it was different. A heavy grunt escaped his lips as he stumbled, the growing heaviness in his limbs warning him that the injury was far worse than he’d initially thought.

Warm, sticky blood trickled through his fingers as he pressed his hand harder against the wound in his side, trying to staunch the flow. The gash throbbed with a fiery intensity, each pulse sending fresh waves of agony through his body.

The scouting mission had gone terribly wrong, and he had only himself to blame.

Slipping away from the camp, determined to prove he was the best scout among them, had been reckless. But he wanted – no, he needed – to prove himself to his new lord, to show his worth, to show he was more than just a follower, more than a shadow.

Yes, he had found the Danes, but they had found him too. Now, the burning pain in his side served as a cruel reminder of his foolishness. 

Each step harder than the last, the forest around him slowly turned into a blur of green and shadows as his vision dimmed. Sihtric clenched his jaw, forcing himself forward – if he could just make it back to camp, if he could just hold on a little longer. 

Was he even heading in the right direction?

Sihtric stumbled, his legs barely able to hold his weight, and this time, he couldn't catch himself. He crashed to the ground, the thick moss cushioning his fall, but the sharp, searing pain that tore through his side forced a strangled moan from his clenched teeth.

He lay there for a moment, sprawled on his back, chest heaving. Above him, the thick canopy of leaves let in slivers of golden light, the first signs of dawn breaking through.

The sun was rising, marking the beginning of a new day, a day he might not live to see the end of.

Yet, he felt no regret.

Even now, with life draining from his body, he would make the same choice again. If this was where it ended—alone in a forest, bleeding out into the moss and leaves—so be it.

He had chosen this path.

For the first time in his life, he had given his oath freely, not out of fear or obligation, but out of loyalty and honour. He wanted to serve, to be worthy of Uhtred’s trust, to prove that he deserved his place, that Uhtred had made the right decision accepting him. That was worth any pain, any price.

His vision blurred, but Sihtric kept his eyes fixed on the shifting patterns of light above, with a shuddering breath he rolled over and slowly forced himself up on his knees.

He had no intention of dying here, not yet. He still had something to prove.

There it was: the small, crooked house that resembled a giant mushroom, leaning precariously against the mighty oak tree beside it.

The villagers called it the Witch's Lair. The old house greeted you silently, as it always did, the only constant in your ever-changing life.

Perched on the outskirts of the village, right at the forest’s edge, the house was hidden from sight by a tangle of towering trees and dense bushes.

It had stood empty for years, and no one could remember who had last lived there. Its roof was thick with moss, the window shutters hung crooked, some hinges rusted and loose, and the steps leading to the entrance were so rotten they had collapsed the first time you set foot on them.

You remembered every word of the gruesome tales whispered around the village fires—the stories of the witch who had lived in the house, stealing children and casting curses on anyone who dared to approach.

They said her ghost still haunted the place, luring in unsuspecting travellers and never letting them leave. On nights of the full moon, it was said you could hear their cries, calling for help that would never come.

No one dared to approach the cursed house, let alone step inside. Perhaps that was the very reason you had chosen it as your safe haven, your refuge.

This was the one place no one would ever dare to look for you. Of that, you were sure. Yet, as you approached, the house looked so peaceful, so calm, almost as if it were inviting you in.

You pressed your palm against the weathered wood of the outer wall, feeling its roughness under your skin, and listened to the quiet.

The sun hung high overhead, but its light barely penetrated the thick canopy of trees that loomed over the house like ancient guardians. Their tangled branches stretched out, like strong veiny arms, casting long shadows and shielding the house from the outside world.

A strange sense of peace settled over you as you pushed open the door. It creaked loudly in protest, a long, drawn-out whine that echoed in the stillness but yielded to your touch.

For a fleeting moment, you wished the stories were true—that you could disappear behind these doors and never have to face the world again.

Inside, you moved with practised ease, avoiding the sagging floorboards that threatened to collapse underfoot. You crossed the dimly lit room, heading for the large, dusty cupboard by the window.

It held your most cherished possession: an old, leather-bound Bible, the only thing you had managed to save from the fire that had consumed your home, your past, your life.

The weight of the book in your hands was familiar, a comfort that pulled you back to memories of a time before everything had changed. You held it close, the leather cool against your skin, savouring the past swirl around you – a fleeting, almost forgotten feeling of a home, of a place to belong to. 

But today, something felt different.

A faint sound reached your ears—a muffled moan, barely audible, coming from the other room.

You froze, your heart pounding, a chill running down your spine. Your legs felt weak, as if rooted to the spot, even though every instinct screamed at you to run.

“Who’s there?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling in the silence, yet the sound hung in the air, sharp and intrusive, like a blade slicing through the stillness, violating the house's sacred peace.

There was no answer.

Just silence, thick and suffocating.

A shaft of light broke through the dust-laden air as you placed the Bible on the table by the window. The book landed with a dull thud, and at that precise moment, you heard it again—a moan, clearer this time, unmistakable.

Panic thundered in your mind, urging you to run, to flee before it was too late. But instead, to your own surprise, you turned and headed directly toward the other room, the source of the sound.

The deafening cry you let out as the mountain of blankets on the bed suddenly came to life, sprang to its feet, and tried to grasp your arm, would have made anyone in the village run for their lives. But here, in the eerie silence of the old house, it only seemed to echo back at you, swallowed by the dark, empty rooms as you fought to pull away.

You drove your fist into the stranger’s stomach with all the strength your fragile frame could muster.

He doubled over, and you yanked your arm free, sprinting towards the door.

Behind you, there was a loud thud as his body hit the floor, followed by an agonised moan.

“Please, help me,” the stranger’s voice, unusually soft and melodic, was laced with desperation, making you stop and turn back.

The crouched figure on the floor was a young warrior, clearly a Dane judging by his distinctive haircut and clothing.

As your eyes widened with growing fear, you took in the scene: his hands pressed tightly against his side, his face contorted with pain. He made no effort to stand.

“Please…” His whisper trailed off into a groan.

Driven by an inexplicable urge, you took a cautious step toward him.

“I’m no threat. I will not harm you. Please, help me!” Each word came out with difficulty, mingled with ragged breaths. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his body trembled.

You crouched down, raising your hand slowly.

The young Dane flinched, instinctively trying to pull away, but the movement only made him wince in pain. His eyes—one a striking blue, the other a deep brown—watched your hand with a mix of fear and uncertainty as you gently placed your palm on his forehead.

It was burning hot.

“We need to get you back into bed,” you said with unexpected certainty, surprising even yourself.

There was no rational reason to help someone who might, at the next opportunity, return to burn down your village. Your mind screamed to run and alert the others, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“Hold on to me,” you murmured, slipping the stranger's arm around your shoulders as you tried to help him to his feet.

Each step drew a muffled whine from the young Dane. He struggled to keep up, dragging his feet with great effort, his breaths growing more laboured with each movement.

He collapsed onto the bedside and sank back into the blankets, exhausted.

Your eyes wandered over his lean, almost gaunt frame, the muscular arms exposed by his sleeveless leather armour, and his strikingly handsome, youthful face.

What was he doing here, in your secret hideout?

A pained groan pulled you out of your thoughts, your eyes drawn to the blood staining the blankets.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” you said, already moving toward the door.

You chuckled at your own foolishness.

“As if he has a choice in his condition,” you muttered to yourself.

The hearth hadn’t been used in ages, and it was a miracle no birds had nested in the chimney. After a few failed attempts, you finally managed to light a fire, and soon the water in the kettle began to bubble.

Finding clean rags proved to be more of a challenge. You’d decided against returning to the village to avoid awkward questions and there was in fact no time for that, which left you with only one option—to sacrifice your underskirt.

You returned to the room, your makeshift rags in hand. The young Dane was still lying on the bed, his breathing ragged and uneven. His eyes met yours, filled with pain but also a hint of trust, as if he had decided to place his fate in your hands.

“We need to get you out of this armour,” you said softly, kneeling beside him.

His face tightened in a grimace, but he nodded, his jaw set in determination.

Gingerly, you began to unbuckle the leather straps of his armour, your fingers moving quickly yet carefully with a practised ease. Each movement was met with a wince or a sharp intake of breath from him, but he made no sound.

You bit your lip as you peeled back his tunic, revealing the wound. A deep gash ran along his side, the skin jagged and torn. Blood oozed slowly from it, staining his skin and pooling onto the bed.

“This is going to hurt,” you warned, your voice trembling slightly.

He merely nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a steady gaze.

You cleaned the wound as best as you could, using the rags and hot water from the kettle. His muscles tensed beneath your touch, and his breathing grew more laboured, but he didn’t flinch. He endured it silently, and you could only marvel at the self-restraint the young Dane showed, holding himself with a stoic resolve and refusing to cry out.

Next came the stitching.

You had never imagined that your sewing kit, meant for mending your best dress—now faded and threadbare—would be used for something like this. But here you were.

You threaded the needle with steady hands, even as your heart pounded in your chest. You had never done this before, but now was not the right time for uncertainty. 

The first stitch drew a low hiss from his lips, his eyes squeezing shut. You kept going, each pull of the thread through his skin accompanied by a muffled groan or a shuddering breath. He clenched his fists, gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white, but he didn’t move, didn’t protest.

Minutes passed, feeling like hours, until finally, the wound was closed.

You wiped away the last traces of blood, bandaging his side as carefully as you could. He was sweating, his face pale, his eyes glazed with pain, but still, he managed to look at you.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.

As the words left his lips, his eyes rolled back, fluttering closed, and he collapsed against the pillows, losing consciousness.

You sat back, releasing a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, and your hands shook slightly, adrenaline still coursing through you. 

What on earth were you doing?

The thought pierced through your mind, sharp and unrelenting. This was madness—helping a wounded Dane, an enemy.

And yet, as you watched his chest rise and fall, the tension slowly leaving his chiselled, muscular frame, you couldn’t deny the strange sense of relief that washed over you. Against all reason, you felt a flicker of accomplishment, knowing you had saved his life, at least for now. 

None of it made any sense.

The moment he opened his eyes, Sihtric’s first instinct was to run, but his body refused to cooperate. His limbs felt as if they were filled with lead, collapsing under him after just a few steps.

Memories returned slowly, emerging from the fog clouding his mind like fragmented images.

He had been injured, certain he was going to die.

The solitary house on the edge of the forest had seemed like a possible refuge, even though it looked empty and abandoned. As his strength faded and the cold seeped under his skin, the bed with its old, tattered blankets had seemed so inviting.

He heard footsteps approaching and turned his head towards the sound. His eyes found you—the face he recognized now.

The beautiful, slightly pale face, the gentle voice, the big, fearful eyes brimming with determination and warmth. He remembered the way your fingers had trembled as you held the needle. He remembered everything, yet none of it made sense.

Why had you saved him? A Dane, a stranger, an enemy. And yet here you were, holding a steaming bowl in your hands, concern evident in your eyes.

“Take it easy,” you said with a soft smile, one that made Sihtric feel like he was losing himself in its warmth. “You need to eat to regain your strength. Let me help you.”

As much as Sihtric hated to admit it, he was in no condition to even hold the bowl himself. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as he accepted your help, allowing you to feed him. 

The real trial, however, came when you returned with clean wraps, clearly determined to change his bandages.

Sihtric's eyes widened as you approached, a wave of discomfort washing over him.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said quickly, his voice betraying a hint of panic.

He tried to sit up straighter, but his body protested with a sharp jolt of pain, forcing him to lie back down.

“What’s your name?” you asked, your hand gently resting on his forehead to check for fever.

“I’m called Sihtric, lady,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

He felt himself melt into the unexpectedly comforting tenderness of your touch. It had been so long—he couldn’t even remember the last time someone had touched him with such gentleness and care. 

“Nice to meet you, Sihtric,” you replied, as simple as that.

No questions, no suspicious inquiries, just another soft smile and eyes filled with compassion, tinged with a hint of sadness.

If not for the persistent pain in his side, Sihtric might have believed this was all a dream.

“It’s alright,” you replied softly, setting the linens down beside the bed.

“You need proper care if you’re going to heal.” your voice was strangely calm as you furrowed an eyebrow as if sensing his unease although you couldn’t quite grasp the reason for it.

Sihtric swallowed hard, his gaze shifting away.

“I can manage,” he insisted, though the strain in his voice betrayed his struggle.

You sighed, a gentle smile playing on your lips.

“I know you’re strong, Sihtric. But even the strongest need help sometimes.”

You moved closer, your hands reaching out to remove the old, bloodstained bandages.

His body tensed, and he mustered enough strength to grasp your hand, holding it tightly.

“Why are you so kind to me? Why are you helping me?” he asked, his voice low as he drew a deep, shaky breath. “I could have been your enemy.”

The question caught you off guard. You tilted your head slightly, studying him—the handsome young man before you, his large, expressive eyes locked on yours, searching for answers.

Could you admit that you’d been asking yourself the same question over and over? Could you confess that, in saving him, you had unknowingly saved yourself from the emptiness of your own life—given it purpose, given it meaning?

“Maybe,” you replied softly, “but you’re not my enemy. You needed help, and I was here. Sometimes, it really is that simple.”

The moment of silence stretched on.

Sihtric didn’t release your hand, his grip tightening briefly as if holding on to some last bit of resistance. But then, with a heavy sigh, his defences crumbled, and he loosened his hold, surrendering to your care.

Gently, you reached out and began undoing the bandages.

Sihtric’s gaze followed your movements, a blend of curiosity and something deeper—gratitude mixed with a hint of awe.

“There,” you said softly, tying the last knot. “All done.” You looked up and met his eyes.

The coolness of the fresh bandages against his skin seemed to ease his tension, and he exhaled, the pain dulling under your careful touch.

Sihtric cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I’m not used to this,” he admitted, his voice low. “Being taken care of.”

Your expression softened as you met his gaze. “Everyone deserves to be cared for,” you said gently.

He looked down, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “You’re kind,” he said, after a moment. “Kinder than I deserve.”

You shook your head, dismissing the doubt in his words. “You deserve kindness, Sihtric,” you replied firmly. “Just like anyone else.”

Sihtric’s fingers brushed yours, hesitantly, as if waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. Sensing your acceptance, he took your hand in his, slowly lifting it to his lips.

The kiss he placed on your palm was tender, almost reverent, and lingered longer than you expected.

He wanted to say more—to spill everything he was feeling, to let you know how your kindness had shaken him to the core. He had never met anyone like you.

There was such a beauty in your warmth, in the way you looked at him, in how you cared.

He wanted to tell you that he would give everything he had, even his life, just to see your smile again. To feel deserving of your compassion.

A small, tentative smile finally curved his lips—the first real one you’d seen since he woke. “Thank you,” was the only thing he managed, his voice rough and unsteady, eyes dropping to the floor again.

A week had passed since the young Dane had stumbled into your life.

You had feared he wouldn’t make it.

His sleep was restless, plagued by fevered dreams. He tossed and turned, drenched in sweat, painful moans escaping his lips.

The fever refused to break, and the greedy midwife had demanded a small fortune for a potion that promised to reduce the fever and ease his pain. You paid for it anyway.

Sihtric was incredibly sweet, reminding you of a big child—a big, neglected child, you had to admit.

The first thing he did upon waking was try to leap out of bed, but he didn’t get far, stumbling after the first unsteady steps. You couldn’t help but notice the flush of embarrassment on his cheeks as you helped him back into bed.

The crimson in his cheeks deepened every time he had to accept your help, whether it was eating the broth you prepared or when you insisted on changing his bandages. 

He seemed so confused, even lost, his eyes never leaving you as you moved around the old house. You could feel his gaze, a blend of curiosity and wariness, as if he were trying to make sense of this unexpected sanctuary and the stranger who had offered it. 

Yet beneath the confusion, there was unmistakable gratitude and awe in his eyes, and you clung to it like a drowning man grasping a plank in a stormy sea, letting it become your anchor, something to wrap around yourself like a warm scarf, shielding you from the coldness of the night.

You didn’t ask any questions.

Part of you was too afraid to hear the truth—who he really was, where his injury came from. And another part of you dreaded being asked the same in return.

It was he who eventually broke the silence, telling you that he was Lord Uhtred’s sworn man, wounded during a scouting mission.

Did you believe him? No, not really. But you didn’t let it show.

It was easier this way—two strangers brought together by the unpredictable currents of fate, waiting for the next tide to carry them apart again.

And yet the questions came.

“You know about me,” Sihtric began, his voice tentative, “but I hardly know anything about you. Tell me about your family.”

You hesitated, your hands pausing over the cups with herbal tea you were making. You forced a smile and turned to face him.

“Oh, there’s not much to tell,” you said lightly. “I come from a big family. My father runs the mill in the village and often works late, so I have to help my mother with the household and look after my younger brothers and sisters in the evenings. It keeps me busy,” unable to explain to yourself why it mattered at all, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell the truth. 

Sihtric nodded, his eyes softening with understanding.

“That must be hard, all those responsibilities. But it must also be nice to have such a big family.”

“It is,” you replied, feeling a pang of guilt for the lie. “There’s always something happening, and never a dull moment.”

He smiled, and for a moment, the room seemed to brighten. “It must be nice to have so much noise and life around you. I never had that.”

You nodded, looking away to hide the conflict in your eyes.

“It has its moments,” you said, keeping your tone casual. “But it’s nice to have a bit of quiet now and then, too.”

You knew this couldn’t last.

It felt like a dream—one you dreaded waking from each morning as the first rays of sunlight touched your closed eyelids.

Suddenly, your lonesome refuge had become a home, a place to return to, something to care for. You were needed. 

Each morning, it was as if your feet had grown wings, carrying you swiftly to that old, decrepit house. And each evening, as you reluctantly left Sihtric behind to return to the village, your heart sank with the fear that he might be gone by the time you returned the next day.

Deep down, you knew that day was coming, faster than you wanted to admit.

It was one of those evenings when the moon hung low, perched on the treetops, so large it seemed as though you could touch it if you just stretched out your hand.

Sihtric had been unusually silent all day, and as you prepared a simple meal in the kitchen you struggled to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

He didn’t need to say anything; you could feel it.

The wound on his side had healed remarkably well, thanks more to his youth than your limited healing skills.

“I... I need to…” Sihtric’s voice came from behind you, hesitant.

You paused, hands stilling over the vegetables, and quickly wiped away the salty tears that had slipped down your cheeks. Forcing a smile, you turned to face him.

He stood in the doorway, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“I know,” you said, your voice was calmer than you felt inside. “It’s time. You’re well enough now.”

Sihtric nodded, his expression softening. “It is,” he murmured.

There was nothing more to be said.

You nodded, turning back to the table in an attempt to hide the conflict swirling in your eyes.

You didn’t want to cry.

It was foolish, really.

You had known from the start that it would end this way. You were strangers from different worlds, barely knowing each other.

Yet, the ache in your heart told a different story.

You heard Sihtric move closer until he was just behind you, so close that his warm breath grazed the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your grip tightened on the knife as you resumed chopping the vegetables, forcing yourself to focus on the rhythmic movement. Up and down. Up and down. The blade moved faster in your hand, each swing becoming more erratic as your emotions tangled.

Suddenly, two large palms closed gently over yours, halting your frantic motion.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to steady yourself. Tears welled in the corners of your eyes, and you blinked hard, willing them away.

“You’re different,” Sihtric’s voice was soft, his thumbs lightly brushing against your hands. “You could have turned me away, but you didn’t. I owe you my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest, but whatever words were forming on your tongue dissolved into a silent sob that you quickly masked with a sharp inhale.

Sihtric had never been this close before, never intruded into your space so intimately. His muscular frame pressed gently against your back, steady and comforting, but what caught your attention most were his hands—his hands were trembling, just as yours were.

“I don’t know how to repay you,” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, filled with something raw, something that tugged at your heart. “But I want to.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, willing yourself to remain calm. You could feel his warmth against your back, and every part of you wanted to turn around, to face him, to let everything you’d been holding back spill out. But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

“There’s nothing to repay,” you said softly, your voice almost breaking. “You don’t owe me anything, Sihtric. I helped because you needed it. That’s all.”

The sensation of Sihtric’s right hand slipping away from yours, travelling slowly up your arm, sent your heart racing wildly.

There were no delicate butterflies in your stomach—there were frogs, leaping and tumbling inside.

His trembling fingers brushed your loose hair aside, revealing your shoulder and neckline.

You sucked in a sharp breath as Sihtric’s warm lips grazed your sensitive skin.

You closed your eyes, a soft whine escaping your lips, mingling with your uneven breath as you involuntarily tilted your head, giving him better access to your neck. A strange heat consumed your senses, making it impossible to focus on anything but his touch.

Sihtric’s breathing quickened, his body pressed more tightly against yours.

You steadied yourself, bracing your hands against the table to keep from losing balance.

“Sihtric...” you breathed, a surprised whimper slipping out as you instinctively pushed back, only to feel the unmistakable hardness of his growing arousal against your body.

Sihtric instantly pulled away, and you finally turned to face him, his hands slipping away as embarrassment flickered across his handsome features.

It wasn’t a conscious movement on your part, but more an instinct—driven by the fear of losing this moment, of letting go of something you had both craved and feared all along. Without thinking, you reached out, grasping his hand and pulling him closer, your other hand reaching for his chin as your foreheads gently touched.

“I... I don’t know what I’m doing,” Sihtric whispered, his gaze dropping as his breath warmed your skin. His voice was hoarse, raw, and even somewhat trembling. “Please, just tell me to stop. Tell me I’m a fool for wanting something I have no right to.”

“Sihtric, look at me,” you murmured, biting your lip as the ache in your chest grew.

Slowly, you reached out cupping Sihtric’s face in your palms, gently guiding his head back toward you. You didn’t speak, but your thumb traced the curve of his lips, silently urging him to understand that you felt the same pull, the same desire. 

“I... I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to...” he stammered, uncertainty rippling through his tense body and before he could pull away or before doubt could grip you both, you rose onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his, cutting off the words that never came.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped him, melting into the kiss.

You had imagined this moment so many times.

Foreign hands roaming your body, bruising demanding, you had dreamt of this gentle, hesitant kiss like a promise waiting to be fulfilled, soft and filled with reverence you hadn’t expected.

It was everything you’d longed for, and more. 

As the kiss deepened, the sweetness gave way to something more urgent, more consuming. Sihtric's initial surprise and hesitation melted into raw passion.

Your fingers tangled in his braided hair, pulling him closer, drawing another delicious moan from his lips.

His rough, calloused fingers caressed your back, tracing slow, deliberate paths along your spine, his breath growing heavier, more rugged, betraying his youthful eagerness.

You knew this would be the last time you’d see him. There was no future for the two of you—just this fleeting, fiery moment.

The thought twisted in your chest, knowing it would leave your heart aching, raw with longing for what could never be. But it didn’t stop you. It only made you crave him more.

It was anyway more than you could dream of, more than someone like you deserved.

You didn’t care anymore about keeping up the charade of the modest miller’s daughter. At this moment, it didn’t matter.

You were who you were, and you craved him—this young, handsome and strong, yet sweetly hesitant man who touched you as if you were made of fragile glass. You wanted this to be a memory worth keeping, for both of you.

With a confident tug, you hooked your fingers into the hem of his breeches and pulled him flush against you, crushing your lips to his in another kiss that was hungry, deep, and filled with all the passion you had kept inside.

In a swift, determined motion, you turned him around, pressing him against the table.

He let you.

Sihtric would let you do anything. His world was spinning.

From the moment he’d first opened his eyes and met your gaze, filled with warmth and care, he had craved you. He had craved this.

Even the dull ache in his side couldn’t stop the way his body responded to your touch, how his breeches grew tighter each time your hands brushed his skin while tending to his wound, his blood staining your fingers.

He had nothing to offer in return for your kindness—no riches, no freedom. And yet, if he could, he would pull every star from the sky and lay them at your feet.

But even himself, he could not offer. Bound by his oath to Lord Uhtred, he was not free.

He was sure you wouldn’t accept him anyway. After all, he was a Dane, a bastard and a warrior, and you—a Saxon maiden, with a life rooted in the stability and safety of your village. A life where there was no room for the uncertainty that would surely follow if you were bound to him.

It was a mystery to him why you were even tending to him, why you were here at all.

And now, your lips on his had set his mind spinning in a whirlwind of emotions he had never felt before.

Sihtric’s wide eyes tracked your every movement, his breath catching in his throat as your hands skillfully untied the laces of his breeches.

“Oh, gods,” he hissed, and you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you watched him shudder, his sharp breath filling the air between you as your hand boldly slipped inside, stroking his fully hard length before freeing it from the confines of his breeches. 

You kept stroking it, slowly, teasingly from root to tip, as you licked your lips, listening to the soft gasps, escaping Sihtric as his beautifully formed and thick cock twitched and pulsed under your touch.

You leaned in, rolling up his tunic as your teeth lightly grazed the hard muscle of his abdomen.

A heavy moan escaped him, and you felt him suddenly hold his breath.

Smiling, you let your lips trail further down, but just as quickly, his hands shot out to grasp yours, stopping you.

“Wait... no, let me...” he murmured, his voice thick. "Let me take care of you."

In one fluid motion, Sihtric pulled you back to your feet and spun you around with such ease, it stole the breath from your lungs.

You had always suspected he was strong, despite his slender frame, but the way he handled you like you weighed nothing sent a shiver down your spine.

Sihtric’s fingers brushed along your jawline, his rough palms framing your face with a tenderness that nearly broke you and you blinked back the tears threatening to blur your vision.

“Will you let me have you?” his voice was soft and pleading, eyes dark with lust, searching yours for an answer. 

Suddenly unable to find your voice you just nodded, letting your teeth graze your bottom lip as your fingers slipped under his tunic, eager to explore again the tight planes of muscle beneath his skin.

This time, your touch wasn’t filled with the care of tending to his wounds, but with burning passion, with unrestrained desire.

You needed him closer—needed to feel his breath mingling with yours, his lips on your bare skin. You longed to hear him moan your name, to feel his breath hitch as he made you his, even if it was only for this brief moment of shared bliss.

A low hiss escaped your lips as Sihtric’s hands began to hurriedly bunch your dress up your thighs, his calloused fingertips grazing your skin. His eyes flicked up to yours, questioning, as if giving you a moment to reconsider—to stop him.

Impatience coursing through your veins, you took over, pulling the dress over your head and discarding it carelessly on the floor. The same urgency drove your hands as you pulled his tunic off and helped him get out of his breeches, leaving nothing between your bodies.

Sihtric’s large hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly and setting you down on the table. The half-prepared supper clattered to the floor, forgotten, as he hastily cleared the space for you.

You spread your legs, inviting him closer, craving the warmth of his body against yours.

“Please, let me taste you,” the raw, husky tone of his voice made your core clench around nothing. 

“You can do whatever you want with me, Sihtric. I’m yours,” you whimpered as you let him urge you down until your back met the rough wooden surface of the table. 

You felt his hot breath on your skin as he placed a wet, open-mouth kiss on your ankle.

You closed your eyes, shivering in lust, as his lips travelled up your leg. You gasped loudly, feeling his lips getting closer to your pulsing core, placing a lingering kiss on your inner thigh. 

His hands took hold of your hips and then with a soft whimper he licked over your slit.

You moaned, your hands gripping the edge of the table, back arching against the wooden surface. It felt so sinfully beautiful, like a forbidden pleasure you knew you shouldn’t want but couldn’t resist, like tasting temptation itself and craving more with every breath.

Each lap of Sihtric’s hot tongue against your pearl drew another loud moan from you.

You slid your fingers into his hair and pulled hard on them.

Sihtric hissed, not letting go of you, as his tongue started to circle your pulsing bundle and his lips nipped and sucked at it, making you squirm and whine as stars exploded behind your tightly closed eyes.

He took you gently, slowly, almost hesitantly pushing forward into you, his eyes locked with yours, his sweaty, shaky palms, pinning your hips down on the rough surface of the table, betraying his nervousness.  

You gasped, feeling his length stretching and filling you, your core throbbing with a greedy need. 

Sihtric moaned as he finally sheathed fully inside of you. He stilled. Eyes locked with yours he savoured your walls taking him in and clenching around him.

The feeling of him buried deep inside of you made your walls flutter in arousal and need, you dug your fingers into his flesh, pushing your hips against him, begging for more.

And he gave you more.

Sihtric pulled out, before pushing forward again and then again, his movements tormentingly slow but thorough, driving you mad with want and desire.

Spurred by the lewd sounds rolling over your lips, his thrusts started to pick up pace until he was pounding into you, his hips meeting yours with every move.

“Oh god, Sihtric, you feel so good, don’t stop, please don���t stop,” you mewled, clawing at his skin. 

You glanced up at the young Dane through your lashes, taking in the sight of him as he thrusted into you—his flushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes rolling back into his head, breath catching and lips parted in deep, intoxicating groans—worshipping you like you had never been worshipped before.

He was completely entranced by you, utterly under your spell, and the sight of him like this—vulnerable and beautiful—was one you knew you would never forget as you cursed and thanked fate in equal measure for bringing you together in this secluded, forgotten place.

“Please, don’t stop, don’t ever let go of me,” you whispered, barely aware of the words escaping your lips, lost in the moment, already too far gone, too close to the edge.

“I won’t. You’re mine. Forever mine,” Sihtric’s voice reached you through the haze clouding your mind, his words wrapping around you like a promise, solid and unwavering, making your walls start clenching around him.

Sihtric pulled you up, pressing his forehead against yours as he continued to thrust into you, his strong arms holding you close, securing you against him.

His lips found your neck, kissing, sucking and bruising your soft skin with his teeth, his breath panting and his moans growing stronger and heavier with each thrust, mingling with yours.

“Forever mine,” he breathed in your ear, the sweet promise in his words adding the last weight to tip the scales and sending you tumbling over the edge.

Your climax hit you with a force of a tempest, filling you with pure bliss as tears welled up in your eyes.

Thighs trembling and head spinning, your whole body shook while hot waves of pleasure washed over you as Sihtric fucked you through your peak, his panting breath, laced with strained, twitching moans, hot against the skin of your neck as he came only a few moments later. 

You knew the old house would be empty, greeting you with the same heavy silence it always had. And yet, as you pushed open the creaking wooden door, you held your breath, a flicker of hope still lingering in your chest.

“I will come back. You’ll see. There’s nothing in this world that can keep me away from you,” he had whispered, holding you tightly against his chest.

“Not even your oath?” you had asked, lifting your gaze to meet his.

He didn’t reply at first, his mismatched, searching eyes darkening as he looked down at you. Then, almost hesitantly, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you.

His embrace was strong but gentle, as if he still feared you might pull away. But you didn’t.

You leaned into him, feeling his heartbeat against yours, the warmth of his body chasing away the chill that had settled in your bones.

“Not even my oath,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair.

Did you believe him? No, not really.

Now, your footsteps echoed through the empty rooms, a hollow ache settling in your chest as the crushing truth hit you. 

Your gaze fell on a single, delicate white flower in a vase on the table. It stood out against the emptiness, a painful remainder of something gone, something lost forever.

Slowly, you sank to the floor, the weight of it all breaking you. Uncontrollable sobs shook your body as a loud cry tore through you, the tiny shimmer of hope you had clung to slipping away with each tear.

The tavern buzzed with activity that evening, a small party of warriors having stopped in the village.

Their presence initially sent villagers into their homes, shutters drawn tight in fear. But the clink of silver flowing freely from the warriors' hands as they ordered food and ale quickly spread, and the fear began to dissipate.

Curiosity took hold, and soon the tavern filled with villagers eager to strike a bargain or sell their wares. It promised to be a profitable night for everyone—especially the tavern’s ladies.

Hearing how generous the strangers were, you had pulled your best dress from the old chest, carefully checking for any loose stitches before slipping it on.

The voices and laughter from downstairs grew louder as you descended into the bustling, lively room, mingling easily between the tables, your eyes scanning for the strangers in hopes of catching their attention.

A booming voice cut through the din, drawing your gaze to a table where several men sat, one of them clearly the leader.

The girls had whispered that the others called him "Lord."

You mustered your most enticing smile as you neared, eager to catch his eye—until a snippet of their conversation froze you in place.

Your eyes went wide, shock coursing through you, the noise of the tavern fading as the weight of what you were hearing settled in.

“Sihtric, you did what you could. Sometimes you just have to accept things as they are,” the man said, stepping aside and placing a hand on his companion’s shoulder.

“There isn’t even a mill in this village. There’s no point in asking for the miller’s daughter. She didn’t want to be found.”

“It can’t be,” Sihtric’s voice trembled, his grip tightening around the ale mug. “She told me... she said she loved me. The night before I left, she said she loved me.”

"Maybe she loved your cock,” came a mocking chuckle from a bearded man with a thick Irish accent, earning a desperate, angry glare from Sihtric.

“Sihtric,” Uhtred interjected, his tone gentler now, "none of what she told you about herself or her family was true. I spoke to the innkeeper. You need to forget her."

Sihtric’s gaze lifted slowly from the floor, his cheeks flushed with the weight of shame and disbelief. As he turned to face Uhtred, his eyes caught the figure of a young woman standing nearby, unmistakably one of the tavern's whores.

You wanted to run, but your body refused to obey. Your feet felt rooted to the floor as you watched recognition and surprise flicker in Sihtric's eyes as he stood.

It seemed impossible, yet it was true—your dearest dream and worst nightmare had collided into reality.

With the last remnants of your strength, you forced yourself to turn away. Your legs wobbled like jelly as you stumbled toward the door, using the tables for support. Behind you, Sihtric's voice called your name, spurring you forward.

You reached the door, shoving it open before tumbling down the steps outside. You hit the ground but scrambled back to your feet, desperation driving you. Shame and embarrassment burned at your heels as you broke into a run.

"Wait! Please, stop!" Sihtric’s voice rang out behind you.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you back against a broad chest.

You fought against it, struggling to free yourself, pounding your fists against the leather armour covering him. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

"Let me go!" you cried, your strength and resistance fading as his unyielding grip held firm. "Now you know!" you sobbed, your voice cracking. "Now you know everything. Just... please, let me go."

Hurt etched across Sihtric’s handsome face as he loosened his hold, but your strength had left you.

Without his support, you sank to the ground, trembling with sobs.

"So it was all a lie?" you heard him ask, his voice strained. "You didn’t mean it? But why?" His voice nearly broke with the question.

"Why does it matter?" you cried, burying your face in your hands. "You'd never want me if you knew who I really am."

"But you know that's not true," Sihtric said, crouching down beside you, his hands grasping your shoulders. "Look at me. Please, just look at me," he pleaded, his voice so full of emotion it made your chest ache.

Slowly, you withdrew your hands from your face, tears blurring your vision, as you reluctantly met Sihtric’s gaze.

His eyes, though pained, were full of something you hadn’t expected—understanding. His hands tightened gently on your shoulders, steadying you as you trembled.

“Do you think I care about that?” he asked, his voice soft but firm. 

Your breath hitched, disbelief swirling in your chest. “But I lied to you, Sihtric. I told you things that weren’t true. I’m not who you thought I was.”

He shook his head, his grip on you firm and unwavering. “You are exactly who I thought you were. You’re the woman who saved me when I had nothing, who didn’t judge or despise me for what I am, who cared for me when I was weak. You’re the woman I can’t stop thinking about.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, but you still felt the weight of shame dragging you down. “But I’m not the miller’s daughter. I’m no one. I’m just...”

Sihtric cupped your face in his hands, his touch gentle but insistent. “You are everything to me,” he whispered, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. Sihtric’s fingers gently trailed the contours of your face, his thumb lightly pecking your lips, as he lifted up your chin.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The hurt, the shame, the fear—they all melted away under the weight of his words. His touch was steady, his presence grounding. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of him soothe the storm inside you.

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmured, barely able to voice the words.

“Maybe I don’t deserve you,” he countered softly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. 

His lips met yours in a kiss so gentle, so tender, that it sent a wave of warmth through you, stirring something deep inside—a longing so powerful it left you breathless.

With trembling fingers, you cupped his face, pulling him closer, as if you couldn’t get enough of him. And when you finally pulled away, a sense of lightness washed over you, as if a burden you had carried for far too long had suddenly lifted.

“What now?” you whispered, your voice trembling with both hope and uncertainty.

“Don’t you remember?” Sihtric chuckled softly. “You are mine, forever mine.” His arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

Did you believe him? For the first time, yes, you did.

[lila-lou]

✨His true fate - Part 18/?✨

Summary: Jensen hasn't been happy for years. But it seems almost impossible for him to escape. After another nasty argument between him and his wife, he decides to visit his ´former´ best friend for his birthday. Back in Austin, an encounter awaits him that will turn his life completely upside down.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Smut and more Smut, Teasing, Language, age gap, flirting, angst, fluff

Word Count: 9167

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

You didn’t know how many times you let the water rinse out and filled the tub with fresh hot water. You also lost count of how many bath bombs you had used by now, their scents blending together in a soothing, but ultimately ineffective, attempt to lift your spirits. You couldn’t bring yourself to get out of the tub. It had been over two hours, and by now your skin looked like that of an 80-year-old.

Just then, you heard a soft knock against the doorframe. You glanced up to see Jensen standing there, a concerned look on his face.

“Hey”, he said softly, his voice filled with gentle concern.

You looked back down at your pruned, popped-up knees. “Hey”, you mumbled.

Jensen stepped further into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

He knelt beside the tub, his presence a calming anchor in the midst of your emotional storm. “You’re okay?”, Jensen asked gently. He knew you weren’t okay, could see it in the way you avoided meeting his eyes, in the way your shoulders were tensed despite the warmth of the water.

His chin rested on the edge of the bathtub as he waited patiently for you to look at him. The air between you held a palpable tension, filled with unspoken words and emotions swirling beneath the surface. Jensen’s concern radiated from him, a silent plea for you to open up, to let him in.

You finally raised your eyes to meet his. “I… I’m just tired”, you admitted quietly, your voice wavering slightly.

Jensen’s expression softened even more, his concern deepening. “I can see that”, he said gently. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”.

A lump formed in your throat as you struggled to put your feelings into words. It was a lot for you to take in—all the female fans hugging him, crushing on him, screaming at him, literally paying money for a glimpse of him. And then there was his public persona, speaking about his wife and acting like everything was fine with his marriage. It made you feel like a secret, hidden away from his friends and the world. You were a girl half his age, his affair, his side chick, or whatever the fuck you were. The thought made you feel stupid and insignificant.

But you didn’t want to cause him stress, so you just shook your head slightly. “It’s nothing”, you lied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just a lot going on”.

Jensen wasn’t convinced. He reached out, gently cupping your face and urging you to look at him. “Please, talk to me”, he said softly. “One of the reasons things work so well between us is because we talk about everything. I don’t want you to hold back”.

His words tugged at your heart, making it harder to keep your emotions bottled up. Tears welled up in your eyes as you finally let the truth spill out. “It’s just… everything”, you began, your voice cracking. “Seeing all those fans today, hugging you, screaming for you… And then hearing you talk about your wife like everything is fine. It just… it made me feel stupid".

You couldn’t help but let your tears roll down your cheeks. “I don’t want to be too clingy, Jensen”, you mumbled, your voice trembling. “But I can’t help how I feel. I… I just have such intense feelings already for you. I never had something like this before. I never felt so strong for someone like I do for you”.

Seeing you cry was the most terrible thing Jensen had ever experienced. He felt a sharp pang of regret and helplessness, and he remembered Jared’s words about needing to tell you how he truly felt. But the weight of his complicated life held him back, making the words stick in his throat.

Jensen took a deep breath, his hands gently cupping your face as he wiped away your tears with his thumbs. “I’m so sorry”, he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I never wanted to make you feel this way. You mean so much to me, more than I can put into words”.

"Forget what I just said”, you mumbled, pulling slightly away from him and brushing your tears away harshly. “It’s stupid”, you muttered, grabbing your towel and slowly getting out of the bathtub. You felt too vulnerable sitting in front of him like that.

Jensen watched you, his heart aching at the sight of you pulling away. He stood up, giving you space but not wanting to let the moment slip away without addressing your feelings. “It’s not stupid”, he said softly, his eyes following your movements as you wrapped the towel around yourself.

You turned to face him, trying to regain some composure. “It is. I shouldn’t have said anything. You have enough on your plate”.

Jensen stepped closer, but kept a respectful distance, his voice gentle but firm. “No, you shouldn’t have to keep these feelings bottled up. They’re valid, and they matter. You matter to me”.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “I just don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to complicate your life even more”.

“You’re not a burden”, he insisted, his eyes filled with sincerity. “And yes, things are complicated, but that doesn’t mean your feelings don’t count. I want to know how you feel, even if it’s hard to hear”.

You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt or insincerity. But all you saw was concern and a deep longing to make things right. “I just don’t know how to fit into your life without feeling like a meaningless affair”, you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jensen’s heart ached, feeling the weight of your words. He knew your point wasn’t about wanting to be in the spotlight. It was about wanting to share the simple, everyday moments that couples take for granted. Things like going out to dinner or holding hands in public without fear. But right now, with the complexities of his life, there was no easy way to make that happen.

He took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “I understand what you’re saying”, he began, his voice low and filled with emotion. “And I know it’s not fair to you. I wish I could change things right now, make it so we could just be normal. But it’s going to take time”.

You nodded, the towel wrapped tightly around you as if it could shield you from the pain. “I get that. I really do. But it doesn’t make it any easier”.

Jensen stepped closer, his hands reaching out but stopping short. “I don’t have all the answers, and I don’t know how long it will take to get to a place where we can have that normalcy. But I want you to know that I’m committed to trying. I don’t see you as a burden, and I never will".

Again, tears rolled down your cheeks. You felt terrible for causing him stress already after such a short time. “I’m sorry”, you mumbled, feeling the urge to walk away and give him space.

As you turned to leave, Jensen reached out and gently held your wrist, his touch firm but gentle. “Don’t apologize”, he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “You have nothing to be sorry for”.

You looked back at him, your eyes filled with doubt and sorrow. “I just don’t want to make things harder for you”.

Jensen shook his head, taking a step closer. “You’re not making things harder. You’re helping me understand what you need, what we both need to make this work. We’re in this together, remember?”.

He pulled you into a gentle embrace, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. The warmth of his body and the sincerity in his touch gave you a sense of comfort, easing the ache in your heart. “We’ll figure it out”, he whispered against your hair. “Just… please don’t be mad at me. I’m trying, I really am”.

You pressed your face against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I’m not mad at you”, you mumbled into his shirt. “I’m mad at me. For feeling this way, for wanting more”.

Jensen tightened his embrace, his hand gently stroking your hair. “Don’t be mad at yourself either. It’s okay to want more. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling”.

You took a shaky breath, absorbing his words. “I just want to be with you, without all these complications”.

“I know”, he said softly, his voice filled with understanding. “And I want that too… We’ll find a way to make it work”.

You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, seeing the determination and sincerity there. “Promise me we’ll try”, you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jensen nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “I promise. We’ll try, and we’ll do it . And no more feeling like you’re just an afterthought”.

He sighed, mumbling, “Because you’re not”, while gently brushing his hand over your back. Deep down, he knew you needed to hear those three words, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say them out loud. Not yet.

You nodded, appreciating his honesty, even though you sensed his struggle. “I believe you”, you whispered, holding him a little tighter. The weight of the unspoken words lingered between you, but his touch and his presence provided a sense of comfort and reassurance.

Jensen pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment.

There was a silence before he spoke again. “Maybe I shouldn’t have taken you to the convention", he said hesitantly, concern evident in his voice.

You shook your head, interrupting him. “No, Jensen. It was good. I needed to see that side of your life. It’s better to face it sooner rather than later. And honestly”, you continued, a small smile forming on your lips, “I felt so proud seeing you up there, seeing how much your fans love you”.

His eyes softened at your words, and he took a deep breath, relief mixing with lingering concern. “I just don’t want you to feel like this again. It hurts to see you so upset”.

You bit your lip as you saw the sincerity in his eyes. Your heart swelled, and you gently pulled him down to you by his neck. Without another word, you brought your lips to his, a soft yet fervent kiss that conveyed all the emotions you couldn’t put into words. After all, he was here. With you. With no one else, and that’s what mattered.

Jensen responded immediately, his arms wrapping around you tighter, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. The warmth and tenderness of the moment reassured you, grounding you in the reality of his presence and the strength of your connection.

Jensen carefully lifted you onto his hips, your towel slipping away as he did so. You couldn’t help but laugh as you heard a soft crack from his back. The sound made you pull away from his lips, pressing your face against his neck to stifle your giggles. Your naked body was pressed intimately against his, creating a delicious friction.

Jensen chuckled along with you, a playful grin spreading across his face. “You think that’s funny, huh?”, he teased, his voice a mix of amusement and mock annoyance.

You nodded, your laughter muffled against his neck. “A little”, you admitted, still giggling.

“Well, I’m glad my old man back can amuse you”, he replied, his tone light but affectionate. He shifted his grip slightly, adjusting to hold you more securely. “But you better be careful, or I might just drop you”.

You gasped in mock horror, tightening your legs around his waist. “You wouldn’t dare”, you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”, he said, raising an eyebrow. He took a few exaggerated, wobbly steps, making you laugh even harder.

“Okay, okay, I surrender”, you said, breathless from laughter. “Please don’t drop me”.

Jensen smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Never”, he said seriously, his playful tone gone. “I would never drop you”.

You leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. “I know”, you whispered against his mouth.

With that, he carried you towards the couch, placing you softly on it. As he pulled away, he took a moment to look up and down your naked body, his eyes filled with admiration and warmth. Then, with a dramatic flair, he dropped slowly to his knees, his face level with your belly.

“How incredibly beautiful you are”, he mumbled theatrically, his hands gently tracing the contours of your sides. His voice was filled with mock seriousness, yet there was an undeniable sincerity in his eyes.

You giggled, feeling a mix of amusement and affection. “You’re ridiculous”, you said, your laughter bubbling up again.

Jensen’s grin widened as he continued his dramatic performance. “Ridiculously lucky to have you”, he declared, his hands gently caressing your thighs. “Here I am, an old man with a creaky back, and you… you’re a vision of beauty and youth”.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking your head. “You’re not that old”, you teased back, your voice light with affection.

“Oh, but I am”, he insisted, keeping his tone exaggeratedly serious. “Every time I lift you, my back reminds me of my age”, As he spoke, he slowly began to spread your legs, his touch gentle yet firm, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath hitched slightly at the intimacy of the moment, but the playful atmosphere kept things light. “Well, maybe you should stop lifting me then”, you suggested, your voice teasing.

Jensen shook his head, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Never. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make”, he said, leaning in to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh.

His words and actions sent shivers through you, a mixture of laughter and desire making your heart race. “You’re impossible”, you murmured, your hands gently threading through his hair.

His eyes never leaving yours, Jensen leaned in even closer, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder. His lips were just inches away from your most intimate part, and you could feel his breath against your skin.

“You think I’m impossible?”, he teased, his voice low and husky. “Well, maybe I am. But I’m also determined. Determined to make you feel as incredible as you make me feel”.

You could only manage a soft whimper in response, the anticipation building inside you. Jensen’s hands gently stroked your thighs, his touch both soothing and electrifying.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?”, he continued, his lips brushing ever so lightly against your skin, teasing you without giving you what you desperately wanted. “Every inch of you… I could spend hours just touching, finding all the ways to make you moan”.

Your breathing grew heavier, your hands clutching at the cushions beneath you. “Jensen, please”, you whispered, your voice filled with longing.

He smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. “Please what, darling?”, he asked, his lips so close now that you could almost feel them on you. “Tell me what you want”.

You locked eyes with him, your desire and anticipation palpable as his lips hovered close to your skin.

“Please”, you repeated, your voice a desperate plea, your body arching slightly towards him. “I need you”.

Jensen’s smirk softened into a tender smile as he finally gave in to your request. Without another word, he closed the remaining distance, his lips meeting your most sensitive spot with a deliberate and passionate kiss. The sensation sent an electric jolt through your body, causing you to gasp and clutch onto him tightly.

Jensen’s tongue moved with deliberate precision, the warmth of his mouth enveloping your most sensitive areas. Each gentle lick sent a shiver through your body, the sensation both soothing and electrifying. His hands continued to caress your thighs, his touch light and teasing as he focused entirely on your pleasure.

Your breaths came in shallow gasps, your fingers threading through his hair, holding him close as he worked his magic. The friction of his movements, the pressure of his lips and tongue against you, built an intense, consuming heat within you. Your body responded eagerly, arching towards him, seeking more of his touch.

Jensen alternated between slow, deliberate strokes and quick, flicking motions that left you whimpering with need. His eyes flicked up to meet yours occasionally, the desire in his gaze making the moment even more intimate.

As the pleasure built, your muscles tensed, your body trembling under his skilled touch. The intensity of his attention, the way he seemed to know exactly what you needed, brought you closer and closer to the edge. Your moans grew louder, your fingers tightening in his hair, urging him on.

Jensen responded to your silent pleas, increasing the intensity of his movements. His tongue moved faster, more insistent, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady as you writhed under him.

Just as you felt the wave of your climax approaching, Jensen suddenly stopped. He pulled his mouth away, leaving you teetering on the edge of release. A mischievous grin spread across his face as he looked up at you, clearly enjoying the teasing.

“Jensen”, you whimpered, your voice thick with desperation and need.

He shifted until he was sitting on the couch, his eyes never leaving yours. Slowly, he began to open his belt, his movements deliberate and tantalizing. “I think it’s about time for some tutoring”, he murmured, his tone playful yet commanding.

Your breath hitched at his words, a mixture of frustration and excitement coursing through you. You watched as he undid his jeans.

Jensen leaned back, his eyes dark with desire as he gestured for you to come closer. “C´mere”, he said softly, his voice filled with a mix of authority and affection.

You moved towards him, your body still humming with the need for release. As you reached him, Jensen pulled you onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips. He guided you with gentle hands, positioning you just right, making sure you felt the full length of his arousal pressing against you.

He brought his mouth to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “I want to feel you”, he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You bit your lip, a mix of nervousness and anticipation creeping inside you as Jensen’s hands firmly gripped your hips, guiding you. He lifted you slightly, positioning himself at your entrance. The sensation of his hardness pressing against you made your breath catch.

“Relax”, he murmured softly. “I’m here with you”.

You nodded, taking a deep breath. Jensen’s eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and tenderness. Slowly, he began to lower you onto him, the sensation sending a shock of pleasure through your body. Inch by inch, he filled you, stretching you in the most delicious way.

“Fuck, you feel amazing”, he groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he finally buried himself fully inside you.

You whimpered quietly as Jensen filled you to the brim, the sensation both intense and overwhelming. You still weren’t used to his size, and the feeling of him stretching you was almost too much to bear. Your hands trembled as you placed them against his chest, seeking some stability.

Jensen noticed your shivering hands and brought one of his own up to cover them, squeezing gently. “Take your time”, he whispered.

You nodded, taking deep, steadying breaths as you adjusted to the fullness. His touch, both on your hands and your hips, provided a grounding sense of comfort and support.

Gradually, the initial intensity eased, replaced by a growing wave of pleasure. You began to move, experimenting with small, slow movements at first, finding a rhythm that felt right.

“You’re doing so well”, he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

Emboldened by his words, you began to move more confidently, lifting yourself up and then sinking back down onto him. You were better than the last time, but still way too insecure. Jensen could see the effort you were putting in and gave you time, clearly enjoying how you tried to find a rhythm that would fit you.

After a while, however, he leaned in and began kissing your neck, his lips soft and reassuring against your skin. “Remember what I showed you”, he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. His other hand dropped to your hip, gently urging you to roll your hips on him at a different angle.

Slowly, you began to roll your hips, experimenting with the angle he suggested. The new motion sent a wave of pleasure through you, eliciting a soft moan from your lips.

“That’s it”, Jensen murmured against your neck, his voice a mix of praise and desire. His hands guided your movements, helping you find a rhythm that felt even better. The sensation of him inside you, combined with the intimate kisses on your neck, made you feel both cherished and empowered.

You continued to move, your confidence growing with each thrust and roll of your hips. Jensen’s hands stayed on your hips, guiding and supporting you, his own pleasure evident in the way his breathing quickened and his grip tightened.

As you found your rhythm, the pleasure between you intensified. Your movements became more fluid and natural, the connection between you deepening with every motion. Jensen’s hands roamed your back and hips, his touch both grounding and electrifying.

The new angle and rhythm brought you both closer to the edge. The room was filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure—your breathy moans, his deep groans, the intimate whispers and encouragements exchanged between you.

“That’s perfect”, Jensen whispered, his voice strained with pleasure. “Just like that”.

You felt a surge of pride and excitement at his words, knowing you were bringing him as much pleasure as he was bringing you. The intensity of the moment grew, the friction and heat building with each movement.

His lips brushing against your neck before sucking on your soft flesh, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His hands wandered up to your waist, his touch firm and reassuring.

As he pulled his lips away, he leaned back slightly, giving himself a better view of you riding him. His eyes were dark with lust, watching intently as your body moved, taking him in with each thrust. The sight of your pussy enveloping his cock, stretching around him, sent a thrill through him, intensifying his desire.

“Look at you”, he groaned, his hands tightening on your waist. “So beautiful”.

Jensen couldn’t get enough of the sight in front of him. The way your breasts bounced ever so softly with each movement, the glistening wetness dripping down his cock every time you lifted your hips, and the way your mouth hung open, releasing moan after moan—it was all driving him wild with desire.

“Keep going”, he urged, his voice a mix of command and raw need. “Don’t stop. You’re doing so good, baby”.

You bit your lip and moved with renewed vigor, riding him harder, the rhythm between you perfect. Every thrust sent waves of ecstasy through your body, the pleasure almost too intense to bear.

Jensen’s hands roamed your body, caressing your waist, your back, and your breasts. His touch was firm and possessive, grounding you in the moment and intensifying the connection between you. His eyes never left you, drinking in every detail of your pleasure.

Jensen’s desire to push you further spurred him into action. With one flat palm, he pressed gently on your stomach, urging you to lean back slightly. “Hold on to my thighs”, he whispered, his voice low and commanding.

You did as he instructed, gripping his thighs behind you. The new angle changed everything. The moment you shifted back, the intensity of the sensations amplified.

Your head fell back as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure. Your body shuddered as you rode the waves of intense pleasure. The angle and depth of Jensen’s thrusts were perfect, hitting spots inside you that sent shockwaves through your entire being. You felt the build-up, the tight coiling within you reaching its peak.

“There you go”, he murmured.

The sound of his voice, the intensity in his eyes, and the overwhelming sensation of him inside you all combined to send you over the edge. You came hard around him, your muscles tightening and pulsing, your breath catching in a series of gasps and moans.

Your entire body trembled with the force of your orgasm, the pleasure radiating out in powerful waves. Jensen’s hands gripped your hips tighter, his own breaths coming in ragged bursts as he continued to thrust into you, prolonging your ecstasy.

As your orgasm began to subside, you felt Jensen’s rhythm falter slightly, a sign of his own impending release. His grip on your hips was almost bruising now, his movements becoming more erratic and desperate.

“Fuck Baby”, he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

You felt a rush of satisfaction at his words, knowing you had pushed him to the brink. With a few more powerful thrusts, Jensen’s body tensed, and he let out a deep, guttural moan as he found his release. You could feel him pulsing inside you, the sensation adding a final, intense burst of pleasure to your already overwhelmed senses.

As the last waves of pleasure subsided, you let yourself fall forward against Jensen’s chest, your body trembling and your breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps. You clung to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you sought to steady yourself.

Jensen held you close, his own breathing heavy and uneven. He gently stroked your back, his touch soothing and grounding as you both came down from the intense high. His heart pounded against your chest, a steady reminder of the connection you shared.

“Fuck, that was amazing”, he murmured against your hair, his voice still thick with emotion and satisfaction.

You nodded against him, unable to find the words to express how incredible it had been. Instead, you pressed a soft kiss to his neck, your lips lingering on his skin as you savored the closeness.

As Jensen’s hands continued to move gently over your back, providing a soothing and reassuring touch, you both basked in the afterglow of your shared intimacy. The silence was comfortable, filled only with the sound of your synchronized breathing.

After a while, Jensen softly murmured against your hair, “Do you think you can handle tomorrow with this on your mind?”.

You lifted your head slightly, looking into his eyes. “I think I can”, you replied with a soft grin.

Jensen’s eyes softened further, and he leaned in to kiss you gently. As he pressed you tighter against him, you felt his softened dick slip out of you, causing a warm sensation as his cum began to drip out of you, pooling onto his crotch.

You both paused for a moment, the intimacy of the situation deepening.

Jensen chuckled softly, breaking the silence with a lighthearted comment. “I really cause a mess every time, don’t I?”, he said, his tone playful yet tender.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound easing the remaining tension in the room. “Yeah, you do”, you replied, your voice equally playful. “But I guess it’s a good kind of mess”.

Jensen smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Definitely a good kind of mess”, he agreed, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Jensen glanced around the room, looking a bit helpless as he searched for something to clean up the mess between the two of you. You chuckled softly, finding the situation amusing yet endearing. Without missing a beat, you reached under the coffee table and retrieved a tissue box.

“Here”, you said with a playful grin, handing him the tissues.

Jensen took the tissues, chuckling as he leaned back slightly to make some room. He gently pressed you back, ensuring there was enough space for him to clean himself up and tend to your needs. His touch remained gentle and caring, a stark contrast to the heated passion just moments ago.

As he started to clean himself, you couldn’t help but tease him. “You know, for someone who makes such a mess, you sure are meticulous about cleaning up”, you said, your voice light and playful.

Jensen chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well, I can’t have you thinking I’m a complete slob, can I?”, he replied, his tone equally teasing. “Besides, I have to make sure you’re comfortable”.

You grinned. “Such a gentleman”, you said, your voice dripping with mock admiration.

He smirked, gently wiping away the remnants of your lovemaking. “Always”, he said with a wink. As he finished cleaning himself, he turned his attention to you, his touch tender and attentive.

“Now, let’s see about you”, he murmured, gently parting your legs to clean you up. His touch was soft and deliberate, making sure you were comfortable throughout.

You couldn’t help but squirm a little under his attention, feeling both embarrassed and cherished. “Jensen”, you said, your voice a mix of teasing and shyness, “you’re too good at this”.

He looked up at you with a mischievous grin. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet”, he teased, his eyes twinkling. “Just wait until I really get started”.

You laughed, swatting at his arm playfully. “You’re impossible”.

Jensen laughed softly, his eyes alight with affection as he continued to clean you up with gentle care.

He maintained eye contact with you, his expression soft yet filled with a subtle hunger. His fingers traced over your skin delicately, ensuring every trace of his touch was comforting and reassuring.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”, you teased lightly as you watched him work.

His grin widened. “Maybe a little too much”, he admitted.

Just then, his phone rang, interrupting the tender moment between you two. He sighed softly and nodded toward his phone, indicating for you to get it.

“Hey, Jared”, you answered, trying to keep your voice steady despite the intimacy of the moment.

Jared’s voice came through, sounding both exasperated and amused. “Oh no, not again”.

You chuckled, putting Jared on speaker. “It’s fine, Jared. Jensen just… needs to clean up the mess he made”.

Jared grumbled playfully on the other end. “Do I even want to know what mess?”.

Jensen, still working to clean the last remnants of your intimate time together, grinned and glanced up at you, clearly enjoying the teasing. “Probably not, Padalecki”, he called out, his voice filled with humor.

Jared laughed heartily, the sound lightening the mood even further. “Well, as long as you’re multitasking, I guess I’ll allow it”.

Then Jared’s tone shifted to one of mild concern. “Hey, why I called, have you seen my wallet? I think I lost it somewhere”.

Jensen rolled his eyes, a fond smile playing on his lips. “How do you manage to lose your wallet every other day?”.

You chuckled, shaking your head at Jared’s usual forgetfulness. “Check the usual spots, Jared”, Jensen continued. “Your car, the couch, your jacket…”.

Jared sighed dramatically on the other end. “I’ve looked everywhere! I’m starting to think it might have grown legs and walked away”.

“Maybe it’s in the green room. You know how you always leave stuff there”.

Jared sighed again, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “You’re probably right. I’ll check there first thing tomorrow”.

“Good idea”, Jensen replied, his tone light. “And if it’s not there, we’ll help you search. It can’t have gone far”.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it”, Jared said, sounding relieved. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to… whatever you were doing”.

Jensen smirked, glancing at you with a playful glint in his eye. “Yeah, thanks, Jared. See you tomorrow”.

“See you both tomorrow”, Jared replied before hanging up.

Jensen set the phone aside and turned his full attention back to you, his hands resuming their gentle, soothing movements. “Sorry about that”, he murmured, his voice soft and affectionate.

You shook your head, smiling. “It’s fine. Jared always knows how to make things interesting”.

Jensen chuckled. “That he does”, He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “Now, where were we?”.

You laughed softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I believe you were multitasking”.

Jensen grinned, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. “Right. Let’s get back to that, shall we?”.

As he resumed his tender ministrations, you felt a deep sense of contentment and connection. Despite the interruptions, the love and intimacy between you remained unshaken.

Jensen finished cleaning you up, only for the two of you to end up making the same delightful mess an hour later. Eventually, way too late into the night, you both lay in bed, completely spent.

You were facing the window, the soft glow of the moon casting a gentle light across the room. Jensen held you tight against his chest, his strong arms wrapped protectively around you. Your back was pressed softly against his torso, the warmth of his body providing a comforting cocoon.

He peppered your naked shoulder with gentle kisses. His breath was warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine despite the exhaustion that weighed on your limbs.

Jensen mumbled against your shoulder, his voice tinged with exhaustion and amusement. “I’m going to be so tired tomorrow”, he said with a soft chuckle. “I think even my muscles will be sore. My hips are fucking killing me”.

You couldn’t help but let out a tired chuckle in response. “Well, that’s what you get for multitasking”, you teased, your voice playful despite your fatigue. “You should have paced yourself, old man”.

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating through your back. “I don’t remember you complaining earlier”,

You smirked, feeling a warm rush of affection. “I guess I was too busy enjoying myself”.

Jensen tightened his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “It pretty much seemed like it”, he mumbled, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. His kisses continued, each one sending a shiver of warmth through you.

One of his hands slowly inched down from your hips to your lower stomach, his touch gentle and teasing. “You know”, he murmured between kisses, “I could get used to making you enjoy yourself like that every night”.

You smiled, feeling a mixture of affection and desire. “You might need to start taking vitamins, then”, you teased lightly, your voice a soft whisper.

Jensen chuckled, his hand stilling for a moment as he pressed a firmer kiss to your neck. “Is that so? Well, I suppose I’ll just have to do my best to keep up”.

His hand resumed its journey, tracing delicate patterns across your skin. The sensation was both soothing and electrifying, making you sigh with contentment.

Jensen’s hand continued its teasing journey, brushing over your thighs with featherlight touches before finally slipping between them. The sensation made you groan softly, a mix of pleasure and fatigue evident in your voice. “Jensen, please”, you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m completely spent”.

Jensen paused for a moment. “Are you sure about that?”, he whispered playfully, his fingers lightly brushing against your sensitive skin. His touch was gentle, but the teasing intent behind it was clear.

You groaned softly again, trying to muster the energy to respond. “Jensen, I swear, I can’t take any more tonight”, you said, your voice both pleading and affectionate.

You hesitated before whispering, “It already hurts… down there. And you said yourself you’re exhausted”.

Jensen sighed softly, acknowledging your words. But as he felt your naked body pressed against him, he couldn’t help but notice his own growing arousal. “How about we try something different then?”, he mumbled, his voice low and filled with suggestion. His hand moved to gently palm your ass, signaling what he meant.

You felt a shiver run through you, a mix of exhaustion and renewed desire. “Jensen…”, you murmured, your voice a blend of uncertainty and curiosity.

His touch was gentle, his fingers kneading the soft flesh of your ass. “I promise to be gentle”, he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “We’ll take it slow”.

Your heart started to race, and you bit your lip as the anticipation and nervousness built up. “Jay…”, you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never done this before”.

Since your back was turned toward Jensen, you couldn’t see his reaction, but you could feel it. The fact that this was new territory for you seemed to excite him even more. He groaned softly against your back, his breath warm on your skin.

You heard from your friends that it’s a strange feeling and it hurts, making you even more nervous. “I’ve heard it can hurt”, you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

Jensen’s hands continued to knead your ass gently, his touch both reassuring and arousing. “It can be a strange feeling at first”, he admitted softly, “but it doesn’t have to hurt. I promise to go slow and make sure you’re comfortable”.

You bit your lip, trying to calm the nervous fluttering in your stomach. “Are you sure?”, you asked, seeking reassurance.

Jensen pressed another soft kiss to your shoulder. “It’s not my first time”, he murmured, his voice filled with gentle confidence. “I know what I’m doing, and I promise I’ll be gentle. Just trust me”.

You took a deep breath, feeling a bit more at ease with his words. “Okay”, you whispered.

Jensen smiled against your skin, his hands continuing their soothing movements. “Good”, he said softly. “Just relax and let me take care of you”.

Jensen’s hands continued their soothing movements.Then, he paused for a moment, his lips brushing against your shoulder. “You have any lube?”, he asked softly.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper as you mumbled, “In the nightstand”.

Jensen reached over, opening the drawer and retrieving the lube. He squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers, ensuring they were well-coated before returning his attention to you.

“Okay, I’m going to start with this”, he said gently, his voice filled with reassurance. “Just relax and breathe”.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the nervous fluttering in your stomach.

Jensen’s fingers, now slick with lube, moved to your entrance. His touch was gentle and deliberate. He started by gently massaging the area, his fingers working the lube in with slow, circular motions.

“Just relax”, he whispered soothingly. “Breathe in and out”.

You focused on your breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, trying to relax into the sensation. Jensen’s touch was calming, his fingers moving with expertise and care. He began to apply gentle pressure, his fingertip just barely pressing against you, waiting for your body to adjust.

“How does that feel?”, he asked.

“Different… but okay”, you murmured, your voice still trembling slightly.

Jensen nodded, his other hand continuing to caress your back reassuringly. He slowly, carefully, began to push his finger inside, moving at a pace that allowed you to adjust to the new sensation. He paused frequently, making sure you were comfortable before continuing.

“You’re doing great”, he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Just keep breathing”.

His finger moved deeper, the sensation both strange and intimate. Jensen’s touch remained gentle, his movements slow and deliberate. He added more lube as needed.

“How’s that?”, he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You bit your lip, your voice strained as you admitted, “It kinda hurts”.

Jensen paused immediately, his fingers stilling as he pressed a soothing kiss to your shoulder. “It’s okay”, he murmured, his voice gentle and reassuring. “What you’re feeling is mostly pressure. It might feel like it hurts, but it’s just your body adjusting”.

He resumed his gentle movements, his fingers working more lube in to ensure you were as comfortable as possible. “I promise, I’ll go slow and be careful. If it gets too much, just tell me, and we’ll stop”.

You took a deep breath, focusing on the calming rhythm of Jensen’s touch. The initial discomfort began to ease slightly as you relaxed more into the sensation. “Okay”, you whispered, trusting him completely.

Jensen continued with careful precision, his touch both respectful and loving. He took his time, ensuring that you were comfortable with each new sensation, constantly checking in with you to make sure you were okay.

“You’re doing great”, he whispered, his voice filled with warmth and encouragement. “Just keep breathing and relax as much as you can”.

As Jensen’s finger moved with practiced care, the initial tension in your body began to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of connection and trust.

“How does it feel now?”, he asked softly.

“It’s getting better”, you whispered, your voice still trembling slightly but now with a mix of anticipation and pleasure.

“Good”, Jensen replied, his tone filled with warmth and reassurance. “Just let me know if you need me to stop, okay?”.

Jensen kept his movements gentle and deliberate, making sure you were comfortable and ready. Slowly, he withdrew his finger, ensuring you were eased into the next step.

“Stay relaxed, just like that”, he murmured, pressing another soft kiss to your shoulder. “I’m going to get ready now”.

You took a deep breath, focusing on the sensation of Jensen’s hands moving away and the cool air against your skin. You could feel him shifting behind you as he reached for the lube again. He squeezed a generous amount onto his hand, making sure his fingers were well-coated.

He began to coat his hard, swollen dick with the lube, ensuring every inch was slick and ready. The sound of him preparing sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. Jensen took his time, his movements precise and patient.

“How are you feeling?”, he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.

“I’m okay”, you whispered back, your voice steady but tinged with anticipation.

Jensen nodded, though you couldn’t see it. You could feel the shift in the bed as he positioned himself behind you, his presence comforting and reassuring. He placed one hand gently on your hips, his touch warm and grounding.

“Just keep breathing”, he reminded you, his voice a soothing murmur. “I’m going to go slow. If you need me to stop at any point, just say so”.

You nodded, taking another deep breath. You felt Jensen’s hand move between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance. The tip of his slick, lubricated dick pressed gently against you, the sensation both strange and exhilarating.

“Here we go”, Jensen whispered, his voice filled with both anticipation and care.

He began to push gently, his movements slow and controlled. The first inch was enough to make you gasp strained, your hands gripping the sheets as you whimpered. Jensen immediately paused, his concern evident in his touch.

“You good?”, he asked softly, his voice filled with genuine worry.

You took a shaky breath, nodding slightly. “Yeah, it’s just… a lot”, you admitted, your voice trembling.

Jensen pressed a soothing kiss to your shoulder, his hands gently rubbing your hips. “We can stop if it’s too much”, he reminded you, his voice calm and reassuring.

“No, I want to keep going”, you whispered, your voice filled with determination. “Just… go slow”.

Jensen nodded, his hands still gently massaging your hips. “Okay”, he murmured. “We’ll take it nice and slow”.

He inched forward, each movement deliberate and cautious. He groaned softly, the strain evident in his voice as he adjusted to the tightness. The sensation was intense for both of you, your muscles clenching tightly around him.

“Almost there”, he whispered, his breath warm against your shoulder.

You focused on your breathing, trying to relax your muscles and ease the tension. Jensen’s hand remained steady on your hips, guiding and supporting you. Slowly, he continued to push forward until he was fully buried inside you.

The fullness was overwhelming, your breath coming in short, shaky gasps as you tried to adjust. Your muscles clenched so hard around him that it was almost painful for both of you. Jensen paused, his hands soothingly caressing your skin.

Jensen kept kissing your shoulder, his lips soft and reassuring against your skin. “You’re doing great”, he whispered between kisses, his voice a soothing balm against the intensity. His hands continued their gentle caresses, moving in slow, comforting patterns.

“You’ve got this”, he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Just breathe. I’m right here with you”.

You took another deep breath, trying to relax your body and ease the tension. Slowly, the tightness in your muscles began to lessen, the initial discomfort giving way to a more manageable sensation. Jensen’s presence, his touch, and his words all worked together to help you feel safe and cared for.

“How does it feel now?”, he asked softly.

“Still intense, but better”, you whispered, your voice steadier.

Jensen nodded. “We’ll go at your pace”, he promised. “There’s no rush”.

Gradually, as you continued to breathe deeply and focus on relaxing, the sensation became more comfortable

“You think you’re ready for me to start moving?”, Jensen asked softly, his voice filled with gentle concern and encouragement.

You nodded slightly, feeling a mix of anticipation and readiness. “Yes”, you whispered, your voice steadier now. “I think I’m ready”.

Jensen pressed one last kiss to your shoulder. “Alright, just let me know if you need me to stop or slow down”, he murmured.

You nodded, bracing yourself for the next sensation. Jensen slowly began to pull out a few inches, the movement causing you to gasp. Little tears formed in the corners of your eyes, which he couldn’t see since his face was pressed into your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

The sensation was a mix of pleasure and an intensity that bordered on discomfort, but you focused on Jensen’s steady, reassuring presence. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the new feeling, his hands gently massaging your hips.

“You’re doing great”, he whispered against your neck, his voice filled with warmth and encouragement.

You took another deep breath, trying to relax as Jensen began to move again. He slowly pushed back in, the sensation intense but more familiar now. Each movement was deliberate and controlled, giving you time to adjust and find comfort in the rhythm.

Jensen continued to move in and out slowly, his pace unhurried and careful. He pulled back a few inches and then gently pushed forward, his touch constant and reassuring. With each slow thrust, the initial intensity began to transform into a deeper, more pleasurable sensation.

“Is this okay?”, he asked softly.

You nodded, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “Yes”, you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

As he continued to move slowly within you, the sensation became more comfortable, each thrust bringing a mix of pleasure and connection. Jensen’s touch remained gentle and patient, his focus entirely on ensuring your comfort and enjoyment.

The slow, intimate rhythm allowed you both to fully experience the connection between you, deepening your bond with each movement.

“You feel amazing”, Jensen whispered against your neck, his voice filled with awe and affection.

You moaned softly, the pleasure and intimacy of the moment overwhelming in the best way possible.

His breath was warm against your neck, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through your back.

Each gentle thrust brought a new wave of sensation, the pleasure building gradually and beautifully.

Jensen’s hands roamed your body with care, one hand slipping to your front to gently caress your stomach, providing a steady anchor. His other hand continued to support your hips, guiding your movements and maintaining the connection between you.

“You think you can come like this?”, he murmured against your neck.

You shook your head slightly, the strain evident in your expression. “I don’t think so”, you whispered back, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

Jensen was already close, his movements becoming slightly more urgent, but he was determined to ensure your pleasure.

“Can you touch yourself?”, he asked with a hint of urgency. But you were too focused on not giving in to the intense pressure, and once again, you shook your head, your breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

“Alright”, he murmured, his voice filled with determination. “Let me take care of you”,

With gentle care, Jensen shifted slightly, adjusting his position to reach in front of you. His fingers found your most sensitive spot, and he began to touch you in slow, deliberate circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The added stimulation sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you moaned softly, your hands gripping the sheets for support.

“Good?”, he asked, his voice thick with desire.

“So good”, you gasped, the pleasure building rapidly under his skilled touch.

Jensen’s thrusts became deeper and harder, each one knocking the air out of your lungs. The intensity of his movements left you barely able to breathe, but with his fingers expertly working your clit, you were lost in the overwhelming sensation. If he weren’t touching you there, you might have told him it was too much and that he needed to stop. But the pleasure was consuming, driving you to the brink.

Jensen’s teeth grazed your shoulder lightly, the mix of pain and pleasure making you shiver. His hand moved faster, fingers pressing more insistently against your clit as his thrusts grew even more intense. The combination of sensations was almost too much to bear, but in the best possible way.

“Jensen”, you gasped, your voice barely more than a breath. “I’m so close”.

“Me too”, he groaned against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. “Hold on, baby. Let’s come together”.

His words and the relentless pace of his thrusts pushed you over the edge. The pleasure exploded within you, your body convulsing around him as you came with a force that left you trembling. Jensen’s movements became erratic as he followed you into release, his own climax crashing over him with a guttural moan.

Jensen’s arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close as he rode out his own pleasure. The intensity of the moment left you both breathless, hearts pounding in sync.

After a moment of basking in the afterglow, Jensen carefully began to pull out, his movements slow and deliberate to ensure your comfort. As he withdrew his dick from your ass, you couldn’t help but let out one last whimper, the sensation strange and a bit uncomfortable. You grimaced slightly, the odd feeling lingering for a moment.

Jensen immediately noticed your reaction and pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his hands gently rubbing your back in soothing circles. “You did so well”, he murmured, his voice filled with warmth and admiration. “I’m so proud of you”.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “That was… intense”, you admitted, your voice still a bit shaky.

Your hand instinctively found its way to your ass, ensuring nothing leaked or was injured. Jensen noticed and chuckled softly, pressing one last kiss to your shoulder before falling back onto his back. His grin was warm and reassuring. “You don’t need to worry”, he said, his voice filled with gentle amusement. “I told you, I know what I’m doing. I didn’t hurt you”.

Your hand still resting against your back. The sensation was strange but not painful, and Jensen’s confidence helped ease your concerns.

Jensen reached over and gently moved your hand away, replacing it with his own. “See? All good”, he murmured, his fingers lightly caressing your skin. “You’re perfect”.

You carefully got up from the bed, feeling the slight soreness from your recent activities. With a small, shy smile, you quickly walked into the bathroom, eager to clean yourself up and ensure everything was really okay.

As you turned on the bathroom light and began to freshen up, you heard Jensen’s voice calling out from the bedroom, “If you need any help, just say so!”.

His tone was filled with a mix of concern and playful reassurance. You chuckled softly, appreciating his attentiveness. “Thanks, but I think I’ve got it”, you replied, feeling a little more at ease.

You took your time in the bathroom, making sure to be thorough. The warm water and gentle soap were soothing, helping to wash away any lingering discomfort. After a few moments, you felt much better and more comfortable.

Wrapping a soft towel around yourself, you returned to the bedroom, feeling a sense of calm and relaxation. Jensen was lying back on the bed, his eyes following you as you walked back to him. He smiled warmly, patting the spot next to him.

“All good?”, he asked, his voice soft and filled with genuine care.

“All good”, you confirmed, climbing back into bed and snuggling up next to him.

With a tender kiss to your hair, Jensen held you close as you settled back into bed. The warmth of his embrace and the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear soon lulled you into a state of deep relaxation. Wrapped in each other's arms, the events of the evening melted into a peaceful intimacy.

You felt Jensen's steady breath against your neck as sleep gently washed over both of you.

———————————

A/N: Well, that was a long one. Please let me know what you think.🥰

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Part 19

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Taglist: @cheynovak @chriszgirl92 @jenniferr0323 @angelbabyyy99 @cevansbaby-dove @muhahaha303 @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @n-o-p-e-never @mayafatimakhan @ladysparkles78 @viviandarkbloom06 @jassackles @evasmlp @acklesaddict67 @mostlymarvelgirl @emma1998sblog @mishaesque @headinthemoon87 @hobby27 @winchesterwild78 @impala67rollingthroughtown @manicjk @kr804573 @zaratahir @djs8891 @winchesterwild78 @jamerlynn @whimsyfinny @libby99hb @deansimpalababy @deans-queen @kawaii-arfid-memes @faephoria @stoneyggirl2 @fitxgrld @luvr4miya @yikeschoices @lyssalvus @soab1967 @luvr4miya @didi0666

[missmeinyourbones]

THE RUST THAT GREW BETWEEN TELEPHONES

in which suna is annoying (shocker). slightly suggestive? tw: hickeys/bruising 

Sometimes you swear life is laughing at you, and sometimes it is. But other times, it’s just your boyfriend.

Waking up this morning with an alarmingly noticeable hickey on your neck was not what you meant when you said you were looking for a new accessory to wear out to brunch. 

You’ve already spent about twenty minutes of your getting ready process on trying to cover up the harsh bruise that formed on your skin overnight, and with each pump of foundation and stroke of concealer, your frustration grows. 

Amid your horror, you hear a borderline squeak. Something that perfectly reflects a mumbled snort of laughter behind a stupidly long and calloused hand. 

You let your gaze sharply adjust to the silhouette in the reflection behind you. Suna stands exactly how you’d imagined him, watching your feeble attempts at trying to cover his bite with a shit-eating grin hidden behind his fist.

He’s utterly amused by the scene playing out before him. You? Not so much. 

“Choke.”

He almost does at your blunt words paired with your gaze of daggers. When he removes the hand covering his mouth, he holds up his palm in defense. You don’t miss how he does his best to hide the smirk pulling at his cheeks. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he innocently sings.

Your glare somehow gets even colder, before you scoff and ignore his words. You go back to rubbing at the mark, hoping to disperse its bruising a bit before furiously going in with yet another layer of concealer.

Suna shakes his head as he tries to keep a straight face, walking towards your back facing him. Nearly out of spite, you start rubbing harder at the mark. 

“Hey, hey—stop, alright?” he grabs your wrist with ease, before making eye contact with you through the mirror once more. “It’s not that bad.”

A lie. You both know it is that bad. In fact, it may be one of the worst ones he’s given you—it looks like he practically bit and sucked on the same spot for about an hour and a half straight. Maybe he did, you can't quite exactly remember where his lips were when his hands were—

As if reading your mind, Suna catches your eye and raises his brow at your dirty thoughts. 

“This isn’t funny,” you remind him for what feels like the umpteenth time.

“And I’m not laughing,” he insists, hands resting comfortably on your waist as he watches you (try to) blend out the makeup smothering the bite.

“But you want to,” you practically scoff. “I can tell by that stupid look on your face.”

He hums a laugh into the crown of your head.

“Maybe that’s just my face,” he reasons. You decide to bite back a fresh comment when he gently pokes the irritated skin.

You whine a bit at the sensitive prodding. Pathetically frustrated with the situation at hand, you whimper out a half angry half embarrassed mumble, “Hurts.”

He hums mockingly, cooing above the skin as he whispers, “Want me to kiss it better?” 

His lips lean in to skim the maroon bruise, but your hand swats at his cheek before he can successfully make contact. 

He whines at the gentle smack, pulling away with an amused smirk.

“That’s how it got there in the first place, dumbass,” he hears you mumble beneath your breath as you give up on the makeup, trying to play around with the collar of your shirt in any way that hides the ridiculous bruise on your neck. 

Suna watches you fumble with the material, face muffled in the side of your neck that isn’t marked.

“Not my fault you wore that dress last night,” he breathes evenly before daring to nip lightly at your jaw, “looked too good.”

“Good enough to practically eat me alive?” you retort with something that sounds like embarrassment.

Suna coos at your dramatics. He returns his attention to the prized possession he left on your neck. 

He nods, showing no regret and rubbing a soft thumb over the mark, “And then some.” 

Sighing in defeat with a groan, your hands fall flat at your sides.

“I can’t go out like this.” 

“You could gimme a matching one,” Suna casually slings an arm around your shoulder, exposing his neck dramatically in the process, “and consider it payback.”

You glare at him through the mirror, before glancing at his barren neck—because, unlike someone, you’re cautious with your marks. 

Your reaction not being the one he wanted, he tries again.

“Or,” he draws out the syllable before smoothly turning his head, “you could let me mark you up some more.”

You scoff, eyes stuck on the sore mark that seems to make itself known no matter what.

“And how would that help?”

“If you’re covered in ‘em, it takes the attention away from the big one,” he says simply as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.  

Though you let out a tiny laugh, it’s quickly hidden by your sarcastic response. 

“Can’t argue with that foolproof logic.”

His face returns to your neck, now determined to make you feel better after getting a taste of your amusement. “Stop being grouchy and let me love on you,” he nearly whines.

With a pathetic pout, you lean into his touch. He allows his head to lift with his hand, thumb smoothing out the worry lines forming on your forehead.

“M’sorry, though,” he softly breathes. “If you really hate it that much, I won't do it again next time.”

The insinuation sends a small panic through your core when you hear yourself quickly interrupt, “No–” 

“—Hm?” Suna pulls back to see your flushed face, nearly as red as the mark adorning your collarbone. 

With his eyebrow raised in amusement, Suna knows he’s won. 

Actually, he knew he’d won the second he spotted the mark on you this morning—when you were too sleepy to care and too sore to realize. As if he read you like a book and planned this all along, he feels victorious in his calculated actions.

“No, it’s not…” you do your best to grasp onto what's left of your dignity, “it’s not that.”

Suna hums, encouraging you to continue as he rubs a sweet circle on your side. 

“...I do like it,” your voice eventually comes quietly. Your eyes avoid his gaze in the reflection when you elaborate. 

“I just don’t want other people to see me like this,” you look down, playing with your hands shyly when you breathe, “just you.”

Suna swears he falls in love with you all over again every single day, and you always call bullshit on his cheesy declaration. But it’s true, and right now proves it. Over something as silly as a stupidly inconvenient hickey, you still find a new way to make him want to throw up with how much he adores you. It nearly makes him sick to his stomach in the best way possible.

He softens when he teases you with a squeeze to your waist, “Yeah? Just me?”

You groan at his prodding but nod into his chest nonetheless. Repeating history, Suna uses his hand to gently have you look at him.

When your eyes meet him, he leans in slowly. 

“Well then,” he coos against your lips, repeating your prior words back to you, “I can't argue with that foolproof logic.”

Needless to say, the two of you were late to brunch—and when you do show up, no one questions your turtleneck. 

[francixoxoxo]

.✿° For Better, For Worse

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐝 𝐗 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞. 𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭- 𝐡𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐓𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞, is to know them.

As you set the table, you knew they'd be returned to the drawer untouched. As you waited by the door, you knew your wasted time would be compensated by hugs, kisses, a reason, an apology. But it wouldn't be reconciled with a new dinner, a fresh evening, a timely arrival.

You didn't turn on your side as you heard the front door creak open. Billy knew better than to call out your name at such an ungodly hour, especially when he was in the business of winning back your good graces. You pulled the cotton sheets tighter around yourself, nuzzling your cheek further into the pillow as bootsteps thumped closer, light pouring into the dark bedroom. Billy placed the candle and its dish on the dresser with a soft clinking, remaining silent. Damn right, the words chimed in your mind with satisfaction, though you felt a rush of guilt for thinking it.

You could hear the soft rustle of clothes as Billy undressed, the shifting and clattering of his gun belt as he unbuckled it and slung it over a chair. His soft breath as he blew out the candle. The muted thump of his socked feet against wood as he shrugged off his shoes, the dip in the mattress as he crawled his way to your side.

No words were spoken as Billy's arms wound securely around your middle, his nose finding the crook of your neck and his lips sneaking a faint kiss to the warm skin there. He inhaled deeply your scent, before shifting a bit and pushing the bridge of his nose into the side of your neck.

He knows he's in the wrong. You know he didn't mean it. He knows he's gotta make it up to you, but you've lost tally, there isn't a point in keeping score anymore. You can feel all the regret in the way he holds you, pulls you into his chest, twines his leg twixt yours. Billy really is sorry, you know he is, but you want to hear the words.

"You're late."

"I know, baby." Billy mumbles into your neck, his warm breath hitting your skin in a sigh. His lips press over your shoulder and to your nape just barely in faint, almost-just-brush-of-the-lips kisses. "M' sorry. Really am, you know I am."

Your eyes flicker around the dark shadows of furniture in your threadbare bedroom. Not much to stare at; A mirror in the corner. A desk and chair, bills with envelopes torn set to the side, a dictionary open to a certain page front and center. A nightstand, his side, a copy of Don Quixote, an empty glass of water, a caramel for his midnight-sweet tooth. If he looked over his shoulder (if he tore himself away from you, an unlikely event) he'd see just the same. A dresser, easily fitting the few clothes the two of you possessed. A person who knew where to look might find a "stash" of baby clothes hidden under Billy's button-ups; a linen dress with minimal Chantilly lace, a swaddle you'd hand-embroidered, a little taupe hat. Hardly a stash.

Billy restlessly shifts, burrowing his face further into your neck and exhaling with a deep sort of comfort. A comfort only your warmth could provide, the temple of your body more fulfilling than any church. "I'll make it up to you."

Your hand finds his, twines both your fingers together over your belly. His wedding band is cool on your fingers. A year its been on his ring finger, the silver ring a boast-worthy statement. Billy the damn Kid settled down, that's right. William Bonney's got himself a missus, and if you point that out, he'll talk your ear off 'bout just how great she is.

Yours spoke a different tune. You'd married an man who blew in the wind, a man who's life was not promised. All he could offer was his undying devotion, his unyielding love. Even during times like this, it was hard to overlook just how dedicated his heart was to you. You murmur a soft goodnight, falling under slumber's silk curtain with the firm presence of your husband's chest against your back. There was seldom a night he didn't offer it to you, and those nights were often very adequately apologized for. They were never of his own will.

You knew he would do this again, your Billy. But as long as his arms were taut around you, even if only in the latest hours of the night, you were content. For better or for worse, you loved him more than the sea loved the moon and the wind loved the Rocky Mountains.

This is the notion you soothed yourself with.

When morning sunlight peeked through your Chantilly curtains, yellows tickling your cheek, the space beside you was unfilled. With a weary exhale you laid a hand over the mattress; still warm. Come to think of it, the house smelled like bananas. But that couldn't be-- oh, it was!

You pushed the covers off yourself and slipped out of bed, padding barefoot into the hall. As you peered 'round the corner at the entrance, the side table beside the door was adorned with a vase of fresh flowers. Why, you realized as you looked around, every surface had a bouquet! You stepped into the main room, and were delighted to see tulips brightening the small dining table. Peeking into the kitchen you found (again, flowers on the countertop, daffodils,) the recognizably broad back of a man at your stove. A plate on the right of the stove was stacked high with pancakes. a sliced but otherwise untouched banana laid on a cutting board by the pancakes.

"What's all this?" You gasp, coming to stand beside Billy. A warm smile splits his face, he moves to tuck you under his arm and nose a kiss into your hair.

"Banana pancakes!" Billy hums, his voice slightly muffled against your crown before he turns back to the skillet, "Happy anniversary, baby."

Your draw together curiously. "But that was yesterday." Your husband frowns, his chest expanding with a deep breath. He nods a bit. "I know. M' makin' it up t'you, like I said I would."

A warm feeling fills you, expanding and rolling like a sweet fog all the way to your feet, your ears, very fingertips as they find his knuckles on your shoulder. "Awh, Billy.."

Billy smiles again, like you're endearing him. He plants another kiss to your forehead as he flips the pancake. "Can't believe I missed it, never felt so stupid. I couldn't let it pass without doin' anythin'." You hum softly. You won't tell him that it was all-right, and you didn't mind, because you did mind. You did feel a bit bruised that the special day came and went without so much more than lingering kisses in the morning and groveling in the night.

"Two years s'important." Billy adds after a moment, lifting his brows. His arm around you slips away to pour more batter into the skillet, before returning to you and securing a hand around the back of your head. You coo your agreement, "It is."

"Two years s'how long my Ma n' Pa waited t'have me." Billy continues with a grin in his voice. You hum with interest, a smile of your own stretching your lips.

Your words bubble forth in a giggle, "You sayin' it's time for babies, Mr. Bonney?" It's as if the sound of your joy triggers a burst of the warm feeling in his own chest. Billy chuckles heartily.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe!” You repeat with a bright laugh, looking up at him to find he’d been looking down at you. He shrugs his shoulders with a boyish grin, stealing a peck from your lips now that he’s found the chance.

“Little somebody t’keep my woman company when I ain’t ‘round.” Billy murmurs, his smile faltering just a bit, to where one might call it softening, but you were a keen eye. His words carried a subtle guilt, a tender regret. A love that he knew was not worth your time, not for all the trouble it gave you.

He’d wrap up the stars in package paper if he could gift them to you. He’d suck all the gold from the earth with a straw if you’d appreciate its shine. Billy would rip the shirt from his own back to give it to you, though the threadbare clothing was hardly good enough for you. Not by the standard of what he believed you should have. Nothing he had to give was worth your attention nor time, Billy felt like he’d bought all these years with you by playing a sneaky trick, like he’d fooled you into a bad deal.

Little does he know you didn’t get fooled into anything. This kind of love needed no pitch, no shady salesman, only the knowledge that Billy’s heart is filled with you, and only you. Yours is just the same, you can feel picture frames of his portrait nailed to the walls of your soul, the photos only growing in pigment as your heart swelled to fit more and more.

“This is enough.” You promise. He drops a kiss to your hair, gratified. And he’s reminded just why he put that ring on your finger two years ago.

You are enough for me, your words truly say, the meaning expanding past them. No matter the distance twixt you two, be it death, the law, the gun; these memories would be enough to sustain you.

Billy shakes his head in disbelief, a snort leaving his nose. With his hand on the back of your head he pulls you closer, the tip of his nose brushing yours. Your husband’s words are breathed with a reverence, an awe that shot diamonds from his eyes as they bore into yours. “I don’t know what I did t’deserve you, baby. Don’t know how I got so lucky.”

[lleldey]

The Deepest Marks of Essence

Description: When you found yourself circled by a tribe, you never thought it would lead you to tap into your deepest wants and desires. You are the oldest child, the example of how one should act at all costs, but if you ever manage to escape this maze and if your story ever becomes told, you’ll never be looked at the same. But it’s hard to regret it when your nights are spent with gentle caresses and starry midnight skies. You got everything you secretly longed for, but at what cost? 

Warnings: a tribe, use of weapons, yelling, mentions of wounds-blood, JK is a yandere, mentions of people dying/killing, smut, use of  psychedelics, if I missed any, please give me a shout!

Word Count: ~18.7k

One-shot..?

A/N: Ha, this is a logner one, but I hope you enjoy it, also it’s not proofread (yet) ! ; it’s centred on world-building and MC’s emotions/feelings, so, friendly suggestion, I’d say feel it through, even if it takes a bit longer, that way it will make more sense :)

!In no way of shape and form do I think this is how Jungkook acts in real life, this is pure work of fiction, so if you choose to read it, please keep that in mind! 

“Remind me, why do I ever listen to your crazy ideas?” you huff and shoot daggers to your way too happy brother. Spending vacation in midst of a jungle was never your idea, but your brother kept nagging you, and you’re sure no one would be able to refuse his big, puppy-dog, begging eyes.

“Because you love me,” he cheekily sends you a wink, “and also, this is fun!” he happily throws his hands in the air, “Listen to the nature, feel the breeze, the fresh air.” He dreamily closes his eyes, all while you’re close to throwing a rock at him.

You’re tired, the backpack keeps digging in your shoulders, there’s a small rock in your sneakers, and mosquitos keep biting your sweaty skin. You keep reminding yourself the hike will soon be over, judging by the markers on trees you’ll be happily back in the comfort of your car in an hour.

Taehyung opens one eye, and disapprovingly shakes his head, “You’re no fun,” slightly offended you shoot back, “And you need to find friends, this is the last time you’ll ever get me to do this.” High pitched buzz nears your ear, and you unhappily swat another mosquito.

“Jesus’, Bee, look how tense you are. Perhaps I need more friends, but you surely need a boyfriend,” annoyed, by both his words, and the overused childish nickname, you roll your eyes, looking at your younger brother unimpressed, “Or perhaps a one-night stand?” he presses his lips, holding in his laughter all while you slap his neck traumatized by the change in topic.

You’d like to keep your love life solely to yourself, and as far away from your brother’s praying eyes as possible. You refuse to acknowledge the hidden truth in his words, always being a bit jealous of his lifestyle; loving with no strings attached, diving into the moment, and letting one’s mind free. Something that you, the oldest child, and a woman, cannot afford to do.

But that’s your secret to keep, sure that if he ever got to know of it, he’d never let it go. Silently, you follow his lead while he giggles in front of you. “You’re missing the beauty of life, open your eyes and be free” he exaggeratedly points, and you stare at him, wondering if he managed to get stoned while you were busy fighting mosquitos.

You open your mouth ready to reply, but your words catch in your throat, as you come across a lookout, trees clearing a patch to see the beauty of the jungle; treetops swaying in the wind, mountainy greenery shining in the warmth of the sun.

Taehyung whistles besides you, both of you stunned from the beauty in front, “Take a picture of me,” he hits your arm, all while not taking his gaze from the scenery. You grab your phone while he runs closer to the edge to pose.

“I’m not sure if this is the best way to spend battery in the middle of nowhere,” you mumble and note how your phone is still out of service. When you look up, your breath shudders and you hiss, “Don’t stand so close to the cliff,” Tae only gives you a cheeky smile and poses while flexing his muscles. Apparently, you’re the only whose been taking notes of the warning signs all around.

“Aw, is my big sissy worried about me?” he coos, and you roll your eyes while clicking the photo. You go to check the gallery, but his cocky words make you look up, “See, it’s safe,” he takes a step closer to the edge, and your previously stiff shoulders go rock hard.

It’s a matter of a second, he looks over the edge of the mountain, and in a blink of an eye, he trips and the ground beneath his feet crumbles. You don’t even manage to scream, one second, he’s looking how steep the slope is, and the next he’s falling.

Your body moves on its own accord, and you lay pressed to the ground, looking over the edge trying to find him. Panic leads your body, and without a single doubt in your mind you run alongside the edge, trying to find a place to rush down the mountain.

Branches cut your skin, but you don’t stop and run down the steep hill, calling his name, hoping to god he’s all right. Your feet fail you, and your body goes tumbling down the hill, stopping only when you crash into a tree.

You groan at the impact, and press your hand against your head, curling in due to the pain. Your palm is stained with blood, and you feel dizzy when you try to get up, pressing most of your body weight against the tree.

“Tae?” panicked, your voice breaks and lips tremble. All you see is greenery all around you, hopelessness seeps under your skin, and you realize – you’re all alone, hurt, and in the middle of nowhere.

Hanging onto the last bit of sanity, you fish out your phone, and sigh in relief when it turns on, only screen suffering the impact of your fall. But your relief is short lived, there’s still no zone. You look back up the slope, the trees stretch across the horizon, and you know there’s not a chance you’re leaving your little brother behind, you have to find him.

Perhaps it’s the adrenaline, but you don’t feel pain, only discomfort as you keep wandering the jungle. “Tae, where are you?” you shout as loudly as you can, hoping against all odds he’s conscious.

There must be an angel guiding you, as you swear you hear something down the hill. Doing your best to speed up your steps, you rush towards the sound, looking all around to make sure you don’t miss him lying somewhere.

The first thing you see, is a bruised hand reaching up to grab a branch, and once you hear your name echoing with the wind, relief floods your system and you run towards him, not caring if you fall.

“Oh my god, Tae!” you fall in his embrace, ignoring how he grunts when you throw yourself in his arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for being alive,” you press his cheeks together and search for injuries on his body.

That seems to be an easier task than to find none – his clothes are fully teared up, skin dirtied in mud, and blood seeping from his skin, but once you detect that there’s only nonlife-threatening injuries to the eye, your relief turns to rage.

“What the hell were you thinking,” you shoot him daggers, and hit his chest, “You’re a complete idiot!” he doesn’t fight your attacks, only presses his head against the tree trunk.

“What are we supposed to do now?” His trembling voice awakens you, and you press your lips together, “Can you walk?” he winces once he puts weight on his leg, which on further inspection looks in an unnatural position. His hiss tells you as much, but you help him stand up, no other option running through your mind, you’re not about to leave him here.

You wrap your arms around his body, and help him take a step forwards, “This is pointless, you don’t even know where we’re supposed to go,” he hisses with a labored breath. You choose to ignore his statement, praying that there’s another group of idiots wandering the jungle.

Soon you’re dripping in sweat, carrying most of his body weight; ignoring your own pain turns out harder than you hoped it would be. You don’t take your eyes off of the sky, it being your only source of solace, but when it starts to turn darker and Tae keeps grunting in your ear, you finally decide to stop.

Carefully, you rest him against a tree and grab your phone hoping that the signal might appear. But when the bar is still the same, you turn to Tae asking for his phone, “Lost it, when I fell.”

You try to keep yourself together, be the responsible one to whom everyone turns for help, but truthfully, you’re close to falling apart. You’ve been stumbling in wilderness for too long, and you’re painfully aware that the time is closing in on you.

In matter of minutes, you’ll be the prey for darkness, and as beautiful as the jungle is, it’s also home for predators waiting to sink their teeth in your skin. With every scrunch of a leaf, you search for the hidden animals, praying, that this isn’t the way you go. And if it is, you swear, you’ll haunt your brother till the end of times.

You open your barely standing backpack, and throw a protein bar at him, if you know one thing, you’ll need strength to survive this night. You’ve no sense of direction, hopelessly stumbling near the hill, hoping there’s a way to go up.

Tae starts to refuse the snack you’ve thrown, but one dark glare thrown his way shuts him up; he understands this situation is his fault, and now is not the time to cross his older sister. You rest your head against the tree, and try to gather strength to carry on, but at this point, even the birds have silenced their chirps, no sense of life surrounding you.

But when all hope seemed to be extinguished, a thud, like a stone being thrown, sounded behind you, and not even a second later a swarm of birds flew over your head. Both of you freeze, and you train your ears to the direction of the sound, wondering if an animal has already noted you as their prey, or perhaps~

Dare you even wish, is that a person?

You look backwards and try to see anything from the depths of trees, and you swear you heard soft whispers. Your body surges with a newfound sense of survival, and you quickly turn to Taehyung, “I think I heard someone,” He skeptically looks over your shoulder, and you follow his gaze, trying to hear something more.

Silence welcomes you, no words heard, but still hanging onto the last bid of hope, you convince yourself that every branch break comes from someone. Quickly, you turn to him once more, and shove your backpack in his arms.

“There’s someone there, wait for me here,” but he grabs your hand and looks at you as if you’ve lost your mind, “That could be an animal, don’t.” but you shake your head, even if it is an animal, you’d rather die trying.

“But what if it’s not?” he stops and stares reluctant, “Here, take this,” you press your phone in his hands, he furiously shakes his head and desperately tries to catch your gaze, “Just in case. Wait here, I’ll come back.” You promise, but you’re not sure if that’s one, you’ll be able to hold.

You might be walking into a den of a predator, but that’s a chance you’re willing to take. Before you submit to your fate, you embrace your brother and hold him close, hoping that the angel looking after you, will not leave you this time around.

Squaring your shoulders, you turn to where the sound came from and carefully go towards it, quietly enough to hear if it comes around once more. You’re clumsy with your steps, half dragging your legs, but the further you go, the more on edge you feel, every little sound feeling like an upcoming attack.

Just when you’re about to turn around, you hear it~

Adrenaline courses through your system and you close to run towards the sound, perhaps if you were less desperate you would have waited, listened more, and checked if there’s no danger, after all, you are a woman estranged in depths of nowhere.

But once you see shadows of people, you can’t help but scream as loud as possible, only thought running through your mind – you’re saved.

The group of people stop, and alarmed turn towards you, shouting something back, but you’re too elated on seeing a live soul, that you don’t stop to overthink that’s not a language you recognize, and even less so the clothes they wear.

“Help! You have to help me!” breathless you cry out, all while stumbling closer to them, “My brother, he’s injured! We got lost, please help us,” their shouts only increase, but you run closer, deaf to their aggressive tones.

You stop only when the first spear lands near your legs.

Alarmed, you look up, and take in the situation you unknowingly put yourself into. Around fifteen men circle you, their hands threateningly hold up weapons aimed at you, faces stoic and lips shouting words you cannot comprehend.

Your knees tremble once you realize the danger, and slowly you put your hands in the air, flinching at every shout directed at you. With shaky eyes, you look over every man circling you, but the weapons facing you only make you shrink in on yourself further.

The words they shout are foreign, and one look at their clothes makes you realize just what you’ve stumbled upon. Looks like your angel has truly left you estranged, as you’ve stumbled up on the deadliest pack of predators you could’ve.

A tribe, a group of wild, uncontrolled individuals that live by their own rules and fears. A group of individuals who see you as a treat. Your knowledge of them is sparse, but one thing you do know – keep away from them at all costs, and if you ever stumble up on them – run.

But running isn’t an option now, no matter the situation you're in, you know you won't get through the night without their help. That is, if they let you take as much as a step towards them, before they pierce you with their bows and spears.

Your hands tremble in fright, and you assess the group around you; they point their weapons at you, not a single ounce of sympathy present, just blind rage and fear. Slowly they start enclosing in on you, alarmed you turn your head in all directions, till your sight lands on a man right before you, not shooting daggers at you, or even more so – not holding any weapons. Just looking at you with scrutinizing eyes.

With hands still in the air, you don’t break eye contact with the man, and quietly start all over again, “My brother is hurt. And we need help.” You keep your voice calm, even though every nerve in your body is working overtime. But your voice doesn’t calm the situation at hand, from your peripheral vision you see someone jumping closer to you, pushing their dagger dangerously close to your skin, probably trying to scare you away.  

You close your eyes, and repeat what you’ve already said, hoping that the language is easy enough for them to understand. But as much as you’d like it to be true, you doubt they understand single word coming out of your mouth, their shouts continue to increase, even after you quieten your voice.

Desperately you lock your gaze with the man in front, his eyes burn your skin, but he’s the only one who doesn’t shout or threaten you; “Please” you whisper, overwhelmed, your eyes fill with tears.

He doesn’t move, only carefully observes you; he scans your trembling body, the longer he looks, the more his eyebrows furrow, and with each passing second you feel as though your last hope is dying out. Before he manages to join the rest in their hatred towards you, you overstep every violent shout of common sense, and quickly step closer to him.

The yells all around you increase to a deafening volume, and you see how the man in front of you freezes in caution. Perhaps you should back away and leave the terrified group alone, but the fear of your brother being hurt combined with you both being tired and lost only serves to increase your growing panic, all sensibility lost – your body driven by impulse.

You don’t know what you were thinking, wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t thinking at all, but in a matter of second, you grab his hand, and hold it tightly in your arms.

If beforehand your every movement caused a burst of shouts and energy, now it turned deathly silent. His muscles contract under your touch, but you don’t let him pull away, rather bring his hand closer, intertwined with your own, over your heart.

Your actions bring panic back to life, but before they manage to grab you, the man in front of you raises his other hand, and as if following a silent command, everyone stops their movements. He doesn’t break your eye contact, and you’re sure, if not for his authority, you would’ve been a goner.

“Hurt,” you softly whisper, but his eyes continue to search yours, so you try again, and bring your intertwined hands to your forehead, where the bleeding gush from the fall marks your skin, “Hurt.”

A flash of understanding lights his eyes; you see it in his face, he recognizes what you’re saying, and against your better judgment, hope slowly starts to return. You move to point backwards where Tae awaits you, but all it takes is for you to break eye contact, for his hold to tighten around your hand.

Alarmed you turn back, painfully aware now is not the time to scare-off the only person who seems willing to listen. “Hurt” you point backwards, his eyes follow where you’ve pointed, but he doesn’t move, his gaze simply returns to yours, as if awaiting your next movement.

“Help,” you point behind you, but he seems satisfied staying where you’re at now. His hand goes to smooth down your, surely, nest of a hair, with slight intrigue enjoying the smooth texture.

He doesn’t seem bothered by your presence, taking his time, and exploring your features; but the longer you spend under his analyzing gaze, the darker it gets, and the alarming thoughts of your brother being unarmed and under natures free will leaves you antsy.

You don’t want to come off as rude, and scare them once more, but his touch feels more and more patronizing – you, standing here, in relative safety, all while Tae’s probably going out of his mind, scared for both you, and the prawning predators waiting for their shot.

“There,” you try again, antsy of the ignorance your disheveled state brings them, “Help, there.” You point to where Tae awaits you, and try to catch the domineering mans attention, but it turns out to be a harder task than initially anticipated.

He looks utterly content, but your older sister’s gene kicks in, and you pull his hand towards you while stepping back, “Help.”, more determent you repeat. From your peripheral vision you see the man all around you anxiously move, but you don’t break your gaze from the man in front of you, having a sense that this is a test of ones will.

He sees you’re not backing down, and once you take another cautious yet determined step backwards, he sighs and tilts his head as if overthinking his decision. He doesn’t seem frightened, or angry, rather annoyed.

For the first time you hear him speak, and you’d be willing to do close to anything to understand what exactly the words are falling from his lips. But judging by everyone’s lost facial expressions, it’s not something they want to hear.

You watch how one of them huffs and says something back, but the unresponsive and domineering look the man in front of you shoots him makes him lower his head and stop what he was saying awfully quick, almost as if in submission.

One thing for sure, the man whose hand you’ve grabbed holds some sort of authority; you’re quick to gather the inner pieces of the tribe’s dynamic, and thankfully you’ve managed to acquire some sort of bond with the one who holds the power. But limelight brings its own shadow, and you realize that one misstep or act of disrespect, and a ‘yes’ from the man in front, for your head to hang on their spears.

His domineering gaze doesn’t reach you, when he turns his head, relaxed he nods, and that’s enough of an approval for you to turn around and lead them back to your brother. Your mind drowns in tsunami, trees blend together, and you hope this is the right path you came from.

Your legs are wobbly, whether it’s due to exhaustion or the fall you don’t know, but you do note how quiet their footsteps are, barely even heard, whereas you’re stumbling through every branch, the mysterious man’s hands coming into clutch every now and then, when gravity seems lost on your body, and you’re about to facepalm the dirt.

The further you go, the more panicked you become, the walk didn’t seem so long when you first came, and your throat hurts in agony of you silencing your screams in search of your brother, remembering how raised voices frightened the group of dubious men.

Unknowingly, you’ve grabbed the mans hand iron tight, it being your only source of groundedness. You feel his body becoming more tense the closer to the cliff you go, they probably don’t wonder so far off, possibility of meeting other people too big of a threat.

You search for your brother through the dense woods, praying he’s somewhere around; you wouldn’t put it past yourself to be going in the wrong direction all together, greenery all around too confusing and similar for any sense of direction, your only hope being broken branches every now and then.

You stop in your footsteps once you hear a new sound in the overall quietness, something akin to a person groaning. Your heart beats violently in your chest, and everyone stops all around you, painfully alert to any possible danger.

But when you hear your name being whimpered by no one else but your brother, you don’t stop to overthink and drop the man’s hand, shouting after Tae and run forwards. Adrenaline over washes any pain – something you’ll worry about tomorrow – your shouts for your brother increase and your speed increases once you think you see his t-shirt shining in between trees.

But you don’t get any further, a strong force pushes you back into a hard chest, and you find yourself caged in the arms of the unknown male. You turn your head to him, and desperately point to where your brother’s voice is coming from and press “Help”, but all you’re met with is his heavy breathing, probably from chasing after you, and domineering gaze that requires obedience.

Tae stumbles fully into your sight, he was probably worried sick about you, and tried searching you; you see how his body freezes and he fearfully takes the sight in of men standing in ready-to-attack stances pointing their weapons at him.

Your last remnant of control breaks once Tae’s voice cracks as he close to whispers your name in fear, and no matter how strong or willed the man caging you is – he’s no match for a desperate woman.

You trash in his hold and scratch his skin, till you find one millisecond of his guard down for you to detach from his arms and run to your brother. You’ve no clue what Tae sees behind you, but he stumbles back in between all shouts and falls in dirt.

Exhausted yet relieved you drop to your knees and grab his face in your palms, “They will help you, please don’t fight it,” quickly you rumble, fearful the man will grab you away from your brother once more, “That’s a tribe” Tae looks terrified, a feeling you can much relate to, but the relief of him being alive and in your arms is too strong, and your eyes overflow with tears and you hug him close to your body, “Thank god you’re alright” you cry out in his shoulder.

To no surprise, a hand grabs the back of your jersey, and pulls you apart from Tae. Your teary gaze is met with the mans domineering one, and you practically feel fumes coming out of his ears when he firmly positions you behind his back.

He holds your waist with one arm, and in the other his spear, you can’t control your tears, probably due to the exhaustion and fear the last hours brought you. You’re pressed so close to his back you’re sure he feels your tears on his skin, and only when he says something to the men waiting for his command, do you realize how tall all of them are.

You try to look over his shoulder to see what’s happening, but you notice only small glimpses of Tae being surrounded by men and how he tries to scoot back. “Tae, don’t! They’ll help you” your voice wavers, you’re not sure of their intentions, but you have to hope that they will help. He stops struggling, and lets the men enclose him to look at his injuries.

Your head is stumped with all the emotions, and when the hand around your waste detaches to point something to the other men, you allow yourself to step back and sit against a tree trump, half-watching how their hands skim over your brothers’ legs to see whether he’s able to walk.

It’s a good minute of them looking over Tae’s injuries, you see one of them grab your backpack you threw in your brothers’ arms before searching for help, and thankfully Tae doesn’t fight them, and quickly gives whatever they ‘ask’ if you can even call it that. Fear hasn’t left his eyes, there’s still a chance they will take your stuff and leave you stranded, they didn’t seem happy of your presence - all you can do is hope.

You note how with such ease they open the backpack as if they do so regularly, perhaps they are a tribe, but dumb they are not, now looking at them you might even say they’re far more advanced than you are. Their clothes cover only their private parts, the closest thing to which you can relate it to is a leather skirt reaching up to their mid-thighs.

And yet, their bodies are resilient enough to withstand the cold and tropical weather. Wind doesn’t phase them, broad bodies standing firm and tall, whereas you’re sitting here, trembling – whether it’s from the wind or overload of emotions stays a secret.

You close your eyes in relief when you see them pick up your brother. Regardless of how hostile they were to you; they are not completely indifferent, or at least the man in control of them is. You open your eyes when you feel movement in front of you, only to be met by a hand reaching out.

When you look up, your gaze meets the man – the one to whom you’re probably indebted for the rest of your life. You take his hand in both of yours, but before he pulls you up, you say what you truly mean without breaking your gaze.

“Thank you.”

It’s a simple sentence that you’d look over regularly, but now, you put all of your soul into those two words – and you know he understands. Perhaps you don’t speak the same language, but at this exact moment you share the same truth and beat the same heart. The moment doesn’t last longer than a second, but his fingers tighten against yours and you feel the strings of an unspoken promise connecting you both.

But the moment passes as quickly as it came, you hear your brothers pained whimper and you whip your head towards the sound; you watch in slight intrigue and caution how the group of men carry him in their arms, one holding his shoulders, one his legs, and two his waist.

You don’t manage to utter a word before you’re pulled upwards, but when you balance your weight on both of your legs you hiss in pain and hold onto his arms. Now that the initial adrenaline slowly wears off, your own injuries from the fall have become visible.

The man whose name you still don’t know follows your gaze and quickly gathers the problem, you don’t have to say a single thing for him to drop his spear and bend down and inspect your foot; you see how he tries to be gentle, but on the slightest pressure on your ankle, you crumble forwards and balance on his shoulders.

“I’m so sorry” you quickly mumble in panic and straighten up, worried you’re overstepping any boundaries by touching him even if so by an accident, but he looks up and shoots you a gaze you could only describe as worried and apologetic.

There’s no time for you to react before he tuts and picks you up in his arms, the sudden movement leaving you breathless. But your alarmed facial expressions don’t phase him, and he simply starts moving forwards. You whip your head backwards to see the rest of the group following you, them carrying your brother close behind, at least some sort of reassurance filling you.

“Thank you, but you can put me down,” you turn back to the man carrying you, but you’re met with silence. “I can walk, it doesn’t hurt.” Lies, complete and utter lies. You feel your leg pulsate even without applying any pressure to it, but if you managed to walk beforehand, you should be able to do so now…right? Or is delusion truly taking over your brain?

The man holding you seems to agree, he doesn’t respond just gives you a look that screams ‘who are you trying to fool?’ that makes your shoulders drop and gaze lower in surrender. Your body is frigid, he surely feels it too, but your body is pressed so closely to his naked chest, that you swear you feel his heartbeat.

You try to keep yourself as far away as possible from his chest, but that seems to be pointless as he holds you closer when he steps over a fallen tree or ducks under a branch; you’re mortified, both from the understanding how much of a burden your presence has caused them, and also from the embarrassing intimacy the position brings you.

There is a reason why they were so scared of you, and yet they’ve overstepped it and most probably are bringing you to their shelter – their most sacred and protected space. You try to keep busy and memorize the way you’re going, after all you’ll need to follow the route tomorrow, but that seems to be harder than expected when there’s a living radiator engulfing you.

You try your best, you truly do, but your eyes betray you and your gaze falls on the arms carrying you; aside from the naked skin and natures shaped muscles you notice something else entirely. His skin is decorated in patterns, something similar to tattoos, just without ink, painting his skin in different designs. You don’t manage to explore it further, although your curiosity is spiked, as it seems he feels your wandering eyes and looks at you.

Embarrassed, you instantly avert your eyes, but you feel his gaze locking you in place. Couple of seconds pass before timidly you look up, but his gaze hasn’t moved, and your eyes meet; never before had you noticed how expressive one’s eyes are, the quiet dominance he possesses, and untold words shaping his eyes.

If you weren’t looking carefully, you would’ve missed it, but when he breaks eye contact, the corners of his lips slightly rise, almost as if he’s smug he caught you red-handed; the small detail makes you curl up even further, embarrassment too timid of a word to describe how you’re feeling.

You look up only when he starts speaking in his own tongue and slows down, and when you do, your breath is taken away. You’re not sure what you expected their shelter to look like, perhaps couple of sticks and a leaf roof; but now you’re looking at close to a small village.

Makeshift fence surrounds the self-made small houses, and from your vantage, you can’t see the end of it. People gather and cheer once they see their men returning, happy faces and children running up to greet them by the fence, but once they notice you in, as you guess, their leaders arms their cheers are overturned by worried looks and murmuring.

You watch in astonishment, not sure how the tribe has not yet been put on maps and history books, this surely is never before seen. The sparse knowledge you’ve of tribes say they consist of small numbers of people, all barely surviving the harsh ways of nature; but if you weren’t aware that you’re going into a tribe’s space, you would’ve easily mistaken it for a distant village from society.

You notice how the man carrying you moves carefully, almost as if following a pattern, avoiding certain potholes and paths. He oversteps barely visible strings, and you wonder whether that’s a trap to catch any dangerous animals threatening their home. You look over his shoulder and see the rest of the group following him in a stretched line, being just as careful as he is. It does leave you wondering, feeling as though you’re walking through a minefield.

The makeshift gate opens, and not even a full step into their territory you’ve to fight your inner need to run; everyone’s eyes are on you, a mix of fear and intrigue greeting you. You feel as though you’re a rare artifact ready to examen. More people gather, their shushed murmurs travelling with wind, and guilt bubbles in your chest knowing you’ve disturbed their reality once you notice how mothers protectively guide their children behind them.

Their gazes sweep up to the man carrying you, as if searching for some sort of consolation, and your previous hunch comes into fruition – he does hold some sort of respect within the group. Is it wrong to say you find some sort of comfort knowing the one they look up to is the one who protected you; suddenly his boundary overstepping touch doesn’t feel unwelcoming. You’ve a feeling as long as he stays on your side, you’ll be fine.

He carries you to what seems like a gathering place just before the fence, and carefully lets you down on a makeshift bench before a bonfire. You’re cautious with your movements, not wanting to scare anyone even more, but you instantly look around for your brother, slightly relaxing when he’s seated near you.

The man holds up a finger bringing your attention back to him, signaling for you to wait. Your gaze quickly goes back to your brother, who instantly meets your gaze with a concerned one, and uncomfortably you shift and point to him, “I’ll go to him if that’s alright.”

It’s pointless to expect any sort of a response from him, but he narrows his eyes and after couple of seconds of him unmoving, you testingly shift closer to Tae, all while watching his reaction. He doesn’t react, only slightly purses his lips. You feel his gaze on you, as if he’s analyzing your movements and your connection with Tae, but when you reach him, the man turns back to his people and addresses them. You take that as your que.

“I need you to stay calm, Tae-” but he doesn’t let you finish, “Stay calm?! We’re in middle of nowhere with people who might as well kill us!” you shush him and look around to check if somebody heard you; even if you don’t speak the same tongue, you know the man understood at least some words you had said.

As if it was confirmed, you notice how the man who saved you shoots you a look. “As of now, they haven’t done anything wrong,” you turn back to Tae, choosing to withhold how you were almost killed when they first saw you. “I promise, we’ll leave first thing tomorrow, but for now, do as they say and keep quiet.”

You take his hands into your own, holding onto the last bit of normalcy. He’s here, you’re both alive, you’ll be alright. “How do you feel?” after a moment you ask, his injuries don’t look too good, his skin is bruised, and if the men deemed it necessary to carry him, it can’t be good.

“Have felt better.” His dismissive tone tells you enough, and you squeeze his hand tighter, feeling extremely useless, not having a clue how you can help him. “I’m more worried about him.” Curious you look where he nods his head and see the leader stealing looks your way every now and then when his people speak.

“He’s not taking his eyes off of us.” He purses his lips in thought, “Or rather, you. I can’t forget how he looked at me in the forest, I thought he was going to kill me when you ran up to me.” You ponder over his words, you noticed how Tae fell back in fright when you approached him, but it does make sense for them to be cautious.

“Bee, I don’t think we should stay here. I don’t have a good feeling.” you try to shush him in vain, your dismissal only spurges him on, “I know this is my fault, I should’ve overthought it when I saw warnings of dangerous habitats and rumors of people going missing. But this was said to be one of the most beautiful hiking spots, so I-”

That is news to you, never before had he mentioned it to you, and you want to pry further, but one worried look thrown to the tribe and you see them already finishing their talk, people moving in different directions and the leader coming your way.

“You’ll tell me tomorrow-” but he interrupts in an exasperated manner, “We can’t stay here!” you glance at the leader and how he stops near you, far enough to not be seen if you wouldn’t be looking, but close enough to hear.

“Listen to me, we’re good.” Rushed, you grab his cheeks and strongly whisper, “We need the shelter, and they’ve been good to us. I’ll protect you.” His eyes fill with tears, and your heart squeezes seeing your brother so vulnerable, both from the injuries and fear.

You hug him and massage his back, trying to give some sort of support. You’re just as terrified as he is, but right now you have to be strong; the pressure of being the oldest child falling on your shoulders, the one responsibility you’ll never manage to evade, no matter the hardships you go through.

You notice people gathering around you, distant enough for their safety, yet close enough for you to feel enclosed. You slowly detach from Tae and get startled when you notice how the leader is standing right in front of you; it’s nerve-wracking how quiet their steps are.

A woman comes up to him, holding some sort of ceramic bowl in her hands. She’s careful holding it, and you notice she’s doing her best to not spill the liquid inside. Nerves creep back into your system when the leader grabs your hands, and helps you stand up, thus separating you from your brother.

You timidly watch how the woman hands him the bowl and he nods his head in gratitude, the exchange only further showing the respect woven within their group. He presses the bowl to your lips, and your back straightens, all caution signals awakened in your body.

The brownish-green liquid touches your lips and alarmed you back away biting back a whimper when you put your weight on your hurt leg and fearfully ask, “What is that?”. For all you know, it could be poison, Taes previous words still travel through your mind of how people have disappeared.

He doesn’t answer, just raises one eyebrow in a challenging manner. You’ve a bad suspicion you don’t have a choice in the matter, and you know for a fact disrespecting their leader would be the end of you, especially when they show such high regards to him.

And yet, you don’t know their ulterior motives. You hear Taehyungs worried voice calling you, and you know, if you refuse, you’ll put both of you in danger. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” You try your best to sound convincing, but your voice wavers, and you have to gulp down your fears and hope, hope that these people have a sense of empathy for you.

He steps forward and presses the bowl once more to your lips, and you meet his gaze with your shaky eyes and surrendered ask, “If I drink it, he won’t have to, right?”. His eyes narrow in something you can only describe as mix of annoyance and confusion; he tilts the bowl forwards and you’re met with the bitter liquid.

You try to pull away, but he tilts your head higher, and you’re forced to drink the acrid liquid, your eyes water; only when the bowl is empty, he lets you go, and you fall into uncontrollable coughs. The unpleasant taste overpowering any other sense.

Still coughing, you turn to Tae, only to see him drinking the same liquid with a disgusted expression. The taste seems worse when you don’t know what exactly it is you’re drinking. Only when Tae has finished his drink, the group of people backs up with nods of approval and seem to fall back into their daily regime.

“What was that?” he coughs when you sit beside him, but you ignore his question being lost yourself, “Do you feel any different?” you try to focus your gaze and work out what the liquid was. You’re not in any extra pain, and you’re breathing fine, you doubt it was poison.

“Not really.” He shrugs his shoulders, and you fall into silence, overthinking what just happened. Was he testing you? Is it some sort of medicine? Your mind threatened to burst from all the thoughts running through it, a migraine impending, but then, as if in a snap of a finger your mind became quiet.

A sense or serenity washes over you, where everything seems less important than it is. “Bee?” you hum back, “Those girls are reeeaally pretty.” His slurred speech makes you turn to him with a questioning gaze. He’s watching two women giggling to one another and shooting Tae inquisitive gazes.

“Are you okay?” you’re not sure how his mind can go there, when the only thing that’s on your mind is his well-being, but now even that thought seems buried somewhere far away. “Oh, I’m good.” He gives you a lopsided grin, and you let out a cackle in disbelief, you turn to the women and have to agree, they are beautiful, hair shining due to the ferocious bonfire, smiles gleaming and eyes full of mischief.

“Where are you going?” you grab his hand when he stands up, but he lightheartedly shrugs it off, “I wanna talk to them.” And just like that, he’s gone, you shout one last time whether he’s fine, after all, his skin is colored in deep purple shades, but with a slight limp he shouts not to worry.

You sit there, slightly offended of being left all alone; all you wish to do is hug your brother close and sleep off all the exhaustion, but apparently your minds work in different trajectories. Dejected you watch him going up to the two girls, his social-butterfly skills coming into play as you hear laughter coming from their way.

Your shoulders relax and you watch all around you for a place to rest your head, the wooden trunk bench hurting your back. You fixate on a tree behind you, but when you stand up, the effects of whatever you drank come full-force. Your mind can’t process the sudden movement, and you feel gravity calling your name as everything around you becomes blurry.

Stumbling, you fall against the tree and rest your head against it, head feeling dizzy; you close your eyes, focusing on breathing, but your mind is filled with pulsating waves. You don’t know how much times has passed, if you had to guess, a couple of minutes, but the presence of time is barely credible, in matter of a blink, nightfall has overtaken sky, and stars blind you.

You have to force your eyes to stay open, and when you do and try to focus on the environment around you, confusion overtakes your body; it felt like couple of minutes, but everything has changed.

Bonfire lights up everything in the near distance, people have gathered all around it, some playing home-made instruments, that you could only guess are something alike harmonicas, flutes, and drums in midst of those you don’t recognize. Benches are filled with people humming along and chitchatting. Upon further inspection, you’re sure that’s your brother sitting on a bench, trying to sing along to the unfamiliar tune and laughing with a group of girls encircling him.

You shake your head at your brothers’ doings, always been jealous of his ways of living, the way he’s capable of making connections with people he just met and enjoying every color and shade life gifts. But you’re at peace here, sitting behind them and overlooking their happiness from afar.

You’re completely relaxed and calm when a couple of unsteady feet run past you, tripping over a rock; you automatically reach your hands out and catch the little creature of happiness. Big, blue eyes gaze up at you, and your heart tugs at their adoring smile, small teeth showing through lips, probably just breaking out from gums.

“Are you okay?” you ask the small child in an amused tone, only for them to bite their fingers and giggle all while shaking their head. You realize your emotions are heightened when you’re close to crying when the little one squeezes your cheeks and babbles something that goes over your head.

The single interaction leaving you with heart fuller of love than the whole year prior, you let the child go and watch how the small beacon of light runs to a woman standing and overlooking you both with a smile on her face.

She picks him up and kisses his face as he smiles and tries to get away. You wonder why these people are so feared, when all you see is energy filled with love and happiness. You relish the warmth, not sure whether it’s due to the fire or the love and comfort filled atmosphere. Whichever it is, you relinquish in it, and find your body and mind more relaxed than ever. The feeling so sought for after all these years.

You smile when the woman holding her child comes up to you and sits down. Usually, your mind would be filled with anxiousness of how to interact with an unknown person, but now you just smile and tell her your name, completely lost of the fact she doesn’t understand a single word.

But she doesn’t have to, she grabs your hand and squeezes it tight, whole-heartedly welcoming your presence. She shoots you a smile, and right then and there you melt at the sight, her smile so warm and motherly you want to hide in her protective arms.

Your emotions come into play once more, and you feel yourself tearing up – from what you’ve no clue, but the amount of love and peace you feel is overwhelming. “Are you alright?” She laughs at your uncontrollable emotions, “I’m alright, please don’t mind me.” You wipe your tears and try to calm down, until a realization downs your mind. She spoke English.

Quickly you turn your head to her smiling frame, overjoyed of her knowing your language, completely missing the puzzle peace of how she could know English.

“You understand me! You speak English!” your elated expression makes her laugh linger; she shakes her head with a smile and pats the child’s blonde hair who very comfortably sits in her lap, “Little, our Jungookie knows best.” She points where the group has gathered, you follow her gaze to be met with the leader, finally gathering his name. He feels your gaze and instantly looks up, but you don’t waver, enthralled by the newfound information.  

If your mind was working clear, you would’ve been terrified by the knowledge, not only because of the missing information of how they know it, but also from overthinking what exactly have you spoken that could incriminate you. But it doesn’t. And you’re happy knowing you’ve found someone whose roots are entangled with yours.

“You’re amazing.” You look back to her with a gaze one could only describe as being love filled, but you truly are amazed by all of them, how strong and kind they are despite all life throws their way. The woman tuts, smile never leaving for a minute, you’re not bothered by how she looks at you as if you’re a child confessing their love, you simply enjoy this moment.

Weight falling into your lap overtakes your attention, and you watch how the little one snuggles in both of your laps and stretches his little arms. “Aren’t you a cutie?” you ask only for him to shoot you his brightest smile. You tickle the little skin that shows through his cloth, and watch overjoyed how he giggles and tries to scoot away from the ticklish sensation. You laugh as if you’re being tickled yourself, his happiness extremely contagious.

The woman says something in her language to the child, and you watch how he quickly nods his head and climbs in her lap, but not before he throws his entire weight on you and gives you a hug. You’re a complete stranger to the group, and yet they’ve managed to make you feel more welcomed than anyone before.

You’re enthralled by their ways of living, and you watch how gently the woman interacts with, presumably, her child, although you note how different they look to one another. You attention is piqued when she moves her clothes to what you assume is breastfeed the boy, you quickly move your head to others, ready to move in front of her to shield her from any nasty comments and dirty looks, but when you do, no one cares.

Some women around the fire breastfeed their children, and you’re confused by the lack of acknowledgment and uninterest showed by others. But then again, you guess that some behaviors are thought.

She hums in wonder when she notices your on-guard reaction, but you simply shake your head, lost in wonder of their ways. You don’t stop the incredulous laugh bubbling through your chest and sit back against the tree in disbelief of how differently the world works for you.

“Do you often go outside of your home?” You break the comfortable silence, the question bugging your mind ever since you saw her peoples terrified expressions. She looks confused at your question, and you point outside to the forest, not sure if she understands what you’re saying.

Realization dawns upon her, and she quickly shakes her head seemingly bothered by the change in topic, “No, no, no,” her movements become more agitated, and the little one detaches from her breast from the sudden movement, “There – bad,” she fixes the cloth like dress and points to the forest, “Very, very bad, we stay here – safe.”

The question clearly made her uncomfortable, if the frown on her lips is anything to go by, whether it’s bad memories or what, but the way her tone gets agitated and her hand gestures more animated makes you lean in and nod your head in faux understanding, completely lost to the fact you might be the one they’re so scared of.

“Men go there, food.” she points once again to the forest, shiver travelling up her spine, “We here, safe. Here good.” The woke of emotions makes her loose track of English, she spurts out some words you don’t recognize, but the way she emphasizes ‘here good’, makes you believe her, as if you understand each and every word.

It does make you think how it would be to live here, her confident and pressing tone leaves you wondering whether she’s right. You watch how the little one stands up on his wobbly feet, denying the urge within yourself to help him, and runs to the group of people sitting by the fire.

You’re curious when he stops by another woman, and she takes him in her arms without a single thought and showers him in kisses. You watch the interaction and wonder which of the two women is his mother, but then again – it’s their world, they don’t hold such strict rules like you do.

The woman besides you doesn’t care, just smiles at the interaction, and shakes her head. When she gets up to leave, a weird sense of remorse overtakes you, you wish to hold out your hand and ask her to stay, surprisingly, her presence brings you comfort, but you don’t.

But by the look on her face, she knows how you’re feeling, and she pats your hair in a motherly way, and says, “Not worry. You’re not alone. Am not the only who speak to you.” Your brows furrow trying to distinguish her words, and you follow her gaze to the group, and see the leader, or as you gathered, Jungkook, looking at you. He doesn’t look threatening, the joyous atmosphere making him look younger, but his unmoving gaze makes you feel small, not sure how long he’s been watching you.

You look back to her when she hums, “Sweetie, he watching you all night.” You acknowledge her smile, although the meaning of her words travels right past your ears, “I see you later.” And with the last pat to your hair, she’s gone. You hope you’ll see her later, even if it’s just before you leave, and with a childish gleam you smile knowing you’ve made a friend.

It’s hard to control your mind, as if the pulsating ideas and emotions bubble form previously suppressed parts within yourself. Parts you longed for, but never was able to meet. Suddenly everything seems sweet, the cruel ways of life unknown.

You watch in delight how relaxed everyone around you is, the way their bodies sway to music, how gently some man massages woman’s shoulders, how in such delight someone combs their fingers through a woman’s hair, you laugh noticing how a man giggles when children surround him jumping up and down asking to be picked up. Wherever you look, you’re filled with peaceful happiness.

In day-to-day life, you’d be waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the sweetness to rot and ask for a price for the moment of happiness, but even if it does, you’d be willing to do it again just to experience these couple of moments of untainted happiness.

You must look pitiful, sitting all alone, your eyes watering with unshed tears once again, but you don’t have the means within you to blame yourself. You realize it’s probably the drink you had that’s making the walls of your heart crumble, you should be worrying of how to leave this place early morning, or even analyze the possible danger you’re facing, but your mind feels at ease, heart crumbling to vulnerability and honesty. If the gates were to open and they’d ask you to leave right this instance, you’re sure, you’d be begging to stay.

“Hi,” you sniffle and look up where the voice comes from. You freeze when you realize the leader is standing right in front of you; somewhere in the depts of your mind you know you’ve to be on your best behavior, but the emotions have taken you deep within and you meekly greet him before wiping your tears.

If you were under normal circumstances, you’d be embarrassed of someone seeing you cry, but even though your emotions are hitting all time high, your mind is at ease, as if nothing in this world could make you worried.

His brows furrow seeing your distraught state, “Are you alright? Does your leg hurt?” you shake your head in dismissal, but he still bends down and gently presses his fingers against your ankle. Stunned, you watch his fingers massaging your leg; not long ago, you couldn't properly stand, so why does his touch feel welcoming and not hurtful?

“No…it doesn’t...?” dazed, you search his eyes for an answer, but all he does is smile at your pouty lips and confused expression, “That’s good, isn’t it?” his smile is comforting, and you nod your head lost of words to say.

“Why are you crying then? Are you scared?” his hands continue massaging your leg, and you don’t even flinch when he rips the ends of your jeans for more access to your skin. You sigh at how warm his touch feels, even though he’s dressed in less layers, his skin is burning in comparison to yours, “No, no,” you shake your head, and he tilts his head, giving you all of his attention, “You just look so peaceful.”

Your eyes keep wandering to the joyous group in front of you, a weird sense of longing fills your body. You miss the way he carefully analyzes your expression, mind lost in wonders of emotions, too focused on his gentle touch and warm atmosphere.

“It’s the drink, isn’t it?” you look back at him when he hums questioningly, “That’s making me feel this way? This weird calmness when everything is just so pretty?” if beforehand you thought his smile was beautiful, now you’re ready to drown in his pearly whites, watching in childish delight how his smile grows. You can’t stop yourself and lightly trace the dimple on his cheek his hand falling over yours.

“Partially,” He caresses your hand, and gently separates it from his cheek, “It shows your true emotions,” you close to melt when he pecks your hand before laying it in your lap, both of your hands entangled, “all the repressed thoughts, desires.”

You squeeze his hand, trying to stay focused on what he’s saying, but your attention drives to his eyes, noticing how his own pupils seem dilated, and you wonder whether he also drank the liquid. “Everything you’ve tried to hide.” His hands move to your knees and unconsciously your muscles tighten, the warm contact unexpected, yet desired.

“Could I-” you bite your lip, not sure whether you should ask, but the words push past all your peripheries; perhaps you’re too comfortable, but the way his eyes stay in a permanent smile and his steady gaze fixates on you, as if nothing else is important makes your mind feel at such ease, the words escape you before you manage to overthink them.

“Could I have some more, please?” even if you’ll regret those words when haze clears from your mind, selfishly, you don’t want this moment to end; his touch is gentle, and he caresses a stray strand of hair from your face, you watch how he nods his head all while a smile spreads across his face - it’s not malicious or devious, it’s comforting.

His presence is comforting. As if there’s no bad in the world – as if you can do no bad. “Of course, you can.” You can’t even pretend to feel guilty when his actions are so validating. Without any excuses or ridicule, he gets up and walks towards the group, where you notice a pot by the fire. Only now you see the cup being passed around the bonfire, gleaming flames and shining stars illuminates the free spirit of those around you.

You notice another previously missed detail – even though his hair reaches just above shoulders, a single braid, longer than his hair, graces down his back. You watch in wonder another sign of his culture, quickly realizing that no other man shares the same detail. You wonder whether it signifies his position within the tribe.

Even though most of the tribe members you’ve seen are on the younger side, an older male, probably no older than 50, sits by himself away from the fire. You watch in wonder the lone individual, wondering why he’s the only one keeping away from his people. But what catches your attention is the same braid that decorates Jungkooks hair, only his being twice as long.

He doesn’t seem bothered, every now and then he looks up from sharpening his spear, but his eyes scream sorrow when he gazes at the youngsters mingling, and you wonder what’s hiding behind his pain.

His sorrowful eyes awaken a need for you to comfort him, and you’re ready to go up to him, before your attention is cascaded back to Jungkook who returns to his previous spot, down on his knees between your legs, only now he’s holding a cup in his hands.

You quickly divert your attention back to him, the lonesome man forgotten, and with newfound excitement greet him, as if you haven’t seen him in days, although it was a couple of minutes at best, “Hi!” your smile is contagious as you see his own smile growing.

“Long time no see,” his pearly whites press against his lips when you giggle; you’re sure he could say whatever, funny or not, and you’d still be a giggling mess. He presses the cup in your hands, and you grimace at the smell.

“I realized I still don’t know your name,” he mutters as you take a sip of the drink, trying to hold back a cough. Shuddering from the taste you look at him, “Everyone calls me Bee,” his confused expression urges you for an explanation.

“You know, like the little insects with wings,” you flutter your hands imitating flying, “Why?” you take another sip and nonchalantly answer, “Always hard-working.”

You look down at the dark liquid with a grimace, completely missing the way his eyebrows scrunch and the scowl on his lips, “How is that going for you?”, the drink works its magic, and you spit out the first thing that comes into your mind while snickering, “Awful, but you know, strong independent woman.” You smile and show off your muscles.  

Your words may be harsh, but your mind blurs the meaning of them, as if you’re unable to keep anything behind closed lips and sweetened truth. “Would you like some?” you press the cup against his lips, mind flying all over the place.

Ones culture is an interesting concept, the action means nothing to you, but the way his eyes quickly zero-in on your face, puppy eyes searching whether you’re joking, must hold a deeper meaning.

He takes a sip of the drink, not breaking your eye contact. His eyes are shining in delight, from what exactly you’re not sure, but you do know one thing – whatever you just done must’ve meant something to him.

You close your eyes and feel the effects drown your mind in pulsating waves, every beat of the instruments playing in the background resonates in your body, your heart beats pressing in your chest, and all the exhaustion leaving your shoulders. You feel at peace, as if a comforting blanket is thrown over your body.

But the freer your body feels, the less in control of your actions you become. It should be terrifying, how fuzzy everything is, but you let it take control.

You feel his hand caressing your hair and hum in pleasure, “Why are you not afraid?” you slightly open your eyes and note how that feels like a task in itself, “Of what?” you tilt your head and gratefully accept the liquid when he presses the cup to your lips.

“Me.” He wipes the corners of your lips, curiosity shining in his eyes, you note how he seems more in control of his actions, whereas it’s hard for you to hold onto a single thought, “You could’ve hurt me if you wanted to, but instead you’ve taken care of me more than anyone before.”

“And if I’m being honest,” you giggle to yourself, “Even if you would hurt me now, I wouldn’t care, I’ve never felt so good.” He shakes his head at your words, “I’m not going to hurt you.” His tone is serious, and you can see he means his words when he puts down the drink and cups your cheeks.

It’s hard to focus on his words, and you know he’s doing his best to hold your attention, when he turns your head to meet his gaze, “You promise?” his brow arches at your challenging eyes. You hold up your pinky finger and giggle at his lost expression.

Unsure, he puts his pinky finger next to yours, and you wrap yours around his, “I’ll hold this promise till your dying breath, if you break it, you’ll be downgraded to a typical man, and trust me-” you beckon him closer, “That’s a veery low standard.”

He shakes his head with a smile, and you rest against the tree. You take the cup in your hands and notice another detail, “That’s pretty.” You murmur looking at his hands. Now, free of all concerns how you might look and what you should and shouldn’t say you look closer at the designs across his skin.

Uncaring, you draw your fingers against his biceps, “How did you make it?” his eyes are focused on your fingers, and you smile when you feel goosebumps covering his skin, “Knife.” His voice is noticeably deeper, and you internally wince imagining knife drawn across his skin.

“It must’ve hurt…” you outline your fingers over a spiral like bump, “Worth it if you like it.” You look up and laugh at his wide grin, he takes your hand and draws your fingers over the spiral, “This one is life cycle,”

“This one,” he notes four felixes connected by a line, “Strength.” You look over the lines, half listening to his explanations, but you notice how the shapes look only half-completed over his chest, “These aren’t finished…”

“No, no. Each section represents something, this one,” he puts your hand over his chest, “Can’t finish it yet.” The tattoos look weirdly out of place, half-started lines, and shapes, missing their significance.

He gazes at his lower arm, “This is family, and this,” he moves his bicep, “Strength. Back is for pride, and chest,” he smiles when you continue exploring the lonesome bumps, “Higher self. Love.” That catches your attention, “Love is your highest self?”  

“Of course, without it you’re incomplete. One half of a whole.” You hum, not able to disagree. “Well then, I hope you’ll be able to finish it soon.” You feel his heartbeat under your palm, skin so warm, like a woolen blanket in midst of winter. “I think I will.”

His whisper goes over your head, with each passing second you feel your body slipping further into depths of your mind, and when Jungkook presses the cup final time against your lips asking you to drink up, you mindlessly follow his command.

Shivers travel down your spine, the horrid taste clings to your tongue, and you force yourself to swallow the acrid drink. “You’re fine,” he strokes your back when you cough, not sure how he’s able to drink it without any reaction.

But the feeling is worth it, almost instantly the effects pull you under, this time, twice as hard. You close your eyes and enjoy the feeling, stars dancing in your mind. Jungkooks hand detaches from your back, and subconsciously you grab it and pull him closer, a weird craving nips your body, longing for some sort of physical touch.

“Don’t do that.” You mumble with drawn eyebrows. Alarm bells ring in your mind, fear, if he pulls back the coldness will seep back in. “If I could, I’d stay here forever,” you can’t control your words, all the unconscious thoughts pouring over.

“Why can’t you?” his question leaves your brain on a pause. Truly, why can’t you? You open your eyes and see his face right in front of yours, the stars that shined in your mind shine brighter in his eyes. Now looking at him you can’t remember why you can’t stay; you can’t remember all you fight for in your day-to-day.

All of it seems pointless. Would anyone care if you wouldn’t return? Rather, would anyone notice if you wouldn’t return? The thought leaves a deep bruise over your heart, and you don’t lie when you whisper, “I don’t know.”

Be it some underlying scar, but you wish to feel something real. His body is so close to yours, yet it feels as though you’re separated by winters of seas. The small distance is freezing, and you pull his hand closer to your chest, hoping, he’d close the distance and pull you into his warmth.

The desire to feel his touch is overbearing, your eyes fill with tears of unsaid words, it’s hard to express what you’re feeling, when the emotion is so deep rooted you can’t grab onto its essence. You search his eyes, begging him to understand, but the man in front of you looks just as starved as you are, and you know, you both share the same scars.

You don’t say a word when he moves closer, you don’t need to. Same understanding fills you, and you know he feels the same. His breath fawns over your lips, defrosting years long winter, and when his lips connect with yours, all is lost, and the eternal glaciers melt with the first caress of sun.

The action seems so natural, his lips over yours at place, you don’t want him to pull back. His touch is hot against yours, his hand climbing up your thigh, and you feel as though you’re melting in his arms.

But thoughts of your brother needing you pulls you back, as comforting as his touch feels, you also know it can’t last. You detach from his lips, worry of Tae clouding your mind, but it’s hard to hold on to it, when his lips move to your neck, sinfully gliding over your skin.

“Jungkook,” your hands wove in his hair, “I can’t.” you have to forcefully mutter those words, every inch of your body screaming otherwise. But just as hard as it is for you to say it, it’s the same for him to detach from your skin.

He looks you in the eye seriously, looking for any sense of truth when he knows, that’s not how you’re feeling, “What’s holding you back?”. Your mind is in a great war with your truest self, both sides screaming one at another, and you crumble under the pressure you unknowingly cage yourself in.

“My brother. I can’t do this, he needs me.” But your words don’t ring a sense of understanding to him, he shakes his head and guides your head where your brother is sitting, “I’d say he’s doing quite well.”

His lips return to your neck, and you watch how your brother is kissing one of the women from before, completely lost in his own world, without a care of anything around him. You bite your lip when his teeth graze at a particularly sensitive spot near your jaw, it’s hard to fight against your inner turmoil when the one thing you truly long for, has fallen in your arms.

But if Tae can be free within himself, why can’t you? The high ice walls of your heart slowly crumble with each swipe of his tongue and before you know it, you cave in, and pull your legs closer against his hips.

You let him take the lead, and loose yourself in the feeling; your eyes watch how prettily stars shine on both of you, never before have you seen such pretty skies, you’re sure somewhere they’ve aligned, teaching you meaning behind unconditional love.

You don’t protest when his hands wrap around your legs and pulls you up and leads you somewhere – you don’t even care where, when his touch is the only thing, you care for. But as you’re leaving the site, your eyes connect with the lonesome man, he looks at you in curiosity, and stops sharpening his weapon, for a second you see the vulnerability in his eyes, memories travelling through the pits of his cold gaze, and you wonder, what is his story.

Darkness of night separates you from his silhouette, the further along you go, the more trust you’ve to put in the arms carrying you, you’ve lost all sense of control, but it’s hard to seek it, when it’s the first time you’ve felt no need for it.

You realize you trust him, trust him to guide you right, trust him to cherish you for this night; it’s not an easy task for someone like you, sharp walls crashing anyone who steps too close for your own safety, but you know tonight is different, when every part of you wishes to let him take control, and seep into the depths of his gentle caresses.

Time is a subordinate under his compelling will, you can’t focus on anything else but the way your hearts beat the same union; whatever he wishes and does, you’ll comply, not because of a need to be owned or told what to do, but because you know, he won’t do anything to hurt you.

He holds you tighter than the sanity of his dubious thoughts, you both know whatever this is might end up costing more than the freedom itself, but what is freedom, when the others touch brings you back to life?

Your tongues stay entangled one with another, his muscle teases you, never quite giving you what you wish him to, but never leaves you stranded. He dips his tongue over yours, but pushes it back, leaving you to seek for it more, but just when you think he’s left you wanting, his tongue entangles with your own, sharing the same passion and longing, giving you every part of his essence, the good and bad expressed with desire.

You feel your body ascending, and when you open your eyes, you see him climbing up stairs, all the houses and entangled couples looking smaller with each step, you know he’s making sure to keep you safe. His hands gripping your lower tights, pressing your body closer till your breath runs out.

Your mind solely focuses on the feeling, completely dismissing the environment around you; you feel soft furs beneath your body, only accelerating the growing warmth inside of you, never before felt combination of comfort and affection. It’s as though your minds are combined, golden strings mark your desires, growing stronger and bolder with each passing minute.

Lost in the sensation of soft touches and heartfelt kisses, you don’t notice your vulnerability beneath him; how could you notice your clothes scattered on the wooden floor, when his body heats every part within you in scorching desire, his caresses draw your mind further in the auroras of pleasure, not a single part of you left unattended and unkissed.

You arch your back, chest pressed against his, when you feel your inner emptiness filled, and your bodies finally bound; you sigh in relief, pinpointing the churning feeling finally relieved when he presses himself deeper within your walls, and wraps his hands around your body, not a single share left for the winter’s harsh winds.

His body is everywhere, inside you, around you, within you; as if every part of you is his, just as every part of him – yours. If someone told you, you’re one peace of a soul, you wouldn’t doubt it for a second; every escaped moan and curse, he catches with his lips, and every time his hips move away from yours, your hands press them back in, wrapped around his lower back, preventing the sought for feeling disappear.

But you don’t have to worry of him disappearing, for as much as your soul yearns for its mark of belonginess, his yearns tenfold. Your every touch and escaped moan awakens his untamed desire, every part of him, solely dedicated to you. He kisses your fallen tears and ruptured scars, knowing he is the one to mend them, even if it takes his own blood and tears, he’ll make sure your souls are woven together; for what he bleeds you soothe, and for what you pain, he mends.  

You’re alive within the feeling, your only focus on pleasure and essence, when you closed your eyes, the darkness of nights secrets held you safe, but when you open them, beams of light showcased life’s truth. And not a single moment between them left unpleasurable.

Jungkook lays across your chest, head pressed against your breasts softly kissing your fingers, your own hand is sprayed across his back, caressing it in gentle patterns, your legs entangled with one another. The feeling of fullness hasn’t left you, and you refuse to move, all the pieces finally connecting.

Your mind is as fuzzy as ever, enjoying the warmth that comes from two people understanding each other, laying in their soft caresses and untold love confessions. Your fingers draw over the bumps on his back, and you note the small, straight lines covering his back, taking extra care to not touch the two that are still healing.

“Why haven’t you finished your chest tattoos?” your voice is groggy, and you have to clear your voice to get an even tone. He stops his movements hearing your voice, and turns his head to face you, a small smile adorning his face, completely at peace enjoying your warmth, “I told you, didn’t I?”

Your purse your lips in thought, something you weren’t able to process the first time he told you, “Well, yes. But your family loves you, doesn’t it count?” You saw the respect they hold for him first-hand, that sort of love can’t be attained by anyone, and by the looks of it, he must know it.

“It has to be your other half.” He shakes his head and kisses your breasts. “I, provide safety and strength,” he flexes his muscles, and sneaks his hands around your waist making you giggle, your skin too responsive to his touch.

“Woman provides knowledge,” he caresses your hair, “Truth,” he whispers against your chest, “Life.” He moves to your lower belly, and gently kisses the skin, not taking his eyes off of you, “We’re incomplete without a woman.”

There’s no time to contemplate his words when he continues, “We come from a woman. We’re a part of a woman. No man can ever be without his other half.”. You caress his hair, wishing that was the case in real life, but his words seem too sweet to hold truth, even your non-reliable emotions see past it.

“Then why do you hurt women?” You don’t overthink the question, it’s something that has always been bugging your mind. Such high praise, yet so little truth. But if your words don’t ring an alarm bell for you, it does for him. He lifts his head from your stomach and shoots you an unsure gaze.

“We don’t.”

“But what if you do?” You don’t mean to challenge him; no animosity clouds your words, but you’re truly curious of the way their brains work. Seeing you not drop the subject Jungkook scoots closer to you, and you hold his cheeks and send him a smile.

You watch in curiosity when he brings his finger to his lips, and sharply bites down; you’re about to question his actions but you’re left dumbfounded when he drags his bleeding finger across your forehead.

His blood marks your skin, but his actions don’t stop; he takes your hand in his own, and softly kisses your index finger before breaking the skin with his teeth. He’s noticeably gentler than when he bit his own, but your still let out a hiss from the sharp feeling.

He traces your bleeding finger across his own forehead, now both of you marked in each other’s blood before he carefully places it in his mouth to stop further bleeding. His eyes scan your mark in satisfaction, as if just proven a point, and your fuzzy brain works overtime to understand what just happened.

“No being can live without half of their soul. If you hurt it, you go along with it. Death.” His tone is serious, and your brain scrambles to form any eligible meaning behind them, but it’s hard to focus when his lips travel to your lower belly, slow with his actions, yet ever so persistent.

He shows his beliefs through his actions, and your back arches once again when his wet muscle traces your most sensitive part in gentle, but firm patterns. Day turns into night, and time into blur when all you can hold onto is passion drowning you deeper and deeper in its reigns.

For the first time you experience the meaning of love in its truest form; no laws or calculated motives color it in tantalized obligations. Even if it’s taken from you tomorrow, you know it has engraved itself in the depths of your soul; you know you’ll spend forever trying to find someone who’ll manage to fill even half of your desires like Jungkook could. Someone who’ll manage to show you love even half as passionate and true like he has.

But for now, you’ll enjoy the fleeting moment, and dive deep into the pits that is Jungkook, letting him caress your every curve, and kiss your imperfections like the treasure gold. Because it is just that, nothing less than a treasure you spend your whole life searching for.

You’ll allow him to love you like no other, hold you close like the other part of him, because even if it’s just for today, he is that to you, he is the one who kisses your scars and melts your fears. He is the one, you’ll be longing after your whole life. But that’s okay, because his arms are the first to protect you from winters frost and throwing spears, he is the one you’ll have to leave for your long last fears.

~

Never before have you awakened so refreshed. As if every part of your body, every nerve and muscle, has had a restart. The sound of birds chirping makes you open your eyes, your still half-asleep mind trying to understand what’s happening. You stretch in the make-shift bed, covered in furs and wool, warmth surrounds your body and light floods in through the cracks in the wooden walls.

You prop yourself up on elbows, it takes you a minute to understand where you’re located, but when you do, and your mind is clear enough for some understanding to flood in, you freeze in shock. Quickly you look around, and relieved breath out realizing you’re the only one in the make-shift house.

You plop back onto the bed and drag your hands over your face; you’re not sure how to feel about everything that transpired, the thought alone of everyone seeing you and Jungkook making out horrifies you. Taehyung saw you. He will never let you live it down.

You groan in embarrassment; you’ve utterly failed in your position as oldest sister. And you know you can’t blame it all on the drink either, after all, Jungkook did say it shows one’s inner desires, not make you act like a hormonal teenager.

In the depths of your self-wallowing, you come to an even more embarrassing conclusion – you don’t regret it. It’s hard to when your mind takes you back to his gentle caresses and sweet nothings. Your cheeks heat up remembering previous nights events. If they even were previous nights events? Through your still slightly foggy mind you recall seeing light flooding in and out.

But you do know one thing, whatever it was, was a one-time thing, and you need to leave before he comes back and the embarrassment spirals. You don’t know how you can face him; you know you’ll be awkward, and after all you weren’t the only who drank the questionable liquid, he must feel just as embarrassed as you do.

In hurry, you get up, and when you stand, you notice leaves wrapped around your previously hurt foot; your heart squeezes at the thoughtful gesture, which only further shows how much you need to leave. Now.

But that turns out to be harder than hoped to be – your clothes are nowhere in sight, so you grab a cloth hanging besides the bed, and do your best to wrap it around your body. You’re not sure how they wear it day-to-day, when you feel like one wrong move will make it fall. But then again, that’s just another example of how much you don’t belong here.

You notice a bowl of food besides the bed, carefully you touch it to see it’s still warm; that’s good, he must’ve left not so long ago. It’s hard to pint-point him as someone you should avoid when all of his actions are so caring.

It’s shame that drives you to escape his space, careful, going down the stairs, as your mind works slower than it usually does. Most of all you’re shocked by your own actions, never had you thought you’d fall victim to your desires, never had you known those sorts of desires even where part of your mind. But it does leave one question lingering, how well do you even know yourself, if you, without all the societies pressures and life’s barriers, are a stranger to yourself?

You try to rid all the unnecessary thoughts, focusing on finding your brother so you could finally leave. It’s a bittersweet goodbye when the place has thought you more about love than your whole life, but you don’t recognize yourself here, and that’s a too horrid thought to live with.

You look around the habitable, you were too out of it to notice where Jungkook led you, and this place is far too big for you to manage and find one person. Makeshift houses sit one by another, people following their daily regimes. You’re wandering around, trying to find at least one person you recognize, but the angel overlooking you has chosen to arise, when you notice the sweet woman who talked to you.

“Hi!” you call out for her; she’s talking to a slightly older woman, both standing in front of what seems to be a large water storage. She looks at you and recognition flash her eyes, and you breath out what could’ve been another awkward situation.

Your rush closer to her, but the closer you come to them, their actions stop, and they focus on your appearance, or more like, your forehead. Self-conscious you drag your fingers through your hair, you’re sure you look crazy, just woken up, hair all over the place and eyes blurry from your tumbling mind.

But they don’t look disgruntled, rather shocked, which turn to utmost happiness when you stop besides them, and they take a good look at you. You’re confused when she lightly hits the others woman’s shoulders, all while not taking her gaze off you.

“Have you seen my brother? Tae?” You look at her, hoping to gain some sort of information, but her unbreaking ‘deer caught in headlights’ gaze makes you awkwardly shuffle from one foot to another.

Their gazes meet and they fall into fits of laughter, she puts her hand over her mouth concealing a disbelief laugh but the other woman isn’t bothered to conceal her happiness, she puts her hands to the sky and chants something in her tongue.

You look confused at the woman you recognized, hoping she sees your lost appearance, but she takes a step closer to you, and you do your best to not flinch away when she drags her fingers over your forehead, light enough to barely feel.

You go to touch it yourself, but the chorus of simultaneous “No’s,” makes you stop in an instant. But you know it must be something about your forehead, their gazes haven’t left it for a second. Perplexed you move closer to the water storage and look at your reflection; to your utmost dismay, you notice on what they’re so focused on.

Instantly you dip your finger in water, embarrassed they saw Jungkooks dried blood marking your forehead. The little detail completely lost in the turbulence of previous events, all feeling like a fever-dream.

Just when water touches the mark, your hands are tightly gripped away from your skin. “No! What are you doing?” her alarmed gaze make you feel as though you’ve done something wrong, what you’re not sure.

The other woman rushes to check whether the mark got washed, but by the relief on her face you gather it had not. “Go. Jungkook.” She points back to his house, urging you to go back. “I have to find my brother.” Your stubbornness leaves them uneasy, but you press on it, and turn to the woman you recognize.

“I have to find him.” You try to convince her, “Jungkook isn’t even there! And I need to check if Tae’s alright.” You try to conceal your frustration at her doubtful gaze, not sure what’s the deal with going back to Jungkook.

She presses her lips, but finally gives in, “There,” she points to left, “He by the animals.”, grateful you quickly nod head, grateful to finally escape the awkward situation, but you guess one has to pay for their actions.

“Be quick.” She presses, and unexpectedly pulls you into her arms. Her touch is very comforting, the only problem being you don’t know what’s happening. The older woman comes to pat your head, and you see the gleam of happiness color her eyes.

A bit awkward you smile, this whole situation too confusing for your hazy mind. You nod your head, and with that, take off. You know for a fact you’ll grab your brother and leave, too embarrassed to see Jungkook like they press you to. But her words turn to be harder than hoped to, when you realize just how big their space is.

You’ve been tumbling around for at least 10 minutes, and the lingering gazes from everyone around you don’t help to ease your mind. You’re wondering whether you’re going in the wrong direction all together, but sigh in relief when animal pens come into view.

You had severely underestimated size of the tribe, their camp so vast you’ve been floundering around for a while, yet you still don’t see the end of it. You’re relieved noting how less people surround the animals, at least you don’t have to fight the urge to run from their intruding stares.

Even the animal enclosures are extensive, with slight pity you note how something similar to a clothing rack faces their pens, only instead of hanged clothes there’s different textures and lengths of hair. Unbeknownst to them, they face their unavoidable future, danger hanging in front of their eyes, and yet they wholeheartedly ignore it. One tuft of hair catches your eye, blonde, long hair flutters in the wind, and you're not sure what animal it belongs to, probably a horse, whichever it is, you choose to ignore it, and try to convince yourself that’s their destined future.

You go into a clearing, another set of stools surrounding what used to be a bonfire, something akin to the one you were at previously. And sitting on one of the stools is none other than your brother, chit-chatting with the same women he did the last time you saw him.

Relief floods through your system, grateful to see him alive and well. The whole idea of you being separated in an unknown place left you uneasy, even more so considering both of your injuries. But he looks well, smiling, red flush coloring his cheeks. No sign of the previous dark bruises and pale skin.

You’re about to shout his name when a weird beeping sound comes from your left. You almost ignore it, till you remember – you’re in a tribe. And the noise is awfully familiar to a technical device.

Your turn where you guess the sound is located to see a shed; reed roof covering it’s belonging from rain. You wonder whether you should go in and check, but the persistent noise comes once more, drawing you in.

With one last glance to your brother, you move to the shed, having an inkling feeling you shouldn’t be doing this, you feel like a fraud, overstepping some unknown laws. You look around to check no ones noticed you, and sneak in.

Light barely shines through the massive roof, you’ve to get used to the dim lighting to even understand what you’re surrounded by. But when you do, you see a table right in front of you, and on it, yours and Taes phones.

You forgot that they took your belonging from you, and you take your phone in your hands, noting how it’s more damaged than you thought, screen completely broken and to your disappointment – it won’t even turn on.

You glide your fingers over the screen, small shards of glass digging into your skin. Perhaps the battery ran out, but you were sure it worked the last time you used it. The same pinging sound comes from your left, the dark environment lit up for a second.

You turn around and freeze, considering the sight in front of you before light dims out. Phones stacked in columns rest on a table, one phone in particular hangs on its last thread, notifications of almost ran out battery lighting screen.

The sight leaves your mind fumbling, are you not the first ones they saved? Or have some tourists lost their phones and they just found them? You hope it’s the second option, you can’t see how a person would leave their phone willingly.

Doubts run through your mind when the phone tings once more, and you notice a dark, dried substance covering its upper screen. You grab the phone and press on the screen, battery has almost run out, hanging onto its last 5%.

But 5% is better than nothing. You swipe the screen, thankful for the lack of password and tilt your head in wonder when it opens to camera mode. Perhaps it’s overstepping the persons privacy, but your curiosity is spiked when the small square on the left bottom corner shows recent photos, that being of deep forest green.

It’s not right, you know it’s not right, but you still press on it. Video starts playing automatically, harsh words and screaming fills the otherwise quiet space. Startled, you pause the video and check whether someone heard you, but after a moment of silence, you turn the volume down and press play.

At first, you’re not sure what you’re looking at, the persons hands are shaking so heavily, it’s hard to pinpoint the scene. But you see knife in their hand, pointing it to someone in front, screaming. A man stands close to her and aims a gun in the same direction.

Video picks up in speed when tones increase, and words become harsher. In matter of a second, the gun is fired off, and the man is tackled to the ground. Whoever is filming cries in shock, before they swipe their knife forwards.

But it doesn’t go well, as the same second someone lunges their way, and throws them on the ground. The background is unfocused, but you see the man’s head being bashed with stone. Screaming increases in volume when the phone drops and for the first time you see the person who’s filming.

A blonde woman flails her hands around, crying, trying to get away from her attacker. But her screams are silenced when the same knife she threw is dragged across her throat. Blood splutters from her lips and the attacker lets her go.

You feel her fears like your own, when her hand reaches for her phones, and she tries to crawl away with no success. Her hands give out, and she falls under her weight, the video ends of her shiny, blonde hair drowning in blood.

It takes a second for everything to sink in, and when it does, overwhelming panic drowns you. Video wasn’t long, less than 30 seconds, but you play it again, frame by frame, trying to find anything that rebuttals your suspicion.

But to your dismay, one familiar tone of voice makes you replay it over and over again, till you find one snapshot, less than a second long, of blurry figures of their attackers. You know you can’t deny it when you capture the familiar leather clothing, and even more so, when you see a braid hanging over her attacker’s chest.

You notice another detail, when the woman tries to crawl away, a clearer picture of him appears and your stomach churns when you see him spitting on her in disgust. You know her attacker. You could recognize him any day.

Only now you don’t want to, and you try to lie to yourself and say you’ve never seen those deep mahogany eyes. Which, in part is true, his gaze brings you comfort, and peace, feeling of protection and love. But the eyes you’re staring at are nothing less than feral, deep rooted superiority and untamed rage.

It’s Jungkook.

You clutch the phone tighter when you notice another thing. Something that might save you. The single fluttering service line. You don’t waste a second calling for help, begging the line to go through. You’re scared to move, knowing how a single step might cut off the service.

But it goes through. When the line is answered you know you’re fighting against all odds, “Please help. We’re stranded in jungle, in a tribe. They kill people-” you ramble on, voice shaky, and tears falling uncontrollably. You hope you named the pathway Tae chose right, you weren’t too focused on details, and now, you hope it’s not your pitfall, “We’re going to be next, please help us!”

Person on the other side tries to speak, but their voice cuts off after every word, “Can you hear me?”, you cry out, but the line goes silent, and the battery has run out. You try to be silent, but it’s hard to conceal your cries when you realize the danger you’re facing.

You look at all the stacked phones, knowing, your ones will soon follow if you don’t get out now. There are easily hundreds of them, both the newest models, but also, ones you don’t recognize. You fear to imagine how many they’ve killed.

You run out of shed, the only thing on your mind to find your brother and get out, your gaze finds the animal pens, or rather what’s in front of them. The woman’s blond hair tainted in blood flashes through your mind. Those aren’t animal hairs, are they?

“Bee!” you hear Taes voice and quickly turn around, he’s smiling and beckoning you to come towards him. You sniffle your tears back, noticing the woman besides him watching you carefully, and put on a smile, they can’t know that you know.

You rush to him, smiling as widely as possible and ignore his snickering, “Well, well, what were you up to?” his boxy grin greets you, and you try to hold in your tears of terror, “Can we talk?” you look back at the woman and shoot her your best grin, “Alone.” You quietly force the words out, hoping only he hears the urgency behind them.

“Um, sure...?” he looks back at the woman, who hasn’t taken he eyes off of you. You hope it’s the stupid mark on your forehead, and not you acting strange. You tightly grip his hand and pull him away, hoping your steps don’t look too rushed.

“Is everything alright?” his concerned voice makes your tears resurface, only when you’re sure there’s no one listening in on you conversation, you stop behind a house, and face him, “We need to leave. Now. You were right, we’re not safe here.”

“Wait, what?” your rushed words leave him lost, confused by your sudden change of heart, “I saw a video. Video of them killing people. We’re going to be next, Tae, we have to leave.” His face falls at your teary eyes, and trembling voice. “Shit.”

“I don’t have the time to explain, but we need to leave.” He nods his head in understanding, you know you don’t have a lot of time, based on everyone urging you to go back to Jungkooks house, you know he’ll be searching for you, and considering that was a while ago – you have to hurry.

“What’s that?” his gaze moves to your forehead, and you shrug your shoulders clueless, “Jungkook marked me. I don’t know what that means. Perhaps I’m the first one they’ll finish off.” You cry out, and Tae looks conflicted, “He found me before they went off hunting. Dunno what that was about but he put his hands on my shoulders and said welcome. Thought it was him apologizing for being a dick couple nights ago, but now-”

“So, they are in the forest now?” he nods his head, “Do you know from which side they went off?” your mind is spiraling, forest is their home, and if you want to have any possibility of escaping alive, you have to gain at least some sort of leverage.

“Far off end, not here. There is a clearing close enough, not many of them walk there. That might be our best bet.” You nod along, taking in everything he says. He grabs your hand and pulls you forward to what you assume, is the said clearing.

You’re careful with your steps, looking around for any unwanted followers. Every step feels like a ticking time-bomb, but Tae is right, this side is less inhabited, couple lonesome houses in midst of evergreen trees.

You stop near the edge and share a knowing look; this is your only chance. Even though the risk of being lost in jungle is great, you haven’t eaten anything in days, feet bare and clothing less than ideal, there’s no choice but to proceed.

And just like that, you run. Your heart pounds aggressively in your chest, and feet hurt with every step, but fear keeps you going. You can’t stay here, you know you’ll be the next one, why exactly they haven’t finished you off yet is a mystery in itself, but you’re not willing to wait and find out.

You smell freedom when the habitat turns greener with each of your steps, and your steps quicken, Tae close behind you. But you underestimated the tribe, if they managed to seek after you like an animal, there’s no chance they’d leave you running around, free to go whenever you wanted.

You learn your lesson when the ground beneath you crumbles. One single misstep, and you’re falling. Tae barely manages to catch you, his hands wrap around your waist when you scream, his body almost falling with you.  

You watch in horror how the masked leaves fall one after the other like dominoes, and your gaze moves with them to see a steep ditch covering the entire area of the site, circling your only means of exit. A sharp sound like a whiplash follows soon after, and you realize you’ve run straight into a trap when the unmasked ditch has triggered a sturdy net to fall from the trees.

Wherever you turn your head, the trap follows, disturbing birds that fly high over your head away from danger. Oh, how you’d love to accompany them. Breathless, you grasp Taes’ hands around your waist, your only means of safety, holding you from falling to what might as well be your death.

“Shit”, he gasps in your ear, and you know you’re truly fucked when rushed steps and shouts near you. “What do we do now?” He balances you back on the ground, evident fear coloring his voice; as much as you’d love to step into the older sisters’ shoes and ease his mind, quickly figuring out a way to salvage the problem, you’re left speechless.

Even if you somehow manage to jump over the ditch, the net is too high to climb over and the netting too tough to tear. But there’s no time to think when you feel a sharp sting over your leg. Its force makes you fall on all fours, biting back a scream of pain you see a spear impaled on the other side of the ditch.

Fearful, you turn around to see a swarm of people surrounding you and your brother, another spear is thrown, but this time toward your brother, who barely manages to duck before it hits his body. Tears fall as you notice all the weapons pointed at you, and you’re just about ready to be impaled when a woman shrieks something in her tongue, and points at you.

It must be a sign to finish you off, you’re sure of it, you curl up awaiting the attack, but it never comes, rather you see the woman hit the man’s head who threw his spear at you. Your gaze quickly roams over the group, frightened by their relentless stares, but you notice one consistency – they’re pointing to your forehead.

You quickly touch it, confused about what’s happening, but when you do, a chorus of shouts come your way telling you to stop. And you realize what’s the hold-up, it’s the mark, Jungkooks blood smeared over your skin from yesterday.

As if he’s summoned, he runs through the crowd of people with a group of men following closely behind him. His gaze instantly meets yours, and you see the shock traveling through his system as he takes in your bleeding skin and terrified expression.

Just like a switch being flipped, he steps into his domineering aura; even though you’re away from him, you feel the energy of his anger like a shock wave crashing over you, the sparkling eyes and gentle touch which you oh, so adored nowhere present.

Overwhelmed with rage Jungkook turns to his people and barks something in their tongue, the tone of his voice makes you cover and for the first time, you’re glad you don’t understand what he’s saying.

You see the man who shot you fall to his knees, head deeply bowed down and hands put into a praying position. You don’t have to understand their language to know he’s begging, but his prayers aren’t answered when he’s forced to stand up. And in a blink of an eye, his neck is snapped.

What you wouldn't be willing to do, to return to yesterday when everything was so sweet you were bracing yourself for a toothache. But just as you feared, the shoe had to drop, only you didn’t expect the price to be your life.

The feral glint in Jungkooks eyes brings you back to the video, whatever dream you were living in these past days is broken, the man who once brought you comfort now terrifies you, but worse of all – you have nowhere to go, stuck with him, waiting for your demise.

You use the chaos around you and turn to Tae, whose eyes haven’t left the unmoving man’s body, “We have to run,” you whisper in a trembling voice, you’ve no plan, the only option is to hide, but even that’s farfetched – this is their home, they know every nook of it.

“Can you?” you look at your bleeding leg, the injury hurts as it is, but you refuse to gift them your life without a fight. You turn back to Tae and slowly nod your head, unsure of the answer yourself.

Careful to not attract any attention, you shuffle to your left, but your movement is caught instantly, “Don’t.” Jungkooks baritone voice freezes your body. You know he’s speaking to you, but you’re lost how he even noted the movement; his back is turned to you, his hand raised in your direction. Their sense of movement would be remarkable if you weren’t fighting for your life.

He turns around and faces you, and slowly starts walking towards you. But the closer he is, the more danger you’re facing, so you do your best to make him stop, “We will leave now. Thank you for your help, but it’s time for us to go.”

You try to sound confident, but that turns out hard under his untamed gaze. For a second it works, he stops in his tracks and overthinks your words, but when his jaw ticks and steps fasten, you know you’ve only made it worse.

“Leave? You’re hurt.” He kneels down besides you, and you can’t stop your body from flinching when his hands inspect your wound. “I will find help, but now, we must leave.” You repeat your words, careful to keep your voice down as to not aggravate him more.

But it seems no matter what you do, it only serves to tick him, “No.” his tone leaves no room for objection, and his hold tightens around your leg. “You’re marked. You’re one of us now. Why would you even want to leave, when I can offer you what I know you long for.” He cups your cheeks and tries to smile, but the untamed flames haven’t subsided in his eyes, and his smile looks more like a grimace.

“Safety, protection, love.” He pulls you closer when he mutters the last word, trying to awaken the memories of his soft touch the night before, but all your mind manages to make up is the vast cruelty with which he drove the knife over the woman’s neck, how easy it was for him to kill the man just now. You’re repulsed by his touch.

You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t stop yourself from whispering the terrifying truth, “You kill people, Jungkook.”.

His eyebrows furrow at your words, and almost as if he’s offended, he points to the unmoving body behind, “Him? He hurt you. He hurt a woman – he hurt his leaders’ woman-” he presses, but you don’t let him finish, “He’s not the only one.”

Thick silence enfolds, one neither of you want to break. You remind yourself you’re walking on eggshells, that he’s unstable and you have to keep your mouth shut, but somehow, the recent events feel like a betrayal of you and everything you hoped for; for once, your let down your guard, and now, you’ve to pay the price and fight for your life.

After a while in silence, Jungkook shakes his head, voice becoming more desperate “I don’t kill. I protect.”. What’s all the more terrifying is the conviction in his eyes, you know he’s spiraling, lied to himself enough times he has started to believe in it himself. But you know better, when the fake illusion drops, you don’t want to be the bearer of it all.

“Listen man, we better go. It was nice mee-” Tae cites your own words, but when his skin touches yours, the unsteady walls collapse and in one swing, Tae’s on the ground. Screech of terror escapes you, and you almost fall down the trench, if it weren’t for Jungkooks fast reflexes.

He takes his opportunity and pulls you closer to him, your body trembling out of fear, not taking your eyes off of your brother, who groans on the grass. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear, but all you can focus on is his vice grip locking you besides him.

“You don’t have to be scared any more. No one will hurt you, I’m here, it’s okay.” He shushes your cries, which only makes you cry harder. “I’ll make sure you never feel lonely again, I’ll be always right by your side.”

[hoe4hotchner]

Omg can we get a part 2 of rodeo please? I can't do too much angst but it was so good

Rodeo - part 2 | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

CW: starts in 3. person pov and switches to 2. person pov half way through, emotional distress, guilt and regret, unhealthy relationship dynamics, emotional confrontation, mentions of past emotional manipulation.

WC: 2,1k

Here's part 1 of the fic

I really wanted to make this even more angsty than the last part and with no sense of comfort at all, cause I really wanted to be a giant asshole to Hotch for no reason. But..... I'm a little nice today, so I made an open ending with a teeny tiny piece of hope for you guys

           The office felt different without her.

           Hotch’s desk was covered with neatly stacked files, reports waiting to be signed off, and yet, none of it mattered. His eyes had skimmed the same paragraph in the report in front of him three times now, but the words didn’t sink in. His mind was somewhere else - always back to her. The gnawing ache in his chest that had been there since that night months ago hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had grown, spreading through him like a poison he couldn’t shake.

           𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎.

           It wasn’t just the space she used to occupy in the bullpen or the silence in the elevator where they used to stand shoulder to shoulder. It was deeper than that. The realization had crept up on him slowly at first - missing her laugh, the way she could sense his mood even when he didn’t speak, the small things she did that calmed him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. But now, it consumed him.

           The truth was, he missed her in ways he wasn’t sure he could even admit to himself.

           He remembered how she had looked at him that night, her eyes filled with frustration and pain as they stood across from each other in the bullpen, the echoes of their argument still fresh in his mind. “I want something more.” Her voice had been shaky but determined, a mix of vulnerability and strength that struck him like a punch to the gut.

           And what had he done? He’d pushed her away. His fear of letting her get too close, of her seeing the parts of him he kept hidden from everyone, had made him say things he regretted. Words he could never take back. “I told you from the beginning what this was,” he had said, his voice cold, and detached. A lie to protect himself.

           He had let her walk away, convinced that it was for the best. But now, as the months dragged on, he realized how mistaken he had been.

           The space she left behind was unbearable.

           She wasn’t in the BAU anymore. He’d heard she’d been reassigned to another department within the FBI- something quieter, more predictable. He told himself it was better this way. She deserved a life outside the chaos of his world. But even though she wasn’t far, it felt like she was unreachable. The thought of running into her in the hallways, of seeing her around the building, had terrified him. He didn’t know how he’d be able to look at her, look into her eyes, and not feel the significance of his own mistakes crushing him.

           He missed everything about her.

           He missed her smile. The way her eyes lit up when she was excited about something. The warmth she brought into every room she entered.

           But it wasn’t just that.

           She had been the best thing in his life. The one thing that made him feel something beyond the reality of his rigid day-to-day structure. He had been a fool to push her away, to pretend like he didn’t care. And now, the weight of his own stupidity was drowning him.

           Hotch leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, the hum of the vents filling the otherwise quiet space. His mind replayed every moment of their time together, the stolen glances, the late nights, the spark between them, the sex that he had tried so hard to keep casual but had never been just that. It had always been more.

           The truth was, he had been afraid.

           Afraid of how much he needed her. Afraid of what it would mean to let her in, afraid that he would lose her to the job. But now, the fear felt insignificant compared to the hollow emptiness he felt without her.

           He had to get her back.

           The thought gnawed at him, day and night until it was all he could think about. He had rehearsed what he would say a thousand times in his head. But he could never bring himself to actually do it. Every time he thought about going to her, confronting her, something stopped him. The fear, the guilt, the uncertainty of whether she even wanted to see him again after the way he had treated her.

           But tonight was different.

           The late hour and the empty office only amplified the ache in his chest, and before he knew it, he was out of his chair, grabbing his coat, and heading for the door. His soul carried him toward her place before his mind could stop him. The drive felt longer than it should have, his heart racing with each mile that passed. What would he even say? How could he apologize for everything he had done?

           He didn’t have an answer, but he knew he couldn’t keep living like this. He had to try.

           The knock on your door sounded louder in the silence of the night, echoing through the quiet hallway. Hotch stood there, his heart pounding in his chest, throat dry as he waited. It had taken everything in him to get this far, to drive across the city, to stand in front of your door after months of silence. His hand shook slightly at his side, the importance of what he was about to do weighing down on him.

           He wasn’t used to this. This vulnerability, this sense of desperation that had been festering ever since you walked out of his life. Hotch was always the calm and collected one. But here he was, outside your door, drenched in the cold sweat of regret and longing.

           He knocked again, this time softer, more tentative, as if he was already bracing himself for the rejection he knew he deserved. His mind raced with what he would say, what words could possibly make up for the way he had hurt you.

           The door creaked open, and there you were. For a moment, Hotch couldn’t breathe. You stood there, surprised, your eyes widening slightly as you took him in. He looked rough as if the months had worn him down. His suit was wrinkled, his hair slightly disheveled - things you would never have caught him dead in. He wasn’t the composed, stoic man you were used to seeing. This was a man on the edge.

           You didn’t say anything at first. The silence between you was thick with unspoken tension, the memories of the past months hanging heavily in the air.

           “Can I come in?” His voice was barely above a whisper, strained as if the words physically hurt to say.

           You hesitated, your hand still gripping the edge of the door. Your heart raced in your chest, the recollection of that last argument flashing in your mind. The way he had dismissed your feelings, the way he had left you broken and alone.

           But there was something in his eyes - something so raw, something so vulnerable that made you step aside, giving him room to enter.

           The door clicked shut behind him, and the two of you stood in the middle of your small apartment. Hotch took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly as he shoved them into his pockets, trying to steady himself.

           “I know I’m the last person you want to see,” he started, his voice tight. “But I had to… I couldn’t keep going like this.”

           You crossed your arms, trying to protect yourself from the wave of emotions crashing over you. “What do you want, Aaron?” Your voice was sharp, and defensive. You didn’t have the energy to let him in, not after everything.

           He flinched at your tone, but he didn’t back down. “I was wrong,” he said, the words tumbling out of him in a rush. “I was so wrong. About everything.”

           You raised an eyebrow, skepticism written all over your face. “You just figured that out now?”

           His jaw clenched, and he nodded. “Yes. And I’m sorry. I was an asshole. I was too focused on my own issues, on the job, on… everything but you. And I didn’t realize what I was losing until it was too late.”

           You swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Why now? Why come here after months? What’s changed?”

           Hotch’s eyes met yours, and you saw the flicker of pain, of guilt that he had been carrying all this time. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you! I can’t go a day without regretting what I said, what I did! You were… you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I threw it away because I was scared of losing it.”

           You shook your head, trying to push back the tears that threatened to spill. “You hurt me, Aaron. You made me feel like I didn’t matter. Like I was just something convenient for you. Something you could just discard.”

           “I know,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “And I hate myself for it. I hate that I made you feel that way because you’re not. You’re everything. You were everything to me, and I was too blind to see it.”

           Your breath hitched as the emotions you had tried to bury for months came rushing back. The anger, the pain, the longing for something you thought you would never have. You turned to face away from him for a split second. “And what? You think you can just show up here, say sorry, and we’ll go back to how things were?”

           He winced at your words, the truth of them stinging more than he’d expected. “No,” he admitted, his voice rough. “I don’t expect that. I don’t deserve that. But I need you to know… I need you to know that I want to change. That I miss you. That I’m not asking for anything other than a chance to make things right.”

           The air in the room felt heavy, the tension between you and Hotch thick, almost suffocating. You stared at him, your heart torn between the hurt he had caused and the undeniable pull you still felt toward him.

           “Why now?” you asked, your voice softer, more vulnerable. “Why couldn’t you've figured this out before?”

           Hotch ran a hand through his hair, his eyes filled with regret. “Because I’m a coward,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to let anyone in because I was scared of what that would mean. But you… you broke through all of that, and I didn’t know how to handle it. So I pushed you away.”

           You felt your throat tighten, the sincerity of his confession cutting through your defenses. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to push him away the way he had pushed you. But another part of you, the part that had loved him so deeply, wanted to pull him close, to forgive him, to believe that maybe he had changed.

           “I’m not asking for everything to go back to how it was,” Hotch continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’ve lost your trust. But… just give me a chance. Let me prove that I’m not that man.”

           You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, torn between the pain of the past and the possibility of something new. His eyes bore into yours, filled with a desperation that you had never seen before, an almost heartbreaking vulnerability.

           “I don’t know if I can do this again, Aaron,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can let myself get hurt like that again.”

           Hotch nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. “I know,” he said softly. “And I won’t push you. I won’t ask for more than you’re willing to give. Just let me show you. Let me be there for you, the way I should have been from the beginning.”

           You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of the man who had hurt you, the man who had left you feeling broken and discarded. But all you saw was sincerity, regret, and a deep, aching desire to make things right.

           Finally, you took a deep breath, your heart still heavy with everything that had happened. “Okay,” you said softly. “We can try. But it’s going to be on my terms, Aaron. Not yours.”

           Relief washed over his face, and he nodded, his eyes softening. “Whatever you need,” he promised, his voice full of emotion. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

           For the first time in months, you felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for the two of you to find your way back to each other.

[silverstar70]

Fandom: Criminal minds Character: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Author's note: English isn't my first language, I apologize for any mistakes.

Summary: During a case, Hotch and Y/N let the passion win.

Warnings: 🔞‼️ new relationship, smut, shower sex, friends to lovers, hot, vaginal sex, lots of kisses, cute moments.

Words count: 6,770k Hope you like it and let me know what you think! Enjoy it!

Something new pt.3

Read part 1 and part 2 here.

Behind closed doors

For months now, they’ve been seeing each other, balancing the job and the secret relationship. Not that they didn’t want to tell the team about it, but they just wanted to enjoy whatever they had quietly, without gossip or questions about it.

They managed to keep the team’s prying eyes away, opting for quiet dinners at home instead of restaurants, and stolen moments between cases. Each time they parted ways, the ache of their separation only grew, and each reunion felt like a breath of fresh air.

At first, it had been easy to keep their relationship hidden. Y/N was careful, meticulous about avoiding suspicion. Hotch, too, was guarded; he was used to compartmentalizing his life, separating the personal from the professional. But the longer they were together, the more difficult it became to maintain that distance, especially as the connection between them deepened.

The secrecy, though thrilling in the beginning, was starting to feel like a weight pressing down on them both but in the quiet of his house, when it was just the two of them, it was easy to forget all that.

His bedroom was filled with the warmth of early morning sunlight streaming through the windows.

Y/N was still nestled in his arms, her head resting comfortably against his chest. It was one of those rare, peaceful moments they cherished when the rest of the world seemed far away.

“Morning, Lieutenant,” he murmured, his hand gently running up and down her back.

She smiled, lifting her head to press a kiss to his jaw. “Good morning, Agent Hotchner.”

They stood like that for quite a while, just enjoying each other’s presence knowing that soon they would’ve to go separate ways as their respective jobs were waiting for them. They reluctantly left the bed and headed to the kitchen.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the small kitchen as Hotch and Y/N sat together, enjoying breakfast. The moment felt perfect—just the two of them, away from the world for a little while. Y/N reached across the table, giving Hotch’s hand a gentle squeeze as they shared a look filled with warmth and familiarity.

But the peacefulness shattered when they heard a sudden knock at the front door. Hotch froze, his eyes widening in surprise.

Y/N frowned. “What is it?”

“Morgan. I was supposed to give him a ride to work today.” His voice was laced with regret, his expression a mix of panic and frustration.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “You forgot?”

“Completely,” he muttered, his eyes scanning the room, cataloging the evidence of her presence—her heels left haphazardly near the couch, her jacket draped over the back of a chair, and two coffee mugs sitting beside each other on the table. “We need to hide this. Now.”

They sprang into action, working quickly and quietly. Y/N grabbed her mug and hurried to the sink, rinsing it out while Hotch snatched her jacket, tossing it behind the couch. She rushed to collect her heels, but a second knock echoed through the house, louder and more insistent.

“Hotch, you in there?” Morgan’s voice was muffled but clear.

Hotch shot Y/N a quick, apologetic look. “I’ll handle this.”

“I’ll stay in the bedroom,” she whispered, retreating to the bedroom and flashing him a supportive smile. “Good luck.”

With one last sweep of the room, Hotch opened the door. Morgan stood there, his grin easy but his eyes as sharp as ever. “Morning, Hotch. You ready?”

“Yeah, come in for a minute. I just need to change,” Hotch said, stepping aside and trying to keep his tone casual.

As Morgan entered, his gaze swept the living room. He was always observant, it was part of his nature, and there was no hiding anything from him. Hotch felt a knot tighten in his chest as Morgan’s eyes lingered on the two coffee mugs on the table. His lips twitched into a curious smile, but he didn’t say anything yet.

Hotch made his way toward the bedroom, hoping to avoid any questions, but Morgan’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “You had company, Hotch?”

Hotch paused his back to Morgan, taking a moment before turning around, his expression neutral. “Just me. Jack is with Jessica,” he said, hoping the lie sounded convincing.

Morgan’s eyes were sharp, and his grin grew a little wider. “Right,” he drawled, his gaze drifting to the heels half-hidden behind the couch.

Hotch followed his line of sight and cursed inwardly, realizing he hadn’t fully hidden the heels. He fought to keep his expression composed. “I’ll go change.”

Hotch turned quickly and slipped into the bedroom, where Y/N was standing by the closet, already pulling on her shirt. “He saw the mugs,” Hotch whispered as he grabbed his suit from the hanger. “And your heels. And I need to change fast.”

He slipped off his pajama shirt, and Y/N stood there for a moment, her eyes tracing the familiar lines of his back. “Guess I’ll stay hidden until you’re out of here.”

Hotch paused, giving her a grateful smile. “Thanks for being patient.”

“Just part of the job,” she teased, leaning in for a quick kiss before he pulled on his shirt and tie. “Try not to let him figure out all your secrets.”

Hotch smiled at her again, his hand lingering on her arm for a moment before he finished getting dressed. “I’ll be quick.”

He returned to the living room with Morgan, who was lounging on the couch, clearly waiting with a bit of curiosity. “All set?” Morgan asked, eyes sharp as he watched Hotch emerge, fully suited now.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Hotch said, feeling a small wave of relief as he led Morgan out the door. But as they walked to the car, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Morgan’s curious glances weren’t just casual—he knew something was up.

As the door shut behind them, Y/N leaned against the bedroom wall as she breathed a sigh of relief, knowing they’d dodged the bullet—at least for now.

*

After arriving with Morgan, Hotch made his way to his office, his mind still processing the close call they had at home. He shut the door behind him, needing a moment to collect his thoughts, unaware of the storm brewing just outside.

The team was now hanging out in the small kitchen area, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Morgan leaned against the counter, arms crossed, wearing an almost mischievous grin.

“You guys won’t believe what I found out this morning,” he started, his tone conspiratorial.

“What now?” Rossi asked, raising an eyebrow as he poured himself another cup of coffee.

“Hotch is dating someone,” Morgan announced, his voice low but filled with excitement.

Emily nearly choked on her drink. “Wait, seriously? Hotch?”

Morgan nodded, clearly enjoying the dramatic effect. “I swear! I saw some heels lying around his living room.”

“You’re kidding, right?” JJ asked, her eyes lighting up with curiosity.

“Nope,” Morgan said, shaking his head. “So, unless Hotch wears heels, yeah, he’s definitely dating someone. But who could it be?”

Emily raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched on her features. “You really think Hotch is actually dating someone? He’s so… Hotch.”

“Exactly!” Morgan replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “That’s what makes this whole thing so juicy. Who could possibly get through that wall of his?”

JJ leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers on the desk as she considered the possibilities. “Maybe it’s someone from outside the Bureau? You know how he is, he’s always so guarded. It could be someone he met at a case.”

Garcia, who had just entered the room, chimed in with her usual flair, her hair bouncing as she spoke. “Or maybe it’s someone from one of our past cases! I mean, he does have that whole brooding, mysterious vibe. Some people are drawn to that, right?”

“Good point, Garcia. But Hotch usually keeps that stuff close to his chest,” Reid interjected, adjusting his glasses as he joined the conversation. “It’s not like he’s the type to broadcast his personal life.”

“True,” Emily agreed, crossing her arms.

Rossi, who had been quietly listening, finally chimed in. “You all have to remember, Hotch is a private guy. If he’s dating someone, it’s probably someone who understands that about him.”

“I bet he’s trying to keep it under wraps for a reason,” Morgan said, glancing around. “But I have a feeling you know more than you’re letting on. You’ve been awfully quiet, Rossi.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow, his expression amused. “I’m not in the loop on this one, believe me. If Hotch wants to keep his personal life private, that’s his choice.”

“Come on, Rossi! You know him better than any of us,” Morgan pressed, trying to get a reaction. “You’ve got to know something!”

“Honestly, I don’t,” Rossi replied, chuckling. “I’m as clueless as the rest of you. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he was seeing someone. He deserves a little happiness.”

Just then, Y/N entered the office, catching the tail end of the conversation. She felt a flutter of nerves, knowing how close they were to uncovering her secret with Hotch. She took a deep breath, trying to project an air of calm as she approached the group. “What are you two gossiping about?”

Emily’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Hotch is dating someone,” she said, her tone playful.

Y/N’s heart raced as cold shivers ran down her spine. Panic surged within her, but she quickly masked it with a bright smile, knowing she had to join the speculation to keep the team from growing suspicious. “Oh really? That’s interesting. Any ideas who it could be?” she asked, forcing casualness into her tone.

Morgan leaned in, an exaggerated expression of seriousness on his face. “We were just discussing how it’s probably someone who has to get through that cold, stoic exterior of his.”

Garcia giggled, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’d love to do a background check on whoever it is. I need to see if they’re worthy of our Hotch!”

“But what if he’s dating someone we already know?” JJ mused, her brow furrowing in thought. “What if it’s someone from the team’s past? Like a colleague we’ve worked with?”

Garcia’s eyes widened. “Ooh, that would be scandalous! Can you imagine? I mean, think of the stories we could tell. Hotch and a mysterious agent—like a secret spy romance! It’s practically a movie plot!”

Y/N laughed along, though her heart was racing. “Well, he does seem a little different lately. More…relaxed. So, whoever she is, she’s good for him.”

The buzz of conversation filled the bullpen, the team lost in their theories about Hotch’s mysterious love life. Just as Y/N began to relax, hoping their secret would remain intact, the door to Hotch’s office swung open. He stepped out walking towards the team, his expression unreadable, cutting through the chatter with a sense of urgency.

“We have a case,” he announced, his tone low and firm.

For a long moment, no one moved, all eyes were on him, eager for answers.

“What?” Hotch asked, sensing the collective gaze and the charged silence that filled the room.

Garcia, always the boldest, couldn’t resist the opportunity. “Are you dating someone?” she asked, her voice laced with playful curiosity.

Hotch hesitated, a flicker of surprise crossing his features, but it quickly turned to resignation. He glanced around at the expectant faces, the playful smirks, and the knowing looks that practically shouted.

“I—” he began, his mind racing for a way to deflect the question, but the words caught in his throat. There was no way out. The truth hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

“Yes,” he finally confirmed, his voice steady but devoid of details. He saw the surprise ripple through the team, and the spark of gossip ignited instantly. “But I’m not discussing it.”

Emily’s eyes widened in disbelief, while JJ leaned forward, clearly eager for more details. “You’re really dating someone? Hotch, we need names!”

Hotch held up a hand, a firm but gentle reminder to reign in their enthusiasm. “I said I’m not discussing it,” he repeated, a touch of warning in his voice, and walked up the stairs to the conference room leaving the team buzzing with questions.

Garcia’s eyes sparkled with intrigue. “You can’t just drop that bombshell and walk away, Hotch! You have to give us something!”

Y/N was the first to move, walking right behind him and taking the chance for the way out. He felt her presence beside him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered trying to be as sneaky as possible.

Y/N glanced at him, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t be. They’re profilers after all.”

*

The team had been working on the case for nearly twenty-two hours straight. The suspect remained elusive, and each lead seemed to evaporate, leaving them chasing shadows. Exhaustion weighed heavily on everyone as they entered the hotel lobby.

Hotch approached the desk, his expression professional but strained, while the team waited behind him. As the clerk typed away, a look of mild concern crossed her face.

“There weren’t enough rooms for each of you to have one, but we’ve saved four rooms for you,” she explained apologetically. “We’re fully booked due to a local festival. You’ll have to double up.”

Hotch nodded; his mouth set in a firm line. "That’s fine. We’ll make it work."

Morgan smirked as he exchanged a look with Reid, who gave a small shrug. "Guess it’s one of those nights," Morgan said with a grin, his tone light despite the fatigue weighing on them.

Hotch returned to the group with the keys in hand.

Rossi smirked promptly taking one of the keys. “I’m too old to share the room.”

Morgan rolled his eyes at the older man. “Guess I’m with Reid, then.”

That left Emily and JJ in one room and Hotch and Y/N in another. They exchanged a quick look, a flicker of amusement passing between them, but they kept their expressions neutral.

“Looks like it’s you and me, Lieutenant,” Hotch said with a small, professional smile. He handed her the keycard.

Morgan grinned as he grabbed his key from Hotch’s hand. “You sure about that, Hotch? Hope your girlfriend isn’t the jealous type.”

The comment earned a few smirks and playful glances from the others. Hotch’s expression remained neutral, though his eyes briefly flicked over to Y/N. “It’ll be fine,” he replied calmly, brushing off the remark.

Y/N maintained a neutral expression, nodding as if it were just another professional arrangement. In truth, her heart skipped a beat, and a thrill of anticipation coursed through her.

Having a relationship was a line neither of them had intended to cross, but their bond had grown, and no matter how much they tried to resist, they were drawn to one another. They were careful—very careful. But moments like these, when they were thrown together by circumstance, made it difficult to keep their feelings entirely hidden.

In the hotel room, Y/N set her overnight bag on the side of the bed furthest from the door while Hotch did the same with his. The room was modest, with one queen-sized bed, a desk, and a bathroom tucked into the corner. They fell into their usual routine, maintaining the air of professionalism they wore like armor when around the others. But when they were alone, it was almost impossible to ignore the tension between them.

Y/N felt Hotch’s eyes on her as she opened her bag, retrieving her toiletries and sleepwear. A mischievous grin tugged at her lips as an idea formed in her mind. She could feel the weight of his gaze, a steady, familiar warmth that she had come to know well. Deciding to play into it, she pulled off her blazer slowly, folding it neatly on the bed.

"The shower’s yours," Hotch said, his voice low, his fatigue evident as he loosened his tie. The movement was automatic, yet to Y/N, it felt intimate.

"Or..." Y/N let the word linger, a playful glint in her eyes as she approached him. "We could save water." She watched as the corner of his mouth twitched—he was trying not to smile, but she knew him too well. Before he got the chance to answer, Y/N was already working on her shirt, unbuttoning it one button at a time, taking her time.

His eyes fell on her cleavage, getting a glimpse of the bra she was wearing.  Her scent filled his nose, driving him crazy. As much as he was trying to fight the urge to lean closer and kiss her, he needed to stay professional for both their sake.

She slowly walked backward, never losing his gaze while unbuttoning the last few buttons of her shirt. She let it fall on the floor, revealing the black lacy bra she was wearing. Hotch suppressed a groan at the sigh, but his eyes betrayed him; they darkened with lust and desire. She bit her lip at the effect she had on him.

She turned her back to him for one last show. Y/N pulled down her pants, letting them slide down her legs agonizing slowly before stepping out of them. She knew Hotch was still watching and could practically feel the intensity of his gaze that made her skin burn with desire.

“Y/N…” he growled as she stood before his eyes in matching underwear and bra, teasing him. “Stop.”

“Make me, Hotchner.” She chuckled flashing him with a provocative smile before disappearing into the bathroom. The sound of the water running in the shower was the only noise that could be heard. In a matter of seconds, her bra flew across the room straight on the bed, quickly followed by her underwear.

As she stepped into the shower, the hot water felt heavenly against her skin, washing away the tension from the long day. She sighed, tilting her head back as the water cascaded down her body. She allowed herself a moment to relax, feeling the soothing warmth.

There was a moment of silence before she heard the rustle of fabric as he discarded his clothes. Her pulse quickened, and she felt the familiar thrill of anticipation. The glass door slid open, and Hotch stepped in, steam rising around them. His eyes, darkened with desire, locked onto hers.

"You're going to be the death of me," he muttered as he moved closer, water dripping down his bare chest.

She felt his presence behind her, the heat of his body mixing with the steam that surrounded them. Slowly, she turned to face him, her eyes tracing over his form.

Hotch’s gaze was intense, his dark eyes locked onto hers. Droplets of water clung to his hair and lashes, making him look impossibly handsome, and she felt her heart race. The sight of him like this, vulnerable and so close, was something she never tired of. She reached up, her fingers skimming the droplets off his cheek.

“Are you?” he whispered, his voice husky and quiet, the words almost lost in the sound of the water.

Her brow furrowed slightly in curiosity. “Am I what?”

“Jealous,” he clarified, his eyes not leaving hers. There was a flicker of amusement in them, a challenge he knew she couldn’t resist.

Y/N’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. She ran her hands down his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath her fingers, and leaned closer. “No,” she whispered, her voice low and intimate. “Because while everyone else gets to see you in only your suit...” Her fingers traced a lower path, just above his waist, where his abs tightened under her touch. “I get that and this.”

Her eyes roamed over his body, taking in every inch of him, water glistening over the defined muscles of his shoulders, his chest, the smooth planes of his abdomen. “This is just for me,” she said, her voice filled with possessive pride. Her fingers lingered as if to claim him, feeling the heat of his skin beneath her touch.

His eyes darkened at her words, the intensity in them heating even further. “Just for you,” he echoed, his voice a deep rumble that sent a shiver through her.

Hotch’s lips hovered above hers, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath mixing with the steam. The anticipation hung heavy between them, and Y/N’s heart pounded. She felt the electricity in the air, a pull that she knew they would both give into.

His lips brushed against hers, featherlight, teasing as he let the words sink in. But as the tension snapped, his mouth captured hers in a searing kiss. It was intense, filled with the hunger and passion they had been holding back all day. His hands moved up her back, pulling her flush against him, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as the water poured down over them.

Every touch felt electric. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his wet hair as she pressed closer, feeling the heat of his body melding with hers. Hotch’s hands roamed, memorizing every curve as he gripped her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. The kiss was desperate and unrestrained, each moment a reminder of how hard they worked to keep their connection hidden. Here, in the privacy of the shower, they could let their guard down, and Y/N reveled in it.

The steam swirled around them, adding to the intensity of the moment. The droplets ran down their intertwined bodies, leaving trails on their skin as the hot water cascaded over them. Y/N felt Hotch’s fingers slide down her back, tracing the length of her spine before resting on her hips, grounding them in this moment.

She pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against his. “I love it when you let go,” she whispered, her voice a soft murmur against his lips. “When you’re just... mine.”

He chuckled a low sound that sent another shiver through her. “I’m always yours,” he whispered, his hands tightening on her hips, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her knees weak.

Y/N’s lips curled into a smile as she met his gaze, feeling the truth in his words. “Good,” she breathed, before pressing another lingering kiss to his lips.

The kiss grew deeper, more desperate, and as their bodies pressed together under the steady spray of water, the heat between them only intensified.

Y/N’s fingers trailed down Hotch’s chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath her fingertips, the steady rhythm of his breathing quickening as she explored. Every touch was electric, and the air between them buzzed with tension.

Hotch's hand gripped her waist, the strength in his hold making her shiver. As their kiss deepened, Y/N felt his need—his desire—matched by her own. She responded, her hands threading through his damp hair, pulling him even closer. He groaned softly against her lips, the sound vibrating through her, and she arched into him, reveling in the way his body reacted to her touch.

“Y/N…” he breathed against her mouth, his voice husky, the sound barely audible above the rush of the water. His lips trailed along her jaw, down the side of her neck, kissing and nibbling along the sensitive skin, eliciting soft whimpers of pleasure from her.

“Hotch,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as her head tilted back, giving him more access. The feel of his lips and the scrape of his stubble against her skin sent shivers coursing through her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, the firm muscle beneath her touch grounding her in the moment.

Hotch’s hands roamed over her skin, exploring every curve and dip, each caress igniting her senses. He slipped his hands under her wet hair, tilting her head back slightly to give him better access to her neck, his lips trailing hot kisses along her collarbone.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured against her skin, the heat of his breath sending shivers coursing through her. The worshipful tone in his voice made her feel cherished and desired in a way that sent her heart racing.

“Just for you,” she replied breathlessly, the words spilling from her lips as she leaned into him, craving more of his touch.

The heat between them was almost unbearable, and Y/N felt her pulse quicken. His mouth hovered just above hers, their breaths mingling as they paused, both of them caught up in the anticipation of what came next.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low, filled with a mix of caution and desire. Even in their most passionate moments, he always put her comfort first, a gesture that made her heart swell.

She nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “More than okay,” she whispered, pulling him closer, her fingers trailing down his back. “It’s perfect.”

He captured her lips again, this time with an intensity that took her breath away. His hands roamed over her body, claiming every inch as his own. “You always do this to me,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, filled with a mix of frustration and desire. “You push me, and then I can’t think straight.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a smirk, her chest rising and falling quickly as she caught her breath. “I like it when you lose control,” she whispered, her voice a soft challenge.

He groaned, his forehead resting against hers as his hands moved down her sides, the heat of his touch like fire against her skin. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” he breathed, and she felt his lips graze the side of her neck, leaving a trail of kisses that made her head spin.

She arched her back, pressing into him as his mouth moved lower, tasting the droplets of water that ran along her skin. “Anything you want,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly as his hands gripped her hips with more force.

His eyes met hers again, and she saw the flicker of restraint he was trying to hold onto. But when she pulled him closer, she felt the shiver that ran through him. “Aaron...” she breathed; her voice filled with need.

That was all it took. He pushed her harder against the wall, and she felt the cool tiles press into her back, heightening every sensation as the heat of his body enveloped her. His lips met hers in a searing kiss, and she couldn’t help the moan that escaped as his hands traveled lower, gripping her thighs and pulling her closer.

She moaned softly into the kiss, the sound echoing off the walls of the small shower. The warmth of the water mixed with the heat of his touch, and Y/N felt as if she were melting under the weight of it all.

As the kiss deepened, Hotch’s body pressed against hers, the firm muscles of his chest against her softer curves. The sensation made her heart race, and she arched into him, feeling the intensity of his desire mirroring her own. Her hands explored the length of his back, feeling the tension in his muscles, and she knew he was holding himself back.

“Don’t,” she whispered against his lips. “Don’t hold back.”

Her words seemed to ignite something in him, and he groaned softly, the sound deep and raw. His hands gripped her hips, lifting her while keeping her back pressed against the wall.

“Aaron!” Y/N gasped, surprised by the suddenness of the move, but she quickly melted against him and wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling the strength in his hold as he anchored her there. The closeness of their bodies, the heat of his skin against hers, made her shiver.

The pressure of his erection against her core sent a thrill of desire racing through her, making her squirm with need. She could feel his muscles tense beneath her palms as she gripped his shoulders, drawing him even closer.

He breathed, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes, dark with desire, locked onto hers, and she felt a thrill run through her. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She grinned, brushing her lips against his in a teasing kiss. “Oh, I think I do.” Her hands moved, cupping his face, her thumbs tracing the lines of his jaw. “And I love it.”

The kiss that followed was searing, full of the passion they had been holding back. Hotch’s grip tightened, and she felt the urgency in his touch as if he couldn’t get enough. His lips moved down her neck, sucking and biting gently, and she moaned, her fingers threading through his hair.

“Hotch,” she gasped as his mouth found the sensitive spot just below her ear. He nipped at her skin, and she shuddered, the pleasure mixing with the intensity of the moment. The feel of his body pressed against hers, the way he moved with her, made her feel like every nerve in her body was on fire.

The water continued to pour down over them, the sound mingling with their ragged breaths. His hands moved to his erection as he entered her slowly. The sensations were overwhelming, and she leaned her head back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as she let herself get lost in the moment.

He groaned against her skin, a deep, guttural sound that sent shivers through her. His hands gripped her tighter, and she felt the strength of his hold, the way he cradled her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

“God, Y/N…” he murmured, his voice rough and breathless. His eyes bore into hers, the depth of his feelings clear even in the haze of passion. “You drive me crazy.”

She grinned, feeling the powerful muscles flex under her touch. “Good,” she whispered, her voice low and teasing.

He kissed her again, and this time, it was deeper, more intense. He began to move, slowly at first creating a tantalizing rhythm that made her heart race. The friction between them felt divine, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body.

Y/N let out a soft moan, her head falling back against the wall as she savored the sensation of his body pressing against hers. “Yes, just like that,” she encouraged, urging him on.

Hotch picked up the pace, their bodies moving in a feverish dance beneath the warm spray of the shower. Each thrust sent ripples of pleasure radiating through her, building a heat that coiled tightly within her. She could feel the tension building, her body responding eagerly to each movement, every thrust sending her closer to the edge.

“Oh God, Aaron.” She moaned softly as her finger tangled in his hair.

Time seemed to blur as they continued, the intensity building with every touch, every kiss. Hotch’s hands gripped her hips tighter, his movements becoming more urgent, fingers digging into her skin as he held her tightly.

Y/N loved the way he took control, the way he could make her feel so wanted, so alive. She met his movements with equal fervor, grinding her hips against him, eager for more. The sensations were overwhelming and all-consuming.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice thick with need as he pressed his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the humid air. “You feel incredible.”

She gasped at his words, the way he spoke them as if they were a secret only meant for her. “So do you,” she whispered, her fingers trailing down his chest, relishing the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.

The tension between them reached a boiling point, their breaths quickening, the world outside fading completely as they lost themselves in each other. Every movement felt electric, each touch igniting a fire within her that she had never experienced before.

“Tell me what you want, Y/N,” he urged, his voice low and raw, urging her to give voice to her desires.

“I want you,” she gasped, the urgency in her voice matching the frantic rhythm of their bodies. “I want to feel you... all of you.”

Hotch groaned at her words, his desire evident as he captured her mouth again, kissing her with an intensity that made her toes curl. Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, the slickness of the water heightening every sensation, every touch.

“Just like that,” he murmured against her lips, his hands gripping her thighs tighter, pulling her closer as he drove deeper. The rhythm of their bodies intensified a primal connection that made her feel utterly alive.

Y/N felt the tension coiling tighter inside her, the heat building to an almost unbearable level as they continued to lose themselves in each other. Each thrust brought her closer to the edge, her body responding eagerly to every movement.

“Please, don’t stop,” she urged her voice a breathy whisper filled with need.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice thick with desire. “I want you to feel everything.”

With that, he picked up the pace, their bodies moving in a heated rhythm that felt incredible. The sound of water splashing around them mixed with their soft groans, creating a symphony of pleasure that echoed in the small space.

Y/N felt her breath hitch as the tension in her core built to an unbearable level, each thrust sending her spiraling closer to release. “Aaron…”

Hotch’s lips found her neck again, kissing and biting at the sensitive skin, making her gasp with pleasure. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured against her skin, his words igniting a spark of pride within her.

“Just for you,” she managed to gasp, the words barely escaping her lips as the pleasure coursed through her, making her feel dizzy.

Their bodies moved together with an urgency that felt all-consuming, and Y/N could feel herself teetering on the edge. Every thrust brought her closer, each kiss igniting a new wave of desire that made her feel alive.

“Y/N,” he groaned, his grip tightening on her thighs as he moved faster, the intensity of their connection driving them both wild. “You’re incredible.”

The heat between them was overwhelming, every touch, every kiss, setting her ablaze. Y/N felt her body responding to him, the tension coiling tighter and tighter as the pleasure reached a fever pitch. “I’m so close,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need.

“Let go,” he urged, his breath hot against her ear. “I’m right here with you.”

With those words, Y/N felt the dam break. The pleasure crashed over her like a tidal wave, pulling her under as she surrendered to the sensation. “Aaron!” she cried out, her body trembling as she let go completely, every nerve ending alive with pleasure.

Hotch groaned her name, the sound sending another wave of ecstasy through her as he followed her over the edge, their bodies moving together in perfect rhythm, caught in the aftermath of their passion.

Y/N felt the world around them dissolve, the warmth of the water cascading over their bodies as they clung to each other, riding the waves of pleasure together. The intensity of the moment left her breathless, her heart racing as they both slowly came down from the high.

They held each other tightly, their bodies entwined beneath the warm spray of the shower, the world outside forgotten. The heat and steam swirled around them, cocooning them in their private paradise.

“That was…” Hotch started, his voice rough and low. He trailed off, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Y/N grinned, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Perfect,” she finished for him, her voice filled with satisfaction and affection.

“Just for you,” Hotch whispered again, his voice low and sincere, as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, grounding her in the moment, his hands lingering on her hips as he steadied her.

Y/N smiled, feeling a sense of peace wash over her. “Always just for you,” she replied, wrapping her arms around him as the water continued to flow, washing away the remnants of their passionate encounter.

As the last remnants of steam dissipated in the air, Y/N and Hotch reluctantly stepped out of the shower, water dripping from their bodies as they exchanged playful glances. The bathroom floor was slick beneath their feet, but they hardly noticed, their minds still lost in the aftermath of their heated encounter.

Hotch wrapped a towel around his waist, the fabric clinging to his hips, accentuating his muscular frame. Y/N couldn’t help but admire him, a satisfied smile creeping onto her lips as she caught his eye.

“Now that was a shower to remember,” he remarked, his voice teasing yet sincere, as he tossed her a towel.

She caught it deftly, wrapping it around herself, a soft blush creeping up her cheeks. “Definitely,” she replied, a playful glint in her eyes.

He stepped closer, their bodies mere inches apart, the warmth of his presence making her heart race. “I think we should have more ‘rememberable’ moments like that,” he said, his voice low and rich, the heat of his gaze sending shivers down her spine.

“Agreed,” she responded, a smirk dancing on her lips as she took a step back, leading him toward the bedroom. The allure of the bed was almost magnetic, and Y/N felt her heart flutter in anticipation.

As they entered the dimly lit room, she felt a wave of warmth wash over her. The bed was inviting, the sheets crisp and cool, contrasting with the heat that still lingered between them. She climbed onto the bed, the soft fabric enveloping her as she settled against the pillows, her heart racing at the thought of what was to come.

Hotch followed her, his expression a mix of desire and tenderness as he joined her. They sank into the mattress, the weight of their bodies creating a comfortable indentation, a perfect spot for them to unwind.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the intensity of their earlier encounter still swirling in the air around them. Hotch propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze studying her with an intensity that made her breath catch.

“Do you think anyone suspects anything?” he asked, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice.

Y/N laughed softly, her fingers brushing against his chest, tracing the outline of his muscles. “I don’t think they have a clue,” she replied. “But they know you’re seeing someone so it’s only a matter of time.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head. “I hope they don’t figure it out too soon. I’m not ready for that conversation yet.”

“Neither am I,” she admitted, her expression turning serious for a moment. “But I wouldn’t change anything about tonight.”

His expression softened, and he leaned closer, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. It was different from the urgency of their earlier passion; this kiss was slow and deliberate, a silent promise exchanged between them.

Y/N melted into him, savoring the warmth of his body against hers. As they pulled away, she felt a sense of peace settle within her, knowing that this was where she belonged.

“What are you thinking about?” Hotch asked softly.

“Just how perfect this feels,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never felt this way with anyone before.”

He turned his head slightly to meet her gaze, his eyes searching hers. “Me neither,” he admitted, his expression sincere. “This is…different.”

“Good different?” she asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

“Definitely good different,” he replied, his voice low and filled with sincerity.

Y/N leaned in to press her lips against his once more, in a soft and lingering kiss. As they broke the kiss, Y/N nestled her head against Hotch’s chest, feeling the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.

The warmth of his body surrounded her, and the soft rise and fall of his breathing lulled her into a sense of calm. His arms wrapped securely around her, pulling her close as if he couldn’t bear to let her go.

Y/N let out a contented sigh, feeling a sense of peace wash over her. She felt safe, cherished, and completely at ease. “Goodnight, Aaron,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as sleep began to tug at her.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered back, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “Sweet dreams.”

With that, they settled into the quiet of the night, the warmth of their bodies entwined as they drifted into a peaceful sleep, secure in each other’s arms. In that moment, everything felt right.

Tag: @sweetbearcolorgarden

[thefiery-phoenix]

POLY YANDERES XIAOLONG AND VIVI HEADCANONS

I can see Vivi becoming infatuated with you before Xiaolong and it doesn't matter how you meet her, you could be some bartender at Club Vivi, or you could be at the club enjoying with your friends or you could be one of the members of the Worker's Affiliates, she falls for you first and she'll fall HARD. She'll immediately make her loyal bodyguard Xiaolong bring you to her and he'll have a stoic look as always and nod as he obeys her, however his interest in you is piqued. What exactly could be so interesting about you that you've managed to capture Vivi's attention like that? Nevertheless, you'll be taken to the private room where Vivi is and of course, once you get inside, there's no way for you to get out since there are literal assassins guarding the door

"Hi, you look cute, want to be friends?" asked a girl with brown hair and pink colored glasses on her head wearing a blue jacket and some pink pants, as she had an enthusiastic expression on her face and offered you a purple colored pacifier. You looked startled out of your wits and you felt confused as to why she was offering you a pacifier of all things and why the heck she'd take you to some private room. You smiled awkwardly and tried to look for a way out when you spotted her bodyguard Xiaolong glaring at you with an intimidating stare, his eyes conveying a hidden threat and message that you'd most likely regret it if you reject her advances towards you. You plastered a smile on your face and accepted her pacifier, unsure of what to do with it before she pulled you onto the couch next to her and started chatting about something excitedly while you tried to keep up with her mindless chatter

When she offered you some alcohol, you politely refused her and shook your head and she looked at you with a childlike curiosity and her eyes surveyed your features, you looked like a goody two shoes in her opinion, who's never done drugs or touched alcohol and she smirked. She was going to have too much fun with you, she couldn't wait to make you hers and for her to sink her claws into you. You're squirming slightly from nervousness which she finds amusing and slightly adorable an Xiaolong watches you from the corner of the room as well, finding your squirming amusing and endearing at the same time. "What are you doing in a club if you aren't going to drink? Especially MY club?'' asked Vivi as she looked at you with an intrigued look. "Oh, I'm just here to celebrate my friend's birthday...I'm not really one for parties to be honest or clubs...I'm just here for my friend'' you said and smiled politely as her eyes narrowed slightly. It hadn't even been a whole hour for her to know you and yet she already found herself growing to despise and develop a hatred towards these silly insignificant pathetic creatures you called your 'friends'

In Xiaolong's eyes, you look like an untouched lotus in a murky pond, a breath of fresh air in all the toxicity and nonsense he has to deal with on a daily basis. He could make out that you had a heart of gold when you tried to prevent Vivi from doing her drugs as usual. While Vivi looked at you amused that you asked her not to do drugs, Xiaolong appreciated how kind and noble hearted you were. He could find his heart growing and developing a soft spot for you despite looking stoic and composed and collected on the outside. Vivi wanted to keep talking with you till you told her you had to leave and she frowned at you. Leave? Oh no no, that's not how things work, when she takes a liking to you, you're staying with her and by her side, PERMANENTLY. She'll pout and whine so much you'll feel like ripping your ears off, she'll smother you with her attention and words so much you'll feel suffocated in her mere presence alone which is what she desires. You'll obviously tell her that you can't spend more time with her and that you're glad you've become friends with her(Somewhat), you have to put your foot down firmly and tell her that you need to get going. That's when her smile will disappear and she'll look at you with this unnerving expression that'll send a cold sense of dread settling inside your veins

You'll hastily tell her to have a good night as you back away from her slowly, missing the slight nod she gives to Xiaolong nearby who just holds your arms and prevents you from leaving. Your heart beat almost stops and your face pales in fright as you squirm around helplessly, pleading with her to let you go. "Aww...you look so cute when you're squirming like that...like a helpless little bunny...you're my friend now, okay? And friends don't leave each other~" she said in a singsong voice as her eyes glinted with obsessive manic desire for you. That was the last thing you've heard her say before you felt a needle prick the nape of your neck and you could feel yourself losing consciousness and you blacked out in an instant

You wake up in some kind of lavish bed with soft bedding and you see fuzzy pink cuffs on your wrists and you let out a shrill screech on top of your lungs as you recalled what happened. Vivi just looks at you with a pout on her face. "What's the matter, don't you want to stay here? Don't you want to be my friend? I told you friends don't leave each other...'' she spoke as you looked at her like she was insane(Mainly because she IS). You don't need to worry your pretty little head about going back to your old life, not when you have your 'best friend' here to keep you company. For the love of god, don't mention anyone else's names in her presence, she's possessive and controlling as hell and she wants you to be devoted and loyal to her, she won't stand for some other insignificant little pest occupying your mind when your thoughts should be comprised of hers. She feels like you're betraying her or something and you can bet your allowance that she'll be sending Xiaolong and the rest of the other members after you so called precious friends. You don't need to worry about the blood stains on their suits, just focus on being with her, that's all

Even though she does drugs, she's a damn good listener and she will listen to whatever you say. Just because she's in that drugged out state, she can still HEAR every word you say subconsciously or something and if anything interesting slips out like your past with some guy or how you used to be friends with this one girl back in your elementary school, she'll remember it all right. Then you know the drill of what happens. She wants you to tell her EVERYTHING about your life, you'll be sitting across her with those fuzzy pink cuffs on your hands, forced to tell her about your life history. Even if you deliberately leave out a few details here and there she'll just have to do her own research of course and that wouldn't take her long

No way is she going to share you with her friends, you're her special and exclusive friend but you feel more like a pet for her. You'll be forced to sit next to her whenever she and her friends are up to their usual antics of doing drugs and you tremble helplessly, which is something Xiaolong cannot bear to see. By now he's grown quite fond of you, perhaps even fonder than Vivi has of you and he'll just gently shush you and cradle you in his arms. While Vivi is overbearing openly, Xiaolong is overbearing secretly. He'll always have his eye on you at all times. Vivi and Xiaolong have come to a mutual understanding with each other that they like you and want you to be with them, every time Xiaolong sees you, his heart grows warm with love and affection for you. He's also quite the keen listener and notes down every single detail of whatever you tell Vivi and him, they both have elephant like memories

Vivi isn't cruel, to Xiaolong at least since she'll allow him to hold your hand and be physically intimate with you and all that. You fill the empty voids in both of their hearts, it's like you're a missing puzzle piece that they've wanted for so long and now they finally have you in their clutches. Xiaolong likes holding you in his arms, you feel so small and fragile and delicate like a porcelain doll, he wonders how you've survived for so long without having someone to look after you but no matter, he's there for you and so is Vivi. You'll now be forced to even sleep on the same bed as them and they're so possessive, their arms will be wrapped around you while you're sandwiched between the both of them. Xiaolong will straight up destroy people who breathe the same air as you, you belong to them now. NO one has the right to look at you anymore and god forbid someone makes the dumb mistake of trying to flirt with you. He doesn't care if it's one of Vivi's friends either, he'll just straight up punch them and knock their teeth out and proceed to use his Guandao to deal with that little pest for good. How? By slicing their head off. Of course you'll be traumatized as heck by the sight and you'll be a whimpering sobbing tearful mess and Vivi and Xiaolong would just hug you and soothe you and dry your tears

I pray for you if you ever think of escaping from them, it's best if you just let go of that idea completely. If you somehow manage to escape even though it seems HIGHLY unlikely, but like I said, IF you do, Vivi would just track you down in mere seconds, she's the daughter of a Chinese billionaire and all she has to do is just pull in a few strings with Eugene and Mitsuki to find you and Xiaolong and the other Worker's members along with the Bicheon gang would be on the hunt for you so there's no way you wouldn't be found in an hour or so. Vivi is genuinely hurt and upset, how could you leave her like this, you were supposed to be with her. Xiaolong loved you and his mind is racing with thoughts of you being injured which is something he hates to think about, he can't fathom you getting hurt

When you're eventually found, Xiaolong will just carry you in his arms and any protest from your end would immediately die out the second you see his cold dark menacing look, looking like he's ready to murder someone. He'll then proceed to scold you like a child for leaving and how it's not safe for you to be without him or Vivi. It's for your own good and when Vivi finds out that you're back she isn't pouting or sad anymore. She's genuinely mad that you left and now she has to punish you. She may or may not slip in a few sedatives into your food to make you more pliant and docile. However if someone assisted you in trying to escape, they better be praying to whatever god they believe in since she won't go easy on them at all. She'll strap them to a table and drug them and use all sorts of acids on them and find sadistic pleasure in just straight up torturing them till she finally pours hydrochoric acid on their face like how she was about to do to Daniel while you're forced to watch her 'entertainment' for you. You don't need to cry like that, she'll never hurt you, she loves you after all. Miraculously if the unfortunate soul ends up surviving after all the torture inflicted upon them Xiaolong would just end up killing them anyway, they can't take any chances. Any witnesses for your kidnapping or your 'home coming' are taken care of by murder, bribery, blackmail and so on

They do have their soft moments with you too, they like running their fingers through your hair and like it when you speak or sing or just talk to them in general. They'll look at you with love sick obsessive gazes if you decide to show them a dance or one of your talents. Vivi isn't heartless, she'll allow you to have your hobbies provided she and Xiaolong be there with you. You have no privacy anymore because they both are constantly breathing down your neck at every second of the day. They also like cuddling with you too, you'll be in between them and they'll hold you. One thing they both can agree on is that you can't take care of yourself and you need them to take care of you, you're their helpless little doll that they'll take care of. Vivi likes nuzzling into your neck like a cat and rests her head against your lap and Xiaolong will hold you in his arms and kiss your head softly and hold your hand. He likes how soft and gentle your hands are compared to his rough and calloused ones. The day you decide to give in and reciprocate even a small kiss on their cheek they'll be over the moon. Xiaolong's heart would hammer against his chest and he'll kiss the back of your hand with a soft smile on his face and Vivi would squeal in excitement like a high school girl with a crush and pepper your face with more kisses

You definitely won't be leaving them anytime soon. They've created a hell on earth for you to be their heaven...