#I just have a thing for tall fire man I guess

[magnagaruzenmon]

Hybrid theory X

Disclaimer: While this Chapter is hot it deals with some very heavy stuff like loss of friends, PTSD and infidelity. While these are not used titulate they are used to ground and humanize Characters enjoy.

The air outside was crisp and tense—the kind of air that always came before Slut Week, charged with quiet anticipation. Inside an old refitted forge-turned-loft, the warm scent of iron, leather, and cinnamon incense wrapped around the space like a lived-in blanket.

Asa knocked once on the heavy steel door before punching in a familiar code. She pushed it open and glanced back at Doflamingo, who stood beside her in a fitted black jacket, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking around warily.

“Don’t stare at the horns,” Asa whispered playfully as they entered. “Or the wings. He’s sensitive.”

“I’m not rude, Asa,” Doflamingo muttered, brushing his fingers through his hair. “Just cautious.”

They stepped into a surprisingly cozy living space—walls lined with books, handmade weapons mounted beside abstract art, and a massive firepit in the center of the sunken living room.

Sparks flared to life from the far side of the room.

“Yo!” Asa called. “You better not be shirtless and sweaty. I brought someone!”

Dracul emerged from behind a hanging curtain, a large leather apron around his waist and soot smeared across his jawline. His eyes—vivid green, slitted—focused first on Asa, then on the man beside her.

“Didn’t know you were bringing your boyfriend, Asa,” Dracul said, voice deep and warm like smoke in the chest. He pulled off the apron and tossed it onto a hook, revealing his tall, muscular frame and the small, folded wings between his shoulder blades.

Doflamingo studied him with careful eyes. The horns. The tail. The wings. The heat in the air.

“Dracul, this is Doflamingo,” Asa said, stepping between them like a chaperone. “Doffy, meet Drac. He’s like a big brother to me.”

Doflamingo extended a hand. “I’ve heard about you. Horned lizard hybrid, right? Used to be?”

“Keyword: used to be,” Dracul replied, clasping Doflamingo’s hand in a firm shake. “Government cooked me into something… else.”

The grip wasn’t aggressive—but it was testing. Doflamingo held steady, neither trying to dominate nor yield.

“Still working out the kinks?” Doflamingo asked.

Dracul grinned. “Aren’t we all?”

Asa beamed, watching the two boys circle each other metaphorically. She flopped onto the couch and kicked her legs up. “Okay, now that my favorite fire-breathing menace and my pretty warbird are acquainted, maybe we can relax. Drac, do you have tea or do we need to barter again?”

Dracul walked to the small kitchen nook and poured hot water into a cast iron kettle. “I always keep something strong on hand for you, Asa.”

Doflamingo took a seat across from her, his eyes still subtly scanning the room—old war photos, weapons carved from obsidian, a giant stuffed animal suspiciously tucked under a throw blanket.

“Guess she brings out our softer sides, huh?” Dracul said from the counter, catching Doflamingo’s glance.

Doflamingo chuckled low in his throat. “More than she realizes.”

Asa, sipping from her oversized mug, smirked. “I’m basically a miracle worker. You’re welcome.”

They all laughed, and for a moment, the weight of war and weapons faded into the low hum of old friends meeting new ones—before pheromones, instincts, and heat cycles could make things messy.

The sky wept with a slow, steady drizzle as Dracul stood among the rows of obsidian markers, his broad frame cloaked in a dark, weather-resistant coat that clung to the curve of his wings and the jut of his horns. The scent of wet soil and ozone clung to everything—earthy, metallic, and too familiar.

The funeral had ended an hour ago, but Dracul remained behind long after the others had left. A fresh marker glistened in front of him: “Rena E. Jin — Loyal. Brave. Free at last.” An old friend. A hybrid who, like him, had fought in the war but hadn’t escaped it. Not really. Complications from nerve deterioration caused by unstable serum injections. The same injections the human military had once offered like salvation.

A bitter wind stirred his coat. He didn’t flinch.

He had carried her casket. Held her mother’s trembling hand. Said all the right words with his usual grace and solemnity. But now, alone with the earth and silence, something frayed deep inside him.

He crouched slowly, a hand outstretched, claws gently touching the marker’s edge. “I should’ve visited more,” he murmured, voice like gravel under velvet, Despite the fact that he visited her constantly he still felt like he didn’t visit enough.

He sat down fully, tail curled around him, wings twitching unconsciously beneath the soaked fabric of his coat. From this vantage point, he could see other graves—some fresh, some worn, all decorated with small tokens: flowers, hybrid clan beads, and datachips left by friends and family.

Family.

Dracul let his head fall back, staring into the gray sky. He realized, with quiet devastation, that the people who fought beside him were moving on. Rena had found a partner in her last years. Two others from their old unit had started families. One had opened a restaurant. Another wrote poetry and lived in a hybrid commune upstate.

He remained still.

No one waited for him at home. His forge was cold when he wasn’t working. His messages went unanswered because he’d stopped reaching out.

Asa had invited him to stay close. Doflamingo didn’t treat him like a relic. But even so, they were in love, entangled, whole in a way that made Dracul ache. He was proud of them—but he didn’t belong in their story.

Not like that.

He clenched his jaw, his throat burning.

“I don’t want to be the last one,” he whispered, the rain masking the crack in his voice. “I don’t want to disappear before anyone remembers I was here.”

For a moment, all he could hear was the soft hiss of rain against polished stone.

Then his wrist buzzed—a message.

Asa: Concrete Jungle’s Slut Week kick off is tomorrow night. No excuses, Drac. Come. I’ll even save you a drink and a clean shirt.

Dracul stared at the message, lips quirking faintly despite the hollow weight in his chest.

He tapped out a reply with slow fingers.

Dracul: Only if the drink’s strong enough to make me forget I’m ancient.

Asa: Strong enough to make you think you’re 22 again.

Dracul chuckled softly. Then let the rain fall on him a little longer before standing.

He gave Rena’s grave one last look.

“I’ll try,” he said.

And for the first time in years, he meant it.

The air in the city shifted—subtle at first, like the soft scent of blooming jasmine after a storm. But everyone felt it. Slut Week had arrived.

More than just a period of heightened pheromonal chaos, Slut Week was a long-standing regional tradition that marked the true beginning of spring. In hybrid communities—where biology and emotion were tightly interwoven—it was both feared and celebrated.

The roots of the holiday stretched back 50 or so years when hybrids first started living in together in big communities, when the first hybrid colonies, tied to natural rhythms, noticed a profound synchrony among their bodies as the seasons changed. What began as a biological fluke slowly transformed into a cultural phenomenon. Today, it was seen as a week of rebirth—a celebration of connection, vulnerability, and the unexplainable pull between people destined to find each other.

Despite the provocative name, Slut Week wasn’t just about sex. It was about fate.

In parks, strangers locked eyes and felt like they had known each other in past lives. Coffee shops buzzed with nervous tension as patrons lingered just a little longer than usual. On balconies, couples kissed with the kind of urgency reserved for soulmates meeting for the first time.

For established partners, it was a time of renewal—a chance to fall in love all over again. For the historically single, it was a haze of magnetic longing and emotional confusion, often ending in unexpected but eerily perfect matches. The city’s streets became a living tapestry of spontaneous affection and bold declarations.

Even local businesses adapted. Cafés lit candles during daylight. Florists couldn’t keep stock. Apartment buildings hung welcome garlands of rosemary and rose. And somewhere in the air, beneath the biological haze, was the quiet whisper of possibility: maybe this year, it’s your turn. For some hybrid species it was a time of romance and new love but for many it was a time of carnal passion and lust

“Come on, Drac. You’ve survived illegal experimentation, black ops nanotech, and literal human rights violations—one party isn’t gonna kill you,” Asa smirked, tugging her oversized friend through the glowing entrance of Concrete Jungle’s fourth anniversary bash.

“I’d rather face a riot tank,” Dracul muttered, tail flicking with restrained tension.

Dracul Bahamut—Drac to the few who could call him that—had once been a forge knight, a calm, stoic presence at the heart of the Hybrid Alliance. As a horned lizard hybrid, his body was built for endurance and defense, massive and impenetrable. But after his unit abandoned him during a desert campaign, he’d been taken by a black-site human experimentation unit—the same program that produced Doflamingo’s nanite enhancements. Only, Drac had been rewritten at the genetic level.

Now? He wasn’t just a lizard hybrid. He was dragon-class.

Fire ran under his skin. His horns had thickened into gilded, spiraled arcs. Spines along his tail glowed faintly when agitated, and the small wings between his shoulder blades—don’t mention the wings, they were sensitive—unfurled involuntarily when he felt threatened. Or excited. Or overwhelmed.

Which… was how he felt now.

As the trio stepped into the club, waves of pheromones smacked into him like a truck. Heat, rut, desperate hybrid chemistry swirled through the room like invisible fog. Bodies tangled across couches, bar stools, walls. The air stank of desire. Drac groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I hate Slut Week,” he growled.

Doflamingo clapped him on the back. “Just don't breathe through your nose and don’t let anyone touch your wings.”

Easier said than done.

Drac scanned the crowd, looking for an anchor point. His eyes flicked over a lion hybrid strutting toward him—but she turned at the last second and pounced on the polar bear hybrid just in front of him. Typical. However something in him roared against that. He began moving towards the lion hybrid

He turned his head, slow and searching.

Across the room moments earlier, at the bar, Jihyo froze mid-sip. Her glass trembled slightly as her pupils dilated, breath catching in her throat.

“Sana,” she whispered, blinking fast. “What the hell is that smell?”

“Please don’t say ‘Slut Week’ again,” Sana called, still dancing. “I’m trying to manifest!”

But Jihyo wasn’t listening anymore. Her gaze was locked on the entrance.

He was massive. Bronze-horned. Dark brown skin shimmered faintly under the lights. His green eyes—slit and strangely serene—were locked onto hers with pinpoint precision.

And somehow… his scent was calling to her. Lemon cake

She stood before she knew why.

Drac tracked her approach instinctively, tail twitching, wings flittering slightly in response. Her scent—wild rose, dusk, and challenge—bloomed as she neared.

Before she could speak, another hybrid intercepted her. Well tried to. Dracula was quicker. he intercepted her. She realized now he hadn’t moved to block her… but to greet her.

Drac tilted his head, eyes focused. “What’s your name?” he asked, voice a low rasp, rich and strange with a lilt of old Southern gentility. Like someone who’d learned to be soft in a hard place.

“Jihyo,” she said, finding her voice. “But you can call me Yo.”

His smile unfurled like slow thunder. “Dracul Bahamut. Charmed, Miss Yo.” He took her hand—gently, reverently—and pressed a warm kiss to her knuckles.

That shouldn’t have made her knees wobble.

“I like your Accent,” she noted.

Dracul smile “thank you darling. Taught, not inherited,” he said. “You dance?”

“Only if you’re interesting,” Jihyo teased.

“Oh,” Drac said with a rumbling chuckle. “I breathe fire, darling.”

He offered his arm. She took it, and they moved toward the dance floor—together, already a strange silhouette of predator and predator, yet neither prey.

Jihyo could feel it in his eyes, his stillness, the careful way he let her lead while clearly guiding her. He wanted to devour her. And yet… he was holding back. He respected her space.

Good. Because Jihyo wasn’t prey.

She was something rarer.

A challenge worth earning.

The bar faded behind them as the pulse of the music grew stronger. Lights strobed in gentle gold and crimson, washing over the sea of hybrids like liquid heat. Jihyo and Dracul slipped into the tide, bodies finding rhythm in the bass-heavy flow.

Jihyo moved first—confident, grounded, hips swaying with practiced ease. She didn’t perform. She commanded. A queen on her own dance floor.

Dracul followed, slow and measured. For a man his size, he moved with a surprising elegance—like he’d been built for war but taught restraint by something older, softer. His hand found the small of her back, a featherlight touch that sent sparks up her spine.

“Careful,” she said over her shoulder, her voice low. “I bite.”

Drac chuckled, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “So do I. But only if asked nicely.”

Their steps began to sync, the beat guiding them closer. His hands, large and warm, found her waist—then her hip, thumb grazing the dip just below her ribs. Her skin tingled under his touch, and something uncoiled in her belly. Not just lust—recognition.

His fingers weren’t greedy. They were reverent.

Like he was trying to read her with his hands.

The longer they moved, the more he let his touch travel—tracing the curve of her lower back, then across the swell of her hip. Jihyo didn’t stop him. Her breath hitched, but she matched his rhythm, pressing back just enough to let him know: I feel this too.

Then she felt it—his scent intensifying. That warm lemon-spice aroma burned brighter, heavier, until it clung to her skin like steam. His desire was no longer silent. It pressed against her, thick and consuming but still… contained.

“Your scent’s changing,” she whispered, tilting her head toward him.

“So is yours,” he replied, voice husky with restraint.

Their bodies moved together more naturally now—familiar, like they’d done this for years instead of minutes. Her curves molded against the heat of his chest, and she felt every ridge of his strength without him ever forcing it.

He wasn’t posturing. He wasn’t trying to conquer.

He was showing her who he really was—through movement, through closeness, through care.

Jihyo closed her eyes for a beat. Something about this felt bigger than Slut Week. Bigger than the heat thrumming in her blood. Dracul didn’t just want to mate.

He wanted her. Knew her body. Listened with his touch.

And she… she understood him now, too.

Not the fire or the mutations or the storybook monster the world saw.

But the gentle giant who’d been broken and reforged—and who still remembered how to be soft.

When the song faded, Jihyo stayed in his arms a moment longer than necessary, her cheek brushing the hollow of his throat.

Drac’s voice rumbled softly. “You okay?”

“I am now,” she murmured. “You?”

He smiled against her hair. “I’m good, Yo.”

They stayed close. Neither needing to say more—yet.

The bar melted into a blur of lights and sound as Jihyo led Dracul deeper into the heart of the dance floor. Music pulsed through her bones, deep and steady, like a second heartbeat. She swayed with ease, fluid and grounded in her power, and she could feel him moving behind her—massive, controlled, tethered to her rhythm.

He wasn’t all over her like most men during Slut Week. He followed her lead, hands steady at her hips, breath even. But his warmth was overwhelming—radiating off him in waves, laced with lemon and fire and something deeper. Something ancient.

She leaned back, letting her shoulder brush his chest. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he matched her step for step, his fingers ghosting along her waist again, a low rumble building in his chest.

Jihyo smiled at the sound. “You’re good at this,” she said, voice soft but playful.

Dracul leaned closer, his mouth near her ear. “I’m just following the queen’s lead.”

She turned slightly and brought one hand up to rest against his shoulder. Solid. Searing. Her fingers moved instinctively, tracing the lines of his clavicle, then drifting down the curve of his chest, not too bold—but not shy, either. The way his breath hitched told her she was being felt just as deeply.

Then, curious, she let her fingers slide further—across his back.

That’s when she felt them.

Tiny wings. Tucked against his shoulder blades, barely visible beneath the shirt he’d half shrugged off during the dance. Soft and warm, the membranes sensitive and twitching slightly under her touch.

The moment her fingertips brushed the base of one, Dracul shuddered—and then moaned.

It was low. Guttural. Barely audible over the music.

But it was real.

Jihyo froze in surprise. “Wait—was that…?”

Dracul’s breath caught, his voice strained but amused. “Sensitive spot. Don’t judge.”

She blinked, then broke into a slow grin. “Oh, I’m definitely judging. Just not in the way you think.”

She brushed them again—lighter this time—and felt him shift beneath her hands, the heat of his body intensifying. A tingle rolled down her spine as their pheromones thickened, curling around each other in the space between them.

He turned his head, eyes glowing faintly, and murmured, “Yo… I don’t know what’s happening, but…”

“I know,” she whispered. “I feel it too.”

The music swelled. Her hands stayed on his back, fingers spread along the base of his wings. His own hands, now emboldened, slid lower along her waist, resting with reverence at the tops of her thighs. Unable to control herself she began grinding her pussy against his thigh then crotch, it was slow sensual and hot.

Dracul lost control after that. Other dancers watched with perverse glee as Dracul and Jihyo put on a show. Jihyo grinded her crotch on Dracul’s as they simulated mounting each other. Hands roamed as they mutually devoured each other. Dracul groaned as Jihyo nipped his ear.

“God you're so sexy!” he rasped. Jihyo gave a teasing smile as she said.

“Thanks I try,” as they learned each other hands found the best parts to touch and the grinds became more intense more fervent. Jihyo felt herself well with desire until she could almost burst from it.

“Keep going,” she squeaked, Dracul indulged her as he groped her gorgeous senstive nipples

“I need you,” he moaned in her ear. Jihyo groaned as she came. Her squirt and sweat pooled beneath them. Dracul followed her close behind. The smell of rose and lemon cake filled the near vicinity as more hybrids entered breeding frenzy and fucked on the dance floor, but Jihyo and Dracul continued their dance despite the flood of hormones and need wrapping around them and permeating between them.

They moved as one. No longer two hybrids in a crowded club—but a pair. Joined. Anchored in the electric hum of recognition neither could name yet.

When the song slowed and their bodies finally stilled, neither stepped away.

Jihyo rested her forehead against his chest, and Dracul bent slightly to rest his chin against her hair.

“I should probably ask for your number now,” he said, voice still rough from her touch.

“You should,” she teased. “But only if you promise to let me touch your wings again.”

He laughed, chest shaking under her hand. “Deal.”

The beat of the music faded behind them as Jihyo led Dracul toward a dim corner booth tucked away from the main floor. It wasn’t exactly private—this was still the Concrete Jungle Club during Slut Week—but it was quiet enough to hear their own thoughts, even if those thoughts were tangled in pheromones and want.

They slid into the booth across from each other, still flushed, still riding the high of the dance. Jihyo crossed her legs, trying to ignore how her thighs were slick with sweat, how her skin still tingled where his hands had rested. Her heart was still thumping like a war drum, her body warm and soft in ways she hadn’t felt in months.

Dracul, massive even while sitting, leaned forward on his forearms, elbows planted on the table. He ran a hand through his sweat-damp curls, trying to collect himself. His wings—now folded tight and hidden—still twitched every now and then beneath his shirt. His pupils were dilated, the slits wide and dark.

Neither of them spoke at first. They just breathed.

Jihyo glanced over at him with a soft, almost shy smile. “You okay?”

He chuckled low in his chest. “I should be asking you that. I don’t… usually let people touch my wings.”

“You moaned,” she said, smirking.

He groaned and dropped his head into his hand. “Gods, don’t remind me.”

“No, it was cute.” Her voice gentled. “Vulnerable.”

He peeked up at her, something unreadable in his expression. “That’s a word I don’t get often.”

“I figured.”

They both smiled, something warm blooming between them—less chemical now, more emotional. The scent of lemon and heat still clung to the air around them, but it felt less urgent now. Just… present. Tangled with the smell of her vanilla and spice.

A pheromone bond had started forming. They were both feeling it. Neither mentioned it yet.

“I’m not usually like this,” Jihyo admitted quietly, brushing hair behind her ear. “I’m not cold or anything, but… I don’t get drawn to people so fast.”

Dracul nodded. “Same. And I’m usually a little more awkward after these things, not…” He paused, looking her over. “Not this calm.”

“Must be the lemon cake scent,” she teased.

“Or the vanilla goddess who danced me into submission.”

She laughed, hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Okay, okay, points for smooth.”

Their eyes held again. Soft. Charged. Curious.

“Can I see you again?” he asked, voice husky but low.

She nodded, a blush rising. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

They sat there a little longer, letting the heat between them settle into something sweeter, something that could grow.

And for the first time in a long time—for both of them—the idea of something new didn’t feel like a risk.

It felt like the start of something worth burning for.

The sun filtered softly through the curtains of Jihyo’s apartment, casting sleepy golden light over the living room where she and Sana lay tangled in blankets and last night’s glitter. Their bodies were exhausted, still humming with the aftershocks of Slut Week, and their voices were hoarse from laughter, shrieking, and karaoke after the party at Concrete Jungle.

Sana nursed a hangover smoothie, wearing one of Jihyo’s oversized tees and a pair of mismatched socks, her cheeks still flushed from the night before. She was scrolling through photos from the party, stopping every so often to zoom in on blurry hybrid couples locked in dances, kisses, or more.

“You were really in your element last night,” Jihyo mumbled from the couch, her voice rough but content. “Didn’t you dance with like… three people at once?”

Sana grinned without looking up. “Five. But who’s counting?”

Jihyo chuckled, sipping water through a straw as she sprawled on her stomach, cheek pressed to the armrest.

There was a moment of comfortable silence before Sana’s finger paused on a photo. She tilted the screen toward Jihyo.

In it, Jihyo and Dracul were mid-dance—his huge hands on her waist, her fingers curled at his collar, both of their faces lost in a haze of heat, affection, and something more primal. The faint glow of his wing-spines peeked through his back, and the way Jihyo looked up at him…

Sana raised a brow. “So… who’s the really cute goat hybrid you were practically melting for? The one with the horns and the wings and the ridiculous pheromones?”

Jihyo blinked, then slowly turned her head toward Sana.

“…He’s mine,” she said, voice low, quiet, but fiercely certain.

Sana’s brows shot up. “Oh?”

Jihyo nodded slowly. “Mine.”

There was no shame in her tone, no defensiveness—just a quiet, burning certainty that left no room for negotiation. Her fingers curled softly around her phone, remembering the heat of his hands, the rasp of his voice, the way her body had lit up like kindling when their scents merged.

Sana let out a small, impressed laugh, raising her smoothie in salute.

“Well damn, Yo. You’re not even pretending this time.”

Jihyo finally smiled. “Nope.”

They dissolved into lazy giggles, basking in sunlight and post-Slut Week bliss, while something deep inside Jihyo whispered: this wasn’t just lust. This was a beginning.

The next morning in Doflamingo and Asa’s shared apartment, the smell of strong coffee, leftover Slut Week incense, and a half-burnt protein pancake mix filled the air. Dracul sat at their kitchen island, shirtless, wearing a hoodie that looked suspiciously borrowed and a fresh bite mark on his collarbone. His tiny wings twitched subtly, still half-glowing from residual overstimulation.

Asa stood at the stove flipping eggs, tail swaying lazily behind her, while Doflamingo leaned against the counter nursing an electrolyte drink, eyeing his friend with a smug grin.

“You good, big guy?” Doflamingo asked, trying very hard not to laugh. “You’ve been staring at that glass of water like it owes you child support.”

Dracul sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I danced. I… just danced.”

“That’s not what your wings said last night,” Asa chimed, smirking without turning around. “They were popping out like party streamers. You were vibrating like a tuned engine.”

Dracul groaned, slumping against the counter, his horns barely missing the hanging plant. “She touched them, Asa. She didn’t even mean to—and I moaned. Loudly.”

Asa cackled and finally turned around, flipping her spatula like a sword. “Oh, you poor thing. Did little dragon boy get seduced by a girl with thighs and purpose?”

“She smelled like lemon cake and command,” Dracul muttered, ears burning.

Doflamingo raised a brow. “Lemon cake…?”

“Jihyo,” Asa said immediately, setting down a plate of eggs in front of Dracul. “She’s tough. Quiet when she’s thinking, but when she wants something, it’s done. She danced with you all night, huh?”

Dracul nodded slowly, the ghost of a grin curling his lips. “Yeah… and she didn’t try to own me. Just… saw me. Even the weird stuff.”

“Wings?” Doflamingo asked.

“And the fire breath.”

The three fell into silence for a second, and then Doflamingo nudged his friend’s shoulder.

“You like her.”

Dracul grumbled under his breath, then admitted, “…Yeah.”

Asa leaned in with a teasing smile. “Well, don’t keep her waiting, Dragon Boy. Girls like Jihyo? They don’t come around twice.”

“She already said I was hers,” Dracul said softly, almost to himself.

Both Asa and Doflamingo froze.

Then Asa turned to her mate and whispered, “Oh, he’s done for.”

Doflamingo grinned. “Fully cooked.”

Dracul just smiled to himself and took a bite of eggs, already wondering how soon was too soon to text her.

Over the next few days Dracul and Jihyo played a dangerous game of chicken as they texted each other

— MONDAY Jihyo:

So, dragon boy. You always this smooth or is it a side effect of breathing fire?

Dracul:

Only when I’m trying not to scare off someone interesting. You’ve got a dangerous scent, by the way. Roses and sin.

Jihyo:

Complimenting my scent? Already? Are you trying to be claimed? I mean come on? You’re talking real dangerous, I heard your scent made two hybrids nearly faint in the club.

Dracul:

Not my fault they weren’t built for high-heat creatures. You didn’t faint, though. You leaned in.

WEDNESDAY Jihyo:

What else heats up when you get flustered?

Dracul:

Besides my core temp? My wings twitch. My tail coils. I pace. Want a vid next time?

Jihyo:

Don’t tempt me. Actually… go ahead. Tempt me.

Dracul:

Be careful what you ask for, Yo. Fire can feel good. Until it consumes.

FRIDAY Jihyo:

Slut Week starts tomorrow. I’m already buzzing. I caught someone sniffing my scarf today. Might’ve growled at them.

Dracul:

Territorial already? I like that. I’ve been trying not to fry my mattress from rut tension. You’re not helping.

Jihyo:

Then maybe I should help directly.

Dracul:

Say the word. I’ll be there. I’ll crawl through your window if I have to.

Jihyo:

Door’s fine. But bring that winged fire and don’t hold back. I’m done teasing. I want the real thing.

Dracul:

Then I’m yours.

Dracul could barely contain himself. His wings fully unfurled to their proper size, as he flew to Jihyo’s place, lust and affection creating a dangerous emotional cocktail within him.

Meanwhile Jihyo stands by her apartment window, phone still glowing with the final message.

Her heart hammers. Her body already flush with heat, scent strong in the air.

She breathes out, voice barely above a whisper. “Come get me, Drac.”

Outside, wings beat softly in the night sky.

Here’s the continuation scene where Dracul arrives at Jihyo’s place—charged with pheromonal heat and tension, but steeped in emotional connection and vulnerability:

⸻

Scene: Jihyo’s Apartment – Late Night, Start of Slut Week

The city outside pulsed with energy—feral and buzzing. Hybrids roamed the streets in heat, ruts peaking, senses drowned in scent and instinct.

But Jihyo wasn’t out there. She was waiting. In her apartment, the lights were low, music soft, a hint of citrus incense burning lazily in the corner. She’d changed into something loose and comfortable—a crop top and shorts—but nothing hid the warmth radiating from her skin or the tension coiled beneath it.

She jumped at the knock.

Not because it startled her—but because she could smell him through the door.

Lemon cake and scorched cedar. A slow burn on her tongue. It hit her like a kiss to the back of her neck.

She opened the door.

Dracul stood there, filling the threshold like a living monument. His hoodie hung loose, but his eyes were molten and focused. The tips of his wings peeked from his back, trembling with held-in instinct. His throat moved in a slow swallow when he saw her, but he didn’t speak. He just stepped inside.

The door shut behind him.

Neither moved for a moment.

Then Jihyo broke the silence with a whisper, “You smell like you missed me.”

Dracul exhaled slowly, stepping closer, claws flexing slightly at his sides. “You smell like you want to be claimed.”

Jihyo’s breath caught. “I might.”

He stepped even closer, and she met him halfway, hands brushing against his chest, then sliding over his shoulders. He was burning up—his body like a furnace, every breath a low rumble. She felt his tail lightly coil behind her thighs, not trapping, just resting, warm and steady.

“I didn’t come here to mark you,” Dracul murmured, voice gravel-soft. “I came because I couldn’t not. You’ve been crawling through my instincts like wildfire.”

Jihyo leaned in, her lips grazing his cheek before whispering near his ear, “So do it. But touch me like I’m yours, not just because your body wants it.”

He growled—low, deep—and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her effortlessly. She let out a soft laugh, but it turned breathless as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“This isn’t just mating fever, is it?” she asked softly.

His response came from the chest, more felt than heard. “No. I think it’s you.”

She smiled, touched his wings gently, and felt the sharp twitch in his body. They flared slightly—reflexive, vulnerable.

He moaned without meaning to, caught off guard.

Jihyo blinked, then smiled wider. “Sensitive?”

“Very,” he rasped, cheeks flushed. “Don’t play unless you mean it.”

Jihyo nuzzled into his throat, inhaled deeply, and replied, “I never play.”

They stood like that for a while, swaying, their heartbeats syncing under the slow, pulsing rhythm of the world outside—two bodies on the edge of losing themselves, but holding on just long enough to feel the meaning behind the burn.

But slut week very rarely stops. Dracul unrepentant outstretched his claws before seductively tearing Jihyo’s clothes. She leaned in close to his touch begging for it as he peeled her layer by layer. When she was fully unwrapped he growled saying “Bedroom now,” Jihyo nodded compelled by her instincts and his words. She entered the bedroom and spread her legs. Her pussy glistened begging to be taken

“Where do you want me Yo-yo,” Dracul said as Jihyo slowly pushed her fingers inside before bringing them out to show him how wet he made her. Dracul salivated at her body the athletic build but softness enticed him as he repeated.

“Where do you want me Yo-yo,” but Jihyo didn’t hear him as she began fingering herself to him. Dracul rolled his eyes as Jihyo moaned to herself waiting for him.

Dracul lined himself with her entrance before sliding in. Jihyo moaned as he stuck her. They spent the next several hours fucking until Jihyo felt like she would burst.

After the last orgasm Jihyo laughed and said, “well that’s one way to spend “Slut week,” Dracul laughed as he snuggled next to her.

The sheets were tangled at their hips, the air still thick with the remnants of shared heat. Outside, the hum of the city during Slut Week murmured like a distant storm, but in Jihyo’s bedroom, everything had slowed.

Dracul lay on his side, his wings folded tight against his back, tail lazily coiled at the foot of the bed. One arm draped around Jihyo’s waist, claws grazing her bare skin in thoughtless patterns. His eyes—glowing faintly—were fixed on her like she was something sacred.

Jihyo lay on her back, her long hair spread like ink across the pillow, one leg hooked over his thigh. Her skin still glistened lightly with sweat, her cheeks flushed—not just from exertion but from something softer.

“Hey,” she said quietly, voice teasing but serious beneath it.

Dracul blinked slowly, gaze sharp but content. “Yeah?”

Her fingers traced idle circles along the curve of his bicep. “How much do you love me?”

Dracul chuckled under his breath, tail twitching. “Dangerous question, little lion.”

“I’m serious,” she murmured, looking up at him now. “I want to know.”

He watched her for a moment, and something in his chest tightened. He leaned in, brushing his lips against her forehead before pulling back just enough to look her in the eye.

“I love you enough,” he said, voice like smoke and honey, “to burn the world down if it ever tried to take you from me.”

Jihyo bit her bottom lip. Her pulse stuttered at the sheer intensity in his voice—unshakable and raw. “That’s hot,” she whispered. “But I mean… are you mine? Like really mine?”

Dracul’s expression didn’t change, but his hand slid slowly along her waist, palm settling over the curve of her hip. He pressed his forehead against hers and growled low, “Body, soul, instincts, breath—I’m yours.”

His wings twitched slightly, betraying the stir in his core again.

Jihyo smirked, eyes half-lidded. “And what would you do if someone tried to take me?”

“Ruin them,” he whispered. “Ruin everything that let them think they could.”

His voice was calm, but beneath it was heat—a volcano under the surface.

Jihyo slid her hand along his chest, fingers catching on the slight ridges of old scar tissue, then resting right over his heart. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I don’t want anyone else’s hands on me.”

He kissed her then—slow but with pressure, claiming without bruising. When they parted, she saw the shimmer of his fangs and the restraint it took for him not to lose himself again.

“I’ll never be gentle with my love for you,” he said softly. “But I’ll always be careful with you.”

She kissed him again, a little deeper this time, then murmured against his lips, “Then stay with me tonight. All night. No dreams. Just you and me.”

Dracul exhaled, settling her fully against him, wrapping her in warmth and muscle and trembling wings.

“Always.”

The couple drifted off to sleep comfortably as they cuddled

The lights were dimmed to a soft amber glow, filtered through sheer curtains that rustled faintly with the spring night breeze. A low hum from the street below served as a distant lullaby, mingling with the quiet creak of the old bedframe as Jihyo shifted beneath the covers.

Dracul lay beside her, half-curled to fit in the space, his broad chest rising and falling slowly. One wing was stretched out, the other folded close, twitching occasionally. His body, so often imposing and impossible to ignore, now seemed almost fragile in sleep—shadows pooling in the hollows of his shoulders and collarbones, the curve of his horns catching the faint light.

Jihyo’s fingers lightly traced the warm scales along his forearm. She hadn’t meant for things to progress this fast—not physically, but emotionally. And yet… they had. Dracul didn’t ask for much. He didn’t lean in the way other men did. But when he did, it was with a weight and honesty that made her want to stay.

And right now, he was sleeping beside her, utterly vulnerable. Trusting her with something that felt larger than either of them.

Suddenly, his body tensed.

A low, ragged growl slipped from his throat, barely audible. His claws curled. His tail lashed once under the sheets. His brows twisted in pain.

“No… no—don’t leave me—” he muttered, voice strangled and cracking. “Please… I’m still here—”

Jihyo sat up, her heart squeezing. She leaned over him, brushing hair from his damp brow. “Drac… Dracul, baby, wake up.”

He jolted—eyes glowing faintly in the dark, breath ragged and shallow. For a terrifying moment, he didn’t seem to see her. His gaze darted past her, lost in the past.

“They—locked me in… couldn’t breathe… the heat, the needles, the screaming—Asa? Where—where is everyone?”

“Drac,” she whispered again, gently cupping his cheek. “It’s me. Jihyo. You’re safe. You’re in my bed. No labs, no war, no one’s gone. I’m here.”

His breath caught in his throat. The panic ebbed, slowly—like a tide receding. His eyes met hers with dawning clarity. And shame.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, voice barely there. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” she said, her tone firm but tender. “You’ve been through hell, Dracul. You’re allowed to dream loud. I’m not going anywhere.”

She pulled him into her arms, tucking his head beneath her chin. He didn’t speak—just held onto her, breath warming the space between her collarbones. His wings folded tightly to his back, as if afraid of taking up too much space.

They lay like that in the quiet, heartbeats syncing.

“I don’t know how to be held,” he murmured after a long silence.

“Then it’s good I’m patient,” Jihyo replied softly, running her fingers down his spine. “I’ll teach you.”

His only response was a deep, exhausted exhale—and the smallest nudge of his nose against her chest.

The next morning Jihyo and Dracul woke up at the same time and walked into Jihyo’s kitchen

The sun peeked in through gauzy curtains, casting a warm glow over the bedroom. The air smelled faintly of skin, citrus shampoo, and something deeper—Dracul’s lingering scent, like a nearby bakery. Jihyo sat cross-legged on her bed, one of Dracul’s shirts draped loosely over her frame, sleeves falling over her hands.

Dracul sat beside her, his wings tucked in close, tail lazily coiled around his thigh as he munched on a piece of toast. He was surprisingly quiet in the mornings—less fire-breathing war god, more overgrown lizard soaking up sunlight.

“Hey, Yo?” he asked, licking jam from his thumb. “Can I ask something kinda personal?”

Jihyo blinked at him, amused. “I let you drool on my chest last night during a night terror. I think we passed personal.”

Dracul chuckled, low and sheepish. “Fair enough. I just… you’re stunning. Smart. Strong. You know how to handle yourself. I’m surprised someone hasn’t scooped you up already.”

Jihyo raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. “I was scooped. Briefly.”

Dracul’s chewing slowed. “Oh?”

She sighed and leaned back on her hands, letting the shirt slide off one shoulder. “Last guy I dated cheated on me then left me. She was a Cow hybrid. Big tits. Big eyes. Very… passive.”

Dracul blinked. “Oh. Damn.”

“Yeah. Said I was too ‘intense.’” She made air quotes, then rolled her eyes. “Like wanting emotional intimacy and orgasms is a crime.”

Dracul made a low, offended noise. “He cheated on you because you wanted more than starfish sex and silent dinners?”

“Basically.”

He shook his head, clearly miffed. “That’s not intensity. That’s standards.”

She smirked at that. “Try telling that to someone whose idea of a date is ‘come over and watch me play video games while I ignore your emotional needs.’”

Dracul paused, then leaned in with a teasing grin. “For the record, I like intense. I’m practically engineered for high heat. I need a little fire.”

Jihyo chuckled, then looked at him—really looked. The way he was watching her, the softness in his eyes even as he half-joked, made something ache a little in her chest.

“You’re a dork,” she said fondly, nudging him with her knee.

“And you’re a goddess,” he replied easily, smiling like he meant it.

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “Thanks for not flinching when I told you.”

“Thanks for trusting me with it,” he said. “And for not flinching when I told you about… you know.”

She reached out and brushed her fingers over the spot between his wings. He flinched, but didn’t pull away.

They sat like that, quiet and warm, with the morning wrapping around them like a shared blanket as they walked to the kitchen.

As slut week progressed Jihyo and Dracul couldn’t keep their hands off each other they did it all over her apartment. All over his forge/loft/home hybrid. In their cars. On the room of Dracul’s home and as they grew closer both physically and emotionally. Jihyo realized that Dracul almost kindness incarnate, and not in that soft playful puppy way but in the way that knew how to be evil but chose not to it was hot and exactly what she needed in a partner.

About midway through Slut week (it usually ended up being more than a week usually 2.5) Dracul and Jihyo were invited to visit Asa and Doflamingo.

As per usual per usual Dracul was balls deep in Jihyo’s pussy.

“God Yo-yo how are you always so wet?” He groaned as Jihyo’s pussy swallowed him whole.

“Ah fuck because you make me feel this way. Your scent drives me wild. It makes me want to be yours and only yours,” she growled. Her lioness claws popped as she tore into Dracul’s back.

“Fuck you’re then only one who can take all of me,” she growled as clawed his back. Due to his mutation he bleed and healed almost instantly. Allowing Jihyo to fully embrace her primal urges.

“Fuck Fill me again!” Jihyo screamed as Dracul came inside her. As they came down from their high they cuddled.

Until Dracul looked at the clock “shit we’re gonna be late,” he said worried. Jihyo was still horny and wet though but relented as they got up and showered before heading out to Asa’s

The lobby of the Animus complex gleamed with soft golden light. High ceilings, calming earth tones, and faint floral scents helped create a haven for hybrid senses. Dracul shifted uncomfortably beside Jihyo, tugging at his button-up collar. Despite the cozy ambiance, he felt pressure thrumming behind his sternum.

“It’s just a visit,” Jihyo whispered, slipping her hand into his. “Asa’s probably got three desserts waiting.”

Dracul chuckled under his breath. “That does sound like her.”

The moment was interrupted by the low rumble of a voice from across the marble floor.

“Hey,” came the gruff tone of the head of security, Sirius. The lion hybrid approached with casual dominance, arms folded across a broad chest, eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar scent. “You smoking something, or is that natural?”

Dracul’s response was a slow turn of his head, a low, glowing ember of heat rising from the corners of his mouth.

“No,” Dracul said. “I don’t smoke.”

Sirius took a step back, the scent of singed ozone prickling the air.

But then—something clicked.

Dracul froze, his pupils sharpening into slits. Time stuttered. The floor beneath him blurred and morphed into sand. His skin remembered the sting of desert winds. He smelled the blood. Heard the gunfire. And standing at the center of it all—abandoning him—was the same lion hybrid in front of him now.

“You—” Dracul’s voice dropped, guttural and unrecognizable. “You left me.”

Sirius blinked. “What—what are you—”

The next moment came like a storm. Dracul surged forward, one clawed hand pinning Sirius by the throat against the wall. The marble cracked from the force. His wings burst from his back—larger than life, glowing faintly like lava veins through obsidian, spread wide with fury.

“You stabbed me. Left me. They took me. They cut me open!” Dracul’s voice was fire, trembling and fractured by grief and rage. “You made me a monster.”

“Dracul!” Jihyo screamed, trying to pry his arm away. “Baby, look at me! You’re not there anymore!”

His grip tightened.

Then—another voice, trembling and urgent.

“Sirius, please!”

A heavily pregnant woman—Yoo Jung—stepped between them, her arms outstretched protectively over her belly. Her scent hit Dracul like a brick wall of innocence and impending life. His eyes widened. The fire dimmed.

If he kept going… he’d be the reason a child lost their father.

Dracul’s hand slowly unclenched. Sirius gasped and fell to his knees, coughing. The scent of burned ozone was quickly overtaken by silent tension.

Sirius looked up with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Drac…? Dracul Bahamut…?”

Dracul didn’t wait to hear more. He turned, wings folding against his back in shame, and took Jihyo’s hand.

They entered the elevator in silence.

Only once the doors closed did Jihyo whisper, “What happened back there?”

Dracul exhaled, trembling, his voice quieter than it had ever been.

“He was part of my squad. We were ambushed… they bailed on me. I didn’t make it out.”

Jihyo’s heart broke as she saw the haunted look in his eyes.

“They made you into something else,” she whispered.

He nodded. “But please… don’t ask me to go back into that tonight.”

She didn’t press. She only reached for his hand again as the elevator climbed.

A few days later, The city was slowly sobering from the high of Slut Week, the pheromone haze thinning into lazy, humid air that clung to the skin. At a rooftop café overlooking a blooming garden terrace, four hybrids sat under a canvas umbrella with cold drinks and half-eaten plates between them.

Koby and Mina were in their own soft bubble—Koby quietly feeding Mina tiny spoonfuls of strawberry mousse, Mina giggling and nuzzling into his neck. Across the table, things were far less innocent.

Jihyo sat nestled into Dracul’s side, her thigh pressed tightly to his, the collar of her sundress just slightly off her shoulder. She looked relaxed on the surface, but under the table, her hand was slowly tracing the top of Dracul’s thigh. Her scent—already heady and rich with leftover Slut Week hormones—was getting stronger.

Dracul cleared his throat and adjusted the collar of his shirt, trying not to squirm. His tail twitched every time she leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“Still so hot,” Jihyo murmured, her lips grazing his jaw. “I think I forgot how to cool down.”

Dracul’s nostrils flared. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“I’m desperate,” she whispered, voice drenched in heat. “You haven’t knotted me in hours, Drac. I need you.”

Koby almost choked on his iced tea when Dracul gave a low, involuntary growl. Mina giggled and whispered something in his ear, while Jihyo only smirked, running her fingers slowly along the waistband of Dracul’s jeans under the table.

“You’re evil,” Dracul muttered, hand moving to rest low on her hip, thumb brushing dangerous places.

But then—

The air shifted. A familiar, too-bright scent cut through the air like synthetic citrus. Jihyo went rigid as her eyes narrowed on the figure approaching the table.

“Are you kidding me…” she muttered under her breath.

It was him. Her ex. the golden retriever hybrid with that ridiculous unearned swagger and eternally unwrinkled button-up. He strolled up with two girls on either side of him—neither of them Jeewon, the cow hybrid he left Jihyo for. They looked even younger, giggling and clinging to his arms like accessories.

“Jihyo?” he asked, tilting his head with fake surprise. “Wow, hey. Long time.”

“Not long enough,” she bit out, standing up from the bench.

Jeonghyun gave her a once-over and smirked. “You look good. Glowy. Slut Week treating you well?”

Dracul stood beside her silently, looming, his hand protectively on the small of her back.

Jihyo’s jaw clenched. “You broke up with me for Jeewon and now you’re out with these two?” She motioned to the hybrids. “What happened to your precious cow girl?”

Jeonghyun shrugged with infuriating nonchalance. “She was sweet, but not exactly adventurous. And you—well, you and her were both kinda… withholding, you know? Some guys just need girls who know how to have fun.”

Jihyo lunged, but Dracul caught her waist and gently pulled her back. With his free hand, he calmly reached for the condensation-dripping pitcher of water on the table, filled a glass, and without missing a beat—

—poured it over Jeonghyun’s smug face.

The golden retriever hybrid sputtered, blinking through wet bangs.

Dracul smiled. “Maybe that’ll cool off some of that heat for you, pal.”

Koby choked on his drink again. Mina burst into laughter.

The girls on Jeonghyun’s arms giggled, clearly amused, and one even leaned away from him. Embarrassed and dripping, Jeonghyun growled and stormed off without another word.

Jihyo turned and pulled Dracul into a deep, lingering kiss that nearly reignited her scent.

“Mine,” she whispered against his lips, eyes gleaming.

Dracul grinned. “You make that very clear, darling.” Jihyo smiled and dragged Dracul to the nearest “family bathroom” she smiled as she lifted her sundress revealing a very wet and pantiless pussy.

Dracul rolled his eyes and said, “you are insaitable” Jihyo moans as he slides right into her while slapping her ass.

“Yeah and you love it,”

Dracul moans as he bottoms out “Yeah I do,” he says.

After lunch Jihyo raced home as she could barely contain her desire for Dracul. At every possible point she kept his hand in her pussy keeping her wet and ready. When they arrived at her place she lost all control.

The door barely clicked shut before Jihyo had Dracul pressed against it.

She grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him hard—no teasing, no warmup, just hours of hunger and the last thread of her self-control finally snapping.

“Mine,” she said again, breath hot and trembling.

Dracul’s hands were already on her hips, lifting her off the ground with ease as he groaned into her mouth. “You’ve said that, baby,” he rasped. “But you can keep saying it.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist, dress bunching up around her thighs. “I can still smell him on me,” she whispered, voice low and dark. “I hate that. Make me forget him.”

“I already did,” Dracul growled, walking them toward her bedroom like he weighed nothing. “But I’ll remind you.”

He laid her back gently on the bed, hovering over her. His wings fluttered slightly, reacting to her scent—and her fingers ran up his chest, tugging his shirt up and off before tracing the edges of the tiny wings where they peeked out from his back.

He shuddered.

“Sensitive,” Jihyo whispered, eyes curious and loving and hungry. She leaned up and kissed along the base of one wing and—

Dracul moaned. Not a low growl, but a raw, human sound of need.

“Jihyo,” he warned, body trembling. “You’re gonna break me.”

“I want to,” she said, smiling up at him. “Just a little.”

She pulled him down again, this time slower—more deliberate. The kiss softened, but the fire behind it didn’t fade. Her fingers threaded into his hair as his mouth moved to her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder. Every touch was a pledge. Every breath was a tether.

And when he looked into her eyes, his voice came out hoarse and reverent.

“You’re all I want.”

She pulled him closer, skin to skin now, and whispered against his ear.

“Then show me.”

Dracul’s body hovered above hers, his breath ragged as his gaze drank her in—lips kiss-bruised, eyes half-lidded, her skin flushed and glowing. His claws, usually so careful and retracted, just barely brushed her thigh as he whispered, “You sure?”

Jihyo didn’t answer with words.

She arched up, her mouth finding his again, her fingers curling around the waistband of his pants, dragging them low enough to press him flush against her. The heat between them, ignited since the Concrete Jungle, had reached a new pitch—dangerously sharp, yet cocooned in trust.

“I’m not just sure,” she whispered against his jaw. “I need you.”

That did it.

Dracul groaned, his hips rolling into hers as his wings instinctively unfurled, brushing against the headboard. His body trembled as he kissed her deeper, slower now, savoring every inch of her he could reach. He trailed his tongue down the curve of her neck, to her chest, to the soft swell of her stomach—marking her not with bites, but with reverent heat. Every kiss seemed to say: you’re mine. I won’t hurt you. I want to worship you.

Jihyo whimpered as he dipped lower, and Dracul smirked.

“I can smell how badly you want this,” he growled, voice vibrating against her skin. “You’re soaking the sheets, Yo.”

“Then do something about it,” she hissed, hips bucking.

His pupils slit wide, feral and focused. He pulled her panties off in one smooth motion and lowered his mouth between her thighs, letting his long tongue flick and curl until she was gasping and grabbing fistfuls of his hair. She writhed, desperate and close, and just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore—

He stopped.

“Dracul!” she snapped, frustrated.

He kissed her inner thigh, eyes gleaming. “I want to hear you beg again.”

“Fine,” she panted. “Please. Please breed me, Drac. I don’t care what’s left of Slut Week. I want you to ruin me—fill me so full I’ll never think about another man again.”

That was all he needed.

He rose, kissed her hard, and guided himself into her slowly, reverently, letting her body stretch and accept him inch by inch. Her nails raked down his back, and he hissed at the burn of it, loving the way she gripped him, anchored him.

They moved together—slow at first, then faster, sweat mingling, bodies slick and desperate, locked in a rhythm older than language. Every thrust felt like a promise, every gasp like a prayer.

“Mine,” he growled.

“Yours,” she sobbed.

And when they finally came undone—Jihyo clinging to him, Dracul’s wings flaring and his breath hot against her ear—they collapsed in a tangled mess of limbs and love, trembling and panting.

He didn’t move right away. Just kissed her shoulder and held her close.

“You okay?” he murmured.

Jihyo smiled lazily. “Perfect. I might actually let you knock me up.”

Dracul chuckled, but his voice was soft, vulnerable. “You’re the only one I’d ever want to.” Jihyo groaned before pulling in Dracul for another kiss. She moaned as he hardened again inside her.

“Fuck it breed me now. Knock me up, wanna have your litter,” she says lost in the pleasure.

Dracul smiled, “how many?,”

Jihyo groaned as she came from that alone. Dracul smirked before palming on of her supple breasts. Jihyo moaned and screamed as Dracul ravaged her.

Unable to really pace himself he came in her after 8 pumps leaving Jihyo satiated for now.

They were still tangled in the sheets, the scent of sweat and sex lingering like incense. Dracul was propped up on one elbow, gently stroking a claw through Jihyo’s tousled hair while she lay on her stomach, chin resting on her crossed arms, smiling like a satisfied cat.

“So,” he asked, his voice still a low rumble from earlier exertion, “what do you do when you’re not driving dragon hybrids outta their minds?”

Jihyo smirked. “I’m a CEO.”

Dracul blinked. “Like… chief energy officer?”

She snorted. “Chief Executive Officer. I own a fashion brand. High-end stuff. Streetwear, hybrid-form adaptive clothing, even tech-infused materials. Started it right after my ex cheated.”

Dracul raised a brow. “Damn. So you’re like… a big boss.”

“The boss,” she said smugly, turning over onto her back. “I could retire you, you know. Give you a penthouse. A car. You could just stay home and warm the bed. Maybe model some fireproof boxer briefs.”

Dracul stared at her for a beat before he cracked up, his laugh deep and loud. He leaned down and kissed her nose.

“Baby,” he said with a grin, “I’m not poor—I’m just lonely.”

Jihyo burst out laughing, her whole body shaking. “You did not just say that!”

“I did,” he said proudly, tail flicking over the sheets. “And it’s true. I got money, I got skills, I got a tongue that should be illegal in ten states—”

“—Twelve,” she corrected with a wink.

“—but I didn’t have you. That was the part missin’.”

Her laughter softened into a smile as she looked up at him, heart thudding with something deeper than just post-Slut Week haze.

“Corny ass dragon,” she murmured.

“Your corny ass dragon,” he whispered back.

They didn’t need to say it aloud—but the bond between them was already growing roots.

[angrythingstarlight]

Tell me this isn't our sweet Baker!Bucky

That was Bucky that night he thought he was lost😂. The only thing he knew was that he wanted his sweet Peach.

Pairing: Chubby Baker!Bucky x Reader

Bucky will always flirt with you, especially when he's tipsy. You've learned not to joke that you're taken because drunk Bucky gets devastated at the thought of you being with someone else.

"You–you seein' anyone? You want a boyfriend?" Bucky asks with a drunken, hopeful grin. "I'm all yours if you want me."

You cradle his face in your hands, giggling when he melts into your touch. "I have a boyfriend," you tease, squeezing his soft, bearded cheeks. "Remember?"

Bucky's already asked you out twice tonight while at the new bakery's grand opening celebration and again when you were helping him into the house. You decided it was going to be too much trouble to make it up the stairs so you guided him to the living room couch instead, which is where the two of you are now. Somehow you ended up under him. But you don't feel trapped. His body on top of yours always feels right.

"Aw no." Bucky's brow furrow and his mouth flounders open for a second. He peers down at you with baleful blue eyes. "Who? You like him? Ya sure?"

"I am, Bucky. He's an amazing baker. An even better boyfriend. Thoughtful and kind and funny. Not to mention he's tall, so strong and he has this perfect chubby belly that I love to lay on and oh,"—you break into a low moan that sends a shiver down his spine, his rapt yet bleary gaze on your face. "He has a beautiful smile and the prettiest blue eyes. Plus he can do this thing with his tongue that is just sinful. He's the best man I know."

"I mean—," Bucky huffs, rubbing his face on your palm, savoring your touch. He moves closer until his warm, large body is pushing you into the couch cushions. "I guess he sounds okay Peach but I could be better," he grumbles. "I wanna be your man."

You know you should probably stop teasing him but you're too busy trying to not lose it at the fact that Bucky doesn't recognize that you're describing him.

"I don't know, my James is pretty amazing. I don't think anyone could be better than him." Laughter laces your tone, your composure crumbling when he groans. "Is there anyone else you want?"

"Only you." Bucky drops his head on your shoulder, his lips brush over the curve of your neck as he repeats himself. "Only want you. I can wait."

His voice is so soft and sweet and sure that it makes your breath hitch. And just like that, you can't tease your baker anymore not when he's gazing up at you like you're everything to him.

You turn so you can kiss him. Again and again. Each kiss is slower and more passionate than the last, the taste of his peach sangria sweeping across your tongue. His moan preening in his throat, his arms curving around you in a tender embrace.

You reluctantly break away, giggling softy when he follows your kiss swollen lips, silently asking for more. "Bucky?"

"Hmm?" He replies distractedly, wondering how to get you to do that again.

"I'll always choose you. It will always be you Bucky," you whisper softly, running your thumb across his bottom lip to wipe away the lipstick smeared there from your kiss. You watch your words sink into him, his brilliant sapphire eyes finding yours.

The dizzy, off-kilter sensation he feels has nothing to do with the cocktails coursing through him and everything to do with you.

Your words lit a fire within him and despite his drunk haze, he knows one thing for certain. "I love you so much, Peach. With everything I am."

A moment passes.

Bucky nestles into your side, his warm body curling protectively around you. His lips are on your neck, peppering lazy kisses wherever he can.

"Peach, Peach," he whispers, an adorable crooked grin stretching across his face.

"Yeah?"

"Now we gotta tell your boyfriend about us."

[my-body-likes-you-in-control]

Enough Credits (Pt. 2)

After that, I decided Max was getting a bit obsessed and so I decided the best thing to do was to put some distance between us.

I had enough credits from all my previous swaps—including the ones with Max—to stay out of my body for a little over two months. I figured that if I kept moving direclty between bodies, I wouldn't give him an opening and maybe he would just get obsessed with someone else.

My first stop was Madrid.

I’d picked Mateo, a bartender with sun-kissed skin, a sharp jawline, a sexy beard, and glasses that perfectly framed his face. His profile picture screamed 'take me.' How his body was available I won't understand.

One second, I was in my dim apartment, staring at the ceiling, and the next—bam—I was behind a polished oak bar, my fingers deftly twisting a lime wedge onto the rim of a glass. The air was thick with the tang of citrus and spilled beer, laughter and clinking glasses layering over the hum of conversation.

A group of British tourists crowded the counter, three drinks deep and radiating boozy confidence. One of them, a blond with tousled hair and a smirk that screamed trouble, caught my eye.

"¿Qué quieres, guapo?" I asked, leaning in just enough to watch his cheeks flush.

He barked a laugh. "Christ, mate, don’t start with the Spanish. Absolute shite at it."

I switched to thickly accented English, grinning. "Is okay. I understand what I need to. What can I get you?"

He talked like a lad—all banter and bravado—and honestly, I wouldn’t have pegged him as gay if he wasn’t aggressively flirting back. Meanwhile, the brunette beside him kept “accidentally” brushing her fingers against mine every time I passed her a drink.

So I played along.

By last call, I had them both hooked—leaning into Mateo’s natural charm, lingering touches, teasing words. The guy was practically vibrating when I whispered, "You’re trouble," in his ear. The girl? She hated it.

"Guess I’m walking you home tonight," I told him, loud enough for her to hear. Then I shot her a look—slow, deliberate, the kind of grin that said, You wish it was you.

The glare she fired back was priceless.

---

Ten days in Madrid had been glorious. But before the swap could expire, I initiated another—no hesitation, no looking back.

One blink, and the sun-soaked streets of Spain vanished. The next, I was in the steam-clouded kitchen of a Parisian bistro, my hands moving with practiced precision as I diced shallots into paper-thin crescents. Around me, the chaos of dinner service roared: the hiss of seared duck, the clang of pans, the sous chef’s barked orders in rapid-fire French.

Mathieu.

His life was all sharp knives and hotter tempers, a world of reduced wines and rare meats, of calloused fingers and a permanent burn mark on his left forearm. I loved it instantly.

But the best part? Christophe.

Mathieu’s boyfriend was tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of effortless dominance that made my—his—body react before my brain could catch up. The first night, Christophe didn’t even wait until we were fully inside their apartment. The door had barely shut behind us before he shoved me against it, his mouth crashing onto mine, his hands already working open the buttons of Mathieu’s stained chef’s jacket.

"Tu me manquait aujourd'hui," he growled against my throat.

A shiver tore through me. My back arched, pressing into him as his grip tightened on my hips. He knew exactly how to touch this body—where to bite, how hard to press, when to let his fingers dig in just shy of pain. Every flick of his tongue, every possessive drag of his palms over Mathieu’s skin was a lesson in control.

And the best part? He had no idea.

No idea Mathieu had signed up for Metamorph. No idea the man he was pinning to the mattress, the throat he was marking, the body he worshiped with rough, knowing hands—wasn’t his boyfriend at all.

That made it even hotter.

I spent days in their sunlit apartment, letting Christophe map every inch of Mathieu’s skin like he owned it. Mornings started with his mouth between my thighs, evenings ended with my back against the shower tiles, steam and sweat and Christophe’s voice in my ear: "T’es à moi."

And for a while, I let myself believe this was my real life.

Then, one morning, as I lay tangled in their rumpled sheets, Christophe’s arm slung heavy over my waist, my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

A message from Max:

Max: Hey. Your body hasn’t been available in a few weeks. You avoiding me?

My stomach twisted. I deleted it without responding.

---

After Paris, I decided to switch things up. No more tangled sheets, no more possessive boyfriends (as hot as that was). This time? A straight guy.

I chose Bangkok.

Kiet's body was a fucking masterpiece. Broad shoulders that strained against his tank top, abs carved like a Roman statue, thighs thick from years of Muay Thai squats. And then there was that—the kind of natural endowment that made even loose gym shorts look like a sin.

The first time I caught my reflection in the gym mirror, mid-pull-up, I nearly laughed out loud. Jesus Christ. No wonder people stared.

I dropped from the bar, rolling my shoulders, and caught my sparring partner—Ton—watching me. Again.

He was leaner than Kiet, all wiry muscle and sharp elbows, but quick as a viper in the ring. And the way his gaze kept flicking to my chest, my arms, my—

Yeah. He’s into me.

Which was hilarious, because Kiet’s profile had been very clear: 100% straight.

That didn’t stop me from having a little fun.

I grabbed my water bottle, taking a long drink just to watch Ton’s throat work as he watched me swallow.

"You’ve been getting stronger," I said, clapping him on the shoulder, letting my thumb brush the damp skin of his collarbone. "Looking good lately."

He stiffened, then shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Just training hard."

"Must be," I mused, stepping closer to adjust his stance—close enough that he could feel my breath on his neck. "Girls must be noticing, huh?"

His jaw tightened. "Yeah. Maybe."

I sighed dramatically, shaking my head. "Wish I had your luck. My girl’s been so distant lately…"

A lie. Kiet was single. But Ton’s eyes darkened, conflicted—caught between concern, jealousy, and something far more interesting.

I let the tension simmer for days. Lingering touches. Compliments that walked the line between friendly and too friendly. The way Ton’s breath hitched when I wiped sweat off his brow after a brutal round. The way he’d stare at my mouth when I laughed.

And then—on my last day in Kiet’s body—I decided to give him exactly what he wanted.

The locker room was empty except for us, steam curling in the air as Ton toweled off. I leaned against the lockers, watching.

"You ever think about trying something new?" I asked, voice low.

He froze. "Like what?"

I pushed off the lockers, closing the distance between us in two strides. His breath caught as I caged him against the bench, close enough to feel his pulse racing.

"Like this," I murmured.

And then I kissed him.

Just once. Just enough to feel him melt against me for half a second before he jerked back, eyes wide, lips parted in shock.

I grinned, stepping away. "See you around, Ton."

And then I left him there—flushed, breathless, and utterly ruined.

---

After Bangkok’s sweat and adrenaline, I craved something decadent. So I chose Mo.

One moment, I was in a humid gym locker room; the next, I was standing on a private balcony, the dry desert wind tousling my hair as Dubai’s skyline glittered below like scattered diamonds. The air smelled of expensive cologne and the faint, briny tang of the Persian Gulf.

I closed my eyes and rifled through Mo’s memories.

By day, I was the polished heir to a Bahraini business empire—custom suits, boardroom smiles, a family name that opened doors with a whisper. By night? A closeted hurricane, fucking my way through the diplomatic corps with the kind of reckless hunger that came from a lifetime of restraint.

I grinned, running a hand down my chest—Mo’s chest, lean and toned from private trainers and rooftop yoga. This was going to be fun.

For the first time since Max, I got a notification from the resident of my body.

It was Mo.

He’d sent a selfie: my body—his body now—wearing a croppedtop, my (his?) hips cocked in a way I’d never dared in public.

Mo: Turns out your closet was full of boring clothes for an out guy. Fixed that 😘

I barked a laugh. I’d never wear that—too bold, too femme—but something warm curled in my chest. He was out there, living freely in my skin, good for him.

Then my phone buzzed again.

This time, it was a text from Niklas—Mo’s very German, very blond fuckbuddy with the shoulders of a Olympian swimmer:

“You’ve been quiet. I’m in town. You down to meet up tonight?”

I bit my lip. Honestly, I might be the lucky one in this dynamic.

And I know, I know—the gay community would have me burned at the stake for saying it, but there was something thrilling about stepping back into the closet.

The stolen glances across gilded hotel lobbies. The way Niklas’s hand “accidentally” brushed mine under the table at dinner. The risk of it—the way Mo’s pulse would jump when a colleague mentioned seeing him at a certain bar, the way his breath hitched when he had to lie flawlessly to his father’s friends.

It was a game. A performance. And I’d always been a damn good actor.

By the end of ten days, Niklas had me pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Mo’s penthouse, his teeth in my shoulder, the city lights blurring below us as I gasped something halfway between Arabic and German.

But all good things end.

I opened the app, scrolling through potential hosts, but the credits were dwindling. I'd only have enough left for one more swap

---

That’s when I found Ryan.

His profile popped up late one night as I scrolled through the app, the glow of the screen casting sharp shadows across my borrowed Dubai penthouse. Toronto. My hometown. And his body—Jesus Christ—almost as defined as Kiet’s, but leaner, more compact. Like a swimmer’s build dialed up to eleven. His face was softer too, boyish in a way that made his sharp jawline even more striking. Early twenties, probably.

The swap hit like a punch of crisp Canadian air. One second, I was surrounded by desert heat and the weight of Mo’s secrets; the next, I stood in a dimly lit Toronto bedroom, rolling Ryan’s shoulders, flexing his arms, marveling at the way his muscles moved under smooth, pale skin. The guy was built—not just gym-strong, but gymnast-strong, every line of him taut and efficient.

And yet.

I opened his closet and nearly groaned. Oversized band tees. Baggy joggers. A hoodie that could’ve housed a family of four. It was a crime.

I remedied that immediately.

One trip to the mall later and Ryan’s wardrobe had been… optimized. Graphic tees that clung just right (subtle nerd references, because his browsing history betrayed him). A few button downs that I would leave one too many buttons undone on. Dark jeans that hugged his thighs. A thin silver chain with dog tags that rested perfectly against his collarbones.

There. Now he looked like someone who knew what he was working with.

We’d agreed to meet—him in my body, me in his—at a bar near his place. The irony wasn’t lost on me: two strangers, each wearing the other’s skin, about to critique the fit.

I spotted him the second I walked in.

There I was—me—slouched at the bar in one of Ryan’s tragic hoodies, fingers drumming against a beer bottle. He turned, caught sight of his own body striding toward him, and holy shit, the way his eyes darkened—like he’d just walked in on himself naked.

He whistled low. “So,” he said, nodding at me—at himself, “you’re the guy squatting in my skin.”

I laughed, sliding onto the stool beside him. “And you’re the guy who dresses like a monk despite having a god-tier physique.”

Ryan—my Ryan, in my body—flushed, rubbing the back of his neck (my neck). “Yeah, well. I didn’t always look like this. Kinda hard to shake the habit of hiding.”

“You should try it sometime.” I leaned in, close enough to watch his pupils dilate. “I went for a shirtless run yesterday. Nearly caused a traffic accident.”

He choked on his beer.

We ended up back at his place, sprawled across his bed, fingers tracing the lines of his—my—body with a kind of awed frustration. His hands lingered on his own abs, now mine, his brow furrowed. “It’s weird,” he muttered. “Seeing it from the outside. Like it’s not even real.”

I caught his wrist, pressed his palm flat against the ridges of muscle. “It’s real. And this is how people see you all the time. You just never let yourself believe it.”

He huffed a laugh, but his fingers flexed, greedy. “And you? This body has been getting stares all day. People really check you out like this?”

“Oh, absolutely.” I smirked, sliding my hands down my—his—waist, admiring the way the muscles tensed under my touch. “I mean, I’m checking me out right now.”

Our chemistry was stupid. Electric. By the time our initial swap period ended, Ryan didn’t hesitate. “Let’s stay like this,” he said, his voice rough. “Another week.”

I agreed.

It was intoxicating, watching him come alive in my skin—louder, brighter, freer—while simultaneously craving the way he yielded to me in his own body. The way he’d arch into my touch, like he was rediscovering himself through my hands.

And then, one night, his lips against my ear: “What do you say to making this permanent?”

My breath hitched.

“I want to be you,” he murmured, fingers laced through mine. “And more importantly, I want you to be me.”

I should’ve said yes. We fit. I loved this body—the strength of it, the way it moved—and the idea of keeping my old life close, just… reshuffled. My family, my friends, but through new eyes. A fresh start without the goodbyes.

But something itched under my skin. The rush of the past months—Madrid, Paris, Bangkok, Dubai—the thrill of slipping into someone else’s life, just for a taste.

“I want to try a few more people first,” I admitted.

Ryan didn’t push. Just nodded, kissed me slow and deep, and whispered, “Of course. I’ll be here.” A pause. Then, with a grin that sent heat straight to my borrowed bones: “But don’t wait too long.”

--

That turned out to be the dumbest mistake I could’ve made.

The second the 48-hour grace period ended after my swap with Ryan, the world lurched—like a roller coaster dropping out from under me—and then I was back in Max’s body.

Fuck.

I screamed, slamming his fists against the bathroom counter. The reflection staring back at me was all soft edges and tired eyes, that same patchy stubble, that same defeated slump I’d seen a dozen times before. My stomach twisted. No. No no no—

I grabbed his phone.

A DM pinged immediately.

Max: You’ve been holding out on me, gorgeous. I’ve been swapping nonstop, trying to forget how good you felt—but the second I saw your body was available again? I knew had to do something about it.

He sent with it a few pictures of my body shirtless, as if to taunt me.

My blood turned to ice.

I should’ve known better.

I should’ve known he’d been watching. Waiting. That he’d pounce the second my guard was down.

I was a fucking idiot.

Damn right I’ll be taking Ryan’s offer as soon as I’m back in my body.

I opened the app, fingers shaking, and checked the countdown.

Expecting 10 days.

Expecting anything but what I saw.

Permanent.

No.

No no no no no—

That wasn’t supposed to be possible. I didn’t accept that.

What the fuck did he do?!

[pollkien]

SAURON PROPAGANDA:

Honestly what isn’t there to say about him

Canonically hot as fuck for 80% of his existence. Only became ugly later on (RIP)

Has several very sexy names like Mairon and Tar-Mairon and Morgoth’s Fuckass Bitch

“In his beginning he was of the Maiar of Aulë, and he remained mighty in the lore of that people.” Hawt. Daddy Aulë still crying over him like he lost a child

Shapeshifter. Like blondes? Sorted. Prefer brunettes? No problem. Want him bald? He could do it.

Loves to give presents. He’s totally friendly! Take his rings. And he gives such good advice! Just look at Númenor! Don’t you want Númenor?

Was the one running things in Angband for quite a long time. Also spied on the activities in Almaren and Valinor for Morgoth

Big dog guy. Turned into a dog. Isle of Werewolves.

Bites :)

Morgoth’s fav

Enjoys order, planning, and coordination. Dislikes chaos and confusion. One must wonder why he joined Morgoth then

Standing on the top of the temple with lightning around him laughing as Numenor sinks - hot

‘he rose like a shadow of Morgoth and a ghost of his malice’

Extremely dedicated. seriously this guy did not know when to quit. Extremely committed to every bit he partakes in

I mean have you SEEN how hot Annatar was

Celebrimbannered Celebrimbor :)

Nearly conquered the whole of Middle-earth

“Sauron was become now a sorcerer of dreadful power, master of shadows and of phantoms, foul in wisdom, cruel in strength, misshaping what he touched, twisting what he ruled, lord of werewolves; his dominion was torment” slay

Won the rap battle against Finrod

Unfortunately did NOT win the battle against Lúthien

He found the elves first before Oromë did. Cute

Very good at hiding

MAEDHROS PROPAGANDA:

Feen’s first son. Probably very hot given how hot his dad was

Actually tried to be a decent guy in Beleriand unlike most of his brothers

Tall and ginger

Named Fingon the valiant and did not forget his friendship even when the ships were burned :’( and he “alone stood to the side”!!

Unfortunately got gotted by Morgoth. Hung from his wrist for like 20 years.

“for the fire of life was hot within him, and his strength was of the ancient world, such as those possessed who were nurtured in Valinor. His body recovered from his torment and became hale, but the shadow of his pain was in his heart; and he lived to wield his sword with left hand more deadly than his right had been.” Cute

Tragic! So tragic!

Invented Active Elf Suicide by jumping into a volcano. Yay.

“Maedhros did deeds of surpassing valour, and the Orcs fled before his face; for since his torment upon Thangorodrim his spirit burned like a white fire within, and he was as one that returns from the dead” slaydhros!

Moved his bros out of Hithlum so they wouldn’t bitch

March of Maedhros, Union of Maedhros, all named after him

He just seems like a big purring cat :)

Himring alone stood among the Dagor Bragollach! In fact Tol Himring is still around in the third age!

Searched for Eluréd and Elurín after the second kinslaying :(

Stole the two remaining Silmarils with Maglor

“But Maedhros and Maglor would not hearken, and they prepared, though now with weariness and loathing, to attempt in despair the fulfilment of their oath; for they would have given battle for the Silmarils, were they withheld, even against the victorious host of Valinor, even though they stood alone against all the world.” This is so hot

I guess he also is hot because he died in a fiery chasm.

Was noted for his bodily comeliness and was named Maitimo for it ;)

Shared Beren’s epesse

[casuallyanidiot]

Omg your yandere coworker *chef's kiss*

I imagine he's just frustrated and angry because he can't believe he's fallen for a loser like reader. Like they are such a mess all the time. So soft and easy to tire. They look so out of place in this workplace environment.

But over time it starts to click that all he was to do is take them away and keep them at home. Reader shouldn't even be at work! Reader should be sitting pretty at home like the good little spouse he knows they are all that they are good for!

Man he'll have to come up with a plan to make that happen wouldn't he?

Thanks! He's awful! :)

I think the worst part about Yan coworker is that he believes he's actually a good person. Maybe if he just acknowledged how scummy he was, he wouldn't be half as bad.

He he's had enough of you stumbling all over yourself like an idiot. Yandere Coworker pulls you aside one day into a storage closet. He's trying so hard not to snap and fuck you stupid against some half empty shelves, so instead he settles for gripping your arms. Isn't he a gentleman? Anyways, he lays it out for you.

"You need to quit," He says simply. His voice is gruff and firm, and you blink in surprise. "What?" You stammer out. He's tall, intimidatingly so, and you tremble as he holds you. "No, no I'm not- I can't quit! This is my job! I know you don't really like me, but that's out of line," You hiss out and squirm away from him.

Yandere coworker realizes you really are very, very dumb. There's nothing in that stupid little head of yours, is there? You can't even tell how much he's looking out for you. You're crumbling under the weight of this job, and he can't stand seeing you so unhappy.

But he makes enough money for the two of you. He can handle this while you can't. In fact, the more he thinks about it, he can't figure out just what in the world you would be good at. He tries to picture you as successful at anything and comes up blank. Huh... You really are good for nothing. Except,,, you would probably do well if you didn't have to do anything at all.

Yandere coworker starts to think about how much prettier you would be if you got proper sleep. He likes the way you look in corporate attire (That is on the rare occasions where you don't look like a hot mess), but he bets you'd like to be in expensive and revealing loungewear even more. The only thing you would have to do is keep your house tidy, and keep yourself nice and presentable for whoever provided for you. Yeah, you'd be perfect for that. And guess what? He could give you that.

Yandere coworker knows that you're far too stubborn for your own good. He begins to actively sabotage your work. He inserts spelling errors into your reports, changes the numbers of any potential client before you have the chance to make a sale. He allows himself to be more officially promoted, and with the new power he has, he assigns you increasingly difficult tasks.

You try and report him for essentially bullying you, but the complaint is thrown out with little care. He's one of the best employees the company had ever seen, and you were just some bumbling broad who couldn't even spell their own name right on official documents.

Before long, you're fired. Yandere Coworker uses his position in the company and many connections he has to essentially black list you.

You can't get a decent job in your field anymore. Plus you begin to get behind on rent and bills. Your life is going to shit, yet you still refuse to take him up on his many offers. It's infuriating, and he just wants to put you in a place that he knows you'll be safe and happy in.

Yandere Coworker just thinks your too dumb to realize how kind he's being. He hopes that you're smart enough to recognize how nice the trunk of a luxury car is. After all, you're going to be there for a while until he can get you to his home where you'll never have to use that useless brain of yours again.

[shellshocklove]

does anyone know where the love of god goes? | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU

summary: crossing the country alone as he searches for his brother, joel stumbles on a farm. winter is closing in, and against his better judgement he's convinced to stay. as the frost covers the land like a blanket, a warmth ignites in his heart for the young woman who's home he finds himself in.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so minors dni!!! canon-typical violence, age gap (reader is mid to late twenties), swearing, dead animals, joel being a sad man, masturbation, no use of y/n

a/n: i soft launched this ao3 last month and it flopped lol so i'm gonna keep my expectations low for this series. anyways this has been a story i've been thinking about since probably october. this is the first part of what i'm hoping will be 3 parts. happy reading i guess

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

The leaves rustled against Joel’s boots with every step he took. The sun had turned traitor cold, and he couldn’t feel its kiss against his cheek no more. The trees shivered above him in the wind – the only sound for miles except his heavy steps.

Did he still exist, with no one around? Joel had never minded being alone; after the breakout he’d found that he sometimes preferred it. People could be… well, when you’ve seen the worst of humanity, maybe it’s best to leave it behind.

And wasn’t he the worst of humanity? The things he’d done. The people he’d killed, and killed for. The people he’d lost.

But he had to keep going. For Tess. He promised.

Every night as he stared into the flames his thoughts would drift to her – the memories flickering in the fire. They should’ve never gone through that museum – it was supposed to have been empty – they should’ve never left Boston in the first place. Now Tess is gone because of him, him and his stupid plan to find his brother.

And for what? How is he ever gonna find Tommy?

Joel didn’t even know where he was. Nebraska? South-Dakota? Maybe he’d made it to Wyoming and just didn’t know it? Abe had told him ‘Cody Tower’, but Joel hadn’t seen anything other than mother nature for weeks.

Everything had started to look the same. Trees and more trees, a mountain in the distance, a grey and heavy sky above him. He’d been walking for forever. Slowly he moved west– or at least he thought he was. On the days where the sun hung high in the sky and wasn’t shielded behind a cloudy partition, he liked to watch it as it dipped below the earth. As the days turned shorter and shorter, the display of color had started to get more vivid. Joel would watch the light blue turn red and bloody, fiery tongues of flames licking over the horizon while the sharp edges of the mountains, and the triangular shapes of the trees faded into an intense black– like the shape of the mountain and the trees had been cut out with scissors. There wasn’t much to stay alive for anymore– but Joel lived for those few moments where nature painted with fire. Humanity might’ve gone to shit, but the cyclical regularity of mother nature gave Joel a small sense of peace.

But he missed the kiss of the sun against his cheek now. He’d moved into a large forest a few days ago. Tall trees hovered over him like giants and cast shadows down at him. It was colder here than out in the open country, but at least he’d been somewhat shaded from the rain pouring from the grey cover above his head the last few days.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The sound stopped Joel in his tracks. Muscle memory worked on its own, gripping the shotgun slung over his shoulder. He listened for the sound again, to the steady rhythm echoing through the forest.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

With slow calculated steps Joel walked in the direction of the sound with the shotgun held tightly to his chest, his finger hovered over the trigger. The chopping sound got louder as he closed in on a man. He couldn’t tell his age with the man’s back turned – but he was strong – Joel could tell from how hard the man’s axe hit the tree trunk.

Taking another silent step, Joel got in position, “How ‘bout you slowly turn around and place that axe on the ground.”

Joel’s voice was hoarse after no use, but still cold and calculated as he spoke his order. He could see he’d startled the man, probably thinking he was alone, just like Joel had thought mere minutes ago.

The man obeyed, turning around slowly. He was older than Joel, maybe mid-seventies, maybe older if the wrinkles and creases around his eyes and nose were to be believed. His hair was white as snow matching his unkempt beard. Joel caught his eye. Strong and steady, no trace of fear one would think a man would feel while having a gun pointed at them.

Joel’s grip around the gun tightened. He wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger if that’s where this was headed. The man watched him calmly before he bent his knees, throwing the axe haphazardly on the ground.

“Kick it over here,” Joel commanded again, and the man obeyed, kicking the axe clumsily towards Joel.

Slowly Joel crept closer, gun still pointed at the man. He locked the heel of his shoe against the shaft, dragging the axe behind him and out of the way.

“Hands where I can see ‘em.”

“Are you going to kill me, son?”

The man’s question puzzled Joel. He said it so calmly, like how you’d ask someone to pass the salt.

“That depends on you.” Joel’s answer pulled at the old man’s lips, a small huff of a laugh escaping them.

“Well, you’re the one with the gun. I think it depends on you.”

Joel tightened his grip on the shotgun again – he didn’t know why –to frighten the man? He didn’t seem very frightened.

“Are you alone?” Joel asked.

“Not anymore,” the man answered.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Joel gritted through his teeth, “who you travelin’ with?”

“No one,” the man’s eyes never left Joel, “I live at a farm about a mile away.”

“Take me to it.”

The man walked with a limp Joel noticed. It was barely there, you wouldn’t see it if you didn’t pay attention, but it was there. The man acted tough enough, but his body revealed his weaknesses. It would be easy to kill him, Joel thought, if it came to that.

He followed the man through the trees with his gun pointed at his back. When they reached the end of the forest a clearing revealed itself. They followed a path through a field of, tall but wilted, brown grass until they reached an overgrown gravel road with a fence running along it. Looking out in the distance, Joel could see small spots of white and black wool. The gravel moaned under their feet as they closed in on a small farm. A two-story house sat in the middle of the barnyard where it was surrounded by a barn who’d seen better days, a silo, and a smaller farmhouse – a stable – Joel noticed as they walked closer.

The man trudged up the front stairs of the main farmhouse, a hand on the handrail keeping him steady.

“Put that gun away would you, son? I don’t want you frightening my wife.” The man broke the silence between them, speaking for the first time since they left the woods.

Joel’s grip on his shotgun didn’t loosen. How could he be sure that this man’s ‘wife’ wasn’t some gang of raiders hiding behind the front door? A question he asked the man through gritted teeth when he turned around to look at Joel.

“There’s nothing of the sort around here,” the man said, “we don’t even see any infected.”

When Joel didn’t say anything, and didn’t lower the gun, the man spoke again, “Who are you?”

“Just someone passin’ through,” Joel answered, making the man chuckle.

“You’re something else, passer-througher,” the old man smiled before he turned around again and stepped inside, leaving Joel on the porch alone.

Abandoned outside he lowered his gun slightly. Inside he could hear muffled voices, a deeper one, definitely the old man, and a brighter one, a woman’s voice. He listened, trying to make out their words with no prevail. The man seemed to have spoken the truth up until now. He most definitely lived on this farm – a seemingly normal farm. This man was just someone making an honest living – even after the apocalypse.

Lowering the gun completely, Joel put the safety on before he slung it over his shoulder. Taking a hollowed step towards the front door, movement in the window to the right of him caught his eye. It was there and then it was gone – just a ruffle of blonde curtains. Then, the door opened revealing an elderly woman.

The man’s wife.

“Welcome, traveler,” she greeted, stepping aside to let Joel in.

He passed through the doorway with a “Thank you, ma’am,” never forgetting his manners even after pointing a gun at her husband.

Inside it looked like a picture taken straight out of a Homes & Gardens magazine. The house was cozy, but it was small. He’d been welcomed into what probably used to be a parlor, but now served its purpose as their living room. It was hard to get a read on the house. Not like those open-floor plan houses he’d built too many of back before the outbreak – this was old, maybe hundreds of years old. The floorboard creaked under his shoes as he walked deeper into the living room, the rest of the house locked away like a secret behind three closed doors. The man was seated in a lounge chair by the fireplace, watching Joel with an expression Joel found it hard to decipher.

“Would you like some tea?” the woman asked, “It’s peppermint from our garden.”

Joel turned his head to the woman. She must be around the same age as the old man, Joel thought. He cleared his throat before he answered with a nod, “Thank you, ma’am.”

She pointed to the sofa, urging him to sit down with a smile before she disappeared through one of the doors to what Joel thought must be the kitchen. He felt the old man watching him as he slid his backpack off his shoulders, placing it on the creaky wooden floor behind the sofa. Joel hesitated for just a second when placing the shotgun up against the back, but decided he wasn’t in any imminent danger.

Joel almost groaned as he sat down. He’d been walking for so long, slept on the hard ground for months, he’d almost forgotten what a comfortable chair was. It almost felt surreal, being invited in for tea, like the outbreak had never happened. Here, it was like the time had stood still.

“So,” the man started, “where are you heading to if you’re just ‘passin’ through’?”

Joel cleared his throat again, “I’m lookin’ for my brother,” he answered truthfully, “last I heard he was somewhere in Wyoming.”

“If you’re going to Wyoming, then what you’re doing all the way up here?” The man queried with a chuckle.

Annoyed, Joel grinded his teeth, “Not many signs in the fuckin’ woods are there?” He huffed.

“I guess not,” the man shrugged, “but you’ve made a heck of a detour… where did you come from? Texas? You sound it.”

“Boston.”

“Boston?” the man didn’t hide his surprise, breathing out chuckles in disbelief, “I’ll give it to you, that’s one long trip.”

Joel only huffed in agreement, turning his head from the man to the window overlooking the barnyard.

“Well,” the man broke the growing silence between the two men, “you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner and for the night– you look like you could need a hot meal and a warm bed.”

Joel’s instinct was to say no, but before he could the front door opened, revealing a young woman. You.

You stopped dead in your tracks as you laid your eyes on Joel, “Oh!”.

The door slammed behind you. Under your arm you were carrying a metal bucket filled with apples. You were beautiful, young, but still beautiful – Joel couldn’t deny it.

“This is…” The man paused.

“Joel.” He cleared his throat, introducing himself, “Joel Miller.”

“Mr. Miller is just passing through– he’s looking for his brother,” the old man explained to you.

You nodded at the information, sat the bucket down before you reached out a hand for Joel to take, introducing yourself. Your hand in his was warm and soft while his own dwarfed yours, rough and calloused. He couldn’t help but think about what his hands had done, the people they’d killed. He shouldn’t be tainting yours, painting them red. Joel quickly drew his hand back, balling it into a fist at his side.

Joel looked over at the old man, “Your daughter?” he asked with a tilt of his head in your direction.

“Oh, no,” the man answered with a playful smile, “You’re not the first person ‘passin’ through’ who’s shown up on our doorstep.”

The door to the kitchen opened to reveal the old woman with a teapot in her hand, and a stacked tower of teacups in the other.

“Let me help you Alma,” you said, taking the teacups from the old woman’s hand before placing them on the table; one in front of Joel, a second in front of the old man, “Here you go Arthur,” and a third next to Joel.

“Did you also want some tea, sweetie?” Alma asked you as she placed the steaming teapot on the table.

“Yes, please, but I can grab a cup myself– sit down,” you smiled and padded the old woman’s shoulder, then you grabbed the bucket of apples and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alma started pouring the tea as a silence fell over the room. A small, “Thank you, ma’am,” left Joel’s lips as she moved on to pouring tea for her husband.

“So,” the man started before taking a sip of his tea, “what do you say Mr. Miller? You staying for the night?”

That night as he laid in a real bed for the first time in months, Joel had trouble falling asleep. He wasn’t used to this. Hadn’t been used to it for a while. His belly full, soft fabric against his skin, feeling warm, and clean. The old couple had offered him one of the two bedrooms on the first floor, the two mystery doors in the living room now revealed. Laying in his new bed he tried not to think about who he was sharing a wall with.

You.

You were something else, helpful and kind. Everything Joel hadn’t seen since the outbreak. At the dinner table you’d asked him questions and listened intently – even when his answers were short and brisk. There was a glimmer in your eye, and it touched something inside him he hadn’t felt in a long time. But you were young, mid to late twenties he reckoned, maybe a little older– anyways, he shouldn’t be harboring anything for you, it wouldn’t be right. Especially now, now that he’d agreed to stay.

After the dinner plates had been cleared, Arthur had folded a big map out on the table. “Here are we now,” he’d pointed a finger at the map. Montana. Southern Montana to be precise. “I’ll give it to you Mr. Miller, if you’ve made it this far on your own you probably won’t have any trouble making your way down south to Wyoming.”

“But?” Joel watched the grimace pulling at the old man’s face.

“But,” Arthur had said, “Winter is just around the corner and… well, going back out there in the wilderness alone during our winters is a dead trap, I’ll tell you that much.”

Joel had let the man go on about the far below freezing temperatures, the heavy snow, and the tough wind, but Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew the winters up here were harsh. It wasn’t even winter yet, but every day he’d felt the temperature drop lower and lower, and the last few of nights he’d even had to get a fire going, against his better judgement.

So– the deal was: Joel would stay over the winter. Just for the winter, he’d been adamant on not staying longer. He’d get a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, and food in his belly on one condition – he’d help out on the farm.

The fire crackled loudly, red tongues licking up the chimney as Joel fed it another log. He watched as the fire caught in the new log, devouring it quickly and with no mercy. It was really starting to heat up now. A small flicker of pride sparked in Joel chest. He’d always been good at building a fire. It was one of those things, Joel had come to learn, where you needed to pay attention, to have patience.

When he was younger, he’d take Tommy out camping sometimes, just the two of them. Mostly they’d go during the summer; Tommy wasn’t a fan of sleeping outside in the cold, though cold had meant something different back then in Texas. But Joel remembered one time he’d managed to convince him to go with him. It was right after he’d gotten his driver’s license, and his parents had given him a beat-up truck for his birthday – for sharing – they’d told him, “You need to give your little brother a ride when he needs it!” Joel wasn’t exactly thrilled about his future as Tommy’s private driver, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love his brother.

A few weeks into October he’d managed to convince Tommy to go camping. They’d packed the truck with their tents, sleeping bags, and fishing equipment, before they’d gotten on the road, driving to a lake where they knew there were fish to catch. Finding a place to camp was always difficult with Tommy. They’d parked Joel’s truck at the edge of the forest before they’d followed a hiking trail. Joel was convinced they’d walked at least three quarters of the way around the lake before they found a spot good enough for Tommy.

It had to be flat, but also shielded. There couldn’t be too many rocks, but there also had to be enough rocks to build a hearth. Tommy wanted it to be private, but he also wanted it to be open enough that he could see if someone would stumble upon their camp. Joel knew not to argue with him when he got like that, opting instead for a defeated, “Whatever.”

Setting up camp went relatively easy. They’d worked together building the tents, collecting rocks for their fireplace, and even managed to find a fallen tree to use as a bench. When the night slowly started to cover them in darkness, Tommy decided to get the fire going. Joel watched him work the logs into a pile as he started on filleting the fish they’d just caught.

“You’re doin’ it wrong,” he’d told his brother, “You’re suffocatin’ it.” He’d washed his hands in the lake, ridding himself of the slimy smell of fish, before crouching down next to Tommy.

The fire was one big bowl of smoke, and Joel caught himself wondering what messages Tommy must’ve been sending to the heavens. He removed some of the heavier logs, and the fire could breathe.

“See?” he’d looked at Tommy, “It just needed air.” Joel had shifted the smaller pieces of wood around and not long after the fire was alive.

That Joel, that green boy who liked to take his little brother camping, that Joel didn’t know how much those skills would come in handy in a few years when the world would get turned upside down.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?”

Your question pulled Joel from his memories. He turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze from where you were huddled up in the corner of the couch. You looked cozy, but he knew you weren’t. The house was cold this morning, outside a thin layer of frost had stuck to the grass during the night. It was early too, the sun not having climbed high enough yet to peek over the mountains. You looked tired where you sat, clad in a wool sweater with a blanket pulled over your knees. Under the blanket Joel remembered you were still wearing your pajama pants, and in your hand you held a steaming cup of tea, peppermint, Joel knew, his own cup abandoned on the coffee table.

“What?” Joel answered, eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?” you repeated softly, like the way people tended to speak in the mornings, like they were afraid they’d wake up the world.

His calves were starting to burn from the strain of being crouched in front of the fireplace for a moment too long, and he tried his best to hide his groan, biting his teeth together as he stood to his feet, knees cracking loudly.

“Um, no,” he said, confused about your question.

“I’ll knit you a pair then,” you smiled before putting your cup down next to his.

“That’s… that ain’t necessary,” Joel hurried, but you waved him off.

“Sure it is,” you smiled again, much to Joel’s annoyance. He didn’t deserve your kindness, but you gave it away like it cost nothing. “If you’re gonna be helping Arthur out in the woods this winter, you need some mittens.”

Joel watched as you got up from your home on the couch and vanished into your bedroom. A moment later you appeared in the doorway with a basket under your arm.

“Also…” you gave him another smile as you sat back down again, placing the basket in your lap. It was close to overflowing with yarn, balls of black and white in varying sizes peeking over the top, the homespun ends fraying against the rough edges of the basket. “I’ll have something to do during the evenings,” you winked before you rummaged through the basket and fished out a measuring tape.

Joel shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched you. Mittens? Joel can’t remember if he’s ever owned a pair of mittens. Gloves, sure, but mittens?

You patted the cushion next to you, urging him to sit down, kind smile hanging off your lips like always. Sitting down, he folded his hands in his lap, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting. It wasn’t like he hadn’t sat next to you before; he’d been here a few weeks now, and he was starting to know you, but for some reason, this felt different. Maybe it was the early morning, the quiet house, or the fact that Alma and Arthur were still sleeping upstairs, but it felt like it was just the two of you, alone, and Joel didn’t know how to feel about it.

You shifted towards him, the blanket slipping slightly off the couch with your movement, in your hands you held the measuring tape while you looked at him expectantly.

When Joel didn’t move, a smile quirked at the corner of your mouth before you grabbed one of his hands resting in his lap. You uncurled his fingers slowly, one by one, making Joel hold his breath.

“I need to see how big I need to make them,” you whispered, holding his hand very gently.

Joel’s heart hammered in his chest. Your hand was warm and soft, like the last time he’d touched you as you’d introduced yourself to him. Joel didn’t dare look at your face, or he’d say something stupid, so he didn’t. He looked at your joined hands, his brain trying to remember the last time someone had held his hand as gently as you did, your thumb running over the back of it soothingly.

He can’t remember. His hands are always empty.

With your other hand, a finger curled around the measuring tape, you slipped it around his wrist before leaning closer to look at the numbers.

“Is this too tight you think, or do you want them to be looser?” You asked through your lashes, eyes sparkling in the low morning light.

Joel cleared his throat, “No, that’s fine.”

“Okay,” you nodded, slipping the measuring tape from his wrist to write down the measurement. He hadn’t noticed your notebook until now. It was a little rough around the edges from use, the spined cracked and the paper a little yellow. Placing the pen in the seam, you grabbed the measuring tape again.

Loosening your grip on his hand you placed it over the thick of your thigh. Joel drew a quick breath, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, under his hand he could feel the warmth of you through the soft flannel.

You continued taking your measurements. You didn’t say anything, so neither did Joel, but you looked up at him through your lashes sometimes, and Joel thought that maybe the most useful thing one can do with empty hands, is hold on.

The creak of the stair made Joel jump, and like he’d been burned his hand retracted on reflex, as Arthur’s heavy steps got closer.

“Morning,” Arthur greeted as he ducked his head through the door to the living room.

“Mornin’,” Joel mumbled, head lowered as he gathered his hands in his lap.

“Good morning!” you smiled, always with that kind smile, “Did you sleep well, Arthur?” you got up from your seat before grabbing your teacup to follow Arthur into the kitchen, leaving the yarn and Joel.

Taking a deep breath, Joel pinched the top of his nose. He needed to get it together. You were just being your regular kind self; your soft touch was nothing more than that. Standing to his feet, Joel grabbed his own cup, trudging into the kitchen.

In the kitchen Arthur sat in his usual spot at the dining table, the chair closest to the window. “I need to get on with this barn soon,” Joel heard him say as he sat down opposite him. “It’s gonna fall apart come spring if we get as much snow as we did last year.”

Joel tried his best not to look at you as he heard you hum. You were stood at the kitchen counter slicing the bread Alma had baked yesterday, readying breakfast. Instead, Joel opted to gaze down into his teacup, where the peppermint leaves had all gathered at the bottom.

“Um,” Joel cleared his throat, “what needs fixin’?”

“What doesn’t need fixing in that barn?” Arthur sighed, peeling his eyes from out the window to Joel.

“I can uh,” Joel eyes shifted quickly to you before he cleared his throat again, “I can take a look at it, if ya want?”

Arthur’s eyebrows met in a furrow as he looked at Joel.

“I used to be a contractor,” Joel explained with a shrug, before taking a last cold sip of his tea.

“So, you know a thing or two about buildings I reckon?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, well I used to,” Joel leaned back in his chair.

“Well, that would be very helpful Joel– I’d appreciated it!” Arthur smiled before leaning back in his chair making room for you as you started setting the table. Joel gave him a short nod in return, trying to fight the urge to look at you as you placed the food on the table.

Arthur had downplayed the state of the barn – it was a mess – it was dangerous, and had Joel told him as much. But it was nothing Joel couldn’t fix, as long as he had the right supplies, fortunately for him the forest would provide them with what they needed.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The axe dug a deep wound into the bark with every swing. Joel’s breath was heavy, and his arms ached, but it was a welcomed form of tiredness. A month into it, he was starting to get used to the work. There was something so satisfying about manual labor, of using his hands, of making something – he’d almost forgotten.

The routine of the work felt good. Waking up at dawn, then breakfast, he could use his body for something useful for the first time in twenty years and end the day with a warm meal for supper. This new temporary life was simple, but it was strangely normal.

Originally, Joel was only helping Arthur out in the woods for firewood through the winter– but now with the barn, they’d changed course. The last few days they’d started to become more selective with the trees; looking for the tallest and straightest ones that would fall safely.

A frozen sky hovered over the men as they worked. This morning when Joel had woken up, the thinnest layer of snow had fallen like powdered sugar during the night, turning the world bright with winter. Earlier in the week the frost had perched on the farm, and Joel had known winter was closing in. He’d lost count of the days and months passing while on his own, but Arthur had told him it was late October.

“It will start snowing properly soon,” Arthur said, breaking the silence between them.

Joel hummed before taking a bite of his packed lunch. They’d worked all morning – Joel felling the trees and Arthur cleaning them up and removing the branches. Now they were sat on a fresh tree stump each, their first break of the day.

“I have an old logging sled in the barn– used to be my father’s,” Arthur explained, “I think we should leave the trees here until the snow gets deep enough for the sled and have the horses pull them back to the farm.”

“Fine by me,” Joel took another bite of his lunch.

“The logs will have to dry out over the winter,” Arthur mused, “Then come spring we can start the repairs on the barn.”

Spring. If everything goes according to plan, Joel won’t be here come spring. He needed to find Tommy– he couldn’t, and he wasn’t gonna stay on the farm for any longer than necessary. He’d already decided– when the snow finally started to melt, Joel was gone.

Joel hummed, a non-committed answer. It was easier that way, to not get Arthur’s hopes up. He liked Arthur, he was a good man, a hard worker even in his old age, and silent when Joel wanted him to be. Joel liked Alma too, but her age shined through more easily than Arthur’s. Joel couldn’t help but notice her repeating herself more often and forgetting where she put things. It made life harder for you, Joel could see it. Your responsibilities were already a lot to handle as you took care of the animals mostly by yourself, but as Joel had discovered Alma starting to struggle with the housework, he’d noticed you starting to help her more often. In Joel’s mind it was unfair to you, but it wasn’t like he could blame Alma for growing older, in this world it was a feat.

Still, he’d try his best to help you when he could, like doing the dishes after dinner as you dried them off and put them away. The first few times you were both quiet, it was strangely intimate, only the sound of splashing water filling the space between you. One night he'd gotten brave, breaking the comfortable silence and asked you ‘What you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?’ You’d looked at him with big eyes, searching his own for something, but before he could figure out what it was, you’d answered him with a shrug. It was unlike you, unlike you to be this silent, but Joel didn’t push. The next night the silence persisted, and he’d thought adding ‘Sweetheart’ had been too much, but then the next night you’d sighed quietly and whispered, “I’m worried about Alma.”

Looking down at the mittens in his lap, the guilt gnawed at him. The look of worry in your eyes, Arthur’s hopeful wishes, and Alma’s aging. Joel couldn’t have anything tying him to this place. He was supposed to find his brother.

Suddenly, a black and orange butterfly landed on Joel’s knee. Joel stopped breathing, body going rigid as he tried not to move. How the hell was this butterfly still alive? It sat quiet on his knee, wings slowly retracting and widening behind it. Memories pushed its way to the forefront of Joel’s mind then.

Sarah. Another year had gone by, and the thought made his chest tighten.

“That’s quite a sight at this time of year,” he heard Arthur say, “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Y-yeah,” Joel stammered out an answer, afraid his voice would scare it away.

The longer Joel watched the butterfly he found his guilt started to slowly melt away. It’s okay, dad. It was like the rustling of the trees carried her voice with them. You’re on the right path.

“I can do that f’you want, sweetheart.”

Joel’s boots creaked under him as he walked across the barnyard. You looked up at the sound of his voice, smile blossoming across your face as you tightened your grip on the shovel.

“It’s alright,” you said with a grunt as you picked up more snow, adding it to the growing pile, “Good for me to get some physical work in.”

Joel nodded as you straightened up, hand going to your hip while the other leaned on the shovel, your heavy breath curled in small plumes out of your mouth. You took him in for a second, eyes flickering over his form before they fell on the rabbits hanging over Joel’s shoulder.

“Where’d you get those?” you asked, and Joel shrugged.

“Shot ‘em,” he said simply, “they walked right by me as I was choppin’– seemed too good to pass up.”

“Not for the rabbits,” you muttered, and Joel had to fight the urge to smile.

“You a vegetarian or somethin’?” he asked with a single raised eyebrow, and you waved him off.

“No,” you said pointedly, but a teasing lilt lingered, “Just stating a fact... we don’t eat a lot of rabbit around here, is all.”

Joel nodded slightly; it made sense. He knew there was a gun in the house, but it was a revolver– too small to do any real hunting, and Joel didn’t even know if there were bullets for it. So, Joel didn't ask further. Lucky for him, you did.

“So, you just shot those?” you asked, a frown pulling at your eyebrows, “Aren’t they fast?”

Joel made a nonchalant sort of face. “Ain’t that hard when you can aim straight.”

“Well, how do you aim straight?”

“You learn to shoot.”

You let out a small laugh, one that pulled at Joel’s lips. “And how did you go about learning that?”

Joel felt his smile drop, the leather strap of his shotgun weighing heavy on his shoulder, “Practice.”

You didn’t seem to notice the change in his demeanor as you dug the shovel into the snow, so it stood by itself like a watchman. “Can you teach me?” you asked, the snow creaking under your shoes as you took a few steps closer.

His lips pulled at the corner, “No.”

Your eyes widened with disappointment, eyebrows pulling together in a frown as you asked, “Why?”

“Nothin’ good ever comes from it,” Joel shrugged.

“Okay,” you huffed a laugh, “that’s sinister.” Then you narrowed your eyes at him, gearing up for an argument no doubt with the way you rested your hand on your hip. “What if I also wanted to go hunting?” you posed, and Joel shook his head.

“That ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

“Okay, but now you’ve brought us rabbits– and what if I end up really liking rabbit?” you bit down on your bottom lip, unconsciously showing off you own rabbit teeth.

Cute.

“Then I’ll shoot as many rabbits as you want,” Joel countered with a teasing smile before tightening his hold on the rope slung over his other shoulder (the one he’d tied the rabbits to), and walked towards the kitchen door at the back of the farmhouse.

He heard you huff in defeat behind him, your creaky steps following him up the stairs and inside. Walking into the kitchen Joel placed the rabbits on the table before he pulled at his mittens, stripped off his jacket, and hung it neatly over the back of one of the dining chairs. Grabbing one of the rabbits he brought it to the kitchen counter to start dressing it, fighting the urge to turn his head as he heard you enter the room.

“Come on, Joel,” you whined, “Why won’t you teach me?”

“Told you already,” Joel replied, “Nothin’ good comes from learnin’ to shoot things.”

Shifting the rabbit around on the counter he reached for the butcher knife in the knife block.

“You know, that’s a really stupid way of saying you don’t want to spend the time,” you told him, your voice closer now as you leaned against the kitchen counter.  

“When exactly did ya hear me sayin’ I don't wanna spend time with you?” Joel asked, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“You won’t teach me to shoot,” you teased, and Joel could hear the smile in your voice.

Joel huffed out a laugh, “Damn right I won’t.”  

He heard you let out a whiney huff, before you turned on your heel, muttering out a curse under your breath when you accidently bumped your hip into the counter and Joel couldn’t help the smile teasing at his lips. You sat down with an overdramatic sigh, and Joel still didn’t look at you – he knew he’d cave eventually if he did, say yes against his better judgement – so he kept his eyes on the knife in his hand.

“How’s Arthur?” Joel asked as he worked.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “The same I think– Alma was up there looking after him last time I checked.”

This time Joel allowed himself to look at you. You sat sideways on the wooden chair, legs crossed and tucked under your chair with your head hanging, eyes glued to your lap. Gone were the teasing, and gone were the smiles.

“He’ll be fine,” Joel said, his eyes back on the rabbit, “it’s just a cold.”

“Yeah… but he’s been getting sick a lot more often,” your voice was low, like you didn’t want them to hear you upstairs, “you can’t help but think the worst you know?”

Joel put the knife down and moved over to the sink. He quickly washed his hands before grabbing a towel to dry off, twisting it in his hands as he approached you. Placing the towel on the counter, he hesitated for a moment as he watched you, watched the way you twisted your hands in your lap with no sense of purpose or intent. It was like the worry dripped down your body. Pushing off the counter Joel knelt in front of you, a grunt escaped him as his knees clicked loudly, his balance slightly off on his haunches.

“Shit,” Joel huffed out a laugh, and you followed. Your palms landed on his knees to keep him steady, warmth spreading like jolting electricity.

“Sweetheart, I’ll tell you what–” he stopped himself when you looked at him through your lashes, trying to ignore the way your eyes focused on his mouth as he spoke. “’s just a cold, he’ll be up ‘n walkin’ tomorrow– man’s got gumption.”

“Yeah?” your eyes flickered upwards, meeting his.

Suddenly, under your gaze Joel felt brave. His hand moved on its own accord, cupping your cheek in his hand. He let his thumb ghost over your skin, still cold under his fingertips from being outside, but warming under his touch.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, you only watched him with glimmering eyes, like you were under a spell. Maybe he was too.

“Still,” you sighed, “Would be better if I could pick up more of the slack around here... Arthur does a lot, and I wish I could do more to support them.”

“Like what? You take care of the animals all by yourself– that’s more than enough.”

“Well, I could learn to shoot rabbits,” you told him, before the corners of your mouth pulled into a pleased smirk as he rolled his eyes at you.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, making a move to stand when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“I’m kidding, Joel,” you smiled, before a more serious look washed over your features. “I mean it’s… It’s gonna be empty here without you,” you said, “I’m starting to really like having you here, Joel.”

Joel turned his hand to rest the back of it on your thigh, your hand fitting in his.

“I uh,” his eyes fixated on your joined hands, then he cleared his throat, “I’ll stay as long as you need me to. I’m not leavin’ you alone, sweetheart.”

Your eyes lit up at his words, smile growing large across your face. Joel’s heart drummed in his chest as your eyes flickered down to his mouth again.

“Thank you,” you said in a low voice, and then you did something Joel thought was gonna make his heart stop beating. You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. It bloomed against his skin, and made wings flutter against the walls of his stomach.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller,” you whispered before you pulled away, looking at him with kindness in your eyes.

If only you knew, Joel thought, if only you knew the blood on his hands.

He couldn’t look at you when you looked at him like that. Like you believed your own words. So, he cleared his throat awkwardly and stood to his feet, his knees clicking as your hand slipped from his movement. He walked back to the counter, fingers grabbing the towel with no other purpose than to calm himself down.

After placing the towel back where it usually hung, he grabbed the knife again, turning his attention back to the rabbit, allowing himself to steal a few glances at you where you sat looking out the kitchen window.

“Hey, uh,” Joel broke the growing silence after a few minutes, “how ‘bout rabbit stew for lunch?”

Your head snapped to look at him as he spoke, a smile ghosting over your lips as you said, “I’ll go get some vegetables from the cellar.”

Joel wouldn’t necessarily call himself a good cook – he wouldn’t even call himself a cook in the first place. Back before the outbreak he’d been forced to learn the basics as a fresh single dad, but he’d never been able to provide Sarah with gourmet meals very often, and when Sarah had gotten older, he’d been embarrassed to say that her food was always better than his – eggshells and all. One summer he’d bought himself a nice grill– one of those way too expensive gas grills with too many fancy accessories for Joel to regularly use. He’d had a job that ended up paying well, some rich guy’s mansion that needed renovating, and decided to treat himself for once. That summer all their meals had come from that grill, well mostly, and afterwards Joel looked at himself as a pretty good griller, if nothing else.

You on the other hand, you knew what you were doing, it was clear in the effortlessly way you moved beside him as you got the vegetables ready for the stew. Joel seared the meat to the best of his abilities, making sure it was properly browned on both sides before setting it aside. After that, it was clear that you were in charge, and Joel let you boss him around and tell him what to do. It made his heart warm around the edges, watching how you put so much love and care into everything you did.

An hour later you finally sat down to eat; two hearty bowls of stew each as light snowflakes covered the world outside. You’d let the pot simmer on low over the heat as you’d wanted to bring up a bowl for Arthur and Alma later.

“So…” you started, watching as Joel dug into his bowl, “How’s the stew?”

“’s good!” Joel nodded through a mouthful, and he wasn’t lying. It was good, really good in fact.

“Yeah?” you bubbled through a smile, before you dug into your own bowl to see if he’d spoken the truth. He watched as you face brightened as you chewed, nodding your head to confirm his verdict.

“I think I really like rabbit, Joel,” you said through a teasing smile, and Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle from spilling.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, teasing smile not going anywhere, “So… when are you teaching me to shoot?”

“Shut up.”

The living room was quiet, safe for the cracking of the fire. It had almost died out when Joel had stepped out of his room. He’d been twisting and turning again, counting sheep, but nothing had been able to pull him under the blanket of sleep. He was plumb tired too, that was the worst part. The embers hummed with a low light, and with a small stick Joel had spread them out before placing a small piece of wood on top. No less than a minute later the fire fed on the log.

Taking a seat and leaning back in the lounge chair, Joel looked out the window with tired eyes. The moon looked down on him, big and bright, it shone its white light over the barnyard like a spotlight. His thoughts were clouded over as he gazed up. A billion little lights turning into bright spheres in the sky.

On nights like this, Joel felt like he was barely breathing at all.

His thoughts didn’t stray for long before they found you again. Lately, you were always on his mind. He thought about how you’d looked mere hours ago, when he’d sat in this same exact chair, only this time it was facing towards the sofa and not the window.

You’d been sat curled up in the corner, blanket thrown over your lap with a book in hand. You’d told him you’d read all the books in the house already, but it didn’t stop you from coming back to your favorites. Joel had been reading his own book, an old western he’d found in the bookshelf in the upstairs hallway a few days ago. It was entertaining, but not enough to hold his attention. He found his eyes had a mind of their own, slipping over the top to steal a peek at you as you read, feeling a smile tug at his lips at the barely there furrow of concentration between your eyebrows.

“Joel.”

Joel perked up at the whisper of his name, the memories fading like ripples in still water. He looked around the room –nothing. He sat quietly in his chair for a moment, listening, as his heartbeat quickened in his chest. It had been your voice, hadn’t it? Or was he starting to lose it? His eyes fell to the door of your bedroom. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but he could see it was slightly ajar.

“Joel.”

The voice was louder this time, almost strained, but it was yours. A thousand scenarios flashed before his eyes then at your tone. Was there someone in your room? Were you in danger? Seconds later Joel crossed the room, a mix of fear and protectiveness overcoming him.

Leaning up against your door he listened for the intruder as he readied himself. The soft crinkling of your sheets combined with your strained whimpers was all it took for him to push the door open, fearing the worst.

And…

It was empty, your room, you were alone. Joel immediately felt stupid– the only intruder here was him.

He was about to step out, embarrassed at his actions, when he heard it again, his name falling from your lips. It was all Joel needed to finally take in your body, squirming under your sheets, still asleep. The realization of what he’d just walked in on made Joel’s eyes widen.

Laying on your back, the duvet had slipped down your torso from your movements to reveal the thin t-shirt you wore to bed. Like this he could see your perked nipples through the fabric, as your chest quickly rose and fell, making Joel’s imagination start to run wild.

“Joel.”

In his pajama pants, Joel could feel his cock come alive from the soft whimper that left your lips along with his name. He couldn’t move, like some farm elf had glued his feet to the floor while he wasn’t looking. He watched as you scrunched your face together in pleasure, another whimper falling from your lips, and all the blood in Joel’s body rushed down south.

As if the soundwaves from your voice had broken against him, he took a step backwards, and then another, and another until he crossed the threshold of your door. He tried his best to be quiet, to not wake you and have you catch him in your room in the middle of the night.

The image of you squirming under your sheets, dreaming of him, didn’t leave him as he closed the door to his own room. With a sigh his head fell against the door, a strong hand gliding down his front to hover over his aching cock.

Joel Miller was no saint, but what he was doing– what he was about to do, was bad.

“Shit,” he quietly hissed, running his hand up his clothed cock. He hadn’t touched himself properly in a long time, not since he left Boston.

His cock reacted to his touch, growing harder and harder until he couldn’t take it anymore. He hooked his finger around the hem of his pajama pants, pulling them down to the thick of his thigh, freeing himself. He hissed at the cold air hitting his length, as it bopped with the movement of being freed. Bringing his hand to his mouth, Joel spat, before he wrapped his spit-soaked hand around himself.

His mind found you again as he started stroking himself, slowly at first, pumping himself with a practiced hand, squeezing himself at the base before bringing his hand up to thumb at the tip. Joel couldn’t get the way you sounded out of his mind. Couldn’t forget how you were squirming in your bed, dreaming of him. Couldn’t shake the thought of pulling those moans and whimpers from you with his hands, and his mouth, and with his cock.

“Fuck.”

Joel tried to be quiet, but he couldn’t fight the moan from slipping from his lips. Fuck, he wanted you. He wanted his hands all over you. Closing his eyes his mouth dropped open as he imagined what he was dying to do to you.

How much he’d wanted to help you out of your t-shirt, run his hands over your breasts and tease your nipples. Take his time to pull those moans and whimpers from your soft lips as he teased you with kisses down your body, down the valley of your breasts, your tummy, down to you to your–

Another low moan fell from Joel’s lips. He squeezed himself tighter as he jerked himself off, precum pearling at the tip, and slipping down his length, mixing with his spit.

The sound of the slick rhythm of his hand filled his bedroom as he increased the pace of his strokes. He had to bite down on his lip to strangle a groan when thoughts of getting between your legs, spreading them open and getting his mouth on you filled his head. He fantasized about how you’d taste falling apart on his tongue–Fuck, how you’d sound falling apart around his cock.

His eyes fell shut as he fisted himself faster. Joel could feel his orgasm quickly building, coiling tight in his tummy. With his free hand he cupped his balls, and then he couldn’t help but imagine it was you, a picture of you on your knees before him flashed behind his eyelids, your tongue lapping at his balls while your hand pumped his cock.

“Shit.”

With a strained groan, thick ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles and down his length, coating him in his release. His breath came out ragged, as he continued his strokes, milking himself of the rest of his release.

Fuck.

His cock softened in his hand as he calmed down from his high. With a quiet groan he pushed himself off the door, looking around his room for something to clean himself up with.

The guilt of what he’d done washed over him quickly, settling in his chest like a heavy weight. You were so young, and beautiful, and Joel just an old man. He shouldn’t want you like this, shouldn’t want you this much.

Climbing under the covers, Joel couldn’t shake his thoughts of you, of you dreaming about him in your bed, about your smiles, and your touch. A supercut of you rolling like a tape in his minds eye. A supercut of you bundled up under a blanket on the sofa, knitting him his mittens. Of you, your own knitted hat pulled tightly down over your ears as you stepped out into the snow to check on the animals. Of the way you’d looked at him for the first time, with the bucket of apples under your arm, and the sweet taste of them as you’d offered him one later, after dinner.

Finally, Joel could breathe.

next part -> here! i hope someone liked this? if you did a comment, reply or an ask is always welcome and they make me super happy <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[thehighladywrites]

Interview me

pairing: ceo!rhysand x secretary bimbo!reader

summary: life is hard and you need a job to stay alive. naturally, you apply at a simple job at a company you know nothing about. Well, except for the fact that your boss is a smokeshow.

warnings: swearing

amara’s note: i’m so fucking hyped for this series guysss i have so many ideas hihihihihihihi

explore azriel’s bimboverse !

explore cassian’s bimboverse !

“Shit, shit, shit—I’m soooo not gonna make it!”

Your heels clacked dramatically against the glossy, stupidly expensive floors of an even more expensive skyscraper. Ugh, why did life have to be so unfair? You were made for luxury, not working, but apparently, rent and shopping sprees didn’t pay for themselves. So, you had reluctantly applied for a simple, cute little job—being the personal secretary for some CEO.

You sprinted toward the elevator, practically flinging yourself inside just as the doors were about to close.

“No—wait! Please hold it!”

A man’s hand shot out, stopping the doors. You stumbled in, panting, before beaming up at him.

“You’re very nice! Thank you, mister!”

You didn’t notice the way his eyes slowly dragged down your body, lingering on your barely-buttoned white blouse and tight little skirt that hugged every curve.

“Yeah, no problem, sweetheart,” he said, voice dripping with something you were too busy fixing your hair to pick up on. “You work here?”

“Oh, um, not yet! I think I’m actually gonna get fired before I even get hired because I accidentally overslept. My alarm is sooooo weird.” You giggled, fixing a strand of hair.

He chuckled, pressing a button. “What floor?”

“The top one! I’m here to be the CEO’s secretary.”

His smirk widened, his eyes practically devouring you. “Oh yeah? Lucky guy. He’d be a damn fool not to snatch you up.”

You blinked, confused. “Huh? I mean I haven’t got much experience, not sure he’s be that lucky.”

His creepy grin didn’t falter. “Yeah. Sure that’s what I meant.”

The elevator dinged, and he stepped out onto his floor, but not before leaning in just a little too close.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you around, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and sticky.

The second the doors shut, you frowned to yourself as you went up the floors until a ding took you out of your trance.

A slim, tall, stupidly beautiful redhead stood before you, clutching a neat stack of papers. She looked so put together—her sleek bun, her expensive-looking glasses, her perfectly ironed blouse. Ugh. She totally looked like someone who knew how to do her job.

You, on the other hand, were still reeling from the sheer luxury of this office. The marble floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the rich people smell. Was this really where you were going to work? Oh my god.

The redhead cleared her throat, clearly unimpressed with your gawking. “Ms. L/N? Mr. Rhysand is ready for you.”

“Oh! Right! Yeah, of course!” You smoothed down your skirt and stepped forward—business wear was so not your thing. It totally oppressed your usual style and it made you look too corporate-y.

The redhead sighed. “This way.”

You nodded, flashing her a big, dazzling smile as you followed her down the hallway.

“Mr. Rhysand is a very busy man who doesn’t tolerate mistakes. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

She gave you a slow, judgmental once-over before scoffing. “And maybe try dressing like a professional instead of a hooker.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Oh… is this too much?” You glanced down at your outfit, genuinely puzzled. “I thought it was classy. It’s Massimo Dutti.”

The redhead’s expression didn’t change. “Just don’t waste his time,” she muttered before turning on her heel and walking away.

Shrugging, you smoothed down your skirt and took a deep breath before pushing open the office doors. Whatever. You looked cute, and that was what mattered.

You stepped into the office, heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Your breath hitched as you took in the sheer luxury of the space—floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across the entire wall, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The furniture was sleek, dark, and expensive, the kind you only saw in glossy magazines.

Rhysand stood by the windows, hands in his pockets, suit tailored to perfection. The late afternoon light poured in behind him, casting his tall, broad-shouldered frame in a golden glow. His dark hair was effortlessly tousled, and when he finally turned to look at you, piercing eyes locking onto yours, your stomach did a little flip.

Oh. Oh fuck.

You were pretty sure you forgot how to breathe for a second. He was stupidly handsome. Very young and very attractive. Sure, he looked older than you but still. You had expected a greying man to be the big boss.

“You’re late.”

His voice was smooth and rich—like honey and sin wrapped in silk.

Your lips parted slightly. Right. The interview. Not staring at your ridiculously gorgeous potential boss.

“You’re… young.”

Rhysand’s brow arched. “Excuse me?” His tone was warm, maybe even amused, but his expression remained unreadable.

Your eyes widened. “Oh, I mean—I just—I meant to say there was something wrong with my alarm. I swear I’m not usually late!”

Heat crawled up your neck. His voice alone had you all flustered, and the way he was looking at you? Yeah, this was bad for your focus.

Rhysand hummed, watching you for a moment longer before nodding toward the chair in front of his desk. “Right. Let’s begin.”

He walked over, effortlessly graceful, and leaned against the edge of his desk—half lounging, half scrutinizing as you sat down, smoothing your skirt.

”So,” Rhysand leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his thighs as he studied you. “Tell me why you think you’re the right fit for this position.”

You straightened, flashing him your brightest, most confident smile. ”I’m very organized! And great at, um… scheduling things and answering phones! I’ll do whatever you want and need.”

Rhysand’s lips curled slightly, the hint of a smirk playing at the edges. His violet eyes flickered with something unreadable as he watched you, head tilting just a fraction.

“Whatever I want and need?” His voice was smooth, dangerously amused.

You blinked, nodding obliviously. “Yep! I’m super dedicated. I’ll make your coffee, organize your files, take notes, remind you of meetings—oh! And I’m a great assistant. I’ll be there when ya need me.”

Rhysand let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “That’s good to know.” His gaze swept over you, lingering just long enough to make you squirm before he leaned back, arms crossing over his chest again.

“So, tell me, what do you know about this company?”

Shit. You knew absolutely nothing. His eyes narrowed, clearly seeing right through you. Damn it. You only had one option left. You flashed him a saccharine smile. You’d charm your way out, even if it was tacky.

“I’m sure you’re doing super important work, Mr. CEO. I’m just here to support you in all your very important tasks,” you said, stalling and distracting him with your charm.

Of course, Rhysand saw right through you. He could see right through your game, but he let you believe you were in control. You were quick, clever, and undeniably sweet—something about it intrigued him.

“Well,” he said, leaning forward slightly, clasping his hands together on the desk, and trying to hide the amused smirk that was growing on his face. “You certainly sound like someone who could handle the demands of my busy days.”

Not really. There were at least a hundred more qualified candidates he had interviewed, all more experienced and better suited for the job. But Rhysand wasn’t interested in any of them. He did what he wanted, and right now, what he wanted was you.

His smile softened slightly as he leaned forward again, arms crossed. “You’re hired,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “You start tomorrow.”

You blinked in surprise, but then your smile brightened as you stood to shake his hand. “Thank you! I won’t let you down!”

Rhysand’s grip was firm, his thumb brushing lightly over your wrist. A small, knowing smile curved his lips. “I don’t expect you to. I don’t expect mistakes, nor do I tolerate them.”

There was no malice in his words, just quiet confidence—like he already knew you’d be just fine.

You swallowed, nodding quickly as he slid a sleek manila envelope across the desk, along with a heavy, expensive-looking pen. You hesitated for only a moment before pulling out the papers, scanning through them quickly.

Your breath hitched.

Your eyes widened as you reread the number, making sure you hadn’t misread. That much money—for what? Just following him around, keeping his schedule in check, answering a few calls, and being… supportive?

Woah.

Trying to mask your shock, you steadied your hand and signed where needed before sliding the papers back toward him. You stood, reaching out to shake his hand again, this time with newfound excitement.

Rhysand clasped your hand in his, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary. His smirk deepened slightly. God, he’s enjoy this.

“Welcome to the job.”

[babextoken]

Get Below Me vol 3 🖤

you and everyone’s baby boy, simp!roommate!Vessel spend some quality time on his bed after making out in the living room. and whatever you have saved to your phone DEFINITELY has his attention

simp!roommate!Vessel x virgin!fem!reader

Head’s up: consent checks, watching porn together, teasing, reader finally asks for what she wants, someone else finally strokes vessel’s cock other than himself

A/N: what will be finished first this weekend? The actual smut chapter or my sourdough?

🎀taglist: @lifemod17 @glitterghost @inv3ga @adenobabe @jeriiicho @milk--bones @myaudiocommentary @horsebiologist @intake-of-breath @fruitsandcheese @0hg00dgirl @goosepond69 @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @lynzeequitlollygagging @thatxxjiyong-ssi @cloudy-soul @daddysaidbringthethunder @evisnotok @cheomain @chaosandchaos @sage-m-sepia @dreamer-lost-in-wonderland

You sat between Vessel’s legs on his bed, your hand shaking softly as you unlock your phone. His wide hands stroked your tummy as he placed little kisses behind your ear. “It’s ok to be shy.”

“I know…” you sigh. “But I’ve never…shown anyone what I’m into.”

Vessel chuckles softly, his breath tickling your neck. “And like I said, love, we can just talk…”

You start scrolling and breathing a little heavier. Obviously you’re turned on from making out with Ves but now you’re showing him your secret little “Fun Time” folder and it’s having a Pavlovian effect on you. “If I try to talk about it, I’ll start giggling again.”

But Vessel doesn’t respond, at least verbally. His cock throbbed against your lower back. You had already begun mindlessly scrolling through your folder, not realizing his eyes were glued to the screen. “That’s what you want, sweetheart,” he asks as you hover for a moment over a clip showing a girl getting bent over and playfully spanked by…whoever this guy was. But Ves did notice the man was quite tall and slender, not too dissimilar from him. Even in the next clip, which was just the close up of a guy fingering his very receptive, squirmy plaything, Vessel noticed how wide the man’s hands were. Spidery. Like his. “What excited you first…boys with big hands or just ones that look like me? Hmm?” He’s so turned on just knowing you get off to these videos but the idea that you could have saved them because the guys look like HIM…he could cum just from grinding against your lower back right now.

“Uhm,” you lay your head back on his shoulder, “hard to say I guess but…I can say for certain you’re my type. Definitely my type.”

“Hmm. Interesting…” he whispers as his breath catches. The next clip shows a girl with a body like yours getting folded in half and eaten out. The man in this one isn’t quite enough like Vessel for his liking before he remembers he has the real thing tucked up against him ready to eat out of his hand. “Such a shy little thing. I’ve been here the whole time,” he coos and tickles your sides. You toss your phone down and start giggling again. Giggling so hard your lungs feel like they’re on fire.

“Ves, that’s not fair!”

He finally stops and holds you close against him like a teddy bear. You both breathe heavily between small laughs. Vessel’s hand gently brushes your cheek, encouraging you to look back at him. When you do, your lips meet in soft little kisses. He leaves you breathless ever…single…time. “Y’have to remember, darling. You’re in control. It’s your night. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it in a heartbeat.” Vessel breathes heavily against your lips and moans softly. “And…if it’s too much or you don’t want something stop me. Please…”

“Can I suck you off?”

Vessel’s face heats up. “You up for that…?”

You’re already on your knees by the bed, gazing up at him. “I’m a visual learner,” you chuckle. You’re trying to be carefree and sexy but you’re so nervous. You want to do good for him…to make him happy. Make him cum the way you’ve imagined you could.

Ves sits on the edge of the bed in front of you and undoes his pants. “That’s so naughty, babe. You like watching your little videos, huh? Imagining that’s us?” He tsks and chuckles softly as he watches your mouth drop open and your eyes soften a little. “What’s the matter,” he teases. He drags his hand up the underside of his cock, letting your eyes trail from his heavy balls up to where his fingers now delicately rub at his leaking head.

“I’ve never…” you steel your nerves and come closer. You gingerly put out your hand touch Vessel’s cock. The warmth and weight of it in your fist causes a thick heat to spread from your pussy up to your stomach. This was so totally different from feeling him up over his pants. “This…this is so fucking cool.” As your hand moves up you take in Vessel’s reaction.

“Oh…sweetheart…” he bites his lip and grins as you stroke him. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You’re so lost in this new experience that you just want to experiment and see what you can do. Vessel is like a new, perfect toy.

[devotedfem]

«Charlie Y/n and the chocolate factory»

Synopsis: You were broke and lost, but a golden ticket changed your life. You won a trip to Seokjin's candy factory with other 4 contestants. But the tall charming man hid very dark secrets inside his company.

K. Seokjin x f. Reader

5.3K words.

Genre: Charlie and the chocolate factory au | yander-ish.

Tags: inspired by Charlie and the chocolate factory by Tim burton, obsessive behavior, mystery, weird and whimsy Seokjin (just like Wonka from the movie), murder, character death (not reader or Seokjin), hints of cannibalism (nothing explicit), weird things happening in the factory, plot with porn, extremely dubious consent, reader doesn't want Seokjin's attention, captivity, smut, very bad ending for reader, good ending for Seokjin, a tiny bit of angst, so much mystery.

From the series masterlist; Hush.

Navigation Masterlist.

It was freezing out there, you sighed blowing cold air, rubbing your palms to ease the ugly cold that was getting into your bones. 

The little old house of your grandpa came into view, you rush into it, dying to sit in front of the hearth.

“Grandpa I’m home!” You say kicking your boots away, removing your big scarf and coat.

The temperature of the house wasn’t too different from outside, but at least your sweet grandpa was sitting comfortably in front of the fire, wrapped in many fluffy blankets. Your heart ache at the sight, you didn’t have enough money to install a heater. Your parents died when you were 12, and your grandpa took care of you since then, but he couldn’t do it anymore because of his illness, leaving him unemployed, so since you were 16 you had to work many jobs to support yourself and your grandparent. He was with you at your worst, so you will stay with him at his worst too. You own him a lot.

“Hi there,” you said softly, sitting beside him on the couch.

“Oh! My sweet pea! I didn’t hear ya’ coming, how was work, my child?” He said putting on his cute glasses with his clumsy hands, his eyes looked even more bigger now.

You smiled softly at him.

“ ‘Was pretty good as always. Tell me what did you do today? Read another good book?” You asked trying to divert the conversation, you didn’t want to talk about your shitty job.

It worked, because your grandpa smiled big and sweet, with stars shinning in his eyes.

“Even better, I listened to the radio, and guess what?” He asked like an excited toddler, you couldn’t help the endear smile from breaking on your face.

“What?”

“Seokjin gave a speech on the radio after being gone for 10 years! He will reopen his chocolate factory, but that’s not the best part!”

You frowned a little, that man closed his factory before your parents died. Your grandpa always told you that he met him once, but at this point you don’t know if you should trust your grandpa’s clarity and blurred memory.

“What would be his reason to appear again out of nowhere,” you said more to yourself, wondering about the mysterious man’s intention.

Your grandpa just shrugged at your words.

“Who knows… he has this mysterious and whimsy aura that surrounds him,” he said with admiration in his eyes, making you smile. “Anyway, as I was saying, the best part it’s that he hid five golden tickets inside five candy bars, they may be anywhere, in any shop. The point is, that those lucky five will visit Seokjin’s factory, and one of them will receive a special prize!”

You hummed at his words, imagining finding a golden ticket to give it to your grandpa, fulfilling his dream of visiting Seokjin’s factory, his literally idol.

But the corner of your lips curled down at your thoughts, you shouldn’t fantasize about that stuff, you’re not that lucky, and the probability of finding it is very low. You have to be realistic, you don’t even buy candy.

But… watching your dear grandpa’s eyes shining with hope at the thought of finding a golden ticket squeeze your heart.

You’d do anything in the world to make him happy, that’s why you’re walking towards the shop in the middle of the night, freezing your ass and ready to spend your last 5$ dollars.

The nearest store was full of people, as you expected. There was a queue of 30 people inside, all of them were buying candy bars, some even had shopping carts full of candys to the top. You were impressed, you didn’t know Seokjin’s factory was so adored.

You grabbed only one candy bar because you couldn’t afford to buy more. You felt a pang of sadness when you compared yourself to the others, your chances of getting the golden ticket were very low, and you knew that fact when you chose to test your luck, but the pill was still hard to swallow.

You paid the candy bar, and watched the snow outside of the store, so you stayed there two minutes more, using the heater of the store to warm your body.

But then, curiosity won over you, so you started to open the candy wrapper. You just needed to know, you’ll wrapped the candy again later.

And then your world stopped.

“What the fuck,” you blurt out with your hands trembling, blinking hard to make sure that it wasn’t your mind playing tricks.

It just can’t be true, the possibility, the chances were ridiculously low, but there it was.

A golden ticket. A fucking golden ticket.

“Oh my god you got it! She got it! Please resell it to me! I’ll give you anything, I can give you 3.000$ dollars right now!” A desperate woman grabbed one of your shoulders, with wide eyes fixated on the ticket in your hands.

You inhaled sharp at her words. Your heart beat went wild.

You needed the money, desperately. 3.000$ dollars would help you and your grandpa a lot. You can even raise the price taking advantage of the woman desperation.

But you just couldn’t. This was your grandparent dream, and you know deep down that this big opportunity it’s way more valuable than a few thousands of dollars, so you kept the candy bar and the ticket in your pocket and walked out of the store, almost running and looking back to make sure that no one was following you. You knew that you were extremely lucky by having the ticket, so you won’t take any risk on losing it.

“I got it!” You screamed at the top of your lungs when you got into your home, waking up your grandpa.

That night his eyes shined brighter than the fucking stars, you two were so lucky.

You just hope that everything keeps going this well. You really do.

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There was 6 of you standing in front of Seokjin’s factory, you were the only one who brought company. Your grandpa was as excited as a child eating a candy bar.

The other “participants” were a little bit intimidating, there was a young boy with bunny eyes and bulky body, he looked like a biker. Then there was this one who looked too posh and rich to be here, and right next to him was a blonde and cute boy chewing a gun. And the last man was pale and short, he seemed pretty quiet.

You were the only woman, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. You didn’t have any money, any talent or a prestigious name, so you felt a little bit insecure standing there, like a fish out of water.

Big heavy metal doors suddenly open making you startle, revealing a set of mechanical and robotic puppets resembling people, performing a musical. It looked very creepy, and all of you looked at each other with frowns.

“Seokjin! The amazing chocolatier!” They sang in unison with their uncanny faces.

But then the robots malfunction, sparkling and running down of battery.

“What the fuck,” you whispered to yourself.

“He was way more dramatic back then. This looks a little bit sluggish for him.” Said your grandpa.

Your attention was brought back to the entrance when a man came out of it.

He was very tall, with wide shoulders, wearing a long red coat and a black hat hiding his gaze. He then took off his hat to smile at you all. Your breath stopped at the sight, he was gorgeous and he looked pretty young too. He seemed to be in his late thirties, you expected him to be older to be honest.

His dark eyes inspected all of you, until his gaze fell upon you, watching you for a long couple of seconds. Recognition flashed his face when he saw your grandparent at your side.

You couldn’t believe that your grandpa really met this guy.

“Hello there, my golden winners.” He said with a smirk on his face.

“Who’s this freak?” Asked the posh guy with a grimace.

“He’s Seokjin!” Said your grandpa excited. All of the other participants turned their attention towards the both of you, like they just had realized that you two exist at all.

“I thought you’d be older, no offense, this factory it’s pretty old.” You speak up for the first time since you entered the factory.

Seokjin’s dark eyes were on you immediately, watching you slowly from head to toe, and smiling to himself.

“I promise you, that my factory isn’t that old little one, neither I am.” He winked at you before returning his attention to the others.

“All right! let’s move on, shall we?” Cheered Seokjin putting his hat on and turning around to walk into the factory.

The others were quick to follow his steps, almost as if they were competing with each other for whoever’s gets to Seokjin’s side faster. You rolled your eyes at them, they acted like toddlers, you wonder how good the final prize must be to have these grown ass men behaving like kids fighting for candy.

“Mr. Seokjin, I should say my father is a big fan of yours. He owns the gas company of the town by the way. He even said to me that he would love to make business with you one day,” uttered the posh and fancy-looking boy with his chin up and chest out. He seemed to be the type of rich kid who thinks he can buy the world with daddy’s money.

Seokjin hummed at his words without slowing down his quick walk, almost as if he didn’t care at all by the boy words.

“Gas and chocolate have nothing in common, the kids don’t eat gas and the cars don’t fuel on chocolate.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his silly response, making everyone else chuckle along with you. The guy blinked taken aback by Seokjin’s response, not expecting him to reject his proposal so dumbly.

Seokjin looked back at you over his shoulder, giving you an enigmatic smirk with his hat hidden his dark gaze. You felt shivers at his attention, but it was gone when he returned to look straight ahead.

“Hey dude, don’t take that creep seriously, I mean he treat us like kids. He’s so weird,” muttered lowly the blonde boy chewing a gun beside the rich one.

The posh guy crossed his arms with a frown, with his steady eyes sending daggers to Seokjin’s back.

“You’re right. He’s literally broke and he dares to reject my proposal,” spat him with disgust, looking to the other boy head to toe, giving him a smile that looked all too fake, “I’m Taehyung, you are…?”

“Jimin,” smiled the blondie blowing his bubblegum.

“Let’s be friends then.”

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Your eyes were widened and your mouth parted, your grandpa expression wasn’t better. Seokjin brought you to his chocolate room, a huge place with literally a river and a waterfall of melted chocolate, there was a vibrant green grass on your feet, everything looked so colorful and bright that it has all of you entrance, well except for the raven-haired boy with cat eyes, he seemed disgusted.

“Now now, don’t drool over the sight my dear participants. I know this place looks otherworldly, but I need you all to be careful.” He warned standing tall and clasping his arms behind his body.

“This looks pretty unsanitary,” the cat-eye boy sneered with disgust, pursing his lips at the sight of the river.

“Oh, you must be Yoongi. The little devil that hacked my system to win the ticket, don’t worry though, I hold no grudge, boy.” Sneered Seokjin back, you can imagine the mirth in his hidden gaze.

“I’m 29, not a fucking boy. And I’m not “little” anything, your system was just shitty,” said Yoongi with his jaw clenched.

Seokjin’s smirk only widened.

“Forgive me Yoongi, your height confused me a little, it was a little mishap perhaps, I hope you forgive me a little, little Yoongi.”

You bit your tongue to not laugh at Seokjin’s childish and dumb remark. He did hit a nerve though, by the way Yoongi widened his eyes in disbelief with his fists clenched, his cat-eyes were narrowed, and if looks can kill Seokjin would be buried 9 feet underground.

“He’s so cringe, oh my god,” mumbled the biker boy, walking away to get near the river of chocolate, with everyone else following him.

“I think this place is beautiful,” you said to Seokjin, watching your surrounds with awe, standing right next to him.

You felt his piercing gaze fixated on you.

“It is indeed, and besides its beauty, everything here it’s eatable.” He said the last word lowly, making you shiver at his odd change of tone.

“Everything? Even the grass?” You asked impressed.

He chuckled, looking down at you with half of his face hidden by the hat.

“Even the grass, even you.”

You blinked and frowned at his words, he must be joking, right?

“Right… I think you’re funny, sometimes…” you mumbled averting your gaze towards your happy grandpa eating a candy apple.

Seokjin hummed, saying nothing for a long minute.

“Be careful pretty girl, everything inside my factory belongs to me. Everything here I can eat.” Those words horrified you, making you freeze in your place. You watched Seokjin walking away towards the river and the biker boy who was devouring the chocolate with his bare hands.

You watched in slow motion how the boy slipped from the edge falling right into the river of chocolate, and you saw how Seokjin did nothing to help the boy from falling, almost as if he was expecting it to happen.

“He fell into the river! Someone help him!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, alerting the others. You ran to the edge of the river, realizing with dread that the boy was nowhere to be seen. The melted chocolate was motionless, as if he never fell into it.

Everyone rushed to the edge, calling for the boy and sinking their arms into the melt chocolate to grab him but there was no body on the surface.

You felt your pulse quickening with alarm. Your hands trembled and sweat; you couldn’t believe what had just happened. A boy drowned in front of you, probably dead at this point, and you did nothing to save him. Seokjin did nothing help him.

“You didn’t help him!” You shouted at Seokjin, making everyone else went silent. Watching you two with surprise, your grandpa frowned with concern.

Seokjin arched a brow, looking down at you with dark eyes, and then his lips curled in a spiteful half-smile.

“You didn’t help him either, in fact you just stand over there watching him fall. I told him to be careful, I couldn’t risk myself to help him because it would’ve been useless, this river is dangerous. My employees will call the police. Follow me.”

He simply said turning around and pointing forward for the others to follow him, and for your horror they just walked away as if nothing happened, as if there wasn’t a corpse swinging into the depths of the river.

You stand there in shock, your eyes widened and your fists clenched with fury and frustration. You were speechless, and you regret not talking back to Seokjin, not telling the others that you were further than him and that’s why you didn’t react quickly enough to help the boy. But the words were dead on your tongue, it was pointless to argue with Seokjin. The boy was dead anyway, and no one cares.

“I didn’t know he was this cruel, it’s like he got ice in his veins. He wasn’t like that back then, maybe we should go home my sweet pea. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Your grandpa was staring at you with worry written on his face.

You smiled at him, trying not to show your bitterness and fear.

“Don’t worry about me grandpa, let’s stick together and be careful. I want proves to charge him to the police, I know he’s hidden something,” you muttered the last words to yourself.

“All right then, but if it gets too dangerous, we go, okay?”

“Okay,” you promised softly.

You won’t let that freak go unpunished.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||

Seokjin made you climb on a boat on the chocolate river, and you felt sick to your stomach when you think about the boy’s corpse in the bottom of the river. It was just so cruel, but you stayed quiet, watching your surrounds to catch anything suspicious, you’re absorbing any kind of information to give it to the police.

The boat sails off towards a tunnel in full speed.

“Where the fuck are we going?” Said the posh guy whose name was Taehyung, looking around with scared eyes.

“If I am honest with you, I have no idea where this boat will lead us,” said calmly Seokjin, sitting with his legs crossed. You wanted to murder him.

“What!?” Screamed the blondie, almost spatting his gum. He was trying to win a Guinness record of the person who chews a gum longer.

“I’m joking, I’m not that crazy. Jeez.” Seokjin muttered, explaining a couple of rooms that were in the tunnel.

This place was literally otherworldly, you didn’t know a factory can hide all this dreamy and extravagant rooms. Seokjin can be a psycho and a weirdo, but he was pretty artsy and creative for building a place like this.

You were in entrance by all the wonders you saw, until you stopped in front of a room with machines, it seems that here is where the candys are made. He was explaining all the whimsy ways he creates candy, until he stopped in front of a big gum machine.

“There is something new I created, an everlasting gum, for the kids who had little money to buy candy. Isn’t it wonderful?” Seokjin’s voice was full of pride, standing tall in front of his machine.

“I feel like I’m in a fairy tale, nothing here feels real.” You say to no one.

“I second that,” said the cat-eyed boy.

The machine let out a violet gum, and the blondie’s eyes shine at the sight.

“I need to taste it, you can charge me the candy later.” Said the blonde whose name was Jimin, chewing the new gum without spiting the other he had.

Seokjin’s lips curled down with annoyance.

“I didn’t say you can chew that, is still a work in progress. I don’t know about its side effects.”

That was a warning, and you knew all to well what would happen next.

Jimin’s face turned blue, literally blue. He started to cough violently, your grandpa gave him strong pats on his back, but it was useless.

You watch with relieve when Yoongi stands behind Jimin placing both of his hands on Jimin’s belly, pulling inward and upward to force air out of Jimin’s lungs. And the blonde did spat the gums, but he fainted anyway. Everyone gasped with worry, and for everyone’s horror the boy’s pulse was absent.

Did he really die? Just like that?

“My employees will call the ambulance, he will be fine. Let’s move on.”

Your lips were parted in shock at his response, you watched freeze from your spot how strangers came out of nowhere to take Jimin’s body away.

Yoongi and you stared at each other with fear.

Something was off. It wasn’t a coincidence what happened, it was a trap for Jimin, maybe the gum was poisoned? But he did warn Jimin about it… But he also did it too late though, he should’ve said something before.

There was a strong tension in the air around all of you. The silence was unbearable, and no one dared to break it.

You stared at Seokjin all the time, watching his every expression, analyzing his words and where he keeps his attention at. But you found nothing odd, yet.

You weren’t surprise when he brought you all to a room full of squirrels getting nuts off its shells. The others were distracted by the sight, especially Taehyung who said that squirrels were his favorite animal.

But your eyes were fixated on Seokjin’s back, something feels off again.

“I’ll have holes in my back by your stares, pretty girl. Though I’m not complaining, I kind of like your intense eyes on me.” Seokjin sneered turning around to face you. His gaze was as intense as yours.

“Really? It’s a shame that I’m only staring at you with disgust, but you must be used to people looking at you like the freak you are.” The words were vomited without your consent, you didn’t mean to blurt all of that. It wasn’t a smart move to insult him when you are in his factory, under his rules.

Seokjin didn’t say anything back, standing tall in front of you, not moving and not talking, making you uncomfortable by his heavy gaze. You did notice a sour expression flashing his face, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

He then, step slowly towards you, inches from your body. You felt him leaning his upper body closer to you, feeling his hot breath at the side of your head.

“I know you’re a smart girl, so I will warn you once; don’t ever insult me in my factory. If you know what I’m capable of, you wouldn’t stand here so brave offending me.” He whispered near you ear, making you shiver. He spoke those words lowly but firmly.

You blinked, leaning your head back to look at him. He met your gaze, with his eyes falling to your lips.

Is that desire what you see?

Does he think you’re dumb?

“What would you do to me? Drown me in chocolate?” You asked in a whisper, making Seokjin grin like a wolf.

“Perhaps I would, but your body won’t sink in the river but in my cock, opened sweetly for me. I told you everything here belongs to me, and if I say so, you won’t step a foot outside of this factory.”

Seokjin smile was predatory, and his words felt somehow possessive.

What were you all doing here? Does he eat people?

“Because you’ll kill me? And then eat me like Jungkook and Jimin?” You spat with anger.

Seokjin grabbed your waist to pull you closer to him, staring down at you with hunger in his eyes.

“Don’t tempt me, I would love to eat you. But not kill you, what use can have a rotten candy? The others were simply compost for my experiments, but you are my prize.” He said the last words near your lips, with his hot breath brushing your mouth.

You flinched away from him with disgust and fear. He was crazier than you think. You should’ve run away with your grandpa when he told you to do so, but you knew that Seokjin wouldn’t let you go that easy, all of you were dammed the moment you step a foot inside the factory.

Now you have to think how get the fuck away from here.

A scream from Taehyung pulled you away from your thoughts, you witnessed with horror how the squirrels throw him inside a deep hole in the room, with his screams echoing while he was falling. Until there was a crash noise, and then just deep silence.

Yoongi and your grandpa looked back at Seokjin with horror written on their faces.

“Don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine.”

Everyone know it wasn’t the truth.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

The four of you were inside of an elevator made of glass going to god knows where. The silence was present again, lingering heavily, until Yoongi broke it with a deep frown.

“Why are there so many floors? That’s impossible.”

Seokjin snorted at him, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I think your little smart-ass didn’t expect this elevator to go sideways.” Seokjin remarked pressing a button, and as he said, the elevator went sideway to a cold room.

The room was huge and snow covered, your teeth chattered by the cold. You hugged yourself to feel a little bit of warmth, you looked at your grandpa with worry.

“Let me guess, here’s where you make ice-cream.” Said bitterly Yoongi. His nose was turning red.

“Touché.” Replied Seokjin with a grin.

You hate him.

“Why are we here? We’ll die of cold.” You said blowing cold air. You took off your sweater to put it on your grandpa, he needed it more than you.

“Don’t worry, there’s a door leading to another room. Follow me.” Said Seokjin walking away.

You walked through many rooms, each one weirder than the other. Those rooms have no purpose but to be weird and extravagant.

“Why are we fucking walking when we could use the elevator.” Groaned Yoongi with annoyance.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered to yourself, feeling exhausted.

“Don’t be so grumpy, we’re closer to the end of the contest.”

Seokjin’s words made you shiver, you didn’t want to find out how will be the end or the final prize.

You stopped in front of door, when Seokjin opened it, you entered an empty lab with a television in the middle of the white room.

He made you wear lab coats, and told you to stand in front of the tv.

The screen showed a candy bar in a cave. You frowned, feeling lost of why were you there.

“Little boy, why don’t you grab the candy bar,” ordered Seokjin without taking his eyes off the screen.

Yoongi cursed under his breath, grabbing Seokjin’s coat with his fists. Yoongi might be two heads shorter than Seokjin, but he looked intimidating with those piercing cat eyes.

“Listen here you fucking candy freak, you better stop calling me short or I’ll go and call the police on you, and your weird murderous business. You choose.”

You inhaled sharp when you notice Seokjin’s gaze darkening. Yoongi was so stupid for that, you all were in danger, and he knew damn well.

“Yoongi stop,” you said, trying to save him from earning Seokjin’s wrath.

Your words knocked some sense into his head, because he let go of Seokjin’s coat as if it burned his hands, regret flashed his face. You can’t anger the psycho that has all of you trapped here.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” said Yoongi between teeth.

“It’s all right, no grudges, remember?” Said light-heartly Seokjin, but you knew better than to fall for his nice façade.

“Why are we in front of a tv?” Asked your grandpa, turning Seokjin’s attention back to the tv. You smiled sweetly at him.

“Well, I need one of you to grab the candy bar from the tv screen. Yoongi, would you do us the favor?”

Yoongi laughed, then sobered up when he realized that Seokjin was being serious.

“Uhm, okay I guess,” he said, expecting to crash his hand against the screen, but to your surprise his hand passed through the screen, actually grabbing and pulling the candy bar out of the tv.

All of you were shocked, not believing what just happened.

“Eat it, it’s yummy I promise,” smiled Seokjin, and Yoongi did as he said.

He finished eating, licking the wrapper.

“It was good.”

“Now, return the wrapper into the tv,” ordered Seokjin.

And again, Yoongi did as he said, except this time when he touched the screen he got electrocuted, with his eye balls turning white and his body stiffing by the electric shocks.

You screamed with horror at the top of your lungs, crying and begging Seokjin to stop whatever was happening.

And Seokjin did stop it, by simply turning the tv off.

You watched with tears Yoongi’s body falling to the floor, motionless, lifeless. You couldn’t believe you witnessed that atrocity.

“You’re a monster,” said your grandpa grabbing his chest.

You widened your eyes with worry.

“He needs to get out of here! It’s too much stress for him,” you said with a trembling and desperate voice, making Seokjin hum.

“All right, but in one condition; he can go only if you stay.”

Your grandpa shake his head, not willing to leave you here alone.

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes for a second, you’ll find a way to escape. Your priority now is your grandpa’s health.

“Fine. But I need to see him out of here safe and sound, I don’t trust you.”

“Deal,” grinned Seokjin, like the wolf he was.

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

You watched with a heavy heart how Seokjin’s employees took your grandpa away from you, hearing him screaming your name, telling them with sobs “return me to my child! She can’t be alone with that monster”, but no one listened to him. You were standing next to Seokjin in the entrance, watching your grandpa’s body disappear out of the factory, away from you.

At least he was safe.

You though for a second about running away, maybe if you do it fast enough they won’t catch you. But Seokjin read your mind, pulling you inside the factory and locking the big doors with a set of keys, one you noticed in great detail.

But locking you inside didn’t mean you won’t try to run, and so you did. He followed you behind and you run as fast as possible, reaching the room with the chocolate river. You stand on the edge of the river, watching the boat lingering closer to you. You extended your arm to grab the border of the boat, but you slipped, falling straight into the river.

“Watch out!” Were the words you heard from Seokjin before sinking into the chocolate.

The world turned silent, and you feel yourself drowning in a dense immobilizing substance, making it impossible for you to move or swing to the surface.

That’s it, that’s how’ll you die, drowning in fucking chocolate. The most stupid fucking way of dying, but at least you won’t see Seokjin again.

And suddenly, you were on the surface, inhaling lungful’s of air. Seokjin pulled you out of the depths, carrying you to the edge.

You two were soaked in chocolate, lying on the “shore” of the river.

“I’ll chain you, for being so stupid. You have zero survival instincts.” He barked, breathing heavily.

You didn’t expect him to save you, that grossed you out.

You tried to get up but Seokjin didn’t let you, carrying you in his arms in bridal style. You were too weak and tired to protest.

He took you into a hidden room, locking again the door behind him. The way he locks every door makes you feel claustrophobic and trapped.

You shriek when he dropped you on a table, chaining your wrists and ankles to it. You struggle against the chains, but it was impossible to free yourself from them.

Seokjin stared down at you with hunger in his eyes, watching slowly your body sprawled on the table.

He took a knife, and you closed your eyes expecting him to kill you, but he did not. Cutting your clothes instead, tearing your clothes away and leaving you bare for him. Your cheeks heated and your heart beat went wild, you felt angry, exposed and afraid. It was too much.

Seokjin’s lips attached itself to the exposed skin of your belly, making you flinch but bearing it, because you have no choice. He kissed the skin, tasting the chocolate, licking and kissing the skin until your breasts, his tongue circled slowly around your nipples, and then they travel up to your neck.

He lapped your neck slowly, like a thirsty but restrain dog. His hot breath was labored against your neck, and his lips and tongue taste you like a sweet candy.

You can read the +18 continuation on Patreon.

And your eyes sting with tears, because you were enjoying it.

taglist:

@demonshauntingthedoves @pynkgothicka @cutequeen00 @nothingsreal420 @ririkookiemonster-archives @cannotalwaysbenight @loumin908 @devilzliaison @uniquecutie-puffs @polarnightmyg @acherry04 @lizziekitty @catlove83 @itlover8000

[midnightwriter21]

can we have the first meet soulmate thing for sorcerer! reader please?? w gojo only

jjk hcs: satoru meeting sorcerer!soulmate!reader

characters: satoru gojo x reader, megumi (mentioned), yuji (mentioned), nobara (mentioned)

warnings: u kill a cursed spirit, possible injury but not rly, mature language (reader cusses gojo out lmfao), the kids & reader lowkey bullying gojo lol, gojo is kinda suggestive at the end

AN: soulmate au where the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed somewhere on your body!! read the non-sorcerer version HERE

SATORU GOJO

being called in as back up for a mission involving a 2nd grade cursed spirit was not on ur to-do list today

but guess where you are!!

an empty mall!!

an empty mall where you’re currently watching 3 teenagers run around like headless chickens

the curse is ugly… as most of them are but..

this one is NASTY looking

several different colored eyeballs sticking out of various places on its body

it’s oozing some sort of greenish brown liquid

and the smell

dear lord it’s bad

the poor pink haired kid is simultaneously holding his nose and trying to fight the curse with one hand

and it’s main attack seems to be the ability to spit that greenish brown liquid at whoever it’s attacking, rendering them immobile

almost like a glue trap for mice

the curse backs the three kids into a corner and prepares to spit that sticky liquid at them

and that’s when you decide to make your entrance

jumping from the second floor of the mall, in front of the kids, and drawing your weapon

you block the attack and jump towards the curse

severing it’s head and therefore exorcising it in one quick movement

you sheathe your weapon and turn to the kids, “why the hell are you three taking on a 2nd grade mission?”

the pink haired boy from earlier explains, “our sensei was supposed to be with us but when we split up he went to the food court… and uhhh… we haven’t seen him since.”

you give the kids a sour look, “your sensei must be a complete moron”

all at once the kids agree

“he is” -the girl with the hammer

“yeah, pretty much” -the boy with the black spikey hair

“i mean.. kinda, sometimes” -the pink haired boy

you sit the kids down on a bench so that you can check over them and access any possible wounds

mama bear mode activated.

you ask the boy, who you now know as megumi, to get in touch with his sensei

when his sensei answers the phone, megumi explains that the curse has been exorcised

but before he can explain about your presence, you snatch the phone from him and let out a string of expletives directed towards the man on the other end

“you must be a fucking idiot huh? your kids could’ve died taking on a 2nd grade alone and you’re off being an irresponsible jackass somewhere-“

before you can continue you hear the dial tone

he hung up on you

without even saying a word

nearly growling in anger you shove the phone back to megumi and move over to yuji

you take his hands in yours and begin to wrap his hands in bandages saying, “you know, if you keep punching through walls you’re going to end up really hurting your knuckles”

as you wrap his hands you’re not really paying attention to your surroundings, so the smug voice coming from behind spooks you a little…

“it’s good that a pretty little thing like you came to the rescue or else my kids could’ve died since i was off being an irresponsible jackass”

he’s throwing your own words back in your face

whipping your head around fast enough to give yourself whiplash, you prepare to launch into another ass chewing

but your words get stuck in your throat when you’re met with a tall, blindfolded, white haired man

a man known to everyone in the jujutsu world

Satoru Gojo

in response to your stunned silence he lets out a chuckle, “what? cat got your tongue, pretty?”

his mocking snaps you back into reality as you fire back, “no, i’m just surprised on how someone like you can be such a complete and utter dumbass!”

“awww cmon is that the way you’re supposed to talk to your soulmate?” he smirks down at you

you give him a confused look before it hits you

his first words to you from earlier…

“it’s good that a pretty little thing like you came to the rescue or else my kids could’ve died since i was off being an irresponsible jackass”

those exact words are printed on your back underneath your shoulder blade in neat handwriting

looking up at him with wide eyes, you watch as he turns his back to you, pulling off his uniform jackets and lifting up his shirt

ignoring the faint gagging sounds from his students

and there it is, printed in the exact same spot as yours, in your handwriting

“you must be a fucking idiot huh? your kids could’ve died taking on a 2nd grade alone and you’re off being an irresponsible jackass somewhere-“

“no. fucking. way.” you say in disbelief as he turns back to face you

“you have a dirty mouth, sweetheart,” he leans in and whispers softly in your ear, “can’t wait to see just how dirty it can get,” he leans back and says in his normal voice, “but we’ll save that for later!”

[jooyeonsvape]

— ceo keeho

genre; smut

pairings; ceo!keeho, female!reader, dom!keeho

w/c; 3.5k

synopsis; ceo!keeho took an interest in his new trainee and she doesn’t see his true intentions until they’re behind closed doors.

warnings; spanking, choking, cursing, squirting, some dry humping, throat fucking

[ masterlist ]

“i’ll be watching your every move while you train.”

this statement by the intimidating ceo of your new job plays through your head over and over again while you scramble to get your clothes on. first day and you’re already late, there’s no way he’s going to go easy on you for this one.

you race inside the building and take the elevator to the 7th floor where you’re met by keeho standing infront of the doors, arms crossed.

you bow your head apologetically at the tall man, “i’ll pack my things.” keeho follows you to the small cubicle and stops you from packing the few things you brought from the day before. “you’re not fired, consider this a warning. we’ll be watching closely.”

when he leaves you with his assistant that had a clip board, you let out a sigh of relief. you start your first official day as a trainee and glance at the man who followed you everywhere.

he acted like you weren’t there as he writes your movements down, but you try to stay positive and ignore it.

after a week of being followed, you start to get irritated and gather the courage to knock on keeho’s office door. “come in.”

you enter the dark room, due to thunderstorms, and see keeho at his desk with glasses on. the only sound that could be heard was clicking of his keyboard and you step closer in.

“[Y/N], what can i help you with?” instead of answering his questions you notice how prominent his facial features are in this lighting and admire the strong jawline.

“[Y/N]?” you hear a distant voice ask again and you get out of the dissociative zone you didn’t even realize you were in. “sorry- i was just wondering why your assistant was still following me around. i haven’t made any more mistakes since day 1 and i don’t see any other trainees being babysat.”

keeho takes the glasses he was wearing off and nods his head, “i’ll look at his notes and decide from there.”

you couldn’t help but get defensive, “but sir, i’ve been doing a good job, and it makes me uncomfortable when he follows me around the entire building.”

he nods again, “i’ll look at his notes and decide from there.” you tried hard not to roll your eyes and just fake a smile, “appreciated.”

at the end of the day his assistant never left your side until he got called by keeho while you pack your work station to go home.

one of the trainees who sat next to you nudged your side softly, “why are they up your ass so much? i guess you really pissed the ceo off.”

you pout at her and shrug, “i’ll just hold my head high and not let them pressure me.” you smile proudly and walk to the elevator with her.

“[Y/N]? can we have a quick talk?” you look up to see keeho with his same blank expression he always wears. fear struck you, are you really getting fired for being late one time? a week ago?

instead of fighting it, you just nod and follow him to his office, the assistant leaving when you enter. “have a seat.”

you gulp and do as he says, sitting down on the leather chair infront of his desk. “i reviewed his notes like i said i would.” you watch as he sits at the end of his desk with his leg touching the side of yours.

“and?” you ask scooting over just enough for him not to notice. “do you find me attractive?” your eyes shoot open and let the breath you didn’t know you were holding, out. “w-what?”

keeho looks at you seriously, “do you find me attractive?” your eyes dart to anywhere but his eyes and shrug, “yeah, you’re okay.”

he laughs and stands up from the desk, “the file says you look at my office every 5 minutes or so, then when you see me, you straighten your back and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. also, you talk to me at a higher pitch voice than everyone else.”

keeho walks behind the chair you sat in and circles back to his desk, sitting down. “any explanation?” you bite the inside of your cheek and shrug, “you’re very attractive, but i’m professional.”

he nods his head and squints his eyes, “professional huh? my assistant claims when i walk past your desk, you lean over a bit and push your breasts up with your arms to appear bigger on the chest.” there was an undeniable blush on your face and you cross your legs as he talks.

“i think he’s over exaggerated a few of those.” you announce and keeho chuckles to himself while he reads the paper. you lean over and try to peak at the writing but keeho blocks you from seeing it.

you grind your teeth and stand up, going to take the clipboard but keeho grabs one of your wrists in his big hand. he pulls you gently so you were inbetween his thighs while he’s still sitting on the chair and he smirks up at you.

“did you wear this short skirt for me?” he teases and lets go of your wrist so he could slowly lift up your skirt. “may i?”

you watch his moves carefully and couldn’t deny the wetness that started to build in your panties, so you nod, giving him permission.

keeho lifts the fabric until it was bunched up at your waist and he had a clear view of your panties. “these are cute, we need to get you some i like.” he smirks and runs his fingertips along the lacy fabric.

you look down at his fingers and get embarrassed when a trail of wetness runs down your thigh but keeho looks up at you, intrigued. “that needy huh?”

“it’s been a while.” you blush and he chuckles, standing up from the chair. “have you ever been spanked?” you shake your head and he smirks again. “take off your shirt and bend over.”

reluctantly, you unbutton your shirt and turn around to bend over his desk. “like this?” keeho rubs your covered ass cheek and nods, “perfect.”

“you were late your first day, that’s worth 3 slaps, then you tease me during office hours, that’s 3, and lastly, you took your lunch 30 minutes before you were supposed to, which is 4 slaps.” you gulp as he speaks with your ass up and nod.

“since this is your first time, i’ll go easy and do 10, but i wont go easy going forward.” keeho speaks strictly which made you scared for what’s to come.

he slides your panties off slowly and drops them to your ankles. “pretty.” he whispers softly and rubs your right ass cheek. “ready?” you nod again, too nervous to say anything. “use your voice.”

you stammer, “y-yes.” and look back at him with pleading eyes. “good girl.” he smirks and raises his hand high before slapping your ass cheek hard. your body flenches with the contact and keeho rubs the cheek again.

“count for me.” he instructs and you slowly count, “1… 2… 3…” until you reach 10 and your ass was blood shot red with big hand prints on it. “wasn’t too bad was it?” he asks and you shake your head. “it felt good.”

keeho nods and leans down to kiss the redness, “good girl, now, come on your knees.” you do as he says and kneel down looking up for the next command. “take my pants off.”

you unbuckle his pants and let them drop to his ankles, then rub gently on his bulge through his underwear but he swats your hand away. “take my boxers off too.” he instructs and you pull them down until his hard dick pops out.

“open.” keeho commands and slides his tip through your lips with a soft breath. before you could start bobbing your head, he was already moving his hips while unbuttoning his shirt.

you thanked tonsillitis as a child for removing your tonsils so you didn’t have a gag reflex because after he threw his shirt off, he started going faster.

he steadily grew with his thrusts and grabs your head with his hands as he snaps his hips down your throat. “good girl.” he mumbles under his breath and you look up at him with innocent eyes.

you notice he only had a tie around his neck and the rest of him was nude as he thrusts.

to make if feel better for him you moan, sending vibrations up his cock and his legs jolt at your action. he pulls his dick out of your mouth before he could cum and pants down at you. “how do you breathe?” he asks with a chuckle and you blush, “through my nose.”

keeho grabs your hand, walking the both of you over to his desk chair and sits down. “get undressed for me, make it sexy.” he smirks, watching your half clothed body.

you blush again and sit backwards on his lap unbuckling your bra slowly. you didn’t really know what you were doing but the adrenaline took over.

he took your panties off earlier so you milk the bra for as long as possible. you turn your head to look at him while you let the fabric drop to your lap.

you stand up and bend over slowly to show him your exposed pussy, making his lip bite. “so pretty.” he mumbles, taking his dick in his hand, jerking himself slowly. “turn around, let me see those tits.”

you do as he says and grab them in your hands, squeezing hard. “want my dick?” he asks and you nod with a small whine.

keeho smirks and stands, pushing you up against his office window. “let the world see you get fucked.”

you gulp at the little people walking along the streets and you push your ass against his dick. “beg.”

“please fuck me keeho, i need it now.” he smirks and slides his tip in, making you gasp. just the feeling of his dick stretching you out could make you cum. “please go hard.” you mumble against the window, not caring about the people anymore.

keeho grabs your neck from behind you and snaps his hips as hard as he could inside of your pussy. you yell his name, mixed with profanities and spread your legs wider for him.

“i want you to cum on my dick baby.” he whispers in your ear and tightens his grip on your neck, making your moans strained.

because you haven’t had sex in so long, you already feel your legs shake and reach your hand down to rub your clit to fasten the high.

“cum now.” he growls while he pounds into you from behind hard and you almost instantly squirt on him, which makes his dick slip out of you. he watches the stream of juice flow out of you while he jerks himself and cums on your ass.

you yell his name again and continue to rub your clit until you stop squirting. “fuck.” he mumbles and you blush, “i forgot to tell you, i’m a squirter.”

keeho gets tissues from his desk and wipes the cum off your ass then gives it a smack. “i see that, i love it. want to come over to mine and have more fun?”

you nod excitedly and point at the wet ground, “are we going to leave that?” he chuckles and shrugs, “i’ll have someone get that out of the carpet on monday, right now i want to make you squirt again.”

[moonselune]

hi there 🙃

could you write the female companions' reactions to a normally passive (as in, pacifist, -- bard, healer, etc) tav, who genuinly dislikes violence, absolutely demolishing someone after they dared lay hands on their beloved?

not like in a, 'dont touch em!! Take dat!!' way after someone accidentally bumps shoulders with their partner, im talking about someone insulting tavs significant other, both physically and verbally, SO BAD, that tav cant help but go ballistic on em 😦

like, for example, someone berating Shadowheart, mocking her, mocking shar, kickin her to the ground n allat, and before she can even respond or fight back, the very same person who was berating her suddenly has a spear impaling them through the heart ?? As the stranger falls down, tav stands tall behind them, pulling the spear out and hurling it to the ground along with the now lifeless corpse 👽

if this is too dark feel free to ignore 💕

Ahh I love this and not too dark at all xox

Karlach:

The camp was quiet, the crackling of the fire and the occasional distant howl of wildlife the only sounds in the crisp evening air. You watched as Karlach, her fiery mane glowing in the flickering light, paced near the edge of the clearing. Her usual exuberant energy was gone, replaced with a taut line to her shoulders and a clenched jaw. It was rare to see her so subdued, and it made your heart ache.

The cause of her distress, Gortash’s lackey—a smarmy, cruel barite with a penchant for striking where it hurt most—still lingered in the shadows, his mocking laughter replaying in your ears.

“Naive and stupid,” he had jeered earlier. “To think you’d ever amount to more than a pawn, Karlach. A brute without a brain. That’s all you are, just a weapon Gortash no longer needs.”

Karlach had held her tongue—barely. You’d seen the way her fists had clenched, the way her chest had heaved as she fought to keep her Infernal Engine from roaring to life. Instead of lashing out, she had walked away, muttering about needing to cool off.

But you couldn’t let it go. Not this time.

You rose from your seat by the fire and slipped into the shadows, the hidden dagger in your boot feeling heavier than usual. Violence wasn’t your way; it never had been. But for Karlach? For the woman who had given you her heart, who carried so much pain behind her warm smiles and boundless energy? For her, you would make an exception.

You found the lackey leaning against a tree, a smug grin plastered on his face as though he thought himself untouchable. He didn’t even notice you approach.

“Lost, are we?” he sneered, his eyes finally meeting yours. “Or have you come to defend your pet?”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you closed the distance in a flash, the dagger in your hand before he could even register the movement. One swift, silent motion, and it was over. The man’s eyes widened in shock as he crumpled to the ground, his lifeblood staining the forest floor. You wiped the blade clean on his cloak, your heart pounding in your chest—not from fear, but from the fierce protectiveness that had driven you to act.

When you returned to camp, Karlach was sitting by the fire, her head resting on her knees. She looked up as you approached, her fiery eyes searching your face for any sign of what had transpired.

“Where’d he go?” she asked, her voice tinged with confusion. “The loudmouth. I didn’t hear him leave.”

You sat beside her, tucking the dagger away as nonchalantly as possible.

“Don’t worry about him,” you said softly, offering her a reassuring smile. “He’s gone now. Probably realized he wasn’t welcome.”

Karlach tilted her head, studying you for a moment. Then she smiled, a small, grateful thing that made your heart swell.

“Guess even idiots like him know when to back off, huh?” she said, leaning into your side.

You wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close as her warmth seeped into you. If she suspected anything, she didn’t show it. After all, you were the pacifist, the one who hated violence. The idea that you could harm someone—let alone end them—would never cross her mind.

As you sat there, the fire crackling softly and Karlach’s tension melting away, you felt a strange sense of peace. You had done what needed to be done, and Karlach was none the wiser. She didn’t need to know. All that mattered was that she was safe, her spirit undimmed.

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, your lips brushing against her wild hair.

“I’ll always look out for you,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. And you meant it—no matter what it took.

Minthara:

The dimly lit underdark tavern was alive with the quiet murmurs of its occupants, the air thick with the heady mix of incense and intrigue. Minthara stood at your side, her presence regal and unyielding even in the face of a room filled with drow - some nobles. Their venomous words and sidelong glances were nothing new—Minthara had endured their scorn since the fall of the Absolute. But tonight, one of them crossed a line.

Lady Velrith, a figure draped in finery as dark and ostentatious as her twisted smirk, circled Minthara like a predator.

“The mighty Minthara,” she drawled, her voice dripping with mockery. “Once a chosen of the Absolute, now… what? Cast aside by the very gods you claimed to serve? Even Lolth herself wouldn’t sully her name with your devotion.”

Minthara’s hands clenched at her sides, her jaw tightening as she prepared to retort—or strike. Her amber eyes glinted with barely contained rage, but before she could act, you stepped forward.

“Enough,” you said, your voice calm yet laced with a warning. Velrith turned her gaze to you, clearly unimpressed by your intervention.

“And who is this?” Velrith sneered, looking you up and down. “Minthara’s little pet, come to defend her honor? How quaint.”

Your grip tightened on the hilt of your dagger, hidden beneath the folds of your cloak. You were not one for violence—it was something you abhorred, something Minthara often teased you about. But this time, this venomous noble had gone too far. Minthara was yours, your heart, your everything. No one insulted her and lived to gloat about it.

Without a word, you lunged. The dagger moved like a whisper, slicing through the air and finding its mark in Velrith’s throat. Her eyes widened in shock as she staggered, clutching at the wound, blood spilling between her fingers. She collapsed to the floor, lifeless.

The chamber fell into stunned silence. You stood over the noble’s body, your chest heaving as you looked down at her. The room seemed to shrink around you, every eye locked on the scene. But none mattered except Minthara’s.

When you turned to her, she was staring at you, her expression a mixture of astonishment and something else—pride.

“You… killed her,” Minthara said, stepping closer. Her voice was quiet, but the weight of her words hung heavy in the air. “You, who flinch at the mere thought of bloodshed.”

“I did,” you replied simply, wiping the dagger on a scrap of cloth before sheathing it. “She insulted you. I couldn’t stand by and let that happen.”

Minthara’s lips parted, as though she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. For a moment, the ever-composed drow was at a loss. Then, a slow, almost predatory smile spread across her face.

“You stole my kill,” she said, her tone light but edged with amusement. “But I find I cannot be angry with you. Not when you’ve proven yourself so… capable.”

“I wasn’t going to let her speak to you like that,” you said, stepping closer to her. “You deserve better.”

Her amber eyes locked onto yours, and she reached up to cradle your face in her hands.

“You surprise me, my love,” she murmured. “You, with your pacifist heart, spilling blood for me. I could not ask for a more devoted partner.”

Her words sent a warmth through you, even as the weight of what you’d done lingered in the back of your mind. She leaned in, brushing her lips against yours in a kiss that was both possessive and tender.

“Next time,” she whispered against your lips, “leave the killing to me. But… thank you. For reminding them, and me, that I am not to be underestimated.”

The two of you left the chamber together, her hand resting on your arm as though to shield you from any further hostility. Though you had shocked her, you had also proven your devotion in a way few ever could.

Lae'zel:

The air in Creche Y'llek was sharp with the scent of steel and the faint tang of psionic energy. Githyanki warriors moved through the halls with an air of superiority, their every movement deliberate and precise. You stayed close to Lae’zel, her presence steady and fierce as ever, though you could sense the tension coiling in her like a spring. This was her home, but it was no safe haven—not anymore.

“Traitorous filth,” a sneering voice cut through the air, stopping the two of you in your tracks.

A gith warrior, clad in gleaming armor, stood with arms crossed, his expression twisted into a contemptuous sneer. His name was Ver’sath, a seasoned warrior and a guard they had encountered at the entrance, and his eyes burned with disdain as they locked onto Lae’zel.

“You dare walk among us, tainted by the ghaik’s spawn?” Ver’sath spat, his voice dripping with disgust. “Your very breath defiles this creche.”

Lae’zel’s jaw tightened, but she stepped forward, her gaze like steel. “I am no ghaik, Ver’sath. I bear the parasite, yes, but it does not rule me. I will cleanse myself and prove my worth.”

Ver’sath snorted, taking a step back as though the mere proximity of her presence was offensive. “You are already lost, Lae’zel. A ghaik puppet masquerading as gith. I wouldn’t sully my blade or my honor by crossing steel with you.”

The insult hung heavy in the air, and you felt your blood boil. Without thinking, without considering the consequences, your hand darted to your weapon. Before Lae’zel could respond, you surged forward, the blade singing as it left its sheath.

The movement was swift, fueled by a fire you rarely allowed to burn. Ver’sath’s eyes widened in shock as your weapon pierced his chest, the blade slipping between the plates of his armor. He staggered back, a choked gasp escaping his lips as he collapsed to the ground.

Silence fell over the corridor, broken only by the sound of his lifeless body hitting the stone floor. You stood there, breathing heavily, your weapon dripping with blood.

“Lae’zel,” you began, turning to her, but her expression stopped you short.

Her golden eyes blazed with a mix of fury and disbelief. She grabbed your wrist, yanking you aside.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” she hissed, her voice low but intense. “We are in a creche! Such actions will not go unnoticed!”

You met her gaze, guilt and defiance warring within you. “He insulted you. He—”

“I did not need your protection,” she snapped, though her grip on your wrist softened. “This place is not like the surface. Here, there are rules—strict ones. You jeopardize both of us.”

“But he called you…” you trailed off, the weight of your impulsiveness settling over you. “I couldn’t let him speak to you like that. I couldn’t stand it.”

For a moment, Lae’zel said nothing. Then, with a heavy sigh, she released your wrist.

“You are a fool,” she muttered, her tone softer now. “A reckless fool. But… you acted from loyalty, and for that, I cannot truly fault you.”

Her gaze lingered on the fallen Ver’sath before returning to you.

“Come,” she said, pulling you away. “We must move quickly before his absence raises questions. But hear me, my love—do not act so rashly again. I can handle the scorn of weaklings like him.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you followed her. “I only did it because I care.”

She glanced at you, the corner of her mouth twitching in what might have been the ghost of a smile. “I know. But let us survive this place, so you may continue to care another day.”

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart rarely showed fear. She was a woman forged in darkness, raised to endure pain and thrive in chaos. But as she knelt on the damp cobblestones of the alley, surrounded by sneering Sharrans, her shoulders trembled ever so slightly. Their taunts echoed off the walls, cruel and cutting.

"Look at her," one sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "A failed servant of the Dark Lady. What a disgrace. Did Shar discard you like the trash you are?"

Another kicked her in the side, and Shadowheart grunted, but she refused to cry out. "Pathetic," the second hissed. "Begging for scraps of redemption when you were meant to walk the shadows."

The third leaned close, gripping her chin roughly and forcing her to meet his gaze. "Do you miss her embrace, girl? Or did you run because you knew you weren’t worthy?"

Shadowheart’s hand twitched toward her weapon, but she was outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and worse, they knew her weaknesses. She felt their jeers carving into her like knives, cutting far deeper than any blade ever could.

But then, a voice cut through the din like a blade through silk. “Take your hands off her.”

The Sharrans turned, their expressions shifting from derision to surprise as you stepped into the mouth of the alley. You weren’t carrying a weapon; you never did. You were a bard, a healer, someone who mended wounds and sang away sorrow. To them, you were no threat at all.

And yet, there was something in your eyes—a stillness, a quiet storm—that made them pause.

"Or what?" one of them sneered, recovering quickly. "You’ll sing us a ballad?"

Your gaze flicked to Shadowheart. She was watching you, her face pale but her eyes wide with something like warning—or perhaps pleading. And then your attention snapped back to the Sharrans.

It happened so fast they didn’t have time to react. In one fluid motion, you grabbed a discarded spear leaning against the alley wall—likely dropped there by the very fools now surrounding Shadowheart—and hurled it with deadly precision. The first Sharran crumpled to the ground, the spear embedded in his chest.

The others blinked in shock, their bravado faltering. Before they could act, you closed the distance. Your movements were a blur, driven not by technique but by sheer, unrelenting determination. You snatched the spear from the lifeless body and swung it in a wide arc, knocking the second Sharran to the ground. He tried to scramble to his feet, but you drove the butt of the spear into his skull with a sickening crack.

The last Sharran, the one who had dared lay hands on Shadowheart, stumbled back, his confidence shattered.

“You’re mad!” he spat, drawing a dagger. “You’re just a bard—!”

His words were cut short as you thrust the spear forward, impaling him through the heart. He looked down at the weapon protruding from his chest, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for words. Then he fell, lifeless, onto the cobblestones.

You stood there, breathing heavily, the spear still clutched in your hands. Blood dripped from its tip, pooling around your feet. Shadowheart pushed herself upright, staring at you in stunned silence.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, your voice softer than she expected. You turned to her, your hands reaching out, but when you saw the blood on them, you hesitated.

Shadowheart shook her head, stepping closer. “You…” Her voice faltered, her usual poise slipping. “You just…”

You dropped the spear, letting it clatter to the ground as you moved to her side.

“They touched you,” you said simply, as though that explained everything. “No one touches you.”

For a moment, Shadowheart didn’t know what to say. She had always seen you as the gentle one, the light to her shadow, the person who hated violence and refused to carry a blade. And yet here you were, standing over the bodies of her tormentors, bloodied but unbowed.

“You didn’t have to—” she began, but you cut her off with a look.

“Yes, I did,” you said firmly. “And I would do it again.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, she closed the distance between you and pulled you into a fierce embrace, her hands clutching the back of your tunic as though afraid you might disappear. You held her just as tightly, the adrenaline in your veins slowly giving way to the aching reality of what you’d done.

“You’re a fool,” she murmured against your shoulder, her voice thick with emotion. “A reckless, beautiful fool.”

“And you’re worth every risk,” you replied, your lips brushing against her hair.

For once, Shadowheart didn’t argue.

Jaheira:

The evening at the tavern had been pleasant—cozy firelight, a few shared drinks, and soft murmurs of conversation between you and Jaheira. That was until a brash mercenary swaggered in, loud and boisterous, his voice cutting through the calm like a blade. His gaze had landed on Jaheira almost immediately, and the mocking began.

“Well, if it isn’t the elder druid herself,” he sneered, leaning on the edge of your table. “Tell me, Jaheira, do you need a cane to walk the forest now? Or do you just lean on the young one here to keep from breaking a hip?”

Jaheira’s lips tightened, her calm exterior betraying the faintest flicker of irritation. “Is there something you need?” she asked coolly, clearly unimpressed by his attempt to bait her.

The mercenary chuckled, ignoring her measured tone. “No need to get prickly, grandmother. Just surprised to see someone your age still kicking about. Aren’t you tired of pretending you can keep up with the rest of us? Retirement suits your kind better.”

Your hands clenched under the table. You hated violence, avoided it when you could, but the disdain in his voice and the way he looked down at Jaheira lit a fire in your chest. Before Jaheira could respond—before she could dismiss him or turn him into a toad with a flick of her magic—you stood up, your chair scraping against the floor.

“Step outside with me,” you said evenly, your voice calm but cold.

The mercenary blinked, surprised by the sudden challenge from someone who looked so unassuming. “What’s this?” he laughed. “The pacifist wants to have a word?”

“Now,” you insisted, your tone brooking no argument. The quiet intensity in your gaze must have unnerved him, as his smirk faltered before he shrugged and followed you out.

The alley behind the tavern was dark, the cold night air biting at your skin. The mercenary turned to face you, still smirking. “So, what’s this about? You gonna give me a little lecture? Maybe cry about—”

His words were cut off as you moved faster than he expected, the dagger in your hand finding its mark before he could react. A choked sound escaped him as you withdrew the blade, letting him crumple to the ground. You wiped the dagger clean on his tunic and left him where he fell, the anger in your chest finally settling as you turned back toward the warm glow of the tavern.

Jaheira looked up as you reentered the room, her sharp gaze immediately locking onto you.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

“Nothing,” you replied, slipping back into your chair with an air of nonchalance. “It’s taken care of.”

Jaheira’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she reached across the table, her thumb brushing against your cheek. When she pulled her hand back, there was a faint smear of red on her fingertip.

“I see,” she said dryly, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the situation. “And I suppose I shouldn’t ask for details?”

“Probably not,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair.

Jaheira studied you for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she reached for her drink, raising it in a small, almost imperceptible gesture of gratitude.

“I don’t need to know,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “But… thank you.”

You smiled, a warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the firelight.

“Always,” you said simply, and Jaheira’s small smile widened just enough to light up her face. The incident, though dark, faded into the background as the two of you resumed your evening, the connection between you stronger than ever.

I hope everyone is having a very happy holidays, here are some bg3 ladies for you all. Hope you enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[maxlarens]

pairing(s): engineer!george russell x driver!reader

brought on entirely by this ask thank you anon i owe you a great debt😭 also light angst beware.

You’re more angry than anything.

What a stupid mistake, taking the turn like that. Too hard too fast too reckless. Never careful enough, like George always presses you to be. You feel shame churning in the hollow of your chest in the back of the safety car.

You’re on the way to medical. You would be even if you didn’t have an ache in your neck. Something sharp in your chest. You’ve fractured a rib, you think. Broken it even. You know this feeling, the whiplash of a crash. Waiting to have your injuries confirmed.

You think of the car, the smell of smoke registering as you took a second to reorient yourself. To remember all of your limbs. Ringing in your ears, then George. George, prompting your reply over and over. Tone clipped, hurried, near-frantic, still-professional. The car is on fire. You need to get out of the car, now. And your limbs snapping back into awareness, into motion—

You’re fine now. Angry mostly.

You let the doctor check you over, refer you for an ultrasound for the rib. It hurts when they press on it. You’re left with a manila folder to give to your team and an order to take it easy for the rest of the day.

Outside the medical building you can hear the cars on track. It puts something sick in the pit of your stomach. At least it’s only FP2. You’ve not utterly ruined a race, and the team still have time to fix your mess. Still. Still.

You turn a corner to make your way back to Mercedes hospitality, you find George instead.

He looks like someone’s taken a livewire to him. His head of usually soft curls is messy, hair standing half on end. He’s got those serious, shell-shocked eyes that always appear when his smile vanishes. You frown as his head snaps to you, alerted by the sound of gravel underfoot.

“Shit,” you blink and he’s already halfway to you, “Are you alright? What did they say?”

His hands are on your shoulders, pulling you toward him and you’re not thinking anything in particular about that. Just grappling with his sudden closeness. His apparent worry. So apparent that someone’s sent him here to medical, to you instead of having his valuable input on the pit wall.

“I’m fine,” you push his hands off you, “I’ll just need an ultrasound. It’s nothing.”

“Did they check you for smoke inhalation?” he presses on, despite your attempt at deflecting, “Your car was on fire.”

You shrug, shake your head, “I dunno, George. They checked my breathing I guess.”

You hear a sharp intake of breath and feel him start to move toward the building. You grab his wrist, haul him back, knowing he’ll march you in there and demand they check if you don’t reassure him.

“I’m fine,” you insist, “No smoke inhalation. Not even a cough.”

He’s looking down at you, jaw set, the line of his mouth severe. So serious as he checks you over like he has x-ray vision— as if he can see things the doctors can’t because he’s more worried than they are. You’re keenly aware of your fingers looped around his wrist, the feeling of his pulse, his skin, the tender way his hand reaches to grab your wrist in kind.

Your relationship feels different here. In this moment.

The closeness of a driver and her engineer has never escaped you. From the moment you met him for the first time in Brackley— tall, cheerful, a bit awkward, a little overbearing— you’d known that you’d be close. That’s the nature of it. You didn’t have to be charmed by his sincerity to predict that.

But you’d grown closer than you would have ever thought. You know his quirks, his idiosyncrasies. How he has his tea, the clothing brand he buys all his clothes from, the way speaks to waiters like they’re old friends, the overly friendly nature that masks a man who’s just nervous people won’t like him. He knows yours.

Your proclivity for being reckless on track, because winning is everything and what are you if you’re not a winner? How you have three shots of espresso in your coffee every morning. The way you cry your eyes out at father-daughter moments in movies. Your ache to be loved and your accompanying fear of commitment.

George is like no-one else. No ex, no best friend, no situationship knows you like George does.

Inside and out.

Anyway. Your hand on his wrist, your aching rib, him standing outside medical when he should be on the pit wall. It makes your head spin.

He closes the distance between the two of you. Hauls you into his flat chest and weaves his fingers into your hair, cradling the back of your head like he might lose you. Something wells in the top of your throat. The back of your neck feels gooey, soft, as he holds you. As if all the tension is easing out of you.

You take a deep breath, wrap your hands around his waist. Fireproofs against the bare skin where his Mercedes polo has hiked up. He says something into your hair that you can’t hear. The tone of it gets you anyway, the fondness.

You hiccup, hating yourself for it.

Then you’re crying. Shock of the crash wearing off, unable to ignore the comfort of being held up physically and emotionally by George. Tears, wet, hot are streaming down your face. Soaking George’s shirt.

“You’re okay,” he says into your ear, rocking the two of you back and forth in the gravel, “You’re okay, I promise.”

You know you are. Logically. But hearing George say it makes it easier to believe. You think, even, that he might be saying it for himself too.

[isabeauwolf]

Trafalgar Law x Pregnant reader

💛 Chapter 1 💛 Chapter 3

Chapter 2 - Somebody call a doctor?

"Could you be my doctor?" Jess snickers over the phone. She called you as soon as she got home. "Really Y/n?" She cackled even harder. "Girl, you want Dr Grumpy to be more than your personal doctor." Pausing for dramatic effect and adding, "You want his daily dose of vitamin D sooo bad."

You knew she had that smug assed grin on her face as you rubbed your forehead. You knew she was right which made you even more flustered and embarrassed. "I know, I know, Jess." You groaned, "I wasn't thinking and it slipped out."

"You are way too cute for your own good." She commented. "You do know that right?"

"So I've been told." You muttered, laying down on your bed and hugging your snow leopard Build-a-Bear. It was an impulse buy you bought yourself for Christmas. It reminded you of Law every time you saw it and held it, wishing it was him.

"Do you need me to go with you to get your first ultrasound?" Jess asked, pulling out her pajamas from her closet

"Nah, be fine." You replied. "Plus Law will be with me."

"Let me know," Jess pressed. "Max considers you family." Max was Jess' big brother and owner of the coffee shop. The pair of siblings thought of you as their own baby sister, even if Jess was a year younger than you.

"Yeah, I know." You smile, "Thanks." You roll onto your side, facing the door.

You hear the tiny pitter patter of tiny feet running through the house and jingle coming towards you as Onigiri comes rushing into your room like a tiny rocket.

You laugh. "Somebody's missed me." You pat the spot beside your bed. "Hey baby, c'mere."

Onigiri. The tiny puppy with pure white fur and a huge black shaped triangle on his head, reminding you of rice balls.

And somehow of Law.

He runs around in a circle and jumps into your bed, barking and nuzzles into your side. Panting as his tail wags.

"I missed you too, my little cutie." You coo gently, petting him as he crawls underneath your blanket and cuddles against your belly.

Well, guess that explains why Onigiri seems glued to your side lately. Animals have a sixth sense of these things or so you've heard.

"Awe, lemme see, lemme see." Jess gushes into your ear, using her baby voice.

"Hold on, hold on." You turn on the camera to face yourself and angle your phone down so Jess can see the picture perfect sight. "There. Can you see him?"

Jess squealed, taking screenshots. "Looks like Dr Love's got some real competition for your love Y/n." She teases, grinning wide. "Onigiri and your mini me. Talk about a handful." Tilting her head, "Hope Doc isn't the jealous type."

"Why do you like to tease the poor man so much?" You ask, laying back down and petting Onigiri. "Are you sure you don't have a bully crush on Law?" You knew she didn't but you had to tease her back, biting your lip to stay composed.

It didn't work, you snorted as Jess grew defensive. Gawking at you and grimacing as if you just drop kicked her grandmother.

"What?! Hell no. Mister tall dark and emo drug lord ain't my type." Jess makes fake gagging noises, which causes you to giggle louder. "Besides, I like'em big and dumb."

"Bepo isn't Law's second in command for nothing you know." You pointed out, laying your head underneath the crook of your arm.

"Oh, you know what I mean " Jess waves you off. "He's so sweet, adorable and knows material arts, loyal, really, really tall." She sighs dreamily, falling into her bed. "Blonde hair, blue eyes... so shy."

"God help that poor, poor man." You give her a dramatic sigh and make the sign of the cross over your heart, "Corrupting poor Bepo's innocence and cuteness with your overly horny witch craft and voodoo magic. Jess for shame."

"Oh hell yes, I would!" Jess fires back. "Don't you judge me after pinning for drop dead gorgeous Dr Heart Stealer Y/n." She points her finger at you, setting her phone into her bed and pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in her cute purple lacy bra. "I would bet two hundred beri's.. no five hundred that you've had as many sinful, dirty thoughts and wet dreams for Law as I've had for my bear man."

You grew heated. "Fair enough." You couldn't deny it.

"I'll take your silence as a yes." Jess countered in a single song voice, slipping into an adult panda man onesie and fell back into her pile of panda and polar bear stuffed animals. "I'm home my babies." She scoops an armful and cuddles them, smiling wide.

You were honestly thinking you both had a taste in odd men.

Then again, being stuck in the winter island all your lives does make the world feel smaller.

"Alright, I'm going to bed." You yawn, rubbing your eyes and turn your lamp off on your nightstand.

"Night night, love ya." Jess blows you a kiss. "Give me the details tomorrow sexy mama."

You laugh, smiling. "Night, Jess."

You both hung up.

You peaked underneath you blanket to find Onigiri fast asleep, "Night, Onigiri." You whisper softly and layed back down, hugging your snow leopard closer to your chest as you unlocked your phone, thumb hovering over Law's name.

You knew you'd see him tomorrow, and yet, you couldn't help but feel nervous. Seriously, why did you ask your crush to become your doctor? Were you that desperate? At least, he didn't flat out call you an idiot to your face when you gave him a heart attack this evening.

Law's question rang through your mind.

Are you going to put the baby up for adoption?

Sure, it would be the responsible and logical thing to do. You didn't make enough to have a baby right now. You were barely scrapping by as it is. You did have some saving saved up for a rainy day. You had heard of couples try to conceive for years and were unable to, waiting for a miracle that never came. It would feel nice to help someone like that, but the real question was: Could you?

You were honestly surprised Law would agree to seeing you so easily. Surely, he was busy and had enough on his plate as it is.

You felt your lips curl upward.

Maybe the stoic, ice cold and straight laced doctor had a kind heart?

Taking a deep breath you decided to message Law first, nicknaming him "Snow Leopard" in your phone.

You: Good evening Law, thank you for talking with me tonight. I appreciate it. I'm going to bed now. I'll see you in the morning. Good night. :)

Three dots appeared when he messaged you back.

Snow Leopard: It was no problem at all, Y/n-ya. I was the one who offered in the first place. I am glad that you felt you could confide in me.

Good night and sleep well.

Your smile brightened as you set your phone down on the nightstand. "Good night, Law." You closed your eyes as your heart fluttered in your chest and went to sleep.

On the other side, Law sat down in his reading chair after taking off his reading glasses and the book he was reading, sitting in his lap. His phone in hand as he sighed and rubbed his forehead with the back of his palm.

He frowned look down at the message you sent. The pregnancy test you showed him was positive, but you still needed to be seen for a medical checking up and ultrasound. If you wanted him to be your primarily care doctor, he'd do it. He'd support you, offer medical advice, anything within his power and knowledge to help you.

Law set his glasses on the coffee table, put a bookmark in the book as he was reviewing and revising any material he had on pregnancy, labor and child birth on his selves.

He'd seem you around kids. You were always so kind, offering other pregnant woman a helping hand to the door or to watch their little ones while their mothers had to use the restroom or take a call.

He knew you would make a great mother someday.

He didn't expect for it to happen so soon and with someone else, even a one night stand. The tiny, microscopic percentage that you would get pregnant while using both forms of birth control wasn't unheard of, but the odds were their.

He wasn't aware that you were looking for a casual partner or hookup. He might have offered, if he'd known. Then again, he didn't ask and you hadn't brought it up.

Out of all the men on who came passing through this winter island, it had to be Ace. Luffy's big brother.

Law had Ace's number, knew it wasn't his place to inform the man that you were pregnant, it would be immoral and against doctor and patient confidentiality.

A tiny part of him hoped you didn't have any lingering feeling for the man.

The more he thought about it, the more his feelings he'd bottled up were festering. Jealousy, heartache and longing, to name a few.

Law never wanted you to think he was using his medical practice to coax you into anything you didn't want to do. Or for selfish reasons.

Setting the medical book down on top of the books he had littered and spread outs onto the coffee table. He glanced at it and decided to leave them and would pick everything up in the morning. He stretched and stood to his feet, turned the light off and figured he needed to shower and go to bed.

Law layed in bed, in the dark and stared at the ceiling. His hands tightened around the blanket, then relaxed. It felt dumb to be nervous about tomorrow, he's seen hundreds of patients, so why should tomorrow be any different? Scratch that. He knew why. It was you coming into his office, his new patient.

He scowled at the darkness, rolling onto his side, layed his arm underneath his pillow and slowly took in a deep breath and huffed it through his nose. Reaching for his phone, turning his head as to not blind himself when the screen lit up, glancing down at his lock screen of him and his adoptive father, Rosinante when Law graduated from medical school. Law felt himself smile as he unlocked it with the swipe of his thumb, oops, he forgot to close the text message with you.

He felt his cheeks burn in embarrassed as he backed out and returned to the home screen showing a picture of him, Bepo, Shachi, Penguin and Ikkaku during his uncle Doflamingo's annual Christmas party that Rosinante had taken last year.

Now, that he thought about it. It wasn't long after that he'd met you that night.

He had to rush back to the hospital for an emergency surgery on a patient, after working hours until the patient was stable Law had decided to grab a cup of coffee on the way home. He'd been exhausted, irritable after no sleep, he wasn't looking his best, if he was being honest.

Law had decided to walk down to the local coffee shop since the line in front of the hospital Moonbucks was jam packed and he didn't want to wait. So he went down the street, it was busy but quiet which surprised him. He noticed Bepo, Shachi and Penguin were waiting in line as well, then he remembered they'd mentioned the coffee shop had better service and a more cozy atmosphere. Something about the waitresses were cute and the owner was friendly.

Law didn't really care as long as the coffee wasn't too overpriced or tasted decent, or worse, tasted like watered down bean water. He didn't realize he'd been scowling until a feminine voice called his attention, making him return to reality.

"Long night, I take it?" You smile at him, tablet in hand, waiting patiently. Your hair was in a braid with tiny golden Christmas bells woven into it and you wore a black, blue and white sweater with polar bears wearing scarfs on them. "What can I get you?" You repeat gently.

Law's eyes widened, feeling his heart skip a beat and thud hard into his chest. Inwardly shaking himself and cleared his throat. "Medium dark roast, double shot espresso and cream, please." He felt his skin warm as he pulled out his wallet.

You type out his order, repeat it as he inserts his card. "Will that be all for today, doctor?"

Law's silver gaze met your own. "How did you know?"

Your smile widened, eyes lowering as you giggled. "You're still in uniform doctor."

What? No, he wasn't... Oh. Law glanced down at himself, he was so tired, he forgot to take off his surgical scrubs. Well, that's embarrassing. Thank God, he wasn't covered in blood. The surgeon felt his face grow redder as he covered his eyes with his spotted hat. "Oh, you're right." He muttered to himself, meeting your beautiful gems after typing in his pin and you handed him his receipt. "Thank you miss."

"Y/n." You correct, offering your hand. "Doctor?"

Law readjusted his hat, took your smaller hand in his own and shook it. "Trafalgar Law."

"That's a unique name Trafalgar." You tasted his name on your tongue, made him shudder. "I've never seen you around before. Are you new around here?"

"Law." He correct softly. "Trafalgar is my Last name." He didn't know why he felt the need to correct you, a stranger. He usually didn't care if anyone called him by his first or last name before.

You blushed as you lowered your hand. "Oh, I'm sorry." You cover your burning cheek, giving him a cute sheepish and apologetic smile. "I beg your pardon Law."

It felt right, hearing you call his name. He liked it.

"None taken, Y/n-ya." Law left his lips curl into a slight smirk causing your blush to deepen.

"Y/n-ya?" Your brows furrowed as you stared at him in curiosity. "Is that a strange habit of yours Law?" You lower your hand from your face and half turn, writing his name in a clear medium sized plastic cup. "Or is it how you usually greet people Law-ya?" You tease, eyes sparkling with a teasing lit.

Oh, you were spunky too?

Law's gaze flickered to your hand writing it was neat and cursive, pretty even. His smirk grew into something smug and playful, "Something like that." He commented returning his card into his wallet and back into the pocket of his coat.

"Thank you, Law. Your order will be right up." You fully turn, walking to the coffee machine to make his order.

His gaze lowered to your backside in those tight, stretchy black leggings and black boots. He felt himself swallowing, mesmerized by the sway of your hips before he shook himself, raising a hand to scrub his jaw as he glanced away.

Well, he was awake, flustered and horny now. Great, just what he needed.

Law shuffles awkwardly towards the pick up counter, waiting and pulling out his phone to distract himself when he feels someone sling an arm over his shoulder.

"Rough morning, Captain?" Shachi asked smiling.

"Rough night." Law grunts. "Some dumbass decided to fist fight Akainu and play with fire last night while drunk."

"Wow, seriously? On Christmas?" Bepo asks, appearing on the other side of Law.

"Who's that crazy enough to face that tight assed marine?" Penguins asks.

Law sighed, shaking Shachi off and pinched the bridge of his nose with his middle and index finger. "Monkey D Luffy, Garps grandson."

Bepo, Shachi and Penguin all parroted in shock, eyes wide. "Monkey D Garp has a grandson?!"

"Yes, apparently he's got three troublesome grandsons and Luffy, or StrawHat is one of them." Law admitted. "I talked with him and StrawHats mother last night in the waiting room. A reckless, stubborn kid was pissed off about Akainu insulting his older brothers."

"Law?" You called.

Law opened his eyes, lowered his hand and met your smiling face.

"Your order is ready." You lower his coffee onto the counter and scoot it towards him. "Careful, it's hot." You warned gently.

"Well, hello again gorgeous." Penguin purred.

"Captain, I didn't know you were hitting on this cutie." Shachi asked, wiggling his brows, covering his mouth to whisper into Law's pierced ear. "Go, cap. Did you get her number?"

"No, I'm not." Law bit out, gritting his teeth. "And get off." He shrugged him off, stepping forward to pick up his drink. His face softened as he sighed, already feeling mentally drained. "Thank you, Y/n-ya."

"Your welcome, Law." You replied, smile widening as you waved goodbye. "Have a good day and hope to see you again soon."

Law'a lips curled as he plugged his phone onto the charger and layed it down beside him. It figures that it quickly became a habit for him to have coffee at Max's shop from then onward. He had to see you again, even if, he wouldn't admit it at the time. Whenever Law was stressed or down, he thought of you and your smiling face.

Closing his eyes as he whispered gently, "Night, Y/n."

---------

You arrived way too early. At seven in the morning. Folder in hand with all of your important paperwork and your purse as you walked into the hospital and towards the receptionist who greeted you with a practiced perfect smile.

"How many I help you?"

"Did Doctor Trafalgar Law schedule me an appointment for an ultrasound and blood work?" You asked, feelings your cheeks heat up. It would be super embarrassing, if he had forgotten.

She raised a brow. "I'll check." Her eyes returning to her computer, hands hovering over the keyboard. "Name?"

You give her your first and last name.

"Yes, Doctor Law has you scheduled in." She picked up a clip board and handed it to you. "Fill these out please and he'll call you shortly." Her gaze scanning you up and down.

Why do you feel as if she's low key judging you?

"Thank you." You smiled back, picked a seat and sat down. Opening your folder and wallet, writing down your information. You were on the last page when some walked through the door and called your name.

"Y/n L/n?"

You raised you head, smiling widening as you gathered your things and stood.

It was Bepo. The giant man was dress in bright orange scrubs.

"Bepo!" You walked towards him. You ignored the receptionist stare on your back. "It's great to see you."

Bepo leaned down and hugged you, gently. "Garchu, Y/n!" The giant blonde man nuzzled the top of your head in affection. "Law told me you would be here this morning, but he didn't say what for." He pulled away, frowning in worry. "Are you alright?"

You forgot that Bepo was a huger. "Garchu Bepo." You laughed, hugging him back. "I'm fine. Just need to run a few tests." Well, you weren't wrong.

"Don't be nervous." Bepo holds the door open for you and let you in first before leading the way with his own clip board in hand. "First we will do a standard physical and then Law will be with you shortly." Glancing down at the clipboard in your hand he smiled, "I'll take that for you when you are finished."

True to his word, Bepo took your height and weight, standard physical. Gave you a plastic cup with your name on it and asked you to use the bathroom across the hallway to pee in a cup.

It always felt awkward peeing in one of those tiny plastic cups. You were lightly haunted the one time you had to use one during a standard drug test and your were on your period. That was embarrassing as you had handed it to the guy with a huge blush on your face.

Shaking your head you took the cup, did your business, washed your hands and very carefully watched back to the nurses station to hand her the full cup.

She thanked you and took the sample with a gloved hand and put it in a ziplock bag.

You made a beeline towards the room you were in to finished your paperwork. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it!

You placed the clipboard onto the desk when you heard someone knock.

"Y/n-ya?" Law's voiced called behind the door. "May I come in?"

"Yes, Law you may." You giggle. You really couldn't help it. You walked back towards your seat.

Law opened the door and walked in, a brow raised. "Someone slept well, if you are this spunky in the morning."

You try to ignore how incredible-y hot Law looks in his glasses, lab coat and the stethoscope around his neck. Not to mention, the black button down he's wearing with a few of the buttons unbuttoned and his sleeves roll half up his arms. Jesus, did he not care about the hospital dress code?

You swallow, stealing a glance at his tattoos, not to mention the hint of muscle peaking though. Oh, how you wanted to trace the hidden pattern of ink with your fingers or tongue. Inwardly telling yourself to shut up you answered, "Something like that."

Closing the door behind him, Law went towards the sink to wash his hands, dry them and slip on a pair of latex gloves. "Other than yesterdays vomiting. Are you showing any other symptoms of pregnancy? Anything you can think of or might have missed?"

You hum, counting off your fingers. "My period being two weeks late, having to go to the bathroom more often, I have this weird craving for bbq and having cramps, but no period.... that's about it."

"Everything seems normal." He concluded, picking up your paperwork and skimming through it. "Do you remember what set off your nausea?"

"Yeah, pickles from Max's sandwich which sucks." You pout. "I love pickles."

Law glanced up and opened his mouth to say something when there was another knock on the door.

"Come in." Law answered without peaking over his shoulder.

"I'm coming to collect Y/n's paperwork and to give her this gown to change into." Bepo replied sheepishly, "Sorry." The poor man got easily discouraged and depressed.

"It's fine, Bepo." Law waved him off, handing him the clipboard, taking the blue dressing gown from Bepo and handing it off to you before he stood. "I'll let you change while I wait outside."

"Thank you again, Law." You smile causing the doctor to pause.

"Your welcome, Y/n-ya." Law gave a hint of smile then closed the door behind him.

You released the breath that you didn't know you were holding. Just think of this as a regular doctors visit, Y/n. Don't make it weird. Law's not here to be ogled and drooled after. You mentally scolded yourself, feeling yourself growing flustered. He's doing his job. Get those fantasies out of your head!

Ugh, why did Jess slip that stupid doctor romance novel into your email this morning?! You know she did it on purpose.

Didn't help that it had you hooked when you found out of the male lead was a grumpy doctor. Who had you immediately think of Dr Heart Stealer himself.

Folding your clothes into the chair beside you on top of your folder and purse. You felt yourself shiver from the cold air in the room when you were completely naked, except for your fuzzy socks. You knew it would look stupid, but you knew the floor would be cold if you took them off. So you slipped on the hospital gown. Uh oh. How were you going to tie the back, if you can't see what your doing?

Okay, think about it as a bigger apron. That's all it is, yup... nope. Dammit.

You jumped as your heard another knock on the door. "Yes?" You sat down in your seat, on the white crinkly thin assed sheet of paper they always put on these seats. You knew it was for sanitary reasons, but you always hoped you never tore it.

"Y/n-ya? Are you decent?" Law asked.

"I.. uh.. I might need some help." You admitted, mentally groaning. "Can you help me, please?"

Law opened the door. "What's the matter?"

You pout and half turn while completely covering your ass, yet you felt the cold air hit your back. "I can't seem to tie it."

"Is that all?" He chuckled, step forward and slipping on new medical gloves. "I can always ask a female nurse to-"

You cut him off. "It's really no bother, Law."

"Alright." Law nods, slowly approaching as you fully turned and moved your hair out of the way. The man towers over you, reaches out, his inked hand hesitates before he helps you tying the hospital gown closed. His skilled fingers move with practiced easy. Gaze flickering down to your skin, noticing the map of goosebumps, It's from the cold in the room, he tells himself, even if, he secretly wished it was from him having such an affect on you.

With your back completely bare before him and being unable to see his transfixed and greedy stare as his cheeks warm and his heartbeats and thunders hard in his ears. He'd love nothing more than to trail feathery light kisses or his inked digits along the nape of your neck, press you closer into his chest and cause a new litter of goosebumps to pebble and rise.

God, Law doesn't know what he wants to do more. Hold you, tease you, kiss you or all three? Was this a bad idea or mistake having you as his new patient? A cute distraction that he didn't need. A temptation to test his patience as he forced himself to not act on impulse or his intrusive thoughts? Swallowing thickly, he lowered his hands. "There." He backed away to give you space as to not intimidate you. Law hoped you didn't think he was being a creep with how long it look him to tie the damned gown closed.

You fully turn and smile at him. "Thanks, Law."

"Your welcome, Y/n-ya." He meets your beautiful eyes. Once again, he found himself checking impulse after impulse with you, ignoring the yearning he felt or simply reach out to cup your face to run his inked thumb along the apple of your cheek.

Your gaze lowered dreamily to his lips. Would he taste like mint and coffee? Cinnamon, or spearmint?

There was another knock on the door, causing reality to come crashing back down, washing away the sexual tension and raw, burning haze from you both.

Yes, he's The Doctor and you as his new Patient.

Law's jaw clenches. "What is it?" He calls without glancing away from you before half turning to fully glare at whoever the hell was behind that goddamn door.

The door opens, Penguin peaks his head through and smiling sheepishly. "Sorry to disturb you but uh.... the newbies in training and interns are growing bored." His gaze flickers to you, his face and eyes brighten, apologetic smile turning smug. Oh, that's why Captains been fidgeting and antsy since he clocked in at 5am, secretly passing his office.

Law's heated glare turned seething, clicking his tongue. "Can't they follow simple orders or expect me to hold their hands?" Slipping his gloves off and throwing them in the trash as he storms towards the door, pauses and glances back at you from over his shoulder. "Excuse me, Y/N-ya." His face and angered expression softened a smidge, noticeable, but there.

"Don't worry." You wave your hand in a shooing gesture. "I'll be right here. "Don't be too harsh on 'em Doctor Law." You giggle.

Law nods again, giving his back to you. His eyes darken and his long legs making quick strides in Penguin's direction who immediately backs away to give his friend and boss more room. His inked hand tightens around the handle, the metal groans as he swung the door open, his frame taking up the full space as he goes off. "What the hell are you lot stranding around for? This is a hospital. A place of medicine and healing, not an amusement park or get away."

You hear apologies flying, feet shuffling at Law's command as if he's God himself.

"Sorry Doctor!"

"Right away, Sir!"

"But I already finished my task."

"It's my break, Doc." Someone complained. "Been working since last night."

Law's jaw continues to clench and grind. "I don't want to hear excuses," he growls, causing all of them to take in their boss' demeanor. Sure, Law's a crabby, stick in the mud and can bark out harsh and cold comments, but... The Surgeon of Death looks more angry and close to snapping.

It's like he's a man possessed by the devil himself.

Bepo looks worried.

Penguin huddled closer to Shachi, whispering in his ear that you are here. The pairs shoulders shake, trying to keep in their snickers. "Caps, gone full territorial mode."

Of course, Law heard that. "What was that?" A tick mark formed on the corner of his forehead. "Are you volunteering for Clinic Duty this morning, Shachi?" He tilts his head, voice dripping in venom. "How kind of you. Now hop to it."

Penguin and Shachi flinch. Their eyes widening, meeting cold, liquid silvers.

"But Cap, it's Pen's turn.." Shachi correctly.

Law's eyes narrows. "Did I stutter?"

Shachi shuts up and followed orders.

Being left along, you were left with your thoughts and observing. You were reminded of seeing him in his blue scrubs the first night you two met.

Law seemed like the kind of angry and grumpy doctor who rarely smiled or glares and barks orders, a gorgeous asshole with a coffee addiction, clearly overworked and an insomniac.

It makes sense, that he's grouchy.

You will admit that you felt a spark rush through you when your eyes connected with his stormy, smoldering silver eyes. They're beautiful and overpowering.

You think that's the first time you've been Law's stoic mask crack into a murderous glower. Dare you say his angry expression was cute? Watching from a distance, he looked like a tiger stalking his pray, it should make you feel unnerved and scared.

You can't pull your gaze away from the scene.

Then again, this is the first time you've seen Law in his element, his work place and stomping ground. The growl and authority dripping from his deep voice causes your thighs to press together, his shoulders are tense as his inked hand tightens around the door frame, muscles flexing underneath his inked skin.

His demeanor is more intimating. His agitation vibrates through the chill in the air conditioned room, causing goosebumps to rise and spread across your skin and your nipples hardened as you bite your lower lip. Sweet mother and Christ, scold me and command me like that Doctor Law and I'm all yours. You feel your face grow inflamed as you mentally scold yourself again. Dammit, go away, naughty thoughts, go away! You yell inside your head and mentally waving your arms, growing more embarrassed. Stupid Jess! Stupid raunchy Doctor romance novel! I blame you!

Hearing the door close, your straighten your shoulders and try to act as if you weren't mentally arguing with yourself and thinking something kinky about your new, hot Doctor.

Law lowers his frame back into his seat, scooting it closer as the wheels roll across the tiled floor. He releases a huff, shoulders relaxing as he runs an inked hand through his dark, unruly tresses. "Apologies, Y/n." This close, you can see the faint dark circles underneath his eyes, become more pronounced as it brings out the color of his bewitching liquid metal orbs.

You swallow around the lump in your throat, mouth feels dry. "Can I have some water, please?"

"Of course," Law nods, standing to his feet, walks out to the nurses station and comes back with a chilled bottle of water. "Are you alright?" Offering you the water with a hint of concern in his voice.

"Yup, I'm fine." You take it and try to open it. Brows furrow as you try again. "What the hell?" Again, its not budging. "Did they glue this on or something?"

Law pressed his lips together to bite back a laugh. "Here, let me before you make a mess." He reaches out and gently, taking the plastic bottle into his hand, twisting it and like magic it opens with ease. Resealing it and handing it back to you, watching as you reach out and squeeze the offending plastic a bit too hard, not caring, if a few big, fat droplets fall and land on your thin hospital gown.

"What kind of bullshit is this?" You glare at the bottled water as you took a few gulps to quench your thirst. You blink, feeling yourself grow even more heated and re-screwing the cap. "Wow, these mood swings are seriously no joke. Oh, thank you by the way."

This time Law did laugh. "No problem, Y/n-ya." He cleared his throat while his shoulders shook as he grinned, it looks boyish and made him appear younger as he answered. "Loss of strength, hormonal changes, mood swings and fatigue are all normal during the first trimester."

"I can't exactly run to you every time I can't open a bottle of water Law." You replied, hand tightening around the bottle. "You are a busy guy. People need you."

"Yes, but I'm your doctor now and I always take good care of my patients. You are a top priority now, don't ever forget that Y/n-ya."

"Playing favorites now are we, Doctor Law?" You tease, leaning back down onto the table.

Law was tempted to say yes, but kept his mouth shut as he pulled the mini ultrasound machine closer.

He takes what looks to be a white vibrating wond, if you've ever seen one. Slipping a condom over it, opening a bottle of lube and smearing it on the device. "Now, I want you to guide this to the opening of your vagina and I'll do the rest." His tone is serious, he isn't joking.

Your eyes widen. "What?" Your face reddening.

------ End of Chapter 2 ------

💛 Chapter 1 - Coffee and Confessions

💛 Chapter 3 - Heartbeat

I know, I know, I'm late. I'm sorry! But I hope this makes up for it! The Cliff hanger was an impulse XD Gotta keep ya'll on your toes, don't I?

Happy Valentines Day, my peeps and Law!

Tag List: @m0sigma7 @angelblueflame @pandora-writes-one-piece @short-honey-badger @supreme-burrito @fanaticsnail @turtletaubwrites @cherry-queens-blog @fairymama624 @mrstraffy @kira-scarllet @strawheart-pirate @thekatisspooky @lunulatalux @physics-of-one-piece @honeyshiddendesire

[pollkien]

MAEDHROS PROPAGANDA:

Feen’s first son. Probably very hot given how hot his dad was

Actually tried to be a decent guy in Beleriand unlike most of his brothers

Tall and ginger

Named Fingon the valiant and did not forget his friendship even when the ships were burned :’( and he “alone stood to the side”!!

Unfortunately got gotted by Morgoth. Hung from his wrist for like 20 years.

“for the fire of life was hot within him, and his strength was of the ancient world, such as those possessed who were nurtured in Valinor. His body recovered from his torment and became hale, but the shadow of his pain was in his heart; and he lived to wield his sword with left hand more deadly than his right had been.” Cute

Tragic! So tragic!

Invented Active Elf Suicide by jumping into a volcano. Yay.

“Maedhros did deeds of surpassing valour, and the Orcs fled before his face; for since his torment upon Thangorodrim his spirit burned like a white fire within, and he was as one that returns from the dead” slaydhros!

Moved his bros out of Hithlum so they wouldn’t bitch

March of Maedhros, Union of Maedhros, all named after him

He just seems like a big purring cat :)

Himring alone stood among the Dagor Bragollach! In fact Tol Himring is still around in the third age!

Searched for Eluréd and Elurín after the second kinslaying :(

Stole the two remaining Silmarils with Maglor

“But Maedhros and Maglor would not hearken, and they prepared, though now with weariness and loathing, to attempt in despair the fulfilment of their oath; for they would have given battle for the Silmarils, were they withheld, even against the victorious host of Valinor, even though they stood alone against all the world.” This is so hot

I guess he also is hot because he died in a fiery chasm.

Was noted for his bodily comeliness and was named Maitimo for it ;)

Shared Beren’s epesse

FËANOR PROPAGANDA:

If we do not consider opinion, Fëanor is objectively the sexiest man

“For Fëanor was made the mightiest in all parts of body and mind: in valour, in endurance, in beauty, in understanding, in skill, in strength and subtlety alike: of all the Children of Ilúvatar, and a bright flame was in him.” Not just of the Noldor. Of all the Children of Ilúvatar

Not sure about the understanding part but still he is quite literally the sexiest guy dead or alive. But we have a competition so who cares!!!

Made the Silmarils. Yeah, those things. Title of the book and all. Hell yeah

Invented kinslaying… or should we say kin slaying 💅💅💅💅💅💅

Second biggest hater in the world only behind Morgoth

I don’t know I think threatening your own half brother in the middle of a courtyard with the first ever weapons is quite hot…

So sexy that he fucked Nerdanel at least six times. Can’t say that about Maedhros. For all we know Maedhros fucked 0 times

Also so hot that his body literally caught fire when his spirit left his body. You cannot get hotter than that.

“He was tall, and fair of face, and masterful, his eyes piercingly bright and his hair raven-dark; in the pursuit of all his purposes eager and steadfast. Few ever changed his courses by counsel, none by force. He became of all the Noldor, then or after, the most subtle in mind and the most skilled in hand. In his youth, bettering the work of Rúmil, he devised those letters which bear his name, and which the Eldar used ever after; and he it was who, first of the Noldor, discovered how gems greater and brighter than those of the Earth might be made with skill. The first gems that Fëanor made were white and colourless, but being set under starlight they would blaze with blue and silver fires brighter than Helluin; and other crystals he made also, wherein things far away could be seen small but clear, as with the eyes of the eagles of Manwë. Seldom were the hands and mind of Fëanor at rest.” I mean come on he fucks so hard

Told Morgoth himself to get the fuck out of his house

#1 Morgoth hater ever

“For Fëanor was driven by the fire of his own heart only, working ever swiftly and alone; and he asked the aid and sought the counsel of none that dwelt in Aman, great or small, save only and for a little while of Nerdanel the wise, his wife.” Tolkien sure goes on and on about how amazing Fëanor is doesn’t he

So stupid but so cute in how stupid he is

Loved his dad above all else <3

Ome of the most reknowned smiths, linguists, and loremasters ever. What can’t he do honestly

“‘Here once was light, that the Valar begrudged to Middle-earth, but now dark levels all. Shall we mourn here deedless for ever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain tears in the thankless sea? Or shall we return to our home? In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about, where a free people might walk. There they lie still and await us who in our folly forsook them. Come away! Let the cowards keep this city!’” Feanor…

Even though he died he fought multiple Balrogs at once and even then they could not kill him. Yay Fëanor

Jailed forever 😔 but at least he exists happily with his dad in Mandos now

[startanewdream]

A small Harry and Minerva moment, set after the final battle, in honour of Minerva's birthday.

*****

"I am not coming back," Harry blurts out. Next to him, Minerva's only reaction is a flicker on her spell: for a moment, the broken chairs of the Transfiguration classroom get extra pairs of legs that make them look like spiders.

When the chairs go back to normal, she turns to Harry with an impassive look.

"I imagined so."

Harry blinks. "You did? You never mentioned anything."

Minerva shares his surprise. "It was not my place to say anything. You are of age now."

"So all this time I've been helping here at Hogwarts, you just knew and went along with it?"

"Would it please you if I say I do not agree with your decision?"

"Yes, actually."

There's a hint of a smile on Minerva's lips. "I think you should come back to school."

"Oh." Harry looks down at his feet before moving to fix the bricks on the wall. Despite what he just told her, it's undeniable that this was not what Harry wanted to hear. "You think I am not ready?"

He sounds young. It's difficult to match this adult Harry — nearly eighteen-year-old, tall like his father, and spotting too many scars for his age — with the eleven-year-old who was sorted into her House, but that's the memory that resurfaces: Harry is eleven and he was caught out of his bed at night, losing 50 points to Gryffindor. He'd looked upset at the idea of being a disappointment.

That's how he looks now.

"You are of age," she repeats, her voice more tender than she allows herself around him, lest she betrays her soft spot for him. Harry's eyes are hungry as he turns to face her. "You faced more than any exam could measure — you faced things that cannot be measured." She thinks about the unconfirmed tales of a sacrifice and master of death, and it's not easy to match this with a boy worried about homework and deadlines. "From an educational point of view, I believe your time at Hogwarts has concluded."

Harry watches her. "But?" He guesses.

She allows herself a little smile. "But education is not all Hogwarts has to offer." She remembers seeing that scrawny kid laughing as he first took flight on a school broomstick; three friends sitting outside on a winter afternoon, bundling up next to a warm blue fire and sharing tales; a boy and his girlfriend, walking hand-in-hand through the halls, oblivious to any gossip. "I would be glad if you returned only to enjoy your Seventh Year as a common student. No threat. No drama. Just school."

"Just school," he repeats, his gaze far away now as if he could see it. Then Harry blinks. "Hermione and Ginny are coming back. Ron is not, though."

Minerva nods. She won't say it, but sometimes she wonders if the fact that Ron Weasley isn't returning isn't what's weighing most on Harry. Inseparable like brothers. Like father, like son.

"Do you think my parents would be okay with it?"

This time, the question baffles her; she's glad she wasn't transforming anything because it might have been disastrous.

"I do not believe I am qualified to answer this, Harry," she says.

"Ah, it's just —" He holds the back of his head, ruffling his hair, unaware that this was what James did when he was embarrassed. "You are one of the last people that knew them."

And this, as far as Minerva is concerned, is a terrible thing. James and Lily would be only thirty-eight if they were alive. She has lived now nearly four times what they did; how is it that there are now so few people that knew them?

Harry looks young once again. She knows he's made up his mind — and like Lily, he's adamant once he's decided something —, so this need for validation isn't what she associates with the young man she saw standing up to Voldemort one month ago.

But for all his deeds, Harry is just a boy who grew up longing for his parents — parents who had loved him fiercely, she knows. She doubts Harry might ever do anything that James and Lily wouldn't support — God knows Minerva supports him, and she isn't even his relative — but she also thinks they would insist that Harry return to his final year.

Seventh Year. That had been the year when James and Lily were Head Boy and Head Girl, and the future had looked promising to both. That had been the year when they had started dating; when the darkness of the war hadn't yet tinted their lives. When they had been the happiest. How could they not want the same for Harry?

But that's not what she tells him. "Yes," she lies calmly. "James and Lily would approve it."

Harry breathes easily. "Thanks." He moves to fix another desk, not noticing how, a long time ago, someone carved JP+LE in the wood.

Harry's spellwork is good. He might enjoy some refinement, but she doubts he will be fixing desks in his future job, so instead of commenting on it, she just lets it slide.

"Of course," she notes with a hint of humour, "if you came back, it would not have been all fun. I would have high expectations for you."

"Quidditch?" Harry guesses. "I'd say that Gryffindor is safe in Ginny's hands."

"I enjoy the Quidditch trophy in my office," she agrees. "But alas I was thinking about another responsibility. A Head Boy badge would suit you." Harry's eyes widen; she is once more sorry for not insisting harder with Albus that Harry should have been made prefect. "As it did your parents."

Harry smiles. "I would enjoy that."

"There are tons of paperwork, I might warn you — though not unlike being an Auror." Harry chuckles. "But either way, Harry, your parents would have been proud."

As I am proud of you, she thinks.