#but back when it first came out i was obsessed

[gf2bellamy]

okay bc tell me why i’m also in that hotch obsession phase.. if u don’t mind writing recs for him — hear me out: both lawyer!reader and his’ stubborn asses having an argument and you start setting up to sleep in the guest room or on the couch and hotch is just like what are u doing??

stubborn — aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: lawyer!reader , argument, reader is mad at hotch , a/n: hii !! i havent written for hotch in ages sooo forgive me if this isn't good

“Okay, I’m done talking about this.” You stood abruptly from the kitchen table, both hands raised in surrender—not the calm kind. The kind that came after a long, thankless day and a disappointment too many.

Aaron stayed seated for a second, then pushed back his chair and followed you out of the kitchen. But you didn’t look back as you walked away, your socked feet padding softly against the hardwood.

"No," he said, following you into the hallway. "We need to talk about this."

“Aaron, I get it,” you snapped, not looking back. “You’re too busy to come.” You didn’t sound like you “got it” at all.

This was supposed to be something—a major trial, and you’d asked, just once, if he could be there. You’d seen him hesitate earlier, mumbling about the BAU’s schedule and not being sure it would work out.

Between your clients snapping at you, case files mysteriously vanishing from your desk, and the scalding coffee that had spilled down your blouse in the courthouse lobby, you were at your limit. And Hotch’s hesitation—his quiet, infuriating "I’m not sure if it’ll work with work"—had been the tipping point.

“I’ll try to make it,” he offered quietly behind you. His hand settled on your shoulder.

You didn’t even hesitate. Your shoulder shifted just enough to let his hand fall away as you walked into the bathroom. The overhead light flicked on. You avoided looking at him directly, reaching up instead to remove the clips from your hair with trembling fingers.

Click. One pin. Click. Another. Each clink against the porcelain sink echoed louder than it should have.

When your eyes finally found his in the mirror, your voice was soft—but the chill in it was unmistakable.

“Don’t worry about it, Aaron. I'll manage just fine on my own.”

Behind you, Hotch watched you in the mirror. His jaw was tight, his dark eyes searching yours. But you didn’t turn around.

The way you said his name made his expression flicker. He knew what it meant. Knew that when you repeated it like that, when your tone went flat and cool, forgiveness wasn’t on the table. Not yet.

His hand, still hovering where you’d shaken him off, finally dropped to his side.

You took your time unraveling the mess of your hair, fingers dragging through the strands with deliberate slowness. ( Something he usually did for you. )

The bathroom light buzzed softly, filling the silence. In the doorway, Aaron lingered. You could see him in the mirror—arms crossed, brows slightly drawn, trying to find the right words. But you didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m going to take a shower now,” you said, calm but cold—your tone clear enough that it wasn’t just about hygiene. It was a dismissal.

He hesitated for a beat, as if trying to decide whether to push further or retreat. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.

You shut the door with a soft click and leaned back against it, releasing a slow breath. The weight of your own frustration settled on your chest. You knew you were being petty. You could admit that much to yourself.

Aaron had come to every single one of your trials—without fail. Sat in the back row, out of the way, sometimes still in his dress shirt and tie from work. He always gave you that same look when it was over: proud, warm, a touch of awe in his eyes. And then the hug—God, the way his arms wrapped around you afterward made the chaos of the courtroom melt away.

This was the first time he couldn’t make it. And, of course, it had to be this trial—your biggest one yet. Maybe it wasn’t fair, but the thought of looking up and not seeing him there, not catching that faint smile of his across the room, hurt. A lot.

The shower helped a little. The hot water washed away the day’s tension, but not the sting under your skin.

When you stepped out and reached for your clothes, you realized with a sigh that the only things left in the bathroom were your favorite black shorts… and Aaron’s shirt, slung over the towel rack.

The one he’d worn last weekend, the one that still carried the faintest trace of his cologne.

You hesitated, jaw tightening. Then, with a frustrated sigh, you yanked it over your head.

You hated that it made you feel better.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, the apartment was quiet. The lights were off in most of the rooms, bathed instead in the faint moonlight filtering through the windows.

You paused near the kitchen.

Even in the dim light, you could see the dishes had been washed and the counters wiped clean. The plate of food you hadn’t finished—because you were too upset to eat—was neatly packed away in the fridge. Aaron had done it, without saying a word. You felt a small pang of guilt tug at your chest.

But then your mind circled back to the trial. To that awful, hollow feeling of imagining the courtroom without him in it.

Just like that, the guilt was overtaken by that sharp ache again. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t want to hear reasonable explanations or I’ll try my best or you know how the job is.

So, you did the one thing your stubborn, exhausted mind told you to do.

You walked into the bedroom, still wearing his shirt, where Aaron sat on the edge of the bed, a file open in his hands. He looked up the second you entered. His eyes flicked over you—shirt, damp hair, tired expression—and then back to your arms, where you were gathering a spare pillow and blanket.

He set the file aside instantly.

“What are you doing?” he asked, brows drawing together as he stood slowly.

“Getting ready for bed,” you mumbled without meeting his eyes, fussing with the blanket as you tucked it under your arm and turned away.

You didn’t have to say anything else. You didn’t need to. He followed you out into the hallway.

“You’re sleeping on the couch?” he asked, voice low but tinged with concern.

“Yes.”

You dropped the pillow onto the couch, smoothing the blanket over the cushions with more force than necessary. Your back was turned to him.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said gently from behind you, stepping closer until he was just a few feet away.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you lowered yourself onto the couch, still avoiding his eyes, your fingers tugging absently at the edge of the blanket.

“I’m going to try and make it,” he said. “I only brought it up because I didn’t want to promise something and let you down. But sweetheart… I swear I’ll try.”

The sound of him crouching in front of you made you finally glance up. He was kneeling now, trying to meet your gaze, his voice laced with sincerity. You pouted just slightly—more from emotional exhaustion than actual defiance—and he took that as permission to rest his hands gently on your knees.

“I don’t want you sleeping out here,” he murmured, thumbs beginning to draw slow circles over the fabric of your shorts.

You didn’t say anything at first. 

“I just like having you there in court,” you mumbled eventually, voice barely above a whisper. You were looking at his hands, not his eyes, but the words were honest.

His expression softened instantly. The crease between his brows eased, his shoulders dropping just slightly.

"I like being there too," he admitted, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. His thumb resumed its gentle circles on your knee. "And I know this is a big trial for you."

A involuntary shiver ran through you at the reminder, your fingers tightening slightly in the fabric of your shorts.

"I was reading about it and-"

"You read about it?" The words tumbled out before you could stop them, your eyes widening slightly in surprise.

That tiny flicker of eye contact made his smile grow. 

“What do you think I was doing in the bedroom just now?” he asked, tilting his head. There was a trace of smugness in his tone.

"Oh." The single syllable escaped in a breathy exhale as you felt some of the weight lift from your chest. Without realizing it, your shoulders relaxed slightly, the rigid line of your spine softening. His hands felt warmer now where they rested against your skin, the earlier anger ebbing away.

“But like I said,” Aaron murmured, continuing those slow, soothing circles against your knees. The muscles in his legs protested from crouching so long, but he gave no indication of discomfort beyond the faint tightening of his jaw. “I will try to make it.”

You shifted slightly at his words, your pout threatening to return—but before it could fully form, he gently pressed a finger to your bottom lip.

“Hey,” he said softly, eyes intent on yours. “I know you’re going to do amazing. Just like you always do.”

His hand moved tenderly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. You leaned into the touch almost instinctively, your cheek resting in his warm, calloused palm. Your eyes fluttered shut at the familiar comfort of it, at how easily he could melt you without even trying.

Taking your silence as a cue, he leaned in just a little and whispered, “Please come to bed.”

You didn’t answer right away. The emotional fog hadn’t entirely lifted, but it had lightened. You exhaled, a soft, resigned sigh escaping your lips.

“Fine.” You grumbled, but there was no bite left in your voice.

Aaron smiled—just a small one—and let out a breath of relief, standing up slowly and offering you his hand. You took it, and in one gentle pull, he brought you to your feet and into his arms.

The relief was immediate - both in the way his shoulders relaxed and the quiet exhale he released as he finally straightened his protesting legs. Your hands fisted in the back of his shirt instinctively.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he murmured into your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

"You should be," you muttered into the soft cotton of his shirt, your words muffled but your meaning clear. The vibration of his quiet laughter rumbled through his chest, and you felt the curve of his smile against your hair.

"You're stubborn, you know that?" His lips brushed your crown once more before he reluctantly loosened his hold, fingers sliding down to intertwine with yours as he guided you toward the bedroom, taking your blanket and pillow with him.

You offered a half-hearted shrug but let him lead, your resistance fading with each step. The moment your legs brushed against the mattress, he drew you back into him, your body molding perfectly against his as if you were made to fit there.

"And you also can't hold grudges," he teased, his fingers idly tracing the seam of his shirt where it stretched across your shoulder.

"Hey!" You lifted your head sharply, only to have it gently pressed back into place by his hand. "That wasn't intentional - it was the only thing in the bathroom," you protested, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way you instinctively nuzzled closer.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," he hummed, the words laced with amused disbelief as his palm smoothed down your back in slow, comforting circles.

The sheets rustled as he shifted, one hand sliding beneath the hem of the shirt—his shirt—to press against the small of your back.

"You’re still mad," he observed, though his voice held amusement.

"Mm. Maybe." You curled closer, your lips grazing his collarbone.

A pause.

"You know," he murmured, his voice a low rumble you felt more than heard, "I was thinking of sitting in the front row this time." His thumb brushed a particularly sensitive spot between your shoulder blades, drawing an involuntary shiver. "That way you can't miss me when you're tearing the prosecution's case apart."

You tilted your head just enough to peer up at him through your lashes. "Front row? You never sit in the front row."

The corners of his eyes crinkled as his hand came up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "For this case? I'd sit on the witness stand if it meant seeing that fire in your eyes when you cross-examine."

[dragonsondragons]

Self Care - Jack Abbot x Resident!Reader

Summary: Jack’s new girlfriend takes self care really seriously given the line of work they’re in. He starts to observe these habits and some of them rub off on him.

Tags: Super fluffy, no use of y/n, implied age gap, suggested sexual activity, no real smut just Jack feeling you up a little, beekeeper!Jack

Author’s Note: Why am I obsessed with beekeeper!jack. There may be more where this came from because I had so much fun with this one– perhaps Jack and reader gardening (wink wink) while in their garden? Leads to sweet and slow stoned sex? Let me know what you think or if you have any requests! I’m always looking for more ideas. 

You do your little stretching routine after you wake up and you ask him if he wants to join you. He gives it a try, reluctantly at first. Then he starts to realize how good it makes him feel and does it with you every time. 

“What's this pep in your step you got going on here, brother?” Robby notices one day at hand-off. “Something to do with your favorite resident? Or should I say…new lady friend,” he does a little jazz hands.

“I regret ever telling you about us,” Jack rolls his eyes at lady friend. “But yeah, actually. She’s got me stretching when we wake up,” he explains.

“Ah. She’s got you whipped is what you mean.”

Jack chuckles under his breath. “Fuck off, stretching is good for you. And being whipped isn’t so bad either.” ____

You have a little garden that you tend to in the morning as the sun’s still rising right when you get off shift. It's cathartic, to take care of something that can't puke or bleed on you. Can’t punch you in the face. 

Both you and Jack had worked last night and it was a tough one. One of those nights where it felt like you lost more than you saved. You asked Jack to come back to your place after the shift ended, just wanting to be near him after your hell of a day. 

It was still early in your relationship, you had only spent the night at Jack’s place. This was his first time coming to stay at yours. 

You could tell he was so exhausted that you offered to drive home and he eventually accepted. He sat in the passenger seat of his Tacoma with his eyes closed as you drove, envisioning a shower, you looking soft in a ratty old t-shirt, and eating take out on the couch before going to sleep.

Instead, after you made two mugs of tea and set one before him on the coffee table, you headed to the backyard, slipping through the sliding glass door with a quiet “be right back, have to take care of some stuff real quick.”

After you’re gone more than 10 minutes and he almost dozed off twice, he started to wonder what this stuff was. He peeks out the glass door, seeing you knelt down at the edge of a garden bed peeling weeds out of the ground around your plants. The garden hose was on, filling up a big watering can to your left.

He comes to stand next to your kneeling form, placing a tender hand on the crown of your head and lightly running his fingers through your hair. “What are you doing, baby?”

“Checking on the plants. It helps me clear my mind from the day.” You smile softly up at him, see his free hand rub at his weary eyes. “Why don’t you go hop in the shower, I’ll be right in," you promise. He nods, turns to head back inside. 

He couldn’t believe you wanted to be pulling weeds and lugging watering cans after a shift. But when you trailed in a few minutes later, joining him under the spray of the water, he could see the way your shoulders were looser. You were more peaceful, at ease. It made him feel more calm too, just knowing you felt a little bit better. 

He started lugging bags of soil for you the following mornings. Dug up trenches to lay a new irrigation system for the crops. This time of spring brought so many birds tweeting around in the morning air, the perfect sound track to your calming moments together in the garden.

It was a peaceful endeavor, one Jack never thought he would find himself doing but turns out he absolutely loves it. After you tell him about the benefits of pollinators he really wants to start keeping bees (Jack Abbot is beekeeping age). He does all this research about it to make sure he doesn’t fuck with the bees, wants to do it right. Gets the whole mesh suit which you can't stop laughing at the first time he puts it on. Names his hive Beetopia. He's serious about these bees and you find it so endearing. You love that he's meshing into your life like this, making his own niche in something you both do together.

Sometimes when there isn’t much to be done he’ll make breakfast while you tend to the garden. He will always try to utilize the fruits and vegetables you grow as well as his self-harvested honey whenever he can. You eat it out on the patio, admiring the work the two of you have done. Your own little paradise. ____

Out of all the self care tactics that you have brought into his life, the bubble bath is definitely one of his sleeper favorites. His house had a huge bathtub in it that he never once used. One of the first times you stayed over, you went to use the bathroom before going to bed. His eyes were already closed when he heard you squeal in the en suite attached to his room. 

“How did you not tell me about this!” you yelled out to him. 

“What, the bathroom?” he responded half asleep and confused. You came back into the room and jumped into the bed next to him, resting your chin on his chest. He peeked his eyes open as he rubbed up and down your back.

“No! That massive tub, genius!” He was surprised. Hadn’t thought once about that thing since he moved in. 

“You like it?”

“I don't like it, Jack. I love it. Baths are so soothing and rejuvenating. I always feel like a newborn baby when I get out of the bath. And I don't have a tub at my place.”

“You’re welcome to use it anytime you want, honey.” He shifted you to your side, cuddling into you and kissing your cheek. 

“You’re too good to me. And as a reward I’m making you get in there with me.” he lets out a breath of a laugh as he drifts off to sleep with you in his arms. ___

You both had the next day off, for once. So there was no time like the present to christen Jack’s bathtub. He was nervous about getting in, not being able to wear his prosthetic to keep him stable, but you got in first and held onto him tight as he stepped over the edge and eased himself down into the water. You settled in front of him, letting out a breath as you melted back into him. 

You thought you liked baths already, but this was pure bliss. His strong body against you, your breaths synching up. He washed your hair and you washed his. The warm water soothed his achy back and the overcompensating muscles in his leg. 

Safe to say, baths become a regular occurrence for you two.

You get him a matching fluffy robe with a hood because one time he said he was jealous of how cozy you looked in yours after a bath. Once, Shen stopped by to drop off the butterfly portable ultrasound that he had borrowed and Jack answered the door in said robe. 

Jack had his stoic work face on, the grumpiness only enhanced by the fact that Shen’s visit was interrupting his time with you.

“Ha, you look like a Sith, Abbot,” Shen teased him, butterfly in one hand and a half drank Dunkin’ in the other. “Robe’d up and about to cut my hand off.” He took a loud sip of his coffee as Jack just glared at him. 

“Get out of here before I actually consider it.” He tugged the Butterfly from Shen’s grasp, about to slam the door in his face. 

“Oh c'mon Jack, that’s not very nice.” You ran up to the door and opened it further to reveal yourself. 

“Sorry John, he didn’t mean that.” 

“Yeah right.” He takes in your appearance beside Jack, wearing the same exact fuzzy robe. “Like the matchy matchy, very cute you two.” Shen pulls out his phone and snaps a picture before either of you could even process it. “That’s totally going in the group chat, dude,” he laughed. 

“Not making a good case for yourself here,” Jack muttered. Shen couldnt stop laughing, and at that you moved your hand off the door jamb and let Jack slam it shut. 

He turned to you then and let out a little chuckle at the whole ordeal. “He’s a piece of work.”

“Thought he was your favorite resident?”

“No, you're my favorite resident.” ___

Besides stretching to start the day on a good note, taking soothing baths, and tending to your garden you also do yoga sometimes to turn your mind off and tune into your body after a hectic shift. He’s still reluctant to try that one, and likes to give you your space to do the things you enjoy on your own sometimes. So he doesn't join you for that, but he loves watching you as you get ready to head to the studio. 

You always wear these skin tight, colorful matching workout sets that drive him crazy. He doesn’t mean to keep you from getting to class, but sometimes he just can’t help the temptation.

“Baby,” he draws it out in a long groan. He crossed the room to you, grabbing your hips and ghosting his hands up and down, reverently. You were trying to gather your keys and yoga mat to head out the door. “You’re killing me here with the powder blue.” The leggings hugged your ass just right. God, he was about to start drooling.

You try to squirm out of his hold to put your shoes on, but he won't budge. “Get a good look, Jack, because I gotta go. Gonna be late if I don't leave right now.” 

“Oh no, you're gonna be late already? Maybe you should just stay here with me,” he pouts suggestively. 

“Already paid for the class. Actually you did, your card’s on the account.” With your resident salary, Jack liked to treat you to things like a membership to a fancy yoga studio with free green smoothies. He loved ‘providing’ for you, even though you both knew you could be just fine by yourself. 

“Even better. I don't care about losing 30 bucks right now. Because you look way too sexy in those leggings to leave me here all alone.” He pecks your lips, then down your neck, sucking the spot where he knows will draw out a moan from you. You grasp your hand into his hair, getting lost in his efforts to entice you. 

“Let me peel these off of you,” he begs, running his fingers under the waistband of the leggings. His hands travel lower, kneading at your ass and pulling you tighter against him. “Just let me worship your beautiful body, sweetheart.”

How could you say no to that? Maybe you would miss your class, but this was a form of self care as good as any.

[kingkaisen]

— 彡 OBSESSION — TEN FORBIDDEN DESIRES EVENT

ROCKSTAR! EREN YEAGER stared into his propped-up phone camera from where he sat at his kitchen table, his emerald eyes scanning through the uncountable amount of comments rolling into his Instagram livestream.

Most of them were quite repetitive, just different variations of: ‘Eren, come to Brazil!’, ‘I love you so much!’ or ‘Next tour is when?’

He absentmindedly tugged on the strings of his black hoodie.

“My favorite color?” Eren read one of the comments aloud. “Red.”

“Can you say happy birthday to Emily?” He read. “Happy birthday Emily. Have a great one.”

The bored man continued on and on, answering questions and occasionally promoting his new rock album, which was why his managers forced him to livestream in the first place.

He, however, didn’t give a damn about promotions. Not when you happened to be on the other side of the house, watching your favorite comfort show in his bedroom.

He wanted to be with you — you, you, you. Not sitting in his kitchen, trying to boost his sales to an audience who, for the most part, cared more about his face and body rather than the chords he strung on his electric guitar.

A familiar username caught Eren’s eye. In an instant, it vanished as a wave of fresh comments rolled in, but he reached for his phone and scrolled up until his eyes landed on Connie’s username.

conmanspringer: booooo where’s your girl? we don’t wanna see you booooo

“Damn it, Connie, I could kick your ass. Please go lay down in traffic.” Eren grinned playfully at his phone. “Does anyone know how to make Connie vanish?”

Truth be told, he was happy someone asked about you no matter the reason. In fact, it sparked a new hot topic for his viewers, who all left comments asking about your whereabouts.

“She’s upstairs. She’s watching the new season of that Netflix show . . . damn, what’s it called?” Eren thought about it for a second, but when you were telling him about the show several weeks ago, well, you were coming out of the bathroom after a hot shower, and he was a little distracted.

He'd never forgive himself for forgetting the name of the show you were watching. Why would he? He was supposed to know everything about you, and he truly did, everything from your grandmother's middle name to which shoe you preferred to put on first. Some details you shared with him, but most of what he knew about you, his sweet lover, came from months of thorough "research," as he'd call it. So how . . . just how . . . could he let himself forget the show you were watching?

conmanspringer: me personally? i would’ve remembered the show if she told me

“Go to hell, Connie. She’s mine,” Eren snapped. He grabbed his phone, taking it — and, thus, his viewers — with him as he made his way to the bedroom.

Eren opened the door, his tone softening as he addressed you. “Baby? Wanna say hi to everyone?”

Oh, his fans would certainly run to social media to talk about the way Eren’s eyes were glossed over with pure love as he looked at you; the way his lips were slightly upturned from merely being in your presence.

“Sure,” you said, grabbing the remote and pausing your show.

Eren approached the side of the bed. He placed his hand on your back, indicating for you to scoot away from the headboard, and when you did, he positioned himself behind you, in between the headboard and your back. With you now lying against his chest and right in between his legs, he gave you his phone.

“Hi everyone,” you waved.

The comments were a mixture of compliments and questions from Eren’s fans, but his friends as well.

arminarlert: You look beautiful today :)

“Thank you, Armin,” you said with a grin.

Eren didn’t know if his best friend was up to something, or if he was simply being nice. Eren rubbed his hand along your thigh, grateful that his camera could only capture you and him from the chest up. That realization? Well, he was going to take advantage of it.

If you accidentally flipped the camera around, you both would have been screwed. But as he read the complimentary comments flooding in over your appearance, he couldn’t help himself, as if he was a man possessed by his raging feelings rather than logic.

conmanspringer: if you and eren don’t work out, im richer and taller than him btw

jeankirsteinmusic: Connie’s a liar, but funnily enough I actually AM taller haha

Eren moved his hand down your shorts. He pushed the soft fabric of your panties to the side. He couldn’t express his true anger. Not while he was on camera. All he could do was remind himself that you belonged to him.

Eren’s fingers found your clit. He toyed with it, all the while repeating in his head: “She’s mine. She belongs to me. This body belongs to me.”

You started to squirm. Eren was quick to move one of his legs on top of yours, holding you still.

“You’re all mine,” he thought. “All fucking mine.”

“Guys, um, I-I think I’m gonna end this live for Eren,” you stammered out, fighting to hold back a moan.

“Don’t you dare,” Eren said darkly. “Hasn’t been long enough, and everyone wanted to see you, baby.”

He swirled his finger around your clit. His dick was starting to harden. Pressing his lips against your ear, he whispered low enough for only you to hear, “I’m gonna have to eat you out later.”

The phone was starting to tremble in your grasp. You were close. He could feel your body tense up, and he quickened the pace in which he rubbed your clit.

The majority of the comments wanted to know just what Eren had whispered. At least, that was what you gathered from Eren’s little responses as he proceeded to engage with his audience as if you weren’t on the brink of an orgasm.

A comment from a fan caught Eren’s attention:

I want Eren’s girlfriend so fucking bad

That was his final straw. He snatched the phone from you with the hand that wasn’t rubbing your pussy.

“On second thought, I’m ending the live. I gotta fuck my girlfriend now, so bye.”

If your orgasm didn’t wash over you the very second he finished speaking, you would have shouted in shock. Just what was he thinking?

But, as Eren ended the livestream and tossed his phone to the other end of the bed, he clasped his hand around your neck and jaw, raising your head slightly as he sucked on your neck. He rubbed your clit more ferociously as you thrashed around from your orgasm.

Eren released your neck. He brought his lips to your ear once again. “You belong to me, don’t you? Say it.”

“I belong to- ah!”

You suddenly jumped as Eren ran his tongue across your ear.

“Couldn’t bring yourself to say it?” He mumbled. “You must really want one of those other damn fools, then huh?”

“No!” You inhaled sharply as Eren pushed two fingers into your hole.

“All the songs I’ve written about you . . . all the times I’ve made you cum over and over again . . . all the money I’ve spent spoiling you, and this is how you repay me? Can’t even tell me you belong to me? Can’t tell me you’ll stay with me forever? Do I gotta lock you up or something?”

“I’m yours, Eren. I’m yours. Please don’t stop.”

Despite your desperate plea, Eren pulled his fingers out of your pants. He moved away from his previous position behind you, walked toward the end of the bed, grabbed your ankle, and yanked you down.

“You don’t tell me what to do. Besides, I’m not convinced you believe your own words.” He stared down at you with a dark gaze as he unbuckled his belt. “I’ll make you believe it, though. I’ll show you that you’re mine, baby. Hell, I’ll show everyone. I don’t care if I have to fuck you right on stage during my next show . . . you’re mine, and everyone needs to know that. You’re mine.”

— 彡: @merakidoll @priv-rose @keriaonmarz @notgoodforlife @2n1ghts @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @iwanttohitmyself @ellaumbrella1 @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @crazychaoticizzy @averysmolbear @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @koikohib @thequeenofcurses

[prosypepper]

hi mootie, here’s a good morning forehead smooch 💋

i’m looking for a f!plus size x toji fic 🥀 my obsession with his grimy ass has came back ten fold.

maybe something along the lines of being his ‘bestie’ (let’s be so fr this man has NO friends.) and he invites u to the beach so he doesn’t have to go with just shiu or sum like that…

sees u in a revealing swimsuit n goes bonkers. OR MAYBE kinda like a comfort bc reader doesn’t feel good in the suit…

even if u choose not to write this it still felt great to get out of my system, ily pls don’t go bald mwah

BABE MY LOVE I WAS SO HAPPY TO SEE U BACK ON THE DASH!!! I MISSED YOUUUUUUU!!!!! also i have some thoughts………ur so smart.

a/n: smut, comfort of insecurities, plus size fem reader, this is lowkey SO BAD and im so sorry but i wanted to do this for u 🫶🫶🫶 18+ mdni!

“where have you been hiding that?”

toji whistles when you walk out of the bathroom you’d been forced to share for the weekend, sleazy grin on his face from where he’s sitting on the bed.

“you’ve seen me naked like four times,” you retort, climbing onto the bed beside him to rummage through your bag of clothes, “also i’m changing. i look disgusting.”

toji’s taken aback by your statement, utterly dumbfounded at a pretty thing like you saying such harsh things about herself. he’d never denied how attractive he thought you were, always flirting and riling you up when he had the chance. hell, you guys had even fucked before, albeit on all sorts of drugs, but now?

toji thought you looked better sober. you’re the first girl he’d ever thought that about, too, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

“disgusting?” he repeats after you, word tweaking into a question.

“yes, disgusting. gross, ugly, nasty, whatever. i hate this stupid bikini but i didn’t have the cash to buy a new one,” you complain, still angrily shoving through your bag and getting angrier when you didn’t find anything to cover up with.

“babydoll,” toji coos, smoothing a hand over your back, “what makes you say that?” toji’s voice is dropped lower, concerned, almost. it was so unlike you to say such a thing. toji didn’t care for many people, but you’d been there for him in the most trying of times, there was no way he’d let you think that about yourself.

especially when he was about to lose it at just the sight of you.

“i just..” you sigh, slumping your shoulders, “i don’t know. i just feel so gross now, like nothing looks good on me and i just feel so ugly. like i’m surprised you’re not embarrassed to be seen with me—.”

“woah, slow down,” he interrupts, taking a breath to collect his thoughts, keeping the soothing hand on your back. “you’re.. damn gorgeous, y’know that. i tell you all the time.”

“yeah but that’s different, we’re friends, plus we only had sex when you were drunk or whatever so obviously you have to be in an altered state to wanna—,”

“stop.”

you’re shut up immediately, looking at toji confused, because why did he care so much? the both of you hold eye contact before toji’s eyes flicker down, causing you to do the same—down his chest and torso, right to the tent in his swim trunks.

“toji!” you laugh, shoving his chest—and toji just grins. cocky.

“that’s all you, babe.”

“you’re so gross.”

“show me how gross you think i am.”

“toji!”

“yeah, baby, scream my name just like that.”

there’s barely room for you to get any words out with the way toji’s stretching you out on the counter of the bathroom. you’re teetering on the edge of the marble, the only thing holding you up are toji’s arms and the desperate grip you have around his neck.

fifteen minutes ago you were complaining about your looks.. and now, he won’t even give you the chance to complain. your bikini bottoms are pulled to the side and the top is resting below your tits, showing all of you off to him.

you’re beautiful like this.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” toji mumbles, looking down at your blissed expression—eyes glued shut, eyebrows knitted together, mouth dropping open and closing with miniscule whimpers. “hold on tight, doll.”

without much warning, toji picks you up with one motion, holding your legs around him with strong hands. a slew of words come out as you try to tell him he’s going to drop you—but you never hit the floor. he’s still for a moment as he slides himself allll the way in, practically stabbing your cervix, you’re sure.

“fucking—pleaseplease, wait,” you babble, not used to the stretch of toji’s cock inside of you, “too much—it’s, mmph—toji.”

“too much, gorgeous?” he chuckles, cute name slipping off his tongue naturally, laughing more when you nod quickly. yet he does anything but pause, bouncing you up and down on his length like you’re weightless.

“sorry, pretty. can’t help myself.”

[dailynnt]

NO MERCY

𖥔 Summary: You are a strong and intelligent, a princess of a mafia clan who has been fighting for years against Jungkook, a dangerous and powerful enemy. Your enmity is mixed with tension and mutual desire. After you ruin an important deal for him, Jungkook kidnaps you to settle the score. An emotional confrontation erupts between you, where the power play borders on a dangerous attraction. But you both know that the first one to give in is the loser.

𖥔 Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook/Y/N

𖥔 Age restrictions: 18+

𖥔 Size: one shot (7.6 k words)

𖥔 Tags: enemies to lovers, mafia au, domJungkook/subReader, stockholm syndrome, dark romance, kidnapping, emotional tension, obsession, possessive behaviour, dangerous love, protectiveness, forced proximity, broken characters, betrayal, manipulation, slow burn, angst with a hint of love, toxic romance, redemption arc, intense connection, forbidden feelings, survival, rough tenderness, detailed smut, sex, unprotected sex, table sex, mirror sex, possessiveness, defiance

𖥔 From author: Hello dear Army 💜 I wrote a new story in the style of the mafia au, which as you know I love very much 🖤 I came up with this story while writing chapter 14 “One night…” (this is how it happens when in the middle of the creative process a scene for a separate story appears in my head) and I decided to write it. I really hope you like it 🥺 A big request for those who will read and at some point you don't like my fanfic, or it seems illogical, not interesting or too fictional - just pass by. Respect the effort, time and resources I have spent for those people who will really appreciate my efforts. I sincerely thank EVERYONE who likes this fic, and EVERYONE who likes my work, I appreciate each of you for the weight of gold 🥺😭❤️‍🔥

𖥔 Dedication: I want to dedicate this work to you my BIGGEST LOVE @curse-of-art 🖤 For your support, endless love, faith in me, in the love of my version of JK 🤭 I love you with all my big heart ❤️‍🔥

𖥔 Warning: This story contains dark themes that may be triggering for some readers like table sex, mirror sex, possessiveness, defiance/bratty behavior, stockholm syndrome, and kidnapping. Please read with caution. If you are under 18, please refrain from reading this story. Also, English is not my first language, so you may notice some grammar mistakes or awkward sentence structures. I appreciate your understanding and kindness 🙂‍↕️

You have never asked for mercy. And you certainly weren't going to beg for it now.

Some time ago, you woke up and realized that you were in a dimly lit hotel room. It seemed to be a presidential suite, and you probably knew who it belonged to.

You were sitting tied to a chair, your hands tied behind your back, and a sneer playing on your lips. You knew who was coming. You knew this meeting was inevitable.

Jungkook entered the room quietly, but you felt him before you saw him. His presence was like an impending storm, like an electric shock in the air before a thunderstorm.

"Well, finally." You looked up at him when he came into view. "I was getting tired of waiting for you."

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a palm covered in tattoo ink that peeked out from under the sleeve of his shirt colour of night.

You knew that most of the drawings were hidden under his clothes. Once you could only see his tattoos up to his elbow, and you always wondered how they ended.

You remember how the tiger lily on the inside of his arm caught your attention the most - delicate, but as bold as he was. It was his birth flower, a symbol of pride, nobility, and strength hidden behind a reserved expression.

His light colored hair was slicked back carelessly, and above his ear it was shaved, so you could see that his hair color was actually black. This hairstyle emphasized his sharp features and jaw that could cut through the tension in the air. The black earrings in his ears glittered with every movement.

"You made a mistake, Y/N." He was approaching like lava, slowly burning everything in his path. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, but you had to behave with dignity.

"Really? From my side, it looked like a perfectly planned trap." You said, hinting at the reason you were here. You smiled at the corner of your mouth. You didn't want to show this man how he affected you.

He crouched down in front of you. He smelled of cold freshness after a shower, mixed with something more personal - the tart scent of leather and spices.

There was a slight hint of bergamot in his scent, subtly mixed with the smell of black tea and a little wood, something deep and rich. There was also a faint trace of musk, the kind that made the skin react as if it had just been touched.

This scent was not intrusive, but dangerous in its restraint, just like him. It was the kind of scent that would stay on your pillow, on your fingers, on the inside of your wrist if you let it get close enough.

"And who is trapped now?" he asked. You smiled as you looked into his black eyes.

"Caught doesn’t mean defeated." You say and see his gaze boring into your lips. Your breathing instantly became uncontrollable.

You've always played this game. You made him lose control. He made you feel your body burning with anger. You wanted to break him, he wanted to conquer you.

But predators don't subdue. They either win or die.

You remember the moment when everything went wrong. You were sitting in the VIP lounge of the club, waiting for your sister to celebrate your brilliant victory. The deal that Jungkook wanted so badly was now yours. That's when the door slammed open, and they came for you.

Everything happened in a flash. People in black suits easily dealt with your bodyguards. They grabbed you, clamped your mouth, tied your hands, and in a few minutes you were sitting in a car. Without a word. Without the right to choose. And only then did you realize...

Jungkook is angry. Really angry. And then the prick in your neck and the darkness.

He stared at you for a long time, too long. Jungkook towered over you before he spoke. His voice was low and steady, but it vibrated with a dangerous note that sent a chill down your spine.

"You have no idea how much trouble you've caused me." His voice sounded calm, but it was seeping with menace.

You just tilted your head slightly, playfully, with a self-assurance that irritated him.

"If you're talking about how I took the deal with the Japanese partners away from you, I was expecting more fireworks, to be honest."

Something dark flashed in his eyes, something you'd seen many times before - rage hidden beneath an icy mask of control.

You and Jungkook had never been friends. You had known each other for years, but you had always been on opposite sides of the war.

You were the princess of the “Violet Dragons” clan. Your parents were the leaders of the clan, so from childhood, you knew what the world of shadows was and how to survive in it.

Your family controlled part of the city’s illegal business — casinos, underground clubs, and exclusive weapons trade.

You grew up smart, cunning, and ruthless, just like your parents, who unfortunately became victims of mafia conflicts.

You possessed that dangerous beauty that made men forget you could destroy them with a smile on your lips.

You remember well when Jungkook appeared. It was when your uncle took over the clan and you became his right-hand man.

He saw your potential, trusted your sharp mind and strategic thinking. In the mafia world, a woman could not officially lead, but she could guide. And you did it brilliantly. You became an integral part of the top of your family's clan. You planned. You acted. You played the game.

And Jungkook... He immediately established himself as a strong player. He didn't just enter the business, he took full control of it. His name quickly became the law. His word was a verdict. No one worked in this city without his permission. Those who wanted to stay alive bowed their heads to him.

But not you.

You never bowed your head.

Even though your uncle wanted to cooperate with Jungkook, you were against it. You saw him as a threat. Not a partner.

Instead of submitting to his sudden and overwhelming power, you fought for your place, taking away his contracts, disrupting his deals. You've been fighting this war for years - over people, over money, over power.

But something more than just hatred has been burning between you all along.

Your gazes lingered longer than they should have. Your conversations were always too intense, too provocative.

Your bodies were always too close when you met at formal events.

You knew he wanted you.

He knew you wanted him.

But neither of you could allow it.

Because as soon as someone submits, this game is over.

But here you are. You're tied up in his hands. Completely at his mercy. Jungkook looks at your face and for a moment he thinks that everything you did was on purpose. In order to be here with him, giving him the opportunity to destroy you.

"You think you're here because you blew my deal?" Jungkook grabbed the arms of the chair, squeezing them so hard that his fingers turned white. His face came closer to yours. "It's not the business, Y/N. It's you. You crossed the line." He growled. You tried to remain indifferent, but somewhere deep inside you, something trembled.

"What are you talking about?" You asked, putting on a dramatic tone. His smile was dangerous. He had seen you play too many times.

"You know what I mean. Last night, your little performance..." He explains. Before you could answer, he abruptly lifted you up with the chair, leaning forward so that your faces were almost level. His breath touched your lips.

"You made a fool of me. In front of everyone. My credibility has been undermined... You're overplay, princess." He sounded threatening, dangerous.

"This is business, Jungkook." You said, using his words, the ones he said to you every time he took a good deal or partner from under your nose. You sounded mocking, but he shook his head.

"No, princess. It was a game you played with me without thinking about the consequences."

You were silent, not knowing what to say. The smile that was on your face a moment ago disappeared. Of course, you knew that sooner or later he would realize that the deal that had been broken was your doing, but so soon?

He turned away, sat you back down, and walked a few steps away. He took off his jacket, then his watch. He threw it on the edge of the huge sofa. You watched his movements and could feel the tension between you growing.

You couldn't let him do anything to you. You had to get out of here. You had to save yourself. So while he wasn't looking, you tried to untie the rope. You were trained to do that. The world of the mafia required you to be strong and able to defend yourself.

Jungkook turned to face you and started to roll up his sleeves. The tattoos caught your attention, and he noticed it. But why was he rolling up his sleeves? Was he preparing to torture you? Or did he have something else in mind?

"I was standing two meters away. And I was looking into your eyes." he laughed softly, almost hysterically, not believing that you could pull off such a scam, "The same ones that are looking at me so brazenly now." His voice surprisingly sounded silky, dangerously soft.

You froze. The events of the previous evening flashed through your mind, the moment you stole the deal he'd been working on for two years from under his nose.

Jungkook had been negotiating hard with Kaizen Securities, a Japanese corporation that would have given him monopoly control of one of the largest illegal arms supply channels in Seoul. This deal was supposed to raise his status to the level of "untouchable" among all other players.

Since you had a long-standing rivalry with Jungkook, you planted a spy in his clan, who worked successfully for three years. You followed the negotiation process, which Minhyuk reported to you, carefully studying all the details.

You decided to do the following: let Jungkook almost finish the job, and then take back what was yours from the beginning. What your family lost when Jungkook arrived in the criminal arena.

Your last move was on the day the contract was signed. You used a fake identity, the name Hanako Shimada, and introduced yourself as an assistant to one of the Japanese directors, specializing in translation, negotiation, and legal support.

You arrived at the hotel where the meeting was taking place with the delegation, bribing the real assistant, who was "suddenly" hospitalized. You thought out your image to the smallest detail, so that it had nothing to do with your usual style, so that Jungkook would not recognize you.

You were dressed in a white business suit, with lenses, makeup, hairstyle, gait, even your voice slightly altered. You spoke flawless Japanese (because you lived in Japan until you were 16). Your accent was perfect. You played the role of an official - restrained, without a hint of your characteristic audacity.

You looked convincing to the last detail. Who would have suspected?

"I heard your voice." His voice darkened with each word. "Heard you translate every phrase, calmly, dryly, perfectly. Saw you hiding in a white suit and pretending to be someone else."

You were so confident and competent in your performance that he saw you as just another functional "gray mouse" and missed the punch right under his ribs. And now that he's already caught you, when he looks at you, he remembers everything - your gait, your eyes, the slight tilt of your head, the subtle smile - everything was right there in front of him, and he didn't see it.

He rolled up his sleeves and approached again, towering over you. Jungkook looked at you with his black eyes piercingly.

"You set me up, and I don't understand how I couldn't see you play, not recognize you..."

You looked at him silently. Your heart was beating somewhere in your throat, but your face was impeccably calm. He had just admitted that you had defeated him. That you hadn't just taken the contract - you had misled him so that he didn't recognize you from a few meters away.

You couldn't contain your triumph. You slowly raised an eyebrow and with a slight smile, said.

"It turns out I'm a really good actress."

You changed the terms of the deal behind Jungkook's back, telling the Japanese that he would not provide security guarantees. Posing as a trustee of a fictitious investor, you offered better terms: higher profits and security. The Japanese believed you and signed the contract right in his presence.

How sweet it was to see him humiliated in front of the Japanese, because he didn't recognize the manipulation and lost a lucrative contract.

Jungkook's eyes narrowed, his jaw twitched, but you continued, quietly, as if afraid to break the silence.

"And you, Jungkook, have become overconfident. You used to always see everything..."

His eyes darted between yours, sliding down to your lips, then to your neck, then to your thigh, which was visible through the long slit in your dress. You could almost physically feel his gaze touching your body.

His eyes returned to you.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No," you answered evenly. "I'm just reminding you who's had the upper hand in this game from the beginning."

You paused, still fumbling with the rope, and then said with poisonous tenderness.

"What did you think? That you could play on my turf for years, promise the Japanese control of the port my family has owned since my father's time, and I would keep quiet?"

His pupils dilated.

"You knew about the port?"

"I knew everything. Even which of your men had been leaking information to the Japanese." You were silent for a moment, savoring his defeat, and then spoke. "I won fair and square, Jungkook. I took what was rightfully mine."

"Fair?" He laughed, but there was nothing merry about it. "You played dirty. You lied, you bribed people, you made my partners change his mind." He runs his eyes over your face and almost can't control himself. Your self-confidence in your victory has made him angry.

You lift your chin proudly.

"So what? This is our world, isn't it? A world where the strongest take what they want by any means necessary." You argument. Jungkook leans in so that your lips almost touch.

"Yes, but the difference is that I'm stronger. And now you will play by my rules." His fingers touched your face, and you held your breath.

"And what are these rules?" You asked. Jungkook smiled, slowly, predatory.

"I'll show you. But first you have to understand one thing..." His fingers closed on your jaw, forcing you to look directly into his dark eyes.

"Because of your stunt, you are now at my mercy. And believe me, you will not be spared." He almost whispered it to you. You felt his breath on your lips. Your heart beat faster.

His fingers slid down and stopped at your throat. He didn't squeeze, he just touched, making you feel how close the edge was. His gaze slowly moved down, studying you, as if he was already deciding how you should obey him.

Jungkook suddenly turned away, held you with a cold gaze, and then walked away. You continued your struggle with the rope. A little more and you would be free.

He walked over to the table where there was a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He wasn’t in a hurry. He poured it slowly and turned to you, taking a sip. He liked knowing that this time, you wouldn’t run away. He didn't take his eyes off you. You didn't take your eyes off him.

Jungkook sat down on the sofa, drinking a honey-colored liquid. He sating across from you, looking at you calmly, as if he had won the battle in the end.

"I never thought I'd see you in such a helpless situation." His voice was low, savoring every word. He took another sip without hiding his smile. You clenched your jaw, not letting yourself show the fear that was still present, even though you tried to hide it deep inside.

"Enjoying?" You asked ironically, but your eyes were full of anger.

Jungkook twirled his glass in his hands and smiled, slowly, too confidently.

"You know what's the most interesting thing?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I could have put a stop to your antics a long time ago."

You snorted. The laugh came easily from your plump lips.

"You could have tamed me much sooner? But you only did it when I made a fool of you?" You said through your laughter.

Jungkook didn't answer right away. He just looked at you, calmly, without taking his eyes off you, and there was something frightening in that look. Not brute aggression, but cold calculation. He enjoyed your resistance, knew that you would fight to the last - and that was what amused him.

"No. I was just wondering how far you could go. And now you've made your choice, princess." He finally said, twirling the glass in his fingers. "You played with fire, not realizing it could burn you." Jungkook took a sip of alcohol. He tasted the honeyed flavor, and smiled at the corner of his lips.

"Tell me honestly, you didn't think I was going to ignore this trick of yours like all the times before, did you? Let you play with me as you please?"

You lifted your chin sharply, even now not letting him see your weakness.

"You want to break me just because I defeated you?" you challenged. "Then you're much weaker than you look."

Something much darker flashed in his eyes. He put the glass on the nightstand, stood up and came closer.

"Do you think you've defeated me?" Jungkook repeated quietly, leaning in once more so that your faces were almost touching.

He always violated your personal space. He liked to keep you close, so close that you didn't have time to collect your thoughts.

"If it was really a victory, then why are you here - tied up, without any control over the situation, instead of celebrating your success?" his voice dropped to a velvety whisper, and every word penetrated your skin.

You pressed your lips together.

"You know it well. I'm not afraid of you, Jungkook," you said firmly.

He smiled, his eyes sliding over your face, and he straightened up. He liked to look down on you. His imagination painted scenes of you kneeling perfectly before him, and he looked down on you the same way. Something in his middle caught fire at the thought of your mouth on his cock.

But he calmed himself as quickly as he could and walked around you, standing behind you. You stopped untying the rope and clasped your hands together so he wouldn't see that it was loose.

Jungkook leaned down to your ear and said.

"This is good," he whispered. "Because fear is chaos. And I need order."

His fingers touched your neck, and you flinched. At his touch.

He slowly touched the collar of your dress, letting the fabric slip slightly off your shoulder. Your skin burned where his fingers had left a mark.

"It's time to teach you something really important."

"Ha-ha, teach? What can you teach me?" you asked with undisguised interest.

"Submission," Jungkook replied. The word came out of his mouth as easily as a breath. But there was power in it. A power that was frightening. "Submission." He repeated it almost gently, stroking your collarbone with his fingertips. "It's something you haven't known yet, but I'll take care of it." You felt indignation rising inside you.

"You're doing this again?" You said as if it were boring. "I'll never be yours, Jungkook." He smiled in a way that made you feel hot.

"Oh, don't you get it yet?" His voice was almost playful, but there was a metallic tinge of control in the deep timbre. "You are already mine, princess."

Jungkook was in front of you again. His hand grabbed your chin sharply, forcing you to look him straight in the eye.

"Every fight between us, every moment when you woke up and thought about me, hating it... It all meant only one thing. You've always belonged to me."

Your breathing became heavier. And this time... you really felt that you were starting to suffocate, not just from fear. But also from confusing feelings that you shouldn't have felt.

He was taking over. He control a situation as a usual. But you hadn't lost yet.

All your emotions rushed out - and it was at that moment that you managed to escape. The rope slipped from your hands, and you hit him sharply, creating space for escape. His reaction was instantaneous, but you were already flying toward the door, half out of breath, consumed by a single desire-freedom.

Your hand almost touched the handle when Jungkook's fingers grabbed your wrist. You turned around, trying to strike, but he easily dodged. Your next move, a kick, was blocked.

In a second, you were pinned against a cold wall. Jungkook forced your arms behind your back, squeezing them to prevent you from breaking free. His body was pressed against you, and you could feel the warmth of his chest pressing against your back. His crotch was touching your buttocks, and your legs were locked with his.

"Want a fight?" he laughed low, touching your ear. You were both breathing heavily.

"Let go of me and I'll kick your ass in seconds Jeon," you said angrily. You suddenly felt his cock resting on your buttocks. He was aroused by your little fight.

"I think we'd better take this passion elsewhere," Jungkook said seductively, and he pressed in closer so you could feel the hardness of his cock even better. It was only then that you noticed a throbbing between your legs. And moisture was leaking onto your underwear. It was foolish not to admit that his proximity excited you as much as it excited him.

"You'll never have me, you bastard," you said, in defiance of your feelings.

Jungkook turned you around in one confident motion, still holding you so you couldn't hurt him. He smiled when he saw your hateful gaze. But you're pretending. He knows you want him.

"Oh, I can have you anytime. But you want it too, don't you princess?" he said, licking his lower lip. You stare at his lips, mesmerized. Fuck. You want to kiss him.

Jungkook finally let go of your hands, confident that you wouldn't fight anymore. He ran his fingers along your figure, lowering his hands to your hips. He slid his hand under your dress and squeezed your skin lightly. His touch was confident, almost possessive. Your hands rested on his chest, as if trying to push him, but your fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt.

"You're shaking, Y/N." He spoke softly, his voice hoarse and hot, seeping into your mind, making your heart beat even faster than before.

"You overestimate your influence over me." You tried to sound confident, but your voice trembled treacherously. "I will never play by your rules."

"But tonight you will," he lifted you by the hips, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist, and carried you to the table behind him. You felt the cold surface against your skin and only then realized how hot you were from what was happening between you.

Jungkook was breathing heavily, barely able to control himself. He suddenly smiled, pressing you tighter to his aroused cock.

"Give me a few minutes and I'll break you." He was serious. His lips barely touched your neck, taking his time, leaving no marks, just burning you with his hot breath. You could feel his palms resting steadily on your buttocks, his fingers flesh squeezing to remind you that the power was his.

"Why don't you push me away, princess?" He whispered it right next to your ear, his voice breaking into hot pulses that ran through your entire body.

Your fingers clenched into fists. You should have resisted. You should have told him it was a game, that he wouldn't make you submit. But when his lips finally touched your neck, when his hot lips sucked in your tender skin, leaving marks, you lost the ability to think.

"You've been playing strong for so long that you've forgotten what it's like to just give in." He said when he had left enough hickeys on your neck. His voice was quiet, but it filled the entire space between you.

You didn't like the feeling of being under his control. But what you didn't like even more was how much you wanted it. You squeezed his shirt, as if balancing the desire to push him away and pull him closer.

"Tell me I'm wrong..." His lips stopped right next to yours. You met his gaze. Full of lust, full of power to conquer.

"I..." You paused, inhaled. Your pride dissolved, burned under that look. "...I hate you."

Jungkook smiled.

"Little liar."

His lips finally covered yours, sharply, all-consuming, so that you forgot how to breathe. It was an invasion. A struggle.

You squeezed his shoulders, trying to hold back - but your lips responded. At first it was a protest. Then it was an explosion. The kiss became deeper, hotter, as if you were both surrendering to all the emotions that had been building up for so long and burning from the inside.

His tongue penetrated you without asking for permission, just like everything else he did. And you... didn't stop him. Because you wanted it too. You wanted it.

He tore the zipper of your dress open and it gathered at your hips. The sight of your perfectly taut breasts, erect nipples, and goosebumps made Jungkook want more. He uncontrollably took one of your breasts in his hands and squeezed it. His wet tongue circled around your bud, tasting the pleasant taste of your nipples.

You were moaning above his head, just from his caresses, so what would you sound like when he entered you? When he fills you to the brim?

"Feel that?" His voice was husky, heavy with desire. You didn't know what he was asking specifically, whether it was his hard cock resting against your needy pussy or his power over you. But you felt it all. His strength. His desire. His complete control over your every move. "You've always belonged to me." He whispered it right next to your ear, breaking into a hot breath.

His hands, which had been under your dress, boldly reached for your underwear. He stopped, his lips still touching yours.

"Are you finally admitting it, princess?"

Silence. Only your breaths. The pulse in your temples. Hot air, saturated with tension. But you didn't say anything. Are you really losing this war that has lasted so long?

His hand moved your underwear to the side. Your body shuddered as he ran his fingers between the damp folds, easily finding a spot that made you sigh softly.

Jungkook smiled triumphantly. He massaged your clit, with slow, blissful strokes. When he plunged a finger into your passage, you grabbed his free hand, squeezing it.

"So wet... Fuck, you're just dripping onto my fingers, baby." He whispered. In between kissing your neck, your jaw, your breasts. He wanted to explore every inch of your body with his lips.

Jungkook added another finger to your passage and fucked you with it. He created a friction that made you want to feel something more.

"I want to hear that…Tell me I won." He demanded. His voice was full of power, he knew you belonged to him completely.

You opened your eyes and met his gaze, heavy and piercing. And you had to surrender. You had to admit it. You belonged to him completely and utterly. You wanted to be his. You fucking wanted this man to fuck you.

"You win, Kook. I'm yours." You whispered. He stretched you, plunged into every cell of your body, took you over, made you forget where you were, who you were, and why you'd ever tried to resist.

His movements became deeper, more confident. And you couldn't fight anymore-your hands reached for the buttons of his shirt, and you pulled them open randomly, wanting to tear them off.

Jungkook slipped his fingers out of your passage and helped you undress him. In the dim light of the suite, his body was so hot and sexy. His skin was perfect, every muscle as if carved by God himself.

You gulped in a breath, as your eyes touched his torso. Elastic, well-defined chest, broad shoulders. His abs, like marble, consisted of perfect lines that stretched down, right to the place where your imagination was already drawing the most daring images.

Your fingers reached for his body, sliding over his hot skin. Now you knew what his tattoos looked like, the ones that were always hidden behind his clothes.

There was ink that seemed to come to life under your touch. First, you noticed the words "Rather be dead than cool" tattooed in italics on his forearm, a phrase that perfectly matched his personality: bold, unrestrained, living to the fullest.

Above, on his wrist, was a delicate drawing of a tiger and a lotus, symbolizing strength and purity - a contrast similar to his own.

And on his shoulder was a large black flower, and your palm slid over it, gently, almost reverently.

You barely had time to enjoy the sight of it when Jungkook pulled off your dress and then simply tore open your thin black lace thong. You gasped, not expecting such behavior from Jungkook, but it seemed he was losing patience.

He had a sly smile on his face. His eyes never left yours, hungry, dark, and without mercy.

"You know, princess... Now that you're mine, I'm going to make sure you can never forget this moment."

He knelt between your legs. His gaze slid down to your center and he licked his lips like a predator who had finally gotten his prey.

His tongue slid over your folds, gently at first, exploring, making you arch with pleasure, and then deeper, harder, rhythmically, until your moans became shameless. His hands held your hips tightly, not letting you escape, not letting you even think about resisting. He worked his tongue as if he could drive you crazy with it alone, and damn it, he did.

Your stomach was in a knot, wave after wave passing through your body, making you squirm and gasp. You grabbed his hair, trying to hold back, but...

"Fuck..." you cursed, barely recognizing your own voice.

He lifted his head, his lips glistening with your wetness. He flicked his tongue across his lower lip, tasting you. His chest heaved rhythmically, He was on the verge, just like you.

"I can't wait any longer," he said hoarsely and stood up, shedding the rest of his clothes. His cock was hard, tense, ready for you.

You didn't look away. It was perfect. Big. Erect. And all yours.

He pulled you closer to the edge of the table, supporting you under your buttocks, and ran his head between your folds. Just teasing. Just playing.

"Tell me again. Who do you belong to?"

You clutched his forearm, your nails digging into his skin, your body trembling with anticipation.

"You... Jungkook. I belong to you."

"Good girl."

You thought Jungkook was going to take you right now. He was teasing you with those movements of his cock on your clit, but he didn't come in. You weren't expecting it when he pulled back and pulled you to the floor. Your buttocks were resting on the table, and in a moment Jungkook turned you around, bending you over the table.

Your breasts were on the table, your hands resting on the perfectly polished surface. Your hot breath left condensation.

Jungkook came up behind you, pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, and thrust. You felt him penetrate. He had barely plunged into you when you screamed in pain. He stopped when he felt you were in pain. You were tighty, he could feel it as he stretched you.

"How long since you had sex?" he asked in a low voice. You pressed your fingers tighter to the table, so that they turned white. Jungkook moved back and forth, as if breaking through an invisible barrier.

"It's been a long time," you breathed out, but your voice sounded sharp, like the thorns on a beautiful rose. Jungkook smiled, still moving lightly at the entrance. He stroked your thighs, soothing you.

"When was the last time?" he asked. You raised your eyebrows, why was he asking? You should talk less and act more. Even though you were in pain, you needed him inside.

"What the hell does it matter, just come in," you couldn't stand it. You heard Jungkook's guttural laugh. And then his hand was right in front of your eyes. He leaned down and touched your cheek with his lips.

"You're not supposed to be a virgin, are you?" his voice vibrated against your skin, making you tremble inside. His cock was still in your passage, but not fully penetrating.

"Don't even dream about being my first, I had sex before you," you said indignantly. You turned your head a few centimeters. You saw Jungkook's lips and it was at that moment that you felt him enter you completely. It was not very sharp, but you screamed.

Jungkook plunged into you until his hips felt yours. His balls touched your pussy and he froze, still leaning over you. You were breathing hard and fast, feeling pain, but it was being replaced by the pleasure of being filled with his cock.

"You're such a tight princess that even if you did have sex, that idiot had a small cock." he laughed again. "Who was that?" he moved his hips and you bit your lip to keep from screaming again. "Your assistant Dongmin, or was it In-guk, that piece of shit who was always hanging around you?"

Jungkook moved his hips slowly but deeply. He was careful, and you could tell he didn't want to hurt you. His breath was hot, burning your skin, spreading over it in a stormy wave.

"That was Taehyung," you said. Jungkook froze. You smiled because you knew it would surprise him.

"Taehyung?" he repeated quietly, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. His voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper, and his gaze-though you couldn't see it-was probably as dark as a night storm.

His fingers tightened around your hips, and his breath came in shorter bursts. But instead of getting angry or pulling away, he slowly, almost painfully, moved inside you again, sinking deeper.

"I didn't know he had a small one..." Jungkook said it with a sneer, but you didn't laugh, because Taehyung didn't have a small one. Maybe a little smaller than Jungkook's. "Why... he?" he said hoarsely, as if he wasn't asking, but trying to understand.

You smiled out loud, a little cheekily.

"We had a common project, common interests, spent a lot of time together...and it happened." you said, holding back moans of pleasure.

Jungkook entered you, deeper and longer each time. His movements were slow but full of power. Jungkook felt a stab of jealousy that Taehyung was touching you. He saw the pleasure on your beautiful face, heard your moans... Before Jungkook did. That made he’s movements chaos.

Your fingers slid along the steamy surface of the table, looking for support. Your whole body merged with his in a rhythm that seemed endless.

Jungkook lowered himself, leaning even closer, almost completely covering your body with his.

His lips touched your neck, burning with every word he spoke:

"Shared interests?" he whispered, moving his hips so that you cried out again. "I wonder if he liked the way you squirmed under him too..."

You turned your head as sharply as your posture allowed and met his gaze defiantly:

"What, are you jealous?" you exhaled, trembling from the new thrust. "Maybe you're afraid he was better?"

His whole body tensed. In the next moment, Jungkook straightened behind you and abruptly, but not violently, withdrew from you almost completely... and then plunged in again, deeply, to the very core.

You screamed, clutching the edge of the table.

"Say it again," his voice was low, dark as thunder in the night, "and I make you forget who Taehyung, Dongmin, In-guk, and everyone else who ever dared to touch you is."

His hips pressed firmly against your buttocks again, and his hands were no longer gentle, but strong, saying: "now you are mine."

And you felt it - with every cell.

His fingers slid to your clit, stimulating you to unbearable sensations. He knew how to touch you, how to hold you to make you moan louder for him.

Your sounds filled the room. He picked up the pace, but didn't lose control. Your back pressed against his chest as he lifted you without leaving you. You could feel his heart - it was beating furiously, almost in unison with yours.

"From this night — you only mine," he said. You couldn't even imagine how much he liked the sound of that, "you should remember how you looked when I fucked you for the first time, so you never forget who was the best in you..."

With that, he pulled out of you. You felt your passage hurt. Your pussy was swollen and throbbing unbearably. You tried to normalize your breathing when you felt Jungkook grab you, throwing you over his shoulder. Your bodies touched again, raising the temperature of each other. His hand was on your bare buttocks.

"Oh my God, what are you doing?" you said in agony in front of his buttocks. He couldn't help himself and slapped your ass.

"Going to show you how amazing you are when my cock is deep inside you," he said playfully.

Jungkook carried you into the bedroom. It was dark, but not completely. The lights of the city at night illuminated it barely, but it was enough to see what you needed to see.

You saw Jungkook carry you past the big bed and set you on your feet. In front of a mirror.

You looked at your reflection and saw a girl who was naked, with marks on her neck and chest. She was disheveled with swollen lips.

Jungkook hugged you close. You saw his face and sly smile in the mirror. His big palm touched your stomach.

"Just look how beautiful you are," he said in your ear, not taking his eyes off yours in the mirror, "how beautiful you are when you give yourself to me," he whispered, squeezing you more closer. His lips barely touched your skin, but your body was already on fire from this touch. You looked in the mirror and couldn't recognize yourself.

He grabbed your jaw and turned you around, kissing you. His tongue went into your mouth as if he was the master. Your tongues intertwined, wrestling just like you had all those years before. Finally, he bit your lower lip and let you go.

Jungkook led you to the mirror and you reflexively grabbed the frame. You let him dive into you again. This time he went in less painfully but still deeply, keeping his gaze on your reflection.

"Don't look away," his voice was warm but commanding, "I want you to see what I'm doing to you. So that every time you think back to this night, you will remember yourself like this. Mine."

His hips started moving again, gradually speeding up. His arms held you tightly, one cupping your breasts, the other sliding down between your legs. He touched you gently and hard at the same time, mixing pleasure with fierce passion exists.

You were trembling, and every movement of his body made you forget how to breathe.

"So who's fucking you so good, huh princess?" he hissed, staring at your mirror reflection.

You didn't answer, just exhaled his name, shuddering at his fingers on your clit.

"You…" you hardly breathe, "You Jungkook..."

You held back moans from the intense stimulation, the feel of his big cock inside you. And Jungkook didn't like it.

"Louder," he grunted. "I want to enjoying your scream."

You listened to him. You couldn't hold back any longer. Your loud moans, almost screams, filled the entire space around you. They were intertwined with the sounds of your bodies hitting each other, and they were almost sinful.

His cock moving inside you, hot, hard, ruthless. And your whole body merged with him in this rhythm - wild, honest, real. As if he knew no mercy.

He pulled your hair to the side and kissed your neck.

"I'm going to cherish this moment in your memories, because this is just the beginning of our fun adventure."

You let go of all your feelings as your orgasm hit you like a storm. Your body arched in his arms, the last, loudest moan burst from your chest, and your mind exploded with white light.

Jungkook hit you hard a few more times and came out of you. He came on your ass with a hoarse, low growl.

He put his wet forehead against your back, which was covered with a thin layer of sweat.

Your breaths merged into one, your hearts were beating furiously. His arms did not let go, his body did not move away. All you could feel was the weight of his cock on your buttocks and his warm, thick cum dripping down your legs.

You moved, forcing Jungkook to pull away. His cum dripped down your legs, dripped onto the floor, but neither of you seemed to care.

You turned around to face him. Jungkook was still breathing deeply, but he had a satisfied smile on his lips. You smiled too, but slyly, playfully.

"So…it happened," you said first. Jungkook pulled you to him. His lips covered yours, completely. Absorbing you, just as he had done with your body. With your soul. Having enjoyed your lips enough, he broke the kiss. You slowly opened your eyes. They were sparkling.

"It happened, princess, are you satisfied?" he asked, carefully studying your expression.

"Do I have to tell you the truth? Or can I tease you?" you asked playfully. His fingers on your waist squeezed your skin tighter.

"Only tell the truth... because if you lie to me again, or deceive me... you will not receive my mercy, anymore" he warned in a soft voice not without a touch of menace.

"It sounds like a another challenge..." you said, "but if tell honest, I'm really satisfied," you kissed him on the lips, a short touch, and when you pulled away a few centimeters, seeing his eyes closed, you whispered, "you fucked me so good."

Jungkook opened his eyes when he heard your words, but you had already disappeared. He saw you hurriedly walked towards the bedroom door.

"I need to take a shower," you threw over your shoulder and disappeared behind the door.

When you got out of the shower, you didn't find Jungkook. You heard the sound of water coming from the other bathroom and knew this was your chance to run away from him. You put on the dress that was lying on the floor in the living room, but you sewed up your thong because Jungkook had torn it.

You grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and wrote him a short message. You signed it with a kiss and the first letter of your name.

You grabbed key card, opened the door of hotel room and left without being stopped.

Jungkook took a quick shower, replaying your sex in his head. He was excited and happy that you would finally be his. The way you moaned and screamed his name made his mind go wild. And he was going to get even more from you.

Jungkook walked into the living room and heard silence. He became alert, looking around for you because you weren't in the bedroom.

His eyes fell on the white paper left on the table. Nowhere to be seen was your burgundy dress, which he had taken off you somewhere around here. Jungkook laughed as he walked over to the table. Did you really run away and leave a note?

He held the white piece of paper between his two fingers, skimming the contents.

"You still didn't catch me, but I'll be more careful than today. I'm looking forward to your hunt for me. What will be our next meeting? I'm sure you're already waiting for it.

P.S. Thanks for the show anyway, guy with the dark eyes.

Y/N 💋"

Jungkook clenched the piece of paper into a fist. And then he laughed. He sat down on the couch with his head on the back of the couch and looked at the ceiling.

You run away again. You had outsmarted him again. Again made his thoughts boil with the possibility of knowing a way to get you. He closed his eyes tiredly, but a smile played on his lips was predatory.

"No mercy now, Princess. The darkness pulls you under before you know it..." was the sound in his head.

[cherry-lala]

Whispers of Memories, Chains of Time

Parings: human-turned-vampire!Remmick x human-turned-vampire!Poc fem reader

Genres: Southern Gothic ,Vampire Romance ,Dark Angst,Supernatural Tragedy, Fluff(..)

Wordcount:14.8k+

Content warning: vampire transformation (non-consensual), blood, emotional manipulation, obsession, toxic romance, grief, PTSD, trauma aftermath, sexual tension, implied sex, body horror, hunting/killing, possessiveness, violence (not glorified), slow descent into monsterhood

A/n: this was a request from @0angel-tears0 , and i truly poured my heart into bringing it to life. i tried to weave in every detail that was asked for, and i hope it resonates with you the way it did with me while writing. thank you for the inspiration—i really hope you enjoy it. And thank you for the support^^

He was on his knees.

Not like a man prayin’, but like one beggin’ the grave to let him stay buried.

“Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it,” Remmick rasped, voice low and cracked, like gravel dragged through honey. His hands hovered near mine, never quite touchin’. “You want me gone, I’ll disappear. You want me dead, well… you know better than most, darlin’. That ain’t never been easy.”

The rain hit the ground like it was tryin’ to drown out the past.

I stood there, silent. Watchin’ the same man who once turned my blood to fire now tremble like he ain’t felt warmth in centuries. His eyes flickered red. Still beautiful. Still dangerous. Still mine—once.

And then the memory came back sharp as bone:

His mouth at my throat.

My scream shatterin’ the quiet.

The taste of betrayal on my tongue before I ever knew what betrayal truly was.

The night he turned me.

The night I stopped bein’ his salvation and became his punishment.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

Remmick's Pov

The smoke from the baker’s chimney curled lazy into the grey mornin’, twistin’ up toward a sky that hadn’t yet made up its mind. Pale, dull, hangin’ low like grief. I shifted the crate on my shoulder, feelin’ the dig of wood through damp wool. My boots were slick with yesterday’s rain, slippin’ now and then on the cobbles that shone like a drunkard’s teeth—wet and crooked.

I passed the butcher, same as always. He gave me a nod stiff as his apron. Behind him, the meat swung on hooks, pink and heavy, lookin’ like saints in some holy place I’d never set foot in. I hated that shop. Too many flies. Too many mouths left open, waitin’ for a prayer that’d never come.

The crate weren’t much—few bottles of oil, sacks of dried lavender, and somethin’ sealed in wax I didn’t bother askin’ after. I just hauled it. Dropped it off with the woman behind the counter who didn’t look me in the eye, and left. No lingerin’. Places that smelled like sickness and sorrow weren’t ones I liked to haunt long.

I’d lived in this village long enough that most folks stopped whisperin’. Didn’t mean they trusted me. Just meant I was another fixture—like a broken fence or an old gate that still held up in a storm. I worked. Didn’t drink myself blind. Didn’t steal. Kept to myself. That was enough for them.

But it weren’t enough for me.

Some days I wondered if I was real at all. Or just a shadow they let move through the fog.

I took the back path out, cuttin’ ‘round the edge of the market square. Didn’t care for crowds. The noise. The eyes.

That’s when I saw her.

Not all at once. Just a flicker first—somethin’ movin’ slow near the trees where the path opened wide. A figure bent low, rearrangin’ a basket. Her movements were deliberate, like the world could wait its turn. Like she had all the time God ever gave.

Her dress was simple, but it carried different. Lighter. Like she came from somewhere the sun hit softer. And her—

Christ.

I don’t know the word for what she was.

Not just beautiful. No.

Marked.

Like the earth itself had touched her, pressed a thumbprint right into her soul, and said: this one.

I should’ve kept walkin’. I didn’t.

She straightened, basket shiftin’ easy on her hip like it belonged there. The light caught her skin, and it weren’t fair, how it looked. Her eyes passed over me once—just a blink—but they didn’t flinch. Didn’t linger.

That’s what did it.

She didn’t look at me like I was strange. Or cursed. Or nothin’. She looked past me. Like she’d seen worse. Lived through more. Like she carried the memory of fire behind her ribs and still breathed easy through the smoke.

And me?

I forgot the path. Forgot the ache in my shoulder and the filth on my hands. Forgot the hinge I was meant to fix, the roof that needed patchin’. Forgot the name I answered to.

She turned.

Walked into the crowd and was gone.

And my chest—quiet near a decade—stirred like somethin’ old had woken up in it.

Somethin’ dangerous.

Somethin’ like hunger.

Or recognition.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

The next time I saw her, it was rainin’.

Not the sort that passed in a hush and vanished clean. No, this was the old kind. The kind that settled in your bones and made the village feel more graveyard than home. Clouds hung low, heavy as guilt. The air smelled like peat, smoke, and wet wool.

I hadn’t planned on cuttin’ through the square. Meant to head straight to the chapel—Father Callahan’d cracked a hinge clean off the sacristy door again, and I’d promised to fix it. Hammer tucked under my coat, hands still black with soot from cleanin’ out the baker’s flue that mornin’. My back ached. My boots were soaked.

And then—

I saw her.

She stood quiet as a shadow in front of the apothecary, tucked beneath the narrow eave that dripped steady at her feet. Her dress was simple, the color of river clay, clingin’ to her like the rain knew better than to touch her skin. A basket sat on the crook of her arm, filled with wild garlic and herbs, and her other hand held a cloth to her lips—like she was keepin’ something back.

A cough. Or a secret.

I oughta have kept walkin’.

But I didn’t.

I stood there like a daft fool in the muck, starin’ at her like the rain could wash the sense back into me.

She looked up.

And this time, she saw me.

Really saw me.

Her eyes—dark as peat, clear as glass—locked with mine. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Didn’t carry the same weight in her stare that most folks did when they looked my way. There was no pity. No suspicion.

Just stillness.

She wore it like armor.

Like maybe the storm belonged to her.

“You alright there?” I called, my voice louder than I meant over the hiss of rain.

Her gaze dipped for a breath, then came back. She lowered the cloth. “Far as I can be, considerin’,” she said. Her voice was even, lower than I remembered. The words came proper enough, but the sound of her was not local. Something about it curled at the edges. Like she’d learned the language well but carried a different song in her throat.

“You’re not from here,” I said. The words left me before I could think to swallow ‘em.

Her lips twitched, not quite smilin’. “Neither are you.”

She weren’t wrong.

Folk around here called me the outsider. Came in after my brother passed, and I stayed—fixin’ broken fences, sharpenin’ shears, patchin’ roofs after windstorms. I kept to myself. Said little. Answered less. Most folks left me be. Grief has a way of makin’ ghosts of the livin’.

But she—she was no ghost.

She was too solid. Too certain.

“You deal in herbs?” I asked, noddin’ toward her basket.

She glanced down, then back. “Some for trade. Some for me. Depends who’s askin’.”

“Folk here don’t always take kindly to unfamiliar hands mixin’ medicine.”

“They don’t take kindly to much at all,” she said. Her tone didn’t shift. Didn’t get sharp or soft. “But I’m not here to please them.”

My mouth twitched. Could’ve been a smile. Could’ve been a warning.

“They call me Remmick,” I offered, though I don’t know why. She hadn’t asked.

She nodded slow, like she was tuckin’ the name somewhere safe. “I’ve heard of you. Fix things, don’t you?”

I gave a short nod. “Try to.”

She tilted her head, studyin’ me like I was a nail half-driven. “Can you fix what ain’t made of wood or iron?”

I blinked. “Suppose that depends on how broke it is.”

That made her pause. Her eyes lingered, like she was weighin’ my words on a scale only she could read.

“Good answer,” she murmured, and stepped out into the rain.

She moved like dusk—quiet, certain, untouched by the cold. Her shoes sank into the mud, her hair clung to her nape, and still she didn’t flinch. Didn’t falter. Didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

I stood there a long while after she’d gone, hammer still clutched in my hand, like I’d forgotten what I was doin’.

Something about her wouldn’t let go.

It wasn’t just her face, though it was a face worth rememberin’.

It was the way she made the world feel like it wasn’t mine anymore.

Like she’d stepped out of some place older than time.

And my soul—fool that it is—reached for her like it already knew the fall was comin’.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

The next time I saw her, I was carryin’ a sack of empty flour tins and cussin’ at the wind. The path out toward the edge of town had turned near to muck from the week’s worth of rain, and the soles of my boots were caked thick with it. I’d been sent by old Mr. Fallon to fetch a bundle of dried thyme and wild caraway for his bread—claimed the flavor wouldn’t be worth spit without it. Gave me a half-torn scrap with the address written in crooked scrawl and waved me off like I didn’t have ten other things to fix today.

I followed the directions, takin’ the narrow road past the blacksmith’s, past the place where the woods leaned too close to the path, until the town itself felt far behind me. When I reached the cottage, it was tucked back in a thicket of elder trees, vines curlin’ up its stone sides like time was tryin’ to reclaim it.

Didn’t seem like the sort of place anybody lived.

But there was smoke risin’ from the chimney, soft and pale.

I knocked on the door. Didn’t expect her to answer.

But she did.

The door creaked open slow, and there she stood. Same earth-toned dress, sleeves rolled up this time, fingers stained green from somethin’ she’d been grinding. Her hair was wrapped back, loose pieces stickin’ to her temple from sweat.

I blinked. She didn’t.

“You here for the baker’s herbs?” she asked, before I could speak.

“Aye,” I said, a little too quick. “Didn’t know it was you who put ‘em together.”

She gave a small shrug, half-turning back into the house. “I make do with what I can. Come on in. It’s dry, at least.”

I hesitated on the threshold.

Then stepped inside.

The cottage smelled like cedar smoke and mint, sharp with somethin’ bitter beneath it—wormwood, maybe, or sorrow. Shelves lined the walls, filled with glass jars and cloth bundles, herbs hangin’ to dry like prayer strings. Light came in soft through the foggy windows, catchin’ on the motes floatin’ in the air.

I watched her move through the space like she belonged to it. Like the walls were built to her shape.

“You live alone out here?” I asked, settin’ the tin sack down by the door.

She nodded without lookin’ back. “Folk don’t visit much. Suits me fine.”

“Bit far from everything, don’t you think?”

Her hands didn’t stop as she tied a bundle of dried leaves with twine. “Distance keeps peace. Or at least quiet.”

I hummed low. “Seems lonely.”

She paused, just a moment. “Lonely’s better than bein’ caged.”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

She turned then, handin’ me the bundle wrapped in cloth. “Here. Tell Fallon I added wild rosemary. He’ll complain, but he’ll use it anyway.”

I took the bundle, our fingers brushin’ again. Brief, but not unremarkable.

“Thank you,” I said. “For this.”

She nodded. Her eyes lingered on mine longer than they should’ve.

“You always this polite, or just when you’re in someone’s home?”

I let a ghost of a smile tug at my mouth. “Only when I’m talkin’ to someone who don’t scare easy.”

She raised an eyebrow, a corner of her lip curlin’. “Good. I don’t trust men who only speak sweet to the meek.”

There was a silence then—an easy one, somehow, but it sat heavy with things unspoken.

“You never gave me your name,” I said, shifting the weight of the herbs in my hands.

She looked down, then back up. “That’s ‘cause I haven’t decided if you’ve earned it.”

And damn me, but I liked the sound of that.

“Well,” I said, stepping back toward the door, “if you ever reckon I have, I’ll be around. Usually fixin’ things folk’ve broken.”

She tilted her head, arms crossed now. “Maybe I’ll break somethin’ just to see if you’ll come.”

The door creaked shut behind me before I could think of somethin’ clever to say.

Outside, the air smelled like wet leaves and woodsmoke. I walked back down the muddy path with her words echoing in my chest—soft as silk, sharp as flint.

And somewhere in the quiet between my heartbeats, I realized I’d be lookin’ for reasons to come back.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

The morning stretched soft and gold over the village, sun filterin’ through a sky still patched with the pale hush of dawn. It’d rained heavy the night before, and now the earth smelled like moss and old stone, like every breath belonged to something older than me.

I took the same path I always did, worn into the hills by habit and need. A leather satchel slung cross my shoulder, tools knockin’ gentle against one another with each step. The hammer I used for roofs, the little brush I used for oilin’ hinges—all packed like I was some saint come to bless broken things.

Only I wasn’t goin’ to the chapel today.

The note had come from the baker, scribbled mess of ink sayin’ one of the herb women needed her ceilin’ patched. Didn’t give a name, just said “the dark-eyed one what don’t smile easy.” I knew then.

Didn’t tell myself that out loud, but my chest said it plain.

Her.

The woman who spoke like secrets. Moved like the rain followed her for warmth. I’d seen her twice now, and still she sat behind my eyes like a prayer I couldn’t finish.

Her cottage sat just beyond the low bend of the road, tucked behind a line of cypress trees with their roots grippin’ the wet soil like they feared bein’ torn up. Ivy climbed the corners of the stone, and a little row of jars lined the windowsill—dried flowers, maybe. Bits of lavender. Or bones.

I knocked soft. Once. Twice. No answer. I knocked again, louder this time, the wood thuddin’ beneath my fist.

“Comin’,” came her voice, muffled but steady.

The door creaked open and there she was, standin’ barefoot on the wood floor with sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Her dress was a muted brown, plain as river mud, but it clung to her like she’d shaped it herself from dusk and silence.

“You’re the one with the leak,” I said, tryin’ to keep my voice level, casual. “I was sent from the bakery to patch it up proper.”

Her eyes flicked down to my satchel, then back to me. “Figured someone would show. Just didn’t think it’d be you.”

I raised a brow. “That a complaint?”

She didn’t smile, but her lips twitched at the corners. “Not yet.”

She stepped aside, lettin’ me in with a tilt of her head. The air inside her cottage was warm—herby, thick with dried thyme and somethin’ sweeter beneath it, like burnt sugar.

“Ceilin’s in the back room,” she said. “It leaks when the rain hits from the east.”

I followed her down the narrow hall, tools shiftin’ with each step. The floor creaked beneath our weight, and the walls held the quiet hum of a lived-in place—one made by hand, not bought with coin.

As I entered the room, I looked up at the corner where the water had left its mark—dark ring bloomin’ like rot in the ceiling. I set my satchel down near the edge of a low table and rolled up my sleeves.

“You don’t strike me as the sort who sends for help,” I said, climbin’ onto the little stool below the leak. “Let alone a village man.”

“I’m not,” she replied, movin’ to the table and startin’ to sort herbs into small bundles. “But I’m also not the sort who lets water make a home where it don’t belong.”

“That so?” I grinned. “Maybe you oughta carve that on a stone outside. Might keep trouble at bay.”

Her hands stilled a moment on the stems before resummin’. “Trouble always finds its way back. Whether you carve warnings or not.”

There was somethin’ in her tone—like she knew the feel of trouble’s hands around her throat and had stopped bein’ afraid of it.

I scraped at the softened wood, lettin’ silence settle between us, comfortable as an old coat.

I was halfway through tightening the last hinge when she spoke again.

“You always this quiet when you work?” she asked, voice soft, but not shy. There was somethin’ in it—like a cat stretchin’ in a sunbeam. Casual. Watchin’.

I glanced down from the stool I’d set beneath her ceiling, my sleeve wet with old rainwater and plaster dust stickin’ to my arms.

“Only when the job���s worth concentratin’ on,” I muttered, brows knit, screwin’ the final nail in. “And when the roof don’t behave.”

She made a small sound—almost a laugh. “Should I apologize on its behalf?”

“If it gives me a bit o’ peace, then aye.”

She leaned her shoulder to the doorframe, arms folded, basket still on the table behind her. The light from the window framed her in pieces—forehead, cheekbone, collarbone. Dust floated between us, and outside, the wind shifted the branches in her little garden.

“You’re better at this than the last fella they sent,” she said after a while. “Didn’t even last long enough to hammer twice before he said the house gave him a bad feelin’.”

“Most things give folk a bad feelin’ when they ain’t lookin’ hard enough,” I answered, setting the hammer down and wiping my hands on my trousers. “Or when they’re daft.”

“And what about you?” she asked, that same not-smile flirtin’ at the corners of her mouth. “You get any feelin’ from this place?”

I turned, finally facing her proper. “Aye,” I said. “That you’re hidin’ somethin’.”

Her expression didn’t change, but her gaze sharpened.

“I mean,” I added, before she could speak, “that you don’t talk much, yet you’ve got books stacked on herbs that don’t grow this side of the sea. Things bundled in your basket most folks wouldn’t know to pick. You knew I’d come back for the ceiling before I even told you I would.”

She tilted her head, lips pressing together. “I listen. I pay attention,” she said simply. “People show who they are even when they don’t mean to.”

“And what have I shown, then?” I asked, stepping down from the stool, slow.

She hesitated only a breath. “That you’re more than you say,” she said. “And you carry your grief like it’s welded to your spine.”

I stopped cold. And for once, I didn’t have somethin’ clever to say. Just stood there, feelin’ the weight of her words settle where they landed—deep.

She walked past me then, to the table, and pulled a small dark glass jar from the corner beside a bound book. Set it in my hands.

“For the cold,” she said. “Rain’ll catch up with you sooner than you think, and you smell like someone who won’t rest long enough to sweat it out.”

I looked down at the jar, then up at her again.

“You trust me not to drop dead drinkin’ this?” I asked, eyebrow cocked.

“If I wanted you dead,” she said plainly, “I’d’ve let the ceiling fall.”

That made me laugh, a dry sound I hadn’t heard in my own throat in some time.

“Fair ‘nough.”

She moved toward the door to open it for me, but I didn’t walk out just yet. Still holdin’ the jar, I looked back at her, searching her face like the name might rise from her skin if I stared long enough.

“You gonna tell me your name, or do I keep callin’ you Moonflower in my head?” I asked, the smirk creepin’ up despite myself.

She blinked at that. “Moonflower?”

“You only bloom at night. Got a scent that lingers. And I reckon you’ll poison a man if he ain’t careful.”

That made her pause. Then, a smile—real this time, curved and quiet.

“Don’t know if I oughta be flattered or offended.”

“Both, maybe.”

She nodded, opening the door wider. “See you next time, then… handyman.”

“Remmick,” I reminded her, steppin’ out into the daylight again.

“I know,” she said, leaning on the frame. “Still deciding if you deserve to be called by it.”

And then she shut the door.

But the air behind me stayed full of her voice. Of rain. And herbs. And somethin’ that hadn’t yet been named.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

The woods had a hush to ’em that day—like even the birds were holdin’ their tongues to listen. Not a drop of rain on the ground, but the air was thick with damp, like the earth’d been cryin’ in secret. I weren’t lookin’ for her. Not exactly. But I took the long path from town anyhow, boots slippin’ over moss and roots, hands deep in my coat like I didn’t care where I was headed.

Truth was, I hadn’t seen her in three days. And it felt like somethin’ gnawin’ at the hollow in my ribs.

I told myself she was off gatherin’ or restin’, that folk like her didn’t owe nothin’ to folk like me. But the stillness where she ought to’ve been—it sat too long in the pit of my chest.

Then I saw her. Perched on a fallen log off the trail, elbow on her knee, chin in her palm. Her basket laid beside her, near empty, just a few stringy greens hangin’ on like stubborn ghosts. The wind played gentle at her scarf, and she looked like she’d been carved outta stillness. A woman built from pause and ache.

“Thought the trees’d gone and swallowed you,” I said, easin’ around the bend with a crooked smile tryin’ to pass as casual.

Her gaze met mine. Slow. Sure. “They tried,” she said. “But I told ’em I still had things to finish.”

A laugh threatened my throat. I let it sit behind my teeth.

“Was beginnin’ to think I imagined you,” I said, shiftin’ my weight through the soft earth. “Like somethin’ dreamt up on a fevered night.”

She looked me over like she could tell I meant it. “You dream often, Remmick?”

“Only when I’ve got somethin’ heavy on the soul.”

She didn’t answer that. Just scooted over and tapped the space beside her.

So I sat.

We let the silence settle between us for a time, let it stretch long and deep. She played with a blade of grass, foldin’ it in half, then again, ’til it split. I watched the way her fingers moved, careful but worn.

“I been thinkin’,” she said after a while, voice quiet but steady. “How a place can be full of people and still feel empty.”

My eyes shifted to her, to the way her jaw set like she’d swallowed too many truths. “This place do that to you?”

She shrugged. Not quite yes, not quite no. Then after a beat, “My home wasn’t kind either. But it was mine. Then it weren’t.”

I didn’t say nothin’. Just let her speak.

“There was a war. Not one with drums and soldiers, but somethin’ quieter. Slower. Took everything soft and left the bones.”

Her fingers stilled. Her face didn’t change, but I saw the weight behind her eyes.

“I ran,” she said. “Kept runnin’. Learned to talk like I belonged. Learned to walk like I wasn’t watchin’ every step.”

“You shouldn’t’ve had to,” I muttered, voice rough. “No one should.”

She looked at me then, like she weren’t expectin’ that.

“Folk back home say runnin’ makes you weak,” she said. “But it’s what saved me.”

I nodded slow. “I ran, too. When my brother died, I packed what little I had and left. Not just the grief, but… the hunger. Crops were failin’. Bellies were empty. We were ghosts by winter.”

She blinked, brows drawin’ together.

“Ireland’s a beautiful place, but she’s cruel when she wants to be. The year before I left, there was rot in the potatoes—black and wet, like somethin’ cursed the fields. Folks buried more kin than crops that year.”

I swallowed.

“I couldn’t stay and starve with the bones of my family.”

She watched me. Didn’t speak. Just watched.

“So I came here,” I went on, voice low. “Thought maybe fixin’ things might fix me, too.”

She tilted her head. “Has it?”

I looked down at my hands. Calloused. Dirty. Then I looked at her.

“I’m still cracked,” I said. “But I don’t feel so hollow when you’re nearby.”

Her lips parted, just a little. Eyes softenin’, like she didn’t know what to do with that.

“You always say things like that?”

“Only when I mean ’em.”

The breeze stirred again. Her scarf lifted and fell.

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” she said, voice low. “What I’ve seen. I’m not made of mercy, Remmick. I’ve got sharp edges.”

“I ain’t afraid of a cut,” I said, leanin’ forward. “Not if it means gettin’ close to somethin’ real.”

She reached into her basket then, pullin’ out a folded cloth with a little vial inside—amber-glass, stoppered with care.

“More, For the rain,” she said. “To keep the cold outta your bones.”

I took it from her gently, thumb brushing hers. “You always takin’ care of me.”

She smiled, barely. “You look like someone who don’t know how to ask for help.”

“And you look like someone who’s tired of watchin’ folk suffer.”

She stood, dustin’ off her skirts.

“Walk me home?” she asked.

I stood too, tucking the vial safe in my coat. “Aye. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And I meant it. From the ache behind my ribs to the silence between her words—I meant every damn word.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

Days passed as I began to see her more and more. Every time was like a dream I didn’t want to end—just like today.

The clearing sat just beyond the old stone wall, tucked where the trees thinned and the wild things dared bloom without asking permission. The sun poured itself across the earth like warm cream, catchin’ on petals and blades of grass, paintin’ everything gold.

She was already there when I arrived—kneelin’ low, sleeves rolled up past her elbows, fingers brushin’ through stalks of green like she were coaxin’ secrets from the dirt. Some of the flowers were in full bloom, heads high like they knew they were worth praisin’. Others drooped, wilted from the heat or time. Still, she moved between them with care, never avoidin’ the ones that’d gone soft at the edges.

“You’re late,” she said without lookin’ at me, voice light but pointed.

I knelt beside her, restin’ my tools down with a soft thump. “Was mendin’ a crooked stair, not flirtin’ with the baker’s daughter if that’s what you’re thinkin’.”

She smirked. “Didn’t say you were.”

“Aye, but you thought it.”

She shook her head, then held up a stem with tiny white buds. “Chamomile. You pick it now, when the sun’s at its highest. Any later, and it starts losin’ its strength.”

I took it from her, turnin’ the stem between my fingers. “Looks like nothin’ special.”

She raised a brow. “And yet it calms nerves, soothes bellies, and can ease nightmares.”

My lips curled. “Maybe I oughta be stuffin’ my pillow with it.”

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

The way she said it made me glance sideways at her—how the sun lit up her cheekbones, how the wind caught loose strands of hair and played with ‘em like a lover. She looked too alive to belong to the quiet.

“Which one’s next?” I asked, clearin’ my throat.

She reached out, pluckin’ a stem from the base of a nearby cluster. “Yarrow. Good for wounds.”

“That for folk like me who get in fights with doors and lose?”

She gave me a sidelong look. “It’s for those who carry hurts they don’t speak on.”

I didn’t answer. Not right away.

We moved in silence for a while, fingers grazin’ blooms, knees in the soft earth. I watched her more than I watched the plants, truth be told. There was a rhythm to her. A kind of stillness that weren’t born from silence but from knowledge. Like she knew exactly where she stood and why the world moved around her.

“Why d’you teach me this?” I asked finally.

She shrugged. “Because most folk pluck what’s pretty and leave what’s useful.”

“And you think I’m worth teachin’?”

She looked at me then. Really looked. “I think you listen when I speak,” she said. “That’s rare enough.”

My chest pulled tight at that. Not from surprise. From feelin’ seen.

“I like hearin’ you talk,” I said, softer than I meant. “Even when you don’t say much.”

She didn’t smile, but she didn’t look away either. “What else do you like?”

“Your hands,” I said before thinkin’. “How sure they are. How you never flinch when you touch things other folk avoid.”

Her gaze flicked down to the herbs between us. “And what if I touch somethin’ dangerous?”

“Then I reckon it’d be lucky to be held by you.”

The wind stirred again, rustlin’ the trees, bendin’ the tall grass in waves. A butterfly danced between us and didn’t land.

She exhaled slow, like maybe she’d been holdin’ her breath. “You’re a strange man, Remmick.”

“Aye,” I said, smilin’. “But I’m learnin’ from the best.”

We sat there till the sun dipped just low enough to cast long shadows. The air thickened with the smell of lavender and crushed thyme. She handed me one last sprig—something bitter, sharp to the nose.

“For the headaches you pretend not to have,” she said.

I tucked it behind my ear like a fool.

She laughed, the sound as soft as the breeze through yarrow leaves.

And I thought—if this were all I ever had of her, it’d be enough.

But some part of me already knew I’d want more.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

The sun was dippin’ low, spillin’ orange light across the field like it was tryin’ to make somethin’ holy outta the ordinary. We’d wandered farther than usual — past the woods, down near where the blackberry bushes crept wild along the stone fences. Grass brushed at our ankles, and the air smelled like dust, crushed fruit, and late summer.

She’d been hummin’ under her breath again. I never knew the tune, but it stuck in my head all the same.

“Careful now,” she said, glancin’ back at me with that half-grin. “These brambles’ll catch your trousers and your pride in one go.”

I muttered somethin’ about her bein’ the real menace, not the bushes, which made her laugh — that soft, real kind that made my chest feel too small.

We settled on a slope where the hill dipped shallow. She sat cross-legged without a care, skirt flared, one hand restin’ against a warm rock. I sat beside her, knees bent, boots diggin’ into the earth. Not too close. Not too far.“You always find the best places,” I said, watchin’ the horizon melt.She shrugged like it weren’t nothin’. “Places don’t gotta be grand to be good. Just quiet. Just safe.”

I glanced at her, and for a second, she looked made of the light itself — all gold and shadow, like she belonged to a world I hadn’t earned yet.

“How come you never told me your name?” I asked, leanin’ back on my elbows. “Might start thinkin’ you ain’t got one.”

She chuckled, pickin’ a stem of clover and twistin’ it between her fingers. “Maybe I was waitin’. Maybe I needed to know if you’d ruin it.”

I arched a brow. “Ruin it how?”

“Some folk take your name like it’s a possession,” she said, serious now. “Say it too often. Say it wrong. Say it like they own it.”

I nodded slow. “And you think I’d do that?”

She looked at me then — really looked — and whatever she saw there must’ve settled somethin’.

“No,” she said soft. “I don’t think you would.”

The breeze picked up. She reached into her basket, pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. Bread and somethin’ sharp-smellin’, maybe a bit of goat cheese.

“Payment,” she said, handin’ me the bread. “For carryin’ all my baskets last week like a proper mule.”

I grinned. “Best damn mule you ever met.”

“You might be right.” She took a bite of her own bread, chewin’ slow, like she had all the time in the world.

Silence sat easy between us, stitched together by cicadas and the rustle of the grass.

Then she said it, casual as the weather.

“My name’s Y/N.”

I turned to her, blinkin’. “Y/N,” I repeated, like it was a word I already knew but hadn’t tasted proper yet.

“Don’t wear it out,” she warned, smirkin’ over her bite of cheese.

“I wouldn’t dare,” I said, and meant it.

We watched the last of the sun sink behind the ridge, the sky bruisin’ with twilight.

“Y/N,” I murmured again, like a prayer I hadn’t realized I’d needed.

She didn’t look at me this time. But I saw the way her smile turned soft at the edges.

And that was enough.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

The sun sat high, spillin’ gold all across the yard like it’d been poured straight from God’s own pitcher. Cicadas were hummin’, lazy and loud, and the stump tree in front of her little place offered just enough shade to make sittin’ there feel like somethin’ sacred.

She was bent over a wide wooden bowl in her lap, sleeves rolled to her elbows, grindin’ the herbs we’d gathered just the day before. Her wrists moved smooth, slow—like she was coaxin’ the medicine out with patience instead of pressure. The scent of rosemary and dry lavender clung to the air. I sat nearby on the grass, a small pile of weeds beside me I’d promised to pull up while she worked, though I’d barely made a dent.

Didn’t matter much.

I wasn’t here to work.

I was here to watch her.

To listen to her hum low under her breath, not a tune I knew, but soft enough to settle the ache that’d been coiled in my chest since the last time she’d gone quiet on me.

She reached for another bundle of dried stalks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with the back of her wrist.

“You done plannin’ on helpin’ or you just gonna keep starin’?” she asked, not lookin’ up.

“Both, maybe,” I said, leanin’ back on my elbows with a grin. “Can’t blame a man for admirin’ the view.”

She snorted, but her lips twitched. “If you’re tryin’ to be smooth, you’re slippin’, Remmick.”

“Me? Slippin’?” I let my accent thicken, feignin’ offense. “I’ll have you know I was voted most charming back home. ’Course, that was by a goat and my granda.”

That earned me a laugh. Not loud, but enough to stir the birds in the tree overhead.

I watched her as she went back to work, the sun catchin’ on her skin and her voice hummin’ again. My hand found a stray flower near my boot, tugging it from the grass. Yellow, scraggly thing. Not as pretty as the ones she kept hung dry above her stove, but it reminded me of her in some crooked way—sturdy and soft at the same time.

“You ever think about stayin’?” I asked, real quiet. “In one place, I mean. Lettin’ somethin’ root you instead of always runnin’?”

She paused, mortar stillin’ in her hand. “You mean lettin’ people in?”

“I mean lettin’ one in,” I said, twirlin’ the flower between my fingers. “Just one.”

She turned her head toward me, squintin’ a little like the light was in her eyes and not the words. “That what you’ve been gettin’ at this whole time?”

I didn’t answer. Just tucked the flower behind my ear with mock grace.

“What d’you think?”

She looked at me for a long time. Then smiled. Not wide. Not coy. Just somethin’ soft and real, like the kind of smile you give someone you ain’t afraid of no more.

“I think you talk too much,” she said, goin’ back to grindin’. “But I like it.”

I didn’t need more than that.

Didn’t need her to say the thing out loud.

Not yet.

The breeze picked up, stirrin’ the dust, the herbs, the ache in my chest that didn’t feel quite so heavy no more.

I pulled the flower from its place on behind ear and putting it neatly on hers and she smiles shyly.

And beneath that old stump tree, under the watchful hush of midday, I let myself believe—just a little—that maybe I weren’t the only one feelin’ it.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

The smell of sugar and sun-warmed fruit clung to the cottage like a promise. Late afternoon spilled through the kitchen window in golden sheets, catching in the little dust motes that danced above the wooden counter. The bowl between us was nearly full—fat blueberries she’d hand-picked that morning, now tossed in flour and cinnamon, waiting for their crusted cradle.

I stood elbow-deep in dough, arms dusted white, sweat at my brow and not just from the heat.

“Careful,” she said, reaching across me. Her hand brushed mine. “You’re foldin’ it too hard. Gotta coax it, not fight it.”

I glanced up.

Sunlight hit the side of her face, turned her lashes gold. She was smiling soft—barely there—but it pulled somethin’ straight outta my ribs.

“Aye,” I muttered. “Didn’t know you trained with the Queen’s pastry cooks.”

She snorted. “Didn’t need to. Just had a gran who’d bite your fingers if you got heavy-handed with her dough.”

“Sounds like a wise woman.”

“She was mean as vinegar and twice as sharp.”

I tried again, slower now, and she nodded her approval. The next few minutes passed with quiet hums and giggles. I couldn’t help but sneak glances—at the curve of her neck, the smudge of flour on her cheek, the way her fingers moved like she were tellin’ a story only she knew.

Then I caught her lookin’ at me.

We both froze.

Neither of us said nothin’, but somethin’ heavy and warm unfurled between us, soft as steam off a pie fresh from the oven.

She turned first, busyin’ herself with the tin. I took the chance to toss a pinch of flour at her back.

It hit her scarf.

She whirled. “Oh, you didn’t—!”

I grinned. “Didn’t what?”

She grabbed a handful and threw it square at my chest. The puff exploded, dustin’ my shirt and the air between us. I lunged with a laugh, and she shrieked, giggling as she dodged around the table.

We wrestled, gently. My hands found her waist, hers pressed against my chest, and when she stumbled, I caught her.

Held her.

Our breath caught in the same place.

“You’ve got… flour,” I murmured, brushing her cheek.

“So do you,” she whispered, staring up at me.

I don’t remember leanin’ in. Just that my lips found hers like they’d been waitin’ their whole life.

She kissed me back slow—like she weren’t sure she should, but couldn’t help herself.

Then it changed.

Got deeper. Hungrier.

She tugged my shirt, I backed her into the counter. My hands ran over her hips, then up, tanglin’ in her hair as she moaned into my mouth.

“Y/N…” I whispered against her jaw.

She didn’t answer. Just pulled me toward the bedroom like it was a decision already made.

The room was dim and warm, the last of the sun stretchin’ long through the window. She peeled her top away first, the thin cotton fallin’ to the floor. I watched her chest rise, eyes dark with want but soft, too.

I pulled my shirt over my head, dropped it, then stepped close.

“Sure ‘bout this?” I asked, voice low.

She nodded. “Been sure.”

That’s all I needed.

I kissed her again, slower this time, carryin’ her back until her knees hit the bed. We sank down together.

Our clothes came off like pages turned, deliberate and slow. My hands traced every inch of her, commitin’ it to memory like scripture. She gasped when I kissed her collarbone, whimpered when I moved down, when my mouth found the place that made her hips jerk and thighs tremble.

“Remmick,” she breathed, fingers in my hair, head tipped back.

I could’ve died in that moment and called it heaven.

When I slid inside her, she clung to me like she’d fall apart otherwise.

We moved together like we’d been doin’ it forever. Like we were born for it. Her nails scraped down my back, my mouth found her throat. I whispered her name like a hymn, like a confession.

She cried out when she came—legs locked around me, eyes wet, lips parted.

I followed close behind, buryin’ my face in her neck with a groan, her name spillin’ from my mouth like a prayer I’d never learned to say right.

After, we didn’t speak.

Just laid tangled in each other, the sound of our breath and the warm hush of evening wrappin’ around us.

I pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t pull away.

And I swear—right then—I could’ve stayed there forever.

But forever’s a long time.

And fate, as I’ve learned, don’t ever keep still.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

The first whisper came from the well.

A woman claimin’ her husband’d died after takin’ a tincture from Y/N. Said it were meant to calm his fever, but he didn’t see the next mornin’. She left out the weeks of coughin’ blood, the yellow tint in his eyes, the black along his gums. She left out the death already settin’ up house in his chest. No, she only spoke of the bottle. And the woman who brewed it. The quiet one, with dark hands and darker eyes, and a garden full o’ herbs no one dared name.

By midday, more tales grew teeth.

A child gone pale after tastin’ sweetroot she’d sold. A cow miscarryin’ out near the woods. An old man mutterin’ in his sleep that he’d seen a shadow slip past his window—and his joints ain’t been right since.

That evenin’, someone carved a jagged symbol into the bark of the tree outside her home.

The kind meant to ward off evil.

Or invite it.

I heard the talk at the forge. At the tavern. At the bloody baker’s shop, while I were settin’ a hinge right on their back door.

“She don’t age,” one man whispered.

“She don’t bleed,” said another.

“Heard her kiss tastes like rusted iron,” a third muttered, voice thick with ale and foolishness.

“She’s a witch.”

“She’s the reason the sickness won’t lift.”

I laid the hammer down slow. Let the nails clatter onto the bench one by one. Didn’t say a word. Just slipped out the back, fists clenched so tight I damn near split my own skin.

By the time I made it to her cottage, dusk had painted the sky grey and mean. I found her in the back garden, tendin’ her herbs like nothin’ was crumblin’ ‘round her.

“Evenin’,” she said when I stepped through the gate. Her voice soft, same as always, but her shoulders were stiff.

“You been into town lately?” I asked.

“Two mornings past,” she said, still kneelin’. “Why?”

I moved closer, my jaw grindin’. “Folk are talkin’. Sayin’ you’re the reason that man’s dead.”

She stood slow, wiped her hands on her apron. “He was already dyin’. The brew was to ease his passin’. I ain’t the one who filled his lungs with rot.”

“I know that. But they don’t. And they’re lookin’ for someone to blame.”

“They always are.”

I swallowed hard, shakin’ my head. “They carved a mark outside your gate.”

She turned to me fully then. “Let ‘em.”

“They’re callin’ you a witch.”

“And what do you call me?”

My throat tightened. “I call you brave. Foolish, maybe. But brave.”

She held my gaze. “I’ve run before, Remmick. I’ll do it again if I must.”

“Don’t,” I said, louder than I meant to. “Don’t run.”

She looked back to the herbs. “I won’t beg to keep a life I built with my own hands.”

“You won’t have to.” My voice dipped low. “But promise me—no more goin’ into town alone.”

She hesitated. “Alright.”

But I knew, right then, she were already thinkin’ of leavin’.

Three days passed.

She didn’t listen.

Said she needed sugar. Cinnamon bark. Said she’d be quick.

A boy came runnin’ to my door before midday, breathless. “She’s been hurt,” he gasped. “They said she cursed their land. Threw stones. She bled.”

I didn’t ask. Just ran.

When I reached her home, she was packin’. A bandage round her brow, blood stainin’ the edge of it. Her hands moved fast, throwin’ jars and vials into her satchel.

“You went alone?” I barked, stormin’ into the room.

“I didn’t think—”

“No,” I snapped, “you didn’t.”

She didn’t stop movin’.

“You plannin’ on runnin’, then?”

“What choice do I have?” she hissed. “You said it yourself—they’ll burn the source.”

My chest hurt. “Don’t go.”

She paused. Just for a moment.

Then kept packin’. “You can’t save me from all this.”

“I can try.”

That night, I left.

Didn’t tell her where I was goin’. Only knew one place left to turn.

Deep in the hills, past the boglands and the stone-faced ruins. A place folk didn’t speak of unless drink loosened their tongues. Said there was a woman there, old as death, who could grant power—if you paid the price.

And I paid it.

Gave up my last ounce o’ peace for it.

“Give me what I need to protect her,” I said, kneelin’ in the dirt.

The voice that answered sounded like it had no mouth, no shape.

You’ll have it. But you’ll never be what you were.

I woke with fire behind my eyes.

With hunger in my chest.

And power under my skin.

I ran back.

Too late.

Blood painted the porch. A poisoned arrow stickin’ out her side. Her breath shallow. Barely holdin’ on.

“Y/N,” I choked, fallin’ beside her. “No, no, no—stay with me, darlin’, please.”

“They came,” she rasped. “Said I brought plague…”

“We’ll leave. I’ll carry you. I’ll get you out—”

She smiled. Weak. “You’ve got to live, Remmick.”

“I ain’t livin’ without you.”

She tried to lift her hand. Failed.

And I broke.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, tears runnin’. “Forgive me.”

I sank my teeth into her throat.

She gasped.

Horrified.

“You didn’t…” she whimpered as blood began spraying a bit from the wound. “You didn’t ask…”

“I couldn’t lose you, Moonflower.”

The torches were comin’. Voices behind the trees.

But I held her tighter than I’d ever held anythin’ as she stopped breathing.

And I cursed myself with every breath.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

Y/N’s Pov

I woke with my mouth dry and the taste of iron sittin’ heavy on my tongue.

The ceiling above me weren’t my own. It sloped too sharp, boards too clean, the scent of smoke and earth clingin’ to the beams like old ghosts. The air was still—too still—like the house itself was holdin’ its breath.

I sat up slow. My limbs moved strange—lighter, too light, like my body forgot how much it used to weigh. My skin felt tight over my bones, raw at the seams, like somethin’ inside me had been stretched too far and stitched back wrong.

The blanket slid off my shoulders.

I was wearin’ someone else’s dress.

Not mine. Not torn. Not bloodstained.

But that’s what I remembered last.

Blood. The color of it flashin’ under the moonlight. The ache of it tearin’ through my ribs. The sound of Remmick’s voice, tremblin’ as he cradled me like I was already gone. And then—

My throat closed.

I remembered his mouth on my neck.

His whisper. His kiss.

The bite.

And suddenly it hit—like a storm comin’ in sideways.

The pain. The fire. The way my body twisted from the inside out, like my soul didn’t wanna be here no more but the rest of me refused to let go. My hands clutched the mattress. Breath comin’ fast, sharp.

He turned me.

He turned me without askin’.

I swung my legs off the side of the bed, bare feet hittin’ cool wood. The room around me was dim but familiar in a way that made my stomach knot. It was his. It had to be. One of the places he used—clean, hidden, a house that didn’t remember its own name.

A chair was pulled close to the bed. A half-burnt candle melted into the table beside it.

He’d been watchin’ me.

Waitin’ for me to wake.

And yet he was gone now.

Good.

I didn’t want him to see me like this—split open from the inside, grief sittin’ heavy in my chest like a second heart.

I rose, legs unsteady beneath me, and caught sight of my reflection in the small mirror above the wash basin.

I froze.

My eyes—black at the center, rimmed in red like coals just startin’ to burn. My skin a bit discolored as early frost, no warmth left to hold. My lips, faintly stained.

I touched them.

They still felt like mine.

But they weren’t.

A sound left me. Not a sob. Not quite.

Somethin’ between a growl and a cry—like grief wearin’ new teeth.

I should’ve been dead.

That’s what I chose. That’s what I meant.

I told him to run.

I told him to live.

And instead, he tethered me to this life—this curse—with his own teeth.

My hand found the edge of the basin and gripped it tight.

The wood cracked under my fingers.

I let go, heart poundin’ louder than thought.

This wasn’t love.

This was control.

A man holdin’ too tight to what he couldn’t bear to lose.

He’d rather unmake me than grieve me.

And yet—beneath the rage, beneath the betrayal—somethin’ else stirred.

Somethin’ I hated more than him in that moment.

I didn’t feel dead.

I felt strong.

Feral.

Awake.

Every sound in the woods outside was clearer. The creak of the beams. The wind slippin’ under the door. I could smell the ash in the hearth and the echo of blood that once lived in these floorboards.

And that scared me more than anything.

Because I knew what came next.

The hunger.

The ache.

The war I’d have to fight inside myself, every minute, every hour.

All because he couldn’t let me go.

I stepped away from the mirror.

The next time I saw Remmick, I wasn’t sure if I was gonna kiss him…

or kill him.

So I ran.

Not for the first time.

But this time, I crossed oceans.

The Atlantic didn’t welcome me. It didn’t whisper comfort. It roared—salt-raw and cruel, like it knew what I was carryin’. Not just the hunger. Not just the curse. But the truth: I wasn’t runnin’ from a man.

I was runnin’ from the memory of one.

I didn’t look back when Europe disappeared behind fog. Too many ghosts in the soil. Too many names I couldn’t say anymore. Too many faces I’d borrowed and buried.

I took the long way to nowhere.

Lived beneath borrowed roofs and behind shuttered windows. Spain. France. Portugal. I spoke like them, walked like them, bent like them. But my voice never quite fit right. My skin whispered stories the villagers didn’t know how to read. And when they couldn’t read you, they made you into somethin’ to fear.

So I disappeared again.

City to countryside. From the coast to quiet farms. I slept in cellars. Fed in alleyways. Hid my teeth like a shame. Covered my eyes when they burned too bright. But no matter where I went, I couldn’t bury what he’d done to me. What I’d become.

Vampire. Woman. Stranger.

Sin.

Then came America.

I heard tales of it in the mouths of men too poor to own boots but rich enough to dream. A place where no one knew your name unless you gave it. Where you could vanish on purpose. So I boarded a ship under another name and crossed a second ocean.

They didn’t see me.

Didn’t ask what land I came from.

Only that I kept quiet. Paid in coin. Kept to my corner.

And I did.

I stepped off that boat like a shadow lookin’ for a body.

Years blurred. The states changed names and faces. I moved where the fear was low and the sun easier to dodge. Pennsylvania. Georgia. Louisiana. Tennessee.

But nothin’ felt like mine.

Not until Mississippi.

The Delta didn’t ask questions. It didn’t blink twice at a woman whose hands knew how to soothe fever, or whose voice carried like river water over stone. It didn’t care where I came from—just that I came with honesty and stayed with my head down.

And Lord, the pain here… it sang.

You could hear it in the soil. In the fields. In the bones of folk who worked the land like they were tryin’ to forgive it for all it had taken. The joy didn’t come easy here—but it came. It bled through laughter, through music, through bodies swayin’ in defiance of grief.

Here, sorrow didn’t hide from joy.

They danced together.

And for someone like me, that meant maybe I could belong.

I found a room behind a narrow house with warped floorboards and a window I never opened. Miss Adele, who owned it, looked me over long and low before passin’ me the key.

“You ain’t from here,” she said.

“No, ma’am.”

She nodded. “But you wear the heat like it’s home. Just don’t bring no trouble through my door.”

I didn’t make promises. But I paid in full.

I stayed quiet. Covered my skin when the sun rose. Fed when I had to—clean, discreet, never twice in the same place. I helped when I could. Tinctures, poultices, teas. I kept to myself. Most folk didn’t know my story.

Didn’t know I once had a man.

Didn’t know he turned me with a kiss and a curse and then begged me to thank him for it.

Didn’t know I used to love him.

I didn’t even know if he was still alive.

I hadn’t seen Remmick in over a century. Hadn’t heard whispers of him. Sometimes, when the wind shifted just right, I swore I could smell the cold of his coat, the copper of his breath. But that was just memory. Just the mind playin’ cruel.

He could’ve turned to dust for all I knew.

I prayed he had.

Still, I never let myself settle too deep.

The room I rented had no roots.

The name I gave was borrowed.

But the juke joint?

That felt like a church.

When Annie smiled at me and Stack nodded toward the dance floor, when the music rolled through me like a hymn with no preacher—I felt human again. I let my body move. I let myself forget. Just for a night. Just for a song.

And when it was over, I stepped back into shadow like I never left it.

They didn’t know what I was.

Not yet.

But I knew what they were.

Wounded. Brave. Alive.

Mississippi didn’t need my past. It didn’t ask for blood oaths or confession. It let me be.

And for the first time in over a hundred years, that was enough.

But peace?

Peace don’t last for things like me.

Because the past got claws.

And I knew, deep down—

if he was still out there, he’d find me.

What I didn’t know… was that he already had.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

The air smelled of fried grease, wet moss, and wood smoke—the kind of southern night that clung to your skin like sweat and memory. I’d just left Miss Lila’s porch, her boy burnin’ up with fever again, and her nerves worn thin as dishwater. I’d left her with a small jar of bark-root and clove oil, told her to steep it slow and keep a cool cloth on his head. She didn’t ask what was in it. Folks rarely did when they was desperate.

The street stretched quiet before me, the dirt packed down by bare feet and Sunday wagons. My boots scuffed low as I walked, the hem of my skirt brushing the edge of dust and dew. The stars hung low tonight, strung like pinholes across a sky too tired to hold itself up.

I passed shuttered windows and sleeping dogs. Passed rusted signs and flickering lamps, the ones that leaned crooked like they were listenin’. I clutched my shawl tighter, the chill sneakier in the spring—evenin’s cool breath slidin’ down the back of my neck.

And then I saw it—the juke joint. It sat tucked behind a bend in the road like a secret meant to be found. Light spilled out through the cracks in the wood like it couldn’t bear to be kept in. Music pulsed low from inside—bluesy and slow, like sorrow had found its rhythm.

Cornbread stood out front like always, arms crossed, leanin’ on the doorframe with that half-grin like he owned the night.

He spotted me before I hit the steps. “Well now,” he said, voice smooth like creek water. “Evenin’, Miss Y/N. Came to bless us with your presence?”

I gave a quiet chuckle, noddin’. “Only if I’m welcome.”

He laughed soft, pushin’ the door open. “Girl, you family by now. Don’t need to be askin’ no more.”

“Still,” I said, steppin’ closer. “Mama always said it’s good manners to ask ‘fore walkin’ into a space that ain’t yours.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna question your manners,” he muttered, wavin’ me through. “Now get in ‘fore the music runs out.”

Inside was a rush of warmth—smoke, sweat, the sweet bite of corn liquor, and somethin’ else… somethin’ close to joy. The music crawled under your skin ‘til your hips remembered how to sway without askin’. Voices buzzed like bees in summer heat, laughter rollin’ like dice across the room.

I eased onto the barstool I always took—third from the left, right where the fan overhead spun lazy—and let my bag fall soft at my boots. Didn’t order nothin’. I never did.

Annie caught sight of me behind the bar, swayin’ easy as ever with a tray of empty glasses tucked on her hip.

“You bring what I asked for?” she asked, duckin’ behind the counter.

I reached into my satchel and handed her the cotton-wrapped bundle. “Steep it slow. Sip, don’t gulp. Should ease you through the worst of it.”

She winked. “Law, I owe you my life.”

“Nah,” I said, settlin’ onto the stool near the end of the bar. “Just owe me a plate of cornbread next time you cookin’.”

That got a laugh out of her, quick and sweet, before she vanished into the back.

I turned back toward the floor, just as Mary’s voice cut through the buzz of conversation like a blade through hushpuppies.

“Y’all hear ‘bout the farmer boy gone missin’?” she said, leanin’ into the group crowded ‘round the far end of the bar. Smoke was there, elbow propped, brows knit low. Two more men sat hunched close—quiet, listening.

“Wasn’t just him,” one said. “Old Mabel from the creek road said her nephew ain’t been seen in two days. Said his boots still sittin’ on the porch like he vanished mid-step.”

Smoke grunted. “I say it’s a man gone mad. Roamin’ through the woods, takin’ what he pleases. We’ve seen worse.”

One of the others leaned in, voice hushed. “The natives been whisperin’ it ain’t a man.”

That brought stillness. Even the music in the back room seemed to hush a beat.

“What they say?” Mary asked, brows raised.

“They say somethin’ old woke up,” the man said, voice nearly swallowed by the crackle of heat and distance. “Somethin’ that walks like a man, but ain’t. They leave herbs and ash circles at the edge of the trees again—like back in the old days.”

Mary scoffed, but it sounded unsure. “Old tales. Spirits don’t need bodies to raise hell.”

“They said this one’s lookin’ for somethin’,” he continued, eyes flickin’ toward the windows like the night itself might be listenin’. “Or someone. Been walkin’ the land with hunger in its bones and a face nobody can seem to remember after seein’ it.”

I sat quiet, still as dusk.

“Could just be some drifter,” Smoke said. “Folks get riled when trouble comes and ain’t got no face to pin it on.”

“Then why the sudden vanishings?” Mary pressed. “Why now?”

“Maybe it ain’t sudden,” I said before I could stop myself, my voice low and calm. “Maybe it’s just the first time we’re payin’ attention.”

Four heads turned my way.

Mary squinted. “You heard somethin’ too?”

I shook my head slow. “Just a feelin’. The kind that settles in your back teeth when the wind shifts wrong.”

They didn’t say nothin’ to that. Not directly. But Smoke nodded once, solemn, like he’d felt it too.

The conversation drifted back to softer things—music, cards, the preacher’s crooked fence—but I sat still. That ache behind my ribs hadn’t let up since the moon turned last. The way the air felt heavy even when it wasn’t humid. The way dogs stopped barkin’ at shadows like they knew they couldn’t win.

It weren’t just madness.

And it sure as hell weren’t random.

I could feel it deep.

Like breath on the back of my neck.

Something was here.

Something was comin’.

And this time, I didn’t know if I’d be able to outrun it.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

Remmick’s Pov

It started with the absence.

Not the kind that’s loud—grief flung sharp across the soul. No. This one crept in slow, like rot behind the walls. Quiet. Patient. The kind of missing that don’t scream. It whispers.

I walked to an empty room. No blood on the floor, no broken window, no fight to mark the leaving. Just cold air where her warmth used to linger. Her scent still clung to the linens. The floor creaked where she last stood.

I called her name.

Once.

Twice.

A third time—barely a whisper. Like maybe she’d come back if I said it soft.

But she didn’t.

And God help me, I searched.

I turned over every rock in that cursed country. Asked after a woman with a strange voice and steady hands. A healer. A ghost. I heard stories that might’ve been her—always just a breath behind. A girl boardin’ a carriage to Marseille. A woman leavin’ a parcel at a chapel in Lisbon. A stranger with dark eyes and no surname passin’ through Antwerp.

I missed her by hours. Days. Once, by a damned blink.

The trail always went cold. But I kept followin’. Because somethin’ in me—somethin’ older than this cursed body—knew she was still out there.

I stopped feedin’ off folk unless I had to. Couldn’t stomach it. Not with her voice echoing in my head, the way she looked at me that night—betrayal writ clear on every bone in her face.

I never meant to hurt her.

I only meant to save her.

But what I gave her weren’t salvation. It was a cage.

A century passed me like smoke through fingers. I lost track of time, faces, cities. Learned to blend into the edges. Changed my name more than once. The world changed, and I watched it like a man outside a window he couldn’t break through.

Then word came.

A dockhand in Barcelona. Drunk off his ass. Said he’d seen a woman walkin’ off a freighter bound for the States. Said she didn’t belong to nobody’s country. Said she looked like a shadow stitched to the sea.

That was all I needed.

I took the next ship out. Didn’t care where it landed—so long as it took me west. Toward her.

The ocean ain’t merciful.

The waves came like judgment. Ripped through the hull on the second week. Screams. Salt. Fire where it shouldn’t be. They said none survived.

They were wrong.

I clung to the wreckage ‘til the sky cracked open with morning. Drifted on broken boards and rage. Burned here and there by the time I reached land—ain’t proud of that. But grief makes monsters outta men, and I already was halfway there.

I moved through towns like a ghost with teeth. New York. Georgia. Tennessee. Small towns and big cities, never settlin’. I listened to whispers in back alleys and watched for her in every market, every dusk-lit chapel, every face turned away from the sun.

Nothing. For years.

But I could feel her.

She was here.

Like the heat before a storm. Like a name you ain’t heard in decades but still makes your gut twist.

It led me to Mississippi.

The Delta pressed down heavy on the chest, thick with memory and blood. And that’s when I knew—she was close. Her scent was buried in the clay. In the river. In the music that throbbed outta them joints deep in the trees.

I watched from the shadows first. Didn’t trust myself not to shatter somethin’ if I saw her too soon.

She danced now. She smiled. But I could see the armor in her eyes. She never looked back when she left a room. Never stepped through a door without pausin’. Still runnin’. Even after all this time.

And me?

I’d come too far.

Burned too much.

So I waited. Watched.

And when the moment was right, I’d step out of the dark…

…and she’d never be able to leave me again.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

There was somethin’ stirrin’ in the wind lately. Not loud, not sharp—just enough to make the back of my neck prickle, enough to keep my eyes glancin’ twice at shadows I used to pass without a care. Folks round here would say it’s just the season changin’. The cotton bloomin’ slow. The river swellin’ with too much rain. But I knew better.

I knew what it felt like when the past came knockin’.

It started with a weight I couldn’t name. Not sorrow, not fear. Just… a tightness in the air. Like the calm right before a storm that don’t care how long you prayed.

I was sweepin’ the porch when it hit strongest. Sun had already gone down behind the trees, but the sky still held that warm blue gold, thick and low, like honey drippin’ off the edge of the world. The breeze carried the scent of pine, of distant smoke and a sweetness I couldn’t quite place. My broom slowed. My breath did too.

I didn’t see nobody. Didn’t hear a damn thing.

But I knew. Somethin’ was watchin’.

I didn’t flinch. Just kept sweepin’, let the wind pull at the hem of my skirt and carried myself like I hadn’t just felt old ghosts shift under my ribs.

Come nightfall, I made my way to the juke. Same as always. Parcel of dried herb tucked in my satchel for Grace. A wrapped cloth of rosehip and sassafras root for Annie. Folks counted on me for that, and I didn’t mind. Gave me a reason to keep movin’. Gave me an excuse to slip past the ache.

Cornbread tipped his chin at me when I reached the door. “You late, sugar.”

I grinned easy, lifting the edge of my shawl. “Didn’t know there was a curfew.”

He stepped aside with a smirk. “Ain’t one. But if you keep showin’ up this late, I’m gon’ start worryin’. Com’ in.”

“Now you sound like Adele,” I teased, brushin’ past him.

Inside, the world came alive. Warm wood floors thrummin’ underfoot. Smoke curlin’ from rolled cigars. Sweat glistenin’ on cheeks mid-laugh. A fiddle cried through the room like it’d been born from somebody’s bones, and I breathed deep. I needed that sound.

I didn’t dance. Not tonight. Just eased myself onto the stool at the far corner and let my satchel rest on the floor. The room buzzed around me, voices rollin’ like riverwater.

Then I felt it again.

That chill. That soft press of a stare at my back. Not unkind. But heavy.

I didn’t turn. Didn’t let it show on my face. But somethin’ old shifted inside me. Somethin’ I’d buried centuries deep.

Not here, I thought. Not now.

I caught Annie passin’ and handed her the pouch. She squeezed my arm with a thank-you, unaware of how tight my chest had gone.

“You feelin’ alright?” she asked.

“Just tired,” I lied, soft. “Been a long week.”

She nodded and moved on, bless her.

But my eyes didn’t move from the corner of the room, where the light barely touched.

Nothin’ was there.

But I felt him.

Or maybe I was just tired.

Maybe.

I left earlier than usual, sayin’ my goodbyes with a smile that didn’t quite touch the bone. The walk back was quiet—too quiet for a town this close to midnight. I kept to the edge of the trees, let the dark wrap around me like a veil.

At my door, I paused. Looked over my shoulder.

Still nothin’.

Still that weight.

Inside, I lit one lamp and sat down slow on the edge of the bed, unwrappin’ my scarf. My hands were shakin’, just a little.

There’s a certain kind of fear that don’t come with panic. Don’t scream in your ears or rush your breath.

It settles.

Like a coat. Like a second skin.

And I knew that fear.

I knew it like I knew the taste of ash on my tongue. Like I knew the look in his eyes the night he chose for me what I would never have chosen for myself.

I leaned back, arms crossin’ my chest.

If it was him, he wouldn’t show yet.

Not ‘til he was ready.

Not ‘til I couldn’t run again.

So I did the only thing I could do.

I waited.

And in the silence, my soul whispered one word.

Remmick.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

The grass whispered under my steps as I walked. Basket on my arm. Sun barely peekin’ through the trees. I’d meant only to gather herbs ‘fore the day grew too hot—rosemary, some goldenrod, a few stubborn mint sprigs for Annie’s cough. But the air felt… wrong.

Not wrong like danger.

Wrong like memory.

Like grief wearin’ another man’s skin.

The woods around me were still—too still. The birds had hushed. Even the wind held its breath. And I knew. Same way you know a snake’s behind you without seein’ it. Same way your spirit clenches when the past is near.

I stopped by the creekbed, crouched low like I was studyin’ the mint. But my breath’d already gone shallow. I didn’t need to see him to feel him. The air had thickened, the way it always did before a summer storm. Thick like honey gone too long. Like hunger waitin’ in a dark room.

“I know it’s you,” I said, not even botherin’ to turn. My voice didn’t shake. Not even once. “Ain’t no use hidin’ in the shade. You was never no shadow.”

No answer.

Not yet.

But I felt him in the stillness. In the hush between my heartbeats.

“Come on out, Remmick.”

His name cracked the air open like thunder.

And then—branches shifted.

I turned slow.

He was leanin’ against a tree like he’d been grown there. Pale, still, boots clean despite the mud. Hair tousled like sleep or war. Those eyes—red as dusk and just as dangerous. But his face…

His face looked like grief tryin’ to wear calm like a disguise.

“You always did know how to find me,” he said, voice low and silk-slick, but it cracked under the weight of memory.

“I didn’t find you,” I snapped. “You been followin’ me.”

He smiled—sad and sharp. “Reckon I have.”

The basket slipped from my hand, landin’ soft in the dirt. My jaw clenched.

“You survived.”

“Aye,” he said, never lookin’ away. “Didn’t think I would. But I’ve always been hard to kill.”

I laughed, bitter. “Too stubborn for death, too stupid to know when to quit.”

He took a step. Measured. Careful.

“I looked for you,” he said, breath catchin’.

“And when you found me,” I cut in, “you hid.”

He flinched. “I wasn’t ready. You left, Y/N. After everythin’—”

“You turned me!” I snapped, voice shakin’. “You took my choice and dressed it up like mercy.”

“I saved you.”

“You cursed me.”

Silence. Heavy and wet like the air.

“I woke up hungry, Remmick,” I whispered. “Starvin’. Scared. Watchin’ my own hands do things I couldn’t stop. You weren’t there.”

“I didn’t know what it would do to you,” he said. “But I couldn’t bury you. Not you.”

I took a step back. My heart was thunderin’ in my ears.

“You should’ve let me die.”

His eyes shone then—not from the red glow, but from somethin’ older. Somethin’ breakin’.

“I couldn’t,” he breathed. “I’d already lost everythin’. My brother. My home. And then you—” He stopped, jaw tight. “I’d have nothin’ left if you died.”

I stared at him, tears burnin’ the backs of my eyes. “So instead you dragged me into this hell and called it love?”

“I loved you.”

“I loved you too,” I said. “And that’s what makes it worse.”

His hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach out, but didn’t dare.

“You think I ain’t felt you watchin’ me these last few weeks?” I said, steady now. “Think I didn’t know the air changed when you came near?”

“I didn’t know how to face you,” he admitted, voice ragged. “Not after what I did. Not after you ran.”

“I had to,” I said. “You made me a monster. I couldn’t look at you without hearin’ the scream I let out when I woke up.”

We stood there, tangled in the ache of a hundred years.

Then he said quiet, “I didn’t want to own you. I just wanted to belong to someone again.”

I closed my eyes. And Lord, that was the worst part.

Because some part of me still did ache for him. Still remembered the feel of his hand in mine when we were both still human. Still remembered that look he gave me like I hung the moon crooked just to keep him wonderin’.

But ache ain’t the same as love.

“You got no right,” I whispered. “Not to this town. Not to me.”

His jaw flexed.

“Then why’d you call my name?”

“Because I felt you,” I said. “And I’d rather look the devil in the eye than let him haunt me from the trees.”

He smiled then, soft and bitter.

“I ain’t the devil.”

“No,” I said. “But you sure learned how to dance like him.”

He stared at me a long time.

And I knew, right then, this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

But I’d bought myself a moment.

And in a life like mine, a moment might just be the thing that saves you.

“Go,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “Before I decide to hate you more than I already do.”

He took a breath. Then turned.

Walked back into the woods without a word.

But I knew that weren’t the last of him.

Because men like Remmick?

They don’t come to say goodbye.

They come to take back what they think belongs to them.

And this is the point when patience isn’t known to him.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

The joint was hummin’.

Music slid through the floor like syrup, thick with bass and heat. Somebody’s uncle was hollerin’ over a blues tune on the piano, Annie behind the bar crackin’ jokes while slippin’ flasks under the table. Sweat glistened on the back of my neck, curls stickin’ to my skin, and laughter rolled up from the dance floor like smoke. I was leanin’ into a conversation with Josephine at the bar, her eyes wide as she told me about a man she caught slippin’ out her window barefoot just before his wife came knockin’.

I chuckled low, brows raised. “And you didn’t slap him upside the head first?”

She rolled her eyes. “I had better things to do than waste my strength on a fool.”

“Amen to that,” I said, liftin’ my glass, though I hadn’t drunk a drop.

Then I felt it.

A cold ripple slid down the length of my spine—so sudden, it stole the breath right out my lungs. It weren’t fear, not quite. But the kind of dread that came from knowin’ something was wrong before your eyes could prove it.

I didn’t see the door.

But I saw Stack.

He was on his feet, jaw tight, walkin’ past me with that slow kind of purpose. Smoke followed close behind, his eyes narrowin’ toward the open entrance. Cornbread had gone quiet at the door, and that alone was enough to knot my gut.

Josephine kept talkin’, but her voice faded into nothin’.

My body moved on its own.

I stood, heart poundin’ like a war drum behind my ribs. The music didn’t stop, but everything inside me did. I walked past the tables, past the girls, through the perfume and pipe smoke and scent of sweat and spilt whiskey.

And then—

His voice.

Smooth. Mockin’. Sugar over glass.

“Evenin’,” Remmick drawled, like he’d been invited to church supper and meant to charm the whole congregation. “Lovely place y’all got here. Full of… soul.”

My blood turned to ice.

He was speakin’ to Cornbread, who stood stiff as a gatepost, eyes narrowin’ as the air seemed to stretch thin between ‘em.

“Think you might be lost,” Cornbread said slowly, not movin’ from his post. “There’s places in town for your kind. This ain’t one.”

“Oh, but I’m right where I need to be,” Remmick smiled, sharp and hollow. “Heard tale of music, drink, and dancin’. Figured I’d see it for myself. Can’t a man enjoy the night?”

His eyes flicked past Cornbread—landin’ square on me.

Like he’d planned it. Like he’d waited for the silence in my soul to find the crack just wide enough to step through.

“Y/N,” he said.

My stomach dropped.

Stack stepped in front of me. “You know this man?”

“I do,” I said. My voice came out steady, but my hands curled into fists at my sides. “I know him.”

“Name’s Remmick,” he said, glancin’ at the twins with a false-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Old friends with the lady. We go back.”

“Too far,” I muttered.

He took a step forward, and Stack shifted, blockin’ him.

“Easy now,” Remmick said, hands liftin’. “I’m just here to talk. That all right with you, darlin’?”

His tone curled around that word like it meant everything and nothin’ at all. The same way it used to when he wanted me quiet. Wanted me pliant.

“No,” I snapped. “You ain’t supposed to be here.”

Cornbread’s hand twitched toward the bat leanin’ beside the door.

Remmick chuckled. “Didn’t know you needed permission to visit old flames. Thought we were past pretendin’, Y/N.”

My jaw clenched. I stepped in front of Stack and Smoke, meetin’ Remmick’s eyes dead on.

“You’re pushin’ it,” I said low, “and you know it.”

He tilted his head. “I’m just tryin’ to make amends. Catch up. Maybe remind you of what we—”

“Shut up,” I snapped. “Not here.”

He didn’t shut up.

Instead, he smirked and said, “What? Afraid somebody might recognize what you really are?”

That was it.

I moved fast. My hand gripped his arm hard, draggin’ him back from the door ‘fore anyone else could hear. His boots scraped the dirt as I yanked him past the porch, into the woods just beyond the edge of the firelight.

We didn’t stop ‘til the juke faded behind us, til the only sound was the hiss of the crickets and the rasp of my breath.

Then I let go.

He stumbled back, laughin’ low.

“You always were the fiery sort,” he muttered. “Mouth full of ash and thunder.”

My eyes flared, shiftin’ to that color I only saw when my blood ran too hot. “Are you outta your damn mind, comin’ up in there like that?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t figure you’d come callin’ again. Had to make the introduction myself.”

“You could’ve blown everything,” I hissed. “You wanna waltz in there flashin’ teeth and riddles, but these people don’t forget what monsters look like once they get wind of it. You forgot that part?”

His face twisted, somethin’ cruel and wounded all at once. “You forgot I ain’t been welcome in any place for centuries. You found a home. I found shadows. You danced while I starved.”

I stepped close, close enough to see the red flicker in his eyes again.

“You don’t get to turn this on me,” I said, voice droppin’ into a tremble of fury. “You made me this way. You left me this way. And now you think you can show up with your coy words and puppy eyes and take what ain’t yours anymore?”

He leaned in, voice barely breathin’.

“You were always mine, darlin’. Long ‘fore the blood ever touched your lips.”

I slapped him.

The sound cracked like a pistol in the hush.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t raise his voice.

But that smile—the slow, dangerous one he wore like armor—slipped off his face like a mask too heavy to hold.

I was breathin’ hard. Fists clenched. Rain gatherin’ on my skin like it had permission. Like even the sky had been waitin’ for us to come undone.

“You don’t get to say that,” I seethed, chest heavin’. “You don’t ever get to say that to me.”

Remmick stayed where he stood—still, calm. Too calm. Like the eye of a storm that knew the ruin already circlin’ it.

“I reckon I just did,” he said low, almost kind. “And I meant it.”

My jaw shook. “You think this is love? You think this is some twisted soul-bind you can drag behind you like a dog on a chain?”

His brow ticked, barely. “No chain ever held you, Y/N. You cut every one yourself.”

I took a step toward him, finger pointed like it might draw blood.

“You turned me without askin’. You let me wake up alone. You watched me starve. And now you show up actin’ like I owe you somethin’?”

He didn’t move. Just tilted his head, watchin’ me unravel.

“I didn’t say you owed me. I came to see if there was anythin’ left.”

“There wasn’t!” I shouted, voice crackin’. “There ain’t! Not after what you did.”

He exhaled slow through his nose, like he’d been expectin’ this. Like he’d already played it out a thousand ways in the hollows of his mind.

“You always did throw fire when your heart got loud.”

“You got no right to talk about my heart,” I hissed. “Not after the way you crushed it and called it savin’ me.”

He stepped closer—just one step. Careful. Calm.

“You think I ain’t spent the last hundred years crawlin’ through the world lookin’ for pieces of you? You think I didn’t see the wreck I left behind? I know what I did.”

“Then why are you here?” My voice trembled. “Why now?”

He looked at me like I was still the only song he remembered the words to.

“Because even now,” he said, soft and razor-sharp, “you’re still the only thing that makes me feel like I didn’t die all the way.”

The rain started then—slow at first, then heavy. Soakin’ my dress. Mattin’ my hair to my face. But I didn’t move. Didn’t wipe the water from my eyes.

Because it wasn’t just rain.

It was rage.

It was heartbreak.

It was every scream I swallowed the night he turned me.

“You ruined me,” I said. “And now you want me to weep for you?”

“No.” He blinked once. Steady. “I want nothin’ from you you don’t give me freely.”

“You’re a liar.”

“I was,” he said. “But I ain’t lyin’ now.”

I laughed, bitter and sharp. “So what? You want redemption?”

He shook his head. “That ain’t a road I get to walk.”

The silence that followed was thick. Biblical.

And then, slow—too slow—Remmick sank to his knees.

Not like a man prayin’.

But like one beggin’ the grave to let him stay buried.

“Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it,” he said, voice quiet and cracked around the edges. “You want me gone, I’ll disappear. You want me dead, well… you know better than most, darlin’. That ain’t never been easy.”

Rain slammed the earth in waves now, like it meant to bury every word between us.

I didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Just watched him kneel in the mud, pale hands open, head bowed like even he knew he didn’t deserve forgiveness.

His eyes flickered red in the stormlight.

Still beautiful.

Still dangerous.

Still mine—once.

And then the memory returned—

His mouth on my throat.

My scream breakin’ the sky.

The taste of betrayal before I even knew the word for it.

The night he turned me.

The night I stopped bein’ his salvation…

…and became his punishment.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t rise.

Just stayed there on his knees in the wet earth, eyes on me like I was a hymn he’d long forgotten how to pray, but still couldn’t stop hummin’.

“You don’t get to play the martyr,” I said, rain slidin’ down the slope of my jaw, voice low and level. “You don’t get to break somethin’ and call it love.”

His jaw worked, but he stayed quiet. Good. He was learnin’.

I stepped closer, slow enough for the mud to cling to my boots like memory.

“You think this—” I gestured at his posture, at the rain, the ache between us— “makes you smaller than me? It don’t. You still got teeth. Still got hunger. But now you got somethin’ else too.”

I let the silence hang for a breath.

Then another.

“My hand ain’t on your throat, Remmick. I ain’t pulled no blade. But you still follow, don’t you?”

His eyes flickered, faint red beneath the dark.

“You follow ‘cause you can’t help it,” I said, takin’ one more step. “Not ‘cause I told you to. But because I’m the ghost you ain’t never been able to bury.”

His mouth parted—like maybe he’d speak, maybe he’d beg again—but I beat him to it.

“You been searchin’ all these years thinkin’ I was the piece you lost.” My voice dipped lower, soft as a curse. “But maybe I was the punishment you earned.”

He flinched.

Just barely.

But I saw it.

Felt it.

“You ain’t on your knees ‘cause of guilt,” I said. “You’re down there ‘cause you know deep in your bones—I still got a leash on your soul.”

He looked up at me then.

Really looked.

And for the first time since he crawled back into my world, he didn’t reach.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t beg.

He just watched.

Like he knew I was right.

Like he knew that no matter how far I’d run or how cruel I’d grown…

…I’d always be the one holdin’ the reins.

I turned without another word, walked back through the trees, each step heavy with the truth we couldn’t outrun.

And though I didn’t hear him rise—

I knew he would.

I knew he’d follow.

Because men like Remmick?

They don’t vanish.

They linger.

They haunt.

They wait for the softest crack in your armor, then slip back in like they never left.

But this time, he’d have to wait.

This time, I wasn’t runnin’.

And I wasn’t lettin’ him in, either.

Let him kneel in the mud.

Let him feel what it’s like to want somethin’ that won’t break for him no more.

Because even monsters got leashes.

And some ain’t made of rope.

They’re made of memory.

Of ache.

Of the one person who walked away—and meant it.

v═════༺♰༻═════v

Taglist:@jakecockley,@alastorhazbin,

[vaginalvr]

hii, i’ve been reading ur fics for a while now, and i totally love them <3

i have a humble request of my own: bau!reader who has a tramp stamp and a bellybutton piercing, and Spencer is absolutely totally obsessed with them. and then one night, the team gets called in, and reader appears in like a crop top and low-rise jeans (or idk something that reveals them), because she was at a friend’s party or something. and Spencer is trying so hard not to get visibly turned on, and keep it in his pants, cuz they’re at work. but he ultimately pulls her into a storage closet for a quickie or something, before they have to leave for the case.

you can just ignore this though, if this isn’t something you’d be interested in writing, of course :)) have a great day <3

oh how cutie i want a tramp stamp and a belly button piercing now

cw: established relationship, secret relationship, jet sex, bellybutton piercing, tramp stamp kink, low-rise jeans, crop top, desperation, slight dom!Spencer, barely contained lust, unprofessional behavior, fast & dirty smut

REQUESTS OPEN!

You were off-duty when the call came in.

Midway through a Friday night, drink in hand, laughing on a rooftop patio with some old college friends — your crop top riding up, your low-rise jeans barely holding on, and the metal gleam of your bellybutton piercing catching every bit of moonlight.

Your phone buzzed once. Then again. Hotch. Case. Jet in 45.

You groaned and grabbed your stuff, muttering apologies as you slipped out — no time to change. You figured it was fine. You had your go-bag on the plane. Worst case, you’d be underdressed until takeoff.

You did not expect Spencer Reid to completely malfunction when you walked into the hangar.

He was halfway through reciting some case file numbers when he turned and saw you.

The crop top sat like a second skin, hugging your chest, riding high enough to show a dangerous peek of underboob. Your low-rise jeans hugged your hips like a prayer, dipping just enough to reveal the dark ink of your tramp stamp — a design he’d only seen once, in low light, when you’d had too much wine and dared to pull your pants down just far enough to show him in the privacy of his apartment.

And that piercing — the one at your bellybutton, silver and glinting — flashed at him with every step you took.

He forgot how to breathe.

His mouth opened. Closed.

Hotch kept talking. Morgan glanced at Spencer, then at you — and smirked.

“Ohhh, hell,” Morgan muttered under his breath.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Y-you uh—you didn’t go home first?”

“No time,” you said breezily, shouldering your go-bag. “Hope no one minds if I flash some midriff. I’ll change on the jet.”

You winked at him.

He nearly dropped the case file.

You sat across from him on the plane. The table between you might as well have been made of glass. Spencer was twitchy — leg bouncing, lip caught between his teeth, eyes flickering from your waistline to your mouth and back down again.

You leaned back slowly in your seat and stretched your arms overhead.

The crop top lifted. The waistband dipped.

Spencer’s breath audibly caught in his throat.

Morgan made a noise from behind his file that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Emily muttered, “Oh my god, someone just fuck already.”

You turned your head, caught Spencer staring, and smiled slow.

“So, Doctor,” you murmured. “See something you like?”

He snapped the file shut.

“Bathroom. Now.”

The moment the door clicked shut, Spencer pounced.

His mouth was on yours, hot and needy, hands already dragging your top up to expose your tits — palms rough and shaking as he groaned into your neck.

“You can’t just show up like that,” he hissed, rocking his hips into yours. “Wearing that, with your fucking piercing showing, your tattoo right there—” He yanked your waistband down just enough to trace the tramp stamp with his fingers. “You knew what you were doing.”

You bit your lip. “I really didn’t—”

“Liar.”

His hand slid down, cupping your heat through your jeans, and you whimpered.

“You’ve been driving me crazy with this thing,” he muttered, brushing his thumb against your navel ring. “Since the first time I saw it, I can’t stop thinking about it. Wanting to taste it.”

You gasped as he popped the button on your jeans and shoved them halfway down your thighs.

“Spence—there’s no time—”

“There’s just enough.”

He pulled his cock out — hard and flushed and already leaking — then spun you to face the sink.

“Hands,” he ordered, voice hoarse. “Brace yourself.”

You obeyed instantly.

He yanked your panties aside, ran two fingers through your folds, and hissed.

“So fucking wet already,” he groaned. “You love riling me up, don’t you?”

Then he sank into you with one sharp thrust, and you cried out, biting your fist to muffle the sound.

The mirror fogged. The walls rocked. Spencer fucked you like the plane might disappear beneath you — hard, fast, hips slamming into yours while one hand gripped your hip and the other reached around to rub your clit.

“Gonna come,” you panted. “Spencer—”

“That’s it,” he murmured into your neck. “Be good for me. Come all over my cock.”

You did — gasping, legs trembling — and he followed with a stuttered moan, buried deep, hands gripping your waist so hard you knew you’d bruise.

You both stood there after, panting, flushed, clothes a mess.

He looked at you in the mirror.

“You’re still changing before the briefing,” he said, eyes flicking down to the piercing.

You smirked. “Why? Can’t focus?”

His mouth twitched. “Not unless you want me to drag you back in here mid-case.”

You leaned in close, lips to his ear.

“Maybe I do.”

[hauntedbyjoel]

Let Me Learn You

pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: age gap | oral (f & m) | fingering | unprotected sex | size kink | dirty talk | praise + possession | face grabbing | mild & mutual obsession | Joel being emotionally unwell about it in the hottest way | no outbreak word count - 7.5k summary - Your dad’s old friend Joel helps you move. You don’t see the tension—but he does. And when it finally breaks, there’s no going back. A slow build into something filthy, soft, and completely his.

part one part two

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

I don’t know how to date Joel Miller

You hadn’t stopped thinking about it since he asked. Not the date—him asking. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t charm. He just said it, plain and steady like he was offering to change your tire.

Joel: Thought I’d take you out.

And when you asked what to wear, his answer came slower:

Joel: Somethin’ you feel good in. Joel: You’re already pretty.

You’d stared at your phone so long after that, the screen went dark in your hand.

And now it was Friday night. You were standing in front of the mirror, trying to decide if you looked put together or like you were trying to look put together. Same dress. Different shoes. Hair up. Then down. Then up again.

“I don’t know how to date Joel Miller,” you mumbled into your reflection.

He’d seen you in pajamas. No makeup. Sweating through a shelf meltdown. He’d touched you when you were barely breathing, kissed you like your mouth was a secret. And now you were worried about your lipstick.

You sat on the edge of your bed and stared at the door like it would knock itself.

“He’s just a guy,” you told yourself.

But he wasn’t. Not really. He was the one who made you feel like being touched could be safe. The one who didn’t rush. Didn’t expect. Just watched. Waited. Asked. The one who saw you.

Your phone buzzed.

Joel: Outside.

Your pulse spiked. You grabbed your bag. Smoothed your dress. And walked out the door like you weren’t about to fall in love for real.

You spotted his truck before you saw him—pulled up at the curb, headlights off, the passenger door already cracked open like he’d leaned over to do it himself.

Joel stepped out as you locked your front door. He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, slowly, from your shoes to your earrings, like he was taking in the full picture before speaking.

“Hey,” you said quietly.

“Hey,” he echoed, just as quiet. “You look…” He trailed off, shook his head, then said it like he meant it. “Pretty. Real pretty.”

You smiled, a little shy. “You’re just saying that.”

Joel frowned, brow knitting. “You think I say shit I don’t mean?”

“No. I just—” You laughed softly, feeling stupid for even questioning it. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Good,” he said. “Me neither.”

He opened the door the rest of the way and helped you up into the truck. His hand brushed the back of your leg when you climbed in—warm, steady, familiar.

The ride was quiet, but not in a bad way. Music played low on the radio—some old blues guitar, soft and worn in. Joel kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, fingers tapping like he was keeping time with something unsaid.

At a red light, he asked, “You nervous?”

You looked over at him. “A little.”

He nodded once. “Yeah. Me too.”

The restaurant was small. Quiet. Nothing fancy. Brick walls, low lighting, wine glasses that looked like they’d been polished by hand. It smelled like garlic and something slow-cooked. Joel kept his hand at the small of your back when you walked in.

When the hostess asked, “Just the two of you?” he didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” he said. “She’s with me.”

You were still thinking about the way he said it as you slid into the booth. Joel sat across from you, leaning back against the wall like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He looked at you like he still couldn’t believe you were sitting there.

“You come here a lot?” you asked.

“No,” he said. “Wanted someplace quiet.”

You glanced around. “Mission accomplished.”

He smirked a little, picked up the wine list, gave it a glance, and handed it off. “Don’t let me pick. I’ll order beer like a damn heathen.”

You laughed and felt your shoulders loosen for the first time that night. Joel didn’t try to fill the space with noise. He asked how your week was. Listened when you answered. Told you about some guy trying to lowball him on a roofing job, and the way he told the story made you laugh harder than you meant to.

At some point, his hand reached across the table and settled over yours—rough and warm, unmoving, like it had always belonged there.

You looked down at it, then back at him. “You okay?”

Joel’s gaze held yours. “Yeah. Just… takin’ it in.”

You nodded. “Me too.”

He didn’t let go of your hand until the check came.

Didn’t ask if he could hold it again when you walked to the truck. Just reached for it like it was a habit he’d already made, like he couldn’t not.

The ride back was quiet.

Windows cracked. Air soft. The sky bruised deep purple around the edges.

You watched the streetlights blur past while Joel drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console—close, but not touching you now. Like he was giving you space to think. Or trying not to think himself.

When he pulled up to the curb, neither of you moved at first.

The engine clicked softly under the hood. Joel tapped the brake with his foot, then let it go. His hand shifted in his lap, but he didn’t open the door. Just turned to look at you.

You looked back.

It was quiet.

And then—

“I had a nice time,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Joel nodded slowly. “Yeah. Me too.”

It would’ve been easy to leave it there. Say goodnight. Pretend the silence didn’t mean anything.

But it did.

It meant everything.

So when you didn’t move to get out, and Joel didn’t tell you to, the space between you just kept shrinking—until your shoulder brushed his, until his knee knocked yours.

Until his voice dropped low enough to feel like it belonged somewhere deeper.

“You wanna come in?” you asked. It slipped out before you could overthink it. You weren’t sure what you were even offering. Just… more.

Joel looked at you for a long moment.

Then he shook his head slowly.

“Not tonight.”

You blinked. “Oh. That’s okay, I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” he said softly. “Just don’t wanna mess this up.”

He reached up then—hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing the edge of your cheek like he’d been thinking about doing it all night.

“You’re not somethin’ I wanna rush.”

And then he kissed you.

Slow. Certain. Just once, at first—his mouth warm, steady, anchoring. You sighed into it before you could stop yourself, fingers catching his jacket sleeve. He kissed you again—deeper this time, lips parting, breath mixing—like he was memorizing you from the inside out.

When he pulled back, you were breathing hard and so was he.

You stayed there, forehead to forehead, hearts between teeth.

“I’ll call you,” he murmured.

You nodded.

“Okay.”

You didn’t want to get out of the truck. You didn’t want to be alone with the echo of his kiss still humming on your lips. But you opened the door anyway. And when you shut it behind you, you leaned against it for a second—eyes closed, chest full.

You didn’t know how to say it yet. But this? This already felt like something real. You leaned against the front door for a full minute after he left. Still holding your breath. Still tasting him on your mouth. Your lips felt hot, your chest felt tight, and your body was somehow both floating and too heavy to move. He kissed you like it meant something. Like you meant something. And then he left.

You walked to your bedroom on autopilot. Kicked off your shoes. Sat on the edge of your bed and stared at your phone. It was too early to sleep and too late to do anything else, and your whole body was humming. You needed to talk to someone so you called your best friend. She answered after two rings, voice warm and groggy. “What’s up? Did it happen?”

You laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

“Okay. First of all, he picked me up. Like, actually got out of the truck and opened the door for me.”

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “He’s one of those.”

“He told the hostess I was with him. Like, just said it—‘she’s with me.’ I almost passed out.”

You could hear her kick her blanket off. “Did you fuck?”

“No!” You laughed. “But—okay, listen. He held my hand at the table. He didn’t even try to hide it. Just reached for me. And when he dropped me off—”

You paused. Covered your mouth like saying it too loud might undo it.

“He kissed me. Like… real. Hands on my face. Forehead to forehead after. Said he didn’t want to rush anything.”

There was silence on the line.

Then: “I’m gonna need a moment.”

“Same.”

You sat there, heart still beating too fast, phone warm against your cheek, and said it out loud for the first time—

“I think I really, really like him.”

And your friend just said, soft and sure: “Yeah. I think he really likes you too.”

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

The second she shut the door, Joel stood there.

On her porch. In the dark. Breathing like he’d just been punched.

He hadn’t meant to kiss her like that. Hadn’t meant to hold her face like it was something fragile. Hadn’t meant to say the things he said.

But then she looked at him like that, said “do you wanna come in?” like she meant it, and he was gone. And now? Now he was fucked.

The drive home was too quiet. He rolled down the window for air, turned the radio off halfway through the second song, couldn’t stop his hand from twitching on the gear shift like he needed to touch something. Or someone.

He could still feel her. The way her lips moved under his. The way her fingers curled into his jacket like she wasn’t ready to let go. The little catch in her breath when he said he didn’t want to rush it. God, she’d looked so soft under his hands. So open. So fucking trusting.

He gripped the wheel tighter. Jaw clenched. His jeans were still too tight from where she pressed her thigh into his when they sat in that damn booth.

When he got home, he didn’t turn on the lights. Dropped his keys. Sat on the edge of the bed. Ran a hand through his hair and tried to breathe through the pressure still sitting just under his skin.

He could’ve said yes. He could’ve gone inside. She would’ve let him. And that was the part that wrecked him. Not the kiss. Not the want. The fact that she wanted him back.

He’d been with people before. He knew lust. He knew how to keep things surface-level. Knew how to look, touch, leave. But this wasn’t that.

This was slow. Warm. Dangerous in a way he hadn’t felt since he was young and dumb enough to believe in first times that actually meant something.

Joel laid back, stared at the ceiling, and exhaled like he didn’t know how to let her go—even for one night. And when he finally closed his eyes, the only thing he could feel was her hands in his coat, her lips under his, and the softest whisper that hadn’t left him all night:

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You couldn’t stop touching your mouth.

Not in some dramatic, movie-like way. Just… casually. Without thinking. The way you’d rest your hand against your face while reading, or press your knuckles under your chin at red lights, or smooth your fingers down your neck like your skin still remembered him. Because it did.

You could still feel it. The heat in his hands. The weight in his voice. That kiss that knocked every thought straight out of your head. You tried to go about your day like normal. Dishes. Groceries. Laundry. But it all felt... fogged.

Every time your phone lit up, your heart jumped. But it wasn’t him. Not until later.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He knew he shouldn’t show up.

He told himself a dozen different things to stay away. She needed space. He’d said not tonight. If he pushed, it might scare her. It might make this mean less. But that didn’t stop him from driving over.

Didn’t stop him from knocking on her door with a small box in his hands and the stupidest excuse in the world already ready. She answered in a big t-shirt and soft shorts, like she’d just woken up from a nap. Her hair was messy. Joel had to look at the floor just to breathe right.

He lifted the box a little. “Had this left over from a job. Thought maybe you’d want it.” It was a candle. She stared at it. Then at him.

“You brought me a candle?”

He shrugged, jaw tight. “Smelled nice. Thought of you.”

Her mouth parted. She let him in.

He stayed twenty minutes. Sat on the edge of her counter stool while she poured water into a mug and tried not to look like she was watching him too hard.

He didn’t kiss her. Didn’t even touch her. Just asked how her week was. Told her her mailbox still creaked. Made her laugh once. Maybe twice.

When he left, she said, “Thanks. For the candle.”

He said, “Yeah. Sure.”

He got in his truck and sat there for ten minutes, staring at her porch light and gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from turning around and pulling her straight into his lap.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You thought about texting him first.

You didn’t. Not because you didn’t want to—but because you didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound like:

Are you coming back?Can I kiss you again?Do you miss me like I miss you?

So when he finally texted, your hands shook.

Joel: You free Saturday?

You stared at it. Then typed.

You: for what?

A minute passed. Then—

Joel: Just want to show you something.

You didn’t ask what. You just said yes. And then tried on six different outfits and hated all of them.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He didn’t want to take her somewhere loud.

Didn’t want to play tour guide or walk her through some grand gesture. He just wanted her near.

So he drove her out past the edge of town. Down a dirt road lined with dry grass and sagging fences, to a quiet little patch of land that didn’t look like much unless you knew what to see.

It was an old, unfinished job site. Not commercial. Not clean. Just earth. Foundation. Steel beams. Space. He pulled the truck into the shade and killed the engine.

“You brought me to… a dirt lot,” she said, eyebrows raised.

Joel smiled a little. “Not just any dirt lot.”

He got out first. Walked around and opened her door like he always did.

She stepped out slow, looking around.

“It’s gonna be a house,” he said quietly. “For a woman who just had her third kid. Her husband left six months ago. He doesn’t know I’m still doin’ it. I told her I’d finish it anyway.”

She turned to him.

Joel looked at the beams like they were a blueprint only he could read.

“I come out here sometimes,” he said. “When things get too loud. When I don’t feel right in my own skin.”

He paused. Then glanced at her.

“You ever feel like that?”

Her voice was soft. “All the time.”

Joel nodded. “Figured.”

They stood there for a while. Quiet. The wind shifted in the grass. Then he said, “Used to think the only thing I was good at was building things.”

She tilted her head. “You don’t think that anymore?”

He looked at her. And this time, when he answered, his voice was rough.

“I think maybe I’m better at not wreckin’ ‘em.”

The silence after that was heavy—but it wasn’t cold. It settled over them like the sky had lowered just a little. She didn’t touch him. He didn’t reach for her. They just stood side by side, staring at the skeleton of a house that hadn’t even been framed yet. And for the first time since he kissed her, Joel didn’t feel like he had to hold anything back.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Joel didn’t say much on the drive home.

But you didn’t need him to. After hours of sitting together in that quiet, unfinished space—feet in the dirt, hands brushing when you passed him his thermos, voices low—you felt full in a way you hadn’t in a long time. The kind of full that came from being seen. From knowing someone was telling you the truth and letting you do the same.

You’d talked about things you didn’t expect. Childhood. Family. What it means to lose people who are still alive. He’d said her name once—Sarah—and then paused, like it wasn’t something he let out often.

You didn’t press him. Just listened. And when you spoke, he listened back.

It felt more like a beginning than anything you’d ever done with another person.

Now, in his truck, the silence wasn’t heavy—it was warm. His hand rested on the console between you. He wasn’t touching you, but it felt like he might at any second.

When he pulled up to the curb, you didn’t move right away.

“Come in?” you asked quietly.

Joel looked at you. His eyes weren’t guarded this time. Just tired. Warm. Full.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

Inside, the air felt different.

Not tense. Not rushed.

Just quiet.

He toed off his boots near the door. You slipped off your shoes and turned toward him slowly, heart already thudding in your chest.

“I liked today,” you said.

Joel stepped forward. “Me too.”

You reached for him first.

Fingers sliding into the open space at his waistband, tugging him close. His hands found your hips like they’d been waiting there. And then his mouth was on yours—hot, slow, familiar now. A little less careful than before.

You kissed him deeper.

This time, he didn’t pull away.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the moment it did, everything shifted.

Joel’s mouth was on yours before you even had time to turn the light on—warm, full, steady. His hands cupped your face like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you harder or just hold you there forever.

Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt. He kissed you deeper, his mouth opening against yours, tongue sliding slow between your lips like he wanted to taste what you'd been thinking about since that first night on the couch.

You whimpered when he pushed you gently back against the wall. His hands slipped down to your waist, held you there like you were something fragile.

“Still okay?” he asked between kisses, voice rough.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“You sure?” He pulled back enough to see your face. “I need you sure, baby.”

Your chest was heaving, eyes wide, already trembling.

“I’m sure,” you whispered.

That was all he needed.

Joel kissed you again—deeper, dirtier now. His hands slid under your shirt, fingers splaying across your ribs. He was slow but certain, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts until you gasped.

“Bedroom,” he said, voice hoarse. “Show me.”

You grabbed his hand and led him down the hall, heart pounding so hard it echoed in your ears. The second you stepped inside, he pulled you back into him, spun you gently, and kissed your neck from behind.

You felt his hands at the hem of your shirt.

“Can I take this off?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He pulled it up slow, knuckles dragging along your skin, and when it lifted over your head, you heard his breath catch.

No bra.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “You’re beautiful.”

You turned around to face him, chest bare, skin flushed, and he looked at you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted. Then he reached for his own shirt, tugged it over his head, and tossed it to the floor.

He kissed you again as he walked you backwards toward the bed.

“Lie back,” he said.

You did.

Joel looked at you for a second before following—kneeling between your legs, hands braced on your thighs. He kissed the inside of your knee. Then your other. Then higher.

“Gonna take my time with you,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin. “You say stop, I stop.”

You nodded.

He reached for the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down slow. Your panties came with them. His fingers brushed your calves as he slid them off, and when you were bare before him, he just looked.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped. “You’re soaked.”

Your thighs twitched.

“Joel—”

He dipped his head, pressed his mouth to your inner thigh, kissed there once, then twice, then—

His tongue dragged through your folds, slow and firm, and your whole body jolted.

He groaned against you.

“Sweet fuckin’ pussy,” he muttered. “So soft. Gonna make you come just like this.”

His mouth sealed over your clit, tongue moving in slow circles while his fingers gripped your thighs, thumbs spreading you open. You moaned, back arching, and he didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow down.

“Look at me,” he said against your cunt, voice dark and low. “Wanna see you fall apart.”

You tried. You looked down, eyes glazed, breath ragged—and his gaze was already locked on yours, eyes dark, mouth wet with you.

He sucked gently, then flicked his tongue faster—and you cried out, hips bucking.

“Joel—oh my god—”

He groaned again. “That’s it. Let me have it.”

You came so hard your vision blurred—legs shaking, hands fisting the sheets, his name breaking from your throat like it was the only word you remembered.

He kissed your thigh once. Then again. Then came up your body, kissed your mouth like he needed to taste what he just did to you.

“You still okay?” he asked, voice gravel.

“Yes,” you whispered, breathless. “Joel…”

“What do you need, pretty girl?”

You swallowed.

“Wanna touch you.”

Joel exhaled like you knocked the air out of him. “Fuck.”

You pushed at his waistband, fingers trembling, and he let you. He stripped himself bare and let you look—thick, flushed, leaking at the tip. You licked your lips and slid down the bed. He watched every movement.

“You sure?” he asked again, voice almost too soft.

You nodded. “Let me.”

You wrapped your hand around him first, and he groaned—deep and low, one hand braced on the headboard.

Then you licked a stripe up the underside of his cock.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Baby, you don’t gotta—”

“I want to,” you whispered.

You took him into your mouth, slow and careful, feeling the weight of him, the heat. He was too big to take all the way, but you did what you could—stroking with one hand, hollowing your cheeks, looking up at him through your lashes.

Joel’s head fell back.

“Fuck—mouth so good, baby. You’re so good for me.”

You hummed around him.

He swore violently, then pulled your hair back gently and tugged you off with a pop.

“Can’t,” he growled. “Not yet.”

He kissed you—hard and hot—then slid his fingers between your legs again.

“Let me stretch you out first,” he murmured. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You moaned as two fingers slid in, curling just right.

“So tight,” he rasped. “This sweet little cunt’s gonna take me?”

You nodded frantically. “Please.”

Joel growled and kissed your jaw, your neck, as he worked you open slow. When your hips started to lift, chasing his hand, he pulled back, lined himself up. He looked at you once more.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Joel pushed in slow—inch by inch, watching your face the whole time. You gasped, legs trembling, and he paused when he bottomed out.

“Breathe, baby. Just like that.”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulled him closer.

He kissed you. “You’re being such a good girl for me.”

Then he started to move. His thrusts were slow, grinding, dragging every thick inch inside you until you were shaking under him.

“You’re mine tonight,” he rasped. “All fuckin’ mine.”

You whimpered. “Feels so good.”

“You ever feel like this before?”

You shook your head, panting. “No—only you.”

Joel moaned like he was in pain.

“Yeah, that’s it. Take it. Take all of me.”

He fucked you until your voice broke—until your nails dug into his arms and your hips bucked hard against his.

“Joel,” you gasped, “I—I—”

“Give it to me, angel. Let me feel it.”

You came with a cry, back arched, legs wrapped tight around his waist. Joel fucked you through it, then kissed your forehead, nose, mouth.

“You still with me?”

You nodded, wrecked.

“Can I move you, baby?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Whatever you want.”

He flipped you onto your stomach—slow, careful—lifted your hips and slid back inside. The new angle made your vision blur.

“That’s it,” he grunted. “Good girl. Let me fuck you like this.”

You cried out, hands bracing against the sheets. He filled you so deep, so perfectly, it almost hurt. Joel’s hand slid under your stomach, pulled you tighter. He panted against your neck, kissed your shoulder.

“Fuck—baby,” he growled, breath ragged. “I’m close. Where do you want it?”

You barely managed a breath. “On me,” you whispered. “Come on my back.”

Joel groaned—low, wrecked—and pulled out just in time. You felt the heat of him spill across your spine, thick and hot, his hand braced on your hip as he cursed under his breath, stroking himself through the last of it.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breath shaking. “Look so fuckin’ good like this.”

He stayed there for a beat—just breathing, his hand still on your back—then reached for the towel, wiped you down gently, kissed your shoulder, and pulled you down into the bed with him like he couldn’t stand being apart.

He didn’t pull out right away. Just stayed there, breathing hard, one hand stroking your thigh. Then he kissed your shoulder again.

“C’mere, baby.”

He cleaned you up gently. Pulled you into bed. Tucked the blankets around your body and wrapped an arm around your waist.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “So good.”

Joel kissed your cheek.

“You’re mine now, pretty girl,” he murmured. “Ain’t lettin’ go.”

And you fell asleep like that—sore, safe, and absolutely ruined.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He woke up just past four a.m., something pulling him from sleep like instinct.

She was curled into his chest, hair a mess against his shoulder, skin warm under his arm. Her breathing was soft and steady, mouth slightly open.

He didn’t move.

Just stared at her.

She looked so fucking peaceful. So soft. So goddamn his.

Joel brushed his thumb gently over the top of her shoulder. He could still feel the ghost of her voice moaning his name. The way her hands had clung to him, how wet she’d been when he went down on her. How she looked when she came—head thrown back, mouth open, completely gone.

He exhaled slow, almost like a prayer.

I get to have this.

His chest ached with it.

He kissed her hair and whispered into the dark, “Lucky fuckin’ bastard.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You woke to the feeling of his hand on your back—slow, warm, steady.

Joel was awake already, half-sitting against the pillows, shirtless and quiet, watching you.

“Hey,” you said sleepily.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, his hand trailing down your spine. “You sleep good?”

“Mmm. Really good.”

He smiled, small and soft. “Me too.”

You shifted closer, pressing your face into his chest. He smelled like clean skin and sleep and the sex still lingering in the air between you. You could feel him—already half-hard under the covers, his arm wrapping tighter around your waist when you brushed your hips against his.

You tilted your head, kissed the edge of his jaw. He made a sound—low and pleased. You kissed lower.

“Angel,” he warned, voice already rough, “don’t start what you can’t finish.”

You didn’t answer.

Just kissed your way down his chest, past the soft trail of hair that led beneath the blanket.

Joel’s breath caught when you pushed the covers down and wrapped your hand around him.

He was already thick. Heavy. Warm under your touch.

“Fuck,” he muttered, head tipping back.

You leaned down, kissed the tip, then took him into your mouth—slow, deep, deliberate.

Joel groaned, low and wrecked.

“You’re too good at that,” he growled. “Mouth so warm, baby. That’s it.”

You sucked slow, your hand stroking what you couldn’t take, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were already locked on yours.

He groaned again.

“Jesus—look at you.”

You moaned around him and felt the twitch in his cock.

His hand came to the back of your head, guiding but gentle, his voice breaking.

“You keep goin’, I’m not gonna last.”

You pulled off slowly with a soft pop.

Joel stared, chest rising hard.

Then his hand slid between your thighs—fingers brushing slick heat.

“Shit,” he muttered, eyes dark. “You’re wet from suckin’ my cock?”

You bit your lip, nodded. 

He growled, low and dangerous. “Cock-hungry little thing, huh?”

You gasped when he pushed two fingers inside, curling deep.

“Still sore?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No. Please, Joel…”

He rolled you onto your back, kissed you hard, then pulled back just enough to speak.

“Want me to fuck you, baby?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

“You wanna ride me?”

Your breath caught.

He smirked. “Greedy girl.”

Joel laid back and pulled you over him, one hand stroking your hip.

“Take your time,” he said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

You lined him up, sank down slow, and you both moaned—low and broken. His hands gripped your thighs as you rocked over him, soft at first, then harder as the stretch eased and the pressure built.

“That’s it,” Joel groaned. “So tight. You were fuckin’ made for this.”

You moved faster, chased the feeling, and Joel lost it—his hands guiding you, mouth parting with every bounce, eyes glued to where your bodies met.

“Look at you,” he rasped. “Takin’ all of me like it’s nothin’. You’re gonna come like this?”

You nodded, already shaking.

“Come for me, pretty girl.”

You did—legs trembling, body clenched tight around him. Joel grunted, then flipped you over and fucked you through it—deep, rougher now, his mouth hot on your shoulder.

“I’m close,” he growled. “Where do you want it?”

“Wherever,” you whimpered. “Just—don’t stop.”

He pulled out at the last second, stroking himself fast, coming hot and heavy across your lower back with a rough groan.

“Fuck,” he panted, chest heaving. “You’ll be the death of me.”

After a few more minutes laying in bed, you sat at the kitchen table, hair still damp from the shower, a too-big t-shirt on your legs, watching Joel buckle his belt like he wasn’t trying to look back at you every five seconds.

“You sure you have to go?” you teased, sipping your coffee.

He grunted. “Got an estimate to finish and a guy comin’ by to look at some roofing materials.”

You leaned back in your chair. “That’s hot.”

Joel looked at you flatly. “You’re trouble.”

You just smiled. “You like it.”

He walked over and kissed the top of your head.

“Text me when you’re back,” he said, already reaching for the door.

“I will.”

And then he was gone.

After Joel left you didn’t mean to make plans. But when your friend texted “ brunch?” you typed “YES” before your body had even finished cooling off from the morning. You threw on jeans and a hoodie, didn’t even bother with makeup, and met her at your favorite spot downtown. She took one look at you and narrowed her eyes.

“You did it.”

You blinked. “What?”

She pointed. “Don’t lie to me. You’re glowing. You’re floaty. Your hair looks like it’s been touched in a sinful way. You definitely fucked him.”

You dragged your hand over your face and sunk into the booth. “I hate you.”

She gasped. “You DID!”

You tried not to smile.

“You little WHORE,” she whisper-yelled. “You finally let Joel Miller ruin your life.”

You nodded, cheeks heating. “Fully. Thoroughly. Repeatedly.”

She leaned across the table. “Tell me everything. I want positions, noises, quotes. Don’t skip.”

You lowered your voice. “He went down on me before we even had sex.”

Her mouth dropped open.

You looked down, fiddled with your straw. “He… was really sweet. Like—checked in with me every step. Asked if I was okay, if I wanted to stop. Told me I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to.”

She blinked. “So he’s a sex god and a gentleman. Incredible.”

You laughed softly. “He was so thoughtful. Like... tender. He took his time.”

“And then?”

Your voice dropped. “And then he got rough.”

Her mouth opened. “Rough how.”

“Like... flipped me over, grabbed my hips, held me still.”

You stirred your coffee slowly.

“He told me he’d stop if I asked,” you said. “And he talked me through it... like talked a lot”

Your friend screamed into her sleeve.

She physically slid out of her seat. “I’m going to pass away.”

You stirred your iced coffee calmly. “Yeah. That makes two of us.”

“I hate you,” she said. “I hate you and I hope he wants to see you again. Like soon. Like today.”

You just smiled into your drink and shrugged.

“Same.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

It had been three days since Joel Miller woke up in your bed.

Three days since he kissed your shoulder, made coffee shirtless in your kitchen, then left with a quiet “I’ll see you soon.” You hadn’t seen him since. There were texts. A few. Mostly practical. “You eat?”

“Sleep okay?”

“Don’t forget that back step’s still loose.”

But not one that said when he was coming back. So when he knocked—no warning, no call—you weren’t ready. You opened the door half-distracted, hair up, hoodie on, and there he was. Jeans. T-shirt. A little dust on his boots. And a fistful of wildflowers in one hand. Not wrapped. Not trimmed. Just picked. Your breath caught.

Joel glanced down at the flowers, then back at you.

“Saw these when I was out,” he said, voice low. “They reminded me of you.”

You blinked.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t know why. They just… did.”

It hit you slow. Not the flowers. Not the words. Just the fact that he came back.

You reached out and took them—soft, careful.

“Thanks,” you said. “They’re beautiful.”

Joel shrugged like it didn’t mean anything. But his eyes didn’t leave your face.

“You gonna let me in?”

You stepped back without a word. And when he passed you, you felt it again. That shift. Like maybe this thing between you had already started, and neither of you knew how to say it yet.

You took the flowers to the kitchen, dropped them into the only jar you had tall enough to hold them, and filled it with water. Joel watched from the entryway, one hand in his back pocket, like he didn’t know what to do with himself now that he was here.

“Want something to drink?” you asked, still facing the sink.

“Nah, I’m good,” he said. Voice tight.

You turned around, and he was still standing there. Not sitting. Not moving.

You raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

Joel rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“I’m gonna say somethin’ and it’s probably gonna come out dumb.”

Your heart flipped.

You took a step closer. “Okay…”

He sighed hard through his nose. “So we had sex. And I took you out.”

You blinked. “You… did.”

“And I slept in your bed.”

You nodded. “Also true.”

“And you’ve met my coffee order. Which—if that doesn’t say something, I dunno what does.”

You smiled now. “Joel.”

“I just—” He shifted his weight like it physically hurt to say the next part. “I don’t feel like much of a gentleman unless I, uh—unless I ask the damn question.”

You tilted your head. “What question?”

He looked at you. Really looked. And you swore he blushed.

“You wanna be my girlfriend?”

The room went quiet.

Joel exhaled sharply. “Jesus. I sound like a fuckin’ teenager.”

Your heart was pounding. Not because you didn’t want it. But because of how much you did. You stepped closer. Wrapped your hands around his forearm.

“Joel.”

He looked down at you, still a little flushed, still bracing like you might laugh at him. You smiled. Soft. Honest.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

It didn’t feel like a new relationship. Not in the shaky, awkward, first-date way. More like… he’d been yours this whole time and now you were just letting the light hit it.

Joel stayed after the flowers. Didn’t make a big deal out of it. He just leaned against your counter while you filled a glass with water and said, “What do you wanna do now?”

You looked at him, barefoot and warm and a little flushed from asking you to be his.

“Nothing,” you said. “Everything.”

He smiled a little. “We got time.”

You ended up in the kitchen together, chopping vegetables while Joel grilled something outside.

The back door was propped open. Music played low from your phone speaker—some scratchy blues station he’d picked. You moved around each other easily, shoulders brushing, hands bumping in the fridge. At one point, he came up behind you, reached past to grab a pan, and kissed the side of your neck like it was just part of the movement. You said nothing. Neither did he. But your face stayed hot for the next ten minutes.

After dinner, you sat on the couch. His arm slung over your shoulders. Your legs crossed into his lap. You scrolled something dumb on your phone while he watched the news with the volume too low to hear. Occasionally, you’d both comment on something. Neither of you moved to break the closeness.

Joel’s hand traced lazy circles on your thigh. Not sexual. Just… there. Present. And when the show ended, and the air felt soft and sleepy, he said:

“You want me to stay?”

You turned your head toward him. “You want to?”

His mouth twitched. “I asked you first.”

You smiled. “Yeah. I want you to.”

He kissed you once. Light.

And didn’t leave.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

It had been a long week.

One of those never-sit-down, forget-to-eat, fall asleep still dressed kind of weeks. You barely had time to text Joel, let alone breathe. He had been the same— long days, early starts, not enough rest. You hadn’t seen him since he came over last, which was Monday night. It’s Friday now, late afternoon. And when he showed up at your door, he didn’t even wait for you to ask.

“Pack a bag”, he said. “We’re leavin’ town”. 

You just blinked at him. “What?”

“Just for the weekend. Somewhere quiet.”

You stood there for a second, not sure of how to respond. All you could come up with was “Okay.”

Twenty-five minutes later you were sitting in his truck with your shoes off, legs tucked underneath you. Joel behind the wheel with one hand resting on your thigh like it belonged there. 

The sky was fading orange. The windows were cracked. The air smelled like road dust and pine. 

And then the music started. Not a radio station. Not the usual gritty blues he always picked. Just... songs. Ones you didn’t know. Slow ones. Soft ones. The kind that made your heart ache for no reason. You didn’t speak at first. But after the third one—the lyrics about wanting someone even when they don’t see themselves—you turned your head.

“Joel.”

He glanced over at you. “Yeah?”

You nodded toward the stereo. “What is this?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached over, adjusted the volume slightly.

“They’re just songs,” he said. “Ones that reminded me of you.”

You stared at him. He kept his eyes on the road. Your chest felt like it cracked open just a little.

“Oh,” you said quietly.

He slid his thumb over your knee. “That alright?”

You didn’t speak. Just moved his hand higher on your leg and leaned your head on his shoulder. Joel didn’t say a word. Just drove.

The sun was already low when Joel pulled into the gravel lot. It wasn’t anything fancy. Just a small cabin rental tucked behind a thicket of trees. Wood siding. A porch swing. One room, one bed. Quiet. Perfect. He cut the engine and looked at you.

“You good?”

You nodded slowly, stretching your legs out. “Better now.”

Joel reached across the console, brushed your thigh once. “Let’s get you inside.”

The room was cool and dim when he unlocked the door. There was a kitchenette, a small fireplace, and a big bed with soft gray sheets. You dropped your bag at the foot of it and kicked off your shoes. Joel watched you for a second—just standing there, arms crossed like he didn’t want to hover. You didn’t say anything. You just peeled off your hoodie, grabbed a t-shirt from your bag, and climbed straight into bed.

Joel moved quietly. Took off his boots. Shrugged out of his flannel. Pulled his belt loose, but didn’t undress all the way—just enough to get comfortable. When he slid in beside you, you rolled toward him without thinking.

Your head found his chest. His arm curled around your shoulders. And the whole room stilled.

“Y’alright?” he murmured, lips brushing your hair.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Just tired.”

Joel’s thumb stroked the edge of your shoulder. “I know.”

You didn’t say much else. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and held you while your body sank deeper into the mattress, his breathing steady beneath your ear. And that was it. No pressure. No expectations. Just warmth. And Joel.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

She was glowing all day.

The kind of glow that sunk into her cheeks and stayed there—soft and flushed and so fucking happy, it made his chest ache.

And he’d pretended not to stare. Watched her barefoot in the grass. Bought her some overpriced lemonade in a glass bottle and nearly lost it when she smiled up at him with it held between both hands. And now?

Now she was stretching on the bed, skin pink from the sun, wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else. He could see the outline of her hips. The soft weight of her breasts. Her legs curled slightly as she leaned back on her elbows, scrolling something on her phone like she didn’t even know what she was doing to him.

“Put that down,” he said, voice low.

She looked up. “What?”

He stepped toward the bed, jaw tight. “Your phone. Put it down, baby.”

She obeyed—slowly—then tilted her head, playful. “Why?”

He sat at the edge of the mattress, leaned over her until she was flat on her back. Touched her thigh like it might ground him. Her skin was warm, soft. Her muscles shifted under his touch like she was already reacting. 

“You’ve been drivin’ me insane all day,” he muttered. “You know that?”

She smiled. “What did I do?”

Joel bent his head to kiss the inside of her knee, lips brushing lightly over her skin.

“You were breathin’. That was enough.”

She laughed—breathy, surprised.

His hand slid under the hem of his t-shirt she was wearing. Nothing underneath.

“No panties?” he asked, voice gone rough.

She shook her head.

He groaned, hand tightening. “Jesus.”

He moved over her; let his hands trace the curve of her body– up her stomach, over her chest, fingers brushing her nipples until she arched up to meet him.

“Joel,” she whispered.

“You know what you do to me?” he muttered, climbing over her, his hand skimming up her stomach to her breast. “Lay there lookin’ like this?”

He ducked down and took one nipple into his mouth—sucked slow until she whimpered, then moved to the other. His hand slid between her thighs, found her wet already. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re soaked for me.”

Her hands gripped his arms. “Touch me– please.”

Joel didn’t need to be told twice.

He slid two fingers into her—slow, deliberate—his thumb working lazy circles over her clit. Her hips lifted, her head tipped back, and he watched every second of it like it was the first time he’d ever seen something that mattered.

“Look at you,” he muttered. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

She moaned, legs falling further open.

“You gonna come on my fingers, angel?”

“Mmhm,” she gasped.

“Good. Let me see it.”

She came fast and hard, thighs shaking, one hand clinging to his bicep like she needed it to breathe.

He kissed her throat, murmured against her skin, “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

He pulled his fingers out slowly, kissed her once more, and pushed his sweats down just far enough. Then lined himself up and looked her in the eye.

“Gonna fuck you now.”

She nodded, eyes wide. “Please.”

He sank in slow. Not teasing. Not showing off. Just deep, steady, all the way.

“Tight as ever,” he growled. “Like you were made for me.”

He braced on one forearm, the other hand gripping her thigh, and started moving—slow and steady, dragging every inch out just to push it right back in. She clawed at his back, her mouth falling open making a soft sound that made his whole spine light up.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s me, baby. All of me.”

She whimpered something—his name, a plea, he didn’t care. He leaned down, pressed his forehead to hers, moved one hand to her face—tilting it up, fingers firm against her cheek.

“Look at me,” he growled. “Wanna see you like this.”

She blinked up at him—ruined, flushed, still so soft.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured. “So fuckin’ good for me.”

The pressure hit him all at once—tight, hot, overwhelming. His thrusts picked up, rougher now, his breath ragged.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Gonna come—fuck, baby—”

He pulled out fast, fist wrapping tight around his cock, hovering over her flushed body.

“Wanna come on those pretty tits,” he growled, voice low and broken. “Fuckin’ need it.”

And then he did. Thick ropes across her chest, warm and hot on her skin, his mouth falling open on a low, desperate sound. He kept stroking until it all spilled out—until she was coated and breathing heavy and looking up at him like he just gave her something no one else ever had. 

He collapsed beside her and whispered, “You’re gonna be the end of me.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You didn’t talk about the trip much when you got back.

Didn’t need to.

Joel carried your bag inside, kissed the back of your neck while you unpacked, and stayed the night like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The next morning, he made coffee.

Left his toothbrush beside yours.

Didn’t take it when he left.

You didn’t ask why.

He was back two days later with his tool bag and a six-pack of the beer you liked.

“I tightened the door hinge,” he said. “Thought I’d leave these in the fridge.”

You let him.

He stayed again.

And again.

At some point, he started doing laundry here.

Started showing up with groceries.

Bought a second phone charger and never brought it home.

Some nights, you found him asleep on the couch waiting for you.

Other nights, he made it to bed but didn’t say a word—just pulled you against him, hands warm and steady on your waist like he couldn’t rest without touching you.

He kept the flannel you always stole folded on the arm of the couch. You found an extra shirt of his in your closet one day.

He wasn’t a man of big declarations.

He didn’t say I live here now.

He didn’t say I love you.

He just… kept showing up.

And you kept letting him.

On Thursday nights, he made dinner.

On Sundays, you brought him coffee in bed.

You kissed with your eyes closed.

Touched each other with your hands full of familiarity, not hesitation.

You started turning off the bedroom light without asking if he was staying.

One night, you fell asleep on the couch with your legs in his lap. You woke up to him brushing your hair back, one finger tracing your cheek like he couldn’t help it.

Another night, you found him in the bathroom shaving. He looked up, caught your reflection in the mirror, and smiled so softly you felt it in your knees.

The sex changed, too. It wasn’t frantic anymore.

No proving, no control. Just slow hands. Open mouths. His body over yours, moving like he had time. Like he wasn’t afraid of it anymore.

Sometimes he’d kiss you for ten minutes before either of you spoke.

Sometimes he touched you without saying a word. Once, you climbed into his lap after dinner and he just held you there.

One hand on your thigh. The other on your lower back.

“You alright?” he murmured, voice low in your ear.

You nodded. “Just needed this.”

He kissed your shoulder. “Me too.”

You noticed, one morning, that he never locked the door when he left anymore.

He came back that afternoon with your favorite takeout, a case of sparkling water, and two sets of keys.

“I got another copy made,” he said, handing them to you.

You took them.

Didn’t ask why.

Didn’t have to.

You said, “Don’t leave tonight.”

He didn’t even blink.

“Not plannin’ on it.”

The next morning, you found his boots by the door. His toothbrush still in the cup, his shirt on your floor.

And Joel Miller—warm beside you, one arm slung over your waist—sleeping like a man who wasn’t going anywhere.

You never said I love you.

But he stayed.

And you never had to ask again.

[caleignii]

PossessiveMechanic!Caleb/Reader

mentions of: smut, dubcon, kidnapping, somnophilia, stalking, p in v, possessive behavior, mouth spitting, cumming, breeding, abuse (?), masturbation, rough sex, orgasm, praising kink, sexual overstimulation, use of drugs, minor violence, probably panty sniffer, stockholm syndrome (?), yandere tendencies, forced pregnancy, caleb is totally a pervert.

summary: reader moves into a new town, unexpectedly ran to a hot guy who seems unharmful, that later on developed an obsessive behavior towards her.

a/n: english is not my first language so bear w/ me. :3

MDNI 18+

“Ughhh what now!”, you mumbled as you repeatedly start your car engine, only to it not responding.

Moving out is so stressful, having to go back to your old home to collect the things you've left behind, it's such a hassle and definitely getting on your very last nerves!

On the other hand, you couldn't help but feel a sigh of relief, moving onto a new town with scenery so breathtaking you could almost feel like your soul has been taken into the depths of cloud nine. The town was small but lively, and you loved that it felt safe or so you thought.

You're on your way back to drop off your last belongings and couldn't wait to rest, because of the entire week of you going back and forth. On your way home, your car decided to not be cooperative making you stuck in the middle of the town's street. You were still on the shoulder, trying to Google what the hell might have happened to your car, when a soft knock was heard in your window.

“Heyyy, I couldn't help but notice that you've been here in 'yer car for quite a while now, is something wrong?”

You stopped on your tracks noticing the tall, astonishing looking man that wore denim pants along with his white tank top that surely flexes his well built biceps, with a concerned look squinting down into your window.

You couldn't help but to stare at his sunset looking eyes that really lured your attention to, something about it somehow made your tummy tickles. “Miss?”

Lost in your thoughts the man seems to be worried since you're not responding who's clearly captivated by his looks. “Oh yeah uhmm, it's just my stupid car... I think there's something wrong with it”, “Do you think I could help ya'? 'm pretty good at fixing things if you may ask.” with a boyish smile, you couldn't help but to accept his offer.

I mean why not? Having a handsome and muscular guy helping you fix your car while looking so hot and delicio—, what the hell am I saying!? You screamed internally as you carefully observed how his hands glides thru the car engines for who knows whatever he's doing.

“Sooo what's a pretty girl doin' in here? Never seen you around before.” He asked, looking at you while continuing his duty. “I just moved in here for quite some time now, just finishing up my new home.” he hummed at your response.

Later that day, you've learned that the man who helped you was Caleb, you felt lucky after he said that he was the town’s only mechanic—a tall, easy-smiling man with grease on his hands and dimples deep enough to drown in.

Looking at the paper he handed earlier with his number written on it, he said in case your car acts up again. Remembering how he fixed your car earlier that day and refused to charge for labor.

“You’re new here,” he said with a shrug, “Consider it a welcome gift.” you stupidly smiled as the memories of earlier flooded back in.

You two became surprisingly close after that incident on how both of you met. Him occasionally showing up in your home, sometimes showing up unannounced with his usual sweet, boyish grin.

And the worst part? You let him every. single. time., ignoring the strange prickle so close to your neck, waiting to be weave in any seconds like a ticking bomb.

The first time he came to your house, it was just a social call—at least, that’s what it looked like. Besides, nothing could go wrong. right?

There was a knocked mid-morning with a white box from the local diner in Caleb's hand. Inside were apple turnovers and a note in careful cursive: Best in town. Ask Caleb if you don’t believe me.

You blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to—”

“I didn’t. I wanted to.” He grinned. After receiving it, you invited him inside.

He stood awkwardly in the entryway, looking around like he was trying to memorize every inch. The visit was short. Friendly. He made a few jokes, complimented the paint colors, told her he’d grown up a few blocks away.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just small-town kindness.

“I figured you hadn’t gotten the lay of the land yet,” he said. “This place’s got good folks, if you know where to look.”

Both of you chatted not noticing the darkness that is settling in. Sometimes he would ask some questions like: “Do you like your new home?”, “Did you met any of our neighbors?” or even becoming bolder such as, “Sooo are you single?” which totally left you flustered.

After he left, you can't help but feel a strange feeling that seeps in your stomach, is this what they call butterflies in your stomach?

The next week, he showed up again.

This time, he had tools.

“Your mailbox is leaning,” he explained, already halfway into the project before you answered the door. “One strong wind and it’ll be flat. I had a spare post. Figured I’d help.”

You didn’t know how to say no. Not when he looked so sincere! Not when he smiled like he meant it.

And then the pattern started.

Every few days, he was there. Fixing things. Pointing out things even you didn’t know needed fixing.

Your porch light flickered once? The next day, it was replaced.

Your garden hose had a kink?—sure he left a new one just for you.

You found him once crouched in the side garden, dirt on his knees, pulling up the withered flowers.

“This place deserves to be kept nice,” he said.

Hesitation and anxiety starts creeping in every inch of your skin, as you began to feel trapped by his kindness. He never asked to come in—he just offered help. And always with that same half-smile, that practiced ease. It made you feel crazy for feeling watched. Paranoid.

Convincing yourself he was just lonely. Just sweet. Just a friendly guy who always has your back

But then came the incident with the door.

Certain you'd locked it that morning. But when you returned from work, it was slightly ajar. Nothing stolen. No signs of forced entry.

Only a coffee mug washed and placed back in the wrong cabinet.

Heart thudded as you stood in the kitchen, mug in hand. Told yourself you must’ve misremembered. That it was nothing.

You started cataloging every detail of your home like a detective in your own life.

Even taking photos of each room before you left for work. Marked the position of your silverware, shampoo bottles, the books on the shelf. You made a spreadsheet of timestamps and room temperatures and light bulb wattages.

“Am I losing it?” you stammered, feeling uneasy and stressed on current happenings.

“You said the mug moved?” Tara asked during lunch. “Maybe you did it and forgot.”

You smiled tightly, didn’t bother explaining. How could I make someone understand that it wasn’t just one thing? It was a thousand small things, like threads being plucked, one by one, until the whole fabric started to fray.

The toaster would be unplugged when I came home, though I never unplugged it.

My laundry would be a little too folded, neater than you ever managed.

The smell of someone else’s cologne would linger for a second too long in the hallway.

Until a week later, when Caleb stopped by unannounced again, tool bag slung over one shoulder.

“Thought I’d fix the outlet near your sink,” he said, already halfway through the door.

“I don’t remember asking about that,” you said.

“No, but I noticed it,” he replied, tapping the wall. “Could be a hazard. Water 'n electricity, y’know?”

You felt a hint of hesitation—but still let him in.

He moved through the kitchen casually, too casually, like he knew it better than he should. He knelt, tinkered with the wall. As you watched him the entire time, arms crossed.

He worked in silence for a while.

“Hey Pips, can I use your bathroom for a sec'?” the man says as he was leaning on your door frame.

He was gone ten minutes.

Too long.

You stood at the edge of the hall, listening. No flushing. No water. Wondering what else he could be doing taking so much time.

“Hey Caleb, are you good? You've been there for 10 minutes is something wrong?” you slightly raised the volume in your throat, abruptly knocking on the door.

When he finally stepped out, he smiled. “Yeah 'm sorry about that, just had a lil' tummy ache that's all.” Both of you went back in the kitchen shortly after that.

And you not noticing the slightly gap between the drawer where you put all your used undies and other clothes. You have so much underwear, two pairs missing shouldn't be a problem right? right.

Later that night, something inside of you just snapped. An ominous feeling on the back of your head that you kept ignoring but failed to do so. You can't help but to feel like you're being watched by some unknown.

So the very next day, you made your way into the mall, bustling every store you can that promotes security cameras.

A new camera system you had bought—high-end, cloud connected, motion sensors. You set up four cameras outside and six inside.

For a week, nothing happened.

Then, one night, all the cameras went black.

Simultaneously.

When you checked the footage, it had been wiped. Completely clean. Not a second of stored data. As if someone had never wanted them there to begin with.

You didn’t sleep that night. As you sat in the hallway with back to the wall, a knife clutched in your hands, waiting for a sound. Any sound.

None came.

But you knew he had been there.

Not just because of the cameras.

Because her toothbrush was wet.

After a long hours of work you've lost track of the time, and now you're here walking home in the dark as you keep yourself cautious and wary of your surroundings. As you were walking you couldn't help but hear footsteps joining with you, but as you turned back you saw nothing. no one. maybe you're just too naive and too dumb to notice the figure creeping behind the walls.

It happened fast. Too fast.

Before you know it, large arms embraced you from behind keeping you from moving away. “Let go of me! HELP!” You yelped, adrenaline rushing in to you as you tried to squirm.

“Shh shh, it's okay princess you have me now.” as the man behind coos thinking that maybe, just maybe it'll sooth your panicked nerves.

“NO! STOP! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME!” thinking you could escape, you kicked him on his knees, but falls into nothing.

“Aggressive aren't we? You left me no choice then, Pips” with that he took out a cloth from his pocket, shoving it onto your nose.

“No pwease, dwont do dwis” your muffled voices slowly vanishing into thin air, as darkness engulfs your sight.

“Sweetdreams my baby, you know that I love you a little bit too much right.” as Caleb nuzzles in your unconscious body, feeling the warmth and softness of your tender skin.

When you woke up, you find yourself laid on bed that you sure that isn't yours.

There's an invincible force keeping you pinned. You couldn't move.

You're in a state of confusion.

Panicked and scared.

As the blurred vision in your eyes began to fade, you tried to ease yourself by looking down only to realize that you're wide open, naked, legs stretched out. Noticing the white liquid slowly dripping in your cunt down to your thighs, it was extremely a lot that it's nearly pooling between your ass and the bed.

Too focused on examining yourself, you didn't notice the door creaking in followed by a calculated steps.

“Finally up hmm?” Caleb walked towards the bed, “I was worried I put a lot of dosage that made you unconscious for a day” the bed shifted as he sat beside you.

“'m sorry baby.” he gently caresses your cheeks. “Caleb release me right now.” you demanded firmly and cold, but ineffective to hide the scared tone in your voice.

“Or what? What'cha 'gon do 'bout it, Pipsqueak? Call the cops?” he threatened, faint chuckle was heard after.

“I want to go home please, I'll give you whatever you want. Money, you want money right? Just please let me go” trying to hold back the tears that can fall down any second. “Silly but you're in home, our home”.

“I don't care about your money, do you not get it? It's you. I want you.” he blurted with an airy voice.

“No! I don't want this y—”

“Stop playing with me, we both know you're lying when you have your pussy here so soaked in here because of my cock.” as he traces your wet cunt with his cum still on the inside leaking out, from him fucking you multiple times while you were still knocked out.

“D'ya like my present?” he kept humping your lower half, until you felt something on his pants slowly arising.

“Why don't'ya be a good girl f'me hmm? I'll give you anything. everything.” as he was buckling his belt off, removing his pants along with his boxers that clearly has a stain of his pre-cum, turned on from the sight of you wide open for him still immobilized by his Evol's doing.

“Caleb, please don't do this to me.” you pleaded to him, glazed eyes looking at him praying to every gods to convince him to spare you.

But to Caleb, how can he stop himself when you're looking at him with those cute doe-eyes? It's your fault for being so adorable, that he lost all his control from keeping you captive, caged, away from anyone and everyone else. Just for him to see, to feel, to hear, to taste. They don't even deserve to breathe the same oxygen as you? He thought.

“My name isn't a safe word, y'know?” without a warning, he plunged himself deep inside you.

You swore your vision faltered as soon as he drilled his hard cock in your walls so wet, you can even hear the squelching so loud.

Plap Plap Plap

“So tight f'me. 'y so wet and you...nghhh said you didn't want this?” as he continued to fuck your brains out.

You feel your body easing up as his Evol starts to soften around you, allowing you to arch your back from the extreme pleasure you're receiving.

“Nggghhh...Caleb ahh s-slow please” gasping as of the lack of air you're getting in. “Can't aha...p-leasee” poor mind can't even produce coherent words from being too cock-drunk.

“Shhh...y'can take it yeah? I know you can baby.” huff huff huff was heard across the room along with the sounds of skin slapping.

His hard cock goes deep inside your pussy kissing your cervix multiple times, he watches how his member disappears—going in and out. in. out. in. out. in. out. Which evidently turned him on even more. “Fuuuckkk mmmhh”.

He descended towards your head, body-weight definitely crushing you down, his hands serving as a necklace in your neck. He doesn't squeeze, just holding it indicating that he's the one in-charged here.

“Look at you, moaning so loud f'me. Do I feel that good hmm?” as he licks your neck, even biting it that'll definitely leave a mark.

He didn't like that he was being ignored, so he pinned your neck down nearly choking you—using his other hand to slap you in the face.

“Answer me pretty or you'll be punished even more, wouldn't want that right?”

Unable to comprehend Caleb's words from being fucked out, you just nonsensically responded to him whatever it is on your mind. Your mind however, feels like you're above the clouds, drawn at the ecstasy that made you so high you don't even give a single care at the world; forgetting the defiance you showed from him awhile ago. You just wanted to cum.

“Caleebbb...pleasepleaseplease aaghhnnh. I do anything pweasee.” you whined at him, eyes rolled back, you surely are close. Feeling a hard knot building up below your belly button.

As your mouth agape, drool escaping your lips, Caleb spat on your mouth. His saliva mixing with yours watching as you obediently swallowed it without any protest.

“What a good girl you are. You're mine. You're my good girl” he slammed his lips into yours, resulting a messy and sloppy kiss. His tongue freely exploring you as his thrust became even faster, the speed so inhumane you doubt if he even is a human.

“Gon' cummm, gon' cum, ahaahh...nghh Calebb.” the lewd sounds you're making was enough to make his control vanish.

“Yeahh? You want my load so bad? Such a good girl.” unable to control himself, he shoots his cum deep inside your womb, still moving slowly as both of your juices mixed.

You had a chance to breathe properly as he pulled out his cock, watching his semen oozing out in your pretty little pussy. For a moment heavy pants filled the room, body twitching from the previous orgasm, closing your eyes as you sensed the exhaustion consuming your body.

You're finally drifting off to sleep, buuut Caleb has other plans.

“Not yet baby, uh-uh the night is still young, yeah?” as he followed the trail of his cum using his dick, shoving it right back to where it should belong.

“Have to make sure 'yer pregnant, so that you'll never leave me alone hmm.”

You sure have to brace yourself, 'cuuzz it'll be a long night for you~

[radioactive-alien-thing]

Azuretime x reader polygamous please! We need more of them frfr

I'm not sure about the specific plots, but maybe when Azure came out as a killer for the first time and they all reunited?

You can choose whether or not reader was also in the cult. But they prooooobably didn't know about the sacrifice? Maybe they might've also almost got sacrificed, but Two time failed and they got Forsaken™ first?

Yeah, that's about it. I think. I forgot to say when I said we need more Azuretime x reader, I meant angst 😈😈 /hj

The relationship is gonna so strained, but the dynamic would be kind of interesting?

Take your time with the requests! Your health and happiness is the first priority!

❤️❤️❤️❤️ /Platonic

HAAAIIII omgosh sorry this took so long!!! and sorry if it’s. not the best!!! i hardly write angsty so thank you for this practice!!! hope u enjoy regardless<3

azure x two time x reader - unspoken confessions

not much really concerns you these days. after numerous weeks(?) of being stuck in a eerily cold & horrific realm, as if you were a lab rat in a cage, putting on a show for some mysterious ‘spectre’, you’ve pretty much gotten used to it.

of course, you still prayed to the Spawn every day, clinging to your faith in rough times like these. and you prayed for your partners, too- wherever they were. if they were even safe. at least they didn’t have to suffer in this place, wherever you were… could be hell, could be purgatory. you weren’t all too sure.

but it didn’t take long for things to shift and you quickly regretted ever feeling hopeful. eventually, two time ended up in the same realm as you, though something about them was off. you noticed it right away, the air of tension, the defensive glint in their eyes. they felt distant, hesitant. when you reached out for a hug, relieved to see one of your partners after convincing yourself you never would again, they flinched.

that’s fine, though. that’s absolutely okay, you told yourself. two time must be incredibly overwhelmed. confused, maybe even scared. after all, there was only one way to end up here, and it wasn’t exactly by natural fate. you didn’t pry, they didn’t want to talk about it. but when you finally mentioned your attacker fleeing and leaving you to bleed out, a small frown flickered across their face. just for a moment, you thought you saw something, some hint of emotion. you couldn’t tell if it was concern… or maybe regret?

so you brought up your second biggest concern, a bit of anxiety settling in. azure. what about azure? was he okay? at the mention of his name, two time slightly stiffened, but their eyes continue to hold that same manic look, tense as if they were holding something back.

you barely got an answer. it hurt. you needed to know. but every time you tried to learn more, two time redirected the discussion back to the Spawn, always circling back to the one thing they were utterly obsessed with. and though you wouldn’t ever say it out loud, praise be to the Spawn, you were starting to grow agitated.

eventually you ended up in a match together, forming a tiny pact to watch each other’s backs. you noticed the spectre had let them keep their dagger, though you didn’t ask why. a weapon’s a weapon, and it’s pretty useful in this case. maybe it didn’t mean anything.

you’ve already repaired a few generators, but the lack of a killer was making you increasingly anxious. where the hell were they? did taph blow them up already? where was all the usual bloodshed? something was off.

“two time? two time?” you call out, presuming they had ditched you. so much for loyalty. you even made a mental note to give them absolute hell for it later, but the sight you walked into stopped you cold.

you initially didn’t want to believe it, but you couldn’t deny it for long. it was azure, but not the one you remembered. they were different- stronger, more intense. scarier. it didn’t take long for it to click. they were the killer.

azure’s eyes look almost regretful, maybe even sad, as their hands tighten around two time’s neck, choking the other cultist on the ground. the sight hit you like a truck and left your head reeling. instinct took over and you lunged forward, trying to pull them apart. everything went all blurry for a moment. azure’s eyes widened when he saw you, filled with a conflicted emotion that didn’t match his actions. it was almost like he wasn’t in control at all.

you did successfully manage to shove them apart. two time weakly crawled away, gasping for air. azure just stood still, shaking, hands twitching.

your eyes drift over to the small wound you left on azure’s cheek while trying to save two time. slowly, he reached up to graze it. every little move was tense.

without a word, azure turned sharply and forced himself to trudge away, footsteps unsteady. you didn’t try calling out to him. he didn’t bother looking back. all you could do was stare at the empty spot where he once stood, his silence louder than any words he could’ve left.

[ivonhart]

only for you | sevika x fem long haired!reader

— one shot

masterlist

cross posted on ao3

requested by: @almostdeepestwombat

gif credit: @terrapia

summary: Sevika finds you after you help Jinx through one of her episodes

a/n: Straight up blacked out and came to with this on my computer

For as long as Silco could remember you were there. The one most loyal to him. Even in the most trying times he would turn to find you standing right behind him with a proud smile.

You…the first person to believe in his vision for Zaun to flourish into an independent nation no matter what actions were deemed necessary. Even after the blisters within the bedrock crumbled apart, you were always there.

You were there when he lost his eye. You were there when he first came up with the idea of Shimmer. You were there when he finally got his revenge…and you were there when he found her. A little girl, Felicia’s youngest, no more than twelve, curled up in his arms as he stared up at you with wide eyes.

The rain running down the cracks along his face as the fire behind you illuminated his orange eye. You hadn’t seen the girl since the death of her mother. The betrayal of Vander splitting your once large found family into only two.

For years it had just been you and Silco…but now, as you lifted your gaze from the man to those around you…it seemed as though your once family of two grew in size. Brutes…from Sevika’s group had now aligned themselves with Silco.

For months you had heard whispers of Sevika’s faith wavering in Vander, but when she jumped in front of the blast you knew she would become a prominent part in your life. And you were right. Due to what she did to protect Silco, and you, she quickly worked her way into Silco’s inner circle.

-

It had almost been three years since Silco took in Powd—Jinx and your life took a drastic turn. Not only because of the little girl you found yourself caring for…but because of the brute of a woman that was now Silco’s most trusted subordinate.

She became a constant in your life that left you breathless and flushed in ways you’ve never felt before. For as long as you could remember all your time was focused on freeing Zaun and each day you got closer and closer to it thanks to Silco.

And that dream was within reach…it had to have been. Silco managed to secure power over the Undercity with you by his side. As the two of you had always dreamed about. It wasn’t until Silco pointed it out that you realized what you might be feeling. “I believe you are smitten with her.” 

Silco suddenly teased one night as the two of you drank during your weekly catch ups. No matter what…the two of you set time aside to simply be in the company of one another without the weight of work looming over you.

You playfully scolded the man as you hid your burning cheeks behind your glass filled with the Undercity’s finest liquor. The man couldn’t fight the chuckle that passed his lips and he leaned back in his chair. “I’m just stating what I see.” 

It wouldn’t be until a month or so later that you would think back on your brother’s–for all intensive purposes–words. It was late at night as you stumbled out of Jinx’s room with sluggish movements.

She had experienced another manic episode, leaving her in a state that was dangerous for herself and those around her. At this point in time you were accustomed to helping her through it…but that didn’t mean you got out unscathed.

The episode was a brutal one which caused the girl to claw at your body, leaving deep scratches from where she dragged her nails across your skin.

Your hair was also a mess. Normally it would be hanging loose down to your knees after all the years of never cutting it, but because of Jinx it was now terribly knotted.

On Jinx’s good days, the young girl was obsessed with braiding your hair, but it wasn’t a good day. You slowly started making your way towards your room before you collided with what felt like a brick wall.

If it wasn’t for the metal arm that wrapped around your waist you would’ve tumbled over. Then the familiar voice that sent warmth throughout your body slowly cursed as you were held.

“Watch where you’re goi–” You looked up at Sevika and her sentence died in her throat when she took in your appearance. “Fucking hell you look like shit.”

She quickly said while getting your steady on your feet. You were too tired to register how her touch, even from her cold metal arm, left your skin on fire. “Yeah…Jinx had an episode.”

You mumbled as you looked at her. The woman simply nodded her head, knowing about the episodes, before turning on her heel. “Well let's get you cleaned up then.”

-

Sevika told herself that the reason she found herself tending to your wounds was because if Silco found out she left his sister alone in this state he’d have her head…but a part of her knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

Since joining Silco, Sevika always noted how beautiful you were. With each passing day she found herself looking at you more and more and subsequently sought out a brothel worker with similar hair and eye color to you in her free time.

About a year into her new life she couldn’t hold back the small flirty remarks she sent your way, feeling a sick sense of pride in the way she made your cheeks heat up with simple words. You were beautiful…but what she found most alluring was your hair.

When she first met you that night in the warehouse the moonlight caused your tailbone-length hair to shine within the style you pulled it into that day. She caught herself thinking about running her hands through it while she kissed you. Pulling it while she fucked you.

Tending to it while you got ready in the morning. For three years you wormed your way into her mind and her heart, leaving her with feelings she never thought possible to feel.

Now you sat before her with heavy bags under your eyes and knee-length hair knotted so bad it would take all night for you to brush it out. If you even could. You were a tough woman, it was another thing that pulled Sevika in so hard, but as she looked at you in the low lighting so noted just how tired you were.

Sevika couldn’t imagine having to care for the little psycho that Silco took in alongside her. The woman didn’t say anything as she began maneuvering you so that she would get behind you and begin working on your hair. Never in her life had she held something as softly as she held your hair.

She started at the bottom, slowly combing through the knots mindful of what caused you pain. It wasn’t until an hour or so later did you finally speak. “You’re not as scary as people think.”

Your words were almost slurred as you struggled to keep your eyes open. The feeling of someone caring for your hair always relaxed you, resulting in you falling in and out of a semi-conscious state.

Only for you…the woman thought as she finished brushing the last knot out before scooping you up and walking you to your room. As she put you on your bed she felt you cup her jaw and the faintest kiss brushed her cheek before you fell against your pillow, leaving the brute with burning cheeks to stumble out of your room. 

[ttdamian]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ᯋ ݁ Broken records ݂

⸺ summary ; In which Tim falls helplessly in love with a rockstar. ⸺ Authors note ; Tim drake x Fem ! reader, possessive/controlling behaviors, obsessive behaviors, yandere, stalking. english isnt my first language. wc : 2,2k. Not beta read.

It started with Kon dragging him to a concert.

He hadn’t wanted to go. Hadn’t planned to stand in the middle of a sea of strangers with bass rattling in his lungs and neon strobing across his face like war paint. But Kon had smiled—so Tim came.

And the moment he stepped inside, he regretted it.

The noise. The press of bodies. The way people screamed the band’s name like it was something holy. Like this was church and they were ready to bleed for it.

He didn’t belong here.

Not really.

But then the music changed.

A guitar ripped through the air—raw, unfiltered, almost angry. Like the sound had teeth. Like it wanted to bite.

And that’s when he saw you.

You weren’t center stage. You didn’t bask in the spotlight. But the second his eyes found you, everything else blurred.

You didn’t beg for attention. Didn’t demand it either.

But you held it.

The kind of presence that didn’t ask. It just was. Like gravity. Like the undertow.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Just watched you with something he couldn’t name growing quietly in his chest—something slow and hungry and a little afraid.

You looked like a storm wearing skin.

And he—

He was already lost. He didn’t remember the rest of the song.

Just the way your fingers moved—sharp, certain, alive. The way your mouth twisted around lyrics that didn’t ask to be understood. They were meant to be felt. And he did. God, he did.

The crowd screamed. You didn’t flinch. Instead your eyes scanned the chaos like you were miles above it. Like none of it touched you. Until—

They landed on him.

It wasn’t long.

Just a flicker. A glance across the dark, through the noise, through the lights that pulsed like a heartbeat gone wrong.

But it was enough.

It felt like being caught in a current. Dragged somewhere deeper than the surface, where breath didn’t matter anymore.

He looked away first.

Didn’t mean to. Just happened. Like his body knew he couldn’t take much more of that gaze. Not tonight.

But when he looked back, you were still watching.

Still singing.  Still playing. Still looking.

And for a moment—just one—he let himself believe it meant something.

The song ended.

The crowd roared.

You turned.

Gone, just like that.

It should’ve ended there.

One set. One song. One look.

But it didn’t.

It clung to him—like smoke in his lungs. Like something half-dreamed and half-remembered. He kept seeing your face when he closed his eyes. Kept hearing that guitar as if the notes were stitched into his ribs.

He didn’t tell Kon. Not at first.

Didn’t know how to say; “I think I saw someone who made the world stop for a second.”

But a few nights later, it slipped out—casual, offhand, like it meant nothing.

“What was the band’s name again?”

Kon raised an eyebrow, smirked. “Didn’t think you were paying attention.”

Tim shrugged. “I wasn’t. Not really.”

That was a lie.

Kon rattled off the name—some small, local group that barely had a footprint outside of Gotham’s underground scene. Niche. Grimy. Honest.

Exactly the kind of place Tim never wandered into.

But he did now.

He started researching.

Late nights blurred by in a haze of dim light and static audio clips. Grainy concert footage. Forums. Interviews. Nothing major—just enough to stitch a picture together.

Your name came up.

Not often. Just enough.

He read it like it was something sacred.

Watched every video he could find. Eyes locked on you even when the camera shook or drifted elsewhere. He didn’t care about the music anymore—not really.

He cared about you.

He told himself it was curiosity. That it would pass. That maybe he just needed a distraction, something to pull him out of his own head.

But the way your voice lodged under his skin said otherwise.

He started frequenting the places your band was known to hang around. Dive bars. Record stores. Venues tucked into corners of the city that didn’t show up on maps. Always alone. Always hoping.

It didn’t feel healthy.

It didn’t feel optional, either.

And then—like the universe finally exhaled—

He saw you again.

Not onstage.

Not surrounded by lights or noise or eyes.

Just sitting in a corner booth at a quiet café. Hoodie pulled over your head. Headphones in. A sketchpad open in front of you. Coffee cooling by your table.

You looked ordinary.

It was devastating.

His chest tightened, and for a moment, he just… stood there. Like maybe you were a mirage. Like if he blinked, you’d dissolve.

But you didn’t.

You were real. Solid. Breathing.

He debated turning around. Pretending he never saw you. Letting the moment stay unbroken, safe in the fantasy where you didn’t look through him like smoke.

But then you looked up.

Right at him.

And just like that—again—

The world stopped.

You blink when you see him.

And then—you smile. Small. Tired. Real.

Like maybe you recognize him. Or maybe he just looks familiar in the way people do when they’re meant to collide.

He swallows the knot in his throat, steps forward.

Careful.

Measured.

He points vaguely to the seat across from you, voice softer than he means it to be.

“Is this seat taken?”

You glance at the empty chair across from you, then back at him.

“Nope.”

He sits before he can second-guess it. Slides into the moment like it’s something fragile he might break if he breathes too loud.

You take your headphones out slowly. Let them fall around your neck.

He tries not to stare.

You don't say anything right away. Neither does he.

And still—it doesn't feel awkward.

It feels quiet. Safe.

Finally, he speaks. “I saw you play one night. At that warehouse venue. With the busted speaker and that guy who crowd-surfed into a ceiling fan.”

You laugh—really laugh—and it does something to him. Knocks loose whatever part of him he pretends doesn’t feel things.

“Oh god, that night,” you say, rubbing your eyes. “I thought the fan was gonna kill him.”

“He deserved it,” Tim says. “He was barefoot.”

You snort. “Barbaric.”

The conversation unfurls like a thread pulled loose from a sweater—slow, accidental, impossible to stop once it starts. You talk about the band. He tells you bits about Kon, vague hints about himself. You tease a smile out of him that makes your stomach flip.

Somewhere between your second coffee and his half-eaten croissant, it hits you.

This feels like a date.

You didn’t plan it. He didn’t ask. But here it is—soft and unspoken, humming quietly between you both.

You glance at your phone. Then back at him.

He notices. “Hey,” he says, voice light but careful. “Would it be weird if I asked for your number?”

You tilt your head. “Are you asking as a fan?”

He smiles—small, crooked. A little vulnerable. “I’m asking as someone who hopes this doesn’t end here.”

You give it to him.

And just like that, something shifts.

The texts start later that night.

Little things at first. Jokes. Music recs. Half-thoughts sent at midnight that turn into full conversations by dawn.

You start looking forward to the buzz of your phone.

You start looking forward to him.

It doesn’t feel like falling—not yet.

It feels like leaning. Like letting someone close enough to see the parts of you that don’t always sound pretty.

And he listens.

Every time.

You invite him to a practice session three weeks later.

Kon comes too—because apparently, they’re a package deal, and he likes your band.

Tim stays near the back at first, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

But he watches you like he did the first night. Like there’s no one else in the room.

You try to ignore it. You fail.

After the second song, you catch his eye. And he doesn’t look away.

He’s there the next week.

And the next.

Somehow, he starts becoming a fixture—always tucked in the corner with a half-smile and that look in his eyes like he’s memorizing you.

You start showing him the stuff you don’t show anyone else. Old lyrics. Rough demos. Songs that didn’t quite work but almost did.

He never critiques.

He listens.

And when he talks about your music, it’s like it means something to him. Like you mean something to him.

You think you’re in trouble.

The good kind.

The real kind.

One night after practice, you walk him to his ride. The sky is bruised purple. The air smells like wet pavement and cigarette smoke from the corner bar.

You don’t say anything at first.

Then—quiet, almost shy—you ask, “Why do you keep showing up?”

Tim glances at you. His voice is low when he answers.

“Because every time I see you,” he says, “I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

That’s when it happens.

That moment. The shift.

Your chest aches in that specific, dangerous way.

You don’t kiss him.

But your hand finds his.

And you don’t let go. That ended up being your biggest mistake. Because at first, you thought it was sweet. The way he showed up early to your sets and stayed late after rehearsals. The way his texts came like clockwork—good morning, are you eating enough, be safe tonight. Like he cared. Like he was steady. Like he needed you okay.

But then it started shifting.

Subtly. Quietly. Like a storm building behind glass.

It started with your phone.

Miss a text, and another would come.

Then another.  Each one a little more clipped than the last. Hey, everything okay? You good? Where are you? Who’re you with?

You’d blink and there’d be ten messages stacked in a row. You told yourself it was just concern. That he was just wired tight—always had been. But then he started showing up unannounced. First, it was the record store. You’d mentioned you liked browsing there on Sundays. He didn’t ask. He just appeared—shoulders tense, eyes scanning until they landed on you. Then it was the bar after your gig. Then it was your apartment. The first time, you hadn't even told him where you lived. But there he was, leaning against the hallway wall outside your door. Holding flowers. Smiling. Like it was normal. “Figured I’d surprise you,” he said. You hesitated—because part of you liked it. Liked the way he looked at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth. But the other part—quieter, colder—knew better. Knew this was something else. Still, you let him in. That was your second mistake. Because once Tim got inside, he didn’t really leave. Not physically—he always went home eventually. But something of him stayed. His jacket on your chair. His playlist looping on your speakers. His toothbrush in your bathroom.

And the way he watched you. God, the way he watched you. Like he was afraid to blink. Like someone might steal you if he looked away too long. And the worst part?

He never said it. Never raised his voice. Never told you not to go out. Never forbid anything.

He just… made you feel like you were being selfish when you did.

You skipped a band hang one night—just to be with him. Then another. Then a meeting with your producer. It didn’t feel like compromise. It felt like slipping. Like you were trading parts of yourself in exchange for not watching his face fall.

And when you did push back—just a little— Like the time you went out with your bassist after a gig without telling him— He didn’t yell. Didn’t accuse.

He just showed up the next morning, eyes rimmed red, voice quiet.

“I thought something happened,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep. I checked the ER logs.”

You stared at him, heart sinking. “You… what?”

“I had to make sure you were okay.”

You told yourself it came from love. That maybe he just didn’t know how to handle it. That his life had been chaos, and maybe he was trying to hold on too tight because he didn’t know how not to.

But that didn’t explain why he started asking for your schedule. Didn’t explain the time you caught him reading your journal when you walked out of the shower.

Didn’t explain the GPS app you found on your phone—one you didn’t install.

That night, you confronted him.

His jaw clenched. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. You go to these shitty venues alone—what if something happened and no one knew where you were?”

“You could’ve asked me,” you said, shaking.

“I did. You said you didn’t want to be tracked.” He stepped closer. “And I listened. But then I worried. And I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out there with people I don’t know, places I don’t trust—”

“You don’t have to trust them. You have to trust me.”

That made him stop.

For a long second, he just looked at you. And when he finally spoke, his voice was a whisper.

“I do,” he said. “That’s why I can’t lose you.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

And somewhere between the hours of three and five, you realized something awful.

You didn’t know when you stopped being in love with him.

You just knew that now—it felt like drowning in someone else’s need. Like you’d become the only thing holding him together. And if you ever let go—

He’d shatter.

But you were shattering too.

And you didn’t know how to make him stop without breaking everything.

@ TTDAMIAN. pretty please, translate and rewrite any of my works, or repost my works in any other platform without asking. (ts a joke get out)

[yanadolls]

ONE OF YOUR GIRLS TONIGHT ✧˖°.

||| FEATURING: REO MIKAGE X FEM READER

||| 18+, MDNI ── .✦ drunk sex, semi-public sex, praising, degrading, petnames, slight obsession, spanking, breeding kink, almost being caught

||| SUMMARY: reo attends yet another boring party with his parents, but when he meets you and learns how uninterested you are in him at first, he immediately yearns for you.

-

reo adjusted his tie in the bathroom as he stood in front of a mirror, head a bit fuzzy from the alcohol he consumed. it was really the only way he could handle these gatherings- they were so lame! he hated that his parents forced him to attend to keep up the mikage image even in his adult life, and he grew pretty exhausted already of the long business conversations. however, he knew he had to go back out there so with a grumble, he pushed the door open and exited. as he was rounding the corner to head towards the ballroom, he felt a body collide with his chest.

"oh, sorry."

"it's okay, i'm sorry as well. i wasn't looking where i was going."

upon hearing the feminine voice, his purple eyes roamed down to see who he bumped into, only to find out it was quite as beautiful girl. from your dress to your makeup, you were breathtaking and even he could admit that. considering reo was tipsy already and not very interested in going back to the party, he decided he might as well flirt a bit. a charming smile came to his lips as he took your smaller hand in his and placed a chaste kiss to the back of it.

"my, my. you're a beauty, dolly. which family are you attending with?"

'she shouldn't be too difficult.' the thought ran through his mind.

although when his eyes trailed back up to you, his smile faltered a bit. he wasn't met with the typical blushing face any other girl would've had- no, instead, you looked at him with a look that screamed how weirded out you were.

"thanks, i guess.. but i don't think i'm gonna give you that information. bye."

the shock was obvious on his face as you yanked your hand out from his and walked off. this was something reo was NOT used to. did this girl seriously just reject his advance? well, screw you anyway! he only wanted a distraction.

that's what he told himself as he grumbled back to the ballroom, getting another glass of champagne.

the more reo drank, the more bothered he was by the fact he actually had gotten rejected. it wasn't long before he was pretty drunk, and found himself eyeing you from across the room way more than he should've. the longer he stared at you, he felt an odd feeling bubble up in his chest. you were really gorgeous, and the tight dress that hugged your pretty curves and showed off your thighs was making the room a bit hotter for him.

the whole night reo continued to try to make moves on you, but they were all brushed off or shut down swiftly. he grew evermore frustrated as time went on, but he refused to give up. it just wasn't in his nature.

after a couple more drinks of your own, you were quite drunk as well, stumbling out of the ballroom to get some air. reo followed you and before you could rush down the hall from him, he grabbed your wrist tightly, spinning you around and bringing you to his chest. he glared down at you.

"am i ugly or something?" he started, "what the hell is wrong with you?"

you were unable to get out of his hold as his other hand moved to grip your waist- not tight enough to hurt, but enough to make you stay put.

"that's not even the problem! i just don't want some rich playboy trying to make me one of his toys!"

reo growled at your words. "that's not what i'm trying to do. is it so hard to believe i'm just interested in you?"

"yeah, it actually is."

"then let me prove it to you! i'll show you it's worth it to take a risk with me."

reo didn't know why he was so desperate to have you, considering the fact he had only just seen your face for the first time two hours ago. maybe it was the fact that you were so different from other potential sweethearts he had in the past, or that you didn't give him what he wanted from the start. whatever it was, reo didn't care. he needed to make you his.

a large hand came up to cup your cheek, tilting your head up to look at him. without any warning, he crashed his lips against yours, alcohol swimming in his mind. to his surprise, you actually reciprocated, moving your hands to hold his face as your tongues pushed against each others. you were giving him a chance, and reo couldn't be happier.

was it inappropriate to be making out in the middle of a hallway in someone else's estate, where both of your families could see you? 100%. although, it didn't seem like either of you cared as reo gently pushed you against the wall, hand hooking under one of your thighs and lifting it to hold against his hip.

"fuck, m'gonna make you mine."

reo grumbled on your lips, his much taller body caging you against the wall. it was a blur how or when you both moved into a nearby closet, but it happened; and now reo was sitting you on a heavy box, spreading your legs open hungrily.

"to think you tried to keep me from this.. gonna fuck you so hard for that."

you felt embarrassment rush to your face at his words, arousal pooling between your thighs at the mere thought. his thumb pressed against your sensitive clit through your damp panties, eliciting a moan from you. reo's cock twitched in his pants as he harshly tugged the lacey panty down to your ankles, revealing your glistening pussy. he couldn't help but groan at the sight, pressing his free hand roughly against his aching and throbbing hard-on.

"sooo fucking pretty. gonna ruin you for anyone else, princess."

"c'mon, reo.. just fuck me already.."

reo hissed at your words, unbuckling his belt in a rush. normally, he would've teased you for hours on end just for doing what you did tonight, but he was too drunk and horny to care. all he wanted right now was to be deep inside your gummy walls. he let out a small sigh as he released his dick from his boxers, only pushing his pants down to his thighs before he grabbed you and held you in his arms. your legs instantly hooked around his waist as you prepared yourself for what was about to happen. reo was big- bigger than anyone you had ever been with.

"oh, fuck!"

your legs trembled as he slowly pushed into your tight hole, the stretch from his large cock making your mind go blank. it hurt like hell at first, but once he was fully in, your pain turned to pleasure. reo pressed your back against the wall as he fucked you with experience, mouth sloppily biting at your neck to scatter dark hickeys across your smooth skin. moans spilled from your pretty lips as you felt your guts being totally rearranged by the handsome rich boy, your hands scratching at the back of his suit.

"pussy feels incredible, baby." he groaned out, "like it was made for me and only me."

his words made you clench around his dick, giving more pleasure for the both of you. reo continued abusing your poor cunt, silencing your whines and moans by kissing you passionately.

however, even in such an intoxicated and heated state, reo faintly picked up on the sounds of footsteps coming down the hallway. his movements halted in you, much to your dismay.

"ugh, asshole! why'd you stop-"

reo quickly covered your mouth, although he didn't pull out of you. he brought your body closer to his, dropping his head down beside your ear so he could whisper.

"don't make a sound."

before you could question why he was requesting such a thing, sudden voices could be heard approaching the closet. your heart fell to your stomach.

"someone said they heard weird noises coming from this direction.. what could it be?"

"darling, it could just be from outside."

the couple who were throwing the party in their own home were one door away from finding THE mikage reo balls deep into a girl he just met. you bit down on your bottom lip harshly, but a part of you couldn't help but feel more aroused at the thought of being caught getting your pussy pounded by the purple haired man. unintentionally, you clenched around reo, who held back a noise at the feeling- but barely.

"the hell are you doing?!" he whisper hissed at you, "you trying to get us caught?"

no, you weren't. honestly, it would be a horrifying situation to be placed in if the two discovered what was happening in their unlocked closet just a few feet from them. maybe it was because of the alcohol you consumed, but you weren't even thinking about that consequence you would face as you clenched down on reo again, eyes rolling to the back of your head. the door handle jiggled as you both held your breaths in horror.

"..excuse me!"

a sudden voice called from further away, and the doorknob was released.

"there's a stray cat in the bathroom down the other hallway! it appears to have snuck in through the window!"

what a lucky coincidence. footsteps backed away from the closet you were both hiding.

"oh..that must be what the noises were. come, honey. we have a cat to catch!"

only did you sigh of relief once the footsteps had totally faded, leaving you in the clear from being caught. however, what you weren't in the clear from was the little stunt you had pulled during the tense situation. reo suddenly pulled out and flipped you around, pushing you to bend over the box as he yanked your dress to your waist, placing a harsh slap on your ass.

"you some kind of slut? the fuck were you trying to do back there, huh? did you want that poor, old couple to see how well i fuck you? how well you take my fat cock?"

he spanked you again, both the action and his dirty words going straight to your core. reo slammed into you again, setting a more brutal pace than before.

"yeah, you'll get what you want. take my dick like a good girl, cause you're not gonna be walking for days once i'm done with you tonight."

his hands roamed everywhere on you, no longer caring about how much noise you two were making. you had only fueled reo's growing obsession with you, and he wasn't planning on letting you go. he wanted to claim you as his, keep you for himself. his heavy balls slapped against your backside with each thrust as he fucked into you like a madman.

"aah! ohmygod, reo!" you cried out, "m'gonna cum, gonna c-cum so hard!"

"f-fuck- me too, princess. gonna fill you up so much till you're leaking with my cum. take it all, ugh- take it!"

with one last cry, you clenched down and came around his thick cock, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. reo hugged your waist tightly as he twitched in you a couple times before painting your walls in white. you rode out your orgasm with him before he pulled out of you slowly, collapsing onto your back. heavy breathing was the only sound that filled the small closet now.

"think i love you already... yeah, you're all mine, now." he pressed a kiss behind your ear, although it was more gentle now. "just wait till i take you home. you're now my girlfriend."

AN: i think this was my longest write yet KEKW, i love reo sm <3 also my requests are open!

[g1rld1ary]

1980s horror film - james potter x reader

wc: 1469 summary: you work at a video store and james works at a convenience store in a shitty small town. you're both bored as hell, but at least you work across the street. me: inspired by the movie clerks! set in the mid-late 90s (so title is a bit misleading LOL). kind of obsessed with this au so feel free to send reqs if you like it or want more!! a contribution to shop au for @acourtofchaos festival!

You tilted your head back, boredom overtaking your body. You’d already been on shift for, like, seven fucking hours, and you’d maybe leant out three videos. Like, who even goes to a video store in the middle of a Thursday?

The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, you wished you could turn them off. Maybe you’d get cooler customers if you were in charge of the decorating. Your first order of business would definitely be to install some lamps or something, anything nicer than the violent white light you had to put up with every shift.

You twirled around in your swivel chair for a few minutes, watching the shelves blur into one multicoloured blob, surrounding you until you thought you might throw up.

Knowing you would be the one to clean it up if you did vomit on the aggressively eclectic patterned carpet, you stopped, standing on unsteady feet. You walked out of the store, not bothering to lock it. You weren’t going far.

You traipsed across the street, having learnt you didn’t need to look both ways before crossing long ago. Hardly anyone ever came by.

The bell jingled above you as you pushed the convenience store door open, the boy behind the counter looking up lazily. When he saw it was you, James’s face broke into a crooked smile.

“Slow day?” He asked, pushing himself off the counter he’d been leaning against. You nodded, heading straight to the row of fridges to grab a Coca-Cola, producing spare change to drop on the counter with a clang.

You cracked the bottle open with a satisfying hiss, hopping up to sit yourself on the counter in front of James. He made a teasing face at your audacity but let you do it anyway, taking a step to lean against the back wall, amongst the cigarettes and porn mags.

“How many customers have you had today?” He asked, pulling a bag of crisps from under the bench, sticking his hand in haphazardly.

“Three,” You answered plainly, stretching out your back with an aggressive twist. James laughed exaggeratedly in your face as if he was proving a point.

“I had seven,” he puffed out his chest as if it were a personal achievement.

“Right,” You stared at him, “Are you aware that you run a gas station and I work at a video store. On a Thursday.” James didn’t appear to see the ridiculousness of comparing your respective careers.

“It’s because of my superior personality and dazzling charm,” He crowed, circling some keys around his fingers to fidget with. You rolled your eyes, sliding off the countertop, examining the selection of chocolate bars under the register.

“It’s because you have gas, drinks and toilet paper. If I sold necessities, I’d be the most popular kid on the block, too, Potter.”

“Speaking of what you do sell,” James scanned the KitKat and started unwrapping it for you, “I’m meeting the guys tonight, got a recommendation?”

You paused, genuinely thinking.

“Well, if it’s the guys, then you’re looking for something ridiculous, right? Something to laugh at, like Scream or Wayne’s World. Remus will hate it and think it’s ridiculous, but the rest of you should like it.”

“Genius!” He cried, smacking the counter. “I thought we were gonna have to rewatch bloody Sleepless in Seattle again coz it’s one of the only tapes Peter actually owns — not that I don’t love Sleepless in Seattle, but we’ve probably watched it twelve times already.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“You’re all softies, the lot of you. I can’t believe you walk around acting all tough when you all pile into Peter Pettigrew’s basement and cry over Sleepless in Seattle.” You shook your head, biting a chunk out of the chocolate.

“Okay, first of all, fuck you, I’m just in touch with my emotions. And second of all, I only cried the first time, and that’s because we were all high.” You cackled, leaning on your knees for stability.

Oh, fuck! Customer!” You saw from the corner of your eye, waving quickly to James. “Softie!” You called over your shoulder as you darted back across the road, ready to greet with a smile.

You ran down an empty aisle, diving (and skidding) into the swivel chair behind the register, bringing up the membership page ready for the customer.

You watched the back of a head browse titles for ten minutes, umming and ah-ing over the romances before finally heading toward you. Your mouth dropped open when you recognised the miraculous head of hair.

“Do you have any thoughts on either of these? Just me and my wife at home tonight, so I thought I’d surprise her with a nice night in but I’m just not sure with all these new fangled ‘rom-coms,” Fleamont shook his head, sliding three different tapes across to you.

“That sounds nice, Mister Potter. You might like It Could Happen To You or Much Ado About Nothing, but My Girl is about two little kids; might not set the mood — oh my God, I cannot believe I just said that.” You slapped your hand across your face, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Fleamont Potter, hot dad that he famously was, only laughed.

“Alright, I’ll take Much Ado then, thanks for your help. It’s a good thing this store has such knowledgeable employees like yourself.” He winked, and you used all your self-control not to throw yourself under the desk and hide until he left. You stuttered through the rest of the renting process, avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

“Hey, uh, Mister Potter, would you be able to tell James to come in on his break?”

He nodded, silver hair attracting the light as he left the store.

“And then I fucking told him it’d set the mood. What the fuck is wrong with me?” You moaned, throwing your upper body across the counter in agony.

“It’s literally fine,” James said through a huge bite of his curry lunch, “Pretty much all of my friends wanna fuck him. You talking about him fucking his wife is probably a welcome change.”

“James!” You squealed, popping back up to face him, gesturing wildly. “You can’t just say that! Most kids don’t talk about their parents fucking that casually!”

James shrugged, mixing his curry around in the container and offering you a fork.

“It’s just life. Everyone has sex; they had to have sex to make me. Even you have sex. I assume.” He looked you up and down with a frankly sassy attitude, and you grew self-conscious of your long jorts and Jaws t-shirt.

“I can get laid, thank you very much, not that you’d know what that’s like.” James opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off, “I don’t wanna know where you’re sticking your dick, okay?” He raised his arms in surrender.

“Whatever, we all know you’d jump if you had the chance.” He rolled his eyes, wandering off to look for the films you’d recommended earlier.

You turned up the music playing over the store speakers, Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic pumping through the aisles.

Taking your hair out of its scrunchie, you loosened out your body, dancing around the store. James’ tall figure popped up from behind one of the aisles, watching you with an amused grin.

“Come on, Potter, not too good to dance, are you? Need to keep active if you’re gonna retain that athlete physique,” You teased him, miming freestyle strokes to travel over to him. James rolled his eyes, nevertheless holding his nose and wiggling his arm to imitate being underwater with you.

You danced for the duration of the song, laughing and enjoying being up and active amidst an otherwise very monotonous work day. James held his hand out like a gentleman, and you took it with exaggerated elegance, the two of you jumping about the store in a terrible waltz.

The bell to the shop door jingled, signalling a customer entering. You and James leapt apart, James returning to where the comedies were, and you practically flying back to your spot by the computer.

You both held coy smiles as you completed the transaction with mock-professionalism as you asked for his full name and membership number, biting your lip to stop your giggles as the old woman shopping inched further towards the curtained off pornography section.

“Make sure you return this by Monday, ‘kay?” You sent James off, rolling your eyes at his corny wink, smiling despite yourself.

[hannahsturniolo]

ʜɪɢʜsᴄʜᴏᴏʟ sᴡᴇᴇᴛʜᴇᴀʀᴛs ʀᴇᴜɴɪᴛᴇ

Warnings: just fluff, kissing

Summary: you and Matt were high school sweethearts but broke it off when Matt moved to LA to pursue content creation, but later on met up and reconnected.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You had wanted to visit LA your whole life, you’ve never been and lived across the country. One day you decided it was time to go visit LA, so you messaged Matt. You talk here and there as friends but nothing more, since you ended on good terms.

“𝘏𝘦𝘺 𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘓𝘈 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘵, 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘓𝘈.“

He came to pick you up at the airport.

You haven’t seen Matt in 3 years so you were extremely nervous. You never really lost feelings for Matt. You always had such a special place in your heart for him. You weren’t sure if he still felt this way about you after all these years, I mean you did break up for a reason. Even though it was a reason you couldn’t control.

You walked over to his car, and he got out giving you a hug.

“Hey beautiful” he whispered into your hair as you hugged him.

Your stomach filled with butterflies. He let go of the hug and grabbed your bags for you, placing them in the back of his car.

You both hopped in the car and started driving to the Sturniolo house.

“So what have you been up to all these years?” Matt looks over at you with a smile.

“Just been working, building my career, you know? I’ve been wanting to visit LA since I was a kid, and figured I’d reach out to you to show me around. I didn’t really want to be out in LA by myself.” You replied.

The sun was shining in the car, making Matt’s blue eyes stand out. Your heart was pounding. His eyes were beautiful.

You lost your train of thought.

“Well if you want, you can stay at our place. We have a spare room, instead of paying hundreds of dollars for a hotel room for the week” Matt replied looking over at you.

“Sure. Wow thanks, that saves me a lot of money, and lets me have some extra spending money” you laughed.

“Still obsessed with shopping huh?” He laughed.

“Of course” you giggled with tease in your tone.

You pulled into the driveway. Nick was one of your best friends so he ran outside and pulled you into a twirling hug.

“babe i missed you!!!!” He screamed.

“I missed you too Nick” you smiled from ear to ear.

He then put you down and helped Matt grab all of your bags.

“What did you want to do for your first day in LA?” Matt asked you sitting down beside you on the couch, you felt his knee right next to yours.

“Maybe a bit of shopping?” You giggled.

“Of course you’d say shopping Y/N. yeah we can go” Matt laughed.

You grabbed your purse, and he looks at you.

“What do you need your purse for?” He said smirking at you.

You looked at him with a confused look.

“Umm.. because I’m buying myself some clothes?”

“You don’t need to bring it. My treat” he said with a smile.

“No no Matt, I’m bringing my purse” you giggled picking up your purse and throwing it over your shoulder.

He walked over to you and gently took your purse off your shoulder, and threw it on your bed.

“No, it’s staying here” he demanded with a smile. “I’m taking you shopping, you can buy whatever you want today.”

You went shopping with Matt. You were looking around some stores for some outfits for an event and tried on a cute outfit in the change room. (This outfit)

You stood in the change room mirror admiring your body. You knew what you were doing by trying on a revealing outfit. You wanted Matt to be stunned. You seen how the outfit hugged your body, and pushed your boobs up to look perfect.

“Let me see” you hear Matt lightly knocking at the change room door.

You slowly opened the door, cheeks flushed pink.

You seen Matt’s eyes scan your body in awe. His cheeks also flushed pink. “Wow” he breathed out.

You just stood there smiling at Matt as he took the view in. You spinning around all excited showing off every inch of your outfit.

“I want this one” you said all excited jumping up and down.

“Okay I’ll buy you that outfit” he laughed.

You changed back into your regular fit. (This outfit)

You walked back out to the car, asking Matt if he wanted to go get a coffee and drive around. Matt agreed and started driving.

At a red light he turned to you, “you know, if you were willing to move to LA, I feel like we could uh- work out again” he said quietly, getting all shy and looking at you with soft eyes.

Your heart started to beat really fast, you didn’t know what to say. You were still in love with Matt, you were just scared to make such a big move.

“I-um I feel like it would too. It’s just I’m kind of scared to make the move to LA” you said looking down with a pout.

“Well sweetheart, you’d have a place to stay. You’d have everything paid for, you know I never make you pay even a dime for food. I’d love for you to move here with me” he said still shy but eyes melting into yours.

He leaned over before the light turned green and kissed you. The kiss was delicate and soft.

You melted into the kiss as he put his hand gently behind your neck pulling you in closer to the kiss.

You heard a horn beep behind you and you both pulled away giggling as Matt started to drive.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Taglist❤︎:

@courta13 @riggysworld @heartsonlyforchris @matts-sidepiece @sturniolooluvv @matthewsangel @whore4chris @mattsturniolofuckingsexy @sturkneeohloww @leila-marie4 @sturniolo-szn2 @tezzzzzzzz @fictionalboysstuff @sturnixblogger @vall67 @chrissbxby @sturniolobananas1 @sophand4n4

[losryie]

Holy, I just like- read your hiori post and I'm LITERARY obsessed w it?? I had to keep coming back to it because I kept taking pauses while reading it >//<

I was hoping you could write nagi x breeding kink?? Like he does it w reader in the locker room after practice — maybe even add where they get caught it almost caught!!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ︵︵ quickie ., nagi seishiro ♡

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ( semi-public sex ) ., ( breeding kink ) ., ( nsfw MDNI )

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓎢𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎡

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "mm.. missed ya, pretty," nagi murmured in his signature lazy drawl, hot breath tickling your sensitive neck as he leaned down to nuzzle into you. his tall, athletic frame engulfed yours, strong arms instinctively wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. you could feel the exhaustion from his intense football practice radiating off him, but also the undeniable spark of desire that always ignited when he held you close like this.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ you hummed softly in response, reciprocating his feelings. "yeah, missed you too." you knew all too well what a needy boy he could be, especially when it came to you - his absolute favorite pretty girl. his disheveled white locks brushed against your skin, the scent of his sweat and musk filling your nostrils. "sei.., you should really take a shower first," you instructed gently, but he just shook his head with a playful whine.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "laterrr.." nagi protested, his hands already starting to wander over your curves. "pretty girl waited for me, yeah? Gotta reward her for being so patient and sweet." his voice dropped an octave, taking on that low, hungry tone that always made your heart race.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ before you could protest, you let out a startled squeak as his hands slid up under your skirt. the thin fabric barely covered anything anyway, so what was the difference? his hands slid down to grope your ass through your skirt, kneading the supple flesh almost absentmindedly.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ you felt his slim, long fingers brushing against your panties, already damp with your arousal. "wet already, pretty? I'll take good care of 'ya." he purred, pushing the fabric aside. two fingers circled your sensitive, puffy clit teasingly as he savored the sounds of your building need.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ You let out a squeak of surprise, eyes widening as realization dawned. "sei! not here!" you hissed, glancing around the locker room nervously. but your protest was cut off by a breathy moan as you felt his fingers push your panties aside, slim digits circling your sensitive clit with maddening slowness.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "shh... don't worry, i'll be quick." Nagi murmured, voice low and soothing. He could feel your slick arousal coating his fingers, your body already responding to his touch like it was made for him. The noises spilling from your lips only spurred him on, determined to make you fall apart right then and there.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓎢𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎡

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "s-sei! sseiii! a-ahn! mmpfhh, aaahh, hwaa, hhhnnn, ba-byyy," you wailed, your voice echoing off the locker room walls as one of your legs were thrown over his broad, tired shoulders.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ your greedy cunt clenched and fluttered around his shaft, trying desperately to suck him in even deeper with every lazy thrust of his hips. the cold metal of the locker room lockers pressed into your back, a stark contrast to the scorching heat radiating from where you were so deliciously connected.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ drool dripped from your slack mouth, your brain melting into a puddle of pleasure as nagi's tip kissed your cervix over and over, marking you, claiming you from the inside out. your fingers clawed at his shoulders and back, nails digging into his skin as you clung to him for dear life, utterly at his mercy as he fucked you stupid in the best possible way.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ nagi groaned lazily, the sound rumbling through his chest as he felt your lonely, puffy lips begging for attention. he couldn't resist, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that was at odds with the brutal pace of his hips. his tongue dominated yours, swallowing your desperate whimpers and whines as he fucked into you with renewed energy. "ffuckk.., s'tightt,"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ feeling your plush lips quivering against his own as he captured your mouth in a searing kiss. his gentle, almost tender act of kissing you so sweetly was a stark contrast to the brutal, almost punishing pace of his hips as he slammed into you, driving his cock deeper and harder with every thrust. your desperate whimpers and mewls were swallowed up by his greedy mouth, muffling the sounds of your pleasure.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "mmn... 's okay, pretty. ya feel so fuckin' good 'round 'm cock," nagi praised quietly, his voice a low, lust-filled rumble as he pulled back from the kiss. a string of saliva connected your mouths, bridging the distance between you. your tongue lolled out slightly, your eyes glazed and half-lidded as you teetered on the edge of oblivion, completely fucked dumb and drunk on the sensation of his thick meat splitting you open again and again.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ just as nagi's hips stuttered and jerked erratically, signaling his impending release, the locker room door suddenly swung open with a loud clang. you both froze, eyes gazing into the stunned face of none other than his teammate, chigiri. "what the fuck??" he managed to stammer out. your cunt still being filled with a creamy ring from his hot jizz..

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ this was embarrassing..

. . @losryie | reblog n like <3 | do NOT copy/steal/translate my work.