#and it turned out trying to keep an eye on River was like trying to herd cats

[uzumaki-rebellion]

In Your Arms Tonight by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie Moore

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Unprotected Sex, Adult Language, Speculative Elements

Summary: Annie has been asked by her estranged husband Smoke to provide hot food for the opening of his new juke joint in Clarksdale. After seven years apart, their passion and love for each other hasn't waned, but Smoke learns the hard way that leaving his wife alone for a long stretch of time doesn't mean other suitors haven't been chomping at the bit to be with her in his absence.

Word count: 7.2K

"Somebody take me

In your arms tonight, alright

Somebody take me

In your arms tonight…"

Miles Caton – "I Lied to You"

Oh, he was mad.

Big mad.

Full lips all bunched up in a pout. Eyes more narrow than a sewing needle stitching a hemline back in her house. Fingers gripping the rolled tobacco cigarette tight.

Annie Moore watched her estranged husband Elijah "Smoke" Moore pretend to act unbothered on the second-floor, looking down at the mighty fine juke joint he and his twin Stack cobbled together in a day.

That big nigga was fuming up there, all on account of Beau Willie approaching her for a plate of fried catfish, and her mama's red rice recipe carried all the way over from Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

There was plenty of fish to fry, pots of greens to stir, fried potatoes to season, and plenty of people to buy plates and eat them in Club Juke.

Annie wiped her brow with a folded towel next to the fryers and pretended not to notice her man hawking her from above. She gave Beau Willie two big slices of white bread with hot sauce, and pointed out the Irish beer, and Italian wine available to purchase with it. Her best friends Millie and Alberta helped cook and serve, and they all tapped their feet to the music swirling throughout the transformed sawmill. Two of Millie's older daughters stood nearby, watching and learning, and every now and then, the women would let them cook a batch of fish and sell some plates. Grace Chow the grocery store owner, also helped serve and sell liquor while gossiping with them.

"That man keep starin' at you, he gonna have his eyes fallin' outta his head," Millie whispered.

Grace giggled. Annie rolled her eyes and popped the cap of Beau Willie's beer with a bottle opener for him. Handed him the drink.

"There ya go, Beau Willie. You enjoy all that and come back for more when you ready," she said.

"You know I'll be back for your cookin', Annie. Every time," Beau Willie said with a voice deeper than the Mississippi River.

Brawny and handsome, Beau Willie worked the cotton fields like most of the colored people inside the juke. He was her first boyfriend. The first boy to ever kiss her, because of Smoke being too chickenshit to tell Annie that he wanted her first.

Delta Slim belted out some tunes on his harmonica and tickled the piano keys, and Lloyd Allen played the lead guitar. The dancing crowd added the extra percussive beats. Preacher Boy Sammie stood next to the legend and played along with his guitar respectfully, not trying to outplay his elders, just keeping the rhythm steady with his strumming. A fiddler and two sibling banjo players waited offside for their turn to perform.

Annie served a few more plates and propped herself next to Grace against the counter filled with liquor bottles and high-priced hooch. She rightfully assumed Smoke and Stack stole all that shit. Smoke came to her house with pockets so fat and full of cash that she knew he'd been up to no good again. Wasn't no need to question or fuss with him about his criminality. He was going to do what he wanted.

A soft shiver went up her spine.

Lord, that man put it on her earlier that day! Twice. It was like old times with them. Argue and fight, and then fuck the disagreement away.

An undercurrent of disappointment simmered in her blood for his abandonment of their marriage after the loss of their baby. He begged her to run off to Arkansas with him after they robbed several banks in Clarksdale, and she refused to leave their baby behind in the ground they buried her in. That gravesite was holy, and she didn't want to leave her kin behind either. Smoke grew bitter about his pain. Selah, their baby girl, had meant everything to him. He couldn't wait to be a father and the first time he held her, the tears wouldn't stop flowing. They never stopped flowing after her death.

Annie did all she could when Selah grew sick. Asked every ancestor she knew by name and then some for help, wrung her hands with High John the Conqueror root as she beseeched God to grant her one holy favor: save her daughter from a too soon homegoing.

It wrecked Smoke.

He turned bitter, surly, and prone to drinking all day and night. The resentment in his eyes when she could cure ailments in other people, but not her own child, festered like an infection full of pus in his spirit. He said not one word to her, even though she sensed that negative energy clinging to him.

Her sorrow buried itself in her chest and she stumbled around each day numb for many months. They were not good to each other. He got it in his head to leave, like going away would banish Selah from their collective memory. She cursed him out. Beat her hands on his chest. How could he up and leave their child? Who was going to take care of her grave? Talk to her? Let her know they loved her beyond the veil of life?

He didn't skip off in the night when he left. That big gorgeous man looked Annie straight in her face and told her he couldn't stay. If he did, he feared he would turn into his father. A sullen, abusive man.

"Go on then," she said, "You scared to handle your feelings like a man, then leave. I'll stay and honor her and make a life with this pain."

He winced, and she turned her back on him, prepared an herbal remedy for a customer who was due to come by that day.

Smoke left her.

She had the community's support and sympathy. Built a business using the conjuring and medicinal skills she learned from her grandmother and Smoke's mother, Taiwo, both Hoodoo women. Taiwo nurtured her growth of knowledge until her passing two years ago. Annie stayed rooted in her power and fierce determination to keep her people thriving in Clarksdale.

She snuck a sip of the good hooch and squeezed her eyes shut from the burn that scorched her throat.

"Ooh, wee! That is some strong corn liquor," Annie gasped, patting her chest.

Millie cackled and sipped it like a pro, the moonshine sliding down her gullet like water.

"I don't know how you do that," Annie said with wonderment on her face.

"Y'all can't be drinking up the supply," Smoke said.

Annie jumped at the sound of her husband's voice. He'd moved in stealth down from the top floor to the main one. Grace wandered off to check on her husband, Bo.

"You ain't paying enough to be worried about me taking a drink when I want one," Annie joked.

"Thought I paid you in other ways that ain't got nothing to do with cash money," he teased, sliding his tongue across his top lip.

Millie smirked and lifted freshly cooked fish from the fryers and dumped them on some paper to drain. Annie wiped her hands and called one of the teen-aged girls over from the back to take over her spot.

"Where you going?" he asked.

"Going to mingle and let people know we got a hot batch ready. Why you stressing me?"

"As long as you're doing that and not flirting with customers."

"Flirting with who?"

Annie put a hand on her hip. Eyed him up and down.

Smoke glanced around. The crowd wasn't paying attention to him.

"Summa these menfolk might have some amorous intentions toward you that they shouldn't," he said.

She slanted her head and waited for him to continue. He snuck a glimpse of her chest. Annie wore her good bra tonight. Her breasts sat high like mountain peaks and looked voluptuous in her new velvet green dress with the few sparkly sequins she sewed into it. She gave enough cleavage with her beads falling down the center of her breasts guiding inquisitive eyes to the Promised Land. Green was Smoke's favorite color on her. Every man watched her work the floor all evening looking like a Hoodoo queen.

Her heavy hips and high riding backside cast spells on other men as she passed them by, and that worried Smoke in that sexually charged environment. Just because they made love hours ago didn't mean he had her safely tucked in his pocket. And he knew that. He'd been gone much too long to think other men hadn't plotted to scoop her up. It was one thing for her to be out of sight/out of mind while he was up north and not faced with other suitors pursuing her. Quite another to witness it full on in person. That's why he chased the back of her dress every chance he got when she went to wandering in the juke.

His reconciliation with her was still tenuous. By his facial expression, she knew he was having flashbacks of sticking his thick dick in her deep, gushy pussy, and he worried that some other man would dare to wet his dick in it, too. It kept him on his toes. Territorial. He'd already shot two men who tried to steal his liquor when he first arrived in town. If a man tried stealing his wife's pussy…there'd be a funeral in the morning.

Smoke didn't answer her question any further about flirting and cut his eyes away from her face. She slunk around him, draped her arms across his shoulders from the side, and stared up into the brown eyes he once gave their baby girl.

"What you worried about, Elijah?" she purred playfully.

"Ah, woman, get on and handle your business."

He tried to act nonchalant, but his eyes darted back and forth to clock anybody waiting to approach her when she moved away from him.

She kissed his cheek and sauntered off, glancing back to catch him watching her. Sure enough, three other men did the same, grinning at the seductive way she swung her hips. They looked elsewhere when Smoke turned their way, going in the opposite direction of her.

"How you folks doing? We got some fresh fish hot and ready. Some Creole potato salad, too! Don't be shy about getting seconds or thirds…hey Earline! I love that dress on you! Shake it, sis! Casper, let some other fellas get a chance to dance with her…hey Ora Lee! I ain't seen you out in a long time, girl!"

Annie circled the extensive building interior. Smoke's twin brushed past her on swift legs with Mary tailing him in her expensive pale satin dress. The juke stayed turned up, with Delta Slim leading the charge. People drank, ate, and had a damn good time.

Smoke stayed watching her, and she decided to ruffle his feathers.

"Oscar, don't you owe me a dance?"

She tapped a man's shoulder, and he showed all his teeth, so happy to hold her hand and swing her out on the floor. Her left arm casually rested on his slim shoulders, and he loved the feel of her near him.

"Aw, Miss Annie, I been waiting all night for a chance to dance with you."

He was only a couple of years older than her, searching for a wife, and he'd been pestering her to go out even though she told him she was still married…for seven years straight. With no word from Smoke, she started keeping company with Oscar briefly two years ago, but the bones she threw after their third picnic date told her they were not evenly yoked. They also told her Smoke wasn't dead. And if he wasn't dead, he was bound to come home someday. She let Oscar down easy, but he never gave up hope. He dated around, but yearned for her still. It showed in the way he held her while they danced. Annie kept it short and chaste.

"Thank you," she said.

"Why you running off, Annie? You think I'm scared of that runaway husband that showed up out the blue?"

She grinned.

"I got more fish to cook and some money to make," she said.

"Don't be shy coming my way again," he said, winking at her.

His buddy had a different idea.

"Nigga, you oughta be scared. Them Smokestack twins ain't to be tested if you want to stay healthy. You ain't hear about them fellas that tried to steal from Smoke today?" his buddy said.

Annie slipped away from the conversation and checked on Smoke, who still stood up high overlooking the railing. Lips poked out again, but he wasn't taking the bait.

She returned to her post after using the privy outside and washing her hands. Stack's trickster self found himself caught in the middle of a heated conversation within a circle of young women who didn't look happy with him.

"What I miss?" Annie said.

Alberta nodded over toward Mary, who sipped a glass of wine at the far end of the food table, watching Stack like he'd vanish into thin air if she didn't keep her eyes glued to him.

"Stack called those ladies field bitches, and they heard Mary say she'd beat up every one of them over him," Alberta said.

"Oh, Lord," Annie sighed.

One woman wagged her finger in Stack's face and spoke loud enough for Mary to hear.

"Her mama was a field bitch too!"

Millie went over to help get the argument under control. Stack looked somewhat remorseful, but maybe it was because the darker Black women were lighting his ass up. They didn't play that shit.

Alberta inched closer and lowered her voice.

"You see that gal right there? The one fussing the most? She's Grace Latimer's niece. Her sister Jessie left town seven months after Stack left. He was messing with her and Mary at the same time. They say she had two of his babies. Twin girls. Her people carried her off to Pittsburgh and got her married up quick. They were too scared to confront Stack about it. Now that's a rumor, so don't go telling folks you heard that from me."

Annie studied the young woman cursing Stack out.

"Does he know he has children by Jessie?" Annie said.

"Like he would care if it's true. He a rolling stone, that one. I wouldn't be surprised if he got a heap of babies all over the states the way he sweet talks women out they drawers."

Annie glanced over at Mary again. She stayed watching her great love with twisted lips and heat in her eyes. Annie felt bad for her. It made her wonder about Smoke. Were there babies out there in Chicago with his last name attached to them? No, she would've known. Felt it. Her small bag of bones would've told her as well. She prayed for that man to come back home safe, and he did. Took him a long time, but she had him back for herself.

Stack smoothed over the argument, apologized, let the women have free drinks on him, and they rolled their eyes and went about their business partying. He shuffled away to join the rougher men gambling with their Chinese guests in a back room, his gold-rimmed teeth gleaming. Mary huffed loudly, then flounced off into the crowd.

"Whew, I don't want that kinda love coming after me," Millie said, "She sticking to him like a haint in the graveyard."

"She shouldn't even be here," Alberta interjected. "He keeps telling her to go, but she won't leave. What if that sheriff come 'round here to check this place out and they see her? Ain't enough bribery money in this world to keep them crackas from killing him or us if they think she white. Her too. God rest her mama's soul, but she ain't doing us no good being here," Alberta said.

"She knows, but she don't care," Millie said.

Annie fixed plates quietly.

"Annie, maybe you should talk to her. She listens to you. She your play cousin anyway," Millie said.

"Ain't nothing I can say to her that will change her mind. Y'all know I'm married to Stack's other half. I loves me some Smoke, so I know what she's feeling inside. Can't explain it to y'all what it's like being in love with a Moore man. They cut from a different cloth."

"Oh, so they be up in them guts having y'all speaking tongues then," Millie teased.

Annie guffawed and grabbed onto her friend's arm to hush her. The women laughed together and Annie sighed afterward.

"All they got is this one night," Annie said. "We're safe enough in here with our people. Stack gotta decide what he gonna do with her on his own is all I'm saying. I'll talk to her in a little bit. But we got work to do."

Annie supervised the cooking, fanned herself, and chatted up the patrons buying liquor. She couldn't stop grinning at everything and everybody. The festive atmosphere hadn't been in Clarksdale like that for years. People needed the release from toiling in the fields and their troubles.

She took another walk to cool off. The sweat between her breasts and thighs got to her. She fanned herself down in a corner and gazed at the dance floor where folks stomped feet and threw hands up in the air.

The scent of tobacco wafted near her nose.

Smoke found his way next to her. He handed her a small mason jar half-filled with wine. He held another for himself.

"For a job well done," he said.

They clinked the jars together, and she sipped the white wine. He did the same after tossing his cigarette. The sweet liquid tasted good. Not too dry, nor overly sweet.

"You look beautiful, Annie. I meant to tell you that before we got here…but we got busy and…"

"Thank you," she said.

He took their empty jars away and handed them to a young man walking past and asked him to drop them off over at the liquor table to be washed.

"Would you like to dance, Mrs. Moore?" he asked her.

"I would love to, Mr. Moore."

A faint perceptible smile turned up one side of his mouth. She delighted in the rare sight of seeing his dimples. One would think only Stack had them with the lack of smiles Smoke gave freely. So stingy.

He threaded his fingers with hers and purposely walked to the center so everyone would see they were together. The strut in his step gave away his pride at having her by his side. If other men didn't take the obvious hint that she was back with her husband, the gun openly displayed on Smoke's side would deter them.

When he pulled her in close for a down home slow drag, her breasts rested on his wide chest where they were meant to be. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and those muscular ones of his circled her waist. He'd taken off his tweed jacket and the heat from him gripped around her as tight as his arms. They rocked their bodies together and his eyes latched onto hers.

Smoke didn't need words to speak what he felt. He snaked his hips and pressed into her tight.

Love looked right into her eyes through him. So raw and intimate. She almost had to turn away from his intense gaze.

"Baby, you're the finest woman in here," he whispered in her ear.

He let the tip of his tongue swipe the shell of her ear and spoke her name slowly, like an incantation. The hair of his mustache tickled her face the way she remembered, and he rubbed on her Rubenesque shape. Smoke loved him some full-figured women and although she had been a slender teenager when they first met at a church revival gathering, he took one look at her mother and saw the future of what Annie would become. It probably helped that she'd grown plump round titties already, but he'd zeroed in on her like a hummingbird to nectar.

His prediction came true. She filled out in the hips and rump. Her breasts turned buxom. He became an ass man and a lover of big tits.

Smoke liked how snug they were against him in that moment because his dick already poked at her through his trousers. She slid a hand down and palmed that third leg.

"Hey, now," he said, looking around.

"You think your dick the only one hard out here?" she said.

He lowered his hand on her waist and slapped her ass.

"Play around with me, woman, and I'm liable to take you in a room upstairs and bend you over again. You want me to make another big mess inside you?"

Annie covered his mouth with her hand, shushing him.

He pulled it away.

"What? You can talk dirty to me, but I can't give it right back to ya?"

She threw back her head and beamed, feeling tingles all over from the raspy tone of his voice. He gently placed his lips on her neck and sucked on it while stroking her bare arms. His fingertips ignited her flesh and when he finally kissed her, she didn't hesitate to slide her tongue against his. Her heart thumped with the excitement of their lips touching and fired off sparks everywhere on her body. When the man started lifting and separating her ass cheeks, kneading them like he had biscuits to make, she had to shut him down, or else he'd take her right there on the dance floor.

"I gotta get back to work, Elijah—"

"Mmm hmmm."

She pulled his hands away from her backside reluctantly. He slapped her rump again playfully.

"When we get back home, I'll get them big legs around me again," he teased.

He grabbed onto his dick and showed her the bulge ready for her. She waved a hand to shoo him away, but he held her from behind and pressed his temple against hers, swaying to the music. He gently tugged on the soft abundance of her belly and held it while putting his tongue in her ear again.

"You my woman, understand? My wife."

"Yes."

He patted her rump, and she meandered over to the food, playing with her protective haint blue beads, and giving herself time to collect her thoughts about Smoke. She grinned until her cheeks hurt; her husband's touches still lingered over the skin of her arms and midsection.

"Love looks good on you, Annie," Millie said.

Annie patted her friend's hand and calculated the amount of food left to cook. Plates were moving, but the liquor not as quick while folks danced. They would have to lower prices on the booze. Smoke wouldn't like that. The man wanted to make a profit, not break even…or worse. Surveying the crowd, if Club Juke could maintain its current capacity week after week, they would be alright.

She checked the trays of uncooked fish left. Not enough. Millie and Alberta noticed it, too. There was a tub of extra fish on ice in Smoke's truck.

"We need to get the rest from the truck…Hampton, come help me bring the fish in," Annie asked a young man standing idly by the table watching the dancing.

"I can get it for you, Annie," Beau Willie said.

He tossed a bottle of Irish beer into a waste bin.

"That's alright Beau Willie, Hamp can help me—"

"I got it," he said.

He headed out the side door, and Annie followed. She paused at the door's threshold and glanced over her shoulder. Smoke and Stack spoke to each other on the landing of the stairs leading to the second level.

She slipped outside and the balmy fall air felt hot and sticky on her skin.

"The truck's over there," she said, pointing.

He ambled over and she followed behind him.

A crow sat on the truck. Annie stared at it. The bird's eye shine announced its presence. It was odd to see a lone crow like that at night. Normally they did communal roosting hidden away. They preferred safety in numbers, and the anomaly of seeing one crow wide awake and watching her sent Annie's intuition into overdrive.

A pale white moon attracted her attention, and she turned to look at Club Juke in its entirety, surrounded by dense trees. The music bubbled out from it, and so did all the laughter inside. They were isolated from everyone in Clarksdale. The sawmill was the perfect property to buy.

The crow kept watching her.

It stretched its wings with a couple of loud flaps and then settled into observing her and Beau Willie. She touched her beads. The crow seemed familiar to her, like from some dream she had recently, one that woke her up in the middle of the night panting. Smoke had been in the dream with her. It had been so real that she could smell his skin and the cigarette smoke on his clothes. The crow spoke to her like a friend in that dream and told her not to worry. Her man was coming home soon.

Annie shook her head. Focused on the task at hand.

"It's up in there, Beau Willie," she said.

He pulled the tarp back and climbed onto the truck. He picked up the heavy tub of fish Smoke bought from Bo Chow and left it on the edge before jumping down on the ground.

"Thank you for helping me," she said.

"No problem, Annie. Always happy to help."

Beau Willie peered at her with softness in his deep-set eyes. Recently widowed, he cared for his four young children with his mother's help. His grown face still held the boyish charm she fell for as a teenager.

"Annie, can I ask you something personal?"

"What?"

"Is he staying for good this time?"

Annie wiped the back of her neck and turned to head back. He clasped her hand and held her in place.

"I'm not tryin' to be disrespectful to your husband. We both know who he is and what he does. You deserve better, Annie. Someone who won't run out on you when things get tough or even when bad things happen. I loved you first. He stole you from me—"

"Nobody stole me, Beau Willie."

"Then why him? Huh?"

"You and I were so young when we dated. You had plenty of girlfriends after me and married a good woman—"

"They weren't you, Annie. I've had you in my heart for a long time. If he doesn't stay this time like he didn't before…then give me a chance to rekindle us. I can give you a family already. I work hard…look after my kin. I ain't never stopped loving you. Even when you chose him over me, I held you here…"

He touched his heart.

"He's my husband. What you want, Beau Willie, is what I caint give. Maybe…maybe if Smoke never came back…maybe if he'd been killed or thrown in prison and stuck on a chain gang for life…maybe if something like that happened…our bond would be broken. But that man is a part of me and planted so deep in my soul that there ain't nothin' that you or any other man in that juke can say to change my mind different. I would walk through hell with him. Do you hear me?"

"He already put you through hell, Annie. Left you all alone, for all those years—"

"But he back now," she said, shifting her weight onto one foot.

She hated Beau Willie in that instant. He had the audacity to bring out the niggling twinges of doubt into her mind about Smoke.

The click of a revolver behind them snapped them to attention.

"You heard her, Beau Willie. I'm back now. I suggest you take that fish into the juke and stay the fuck away from my wife," Smoke said.

Beau Willie blinked rapidly and stepped back from her.

"No need to have that out, Smoke," Beau Willie said.

"Why not? I come outside and see another man propositioning my wife to leave me, and what am I supposed to do? Let that shit fly? I should blast holes in you right now, but I got a business to run. Pick that fish up, nigga, and go."

Beau Willie glared at Smoke. He didn't dare look at Annie again. Smoke aimed the gun at the man's head.

"I can take you out clean or painful. Your choice," Smoke said.

Beau Willie lifted the metal tub of iced fish and trudged back into the juke.

Smoke holstered his gun and faced Annie.

They stared at one another in silence.

"How much you hear?" she asked.

"Everything."

Her tongue worried the roof of her mouth as her eyes welled up.

"You really staying, right?" she said.

"You let that nigga get in your head?"

Annie closed her eyes. Tilted her head back slightly so no tears would fall.

"I'm staying," he reassured her.

She nodded her head once, afraid the knots in her stomach would find a way to take root in her chest.

"You believe me, dontcha, baby?"

"Like you told me back at my place. I believe what I can see," she said.

She left him outside and returned to the makeshift kitchen to oversee the cleaning of the fish. Smoke did his rounds on the floor, and she fought the anxiety of worrying about him and his plans. Her grandmother always told her people showed you who they were, and she could believe in what Smoke did. Not what he said.

Delta Slim beckoned for Sammie to take center stage with pride in his voice. The young man was finally getting his chance to sing.

"Tell them who you are…" Delta Slim said.

Sammie shyly and sweetly introduced himself, and Annie couldn't help but smile at how precious he was to the Moore family. He was her family, too, and he glanced at her briefly. She nodded her head for him to show the world his gifts and Sammie started singing something he never shared before and the hairs on her neck and arms raised up.

Immediately, a tunnel vision warped her reality and Annie pushed out her breath to keep herself from having a panic attack and passing out.

Sammie.

His guitar.

Annie stared at the walls as Sammie wailed out the blues with Delta Slim perched on stage like a proud Poppa. She could see the people shouting and encouraging Sammie to let loose, and when he held a long note, his voice ripped through the ceiling and Annie sensed there were more people in the sawmill than the ones she could physically see. Some unseen entity darted past her skin, touching her like bird wings fluttering in the air. High above, perched on a rafter, the crow from outside gazed down at her. The surge of power in the room engulfed the entire juke.

Smoke looked in her direction, just as shocked by the music and Sammie's voice and also by the triumphant way the people danced. Grace and Bo also twirled in time to the blues music that wrapped everyone in a cloak of revelry and freedom to be who they be.

Annie gasped, wildly overstimulated by the unseen. She touched the top of her head, feeling the sensation of an overwhelming presence.

It freed her.

She locked eyes with Smoke far across the room and he strode forward, zigzagging through the crowd on a direct path to her. The weight of Sammie's music slowed everything in her mind down and her husband's movement seemed even slower. She moved from around the counter and lunged for him, pushing through sweaty people, needing to get to her man.

Smoke reached for her, and she cradled his face.

"I need you. Here with me," she said.

"I ain't going nowhere."

Their lips crashed together, tongues battling to subdue the other in a frenetic exchange of energy and desire. He entwined their fingers and pulled her through the crowd, heading for the stairs. The music had risen to a crescendo that vibrated on her skin with an intensity that should've burst into flames.

Smoke pulled her up the stairs and into a room that he used for himself, that he planned to make his office if the juke proved profitable. He slammed the door shut behind them.

He spun her around and helped her take off her dress, unhooked her bra, and pushed her onto an old cot covered in a coarse blanket. Smoke undressed quickly, and the music rose through the floor.

"Somebody take me…in your arms tonight…!"

Sammies mature voice thundered below them.

The only thing Smoke had on was the mojo bag she made for him and his metal dog tags from the war. His dick pointed at her and dripped pre-cum. He barely gave her time to pull off her panties before his erection parted her slick labia and sank into her.

"Oh…Jesus!" Annie shouted.

Her man was down in that bottom.

He cradled her breasts and stretched his mouth around her areola, sucking to his heart's content. She wrapped her thighs around him and he gave her more of the deep dick she'd been craving for seven years.

"This is my pussy," mumbled into her ear.

The weight of him smothered her in scorching heat and his steady heartbeat.

He dropped to his knees and spread her legs, licking his wide tongue against her labia, giving extra tender care to her clit. Daddy was hungry and made her a sopping wet mess. He took his time until there was nearly a puddle under her.

"Turn over," he said, helping her move into the position wanted.

She placed herself on her hands and knees. He plunged his tongue inside her entrance and she squealed. Rubbing on her ass, he stood and inserted that thickness between his legs back into her, grunting and cussing up a storm. Her pussy felt exquisite to him by the sounds he moaned out. She was as hot and gushy as he wanted. He angled himself so he could watch her titties hang and smack together with each powerful thrust. Annie was so wet that her pussy sounded like it was having its own conversation taking his dick in the small room.

He climbed on the cot with Annie and pulled her onto her knees. She spread her thighs wide. He took back shots, holding her arms behind her, and Annie's tits bounced like crazy, forcing throaty moans from him. The pounding of the rhythm below them matched the pounding Smoke gave her pussy. The frenzy of his dick going in and out pulled lustful cries of pleasure from her lips. He palmed her breasts and rolled his fingers across her big nipples.

"You coulda been getting this pussy all the time," she said.

He clutched onto her tits, squeezing them, before gripping her arms tight, delighting in her titties shaking and arousing him more.

Annie squeezed her walls around his girth and he shouted her name.

"Pussy so good…Annie…"

She took control and pulled away from him.

"Whatchu doing? I need that shit…" he gasped.

She pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him. Her thighs spread and wedged against his hips. Her breasts rested on his chest. He fondled them and stared up at her.

"I love you, Elijah. I never stopped loving you. All these years…I never once wanted any man the way I wanted you."

He thrust up, and she snapped her eyes closed. He stretched her like no other, and it felt incredible.

"Elijah…"

He thumbed her clit, allowing the slick wetness from her pubic hairs to coat the button every man wanted to push on her since Smoke had been away. She lowered her head and kissed him. His lips were so fluffy and soft against her mouth. The taste of her pussy there pleased him. He licked his lips as she tasted herself.

"I love you…hear me, woman? I love you. Don't let one of these niggas get killed tryna take you from me."

"No one can take me from you."

"You sure?"

She stopped moving.

"You think I'd want anyone else?"

She spread her hands on the wide planes of his chest. Traced two fingers down the path below his belly button of soft hairs that led to the wild pubic bush surrounding his dick.

He didn't answer, trusting the sincerity in her eyes.

"All I ever wanted was you…just you, Elijah. And when you left me…"

He lifted himself to face her and held his hands around her waist and backside.

"Shhh…shhh. Don't cry, Annie. Baby, please…I don't ever want to make you cry again. I promise."

He kissed away each teardrop that fell from her eyes. The soft pecks built up her confidence in him and she breathed easier. His voice stayed soft.

"I told you I missed you and wanted to be with you…I also want us to try for a baby again. Build our family," he said.

"You do?"

"Yes. That is…if you want that, too."

She hugged him tight.

"I do…I do!"

She wept so hard her eyes blurred. Smoke gave her one of his rare smiles, and her heart nearly burst with joy.

Annie rocked on him, pleasuring herself and him. Smoke held her breasts and sucked on her nipples.

"Oh…damn…Elijah…you're making me…oh Jesus!"

Annie came hard, and it rocked her world. Smoke massaged her breasts and watched her face transform with the rapturous climax. He grazed his teeth across a nipple and she shuddered, exalting in the sensations cascading all across her skin.

"We can try for a baby right now," he said.

He flipped her back over onto the small cot and she yelped as he tossed her legs over his biceps.

"Will you let me put another baby in you, Annie?"

"I sure will," she gasped, nearly out of breath.

His dimples melted her. He got down to business, too. Touching her skin all over, kissing her throat and whispering words of love in her ear. He licked on her nipples and stared at her fullness.

"Touching you is like touching the beauty of the night sky, Annie. You my jewel…my most precious thing in this world. Without you…I ain't fit to live."

"Hush now…"

"Nah, I want you to hear me."

"I want you to show me."

He grinned and pumped that thickness into her slowly, letting her feel every inch. Her mouth parted, and he pressed his forehead against hers.

"Ooh…Elijah…baby…"

Her pants came faster, and the groans from him aroused her to new heights. He hunched over her and every muscle flexed for her. Their sweat mingled and his strokes curled her toes. He lowered her legs and thumbed her clit, watching his dick go in and out. His lips poked out and his face carried a serious expression.

She recognized that look.

He was about to cum.

"Annie…baby…I'm getting close…"

She fondled her own breasts, and it created more tension for him. His eyes darted from her pussy to her tits. The way his eyes narrowed, she knew it was going to be a big load.

"Annie!"

"Yes!"

"I'm cummin'!"

He threw his head back and roared her name, his thumb faithfully rubbing her clit until she spilled over into a new release. His dick throbbed inside her and she matched the pulses squeezing her walls around him to milk every drop of cum.

"Fuckkkk!"

His hoarse cry drowned out her whimpers of pleasure. Her pussy kept throbbing around him until the last surge of her orgasm quieted down enough where she could move again.

"Elijah?"

His eyes watered. Tears fell down on her. The tone of his voice trembled.

"I'm sorry, baby…for everything…"

"My love…it's okay…you're here with me…we're here together," she said.

"I can't give you back those seven years…"

"Shhh…stay with me here…in this moment… in the right now."

He twisted his head to the side in shame. She pulled it back to look at her.

"We here," she said

He kissed her forehead.

Smoke snuggled around her until they were in a tight spoon together. He played with a breast and listened to her breathing calm down. The music below them kept going and Annie didn't want to leave his arms ever again. She shifted her position, and Smoke rested his head on her breasts. Stroking his hair gently, she snatched that tiny moment of peace for themselves, forgetting about everything and everybody in the juke.

Annie cleaned herself up as best she could with the buckets of water Smoke brought up from a well out behind the juke. No one paid attention to him or questioned why he needed to tote water and clean rags upstairs. He cleaned himself up, too, and they rejoined the dancing below.

She floated.

Making love to him grounded her and pushed away any doubt.

He was going to stay with her.

She hoped they had conceived a little one. Lord knows he put enough semen in her over the course of a day to open a whorehouse. She laughed at the thought.

Smoke made his rounds, checking in on everything before he slipped his hand over hers to dance one more time.

She nuzzled her face against his cheek, pulling an open smile from his face. It was such a shock that even Delta Slim had to look twice to make sure it was real.

She hooked her arms around her husband's neck, swayed with him in time to the music and their own internal rhythm. Part of his mojo bag peeked out from his vest. She touched it. Early that morning, she had fed it, prayed over it, recharged it with her love and that of her ancestors to protect him.

"Blood of my blood…bone of my bone…," she whispered.

"You putting a root on me, woman? I told you… I'm home for good. Forever," he said.

"Forever ever?" she teased.

"For always."

"Ashe," she affirmed.

"What that mean again?"

"And so it is."

"I like that."

"Me too."

"Annie?"

"Yes, Elijah?"

"I love you."

He kissed her softly. Kissed life back into her.

The music played on, and for a few hours, it did seem like forever.

A.N.:

Wanted to put out a short Smoke/Annie fic to practice getting Annie's voice for another fic. I plan to write more about these two. How they met. Had their first child etc. This short is connected to my "Choose One" longer fic. You may recognize a speculative figure lurking in the story if you've started reading "Choose One." Enjoy!

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[janluxe]

DEEP WATER — CALEB/XIA YIZHOU

summary; a small fault in his plans, maybe he wasn't designed for boats

w/c; 520

a/n; Caleb's card cause he came home :D but with a small plot twist I wanted to try out,, thank you for reading ♡

"If you want it to be gentle or rough... The choice is yours." He mumbled, toying around with the flower in his hand and moving the boat accordingly. "Give it a shot?" its pinkish petals tickling your face as he offered it to you.

If Caleb could take away all of your worries and endure them for you, he would. But that wasn't physically possible, so he chose the next best thing; bringing you to a place where you hid away from the rest of the world.

Despite his letters still lingering in your mind, you tried your best to enjoy the present moment with him.

This place was honestly beautiful. Clean waters in the color of turquoise under the boat you were sitting in while flowers and waterlilies passed by. And the willow trees around you worked like a barrier between you and reality, as if this fairly small river was a portal of some sorts.

He wanted the best for you, after all.

But Caleb, being the sneaky jerk that he is, he pulled away the moment your fingers had the slight chance of taking it. In one swift, harsh move of the boat, you had fallen into his arms – all according to his plan.

"Using your evol is cheating, you sly dog!" You shouted, landing a few playful punches – which he replied to with genuine laughter. A rare melody, precious nonetheless.

If only heaven felt like this moment, his scent mixed with one of the flowers carried by a gentle breeze of the wind.

The shift in his expression was so subtle, yet so easy for you to notice. "Woof." He sounded so stupid and adorable at the same time – it made you want to give in to your impulsive thoughts.

Before you had the chance to shower –or rather attack– him in affection, you readjusting on his lap in combination with him turning on his side caused the boat to tip over. Neither of you had the privilege of time to react.

You instinctively clenched your eyes shut, feeling the coolness of the river surrounding you along with the same soft breeze you felt so refreshed by just a few moments ago.

"You look amazing." Caleb murmured teasingly. His hand slipped around your waist to keep you afloat. Even amongst the chaos, beauty and joy don't cease to exist.

You felt the pad of his finger tap the tip of your nose right after he placed a flower in your hair – still using his evol, despite everything that had happened on top of your earlier remarks.

"Just lovely." A faint scoff escaped you, splashing water right in his face and watching the way his hair stuck to his forehead just like his shirt did to his chest, only for him to shake the droplets off a moment later.

And there was his bright smile once again. It always had been a sight for sore eyes. "Just admit that you're having fun, pipsqueak." Caleb's violet eyes focused on you, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss on your temple. "I promise to keep your pretty little secret."

[sweet-pea-channie]

Shadows of the Exile - Epilogue

Azriel x female!reader

Summary: Y/N uncovers a secret journal filled with years of dreams and confessions about her. As they share memories, laughter, and intimacy, their bond deepens into something undeniable—a shared life, rooted in love, fate, and playful passion.

Warnings: soft domestic fluff, emotional vulnerability, love confessions via secret journal, fated mates energy, implied smut, suggestive dialogue

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: And that's it! I hope you enjoyed this series! Make sure to like and reblog :)

series masterlist

It started with her toothbrush.

Well, technically it started months ago—when nights in Azriel’s room became every night, when her clothes found a quiet corner in his wardrobe, when her favorite mug somehow ended up on his nightstand. But the toothbrush was the moment Azriel looked at her over his shoulder, half-dressed, shadows curling lazily around his bare back, and said:

“Just bring the rest of your things. It’s our room now.”

Y/N had raised a brow. “Oh? Our room?”

He’d smiled—crooked and slow. “You’ve basically annexed it already. May as well make it official.”

It was true. His bed was bigger, warmer, and always smelled like cedar and sky and him. And she’d stopped pretending to “head back to her room” weeks ago.

So, one golden afternoon, while Azriel was on a short patrol, Y/N padded barefoot down the Town House hallway with an armful of her things: a soft robe, her healing salves, her favorite teacup, and a stack of worn herb journals bound in green twine.

The room—their room—was quiet, sunlit, familiar. The curtains moved in the breeze like lazy thoughts. She smiled to herself as she set the journals on the edge of the dresser and opened the drawer beside the bed, meaning to slide them in next to his scattered bookmarks and spare gloves.

But her hand stopped.

Inside, tucked neatly beneath a folded handkerchief and a smooth river stone she’d given him months ago, was a small leather-bound journal. Dark, unmarked, worn at the edges like it had been held too tightly, too often.

She hadn’t seen it before.

She hesitated, fingers hovering. She didn’t mean to pry. But something tugged at her—like a whisper brushing the back of her neck.

Y/N slowly lifted the book out, thumbing over the edges. Azriel’s scent clung to the pages—ink, smoke, and shadow. Her heart stuttered in her chest.

The page she opened was dated almost 4 years ago.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. She touched my hand today. I think I forgot how to breathe.”

Y/N froze.

It was her. It was all her.

She sat on the edge of the bed, journal open in her lap, the room silent but for the gentle rustle of pages. Each entry was a sliver of the man she loved—quiet confessions, fleeting fears, hope wrapped in hesitation. A slow unraveling of a heart too careful to speak, but bold enough to write.

“If she ever finds this, Cauldron help me.”

She smiled through the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.

“Too late,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I found it.”

She turned the page slowly, carefully, like it might crumble beneath her fingers. The date at the top read:

Six years ago.

Y/N’s brows knit together. Six years ago, she hadn’t even been in Velaris. Hadn’t returned to Prythian. Hadn’t even heard Azriel’s name spoken aloud in centuries.

Her breath caught as she began to read.

“It happened again. A dream, or maybe more. She’s never clear��just light in the corner of my eye, laughter I’ve never heard in waking hours, the smell of something sweet and wild I can’t name. But every time I wake up, I swear I’ve touched her. Like I’ve lost something I never got to have.”

Y/N’s fingers trembled slightly.

“Rhys says I need more rest, but I know it’s not just my mind. My shadows know her. They curl toward the scent of dawn and pine like they’re trying to find something I can’t remember. It’s madness. I’ve never met her. But I miss her like a memory I’m not allowed to keep.”

A soft sound escaped her—a half-laugh, half-sob.

She pressed her hand over her mouth, eyes shining as she stared down at the page. She didn’t notice the door opening behind her. Didn’t hear the footsteps.

Not until his voice, quiet and rough from the threshold:

“You found it.”

Y/N startled, turning sharply to find Azriel standing in the doorway, shadows tight around his shoulders, golden eyes flicking between her and the open journal in her lap.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air was thick—not with tension, but with something older. Deeper.

Fated.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Then finally:

“Az… this was six years ago.”

His throat bobbed, and he nodded. “I know.”

“But I wasn’t here.”

Another pause. Azriel stepped closer, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if she’d bolt. “You weren’t,” he said quietly. “But something of you was.”

Her lips parted, but no words came.

He exhaled, looking down. “I used to dream of you. I didn’t know it then. Just… fragments. Feelings. A laugh I’d never heard but couldn’t forget. Shadows would tug toward empty space like they knew you already.”

He looked up again, eyes raw. Honest.

“When Rhys brought you here... I didn’t know why I felt like I’d been waiting centuries. But now I do.”

Y/N rose slowly, the journal still clutched in her hands. Her gaze searched his.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Azriel gave a small, helpless smile. “Because how do you say I dreamed of you before I knew you were real without sounding insane?”

She stepped closer until their foreheads nearly touched, her voice barely a whisper:

“You don’t sound insane. You sound like my mate.”

His eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years.

“You were always real to me,” he murmured. “Even when you weren’t here.”

Azriel’s shadows had quieted, like even they knew this moment was too fragile to disturb.

Y/N gently closed the journal and held it to her chest, not quite ready to let it go. Azriel watched her, his hands clenched loosely at his sides, as though unsure if he was allowed to reach for her.

But then she offered the journal out, not to return it, but to share it.

“You should keep it close,” she said softly. “But… I’m glad I read it. I’m glad I know.”

Azriel took it from her like it was something sacred. His fingers brushed hers, lingered.

“I never expected you to find it,” he admitted.

She smiled gently. “Then you probably shouldn’t keep your emotional confessions in the sock drawer.”

That earned a small laugh from him—quiet, disbelieving, and real.

Y/N turned back to the open drawer, where her stack of herb journals still sat on the edge, waiting to be tucked into place. Slowly, almost ceremonially, she slid them in beside his things.

“Well,” she murmured, “I guess it’s official now. Shared drawer. Shared room.”

Azriel placed his journal gently on top of hers—no hesitation this time.

“Shared life,” he added.

There was a pause. A heartbeat.

Y/N’s eyes shimmered, but she blinked it away. She reached behind her and picked up a smaller book from the floor—bound in worn rose-colored leather, her name etched faintly on the inside cover.

She offered it to him. “This is mine. One of my old ones. Dawn Court plants and remedies. A few dreams, too.”

Azriel took it slowly. Flipping it open, his eyes scanned her neat handwriting, the occasional ink smudge, a tiny pressed flower between the pages.

“You’re giving this to me?”

She nodded. “You kept pieces of me before I knew you. Let me give you something now. On purpose.”

Azriel set both their journals gently back into the drawer, tucking hers beneath his, like it belonged there all along.

Then he turned to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close until there was no space left to fill.

“You know,” he whispered into her hair, “you don’t have to sneak your things in anymore.”

“I know,” she whispered back. “But it was more fun that way.”

Just as the last trace of laughter left the air, Azriel’s voice broke the comfortable silence, warm and inviting.

“I brought your favorite dinner. From that little place near the Sidra. I thought... maybe we could have a cozy night in. Just the two of us?”

Y/N smiled, a soft, fond expression crossing her face as she looked at him. "A cozy dinner sounds perfect. I’ll be there in a minute."

She slipped into the kitchen, the soft scent of the meal lingering in the air, mixing with the fading light of the evening. Azriel had already set the table by the time she arrived—nothing too extravagant, but enough to make the space feel warm and welcoming. The dim lighting, the neatly placed dishes, and the quiet clink of silverware on plates spoke volumes about how much he cared.

"You didn't have to do all this," Y/N remarked with a small smile, leaning against the doorway.

Azriel shrugged, a little self-conscious. "It's just dinner. But I'd love it if you'd join me."

There was nothing extravagant about the way he’d set the table—no overly romantic gestures or grand flourishes, just the simplicity of sharing a meal together. Yet, somehow, it felt perfect. The warmth of the candlelight reflected in their eyes, the quiet hum of comfort as Y/N slid into the chair across from him.

As they sat down to dinner, a light chuckle escaped Azriel’s lips. He leaned back in his chair, looking at Y/N with an amused expression.

“I heard something interesting from Cassian and Mor today,” he said, his voice laced with teasing amusement. “Apparently, they’ve been betting on... well, on us.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, setting her fork down. “Us? How?”

Azriel couldn’t help but grin at the curiosity in her voice. “Well, it started with Cassian being too certain that after we accepted our mating bond, all the... intimate things we’ve done were confined strictly to the bedroom—or maybe the bathroom. He’s pretty convinced we haven’t ventured beyond that.”

Y/N burst out laughing, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the sound. “Cassian really thinks that?”

Azriel smirked. “Oh, yeah. He’s dead sure we’re the most boring of the bunch.”

Y/N’s laughter softened, but her eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. “And what did Mor say?”

Azriel leaned forward, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Mor, of course, took the opposite side. She bet that we’ve done it everywhere. In every room of the house. No boundaries. Guess she know a lot more about you than Cassian.”

Y/N’s grin widened as she thought about their quieter days in the Town House, when they had only shared stolen moments, hidden beneath the weight of their own unspoken feelings.

Her gaze shifted toward the table. Her heart picked up a beat, and the quiet realization hit her: There was still one place, one spot, where Azriel hadn’t—well, “ravished” her, as he liked to say.

She smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. She leaned toward Azriel, her voice low and teasing.

“Well, it seems Mor won,” she said with a sly grin. “But there’s still one place where you haven’t... completed the mission, Azriel.”

He blinked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

She glanced at the dinner table, then back at him, her lips curling into a playful smile. “Right here, at the table.”

Azriel stared at her for a moment, his mouth going dry. “Here?”

Y/N nodded slowly, her gaze meeting his, full of challenge. “Yep. You’ve been pretty creative everywhere else... but you’ve never tried the dining table, have you?”

His breath caught in his throat. The playful shock in his eyes quickly shifted to something darker, more possessive. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am,” she purred, her voice a teasing whisper as she leaned in closer, her fingers brushing the rim of her glass. “After all, if we’re going to be real about this, you have to make up for the fact that we haven’t fully tested every surface yet.”

Azriel’s gaze went dark with that intense, simmering hunger that never failed to make her pulse race. He straightened, his chair scraping softly against the floor as he leaned toward her, their faces now inches apart.

“You’re playing with fire, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper full of barely contained desire. “But if that’s the challenge you’re setting... I think I can show you just how hot it can get.”

Y/N chuckled, savoring the playful tension between them. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Azriel’s smile was slow, mischievous, as he stood, offering her a hand. “Let’s finish this dinner first, but after that... you’ll be the one needing to recover. Not me.”

-

Taglist: @princesssunderworld @tele86 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @rose-girls-world @iluvyewman-blog @gluecksbaerchieee @lreadsstuff

[disappearinginq]

🌹Some slow horses goodness if you please 🌹

OF COURSE. This is in fact a separate story, one where River has been missing for more than a week and a hospital finally calls saying that the Slough House landline was the only number their mystery patient said to call. They're all convinced River got himself in trouble - again - but it turns out for once, it's actually not his fault. It's Lamb's.

Perhaps if he hadn’t known River - or at least, of River - for most of the man’s life, he would feel differently. Maybe if he hadn’t known the Old Bastard for years, and hated him more than most, which was a high bar. Maybe if River was even half the bastard his grandfather was, Lamb would’ve found it easier to dislike him, or leave him to wallow in the ego was sure River would have, with David Cartwright as a grandfather.

Truth be told, he’d expected someone more like Spider. Some slicked back, arrogant little shit who got his suits and shaves down on Savile Row, who would rant about how his grandfather wouldn’t allow him to be treated with such disrespect, and to just wait until my grandfather hears about this.

Instead, he got River.

River arrived at Slough House with less than most - he didn’t last long enough to get a desk to clean out before finding himself in exile. As Catherine showed him around the building, River offered very little, and what he did say were mostly minor and vague pleasantries. He didn’t complain about the small, dark room he was relegated to, which was by design directly below Lamb’s own office so he could subject the younger Cartwright to having to listen through thin walls and thinner ceiling to whatever struck Lamb’s fancy for a form of torture.

Lamb made all the right noises, vowing to make River quit by the end of the first day, and if by some wild happenstance he was wrong about River’s capacity for punishment, by the end of the first week. He pointed out River’s monumental failure - a training exercise? You didn’t even fail at real life - that he wouldn’t even be a footnote in his grandfather’s legacy because surely, David would disavow him just as the Park had.

He expected indignation, and protests that Lamb was full of shit or didn’t know anything about him, and he would be back at the Park as soon as he called his grandfather and pulled some strings. He expected the normal whining that came with every new Slough House addition, dialed up to eleven to accommodate Park Royalty entitlement. He expected rage.

But the only anger River had was for himself.

[crushmeeren]

omg but imagine secretly giving the mha boys aphrodisiac chocolate and seeing how they react..

No but you’re RIGHT…. ( ੭ ˙ᗜ˙ )੭

𝛏 Master List Link 𝛏

Katsuki would stare at you with narrowed eyes when you hold your hand out and offer the piece of chocolate to him, your gaze wide and innocent until he pops the candy in his mouth.

Katsuki would be in a meeting not too long after, jaw clenched and teeth creaking when his uniform pants get too fucking snug for no reason. His cheeks will flush bubblegum pink, biting the head off of some hero he can’t remember the name of when asked what’s wrong.

Why the fuck can he only picture you face down and ass up in the air?

Why does he have to sink his nails into his thighs to hang onto his last thread of self control and restrain himself from palming his stiff cock when he thinks of your pussy split open for him?

Why the hell is sweat running down his temples and along his jaw like a goddamn river??

He doesn’t know.

What he is certain of, is his plan to tackle you to the bed as soon as he gets home. To cum the second he slides his achy cock inside your tight pussy, and then to fuck you until neither of you can stand to climax one more time.

Eijirou would happily accept the chocolate, humming in delight once he begins chewing.

Eijirou would then be relaxing with you on the couch, using every ounce of willpower to concentrate on the movie you’re watching together. His cheeks would turn as scarlet as his hair and he’d try to hide his face with the loose strands when you glance at him.

He’d squeak out that’s he’s fine when you ask if he’s feeling feverish. He’ll clumsily cover his cock with large hands, knees knocking into one another when he tries to close his legs.

Eijirou would whimper in your ear “fuck, I’m sorry baby, I need your pussy. I can’t stop myself,” as he gives in to the heat churning in his belly and bends you over the armrest of your couch to fuck you like a dog.

You’ll babble and gasp it’s okay, crying out his name when he makes you orgasm for what feels like the hundredth time — only for his dick to remain hot and full after he’s already cum inside you so much that you’re sure you’re going to get pregnant.

Shouto would take a bit more convincing. He doesn’t ordinarily eat chocolate, but he’s willing to try it if you’re the one presenting it to him.

Shouto would be leisurely walking alongside you in the grocery store, occasionally making noises of agreement as you tell him about your day.

Shouto would suddenly freeze mid stride, becoming rigid in the middle of the aisle. He’ll blink owlish eyes at you several times when you turn back to question what he’s doing.

You’ll snap your fingers to get his attention when he starts to stare at the swell of your tits for way too long instead of listening to you, cheeks filling out with a blush when he meets your gaze.

The next thing you know, your half full grocery cart is abandoned in the aisle and you’re yanked by the wrist back to your car in the parking lot.

Shouto would mutter breathlessly “sorry baby, I can’t seem to control myself,” when he gets your pants off, leaving the material to dangle from one ankle before tugging you down to straddle his lap in the backseat.

He’ll unbutton his pants and shove them down far enough to free himself, not bothering with your panties and sliding them to the side as he sits you down on his cock and let’s out a low moan.

Shouto will match your every move, thrusting upwards harshly each time you sit down. He won’t give a single fuck if someone walks past the car, he just knows he needs your pussy to keep swallowing his cock until the insatiable burn in his lower belly subsides.

It takes…awhile.

[kysstar]

SWEETHEART | KIM HONG JOONG

pairing: kim hongjoong x fem!reader

synopsis: you’re a skilled pickpocket who unknowingly steals from hongjoong, the ruthless mafia leader. the next thing you know, you’re dragged into the mafia world.

genre: mafia au, cat-and-mouse, reluctant alliance.

warnings: blood-shed, violence, panic attack, kissing, cliche stuff like yk the dress and heels thing (forgive me)

word count: 16.4k

[series masterlist]

—The crowd moves like a river, thick with tourists and businessmen, all too absorbed in their own lives to notice you. Perfect. You slip through the bodies with practiced ease, brushing against a man in a suit just lightly enough to slip your fingers into his coat pocket. Your touch is quick, ghostlike. By the time he takes another step, his wallet is yours.

You don’t stop walking. Rule number one: never stop. Casually, you slip the wallet into your jacket and veer into a side alley. Only then do you let yourself exhale. Flipping it open, you scan the contents—credit cards, an ID, a few hundred in cash. Easy. Routine.

The thrill is always the same, a sharp rush that hums under your skin.

But you’re not done.

You step back onto the main street, eyes scanning for the next mark. That’s when you spot him.

A man stands near a sleek black car, phone pressed to his ear. His suit isn’t just expensive—it’s power wrapped in fabric. The kind of power that turns heads, that makes people step out of the way without thinking. His dark eyes flicker up, sharp and unreadable, before dismissing everything around him. He’s focused on the call.

A passing group provides perfect cover. You slip in close, your shoulder barely brushing his as your fingers work. The weight of the wallet slides into your palm so smoothly it almost feels too easy. Your heart pounds, but your face remains impassive as you keep walking, melting into the sea of people.

It takes fifteen minutes before you check your prize.

You’re perched on the steps of an old building, half-hidden in the shadows, when you pull out the wallet. It’s heavier than most. Your fingers flip it open, expecting cash, cards—maybe something extra.

What you find instead makes your blood run cold.

Black leather. Minimalist. Inside, an ID stares back at you. The name is one you’ve only ever heard in hushed whispers, in stories told between thieves who knew better than to try their luck.

Kim Hongjoong.

You don’t need to read the rest. Your fingers are already shaking. The emblem on the card is enough—a symbol of the underworld, of power beyond money. A name that commands fear.

You just stole from the most dangerous man in the city.

Your pulse is hammering now, cold dread settling in your stomach like a stone. You’re good—one of the best—but even you know there are lines you don’t cross. Kim Hongjoong isn’t just another rich bastard flashing wealth like a target on his back. He’s the kind of man who has people dragged off the streets for less than this.

And you just made yourself his problem.

Your first instinct is to return it. Just slip back through the crowd, drop it at his feet, walk away before he even notices. It wouldn’t undo what you did, but maybe—just maybe—it’d buy you a few extra seconds of life.

Before you could turn around and fix your mistake, you hear footsteps. Not the usual aimless shuffle of the street.

"She must’ve gone this way."

A voice, low and sharp, cutting through the noise of the city.

"Spread out. Don’t let her slip past."

"Hyung said not to make a mess. Just get her."

They’re already looking for you. Your pulse spiked, your body moving before your mind could catch up. Without hesitation, you tossed the wallet onto a rusted barrel near the alley’s entrance and bolted.

Your feet hit the ground hard as you sprinted down the alley, boots skidding slightly against the damp pavement. A pipe jutted out from the wall ahead—low enough to grab. Without breaking stride, you jumped, gripping it tight, muscles straining as you hoisted yourself up. You swung over, landing on a fire escape, the metal groaning under your weight.

A second later, footsteps thundered into the alley you’d just been in.

"Fuck—where did she go?"

"Check the sides. She couldn't have—"

"Up there!"

Shit.

You climbed the fire escape two steps at a time, your breath coming in sharp exhales. The city stretched out before you as you reached the roof, neon lights bleeding into the night sky. No time to admire the view. You took off, your legs burning as you sprinted across the rooftop.

Behind you, the sound of pursuit. Metal rattling. Footsteps heavy against concrete. They were following. You could hear their curses, the way they moved with precision.

You leaped to the next building without hesitation. The drop between them was sharp, an alley yawning below, but you barely felt it. Your hands hit the edge, fingers scraping as you pulled yourself up. The moment your feet touched the rooftop, you ran again, weaving between rusted vents and old signs, each movement instinctual, each decision made in the space of a heartbeat.

Another gap ahead. Wider this time. You forced your legs to push harder, faster. The city blurred, wind cutting against your skin as you jumped.

Your foot barely caught the ledge. You scrambled, fingers digging into the rough surface.

"She's over there!"

Damn it. They were still behind you. But you had distance. You could still make it—

A gunshot rang out.

Your body reacted before your mind did, dropping low just as a bullet sparked against the metal vent beside you. They weren’t aiming to kill. Not yet. A warning shot. A reminder that you were running out of time.

You had to get off the rooftops. Fast.

You spotted a lower building to your left, a stack of crates leading down. Without a second thought, you veered off course, sliding down the side, your boots landing hard against the wood before jumping to the next level. The moment you hit the ground, you took off into the maze of alleyways.

The streets twisted and turned, shadows stretching long under flickering streetlights. You weaved through them, ducking behind dumpsters, slipping between narrow gaps between buildings. The sound of pursuit never faded. Heavy footsteps. Low voices barking orders. They weren’t giving up.

You turned a sharp corner, only to halt. A figure stood in your path.

The dim light barely illuminated him, but you saw the way he stood—calm, patient. Not out of breath like you were. He had been waiting for you.

Dyed red hair, catching the faint glow of the streetlamp. You couldn’t see his face in the shadows, but it didn’t matter. The way he held himself told you everything you needed to know. He worked for him.

Your body reacted before you could think. You spun on your heel, ready to bolt in the other direction—

But then another figure emerged from the darkness.

He was tall, dark hair tousled from the chase, sharp eyes burning with something dangerous. His presence was heavier, more imposing, like a wall of sheer force. The way he carried himself was different—broader shoulders, longer strides. Even standing still, he looked like he was hunting.

Your instincts screamed at you to move, to fight, to do anything but stand there like a deer caught in headlights. You turned sharply, ready to try your luck past the first man, but the second you stepped forward—

Something struck the side of your head, and the world tilted. Your vision blurred, the edges darkening. You barely registered the way your knees buckled, the sensation of the cold pavement meeting your skin. The last thing you heard was the sound of footsteps drawing closer, then darkness.

—The first thing you felt was the ache. A deep, pulsing pain at the side of your head, radiating down your neck. The second thing you felt was cold—metal biting into your wrists, the sharp edge of a chair digging into your back.

You blinked. The world came back in pieces. Dim lighting. A concrete room. A single table in front of you, sleek and empty except for a glass of water placed just within reach. Your hands—chained. Thick metal cuffs locked around your wrists, fastened to the table.

Panic clawed at your chest, but you forced it down.

Then, the door creaks open. Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the room. You knew who it was before you even looked up.

Kim Hongjoong.

He walked in like he owned the air in the room, like the walls themselves bent to his presence. Sharp suit, rings glinting under the dim light. He didn’t sit right away. Instead, he leaned against the table, tilting his head slightly as he studied you.

"You gave my men a bit of a workout," he said casually.

You didn’t answer. He sighed, almost amused, and finally lowered himself into the chair across from you. He moved slowly—not out of laziness, but control. Like a man who knew he had all the time in the world.

"You know who I am," he continued, tapping his fingers against the table. "That makes this easier. Saves me the trouble of introductions."

He exhaled through his nose, noticing you were quiet, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Smart. You’re not talking. That’s good. Means you’re thinking."

Your fingers curled slightly against the cuffs, but you didn’t break eye contact. Don’t let him see weakness. Don’t give him anything.

Hongjoong leaned forward. The scent of expensive cologne and something darker—gunpowder, blood, smoke—lingered around him.

"You stole from me," he said. "You ran. You made my men chase you. So tell me—why shouldn’t I put a bullet in your head right now?"

He said it so easily. Like he was asking what was for dinner. Like your life was just another business decision.

When you didn’t answer, he hummed lightly, dragging his fingers across the table. A small, absent-minded movement, as if he were thinking of a hundred different ways to break you.

"You’re not dead yet," he continued, tilting his head slightly. "That means I see value in you."

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. "And if I don’t want to be of value to you?"

A slow smile spread across his lips. "Then you’ll be of value to the bottom of the Han River."

A chill ran down your spine. There was no malice in his voice. No anger. He meant every word.

Hongjoong exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "I’ll give you some advice," he said. "People who sit in that chair? The ones who talk too much usually end up screaming. The ones who talk too little?" He tilted his head. "Well. They usually don’t get a second chance."

His fingers tapped against the metal cuff on your wrist. "But you?" His voice dropped lower, softer.. "You’re different, aren’t you?"

He let the words settle, watching you. Then, he leaned back, exhaling like this was all just mildly inconvenient for him. "So. Let’s get to the point."

"You’re good," he said. "Too good to waste. That little stunt you pulled? Impressive. Cost me time, men, resources." He shook his head slightly, clicking his tongue. "Which means you owe me."

You have two choices," he continued, completely unfazed. "You work for me."

He smirked. "Or I put you in the ground."

The words hung in the air, heavy, suffocating. You barely heard the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance.

"And before you think about the third option," he added, smiling slightly, "let me remind you. No one gets away from me. You run? I’ll find you. You fight? You won’t win."

You swallowed, fingers flexing slightly against the cuffs. His eyes darkened, amusement flickering into something colder.

"I don’t need an answer now," he murmured, standing up. "I’ll let you think about it."

He moved to the door, pausing just long enough to glance back over his shoulder.

"But don’t take too long, sweetheart."

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the cold, empty room—with the weight of your own inevitable decision.

You stared at the metal cuffs around your wrists, the skin beneath them raw from how tightly they were fastened. The cold from the table seeped into your bones, and despite how still you were sitting, your pulse hadn’t slowed since Hongjoong walked out that door.

There were no cameras you could see, but you weren’t stupid enough to think they’d leave you completely unwatched. They were waiting. Letting you stew in your own thoughts. Letting you understand exactly how trapped you were.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to think, to plan.

Escaping was impossible.

You didn’t know where you were, didn’t know how many people were guarding the place, didn’t even know if you were still in the same part of the city. Even if by some miracle you managed to slip out, Hongjoong made it painfully clear—you wouldn’t get away.

He had an army. Resources. Eyes everywhere.

And you?

You had bruises, a throbbing headache, and a death sentence hanging over your head.

You could try running anyway. Disappear. Change your name. Burn your fingerprints off if you had to. But men like Hongjoong? They didn’t forget. Didn’t forgive. They would hunt you down, and when they find you—because they would—it wouldn’t be pretty.

Which left two options.

Option one. You refused. You died. Simple.

Option two? You worked for him.

Got tangled in the very world you spent your whole life avoiding.

The underworld didn’t let people walk away. The only way out was a body bag. Once you were in, you belonged to them. No freedom. No future. Just the slow, inevitable march toward a violent end.

You didn’t want to die. Not today, at least.

And that meant—

The door opened again.

Hongjoong stepped back into the room, looking exactly the same—untouched, unfazed, as if the last conversation had been nothing more than a casual business deal.

He sighed, stretching slightly as he sat back down across from you. "I was hoping you’d try to run," he mused. "Would’ve been fun to chase you again."

You didn’t rise to the bait. His lips twitched, amused. "Nothing? You’re no fun, sweetheart."

The word was drenched in sarcasm, and yet the way it rolled off his tongue made your skin prickle.

He leaned forward, resting his elbow against the table. "Have you made up your mind, or are we going to sit here all night?"

Your throat felt dry. Your fingers curled against the cuffs, nails pressing into your palms.

You knew what you had to say. You just hated saying it.

You swallowed once, then forced yourself to give a small nod.

He smiled. "Smart girl."

He stood, moving around the table, and you tensed instinctively as he reached for the cuffs. The metal clicked, and just like that, you were free.

Hongjoong stepped back, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Welcome to the family, darling,"

—The meeting room was too fancy.

Dark oak table, expensive leather chairs, dim lighting that cast long shadows along the walls. It wasn’t what you expected from a place run by men who could kill without blinking. It looked more like a CEO’s office than a mafia hideout.

But the tension? The tension gave it away.

You could feel it the moment you stepped inside. Eight men sat around the table, and the moment they saw you, everything shifted.

Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his sharp eyes flicking over you like he was trying to read something between the lines. San and Wooyoung, sitting side by side, exchanged looks before Wooyoung smirked and muttered something under his breath. Yunho was drumming his fingers against the table absently, but his eyes weren’t relaxed.

Mingi, the one who knocked you out, was watching you with an unreadable look, while Jongho’s gaze was sharp, suspicious. He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he didn’t trust you.

And then there was Yeosang. Sitting off to the side, legs crossed, scrolling through an iPad like he couldn’t care less if you lived or died.

Hongjoong strolled past you, heading straight for the head of the table. "Relax, boys," he said casually. "If I thought she was a threat, she’d already be dead."

"She’s still a thief," Jongho muttered, arms crossed. "I don’t trust her."

"Same," San added, though his tone was more amused than serious. "What’s stopping her from running the second we let her out?"

"Us," Hongjoong said simply.

You didn’t miss the way a few of them smirked at that.

Right. Running wasn’t an option.

Hongjoong settled into his chair, fingers tapping against the table. "I want to see what she’s really capable of," he said. "A test, if you will."

"The casino job," he continued, glancing around at the others. "She’ll do it alone."

The reaction was immediate. Wooyoung laughed. "You’re joking."

"You can’t be serious," Jongho muttered, eyes narrowing.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Yunho just exhaled, shaking his head slightly.

"She’ll have backup," Hongjoong said smoothly. "We’ll be watching. But I want to see how she handles herself."

Yeosang didn’t even look up from his iPad. "If she screws up, I’m not covering for her."

"I don’t expect you to," Hongjoong replied, unimpressed.

You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way they were talking about you like you weren’t even there.

"What exactly do you want me to do?" you finally asked.

Hongjoong’s lips curled into a smirk. "Steal something for me."

Of course.

"A casino in the city has something I want. A small USB drive—valuable information on it." He leaned forward slightly. "It’s kept in a private security room, heavily guarded. But I have a feeling you’ll figure something out."

"Try to pull anything," he added, "and you won’t make it out of the casino’s parking lot. Understood, sweetheart?"

You exhaled through your nose. "Crystal clear."

—The inside of the van was dimly lit, the glow from multiple screens casting an eerie blue hue over the space. You sat in one of the chairs, back straight, fingers tapping idly against your thigh as Yeosang secured an earpiece for you.

"Try not to break it," he said handing it to you.

Behind you, Yeosang settled back into his seat, eyes flicking over the monitors like he couldn’t be less interested in what was happening in real life. Meanwhile, Hongjoong stood near the front, buttoning up his suit jacket, adjusting the cuffs like he wasn’t about to send you straight into the lion’s den.

"Listen carefully," he said, his voice smooth but firm. "For you to get inside the security room, you’ll need a passkey." He met your gaze, eyes sharp. "Only the personal bodyguard of the casino’s owner, Seojun, carries one. That means you’ll need to wait for Seojun to arrive—then get close enough to his guard to lift it."

"Once you have it, you’ll head to Seojun’s private office. The drive will be in his safe—somewhere behind the bar shelf. We don’t know the code, but we do know he’s a cocky bastard who keeps it written somewhere in the room."

Hongjoong straightened his tie. "Get the drive. Get out. Simple."

You scoffed. "Not as simple as you make it sound."

He smirked. "No. But I trust you’ll manage, sweetheart."

You exhaled, shifting slightly in your seat. The black dress they’d given you clung to your skin, sleek and elegant—perfect for a casino setting. Terrible for escaping.

"If you expect me to run in this," you muttered, tugging at the fabric slightly, "you should’ve given me a proper dress."

Hongjoong chuckled. "I think you'll manage, darling."

Easy for him to say.

A small beep echoed through the van as Yeosang pressed something on his tablet. "Alright, we’ve got eyes inside," he said lazily. "Seojun isn’t here yet, but the others are already in position."

Hongjoong nodded, then turned to you. "Time to go."

You took one last deep breath before stepping out of the van.

The casino loomed ahead—bright lights, luxury cars pulling up to the entrance, security stationed at every door. You slipped in smoothly, moving with the kind of ease that only came from experience. The moment you crossed the threshold, the noise hit—laughter, the chime of slot machines, the low murmur of expensive deals being made.

Mingi and Yunho near the bar, pretending to be absorbed in their drinks. Wooyoung at a poker table, laughing too loudly at something San had said. Jongho standing near the entrance, arms crossed, watching.

You were in. Now, all you had to do was get the job done.

—You had been winning.

That was the real tragedy here.

The game wasn’t even interesting anymore, but the rush of flipping the right card, the glint of irritation in the dealer’s eyes—it was fun. And you were raking in chips like you were born for this.

Then, just as you were about to go all in, Hongjoong’s voice crackled in your ear.

"Seojun just arrived. You’re up, sweetheart."

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the pile of chips in front of you. "Damn shame. I was on a roll."

The dealer looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to play your turn. You flashed him a lazy smile. No use getting greedy.

With calculated ease, you leaned back in your chair, letting your eyes drift toward the entrance.

Seojun strolled inside like he owned the place—which, technically, he did. A sharp navy-blue suit, rings glinting under the casino lights, an arrogant smirk plastered across his face. But your attention wasn’t on him.

It was on the man walking beside him.

Broad shoulders. Black suit. Cold expression. The personal bodyguard. And more importantly, the passkey clipped discreetly to his belt.

Simple in design, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking for it. But you were.

"Try not to drool," Wooyoung’s voice cut in through the earpiece, amused.

You didn’t miss a beat. "Try not to cry when I outdo you, pretty boy."

Mingi’s low chuckle hummed through the comms. Wooyoung scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, just hurry up and do your thing."

You smirked, but your attention stayed on your target.

Seojun was already moving toward the VIP section, his guard following like a shadow. You pushed back from the table, grabbing your winnings, and made your way toward the bar instead.

The moment Seojun stopped to greet another guest, you moved.

One of the waitresses passed by, carrying a tray of expensive cocktails. You bumped into her—just slightly—just enough to send one of the glasses tipping. She gasped, catching it before it spilled completely, but the motion sent her staggering right into the bodyguard.

A sharp inhale as cold liquid spilled down his sleeve. He turned, annoyed, swiping at his jacket as the waitress flustered out apologies.

You moved then. A step forward. A brush of fingers. The passkey slipped free from his belt and into your sleeve in less than two seconds.

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. "Passkey secured," you murmured under your breath, already making your way toward the back.

"Show-off," Wooyoung muttered.

—The office was too clean. Rich mahogany desk, sleek leather chairs, an expensive globe that definitely had some hidden contraption inside. But your focus wasn’t on any of that. Your focus was on the safe.

It was exactly where Hongjoong said it would be—behind the bar shelf. A high-tech model, sleek steel, keypad glowing in the dim light. You crouched in front of it, exhaling slowly.

"Alright," you muttered to yourself, scanning the room. "If I were an arrogant bastard, where would I hide my secrets?"

You started with the desk—flipping through papers, checking drawers. Then the liquor shelf—bottles arranged in obnoxiously perfect symmetry. Nothing

You clenched your jaw, heart pounding a little faster. You didn’t have time for this.

"Hurry it up," Hongjoong’s voice crackled in your ear.

"Yeah, I totally wasn’t planning on taking my time and sipping some whiskey while I’m at it," you snapped back. You could hear Wooyoung laughing in the background.

Then, just as frustration was starting to creep in, your eyes landed on a small, glass plaque on the desk.

Seojun’s name, etched in gold. You picked it up, flipping it over and there it was. A small, handwritten note, barely noticeable.

7482.

You grinned. Idiot.

Moving quickly, you punched in the numbers, the safe letting out a soft click as it unlocked. You pulled it open, snatching the small USB drive from inside.

Done. Easy.

Then, Footsteps. Right outside the door.

Your stomach dropped. "Shit," you whispered.

"What?" Hongjoong’s voice came sharp through the earpiece.

"You said the guards weren’t supposed to check this floor for another two hours."

A groan. "They weren’t."

"Then tell me why they’re right outside the damn door?"

Then Jongho’s voice, cursing. "Where the hell is Mingi?"

Seonghwa gritted his teeth, "Gambling."

You almost choked. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Are we even surprised?" Wooyoung said, voice dripping with amusement. "I told you not to bring him to the casino. He always gets distracted."

"Shut up and get her out of there," Yunho muttered.

You weren’t listening anymore. The voices outside were getting closer.

Your eyes darted across the room, searching—anything. And then—

A window.

You ran towards it, pushing it open, cold air immediately slamming against your skin. The city lights stretched out below, cars honking, the distant murmur of life continuing completely unaware that you were about to risk breaking your neck.

Clutching the USB drive in one hand, you gripped the edge of the window, stepping onto the thin ledge. The wind was brutal, cutting through the fabric of your dress. Your heels scraped against the ledge as you tried to steady yourself—you stumbled, catching yourself at the last second.

A series of very creative curses spilled from your lips.

Yunho scoffed. "Never heard anyone swear this much before."

San’s voice, slightly amused. "Where are you?"

You took a shaky breath, gripping the pillar beside you as your balance wavered.

"One step away from death."

—The team was already waiting by the van, gathered in a loose semicircle under the dim glow of the streetlights. The tension was thick, but not because they were worried. But because they were arguing.

"I told you—don’t bring Mingi to the casino."

"Okay, but in my defense—"

"There is no defense!" Seonghwa snapped, arms crossed, looking dangerously close to smacking Mingi upside the head. "You were supposed to be watching for security! Not—not placing bets on a damn poker table!"

Mingi shrugged, completely unbothered. "I was winning."

"You—!" Seonghwa inhaled sharply, turning away like he needed a moment to pray for patience.

Wooyoung, meanwhile, was losing it. Laughing so hard he had to lean against Yunho for support. "You were right, hyung. This is why we don’t bring him here."

"Like watching a child," Jongho muttered, shaking his head.

Yeosang, who had been silently scrolling through his iPad the entire time, finally looked up. "Where is she?"

"Maybe she sold us," San suggested, only half-joking.

Jongho scoffed. "Or maybe she got caught."

"Or maybe she died," Wooyoung added, grinning like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Jongho tilted his head, considering. "Honestly, I’d prefer that over the first option."

"Wow, thanks," came a hoarse voice from behind them.

All eight of them turned in perfect sync.

There you were, leaning heavily against a metal pipe, completely disheveled. Hair a mess, dress wrinkled, breathing like you just ran a marathon.

Hongjoong blinked. "What the hell happened to you?"

You glared, lifting your hand. The USB drive dangled between your fingers. "I got the damn drive," you said, voice dry. "And almost died in the process, by the way. In case anyone cares."

"Nope," Jongho said immediately.

"Not really," Wooyoung added, smirking.

You rolled your eyes, shoving the drive into Hongjoong’s hand. "Next time, if you’re gonna send me on a mission, don’t let the walking skyscraper near a poker table."

"Hey," Mingi muttered. "It was a good game."

Hongjoong turned the USB over between his fingers, watching the way the dim light reflected off its smooth surface. He looked too pleased with himself, like he was holding a winning card no one else had seen.

You were still catching your breath when he finally spoke. "You know," he mused, voice casual, "this drive is useless."

Your heartbeat, still erratic from your near-death stunt, stumbled. "What?"

Hongjoong smirked, tapping the USB against his palm. "There’s nothing in it. It was a test."

Your body stiffened, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. A test? Your fingers curled at your sides as you processed.

The impossible ease of this mission. The predictable guard patterns. The fact that Hongjoong never seemed remotely concerned, even when you almost got caught.

"You’re telling me," you said slowly, voice colder than before, "that I just risked my life… for a test?"

Hongjoong gave a small tilt of his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. "The casino belongs to us. Seojun works for me."

You felt stupid. A slow, creeping anger slithered into your chest. How did you not see it? It made sense. Too much sense.

"Don’t look so shocked," Yeosang muttered from behind his iPad, not even bothering to look up. "It was necessary."

"Yeah," Wooyoung chimed in, arms crossed, grinning. "We had to make sure you wouldn’t run or sell us out the second you got the chance."

Jongho let out a short laugh. "Would’ve been funny if she tried, though."

San shook his head, smirking. "Nah. She’s not that dumb."

"You sure?" Yunho teased. "She did almost break her neck back there."

A sharp, burning frustration coiled in your stomach. You wanted to lash out, to snap something reckless—but you bit down on your tongue.

They were still the men who kidnapped you.

But at the same time… you couldn’t exactly blame them. It was smart. If you had been in their position, you might’ve done the same thing.

"You all suck," you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

Wooyoung grinned. "On the bright side, you’re not dead."

You inhaled slowly, forcing yourself to calm down.

"You got anything else planned for me?" you asked, voice clipped.

Hongjoong just smirked, slipping the USB into his pocket. "We’ll see."

With those two words, the conversation was over. The others started piling into the van, still amused by your reaction. You, on the other hand, were doing your best not to show just how embarrassed you were.

Without a word, you headed straight for the first seat—the one nearest to the door but furthest from them.

The van was huge, almost a mini-bus, with rows of seats stretching all the way to the back where the seven men sprawled comfortably. Too comfortably. Meanwhile, you sank into your seat, arms crossed, staring out the window like it personally offended you.

The van started moving.

Streetlights blurred past as you glared outside, jaw clenched. You still couldn’t believe it.

A damn test.

Every risk, every second of near-death, the whole mission—just one elaborate way to see if you’d run. And the worst part? It made sense. You were angry at them, but you were even angrier at yourself for not seeing it sooner.

A small scoff broke your thoughts.

You turned slightly—just enough to see Hongjoong leaning over the seat beside you, arms folded against the backrest, smirking.

"You look pissed," he mused.

"You don’t say," you muttered.

He chuckled, but instead of replying, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

Antiseptic cream.

You blinked at it before realizing—your palms. You hadn’t even noticed, but the skin was scraped raw, a painful souvenir from your little stunt on the pipes.

You hesitated, but then snatched the tube from him without a word.

Hongjoong didn’t move. Just stayed there, watching as you carefully applied the cream, the slight sting making you wince.

Finally, he spoke. "You handled yourself well tonight."

You scoffed. "Yeah, because I love almost dying for no reason."

Hongjoong hummed, clearly amused. "Don’t be so dramatic, sweetheart."

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

Instead, you finished applying the cream, shoving the cap back on a little too aggressively before tossing it back to him. He caught it easily, rolling it between his fingers.

Just when you thought he was finally going to leave you alone, you saw him shrug off his suit jacket.

You barely had time to process it before he threw it at you. You blinked, staring down at the expensive black fabric now draped over your lap.

"You’re shivering," he said simply, pushing himself off the seat.

"I’m—" You stopped. Okay, fine. Maybe you were cold. The dress you were given was meant to look nice, not keep you warm.

Still, you rolled your eyes. "What, suddenly feeling generous?"

Hongjoong just smirked. "Don’t get used to it."

And with that, he turned, heading back to the others.

You exhaled, glancing down at the jacket in your hands. It smelled like cologne and gunpowder.

For a second, you considered leaving it there. But then you sighed and pulled it on, letting the warmth sink into your skin.

—The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the silence.

For a split second, you forgot where you were. The bed beneath you was too soft, the air too still, the faint scent of expensive cologne and leather lingering in the sheets. Your eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through the heavy curtains. The room was unfamiliar—but not in a way that made you panic.

Right. Hongjoong had given you a room.

Now that you were technically part of the team, you weren’t stuck in a cell anymore. The room wasn’t extravagant, but compared to some of the places you’d slept in before—abandoned buildings, dirty motel rooms, street corners when things got bad—it was more than enough. A clean bed, fresh clothes, a door that locked from the inside. That was already more than you ever had.

But your moment of peace didn’t last long.

A loud knock on the door made your body jolt into high alert, your instincts snapping back into place. Before you could even sit up properly, the door swung open.

"Wake up," a voice said flatly.

You blinked. Yeosang stood in the doorway, looking as unbothered as ever, one hand gripping an iPad, the other resting against the doorframe. His expression was unreadable, sharp eyes scanning you like he was making sure you were still alive.

"Excuse me?" you muttered, voice rough from sleep.

He raised an eyebrow. "Hongjoong says to meet him at the practice arena. I’m just the messenger."

You frowned, trying to push yourself up, still groggy. "The practice what now?"

Yeosang sighed, clearly already over this conversation. "Training grounds, whatever you want to call it. Get up. He’s waiting."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked off, not bothering to make sure you followed..

You groaned, running a hand through your hair before dragging yourself out of bed. If you had any hope of keeping up with these people, you couldn’t afford to waste time.

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself stepping into what could only be described as a personal fight club.

The underground practice arena was bigger than you expected—high ceilings, concrete walls, various training equipment scattered throughout. A boxing ring sat in the center, but what caught your attention was the man standing near the weights, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted the wraps on his hands.

Hongjoong.

He wasn’t in his usual expensive suits today. Instead, he wore a loose black tank top and sweatpants, his toned arms on full display. He looked relaxed.

His gaze flicked up when he heard you approach, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Took you long enough."

You folded your arms, giving him a look. "I wasn’t exactly expecting an early morning brawl."

He chuckled, motioning for you to step closer. "You’re going to need to learn how to fight properly. Pickpocketing and running won’t always save you."

You huffed but stepped forward anyway. "I do know how to fight."

"Sure," Hongjoong mused, tilting his head. "But I want to see it for myself."

He gestured toward the ring, and you sighed, stepping inside. The second you did, the atmosphere shifted. It was just the two of you now.

"You think you can take me?" he asked, rolling his shoulders.

You smirked. "I think I can surprise you."

"Then try."

Your feet barely made a sound as you closed the distance, aiming straight for his ribs with a sharp jab. But Hongjoong wasn’t just fast—he was anticipating you. He sidestepped smoothly, barely shifting his weight before he was behind you.

"Too slow," he muttered.

You spun around, adjusting your stance. Fine. If speed wouldn’t work, you’d try something else.

This time, you faked a punch, using the momentum to aim a kick at his side instead. It almost landed—but Hongjoong caught your ankle with ease, his grip firm but not crushing.

"Clever," he mused, tilting his head. "But predictable."

He shoved your leg away, throwing you off balance. You barely caught yourself before hitting the mat, breath coming a little faster now. But you weren’t done.

Your fist shot toward his jaw, only for him to duck effortlessly, his body moving like he had all the time in the world. And then—before you could react—his foot hooked behind your ankle, and your world tilted.

A sharp thud echoed as your back hit the mat.

You barely had time to process before Hongjoong was on top of you, pinning you down with one knee pressing against your thigh, hands gripping your wrists. His face hovered dangerously close, eyes glinting with something between amusement and control.

"Not bad," he murmured. "But not good enough."

You swallowed hard, refusing to look away. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

He smirked, clearly enjoying this.

"You rely too much on speed," he continued, voice unhurried, as if he wasn’t holding you down effortlessly. "And instinct. It works on amateurs. But against someone trained?" His grip tightened slightly before he let go. "It’ll get you killed."

The second he released you, you rolled onto your feet, muscles aching from the fall. You expected him to gloat, but instead, he simply dusted off his hands, tilting his head slightly.

"You want to learn?"

You hesitated for only a second before giving a small nod.

"Good."

He grabbed your wrist, yanking you forward. You barely had time to react before your chest nearly collided with his, breath hitching at the sudden proximity. His grip was firm, but not crushing. Guiding. Before you could flinch away, he spun you around, pressing your back to his chest, his arms looping over yours in a controlled lock.

"Lesson one," he murmured, his breath ghosting against your ear. "Control."

Your muscles tensed on instinct. His hold wasn’t painful, but you couldn’t move. Every shift of your body pressed you further against him, the heat of his skin impossibly close through the thin fabric of your clothes.

"Getting caught in a hold like this means you’re already losing."

You swallowed hard, fingers twitching at your sides.

"Now," he continued, voice almost amused, "let’s see if you can get out."

You clenched your jaw, shifting your weight, trying to maneuver an escape. But Hongjoong’s grip was calculated—his arms tightening just enough whenever you tried to break free.

"Struggling won’t work," he murmured, his lips close enough that you felt every syllable. "Use their hold against them."

Instead of fighting his grip head-on, you shifted your stance, leaning into him rather than away. It was enough to make his weight shift, just barely—and in that split second, you twisted, slipping out of his grasp.

You stumbled back, chest rising and falling as you turned to face him.

Hongjoong just smirked. "Better."

You barely had time to catch your breath before he moved again.

This time, he came at you directly, his palm pressing against your shoulder to push you off balance. You caught yourself before falling, swiping at his legs in retaliation—but he jumped back smoothly, anticipating you again.

"Too slow," he taunted.

Your frustration flared, and you lunged again—only for him to catch your wrist mid-motion.

Before you knew it, he had twisted your arm behind your back, pressing you forward until your chest nearly touched the mat. His hand rested just above your hip, keeping you trapped in place, while the other held your arm firmly in position.

"You're fast," he murmured, low, almost mocking. "But you let yourself get frustrated. That’s a weakness."

You glared at the floor, lips parting slightly as you exhaled sharply through your nose. He was right. And that irritated you even more.

But before you could retaliate, Hongjoong suddenly let go. The second his grip loosened, you spun around—expecting him to step back.

He didn’t and you were suddenly too close. Your chest almost brushed his as you stopped abruptly, your breath catching in the tight space between you. His dark eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unreadable.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

Hongjoong wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t laughing. He was just watching you, his gaze dark and steady, his breathing even. He was close. Too close. The weight of his body was warm, grounding, a sharp contrast to the chill of the gym air against your sweat-damp skin. Every small movement made you aware of just how little space there was between you.

You weren’t sure how long you stood like that—seconds, maybe longer.

"Get some rest," he murmured, stepping back. "We’ll try again tomorrow."

—The night was quiet—too quiet. Missions like these never went as planned, but tonight, something felt off from the start.

You stood with the others in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse, the air thick with gasoline and metal. The plan was simple: retrieve a shipment that belonged to them but had been stolen by a rival gang. Get in, grab it, and get out. No unnecessary bloodshed.

At least, that’s what you thought.

"Keep your comms open," Hongjoong murmured, adjusting the sleeves of his black jacket as he surveyed the surroundings. His voice was calm, but you’d been around him long enough to recognize when he was on edge.

Seonghwa was the first to move, his steps silent as he disappeared into the shadows. Yeosang stood beside you, scrolling through something on his damn iPad, completely unbothered. Jongho checked his gun, casting you a skeptical glance.

"Try not to mess this up, darling," Wooyoung teased through the earpiece, earning himself a smack from San.

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the hidden blade strapped to your thigh. You didn’t need weapons. Your hands were fast enough. But something told you tonight might be different.

Then, just as Yunho signaled that the coast was clear, everything went to hell.

Gunfire. Loud, sharp, and too close.

"Fucking hell," Mingi cursed, diving behind a stack of crates as bullets rained down on you. The rival gang had been waiting. You had walked straight into a trap.

"Get down!" Hongjoong barked, shoving you behind a metal container as more bullets whizzed past. The others were already fighting back—Jongho and Seonghwa taking out enemies one by one with brutal efficiency.

You could handle yourself in a fight. You had to. Years of surviving on the streets made you quick on your feet, a ghost when you needed to be. You weaved through the chaos, using your knife to disable anyone who got too close.

But then you saw him.

A man—one of the rival gang members—cornering Yunho, gun raised. You moved before you thought.

You ran, tackling the man before he could pull the trigger. The impact sent both of you crashing to the ground. Your knife was against his throat in an instant.

The man’s eyes were wide, terrified. His breathing was ragged, a silent plea forming on his lips. Kill him. That’s what Hongjoong would expect. That’s what everyone would expect.

But you couldn’t.

Your grip faltered. The hesitation lasted a second too long.

Pain exploded in your side as the man’s fist collided with your ribs, knocking the air out of your lungs. You stumbled, hand flying to your waist—he had a knife. You barely had time to react before he was on you again, and suddenly, you weren’t the one in control anymore.

A gunshot rang out. You flinched, but the bullet wasn’t meant for you.

The man collapsed, a clean shot to his skull. Hongjoong stood behind him, gun still raised.

Your chest heaved as you stared at the body, your mind racing.

Hongjoong’s jaw was tight as he grabbed your wrist, yanking you to your feet. His grip was bruising, fingers digging into your skin as he dragged you away from the fight.

"Move," he snapped, shoving you toward the exit.

The others were still fighting, but Hongjoong didn’t care. His priority was getting you the hell out of there.

The second you were inside the van, you ripped your wrist from his grip.

"What the fuck was that?" you spat, eyes burning with anger. The rest of the boys filed in behind you, panting, bruised, but alive. Wooyoung took the driver's seat, starting the engine.

Hongjoong turned to you, and for the first time since you met him, he looked furious.

"You hesitated," he said, voice dangerously low.

"I’m not a fucking killer," you snapped back, still breathing hard.

Hongjoong let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You think this is a joke?"

"I think you knew exactly what I was before you forced me into this mess," you shot back. "I’m a thief. I don’t kill people."

"You almost died," he growled, stepping closer. "Because you hesitated."

"It’s my problem," you hissed.

He was in front of you now, too close, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

"You," he said, voice like a blade against your throat, "are my problem."

"You don’t get to choose which parts of this life you accept," he continued, voice softer now but no less threatening. "If you’re with us, you do what’s necessary. Or you die."

You clenched your jaw. "I won’t cross that line."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. Then, he chuckled—not amused, but something else.

"Then you better get faster, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Because next time, I might not be there to save you."

—The second the van stopped, you shoved the door open and jumped out first, ignoring the weight of their stares burning into your back. You could still feel Hongjoong’s words curling around your throat like a noose. You’re my problem.

No, I’m your damn thief.

Your boots hit the pavement harder than necessary as you stormed inside the building. The hallway was dim, only a few overhead lights buzzing faintly, casting long shadows against the walls. You barely registered the familiar space—just another reminder that you were here now. Trapped.

You reached your room, pushing the door open with too much force, and slammed it shut behind you.

Your breath was still ragged as you sat down on the bed, palms pressing into your thighs. The adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving behind the weight of what had just happened.

You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the sheets as you tried to steady yourself. But no matter how many deep breaths you took, it didn’t erase the fact that you had frozen. That in this world, hesitation got you killed.

Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed shut.

Hongjoong.

Probably in his office, brooding like the dramatic bastard he was. You weren’t surprised. He was pissed, and for once, so were you.

A knock at your door snapped you out of your thoughts.

You didn’t answer. You weren’t in the mood. Didn’t matter. The door creaked open anyway.

Yunho.

Unlike the others, he didn’t lean against the frame with a smirk or crack a joke to lighten the mood. He simply walked in, calm and steady, shutting the door behind him before crossing the room and leaning against the dresser.

"You okay?"

You scoffed. "Do I look okay?"

Yunho didn’t react to the bite in your tone. He just crossed his arms, watching you for a moment before sighing.

"You’re lucky to be alive."

You let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, thanks to Hongjoong’s great aim."

Yunho tilted his head slightly, as if debating what to say next. Then, he pushed off the dresser and sat down beside you on the bed.

"You know he cares about you, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "He cares that he’d lose his best thief."

Yunho huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "Maybe. But that’s not all."

Silence stretched between you. You refused to look at him, eyes trained on the floor, on your hands—anything but the truth in his words.

Yunho sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "Look. I get it. I know what it’s like, the first time you hesitate." He paused. "The first time you have to make that choice."

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the fabric of your pants.

"I don’t want to make that choice."

Yunho let that sit for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. "You will."

You turned to look at him now, finally meeting his eyes.

"Because if you don’t," he continued, "you won’t survive here."

The words sat heavy in your chest.

"Just… think about it," Yunho murmured, standing up.

He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "You’re good at what you do," he said, turning back to you. "But Hongjoong won’t always be there to save you."

Then, without another word, he left.

You sat there for a long time, staring at the closed door, feeling the weight of everything settle on your shoulders.

—The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the desk lamp casting sharp shadows against the walls. A half-empty glass of whiskey sat beside Hongjoong’s hand, his fingers tapping against the polished wood in a slow, irritated rhythm. His jacket was discarded over the chair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he leaned back, jaw clenched.

Seonghwa stood near the door, arms crossed. Unlike the others, he didn’t hesitate before speaking. "You’re being too hard on her."

Hongjoong exhaled through his nose, not even looking up. "No, I’m being realistic."

"You’re being an ass."

That finally made Hongjoong glance up. His dark eyes glinted under the light, amusement flickering for a second before fading just as fast. "She hesitated, Hwa. Almost got herself killed. Almost got us killed."

Seonghwa sighed, stepping further into the room. "She’s not a killer, Joong. She’s a thief."

"And thieves who hesitate get caught. Or worse." Hongjoong’s voice was sharp, the words laced with frustration. He picked up his glass, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip. "She needs to learn."

"She is learning." Seonghwa’s voice was firm, unyielding. "But you don’t train someone by throwing them into the deep end and getting mad when they drown."

Hongjoong didn’t respond right away, but the way his fingers gripped the glass just a little tighter didn’t go unnoticed.

"She’s not ready," Seonghwa continued, softer this time. "You and I both know that."

Hongjoong sighed, tilting his head back slightly, eyes closing for a moment before he finally set the glass down with a dull clink. "And what? I go easy on her?" He scoffed. "That’ll get her killed even faster."

"She’s strong."

"She’s stubborn."

Seonghwa gave him a pointed look. "So are you."

Hongjoong let out a dry chuckle, rubbing his temple. "She pisses me off."

Seonghwa smirked slightly. "Because she doesn’t bend to your will?"

Hongjoong opened his mouth, then shut it, glaring at the floor like it personally offended him.

Seonghwa sighed, finally taking a seat across from him. His voice was quieter now. "You saw what happened today. She couldn’t do it. And I don’t think it was just fear. That’s not who she is."

"And that’s exactly why she won’t survive here," Hongjoong muttered.

Seonghwa tilted his head. "Or maybe that’s why she will."

Hongjoong let those words hang between them, the weight of them settling in his chest. He didn’t respond, just reached for his glass again, taking another slow sip.

Seonghwa stood up. "Just… ease up a little." Hongjoong didn’t look at him.

"Why do you care so much?" Seonghwa pressed.

"I care about all of you." His voice was firm, immediate.

Seonghwa scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it." He took a step forward, eyes locking onto Hongjoong’s. "You don’t react like this with any of us. When one of us messes up, you get mad, sure, but not like this."

Hongjoong’s hands clenched at his sides, his shoulders squared, his expression unreadable.

Seonghwa took that as his cue to leave. But just as he reached the door, Hongjoong spoke again, voice quieter this time. "She needs to understand that hesitation is the difference between life and death."

Seonghwa glanced over his shoulder. "She will." A small pause. "But don’t push her to the point she stops trusting us altogether."

Then, without another word, he walked out, leaving Hongjoong alone with his thoughts.

—The knock on your door was sharp, deliberate—the kind that didn’t wait for an invitation. You barely had time to roll over in bed and groan before the door swung open, revealing Hongjoong standing in the doorway, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but you could still feel the weight of last night’s argument lingering between you.

"Get up," he said flatly.

You buried your face in your pillow. "Go away."

"You’re not getting a choice in this, sweetheart."

Your muscles tensed. You hated that nickname. It was never sweet—always mocking, always sarcastic. You sat up with a scowl, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "What do you want?"

Hongjoong leaned against the doorframe, the dim morning light casting shadows across his face. "If you refuse to kill, fine," he said. "But you need to learn how to shoot."

You frowned. "I have a knife."

His brow arched. "And if someone has a gun?"

You clenched your jaw. You hated that he had a point.

"Five minutes," he said before turning on his heel and walking off. Like he already knew you’d follow.

The shooting range was at the edge of the compound, hidden beneath an old warehouse that looked abandoned from the outside but was anything but. The space smelled of gunpowder and metal, the walls lined with various weapons. Hongjoong stood beside the table, checking the ammo in the pistol before sliding the magazine into place with a practiced ease.

You stood stiffly beside him, arms crossed, still annoyed that he’d dragged you here.

He handed you the gun, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. "You ever shot before?"

You snorted. "Do I look like someone who’s shot before?"

His lips twitched. "No. But it’d be nice if you surprised me for once."

You rolled your eyes and took the gun, but the second you raised it, he let out a sharp exhale.

"Wrong," he muttered. Then, before you could react, he was behind you.

You stiffened as his hands settled over yours, guiding your grip. He was warm—too warm. His voice was low near your ear, calm but firm.

"Loosen your shoulders," he said. His fingers ran along your arms, adjusting your stance. "You’re too stiff. You won’t hit shit like that."

Your jaw tightened, but you followed his lead. "Feet apart," he continued, nudging your foot slightly with his. "Bend your knees a little."

You exhaled slowly, adjusting yourself.

Hongjoong hummed in approval, his hands lingering a second too long before he finally stepped back. "Better," he said. "Now aim."

You lifted the gun again, trying to focus on the target ahead, but the weight of his stare was distracting.

"Relax your grip," he murmured. You adjusted your hold.

"Pull the trigger gently. Don’t jerk it."

You inhaled, bracing yourself before squeezing the trigger. The shot rang out, echoing through the range.

You missed. You groaned, lowering the gun.

Hongjoong clicked his tongue, stepping forward again. Too close again. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, adjusting your aim. You could feel his breath against your cheek.

Your eyes flickered to his, only to realize he was already looking at you.

The space between you was barely there, his hand still over yours. The world outside the shooting range felt like it didn’t exist. For a split second, neither of you spoke.

Then, just as quickly as it happened, Hongjoong cleared his throat and stepped back. "Try again," he said, voice carefully neutral.

You swallowed, gripping the gun a little tighter.

The shot rang out. This time, you hit the target.

Hongjoong smirked. "See? You might not be useless after all."

You glared at him. "Careful. I’m armed now."

He chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the table. "You’re still a long way from being dangerous, sweetheart."

You scowled. But when you turned back to the target, your hands weren’t shaking anymore.

—The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. You sat at the far end of the long conference table, arms crossed, staring at the blueprint of a luxurious penthouse sprawled across the surface. Another mission. Another mess you were being dragged into. The rest of the team was already gathered, some leaning against the walls, others sitting lazily in their chairs.

Hongjoong stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, rings glinting under the low lighting. "We need the ledger," he started, tapping his finger against the blueprint. "It’s in Kang Jisoo’s private office. Second floor, past security, locked behind a biometric safe."

You frowned. "That sounds impossible."

"It is," Yeosang muttered, scrolling through his tablet like he couldn’t be bothered to be here. "Which is why you two are going in as his guests."

You blinked. "Who’s ‘you two’?"

Hongjoong didn’t even look up. "You and me."

"Wait, wait, wait," Wooyoung cut in, barely holding back a grin. "You’re telling me she and Hongjoong are going undercover as a couple?"

Your stomach twisted. "No way."

"You don’t have a choice," Hongjoong said smoothly, finally looking up at you. "Kang Jisoo only trusts couples. He has a soft spot for rich, in-love guests with money to burn. Any solo operatives would immediately raise suspicion."

San whistled, leaning back in his chair. "This is gonna be fun."

You ignored him, focusing on Hongjoong. "There has to be another way."

"There isn’t."

You gritted your teeth, heart pounding in frustration. This was the worst idea imaginable. You barely trusted Hongjoong, and now you were supposed to pretend to be some lovestruck couple?

Wooyoung nudged Seonghwa. "Oh, this is gonna be hilarious."

Seonghwa shot him a warning look. "Stay focused."

Ignoring the others, Hongjoong pushed a sleek black envelope across the table toward you. "Inside are the details. Our identities, our backstory, and everything Kang Jisoo needs to believe we’re the real deal."

You hesitated before picking it up. Your new name was printed neatly on the first page. Below it, in elegant cursive—‘Spouse: Kim Hongjoong.’

You wanted to burn it.

"How long do we have before we go in?" you asked tightly.

"Three days," Jongho said, arms crossed as he leaned against the table. "Enough time to get your story straight and make sure neither of you slip up."

You exhaled through your nose. "This is a terrible idea."

Hongjoong smirked. "It’s an effective one."

Across the room, Yunho sighed. "Try not to kill each other before the mission starts, yeah?"

No promises.

—You sat stiffly on the couch, flipping through the file in your hands for what felt like the hundredth time. Across from you, Hongjoong lounged in an armchair, legs crossed, looking completely at ease. Of course he was. He wasn’t the one about to get grilled like a schoolkid cramming for an exam.

The others were scattered around the room, some leaning against the walls, others perched on furniture, all of them way too excited about this.

"Alright, lovebirds," Wooyoung grinned, spinning a pen between his fingers. "Let’s see how believable this marriage is."

You groaned. "This is ridiculous."

"Ridiculous would be getting caught because you don’t know your own husband’s birthday," Yeosang muttered, still scrolling through his tablet.

You scowled at him, then flipped to the section labeled ‘Personal Details’. You were supposed to be married to Hongjoong for three years. Met at a gallery in Paris. He proposed on a yacht. All the details were laid out, but they felt foreign—like wearing someone else’s skin.

"Let’s start easy," Yunho said. "What’s your anniversary?"

You glanced down at the file. "April 14th."

Hongjoong hummed. "Good. Where did we go for our honeymoon?"

"Maldives," you answered smoothly.

Jongho leaned forward. "What’s his favorite drink?"

You paused. Shit. You had skimmed that part, assuming it wouldn’t come up.

Seonghwa sighed. "If you don’t even know that, how are you supposed to convince Kang Jisoo that you’re in love?"

You clenched your jaw, taking a wild guess. "Whiskey?"

"Wrong," Hongjoong said, tilting his head. "Negroni."

You glared at him. "Who even drinks that?"

"I do," he said smugly.

Wooyoung snorted. "This is gonna be a disaster."

"Alright," Seonghwa finally cut in, probably to save you from having a mental breakdown. "We should wrap this up. But you two need to get better at this. You slip up once, and the whole operation goes to hell."

"You memorized everything already, didn’t you?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at Hongjoong.

He merely smirked, tapping his temple. "I don’t like losing."

You swore under your breath. This was going to be a long mission.

—The morning of the mission, you were rudely awakened by a sharp knock on your door. You groaned, turning over in bed, pretending you hadn’t heard it. Maybe if you ignored it long enough, whoever it was would go away.

No such luck.

A second later, the door creaked open, and Seonghwa’s voice cut through the quiet. “Get up.”

You cracked open an eye to glare at him, only to groan again when you saw the bundle in his arms. A neatly folded, expensive-looking gown draped over his forearm.

“Oh, hell no.” You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “I am not wearing that.”

Seonghwa raised an unimpressed brow, stepping further into the room. “You’re infiltrating a high-profile event as Hongjoong’s fiancée. What did you expect? Jeans and a hoodie?”

“That would be ideal.”

Seonghwa sighed, tossing the dress onto the bed beside you. “You have twenty minutes to get ready.”

You scowled. “And if I don’t?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Then I’ll let Wooyoung come in here and dress you himself.”

You visibly shuddered at the thought. Wooyoung was many things—loud, irritating, way too smug for his own good—but above all, he was shameless. The last thing you needed was for him to burst into your room, waving around a curling iron and critiquing your ‘lack of class.’

“Fine,” you muttered, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “But if I break an ankle in this thing, I’m haunting all of you.”

Seonghwa just smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”

The dress Seonghwa had given you was beautiful, sure—but it was also ridiculously difficult to put on. The deep emerald silk hugged your body perfectly, the slit high enough to allow movement but still elegant. The problem? The damn zipper.

You had been wrestling with it for the past five minutes, twisting your arms at unnatural angles, but it wouldn’t budge past the middle of your back. And, of course, in a house full of trained mafia members, none of them were exactly the kind of people you’d casually ask for help zipping up a dress.

You let out a sigh, debating if you could maybe just leave it halfway up when the door suddenly swung open without warning.

"You're taking forever," Hongjoong's voice came lazily as he stepped in, fixing his sleeve. "The car's ready, and—"

He stopped mid-sentence. You froze too, your bare back exposed to him as you stood in front of the mirror. Your hands instinctively gripped the front of the dress as if that would help, your breath catching in your throat.

His gaze locked onto yours through the reflection, his movements stilling completely. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

His tie matched your dress. You noticed it then, how the color blended perfectly, how intentional it felt.

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His hands, usually so confident and sure, were unmoving at his sides.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. "Zip me up?"

For the first time, he hesitated. Then, as if snapping himself out of it, he stepped forward. His approach was slow, almost cautious. The heat of his presence behind you made your spine stiffen, every nerve hyperaware of how close he was.

His fingers brushed your shoulder lightly as he reached forward, gathering your hair and sweeping it over one side. His touch was gentle—so unlike the Hongjoong you were used to. No calculated moves, no teasing smirk. Just a quiet, deliberate action.

You shivered, though you weren’t sure if it was from the chill or the sudden proximity.

He caught that. His lips quirked up for just a second before he reached for the zipper.

His knuckles skimmed against your spine as he pulled it up, the touch feather-light but enough to send an unfamiliar heat crawling up your neck. You kept your gaze locked onto the mirror, watching as his eyes followed the path of the zipper, his face unreadable.

When he reached the top, he didn’t step away immediately. His fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary before he finally let go.

"You’re done," he murmured, voice lower than usual.

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Hongjoong met your eyes in the mirror again, something unreadable flickering behind his usual sharp gaze. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out, leaving you standing there, heart hammering in your chest.

—The van was gone. Instead, a sleek black car sat waiting in the driveway, its polished surface gleaming under the dim streetlights. Hongjoong stood beside it, leaning against the passenger door, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other toyed absentmindedly with his cufflinks.

"You take longer than I expected," he mused as you approached, opening the car door for you.

You didn't respond, still reeling from the moment in the room just minutes ago. Instead, you slid into the passenger seat, smoothing the fabric of your dress as you adjusted yourself. Hongjoong walked around to the driver's side, settling in with a practiced ease before starting the car.

The engine purred to life, and with a smooth motion, he pulled out onto the road.

The silence stretched between you, tense and unspoken. You kept your gaze fixed on the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of neon lights and dark alleys. The entire drive had an eerie stillness to it—something about being in a car alone with Hongjoong made the air feel heavier, charged in a way you couldn’t explain.

After a few minutes, he finally broke the silence. "Nervous?" His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it.

You turned to look at him, expression neutral. "Should I be?"

He let out a quiet chuckle, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. "You tell me."

You rolled your eyes and went back to staring outside. The drive stretched on, the atmosphere shifting between charged silence and occasional glances from Hongjoong that you pretended not to notice.

At a red light, he leaned back in his seat, tilting his head toward you. "This is your first mission as part of the team. And your first time playing the role of my lover." His lips curled into a smirk. "Try not to look so disgusted by the idea."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "I’d rather not think about it at all."

His smirk deepened. "You're a terrible liar."

You didn’t have a response to that, mostly because he wasn’t wrong. The idea of pretending to be his lover wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but admitting that was out of the question.

The car slowed as you approached the mansion’s long, winding driveway, the wrought-iron gates parting as if they had been expecting you. You took a deep breath, straightening your posture as the reality of the mission settled in.

"Just follow my lead," Hongjoong murmured, his voice lower now, more serious. "And don’t forget—we’re supposed to be madly in love."

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "I’ll try not to die from the excitement."

He just chuckled under his breath, pulling the car up to the grand entrance. "Welcome to the show, sweetheart."

The mansion loomed ahead, bathed in golden light that spilled from the massive chandeliers inside. The grand entrance was framed by towering marble pillars, and beyond the open doors, the warm glow of crystal chandeliers reflected off polished floors.

Couples dressed in the finest attire flowed effortlessly into the event, their laughter and hushed conversations blending into the soft melody of a live orchestra. The scent of expensive perfume and aged whiskey filled the air, wrapping around you like a second skin.

The second the car came to a stop, a valet stepped forward, bowing slightly before Hongjoong flicked the keys in his direction. "Don’t scratch it," he said smoothly, barely sparing the man a glance. The valet nodded, quickly taking the car and pulling away.

As you stepped out, the cool night air hit you, making you shiver slightly. The dress Seonghwa had picked was stunning, but practical? Not in the slightest. The slit ran high, teasing too much with each step, and the fabric clung in all the right ways, but the biting chill didn’t care about aesthetics.

Hongjoong rounded the car and came to stand beside you, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves before extending his arm. "Shall we?"

You hesitated for half a second before slipping your hand into the crook of his arm, fingers grazing the smooth fabric of his suit jacket. It was meant to be a simple gesture, something natural for a couple walking into an event like this. But the second your hand settled, he pulled you closer—so close you stumbled, your heel catching on the stone pavement.

Before you could react, Hongjoong steadied you with a firm grip, his other hand coming up to press lightly against your waist. Your noses nearly brushed, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned in ever so slightly.

"It has to look real," he whispered, his lips barely moving.

Your breath hitched, and for a second, neither of you moved. His eyes flickered over your face, sharp and unreadable, but something about the way he held you there made the world blur around you. The murmuring voices, the distant clinking of champagne glasses—it all faded.

You forced yourself to exhale, nodding slightly. "Right. Real."

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but close. Then, with a final squeeze to your waist, he pulled away just enough to lead you forward.

Hongjoong’s grip on your arm remained steady, guiding you through the sea of people with practiced ease. He belonged here—he moved like someone who knew he was untouchable, every step controlled, every glance carrying weight.

You, on the other hand, were hyper-aware of everything. The way the air buzzed with hidden agendas. The way eyes lingered a second too long. And most importantly, the way Hongjoong's fingers pressed lightly against your waist, keeping you grounded in a room full of sharks.

"You’re doing fine," he murmured near your ear, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. "Just smile, sweetheart. Pretend you like me a little."

You let out a breathy scoff, tilting your head up at him just slightly. "That’s pushing it."

He only chuckled, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk. "Fake it better, then."

Before you could roll your eyes, before you could even think of a sharp response, his arm slid away from yours—only to wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The movement was smooth, natural, as if he had done it a thousand times before. And maybe he had, just not with you.

Your breath hitched for a fraction of a second, and you knew he noticed. Of course, he did. His fingers pressed lightly into the fabric of your dress, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin. He was claiming you in the most effortless way, a silent announcement to the room that you were his for the night. His date, his partner, his distraction—whatever story they wanted to believe, Hongjoong was letting them.

The shift in attention was immediate. People who had been subtly watching before were now openly glancing in your direction, curious murmurs hidden behind crystal champagne flutes. Some eyes lingered with interest, others with suspicion.

"Relax," Hongjoong murmured, his voice a soft hum against your ear. "You’re supposed to enjoy this."

Enjoy? The sheer audacity of him. But you knew better than to stiffen under the weight of so many watchful eyes. So, you did what you had to. You leaned in, just slightly, tilting your head toward him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You're having way too much fun with this," you whispered back, your voice light, teasing, the way you imagined a woman in love would sound.

His thumb brushed against your waist, a barely-there touch, but enough to make your skin prickle. "If you’re going to play a role, sweetheart, you might as well play it well."

You smiled, a slow, knowing smile, tilting your chin up to look at him as if he had just whispered something sweet and not borderline condescending. The act was seamless, almost effortless, but it was still just that—an act.

"Lucky for you, I always play my roles well."

The words were meant to be smug, but Hongjoong only grinned, the kind of grin that said, we’ll see about that.

Hongjoong chuckled, amused, before taking a slow sip of his own drink. His eyes scanned the room, and you followed his gaze, recognizing the moment his expression sharpened ever so slightly. A man, mid-fifties, sharply dressed in a navy suit, was making his way toward you both.

Kang Jisoo. The owner of the estate. The man you were here to steal from.

Your fingers instinctively tightened around the delicate glass in your hand, but you kept your expression relaxed, the same way Hongjoong did. His grip around your waist subtly shifted, his fingers pressing slightly firmer against your hip, almost like a silent command to stay still, stay calm.

"Captain," Jisoo greeted, his tone light, casual, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that said he didn’t trust easily. He looked at you next, his gaze dragging over you like he was trying to figure something out.

Hongjoong smiled easily, a practiced smirk that barely reached his eyes. "Jisoo, I was wondering when you’d find me."

Jisoo let out a small chuckle, but his eyes never left yours. "And who’s this?"

"This," Hongjoong said smoothly, "is my darling."

You barely had a second to react before he turned toward you, his arm still securely wrapped around you as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. The touch was fleeting, but his breath lingered near your skin, warm, steady. A silent warning. Play along.

You exhaled slowly, schooling your features into something softer, something lovestruck, and turned your gaze to Jisoo. "I’ve heard a lot about you, Kang Jisoo," you said, voice smooth, perfectly polite. "My husband speaks highly of you."

Jisoo hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Is that so?" His tone was mild, but you could see the gears turning in his head. Suspicion.

Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you took a risk. One that might make or break the illusion.

You turned to Hongjoong, resting your hand lightly against his chest, your fingers grazing the fabric of his suit. Then, before you could second-guess it, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

It was brief, barely a touch, but when you pulled back, you caught the flicker of surprise in Hongjoong’s usually unreadable eyes.

Jisoo watched closely, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Hongjoong, to his credit, recovered fast. His grip on you tightened slightly, his hand sliding up your waist to rest just beneath your ribs. His smirk returned, this time more genuine.

Jisoo studied the two of you for a moment longer before nodding slowly, as if deciding to let it go. "Well, I hope you both enjoy the evening."

Hongjoong gave a short nod. "We will."

Jisoo walked away, but even as he disappeared into the crowd, you could feel the tension in Hongjoong’s posture. You glanced up at him, searching his expression.

"You didn’t have to do that," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You tilted your head slightly, feigning innocence. "Do what?"

His smirk returned, but this time, it was slower, more calculated. "You’ll pay for that later, sweetheart."

—The grand ballroom was alive with the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the soft melody of a string quartet. But your mind was elsewhere—focused on the second-floor office, hidden past layers of security and surveillance.

Hongjoong’s fingers barely brushed yours as he subtly tugged you toward the far end of the room, away from the main crowd. It was seamless, the way he maneuvered you both, weaving through guests like this was just another stroll at a gala.

As you neared the hallway leading toward the restricted area, his voice was low in your ear. “Cameras shift every ten seconds. We take the blind spot and move when the waiter passes. Act natural.”

You nodded slightly, fingers brushing the stem of your glass. Just two lovers sneaking off for a moment alone. Nothing suspicious.

The moment the waiter moved past, you both stepped into the hallway, slipping behind a curtain leading to the back corridors. The noise of the party dulled instantly, replaced by the soft hum of the security system.

"Left," Hongjoong whispered, leading the way down the hall. The lights here were dimmer, meant only for staff, but it worked in your favor.

The door to Jisoo’s private office was at the end of the hall, a sleek black panel with a biometric scanner. Hongjoong pulled out a small device from his jacket, attaching it to the scanner’s side. A small light flickered red, working its magic to bypass the system.

“You always this prepared?” you murmured, glancing at him.

His lips twitched. “You have no idea, sweetheart.”

A soft beep signaled the override, and the lock clicked open. Hongjoong pushed the door inward, stepping inside first, scanning the room before letting you follow.

The office was pristine—dark wood, leather, and a massive window overlooking the estate. But your focus was on the safe built into the wall behind the desk.

“Time’s ticking,” Hongjoong muttered, already moving toward it.

You kneeled, fingers brushing over the keypad. Biometric lock. You knew this already. That was why Hongjoong had procured a fingerprint mold beforehand. He handed it to you silently, eyes scanning the door as you pressed the gel-like material onto the scanner.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, the lock clicked open.

You exhaled, reaching in for the file, fingers closing around the thick folder. Just as you turned to Hongjoong—

Footsteps.

Your head snapped up. Hongjoong’s gaze darkened, sharp and alert. The hallway outside. Close. Too close.

Hongjoong grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward the corner of the room, where a barely-there gap between the bookshelf and the wall created the smallest possible hiding space. Before you could protest, he pulled you in, pressing both of you into the tight space.

You froze, barely daring to breathe. Hongjoong’s body was flush against yours, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm while your own heart pounded wildly. His arm curled around your waist, anchoring you against him, his fingers pressing firmly into the small of your back.

A flashlight beam swept across the room.

Hongjoong’s other hand moved—slow, deliberate. His fingertips ghosted over your lips, a silent command to stay quiet.

Your breathing hitched, eyes flickering up to meet his. Even in the dim light, you could see the sharp angles of his face, the way his gaze locked onto yours, unwavering. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but he didn't.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was the soft hum of the security radio crackling from the guard outside.

Then, the light receded. The door shut again.

You swallowed, suddenly acutely aware of how close you still were. Hongjoong’s fingers hadn’t moved from your waist. His breath was warm against your cheek, his hand still lightly brushing your lips.

Slowly, you reached up, wrapping your fingers around his wrist, gently pulling his hand away.

“We should go,” you whispered.

His eyes lingered on yours for a second longer before he finally stepped back, exhaling softly. “Yeah.”

You turned, pushing down whatever lingering feeling had settled in your chest, and crept toward the door. The hallway was clear now, the guards seemingly moving along with their patrol. You exhaled slowly, trying to steady your nerves.

But as soon as you both stepped out, the sharp click of a safety being turned off made your blood run cold.

“Move, and I shoot.”

A guard stood at the far end of the hall, gun raised, finger hovering over the trigger. His eyes flickered between you and Hongjoong, narrowing with suspicion.

“Hands up,” he ordered.

Hongjoong, always smooth, barely even hesitated before lifting his hands slightly, his expression one of careful indifference. You followed suit, though your mind was already racing.

Hongjoong’s voice was eerily calm when he spoke. “Let’s not do anything rash. You don’t want to shoot. We don’t want to die. Let’s just talk—”

“Shut up.” The guard stepped forward, grip tightening around the gun. “I know who you are.”

Shit.

Hongjoong shifted slightly, positioning himself in front of you just the tiniest bit. The guard noticed. His lips curled.

“She’s important, huh?” he mused, taking another step closer. His gun tilted slightly, no longer pointed at Hongjoong’s chest but at yours. “I bet the boss would love to have a chat with her.”

You stiffened seeing Hongjoong’s jaw clenched. In the second that the guard’s attention was more on you, Hongjoong moved.

A sharp step forward, a twist of his wrist—his hand slammed into the guard’s arm, knocking the gun downward just as the trigger was pulled. A deafening crack echoed through the hallway as the bullet buried itself into the floor.

Then all hell broke loose.

Hongjoong was fast, but the guard was strong. They struggled, limbs tangling as Hongjoong fought for control of the weapon. Another shot fired into the ceiling. The sound was so loud in the enclosed space that your ears rang.

Your mind screamed at you to move, to do something—

But then it happened. The guard got the upper hand, twisting Hongjoong’s arm back with a sickening force. Hongjoong let out a sharp, pained grunt, his knees nearly buckling. The gun was turning, tilting—pointed right at him.

Before you could think, your fingers curled around the knife strapped to your thigh. One step forward. A swift, desperate movement. The blade slid between his ribs with no resistance.

The guard froze. His mouth opened—silent, stunned. Then, with a ragged exhale, he crumpled to the floor.

Dead.

The knife was still clutched in your trembling fingers, warm and slick. Blood coated your hands, thick and dark, staining your skin. It dripped onto the floor, pooling beneath the man who just seconds ago had been alive.

Hongjoong turned to you, rubbing his wrist, wincing slightly. But the moment he saw your expression—saw the way you were shaking, your eyes wide, horrified—he stepped closer.

“Hey—”

“I—I killed him.” Your voice was barely a whisper, strangled.

Hongjoong reached for you, but you stumbled back. Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps. Too fast. The walls felt like they were closing in. The blood—it was everywhere. On your fingers, under your nails. You couldn’t breathe.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” Hongjoong said, his tone gentler now, softer. He grabbed your wrist, firm but careful. “Breathe.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, heart slamming against your ribs. You couldn’t stop looking at the body.

“I didn’t—I don’t—I don’t kill people,” you choked out.

“I know.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “You had to. It was him or us.”

You shook your head, still gasping, still shaking. “I—I can’t—”

Hongjoong cursed under his breath, then did the only thing he could think of—he grabbed both sides of your face, forcing you to look at him.

“Breathe,” he ordered. “Focus on me.”

His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, grounding you. His touch was warm, real. Not cold like the body behind you. His gaze was sharp, but not unkind.

“Listen to my voice,” he murmured. “You’re okay. You’re here. With me.”

You tried to match your breathing to his, tried to drown out the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Slowly, the panic ebbed, just enough for your vision to clear, for your lungs to expand again.

Hongjoong let out a breath of his own, relieved, but his hands didn’t move from your face. “We have to go,” he said. “Now.”

You nodded weakly, still unsteady.

He let go, stepping back only to pull off his jacket. He grabbed one of your hands, rubbing the blood off with the sleeve before slipping the coat over your shoulders, covering the rest of it.

“You’re okay,” he said again, quieter this time.

You didn’t believe it.

But you let him pull you away.

—Hongjoong didn’t waste a second. The moment you were steady enough to move, he grabbed your wrist and led you away from the body, his grip firm but not rough. His pace was quick, urgent, his eyes flickering around the hallway to make sure no one else had heard the gunshots or the fight. The mansion was still alive with music and laughter, but it wouldn’t be long before someone noticed the missing guard.

You barely processed anything as he guided you down the stairs, through the corridors, and out the side entrance. Your mind was still reeling, stuck on the image of the blood on your hands, the weight of the knife, the feeling of it piercing flesh.

Hongjoong’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. “We’re almost there.”

The sleek black car sat at the far end of the driveway, out of the main view of the entrance. He didn’t let go of you, only releasing your wrist for a second to yank open the back door and toss the stolen file onto the seat. Then he turned back to you, his eyes flicking down, assessing.

“Get in,” he said, softer than before.

You didn’t argue, slipping into the passenger seat on autopilot. The moment the door shut, Hongjoong rounded the car, climbing in behind the wheel. Without hesitation, he started the engine, maneuvering out of the driveway with practiced ease, keeping his movements smooth, natural—like nothing had happened.

The mansion disappeared into the night behind you, but you barely noticed.

Your hands were still shaking. They rested on your knees, but the tremors wouldn’t stop, even as you tried to clench them into fists.

Hongjoong noticed immediately. His eyes flicked toward you before returning to the road, but then, without a word, his right hand reached over, covering yours. His palm was warm, steady, a grounding contrast to your trembling fingers.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the soft hum of the tires against the road, the occasional streetlight casting fleeting glows into the car.

“You did what you had to do,” he finally murmured, thumb absently brushing against your knuckles. “You saved me.”

Your throat felt tight, like something heavy was lodged there, something impossible to swallow. You didn’t respond, just stared at the way his fingers curled over yours, keeping you tethered.

Hongjoong sighed, rubbing his thumb in slow circles, as if coaxing you out of your daze. “You’re gonna be okay.”

You weren’t sure if you believed him. The weight of what you had done sat heavy in your chest, suffocating, pressing down on your ribs like a vice. Your hands were still stained, phantom blood lingering even after Hongjoong had wiped them clean with a cloth he found in the car. The scent of it clung to your skin, metallic and sickly sweet.

You didn’t even realize when the mansion came into view. The headlights cut through the dark, illuminating the grand entrance as the car rolled to a smooth stop.

The moment the engine shut off, you reached for the door, pushing it open with shaking fingers. You just needed to get inside—to your room. To scrub your hands raw, to tear off the dress that now felt suffocating against your skin, to forget the feeling of the knife plunging into flesh.

As the mansion doors swung open, you barely registered the group waiting inside. The others were all there—standing in the living room, their faces unreadable. Some looked concerned, others wary. Their postures stiffened when they saw you, their eyes flicking between you and Hongjoong, as if trying to gauge the situation.

Seonghwa was the first to rise fully from his seat, brows furrowing as he stepped forward. "What happened—"

You stormed past them, heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, the weight of Hongjoong’s jacket slipping off one shoulder. The room felt too bright, too open. You needed to get out of there.

Hongjoong didn’t stop you. But you could feel his eyes on your back as you disappeared down the hall.

—The door slammed shut behind you, rattling in its frame. You barely noticed. Your fingers trembled as you reached behind you, dragging the zipper of the dress down with jerky, uneven movements. It slipped off your shoulders, pooling at your feet in a heap of expensive fabric. You stepped out of it, barely feeling the cold air against your skin, barely feeling anything at all.

The bathroom was silent except for your shallow breathing as you turned the shower knob, watching as water cascaded down, steam curling into the air. You stepped under it without hesitation, letting the scorching heat sting your skin, letting it scald away the remnants of tonight.

Blood.

It wasn’t there anymore—you had scrubbed it off in the car, had wiped it away—but you could still see it, feel it, seeping into your skin, under your nails, staining you in a way you weren’t sure would ever fade. Your chest felt tight, the memory flashing behind your eyes like a cruel replay. The blade sinking in, the way his body jerked, the sound—God, the sound.

You pressed your forehead against the tiled wall, eyes squeezing shut. You weren’t supposed to do that. That wasn’t who you were. You were a thief, not a murderer. But when you saw him coming for Hongjoong, when you saw the gun raised, the look in his eyes, you hadn’t thought. You had just… moved.

You saved him.

It hit you all at once, the truth settling in like a weight pressing on your chest. If you hadn’t acted, Hongjoong would have been the one on the floor. Not breathing. Not alive.

You inhaled shakily, letting the realization crash over you.

You killed someone.

But you saved him.

The water poured over you, washing away everything but the one thing you couldn’t shake.

The fact that, if you had to, you would do it again.

—Hongjoong had been thinking about your reaction the whole drive back. He had seen fear before—lived in it, caused it—but the way it had taken over your face tonight, the way your hands had shaken, the way your breath had come out in sharp, broken gasps, was different. It wasn’t fear of dying. It wasn’t fear of pain. It was fear of what you had done. Of yourself.

You didn’t belong in his world.

The thought sat heavy in his chest, unwanted, undeniable. He had always known it—always known you were different, that you weren’t built for this life the way he and the others were. But seeing it tonight, seeing the horror in your eyes as you looked down at your own hands, had made something twist inside him.

He didn’t like it.

You looked better when you were scowling at him, rolling your eyes, throwing some sarcastic remark his way. You looked better when you were annoyed, when you were pushing back, when you weren’t afraid of him or anything else. But tonight, you had looked small. Shaken. Quiet.

And Hongjoong hated that.

With a sigh, he found himself outside your door, hesitating for only a second before knocking.

No response. He knocked again, a little firmer this time. When there was still no answer, he opened the door, stepping inside carefully.

You were sitting on the bed, your legs pulled up slightly, hair damp and clinging to your skin. Your face was still flushed from the heat of the shower, but your eyes… your eyes looked hollow. Distant.

Hongjoong exhaled softly, leaning against the doorframe.

He really, really didn’t like seeing you like this.

For the first time in weeks, Hongjoong felt something close to regret settle in his chest. He had done this to you. He had taken you from whatever life you had, dragged you into this world, forced you to play a game you never signed up for. And for weeks, he had justified it—told himself you’d be fine, that you were strong, that you were smart. That you’d adapt.

But tonight had proved what he had been denying since the day he forced you into this life.

You weren’t meant to be here.

You weren’t a killer.

You weren’t like him.

Hongjoong had seen you fight, had seen you steal, had seen you navigate situations with quick thinking and sharp words. But he had never seen you with blood on your hands. He had never seen your face shatter the way it did tonight, never seen you look so lost, so utterly destroyed by what you had done. And he had been the one to put you in that position.

He forced a breath out, running a hand through his hair. “You should go.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You should leave,” he repeated, his voice quieter this time. “Go back to your life. Before all of this.”

You stared at him like he had lost his mind. “Are you serious?”

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched. “Dead serious.”

You exhaled sharply, standing up so fast the bed creaked beneath you. “So that’s it? You just decide I don’t belong here, and suddenly I have to go?”

His expression hardened. “You don’t belong here.”

“Oh, really?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “That’s funny, considering you didn’t seem to give a shit about that when you kidnapped me.”

His stomach twisted. He didn’t have a defense for that.

You took a step closer, your voice rising. “You forced me into this. You made me a part of this world. And now that I actually did something that saved your life, you decide it’s too much for me?”

His eyes snapped to yours. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“But I did,” you shot back. “And I would do it again.”

Something in his chest cracked. Hongjoong shook his head, looking away. “This isn’t you. You’re not like us. You—”

“Stop telling me what I am and what I’m not,” you interrupted, stepping even closer. “I don’t care if I’m not like you. I don’t care if I don’t belong here. You don’t get to make this choice for me.”

Hongjoong let out a humorless laugh. “You think this is a choice? You think you can just keep pretending this won’t change you?” His voice rose, frustration bleeding through. “You killed someone tonight.”

“I know what I did,” you snapped, your voice breaking slightly.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “And I don’t want you to have to do it again.”

And then you whispered, “Why do you care so much?” He froze. You stared at him, searching his face. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, something desperate flashing in his eyes. He looked away, breathing heavily.

“Hongjoong,” you said quietly.

His entire body tensed. It was the first time you had ever said his name. No sarcasm, no mocking tone. Just his name. And it undid him completely.

His head snapped up, eyes locking onto yours. He swallowed hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, like he was trying to hold something back.

But then you asked again, softer this time. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because I fucking love you!”

The words ripped out of him, raw and unfiltered, as if they had been clawing at his throat for weeks, waiting to escape.

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening. Hongjoong’s own expression was wild—like he couldn’t believe he had said it either. But he didn’t take it back. He just stared at you, breathing hard, waiting for you to say something, to do anything.

You reached for him, hands trembling slightly as they cupped his face. He stiffened at first, but then melted into your touch, his lips parting slightly.

���You’re an idiot,” you whispered, voice breaking. “But I would do it again. For you.”

His hands came up, covering yours, his eyes dark and unreadable. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“But I would.”

Hongjoong exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours. And then, in the silence, in the lingering tension of everything that had been said, you kissed him.

Hongjoong groaned softly against your lips, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tight, anchoring yourself to the moment.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he pressed one last lingering kiss against your lips before murmuring,

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

taglist : : @callmeagardengnome @serinebsblog @vtyb23 @choisanchwego @monsta-x-jagi @kyunlov @lcvejjoong @blueginz @lunaryoongie @yeon103 @spenceatiny18 @darlingz99 @matchahintonagar @ateezswonderland

© kysstar

[nayeoniiz]

WEBCAM PERV! (2)

pairings ❥ heeseung x fem!reader

genre ❥ smut

point of view ❥ third person, omniscient

synopsis ❥ you meet heeseung on omegle and quickly hit it off until you accidentally disconnect. feeling at a loss from not being able to find him again, you give up and live life as if it never happened. unbeknownst to you, however, he turns out to be a hacker who hacked into your camera, resorting to watching your secretly from behind the screen… until he didn’t.

warnings ❥ stalking, voyeurism, fingering, oral (both receiving), raw sex (wrap it up!), missionary (reader is flexible), big dick heeseung, slight degradation, ass eating, backshots, facial (omg no cream pie?!?!)

word count ❥ 11.7k

Webcam Perv! (1)

author’s note: tbh guys i ended up rewriting a lot of stuff because i wasn’t satisfied with my work & also ended up also i had writers block so sorry for that, i just didn’t like how it turned out at the time. not proofread so beware.

taglist: taglist: @rayofsunshineeee @strayy-kidz @d-dilemma @kkamismom12 @cinnawonbabe @innocygnet @planetmarlowe @jakeswifez @river-demon-slayer @yoonglestangies @yangjungwonnie @norihoyeon @ch4c0nnenh4 @heephile777 @azzy02 @s0nnyang3ls @friedtalong @m3wkledreamy @mheretoreadff @vegahrid @ttulixia @heesexual74 @immelissaaa @heeseungssidechick @toffeehee @lavxndxrsworld @miuwonis @freaky-enhamadswriter @yohanabanana @jaeyunsbimbo @siimplestar @slut4hee @chobitos @isagistar @starry-eyed-bimbo @511rkive @skzenhalove @diorfmu @liafterhours @millis-diary @ki2rins @asscoups17 @ravenslocked

“i miss fine shit…” y/n sighed dramatically, her chin resting in her hand as she stared off into the distance. her thoughts seemed to be lost in a world far removed from the present lately. despite the fact that it’d been almost two weeks since the scandalous video call with heeseung, her mind remained fixated on him.

natty, on the other hand, had heard more than enough. she had sat through all of y/n’s endless rambling about it for these past couple of days, initially nodding along while the girl swooned, but her patience was running thin now. it wasn't uncommon for y/n to develop crushes, but this one? in natty’s eyes, it was foolish, exaggerated, and unreasonably intense. she spoke so highly of heeseung in a way that felt odd given the scenario in which they met. she couldn’t let y/n continue living in a fantasy.

“i’m sorry girl, but you don’t even know him for real,” natty words were low, her voice flat as she glanced up only briefly from their shared computer screen, where they were working on a class project. her response evoked a frown from the girl.

“maybe not,” y/n agreed, but her eyes remained distant as she was still lost in her daydreams of the boy. “but i do know that we at least live in the same country. you never know, i could bump into him,” she added with a quiet conviction, unwilling to acknowledge the more obvious reality of the situation which was leaning toward him being nothing more than a chance meeting. compared to natty, who’s had a long list of lovers, y/n didn’t seem to have luck when it came to men. she wasn’t exactly looking for that kind of attention anymore because of that fact. what she did with heeseung was completely out of character, he made her feel alive that night. she wanted to keep chasing that feeling. she had to.

“that doesn’t mean you know where he lives,” natty countered, her voice laced with softness in her tone as if she were trying her best to let the girl down gently. “he could be hours away, hidden somewhere in the middle of nowhere.”

y/n shook her head slowly, her belief unshaken. she was certain there had to be a way. “then i’ll just manifest running into him. this time, in person.”

her word make natty cringe as she let out a long, exasperated sigh. “you’re crazy,” she muttered, a hint of disbelief in her voice. she knew her friend was stubborn, but never to such an extent over a boy she only knew for a couple of hours.

“oh, girl, if only you could have seen what i saw in him,” y/n sighed, a smile tugging at her lips. images of heeseung flashed through her mind. the way he spoke so smoothly, the way he said her name, his smile, his smirks, the way he was so attentive to everything she said. she craved it all. with another content sigh, she spoke again. “you’ll understand when you see him.”

natty didn’t respond this time, realizing that y/n was too far gone to be reasoned with. this fated little fantasy had already settled into her mind, and it was clear there was no pulling her away from it now.

heeseung, on the contrary, was doing just fine. in fact, he had already grown accustomed to the unrestricted access he had to y/n’s devices, marveling at everything she did. from the way y/n spent countless hours searching omegle for him, and the way he found great pleasure in reading the messages between her and her best friend natty talking about how he was the one that got away, and of course that camera access had completely shifted his jerk off sessions each night as he finally had a face to openly fantasize about.

besides his endeavors, heeseung’s focus had shifted to something far more calculated—her routine. with the help of his hacking system, he managed to piece together most of the tiny fragments in her daily life: the café she frequented, the public library she studied in, the late-night convenience store she occasionally visited every now and then. but none of these places provided him with what he was looking for. there was never a specific time she went to any of them. he needed something more reliable, something he knew would guarantee their reunion.

while stalking wasn’t new territory for him as he had dabbled with brief obsessions in the past for the thrill of it, never taking them too seriously. this was different. this was y/n. for the first time, he was prepared to go further than everything he had before, to put in the effort, and asking for advice even if it meant bending the truth along the way.

that evening, heeseung entered the kitchen, where sunghoon sat hunched over his laptop absorbed in a research paper. the rhythmic sound of the keyboard came to a brief halt as heeseung pulled out the chair opposite sunghoon, the legs scraping gently against the floor.

“yo, can i ask you something?” heeseung began, leaning forward, resting his chin in his hand, his expression serious. his fingers lightly tapped against the table as he waited for his roommate’s acknowledgment. and sunghoon didn’t look up immediately, but the edge in heeseung’s tone piqued his interest.

“what’s up?”

heeseung hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing his words. he realized he should have thought it out before jumping straight in. “so, i went to this coffee shop a few days ago, right?” he started, his voice softening as he imagined the scene he was about to start painting. sunghoon nodded. “and i swear, i saw the most beautiful girl i’ve ever laid eyes on.” his gaze turned unfocused as he imagined her face, the nervous mannerisms she had shown, and the way her lips parted when caught off guard. “i just can’t stop thinking about her.”

sunghoon laughed, finally glancing up at him. “damn. she got you that down bad?”

“worse,” heeseung sighed, his hand running through his hair in frustration. “i’m convinced she’s my soulmate, man. but here’s the thing… i’ve only seen her once. she hasn’t shown up since, and i have no idea how to find her again.” technically, none of this was a lie, though he conveniently omitted certain details.

sunghoon leaned back in his chair, processing this. “why don’t you just go there every day? eventually, she’ll show up again.”

heeseung frowned. “dude, that place is expensive. i can’t keep buying overpriced coffee for no reason.”

sunghoon rolled his eyes. “who said you had to buy anything? just sit there, pretend to study, or work on something. they’re not gonna kick you out for existing.”

heeseung clicked his tongue, unconvinced. the idea of sitting in a café for days, hoping for a chance encounter, felt unreliable. she was unpredictable—her schedule too scattered, her habits too inconsistent. there was no definite timeframe it’d take to catch her. he was already going crazy these last few days, his thoughts, his actions, his dreams all consisted of her. he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.

“might take some time,” sunghoon added, stretching his arms overhead. “but if she’s a regular, she’s bound to show up eventually.”

heeseung hummed, a sense of doubt clouding his thoughts. “yeah… i doubt that’ll work.”

sunghoon shrugged, uninterested in offering more advice. “that’s all i got. take it or leave it.” his suggestion was weak, but perhaps it didn’t need to be perfect. he could make it work, he just needed to ensure their paths crossed by his own doing.

heeseung sighed, pushing himself up from the chair. his mind was already spinning with plans and possibilities, each more elaborate than the last. that’s when the bell rang in his head and he decided to install a live tracker on y/n’s phone.

before this, his access had been limited. he could only observe the traces of her movements when she shared her location with others or after purchases were made when the receipts would land in her email. but now, with the tracker in place, everything would change. he would have real-time access, no more waiting, no more gaps in his knowledge. it almost made him chastise himself for not having done it sooner, but in a way, this felt better.

enough time had passed to make their meeting seem more like fate than manipulation. what harm was there anyway? y/n had been looking for him too. just the thought alone sent a rush of excitement through him. she wanted to see him just as badly as he wanted to see her. even if she didn’t know it yet, their mutual longing was proof that something far deeper than chance was there. they both craved each other’s connection.

once the program was fully operational, his heart was almost pouncing outside of his chest as her location flickered onto the screen. heeseung’s eyes narrowed as he observed the information. she was at a university. not just any university—sunghoon’s university. his pulse quickened, but he forced himself to remain calm. there wasn’t much he could do with this information yet, so he could only store it away for later. instead, he switched to her messages, scanning her most recent conversation.

y/n: coffee, then my place?

natty batty: ok lemme finish this last slide first, im almost done

y/n: yes ma’am 🫡😁

y/n: coffee coffee coffee

natty: girl.

y/n: sorry

heeseung smirked, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. bingo. he quickly switched to her camera feed. he watched as she picked up her phone and slipped it into her pocket after a few minutes. he couldn’t see her face, buy he didn’t need to. he knew exactly what she looked like in this moment: eager, giddy, and blissfully unaware of how much better he was about to make her night. his mind raced. the university was only 15 minutes away from the coffee shop while his apartment was 25. he had to move and he needed to move now.

he looked down at his outfit realizing he was nowhere near ready to be seen by her yet. cursing under his breath, he shoved himself away from his desk and rushed into the kitchen where sunghoon was still sitting at the table, this time his headphones on as he typed away at his laptop. heeseung wasted no time.

“bro, i need you to drive me somewhere,” heeseung said, his tone urgent as he pulled one of the earbuds to the side so his friend would hear his plea.

sunghoon blinked up at him, confusion evident on his face. “why so sudden?”

“no time to explain,” heeseung said with a barely suppressed a grin. “i just have a feeling i’m gonna get lucky tonight.”

sunghoon squinted, still not understanding the sudden change in plans. but after a moment, he shrugged. “whatever, man. get your shit and grab my keys.”

heeseung darted to his room, quickly yanking on a gray sweater and black sweatpants. he grabbed a tub of mousse and raked it through his hair, styling it as quickly as possible. usually, he would take his time, making sure every strand was perfect, but tonight, he didn’t have the luxury.

that’s why having sunghoon drive was ideal; it gave him those extra minutes to prepare. as soon as the two of them jumped into the car, sunghoon pulled out of the driveway while heeseung sat in the passenger seat, his hands moving frantically in his hair as he tried to perfect his appearance. he didn’t even bother with a seatbelt. his mind was too focused on the task ahead.

when they arrived at the haven brew, heeseung was the first to step out of the car. he scanned the entrance, but there was no sign of her yet. “go find a table,” he ordered sunghoon, barely glancing at him. “make it look natural.”

sunghoon rolled his eyes but complied, making his way toward an empty table while pulling out his laptop and to make their presence more convincing, he ordered a couple of pastries and set them beside his notes.

meanwhile, heeseung made a beeline for the bathroom. he pulled out his phone and opened the tracker. y/n’s location was getting closer, only two turns away. his fingers trembled as he watched her dot inch toward the café. she was coming. the thought sent a shiver through him, the energy rushing beneath his skin. the idea of seeing her in person, after everything, was overwhelming. his body felt electric with anticipation, but he had to stay calm.

he inhaled deeply, shook out his hands, then left the bathroom, moving toward the table where sunghoon sat. “what do you want to drink?” he asked, keeping his voice light, forcing himself to sound normal despite the excitement rushing through his body.

sunghoon didn’t even glance up, too focused on his work. “uh… caramel macchiato.”

heeseung nodded and stepped into line. the place was busier now, the line stretching long, winding through the café. good. it gave him more time. every time the doorbell jingled, his heart lurched. was it her? was she here? where would she sit? what if she sat near him? would their drinks be ready at the same time? what if she hear his name when they call it? would she look at him and just knowㅡ?

“hello, sir. what can i get for you today?”

heeseung snapped back to reality, his gaze shifting to the barista who he now stood in front of. she was smiling politely, her presence a stark contrast to the storm of thoughts in his head. he forced himself to focus, quickly rattling off his order, swiping his card, and returning to the table.

he pulled his phone out one last time, he checked the tracker. y/n had arrived. she was inside, but he couldn’t see her—not yet. the line was still too long and the building was overcrowded. his fingers curled around the edge of the table, his pulse hammering in his ears. the game had finally begun and heeseung was more than ready to play.

near the middle of the line, y/n and natty stood talking about heeseung, to no one’s surprise. the café was lively, the hum of conversation blending with the faint whir of espresso machines, yet y/n could only focus on the topic that had been consuming her thoughts for days.

“i really feel like i’ll actually see him soon,” y/n cooed, rocking on her heels, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag in excitement.

“and why’s that?” natty gave her a tired and mostly unreadable look, already growing numb to her rants. y/n tapped the side of her head with a knowing smile, her expression smug as if she were about to drop some great wisdom.

“law of assumption. look it up.”

natty sighed deeply, rubbing her temple in an attempt to ward off the headache that was beginning to make its way. she had heard enough about this so-called manifestation to last her a lifetime. it was like y/n fixated on every topic she thought of as of late. “if you want a boyfriend so bad, why not go for jake?” she asked, her tone flat, as if simply humoring y/n at this point.

y/n’s nose scrunched in immediate distaste. “jake? as in the one in our musical theory class?” her voice carried a mix of disbelief and mild horror, as if the mere suggestion was absurd. he was one of the students they both agreed was insufferable. he was a know-it all, ass kissing teacher’s pet. and just straight up rude as hell, always looking down on anyone who he felt wasn’t on his level of intelligenceㅡ and both girls had caught their own respective strays from him. natty nodded, humming in confirmation, but y/n only scoffed.

“hell no! he’s a total bore and an asshole.”

natty shrugged, adjusting the strap of her purse as she considered the argument. despite the way he behaved as a person, it was easy to forget on the rare occasion when he‘d look you in the eye. “a hot one, though.”

y/n wasn’t swayed. her expression remained unimpressed as she pursed her lips, leaning in slightly. she lowered her voice as if confessing a secret. “well, my fine shit had the looks and the personality.” her words softened at the end as her mind drifted back to heeseung’s effortless charm, the teasing tilt in his voice, the confidence he carried himself with when he spoke to her.

natty rolled her eyes. “well, jake has something heeseung doesn’t.”

y/n turned to her, brow raised in challenge. “and that is?” there was nothing he could offer that heeseung didn’t. the only thing saving jake from weirdo status was his face, it was his best and only positive attribute.

natty barely hesitated before deadpanning, “hm,i don’t know.. maybe the fact that he’s accessible and this heeseung guy isn’t?”

y/n let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes before shifting her gaze across the café. she was more than ready to tune natty out, but just as she was about to dismiss the conversation entirely, her breath caught in her chest, and it tightened. she even felt as if her heart nearly stopped. across the room, standing near the merchandised cups, was a familiar face toting a gray sweater.

“oh my god,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

natty groaned. “no. don’t ‘oh my god’ me,” she warned, already sensing where this was going. “i’ve been listening to you talk about this man nonstop for days. you need to be realistic—”

y/n grabbed natty’s shoulders and spun her around so fast that natty nearly stumbled. “that’s him! that’s fucking him!” her fingers dug into natty’s arms, grip tightening as excitement coursed through her, adding a jump in her step.

natty frowned, still skeptical. “girl, where?”

y/n’s voice was ecstatic, but she tried to contain it. “i can’t point, but he’s near the cups. purple hair, gray sweater…. oh my god, bitch. manifestation is real.” her entire body buzzed, it felt unreal. her mind couldn’t fully process that this moment was actually happening.

she had spent days thinking about this. dreaming about this. and now, here he was—standing just a few feet away.

natty, however, wasn’t as convinced. her arms were still locked in y/n’s grip, but her expression remained doubtful. “are you sure?” she squinted, trying to get a better look. the odds of this were ridiculous, impossible even. y/n had met some random guy online, obsessed over him for days, and now, he just happened to be in the same café? for a brief second, natty wondered if she should be worried. she was concerned the girl’s obsession had rendered her borderline delusional. y/n was already lost in her own world, eyes locked onto heeseung, thoughts swarming im her head.

“i will fucking go up to him right now, bro. swear,” y/n let go of her death grip on natty’s arms and attempted to push past her, but natty grabbed her wrist before she could follow through on the impulsive declaration. “okay, chill. let’s order first?”

as they stepped forward in line, y/n could barely focus. her hands felt clammy, heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. the café around her blurred into the background, her senses narrowing in on one thing, and one thing only. a barista‘a voice called outㅡ “heeseung!” and y/n’s stomach flipped. her head snapped toward the employee so quickly she nearly gave herself whiplash. she glanced near his area and realized he was coming this way. now, it was her turn to order, but her mind was so blank. she needed more time.

“i need a second to think,” she said hastily, voice unsteady. natty shot her a look, but let it slide. she believed it now after hearing his name. and she couldn’t fathom how everything truly seemed to work in her friend’s favor, but she was somewhat happy for her nonetheless. though, she still wasn’t sure if her man of choice was the best.

heeseung was seemingly oblivious. he grabbed his cup first, then sunghoon’s, fingers wrapping around the sleeve as he turned to leave, doing everything in his power not to scan the line for his muse’s face. but y/n’s pulse skyrocketed upon he was leaving. he was finally right there in front of her, and he was leaving. before she could second-guess herself, her hand shot out, fingers curling around the sleeve of his sweater.

heeseung froze. his body tensed at the sudden touch, breath hitching as he slowly glanced down to where her hand clutched the soft fabric. the warmth of her fingers seeped through the material, faint but noticeable.

and for a brief moment, everything around him ceased to exist. the café, the noise, the people—it all faded, leaving only this. his gaze lifted, meeting hers. and in that instant, it all clicked like a puzzle piece falling into place.

y/n swallowed, her grip loosening as her fingers dragged slightly against the fabric before letting go. “hi, i’m so sorry, but i know you.” her voice was quiet, hesitant, yet certain all at once.

the sweater was soft. softer than she expected. and suddenly, she wanted to know more. she wondered if his skin was softer, how his hands would feel in between her fingers, how his lips would feel against hers, everything. she wanted to know everything about him now.

heeseung swallowed hard, forcing himself to find words to say. he had an array of scenarios that their first physical encounter would go and yet nothing could have prepared him for this. he never considered that she could approach him first. everything he knew about confidence, his charm, his certainty, all of it left him. “y/n?”

oh. his voice.

it was even better in person, smooth and warm, like a melody lingering in the air long after the last note had been played. it wrapped around her, wrapped her in something almost intoxicating. made her feel safe. made her feel wanted.

her breath caught. “yes. heeseung. hi.”

his lips parted slightly before curling into a slow, almost disbelieving smile.

“hi.”

they just stood there, staring at each other, taking in every detail, every feature. it felt like time had stopped. y/n’s eyes traced the shape of his face, the sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the slight crease between his brows as he studied her just as intently. it was strange meeting someone she had only ever seen through a screen. yet, in this moment, nothing about it felt unnatural, like they had always known each other.

“do you guys mind? other people need to order,” a customer behind them huffed, shattering the moment.

heeseung blinked and turned to the man behind y/n. both of them muttered apologies, though neither of them had fully detached from the high of finally seeing each other in person. heeseung hesitated for only a second before asking, “would you… maybe want to sit with me?”

y/n’s first instinct was to glance at natty as they had already made plans. they were supposed to head straight home after getting coffee and study at her place, but y/n felt like studying could wait. in fact, everything else could wait. she exhaled, shaking her head as a slow smile spread across her lips. “we were gonna go home and study, but fuck that. this is a celebration.”

heeseung chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “you’re right.”

as they walked over to the table, sunghoon barely acknowledged them at first, reaching for his drink absentmindedly. then, he did a double take, eyes flicking between heeseung and y/n, taking in their body language, the energy between them. heeseung had talked about her before, mentioned her like she was just another girl he had met online. but now, seeing them together, sunghoon could tell it was different. heeseung met his gaze, giving a small nod. this is her.

introductions were given, natty and sunghoon exchanging brief conversations. but it barely mattered. because y/n and heeseung? they were locked in. their conversation flowed without pause or much of any effort. it was like they had already skipped past the awkward phase of getting to know each other and landed in a space that felt comfortable. natural.

sunghoon stirred his drink, watching them. curiousity piqued, and he wondered why this was so easy for them. “so… how exactly did you two meet?” he asked, his tone casual but inquisitive.

heeseung and y/n exchanged a glance, amusement flickering between them. y/n was the first to answer. “omegle,” she said, like it was her greatest achievement: meeting him by chance. she was almost sure it was, too. she’d never felt this accomplished.

natty groaned, already dreading hearing the story again. sunghoon, however, only frowned. “omegle?” he repeated in an effort to make sure he heard correctly.

heeseung leaned back in his chair, relaxed. “yeah. i went on there when i was bored the other night, wasn’t expecting much. but then y/n popped up, and we just ended up talking. for a while.”

y/n nodded. “hours, actually.”

heeseung’s lips quirked up slightly. “yeah. until you disconnected.”

y/n huffed. “i didnt disconnect, my dumbass laptop died.” heeseung didn’t argue, just shook his head, amused. he already knew that much. sunghoon, however, still wasn’t convinced.

“so let me get this straight. you met on omegle,” sunghoon repeated slowly, “and now, a few days later, you just so happen to run into each other here?” something wasn’t adding up. they claimed they met by chance, but how could that be true when heeseung’s previous mentions of the girl were allegedly in person? if the latter wasn't true, how did he know she’d be here? no one just stumbles onto someone’s location like that—especially not a stranger.

y/n nodded with a grin, nudging natty. “see? i was just telling her i’d find him again.”

natty gave her a look, unimpressed. “yeah, but you have to realize how crazy that sounds, right?”

“sure, but i know better than to question fate,” y/n said with a smirk. and heeseung absolutely melted over that response. she didn’t question things, never overanalyzed. it made it all the more easier.

sunghoon, however, still couldn’t bring himself to let it go. he watched them, his mind running. he watched as y/n and heeseung continued to chat, their faces lighting up with the kind of easy conversations. heeseung had a way of downplaying things, but sunghoon had known him long enough to know when his friend was lying—or at least not telling the whole truth.

the way heeseung had flipped his story, so effortlessly, about how he truly met y/n felt so odd. it didn’t add up. and sunghoon had seen his friend fixated on something before, but this felt different. the way he was acting now as if everything had simply fallen into place, wasn’t how he’d been when they were first talking about this girl. something was off, but sunghoon couldn’t figure out exactly what.

his stomach churned as a weird feeling crept up on him. he didn’t want to be suspicious of his own friend, but something about this didn’t sit right. for now, though? he said nothing, just went back to finishing off the last pieces of his homework.

it had been a few hours now that the group had sat, chatting away at their tables. sunghoon had finished his work and put his suspicions in the back burner while he focused on being engaged in the conversation, still situationally aware in case heeseung had slipped up again. but things had gotten tame by now, and it was getting late. he didn’t say much as he packed up his belongings and put them away.

heeseung and y/n paid him no mind as they were still too deeply involved in their own conversation, and heeseung was delighted to say the least. y/n was completely different in person than she was online. her once timid demeanor has shifted into that of a devoted lover in his eyes. she was outwardly engaged, her focus was solely on him, and only him. she hadn’t even said much of anything to natty since she sat down, disregarding the times where the girl would speak to her first.

“here,” y/n said, pulling out her phone and handing it over to heeseung. he looked at it wide-eyed for a brief moment before quickly cooling his expression, tilting his head as he studied her curiously. she opened her apps section, clicking on instagram as she went to her search bar.

“i need your instagram. or would you prefer to give me your number?” she tilted her head, eyes searching his face, and when he didn’t respond right away, a small pout formed on her lips. heeseung blinked, momentarily thrown off. she was more forward than he had anticipated. too bold and it wasn’t that he didn’t like it—he just hadn’t expected it. in his mind, he had already mapped out how this would go, how he would lead the pace, dictate the push and pull, and savor every second of the chase. but in reality she was the one making the first moves. and if he was being honest, it kind of messed with his rhythm.

“unless you don’t want to..?” her voice was low now, almost being drowned out with the vibrant chatter that still boomed through the cafe. heeseung bit his lip, fighting to hold a smile. there it was. that insecurity, that approval seeking. his eyes met hers as he shook his head, grabbing the phone and exiting off of instagram and going to the phone app to dial his number. if she was going to make the first move, then he’d just have to take the control right back.

“sorry, i blanked,” he murmured, his tone dipping into something lower, smoother, as he let his charm do the work. his fingers moved over the screen, inputting his number, but his gaze never left hers. he let the moment stretch just long enough, let his words sink in before flashing her a slow, lopsided grin. “i’m just not used to a pretty girl making the first move.”

the way he leaned into it, he let the words settle between them like a challenge. and when y/n’s breath hitched, he knew he had her right where he wanted. “i don’t want to be the party pooper,” sunghoon’s voice sliced through the air of their moment, bringing everyone’s attention to him as he slung his back over his shoulder. “but i gotta hit the hay, i have AM classes tomorrow, can’t afford to be late.” he shot heeseung a look that ultimately was saying ‘let’s go’, to which the boy only pursed his lips as he handed y/n’s phone back to her without a word.

for a moment, her eyes flickered back and forth between the two boys, an uneasy feeling rising within her chest. she didn’t know what came over her before she blurted out. “do you really have to go?” her question was directed toward heeseung who was still gathering his belongings, completely ignoring sunghoon’s presence despite him being the one to speak up. heeseung almost swooned at her reaction. she truly did not care for anyone’s presence but his. he wondered how he had gotten so lucky to find a girl like her. so desperate, so eager to be around him.

“i mean, he’s my ride,” heeseung replied, his words devoid of sadness. it was evident in his tone that he had expected her to beg, wanting to see how far she would go just to not see him leave. he waited for her response as she pursed her lips, eyes wandering around the room as if she were finding the right words to say and the courage to voice them. when she finally spoke again, it was as if everything had fallen back into alignment of heeseung’s expectations

“i have a car. maybe you can stay for a while as i study, and i can drive you home afterward,” y/n suggested, her words sounding more like a question than a statement, as if she felt foolish for saying them. inviting a stranger to her home and promising a ride home? she had to be crazy. and natty seemed to think so, firmly kicking y/n’s shin under the table and shooting her a wide-eyed, warning look.

heeseung glanced at his friend sunghoon, who merely shrugged before turning on his heel. “do what you want, man.” he couldn’t care less at that point; it wasn’t his decision to make. the two of them seemed perfect for each other—young and reckless. maybe that’s what his friend needed.

“i do still have work tomorrow, so i can’t be out too late,” he chuckled, grabbing his cup as he got up, the two girls doing the same.

“oh of course, just let me know!”

and with that, they made their way to y/n’s car where y/n had offered heeseung passenger seat as courtesy while natty sat in the seat directly behind him. the vibe from there had changed. though y/n and heeseung were able to keep the chat going, natty refused to engage, ignoring every attempt y/n made to include her. instead, she scrolled through her phone in silence—until she sent a message that expressed everything she couldn’t bring herself to say aloud.

natty batty: are you fucking crazy? i understand you like him but there’s levels to this. you don’t even know him, y/n. this is dangerous.

y/n, focused on the road, didn’t see it. but heeseung did. his gaze flicked to the notification popping on his phone, his expression darkening for a split second before he forced it back into neutrality. it was a shame, really. he had hoped natty would warm up to him, but she was already resisting. that left him at risk if y/n listened to her best friend over him. and heeseung didn’t like obstacles. he needed to take control.

the drive was only fifteen minutes, but with the tension hanging thick in the air, it felt like an eternity. when they finally pulled into the driveway and made their way into the house, natty was lagging behind, every step she took a protest to the situation. she wanted to go home. she didn’t feel safe being here with heeseung, a complete stranger that she and y/n barely knew, but it was also the very reason she had to stay. she couldn’t bear the thought of leading y/n in harm’s way by leaving her alone with him. it was a dilemma. and if something happened, she’d never forgive herself.

so she settled onto the loveseat, keeping her distance while y/n and heeseung took the couch, sitting too close for her liking. she kept her eyes on her phone, but her ears were trained on their conversation, which seemed to flow endlessly.

heeseung didn’t know if it were the change in scenery or the close proximity he had to her, but y/n’s demeanor had transformed. she was no longer the playful, assertive girl from earlier. now, she was quieter, more reserved. the version of her he had first seen through that screen. he liked it.

“should we watch a movie?” he inquired, his doe eyes meeting hers as he titled his head. god, he was so damn handsome under the warm-toned lights. he looked too perfect to be real. but he had to be because he was right in front of her. y/n nodded, tossing him the remote before getting up to turn off the lights.

as the movie began playing, the soft glow of the screen casted shifting shadows across the room. y/n reached for the blanket draped over the couch, unfolding it with care before settling back into her spot beside heeseung. she threw it over herself, a good half of it falling on top of him as well.

and while they watched the screen, he couldn't help but get lost in the warmth from her body being near his. the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the small blanket enveloping their heat, it was intoxicating. a new kind of yearning settled in his chest. his hand moved beneath the blanket, fingers searching until they found the smooth skin of her thigh.

her fingers twitched at the unexpected contact, but she didn't pull away. heeseung hesitated for a moment, then let his hand linger, gently rubbing slow, soothing circles against her skin. it was then that he noticed that her hands were the skin he made contact with, her fingers brushing against his. without thinking, he took a hold of them, intertwining their fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world. and she wavered at first but then squeezed his hand in return, a silent confirmation. this was okay. this was wanted.

everything with y/n was effortless. she made it so easy for him to get close, to break unspoken boundaries without pushback. it made him wonder what made her this way. why was she so trusting, so soon? more than anything, though? he was grateful for it.

before long, their quiet hand holding turned into a more cuddling-like state. y/n inched closer, her body molding against his until she was laying on him. heeseung shifted to make room, one arm wrapping around her shoulder, and embraced the added heat from her thighs that she had thrown over his legs. the movie played on, but neither of them were paying attention now.

as y/n nestled closer into heeseung's embrace, his fingers traced lazy circles against her thigh, each circle inching higher. not too fast, not too slow, but just enough to keep her on edge. she tried to focus on the glowing screen, but the way he touched her made it impossible. every breath he took, she felt. every soft, raised movement of his fingers sent a ripple through her. it was overwhelming in a way she didn't expect, and she swore she could hear his heartbeat against her ear as she rested her head on his shoulder. she wondered if hers was just as loud, if he could feel how consumed she was in this moment.

across the room, natty glanced up from her phone. at first, the sight made her stomach churn. she wanted to be mad. she wanted to march over to y/n, drag her away and slap some sense into her. but as she watched them cuddle, something in her almost softened. maybe y/n was right. maybe she shouldn't question fate. so with a quiet sigh, she turned back to her phone, choosing for now to let it be.

heeseung, on the other hand, was losing himself completely. she didn’t even deny him access when his hands finally grazed her clothed cunt. she only silently spread her legs to give him more access. the small action made his grip tighten just slightly around her. all mine. the thought crept into his mind before he could stop it, and once it was there, he couldn't let it go.

she didn't know it yet, but this was already far beyond a casual moment for him. he had no intention of letting this be fleeting. he wanted her, in every way possible, and he was going to make sure she felt the same.

y/n shifted in his arms, adjusting herself to get more comfortable, and the movement snapped him out of his thoughts. he began pressing his thumb against the thickness of her jeans so she could feel him rubbing her clit. he looked down at her, watching as her lashes fluttered, her lips parting slightly as she let out a soft breath before biting her lip. the action, albeit not being much, felt so, so damn good.

"you like that?" heeseung murmured, his voice low, almost teasing. he maneuvered his fingers under her pants and panties in a swift motion, shoving his fingers down past the uncomfortable tightness that engulfed him. she nodded against his shoulder as his fingers finally made contact with her bare clit. he smirked, leaning down slightly, his lips dangerously close to her ear. "good."

his voice sent a shiver down her spine, but before she could react, he pulled back, his focus returning to the movie as if he hadn't just sent her heart into a frenzy. now, y/n wasn’t the type to admit when she wanted something, but the moment his hand left her, she felt the absence like a chill against her skin.

she huffed, shifting slightly, adjusting the way her legs draped over his lap to graze against the growing erection in his pants. he barely reacted, but she could see the way he stiffened. she scooted just a little closer, her knee raised before brushing against his stomach, an unspoken demand for his attention. still, nothing.

her frustration simmered, and she shifted again, more deliberately this time, grabbing his free hand and putting it on the button of her jeans, an intense stare in her eyes as if daring him to ignore her.

“getting comfortable?” he didn’t know whether to be more amused or aroused. he knew exactly what she was doing, and the boldness surprised him. he didn’t think she was the type to seek sexual pleasure in the presence of others, but it was just another way the two of them were alike. she only hummed in response, making him chuckle.

he let the silence stretch, waiting. then, with a smirk, his fingers found their way down again. he struggled to unbutton her jeans, so she moved hers down to swiftly unbutton them for him, letting him drag the zipper down as she lifted her ass slightly. once his fingers met her cunt, she shuddered. his touch was light at first, but the way it spread warmth across her skin, combined with the slow massaging on her nub, was so stimulating.

heeseung made sure to leave no areas untouched. dipping two fingers into her folds, he almost groaned at how soaked she already was despite his movements being little to none. y/n tried to keep her eyes on the screen, pretending to follow the movie, even as his fingers made their way inside, curling slowly as he thrusted them into her. she bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to stay still, doing everything in her power not to react.

natty was still right there, although absorbed in the movie, y/n wasn't about to give herself away. but heeseung wasn't making it easy. his thumb met her clit, pressing down just enough to make her breath hitch. she masked it with a cough, casually shifting her weight as if she was just getting comfortable, but she only wanted more.

"you good?" natty asked suddenly, eyes flicking toward y/n who looked like a deer caught in headlight. y/n nodded, her expression nearly failing to be perfectly composed.

"yeah. just stiff from sitting."

she could feel heeseung smirk beside her, his fingers scissoring her insides, testing her poker face. she refused to give him the satisfaction. so she kept her face neutral, eyes on the screen, and pretended she wasn't losing her mind.

heeseung could tell she was forcing herself to act unaffected, keeping her face blank like she wasn’t even paying attention to him. and maybe at first, it was amusing—watching her fight to stay composed, but the longer she kept up the act, the more it got to him. he pressed his thumb down a little firmer, moving his finger in slow and deliberate circles, the way he knew would make any girl melt. but still, nothing. she didn’t even spare so much as a glance his way. her eyes only stayed glued to the screen with an unreadable expression.

his jaw tightened. so that’s how she wanted to play? fine. he shifted, using one knee to lift her up, the other forcing her legs more open. he adjusted his hand, his touch becoming just a little more purposeful as he picked up his pace. he curled his fingers, shoving them as deep as he could until they brushed against that elusive spot deep within her that made her breath hitch. a barely there twitch in her jaw, a slow inhale she tried to contain. he smirked. got her.

now, he knew exactly what would get to her. slow, hard, calculated, and unrelenting thrusts. again, the tiniest reaction slipped through. a soft moan was cut short as she bit down hard on her bottom lip, though her body still responded to his every movement as he continued.

he chuckled, leaning in slightly. he murmured just low enough for her to hear, “you can keep pretending, but we both know you’re losing it.”

y/n’s fingers curled into the blanket draped over their legs, her poker face still intact—but he could see the way her shoulders tensed and the way her breath came just a little quicker. he had her right where he wanted.

and heeseung was relentless. his touch stayed slow, but each movement served its purpose, making y/n swallow hard. all she could focus on was him, the way his fingers moved inside her cunt, the way his thumb still circled ever so slowly around her clit. he was dragging it out just to mess with her.

her hips buckled upward, just enough to press closer, hoping he'd realize the silent plea she was making. but instead of giving her more, he eased up pulling his fingers out almost as quickly as he buried them inside. he was barely touching her now, only offering clit action to keep her in an aroused state.

"heeseung," she whispered, her voice so quiet it barely made a sound. he heard it loud and clear, and almost wanted to pretend as if he didn’t, but the look on her face made the blood rush to his already painfully hard cock. he couldn’t ignore it. but that didn’t mean he couldn’t feign innocence.

"hm?" he hummed, acting like he had no idea what she was calling him for.

her fingers moved under the blanket, grabbing at his hand each time he’d move it from her, frustration bubbling under her skin. she knew he wanted her to say it, to admit that she needed more. but she wasn't going to.

she tried again, thrusting as subtly as she could into his hand, pressing into his touch, silently begging him to just do something. but his lack of reaction was all she was met with.

“please,” it was almost a whisper yell at that point, and she was thankful for the tv’s loud volume because if natty were to hear, it would be over. her breath came out shaky as her patience wore thin. she hesitated for only a second before finally whispering again, "faster."

his lips curled into a smirk. thatta girl. "what was that?"

she shot him a glare, barely holding it together. "please," she gritted out, her voice so soft that only he could hear. "please go faster."

satisfied, heeseung finally gave in, fingers wasting no time to dive right back inside of her cunt as if it were their rightful place. the quickness of it all made her body jump as he picked up the pace, just enough to make her whole body tense and her pussy to clench around his fingers.

"good girl," he murmured. it was hell for him to only be able to sit there and work his magic, he wanted to feel all over her, kiss her neck, leave hickeysㅡ he wanted to hear her moan out his name, hear her beg aloud. but for now, the sight of her facial expressions, eyes squinting with lips parted only slightly as she tried to fight back any noises her body so desperately wantedㅡ no needed to make. it was enough for him for now.

y/n was barely holding it together. every nerve in her body was burning as that oh so familiar knot started forming in her stomach. she was getting dangerously close, her body betraying her despite how hard she tried to keep still and stay quiet. her breaths were coming out uneven as she gripped the blanket tighter.

her head tipped back slightly, her lips parting just enough for a shaky breath to slip out. she bit down on the inside of her cheek, trying to hold herself together. but heeseung wasn’t making it easy.

“so quiet,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. he was finding it hard to contain himself as well as he thrusted his hips into her thigh, his cock wanting so badly to be put to use. “thought you were watching the movie.”

she wanted to rebuttal or at least snap back with some kind of sassy retort, but she couldn’t trust herself enough to speak because at this point it would give everything away. natty was still there, completely unaware at how much of a desperate slut her best friend was being. she didn’t even want to think about how the girl would react if she got caught up.

she shifted slightly, trying to get more. her nails found refuge as they dug into her palm, her body wound so tight she thought she might break. just a little more, just a little closer, her hole was now throbbing around him, everything felt hot and she was sure she’d come undone with a few more thrusts.

her whimpers were becoming more audible as his speed slowed to a more rhythmic pace, her orgasm crashing almost seconds after. she threw her hand to cover her mouth as he continued fingering her through her high, biting hard into her palm’s skin.

heeseung smirked at the sight of her. by now, his tip was leaking a pool of precum through his sweats. he didn’t know how much longer he could hold back. he pulled out and brought his fingers to his mouth, licking up her juices before pulling them out with a loud pop.

now his eyes were dark, filled with something primal as he watched her. he could barely restrain the desire burning beneath the surface. "lay down," he growled, his voice low, rough with lust.

y/n hesitated for only a second, her eyes flickering towards natty, who paid them no mind, before obeying. she scooted downward, allowing the blanket to engulf her as her head disappeared underneath the fabric. heeseung’s eyes followed hers. hovering the blanket, his gaze traced every inch of her like he was memorizing the sight of her beneath him as she looked up at him with bedroom eyes. the movement alone made his dick twitch.

slowly, she helped him push his sweats down while he lifted his hips to aid the process, his cock springing up and smacking his lower belly region. she gawked at the sight of it, it was even bigger than what she had seen on their video call. it was intimidating almost, how did he expect her to fit all of that? his hands found the back of her head, grabbing a chunk of her hair to push her mouth onto his tip. she complied, opening her mouth to take it in as she kitty licked it, not breaking eye contact for even a second.

heeseung let out a sharp exhale, his jaw clenched, and his composure slipped just a little as he let out a choked up groan. it was like a reward, the way her mouth moved at his cock’s head, bobbing as she hollowed her cheeks. he sucked in a breath, biting his lip as he pushed her head lower forcing her to take in the entirety of his length, not caring for the gags she let out from not being able to handle all of his size.

“aw, fuck,” he praised, voice thick with something almost dangerous. heeseung's grip tightened in y/n's hair, his breathing ragged as he thrusted his hips upwards, fucking into her face. she could only look up at him, a knowing glint in her teary eyes, as she let him continue hammering her throat. the sensation burned, but that made it feel all the more rewarding.

his control was slipping with every second. it felt so good, she made him feel so good. the sounds filling the room were obscene, his low groans mixing with the wet, muffled squelching noises beneath the blanket.

lost in the moment, he sped up, chasing the high that was coming dangerously close. he whimpered, biting his lip, ignoring the way y/n punched on his thigh for a breather. neither of them had noticed when natty finally turned her head. a sharp gasp cut through the air like a slap.

"are you guys fucking serious?!" natty's voice shrieked, filled with disbelief and absolute disgust.

y/n froze, her entire body going stiff as shame crashed over her. she was glad she couldn’t see the scene unfolding in front of her, but she knew exactly how it looked. heeseung cursed under his breath, helping y/n pick her head up to save face, but the damage was already done.

natty shot up from the couch, snatching her things with loud, unexaggerated gags. "you're so disgusting. you are actually so disgusting, y/n."

y/n’s face burned, her heart was pounding against her ribs. she opened her mouth, searching for something—anything to say, but what was there? an apology? for something she could have easily chosen not to do? for something she didn’t regret in the slightest?

the door slammed behind natty as she stormed out, the sharp sound lingering in the heavy silence her absence left behind. shame settled between them, thick and suffocating, but y/n barely let it sink in as she sat up, peeling the blanket away.

her eyes flicked to heeseung as she pursed her lips in thought. for a moment, she debated, then shrugged. grabbing the remote, she switched off the movie before turning to him with a playful grin. “so… do you wanna take this to the bedroom now?”

heeseung blinked. the shock was clear on his face as his mind scrambled to process her words. confusion flickered in his eyes, but beneath it was something else. something darker, something intrigued.

he watched her carefully, still trying to understand the way she brushed everything off so easily. natty had just stormed out, disgust practically dripping from her words, and yet y/n sat there like nothing had happened. he raised a brow, leaning back against the couch. “you’re not gonna go after her?”

“it’s not like it would change anything,” y/n said as she stretched her arms above her head, rolling out the tension in her shoulders before meeting his gaze with another shrug. “she made her choice, we’ll talk it out later.”

heeseung didn't bother responding. words felt pointless when the only thing running through his mind was her, the way she sat there, so shameless, so unbothered. maybe she really didn’t care. or maybe she just refused to let it show. either way, he found himself even more drawn in.

without warning, he leaned in, crashing his lips against hers, his hands immediately finding their way to her waist and pulling her onto his lap. y/n let out a muffled gasp, but she didn't resist. if anything, she melted into his touch, matching his tempo, her fingers slipping into his hair and tugging just enough to make him groan against her mouth.

the kiss was messy, desperate. all teeth and hunger, like they were both chasing the same high. heeseung's hands roamed her body, gripping at her as if to reassure himself that she was really there, really his. not only in the moment but forever. when he pulled back, his breathing was jagged while his forehead rested against hers. "bedroom. now."

and y/n didn't hesitate. she slid off his lap, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the hallway, her smile never fading. as soon as they made it into the bedroom, heeseung barely gave her a chance to steady herself before backing her up against the door. his lips found hers again, deepening the kiss as he bathed in every sound she made.

y/n breathed out a moan as he pressed closer, his warmth a great contrast against her skin. her fingers curled around the hem of his sweater, tugging impatiently. heeseung smirked against her lips but didn't make her wait, he pulled it off in one swift motion, letting it drop to the floor before reaching for her in return.

the air between them was thick, charged with the desire that neither of them cared to hold back anymore. his hands found the edge of her shirt, his fingertips skimming her skin as he leaned down, voice low against her ear. "you really don't feel bad about natty leaving?"

y/n shivered at the way his breath ghosted over her skin, but she only smiled, tilting her head up to meet his eyes. "i have better things to focus on."

his gaze darkened, a quiet chuckle slipping past his lips before he closed the distance again. his hands found the small of her back, lifting her to wrap her legs around his waist. they were firm as he guided them backwards, their lips never breaking apart as he stumbled toward the bed.

as heeseung hovered over y/n, his gaze softened, but the intensity in his eyes remained. he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world, like she was something delicate yet untouchable, a dream he had finally been granted permission to hold. his fingers traced the strands of her hair, admiring the way they fanned out against the sheets, the way the warm glow of the bedside lamp reflected in her eyes.

he wanted this moment to be perfect. he needed it to be. everything about y/n consumed him, embedding itself so deep that he wasn’t sure he could ever get rid of her. not that he wanted to. she was meant to be his, and he wanted to make sure she felt that—make sure she never doubted how much he wanted her, how much he needed her.

his fingertips ghosted over her cheek, trailing down to her jaw before brushing against her collarbone. he took a seat next to her, his touch never leaving her skin.

y/n’s breath hitched. she had never wanted someone the way she wanted him. her entire body felt like it was on fire under his gaze, his touch leaving trails of heat wherever it lingered. she had imagined moments like this before, but none of them compared to this—to the way he looked at her, to the way he made her feel like she was the center of his universe.

her fingers twitched, aching to reach for him, to pull him closer, to feel more of him. she didn’t care that they had only just met or that everything about this was reckless. all she knew was that she wanted him, desperately, completely, and genuinely.

heeseung’s lips curled into a small smile, as if he could sense her thoughts, as if he knew exactly what she wanted. he leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with possessiveness. all he needed was her word.

“tell me what you want, y/n.” his fingers traced down her arm, sending a shiver through her. her lips parted, her mind hazy with longing, with desire, but the words were caught in her throat.

“please don't make me beg.”

heeseung chuckled, low and sensually, before capturing her lips in his once more. “oh baby, i think you’ve earned it now.”

y/n bit back a smile, as he dipped his head in between her legs. he licked up a stripe, and it felt like magic. every suckle on her clit, every time his tongue dipped deep between her folds, it sent shivers through her body. he could taste the sweat she had worked up from their endeavors on the couch. he savored the salty flavor mixing with the sweet juices leaking out of her.

she held herself up by her elbows and could only watch with hooded eyes as she stared down at him. there was something about the way he effortlessly held eye contact, as if he wasn’t nearly sucking her soul, that almost made her eyes roll back. she was in awe at the sight of her slick covering his nose, lips, and chin. he was gorgeous.

he began leaving a trail of wet kisses amongst her thighs as his fingernails unintentionally dug into her soft skin as he smiled against it. oh, he was gone. and he lost himself even more the minute her fingers slipped into his hair before grinding against his face.

heeseung was the perfect mix of rough and gentle. everything he did left her wanting more. as he lay sprawled out on the bed, his legs subconsciously lifted and started swinging back and forth.

he was having a time. at that point he wasn't sure if he was eating more for his own pleasure or not as he buried his face deep into her cunt. his hips bucked into the satin blanket, though it did nothing to ease the ache he grew from being so hard for so long. and there was no need for fingers when his tongue and nose were an even better substitute. she was getting every form of stimulation from his face alone.

her grip on his hair was harsh as she threw her head back with a loud moan. he let out a combined and muffled whimper-moan against her cunt, tongue fucking her. then he moved to suck on her clit. she couldn’t hold it back, her body had only given her a subtle warning before an orgasm crashed over her.

“fuck!” she exclaimed as she gripped her breast. arching her back into his face, her hand forcefully held his head in place as she rode her high out. not that he wanted to move anyway, she was literally cumming inside his mouth. he would stay here forever if he could help it.

and it took her a second to pry him off, immediately tongue kissing him when she did. she tasted as much as she could of herself and heeseung found it so sexy. he deepened the kiss, grabbing the back of her head and pulling her closer with roughness.

when he finally pulled away for a breath, his eyes lingered on her like he was afraid to look away, as if she might disappear if he did. they held so much love, admiration, possession. he had never felt this way before, he’d never knew he’d need someone like this.

he was desperate for her in a way that scared him, in a way that felt like he would never be the same without her. she had slipped into his lifeㅡinto his mind so suddenly, so effortlessly, and yet it felt like she was always meant to be there, in his arms, under his touch.

he pressed his forehead against hers, his breathing uneven, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched hers. his hold on her head softened, his cheeks burning red while he held gently onto her like she was his lifeline.

"fuck, y/n, i want you so bad." his voice was raw, almost shaky, thick with emotion and something deeper, something unspoken. his lips hovered near hers again, not quite touching, just close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath. he searched her eyes, desperate to see the same hunger, the same longing reflected back at him.

"then have me," she murmured, voice barely above a breath, but it was all he needed.

his lips met hers, rushed and deep, without failing to pour every unspoken word, every hidden feeling into the kiss. he grabbed his cock, lazily lining himself at her entrance and coating his tip with her juices before pushing in. the stretch made y/n’s back arch as she winced in pain, but he kept moving, slowly sliding in until he bottomed out. her nails found their way to his back as she scratched. he slowly started moving after letting her adjust for a moment, each thrust hitting perfectly on her g-spot.

"you don't know how much i've been thinking of you," he murmured between breaths, his chest pressing against her as his lips lingered near her ear, the words coming out almost desperately. "you're mine, y/n. everything i've done, everything that's happened... it's all to show you how much i want you. how much i need you.."

she didn’t hear much of anything he was babbling about because not too long after, he had her legs to her head, penetrating her deeply. her moans were loud and pornographic, echoing against the walls. she couldn’t form any coherent thoughts. her senses were at an all time high and the only constant was heeseung. she could only see heeseung, only breathe him, only taste him. and she was on the verge of tears because of how good he made her feel. her body stiffened before another orgasm shot throughout her body.

he didn’t even try to give her body a break as his thrusts never lost their tempo. he had her whole body shaking, her hands alternating between gripping his hair to scratching his back unsure of where to go as they desperately tried to exude the overwhelming amount of pleasure still brewing.

“f-feels so good,” was all she could manage to get out. “so, so good.” he smirked before pulling out swiftly. he almost came just from hearing those words. but he had to hold back because was nowhere near through with her.

heeseung's grip on her tightened as he guided her into a position where she was on all fours, his touch firm as he did so. he leaned in, placing a tender kiss on each ass cheek.

he took a deep inhale as he licked her asshole, tongue flicking away happily. he pulled back to spit before diving back in, swirling, lapping away. his breath was heavy when he pulled back, his body humming with unrestrained hunger for her as he slammed back inside of her, his fingers digging into her hips to hold her steady.

“and here i thought you were the innocent type," he mused, his voice dripping with amusement. he let out a low chuckle, leaning over her, his chest flush against her back as he whispered in her ear. "but seeing you like this.. so shameless. such a slutty and desperate whore for me—" he exhaled sharply, a groan rumbling in his chest. "it's so much more rewarding."

his hand pressed firmly between her shoulder blades, pushing her face down into the mattress as he moved with deep, relentless strokes. the room was filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and the faint creak of the bed beneath them, their bodies moving in perfect rhythm.

heeseung's grip on reality was slipping; all he could focus on was the way she felt, how she responded to him so willingly, so perfectly. her cunt clenched around her, letting him know she was close again. her moans were past the point of emitting sound louder than occasional high squeals.

"mine," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with unshakable certainty. "all mine." he could feel himself unraveling, could feel the intensity building with each thrust he managed to get out despite the effort he put into holding back his own climax.

his free hand slid to her waist, holding her even closer, anchoring himself. she was everything he had ever wanted more than he had ever expected. and in this moment, nothing else in the world existed but her. even her backside was sexy. he was enchanted by every part of her.

“fuck, let me cum on your face, baby.” he bit his lip as he pulled out after a few thrusts, replacing her cunt with his hand as he stroked himself. she complied and turned onto her back, gazing up at him with sparkly eyes. her breath was unsteady, lips slightly parted as she stuck her tongue out, waiting for his next move. heeseung’s heart pounded at the sight—she looked so delicate beneath him, completely trusting, completely his. he never broke eye contact as he continued stroking, fucking into his hand.

his hips stuttered as sprouts of his cum painted her face. she caught as much as she could on her tongue, licking her lips as she smiled at him. it was sweet, it was tangy, and it was so deliciously his. he leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling as his fingers intertwined with hers. he never wanted to let her go.

Webcam Perv! (1)

[bcksbarnes]

between a dream

pairing: tws!bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky barnes has just found out his entire life has been a lie. that his life as the winter solider has been nothing but mind control. instead of running off after his fight with steve, he returns to the avengers tower where he trusts no one. everyone takes turn on watch, and this time it's yours.

word count: 2.2K

read the: next chapter

a/n: based this on request from anonymous!

the winter solider was not a man. he was not capable of forming his own thoughts or having feelings. he was a killing machine that was able to be turned on and off at any moment, bringing only death and destruction wherever he went. that was until he heard one word, one name. bucky. that moment altered something in his brain, a voice in the back of his head coming to life. it sounded like his own. the winter solider was not sure he had ever heard his own voice in his head before. 

he had learned very quickly, and against his will, that he was once a man named james ‘bucky’ barnes. that he used to be a solider from a different time. that he had a life that was taken away from him. that he has been used as a weapon. and that he should be dead. 

the man he had once thought was his target, steve rogers, was actually his friend in the life he no longer knew. the one he couldn’t remember.  

and now as he sat in this tower over looking the city skyline, all he could think about was that there was no one to be trusted. sure, maybe steve, but he wasn’t even in the right frame of mind to distinguish if this was still some trap – some lie. 

“he’s been sitting like that for two days.” sam says as you and steve approach. everyone has been taking turns keeping watch of him since he and steve returned from their fight near the river. first nat, then sam, now it would be your turn. “he hasn’t eaten or slept.” 

“i don’t blame him.” you mumble as your arms cross over your chest, watching the back of bucky’s head. “he just found out his entire life has been a lie. he’s been used a killing machine for the last 70 years.” you try to keep your voice low so that he can’t hear you, but you watch as he tilts his head back and forth a bit, the memories filling his mind. 

“let me go introduce you.” steve’s voice is soft, as he places a hand on your elbow guiding you over to where bucky was sitting. once you approach his chair, you take a step back keeping your distance while steve goes to speak to him. 

“hey, buck.” he says, bucky wincing a bit at the name, obviously not used to it yet. “sam’s going to be heading out of here in a few minutes. i wanted to introduce you to another team member.” 

bucky’s head turns to the side to look at steve, his eyes raking over the man. you can tell he’s trying to figure out if steve in that moment is a threat to him, his body rigid as he asses. you can’t imagine the amount of stress he’s under, how his brain must be on fire with trying to discern between realities. 

he soon looks over at you, his stare is hard as the two of you make eye contact. you’re not scared of him, and you know you could disarm him in a moment despite the difference in size between the two of you, but there’s something in his gaze that feels so disconnected from the world – from emotion. steve introduces you, saying your name a few times as he gives bucky the same rundown as he had with both natasha and sam, trying to reiterate that they were here to help – not hurt. 

bucky doesn’t respond, he didn’t the first two times either, his gaze moves back over to steve and he continues to frown, wanting to be done with this conversation, wishing the screaming in his head would stop.  

once steve wraps up his rundown he looks over at you, giving a firm nod before he walks out of the room, beginning your time on the clock to keep watch of this man, while they figure out how best to move forward. 

nothing really happens for the first few hours, bucky shifts slightly in his chair a few times, you lead him to the bathroom once or twice, and your phone buzzes with some texts from steve checking in, but overall nothing worth noting.  

you can see the dark circles under bucky’s eyes as you sit a few seats away from him. you feel bad for him to some extent. he had done bad things, sure, but you couldn’t imagine the pain he was going through. the sun begins to set and you hear a loud sigh leave his lips, it makes you wonder what’s going on in his head. 

he hasn’t eaten. 

sam’s voice rings through your head and you realize it’s probably best to get bucky some food. 

“hey.” you say, getting his attention, his head slowly rolling to the side to look at you. “what do you want to eat?” 

bucky’s eyes graze over you for a moment, you can see him making a mental note that you are a threat to him and that no one right now is safe. he makes no attempts to respond before he rolls his head back to continue staring into space. 

“o...kay.” you mumble to yourself, taking out your phone and making a few arrangements to have food sent up for him. 

it doesn’t take long for someone to arrive, pushing a cart filled with food, you jump off your chair to thank them before grabbing the plate and moving it over to a table where bucky could sit. 

you don’t realize he’s watching you until you turn back around, your head nodding over to the table and he stands. he’s much taller than you had anticipated, your eyes taking in the size of him as his metal arm shines brightly even with the dim lights in the tower. he sits down and waits for you to sit across from him. 

“i guess they sent over ...” you eye his plate for a moment. “salmon.” the face you make after the word is one of pure disgust – a food you hated with every fiber of your being, you didn’t envy that he had to eat it. 

but, he makes no attempts to reach for his fork or knife, his hands curled into fists as they rest at the table, his eyes watching you intently.  

“do you not like salmon?” you ask, trying to coax even an answer out of him, but he doesn’t budge. it takes you a moment before you put two and two together – the most obvious reason of all as to why he’s not eating. “steve wouldn’t poison you.” 

he grunts in response, his fists tightening a bit as his eyes move down to the food then back up at you. it’s hard to understand what could possibly be going through his mind, what horrors he’s had to endure and the false reality that he was placed into for all those years. 

“steve wouldn’t poison you, bucky.” you say again, trying to reiterate the point as much as you possibly could, your words holding so much weight to anyone but it falls flat with him. 

“i don’t know steve.” his words send a chill through your spine, his voice is deep and hallow, lacking any emotion, but, to be fair, he’s not wrong. “i don’t know you.”  

“fine. i’ll prove it to you then.” your words come out faster than your brain has a chance to stop you. standing up from your seat, your chair pushing back as you do so, you lean across and grab his fork, hands shaking slightly as you grab a piece of the salmon. 

you regret doing it almost immediately, you can feel the weight of his gaze on you as he watches you bring the fork to your mouth. it’s fishy and pink and the bile is rising in your throat just at the smell of it, but you know you have to do this. to earn some sort of trust. if steve was here, he’d do anything to prove to bucky, so you had to show him you were just as capable of proving this as well. 

taking the bite your body wants to reject it almost immediately as you chew, but you manage to get it down, taking a long sip of your water once it’s been swallowed to try and get the taste out of your mouth. horrible. terrible. disgusting. if he didn’t eat the salmon now, then you’d definitely kill him. 

a beat of silence passes between the two of you as stare at each other. bucky moves his hand, grabbing his fork back from you and moving to take a bite of the food, having an easier time choking it down than you do. 

there it was. something. maybe not trust yet, maybe just a spark of the idea. 

you sit down across from him again, shaking your head as you try not to imagine eating anymore of the food, the idea of it sending a shiver down your spine as you continue to watch silently. 

“thanks.” he manages to say between bites, his eyes on the food in front of him.  

“yeah, don’t mention it.” you quip back, your voice flat before letting out a dry cough. 

it’s once he’s finished with his food that he pushes his body back against the chair, sinking into it slightly, his flesh and metal hand grip the arms tightly. the tension in the room is palpable at this point and you know bucky can feel it too. 

“how long have you known steve?” his voice is gruff as it comes out, and you’re surprised he’s willing to talk to you, let alone ask questions. 

“two years.” you respond. “since they found him in the ice.” you remember that day vividly, watching as they brought him in for evaluation, making their plans to slowly acclimate him to the real world, which in true steve rogers fashion did not work. you had been assigned to his team ever since. “i was one of his first recruits on the team. sam was next, nat is just a friend.” 

bucky nods at that, his long hair falling in front of his face as he takes in your words.  

“has he always been ...” he looks over in the direction of the door that steve had walked out of hours ago. “like that?”  

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head a bit at his question – you knew exactly what he was talking about. steve, while he had everyone’s best interest in mind, was a bit overbearing, always over explaining everything and a bit ... self absorbed. it was the hero complex. 

“yes.” you nod, a small smirk on your face as your gaze catches bucky’s again. his eyes are tired, not as guarded as they were a few minutes ago – softer. “he means well, but he can be a little ...” you trail off, but bucky nods his head understanding where that was going. 

bucky lets out a long sigh, his eyes closing for a moment as you can see his hands gripping the chair tighter, the knuckles on his flesh hand white. 

“i hate that he looks at me like that.” he admits through gritted teeth. “like i’m supposed to just remember everything that happened. there’s ... bits and pieces, but i don’t know him. i barely remember myself. he doesn’t understand.” 

“he doesn’t expect you to remember anything.” you add in after a few long moments of silence. “it might feel like he does, but he doesn’t. he’s just excited to have his friend back.” your eyes trail over his face. “a version of his friend.” 

bucky’s grip loosens on the chair, a deep breath leaving his nostrils as he moves to stand from the table. you watch as he makes his way back to where he was sitting before, his head lolling back onto the chair as he stares up at the ceiling. 

and he stays like that for the remainder of the night. his shoulders aren’t as tense as when you had first arrived, he turns to look at you when you ask him a question and he even manages to gruff out an answer. 

by the time morning comes, steve is there bright and early, ready to release you of your duties as it was now his turn to keep watch over bucky. 

“hey.” he says, startling you a bit as you and bucky both turn to look at him. “how’d it go?” 

“good.” you nod, standing up and straightening your posture. “he ate late last night, he’s feeling a bit ... overwhelmed.” you keep your voice low so bucky couldn’t hear you. “give him some space. don’t ask so many questions.” 

you felt suddenly protective over bucky, the need to make sure he felt comfortable as he navigated his way through this new beginning was blooming in your chest. and as you turn around to see him one last time, you swear you seem some sadness in his eyes. you pat steve on the shoulder as you walk past him, finally being relieved of your time. though you’d never admit out loud you’d be counting down the hours until it was your turn on watch bucky again. 

[melminli]

I LOVEDDDDDDD your Thanos “bang bang bang” post and it made me very curious abt how they know eo and stuff and like I’d love to read more about it in general if you don’t mind. It’s so great and I love your writing <333 have a fun day / night 🫶🏻

BANG BANG BANG ll

summary - thanos was always just such an easy person to argue with. you really hated the guy and that was something that was never going to change, even if your life was on the line and it fucking was.

pairing: (thanos) choi su-bong x fem. reader

word count: 1.8k

contains: violence, angst, death, drug use and addiction, dark content - just usual squid game stuff really

a/n: ty so much! this turned out kinda freaky but that is because thanos is a freak so, i didn't really have a choice.

prev. | next. | masterlist

There was an eerie silence among all the participants for the first few seconds after the first death happened. The realization of what this meant for everyone present slowly sank in, and you thought that maybe the crazy man with all his screaming, wasn't quite as crazy as you originally thought. The real madman was probably the person somewhere upstairs or - you didn't know exactly where, but you knew that they were watching you.

“Don't move!” His voice shouted again, but this time with a completely different force. It may be that this was the most logical conclusion one could draw from what had just happened, but some seemed to throw all logic out of the window as soon as the fear of death hit. It only took one person to panic to set off a domino effect and from one second to the next loud gunshots could be heard, following the fearful screams of one person after another. The participants were being slaughtered like frightened animals in a cage, what kind of sick game was really going on here?

You too began to tremble as you looked down at the floor, dissociating and trying to ignore your surroundings as best you could. You had to stop yourself from flinching when the person right next to you was killed, even as you felt his still warm blood covering your cheek, even as a small river of it started pooling around your foot. You were most likely going to leave a trace of him all over the ground as soon as you started walking again - whoever he was. It didn't take very long for everyone who had moved to be shot, maybe half a minute - and yet it must have been the worst half minute of your life so far.

“Don't you dare move,” Thanos said in a voice you weren't used to hearing from him. “I'm serious, don't make me mad.”

You just looked at his back from behind, with a tense posture while you tried to regain control of your breathing again. Finally, there was complete silence on the pitch again. Even if it wasn't an entirely welcome silence.

The voice from the loudspeakers began to speak again and you already knew that this would be a voice that would haunt you in your nightmares. “Let me repeat: You can move forward while the tagger shouts, Green light, red light. If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated.”

Ah, so that's what you meant with eliminated. A bit literal but no biggie! The game continued, but no one really dared to move a muscle even when the puppet looked away. You then saw Thanos shift slightly out of the corner of your eye and noticed that he was pulling his cross necklace out of his t-shirt. Safe to say, that you could barely believe what you were seeing right before your very eyes. You've got to be kidding me, they took everything we had from us, but he was allowed to keep that old thing? “Are you seriously going to take that stuff now?” you whispered in disbelief but didn't really judge him for it. You were this close to just laughing out loud at the absurdity of the scene, but you didn't.

“You don't have to be jealous, sweetheart,” he replied with slightly shaky hands as he stopped his movement abruptly when the doll finished talking. He just stared longingly at the colorful pills in front of him. “I don't mind sharing with you, you know that.”

You sighed inwardly at the thing you were about to do. You had been clean for maybe about three years by now and quitting drugs of any kind overnight was fucking hard - definitely one of the hardest things you had to do in your life. On the other hand, your life was still as shitty as before, the only difference being that you were now consciously depressed and unhappy, so who cares? You could die every second anyway. “Thanks.” you just said after taking the pill out of his hand and threw the thing as quickly as possible in your mouth as soon as the doll looked away. Yeah, you were the biggest hypocrite on earth, old news.

It only took maybe a few seconds after that for you to feel the effects of the pill and then finally, all the stress started to dissipate. Your muscles relaxed, all the shouting about whatever felt like a soft pillow hugging you and the weird laying positions of the dead around you suddenly seemed incredibly funny. These were really strong pills, you could practically feel your whole body tingling. “Why are they all suddenly forming a line?” you asked with a grin and Thanos just hummed, not knowing the answer himself. “No idea, but watch this,” he said and waited until the puppet had turned towards you to push the person next to him, causing everyone in front of them to fall over too. “Ding! You lost,” he told them while wiggling his eyebrows and smirking after he watched them get shot.

You didn't even try to stifle your laughter at the scene. “You really are such an asshole.” you replied, shoving him aside this time after the doll averted its gaze. You then ran away as fast and as far away as you could so that he couldn't take revenge on you for what you had just done. However, you quickly stopped moving with both hands in the air as soon as the girlish voice emitted red light as if you were surrendering to her. You stifled your grin and pretty much failed when you noticed a slightly older woman standing relatively close to you. “Hey, are you trying to hide behind me to use me as a shield?” you spoke out without moving your mouth much and watched as she began to sweat more after you realized what she was doing. Still, she didn't pay you any further attention. “And now you're ignoring me too?” you spat out annoyed and grabbed her by the arm when you were free to move and pulled her in front of you against her will.

She tried to fight you off but you forced her further forward while she tried to defend herself. “You're older than me, aren't you ashamed of yourself?” You asked her and stopped walking before the robot's face turned towards you.

Number 57, who was still resisting your grip, stumbled a little to the side when you suddenly let go of her. She was about to howl in delight when she noticed how everyone else stood still. “No…” she mumbled out fearfully. “It's because of that bitch! I didn't -” she tried to defend herself to someone as she looked around the room, but her head caught the bullet before she could even finish her sentence.

“I may be a bitch, but at least I'm still alive.” you sang to her dead body on the floor before running past her. You didn't know how much time was left, but you had almost made it to the finish line anyway. You stopped with your back to the robot girl this time and it didn't take you long to spot the purple hair in the crowd. “Su-bong!” you shouted his name, since you had somehow gotten separated while running. You waited until he yelled back with a what?! “Last one there, gets fucked in the ass!” you yelled out without any shame or filter and saw his facial expression turn serious at the challenge. “Let's Go!”

The whole game went by relatively quickly once you took the pill from Thanos. It was actually quite fun, you thought to yourself as you both jumped around like two crazy people with grinning faces, waving your arms around wildly. I know it's not socially acceptable to say this, but I fucking love doing drugs! It was like everything around you was happening in slow motion and all the decisions you made felt foggy, like you didn't even realize what you were doing.

You loved being this person, it felt great to forget everything and just - not think. “I have won! No, really! You crossed the line two steps after me, I saw it!” you exclaimed before Thanos could object to a single thing. “Didn't anyone else see that?” you exclaimed in disbelief as if the others weren't busy staying alive while watching several others die right before their faces. You didn't care about the looks they gave you as you waved your hand. “No, they definitely saw it. I won.”

Thanos just gave in with a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I'm getting fucked in the ass which is gay, very funny.” he just mumbled to himself annoyed, and continued to avoid your gaze, but couldn't help grin again when you slapped him on the shoulder laughing. “Hey, why did we stop doing all this again?” he asked you when he couldn't remember the reason. All he knew was that he hadn't had this much fun in a long time, even though he knew that he always had a great time with you - no matter what.

You laughed. “Oh, that's because you promised me that we'd both get clean together, and then you spent the money I gave you for rehab on more drugs behind my back.“ you laughed along with him, even if Thanos frowned a little at the memory and you started to smile forcedly after remembering again how he had betrayed you. “Or what was it again? Was it something about that Youtuber you told me about…” you mumbled to yourself obliviously, feeling any sense of happiness begin to fade. You finally gave up, the details weren't that important anyway. “It doesn't really matter though, right? In any case, you used the money for something else, whatever it was. Even though you knew how hard I worked for it - hell, I didn't even eat most days to scrape it together, man.” you stated while you looked him in the face, even though he averted his gaze from you. “That's just fucked up dude.”

Exactly. You actually hated being this person. You might not remember it right now, but you would as soon as the effects of the pill wore off, which hopefully wasn't soon. You really hoped it wasn't soon, because you didn't want to be aware of anything that had happened today.

next.

[eraserbread]

what abt postpartum reader x nanami who is insecure abt their sex abilities (?) after giving birth 🤔 like not feeling the same

you waited that six weeks like an obedient angel.

and, it was actually pretty fucking easy.

there's something about giving every second of your day and night to a crying newborn that pushes sex far, far back in your mind. right now, you're worried about nipple balm, diaper rash, milk temperatures, and the way kento's arms look when he's cradling his girl.

they're adorable, right now. kento's lying on the couch, book perched in his hands as his infant daughter rests on his chest. she's clingy to the bone, refusing to settle unless she's being touched by you or ken. at the end of the day, he knows you're exhausted with it, it's why he lets little rin snooze on his homey chest, memorizing the beat of his heart.

you gave birth six weeks ago to the day, and kento's been so enamored he hasn't even noticed. but, you have. you had a notification set in your phone for this day.

so when it's time to feed, burp, and rock rin to sleep, you're right on time, leaning down to scoop her from his chest.

"bedtime already?" kento hums, holding his book with one hand.

"getting close. i'm six weeks out, now. wanted to get her down pretty quickly."

he hums again, flipping his page and settling back. it's obvious he hasn't been keeping track. not that you could blame him, his postpartum hormones aren't totally out of whack like yours are.

you close your hands under rin's arms, watching her little face screw up in disturbance -- scrunching like a napkin. you coo, holding her tight to your chest so the maneuver is easier.

"oh, there's my girl," you whisper, letting your lips linger over her delicate head. kento sits up with a grunt, placing his book open-faced on the end of the couch.

“do you need anything from me before i lie down for the night?” he asks gently, in tune with his fatherly and husbandly duties more so now than ever before.

“yes.” you stop when you turn around, bouncing your daughter in your grip so she stays content. “take off all your clothes. wait for me right there.”

“it’s okay, just focus.” kento’s purring in your ear, two fingers crooked between your thighs.

sprawled out on the couch, back pressed to the cushion, completely naked, kento hovers over you. he treats you like a present needing to be unwrapped -- taking his time as he reintroduces his thick fingers to your overly-sensitive cunt.

and, though you can feel him in your bones, crying in pleasure, your body betrays you -- betrays him.

you're drier than a desert right now.

"i'm trying," you're begging for something -- anything. more kento, more focus, more need. your mind is flooded and overloaded. shame forms a sickly pit in the base of your stomach. "it feels good, just keep going."

kento's never doubted himself when it came to your sexual chemistry. he could usually just purr your name or shed his clothes, and you're dripping needy rivers between your legs. there was no force, no confusion.

right now, ken feels like he's forcing it.

"we don't have to do it tonight if you aren't feeling it."

"--no!" your eyes fly open, hands reaching to dig into his shoulder. you don't want him staring down at you anymore, you want him pressed to you. that way, he couldn't see the sad tears starting to pool in your vision. "no, I want it now. i can do it... let me- I can get wet for you again, baby. let me... i know I can."

you're babbling, saying anything to make this situation easier to swallow.

"i want you so bad, i swear-

"shh, i know." he's being so sweet, so gentle as his hand caresses the bulk of your thigh. you can feel just how painfully hard he is against you -- leaving a slick snail trail wherever his pretty cock passes over. "don't get yourself worked up -- here."

kento's repositioning himself, sitting tall and proud on his knees between your legs. his rippling torso shines in the dull lights, familiar gaze worried and loving.

he props your leg over his hip, leaning down to spit politely between your legs. the warm wetness pools at your labia, drawing down between your slit before two fingers are pushing it inside of you.

this time, with the wetness, it feels... familiar. good.

but, then he goes to press inside of you. you're confident, he's breathless.

and the baby monitor lights up; tiny infant cries scrambling through the receiver.

on a swivel, both of your heads turn to assess rin's circumstance in the black and white. she's kicking -- fussing as if it were her job. you're sighing, kento knows to get up and hand you back your clothes.

"there's always next time."

If you weren't so overwhelmed, embarrassed, and ashamed, perhaps you would agree. this time, you snatch your pants from his hand and seethe,

"shut up."

kento doesn't take it personally.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Survivor - Zombie Apocalypse Au

Yandere! Survivor who's at ground zero when the infected start attacking. Who watches the world turn to chaos in the blink of an eye.

Yandere! Survivor who's willing to face off against hordes of infected because he wants to live. Even if the grisly horror of it turns his stomach.

Yandere! Survivor who knows there isn't hope for anything. The army is scattered and helpless. The cities are overrun. The people don't have a chance in hell.

Yandere! Survivor who knows but fights anyway.

Yandere! Survivor who saves you from a whole pack of infected. Who can't belive his eyes when he sees you. The city is overrun with freaks and you're still wearing a pretty little sundress, not a single weapon in sight.

Yandere! Survivor who stands frozen when you hug him. Who can feel the way you're trembling, your fingers knotted into his shirt. Who finds his voice and promises to keep you safe. Somehow.

Yandere! Survivor who fights tooth and nail to get you out of the city. Who scavenges guns and ammo off dead soldiers and tries not to look into their milky, rotting eyes.

Yandere! Survivor who finally has someone to look out for and it makes the loneliness much more bearable.

Yandere! Survivor who gets stronger each day. Who can feel his muscles literally straining against his shirt.

Yandere! Survivor who tries to teach you self defence and fails miserably, because every time he has you pinned under him he can't help but get turned on.

Yandere! Survivor who inspects the hem of your sundress and let's his knuckles brush against your thighs. Who scoffs and tells you its way too flimsy to keep you safe, that a zombie could bite straight through it.

"Hell, I could rip it off without even trying."

Yandere! Survivor who loves how helpless and scared you are. Who feels a rush of pride every time a zombie shrieks and you immediately grab onto him.

Yandere! Survivor who quickly learns to trade with other survivors but to never let his guard down.

Yandere! Survivor who notices the way men stare at you. Like they're dying for a taste of you even worse than the zombies are. Who notices the way people talk about you like you belong to him.

'Your girl.'

Like you're his property or something.

Yandere! Survivor who feels a rush of pride every time it happens. And soon he starts thinking that way too. You're his responsibility therefore you are his.

Yandere! Survivor who never settles down or allies himself with other people. He doesn't trust them. But more than that, he doesn't trust them around you.

Yandere! Survivor who finds it easier and easier to kill the infected. And from there, it's just a small step to start killing the living.

Yandere! Survivor who slits the throats of an entire trading party because he heard them talking about you. In the morning, he tells you they just left early and that it's nothing to worry about.

Yandere! Survivor who doesn't let your disappointment linger when you have to leave camp and move on. Who constantly reminds you he's doing what's best for you.

Yandere! Survivor who insists on being with you when you bath in the rivers and lakes that dot the countryside. He'll keep his back turned for most of it, but inevitably he'll find an excuse to turn around and watch you. Your clothes always cling to you afterwards and he's throat always goes dry when they do.

Yandere! Survivor who takes any chance he can to share a bunk or sleeping bag with you. Who tosses his arm around your waist and tells you it's just to conserve heat.

Yandere! Survivor who knows there isn't a future for the world, but he'll be damned if he can't see one with you.

[yvesette]

BUZZCUT. | ── [ j.jh ]

── ⭒ staring .ᐟ ౨ৎ  jaehyun x afab!reader

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀　 　₊　˙　✃ ⋆　 † ⠀๋⠀₊ -

SUMMARY: ── in a bittersweet farewell, the night before your close childhood friend jaehyun leaves for military service you both take a walk along the han river as well as navigate your complicated feelings for each other.

GENRE: friends to lovers, SMUT (18+, mdni), angst, fluff, idol!jaehyun CW/TAGS: dom!jaehyun, sub!reader, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv sex, spanking, hair pulling, reader is refered to as a girl, praising, bigdick!jaehyun WORDS | 6.8k A/N | this is in honor of jaehyun's enlistment - enjoy !!

‪　 ゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓈒 ◌ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

── the night is cool against your skin, a gentle breeze wrapping around you as you walk down the narrow streets, winding your way toward the river. your steps are deliberate, even though your heart thunders against your chest. you’re thinking too much, and you know it, letting each thought flicker and fold over the last like waves, endless and unknowable, churning somewhere deep inside you.

it’s been a long time, you think. a long time since you first saw him, all easy smiles and casual charm. a long time since you first felt that jolt of something you didn’t yet have a name for but that, in hindsight, you recognize as love. you’ve never told him, not once—not in all these years of close calls and almosts, of lingering touches and moments that you always held on to longer than you should have.

you inhale deeply, trying to slow the pace of your thoughts, but each step closer only winds you tighter. the han river glimmers faintly in the distance, a line of silver beneath the night sky. and there, by the water’s edge, is jaehyun. he’s leaning against the railing, looking out at the river, his face partially shadowed but somehow softer, framed by the quiet of the night. the sight of him, so familiar yet distant, almost pulls you to a stop.

there’s something about him tonight—a weight you hadn’t noticed before. it’s as if he, too, is looking to hold on to everything here, everything he’s about to leave behind. and yet, he doesn’t turn to look at you until you’re almost right next to him, his gaze steady as he catches your eye.

“you made it,” he says, that soft, reassuring warmth in his voice. his smile, though, is smaller than usual, like there’s something unsaid between you both, lingering just below the surface.

“i made it,” you answer, and you try to keep your tone light, but it comes out quiet, touched by an edge you didn’t mean to reveal. you’ve imagined this moment—this last chance to see him—over and over in your head, each version of it different. and yet, standing here now, everything you thought you might say seems to slip through your fingers.

he watches you carefully, that subtle intensity in his gaze, as if he’s trying to memorize the way you look, standing there in the glow of the distant city lights.

he clears his throat, breaking the silence as you both start walking along the path that follows the river's edge. “how’ve you been?” he asks, giving you a sidelong glance. it’s a simple question, and yet the softness of his tone makes it feel like he’s asking for something more, like he’s trying to make up for all the times he’s missed out on in the last few months.

you smile, shrugging lightly. “same old, same old. work, school—nothing too exciting. but you, mr. idol, you’ve been busy.” jaehyun chuckles, the sound low and warm, as he brushes his hair back with one hand. “yeah, i guess that’s one way to put it.” he looks down at his shoes for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “we were doing concerts. that’s why i’ve been, you know… hard to reach.”

you nod, already knowing. his life has been moving at a different pace—one that has taken him across oceans, into arenas filled with fans chanting his name. it’s a reality you’ve grown used to, but still, there’s a tiny ache whenever you remember how separate his world can sometimes feel from yours. but tonight, it’s as if none of that matters. tonight, he’s here, and there’s only the two of you.

“still can’t believe that’s real,” you say, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “remember when you wouldn’t even sing in front of me?”

jaehyun laughs, shaking his head. “i was terrible back then. don’t lie to me.”

“no, i’m serious!” you grin, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “all those late nights, trying to get you to sing while we were ‘studying’ for exams. it was tragic—”

“oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad,” he interrupts, nudging you back with a smile that’s both embarrassed and pleased. “you’re making me sound hopeless.”

“hopeless? maybe a little,” you tease, watching his face light up in a way that feels achingly familiar, like something you want to freeze in time. “but i guess you’ve come a long way, huh?”

he nods, a soft hum in his voice. “feels like forever ago, though. remember the first time we stayed out all night? trying to find that coffee shop you swore was ‘just around the corner’?”

you laugh, covering your mouth at the memory. “and we got so lost! i was ready to give up, but you…” you trail off, looking at him with that same warmth, thinking of the way he had insisted on keeping on, even when you both had practically wandered into the outskirts of the city.

“i wasn’t about to let you down,” he finishes, a hint of pride in his voice.

the two of you continue walking, memories spilling out as naturally as the river flowing beside you. nights spent at convenience stores with cheap ramyeon and cola; that one time he convinced you to go to karaoke and made up for years of not singing; all the secrets you whispered between laughter and yawns, half-asleep in the early morning light.

and yet, despite the familiarity, tonight is different. the laughter dies down quicker, and each memory feels like a bittersweet treasure, something you’re both afraid to hold too tightly for fear it will slip away. you’re acutely aware of every step, every glance, every brush of his shoulder against yours. it’s all slipping through your fingers, each second a reminder that you’re both on the brink of a sort-of goodbye.

the quiet stretches out between you as you walk, and though his hand rests loosely in his pocket, jaehyun’s other hand rises to press his fingertips to his mouth, lost in thought. his gaze wanders out over the river, his usual warmth dimming, replaced by something heavier. it lingers in the air around him, that tension, that uncertainty—like the night itself is waiting to exhale.

“honestly… i don’t know what to expect.” his voice is lower now, almost a whisper that the wind could easily snatch away. “everyone says you just get through it. that it’s over before you know it. but…” he trails off, his words floating into the dark like something fragile and fleeting. “it’s strange, thinking that life just… pauses. for two years.”

you walk a few more paces, silent, each step a reminder of time slipping by too fast. you look at him out of the corner of your eye, trying to hold onto the image: the faint furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw, that expression he wears when he’s trying to seem brave but doesn’t quite manage it. and your own heart twists at the sight of him—of jaehyun, here with you, with all the things you’ve never said pressing against your chest. but you push it down, that ache, until it’s tucked somewhere deep inside you. instead, you reach out, letting your hand rest on his arm, feeling the warmth of him under your fingertips.

“you’ll be okay yuno,” you say quietly, feeling the words reverberate through you, anchoring you to this moment. “you’ve always found a way to be.”

he looks at you then, really looks at you, like he’s seeing something for the first time. there’s a hint of disbelief in his eyes, almost as if he wants to question what you’ve just said, even using his real name - to pick it apart. but he doesn’t. he just nods, a faint, grateful smile tracing his lips.

“sometimes i think you believe in me more than i do,” he murmurs. “like you’ve always known something i haven’t.”

you want to say something to that, to answer, to reach through all these walls of silence that have built up between you over the years, but you don’t. instead, you only look back at him, holding your smile steady, letting the quiet carry all the things you can’t say.

after a moment, you find a bench tucked away at the edge of the path, overlooking the river’s glimmering surface. the world around you fades into the background, and for a brief moment, it’s just the two of you, suspended in this fragile stillness. as you sit, jaehyun turns toward you, his fingers brushing against yours before he takes your hand fully, squeezing it gently.

“i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he admits, his voice steady but low, a hint of vulnerability hidden beneath the surface.

your heart races at the contact, warmth spreading through you like a soft glow. you’re on the verge of confessing everything—the weight of your feelings that you’ve kept hidden, the love that has thrived in the silence between you. but you hold back, unwilling to add any more emotional weight to a goodbye that’s already too heavy. instead, you meet his gaze, trying to capture this moment, every detail of him etched in your mind—his soft features, the way his eyes reflect the shimmering river, the gentle press of his hand against yours.

jaehyun clears his throat, breaking the quiet between you. “it’s getting cold,” he says, his voice soft, almost reluctant. “i’ll walk you home.”

you nod, and without another word, you both stand, falling into step beside each other. the silence between you now is thick, layered with the things neither of you have said, and each step you take feels heavier, like the night itself is pressing down, reminding you that this is the last time—for a good while—that you’ll have him beside you like this.

the streets are emptier now, just the distant glow of streetlights casting long shadows as you walk side by side. you can feel the tension building, each step drawing you closer to the inevitable. your hand brushes his once, and though neither of you speaks, there’s a quiet comfort in that brief, familiar contact. when you finally reach your apartment, you stop, and jaehyun does too. he stands there, looking at you with an expression you can’t quite read—something mingling with the sadness in his eyes, a softness, a question, maybe. and he hesitates, his hand hovering just beside yours as if he wants to reach for you, as if he’s searching for something in your face that he’s not sure he’ll find.

jaehyun’s gaze flickers, lingering on you as if he’s committing every detail to memory. he rubs the back of his neck, breaking eye contact for a second before looking back at you.

“so…” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper, carrying the weight of all the unspoken words between you. “guess this is it, huh?” you force a smile, nodding even though it feels like your chest is tightening. “yeah. tomorrow.”

he bites his lip, his eyes searching yours, like he’s waiting for you to say something, anything to make this moment last longer. “it’s just… i don’t know. doesn’t feel real yet.”

you swallow, the words caught in your throat. “it doesn’t,” you reply softly, your voice barely steady. “we’ll still call and text all the time…and if you want we can hang out every other weekend or something.”

jaehyun’s expression softens, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small, sad smile. “you’ve been there for everything,” he says, his voice quiet, almost as if he’s admitting a secret. “since we were kids. it’s hard to think of… going through something without you around.”

your heart races at his words, and you force yourself to hold his gaze, even though every instinct tells you to look away, to hide what you’re feeling. “i’ll still be here,” you say, and the promise feels fragile, yet unbreakable, hanging in the space between you.

he lets out a small breath, his hand lifting as if on instinct, brushing your cheek, his fingers barely grazing your skin. “i know you will.” his voice catches, and for a moment, you see something raw in his eyes—a tenderness that feels almost too much to bear.

you stand there, suspended in the silence that follows, the weight of everything unsaid filling the space between you. and before you can second-guess yourself, before you can think of all the reasons not to, you close the distance, pressing your lips to his. his hand slips around to the back of your neck, gentle but firm, as if grounding you both in this moment, and he kisses you back, slow and unhurried, like he, too, is trying to capture everything he feels in this one breath, this one touch. the kiss starts softly, a gentle brush of lips that feels almost tentative, as if you’re both testing the waters of this new territory. but as the world around you fades, that initial hesitation melts away. the warmth of his hand cradling your neck sends a shiver down your spine, igniting something deep within you that has long been simmering beneath the surface.

jaehyun's lips are sweet, tinged with the warmth of honey and a hint of smoky undertones from the cigarette he smoked earlier. his lips move against yours with increasing urgency, a mix of longing and a bittersweet awareness that time is slipping away. you lean into him, feeling the solid weight of him against you, and it’s as if every memory, every unspoken word, pours into that moment—every shared glance, every moment of laughter—colliding in time.

jaehyun deepens the kiss, tilting his head slightly, and you feel his breath against your skin, warm and inviting, igniting a fire that spreads through you. it’s a heady mix of sweetness and heat, and you find yourself responding instinctively, matching his intensity, losing yourself in the sensation of him.

your heart races as you feel his fingers slide into your hair, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him as if he fears letting go. the world around you blurs, the distant sounds of the city fading into a dull hum, leaving only the two of you, caught in this fragile moment that feels both infinite and fleeting.

breathless, you pull away just enough to rest your forehead against his, the warmth of his skin lingering. your eyes meet, and in that charged silence, a shared understanding pulses between you—fragile yet undeniable. with a shaky breath, you fumble for your keys, the metal cool against your palm as you unlock the door, hands trembling. jaehyun steps in behind you, his presence a comforting weight, solid and unwavering in the dim light.

the moment the door closes, he's there, pulling you close again. his lips find yours in the dim light of your apartment, urgent and needy. you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he walks you backwards toward the couch. the familiar scent of his cologne envelops you, a heady mix of leather and lillies that makes your head spin. your legs hit the edge of the couch, and jaehyun gently lowers you onto the soft cushions. he follows, his body a comforting weight above you as he settles on top of you.

“god, i’ll miss this,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your jaw. then, without another word, he kisses down your neck, his lips trailing warmth that ignites every nerve in your body. you gasp softly, feeling the heat radiate from him, his touch igniting a fire deep within you.

“jaehyun…” you breathe, your voice a mixture of longing and urgency. “i wanna remember this.”

his kisses trail back to your lips, deepening as he pours everything he feels into the moment, as if to make sure you both carry it with you, etched into your hearts. “are you sure?” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, “that you want this.”

you nod, your eyes locked with his. "i promise," you whisper back, “i’ve thought about this for so long.”

jaehyun’s eyes soften, a blend of tenderness and desire flickering within their depths. he shifts slightly, fingers finding the hem of his shirt, and you hold your breath as he pulls it over his head, revealing the smooth contours of his chest and abs. the dim light from the street outside casts shadows that accentuate every curve, transforming him into a living, breathing sculpture.

without thinking, your hands reach out, tracing the lines of his torso as if drawn by an invisible thread. his skin is warm beneath your fingertips, a tangible warmth that makes your heart race. you marvel at the firmness of his abdomen, the subtle ridges etched from countless hours of dance practice and grueling workouts.

a soft hitch escapes jaehyun’s breath at your touch, his gaze darkening with desire as he watches you explore. hesitantly, you reach for the hem of your sweater. jaehyun's eyes follow your movements as you slowly pull it up and over your head, revealing the delicate lace of your bra underneath. the cool air of the apartment raises goosebumps on your skin.

jaehyun's gaze is reverent as he takes in the sight of you. his fingertips ghost along your collarbone, tracing a feather-light path down to the swell of your breasts. you shiver at his touch.

“is this okay?” he asks softly, his hands hovering at the clasp of your bra, the question hanging in the air like a fragile promise. you nod, unable to find your voice, the weight of his gaze anchoring you as he leans closer, a whisper of breath brushing against your skin.

with gentle fingers, jaehyun unhooks your bra, his touch reverent as he slides the straps down your shoulders. the fabric falls away, revealing your breasts to his gaze. his eyes darken with desire as he takes in the sight of you, vulnerable yet unafraid beneath him.

"so fucking pretty," he murmurs, voice husky with emotion. he lowers his head, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of your neck. his lips trail downward, leaving a path of warmth across your collarbone. when he reaches your breast, he pauses, his breath hot against your skin. then his mouth closes around your nipple, drawing a gasp from your lips.

his tongue swirls patterns as he sucks gently, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. one hand cups your other breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. you arch into him, a gasp escaping your lips. one of his hands kneads your other breast as he lavishes attention on the first. the dual sensations make your head spin. jaehyun releases your tit with a soft pop, his eyes meeting yours as he begins to trail kisses down your body. his lips brush against your sternum, then trace a path down the center of your abdomen. each touch is feather-light yet charged, sending shivers cascading through you.

he takes his time, mapping the landscape of your skin with worshipful attention. his tongue dips into the hollow of your navel, eliciting a soft gasp. you feel the curve of his smile against your skin as he continues lower, his teeth lightly scraping your sensitive flesh.

jaehyun's fingers trace along the waistband of your skirt, his touch light as a whisper. he looks up at you, eyes dark with desire but still seeking permission. "can i take this off?" he asks softly, his voice low and loving.

you nod, breath catching in your throat as he slowly unzips your skirt. he slides it down your legs, his hands caressing your thighs as he goes. the cool air raises goosebumps on your newly exposed skin.

jaehyun's gaze travels over you reverently, taking in every curve and dip of your body. his fingers ghost along the lace edge of your panties, barely touching. "you're so beautiful," he murmurs, “let me take care of you baby.”

he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, just above your knee. then another, slightly higher. his lips trail a path of fire up your limbs and when he reaches the edge of your panties, he pauses, looking up at you with dark, desire-filled eyes. "god, you're so wet," he murmurs, his voice low and cursing. "fucking soaked, all for me.."

his fingers trace along the damp lace, barely ghosting over your most sensitive areas. even that faint touch sends sparks of pleasure coursing through you. you squirm slightly, desperate for more contact and whimper.

"such pretty noises," he purrs. "i wonder how you'll sound when i really touch you."

"please," you whimper, not even caring how needy you sound.

a slow smile spreads across jaehyun's face. "please what?" he asks, his tone commanding. "tell me what you want, baby."

"touch me," you gasp. "please, i need you to touch me."

your breath catches as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties. with agonizing slowness, he slides them down your legs, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. the fabric clings to your damp skin as he peels it away, exposing you fully to his hungry gaze.

jaehyun's eyes roam over you, drinking in every detail. his hands caress your thigh, “perfect fucking pussy, better than i ever imagined..” he praises, before his tongue finally makes contact with your folds, you gasp at the sensation. he starts with long, slow licks, savoring your taste as he explores every inch. his hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he works.

jaehyun's tongue swirls around your clit before sucking gently, sending waves of pleasure through you. he alternates between broad strokes and focused attention, building your arousal steadily higher. you thread your fingers through his hair, guiding him where you need him most.

jaehyun holds your trembling thighs firmly apart, his strong hands steady and warm against your skin. his touch is gentle yet insistent, opening you up to his hungry gaze. jaehyun's tongue delves deeper, parting your folds and exploring every sensitive ridge and valley. he hums softly against you, the vibrations sending shivers through your core. his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, anchoring you as pleasure builds within you.

you feel the heat of his breath against your most intimate places as he works, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on your clit. each pass sends sparks of sensation coursing through you. your hips begin to rock involuntarily, seeking more friction.

"such a good girl," jaehyun murmurs against you, his voice low and husky. "i love how you taste."

he slides one finger inside you, curling it upwards as his tongue continues to lavish attention on your clit. the dual sensations make you gasp, your back arching off the couch and you curse.

jaehyun slides one hand up your body to cup your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. the added stimulation heightens every sensation, making you gasp and writhe beneath him. your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close as your hips begin to move of their own accord.

you arch your back, grinding against his mouth as the tension mounts. soft whimpers and gasps fall from your lips, growing more desperate as you climb higher. jaehyun redoubles his efforts, sucking your clit between his lips as he slides another finger inside you. the dual stimulation has you seeing stars. his fingers curl, finding that perfect spot inside you as his tongue lashes your clit. you cry out, your hips bucking against his face as the first waves of orgasm crash over you. jaehyun doesn’t stop, only slows his efforts as you come down from your high. after you catch your breath, he moves his head from your thighs and moves up over you to kiss you.

jaehyun's lips meet yours in a deep, sensual kiss that is almost like a thank-you from you. you taste yourself on his tongue - tangy and sweet with a hint of musk. as he presses his body closer, you feel the hard length of his cock through his sweatpants, hot and insistent against your thigh. the thin fabric does little to conceal his arousal. the heat of him sears into your skin, igniting a fresh wave of desire low in your belly. your hands roam over the planes of his back, tracing the lean muscles there. his skin is fever-warm, and you pull back from kissing him to look down at the print of him through his pants. you make eye contact, and there’s a question hanging in the air along with the heavy breathing of you both.

you break the beat of silence, “i want to,” you say, giving him the permission that he needed.

jaehyun pulls away slightly, his eyes still locked on yours, the heat of the moment lingering in the air. with a quick, decisive movement, he gets up from the couch, the dim light casting soft shadows over his form.

“condom?” he asks.

“it’s in my bedside table,” you reply, watching him as he nods and strides toward the bedroom.

as he disappears from view, the atmosphere shifts. you stare up at the ceiling, feeling the room spin slightly, an unexpected loneliness settling in without his presence. the faint sounds of the city outside filter in, but they feel distant and hollow compared to the warmth he brought just moments before.

a part of you aches for him, for that connection you’ve both been dancing around for so long. time stretches as you wait, heart pounding in your chest, your thoughts swirling with anticipation and uncertainty.

finally, he returns, the confident smile back on his lips, and in his hand is the small foil wrapper. the moment he steps into the light, the heaviness in the air dissipates, replaced by a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. you sit up as he slips down his sweatpants and boxers.

as jaehyun's sweatpants fall away, your breath catches in your throat. his cock springs free, thick and hard, jutting proudly from a nest of dark curls. your eyes widen, taking in the impressive sight before you. he's long - longer than you expected - and girthy, the shaft curved slightly upward. the head is flushed a deep pink, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. the sight of him, fully aroused and wanting you, sends a fresh wave of heat through your core.

you swallow hard, a mix of desire and nervousness fluttering in your stomach as he gives it a few pumps, wrapping his veiny hands around his length and then slipping the condom on.

you lay back against the arm of the couch, heart pounding as jaehyun moves over you. his eyes are dark with desire as he positions himself between your spread legs. you feel exposed yet safe under his gaze.

jaehyun braces one hand beside your head, using the other to guide his cock to your entrance. the latex-covered tip brushes against your sensitive folds, making you gasp. he runs it up and down your slit, coating himself in your wetness. when he reaches your clit, he circles it slowly, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through you.

jaehyun's eyes lock with yours, his gaze intense and full of longing. the air between you is charged, buzzed with anticipation. he runs the tip of his cock along your folds once more, coating himself in your slick heat.

"god, you're so wet for me," he murmurs, his voice rough. "such a good fucking girl, all ready to take my cock.”

his praise sends a shiver down your spine, arousal pooling low in your belly. your breath catches in your throat as he begins to push forward, stretching you slowly inch by delicious inch. you gasp at the fullness, your body adjusting to accommodate his impressive girth. he moves with careful control, giving you time to adjust. when he's fully sheathed inside you, he pauses, letting you adjust to his size. his breath is ragged against your neck, his body trembling slightly with the effort of holding still. his breath ghosts over your skin as he leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "that's it, baby," he praises, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "take me in. you're doing so well."

you whimper softly, rocking your hips to encourage him to move. jaehyun takes the hint, slowly withdrawing before thrusting back in. he sets a steady rhythm, each stroke long and deep.

"fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his voice low and husky in your ear. "such a perfect little pussy, taking my cock just right."

jaehyun's thrusts become faster and more urgent, his hips snapping against yours with each movement. your bodies move together in a perfect rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

"yuno," you moan, your hands gripping onto his shoulders as he pounds into you, “feels so good, oh my god.” he leans down to capture your lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as he continues to move inside you.

jaehyun's thrusts grow more powerful, driving deep into your core with each movement. the couch creaks softly beneath you as he picks up the pace. you feel every inch of him sliding in and out, the delicious friction sending waves of pleasure through your body.

his hands grip your hips tightly, angling you to hit that perfect spot inside. you cry out as he brushes against it, sparks of sensation radiating outward. jaehyun groans in response, the sound low and primal.

you can feel the tension building in your lower belly, a coiling heat that threatens to consume you. jaehyun must sense it too, because he redoubles his efforts. his hips snap against yours forcefully, driving into you with renewed vigor.

just as you're teetering on the edge, jaehyun slows his movements, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in torturously slowly. you whimper at the change of pace, your body aching for more. he repeats the motion several times, drawing out each thrust until you're writhing beneath him.

"please," you gasp, "i need more."

jaehyun kisses you deeply before pulling out completely. "turn around for me, baby," he murmurs, his voice insistent. you listen, adjusting your position until you’re on your hands and knees and he’s behind you.

jaehyun's hands grip your hips firmly as he positions himself behind you. you feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing you. he runs it along your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

the anticipation builds as he lines himself up, the tip just barely breaching you. before you can respond, jaehyun snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. you cry out at the sudden fullness, your fingers gripping the couch cushions tightly. he gives you only a moment to adjust before pulling back and slamming in again.

jaehyun sets a punishing pace, his hips pistoning against you. the new angle allows him to hit spots deep inside that make you see stars. jaehyun's hands grip your hips tightly as he pounds into you from behind, his movements growing more frenzied. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your breathless moans and his low grunts.

"god, you feel so fucking good," he groans, his voice rough with desire. "my perfect baby, s-so fucking tight."

his praise sends shivers down your spine, arousal pooling low in your belly. you arch your back, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. the new angle allows him to hit even deeper, brushing against that spot inside you that makes you see stars. suddenly, jaehyun's hand comes down on your ass with a sharp crack. the sting blooms across your skin, quickly followed by a wave of heat. you arch your back, changing the angle slightly, and cry out as he hits that perfect spot deep inside you. jaehyun notices your reaction and adjusts his movements to hit that same spot with each thrust.

jaehyun's hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair. he grips it firmly, tugging your head back as he continues to thrust into you. the slight pain mingles with pleasure, heightening every sensation. you gasp at the new angle, feeling him even deeper inside you.

"that's it, baby," he growls, his voice low and husky. "take it all for me." his hips snap against yours with renewed vigor, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. the couch creaks beneath you, the sound barely audible over your breathless moans and the slap of skin on skin.

jaehyun's grip on your hair tightens, pulling your head back further. “gonna c-come,” you manage to get out. the arch in your spine deepens, changing the angle just enough to hit that perfect spot inside you with every stroke.

“be a good fucking girl and come for me baby,” he says, leaning against your ear. stars explode behind your eyes as waves of pleasure crash over and you scream his name. jaehyun's grunts become more urgent as he continues to thrust into you, riding out your orgasm. he can feel you clenching tightly around him, milking him for all he's worth. with a loud groan, he follows you over the edge, his hips stuttering as he empties himself inside you.

jaehyun carefully pulls out, both of you wincing slightly at the loss of contact. he sits up, running a hand through his tousled hair as he catches his breath. the dim light from the street outside casts a soft glow on his skin, highlighting the sheen of sweat on his chest.

with a quiet grunt, he stands and makes his way to the small trash can beside the couch. you watch the play of muscles in his back and legs as he moves, admiring the lean strength of his body. he removes the condom and ties it off before tossing it in the bin.

jaehyun turns back to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. his hair is a mess, sticking up in wild tufts where you ran your fingers through it. he ruffles it absently, making it even more chaotic. you run a hand through his hair and scowl playfully when you feel how sweaty he is.

"gross," you tease, wiping your hand on his shirt. "you're all sticky."

jaehyun's smile widens, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "you weren't complaining a few minutes ago," he quips, his voice low, “and say goodbye to my hair - i’m shaving it tomorrow.”

you feel a blush creep up your neck, remembering the heated moments that led to his current disheveled state, and then a sadness rushes over you - that he’s leaving tomorrow. jaehyun notices your reaction and chuckles softly, pulling you closer. his arms wrap around your waist, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body as he grabs a blanket from the other side of the couch and places it over you both.

"what's on your mind, beautiful?" he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear. you hesitate, not wanting to ruin the moment with your woeful thoughts.

"it's nothing," you reply, forcing a smile. but jaehyun knows you too well. his fingers gently tilt your chin up, brown eyes searching yours.

"tell me," he insists softly.

you sigh, your defenses crumbling under his gaze. "i just… i can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow. it feels too soon."

his expression shifts, the teasing glimmer fading as he brushes a thumb across your cheek. "yeah, i get it. it’s not easy."

"but what if things change?" you murmur, your heart tightening at the thought.

jaehyun raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "change? as in me forgetting you? not a chance. you think i could forget the girl who drove me crazy for all these years?"

you roll your eyes, but there’s a flutter of anticipation in your stomach. "well, you’re going to be busy with training and everything else."

he leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. "busy? sure. but you think i’ll be able to focus when all i can think about is you? not a chance."

your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but tease back. "is that your way of saying you’ll miss me?"

jaehyun chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "it’s my way of saying you better miss me too. because i’m about to confess something."

you lean in, curiosity piqued. "what’s that?"

jaehyun's expression shifts, becoming more serious as he searches your eyes. "i’m in love with you. like, really in love with you. i think about you all the time—when i'm practicing, when i'm on stage, even when i'm just hanging out with the guys. it’s like you're always there in the back of my mind."

your breath catches, the weight of his words settling around you. "but… why didn’t you say anything before?"

he runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you’ve come to know well. "i didn’t want to ruin what we have. i thought maybe it was better to keep it as friends. but now? i want to try things with you. i want to see where this goes."

the confession hangs in the air between you, charged with possibility. you can feel your pulse quickening, excitement mingling with uncertainty. "and what if it doesn’t work out? the timing of this is just-"

jaehyun shakes his head, his brow furrowing slightly. "i don’t care about timing. what matters is how i feel, and i can’t let that go without saying something. i want you in my life, no matter how far apart we are."

you raise an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. "you make it sound so easy. you do realize i’m not just some object you can claim when you feel like it, right?"

he chuckles, leaning closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "oh, i’m fully aware. that’s why i’m trying to make my move before someone else scoops you up."

you laugh lightly, shaking your head. "good luck with that. i’m pretty sure no one else would bother trying."

"yeah? you think i’m the only one?" he teases, raising an eyebrow. "you must have a whole line of admirers waiting."

"right, because i’m just so irresistible," you reply, a smirk on your lips. "but let’s be real. you’re the only one who’s actually putting in the work."

jaehyun’s smile fades just a little as he leans back, studying you. "look, i know this isn’t easy. but i don’t want to just be some random fling. i want to be in your life, no matter where we are."

you take a breath, weighing his words. "and if things get complicated? you know they will."

he shrugs, unfazed. "shit’s always complicated. but i’d rather deal with that than let this slip away. you’re worth the trouble."

you meet his gaze, feeling the sincerity behind his words. "okay, i get it. but don’t think i’m going to make this easy for you."

he smirks, the challenge evident in his eyes. "i wouldn’t want it any other way."

-

the morning light filters in through the window, casting a soft glow on the cluttered room, and you find yourself perched on a stool, an electric razor in your hand, staring at jaehyun’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. he sits in a chair, a towel draped around his shoulders, looking slightly apprehensive but oddly amused by the situation.

“are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice that doesn’t quite mask the tension beneath. you grip the razor tighter, suddenly aware of how little you know about haircuts.

“i kinda have to,” jaehyun replies, a hint of seriousness creeping into his tone, “no long hair.”

you nod and take a deep breath, bringing the razor closer. with a gentle buzz, the razor hums to life, and you press it against his scalp. the sound is oddly satisfying, a gentle roar that fills the small space, and you watch as a tuft of hair falls away, landing softly on the towel draped around his shoulders.

“oh my god!” you squeal, barely able to contain your dumbfoundedness. you can’t help but laugh at the sight of jaehyun’s shocked expression, a blend of surprise and amusement. you can’t stop the laughter bubbling up as you buzz away the rest of his hair, the once dark locks falling in tufts around him. each pass of the razor reveals more of his scalp, and soon he’s left with a clean, smooth surface that glints in the morning light.

jaehyun tilts his head, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “so, how do i look? sexy?”

the question hangs in the air, and without thinking, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips sending a rush of warmth through you. his surprise melts into a smile, and you pull away slightly, a grin still playing on your lips as you meet his gaze.

　　 　˳ 　 　౨౿　　⁺　　༄　　　༝　 　 end.

copywrite @yvesette 2024

[azrielbrainrot]

The First Light of Dawn

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Somnophilia

Description: The bond threatens to drive both you and Azriel insane.

Warnings: Smut, somnophilia, fingering, oral sex, dub con (except it's not because they totally discussed this before)

Word Count: ~1,6k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: I feel obligated to say that you should only try something like this with someone who you trust and with prior consent and that you can take it back anytime. Hope you enjoy!

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

There wasn't much Azriel loved more than flying over Velaris after a long mission, feeling the breeze hit his face and his sore muscles as he watched the city shining below, always reminding himself why he works so hard to protect it. Today's mission had been a mostly routine affair, one he didn't even have to leave his shadows for, but he still felt particularly exhausted after it.

His brothers had warned him multiple times that the bond could be hard to deal with at times, especially when it was as fresh as yours, but he always thought they were exaggerating, - your bond had brought him nothing but happiness after all. The Mother proved him wrong today though. Azriel was gone for barely a full day and while he was supposed to be focusing on his target all he could think about was how much he missed you. He could almost hear the bond in his chest screaming at him to go and find you, to hold you in his arms and never let go.

Even now it was trying to guide his body in the direction of your house on the other side of the river, making him have to almost fight with himself to keep flying to the townhouse. The sun wasn't even close to rising and you had worked all day as well, he wouldn't disturb your sleep just because the bond was so annoyingly irrational. Azriel contemplates waking Rhys or Cassian up so they could spar with him and help him release some of the tension clinging to his body, but that would be proving them right, something he was unwilling to do no matter the cost.

At last, he lands on his balcony with a soft thud, a sigh escaping him at the familiar sight, sending his shadows scattering around the room so they could relax as well. The bond had been so loud all day, that he thought he was imagining smelling your scent in the air, already setting his weapons down on their respective spots in his dresser when his body locked up as he heard soft breathing behind him.

Turning around slowly, Azriel couldn't even believe his eyes when he saw you sleeping soundly under the covers. His shadows climbed up his body immediately, giddily letting him know that not only was he not dreaming, but his pretty little mate had also been missing him all day, crawling up into his bed so she'd be surrounded by his scent.

His tired body awakens at the sight, walking closer to the bed slowly so he didn't wake you up, unable to keep away. A smile breaks out on his lips when he reaches you, pushing some of the hair out of your face so he could place a soft kiss on your forehead, scarred thumb caressing your cheek softly. Gods, you were so perfect.

Just when he thought the bond would finally calm down, it starts spreading a different kind of heat over his body, your scent assaulting all of his senses the longer he breathes it in. His hand trails down to your neck, pushing the covers down a bit as he goes, a whimper almost escaping him when he finds you were wearing one of his shirts, and nothing else from the looks of it.

His body moves before he even realizes what he was doing, pushing the covers off your body completely, exposing you to his hungry gsze, hazel eyes tracing every bit of exposed skin, taking note of how his shirt although too big on you, had ridden up enough to let him know you were truly only wearing it and nothing else.

With the bond purring inside him and his shadows whispering just how much you've missed him, Azriel turns your body over carefully, laying you on your back as he sits on the bed beside you, hands caressing your legs softly. You sigh in your sleep when his hands spread your thighs apart, but show no sign of waking up. Your scent, deepened with arousal hits his nose in full force, a groan echoing around the room. It seems you really did miss him.

Azriel wastes no time in lifting the shirt up to your neck, making a sound in the back of his throat as your entrancing body is revealed to his eyes, biting down on his lip as your nipples started hardening under his gaze. He leans down to drop a kiss between your breasts, closing his eyes and breathing you in, feeling your heart beating under his lips for a moment. Gods, what was he doing? His body shows him the answer right away as he starts trailing wet kisses down your torso, biting and then soothing the skin with his tongue as he goes, a primal hunger rising within him.

He sits up suddenly when he reaches your navel, letting out a growl as he sheds any remaining piece of restraint that threatened to stop him. Your chest was rising and falling faster now, mouth agape as puffs of air escaped past your delicious lips. He knew he'd find you soaked even before his fingers met your cunt, easily sliding one and then two inside you carefully.

Azriel watches his fingers almost like he was in a trance, almost purring at the noises they made as he moved them in and out of you, your wetness dripping down his palm. Your body knew his touch well, whether you were awake or sleeping, sucking in his fingers greedily, almost begging him to keep going and take what was his.

A wicked idea comes to his mind, taking his fingers out and adjusting your body carefully so he could lay down between your legs, throwing your legs over his shoulders and lining his face up with your dripping cunt. He wanted to see how long it'd take you to wake up, if he could make you cum before you did.

Hands holding onto your waist, Azriel licks a broad stripe up your cunt before diving right in, moaning against you as your taste overwrites all of his senses. He almost forgets himself and the situation, getting lost in your taste, your scent and the feeling of your soft skin under his hands. Azriel grabbed at your thighs, massaging the flesh with his hands, moving back and forth up to your chest, playing with your nipples as best as he could given the angle. His hips start grinding down onto the mattress, his cock throbbing under his leathers as he feasts on you. He couldn't get enough of you, he probably would never get enough.

The Spymaster is so focused on your cunt, that he fails to notice your breaths coming out faster, your body trembling under his, and your eyes blinking awake, confused by the sudden rush of pleasure, moans of your own echoing around the room. It's only when your fingers tangle in his hair and you call out his name in question that he realizes you have woken up, moaning against you, the vibrations sending a shudder running through your overheated body.

It doesn't take long for you to fall apart on his tongue, cumming around him beautifully as soon as he starts pumping one of his fingers back into your cunt while his mouth abused your clit. Azriel laps up your release, only pulling away when your body is shaking too much and your hands start pushing at his head, struggling to breathe through the unexpected pleasure he was giving you.

Kissing his way up your body, lingering for a moment over your chest, sucking a nipple into his mouth, and then over your neck, marking it up with his teeth, he softens when he gets to your jaw, sweetly kissing your face before his lips fall over yours at last, your hands moving to hold the back of his neck to keep him in place, tasting yourself on his mouth.

“You're a heavy sleeper,” he whispers against your lips when you pull away, unable to resist licking over your bottom lip once.

“I think you're just too good at being sneaky, Spymaster,” your murmur, voice still heavy with sleep and still breathy from the mind numbing orgasm, legs still trembling softly at his sides.

Azriel hums, taking your lips between his own again, hands still caressing your skin, coaxing the sweetest gasp from you, one he gladly swallowed, his body fitting over yours perfectly.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as the bond finally gives him a moment of rest. “Couldn't stop thinking about you all day.”

“Me too.”

His shadows had already told him as much but it still warmed his heart to hear the confession coming directly from your lips, a content smile widening on his lips.

“Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes,” you admit, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I couldn't sleep without you.” Leaning up to peck his lips as he purrs at your words. He's convinced he could live forever in your arms.

Azriel starts feeling sneaky fingers tugging at the straps holding his leathers together, leaning away so he can watch your face adoringly as you unbuckle them expertly without ever looking away from him and still blinking away the sleepiness in your eyes.

“What are you doing, my love?”

“It's only fair I get to play with you too, don't you think?”

[fandom-go-round]

Realizing They're in Love: Reader x BG3

Warnings: Implied Internal Trauma, Personal Relationship Issues, Gross Stuff like Falling in Love

Astarion:

            He argues with himself for a long time before love comes to mind. It’s bad enough that he’s starting to like you but love? That’s just going to make things even harder. Astarion feels like the more he tries to talk himself out of it, the worse it gets. You corner him after dinner one night and he smiles, turning up the charm. You ignore his nervousness, giving him a simple wooden box. He immediately fills with dread; you want something. Of course you do. He’s not expecting there to be a book inside, the next one in the series he’s reading. You assure him that you don’t want anything in return, giving him a gentle smile before heading to your own tent. His heart thunders in his chest, fingers trailing over the cover. He’s not in love, Astarion tells himself as he goes to start the book. He can’t be but… if he is, it’s not the worst feeling in the world. Not with you.

Gale:

            He’s not against falling in love per say, Gale just isn’t looking. Honestly he’s not. This is more social interaction than he’s had in years and he’s not trying to fuck it up, thank you very much. That doesn’t mean he can’t forget himself, especially when you start asking him questions about magic. Gale loves magic most of all and he only realizes he’s been ranting after twenty minutes. He winces, scolding himself mentally and turns to you. You’re both sitting on the floor of his tent, sipping tea in the early afternoon. He fully anticipates that you’re going to half awake, bored to tears and doing something else. Instead, you’re staring at him with rapt attention, eyes bright and small smile on your face. When he’s silent for too long you ask him to keep going, asking if he’ll keep explaining. Gale is more than happy to continue, something warm in his chest. He hopes that you’ll keep looking at him that way even after he stops talking. And you do.

Halsin:

            Loud barks and hoots draw Halsin’s attention, the druid looking up from his papers. You’re a bit away from camp, Scratch and the owlbear cub playing with you. The three of you are chasing each other and wrestling, the cub slamming into the back of your knees. Halsin watches you go flying before laughing and grabbing the cub as best you can. You half swing him around, Scratch barking as you send his friend flying. The owlbear cub gives a roar, rolling through the grass and you laugh, chasing after the dog now. Halsin can’t help but smile; you’re so kind of everyone around you and he enjoys that you can relax. He hasn’t been ignorant to the feelings developing in his chest, just focusing on different things. The warmth he feels only grows as he watches you and he vows to talk about it. Halsin is sure he recognizes the looks you send him; he just needs to find the right time.  

Karlach:

            She realizes she’s in love after a tough fight. Her blood is still pumping and she wants more enemies to show up so she can have an excuse to go wild. You’re joking around with Wyll on the other side of the battlefield, the warlock turning to say something to you. You offer a smile and begin to hike up the slope and trip. Karlach watches in slow motion as you land hard on your ass, sliding down mud straight into the river. Wyll is frozen on the edge of the bank and she quickly makes he way over, worried that you’re injured. By the time she gets over there, you’re laughing loudly, head thrown all the way back. Her heart skips a beat; you’re covered in blood and mud and all sorts of gunk but all she can see is the right smile on your face. She’s in love.

Lae’zel:

Lae’zel doesn’t call it love. It’s admiration, respect for your skills. There are very few people she would follow verses leading herself and she admits that you’re good at it. She also enjoys the sex and that’s always a bonus. The sun is just beginning to go down and you stop on the edge of a cliff to watch. Lae’zel turns to scold you (the group needs to get back to camp) but she’s struck by your figure. You look like a painting, noble and steadfast. Your face is determined but not tense, taking in the sunset. There’s something in your eyes, something softer than she expects and it takes her breath away. She swears to herself and turns away, missing the affectionate look you send her. She’s doesn’t call it love, even if deep, deep down she wishes she could.

Shadowheart:

            Night has finally fallen on a long, long day. Shadowheart is thankful that you’re the one with her on first watch tonight; your silence isn’t looming as she prays and the sound of sharpening blades is soothing. There isn’t the need to fill the silence with noise and it feels calm in a way that’s unfamiliar. Usually she finds the night comfortable but cold, like an winter breeze. You’re like the night but warm, a balm on an open wound. She smiles as she watches you, not looking away when you meet her eyes. You smile and she’s filled with affection, even as her hand throbs. The pain is worth it; you make her feel truly seen.

Wyll:

            You’re crouched by a small cave, voice low and arm outstretched. The group had just finished a fight, a camp overrun with bandits. Wyll scowled to himself, looking over the bodies strewed over the ground. The people had been innocent and he wished he had been faster. Movement catches the corner of his vision and he turns, watching as, slowly, a child comes out of the cave. They’re covered in dirt and blood but you smile and they take you hand. Wyll can’t the stop the soft look from coming onto his face as you begin the check for wounds. The world can be a dark place but you give him hope; it’s more than he deserves.

[brunchable]

THIS, is your boyfriend, Mom? [4]

Pairings: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Our savage wittle boi Lucas x f!Reader.

Summary: The family went on a camping trip with Lucas' cousins. Warning: Lucas fell into a river but is unharmed.

A/N: I will just keep posting Step-Dad Bucky content, this doesn't really have set plot, just cute and funny moments while Bucky navigates how to be a Dad. ALSO, note I am still trying to fix the tag list for this.

The stars had just begun to shine as you, Bucky, Lucas, and a few of his cousins sat around the campfire, laughter filling the air as the kids toasted marshmallows and dared each other to make the strangest marshmallow combinations.

After a while, Lucas and his cousin wandered over to you, their faces lit with excitement. “Mom, can we go skip rocks by the river?” Lucas asked.

You nodded, giving them a warm but serious smile. “Alright, but don’t go too close to the water. Stay safe.”

They nodded, promising to be careful, and you watched as they bounded off toward the riverbank, their giggles mixing with the sound of the flowing water. Bucky was sitting next to you, his gaze steady on the kids as they skipped stones, trying to beat each other’s number of skips.

Everything seemed peaceful.

But after a few minutes, you overheard Lucas’s cousin daring him. “Bet you can’t skip one from way up close,” his cousin said, pointing to a spot near the edge of the water, where the bank was muddy and slippery.

Lucas hesitated, glancing back at you and Bucky, then shrugged, puffing his chest out a little. “It’s not even that deep. I’ll be fine.”

In that split second, he took a bold step closer, right to the edge, and threw his rock. But as he shifted his weight forward, the muddy bank gave way, and he slipped, his arms flailing as he tried to keep his balance—only to tumble forward into the icy water.

“Mom! Help!” Lucas screamed, panic overtaking his voice as the river’s current tried to pull him in.

His cousin tried to reach him, stretching out his arm, but the water was too strong, and Lucas was quickly losing his footing.

In that moment, Lucas looked up, his breath catching as he saw a figure racing toward him with unwavering speed and determination. Recognizing Bucky’s shape, he reached out instinctively, the word spilling out in sheer desperation.

“Dad!”

Before you could take a step, Bucky had already shot up, sprinting to the river with a look of pure terror etched across his face. Reaching the boys in seconds, he gently but firmly shoved Lucas’s cousin back toward you, his voice low and firm. “Get to your mom. Now.”

“Lucas!” you screamed, your heart pounding.

Without a second thought, Bucky stepped into the river, his boots sinking into the cold, swirling water as it tugged insistently at his legs, urging him to stay back. But he moved forward, steady and sure, his eyes fixed on Lucas as if the world held nothing else. The river pressed against him, but he barely noticed, reaching Lucas in a few strides, wrapping a solid arm under the boy’s shoulders, and lifting him up with a fierce certainty. Holding Lucas close, Bucky turned and waded back to shore, his grip firm, his gaze steady, as if he were carrying something infinitely precious.

As soon as they were safely on dry ground, Bucky knelt down, gripping Lucas’s shoulders tightly, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with anger and fear.

“What were you thinking, Lucas?” he snapped, his voice sharp and unwavering. “Didn’t your mother tell you not to go near the edge? Do you understand what could have happened if you’d fallen in deeper?”

Lucas glanced up at Bucky, then looked over at you. The sight of you standing there, tears streaming down your face, struck him like a punch to the chest. His mother, the person he always wanted to keep happy and safe, was crying because of him.

Lucas looked down, his face pale, but tried to stammer out a response. “I-I… I didn’t think it’d be that slippery…”

Bucky’s hands tightened on his shoulders, and his voice grew louder, thick with emotion. “Exactly. You didn’t think! What if the current had pulled you in? What if you’d been swept away before I got there? What if… what if you had gotten hurt or worse?” Bucky’s voice wavered, but his tone stayed stern. “This isn’t a game, boy. You could’ve been lost to that river in an instant.”

Lucas’s cousin, standing nearby, shifted nervously, his face turning pale as he realized the seriousness of the situation. Bucky’s sharp gaze flicked toward him, his tone still unrelenting.

“And you,” he said, his voice just as firm as before. “Why would you dare him to go closer? Do you understand how dangerous that was?”

Lucas’s cousin looked down, guilt spreading across his face as he mumbled, “I’m sorry, Bucky… I didn’t think anything bad would happen. I just… thought it’d be fun.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t soften as he spoke, his tone filled with disappointment. 

“Fun? What if he’d fallen in and the current was too strong? What if I hadn’t been here in time? You don’t push someone to take a risk like that, especially near the water. You’re supposed to look out for each other, not encourage recklessness.”

The weight of Bucky’s words began to settle over both boys like a heavy blanket. The “what ifs” replayed in their minds, each one sinking deeper, and they both suddenly felt small and helpless under Bucky’s fierce gaze.

Lucas’s voice shook as he whispered, “I… I’m sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean to make you and Mom worry. I just wanted to see if I could do it…”

“Wanting to prove yourself doesn’t matter if you’re putting yourself in danger. Bravery doesn’t mean being reckless, Lucas. Do you understand that?” Bucky’s stern expression didn’t waver as he looked down at Lucas, still gripped by the terror of almost losing him.

Lucas’s shoulders slumped as the weight of his mistake settled over him like an unwelcome shadow. Tears spilled down his cheeks, and his voice broke in a whisper, “I’m really, really sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean for it to be this bad… I just didn’t think.”

Bucky’s expression shifted, his face softening as he caught the guilt in Lucas’s tear-filled eyes. He let out a quiet, unsteady breath, the last of his anger dissolving like smoke. He pulled the boy into a fierce hug, an instinct older than words, holding him close as if, in that one embrace, he could keep the world and all its dangers at bay.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Lucas’s voice was muffled against Bucky’s chest, his small hands gripping Bucky’s shirt like it was his only tether to safety.

Bucky’s arms tightened around him, one hand moving up to cradle the back of Lucas’s head. “I know, kid. I know you didn’t mean it.” His voice was soft but steady, filled with something deeper than mere forgiveness.

He stroked Lucas’s back in slow, reassuring circles, feeling each shaky breath. “You scared me, you know? Really scared me.” The words were simple but carried a weight only Lucas could feel, pressing gently on his small shoulders.

Then, Bucky pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, brushing a tear from Lucas’s cheek with his thumb. “Listen. You don’t need to prove anything. You’re already enough, just as you are. And I need you here with me. Promise me you’ll remember that.”

Lucas nodded, a fierce, wide-eyed sincerity in his gaze. “I promise.”

Bucky’s lips curled into a small, warm smile, and he ruffled Lucas’s hair gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “Good. That’s my boy.”

There was a pause, a quiet weight to the moment. Then, Bucky gave Lucas’s shoulder a soft squeeze, his tone light but carrying an unmistakable note of resolve. 

“Now,” he murmured, a hint of mischief flickering in his eyes, “go apologize to your mom and get yourself cleaned up. You’ve given her enough to worry about for one day.”

× × × ×

The campfire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the clearing as the night deepened. The kids were finally asleep in their own tent, their quiet breaths rising and falling in a rhythm of exhaustion and dreams. You stayed by the fire, arms wrapped around yourself, lost in thought as you watched the flames dance.

Bucky came up behind you, draping a blanket over your shoulders and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, warmth spreading through you beyond the blanket.

“Thank you,” you murmured, reaching for his hand. “For what you did for Lucas today.”

Bucky shook his head, brushing it off. “It’s nothing,” he said softly, settling down beside you. But as he looked into the fire, a quiet chuckle escaped him, his eyes crinkling with a mix of disbelief and something almost… tender.

You turned to him, curiosity in your gaze. “What are you thinking about?”

He glanced at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, his eyes still reflecting the firelight. “He called me ‘Dad,’” he said, voice soft with wonder.

You nodded, your own smile widening. “He did.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as he leaned back. “Think that’s going to cost me the dad fee?”

You laughed, a warm sound that felt like it belonged to the night. Bucky grinned, clearly pleased to lighten the mood, and his hand found yours as the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the fire crackling as the stars watched over.

After a moment, Bucky’s gaze softened, and he leaned in, closing the space between you with a look of pure adoration. His hand cradled your face as his lips brushed against yours, warm and lingering.

Just as you melted into the kiss, a small voice pierced the quiet.

“Oh, wow. Seriously? Now?”

You and Bucky broke apart to find Lucas standing outside his tent, hands on his hips and an exaggerated look of exasperation on his face. “Guys, it’s, like, bedtime. Some of us are trying to sleep here without… that in our minds.”

You stifled a laugh, and Bucky sighed, glancing at the sky as if asking for patience. “What do you need, kid?”

Lucas rolled his eyes dramatically. “Well, I was going to the bathroom, but now I’m scarred for life. So thanks for that,” he added with a smirk, gesturing toward the trees. “I’ll be back—try to keep it PG, alright?”

With that, he turned and shuffled off, muttering loud enough for you to hear, “Can’t believe I had to see that.”

When he was out of earshot, Bucky shook his head, chuckling softly. “That kid…”

You bit back a grin, leaning into him with a sigh. “So, where were we?”

Bucky pulled you close, a smirk on his lips. “Somewhere between dad fees and permanent interruptions, I think.”

× × × × 

Back home a few days later.

It was a quiet evening, and Bucky had been waiting for the right moment, nerves humming beneath his calm exterior. Lucas was sprawled out on the living room floor, building a small LEGO fortress, completely focused. Bucky took a deep breath, gathering himself, and then sat down next to Lucas, watching him for a moment before speaking.

“Hey, bud,” Bucky said softly, ruffling Lucas’s hair.

Lucas looked up, his face lighting up. “Hey, Bucky! Want to help me with the fortress? It’s almost done.”

Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe in a sec, kiddo. I actually wanted to talk to you about something… something important.”

“Okay… what’s up?” Lucas tilted his head, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

Bucky took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.

“So… I’ve been thinking about your mom,” he began, his voice gentle. “She means everything to me, Lucas. You know that, right?”

Lucas nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, I know. She loves you, too.”

Bucky swallowed, his heart pounding a little harder as he reached out, resting a hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “Well, I was wondering… how would you feel if I asked her to marry me?”

Lucas’s eyes went wide, his mouth falling open in surprise. He looked down, taking it in, before glancing back up at Bucky with a raised eyebrow.

“You mean… you’d be my dad?” he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of sass. “Like, officially? You’re not just trying to get a tax break or something, right?”

Bucky laughed, the tension easing out of him a bit. “No, not for a tax break, kid. I genuinely want to be there for you and your mom. I want us to be a family.”

Lucas stared at him for a long moment, his face scrunched up in thought. Then, with a small, knowing smirk, he said, “So… you’re asking me for permission? Wow, you must really like us.”

Bucky chuckled, ruffling Lucas’s hair again. 

“Yeah, I am. It’s important to me that you’re okay with this. You’re the most important person in her life, and if we’re gonna be a family… I want you to know that you’re part of this decision.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, like he’d just been struck by the weight of Lucas’s words. For a moment, he could only stare, his heart swelling with an unexpected, overwhelming sense of joy. He felt a lump form in his throat, and before he could say anything, he pulled Lucas into a tight hug, holding him close.

Lucas’s face softened, and after a brief pause, he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck in a tight hug. 

"You don't have to ask," Lucas whispered, his sass melting to something sincere, "I already know you're my dad."

As he closed his eyes, a tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn’t care. “Thank you, Lucky,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “That means more than you know.”

When they finally pulled back, Lucas wiped his eyes, his grin returning with a mischievous edge. “But… you still have to do it right. Like, you know, get down on one knee and everything. And maybe a big sign that says, ‘Will you marry me?’ in case you mess up your words.”

Bucky laughed, nodding. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m going all out. Your mom deserves the best.”

Lucas nodded, looking proud. “Good. She does. And you better not make her cry… unless they’re the good kind of tears. Otherwise, I’ll have to come after you.”

Bucky chuckled. “Only happy tears, kiddo. I promise.”

Lucas gave him a firm nod, his eyes sparkling. “Good then it’s settled. Now, are you going to help me finish this fortress, or are you too busy planning your big proposal?”

Bucky grinned, feeling the last of his nerves slip away as he settled beside Lucas, picking up a LEGO piece. 

“Alright, kiddo, let’s finish this fortress. Gotta make sure it’s strong enough to withstand all the big plans I’m about to set in motion.”

Lucas gave a mock-serious nod. “Good idea. Wouldn’t want you bailing on me halfway through.”

Bucky chuckled, nudging him gently. “Hey, I’m in this for the long haul. Fortress-building included.”

They both settled back down to work, side by side, focused on finishing the fortress together, each piece clicking into place as easily as their bond had over time.

[arthurmorganswh0re]

The Things We Carry

about: you tell arthur morgan you're expecting. he has a hard time accepting his new reality, juggling his responsibilities with the gang. a new life calls for arthur, but his past pulls him in the opposite direction.

tags: angst, pregnancy, illness, tb, death, loss, grief

wc: 15.7k

an: hi so i put this together over the course of a week. i had the idea of what life would've been like if arthur got someone pregnant but the tragedy that happens in the game still happens. so this is really sad imo, and REALLY long. hope you enojy :3

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The sun was dying slow behind the mountains, bleeding rust and gold across the sky. It should’ve been beautiful, the kind of sunset folks wrote songs about, but your stomach was twisted tight, a dull ache blooming in your chest. You leaned against the split-rail fence just outside camp, your fingers knotted together, cold even though the air was warm.

You could hear him before he even came into view. The sound of hooves crunching through dead leaves and fallen branches, his horse’s low huff, and then his voice–rough, tired, familiar. 

“Y’alright out here?” 

You turned slowly. Arthur swung down from his saddle, dust rising at his boots. He was already frowning, something unreadable behind those blue eyes. He didn’t like the quiet, not from you. 

“I been lookin’ for you,” he added, taking a few steps closer. “You missed dinner.” 

“Wasn’t hungry.” 

Arthur’s brow furrowed deeply. “That right?” He studied you for a moment, head tilting slightly. “What’s wrong?” 

There it was. 

You looked at him–the man who’d carried you across rivers, pulled bullets from your leg, whispered soft but broken apologies into your hair when he thought the world was ending. And still, somehow, this felt harder than all of that. 

“I need to talk to you,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. 

His eyes narrowed just a little. “Alright.” He leaned against the fence besides you, arms crossed, glancing sideways. “Talk, then.” 

You hesitated. There was no soft way to land this. No way to pad it with kindness. So you just said it, like pulling a bandage off a bullet wound. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

The words hit the air like gunfire. Sharp. Irrevocable. Loud, even in a whisper. Arthur didn’t move. He didn’t speak, or blink. The only sound was the breeze brushing through the pines and the distant murmurs of camp behind you. 

You turned to  him, trying to find his eyes. “Did you hear me?” 

He straightened slowly, like a man waking up inside a nightmare. 

“What did you say?” 

“I’m pregnant, Arthur,” you repeated, firmer this time. “I’m gonna have a baby. Your baby.” 

For a split second, something flickered in his face. Something raw. Then it vanished behind a wall of cold, practiced detachment. 

“Goddammit,” he muttered, turning away from you. His hands went to his hat, taking it off before raking through his hair like he wanted to tear it out. “Jesus Christ.” 

Your chest squeezed. “I didn’t plan this Arthur.” 

“Well no shit, neither did I!” He snapped, spinning back toward you. “You think I got time to be somebody’s father? You think that’s a good idea, right now? With everything goin’ on?” 

You flinched like he’d hit you. “I didn’t say it was a good idea. I just thought you deserved to know.” 

He paced, boots heavy in the dirt, a storm rolling behind his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re sayin’. You don’t know what this life is. I can’t keep you safe, I can hardly keep myself safe. I kill people for money,” he spat, “I lie, I steal–I ain’t no man a child should be lookin’ up to.” 

Your voice cracked. “I’m not askin’ you to be a hero, Arthur. I’m just telling you what’s real.” 

“Real?” he scoffed bitterly. “Ain’t nothin’ about this life real, not really. It all ends bloody. You know that. So what, you wanna bring a child into it anyway?” 

“I didn’t choose this,” you finally snapped, “it happened. And I’m scared, alright? I’m scared outta my goddamn mind. But I’m still standin’ here. I still told you. That should mean somethin’.” 

He went quiet again, breathing hard, hands flexing uselessly at his sides now. The fire was gone from his eyes and what was left was something worse. Emptiness. Shame. 

“I ain’t no good for you,” he said, barely audible. 

You blink back the burn in your eyes. “You don’t get to decide that.” 

He looked at you then–like he was memorizing your face for a day he already knew was coming. His jaw clenched, hard. 

“How far along?” he asked, gruff. 

You swallowed. “Couple months, maybe less.” 

He nodded slowly. That muscle in his jaw twitched again. And then, he stepped back. “I need to think,” he said, almost choking on the words. “I–I need to clear my head.” 

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came. Just silence. Just the sinking feeling in your gut as he turned, climbed back into the saddle, and rode off into the dusk without another word. 

The wind picked up behind him, colder now, as if it carried the weight of what had just broken open between you. 

And you stood there, alone in the failing light, hand drifting instinctively to your stomach, wondering if he’d come back before the world burned down around you.

The days bled together like bruises—blue and yellow and aching.

Arthur didn’t say a word.

Not a damn word since the night you told him.

He didn’t storm off again. Didn’t yell. He just… slipped away, day after day, like a shadow shrinking in the light. He rose before camp stirred and came back well after sunset, when the fires were low and the air was heavy with sleep. You’d catch glimpses of him—sharpening his knife alone by the wagon, brushing down his mare in the dark, smoking in the trees with his back turned. Always just out of reach.

He avoided your eyes like they might burn him. And worse? He never said your name. Not once. Every time you passed close, every time your hand hovered near his on a shared task or your eyes lingered too long—he moved away. Like you were poison.

At first, you were angry.

You’d built something with him. Earned his trust in a world where most folks had to fight just to stay human. You’d shared nights wrapped in blankets under the stars, whispered truths into the hollow of his throat, watched him flinch at your touch not out of hate, but out of unfamiliar tenderness. He chose you—over doubt, over fear, over all the mess of the gang and the blood that clung to his hands.

And now? He was gone without ever leaving.

You tried, the first day. Quietly approached while he fed the horses, voice low and careful.

“Arthur…”

He didn’t look up.

You tried again the next afternoon, your voice sharp with frustration.

“You don’t get to just pretend I don’t exist.”

He kept walking.

By the third day, you stopped trying.

You felt like a ghost in your own skin, caught somewhere between furious and hollow. Not just for you, but for the life growing inside you—silent, unseen, and already left behind.

Even Dutch noticed the tension, though he said nothing, just gave Arthur one of those long, assessing looks across the fire. Hosea, bless him, opened his mouth once to ask if you were alright, then closed it again when he saw your face.

And you? You tried to go about your days like nothing had changed. Gathered herbs. Cooked. Patched your torn shirt. Held your composure like a knife between your teeth. But at night—those were the worst. When camp was quiet and the stars pressed down and you could hear the distant murmurs of Arthur’s voice talking to anyone but you.

One night you stood in the shadows behind a tree, watching him laugh softly at something Charles had said. It hit you like a punch to the ribs. He wasn’t broken. He wasn’t in pain. He’d just shut you out. Tucked you away like a mistake he didn’t know how to unmake.

You pressed your hands to your stomach, eyes burning, and whispered, “I’m sorry, baby,” into the cold dark air.

Because whatever Arthur Morgan was running from—you were part of it now.

The next morning, he rode out before dawn. Didn’t say where he was going. Didn’t say goodbye. Just like before. And the issue—the truth of it—hung between you both, thick as smoke and just as choking. Unspoken. Unresolved. Like so many things in his world. 

As he left, something inside you went still. 

Not shattered—not yet. Just... cold. Numb. Like your heart had folded itself in half and tucked away behind your ribs for safekeeping. You lay in your cot staring up at the pale canvas of your tent ceiling while the camp stirred outside—pots clanging, voices low, hooves thudding against frost-hard earth. It was just another day in a world that didn’t stop moving, even when yours had.

He wasn’t coming back.

Not to you. Not to this.

Maybe he hadn’t meant to be cruel. Maybe silence was the only language he could speak when he was drowning. But knowing why didn’t change the ache. It didn’t make it easier to carry the weight of him—and the life growing inside you—alone.

By the time you emerged from your tent, the sun was climbing through low clouds and a few flakes of snow drifted down, slow and aimless. The gang was bustling—Bill was already drunk, Tilly was peeling potatoes, and Dutch was giving one of his sermons by the fire, voice full of honeyed hope and half-truths. Nothing had changed, not really.

Except you.

Your hand lingered at your belly again, a soft, unconscious gesture now. You were starting to feel different. Not much, but enough. A flutter of nausea some mornings. A new kind of tired in your bones. A quiet awareness of something not quite visible but still entirely real.

And no one knew but Arthur. And he had left you alone with it.

You avoided the questions—told Miss Grimshaw you were just sick, waved off Tilly’s concern with a forced smile. No one pushed. Not yet. But the pressure was building like thunder on the horizon.

That night, you sat alone near the edge of camp, watching the stars through bare tree branches. The fire crackled low beside you, but you didn’t add more wood. You liked the quiet. You needed it.

You thought about leaving.

You’d thought about it before, in passing. But now the idea rooted deeper, more real with every breath of winter air. What were you waiting for? Arthur to come back and pretend he hadn’t abandoned you? Dutch to notice and offer some poetic bullshit about fate? The gang to change?

No.

You knew better.

This life was a dead-end road—drenched in blood, shrouded in smoke. You had followed it long enough. And now, for the first time in a long while, you had someone else to think about. Someone who hadn’t asked for any of this. Someone who deserved better than a cradle made of stolen gold and broken promises.

The decision came slow, like a fire building from embers. Quiet, steady, irreversible.

You were going to leave.

Not tonight. But soon. You’d need to be smart—take supplies, money, maybe even a horse. You weren’t sure where you’d go, not yet, but the world was big, wasn’t it? There were towns where nobody knew your name. Farmlands. River valleys. Places where children were born without gunfire outside the window.

You spent the next few days preparing in secret. Quiet, careful. You mended saddlebags. Stashed food in a hidden pack under your cot. Pocketed bits of coin from jobs you hadn’t turned in. No one noticed, or if they did, they didn’t say anything.

The air got colder. Snow stuck to the ground some mornings, lingering in the shadows. You began to wear a heavier coat, buttoned low over your belly. No one asked. Maybe they didn’t want to know. Or maybe they knew and chose the same silence Arthur had.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

You were leaving.

Then, one night, you crept out before dawn. The moon was low and the sky washed silver. The camp was still sleeping, curled in tents and dreams and old regrets. You paused near Arthur’s tent. It looked the same as ever—neat, quiet, impersonal. As if he might return at any moment and slip back into place, as if nothing had ever changed. But you knew better now.

You stepped forward. Hesitated. Then left something small at the flap—a folded note.

You didn’t write much. Just a single line, in your uneven, looping script.

I’m going to do this with or without you. But I wish you’d come with me.

And that was it.

You saddled a horse—quiet, a mare you trusted—and rode out under the veil of a waking sky. No tears. No theatrics. Just the crunch of hooves over snow and the slow bloom of morning behind the trees.

You didn’t know what lay ahead. Towns, danger, loneliness. Maybe worse.

But you also knew this: you were strong. Strong enough to survive this world. Strong enough to carry what Arthur couldn’t.

You rode on, hand on your stomach, heart full of silence and fire.

And for the first time in days, you felt something like peace.

The camp was half-awake when Arthur finally returned. He had been gone on a long hunting trip with Charles, bringing home a variety of meats and pelts like elk, moose, and beaver. 

Snow clung to Arthur’s coat, stiff and crusted. His horse was tired, ribs heavy from the hard ride. He didn’t speak to anyone—just tied her near the hitching post, nodded at Pearson’s half-hearted greeting—acknowledging their bounty. He trudged through camp like a man halfway through a bad dream. He didn’t expect to find anything waiting for him. He hadn’t really expected you to wait, either. But when he reached his tent, the first thing he saw was a small folded piece of paper, tucked just beneath the flap like a whisper someone left behind. 

He stared at it for a long time. Snow melted in his hair. Cold sank into his boots. But his hands didn’t move—not until his chest felt tight enough to crack. He bent down, fingers brushing the worn edges of the paper. It still smelled faintly like you.

“I’m going to do this with or without you. But I wish you’d come with me.” 

There was no signature, you hadn’t needed one. Arthur stood there for a while, the paper trembling just slightly between his calloused fingers. He stared at your handwriting until the ink blurred. Then he folded it carefully, like it was something holy. He opened the flaps to his tent, walked in, and sat on his cot he once shared with you. He thought long and hard about what to do next. Should he follow you? Or just find you? Should he let you get away from the dangers of the gang, leaving everything unsaid? For a moment, he was confused. 

Then, he decided the right thing to do was to find you. At least to know you’re both okay. For peace of mind, he told himself.

It took him close to a month to find you. Weeks of bitter wind and half-frozen trails, of sleeping under pine trees and asking questions in dusty towns. He’d asked too many people if they’d seen a woman on horseback—strong-willed, quiet, brown eyes, maybe wearing a coat too heavy for her size. Most shook their heads, some offered a guess. One said she saw someone that sounded like you riding north, toward Strawberry. Arthur hadn't meant to feel hope when he heard that. But he did. And that hope kept him riding straight through the storm. 

When he finally reached Strawberry, the town was blanketed in soft, half-melted snow. Smoke drifted from chimneys. A dog barked somewhere behind the sheriff’s office. The main street was quiet but not empty—townsfolk bustled in and out of the general store, a rancher tied off his horse outside the saloon, and the sky overhead was gray with the weight of coming snow. 

He tethered his horse near the general store and made his way toward the inn. The woman behind the counter barely glanced up until he said your name. Then she nodded, almost cautiously. “She’s got a little house up behind the falls,” she said. “Bit outside of town. Walkable if you don’t mind a climb. Been keepin’ to herself mostly.” 

Arthur thanked her with a tight nod and turned away before she could say more. 

He found the house nestled at the edge of the woods—small, crooked-roofed, with a low stone chimney and a fence half-built around the back. Smoke curled from the chimney. There was laundry strung between two trees, fluttering in the cold wind. A horse was grazing nearby—he recognized her. One of the mares from camp. 

Arthur’s jaw clenched. You were here. You’d really done it. You made a life—without him. 

He knocked before he lost his nerve. At first, there was nothing. Then he heard it—footsteps inside. A quiet shift of movement. The door creaked open an inch, just enough for you to peer out. Your eyes widened. For a moment, you didn’t say anything. Neither did he. Just that snow-heavy silence between you. 

Then softly: “Arthur.” 

He swallowed hard, unsure what his first words to you would be. “You just left.” 

You opened the door the rest of the way. You looked… different. Not worse. Just changed. Stronger in some ways. Tired in others. A little paler, maybe. But your eyes were clear. And your belly had begun to show. 

He noticed you had a hand resting gently over your stomach. 

“I left because I had to,” you said. “You gave me nothing, Arthur. Not a word. Not even a look.” Silence fell. “I waited. And then I made the only choice I could.” 

He stepped forward, his voice low and rough. “You think I didn’t notice? I was tryin’ to protect you, goddamn it.” 

“By pretending I didn’t exist?” 

“By not dragging you down with me.” His voice almost an ashamed whisper. He was angry, but not at you. It wasn’t ever at you–it was to himself. At his own fear, his own cowardice. 

You stared at him, your voice calm but heavy. “You weren’t protecting me. You were avoiding me.” 

Arthur looked away, jaw tight. “I know.” 

The wind rustled the trees. A pair of crows shrieked overhead, then flew off into the gray sky. Arthur’s voice was slow when he finally spoke again. 

“I was scared. Of what it meant. I don’t know how to… do any of that. How to take care of you. I was…” he paused for a second, searching the space between you two for words he couldn’t form himself. “...I was afraid I’d ruin everything. That i’d break somethin’ I love.” The words escaped him in a hush. 

You blinked at him. That word hung there—love—suspended like breath in the cold. A word he so rarely used for you. A word reserved for moments like these. Rare, raw, and tender. 

“But that don’t mean I didn’t care,” he continued. “It don’t mean I didn’t think about you every second of every damn day since you left.” 

He met your eyes then, and his voice broke on the edges. “I was angry when I saw that note. Not cause you left—but ‘cause I didn’t go with you. And that ain’t your fault. That’s mine.” 

You stared at him for a long moment. Then, finally, you stepped aside and nodded toward the inside. “Come in,” you said softly. 

He hesitated only a second before crossing the threshold. 

The cabin was warm. Simple. There were blankets by the fire, food on the table, a kettle steaming. It was a life—not fancy, but real. Tangible. Safe. Something he knew he couldn’t offer you. 

Arthur looked around like he didn’t quite believe it was all yours. All yours. 

“Guess you didn’t need me afterall,” he muttered. 

You turned to face him, arms crossed, a quiet defiance in your stance. 

“I wanted you. That’s different.” 

Arthur looked at you, and for once he didn’t try to explain himself. He just let the silence fall again, softer this time. And after a while, he stepped forward, slow and careful, and rested a hand over yours on your stomach. You didn’t pull away, neither of you said anything. 

The kettle whistled low and steady in the quiet of the cabin, catching your attention. You walked across the small cabin towards the stove where the kettle sat patiently. You poured the tea with slow, deliberate movements—hands steady, though your heart felt anything but. Arthur sat across from you at the small wooden table, hands clasped around a chipped mug, eyes tracing the grain in the wood like it held answers he couldn’t find in you. 

It had only been a few weeks but it felt like another lifetime since you’d last spoken—since you last looked him in the eyes and seen something other than guilt buried in them. The fire cracked in the hearth, casting golden light over the room. Outside, the snowfall had started to thicken. Fat flakes drifted sideways in the wind, gathering along the windowsill and piling slowly against the porch. Arthur glanced toward the window, jaw tensing slightly. 

“You’re not gonna make it back to camp tonight,” you said quietly, watching him. He didn’t argue. “I’ve got a spare bedroll,” you added, eyes flicking down to your tea. “You’re welcome to stay. Just for the night. It’s… safer.” 

Arthur hesitated, then gave a slow nod. “Yeah. Guess that’d be smart.” 

Smart. Right. Logical. Reasonable. So why did it make your heart twist in your chest? 

Time passed by slowly, slower than what was comfortable in all honesty. But the two of you caught up slowly, like two people trying to reach each other in a language they’d almost forgotten. You told him about the town, how the general store clerk gave you extra oats when he noticed you were eating for two. How the lady at the inn had helped you find the little cabin. How quiet it was out here, how lonely, sometimes, but how peaceful too. 

Arthur listened in silence, nodding now and then, gaze never straying far from you. He didn’t interrupt. Just sat there, hat in his lap, looking like he’d aged a little more since the last time you saw him. He told you he’d been running jobs between looking for you. That the Pinkertons were getting too close. That Dutch was getting restless, dangerous. That the world he lived in was unraveling—and fast. He admitted that he was thankful you got out at the time you did, especially considering the baby you now carried. 

You asked him if he was alright, he lied and said he was fine. But you saw the wear in his eyes. The way he sat too stiffly, like he was waiting to run. Like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome here or trespassing on something he’d already lost. Later, after the sun dipped low and the wind began to howl harder through the trees, you made supper. Nothing fancy, just stew and bread and the last of the salted meat. He thanked you with a nod so quiet it almost didn’t reach his lips. You ate in near silence, listening to the wind rattle the shutters to the cabin. 

When you both moved to the fire, you sat on opposite sides. The warmth between you helped, but the space still yawned wide with unspoken questions. Arthur cleared his throat. “I ain’t gonna pretend like I didn’t mess up,” he finally spoke, voice rough, eyes on the flames. “I did. I know that.” 

You glanced at him, waiting. He fidgeted with a loose thread in his glove. “I don’t know what I’m doin’. With you. With the kid. I ain’t had someone depend on me like that in a long time. And I ain’t got much left in me to give.” 

You looked at him a long while then said, “I never asked you to be perfect, Arthur. I just wanted you there.” The words hung in the air between you, quiet but heavy. 

“I know,” he muttered. 

You both fell silent again. The wind moaned outside, louder now, a storm building on the ridge. You pulled your blanket tighter, feeling the ache of old hope stirring in your chest—hope you didn’t quite trust anymore. When it got late enough to yawn, you laid out the spare bedroll beside the hearth. You didn’t ask him to share your bed. You didn’t offer. And he didn’t ask. But you lingered, both of you, staring into the fire like it might hold something more than flickering light and fading warmth. Finally, he laid down with a groan, one arm folded beneath his head. You extinguished the lantern and climbed into bed, facing the wall. Neither of you fell asleep immediately, simply laid awake in the quiet comfort of each other's presence. 

You rolled over, checking the time. Past midnight. You sat up, staring through the dark cabin towards the now dying fire of the hearth. Something told you that he was still awake. With a voice barely above a whisper, “Do you want to be in our child’s life?” 

The fire had burned low, casting long shadows across the floor. You couldn’t really see him from where you sat but you imagined his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling, mouth drawn tight. For a long time, he didn’t answer. 

Then: “I don’t know.” 

Your heart sank, slow and heavy. 

But then he added, voice lower now, more raw: “I want to. I just… I’m afraid I’ll mess it up. Like I messed up everythin’ else.” 

“You can’t undo the past, Arthur,” you said. “But you can choose what you do next.” 

He stayed quiet for a long moment, his silence saying more than he could. 

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you reassured him. The quiet hung between you like smoke.

You saw him nod, just once, like it hurt to do it. “Alright.” 

You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t reach for him. Neither of you moved. But something shifted in the stillness. A step, a breath, a beginning, maybe. 

And in the deep hush of a snowbound night, you both lay awake, listening to the wind, the crackle of coals, and the slow tentative beating of three hearts trying to learn each other again. 

The next morning came blanketed in white—the snow thick on the porch railings, the trees sagging under its weight. There was no point trying to ride out. The roads were buried, the air sharp and bright with winter silence. You stood at the window with a steaming mug between your hands, watching the frost climb the glass.

Behind you, Arthur stirred. You didn’t turn around.

“I’ll split some wood,” he said, voice hoarse with sleep.

You nodded. “Axe is out back.”

It was a small thing. A simple thing. But it was the beginning.

That first day, you watched from the porch as he chopped kindling. His coat hung open, breath fogging in the cold. He worked without saying much, but he didn’t complain either—not about the cold, or the blisters, or the snow piling up around his boots. Every now and then, he glanced toward the house. Toward you.

You pretended not to notice.

He carried the firewood in and stacked it by the hearth. You nodded to him when he came in, and he gave a short grunt in reply. Then he sat at the table while you prepared breakfast—oats, some berries you’d dried from the fall. You passed him a bowl. He muttered a soft “thanks.”

The silence was different now. Not sharp. Not full of tension. Just… new. Careful. Like neither of you wanted to scare it off.

The days passed like that. Slow. Simple.

Arthur fixed the fence behind the cabin, tightening rails and replacing slats where the snow had cracked the old ones. You offered him soup afterward, and he sat close enough by the fire that your knees brushed under the table. Neither of you pulled away.

He mucked out the little barn beside the house, fed your mare, helped patch the draft in the window above your bed.

You caught him standing in the doorway more than once, watching as you folded linens or stirred something over the stove. He never said anything when you looked back—but he didn’t look away either.

That unfamiliar pull grew stronger with every quiet chore. Every wordless glance. Every brush of your fingers as you passed each other in the narrow kitchen.

And still, neither of you spoke about what this was.

Or what it might become.

On the sixth night, the snow stopped.

Stars appeared—faint, but visible through the thinning clouds. The moon glowed soft and full, casting silver over the trees. Inside, the fire had burned down low, throwing flickering shadows across the walls.

Arthur stood near the hearth, hands resting on the mantle. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbow. You sat on the edge of the table, watching him quietly.

He turned.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” he said, voice low.

You tilted your head, unsure where it was going.

He hesitated, eyes on the floor. “About you. About this place. The baby.”

Your hand went unconsciously to your belly.

Arthur looked up. There was something in his eyes you didn’t expect.

Not fear. Not shame. Something softer.

“I ain’t good at this,” he said. “Any of it. But I feel… different here.”

“Different how?”

He took a slow step toward you. “Like maybe I could be someone else. Someone better. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

You blinked, heart tight in your chest.

“Do you want to be here?” you asked. “With me?”

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen to me,” he said quietly. “Camp’s still out there. Dutch is still out there. My past, all of it—it ain’t gone.”

He came closer.

“But right now? All I know is this feels more like home than anywhere I’ve ever been.”

Your breath hitched. And in the quiet that followed, you stood. Walked toward him. Met him halfway. The kiss came slowly—tentative, uncertain. His hand was warm against your jaw, calloused fingers trembling just slightly. Your hands settled at his waist, anchoring yourself to him. He tasted like salt and cold air, like woodsmoke and something unspoken. Something real. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t smooth. But it was honest.

When you pulled away, you didn’t say anything at first. Neither did he. You just stood there, inches apart, breathing the same space. Then Arthur gave a short, almost broken laugh.

“That okay?” he asked, voice rough.

You smiled, faint and sure.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “That was okay.”

The fire burned low. The snow outside had stilled. And for the first time in a long while, the weight of what you carried didn’t feel quite so heavy. Not when someone might finally be willing to carry it with you.

Days turned into weeks and before you knew it, Arthur had been at the cabin for 2. Life seemed content, calm. You were happy, and Arthur seemed…happy too. Your belly growing by the day, and Arthur’s affection growing along with it. 

Arthur had started to fall into a rhythm that felt dangerously like peace. He’d wake early and tend to the horses, the quiet hum of your morning routine comforting in its familiarity. Sometimes you’d sit together at the table, hands brushing as you reached for the same spoon. Other times, he’d find himself pausing in the doorway, just to watch you move around the little cabin like you belonged there—and like maybe, somehow, he could too.

But peace is fragile when you come from a life built on gunfire and running. 

You were inside by the fire, mending a shirt. Arthur was outside, splitting the last of the firewood, when he paused—head tilted, brow furrowed. The sound of horses echoed down the ridge. Not one. Two.

He moved toward the front porch, wiping his hands on a cloth.

You stepped outside just as the riders crested the path.

John Marston was the first to dismount—coat dusty, a tired look in his eyes. Behind him, Charles followed, calm as ever but serious. They both looked cold, weather-worn, and—Arthur noticed it right away—urgent.

“Arthur,” John called out, his voice taut. “We’ve been lookin’ for you.”

Arthur stiffened. “Didn’t know I was missin’.”

John gave a humorless laugh. “Dutch sure thinks y’are.”

Charles slid from his saddle, giving you a polite nod before turning to Arthur.

“He sent us out days ago,” Charles said. “Said there’s a job comin’ up. Big one. He needs everyone back.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched.

You stepped down from the porch, eyes scanning the two men.

“What kind of job?” you asked.

John looked at you for a moment, then turned back to Arthur.

“Blackwater. The ferry,” he said grimly. “Dutch says it’ll be the last one. One big score, and we’re done.”

Arthur looked down at the snow-covered ground, fists curling at his sides. The cold crept up his spine, but it wasn’t the weather. It was the weight. The pull of obligation. The noose of loyalty tightening again.

“He needs you, Arthur,” John pressed. “He’s been getting… unpredictable.”

Arthur’s throat was tight. “He’s always unpredictable.”

Charles crossed his arms, quiet but firm. “We’re not here to twist your arm. Just… Dutch is counting on you. You’re the only one who can talk sense into him.”

A long silence settled over the yard.

You looked at Arthur, and he could feel your eyes like fire on his skin. He didn’t look at you. Couldn’t. Not yet.

“Why now?” he asked, finally. “Why this one?”

John shifted, glancing toward the horizon. “We’re losin’ ground. Pinkertons are closing in. We’re out of time.”

Arthur dragged a hand down his face. “Goddamn it.”

You stepped forward, voice calm but firm.

“So what, Arthur? You just go back? Just like that?”

He turned toward you, eyes flashing with conflict. “I don’t know!”

The air turned brittle. The sound of the wind in the trees was the only thing filling the space between all of you.

“I been tryin’,” Arthur said, his voice cracking. “Tryin’ to be here. To do something that ain’t just robbin’ and runnin’. But I still got people countin’ on me.”

You crossed your arms, holding yourself tight.

“I’m not asking you to turn your back on the gang,” you said, quieter. “But you can’t keep doing both. You can’t keep one foot in that life and one here.”

Arthur looked down, jaw tight.

Charles watched the exchange, saying nothing, but you could see the understanding in his eyes. The quiet sympathy. He’d always been the only one who truly saw Arthur.

“I’ll wait by the horses,” Charles said after a moment, and he walked off without another word.

John lingered a bit longer. He looked at Arthur, then at you, then back again. “You’ve got some thinking to do,” he said, voice rough. “But don’t take too long. Dutch won’t wait forever.”

Then he turned and followed Charles down the path, their footsteps crunching in the snow. When they were gone, the silence was louder than it had been in days. You and Arthur stood a few paces apart in the yard, breath curling in the cold air.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he said, quietly.

“I know,” you replied.

He looked at you then, really looked. Like he was searching for something in your face—some answer, some permission to let go of the life he’d lived too long.

“I don’t wanna leave you.”

“Then don’t,” you said. “But if you stay, stay for real. Don’t keep your heart out there with Dutch. With that life. I can’t raise this baby always wondering if you’re coming back with bullet holes in your side.”

Arthur looked down at the snow between you, nodding slowly.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, voice like gravel. “Scared that I ain’t gonna be the man you need. Or the man that kid needs.”

You stepped toward him, placing a hand gently on his chest, over the slow, heavy beat of his heart.

“I’d rather have an honest man who’s scared,” you said, “than one who runs off pretending he isn’t.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling shakily.

“I need time,” he whispered.

You nodded. “Take it. Just don’t take too long.”

The wind picked up again. The snow swirled between you.

And for the first time in a long while, Arthur Morgan had to ask himself who he was when he wasn’t the gun for hire, the loyal soldier, the ghost riding behind Dutch Van Der Linde. Because now, for the first time, he had something to stay for. Something to lose.

That night was quiet, still, only the sound of the cracking fire filling the small cabin. Arthur didn’t say much when it was time for bed, instead he curled himself around you, holding your belly in his hand until he fell asleep. You took in the moment, memorizing the feel of his breath on your neck, his scent that you grew accustomed to over the course of the past couple weeks. 

But quiet tears streamed down your cheeks and fell onto your pillow, yet you made sure Arthur didn’t hear you cry. Fear, panic, unease. It all grew in your chest simply by imagining that he could possibly be gone, that he’d miss your belly growing, miss the birth, miss the baby’s first… everything. Still, you wiped your tears, breathing deeply and taking in his calming scent. You put your trust in the universe, hoping that it would be kind to you like you were to it. 

It’ll all work out, you tried to convince yourself. 

You woke before dawn to the sound of boots on floorboards and the distant clinking of saddlebags. The fire was down to glowing embers, the cabin cold. You sat up slowly, watching his silhouette move through the dim light—tall, broad, quiet as a ghost. His back was turned, but you knew the tension in his shoulders like your own breath.

He didn’t expect you to wake.

“Where are you going?” you asked softly as you sat up on the bed you both shared.

Arthur turned. His hat was in his hands, that battered old thing he never seemed to take off unless he had something heavy weighing on him. Like now.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he muttered.

“You didn’t.”

He crossed to your side, sitting besides you so you were eye to eye. His face was rough from sleep, beard untrimmed, but his eyes—those storm-colored eyes—were clear.

“I’m going back,” he said. “Just for a while.”

You knew it was coming. Still, your chest tightened.

“Blackwater?” you asked.

He nodded. “One job. Dutch swears it’s the last. I ain’t so sure I believe him, but… I gotta be there.”

You swallowed thickly. “And then what?”

Arthur reached for your hand. His palm was rough and cold, but his grip was steady.

“Then I come back here,” he said. “For good.”

You stared at him, searching for the cracks. The fear. The doubt. But all you saw was something that scared you even more: hope.

“You really think you can leave that life behind?”

He exhaled through his nose, eyes falling to your joined hands.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I know I want to. I know I’m tired of runnin’. Tired of buryin’ people. Tired of wonderin’ what the hell I’m doin’ it all for.”

He looked back at you, voice low.

“But here… with you. Our baby. It’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away.

“Promise me,” you whispered. “If something goes wrong—you come back home anyway. Don’t disappear. Don’t vanish into that world again.”

Arthur brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“I promise.”

You stood on the porch when he rode off.

His horse kicked up frostbitten dirt as it wound down the snow-covered trail. He turned back once—just once—and raised a hand in farewell. You lifted yours in return, heart lodged somewhere in your throat.

And then he was gone.

The cabin felt too quiet without him.

You went about your chores—feeding the mare, boiling water, keeping the fire alive—but the stillness weighed on you. It crept into the corners like smoke, like a draft you couldn’t seal out. You caught yourself reaching for a second mug in the morning, turning toward the door at the sound of hooves that never arrived. And every night, you laid in bed with a hand resting over your stomach, missing the weight of his hands, wondering where he was. Was he safe? Was Dutch pushing him too far again? Would he come back whole? Would he come back at all?

The days blurred.

You’d sit by the fire in the evenings, a book open in your lap, barely read. The wind whistled through the trees, and you’d stare out the window for long stretches, listening for the faint echo of hooves that might never return.

You wrote letters you never sent.

Arthur— The snow melted yesterday. The ground’s soft again. I planted something near the fence line. I think you’d like it here, come spring.

Arthur— I felt the baby move today. Just a flutter. Like a heartbeat under my skin. It scared me. And then it made me smile.

Arthur— Where are you? Come home.

You’d fold them, tuck them into the drawer beside your bed. Your hope lived in that drawer now. Fragile, folded, waiting.

The days grew longer. The snow thinned. The creek behind the cabin started to run again. Still no word. You chopped your own wood. You rode into Strawberry for supplies once, just to hear voices, to remind yourself the world hadn’t gone quiet.

But it had.

At least the part that mattered most.

One night, as spring tried to take hold, you sat on the porch wrapped in Arthur’s coat he left behind for you to keep, watching the stars blink open in the purple dusk. The mountains were still capped in white, but the trees had begun to bud, reaching for something new.

Your hand rested on your belly—rounder now, unmistakable. The child was quiet, like they too were waiting for a father they’d never met.

You didn’t cry.

You’d done enough of that.

You just waited. Quiet and still.

Trusting that somehow, the man who’d kissed your hand and whispered I promise would find his way back through the darkness. That he'd return not just for the promise he made, but because—despite the blood, the gunpowder, and all the things he carried—he wanted to.

The snow had melted into slush and mud. Spring had clawed its way up the mountain at last, leaving a damp chill in its wake and a cabin steeped in silence. The trees were budding, the creek behind the house was alive again with the babble of meltwater, and the wind had lost its bitter edge.

But he didn’t come back.

Arthur Morgan had ridden out into the cold weeks ago, hat low over his brow, a man torn in two. And still, there was no sign of him.

Not until the letter came.

It arrived the way all heartbreak does—quietly. No fanfare, no warning. Just a knock at the door one late afternoon, as the sun spilled gold through the trees.

You opened it to find an unfamiliar man on your porch. Weathered face, neutral eyes. He didn’t say a word—just handed over a folded, sealed envelope and nodded once.

“For you,” he said, voice low, and then turned back to his horse without waiting for a response.

You closed the door behind you, hands trembling as you turned the letter over. Your name scrawled across the front in familiar, looping script. It looked rushed. Smudged, even. Dirt on the corners, a faint thumbprint near the seal.

Arthur’s handwriting.

Your heart plummeted.

You sat down slowly at the edge of the bed, candlelight flickering beside you, and unfolded the single sheet.

The paper crackled. His scent clung to it faintly—gunpowder and pine. Your eyes moved across the words, each one a punch to the chest.

My girl,

I don’t have the right to call you that no more. But I reckon it’s the only way I know how to start this.

I’m alive. For now. The job in Blackwater went bad. Real bad. Dutch had it all wrong—we all did. Pinkertons were waitin’. There was shootin’. Screamin’. We barely got out. Some didn’t. I don’t even know how we made it north, but we did. We’re holed up now, somewhere cold and cruel, and Dutch is already talkin’ about what comes next.

I know I said I’d come back. I meant it. Every word. But if I come back now, they’ll follow me. And they’ll find you. You and the baby. And I can’t risk that. I won’t.

So I’m stayin’ away. For your safety. For the baby's. It ain’t what I want, but it’s the only way I can think to protect you now. I don’t know how long we’ll be runnin’. Maybe forever. Maybe not long at all.

I think about you every day. About the cabin. The way you looked at me that night by the fire, like I could be somethin’ better. I wish I’d held onto that longer.

I’m sorry.

If I find a way to make it right, I’ll come back. But don’t wait for me. Don’t put your life on hold. Raise that baby strong. Tell them I was a fool, but I loved them all the same.

Tell them I loved you.

— Arthur

You sat still long after you finished reading, the letter clenched in your fists, its paper crumpling under the weight of your grief.

Outside, the wind stirred the trees. Somewhere in the woods, a bird sang—lonely and far away.

You stood slowly and crossed to the fire, feeding a fresh log to the flames. The letter stayed in your hand.

You wanted to scream. To cry. To curse his name for leaving, even if it was for all the right reasons. You wanted to rip the letter in half.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you read it again.

And again.

Until the candle burned low and the light outside dimmed to blue and indigo.

That night, you lay in bed curled on your side, one hand resting on your stomach. The baby shifted beneath your touch—a quiet reminder that life, no matter how uncertain, still moved forward.

You thought about Arthur’s face the last time you saw it. The way he kissed your hand, the way his voice trembled when he made that promise.

He meant it. Of that, you had no doubt.

But the world had never been kind to men like Arthur Morgan. Men who tried to claw their way out of darkness for the sake of something gentle. The cruel truth was that he hadn’t broken his promise because he stopped loving you. He’d broken it because he loved you too much to bring his hell to your doorstep.

In the days that followed, you kept moving. You fixed the fence he started. You tended the garden he’d helped dig. You patched the leaking corner of the roof, your belly growing heavier with each passing week. Your back growing painful with the new weight of your baby. 

But part of you had gone quiet again.

Not dead. Just waiting. Like the creek under frost.

The letter stayed in your drawer, folded neatly beside the others. You’d reach for it sometimes—never to read, only to hold. Like maybe, if you pressed it close enough to your chest, you could still feel the warmth of his hands. Still feel the echo of his voice, whispering words he may never get to say again.

Spring soon turned to the start of summer, and the green world bloomed around the cabin in quiet defiance of your solitude.

The trees stretched tall and full, the days long and golden. Bees danced through the lavender you’d planted by the front step. A pair of robins nested in the rafters beneath the porch roof, their soft chirps a constant reminder that life pressed on, regardless of heartbreak.

You moved slower now. The weight in your belly grew heavier by the day, until even simple tasks left you breathless. You’d catch your reflection in the small mirror hanging near the wash basin and barely recognize yourself—hair messy, face flushed, hands always cradling your swollen stomach like you were afraid to let go.

You talked to the baby sometimes. When the nights got too quiet. When the wind rattled the shutters and your back ached from tossing in bed.

You told them stories—about their father, about the cabin, about the fireflies that blinked like stars in the meadow after sundown. Sometimes you laughed. Sometimes you cried. Sometimes you just pressed your hand to your belly and whispered,

"I hope you don’t feel as alone as I do."

Her name was May. You met her in Strawberry, during a rare trip to town in early June. A trip you’d put off too long, your supplies running low, your body already straining. She was older—widow-gray hair wrapped in a tight bun, hands like leather, eyes as sharp as flint. She saw you struggling to load a sack of flour into your wagon and took one look at your belly before she tutted under her breath and stepped in.

“You shouldn’t be liftin’ that. Not in your condition.”

You blinked at her, caught off guard. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” she replied curtly, but not unkindly. “Come. I’ll help you finish your errands, and then you’ll come have tea with me. Unless you want to be one of those fools who gives birth in the dirt alone like some wild animal.”

Despite yourself, you chuckled. And then, unexpectedly, you went.

May lived in a small cottage at the edge of Strawberry, vines creeping up the stone walls, a garden teeming with color and smell. Her house was warm and full of clutter—books, candles, knitted blankets folded over chairs. She brewed strong tea. Gave you a bar of handmade soap and a pouch of dried herbs to help with your back. She asked no questions about the father of your child, and you were grateful. You visited her once a week after that.

She showed you how to ease swollen ankles in cold water. How to soothe your cramps with peppermint and lavender oil. How to listen to your body when the baby shifted and dropped. When you told her how far along you were, she nodded and began visiting you at the cabin, walking the half-mile trail from town with a wicker basket in hand and stories about her late husband on her lips.

“It’s not about pain,” she said one afternoon, as you sat on the porch with your feet soaking in a bucket. “It’s about power. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

You stared at her, brow furrowed. “What if I’m not strong enough?”

May looked you dead in the eye.

“You already are.”

The first contraction came in the middle of the night.

You woke with a start, the pain twisting low and hard like a rope being pulled tight inside you. You doubled over, gasping, one hand on the wall to steady yourself. You lit the lantern. Counted the minutes between the waves. Each one stronger than the last. By dawn, you knew it was time.

You sent your loyal hound hurrying down the trail, tail tall, a note pinned to her collar: “It’s happening. Please come.”

May arrived before sun rise, already rolling up her sleeves.

What followed was a blur of breath and sweat and pain that reached down to the bone. Hours passed in a haze of heat and tears. May barked calm orders, pressed cool cloths to your forehead, whispered encouragement like spells.

“You’re almost there. That’s it. You’re doing fine. Keep going.”

And you did.

Because there was no other choice.

Because you weren’t just giving birth to a child. You were giving birth to a future Arthur might never see, but that you would carry for him.

The baby arrived just after sunset, as the sky went soft and lilac beyond the trees. A scream—yours—and then a cry that split the air like thunder. May lifted the child, wrapped them in a soft linen blanket, and placed them gently in your arms. You stared down at the tiny face, flushed and squirming, their cries already fading to soft hiccups against your skin.

A boy.

You felt it then—all of it. Joy. Relief. Grief so sharp it stole the breath from your lungs.

You traced your fingers across his damp hair, whispered his name—a name you’d chosen weeks ago, when hope still burned a little brighter.

Arthur Alexander Morgan. You decided he’d go by his middle name. 

The tears came fast and hot, slipping silently down your cheeks as you held your boy close. You wanted him there. You wanted his voice, his hands, his steady calm. You wanted him to see the way Alexander clung to your finger. The way his little chest rose and fell. The way he already had his father’s brow. But there was only the firelight, and May’s quiet footsteps, and your own sobs muffled into a blanket as you whispered through the ache in your chest,

"You should’ve been here."

The days came slowly after the birth.

Not gentle—never gentle—but steady, like the tide. Predictable in their routine. Wake. Feed. Rock. Change. Sleep, if you were lucky. Repeat.

Your world shrank to the size of your cabin and the woods beyond it. The creek, now swollen with summer rains, offered a lullaby for quiet nights when Alexander wouldn’t stop crying. You walked him up and down the porch, whispering lullabies against his tiny ear, pressing your lips to his soft scalp, breathing him in like he was the only real thing left in a world that had gone silent.

And in a way, he was.

You still whispered Arthur’s name sometimes. Quietly, like a sin. Like a prayer.

You still kept the letter tucked in your drawer, edges curled and worn soft from being unfolded so many times. You’d memorized it now. Every crooked word. The apology he’d poured into ink. You didn’t cry anymore when you read it. Not like you used to. But you still felt it, like a bruise under your ribs—tender when touched.

Alexander grew fast. Too fast. He had Arthur’s eyes. You saw it more every day. That dusky blue that sometimes looked gray in the shade, piercing and soft all at once. He furrowed his little brow when he was focused, just like his father. Made a low, thoughtful noise when he was frustrated. His hands—God, his hands—were already shaping to be big like Arthur’s, even in miniature. It was like living with a ghost. A sweet, smiling ghost who learned to crawl, then walk, then toddle across the porch to chase butterflies in the tall grass. And every time you looked at him, your heart broke just a little, pieced itself back together, and broke again.

Because Arthur wasn’t here. Because he was supposed to be.

You stopped expecting him around the six-month mark.

Not that you’d given up hope. Not entirely. But something inside you shifted the day you caught yourself leaving the front gate open. A habit you’d built after his letter came. A silent offering. A beacon. You stood at the edge of the trail that morning, Alexander on your hip, the wind stirring the hem of your skirt. The trees swayed overhead, and for a moment—just a single, stupid moment—you thought maybe you’d hear the thrum of hooves. The jingle of tack. The familiar silhouette riding up from the woods.

But there was nothing. Just wind and birdsong. The rustle of a squirrel darting up a trunk. And it hit you, then. He wasn’t coming back. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he’d died somewhere out in the world, a bullet in the dark, no name on his grave. Or maybe he was still alive, running, hiding, surviving—whatever the gang had become now that Blackwater had blown them to pieces. You didn’t know what was worse: thinking he was gone forever, or thinking he was still out there… choosing not to return.

You started closing the gate again.

You packed the letter in a wooden box along with the first blanket Alexander had been swaddled in, a broken feather Arthur had tucked behind your ear once, and the silver ring he’d left on your nightstand before the Blackwater job. You stopped going into Strawberry as often. May still visited, sometimes bringing books or biscuits or idle gossip about some cattle rustler passing through. You smiled, nodded, listened. But your heart stayed quiet. The silence didn’t hurt as much anymore. It just… was.

You sat with him under the birch tree beside the creek when Alexander was 11 months old, planning his first birthday. The grass had grown wild around the large birch tree. He giggled, blue eyes sparkling, without any worries. And you laughed with him. Genuine. Loud. The kind of laugh that felt strange leaving your mouth after so long. You kissed his forehead and held him tight, even as he squirmed to chase a dragonfly. “I wish he could see you,” you whispered, not for the first time. But this time, your voice didn’t shake.

You didn’t stop loving Arthur. You knew you never would. But love—real love—wasn’t always enough to keep someone by your side. Not in the world you came from. Not with the choices you’d both made. So you loved him the only way you could now: by surviving. Like he asked of you. By raising the son he never got to meet. By building a life out of quiet mornings, muddy boots, and lullabies. You’d made peace with your grief. Not because it left, but because you learned to live beside it. Like a scar. Like a shadow. Like the memory of a man named Arthur Morgan, who once rode away with a promise on his lips… and left behind a piece of himself in your arms.

The air smelled like moss and the river, and the breeze carried just enough of the summer heat.

Alexander sat beside you, legs splayed in the grass, a small wooden horse clutched in one chubby fist. He was babbling to himself, brow furrowed in concentration as he dragged the toy through the dirt like it was galloping across plains only he could see. You leaned your head back against the tree, half listening, half dreaming. You hadn’t slept much the night before—he’d woken with a fever that thankfully passed by dawn, but the worry had left its mark. The days were long, and you carried all of them alone.

You didn’t hear the footsteps. Not at first. But you felt them. The weight in the air shifted—heavy, like a storm building behind clear skies. The hairs on your arms stood up. The silence bent around something.

Someone.

And when you opened your eyes—

He was there.

Arthur.

You stared at him for a heartbeat too long, not believing what you saw. Not wanting to. Not daring. He stood at the edge of the clearing, hat in hand, shoulders sloped forward like the world had tried to crush him and nearly succeeded. His coat hung loose on him. His eyes were sunken. His skin—what you could see of it—was pale, waxy, like a candle burned down too low. His chest moved with short, shallow breaths. And even at this distance, you could tell he was struggling to stand upright.

You didn’t remember getting up. You just remember running. Across the grass, heart pounding in your ears. He flinched like he thought you might slap him—or worse. But you didn’t. You wrapped your arms around him, hard and fast, like the earth might steal him away again if you didn’t anchor him here. He tensed. Then, slowly, carefully, he wrapped his arms around you. One hand at your back. The other hovering, trembling. You felt the way he shook. The way he pressed his cheek to your hair, his breath catching in his throat like it hurt to hold on.

“I missed you,” you whispered, voice breaking, fighting back tears. “I thought—God, I thought you were dead.”

“I should be,” he rasped, the words barely there. “But I ain’t. Not yet.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

His eyes were the same. Blue as ever. But there was a tiredness behind them now, so much deeper than before. Not just exhaustion—acceptance. Like he’d stopped fighting something he knew he couldn’t outrun.

You lifted a hand to his cheek and he leaned into it before stepping back, coughing once into his sleeve. He looked toward the tree where Alexander sat in the grass, blinking up at the new stranger. Arthur’s eyes softened. And then filled with something you hadn’t seen in them in a very long time.

Wonder.

“Is that…?” His voice faltered.

You nodded. “That’s your son.”

Arthur stared. The wind caught his coat, and he swayed where he stood, but his gaze never left the boy. Alexander tilted his head, curious, then clambered to his feet and toddled toward you with wide, bright eyes. Arthur watched every step like it might shatter him.

“He looks just like you,” you said quietly, voice as unsteady as ever.

Arthur took a shaking breath, his jaw working.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to… be gone so long. But after Blackwater… the Pinkertons… things went bad. I figured stayin’ away was the only way to keep you safe.”

You said nothing at first, letting the wind answer for you. Still, under all the pain and deterioration, he was as beautiful as the first day you saw him. 

Then Alexander reached your side, grabbing the hem of your dress and peeking up at Arthur with the hesitant curiosity only small children possess. You picked him up, pressing his head to your shoulder. Arthur’s hands clenched into fists. His chest rose, fell, rose again, like he was fighting the urge to cry. Or collapse.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see him,” he said. “Didn’t think I’d see either of you again. But I—” His voice cracked. “I couldn’t go without meetin’ my boy. I had to see him. See you.”

You stepped toward him, slowly.

“You’re sick,” you said. Not accusing. Just truth. Your heart ached for him.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Dyin’?”

He hesitated. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Not long now. I don’t reckon.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing his sleeve. He looked so tired. So hollowed out. Like something had been burned away in him, but the ember still smoldered.

Alexander squirmed in your arms, reaching a hand toward Arthur, fingers outstretched like he knew—like he felt the tether. Arthur looked down at his son’s hand like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever seen. And then he broke. Not loud. Not messy. Just a single tear slipping down his cheek, his voice thick with sorrow and awe.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “For not bein’ here. For missin’ everything. You didn’t deserve that. He didn’t either.” 

You reached out, pressing Alexander’s tiny hand into Arthur’s. It finally felt like your family was complete, even if it was on borrowed time. 

The days that followed blurred into a soft, dreamlike haze — too tender, too precious, and too fragile to fully hold.

Arthur stayed.

He didn’t ask if he could. He didn’t need to. You made up the bed with shaking hands that first night and watched him fall asleep beside the fire, bundled in blankets that barely kept his trembling at bay. His breath came rough, rattling in the quiet hours when you couldn’t sleep, and each cough that shook his body tore something from your chest.

But still, he stayed.

And you cherished him in ways that didn’t need words.

You cooked for him, quietly setting small bowls of stew or porridge beside his chair. You laid Alexander in his arms when the boy reached out with chubby fingers and babbled “Dada” like it had always been part of his world. You didn’t flinch when Arthur staggered, when he had to lean against the table just to catch his breath. You held his hand as he sat out on the porch in the evenings, watching the summer’s light sink behind the trees.

Sometimes, you pretended he wasn’t dying.

Sometimes, you let yourself believe he might stay.

But at night, when he coughed into his pillow and curled inward like he could hide the sickness in his bones, reality clawed its way back in.

You were losing him.

Piece by piece.

And there was nothing you could do.

It was the fourth night when he finally told you how it all happened.

You sat together by the fire. Alexander was asleep in the back room, his little body wrapped in quilts, one thumb in his mouth. The house was quiet. So quiet.

Arthur stirred the mug in his hand, not drinking. His eyes were far away, like he was watching ghosts.

“It was down in Valentine,” he said finally. His voice was rough. Worn thin. “Had to collect some debt from a fella… Thomas, his name was. Died not long after I beat him half to death. And I—” He paused, coughed into his fist, then kept going. “I started feelin’ bad not long after. Sick. Couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t ride long without spittin’ blood. Guess that’s what I get for hurtin’ a family that needed help.”

You turned toward him, heart caught in your throat.

He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“Doctor told me it was tuberculosis down in Saint Denis. Said there weren’t nothin’ to be done. Just… wait it out. Die slow.”

The words hit like cold steel in your gut. You pressed a hand to your mouth, eyes brimming.

“I’m sorry,” he added, and it shattered something in you.

“Stop,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Don’t apologize. Don’t—don’t do that.”

But he did. Again and again, like a man trying to confess every sin before the reaper came knocking.

You broke then, curling into yourself, sobbing in a way you hadn’t since the night he’d left for Blackwater. Arthur reached for you, gently, his arms weak but still familiar. You buried your face in his chest, careful of his breathing, and let yourself fall apart.

“I thought I was ready,” you choked. “To raise Alexander alone. To let go. But now you’re here and I’m not ready. I don’t want to say goodbye. I don’t want it to end like this. I want us to be a family.”

Arthur’s hand moved slowly up your back.

“I want that too,” he said softly. “More than anything. I’ve dreamed about it, y’know? Every night, since I left. You. Him. This little place in the woods. No Dutch. No runnin’. Just peace.” He kissed your hair. “But the truth is, I’m runnin’ outta time. I came back 'cause I couldn’t… I couldn’t leave this world without seein’ you again. Without meetin’ my son. But I can’t give you what you deserve. Not for long.”

You pulled back to look at him, your face wet, your hands trembling as they held his.

“Then give me what you can,” you said. “Just… whatever time we have. Don’t spend it apologizing. Don’t pull away. Just be here. With us.” You nearly begged.

Arthur smiled, tired but warm. “You always were better than me,” he whispered. “Knew how to love when I was too scared to.”

You leaned in and kissed him. Gentle, aching. A kiss filled with every unspoken promise, every memory, every dream you’d built in the quiet spaces of your heart. No fear. 

And he kissed you back.

That night, Arthur held Alexander in his lap by the fire, humming a soft song you didn’t recognize. His voice was rough, but steady. The baby stared up at him, transfixed, one hand curled around his father’s finger.

You stood in the doorway and watched them, trying to memorize the moment. The shape of Arthur’s face in the firelight. The curve of his smile. The way his thumb stroked slow circles against Alexander’s tiny hand.

You wanted to bottle it. Bury it. Keep it forever.

But time wasn’t kind.

Time was never kind.

You could feel it before he said the words.

The distance in his eyes, the quiet grief he tried to bury behind soft smiles and trembling hands. The way he lingered outside in the evenings, staring out at the tree line long after the sun had dipped beneath the horizon. He was still here — in body — but you could feel him slipping away, like water through your fingers.

The sixth morning, you found him on the porch before the sky had turned gray with dawn. His coat was drawn tight across his hunched shoulders, his hat low, the air around him heavy with the scent of dew and woodsmoke. He didn’t turn when you stepped out beside him.

“I have to go,” he said. Quiet. Like the trees were listening.

You didn’t answer at first. Just let the words sink in.

“I’ve thought on it,” he went on, his voice rougher than usual, laced with that familiar rasp. “Long and hard. And I don’t wanna leave. God knows I don’t. But I’ve got… responsibilities. Loose ends with the gang. Things I gotta try and make right.”

You folded your arms around yourself, the morning air biting through your thin sleeves. “Arthur, you’re dying.”

“I know.” He nodded, still not looking at you. “And that’s just it. I ain’t got much time left. But if I stay here… if I get you or Alex sick—if I bring the Pinkertons to your door—I won’t be able to live with myself. I’ve seen what they’re capable of. And I ain’t about to risk either of you for my own comfort.”

You felt the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, hot and unwelcome. You swallowed them down. “You promised you’d come back,” you said.

He turned then.

There was something shattering in his expression. Not just guilt — grief. The kind that lives deep in a man’s bones, where no apology can reach.

“I meant it,” he said. “And I’m here now, ain’t I? But I also promised to keep you safe. And I can’t do that if I’m dyin’ under your roof. Or if I lead them bastards here. They’re still after us. After Dutch. After me.”

You stepped forward, clutching his coat lapels in trembling fists. “So that’s it?” you whispered. “You’re leaving… again?”

“I wouldn’t if I had a choice.”

You looked up at him — at the man who had returned to you broken, thinner than he’d ever been, but still him. The man who had made your son smile. The man you still loved.

“I want more time,” you said, voice shaking. “I know that’s selfish. But I want another morning. Another day. I want him to remember you.”

Arthur cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away the tear that finally fell.

“I know, darlin’,” he murmured. “I want that too.”

That evening, the sky bled orange and violet across the ridgeline. A storm brewed on the far horizon, thunder rumbling low like the growl of some distant animal. You watched it come in from the porch, Arthur sitting beside you, legs stretched out, a blanket across his lap to keep off the creeping cold.

Alexander curled against his father’s side, giggling softly as Arthur lifted his toy horse in slow, deliberate swoops, making tired, wheezing horse noises.

You made supper — rabbit stew and cornbread, just the way he liked it — and Arthur ate what little he could, forcing it down between ragged breaths. He winced every so often, pressing a hand to his ribs, but he smiled when you offered him more tea, when you ran your fingers through his hair.

You tucked Alexander into bed together that night.

Arthur sat on the edge of the mattress, calloused hands brushing back your son’s hair, eyes shining in the candlelight. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead, lingering there a moment longer than needed.

“Be good for your ma, alright?” he whispered, voice thick.

Alexander didn’t understand. Not fully. But something in your silence must have spoken for you, because he clung to Arthur’s shirt for a long time before sleep finally took him.

Later, when the house had gone still and the rain tapped gently against the windows, you sat together in front of the dying fire, wrapped in silence and the weight of goodbye.

Arthur reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something small — a folded scrap of paper, worn at the edges. He handed it to you.

You opened it slowly.

A sketch. You recognized his hand immediately. Charcoal lines, soft and smudged: a small cabin under the trees. A porch. A swing. A family.

You. Him. Alexander.

A dream he’d never stopped carrying.

“I drew that in camp,” he said softly. “Kept it in my pocket. Every time things got bad, I’d pull it out. Remember what I was fightin’ for.”

You pressed the paper to your chest, eyes burning. “Why can’t it be real?”

He looked at you then — really looked. With everything in him.

“It is real,” he whispered. “Just… not forever. But I had it. I had you. I had my boy. Even if it was only for a few days… I’ll carry that with me. Always.”

You climbed into his lap then, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, careful not to press too hard against his ribs. He held you there, breathing you in like you were the last thing on earth that felt right.

And you stayed that way for a long time, wrapped in each other and the quiet hum of a life that could have been.

The goodbye didn’t come easy.

You’d both known it was coming, had been dancing around the edges of it since that morning on the porch. But the hours passed too quickly, slipping through your fingers like river water. No matter how tight you held on, you couldn’t stop the sun from rising again. Couldn’t stop Arthur from saddling his horse in the dark before dawn.

He moved slowly, not from hesitation but from the weight of his own bones. Each breath came labored now, his coughs quieter but deeper, rattling in his chest like something shaking loose. His skin had taken on a paler shade, lips thinner, the hollows under his eyes darker with exhaustion he could no longer outrun.

You stood on the porch barefoot, holding Alexander, wrapped in one of Arthur’s old flannel shirts — the one that still smelled like him, like leather and campfire smoke. The baby shifted against you, blinking sleepily, unaware of what was being taken from him.

Arthur stepped forward, reins in one hand, the other clenched at his side like it hurt to let go.

You didn’t speak at first. Couldn’t.

Instead, you stared at each other — memorizing. Burning every inch of him into your mind: the curve of his nose, the gray in his beard, the sadness behind those blue eyes. He was still the man you loved. Still the man who had held your hand during the hard nights, who had returned against all odds just to meet his son. But you could see the farewell in the way he stood, chest rising slow and uneven, lips pressed into a thin line to keep from trembling.

“I ain’t gonna make it back,” he said softly, breaking the silence.

You felt it then — your throat closing, your breath catching. “Don’t say that.”

Arthur’s jaw tensed. He looked away, toward the line of trees beyond the fence.

“If I could stay,” he said, quieter now, “you know I would. If I didn’t have this… thing rottin’ me from the inside out—if the Pinkertons weren’t huntin’ us—I’d be here. With you. With him.”

You stepped forward, voice cracking. “Then stay anyway. We’ll hide. We’ll disappear. I don’t care where we go. Just… don’t leave, Arthur.”

His breath hitched. You saw it in the way he blinked too fast, looked up at the sky like maybe it could give him strength. He reached out slowly, fingers brushing your cheek. His thumb caught a tear before it slipped down.

“I want that,” he said, his voice so low you barely heard it. “More than anything. But I can’t live with myself if I run and leave John behind. He’s got Abigail. Jack. They still got a chance. And Dutch… he’s lost. I can’t save him, but I can help the ones who still got hope.”

You shook your head, tears falling fast now, shoulders beginning to shake. “What about us? Don’t we get hope?”

He looked at you then, eyes glassy, rimmed red with unshed tears.“You and Alex… you gave me somethin’ to come back for. You gave me peace. For a little while, I felt like I had a home.”

Your knees buckled, and he caught you before you could fall, wrapping you into him.

You sobbed into his chest, clinging so tightly to his coat that your knuckles ached. The tears came in waves — all the fear, the sorrow, the heartbreak you’d buried these last days spilling out like floodwaters. He held you through it, his own shoulders trembling as he buried his face into your hair. You felt the warmth of a few tears against your scalp — hot, silent — and it shattered you all over again.

“I can’t do this alone,” you whispered.

“Yes, you can,” he said. “You already have. And you’ll do it again. For him.”

You looked down at Alexander — now awake, squirming in your arms, reaching toward Arthur with tiny hands.

Arthur reached out and took him, arms shaking but sure. The baby nestled into his chest immediately, resting his head right over Arthur’s heart like he knew exactly where he belonged.

“I’m sorry, little man,” Arthur choked out, holding his son tight. “I’m so damn sorry I couldn’t be more for you.”

Alexander whimpered softly, then began to cry, sensing the shift, the pull of something coming undone. Arthur blinked rapidly, brushing his nose against his boy’s soft hair, cradling him like porcelain.

It took everything you had to take Alexander back, the child clawing at Arthur’s shirt, not understanding why he was being pulled away. He reached for him again and again, and Arthur turned his face away, biting his lip to keep from sobbing.

You stepped forward, once more, and cupped his face.

“If you survive this,” you whispered, “come home to me.”

He nodded. “If I can… I will.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” he said, lips brushing your forehead. You nodded through your tears, though your heart screamed otherwise.

Then he pulled you in, one last time, and kissed you like he’d never kissed you before — full of everything he hadn’t said, everything he couldn’t. It was desperate and slow and full of pain, the kind of kiss you never forget. One you feel for the rest of your life.

When he pulled away, he left part of himself with you.

Arthur mounted his horse slowly, glancing back once, twice.

And then he rode off into the trees, the early morning mist swallowing him whole.

And you stood there in the doorway, clutching your crying child to your chest, the last of your heart galloping into the forest.

Time passed in quiet, uneven measures.

Morning became your anchor. The rhythm of the stove crackling to life, of Alexander’s little footsteps echoing through the cabin like music. You marked the days by his growth. The first time he said dog, then cat, then horse. The first day he ran off at full speed down the beaten path-hair blowing through his curls, you in a frenzy to catch the wild boy. Each moment carved into your memory like tally marks on the wall. But Arthur didn’t return.

Every sunrise without the sound of hooves on the path chipped away at your hope, just a little more. You tried to tell yourself he was still out there. Still breathing. Still fighting. That he had kept his promise, and one day you’d see his shadow cast long across the porch again.

But deep down — in the aching, wordless place inside your chest — you knew.

He was gone.

You mourned him slowly, the way women do when they have no grave to stand over. No final words. No body to bury. Just an old flannel shirt hanging on the back of a chair, worn edges and all. Just a drawing of a cabin and a dream tucked safely in your nightstand drawer. Just the echo of his voice in the way your son laughed.

And even still… you waited.

Autumn came gently.

The trees flamed in shades of gold and rust, their leaves spiraling down from the canopy like bits of sun. You harvested what you could from the small garden out back, chopped firewood until your hands blistered, and kept the cabin warm with extra quilts as the days grew shorter.

Alexander was a well over a year old now — wide-eyed and wild-haired, with Arthur’s smile stamped plainly across his little face, proud as can be. He liked to toddle over to the fence line and stare out into the woods, as if he was waiting for something.

Like he remembered.

Like he knew.

It was late afternoon when it happened. The sky was pale and streaked with thinning clouds, the scent of damp earth and dying leaves thick in the air.

You were outside, hanging a blanket on the line, Alexander crawling at your feet. The wind stirred just enough to carry the soft crunch of hooves from down the path.

Your head snapped up.

Your breath caught in your chest.

There — beyond the trees — a figure on horseback. Alone. Moving slow, as if weary from long travel.

You stood still, squinting, heart hammering in your ribs. You knew Arthur’s gait on a horse. The curve of his shoulders. The way he leaned forward like he was always chasing something.

This man… wasn’t him.

He rode different. Straighter. Leaner. And as he got closer, you saw a wide-brimmed hat and the worn duster of a younger man. His horse was familiar, though — dark, with a white blaze down the nose.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

John.

He stopped a few feet from the porch, tipping his hat, his face somber beneath the shadow of the brim.

“Miss,” he said, voice low and gravelly.

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t.

He dismounted slowly, walking forward with that signature limp, eyes flicking to Alexander — who had gone still in the grass, staring up at the stranger like he understood too much for his age.

“Thought I’d check in,” John said quietly. “Been a long time.”

You swallowed. “You came alone.”

He nodded. “Ain’t nobody left to come with.

The world went quiet. The wind shifted. Your throat tightened. You looked at him, there was something heavy in his gaze. Something final.

And you knew.

He didn’t have to say it. He didn’t want to say it. But you saw the truth in the sorrow that pooled in his eyes.

Arthur was gone.

You don’t remember falling, but you must have, because your knees hit the earth and the cold bled up through your skin like water through cloth. You doubled forward, hands gripping your skirt, trying to pull breath into lungs that didn’t want to work.

John dropped beside you, catching your arm with rough fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice cracking in a way you hadn’t expected.

You shook your head, tears spilling freely now. You didn’t care. You couldn’t. The pain came in waves — thick and violent, laced with every night you’d spent staring out the window, hoping to see him coming back to you.

“He—he said he’d come home,” you managed to whisper, choking on the words. “He promised.”

John’s jaw tightened. “He wanted to. He fought for that. ‘Til the end.”

You turned your face into your hands, trying to muffle the sob that tore free from your chest.

John sat with you. He didn’t try to tell you it would be alright. He didn’t offer hollow comforts. He just sat there, his hand on your shoulder, the only witness to the breaking of a heart that had been holding out far too long.

Alexander wobbled forward, confused by your crying, small hands reaching for you. You pulled him into your lap and buried your face in his curls, breathing him in.

“He looks like him,” John said after a moment. “Spittin’ image.”

You nodded against your son’s soft hair. “He deserved to meet him like this. Healthy. Whole.” You managed. 

“I think he was,” John murmured. “For a while. With you. You gave him peace… more than most of us ever got.”

You sat there until the sun slipped lower, until the light turned gold behind the trees and the wind grew colder.

John stayed beside you.

And though it wasn’t the man you’d prayed to see again… he brought the weight of Arthur’s love in his silence. A shared grief that lived between them, now passed on to you. A reminder that Arthur Morgan had lived. And that he had come back — even if it was only once.

John stood there for a long moment, glancing between you and the boy cradled against your chest. His face was solemn, weathered from too much death, too much running, too many goodbyes. Then, slowly, he turned his attention to the small child. Alexander looked up from your arms, curious but cautious. He was too young to know the full meaning of grief, but he felt the tension, the silence, the way your body trembled when you held him.

John crouched low in the grass in front of him. “Hey, little man,” he said gently, voice cracking just slightly. “You don’t know me, but… I’m your uncle John. I used to ride with your pa. We were family, him and me.”

He reached into his satchel and pulled something out — something you hadn’t expected, something you weren’t prepared to see.

Arthur’s hat.

Worn, dusty, wide-brimmed and familiar. The sight of it knocked the air out of your lungs. You bit down on a sob, knuckles white where you clutched the hem of Alexander’s shirt.

John held it out and gently placed it over the boy’s head. It was far too big — it fell over his eyes and nearly swallowed his whole head — but Alexander laughed, a pure little sound, and tugged at the brim with both hands.

John smiled, though there was something deeply mournful behind his eyes. “That was your pa’s,” he said. “He wore it every damn day. Through rain, snow, blood, and fire. Reckon it’s yours now. You keep it safe, alright?”

Alexander blinked up at him, then babbled something unintelligible — some mix of sound and joy — and carefully walked toward John with his arms open.

You covered your mouth with your hand and turned away, the grief swelling in your chest like a storm surge. It hurt — God, it hurt — to see something of Arthur in your son that wasn’t just a smile or a freckle. It was a piece of him, worn and passed on, a legacy held in cotton and sweat and old leather.

You didn’t realize you were crying again until the taste of salt hit your lips.

Eventually, you stood.

“Come inside,” you said, your voice hoarse from tears. “Please.”

John nodded and helped you gather Alexander. The hat stayed perched clumsily on the boy’s head as the three of you stepped into the warm cabin, where the hearth still glowed from the morning’s fire.

You sat down in the chair by the fire, holding Alexander against your chest. He was growing heavy now, his head drooping against your shoulder as sleep pulled at him.

John stood for a moment, glancing around the cabin. His gaze lingered on the little details: the hand-carved crib, the boots tucked by the door, the rifle resting above the mantle. Then, with careful hands, he pulled something from his satchel and stepped forward.

“I brought you this,” he said. “It’s his. Was his. He always kept it close.”

He handed you Arthur’s journal.

The leather was worn smooth from years of travel. You recognized it — you’d seen him scribble in it late at night, hunched over by firelight, mumbling half-formed thoughts and drawing pictures of birds and bison and flowers and distant mountains. The very last thing he ever owned that was truly his.

Your hands trembled as you took it.

John cleared his throat. “Last few pages… they were about you. And the kid. Didn’t mean to look but…”

You opened it slowly, carefully, afraid the moment might shatter if you breathed too loud.

There — in Arthur’s unmistakable, scratchy handwriting — were the final entries.

You traced his words with your fingers.

“I saw her again today. She had the boy in her arms, sittin’ under a tree. Looked like sunlight caught in her hair. Never seen anything so beautiful. I wanted to run to her, but I knew I shouldn’t… not right away. I’m sick. Didn’t want to bring danger to their door. But I needed to see ‘em. Needed to know they were alright.

Alexander’s got my eyes and he smiles like me — poor kid. He’s got a wild spirit. I can tell, even now. He’ll be strong. I hope he remembers me kindly, even if I ain’t there to teach him right from wrong.”

The tears came harder now, falling in thick, silent rivers. You turned the page and found the last entry.

“I ain’t got much time. Breathin’s hard. Nights are worse. But I’m glad I came back home. Glad I saw her. If there’s any justice in this world, maybe she’ll find peace. Maybe she’ll tell the boy about me — maybe not who I was, but who I tried to be in the end. It’s all I want.”

“I love her. More than I ever said. I hope she loved me too.”

That broke you.

You doubled forward, journal pressed against your chest like you could absorb the words, like they could bring him back if you held them tightly enough.

John stood quietly, letting you fall apart. When you looked up, his eyes were wet too — not sobbing, but heavy. Heavy with shared loss.

“He was a good man,” you whispered. “Flawed, stubborn… but good.”

John nodded. “The best of us, in the end.”

Eventually, the sun began to dip behind the hills, painting the walls of the cabin in gold.

John walked toward the door, pausing with his hand on the frame.

“I’ll check in from time to time,” he said. “Make sure you’re both alright. Arthur… he asked me to. Said if he didn’t make it, I was to look after you. Best I can.”

You nodded slowly, your voice caught in your throat.

“Thank you, John.”

He hesitated a moment longer, then tipped his hat and stepped outside, the door closing quietly behind him.

You stood in the middle of the room, Alexander asleep on your shoulder, Arthur’s journal pressed to your heart, the fire crackling low beside you.

The cabin was warm. Safe. But it felt emptier now than it ever had before.

You walked to the window and watched as John mounted his horse and disappeared down the path, swallowed up by the trees and the growing dusk.

And then, you were alone again.

You stared at the empty chair across from you. The one where Arthur had sat just months ago, brushing his fingers through your hair, telling you he’d do better. That he’d try.

You pressed your lips to Alexander’s head and whispered, “He did, baby. He really did.”

And though your heart was broken — shattered in places you didn’t know existed — you knew you would carry him. In memory. In love. In your son’s every breath.

It was late spring when you finally made the journey. The snow had melted from the hills, leaving behind rolling green meadows speckled with wildflowers and the early buzz of bees. The sun hung warm and low in the sky, stretching gold across the horizon as you followed the narrow trail winding through the trees, your son nestled on your hip.

Alexander had grown since John’s visit. His legs were longer, his eyes sharper, his laughter louder. Every day he looked more like Arthur. Every crooked smile, every tilt of his head, every stubborn little stomp of his feet when he didn’t get his way — it was all him.

You couldn’t stop seeing him in the boy. And it hurt.

You reached the ridge by mid-afternoon. The trail had thinned out, roots knotted beneath your boots and ferns brushing your skirt. You remembered the spot — John had marked it on a crumpled piece of paper, his handwriting rough and direct: Look for the overlook above the valley. Near the old pine, the one with the lightning scar.

You saw it before you even stepped clear of the trees.

The grave.

Modest. Quiet. Just as he would’ve wanted.

There was a cross, its planks hand-written and uneven, but with his name etched into it clear and clean: Arthur Morgan.

You stood still for a long while, heart hammering as though he might rise up from beneath the earth just to greet you.

But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

You let out a shaking breath and stepped forward, the weight of your son grounding you.

Alexander, curious, reached toward the cross. His fingers brushed the top of it gently, almost reverently, as if some part of him knew.

“This is your pa’,” you whispered to him. “He was a good man. The best man I ever knew.”

The wind stirred through the trees above, soft and steady. You lowered yourself to the ground, settling on your knees beside the grave, and let Alexander sit in your lap. He leaned his head against your chest, blinking slowly, the brim of his too-big hat — Arthur’s hat — dipping low over his brow.

You reached out and touched the stones that sat underneath the cross.

“I miss you,” you said softly, throat closing around the words. “Every single day.”

Your eyes stung, but you kept going.

“You should see him, Arthur. Our son. He’s smart. Brave. A little reckless, like you. He makes me laugh. Drives me crazy sometimes, too. But he’s… he’s everything.”

You drew in a trembling breath.

“He has your eyes. Your smile. Your soul. I see you in him more and more with each passing day. And God, Arthur… it hurts. It hurts so bad not having you here. I wanted you to be part of this. To see him grow up. To hold him, to teach him how to ride and track and… just be his father.”

The words cracked in your throat.

You reached into your satchel and pulled out a bundle of wildflowers — lupine and yarrow and tiny white daisies Alexander had helped you pick along the trail. With gentle fingers, you laid them on the grave, brushing away a few stray leaves that had gathered near the stones.

“I still love you,” you whispered. “I never stopped. Even when I told myself I should let go. Even when I knew you weren’t coming back… I still held on to you.”

You closed your eyes, letting the breeze move through your hair.

“I hope you found peace. I hope wherever you are, you're free of pain. I hope you know how hard you tried… and that you didn’t fail. Not with me. Not with Alexander. You gave us something worth carrying. And I’m thankful for the time we had, even if it wasn’t enough.”

Alexander stirred, glancing up at you, then at the stones. He pressed his tiny hand against them, and you couldn’t help but sob softly at the gesture.

“I love you,” you whispered again, your voice barely audible now. “Always.”

You stayed a while longer, sitting in the soft grass beneath the trees. The sun slipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the earth. Birds sang somewhere in the distance. And for a fleeting moment, you imagined he was there — just over your shoulder, watching the two of you with that quiet half-smile he wore when he thought no one was looking.

Eventually, you stood.

You adjusted Alexander in your arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and gave the grave one last glance.

One last goodbye.

And then you turned away and walked back toward the trail, your son holding tight to your shirt, the brim of Arthur’s hat bobbing slightly as you disappeared into the golden light of late spring.

Arthur Morgan was gone. But what he left behind — the love, the strength, the memory — lived on.

In you. In Alexander. In every step you took forward.

And the wind carried your final words back to the ridge:

"You’ll always be with us. No matter how far."