#chasing shadows away with nothing but your voice

[kingofbodyrolls]

Stuck in a Cave (m) | pjm

Trapped in a snowbound cave over the Christmas holidays with your long-time rival, Park Jimin, you're forced to face the simmering feelings you've both been burying beneath layers of denial. As the cold closes in, unspoken desires begin to thaw, setting your hearts ablaze in a season meant for warmth and wonder.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: christmas!au, holiday!au → Trope: enemies to lovers → Genres: fluff / smut / comedy / forced proximity → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 9k → Warnings + triggers: unprotected sex in the form of oral (female and male receiving), fingering, breast play, nipple play, dry humping, kissing, creampie, squirting, biting, slapping, multiple orgasms, a little bit exhibitionism, avalanche and being buried in the snow. → Author’s note: I KNOW, I KNOW—I totally said the last one was the last one, but surprise! Here we are again! 😂 Look, I’m not even gonna jinx it by saying this is the actual last one, because let’s be real, who knows? Maybe this hilariously chaotic couple will spark something in me again when I least expect it. But, uh… don’t place any bets on it, okay? I actually wrote this back in November (along with all my December posts—productive queen energy, am I right?). As for when I’ll write again? TBD! But in the meantime, I really, really hope you enjoy this little gem 🫶✨ → Read the spoiler? [group chat texts]  → Read on AO3? [link] 

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a mini series ‘The Winter Collection’, but it can be read as a stand alone (as can all the installments in the series).

“Tell me again why we’re trudging up these stupid mountains?” you groan, each step heavy with snow and the weight of too many unspoken things. Your boots feel like lead, sinking deeper into the cold ground, and the cabin—warm, distant, almost mythical now—is but a tiny speck on the white horizon.

“Because we can’t just hibernate in that cabin all day,” Jungkook sing-songs, absurdly gleeful, his cheeks flushed pink by the crisp air, his laugh echoing against the snow-covered pines. You try not to roll your eyes, picturing instead the warm glow of the fireplace, the flickering shadows, and your room… the one you share with Jimin. You chase away that thought, try to ignore how close he walks ahead of you, his snowsuit doing nothing to hide that damned perky ass. The world is a cruel place, you sigh. 

If only your heart hadn’t shifted. He’s still your mortal enemy—or so you keep telling yourself. But ever since that night in the cabin, when he stumbled on you tangled in sheets, with your sparkly dildo deep inside your cunt… something different stirred. The hatred’s still there, raw and defiant, but now it’s wrapped in something softer, warmer, and maddeningly confusing.

“Keep up, Y/N, or are those legs of yours already giving out?” Jimin turns, his eyes glinting, tongue poking out in that infuriating way, and a flush creeps up your cheeks. It’s his fucking fault your legs feel like jelly. Him and his insufferable grin, his teasing remarks, and… his stupid, perfect, cock. No, you’re not in love, you tell yourself.

You scoff, forcing a smirk. “Oh, is that a volunteer to carry me the rest of the way?” you toss back. “But then again, I doubt you’re strong enough,” you add, savoring the flare of irritation in his eyes. Your friends, accustomed to this fiery dance between you and Jimin, fall into a knowing silence. They know the drill—the barbs, the heat, the grudging laughter—all too well. They’ve long stopped trying to intervene, though sometimes, in rare moments, you suspect they see right through you both.

Jimin’s gaze sharpens, his smirk dropping. “Oh, we both know I could carry you,” he says, his voice low, “but since you’re such a brat about it, I won’t.”

You cross your arms, fuming like a child denied their favorite toy. “Fine!” you spit, your voice sharper than the biting wind. “I don’t want you touching me anyway!”

Jimin leans in with a wicked grin. “Not what you said last night…” he murmurs, the sing-song lilt in his voice hitting you right in the chest. You hate that he knows how to rile you up, that he says it so casually, right in front of everyone. The knowledge that they all know—their sly looks, the teasing remarks, even Seokjin’s smirk as he tossed you a pre-packed box of condoms when you arrived at the stupid cabin. Namjoon’s knowing grin, Taehyung’s shoulder-pat for Jimin, Yoongi’s dry threat to make your lives hell if you wake him up again…

Yes, they’re a chaotic bunch, your friends. And Jimin? He’s chaos itself.

Snowflakes begin to fall, delicate and silent, each one like a whispered secret from the heavens. They drift lazily at first, dancing on the wind before settling on your outstretched palm. You pull off your glove and catch one, marveling at its intricate beauty before it melts against your warm skin, leaving only a glistening trace.

“Let’s keep moving—we’re getting to the top,” Jungkook calls out, his eyes bright with the thrill of the climb. Yoongi only grunts, casting a longing glance back toward where the cabin lies hidden, nestled far below. You can almost read his mind; he’d probably be back there with you now if it weren’t for Jungkook’s threat to cut the cabin heat unless every last one of you joined him on this “bonding adventure.” What a tyrant, you think with a wry smile.

“The top?” you nearly yell, unable to believe his determination. Your legs ache, every muscle weighed down by the stiff bulk of your snowsuit. Sure, it keeps the cold at bay, but you feel like you’re dragging half the mountain with you. And to think—once you reach the summit, you’ll have to make the long descent all over again. You didn’t pack for this kind of endurance test; a few snacks, a water bottle, and a first aid kit are all that line the bottom of your backpack.

“We’ve been going since dawn! We started before the sun was even up,” you pant, each breath puffing out in frosty clouds.

Jungkook just grins, a giddy light in his eyes. “But wasn’t the sunrise worth it?” he asks, and you reluctantly admit that he’s right. The first rays of morning had painted the snow in hues of rose and gold, spilling across the horizon and seeping into the untouched drifts like watercolor on silk. It had been beautiful—almost painfully so. But not as beautiful as the warmth of the bed you’d left behind, or the person you’d woken up next to, making you question things you’d rather not dwell on.

As you trudge forward, the landscape transforms around you—trees bowed under the weight of snow, deer darting into the thicket, startled by your approach. Occasionally, you catch sight of dark caverns nestled into the mountainside, and one finally catches your eye. “Can we rest in there?” you ask, pointing.

Jungkook sighs, reluctantly nodding. “Fine, but only long enough for a snack and some water.”

You and Yoongi both exhale in relief, each of you slinging off backpacks as you duck into the small, cold shelter of the cave. Jimin strolls past, tossing a wink your way, and you can’t help but curse inwardly at how infuriatingly good he looks in that white and blue snowsuit, his blonde hair practically glowing against the muted backdrop of snow and rock. No, you tell yourself, forcing your gaze elsewhere. You will not let him get under your skin. Not today.

Inside, you settle on the rocky ground, pulling out a protein bar with trembling fingers, too cold to bother savoring the taste. Outside, the snow has thickened, the wind howling as it funnels through the cave’s mouth, whipping icy tendrils against your skin. You shiver involuntarily, glancing at the darkening sky. The storm clouds gather, swirling overhead, and the wind feels more menacing now, as if urging you back to the cabin’s warmth.

“The weather’s getting worse—don’t you think we should head back?” you ask, casting an uneasy glance at the others, but Jungkook shakes his head resolutely. You can’t fathom his determination, his relentless drive to conquer the mountain as if it’s some mythical prize that only he can claim.

Reluctantly, you pull on your goggles, shielding your eyes against the stinging snow, and follow the group out into the blizzard’s embrace. The world around you is pure white chaos, the snowflakes swirling in a furious dance, but somehow, you keep moving, each step drawing you higher into the snowstorm.

You don’t know how long you’ve been trudging forward, but when you glance back, the cabin is nowhere in sight, swallowed by snow and distance, leaving a hollow ache in your stomach. The snowfall thickens, shrouding the world in a relentless white, pulling you back to memories of the snowstorm you braved with Jimin on the way to Seokjin’s Christmas party. You shake off the thought and face the group, voice firm and brooking no argument. “I can’t see a thing. I’m done—let’s turn back.”

Yoongi sighs with relief, already turning around. “I’m with you,” he mutters, not hiding his frustration.

Jungkook, still a stubborn figure cutting through the snow, scoffs. “What, are we scared now?”

You let your words fly over the whistling wind, fury sparking in your eyes. “Call it scared if you want, but I’m not planning to be buried out here. It’s not safe.”

Namjoon checks his phone, frowning as he reads, “The weather app says a storm’s coming—and it’s not letting up for days.”

A heavy silence falls, filled only by the wailing wind and the cold sting of snow against your face. Another storm. Your heart sinks.

“Told you this was a mistake,” Yoongi grumbles.

Jungkook finally concedes, his tone subdued. “Alright. We’ll head back.” Despite his daredevil spirit, he knows there’s no pushing through this. Relief flows through you at the thought of the warm cabin, the crackling fire, and eggnog shared between friends.

As you start the descent, birds flit across the white-gray sky, a fleeting touch of beauty against the coming storm. But a strange creak rises over the howl of the wind. An uneasy chill runs through you. “Did anyone else hear that?”

“What sound?” Taehyung shouts, eyes squinting as he tries to make out shapes in the swirling snow.

The wind muffles it again, but then—another deep, ominous creak, louder this time. Everyone freezes, and in the silence, you hear it: a faint roar that steadily grows, like a beast roused from its slumber. The snow shifts, and dread settles like lead in your gut.

“Let’s hurry,” you say, voice tense, and everyone quickens their pace. You and Jimin are at the back, struggling against the thickening storm. Then it comes again, an unmistakable, thunderous rumble echoing down the mountainside. You whip around in time to see it: a churning cloud of snow cascading toward you.

“Avalanche!” you scream, panic seizing you as the world erupts into chaos. The group scatters in every direction, shouts lost in the storm, but Jimin’s hand is on yours, firm and unyielding as he drags you down the slope, weaving through trees with urgent speed. The ground trembles underfoot, and you feel the roaring snow closing in, seconds from swallowing you whole. Breath ragged, heart pounding, you realize with icy dread that this might be the end.

But just as the avalanche draws near, a dark shape looms before you—a rocky cave. Jimin pulls you inside, the world plunging into blackness just as the avalanche thunders past, shaking the walls around you. You collapse, gasping, Jimin’s hand steady against your trembling glove covered fingers. Snow clogs the cave entrance, sealing you in darkness, yet somehow his presence keeps you grounded, the steady rhythm of his breath slowing your racing pulse as silence falls once more.

“Jimin?” you whisper into the dark, your voice a soft tremor against the silence.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he replies, though his tone is taut, barely concealing the edge of panic. The tension in his voice mirrors the tightness building in your chest.

“I think… we’re stuck.” The words fall out softly, as if speaking them too loudly might somehow make them more real.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing at the snow-packed entrance, his expression tense and shadowed. “Our way out’s completely blocked.” Slowly, as your eyes adjust, his face emerges from the shadows—concern etched into every line, vulnerability softening the usual spark in his eyes.

“It’s alright. The others will find us soon.” You try to sound confident, to reassure him, even as a chill of doubt creeps through you.

“Maybe,” he says, his voice carrying the barest hint of uncertainty.

A moment of heavy silence passes before you offer, “We could try digging us out. Fresh snow should be lighter, easy enough to move.”

But Jimin just sighs, moving deeper into the cave before sinking down onto the rough, cold ground. “Too tired,” he murmurs, reclining against his backpack and looking up at the darkness above.

You join him with a huff, feeling the exhaustion seep into your bones as you sit beside him. “Yeah, me too.”

He shifts slightly, making room as you slide closer, the cold penetrating even through your thick snowsuit. “Maybe we just… wait,” he suggests, his voice low and resigned, and you nod, grateful just to have him beside you.

In the quiet of the cave, you take out your phone, pull your gloves off, fingers stiff from the cold as you type a quick message to the group chat. Is everyone okay? Can anyone help us get out of this cave? You hit send, hoping the signal reaches, hoping that somehow, somewhere, they’re safe and will see your message.

Time passes, an endless stretch of waiting in the darkness. The cold presses closer, burrowing deep, and you pull your knees up, trying to conserve warmth. “It’s so cold,” you whisper, teeth chattering.

“Yeah,” Jimin murmurs, slipping an arm around your shoulders, drawing you against him. His warmth radiates through the layers of clothing, his breathing soft and steady against your cheek. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice small as you settle against him, aware of his closeness—the gentle rise and fall of his chest, his steady warmth grounding you. 

A silence stretches between you, and for the first time, you notice the delicate details of his face in the dim light. His lips, full and red, look as if he’s been worrying them with his teeth, the faint hint of color a stark contrast to his now pale skin. Your gaze lingers, and your heart skips a beat as he catches you staring.

“Are you okay?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence. His eyes flicker toward you, a breath catching as he seems to consider his answer.

Finally, he exhales softly, the sound barely a sigh. “Why do you hate me?” His voice is unguarded, almost vulnerable, like he’s been carrying the question far too long.

You blink, taken aback by the rawness in his question, and the easy reply slips away. It’s not hate, not really, but how can you tell him that? How do you explain the sharp, confusing tangle of emotions you feel every time you’re near him, the way he gets under your skin in a way no one else does?

You take a slow breath, willing yourself to find the right words in the quiet space between you.

“Jimin, I—” You trail off, the words twisting on your tongue, tangled somewhere between honesty and hesitation. Searching his gaze, you feel an odd, disarming softness in your own. “I don’t hate you,” you say, the admission spilling out quietly, as if confessing to yourself as much as to him.

“But you call me your enemy,” he replies, a sudden edge of hurt threading through his voice, as though you’ve wounded him in some way you hadn’t intended.

“I…” You hesitate. “I do.”

A crease forms between his brows as he looks at you, like he’s trying to decipher a riddle hidden behind your eyes. “I just don’t get it. You say you hate me so much, but you still… you still choose to sleep with me.” He pauses, cheeks tinged with something that might be vulnerability, though his voice stays steady. “And don’t get me wrong—the sex is… incredible. But this,” he gestures between you, “it’s confusing.”

Your pulse quickens, and you nod, feeling the truth slipping closer, almost within reach. “Do you want the truth?” The words are barely a whisper, a question woven through the cool silence between you.

His gaze softens, and he nods, leaning forward. “I’d love for you to tell me the truth. Don’t hide anymore.”

The walls between you feel thin, as if the icy cave itself might crack open under the weight of your confession. With a long, trembling breath, you gather the words from the depths of your chest, feeling each one like a stone in your throat. “I hate you because… because you’re perfect. Everything seems to fall effortlessly into your hands—grades, women, money, opportunities, whatever you want, like it’s just waiting to be handed to you. You’re good-looking, too,” you add, unable to meet his eyes, “and you… act like you know it all, like you’re better than everyone. Like it’s easy to just be good, without ever showing a flaw, a struggle, anything real.”

Jimin’s face is shadowed, yet you see the surprise flicker across it as he absorbs your words.

“It’s irritating,” you continue, emboldened now, “to watch you from a distance, to see you seem so above it all. Would it hurt to be a little human?” You exhale, feeling the tension spill out with each word. “And if I’m being honest, it started long before any of this… since kindergarten, actually.”

A confused frown deepens on his face, and he tilts his head, caramel eyes searching yours in the dim light. “Kindergarten?” he repeats softly. “What did I ever do to you in kindergarten?”

A dry, self-deprecating laugh slips out as you remember the humiliation so clearly etched into your memory. “You stuffed worms in my locker, my shoes, the pockets of my jackets. Then one day, in front of everyone, you pulled my pants down and told everyone I was a boy. I was humiliated… crying… and you laughed like it was nothing.”

Jimin’s mouth parts in shock, his eyes widening as he absorbs your words. He falls silent, as though his mind is spinning back, searching for the fragments of his memory that still hold that image. 

“That was you?” His voice cracks slightly, touched by disbelief. He looks at you with something between remorse and horror.

You nod your head, a mixture of anger and sorrow swelling in your chest. “You don’t even remember?”

He winces, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as he searches for words. “I… I’m so… I’m so sorry.” His voice is raw, laced with an almost childlike shame. He turns to you, eyes earnest and heavy with regret. “I was a kid—a stupid kid. I… never realized the weight of what I did.”

You shake your head, meeting his gaze evenly. “You’ve always been a dick, Jimin. A bully,” you add, hoping it stings just enough.

He nods slowly, his lips pulling into a remorseful line. “I know. I know I’ve been… careless. And I wish I could take all that back. I wish I could change what I was, what I… did.” He pauses, glancing down, biting his lip like he’s gathering courage. 

But then his hand reaches out, gently brushing yours in the cold. His eyes meet yours, brimming with apology. “If you’ll let me, I want to try and be… better. Real. Not perfect, just… me.”

“It was humiliating, Jimin. I was the laughing stock for years—well into school,” you say, voice softening with a hurt you’d almost forgotten. Your gaze flickers to his, hesitant, but steady. “And even now, as adults, you never stopped singling me out, teasing me. At first, I thought you were just bullying me all over again.” You hold his eyes, bracing yourself. “But that’s not what it was, was it?”

He swallows hard, his throat working as he searches for words. “No,” he replies, voice almost a whisper. “I never meant to hurt you, Y/N. Not then, not now.”

“I know that… now,” you breathe, barely above a whisper. You can feel something shifting, unspoken.

He looks down, mittens pressed against his temples, and you see him struggling, caught between words. “It’s your turn to be honest, Park,” you prompt gently, needing him to lay his truth bare, even though you think you already know. You’ve been holding onto a realization, but you want him to say it, to free you both from these years of misunderstandings.

He lets out a shaky sigh, his gaze tracing your face with a softness that catches you off guard. “I… I liked you. Even back then, I thought you were amazing—strong, fierce, and different from anyone else. I wanted so badly to get your attention, to make you notice me. But the only thing that seemed to work was… making fun of you.” He pauses, rubbing his head with a small, almost defeated smile. “I know how it sounds. I was a stupid kid. I just didn’t know any other way.”

You stare at him, breath catching, your chest tight. He liked you. Past tense. Your heart beats louder as you whisper, “And now?”

He meets your gaze, a spark of humor and something deeper lighting his expression. “To be clear, I still like you,” he says, words filled with a raw honesty. “I still think you’re fierce and strong and… stubborn as hell.” He laughs softly, glancing down as his cheeks flush. “But I’m sorry, truly. I’ve been a jerk, trying to get close to you in all the wrong ways.”

A laugh slips from your lips, warm and soft. “That you are,” you tease, hoping it stings just a little, though your voice is laced with a fondness you can’t hide.

He chuckles, a little nervously, but he inches closer. “Maybe, but…” His voice lowers. “I’m your jerk.”

And that’s all it takes. You move toward him, closing the space, and press your lips to his with a need that has simmered, unacknowledged, for so long. His mouth is soft, tender and cold at first, but as the kiss deepens, warmth spreads, igniting between you like a long-awaited spark finally catching flame. His hand rises to your cheek, his touch hesitant, reverent, as though he’s savoring each moment, each breath.

A low sound escapes him, his lips parting just enough for his tongue to trace your lips, soft but insistent. You open to him, feeling his breath, tasting him in a slow, heated dance that feels both new and achingly familiar. It’s as though every word left unsaid, every look and touch left unshared, has led to this moment—an unspoken promise unfolding between you.

For years, you’d run from this, denying the pull between you, clinging to your hate to hide the want. But in his kiss, there is a confession, a surrender to the fire you’d both fed. You feel him breathe out, his lips curving into a soft smile against yours, and you can’t help but return it. For the first time, that tension between you isn’t a battle—it’s something beautiful.

Whatever it is that’s sparked between you and Jimin these past few weeks—this whole holiday season, really—has been wild, confusing, and so, so good. He knows how to rile you up, pulling at every loose thread in you, but somehow it always leaves you wanting more. You breathe out a laugh and press a kiss to his cold cheek, feeling the scrape of winter on your lips.

“I don’t… I don’t really hate you anymore,” you whisper, breath mingling with his as it hangs in the frozen air.

He tilts his head, eyes dark and half-lidded as he gazes into yours. “Hmm?” he murmurs, his voice low, dangerous in a way that thrills you.

You feel a warmth rise through you and giggle, words spilling free. “Actually, I think I kind of like your stupid ass.” Your confession hangs between you, breaking the ice you’d held onto for too long.

He lets out a deep, satisfied chuckle, brushing his lips over yours before catching your bottom lip gently between his teeth. “So you do, do you?” he murmurs, his smirk curving just right.

He laughs, soft but filled with a rough, quiet possession. “You’re such a brat,” he teases, voice a warm rumble against your skin. “But you’re mine. Right?”

“Yes, yours,” you gasp, feeling heat spread through you, even through layers of wool and fleece. And when his gloved hand traces your cheek, the cold feels electric, meeting the fire he stirs in you.

You press closer to him, fighting against the fabric that holds you back, and your fingers drift to the zipper of your snowsuit. “I think you’re the only one who can warm me up,” you murmur, voice laced with a tempting edge as you bat your eyes up at him. You ease the zipper down slowly, watching his eyes track the movement, the hunger flickering there, even in the shadows.

He watches your movements, tongue flicking across his lips. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” he asks, voice low, but his own fingers stray to his zipper, betraying his anticipation.

“Don’t you want me?” you ask, coy, breathless. “I’m freezing,” you whisper, letting his name fall from your lips like honey. “Warm me up, Jimin.”

A shiver runs down your spine as you slip out of your snowsuit, baring your skin to the chill. You let each layer fall away, watching his gaze darken with every inch. The way he looks at you makes you feel like a fire ready to ignite, even in this icy cave.

“Do you want to touch me?” you murmur, letting your hands slide up over your skin, cupping your breasts and circling your perk nipples with your fingers. “Keep me warm?”

His breath catches, and you hear the small intake of air as his eyes roam over you. “You’ll be the death of me,” he says, words rough, barely restrained. His mittens fall away, and his hands shake slightly as he unzips his own suit, each motion slow, deliberate, eyes locked onto you as he bares himself, piece by piece.

His last layer falls away, and he stands before you, bare, his skin glowing in the dim light. He’s beautiful—always has been—but now, here, he’s something else entirely, a vision you want to savor, every single inch.

Your body feels like it’s burning, a heat that cuts through the cold and wraps around you both, a living, pulsing warmth that’s only intensified by the nearness of his skin against yours. You press closer, savoring the spark that flares between you.

Here, in the shelter of the cave, the storm howling outside, you can finally give in to him—no barriers, no misunderstandings, just you and him, bodies and hearts both raw, reaching for the warmth of each other, finally unguarded.

“Maybe you should look in a mirror sometime,” you pant, voice soft but daring as you lean closer, fingers sliding to rest on his strong, tense thighs. “Then you’d understand why everyone either hates you or wants you—you’re too damn good-looking.”

He shivers, the surprise flickering across his face, quickly replaced by a laugh. “Cold! God, your hands are freezing,” he says, teeth flashing in a grin that’s both playful and predatory.

“But my mouth is warm,” you whisper, your words laden with heat, slipping between you like a spark catching flame. “Would you like me to warm you up?”

A low groan tumbles from his lips, raw and resonant in the stillness of the cave. His eyes flash with need. “Fuck, yes… show me how much of a filthy brat you are, how good you take my cock,” he murmurs, biting his lip as he watches you, the hunger in his gaze unmistakable.

You move closer, lips parting as you take him into the warmth of your mouth, and he gasps, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. You know your hands are icy, so you hold them steady on his thighs, giving all the warmth you can to him through the softness of your lips, each deliberate, tender movement of your tongue.

“Here, hold on,” he breathes, voice catching as he leans forward, resting his hand on your shoulder. “I don’t care if your hands are cold—hold me. We’ll warm up together.”

You let your fingers dig gently into his thighs, and the intensity of his gaze on you sends a rush of warmth down your spine. With every movement, every soft sound he makes, you can feel your own heart quicken, feel his fingers thread into your hair, guiding you just the way he likes. He groans low, head falling back, eyes squeezed shut.

“Can I fuck your mouth now?” he whispers, his voice barely a breath, desire heavy in each syllable.

You squeeze his thigh in answer, and he tightens his hold, moving with a newfound rhythm, a need that’s both patient and wild. He moves against you, each movement controlled but trembling at the edges, and you let yourself melt into the moment, matching his pace, losing yourself in the heat of his touch and the unspoken need between you.

“So dirty,” he rasps, one hand sliding to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing over your skin in a soft, reverent gesture. “Your mouth is perfect.”

His praise sends a thrill through you, and you can’t help but respond, letting him feel the depth of your want in the press of your lips, the urgency in the way you take him. He gently brushes a thumb across your cheek, his hand soothing even as his breathing grows more erratic.

But then he pulls back, gaze tender yet intense as he catches his breath, looking down at you with an expression that makes you feel like the world’s slipping away outside the cave, leaving just the two of you.

“I want to cum inside your pussy, but first I want to taste it,” he murmurs, voice rough with need, his thumb lingering just below your lip. 

With the back of your hand, you wipe the dampness from your lips, whispering a single word, “Please.”

A grin curls across his lips, admiration flickering in his eyes. “My little cockslut,” he murmurs, voice low with praise.

“Lie down,” he instructs, gesturing to the soft fold of your snowsuit. You spread it on the ground, sinking onto it and parting your legs, heat radiating as you yield to him, vulnerability and desire intertwining.

He lets out a soft, appreciative sound, dropping to his knees and gazing down at you, his face close enough that you feel his breath trace delicate patterns along your skin. “So pretty and wet,” he groans, eyes dark with promise. “And I’m going to devour you. I think you deserve it, don’t you?”

A shiver skims through you as his breath fans over your skin, stirring the ache in you, anticipation pooling like molten warmth. He lowers his head, pressing soft, reverent kisses along your thighs, moving ever closer to where you need him most, his eyes locked on yours as if he’s drinking you in.

Without another word, he dives in, his mouth covering you with deliberate intensity, the warmth of his tongue drawing desperate sounds from your throat. Your hands find their way to his hair, tangling in the softness there, and you close your eyes, letting yourself surrender to each unhurried touch, each flicker of sensation he sends rippling through you.

“Fuck, Jimin,” you pant in pleasure.

The world outside the cave melts away as he moves with breathtaking skill, every graze and stroke pulling you deeper under his spell. He hums against you, his hands gripping your hips, and the vibrations send fresh waves of longing through you, toes curling as pleasure builds, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge, “That sinful tongue, Park,” you moan.

“I’m gonna come soon.”

You feel the touch of his cool fingers trace along your thighs, sending shivers through you, every nerve alight with anticipation. His fingertips graze your skin, drawing a soft quiver from deep within as his hand slides into you with reverence, coaxing you to open wider, instinctively welcoming him.

His lips and tongue explore with both gentleness and urgency, and each flicker, each lingering movement ignites a fire in your core, every cell in your body pulled taut, straining toward release. His hand moves with deliberate care, matching the rhythm of his mouth, deepening your pleasure as he senses the way your breath catches, your body arching and moving under his touch.

As his fingers press further, a delicious warmth blooms and pulses within you, and everything—your breath, your heartbeat, the world beyond—fades, leaving only the intensity of the connection between you. It builds slowly, steadily, like a wave gathering strength before it crests, your body and his locked in the timeless dance of anticipation and fulfillment.

“Jimin!” When your release finally overtakes you, it’s like being swept under by a warm current, filling you, leaving you breathless as he continues to hold you, his movements gentle, guiding you back down. He leans up, his face radiant, his gaze tender as he meets your eyes, and then he’s kissing you, his lips soft and warm, grounding you in the closeness you share.

“Jimin, please—fuck me like you did yesterday,” you whisper, your voice a sultry caress in the dim light, a soft yet desperate plea. Yet, deep down, you know there’s no need for such entreaties; he would give you the universe if you asked, for he is undeniably weak for you—a truth that has lingered in the air between you from the very beginning. 

As he crawls over you, you can feel his cock stirring, his body pressing closer, the warmth of his skin igniting a delicious ache within you. His face glistens with the evidence of your orgasm. He leans down, capturing your lips with his, the kiss deep and hungry, wrapping you in his embrace, soft and inviting. 

You savor the taste of yourself on his mouth, an intoxicating blend of sweetness and urgency that sends shivers racing down your spine. You can feel him, hard and throbbing, poised over your sensitive core, and every nerve ending ignites in anticipation. A heady mix of longing and need courses through you, the world outside fading away as you focus solely on him, yearning for the moment he finally fills you completely.

You gaze into his eyes, a storm of emotions swirling within you, wondering why it took so long to confront the truth that has simmered beneath the surface. With a rush of boldness, you bite your lip and pull him into a deep, fervent kiss, surrendering to the heat that has long been building between you.

When he finally pulls away, a teasing smile dances on his lips. “My needy little brat,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry. “I’ll give you what you crave, don’t worry.” His hand strokes his cock, teasingly placing it against your slick folds, nudging them apart, igniting a fire of desire deep within you. You feel elated, ready for him to claim you as his own—like he can’t enter you fast enough.

Slowly, he pushes into you, a low groan escaping his lips as he fills you completely. “You’re always so fucking tight, no matter how many times I fill this perfect pussy,” he pants, anchoring himself on either side of your arms, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with lust and admiration.

You don’t respond, lost in the bliss of the stretch, the way he fills you up just as you crave. He grunts as he reaches the hilt, pausing to catch his breath before pulling back, only to thrust back into you with delicious force. 

“Fuck!” you gasp as he finds a rhythm, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure coursing through you. You revel in the sensation, your body alive with longing. 

“You really like my cock, huh, brat?” he teases, the usual playful tension replaced with a tenderness that sends warmth flooding through your chest. 

“Yes. I’m obsessed with your cock, Jimin,” you breathe, your hands roaming, gripping your thighs to change your angle, urging him deeper.

“Right there—fuck, it’s so good,” you mumble, each thrust striking your g-spot perfectly, sending sparks of ecstasy dancing behind your eyelids. 

“My brat, all mine,” he pants, driving into you deeper, harder, an intoxicating blend of pleasure and possession. 

“Hugging me so perfectly,” he breathes, his words wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

He leans down, his warmth enveloping you as his mouth finds a nipple, sucking hungrily. You moan, your fingers tangling in his hair, craving more of his touch. 

A new orgasm builds within you, heightened by the way he fills you, surrounds you with his warmth and the intoxicating scent of him—musky and primal. His tongue dances over your nipple, teasing it before moving to the other, and you feel yourself spiraling, stars flickering in your vision.

“Jimin, I’m coming again,” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper as he sneaks a hand between your bodies, circling your clit with deft precision. The tension inside you tightens, coiling like a spring ready to snap. Your body arches, pressing your breast into his warm mouth as he continues to thrust into you. 

Just as the wave crashes over you, he pulls his finger away from your clit, leaving you panting, blissfully dazed. He pops off your nipple, gazing at you with a mix of admiration and desire. “My sweet brat,” he whispers, his voice thick with longing. “So beautiful when you come.” 

You bite your lip, feeling the throb of his cock deep inside you, aware that he’s close too, and the thought ignites another wave of need within you.

“Jimin-ah,” you pant, your voice thick with desire, “fill me up with your seed,” you moan, lost in a haze of pleasure.

“I’m gonna fill you up real good,” he promises, urgency lacing his tone as he quickens his thrusts, snapping his hips against you with raw fervor. 

“Fuck. I’m gonna come too,” he grunts, each word a desperate plea as your pussy throbs around him. With a strained moan of your name, he releases, his warm essence flooding you, filling you completely. A wave of ecstasy washes over you, and you can’t help but moan in response, a sound of both satisfaction and yearning.

He stills inside you, breathless, both of you bursting into laughter at the sheer intensity of your desperation. He lays his head against your chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of your heart, the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Why did we waste so much time?” he asks, his voice soft and breathless.

“Because you’re a jerk and I’m a stubborn brat,” you reply with a teasing laugh, your fingers threading through his hair, ruffling it playfully. “But we’re here now,” you add, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, a promise of what’s to come.

For a while, he remains within you, and you don’t mind that his semen seeps out, mingling with the cold air of the cave. The chill surrounds you, but in this moment, you’re cocooned in each other’s presence, and you drift off to sleep, naked and intertwined.

When you wake, a chill has settled over you, and Jimin lies beside you, his arm wrapped protectively around your frame. But the cold bites at your skin, and you shiver, unsure of the hour or how long you’ve been ensconced in this cave.

A discomfort lingers between your legs, a reminder of the night before, and you groan at the sticky feeling. Jimin stirs beside you, his voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?” he murmurs, eyes still closed.

You reach for your backpack, fingers fumbling until you pull out your phone. A rush of surprise hits you as you see that an entire day has slipped away. “It’s morning apparently,” you say, the words echoing in the quiet cave.

“Ugh, it’s so cold,” he groans, drawing you closer, seeking warmth as you let him spoon you, his body a comforting heat against the biting chill.

“We should eat something though,” you suggest, your stomach rumbling in agreement.

“Do you have more protein bars?” he asks, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Yeah, a few. But do you have water? I’m almost out,” you reply, feeling his warm hands wander across your skin, igniting a soft sigh of pleasure from your lips.

“I do,” he answers, and with a reluctant sigh, you both rise, reaching for sustenance. You munch on protein bars and sip water, but a quick glance at your phone reveals a troubling truth—there’s no signal, and both your phones are perilously low on battery in the relentless cold.

“My stomach hurts,” you admit, a twinge of discomfort settling in.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern knitting his brows as he studies your face, his warm gaze searching for answers.

“I have to…,” you hesitate, a flush of embarrassment creeping over you. “I have to poop.” 

He bursts out laughing, the sound echoing in the cave like a burst of sunlight breaking through clouds. You stare at him, disbelief mingling with mortification. “If you have to go, don’t hold it in; that’s not healthy, you know. Just go over in that corner,” he points to the very spot where you’d relieved yourself yesterday. God. This is so not sexy at all.

“I’m not pooping in the corner. I’ll just hold it in,” you groan, mortified.

“Suit yourself, but you never know when the others will find us,” he says matter-of-factly. “Maybe we should try digging ourselves out?” A playful grin lights up his face, and you hate that you confided in him.

“I just don’t think I can do that in front of you,” you mutter, getting up to put your clothes back on, your cheeks burning.

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, “but at this point, we’re practically married. I’ve seen you cry, be a brat, pee, and everything else in between.” 

You sulk, the fiery banter reigniting as you jut out your bottom lip and cross your arms while he gets dressed, the familiar warmth of your friendship sparking once more.

“But be my guest and keep it in,” he says, moving toward the entrance. He begins to dig with his gloved hands, but the effort seems futile. You walk over to him, helping him remove the stubborn snow, only to find it’s solid ice. 

“I think it’s frozen over from the night. Damn it,” he pants, frustration seeping into his tone. “How are we going to get out?” you ask, desperation creeping back into your voice.

“I think we just have to wait for the others to find us. We still have some food and water, so we’re fine,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, retreating to your previous spot. You follow him, sitting down beside him, feeling utterly deflated.

“Hey, try to look happy while being stuck with me,” he huffs, curling his legs up for warmth.

“Sorry,” you reply, momentarily forgetting about your stomach’s protest. “I just don’t know what we can do,” you admit, feeling the weight of uncertainty.

“Well, we could always keep each other warm again,” he suggests, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, and that’s all it takes for the fire to reignite within you. You shed your clothing, drawn into his embrace, kissing him with an urgency that banishes all thoughts of discomfort. Time stretches and bends, and you lose count of how many times you and Jimin have surrendered to each other in this cave. Both of you feel drained and cold, so you curl up together, using your snowsuit as a mattress and his as a duvet, your bodies intertwined.

“What if we’re going to die in here?” you muse, unable to find the solace of sleep.

“Relax, we won’t,” he murmurs, nudging your naked back as he wraps an arm and leg around you, the softness of his skin warming you. You feel his gentle presence against your backside, a comforting weight.

“How can you be so sure?” you ask softly, your voice barely a whisper.

“I can’t, but one of us has to be positive,” he grunts, his breath deep and steady, a lullaby that eases your fears.

You drift into sleep like that, cocooned in his warmth, surrounded by the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat against your back.

When you awaken, the warmth of Jimin’s rock-hard cock presses against your back, and you catch your breath, a jolt of electricity coursing through you. Seeking his warmth, you instinctively arch your hips back, pressing your ass further into him. He groans softly, his arm slipping over your bare breasts, fingers grazing a sensitive nipple, sending a wave of pleasure radiating through you. 

“Jimin—,” you moan, rolling your hips against him once more, and his delight-filled groan vibrates through your body, igniting a primal urge within you.

He begins to move against you, rutting against your ass, grunting in time with his thrusts. His fingers play with your nipple, teasing and pinching, and your pussy throbs in response, each pull of your breath turning quicker and deeper as arousal ignites your body like wildfire. 

Suddenly, he withdraws his hand from your nipple, positioning it at his cock, pressing it between your cheeks. “Move forward a bit,” he instructs, his voice low and sultry, and you obey, angling your body just right for him.

In an instant, he starts to thrust against you, not yet entering, but the heat of it makes you shiver with desire. His hand trails down your stomach, gliding toward your slick folds. With deft fingers, he begins to rub circles around your clitoris, and you can’t help but moan, the sensation overwhelming you.

He leans closer, his breath warm against your ear as you lie side by side. “My dirty brat wants dick again?”

“Didn’t get enough yesterday?” he teases, pressing down harder on your clit, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“I’m always hungry for you Jimin,” you pant, the naked truth spilling from your lips. You crave him, a desperate yearning that cannot be quenched, and in this moment, you can’t stay away.

“So dirty, my girl, right?” he breathes, the question lingering between you like a sweet promise.

“I’m yours, only yours,” you confess, needing him to know—because you are infuriatingly in love with him.

“And I’m yours,” he replies, kissing your shoulder tenderly, fingers working your clit with growing urgency. “Are you gonna come on my fingers?” he whispers, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes—,” you choke out, the coil of pleasure inside you tightening with rapid intensity.

His fingers dance left to right, up and down, then he pinches your sensitive nub, and you bite your bottom lip to stifle a moan. “I want to hear you,” he urges, his voice dripping with desire.

Your toes tingle, your entire body igniting in heat. “Jimin—, I’m gonna,” you pant, and then the waves crash over you as you reach your orgasm, the world around you fading into bliss thanks to his skilled fingers and that filthy mouth of his. He nibbles at your ear while rubbing you through your orgasm, his cock thrusting insistently between your cheeks.

“Fuck, you almost had me coming too. It’s so tight between your ass,” he murmurs, his voice warm and sultry as you descend from your high. Jimin’s hand wraps around your leg, hoisting it up, and he positions his cock at your entrance, your pussy fluttering in anticipation, still tingling from the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

Then he slides in, grunting, “So fucking good, always.”

You moan his name in sheer delight, “Please move.”

He grunts, and with a rhythm that feels like poetry, he begins to move his hips, his cock gliding in and out of you, drawing you deeper into the exquisite sensation.

“You can go faster,” you murmur, breath catching as he holds your leg up, his fingers strong against your thigh.

A low hum escapes him as he obliges, thrusting harder, each movement reverberating through you. “So wet for me,” he pants, his hand squeezing your thigh as he picks up speed, sending waves of pleasure radiating outward.

When he starts hitting that perfect spot, stars blur your vision, your body arching instinctively into him. You’re spent from all of yesterday, your muscles deliciously sore, yet here you are again, craving more. 

His breath is hot against your ear, voice a low rasp. “My filthy girl. Always wet for me, always begging for my cock,” he murmurs, and you feel yourself clench around him in response, his words driving you wild, pushing you further toward the edge.

You pant as he thrusts deeper, each motion a sweet agony, his hips snapping against yours, the rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin filling the cave, a symphony just for you. “Little tease,” he breathes, “playing hard to get just to end up like this,” he says, almost growling the words against your neck, his tone both scolding and adoring, and it sends delicious shivers down your spine.

“Holy… Shit,” you moan, his relentless rhythm pushing you higher, his hands and cock guiding you past the breaking point. Your body tenses, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you come, and he doesn’t miss a beat. His hand finds your clit, rubbing it gently as you shake beneath him, his fingers slipping over your slickness before he brings them to his lips. “You squirted,” he grins, pride gleaming in his eyes as he tastes you, his gaze dark and devouring. “And you fucking taste incredible.”

His praise makes you clench around him, and he groans, driving into you, refusing to let up even as you try to catch your breath. “Fuck, Jimin,” you gasp, legs trembling with exertion.

“I’ve got you,” he assures, gently lowering your leg. Before you know it, he’s helping you to all fours, your head nestled against the softness of your snowsuit, and he lifts your hips, fingers firm at your waist. “Just a little more. I know you’re tired,” he whispers, his voice gentle but laced with desire. Settling onto his knees, he guides himself back into you, a deep moan slipping from your lips as he fills you to the hilt.

Gripping your hips, he pulls you back with each thrust, his rhythm quick, and every plunge feels deeper, more consuming. “So fucking tight,” he grunts, leaning down to nip at your shoulder as his hand smacks your ass, leaving a warm sting that only heightens the intensity.

He grips you tighter, fingers digging into your skin as he picks up the pace, and you feel yourself spiraling again, a third orgasm cresting before you’ve even come down from the second. Your body clenches around him, and it undoes him completely, a shudder ripping through him as he thrusts one last time, filling you as he groans in surrender, his release warm and full.

Breathless, he leans over you, his hand tracing gentle circles over your back. “Incredible,” he murmurs, caressing you in the afterglow, his praise softening the edges of exhaustion as you rest in his arms, completely spent but undeniably fulfilled.

Breathless and laughing, the two of you cling to each other as a noise echoes from the cave entrance. Suddenly, a chunk of snow tumbles inward, letting a burst of light cut through the dimness. Shielding your eyes from the sudden brightness, you spot Jungkook peering in through a widening gap. “Found them!” he calls out, then cringes, squinting. “Oh God—naked,” he grunts, feigning disgust as you scramble to pull your snowsuits over your bare skin, huddling together in hurried, flustered movements.

More snow is chipped away, allowing the full daylight to flood in, and soon the entrance is free. There, framed against the blinding white snow, stand all your friends, gawking with expressions ranging from surprise to outright amusement. You feel your cheeks ignite as they take in the scene—clearly, there’s no hiding what went on in the cave.

“We thought you were going to kill each other,” Taehyung quips, his eyes wide with mock horror as he takes in the scene.

Yoongi shakes his head, unfazed. “Told you they’d end up like this,” he mutters, already turning away to put his shovel back over his shoulder.

Seokjin groans theatrically, pressing a hand to his forehead. “For the love of all things holy, put some clothes on!”

Flushed and flustered, you stammer, “Could you maybe look away? A little privacy?” Jimin only chuckles at your side, entirely unbothered.

“Fine, fine,” Jungkook says, still grinning as they turn around, murmuring to each other, muffling laughter that echoes in the frosty air. You and Jimin hastily pull on your clothes, cocooning yourselves back into thick layers, but you feel oddly reluctant to step out of this little haven that the two of you created.

Just before heading out, you turn to him, and with a hand still bare, you reach up, cupping his cheek. “I meant everything I said, Jimin,” you murmur softly, your thumb brushing over his skin. 

He leans into your touch, eyes meeting yours with a warmth that seems to banish the cold. “Me too,” he whispers, and a beat passes, his gaze dropping to your lips before he finally asks, “Would you… do you want to make it official? Date me?” He’s almost shy, his heart racing, caught somewhere between hope and vulnerability, as if this simple question holds so much more.

The light in the cave catches the shimmer in your eyes as you tiptoe up to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “Yes, I want to date you, Park,” you whisper against his mouth, warmth radiating between you.

A smile breaks over his face, and soon it twists into that familiar, mischievous smirk. “Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he teases, already slipping back into the confident Jimin you know so well.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile as you grab his hand, fingers lacing together naturally. And as you step out into the bright snow, your friends’ teasing laughter ringing through the air, you realize you’re ready to endure anything, as long as you’ve got Jimin by your side.

“Have you checked your phone lately?” Jungkook asks, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as if he’s holding back a secret, a playful glimmer dancing in his eyes.

“No, why?” you reply, the curiosity rising in your voice. “It ran out of battery—Jimin’s too.”

The others nod in silent understanding, but when you finally make your way back to the cabin, plug your phone into the charger, and open the group chat, your heart sinks. The screen floods with a storm of messages, a chaotic wave of words and emojis that makes your stomach twist and your cheeks burn. With wide eyes, you instinctively flip the phone over, as if doing so might somehow erase the flood of embarrassing texts, as if they might vanish with a simple turn of the screen.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv

→ Series taglist: @yopjm @chimmy-licious @aubrey0moore @jeonsbabygirlsworld @haru-jiminn @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @nora12379 @joonsmagicshop @goldietigers294 @pjmxxjm @jimineepaboya 

→ Author’s endnote: HAHAHAHA 😂 How is it even possible for this couple to get more chaotic? Truly, their energy is unmatched. Did you have fun finally uncovering why they’ve been throwing daggers at each other this whole time? What do you think—was it worth the wait? Honestly, writing this unapologetically jerk version of Jimin has been an absolute blast for me 🤭 Like, it’s almost too fun to lean into his sass and pettiness! (Should I be concerned?) Can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[parkitrighthere]

Hey , will we get an update on AOP ? If not you mentioned we could get a sneak peak . Could we get that ?

Heyyy sweet anon!! How’s it going?? I hope you’re having the BEST day ever and soaking in all the Christmas magic!! I’m so sorry I didn’t check my inbox earlier, and well… rest is history, right? But hey, better late than never, right?? Sooo, here’s a little sneak peek for you, I hope you like it!

Okay, quick heads up:

This is the beginning of chapter 3. I mean, it’s not super exciting or anything yet (shocker, right?), but I promise it’ll do for now. I’m still working on the chapter, so cut me some slack. Also, I’ve realized I have a ridiculous amount of love for Kenji right now… like, why did I just say that out loud? 🤷‍♀️ Oh well, I did. #KenjiIsLife

So, here’s a little snippet (under the cut, obviously because suspense and all that jazz). Please try your best to like it, even though my dialogue game is still under construction. I swear, I’m leveling up my writing skills (slowly but surely). 😅 And seriously, tell me what you think, I’m dying to know!

And... uh, forgive me? Or maybe not? But, like, please? 🙈

Alright, here it goes—enjoy!

(Jimin have nothing to do with it. I merely posted him to distract you from all the mess I've posted)

The darkness wrapped the sky in its velvet shroud, a blend of endless black and the faint glow of stars. The moon hung high, heavy and luminous, as if holding up the weight of the heavens. Its light spilled through the open window, brushing across the room in silvery streaks, making the shadows dance on the walls. The cold air slipped in, sharp and biting, rushing past your face. You inhaled deeply, your chest rising as the chill pricked your skin.

It was already midnight, and sleeping wasn't an option. Your fingers gripped the edge of the windowsill, as you leaned forward, staring into the stillness of the night. The coolness of the wood beneath your palm punished you, but your mind was far away, caught in a storm you couldn’t quite name

 You weren’t crying—there were no tears left to shed. You weren’t angry either. The fiery edge of rage had dulled long ago, leaving behind an ache too stubborn to fade.

You exhaled sharply, your breath mingling within the cold air. It wasn’t sadness—not anymore. You’d come to terms with it after talking to Elizabeth.

Your shoulders slumped, and you rubbed at your temples, trying to massage away the tension. It wasn’t about you. It never had been. Your reflection in the window—dull eyes and a tired face—stared back, and you nodded at it, a soft chuckle skipping past your lips. Acceptance wasn’t a choice; it was the only option left.

 You thought enough about it, and one thing you grew certain of was that it was, and never would be, about you. You were ready to accept the bond—it was always about him. You knew you couldn’t keep trying alone. You tilted your head back, the moonlight catching the wet shine in your eyes, though no tears fell. It wasn’t how it worked. It couldn’t be.

 Slowly, you pulled back from the window, the cold air chasing after you. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you let out a shaky breath. You wouldn’t beg—not for him, not for love. No.

You couldn’t deny it, not to yourself at least—you wanted to try. More than anything. Your chest ached with the thought, your fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as if clutching at the hope you refused to voice. You didn’t know much about him, not really, except one undeniable truth: he was intense, passionate, extreme. And so were his emotions—wild, consuming, and impossibly bright. But he hid them, masked them behind a wall so impenetrable that even you, his mate, couldn’t see through it.

Your hands trembled as you ran them through your hair, the strands tangling between your fingers. The memory of his dark, shimmering boba eyes flashed in your mind. You’d imagined them so many nights—staring at you, full of the love and affection you so desperately wanted. No, deserved. Didn’t you? And even if you didn’t, a part of you insisted he should give it anyway. Because weren’t you his mate? Your lips pressed into a thin line, and your jaw clenched as bitterness bubbled in your chest.

You had the right to him, didn’t you? But fate, cruel and merciless as it always was, had turned your bond into a twisted game. Or maybe it wasn’t fate at all. Maybe it was him—your mate, the one who could ignite every nerve in your body with a single glance but chose instead to keep his distance.

Your shoulders sagged, and you leaned back against the wall, letting the cold surface seep through your dress. You didn’t know why he kept you at arm’s length, why his indifference cut so deep. A sharp breath escaped your lips, your chest tightening. Did you even want to know? That was the question that kept you awake at night, gnawing at the edges of your sanity.

The air felt heavier now, as you straightened, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. You didn’t know the reason behind his indifference. But did you want to? That was a big question now. You wouldn’t beg. Not for a man’s attention, not for his love. You might crave him—God, you craved him with every fiber of your being. His presence, his touch, the way his voice seemed to echo in your mind long after he’d spoken. But you would cut yourself open before you begged.

You were just a low-ranking werewolf, a speck compared to the royal Lycan king. But rank didn’t matter now, not to you. You would not grovel—not for him or anyone. If he wanted you, he’d have to fight for you, just as fiercely as you’d once wanted to fight for him. And it wasn’t necessarily that bad here; at least you were being fed.

There was no point in thinking about it now.  As tired as your mind was, your body was weirdly energetic, yet you felt paradoxically weak—the lack of training and shifting in weeks was finally getting to you.

Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the too-familiar walls and furniture. Boredom surged like a wildfire, quick and consuming. You hated this place—its silence, its stillness. But if someone were to ask what you hated most, the answer came easily, almost reflexively. Him. Your mate. Jeon Jungkook.

You huffed, shaking your head as if trying to dislodge the thought. You stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, your arms hanging limply at your sides. Your chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths. The night wrapped around you like a second skin, colder than it should’ve been. You rubbed your arms absentmindedly, even though you felt no sense of cold. There was something strange in the air tonight, though. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It clung to you, just out of reach, like a whisper you couldn’t fully hear.

You, once again, reached to the window, your fingertips brushing the edge of the curtain. The cold glass pressed against your palm as you stared out at the still, dark world. A frown tugged at your lips. It wasn’t delight you were feeling—not even close. It wasn’t contentment either. No, this was different, deeper.

Fulfillment. As if something had shifted back into place, something you hadn’t realized was missing.

But with it came fear. A cold, tearing fear that settled in your chest and refused to let go. Your hand pressed over your heart, feeling its unsteady rhythm thrum beneath your skin. Your throat tightened, and your eyes flicked toward the moonlit horizon, searching for something you couldn’t name.

You turned away from the window, pacing the room with quick, uneven steps. Your fingers ran through your hair, tugging at the strands as if the slight pain would ground you. It didn’t.

You paused mid-step, staring at your hands as they trembled. Was it the bond? You didn’t know, but your gut screamed that it was. Everything—the restlessness, the strange sense of completion, the fear—it all traced back to him.

You glanced out the window at the night sky—heavenly dark and ethereally calm—and a small smile tugged at your lips, unbidden. The moon was truly magnificent tonight; you thought nothing could ever match the quiet beauty of nature—especially the moon.

You drew in a long, deep breath, holding it in your chest before letting it out slowly. The weight against your ribs loosened, if only a little. Your eyes dropped to your hands, fingers curling and uncurling as you bit your bottom lip in thought.

Without a second thought, you turned on your heel, your movements dogged but not rushed. You slipped out of your quarters and into the dimly lit hallway, pausing for a moment to glance around.

Where to go?

You tilted your head, brows knitting together as the question settled in your mind. You didn’t have an answer, you merely didn't want to sit in your quarters. With a small nod to yourself.

The guards stationed along the walls watched you with wary eyes, their expressions unreadable. You didn’t pay them any mind, your focus elsewhere. The coolness of the air pressed against your skin, seeping through your clothes like icy fingers. A shiver ran down your spine, but instead of recoiling, you welcomed it.

Winter was near. The thought sent a flicker of warmth through you, chasing away some of the cold. You’d always loved winter, the way the world transformed under a blanket of snow, quiet and pristine. In just a month, the first snowfall would come, covering everything in a soft, white hush.

A smile broke across your face, wide and genuine. Your fingers brushed against your arms as you imagined the crunch of snow beneath bare feet, or the feel of it against your fur in wolf form. She loved winter too.

And then there was the blue moon. Only three weeks away, a grand celebration waiting on the horizon. The thought made your chest swell with anticipation, and a quiet giggle escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Your steps quickened, your feet almost skipping as you moved through the halls. You practically bounced on your toes, the cold air swirling around you but unable to dampen your mood. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, something sparked inside you—something bright, something hopeful.

But happiness had always been a fleeting guest in your life, and tonight proved no exception. Your steps faltered, the soft rhythm of your bare feet on the cold floor coming to an abrupt halt. The smile that had warmed your lips vanished, leaving them pressed into a thin line as Jungkook’s voice tore through the stillness of the still night.

It was sharp, loud, booming even. The sound echoed around you, bouncing off the walls. Without realizing it, you had wandered near his quarters. Your chest tightened as frustration bubbled beneath your skin. No matter how much you tried, how much you willed yourself to stay away, you always found yourself here—drawn to him like a moth to flame. You hated it. You hated him.

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip. His voice rang out again, louder this time, filled with venom and a simmering rage that made your stomach churn.

“I’m not obligated to tell you anything. Anything.”

Your body flinched involuntarily at the sound, as if the force of his anger had reached out and struck you. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was instinct—your body recoiling from the raw, unfiltered aggression in his tone.

You turned your head slightly, your gaze shifting to the floor. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. For a moment, you considered walking away, your feet itching to retreat. But you stayed rooted to the spot.

He was angry.

He was yelling.

But why? At who?

The questions spun relentlessly in your mind, but the answers evaded you. Your curiosity, though unwelcome, began clawing at your chest, demanding to be fed. A small voice whispered in the back of your head, urging you to move closer, to press your ear to the door and unravel the tension vibrating through the walls.

You shook your head, swallowing hard, forcing your feet to stay planted. Jungkook had made many things painfully clear on your first day here—one of them being that you were not to involve yourself in pack matters unless explicitly asked. His rules were ironclad, just like the wall he had built between the two of you.

Fine. If he didn’t respect or care for you, you wouldn’t care for him—or his pack. You took a slow, deliberate step forward, ready to walk past his quarters without so much as a glance.

But then you heard it.

Her voice.

Elizabeth.

The sound froze you mid-step, your body stiffening as if an invisible force had gripped you by the shoulders. She was in there, her voice carrying through the closed door—tenacious, loud, yet gentle. She was asking him something, and though his voice was lower now, you could still hear the anger simmering in every clipped word he threw back at her.

Your stomach twisted, curiosity roaring to life and twisting into something darker. Jealousy.

The fire of it ignited low in your chest, spreading quickly, burning hotter with every second you stood there. What were they talking about? Why was she here, in his quarters, this late? The questions pushed everything else from your mind, leaving only a sharp, all-consuming need to know.

Your jaw tightened, teeth grinding together as your breath came out shakier than you wanted to admit. Your chest heaved as you stared at the door, as if willing it to give up its secrets. The thought of her—of them—on the other side of it sent a cold, bitter shiver down your spine. You clenched your teeth harder, your body trembling with an emotion you didn’t want to name.

Still, your feet remained rooted, caught between storming forward and fleeing altogether. You told yourself you didn’t care, that whatever was happening in that room didn’t matter to you. But the fire raging inside you screamed otherwise.

"Jungkook, you can’t just run away from all you’ve done!" Elizabeth’s voice cut through the heavy, pregnant silence like a blade, shrill and demanding. Each word was laced with venom, her tone rising an octave with every syllable. "It’ll be the death of us all. Do you even have any idea what would happen if Jimin found out what you’ve done? Do you know how many vamp—"

“Leave!!”

Jungkook’s voice thundered through the air, slamming into you like a physical force. The raw power in his Alpha command made your breath hitch, your chest tightening painfully as if an unseen hand had wrapped itself around your throat, forcing you to bare it.

Your knees buckled slightly, your hand shooting out to the cold wall beside you to steady yourself. The sheer authority in his tone wasn’t just heard—it was felt, reverberating through your body, making your heart stutter and your skin break out in goosebumps.

For a moment, you stood frozen, your wide eyes staring blankly ahead as the weight of his words settled over you. But then something stirred deep within you.

Your wolf.

You hadn't felt her in days.

It was a faint ripple at first, a flicker of energy in the pit of your stomach. But it grew quickly, spreading like a wildfire through your veins. She was there—fully present in a way she hadn’t been in years. You could feel her strength, her defiance, her barely restrained anger.

Why was she angry?

It took you a moment to realize that you were feeling Jungkook’s emotions. It was the first time you had ever experienced them. His feelings were so intense that it was becoming hard to breathe. It felt as if a fire was burning in the centre of your chest.

Your lips parted in a shaky exhale, and your fingers gripped the wall as you tried to steady your racing heart. The connection was overwhelming, a storm of emotions flooding your senses: pride, fury, longing—all of it tangled together.

Oh! Moon goddess, it was overwhelming

Your head turned slightly, your gaze narrowing on the closed door as Elizabeth’s voice was abruptly silenced. The tension in the air was suffocating, thick enough to choke on, and yet... you couldn’t move.

You didn’t know what you were waiting for. Maybe for Elizabeth to storm out, her face twisted with fury. Maybe for Jungkook to step into the hallway, his presence as commanding as his voice.

Or maybe, you were waiting for yourself—to decide whether you would stay or walk away, pretending none of this had ever happened.

"Move, Bee."

The whisper of your wolf echoed faintly in your mind, a nudge that left no room for argument. Before you could even process her words, your legs carried you away from the shadows where you stood rooted. Your feet moved on instinct, silent against the cold marble floor as you melted into the darkness of the hallway, just out of sight.

The door to Jungkook’s bedroom creaked open, and Elizabeth stepped out.

You stilled, your breath catching in your throat as your gaze locked on her. She looked… dreadful. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her cheeks flushed, and her lips pressed into a thin, angry line. But it was her eyes that unsettled you most—they were wide, almost frantic, as if she’d seen something that had shaken her to her very core.

What is wrong?

Your fingers twitched at your sides, itching to reach out and grab her, demand answers to the storm of questions swirling in your mind. But before you could act, she stormed off, her hurried footsteps fading into the distance.

The silence that followed was deafening, and your chest ached with your unanswered questions.

You kept walking and without realizing it, you were outside. The icy wind bit at your skin, and your bare feet pressed into the damp grass of the royal garden. The once soothing serenity of the night now felt oppressive.

The soft rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of the night animals did little to calm the unease gnawing at you. The cold that had earlier been invigorating now seemed to seep into your very bones, chilling you from the inside out.

Your steps faltered, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, your fingers digging into the fabric of your sleeves as your mind raced.

What were they talking about?

Your thoughts spiralled, wild and rigid. The memory of Jungkook’s loud voice echoed in your head, and Elizabeth’s pale, distraught face lingered in your mind.

What was she doing in his room in the middle of the night?

"Bee, you’re thinking way too much," your wolf interjected with a bored sigh.

You couldn’t help the dry chuckle that escaped your lips, your breath fogging in the crisp night air.

'Thinking too much? That’s rich coming from you,' you muttered under your breath, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly.

Your wolf hummed in response, unbothered, as if this entire situation didn’t concern her in the slightest. She had made her grand reappearance only to take over your body, push you into the cold night, and now, she was defending him.

"Of course, you’d side with him," you said, shaking your head with a humourless smile. You paced aimlessly through the garden, your fingers brushing against the brittle leaves of the hedges as you walked.

"I’m not defending anyone, Bee. I only said you’re thinking too much," your wolf’s voice came again, calm and infuriatingly smug.

You huffed, dragging your hands through your hair in exasperation as you continued pacing. The cool breeze tugged at the strands, but it didn’t calm you—it only added to the storm brewing in your chest.

"You’ve said enough," you muttered aloud, a bitter chuckle slipping past your lips as you shook your head.

"Aww, Bee trying to be sassy? That’s new… and dumb," she quipped, her tone laced with amusement.

You froze mid-step, your jaw tightening as irritation rippled through you. Balling your fists, you let out a slow, shaky breath, your eyes narrowing at the empty garden ahead of you as if you could glare at her.

"I’m curious," you snapped, your voice low and laced with frustration.

"And jealous," she added with a shrug you could practically feel, the smugness in her tone igniting the fire in your chest.

You clenched your teeth, your fingers twitching at your sides as you turned on your heel and paced again. Was she always this difficult? you wondered, your steps now faster, heavier, as if walking harder would somehow silence her.

"You’re being impossible," you muttered, your voice clipped.

"Well… I’m trying," she retorted, her smirk audible in your mind.

You let out a low growl, a sound of pure frustration as you stopped in your tracks and threw your hands in the air. The cold bit at your skin, and the grass beneath your feet squished as you shifted your weight, trying to ground yourself.

"Why do you always do this?" you hissed through gritted teeth, pacing again, your movements acute and agitated.

Your wolf merely hummed, her silence somehow louder than her teasing had been. It was like she was sitting back, watching the chaos unfold, amused by your every reaction.

You pressed your palm to your forehead, your other hand on your hip, and let out a shaky breath. The night around you was still, the garden eerily quiet except for the rustle of leaves and your own unsteady breaths.

"Aren’t you curi—" you started, your voice harsh, ready to lash out at your wolf and her endless sass.

But the words died on your tongue when a hand landed on your shoulder, firm yet not harsh. The touch yanked you out of your spiralling thoughts, and for a moment, the world tilted. Your breath hitched, eyes flickering from their glowing yellow back to their usual shade as a startled scream tore from your lips.

Instinct kicked in as you twisted away, prying the hand off your shoulder with shaky fingers. Your movements were frantic, unsteady. In your rush to create distance, your foot slipped on the damp grass.

You stumbled backward, arms flailing uselessly to regain your balance, but gravity wasn’t forgiving tonight.

"No, no, no—!" The words barely left your lips before you felt it: an arm curling around your waist, warm and secure, trying to steady you. For a fleeting moment, you thought you’d be pulled back, saved from the inevitable fall.

But fate had other plans.

You went down, and so did he.

The icy water swallowed you both, shocking the air from your lungs as you hit its surface. The cold stabbed at your skin like a thousand tiny needles, and a gasp escaped you, only for the water to rush in through your mouth and nose.

Panic surged as your chest tightened, the burning need for air overwhelming your senses. Your limbs flailed in the dark water, your vision a blur of silvery moonlight and shifting shadows.

Just when the pressure in your lungs became unbearable, the same hand that had startled you moments ago was back, gripping your arm with unwavering strength. With a single pull, you were yanked upward, as if you weighed nothing.

You broke through the surface with a desperate gasp, coughing and sputtering as cold air filled your lungs. Your vision cleared just enough to make out the figure before you, drenched and dripping, his chest rising and falling as he caught his own breath.

You blinked rapidly, your body shivering violently from the cold. Water dripped down your face, tangling in your lashes and blurring your view, but you could still make out his piercing gaze locked onto yours.

"Stand still, Luna. It's not that deep," Kenji's voice broke through the haze in your mind, soft and distant. His words, though meant to calm you, barely registered in your brain. They felt like whispers, faint and without meaning, as your world rolled in the aftermath of the cold water.

You didn’t have the energy to respond. Everything felt numb, too much to process. You barely felt his hands as they gripped your body, pulling you out of the water, his strong arms steadying you. The cold air hit your skin like a slap, making your body tremble, but you didn’t care. Your clothes clung to your body, heavy and soaked, as if they were another layer of ice.

"Are you okay?" His voice, low and smooth, carried a tinge of concern, but you couldn’t answer him. You were too focused on your own ragged breathing, each gasp severe and painful as you tried to fill your lungs with air.

You nodded, still struggling to steady yourself, your knees weak beneath you. Kenji’s hands loosened their grip but remained close, as if afraid you might collapse. His eyes—green, intense, filled with raw worry—never left your face.

Your gaze flickered to him, taking in his drenched appearance. His black shirt clung to his frame, outlining the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen. Eight abs? You thought dazedly, momentarily distracted by the sharp, perfect definition of his body. His arms, thick with muscle, rippled as he shifted, veins prominent under his skin. His coat was missing, leaving only the damp shirt, trouser and boots that squeaked with every movement as water pooled around his feet.

For a moment, the world felt quieter, but the thudding of your pulse in your ears reminded you of the mess still swirling in your mind. Kenji’s eyes never left you, scanning you for any signs of distress, his worry plain in the furrow of his brows.

You opened your mouth, wanting to speak, but a cough seized you, harsh and sudden, the water still making its presence known in your lungs. You doubled over, a sharp spasm running through your chest as your throat burned.

Cough, cough.

You wheezed, the water still clogging your chest. Kenji’s hand was warm on your back, patting gently as you tried to catch your breath. His touch was surprisingly comforting, but it couldn’t shake the rush of anger and embarrassment bubbling up inside you. When your breathing finally steadied, he brushed your wet hair behind your ear.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be this frightened," he murmured, his voice soft and apologetic, eyes scanning you with an unreadable expression.

"Really," You snapped, unable to hold back your frustration any longer, huffing sharply and turning your gaze away from him. "Of course, I’ll be frightened. You came out of nowhere!" You couldn’t help it. The adrenaline still buzzed under your skin, your heart racing in a way you didn’t understand. Your eyes darted around, desperately looking for something to focus on, when you caught sight of the lake.

"There’s a lake here. A lake." The words came out in disbelief as you took a step back, your mouth falling open as you stared at the calm water behind you. You couldn’t believe it. It was like you had stepped into another world, even though you were still in the Lycan palace.

Kenji was still beside you, and his puzzled gaze flickered between you and the lake. "Why do you seem so angry at the fact?" His voice was light, but there was confusion in his eyes.

"Because. I. Fell." The words came out sharp, punctuated with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, shivering from the cold water clinging to your clothes, which now felt like a second skin, heavy and soaked.

Kenji raised an eyebrow, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. "Valid," he said, almost too calmly, his eyes still filled with curiosity.

"Duh!" You huffed again, your arms tightening across your chest in annoyance. The cold bite of the air wasn’t helping, and the peaceful lake, which had once seemed serene, now only added to your growing frustration. Everything felt off now—strange and disorienting. You were unable to contemplate why were you feeling cold, you were a werewolf.

The anger, now mixed with frustration, flared up again. "Who has a lake behind their palace garden?" You shook your head, still in disbelief.

Kenji’s voice was full of pride as he spoke, "We do." The way he said it made you want to smack him, but you held yourself back, the urge bubbling up in your chest. It would be unladylike, un-queenly. No, you couldn’t afford to lose control like that. You sucked in a breath, steadying yourself. Elegance, composure—those were the things you had to focus on.

You forced a smile, one that felt far too wide, far too tight. "Kenji." Your voice was soft, almost sweet, and the smile that accompanied it was dripping with artificial sweetness. His eyes snapped to yours, widening for a moment, and you saw the exact second his face twisted into something almost grotesque.

"That’s so fake!" he blurted, his voice betraying the shock in his tone.

A gasp slipped past your lips, surprise flashing across your face before it quickly melted into something else. His eyes shot wide with horror, his skin paling as he stepped back slightly, as if you had just slapped him. "Oh! Moon goddess, forgive me, Luna. I—I…" His words faltered, stuttering, as if he could barely comprehend the mistake he had just made.

You blinked, confused. His reaction felt over the top, but there was a genuine fear in his eyes now, one that caught you off guard. You weren’t strong enough to fight him off, and you weren’t a queen yet—not in his eyes, not in anyone's eyes. The only one who might consider you his queen was Jungkook, and he barely acknowledged you as his mate.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, the cold air biting at your skin as you stared at Kenji, ignoring the tension that still hung between you. You couldn’t care less about his reaction to your earlier words, focusing instead on the question hanging in the air.

“What are you doing here at this time?” you asked, your tone sharper than you intended. His eyes flickered with surprise, his mouth opening, but then nothing. He pointed a finger toward you, lips moving, but no sound came out. It was almost comical, watching him struggle to form words.

“What?” you snapped, growing impatient.

He blinked, his brows furrowing, trying to process your response before mumbling, “You mean, pardon?”

“No, I mean what. Now start talking, will you?” you demanded, your patience wearing thin.

He blinked at you, bewildered. “That was my question.”

“I mean once again. What?” You were so done with his indecision, the confusion clear on your face.

“That was my question.”

A frustrated sigh slipped past your lips, your eyes narrowing as you crossed your arms tighter. “I heard it before. Explain.”

Kenji’s eyes hardened slightly, frustration creeping into his expression, but he didn’t back down. “What are you doing here?” he repeated, his voice finally steady, but it only made you more annoyed.

“Walking?” you replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You tilted your head, locking eyes with him. Your voice was dismissive, but the corners of your lips lifted in something close to a smirk.

“At this time?"

"When I walk, I don’t care about time. Walking is good.” You shrugged nonchalantly, your gaze challenging him to argue. His expression faltered for a moment, his mouth falling open as he stared at you, as if you’d grown two heads. You didn’t care.

“What? I can walk. It keeps you fit,” you added, eyes narrowing into a defiant glare, daring him to question you further.

Kenji stood tall, as he spoke, his gaze intense as if daring you to question him further. “We are. No. You are a werewolf. We have high metabolism. We stay fit anyway without walking,” he countered, his voice carrying a hint of amusement as he crossed his arms over his chest.

You arched an eyebrow, not even bothered by his words. “And?” you shot back, your voice laced with indifference. You still didn’t have a reason for being here, but you weren’t about to back down.

He sighed, clearly growing tired. “What are you doing here?” you asked again, as if it was the most obvious question in the world.

His gaze flicked to you, and before you could even bink, the words reached your ear. “Patrolling.” He said it with such ease, as if it were a routine task. His shoulders shifted, a casual shrug, as he waited for you to process. His eyes never left yours, a slight raise of his brow as if daring you to argue.

“Why?” you asked, your confusion evident. You could already feel the answer forming in his mind, but you were far too frustrated to wait for it. “I mean, why you?” you continued, gesturing at his strong frame. “You’re a warrior. A strong one. You have different duties. The guards who patrol are different.”

Kenji’s lips curled into a grin, and he stepped forward, looking down at you with pride. “First of all, I’m not a strong warrior. I’m the strongest.” His chest puffed out even more, his chin tilting upwards as if the very idea of being anything less than the best was an insult. The smirk on his face deepened as he caught your eye. “And don’t you know we were attacked yesterday? One of our warriors almost died?”

His words hit you like a slap. You blinked in disbelief, the words barely registering in your mind. “What?” The harshness in your voice made Kenji wince, his hand instinctively going to his ear as if to shield it from the sound. He stepped back, his face contorting in discomfort, eyes wide with surprise.

“You don’t know? Nobody told you?” His voice was quieter now, almost uncertain, and you shook your head in response. His brow furrowed, confusion turning to something else—something closer to curiosity. “Why?” he asked, a tinge of disbelief still hanging in his voice.

“I was ordered by Jungkook to stay away from pack business and so was told others not to tell me anything,” you explained, the words coming out flat, detached. You didn’t expect his reaction—his face drained of colour, and he looked like he had seen a ghost. His throat bobbed, and a heavy gulp escaped him, loud and clear. There was panic in his eyes now.

“Kenji?” You walked closer, your gaze softening as his body trembled slightly. You put your arm on his shoulder, trying to offer some form of comfort.

But what you didn’t expect was the shift in his posture, the way his shoulders hunched as if the weight of something far heavier rested on them.

“Are you crying?” you asked in disbelief, your voice almost a whisper.

“I don’t want to die.” He whispered, his voice small and muted. The words hung in the air, heavy and confusing.

“I still want to find my mate and impregnate her.” His confession was quiet, the last part barely audible.

You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say.

Okay, now I’m just here nervously waiting for your thoughts! Please go easy on me, I promise I’m trying my best! 😬

[piratewinzer]

saw Hozier live and I think I understand religion now. I wasn’t aware that things could make you feel this way.

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - FOUR

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy; abortion; health risks; insecurities. chapter one┆chapter two┆ chapter three

You were curled up next to Rafe, head on his shirtless chest, listening to the rise and fall of his breath.

You could hear the crash of the waves. His fingers were tangled in your hair, slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

“Do you ever think about the future?” You asked, not even sure why you said it. 

Maybe it was the mood, the quiet.

He laughed softly, the sound rumbling through his chest, vibrating against your cheek.

“Future? Baby, we’re in the future right now.” He tilted his head to look down at you, his blue eyes catching the last bits of sunlight, making them almost glow. “What more do we need?”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “I’m serious. What’s next for us?”

He was quiet for a second, and you held your breath, waiting. Sometimes Rafe had this way of avoiding real talk. He’d joke, or deflect, or turn the conversation back to something easy.

“You,” he said, his voice low like he was confiding you a secret. “You’re what’s next. What’s always next.” His arm tightened around you, pulling you into his lap. 

You smiled, that stupid, giddy smile that probably made you look ridiculous, but you didn’t care. His breath tickled your forehead as he kissed you there slowly.

He was so sure in that moment, like nothing could touch you two.

You lifted your head, just enough to look at him.

His face was so clear, each detail spot on, you could reach out and touch it. His messy beach hair, the way it fell into his eyes, his crooked smile, that scar on his chin from when he’d wiped out on his bike in high school.

All of him was yours.

“Promise?” You asked, like a part of you needed to hear it again, needed the reassurance.

Rafe leaned in, his lips grazing yours before he whispered against them, “Promise.”

He had this way of making all feel so simple, like the future wasn’t some big, scary thing.

“I’m never letting you go,” it sounded more like a prayer coming from his lips, fingers tracing small circles on your arm, sending these tiny electric shocks through you. “You’re stuck with me, Thornton.”

“Good.”

But then something changed.

His grip loosened. His warmth started to fade, and you blinked, confused. You lifted your head, trying to find his eyes, but his face was different.

Blurred. Distant.

“Rafe?” You whispered, reaching for him, but he wasn’t there.

The warmth was completely gone, replaced with cold, empty air. You turned, searching for him, but all you saw were shadows where he used to be.

The waves crashed louder, and you realized you were alone. Just like that, everything was gone, everything he promised, was gone.

You sat up in bed, gasping, hands instinctively going to your stomach in the darkness of your bedroom.

He wasn’t here. He was with her. You were alone. 

Pregnant.

You tried to stabilize your breathing, wiping away the tears that had slipped out during your sleep. The bed felt too big, empty without him. And the memory of his touch, his words, felt cruel now. 

You stared up at the ceiling wondering how a memory could feel so real, so vivid, but that was all it was. Just a memory. Just another piece of the past you kept chasing.

You looked down at your stomach, your hand still resting on the bump, if you could call it that. You weren’t showing at all, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t real. You knew it was.

Your very first appointment was in a few hours, and the thought of it made you want to throw up.

You needed to know how far along you were. It would be easier to stay in bed and let the what ifs spiral in your head than to face them, but you didn’t hold that privilege anymore.

You dragged yourself out of queen-sized bed, avoiding the mirror as you moved around the room.

You didn’t want to see your reflection right now, you dreaded facing the girl who had let herself get into this mess.

You threw on a pair of loose, old sweats and a hoodie, one that swallowed you whole, hiding everything.

The kind of outfit that made you feel invisible, and right now, that’s exactly what you wanted. It’s not like anyone around here cared much anyway, rich girl or not, kooks were experts at pretending. 

You grabbed your keys, your phone, and the one thing you couldn’t forget today —courage.

One foot in front of the other. One breath at a time.

The appointment was soon, and you needed to get there. You kept reminding yourself that you’d figure it out once you knew how far along you were, everything would make sense after that.

The drive there was a mess, the anxiety and anger, you didn’t want to acknowledge today were taking turns messing with your head.

You didn’t want to think about how you’d once imagined a future with Rafe, how he’d promised you a lifetime under the sun.

You could never feel guilty about keeping this from him. He’d made his choices, and now you had to make yours.

You rolled up in your car and had to park in the visitor lot, trying to sneak in like you weren’t a whole mess of nerves behind the wheel of a brand-new Range Rover.

It was practically empty, which was fine by you, less people to run into, less eyes on you, since every second you spent there was a second someone could recognize you.

Someone could see, that was the last thing you needed — for this to become some juicy little rumor for the Kildare gossip mill to chew up and spit out. 

You pulled your oversized sunglasses lower on your face, hoping they’d hide the fact that you were shaking.

You hated the fact that you were even in this position as you sat there, tapping your foot impatiently, checking the clock every five minutes like it was some kind of countdown to freedom.

Every noise from the hallway made you flinch, like any second someone familiar would burst through the door, see you there.

You winced in horror when your name was called out, following the nurse leading you down a sterile hallway that smelled of antiseptic. You tried to keep your mind off the fact that this was the first step toward the most life-altering decision you’d ever have to make. 

"The doctor will be in soon."

Times like these you wished you’d chosen a private clinic, but you had to avoid as many kooks as possible, even if it meant slumming it in this hospital. 

This was real.

Sitting down on the exam table, the paper crinkled under you, the sound making you cringe. You felt so small in that room, so alone. You’d always had someone—Rafe, even Topper. But right now, it was just you.

Your legs dangled off the edge of the table as you waited.

It felt like forever before there was a knock on the door, and the doctor entered.

"Hi, I’m Dr. Madison," she greeted you, offering you a smile as she sat down on the stool beside you. "How are you feeling today?"

What the fuck were you supposed to say? That your life was falling apart? That you didn’t know what to do? 

So you settled for a, “"I’ve been better," looking anywhere but at her.

She nodded like she understood, she’d most likely heard it all before. 

"Alrigh’, we’re just going to take a look and see how far along you are, okay? I’ll need you to lay back."

You did as she said, leaning back against the stiff pillow, trying to relax. 

"This is going to be a little cold," she warned as she reached for the ultrasound gel.

A little? You nearly jumped off the table as the gel hit your stomach, cold and slimy, like ice against your skin. You winced but tried to keep still as she spread it over your lower abdomen.

The machine whirred to life, and she placed the probe on your stomach. You sucked in a breath, trying not to cry as the screen lit up with grainy images.

She moved the probe slowly, methodically, her eyes glued to the monitor, and you couldn’t breathe. 

You forced your eyes to the ceiling, refusing to look at the monito, refusing to see. You couldn’t let yourself get attached, not like that.

If you saw what was on that screen—if you saw the shape of something, anything—it would kill you. Your breaths were shallow, and your fingers clenched the sides of the exam table, gripping the paper until it tore under your hands.

Dr. Madison was quiet as she moved the probe over your skin, you knew she was seeing something. You could hear the beeping of the machine, the faint hum of the monitor.

"Okay. Looks like you’re about thirteen weeks along."

"How long is that?"

"Almost 3 months, give or take."

No, that couldn’t be right, you’d barely felt any different.

You were at thirteen weeks. Just over the line.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry.

 "Thirteen?" you repeated, like maybe if you said it out loud, it would make more sense. But it didn’t.

"Alright," you told her, voice even, like that number wasn’t echoing in your head, smashing through the calm you’d been faking this whole time. 

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Madison eyes scanned your face, probably trying to gauge how much of this you were even absorbing. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

A lot? That didn’t even begin to cover it.

The doctor cleared her throat gently. “In North Carolina, after twelve weeks, the options for termination become much more limited unless it falls under specific conditions like rape, incest, or a fetal anomaly. I know this might be overwhelming, but I’m here to walk you through what’s possible.”

You nodded, but it was a lie. You weren’t hearing any of it, you were already listing other possibilities, another place.

Your mind was a step ahead, planning out the details, flights, or maybe driving. Somewhere where no one would ask questions, where you could walk in and get this over with.

Just slip away for a couple days.

She kept talking, saying something about other options, but you weren’t hearing it. It sent your heart into a stampede.

"Thanks, Doctor," you said when you realized she was done speaking, your voice perfectly polite, perfectly controlled. 

It felt like you were watching someone else speak.

You were nodding like you understood like you had a plan. Inside? You were screaming. Your thoughts were a mess, colliding into each other—Oh my God, what now, what the fuck are you going to do? So much more work just because you were stupid enough to wait.

Dr. Madison gave you this list—appointments to schedule, things you should and shouldn’t do, prenatal vitamins to pick up. She might as well have been speaking a different language for all you heard. 

You mumbled something that sounded like “thanks” as she handed you the prescription, barely glancing at the paper. 

“Is there really nothing I can do?”

You couldn't confide your plans to her, for obvious reasons.

“I can’t advocate for any illegal options, but I understand your concern. If you were just a week earlier, we could have discussed a simple outpatient procedure. However, now you’re facing a more complex situation.”

You never felt so frustrated in your life, “But I’m—I can get you anything. You don’t understand, I can pay—”

“Miss Thornton,” she interrupted, her voice firm yet sympathetic, “I know you’re not trying to bribe me right now. I need you to understand that legality and ethics come into play here. What you’re suggesting isn’t something I can support or even discuss further. We have to work within the framework of the law.”

You bit your tongue, resisting the temptation to lash out at her.

“So that’s it, then? I’m just supposed to accept that I’m stuck with this?”

“There are still options we can explore together. We can discuss what’s next in terms of prenatal care, adoption, or even resources that might help you if you choose to carry the pregnancy to term. But I can’t ignore the fact that you’re beyond the legal limit for a straightforward abortion.”

You blinked rapidly, “Adoption?”

The idea of keeping the baby made your stomach bend into a different shape, but that alternative felt just as wrong.

She looked at you with genuine empathy.

“I understand that this is overwhelming. The decision is ultimately yours, but I need to emphasize that time is of the essence, and the choices you make today will have lasting implications.”

Then she was gone, leaving you alone in that sterile room with your head spinning.

You couldn’t even fucking remember the last time you felt normal. Now, you were staring down the barrel of a pregnancy you didn’t even know was this far along. The doctor’s speech about vitamins, checkups, and avoiding alcohol bounced off around in your head.

You swallowed down the nausea that had nothing to do with morning sickness, grabbed your purse, and walked out like nothing had just changed. 

You shoved the papers into your purse without a second thought, your mind already screaming to get out, to run, to go somewhere.

Anywhere but here.

As you walked out into the waiting area, you spotted a mother with her toddler, the kid giggling and playing with his toys. Would your baby be that happy? Would they giggle like that?

No, no, you couldn’t go there.

Your fingers were numb as they fumbled for your keys, and you somehow managed to get into the Rover.

The second the door slammed shut, the tears you’d been restraining started to fall.

All you could think about was getting far, far away from here, somewhere no one would recognize you, where people didn’t know your last name or expect you to show up to some debutante ball with a well-behaved husband, a kid on each arm, perfectly polished.

"Fuck..." you whispered through clenched teeth, squeezing your eyes shut like maybe that could make it stop. But it didn’t. Your whole body was trembling, hands shaking so hard you couldn't hold the wheel right.

You leaned your forehead against the steering wheel, trying to catch your breath.

Thirteen weeks.

You couldn’t stay here, in this parking lot. You needed to go somewhere safe, somewhere that made sense. You needed them.

Without really thinking, you turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the lot. 

You didn’t even know where you were going at first, your body knew, the same familiar route you’d taken too many times. You didn’t realize where you were going at first, but once you passed the last stoplight before the cemetery, it hit you.

You parked haphazardly, not caring if your car was straight or if anyone saw. This was the only place you could think of. The only place that wasn’t ruined by all the mess in your life. 

Your parents. Your sister.

Their graves were tucked away in the back corner, under the big oak tree that had been there for as long as you could remember. You parked the car and got out, the ground crunching under your feet as you made your way to them. 

You sank to your knees in front of their headstones, your fingers brushing against the cool marble as if touching them could somehow make them feel closer. They’d been gone for five years, and no matter how many times you came here, that fact never got easier to swallow.

“I don’t know what to do,” you choked out, stopping to bite down on your bottom lip hard to keep from completely breaking down. “I’m so... I’m so fucking lost.”

The wind rustled the leaves above you, and for a second, you wished it would just take you away too. Make everything disappear.

“I’m pregnant.” You spit the words out, voice cracking, like admitting it was burning your throat. “Thirteen weeks,” you added, saying it out loud for the first time. Your hands curled into fists, fingers digging into the grass.

The tears came back, harder this time, and you bent forward, clutching your stomach, forehead pressing into the ground as if you could just bury yourself there. 

“I can’t—I can’t do this alone. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Your voice broke completely, turning into a sob that you couldn’t stop. You were crying so hard you couldn’t even breathe, gasping, like you were drowning in it. 

“Why aren’t you here?” you cried, “Why did you leave me? Why did you—” but the words caught in your throat, turning into another round of weeping.

You stayed for a long time, curled up on the ground, crying so hard it hurt, until the tears finally slowed, until you felt empty, drained.

Afterwards, you sat back, wiping at your swollen eyes with the back of your hand.

“I’m pregnant,” you repeated, this time softer, “And I can’t... I can’t tell him. He’s with her, and I—I just can’t.”

You sniffed, cleaning your nose with your sleeve, feeling ridiculous and broken all at once.

Your breath hitched again as you forced yourself to stand up, even though every part of you wanted to collapse back onto the ground. 

They were gone, it was just you. Alone. You think that’s why there was this tiny persistent voice in the back of your brain whispering things you weren’t ready to hear.

This was a chance, wasn’t it? To finally have someone again, someone you didn’t have to say goodbye to.

The second the thought crossed your mind, you felt a gush of panic, a nauseating conviction that you were nowhere near capable of raising a child. You barely remembered to take care of yourself, so how could you possibly take care of a baby?

It felt so fucked up to you, to think this could be a “fresh start” or something like it—no, you weren’t naïve enough to believe that. Not when you’d barely coped to get through the last five years.

You remembered the doctor’s voice, factual, mentioning adoption.

Carrying this baby only to hand it over to someone else—someone who might be better equipped—Could you do that? Carry a piece of your family’s future, only to give it away? It felt wrong.

You were halfway to your car, still wiping the tears from your face, when you heard someone call your name.

“Hey... Is that you?”

You froze. The last thing you wanted was to run into someone, especially now. Not here, not like this.

Turning slowly, you saw her — Sarah Cameron, Rafe’s sister — standing by her mom’s grave.

She was holding a bouquet of wildflowers, brown eyes narrowing as she took you in. She looked like she'd been here a while, but the moment she saw your state, she dropped what she came here to do.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" she asked, her voice rising with worry.

Her eyes, so different from Rafe’s, scanned over you, taking in your bloodshot eyes, the messy hair, the way your clothes were dirty from sitting on the ground too long. 

You hadn’t taken sides when her and Topper split up; you’d just known, deep down, that they weren’t right for each other. He had this stubborn, idealized version of her that she could never live up to, and that had been the beginning of the end.

You opened your mouth to say something, to tell her you were fine, that you didn’t need her sympathy right now. Instead, you just stood there like a fucking idiot, eyes wide, as Sarah dropped the flowers and rushed to your side.

“Hey, hey,” she panicked, as if she was talking to a wounded animal. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Sarah touched your arm gently, and that’s when it hit you, the fear, the panic, the loneliness — it overwhelmed you.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around her, holding on tight.

You didn’t even care how desperate it looked, how messed up you were right now. You just needed someone.

She froze for a split second, caught off guard, but then she softened, her arms wrapping around you tightly. She was warm, solid, and so there, and the moment she hugged you back, the floodgates opened for the millionth time that week.

You started crying again, silent but hard, your face buried in her shoulder as your whole body shook.

Sarah didn’t say anything; didn’t ask questions, just focused on holding you tighter, her hand smoothing over your back like she was trying to calm you down. The kindness of it, the warmth,you hadn’t grasped how much you needed it until right now.

“Shh, it’s okay,” her voice was soothing. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

You hadn’t seen her in months — not since everything went down with her and Rafe after Ward died.

The whole family had fallen apart after that.

Sarah had cut ties again, another fallout with Rafe. Things between them were always like a ticking time bomb, and Ward’s death had blown everything wide open. You knew they hadn’t been on speaking terms since.

It made this moment even weirder, seeing her here, of all places. She looked different, too, she was carrying her grief, her pain, that wild spark in her eyes a little more dim than you remembered.

As you pulled away from the hug, you blinked through the tears, and her face came back into focus. She was still looking at you, her brows knitted with worry, the wildflowers she’d brought for her mom now forgotten on the ground behind her. 

She looked like she was about to ask a million questions, but she was waiting for you to speak first.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you finally said something, trying to wipe your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. It was a lame thing to say, but you couldn’t find any better words.

Sarah gave a small, sad smile, shrugging a little. 

“Yeah, I just… I come here sometimes. To see my mom.” Her voice was quieter than usual, and you could hear the strain behind it, “I guess I needed it today.”

You understood the feeling all too well.

You both stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, and you could tell she was dying to ask why you were here. Why you looked like you’d just been rolling around in the dirt. 

Instead, she said, “You okay? I mean, really?”

In some weird way, you’d always thought you’d be able to keep this part of yourself locked away, hidden and safe where no one could see it

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, the lie slipping out too easily. “Just… rough day, you know?” Your voice was hoarse, still shaky from the crying.

Sarah frowned, not convinced. She stepped closer, her hand hovering near your arm like she wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if you’d let her.

"You sure? You don’t look fine."

You forced a smile, “Yeah, I’m good. Just needed some air. It’s been a lot.” You didn’t want to get into it, didn’t want to unload everything. 

She sighed, her shoulders slumping just a little. 

“Okay. But… you know if you ever need to talk to someone, I’m here, right?”

You blinked, not really sure how to answer to that, nodding away, hoping she’d drop it.

“I know I was just Rafe’s little sister,” she continued with pursed lips, “but you’ve always been like a big sister to me. Okay? Him being an asshole to both of us doesn’t change that. Ever.”

You could see she meant it. This wasn’t just some passing offer out of pity, Sarah was genuinely worried, wanting to be there for you.

You just nodded dumbly.

Sarah smiled softly with that same old Cameron determination. “Seriously. Whatever’s going on, I’m here.”

You stepped back, breaking the small bubble of comfort, you didn’t even realize you’d let her create.

“I should probably go,” you awkwardly muttered, brushing your hair out of your face and trying to straighten out your hoodie like that could somehow make you seem more put together. “But thanks, Sarah. Really.”

She just watched you with that worried look still across her face, but then she nodded. “Anytime.”

You turned to leave, feeling her eyes on your back as you walked away, your steps slow on the grass.

The loneliness had been suffocating, and even though you didn’t tell her anything, just hearing Sarah say she was there, that she still saw you as family—it meant more than you wanted to admit.

It wasn’t like anything was magically better.

You used to think this island would keep you safe forever, that it was big enough to hold your problems. 

Now, it felt like it was shrinking around you.

You were curled up on the couch, laptop balanced on your knees.

You’d googled “abortion options United States,” expecting answers, but all you found were long lists of restrictions, rules, states drawing hard lines.

You already knew that in North Carolina, you were already past the point of no return. So you kept digging, checking every single state until you found one, a random thread on some forum, that talked about New Mexico.

No restrictions on timing.

You scrolled, following link after link, getting deep into some Reddit threads, reading accounts from women who’d done it, who’d had to pack up their whole lives, fly out, handle everything on their own.

No one to tell, just a flight, a few days’ stay in a place that looked nothing like home, just to try and get back to normal. The whole time you were reading, this weird sense of relief and fear entwined in your gut. 

So you can get out of this.

By the time you shut your laptop, your head was pounding but at least you had something that felt like a plan.

The next morning, you woke up before the sun, tossing on yesterday’s clothes and brushing your hair as best you could with one hand. You scrolled through the numbers you’d scribbled down last night and dialed the first one.

You had to it straight away, without a chance of backing out. So you closed your eyes with all your might and hit call.

A woman’s voice picked up on the fourth ring.

“Women’s Health Center, this is Amanda. How can I help you?”

You cleared your throat, trying to sound normal. Like you weren’t shaking like a leaf.

“Hi. Um, I’m calling to see about scheduling… an appointment. I’m about thirteen weeks.”

“We do have availability. Our next spot is ten days from now.”

Ten days. Shit. Could you wait that long, or was that too soon? Shouldn't you think about it some more?

Maybe you needed more time.

Or maybe you shouldn’t be doing this at all.

You were already running through a hundred different what-ifs, a panicked mental list of everything you hadn’t thought through.

“Is that… is that the soonest?” You surprised yourself by asking.

There was a pause on the other end, and you could hear the kindness in Amanda’s voice.

“Yes, it’s our first available spot for a procedure beyond twelve weeks,” she informed you, “We’d also want to complete a few assessments with you, along with some necessary paperwork and counseling. I can walk you through everything if that helps.”

You nodded automatically, realizing a second too late she couldn’t see you. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

“I’ll go over a few things with you, so you’re prepared. Do you have a pen handy?”

You grabbed a random envelope and pen from the countertop, jotting down every detail.

“You’ll need a form of ID, proof of residency—we’re required to check for that. Some basic insurance information if you have it. You’ll also have some health assessments here when you arrive, mostly standard but including a psychological evaluation just to ensure everything’s covered from a health perspective.”

It was all just words, logistics. You weren't exactly processing the information, just robotically writing it down.

“There’s also a mandatory counseling session we’ll need to go through. In case you have questions, or concerns. This will all be confidential, but it’s for your safety, both physically and emotionally.”

“Right,” you said, just to say something. You didn’t know if you even wanted to talk about it, not with her or anyone. You just wanted this to be over with.

“The procedure itself is straightforward, but it’s still a surgery. It’ll last anywhere from 10 to 20 minutes, with a little more time afterward for recovery. We’ll go over any complications with you once you’re here—risk of infection, bleeding, discomfort. We make sure you’re clear on what to expect before anything happens.”

You forced yourself to nod, then remembered she couldn’t see you. “Got it. I’ll—yeah, I’ll get the paperwork together.”

"Just one last thing," Amanda added, "Given the nature of the procedure, we ask that you bring a companion along, someone to stay with you. They don’t have to be in the room, of course, but they’ll need to be present to help you get back safely after."

Your hand stopped. A companion?

"What?"

The small sense of peace was gone in a heartbeat.

You wanted to tell her that it would be fine, you’d figure it out, because, rationally speaking, who could you ask or who would you even trust with this?

"It's a requirement,” Amanda clarified, “For your safety. You’ll need someone there with you. It’s non-negotiable.”

“Right. So, like… a friend? Or…” You trailed off, trying to hide the fear overcoming your senses.

“Exactly,” she said. “A friend, a family member—just someone you’re comfortable with. It’s standard procedure for anything this involved.”

A friend. Family. Someone who could sit in that waiting room and just… know everything. You didn’t even have anyone who could know you were pregnant, let alone be with you for this. 

“The total will be around $3,500, which we typically split into a down payment and a final balance due at the time of the procedure. We can take payment in cash, card, or even a wire transfer if you need that flexibility. We’ll also require a 20% deposit to hold your spot, which you can pay over the phone now or through our secure online portal.”

You glanced at the envelope where you’d jotted down notes, biting your lip as you stared at the numbers. “Right, um, yeah, I can do the deposit now.”

“That’s perfect. One moment, please.” There was a click as she transferred you, and while you waited, you blinked down at the deposit amount. 

Seven hundred, you thought. Seven hundred dollars just to hold a place. It was nothing to you and yet it felt monumental.

A robotic voice greeted you, and you keyed in the card information, watching the screen as it processed. The payment cleared, and you felt the strangest sense of finality.

It was real, stamped and sealed.

Amanda returned to the line, “Thank you for taking care of that. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

“No, that's all. Thank you."

“Of course. We’ll see you in ten days.”

Now you were at this god for saken country club brunch. Why you even came, you had no idea.

Maybe it was a pathetic attempt to feel normal. 

You were trying so hard to look casual, like you hadn’t just been on the phone with a stranger, scheduling the most personal appointment of your life.

Thankfully, Ruthie had canceled last minute — some emergency with your cousin, no doubt. Small miracles. The last thing you needed was her crazy ass analyzing everything you did.

The spread of food on the table looked like a minefield of smells.

Just the sight of the eggs benedict made you want to hurl on your seat, and the fruity smell of the mimosas wafting through the air was…torture.

You’d kill for a sip, maybe even two. 

You were watching the sunlight catch on the bubbles, sparkling like they were tauting you. The craving was there, whispering thoughts that felt equal parts impossible and unavoidable. The idea hovered, tempting you with a cruel promise.

A few mimosas could maybe make this go away, couldn't it? Maybe you’d get lucky and this nightmare would just end on its own.

But the thought made you sick.

You could almost feel it, this new life clinging to you, sticking around no matter how much you wished it’d leave. There was some echo of a moral sense—some annoying, reasonable, voice within your head that wouldn’t let you grab the damn mimosa even though your fingers were twitching for it.

What was the problem if you were getting rid of it anyway?

You forced yourself to look away from the mimosas, knowing that just one glass might make you feel something—anything—other than this sick dread.

With an effort, you forced yourself to say, “Water, please.”

Of course, the universe just had to have its laugh, because the one bringing it wasn’t just any waiter.

It was Sofia. 

How come everyone got a break from shitty things happening to them, and you didn’t?

You must’ve been really awful in your past life.

Perhaps you were one of those medieval villains who ordered people to be drawn and quartered, or some spoiled empress tossing servants into dungeons for looking at you wrong.

How else could you explain it? Life kept pilling more shit on top of you. Or maybe it was less about karma and more about some fucked up endurance test. You were still here.

Rafe’s latest… girlfriend? Hookup? Whatever the hell they were, she had that title, and now she was in front of you, all fresh-faced, her apron hugging her like she’d just walked out of some pinterest brunch board.

Her hair was pulled back in this cute little bun, and her face held that perfectly innocent smile that made you want to scream.

She was practically glowing. 

Her skin had that effortless, sun-kissed warmth like she’d just gotten back from the Maldives or something. Not a shadow under her eyes, not a single stray hair — just this easy, perfect beauty that looked even more surreal under the soft morning sunlight.

It was ridiculous.

Meanwhile, you felt like a mess. Dark circles, a slight breakout on your chin, and an overall look of someone who hadn’t slept in… weeks? or was it months?

The last good night before nausea became a part of your daily life, and the constant anxiety kept you up at all hours, staring at the ceiling and wishing it’d all just disappear.

And here she was, gliding around like she was untouched by anything so messy, so…human.

You glanced down at your outfit, the pristine, tailored Miu Miu set from the new collection —the cropped blazer was light and airy, perfectly cinched at the waist, with sleeves just long enough to make it feel sophisticated but breezy, paired with a sleek, high-waisted mini skirt, the whole ensemble skimmed your frame effortlessly, made just for you.

You knew you looked expensive, the kind of look people envied, even if they’d never admit it. 

Every stitch, every button on this outfit screamed privilege and class, and yet here you were feeling like some tragic, half-dead version of the old you.

Why the fuck were you even comparing yourself to her? She was still a pogue, for god’s sake.

Rafe’s latest toy or project or whatever, you had no business even wasting brain cells on her. So what if she looked a little too chipper, too perfect? 

She wasn’t worth the mental energy.

Just as you forced yourself to refocus, Sofia reappeared, setting a glass of water in front of you with that same innocent, syrupy smile.

“Here’s your water,” she chirped.

You hated that sound. 

She didn't look or sound in-your-face or territorial, more salt on an open wound.

Just hours ago, you were piecing together plans to get rid of the very thing that tied you to Rafe, and now here she was. 

You gave the glass a pointed look and then raised your eyes to meet hers. “I asked with ice.”

No, you didn’t.

You were supposed to be above this kind of petty bullshit, weren’t you? But the bitterness rooted in your gut like the mimosas you wanted so desperately.

“Oh?” Her face froze, that little smile twitching just a bit. “You did? I must’ve heard wrong. I’ll be right back with it.” She looked genuinely flustered as she turned to head back to the bar, her apron fluttering behind her. 

You caught yourself feeling the tiniest bit pathetic.

An unspoken vendetta against the girl serving water? Really? You almost felt a little ridiculous… almost.

“Oh, beautiful girl!”

It was Mrs. Aldridge, an old friend of your mother’s, all pearls and Chanel, her wrinkled hands wrapped around her mimosa.

“How’s your darling Rafe? I haven’t seen you two in ages!”

Instead of thinking better about it, your eyes slid over to Sofia.

She was setting the glass down, her face draining of color, frozen mid-action like a deer caught in headlights. It was almost too perfect.

You were gonna have fun with this, putting on your best sympathetic casually as if you’d had this conversation a hundred times. 

“Oh, we’re not together anymore,” you said, tone dripping with faux sweetness as you nodded in Sofia’s direction. “She is.”

Mrs. Aldridge’s eyes widened, almost bulging out of her head as she followed your gaze, putting two and two together with the slow, scandalized horror that only old-money kooks could manage.

You could hear her brain struggling to comprehend the fact that Rafe Cameron was now involved with the server.

The other women at the table leaned in, whispering behind manicured hands and designer sunglasses, eyebrows shooting up as they stole obvious glances at Sofia.

She was still standing there, stunned, her mouth opening like she wanted to say something. You half-expected her to look annoyed, maybe give you the scathing glare you’d be giving her all morning.

Instead she looked like she wanted to disappear into the woodwork.

“Oh dear…” Mrs. Aldridge’s voice trailed off, her eyes scanning her from head to toe with the kind of judgmental precision only years of country club experience could bring.

She cleared her throat as if she could somehow undo the fact that the help had captured Rafe Cameron’s attention.

“I suppose he’s… rebelling, then?” Another old lady muttered, eyebrows raised in suspicion, already delighted by the gossip forming on her tongue.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Who knows? That’s Rafe for you.” 

You took a sip of your water, feeling satisfied as murmurs spread across the table, surprise and judgment all directed squarely at Rafe and Sofia, who looked like she might faint on the spot.

You couldn’t lie — it was the most fun you’d had in weeks.

“Such a sweet girl,” Mrs. Aldridge mused, her gaze fixed on Sofia, who was now engaging another table with her bubbly personality. “But bless her heart, she doesn’t quite belong here.”

“Definitely not,” you clicked your tongue, allowing the disdain to seep into your voice, even as a small part of you felt like a spineless bitch for feeding her to the sharks.

“New money, if you ask me. I can’t take them seriously. Remember when Ward was just a pogue with big dreams, trying to make a name for himself.”

You saw her again, just a gimplse of her still taking orders with that big grin, still doing her job.

This was exactly what you’d wanted, right?

To see her squirm in her hand-me-down shoes, to show her the world she’d trespassed on wasn’t as welcoming as she might have believed.

But your conscience decided to make an apperance, one more time, slipping in with a knowing sigh. You wanted to hurt Rafe, not her.

This was cruelty, plain and simple, the girl was only trying to survive.

She was dealing with these judgmental eyes and assumptions, probably used to being reminded that she didn’t belong, that she didn’t measure up, and you were sinking to that same level of entitlement and superiority.

The satisfaction wasn’t as sweet as you’d thought it would be. Dragging her into it was cheap, easy, like pushing someone off balance simply because they happened to be standing there.

You forced a giggle to match the others, playing the charade, but inside, something started to feel uncomfortable. You knew what it was like to be scrutinized, to have them pick you apart, to whisper behind your back.

You remembered how much it hurt.

To these people, you were only steps away from that same old judgment. If they knew about the appointment...their conservatives asses would ruin your reputation.

They’d tear into you in the same way, a scandal spread in manicured lawns and private golf courses.

Mrs. Aldridge leaned in conspiratorially, her aged perfume filling the air. “If he truly cared for her, he wouldn’t be making a fool of himself like this.” She sighed, looking at you like she expected you to agree.

You took a breath, one that felt painful, because were you really about to do this shit?

“It’s Rafe’s life,” you replied, shrugging. “Maybe she makes him happy. Who knows?”

The table quieted, a few eyebrows raised, flabbergasted that you hadn’t indulged in more snide remarks. At the end of the day, the life you wanted — it wasn’t this.

Maybe it was time to let some of it go.

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[rafesangelita]

rafe + predator/prey with bambi?

warnings: dark!rafe (he’s nice at first), bratty behavior, dom/sub themes, slight arguing, shouting, manhandling, fear play, rafe chases you around tanneyhill, hide and seek, oral (m. receiving), face fucking, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, choking, overstimulation, slapping, impact play (?), asphyxiation, lots of dirty talk, squirting, size kink, breeding kink, baby trapping threats, degradation

link: read more of bambi!reader here <3

w/c: 2.2k

rafe knew the second you slammed the door shut in his face that you had forgotten your place. all the soft, sappy sex you two had been indulging in had officially altered your brain chemistry into thinking you could lock him out of his room in his own house. “open this door, y/n.” rafe hadn’t raised his voice at you in a long time, and while he didn’t want to, it wasn’t long before he felt his patience running thin as you continued to ignore him and give him the silent treatment. you stood on the other side of the door, a pout gracing your lips as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“i’m trying to sort this out with you, baby, but you’re making that really hard for me right now..” rafe spoke gently, his fists balling up at his sides. “you know.. the last thing i wanna come home to when i’ve had a rough day is an attitude and a temper tantrum.” he attempted to twist the door knob, your heart beating in your ears when it started rattling against the hardwood. “i’ve been so good with you, i think you’ve forgotten just how fast things can change, bambi.” his words sending a shiver down your spine.

of course you didn’t want to be on his bad side, but something about the way his voice dropped a few octaves as if he was giving you a warning made you step closer to the door. “open it or i’ll do it myself.” for a moment there, you almost did as he said, your hand reaching down for the door knob before you heard him whisper something underneath his breath. “fuckin’ brat.” you froze just as your fingers grazed the cold metal. he wasn’t going to like what you did next. taking a step back, you shuddered as you watched the shadow of his feet. “n-no.” you whimpered, your heart beating in your chest.

rafe laughed, his jaw ticking as he felt anger boiling underneath his skin. “what was that? what did you say?” surely he wasn’t hearing right. “i said no, rafe!” you yelled back, running to the corner of his room that was furthest from the door. that did it. rafe said goodbye to any kind of restraint he had left, deciding you were going to learn your lesson about saying that little two-lettered word to him. rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, rafe let out a breath before backing away. “are you near the door?” your eyebrows knitted in confusion at his question. “no—”

before you could say anything else, rafe barged in, knocking the hardwood off of its hinges as your hands shot up to cover your ears. you stared at him doe eyed and terrified, his eyes finding yours as he rolled his shoulders back. “i didn’t want to do that..” he stalked over to you, wrapping a hand around your throat before pressing you against the wall, “why do you have to make me be the bad guy, huh?” you gasped, clasping a palm around his wrist. “please— i’m sorry!” rafe stared you down, his eyes nothing but two black holes as his grip around your throat tightened.

“are you? it seemed like you just wanted to piss me off back there,” he dragged you towards his bed, throwing you down before pinning your elbows to the mattress and slotting himself between your thighs, “that goddamn silent treatment, you know i can’t stand that shit.” his face was centimeters away, his breath fanning your cheek as tears welled in your eyes. “you know what i have to do now, right?” you shook your head, fear bubbling in your chest as you remembered the last time he had to ‘punish’ you. “please! i’ll be good, rafe! ‘don’t want to make you mad anymore..”

closing the distance between you two, rafe kissed you softly, wiping away the stray tear that managed to roll down your cheek. “i’m gonna give you a ten second head start to run, and if you decide to hide instead, you better make sure i don’t fuckin’ find you,” he whispered against your lips, “now, get the fuck outta here.” rafe moved aside, your chest rising and falling as you slipped out of the room, your feet skittering across the floor as you started running away from him. you swore your heart was beating a million times per second, the fear of being caught making your blood run cold.

you had barely made it to the bottom of the stairs before you looked up and saw rafe making his way out of the room. he was far too fast for you to outrun him, panic setting in as you started scouring through the halls of tanneyhill. coincidentally, all of the rooms were locked. rafe must’ve did that when you first mouthed off to him, having known how this night would end. “please, please, please!” you struggled trying to open the door to each room only to fall short when the knobs didn’t even budge. “come on..” you whined, rounding the corner of the hallway.

“you look so pretty when you’re scared.” you spun around on your heels, a half scream leaving your lips as rafe started jogging down the long hallway. running across the kitchen, and into the living room, rafe’s laughter echoed throughout the house as he chased you around the couch. “you’re gonna fuckin’ get it.” as a last resort attempt to throw him off, you grabbed one of the pillows from the sofa and threw it at him so you could run up the stairs. just as he caught it, he tripped over his own feet before you made your way into his study, crawling underneath his desk.

clamping a hand over your mouth, you panted softly through your nose as rafe’s footsteps sounded up the staircase. “so you decided to hide after all, huh?” your heart was slamming against your ribcage as he got closer. “i was really hoping you didn’t do that.” he almost sounded apologetic as he stepped into the room next door. you removed your hand from your mouth, fiddling with the ‘R’ pendant on your necklace. “if i get my hands on you.. god, you might just hate me.” just as it sounded like he walked past the room you were in, your heart dropped to your stomach when the door suddenly opened.

rafe walked around, stopping right in front the desk. “one of my favorite things about you is your perfume. it’s so sweet, it’s almost like you leave a trail behind you everywhere you go..” you didn’t even get to react before he was pulling you out by your feet, your screams echoing in his ears. “you make it so easy, baby, it’s like you wanted to be caught.” he pulled you up by your arms, dragging you out of the study and back to his bedroom. he forced you down on your knees, grabbing ahold of your chin as he fumbled with his belt.

“wanna talk back when i’m being nice to you? fine. i’ll just put your mouth to better use.” he said through gritted teeth. clasping your hands behind your back, you gazed up at him through your eyelashes. “listen to me when i say this, yeah?” he slipped his thumb between your lips, “right now you’re not my pretty little girlfriend, alright? you’re a slut.” your skirt rode up your thighs as you spread your legs, sitting back on your heels while you waited for rafe to stuff your throat full. upon his cock springing out of his pants, you whimpered pathetically at the butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

he stroked himself, a groan leaving his lips as he tapped his hardened cock against your tongue. “open that mouth, baby, you know how i like it.” you licked the tip, wrapping your lips around the throbbing head as he threaded his fingers in your hair. “i work all day, deal with my dad’s shit, fuck— all just to come home to that bratty behavior of yours..” he cursed under his breath as you took him deeper into your mouth. “ungrateful sluts like you deserve to be used like this.” you moaned around his length, your eyes widening when he hit the back of your throat.

“oh, my god,” rafe’s jaw went slack, his head tilting to the side as he watched you take him in and out of those pretty lips of yours. “look at me, give me those eyes.” you pulled away for a moment, gasping for air as you flashed your teary orbs at him. rafe didn’t know the logic behind it, but seeing you cry, so drunk off of his cock, he swore it was the hottest thing he’s ever seen. “holy, fuck!” he smiled down at you, his hips stuttering as you took him inch by glorious inch. “my greedy little cock whore, ‘doing so good for me.” you batted your eyes innocently, the action making him hiss.

“i wish you were good all the time, now i have to hurt you, bambi.” he pulled you up, lifting you off of the ground before slamming you down on the bed. you gasped at the impact, your boyfriend sliding your bottoms off before giving you a light smack across your cheek. “you’re so wet down here, baby. shit, you’re just glistening.” rafe tore your thighs apart, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off as you ran a foot down his toned stomach. he pinned your thighs to your chest, his hands resting on the back of your knees. “you want this?” he ran his cock between your folds.

your eyes fluttered shut, his tip grazing your needy clit. “please give it to me. ‘wanna be good for you again!” you cried, a sob ripping itself from your throat as he thrusted into you without warning. “fuck!” rafe covered your mouth, ripping your top off so he could watch your tits bounce underneath him. the slick sound of your cunt filled the space of rafe’s room, your cheeks heating as you listened to yourself make a mess on his cock. “so fuckin’ tight, you’re pulling me back in,” he groaned, “i might just fill you up, ‘trap you with my baby..” you moaned, unintentionally clenching around him.

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he pulled your hair, forcing you to look down at where you two were connected. you moaned, your lips parting as you watched him pull out and slowly slide back in. “this cock looks like it’s splitting you wide open,” he brought a hand down and started rubbing hard circles on your clit, “my pretty little thing.” you cried out, your back arching off of the mattress when you felt the familiar tension building in your core. his hand was damn near the size of your head, your eyes rolling back as his cock kissed your cervix with every thrust. “gonna.. oh, my god!”

rafe groaned when your orgasm hit you, a piercing scream leaving your lips as a stream of wetness soaked his lower abdomen. you laid there shaking, your nails raking down rafe’s chest as you sucked him in impossibly tighter. taking his bottom lip between his teeth, rafe didn’t slow down the work on your sensitive bundle of nerves, overstimulation setting in when you started taking the pleasure with the pain. “no more!” you gasped, your thighs closing around his waist as you attempted to squirm away from his touch. he slapped you across your cheek, forcing you to keep your eyes open.

“you’re gonna fuckin’ take it. this is what you wanted when you decided to act the way you were acting earlier, huh? shut the fuck up and take this cock.” he shoved your head into the pillows, the entirety of his palm covering your face as he chased his own high, ignoring your screams and cries. rafe watched the tears flow down your cheeks, his fingers becoming wet as he groaned at the sight. “keep crying for me and i’m gonna breed this fuckin’ cunt— ah fuckkk!” rafe leaned down, pressing wet kisses to your neck before his hips stuttered, his mouth falling open in a silent moan.

“fuckin’ hell!” he uncovered your face, admiring the pretty curve of your lips while he came, those gorgeous eyes just twinkling up at him while he filled you to the brim with his seed. rafe nestled himself deep inside of you, stilling his movements as you two reveled in the feeling of his cum painting the softness of your walls. looking into his eyes, you could see the exact moment he switched into being your boyfriend again, his gaze softening as he cupped your face, his cock still twitching inside of you. pulling out with a curse, rafe was quick to pull you against his chest.

“you okay, bambi?” he pecked your cheek, rubbing a hand against your side as you blinked, still unable to form thoughts as your body occasionally jolted with the aftershocks of your orgasm. you didn’t answer, instead you snuggled into his skin, your eyes shutting as sleep pulled at your lids. you were going to be so sore tomorrow, your muscles already aching as rafe pulled the comforter over the two of you.

[beloveds-embrace]

╰┈➤ A Harbinger’s Claim: Part Two

Spoilers for 5.1 Archon Quest, yandere capitano, captivity

Capitano brings you back “home”. It is a somber affair.

Part One

The journey to Snezhnaya is silent, except for the sound of Capitano’s heavy, armored footsteps against the frozen ground. Snow falls around you in a never-ending flurry, swirling like ghosts of a past you can no longer grasp. You don’t know how long you’ve been in his arms, cradled against his chest as he carries you away from the battlefield where you’d spent what felt like centuries lost to time. Your body is numb, not just from the cold, but from the heavy weight of resignation settling in your bones.

Capitano moves with purpose, his grip firm and unyielding, as though afraid you might slip away if he loosens his hold. But you’re too tired to run, even if you wanted to. Instead, you rest your head against his chestplate, your thoughts drifting like the snow of Snezhnaya.

By the time you reach his mansion, a grand, imposing structure buried deep within the frozen wilderness, the numbness has fully set in. The gates creak open, welcoming you to your new prison. You don’t bother looking around, too weary to take in the sheer magnitude of the place. The icy chill seeps into the walls, but even that feels muted, all your senses dulled. You’re aware of Capitano’s presence at your side, ever-watchful, as though he’s afraid you might disappear. His grip remains just as tight even if he doesn’t hurt you.

Inside, the mansion is dark and vast, but not cold. Maids silently scurry about, and you have no doubt that there are other servants working in hiding. Everything is shrouded in an eerie stillness, much like the man who now claims you as his own. He sets you down gently on a plush, dark velvet couch in front of a roaring fire. The warmth should be comforting, but you feel… nothing.

“Rest.” he commands softly, his deep voice cutting through the silence. You barely register his words, your eyes already fluttering shut as exhaustion pulls you under.

When you wake, it’s to the sensation of silk blankets wrapped around you, the warmth of the fire licking at your skin. For a moment, you forget where you are. But then you hear him- Capitano’s voice, low and steady- speaking to someone just outside the room. The tone is commanding, as always, and it makes your stomach churn. There is truly no escape, is there? Though you are a shadow of who you once were, he still remains a pillar of strength.

You force yourself to sit up, the weight of the ring on your finger reminding you of the binding promise he made..

Before you can fully gather your thoughts, Capitano enters the room. He looms in the doorway, his masked face unreadable, yet his presence unmistakable. His gaze locks onto you, and the intensity of it sends a chill down your spine.

“You’re awake,” he states, his voice unnervingly calm. He moves closer, his heavy boots echoing in the vast, empty space. He crouches in front of you, his gloved hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. The gesture, though gentle, feels like a claim, a reminder that you are his now.

“I can’t stay here,” you whisper, though your voice lacks any conviction. “I can’t be what you want me to be, Capitano.”

Capitano’s hand pauses, his head tilting slightly as he regards you. “You will learn,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve spent centuries suffering alone. You belong with me now. I will ensure you are cared for.”

You pull the blanket tighter around you, the fire doing little to chase away the coldness settling in your chest. You are only thankful that your legs don’t ache at the moment, soothed by the warmth. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” you say, your voice hoarse. “I’ve been doing it on my own for a long time.”

His masked face looms closer, his breath ghosting through the slits of his helm. “You’ve barely survived,” he counters, his voice quiet but resolute. “I’ve watched you struggle. Your devotion to me never waned, even in your darkest moments, even when Khaenri’ah fell. Now, it’s my turn to give you purpose.”

You shake your head, exhaustion clawing at your mind. “I don’t need a purpose anymore. I just want peace.”

Capitano rises to his full height, towering over you as his gaze bores into yours. “Peace will come with time. You are mine now, and I will not let you waste away.”

He turns, motioning toward the doorway. “This mansion is your home now. Every corner, every room- none of it is off-limits to you. But know this: you will never leave here without me. Your place is with me, as it always was.”

A cold dread settles deep in your gut, and yet… there’s a strange comfort in his words. After so long being alone, aimless, the thought of someone- of him- taking control is almost tempting. Almost.

“I won’t fight you,” you say softly, back to staring down at the ring on your finger. Your mind whispers of hearing him call you wife when you were asleep, but you don’t want to acknowledge it. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll ever be yours in the way you want.”

But he doesn’t give you the chance for ignorance.

Capitano’s hand hovers over your shoulder for a moment, before settling there, his grip firm but not harsh. It trails ever so slightly until he is cupping your jaw. “That will come with time,” he says, his voice like a quiet vow. “You will learn to love me again. I am a patient man, especially for you, wife.”

Capitano slowly takes off his mask, and though your heart twinges painfully upon seeing what the curse has done to his appearance, you don’t flinch away.

As he leans closer, you feel his breath against your skin, warm and heavy. He hesitates for a moment, and in that pause, you see something in his gaze- a flicker of vulnerability, a crack in the unyielding facade he wears so proudly. Then, his gloved hand threads through your hair, holding you gently yet possessively, as if afraid you might slip away.

Capitano leans down and places a tender kiss on your forehead, a soft contrast to the coldness of his armor. The gesture catches you off guard, stirring emotions you thought long buried. It’s a small break in his resolve, a glimpse of the longing he’s carried for so long.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmurs, voice low and heavy with unspoken truths. His hand holds up strands of your hair, and he kisses those, too. “You’re finally here, and I won’t let you go again.”

His words settle around you like a warm embrace, igniting a flicker of something within you- hope, perhaps, or maybe something more dangerous. In that moment, you understand that despite the chains that bind you, he too has been trapped by the weight of what he’s always desired: you. And as his lips linger near your hair, a fragile connection begins to form, one that blurs the lines between captivity and care.

(Escape… seems truly so far away from your reach. You feel breathless.)

[livelovelizz]

you make you so easy

dick grayson x reader / fluff

“Stop following me.”

“Oh, did you want me to walk beside you? Hold your hand?”

You abruptly stop walking and shoot a glare up into the shadows of the nearby alley. You currently can’t see him, but you know he’s in there somewhere.

“I am trying to go home. After a long day,” you reply, “Alone.”

Nightwing melts out of the shadows, lips in a pout. “Come on, babe,” he whines, “I said sorry!”

You just shake your head and continue walking. “Stop following me, Nightwing. I wonder what the media would think, a vigilante stalking an innocent civilian and not leaving them alone?”

Some clicking and a whoosh of the air lets you  know he’s on the chase again. Gotham has never been a particularly safe place to walk alone after dark, even after the Bats rose to the occasion. The goons and villains made it hard, for sure, but the crumbling infrastructure of the city was just the icing on the cake. Buses and the train don’t run late, leaving a long walk in uncomfortable shoes after being stood up on a date.

“The media,” comes the reply, voice dripping with pride, “would simply see one of their beloved vigilantes doing their job! Nothing wrong with that.”

God, you hate he isn’t even out of breath keeping up with you. Not like you’re walking that fast, but still. You hope he trips.

“Maybe if the media knew what a dick you are, one that stands up their partner on a date they’ve been planning for months, specifically to not be interrupted!” You snap, unable to keep the simmering anger down. Fuck, if you weren’t angry about it, you’d cry. Inhaling slowly, you curl your hands into fists with determination to not make a scene. You stomp on.

It’s silent for a moment. For two. You would have thought he left if you didn’t know any better.

When Nightwing speaks, his voice is heavy. “Look, I know. I was looking forward to tonight too, but—”

You shake your head. When you breathe out, all the fight you had left. “I get it. I do. I just— let me be upset about it. Okay?”

You don’t get a reply or hear anything, but you know he’s still keeping pace. It’s nothing he can refute anyways. The both of you kept this day clear for months. It’s not often your dates can be more than a relaxed one at home, or spur of the moment. Not that you didn’t love those kinds of dates, of course you did, but it’s nice to dress up and show up for each other. You continue on your path on the crumbling side walk, only thinking about how nice it’ll be to be out of these shoes and in comfortable pajamas, maybe drink a glass of wine or two while ignoring your idiot of a partner.

As you pass through a darker portion of the street, a figure flips down in front of you. You stop abruptly lest you crash into them, but it doesn’t matter when you trip on a stray pebble and tumble right into waiting arms.

The arms curl around you tighter, rather than letting go.

“I’m sorry,” Dick murmurs into your ear. “I’m really sorry. I told them not to call me in but, fuck…”

You stand still as he digs his face into neck. A small crackle distracts you, talking too muffled for you to make anything out, though you know what this means. A hefty sigh runs through your body and you lean your head onto Dick’s shoulder briefly before prying him off.

“Duty calls,” you say softly, staring into lifeless white lenses. You look over him. He’s tense, body standing firmly on his feet in a way you know means he’s going to be stubborn. Suddenly, he clenches his jaw and looks away from you, yet he still doesn’t leave.

Lifting a hand, you softly trace his jaw up to his mask. With a small smile, you whisper “Go.”

“I’ll be as home as soon as I can,” Dick kisses the palm of your hand, and then like a tornado, flips away in a flurry off to whatever disaster is wrecking Gotham this time. You shake your head softly and start moving again.

Before you know it, you’re in bed, eyes blinking blearily as you turn on your phone. 4:43. Why’re you—?

“Did I wake you?”

Hands crawl over your waist, gently tugging you back into a chest. You can barely register the kisses on your neck before turning around to face Dick to croak out “D’ya j’s git h’me?”

You aren’t even sure your eyes are open, but you can still see Dick Grayson through the low lighting. Even while exhausted, he radiates light. He stares at you, hand brushing hair out of your eyes. “Go back to bed.”

“Hm.” is all you can manage before darkness takes over you.

The next time you wake up, a dim light shines through the blinds and you feel significantly more awake. You yawn and stretch out your body. Sitting up, something catches the edge of your eye. You look over and jump. Leaning against the doorway with coffee in hand, stands Dick Grayson. Oversized shirt, sweatpants, barefoot with eyes still half-closed, he looks beautiful.

You narrow your eyes and look to his side of the bed. Empty. You look over at the doorway. Dick. Bed. Doorway. No Dick. Dick. “You,” croaking, you point to the figure, “Who are you and what did you do with my boyfriend?”

Dick only raises and eyebrow and walks over, hand brushing messy hair of of your eyes. “Am I not allowed to get up early?”

You shake your head. “Absolutely not. You’re supposed to still be in bed until noon,”

“Well,” he smiles before pushing a thumb on your forehead, tilting your head backwards. You straighten up and give him a look. “Get up. We have somewhere to be,”

Standing up, you reach your hands above your head and stretch. “Is it important?”

You wander to the bathroom, flipping the lights on and yawning. Dick drifts over and watches you brush your teeth from the doorway as he takes another sip. “Super important. I have a full day of making up to do with my very angry partner.”

The statement makes a wave of butterflies go through you. Washing your mouth out, you look at his reflection in the mirror. “Are you being serious?”

Dick’s reflection nods. “Very serious,” he replies, bright grin overtaking his features, “Funded by Bruce, too. As an apology.”

Now that statement makes you smile. You quickly turn around, affection bubbling within you and threatening to spill over. Stepping towards Dick, you gently push the coffee out of the way and capture his lips in a long kiss. Just as it starts to get serious– invoking a different kind of butterflies– you pull away.

Dick stares at you with a dazed expression.  “I’ll be quick,” you promise.

“I mean,” he mumbles, leaning towards you presumably to finish what you started, “We don’t have to leave right away… We could take a minute—”

A peck cuts him off. Dick immediately tries to deepen the kiss, but you just pull away and push him out of the doorway so you can close the bathroom door.

“Save that for later, Grayson,” you smirk. Just before the door shuts, you lift on eyebrow. “By the time I’m out of this bathroom, you better be ready to go. I’m not wasting a single minute today.”

The door clicks shut. You hear him chuckle and call out an affirmation. Turning back to the mirror so you can finish your morning routine, you look at yourself. Bright eyes, blushed cheeks, wide grin. You weren’t lying to him, you weren’t going to waste a single minute today. That included after you get home from your outing together. Dick definitely needed a punishment after yesterday, and you intend to make him learn his lesson all night long.

Well. You better get ready.

fin.

[florencemtrash]

In a year's time - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Angst, jealous Azriel, fluff

Masterlist of Masterlists

"But for all he knew you could have fallen for some dashing golden warrior, or found that you preferred your shiny, new friends over him - that you’d found a quieter city full of fae that stole your heart as well as your attention away from him."

Mor narrowed her eyes at the Shadowsinger, watching as he adjusted the collar of his newly tailored suit jacket and then combined his hair back with scarred fingers. 

Azriel had always been annoyingly beautiful - even during their middling years when their voices cracked and they hadn’t yet grown into their long, slender limbs - and so he’d never needed to take special care of his appearance. His hair dried in perfect waves, his skin was smooth and clean despite the scars, and his training had carved out a silhouette as strong and capable as it was alluring. So why did he keep smoothing down his waistcoat like he was nervous?

Mor darted out a tongue, cleaning up the drop of wine that threatened to fall from her ruby red lips, “Azriel? What in the Mother’s name are you doing?” 

His eyes barely flicked over to where she lay sprawled out on his bed. She had no intention of attending this ball sober, and if the near empty bottle of wine balanced precariously against her knee was any indication, she would exceed her goal before they even stepped outside his bedroom. 

He picked up the tie - midnight blue and hand-embroidered with silver thread - and flung it around his neck.

“Getting ready for the ball.” He answered blandly.

She rolled her eyes, “Obviously,” then continued to stare at him expectantly as he finished knotting the tie, folded his pocket square, and then slid his weapons into place as a last measure, cobalt blue siphons flashing from the backs of his hands. 

It clicked all at once as he strolled for the door, forcing Mor to abandon the glass and drink straight from the bottle. 

“Oh my gods.” She said, mouth agape. Her shoes clicked along the marble floors of the River House like the beating of drums. 

Azriel groaned internally. Even tipsy and wearing seven-inch heels, Mor kept up with his long strides easily, prodding his side accusingly with her wine bottle. It magically refilled itself with every jab.

“You’re trying to impress Y/n!” 

Suddenly it was as obvious as the sun rising in the east. He’d chosen the tie you complimented him on last Starfall, despite his hatred of its fanciful nature. He was wearing the silver moonstone cufflinks you’d bought him for his birthday. He’d even combed his hair because he knew you’d notice and muss it up for him.

“Mor-” He warned, color beginning to dust his cheeks. His shadows darted around the hallway, climbing the velvet curtains and peering around the corners to watch for any potential eavesdropping. 

“I knew it! I knew it!” She said, swatting him with a frustrated hand. Her red silk dress clung to her waist and thighs before fluttering out in a halo around her knees as she chased after him, aiming to slap him across the head. 

Azriel stopped in his tracks and grabbed at her wrists, desperately hoping no one else in the house had left their rooms yet. If he was really lucky, the two mated couples would be making enough noise of their own to drown out Mor’s excitement.

“Mor, stop it. And be quiet.”

“You loooove her.” She crowed, dragging out the sound. Suddenly she straightened up, hands on her hips and frowning, “Is that why you’ve been so irritable lately? Because you miss her?” 

Azriel said nothing, gave away nothing, even though Mor had hit the nail on the head in her drunken stupor. 

It had been a great honor when Thesan offered to take you under his wing and train you personally. More than a favor to Rhysand, he’d seen your healing talent and wanted your expertise to be well represented in the Dawn Court. So a year ago you’d packed up your things and said your goodbyes.

“It’s only temporary.” You’d promised him, “I’ll be back before you know it. In a year’s time.”

But a lot could change in a year. You’d sent plenty of letters back and forth to each other, and Azriel would be loath to admit that he slept with them clutched against his chest every night so whispers of your scent would chase the nightmares away. 

But for all he knew you could have fallen for some dashing golden warrior, or found that you preferred your shiny, new friends over him - that you’d found a quieter city full of fae that stole your heart as well as your attention away from him.

He was happy for you and had been the one to encourage you to move to Dawn. But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss you terribly. You’d been missing from his side like a torn limb, and Azriel had been walking through life at a crooked angle ever since. 

“I don’t-” He sighed, he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t love you. He just couldn’t, “It’s none of your business, Mor.” He amended. 

He released her wrists breezed past her, but she sprinted ahead of him, splaying her limbs out on the staircase to block his path.

“You need to tell her you love her. Tonight.” She commanded. Her words slurred out gently, the faerie wine finally kicking in when she’d wanted it to. “I mean it, Az.” 

He shook his head, “I can’t tell her tonight.” 

“Why not?” 

“I haven’t seen her in a year! I can’t drop that kind of truth on her.” 

“Yes you can!” She fought back. There was some muddled piece of information hanging at the edges of her mind, something important she needed to tell Az. But the wine held it back. Fuck. She cursed inwardly.

“No. I. Can’t.”

“Yes. You. Can.” She was practically seething, pearly brown eyes unfocused but unrelenting. She knows something I don’t, Azriel realized in a burst of shock. 

“What is it, Mor? What did she tell you?”

She blinked, dropping her arms from the burnt umber railings. His heart quickened. Had his worst fears come true? Had you found someone else in Dawn worth staying for?

“I-” Damn it. She shouldn’t have finished the second bottle. She cradled it protectively against her chest, feeling the glass cool her hot skin, “I don’t fucking remember.” 

“What do you mean you don’t remember?”

“I mean, I’m drunk, Az. And drunk Mor doesn’t remember shit.”

His heart quickened further, a crushing sense of guilt and loss wrapping around his chest like a corset and tightening. Mor at least was saved from further useless interrogation when Rhysand and Feyre bounded out from down the hallway, tastefully disheveled and looking sinful in Night Court black. 

Rhysand cleared his throat, straightening his dinner jacket and absent-mindedly straightening Feyre’s crown for her, “Everyone ready to leave?” His eyes glazed over, calling out to the last missing members of their party. 

Cassian and Nesta spilled out of their room next, the braids of her coronet slipping out and spilling over her heaving chest. Azriel tipped his head to the ceiling and cursed silently. Mother have mercy…

Nesta pulled up on the strap of her lace dress, only to find that it had been torn to ribbons. 

Cassian was in no better shape - the collar of his white shirt was smeared with lipstick, although he didn’t have the same sense as Nesta to look annoyed at the interruption to their… activities. A toothy grin bloomed on his face, shoulder-length hair tangled like someone had been yanking it for hours.

“Can’t make it tonight, Rhys.” He said. He glanced down at Nes, “I’m not feeling well.” 

“Me neither.” Nesta said hastily, slipping back behind the door and hauling Cassian inside with her like he weighed as light as a feather. Four months after their mating ceremony and they were as insatiable as ever. 

“You’re full of shit, Cass!” Rhys called out just before the door slammed shut. A muffled Fuck you! Came from within, followed by a, Tell Y/n we’ll see her at home! From Nesta. 

They winnowed to the outskirts of Daybreak Hill, landing in a field of cushiony moss dotted with pink and violet heather that stirred in the breeze like the dusk-painted clouds above. 

Feyre sighed deeply, breathing in the scent of lavender and rosewater. She loved Velaris and no one could hold a candle to the beauty of the Night Court… except perhaps Dawn. 

It was like someone had laid a mirror flat on the earth. Periwinkle skies kissed rolling sage green hills dotted with red-roofed villages and sank into lakes of pearl and lavender until it was impossible to tell where the sky started or ended. 

The Dawn Court Palace’s twisting spires of honey marble glowed brighter than the setting sun. So brightly in fact that Mor had to help shield Azriel’s eyes with her soft hands as he carried them up through low-hanging satin clouds. Dots of scarlet and midnight black soaring through cotton skies. 

His hands turned clammy and the tightness in his chest felt like a giant’s fist squeezing his heart, but he convinced himself it was the thin air that was responsible, and not the raging longing in his heart for you. Still, he had to appreciate the beauty of the red-roofed villages below, tinkering hands hard at work inside chestnut workshops filled with glistening bronze and copper. 

They dove through the columns into the open-air hall, any dampness from the mist magicked away by Thesan’s careful hands as he stepped down from the golden dias to greet his honored guests. His rich, copper-colored skin radiated light, melting with the darkness that rippled off Rhysand and Feyre’s shoulders as they shook hands and exchanged the usual pleasantries. 

Mor stretched her silky arms above her hands, catching the eyes of a cherub-faced female reaching to grab a flute from the champagne tower. Normally, Mor would have been flattered, but with Emerie at home and a wine-drunk haze over her mind, she was feeling more anxious than anything else. What the fuck was it that she was trying to remember?

Faelights bloomed above him, tinkered in the shapes of roses that gently pulsed, fluttering petals propelling them across the room in a sway of light. 

But Azriel was barely paying attention. His eyes skimmed the crowd, searching for a silhouette he knew as intimately as the ridges of his hands. 

There. 

You stood across the room, half-hidden in the stone archway beside Thesan’s lover, Herades. You bowed your head towards him in silent conversation, nursing a glass of champagne in your hand to try and cool your nerves. Azriel would be arriving soon, if he wasn’t already here, cradling the walls in search of dark corners like he was bound to do. You’d been imagining all the ways you’d greet him - with a joke, with a meaningful embrace, with a kiss. You shook her head, pushing the last thought out of your mind and focusing on Herades’s story again. 

Your laugh was a flare of light blooming at the end of a match. Azriel stared utterly captivated. Time moved slower than syrup when you finally met his eyes and smiled with an affection more precious than gold. 

“Az!” You squeezed Herades’s arm, politely excusing yourself, and then you were off. You sprang across the room in a billow of cream fabric, like milk poured into coffee. The tips of your pleated skirts were touched with blue like you’d waded out into the night sky. The color matched the ribbon in your hair, and the siphons of a certain lovestruck Shadowsinger. 

“Y/n,” He breathed out. You flowed into his arms and he gathered you into them like a bouquet of wildflowers, breathing in your familiar scent of rosemary and peppermint. Gods I missed you. He whispered in his mind, hoping that somehow you’d hear it at the end of that glowing thread.

But the hug was short-lived. Too short-lived. 

“Mor!” You sang in that melodic voice he loved so much, grasping for her next, then Rhys, then Feyre. 

Thesan looked on humbly, sighing faintly when Herades caught up to you and immediately slid to Thesan’s side. 

“Oh I’ve missed you all so much.” You said, rocking back and forth. 

“We missed you,” Feyre said into your hair. She was the one to pull away, smoothing out ribbon and giving you a once-over look. 

Your time had been well-spent at the Dawn Court. Extra color bronzed your cheeks and tinted your lips a pale berry shade. You stood up straighter, smiled a little wider, and walked with an extra height to your step. You’d always been beautiful and graceful, but it was like you were aware of it now - like you’d grown the last few inches into your body. 

“You look lovely, Y/n.” Feyre said and Mor agreed enthusiastically, commenting on your dress and your hair and your… well everything.

“Thank you,” You said, blushing, “Thesan’s treated me very well.” 

That was an understatement. He’d set you up in his personal household, paid you handsomely (even more than Rhysand paid you if that were possible), and had had the royal seamstress sew ten dresses for you to pick from for tonight’s ball alone. It was your party after all in commemoration of the advancements you’d made in child birthing practices. You’d handled twelve pregnancies alone in the past year across Dawn and Winter, all of the children delivered safely and as plump and rosy as summer cherries. 

“And you’ve repaid it to my court ten-fold.” Thesan said and held up his drink. Even Herades smiled, tawny feathers flaring out with pride. You were responsible for the safety of his sister-in-law and the birth of his nephew - hawk wings and all. 

It was a flurry of activity following the Night Court’s fashionably late arrival. You dragged Azriel and Mor up to the dais after Rhys and Feyre. Traditionally the table was only meant for High Lords and their partners, but Thesan was a unique and progressive leader in more ways than one. 

Herades and Thesan sat in the middle with Feyre and Rhysand, leaving you, Azriel, and Mor at one end and Thesan’s sister and her husband at the other. 

Azriel was eternally grateful when Mor lunged for the center-most seat, forcing you to sit between her and Azriel. You bumped knees with him, leaning close as you whispered about the Court gossip you’d managed to overhear from the cooks or discussing the progress you’d made in the Winter Court. 

Course after course appeared in front of him and disappeared, hardly touched. He wasn’t hungry for anything other than you, focusing on the crease within your brows as you tried to remember all the news you couldn’t write to him about or the twist of your perfect, flushed lips as you displayed your displeasure and your joy. 

If he believed himself to be worthy of your affection he would have whisked you away hours ago, disappearing into whichever room in the palace was yours and pressing you against the wall, lip-locked until the need for air forced him to stop. 

“How are Kallias and Viviane doing?” Mor asked, perking up at the mention of the Winter Court.

You smiled, your cheeks flushing with color, “I’m not supposed to say, Mor, so you must promise not to tell anyone. Anyone.” Mor locked her mouth and threw away the key. Your lips brushed against the sharp curve of her ear, “She’s pregnant.” 

Mor clapped a hand over her mouth, nearly upsetting the glass of wine balanced precariously on the edge of the table. One of Azriel’s shadows darted out, pushing it safely out of the way of her swaying arms.

“Stop.” She hissed in disbelief. Her golden hair seemed to brighten with her cheeks. 

You nodded, “With twins.” 

Tears flooded her eyes, “That wench didn’t tell me.” 

“She’s been busy, if you can imagine.” 

“Still!” Mor muttered under her breath, eating her food slowly and sipping on her wine quickly. She gave up on being sober the more males approached her from the base of the dais, bowing deeply with proud, puffed up chests and asking for a dance. Word had gone around about her… preferences, and far from dissuading suitors, it seemed to have been offered up as a challenge as to who could change her mind. Thank the gods Emerie had declined the invitation to join them. She would have castrated half these males in an instant, if Mor didn’t beat her to it. 

Thesan, gratefully, put an end to it once he caught onto the pattern. One sharp look from him sent them scampering back, coattails between their legs. 

There was one final male though who ignored the previous warnings, humbly bleeding out of the crowd as remnants of rose cake disappeared from the tables and the quartet swelled to include twelve musicians plus a singer. Full, cream-colored wings hovered above the ground, tawny-tipped and lush. Even Mor had to admit, with his olive skin, amber eyes, and warm honey curls he was stunning. Like liquid gold poured out of the setting sun. 

He bowed deeply, a subtle smile on his face. Azriel went rigid, seeing you lean forward out of the corner of his eye with a blush coating your cheeks. 

Mor closed her eyes and groaned. Fuuuuuuuck. That’s what she’d forgotten about. Or rather whom she’d forgotten about. 

Naemon - the golden boy who’d begun to court you seven months back. You’d dropped his name only a handful of times in your letters to Mor. Not enough times to convince Mor you were actually taken with him, but enough times for her to remember the bastard’s name. 

“Y/n,” His voice was silky smooth and kind, “May I have the first dance with you?” He asked politely. 

Your breath caught in your throat and you risked a glance over at Azriel. He looked… bored and unaffected. He reached for his glass, looking more interested in the faerie wine than the male who’d just asked for your hand. It was stupid of you to think he would care for you  as anything more than a friend, and even more foolish of you to think he might be jealous. 

You pushed away from the table and floated down the dais, taking the strong and sturdy hand Naemon offered you. The first song was too spirited and quick to reveal any true feelings. It was a blur of silks and lean arms as you wove through the sea of dancers and were gently tossed from partner to partner. But the second song was slower, more intimate. Naemon flashed a look of gratitude to the singer, who winked in return, before scooping one arm around your waist, hand flat on the small of your back. You rested one hand on his shoulder, feeling the rolling of muscle beneath his crisp linen tunic, and held his free hand. 

Naemon was a kind and gentle male. After the death of his parents, he’d all but raised his younger sister Namia on his own, relying on the money he earned in the Peregryn legion to make ends meet. It was his care for his sister that had first drawn him to you - any misgivings he’d had melting away as you grew close to Namia from among the other healers. You’d supported her throughout her pregnancy, become her friend, and served as a balm to his anxieties whenever his duties took him away for long stretches of time. 

You looked down bashfully, apologizing for missing one of the dance steps and crushing his toe, “I’m better at the quicksteps.” You explained. 

Naemon smiled brilliantly, and you couldn’t stop the faint flutter in your chest, “I can’t blame you. The slow ones can get boring. Leaves too much time for overthinking.” 

“Exactly.” Too much time for overthinking about a certain Shadowsinger.

 You’d never given Naemon any false pretenses about your feelings, always reminding him and Namia that your position in Dawn was temporary. But still… It felt nice to be courted by someone as open as him. With Naemon you never had to guess whether he wanted you or not - you knew he did. The flowers he often left in the healer’s temple, or the offers to take you out to dinner or to dances like this one proved it. 

A curl of guilt coiled in your stomach. Maybe now was a good time to bow out and return to your seat. Surely the slow waltz would be finishing soon. The-

“You’re overthinking again.” Naemon said, his full lips brushing against the sharp curve of your ear and heating the gold cuffs you wore. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, Y/n. If you’re enjoying yourself - if you like dancing with me - keep doing it.”

“Naemon-” You began apologetically.

He shook his head, “Don’t worry about me, Y/n.” He said honestly, “I just want to dance with you tonight. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

You stared into his eyes, finding nothing but truth in them. A portion of your nerves melted away and you found that when the cello began to hum out a simple tune, you were still holding onto him and letting him move you through the next movements. 

Azriel was barely holding on by a thread. Wine glass now empty and clenched dangerously between shadow covered hands. Rhys shot him a look, and when his attempts to breach his brother’s mental shields were met with resistance, he turned to Mor. 

What’s wrong with him? His eyes flashed the question.

He’s being an ass who can’t come to terms with his emotions. Mor grumbled back, sinking into her seat with a fling of yellow-gold waves. 

Rhys’s eyes went from confused to wide open as he shot a look to you across the dance floor. Fuck.

Feyre followed her mate’s attention with a look of concern, and then traced Azriel’s steely gaze to the dance floor where you were smiling reservedly up at Naemon. You two made a handsome couple, weaving a clear path through the other dancers as they parted for his magnificent feathered wings. 

Azriel stiffened. He’d never been particularly proud of his Illyrian heritage, but his wings… his wings were one of the few true beauties he possessed. But in comparison to the golden-boy warrior that smiled at you and brushed back a loose strand of hair with his soft hands, Azriel found himself lacking… once again. 

Naemon was a gentle breeze where Azriel was blistering wind. He was a wide open door, every look he gave you filled with clear affection. Azriel was a dozen locked boxes, each one nestled within the other with all the keys rusted and thrown away. Naemon looked reserved and in control. Azriel felt completely out of it, and it took every inch of willpower to keep the mating bond from driving him mad enough to launch across the dancefloor and bruise Naemon’s high, perfect cheekbones.

But then the dance ended and Naemon parted from you long enough to reach behind his back and pluck a feather from his wing. A few shocked gasps scattered throughout the room. Even Thesan and Herades looked on with raised eyebrows, leaning close enough to touch. 

The feather was a beauty - the length of Naemon’s forearm and such a pure white it glimmered like moonlight. You froze, staring down at the treasure he offered you with bated breath. 

Peregryns were fiercely protective of their wings and rightfully so. To be allowed near them alone was a great honor. To touch them was an intimate act reserved for family members and lovers. To be offered a feather?! In some circles it was akin to being gifted a thousand roses. In other circles it was tantamount to a marriage proposal.

Both offers were completely overwhelming to you.

“Naemon-” You began carefully, backing away, “I-I can’t.” 

He smiled softly, eyes flashing briefly up to the dias where the Shadowsinger had gotten up to his feet, something like desperation and longing buried deep beneath the layers of his hazel eyes. 

“Don’t worry about me, Y/n.” Naemon said resignedly, “But please, take this,” He begged, spreading open your fingers before curling them again around the feather, “For everything you’ve done for my family.” 

And because I love you, even if you don’t love me back - were the words he didn’t say aloud.

“Naemon-” A shadow fell over your feet, curling around your ankles and skirts and tugging you away like a child seeking attention.

Naemon, for all his relative youth and gentle disposition, didn’t seem surprised or affected by the Shadowsinger’s presence. Azriel hovered close behind you, eyes blown open and desperate. 

Please don’t. He silently begged. Please don’t say yes to him.

He almost melted with relief when Naemon only dipped his head in acknowledgement and kissed the palm of your hands. Even that innocent touch made Azriel’s stomach turn. 

You turned when Naemon finally disappeared into the crowd. “Azriel, I-”

You had half a mind to hide the feather behind your back, but you couldn’t do such a cruel thing to Naemon. And it wasn’t like Azriel hadn’t watched the whole thing unfold in front of him. You clasped the feather in your hands, careful not to ruffle the delicate barbs.

Azriel was no longer bored and unaffected. In fact he seemed unnaturally flustered and nervous. 

He swallowed thickly, mindful of the curious stares you were attracting. Not only had you just been proposed to, but now you were being approached by a male from your past after an ambiguous response - you’d accepted the feather, but Naemon had left alone. The court gossips would have a field day, if they weren’t already.

“Y/n,” He said, his voice thin and quiet. A mere whisper among the riff raff that was steadily building up again in a crescendo, “Can we please talk?” His wings fluttered nervously, and he shot a dangerous look at a male who came too close to you, “In private? Please?”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. You’d barely recovered from Naemon’s dramatic display and you were scared about what Azriel might offer next. 

Still you mumbled, “Oh-um… yes.” 

The words were barely out of your mouth before Azriel’s hand was on your wrist, delicately leading you through the crowd towards the archway and into the hallway beyond. Fae mingled about in their finery, happy to escape the music and the sweep of dancers. 

Azriel scowled. This was hardly any more private. 

“My quarters are further down this hall,” You offered, pointing down a sky bridge that connected the public wings of the palace to the private ones. Azriel exhaled in relief, nodding and following you as you cut through unfamiliar halls draped in rich reds, golds, and turquoises. 

You stopped at a door of solid oak, hand painted to look like it had been lifted from the pages of a storybook. Resplendent gold filigree traced the footsteps of maidens running along hills dense with colorful flora. Water trickled down from the mountain tops, so realistic that Azriel was amazed to find the handwoven carpets in your room were dry. 

You peered down the hall before closing the door with a gentle whisper. Only the songbirds nesting in the high crevices bore witness to your activities. 

You hesitated and then tucked the feather into one of the empty jewelry boxes on the vanity. Out of sight, but not out of mind. 

Azriel stood motionless by the door, watching as you closed the box and slid it back against the mirror.

“Did you say yes?” He whispered, hating the way his voice caught in his throat, “Do you love him?”

You turned around quickly, the length of ribbon in your hair rippling through the air to land on your collarbone. Azriel was upon you in an instant close enough for you to feel his shallow breathing, but all he did was trace the blue ribbon with his fingers and then push it back over your shoulder.

“I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You stuttered and your face burned with feeling. Azriel had asked you for privacy so he could ask you about Naemon? 

Azriel clenched his fists once. Twice. “The male you were dancing with. The feather-”

You blushed deeply, turning your face away to hide your embarrassment. You had hoped he didn’t know about that Peregryn custom.

He gently gripped your chin with his thumb and forefinger, pulling your gaze back to him. You blinked in surprise. For once Azriel looked… scared.

“Did you say yes to him? Please. Tell me.” 

If you had said yes he might just shrivel up into nothing on the spot. Why had he waited so long to tell you his feelings? Why had he waited so long to tell you about the bond? But if he did it now it would just be terrible timing all around. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You shook your head and Azriel’s wings dropped in relief, eyes closing as he murmured a quiet thanks to the Mother beneath his breath.

“He-it wasn’t even a real proposal. He gave it to me as thanks for helping his sister. That’s all.” 

He gave you a pointed look like he knew you were lying. There was no questioning Naemon’s feelings for you. No questioning at all.

“You never answered my second question.” 

You crumpled under his gaze. Gods, he looked beautiful tonight. Torturously so. It wasn’t fair. Naemon had loved you openly, never given you cause to doubt his intentions nor made you feel guilty for not returning his feelings. And yet here you were, still pining after the male who’d never seen you as more than a friend. A male whose intentions were never clear. A male who always made you question how well you knew him, and whether those small touches and reserved smiles and affectionate letters were just a polite kindness or something more. 

“No.” It felt wrong of you to admit it so callously, even if it was the truth, “No I don’t love him.”

Azriel looked ready to kiss the ground and something about that set a fire within you. Leave it to Azriel to ignore any romantic advances from you, to chase after other females left and right for literal centuries, and then get upset the moment another male found you appealing. 

You huffed, pushing him away harshly and crossing your arms over your chest, “It’s none of your business anyhow. I’m allowed to have my lovers and my almost lovers. And if you truly thought Naemon was proposing to me, I don’t know why you’d want to fucking interrupt it!”

Azriel flinched at the coldness in your voice, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it, Az?” You exclaimed, clearly irritated now, “Gods, you never just say what you mean.”

Azriel tried again, grasping at straws. “I would never judge you for your choices, even if you said yes to him or-I just-fuck.” 

On any other day you’d be laughing. Azriel was a male of few words, but the words he did say were always perfect and calculated. Nothing about this was calculated or thought out.

“I… you’re my best friend, Y/n. And I haven’t seen you in over a year. I just…” He cringed. Hard. Cauldron boil him. He was doing this terribly, “I was scared.” He finally admitted, and rather pathetically.

“Scared?” You dropped your arms. That wasn’t the answer you’d been expecting, “Scared of what? You’re hardly ever afraid of anything.”

He shrank away, hands clasped tightly behind his back, “That you’d leave me-us. That you’d find a reason to stay here instead of returning to Velaris. And when I saw you dancing with him tonight - the way he was looking at you and the way you were looking at him - I thought… I thought Naemon would be that reason.” 

Now you were confused and even more irate than before.

You stalked up to him, jabbing his chest with an accusatory finger, “You were the one who encouraged me to do this. You were the one constantly writing to me about the importance of making friends and “putting myself out there.” You were the one who practically shoved me out the door when I left-”

“Because I thought you wanted this!” 

“I did! I-I do!” 

“Then what was I supposed to do, Y/n?!” He cried out. His shadows, which had been held back so tightly on a leash throughout the night, exploded outward, coating the bright colors of your bedspread and the rugs and the curtains in inky black. They swirled there, as agitated and timid as their master. 

“What was I supposed to do?” He whispered again. He sounded tired. Defeated. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t hold you back from what you wanted. From the happiness and opportunities you deserve.”

“You could’ve at least said something! You could’ve at least told me that you were upset with me leaving. That you were going to miss me and that you-you-” 

That you love me and that you wanted me to stay. You shoved the thought out of your mind, slamming the door and turning the lock. Useless, lovestruck pipedreams would do you no good now. 

“Instead you just pushed me out the door and it’s been nothing but empty letters from you since.” 

“They weren’t empty.” Azriel said weakly. He’d never been a man of words or poetry, but in that moment he desperately wished he was. “And I did miss you. Y/n, I missed you so much some days it felt like I couldn’t breathe.” 

You deflated, your anger slowly ebbing away like the ocean during low tide. Sometimes you forgot that beneath all those hard-won layers of shadow and muscle, Azriel was still that little boy that had been abandoned in a cellar and taught to believe he was worthless. A waste of time and a waste of space. Nothing more than an inconvenient bastard. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you were all doing fine. That I’d come back and it would be like nothing had ever changed. I would’ve-I would’ve made time to visit. Or-or come back sooner.”

Azriel chuckled without humour. He had not been “doing fine” without you. He hadn’t been “doing fine” since the moment you’d stepped across the doorway and winnowed out of Velaris.

“You make it sound like I was going away forever.” You added softly.

“It felt like it.” Azriel admitted quietly, “I always worried there was a chance you’d decide you liked things better in Dawn. That you liked the people better. So when I saw you with Naemon I just…” His voice trailed off and he slowly backed up to your bed, sinking down into the pillowy comforter. Even the beds seemed softer and kinder here. Softer and kinder than him.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. 

He felt the bed dip beside him, your knee pressing against his in a burst of warmth. The blue tipped pleats of your dress slowly waved with his shadows as they once again curled around your feet, inching up your dress and closer and closer to your hands. Now that he was looking down he noticed the shoes you were wearing - cobalt blue with matching velvet ribbons tied up your calf. Same as your dress. Same as the ribbon in your hair.

“I wanted to believe you wore those colors for me tonight.” He said quietly, aching for your touch. Your hands were so close to his he could almost imagine that-

You covered his hands with your own, smoothing the rough skin with gentle caresses, “I did.”

It had seemed like such a stupidly hopeful choice at the time - some not-so-subtle declaration of love for all the months you’d spent apart - but when the seamstress had laid out all the dresses, you’d taken one look at the cobalt blue accents and the shoes and snatched them up in a heartbeat. 

Azriel’s eyes were wider, more open, than the moon, shimmering with disbelief and hope, “You did?” He whispered.

“I did. They reminded me of you.” You stopped looking him in the eyes. It felt like too much. Too much emotion. Too much feeling. “I missed you too, you know.” 

Azriel stayed quiet for a long while, sorting out the myriad of feelings roiling in his chest and trying to latch onto a single coherent thought. Finally he murmured, “I guess we could both work on saying things outright.” 

You laughed softly, shaking your head and wiping at the corners of your eyes, “Yes. I guess we could.” 

“We could start now.” Azriel offered hesitantly. His heart hammered away in his chest like a blacksmith at his anvil until he was sure his sternum would crack. 

You raised your eyebrows. Curious.

“The next five minutes. We say everything honestly. No holding back.” 

“I don’t know, Az. I-”

“Please.” He begged, holding onto your hands a little tighter. His shadows had traveled all the way up to your waist now, ghosting over flesh that he didn’t dare touch. He didn’t want to lose you. He’d thought he could handle being apart from you physically - that it would be no different from the decades he’d spent quietly loving you from right by your side - but he’d been horribly wrong. And he didn’t want to risk another, better male than Naemon coming to whisk you away before he had the chance to do things properly. To do things honestly.

His hands were shaking now, gripping your hands like you were the anchor to his ship trapped in raging waters, “I’ll start.” 

“Ok.” You whispered, leaning a little closer.

Azriel swallowed and tried to stop the trembling in his hands and in his voice. In this he managed quite well, falling into a rigid, flat silence.

“I love you. I’ve loved you for years now, actually.” He dared to look at you. Your lips were parted in shock and he wished he could taste them, “Is that…is that ok?” 

“Is that ok?” You repeated dumbly. “Is that ok?” You repeated a little louder, “Are you serious, Azriel?”

“Y-Yes?” He was trembling again, face open and terrified. He was offering you up his heart on a platter and praying to the Mother you wouldn’t crush it beneath those velvet blue shoes. Even if you did, he would find some solace in knowing you were the one to destroy him. He loved you so dearly that it was only within your right to do so. 

Your lips broke in a stuttered smile, opening and closing like you didn’t quite know what to do. “I never thought I’d hear you say that. I’d hoped you might feel that way but I… I was never sure. I…” You cradled his face in your hands, tracing the curve of his jaw and his cheekbones with your fingertips, “I love you too, Azriel. I love you so much.” Your voice cracked, silver gathering in your eyes no matter how fiercely you tried to blink them away, “Gods, Az, you don’t even know.” 

He gripped you close enough enough to bruise, arms locked around your waist and hands laid flat on your back. It was a sweet pain that grew even sweeter when you kissed him, searching for breath like you’d find it in his lungs. Azriel was just as desperate, ravenous even as he tugged at your clothes and flipped you flat on the bed. He wanted your lips again. You tasted like strawberries and cream, and he was starving. 

He climbed on top, slotting himself between your legs as you yanked him close.

“Your hair,” You muttered, “It’s too neat.” The next minute was all teeth from Azriel as you mussed up his hair and he grinned wildly against your lips.

“Five-” He groaned, sinking further into you when you wrapped your legs around his waist, “Five minutes aren’t-” He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at your flushed face as you gasped for breath and finally untangled your hands from his hair, “Five minutes aren’t up yet.” 

“You’ve been keeping track?” You dropped your head back on the bed with a disgruntled hmph. Had he been counting the whole time he’d been kissing you?

He kissed your chest, then the sensitive skin of your neck. But there wasn’t any expectation in the brush of his lips, just quiet, honest love. 

You raised your head, finding that Azriel once again looked scared. “There’s something else I need to tell you.” He said seriously. “Before… before anything else.” 

You drew yourself onto your elbows, craning your neck for one more kiss, “You can tell me, Az. You can tell me anything.” 

The bond sang in his chest like a songbird in a cage. It wanted to be released. To be acknowledged in words if it couldn’t be acknowledged through feeling at this moment. Because Azriel knew you didn’t feel it yet. You didn’t feel the burning he felt in his chest that made it hard to breathe when you weren’t around. 

What if she doesn’t want this? What if she doesn’t want me? Azriel swallowed thickly, tears springing into his eyes. He wanted so desperately to be worthy of you - to be the kind and gentle lover and mate that you deserved. He’d been born crooked even before he’d been tossed into that cellar, before his half-brothers had set his hands on fire. But… but he was yours completely. He’d offer whatever meager, broken shards of himself that he could in hopes it might be enough. 

“Az,” You whispered his name lovingly and slid a wayward curl behind his ear so gently he thought he might break apart into a million pieces, “Tell me. Please. Tell me.” 

“You’re my mate.” He confessed. 

The words hung in the air, unaccepted, unrejected, and you went preternaturally still. 

He had no feathers to pluck out and present to you. But he had his shadows. You tipped your head curiously to the side when Azriel knelt on the ground, holding your hand in his. 

“I don’t have any pure white feathers. I don’t even have a ring on me right now-”

“Az, you don’t need to-” You stilled when a shadow flickered down Azriel’s wrist onto yours. It was a small, delicate thing. Willful too. You could tell by the way it traveled confidently down your ring finger, curling there tastefully like a castle spire reaching towards the sky.

It hovered over your skin like mist hanging over wetlands. A proposal in and of itself.

“Yes.” You said before Azriel could open his mouth again. He hesitated, afraid to believe he’d heard you correctly, “Yes.” 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” He teased weakly. 

But this time you knew exactly what he meant, even if he didn’t say it out loud. 

The bond burst to life in your chest as the shadow sank into your skin, settling there like a tattoo. Like a promise. 

Azriel stumbled, actually stumbled, clenching at his chest at the wildness growing within him. He chased after you, hurtling down the bond and finding you wide open on the other side. You were anxious and surprised and so so so happy. So happy you felt like you might just die from it, and Azriel felt it all. 

Hello, Y/n. He called out.

Hello, Azriel. You responded. My mate. 

Azriel groaned, slamming his lips and his body against yours. You held steady as you always did, letting him press against you as if you could keep him there forever.

I am yours and you are mine. You gripped his hair again, feeling the silky strands caress your skin. With one smooth motion he pulled out the ribbon and started to undo the buttons of your dress.

Promise?

You grinned. Promise.

___________

Author's note:

Nothing like a declaration of love after a year spent apart to make my heart swoon.

But honestly I would have fallen in love with Naemon... sorry Az...

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 3; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

“What is this anyway—‘bring your girlfriend to work’ day?”

She’s snarky as ever, but with an agitated edge. Nerves prickling when Johnny holds her jacket out for her to slip her arms into. Even that makes her snap—something about not being a toddler that Johnny needs to help dress, but by then his head is in the clouds. In another place altogether. 

The prospect of getting to parade his new girl around leaves him giddy, fox-like grin hard to squash. He doesn’t suppress anything, finds it hard to push things down. When he does, it’s often unconscious. 

She doesn’t like the way he savours her anxiety like a fine wine, sniffs it from the top of her head and groans out his breath, cackling when she tries to stomp on his foot to make him go away. He dances away with her coat, light and nimble on his feet because he’s used to ducking and weaving for her affection. 

“The guys wanna meet ye,” he repeats for the umpteenth time. It’s surprising how many times he’s had to say it. 

“Why? Haven’t they ever met a girl before?” she gripes, swallowing now, her stomach probably cramping and poor bonnie lass, Johnny thinks. His poor, pretty girl is trying to put on a brave face when he knows she prefers being in the backroom of her little flower shop, snipping off stalks and tying pretty bows around pretty bouquets. He wishes he could keep her back there forever—put a lock on the door and come only to smother her in kisses and gorge himself on every inch of her—but there’s a whole wide world demanding his attention. 

“Aye, hen, never a lass as cute and sweet as ye,” he crows, ducking a hand that punches through the sleeve of her jacket in his direction. 

In the car, he drops the facade. Loses his teasing edge. It’s a violent removal, like jolting awake to the sound of someone sawing away at a catalytic converter. If his smile is saccharine, it’s really only a smokescreen concealing the apprehension bubbling away in his belly. 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the drive back to base. Heart in his throat, choking his words and rendering him quiet for once in his life. He hears Ghost’s voice in his head, a low rumbling laugh, tectonic plates shifting beneath his feet. These days, his voice acts as a lodestar, the thing steering Johnny home. 

Months ago, it was the only thing between him and annihilation, the ice cold maelstrom dragging him deeper into its maw. Guiding him through the valley of death. The wound in his arm still aches in the first light of day. His sleep is still wracked by dreams of running down alleys and ducking into houses, the rain pattering against the window panes ominous, a ticking clock, each step having to be precise, calculated, each movement quieter than quiet, fading into the shadows, a cool heart and mind bested by agony from the bulletwound in his shoulder.

And then—Ghost’s voice, low and soothing in his ear, shattering the pain. Ghost’s voice in his ear telling him where to go, how to survive. 

It’s hard to explain. Johnny’s tried. It’s like talking in circles when he opens his mouth and tries to get it out. I trust him with everything in me. He could do anything to me, anything. 

He is no less capable, no less competent. His rank demands respect, and he takes what’s due to him. Since Las Almas, he’s worked across a medley of other teams, even solo a time or two. It changes nothing. He still wakes in a sweat, chasing that voice. It takes him back into the real world. The days burn into the fringes of a memory that he is always living.

“Should I know anyone’s name before we get there?”

Her voice breaks through the noise in his head this time. It’s every bit as precious. 

“What d’ye mean, hen?” he asks, clucking his tongue. Sweats a bit when he realizes how far down the motorway they are now, how long it’s been since he checked out, lost in his thoughts. One hand rests loose on her leg, fingers spread wide and thumb gliding up and down her outer thigh, the other still holding the wheel. 

The pinched look has mostly fallen off from her face, but there’s still a tremble in her lower lip when she says, “Well, I don’t know any of your friends. I wouldn’t introduce you to my friends without telling you their names first.”

“No’ my friends, hen—we’re coworkers.”

She looks over at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m friends with my coworkers.”

Johnny shrugs. “It’s no’ the same with guys. Couldnae tell you fuck all about any of them except their names, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t give me that—you’re not friends with a single one of them? No one?”

No hunger without resistance. His mouth goes bone dry. He’d be wise to learn that. 

He swallows. “Maybe a few.”

No transaction without accountability. Ghost saves his life and now Johnny has to pay that debt back tenfold. Sinking into the crease of Simon’s voice late at night, clutching it to his chest. Breathing it out. Maybe they are friends. 

He’s a bit show-offy at the base gates, dangling his ID card out the window pinched between two fingers. The civilian guard on duty just waves him on, scanning it only for the sake of the logs. His tires spin in the dirt when he guns it down the stretch of road leading into the base, windows still all the way down. Her hair whips around in the wind until she gathers it all up in her fist and shrieks at him to roll the windows up. 

Johnny enjoys showing off. That’s a core aspect of who he is, his charm. Braggadocious, confident in the way he looks, his physical prowess, his lot in life—so why would that change with his girl? He holds her close with an arm around her waist when he drags her through the rec centre, the building closest to where they parked. 

He gets lost in conversation for longer than expected. Pure gloating about the girl he’s managed to bag. Cooing in her ear when he feels her get a bit uneasy, still timid around the other guys despite having him at her side. He supposes that’s fair. She’s more comfortable around the women on base, a bit freer with her greeting and questions, but there’s still a pinch in her brow that never smooths all the way over.

It takes a while to find anyone that he knows. There are plenty of sergeants and corporals that he’s worked with before, familiar faces and names, but Johnny still glances around the room while they make light conversation with his girl, searching. Looking for something familiar, something that’ll reel him in, make him perk up like a dog catching a scent. 

They cross Gaz in a random hallway on the way to the comm centre, hardly recognizable at first with the darker stubble of his beard grown out. He must’ve just come back from wherever he’d been shipped off to the month previous, no time to shave or clean up. He even smells of old sweat when Johnny leans in for a hug. 

“Is this—?” Gaz glances over at her just once while the question dangles in the air. He looks back over at Johnny. 

They lock eyes. A silent exchange of meaning. 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, steering her in front of him with both hands on her shoulders, showing his girl off like a kid with a new toy. Eyes glinting like, don’t say a word. “Brought her in to meet everyone.”

A molasses slow smile spreads across Gaz’s face. It’s clear why men like him always get the girl. Johnny’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “Nice to meet you—thought John would hide you away forever.”

She glances up at him through her lashes. “You talked about me?”

Gaz shakes his head. “Not as much as you’d think. Took Ghost ages to get it out of him.”

Johnny flushes. “Did no’. Jus’ ‘cause I don’ blab about everything under the fuckin’ sun doesnae mean—”

“John says you’re a florist,” Gaz interrupts, turning the conversation back to her. Her lips split up into a mischievous little grin, delighted at the turnabout, probably delighted at seeing Johnny stumble over his words.

Something about her teasing grin gets his dick hard. More points to the rapidly disintegrating belief that he doesn’t have a humiliation kink. He leans forward, pressing it into her ass, delighted himself when she shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder but doesn’t pull away. 

“So, where’s everybody?” Johnny asks casually, trying not to make it too obvious who he’s referring to. The look Gaz gives him is unimpressed. He keeps running into that brick wall, his thoughts written out on his forehead, obvious to everyone around him. 

“Everyone?” Gaz repeats sceptically. 

“Aye.” His voice is tight, warning. “Everyone.”

“Ghost’s actually on his way here now, I think. We got called over to HQ—s’where I was headed, actually.”

“I dinnae say anything about Ghost, now did I—,” Johnny grumbles, but the words dissolve in his mouth when the man in question comes into the room. 

Sometimes, Johnny has the pleasure of seeing Ghost round a corner. The split second pleasure of being the observer, of dragging his eyes up and over, his chest bursting with a light like dawn cresting behind mountains and splitting the sky. In the field, he’s often deprived of that; becomes used to experiencing the phenomenon of Ghost melting out of the shadows, sometimes scaring the daylights out of him. 

It’s what happens now though. Glancing up on a whim only to see a man round the corner of the hallway leading out of the rec centre, shirt stretched out maddeningly over his arms and chest, muscles bulging like he just came from the gym, still pumped. The shirt’s a little threadbare, something old and worn, and Johnny’s seen it a million and a half times he figures; it leaves so little to the imagination that he’s joked about Ghost busting it at the seams from time to time, only to be met with a steady, aloof stare. 

There’s something to be said about how he’s drawn to people who refuse to scratch him behind the ears until he’s more than proven himself. He works tirelessly for Ghost’s approval, for his girl’s approval. Dogs with their bones, tigers with their stripes. 

He has a balaclava pulled over his face, just a simple black one this time, the underside of his eyes darkened by eyeblack hastily scrubbed off the night before, probably. His eyes scan the crowd, locking on Johnny and Gaz almost instantly. It’s the mark of a good soldier—he doesn’t flounder in the dark. Always finds his target, like a sixth sense for knowing when he’s being watched. 

Ghost course-corrects upon noticing them, crossing the room in a handful of seconds. The curt, “Johnny,” he gets is a bounty, a treasure. He grins back when Ghost glances down at the girl at his side. “That your bird?” 

“Told ye I’d bring her in—s’long as everyone’s on their best behaviour, of course.”

Gaz snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Ghost must cock an eyebrow because he can see the fabric of his mask shift. “Pretty.”

He can’t help the way he preens at that. Tucked away by his side again, Johnny can feel his girl squirm, but he pays it no mind. She’s shy—he’s known that from day one, from the first time she stumbled out from the back of the flower shop and scrunched her nose up at his attempts at flirting. 

Admiration is a smooth, buttery feeling. It keeps him aloft while another couple of servicemen take interest in their conversation and come over, Johnny’s girl at the centre of everyone’s attention. He’d be pricklier about it if he didn’t have a firm hand on her waist, keeping her pressed to his side. 

He soaks up the attention. Drinks it up when someone asks his girl a question and Johnny answers for her or pinches her cheek when she manages to pipe up before him. He knows he’ll get read the riot act when he takes her back home later, but he might be able to convince her to ride him while berating him for talking over her. Might beg her to slap him and spit in his mouth—say it’s the only way he’ll learn his lesson.

Dirty dog.

It strikes him that maybe he’s picked up some bad habits in recent months. He’s never been one to overthink, to worry and fret. Yet, he toils in it now, shovels coals into the furnace of it and gives it life. 

His shoulders go slack, the tension finally ebbing out of him. No longer dogged by the incessant fear that his girl is going to run away, bolt at the first loud noise, or that someone’s going to pluck her up out of his arms. She seems comfortable if anything. 

He’s been overthinking all of this, wrapped up in his head. He can breathe out, unclench. 

When Ghost shifts to stand closer to them, he glances over because that’s where his gaze always goes these days. Seeking Ghost out, finding him in a crowd; looking for his North Star wherever he is, wherever he goes. 

Only to watch in mute horror as, in plain sight, not trying to be discreet or hide it from anyone, Ghost gropes his girlfriend’s ass in front of everyone on base. Just reaches out a big hand and fondles her ass, digging his fingers into the cheek. She freezes, back ramrod straight as she stares ahead, eyes going a bit blank. 

He fails whatever test this is, mouth too dry for any words to come out. Humiliation burns him from the inside out. Another sergeant that he’s worked with before frowns, glancing over at Johnny. Neither of them say a word. 

Ghost tilts his head, staring down at his hand on her ass like he’s contemplating its plushness. Admiring it. With how Johnny stands on one side and Ghost the other, the two of them bracket her, like the soft centre of their trio; nowhere for her to go, a handler on either side. That’s wrong though. Ghost is not her handler—Johnny hardly is, more of a self-appointed one. 

Still he—

He lets it happen.

Contention dies a bloody death in his mouth, massacred. Mangled. He lets Ghost sink his fingers into his girlfriend’s backside and hum a little under his breath before finally pulling his hand away. The others look at him, waiting for Johnny’s reaction with bated breath. A reaction that never comes because it gets strangled in Johnny’s throat. 

“Nice meeting the bird,” Ghost finally says, voice a decibel lower, rough enough to scrape. “Gaz and I’ve got shit to do now. Be ready on the tarmac by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow, Johnny.” 

He grips Johnny by the shoulder before heading off, like he didn’t just grope Johnny’s girlfriend. Like he didn’t just reach down and grab a handful of her ass like it was his to feel up. And Johnny just nods. A placid, docile thing under Ghost’s hand, bobbing his head like a doll. 

Then Ghost leaves, Gaz trailing after him, looking back about a half dozen times to see if Johnny will suddenly follow them until he’s forced to job to catch up to Ghost, the man already yards away, longer legs carrying him fast out of the building. 

They don’t talk on the drive back to her apartment, the inside of the car tense and uncertain. Johnny walks her to the door when he lets her off, but it’s a formality, a chaste kiss at the door instead of the rough fuck that he’d envisioned to send her off. Despite the hard set of her jaw, she doesn’t lambast him like Johnny expected. The silence is worse though, haunting when she shuts the door in his face. 

The drive back to base after the drop off is agonizing in a whole new way. Still pent up, cock heavy in his pants, and fingers drumming over the steering wheel twice as fast now. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What he wants to do is turn around at the closest gap between both sides of the motorway and speed all the way back, knock on her door until his knuckles blister and bleed, until she opens the door and lets him in, lets Johnny push her to the floor in the entryway and spread her legs, welcoming him in. 

Until she lets him fit his fingers into the marks left behind by Ghost’s hand. 

Cold fire rising up off his bones, and then something hot. And wet. 

The next day at breakfast in the mess, one of the guys says something like, “If Ghost was into my girl, that’s the last you’d see of me and her,” and his mind goes blank and he goes over the table.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Bacchanalia

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.2k words

Summary: At one of Rome's debauched celebrations to the god Bacchus, you and a handsome, masked stranger have a little celebration of your own.

Warnings: MINORS DNI this fit is 18+, smut, porn with no plot, implied orgy (it's happening in the background somewhere lmao), masquerade type setting, oral (m and f receiving), shenanigans with wine, fingering, unprotected p in v (you better not try this at home), creampie, swearing, aaaaand I think that's its but lmk if anything else lol

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The atmosphere was heady, perfumed with sweet violet, myrtle, and the musk of sweat-slick bodies. The air was thick and smoky with incense, giving the vast room a dreamlike quality. The warm flicker of candlelight casted long shadows of writhing forms on the walls, moans and other sounds of ecstasy drifting to your ears as you passed by a couple of curtained siderooms. 

Still, nothing really seemed to pique your interest enough to get involved. At least, not yet.

It wasn’t your first Bacchanalia, so you already knew what to expect, but you were even more thrilled at the fact that everyone was wearing a variety of different masks. Even the naked servants carrying trays of wine did not show their faces. Pleasure did not always need a name, after all. Without it, one could be whoever they chose, if only for a few hours. 

Your mask was meant to represent Diana, lunar goddess of the hunt. You walked slowly and deliberately through the halls of the estate, doing exactly that, except you weren’t entirely sure what you were hunting for.

You passed an archway that led to the gardens and saw a couple of lovers playfully chasing each other in the moonlight, wearing the faces of nymphs and satyrs. You huffed with amusement, leaving your empty cup on a passing servant’s tray and continuing on your way.

Your eyes skirted past Jupiter who was clearly trying to get your attention, but his disappointment was short-lived as Juno came to lead him away. You sighed, following an instinct that led you down another hallway across the atrium.

And suddenly, rounding the corner, you saw a stag at the other end of the hall – or at least, a man who wore the mask of one. The two of you seemed to spot each other at the same time, freezing on the spot. Time seemed to condense into just that moment, while you assessed one another.

He was tall and statuesque, built like the beautiful Adonis. He wore a loose, artlessly draped toga, revealing most of his lean, muscled torso. The thought of him wrapping those strong arms around you, lifting you or wrangling you into different positions, immediately came to mind. As if he could sense your thoughts, he smiled, an eager invitation to make fantasy into a reality. 

You huffed once again in amusement, curiosity finally overtaking you. Like you, he didn’t seem to be accompanied, but that was all the better in your eyes. Something about him seemed to stir your greediness, unwilling to share the bounties of your hunt.

You pantomimed retrieving an arrow from a quiver at your back, notching it to an invisible bow and drawing it back, then releasing it with a splay of your fingers. He reeled back as if struck, clutching the imaginary wound on his chest and falling to his knees.  Your chin was raised triumphantly as you stalked towards him, looking down to see a pair of crystalline eyes staring back at you through the holes in the mask.

There was a spark of mirth in them, reflecting your curious desire. You grabbed his bearded chin with one hand and leaned in,  your eyes drawn down to the slight heave of his chest. A smirk pulled at the corner of your lips.

“Got you now,” you said, voice low. “Come with me, my trophy.”

You turned to lead him away, glancing back flirtatiously as you let your tunic slip off your shoulder. He scrambled to his feet, following behind as you searched for an empty side room. You beckoned him into the first one you found, slipping inside, and he took some wine from a passing servant before joining you.

The room was darker than the hallway, with only a few candles illuminating one side of it. You let your tunic fall to the ground just as he entered,  warm light flickering over your skin. He stood there for a moment, stupefied at both your beauty and your boldness. He felt himself the tribute to an actual goddess, blood already boiling even if he hadn’t even touched you yet. 

He approached, raising the cup of wine to your lips so you may drink. His free arm snaked around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. Instead of drinking some himself, though, he raised the cup above your heads and poured the rest of the wine on both of your chests. You gasped, taken by surprise, and he tossed the cup aside carelessly.

He buried his face in the crook of your throat, licking the droplets that had spattered there as you pulled at his toga, clumsily undoing it. His eager tongue lapped at your clavicles and sternum, moving down to the swell of your breasts. But before he could get there, you pushed him back only to get your mouth on him, too.

The wine tasted even sweeter on his skin, especially when you heard the soft little moan in his throat. Unable to resist, you bit one of his pecs, tongue swirling around his nipple. He sucked in a breath, kicking aside the fabric of his toga as it fell to his feet.  He gently tugged your head back by your hair, his lips meeting yours ferociously.

You weren’t sure if your head swam from the wine or the kiss, but you submitted to it all the same. His arms enveloped you once more, his tongue dragging over yours, eliciting a soft mewl from you. You felt a sort of frenzy overtake you, the impulse to devour him whole threatening to consume you. Especially as there was a rather pressing distraction between you, bumping against your navel.

You cupped him in your palm, smiling against his lips as his breathing hitched. “Someone’s excited.” 

“H-how could I not be?” he rasped, head tilting back as your lips went back to his chest. “Who else can say they’ve been ravaged by the fierce Diana herself?”

You chuckled, flattered at his words. “No one, of course.”

You left a trail of searing, open-mouthed kisses leading downward until you were on your knees in front of him. You kissed one hip bone and then the other, repeating the teasing process with his thighs. His erection pulsed in response, demanding attention. In the low candlelight, you could see a glistening bead of precum on the tip of it, lightly smearing near his belly button.

You flattened your tongue and licked the underside in its entire length. He shuddered, thigh muscles clenching as he resisted the urge to guide your head. You teased the tip with a few kisses, swirling your tongue around it and tasting his arousal. You gripped the base as you took it in your mouth, his deep groan nearly giving you goosebumps. 

One of his hands hovered just behind your head as it bobbed up and down, taking more and more until you could feel the tip at the back of your throat. He murmured expletives, his eyes screwed shut. But before he could get too close to the edge, the muscles of his lower abdomen already tense, he pulled you back by the hair as he bent to kiss you. 

His tongue invaded your mouth, tasting traces of his precum. Given the mess you’d been making of him, a debauched string of saliva connected your lips as he pulled back slightly to look at you. You grinned, biting your lip, your hand still stroking him. He placed a hand over yours to keep it in place, drawing in a long breath.

“Not like this,” he husked, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. “Let me have my turn.”

You slightly tilted your head to one side and nipped at one of his fingers playfully. You could feel your own arousal drip onto the floor, more gathering between your thighs. The least he could do was help clean you up.

“Come here, then,”  you said, rising. 

You had him sit on the floor, his back against the wide couch on the other side of the room. You drew closer, practically cornering him, and propped a foot on the edge of the couch by his head. You enticingly slipped your fingers through your slick folds, feeling his hot breath against your cunt as he lifted his head.

“Fuck,” he groaned, tongue tracing your inner thigh, followed by his teeth. “Sweeter than wine…”

“And there’s more where that came from,” you rasped, fingers threading through his hair so you could press his face against your cunt. 

He lapped you up with gusto, using lips, and tongue, and teeth to savor you properly. He gripped your leg for support, keeping you in place at the same time. Your head tipped back as a moan was wrenched from your throat, your hand keeping a tight hold on him. Absently, he stroked the head of his cock ever so slowly, keeping himself teetering on the edge. But he wanted to save it for the best part, when he’d be buried deep inside you, your bodies melding into one another.

Your hips rocked back and forth against his face, seeking the added friction. He moaned against you, feeling like he could stay there for hours, drawing out your honey and worshipping you. Quick little flicks of his tongue against your clit make heat spiral upwards from your navel, your legs beginning to tremble.

You held onto his head as a choked sound escaped you. You gushed on his tongue as you came, a few more erratic drags of your hips to fully ride it out. Your cunt clenched around nothing, achingly empty, but not for much longer. You were still dazed when he decided to take over control, grabbing you by the hips and turning you around to bend you over the couch. 

One of his hands pressed your head against the mattress, keeping your hips hiked up. You leaned into his touch as you felt him palming the swell of your ass, making you squeal a little as he bit the supple flesh. He teased the entrance of your cunt with the tips of his fingers, humming pensively.

“Seems like you’re more than ready for me…” he purred, a teasing edge to his tone. “Shall we try it out? Hmm?”

You could only nod desperately, hips wiggling as he pulled back to situate himself behind you. He dragged the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your slick, and lined himself up with your entrance.

“Nice and slow,” he said, pushing inside. “That’s it. Oh, you see how you’ve got me? How I’m aching for you?”

You gripped the cushion under you, nearly overwhelmed by the delicious stretch that bordered between pain and pleasure. He felt impossibly deep at that angle, hitting a spot that had your eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

“Gods,” you mewled, voice tight. “You’re so big.”

He chuckled, the sound melting into a low groan as he kneaded your ass with his hands greedily, spreading you to get a better look at his cock sliding inside your cunt. “And yet you’re taking me perfectly well.”

He was in no rush at first, keeping his thrusts shallow until you grew more accustomed to him, enjoying the velvety warmth that enveloped him. You pushed your hips back to meet his thrusts, his grip on them tightening. He was trying hard to stave off his growing pleasure, but you felt so good that he knew he wouldn’t last too long. He murmured praises as the snap of his hips became faster, obeying your pleas to go harder.

“Give me another one,” he pleaded in return, leaning more of his weight on you, pinning you down. “I want to feel you properly this time.”

You didn’t have much choice but to take it as he pounded into you, rough, feral noises escaping him every time he bottomed out inside of you. Your teeth sank into your forearm as you came apart a second time, dark stars dancing across your vision. 

He husked an encouraging ‘there we go, there’s a good girl’ close to your ear as he felt you clenching around him, pulling him along into oblivion. He stayed buried to the hilt on his last stuttering thrust, his grip on your hips bruising as he filled you with his spend.

His hand rested on the back of your neck like a mark of ownership, his cock twitching once more at the imagery. But you both needed to recover your strength first, and so he collapsed on the couch as you rolled over onto your side.

You looked at each other for a moment, sharing a soft, exhilarated laugh. He pulled you closer, one arm draped over your waist. In any other instance, with anyone else, this sort of intimacy with a complete stranger would seem off. But there was something about him that made it feel almost natural, and therefore you welcomed it.

“Who ravaged who, in the end?” You joked, making him chuckle once more.

“Let’s call it a tie for now,” he said, fingers tracing your back. “After all, we still have plenty of time to decide who the real victor is.”

You huffed, tracing his lips with your thumb. “Something tells me you think it’s going to be you.”

“Well, if there’s one thing you should know about me,” he said, nipping at your thumb. “It’s that I don’t like to lose.”

“Oh, is that so?” You countered, pushing him onto his back and grinning like the cat that got the cream. “As it happens, neither do I.”

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[delirious-donna]

The Demon King & His Princess [Sebastian Michaelis]

an: I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for months and it’s time I had a clear out. This demon could tell me stories any night he wants…

pairing: Sebastian Michaelis (demon king AU) x female reader (princess)

warnings: nightmares, storytelling turned steamy, fantasy AU, smut, NSFW

Masterlist

The darkness was pure—heavy and suffocating. It wrapped like a noose around your slender throat and squeezed tighter and tighter. You couldn’t draw air, couldn’t struggle from the iron-tight hold.

You jolted upright. Fire burned in your lungs as if you had been suffocating in your sleep and you touched feverishly at your neck but felt nothing amiss. Disorientation made your head spin, eyes scanning back and forth in an attempt to make sense of your surroundings and what had happened.

In bed.

You could feel the mattress beneath your backside and legs, the heavy weight of a rich duvet covered your midriff. That was at least a comfort. If the only one you could find. The beat of your heart ached against your ribs. It hurt to take each shuddering breath as if you had broken the surface of icy waters. The air froze in your chest, and you clutched blindly at the sweat-dampened nightgown in desperation.

Your saviour was not far…

A presence at your side made you jump anew, but soon your shoulders sagged with relief as two familiar hands held you tight. The touch was cool and soothing. You let yourself be drawn into a strong body whilst you continued to tremble like the last autumn leaf.

Slowly, and with the utmost care, you were lowered back to the sheets. Soft-spoken words sounded distant, called over the crashing waves of your fear but as the seconds ticked on, they became clearer.

“Come back to me… can you hear me, little one? You are mine, come back.”

Sebastian.

It was Sebastian who pressed his face into your hair and whispered gentle yet firm words into your ear. It was he who wound his arms around your chest and lodged his body tightly against your back. His warmth chased away the shivering chill from your skin and the even beat of his heart that settled your own into a normal rhythm.

“Sebastian…”

“I’m right here,” he soothed in his low authoritative voice, barely above a whisper. Deft fingers stroked the apple of your cheek. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Your chin tucked low into your chest, a shy shame washing over you for goodness knows why. A nightmare was out of your control after all, so why try to deny it? Sebastian slid a finger between your chin, bringing your face back up to his. At last, you nodded slowly and averted your eyes.

“Want to talk about it?” He asked.

Whatever had caused such a blinding panic had already mostly melted away, the memories new fleeting and entirely disjointed. In honesty, you couldn’t quite recall the events of the dream, other than remembering the sensation of being choked of breath.

“I… can’t remember. I think I’d rather forget.”

You pressed your eyes shut, snuffing out the lone candle on the nightstand that illuminated the darkness of the bedroom. At heart you wished away the sense of lingering panic that beat just beneath the surface, threatening to surface at the smallest jolt.

The Demon King hummed a faint melody, a tune that seemed reminiscent of one you had heard many years prior.

His long dexterous fingers massaged at your skin through your silky nightdress, the midnight black fingernails a stark contrast against the pure white.

“Shall I tell you a tale? It might help you to… forget.”

In your disarray, you missed the faint trace of heat in his voice. Had you noticed, would your answer have been any different? Not likely. Be that as it may, you accepted his offer regardless and his smile was not merely comforting any longer—not that you could see it with your face tucked into his chest.

With a soft sigh, you rolled back your shoulders to better settle yourself into his protective embrace. The flicker of the candle painted long shadows upon the nearest wall, and you glanced up at your handsome beau without a trace of fear. His hair fell in a black curtain around his face, eyes closed as if at rest–although you knew better–and his smile had returned to docile.

“Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who loved to roam the lands her family ruled over. Her curiosity was mischievous and might have been considered reckless for she often wandered unaccompanied.”

Sebastian spoke in soft dulcet tones, and you wondered where this story was headed. It sounded rather familiar, intimately familiar…

“One day,” he continued, aware of your narrowed eyes aimed in his direction but ignoring it in favour of speaking calmly, slowly. “The princess came upon another person out in the forests near her home.

Yet, to her bewilderment he was not a person, but a Demon. She should have been scared, fearful of a creature she had been warned was wicked with only evil in their heart, but she wasn’t.”

He smiled indulgently. Reminiscing fondly at how brave you had been that day. In honesty, he would call it foolish, but luckily for you, this particular Demon was instantly enamoured with you.

“Instead, the sweet yet naïve princess befriended the Demon and soon they would spend hours traversing the lands with the Demon showing her places she didn’t even know existed. Sharing secrets that his kind would likely condemn him for brazenly putting his trust in the young mortal.”

Butterflies erupted in the depths of your stomach, flitting around in energetic bursts at the memory of those long-ago days. The hours that easily slipped into days, the warm sunshine on your face and the excitement of newly discovered secrets. You would forever be grateful for the trust Sebastian placed into the cradle of your hands, the knowledge he chose to share when you warned it might be frowned upon.

He pressed a kiss to your temple as if he sensed your gratitude. “It wasn’t long before an attraction grew between the pair, and in short, the Demon was besotted by the exquisite beauty of the princess and the purity of her heart and soul. At this realisation, he revealed himself as not simply a Demon, for he was the Demon King. A Demon King in love with a mortal princess.”

You squirmed against his strong body, heat warming your cheeks. Sebastian wouldn’t allow you to turn in his arms, tucking you further into his hold. He planted his hands on the soft curves of your waist whilst he continued to purr his story into your ear.

“Sebastian…”

He shushed you softly, his lips traversing the gentle slope of your shoulder to press a gentle kiss to your sweet-smelling neck. You could feel his smile against your skin, knowing and growing wider when your pulse began to race faster.

“The Demon King rejoiced in the knowledge that his attraction and love were returned in equal measure, and the night he first took her to his bed was a night he would never forget… Not in all his long years of existence had a night so special occurred and might never again.”

You could only moan, the sound long and drawn out when his hands roamed your plush curves. One palm stroked up and down your side until the fairly modest hem of your nightgown was drawn high enough that his fingertips could ghost lazy patterns on your skin.

The other cupped your breasts lightly through the shimmery fabric, his warm breath caressing and causing you to shiver deliciously from his attention. These shivers were different to the ones caused by your earlier nightmare—now long forgotten. They tingled pleasantly and led to a growing wetness between your clenched thighs.

“The princess was supple beneath his touch and reciprocating to his actions. Despite the power he wielded, the Demon was gentle in his exploration. He whispered of the naughty deeds he wished to enact, and of how he desperately wanted to open her up like a blooming flower to bathe in her arousal. When his touch reached her most intimate area, the Demon King had growled aloud, finding her wet and wanting. His restraint tested in a way he hadn’t experienced to date.”

Sebastian’s melodious words mirrored his actions to perfection. A low growl that sounded like distant thunder echoed within his chest, and you gasped—thrilled. One bold finger swiped over the seat of your cotton panties and found how your lust had soaked it through.

Your eyelids fluttered shut, hips undulating eagerly. Waiting… wanting… just like the princess.

You reached out an arm, blindly searching behind and finally sinking your hand into his long lustrous hair. You played with the strands, tugging them impishly until your fingers delved deeper so your nails could scratch against his scalp.

“His cock had throbbed for the princess, straining against his undergarments and desperate to find solace in her tempting heat. Of course, he had to ensure she was properly prepared for such an intrusion,” he whispered, pausing for a moment to tug on your earlobe with his teeth.

His hips drove upwards, making you painfully aware of how hard and ready he was right now, never mind in the story. A dark chuckle floated to your ear; the amusement halted the subtle glide of your lower half, but it was only a moment until he guided your hips back into a slow rhythm against his clothed cock.

“The Demon King had ripped through the princess’s panties to her shrieks of surprise, for surely she had not known the strength of the male she had allowed to touch and taste her virgin body.” You groaned in memory. How nervous you had been, but so very ready, almost desperate.

“Her breasts were perfection, filling his palms exactly. With pebbled nipples so sensitive to the fingers that played with them, rolling the delicate buds between finger and thumb before tasting them in turn. A firm hand supported her spine which she arched to press herself further into his greedy mouth. The suckling sensation made her dizzy and mewl like a cat in heat. He turned her skin sticky and shiny with his spit, biting and nipping at such tender flesh until the princess tugged boldly on his mane of hair.”

Your fingers twitched in mischievous want to fist his silken black hair, to haul his sinful lips to yours and silence the story in favour of creating a new one. “The lovers spent an age exploring their bodies, learning what made them moan and what caused their toes to curl in delight. When it was time to taste her sweetness, the Demon King felt like a youngster again, worried he might come undone before he could take her fully. Never had he seen a pussy so pretty and perfect–made for him alone.”

On these words, Licht finally rolled you to your back and let your lips unite. The yearning between you was palpable, your fingers grasping and clutching at his strong shoulders until you were twisted like ivy around his lithe frame.

The brush of his cock–still concealed behind his pyjama trousers–against your bare slit was electrifying. The ripped cotton from where his finger had pushed through the fabric clung to your slickness, and you did indeed rub on him like a cat in heat.

Sebastian worked his hand between your bodies, spreading your open and smearing the sticky strands of your arousal over your skin until he was toying with your jittering little clit. His mouth was hungry slanted atop yours, devouring and commanding the space you shared.

You weren’t quite the shy little flower he described in the story; experience had strengthened your resolve and bolstered your confidence. Enough so that you sucked his bottom lip between your own, drawing the skin taut before releasing it with an audible pop. He growled low in his throat, admiring your shuttered eyelids and smug little smile.

Gods, how you wanted him, but he broke away, much to your frustration, to continue his story. A slow methodical finger circled your soaked cunt, grinning when you clenched around nothing but air.

“The enamoured Demon softly stroked over the princess’s unsullied silky folds, so pretty and engorged from the pumping blood of her desire. Slick rushed to meet his fingers and he couldn’t resist sucking one into his mouth for a taste. With that, he was addicted. He knew that he would never get enough.”

Sebastian held back a moan as he spoke the words. He could feel the weight of them, the truth that lay behind each syllable. To this day, he wasn’t certain you understood the magnitude of his love. He was a creature who most believed incapable of loving anyone but themselves, but he could find no other way to describe how he felt about you.

“Please…”

Eyes of regal burgundy flashed in the dark room and it shook a breathy whine from your throat. On a slow thrust, two fingers slide inside to stroke your velvet walls. His honeyed voice deepened, one forearm braced directly next to your head whilst a knee spread your legs further apart and his fingers fucked you with strokes that quickened hastily. Sebastian was losing control and that tightened the desire in your belly all the more.

“Mm, that’s it. You’re sucking me in, can you feel that? Such a greedy pussy, you want something other than my fingers, beloved?” he asked with a smirk.

You rolled your neck against the fluffy pillows, sinking deeper and deeper into decadent pleasure. “Mhm, please,” you admitted, biting deep into your bottom lip.

“The Demon King brought the beautiful princess to orgasm using only his mouth and dexterous fingers. Stretching out her tight walls in readiness for his throbbing cock. How he had hissed when she had tentatively touched it, dainty fingers encircling the girth and giving an exploratory pump with her fist.”

As he narrated, you complied with the words and reached down to free him from the confines of his sleepwear. Your thumb swiped through the beads of arousal and used it to coat his shaft.

Sebastian was heavy in your hold, a groan echoing from the depths of his chest. “Do–do you remember how the story ended?” he asked, thrusting into your grip at the same pace he thrust his slick-soaked fingers into your pussy.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” you managed, sounding far more composed than you actually felt, “But I’m certain that the devastatingly handsome Demon King–you missed that part out–made love to the princess until the sun broke over the horizon.”

With ease, Sebastian withdrew his fingers and sucked them into his mouth until they were clean. His weeping cockhead notched at your entrance and your hips strained to force him inside.

“Mm, indeed. Let’s reenact that part, shall we?”

His pelvis met yours in one forceful push. Your spine bowed off the mattress when his head dipped to suckle on your pert nipples through the taut satin of your gown.

Your eyes roamed his handsome face, his expression veiled as it often was, but it slipped when your legs wound his lean waist to push him even deeper. The mask dropped to expose the control he was struggling to hold on to. The Demon King was leashed to your hand, a power he had never given to anyone else in his centuries of existence. He was yours as much as you were his.

Sebastian remained true to his word; he worshipped you exactly as he had on your very first time together. Nothing could truly portray what had transpired on that fateful night, the unity and promises made, but it still brought tears to your eyes to be reminded. Your Demon lover stole the air from your lungs, the sanity from your mind and the love from your heart.

From that night forward, you made a conscious effort to ask for more bedtime stories and not only on the occasions you had nightmares.

What wicked words could fall from the prettiest of lips…

[nerdlvr]

bday sex w jaehyun

(MDNI)

idol jaehyun x reader , established relationship , jae is the best bf ever , inspo from his song unconditional cause that songs insane. , grinding , tit play , vaginal juice mentions , jaehyun is a romantic , pussy eating , face riding kinda , no form of penetration , kissing pussy juice covered jaehyun , for my beautiful birthday anon !

“happy birthday to my pretty baby.”

he brushed a stray hair away from your face, a wide smile on his face.

“you didn’t have to do all this jae, really.”

you sat cross legged on your shared bed, rose petals adorning the sheets and the floor. the room was dimly lit, only a few candles casting shadows on the walls. you were surrounded by floating balloons and bags of presents, prada printed neatly in the front of each bag.

he raised an eyebrow in confusion, his lips turning down in a frown,

“all of what? this is nothing, trust me.”

“jae-”

he cut you off with a kiss, his hands pulling you into his lap,

“stop that. this is nothing compared to what you deserve. let me spoil you baby. just this once?”

you sigh against his chest, hands coming up to cup his face,

“jae, you say this everytime. and then do the exact same thing for every holiday.”

he lets out a nervous laugh, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt,

“but why wouldn’t i spoil you for thanksgiving? im supposed to give thanks to what im grateful for.”

you smiled as you leaned in for a soft kiss, your lips melting against his. his hands reached under your shirt, cold fingers tickling your skin.

“promise me no more gifts?”

he pouted slightly, a small grin peeking through,

“you know i don’t make promises i can’t keep.”

“but jaehy- oh”

he gripped your hips tightly, rocking you against his growing length,

“hm? tell me why i can’t spoil my girl.”

you let out a soft moan, forehead falling against jaehyun’s shoulder. his breath was soft against your ear,

“tell me you don’t want me to spoil you and i’ll stop.”

your hands gripped his arms, hips grinding against his bulge,

“please-”

he planted a light kiss against your ear, hands stopping you in place,

“please what angel? hm? what do you want?”

you blushed against his shoulder, voice soft and weak,

“want yo- need you jae, please.”

he chuckled softly, hands cupping your face to turn your gaze towards his,

“that wasn’t so hard right?”

he planted a kiss to your cheek, and then another to the corner of your mouth, and finally a light peck on your lips. you chased after his lips, a small whine resonating in your chest.

“seems like it didn’t take much convincing, huh baby?”

he chuckled as he pecked your cheeks, softly jutting his hips up against your core. you steadied yourself on his shoulders, hips moving against his, soft moans being shared between you two.

his hands came up to pull your shirt off, cold air making your nipples perk up,

“fuck baby, feels like it’s my birthday.”

you giggled as he stuffed his face in between your breasts inhaling loudly,

“you’re so damn sweet, can’t get enough of you.”

he kissed your exposed skin, light bite marks forming on your breasts. his tongue was smooth around your nipple, swirling the bud in his mouth before sucking gently. you gripped his hair softly, arching into his touch,

he detached from your breast with a soft pop, lips shiny and plump,

“lay back baby, let me see you.”

you laid back, rose petals grazing your skin. he reached for your shorts, helping you wiggle them off.

you laid there, only your panties covering your body. jaehyun kneeled in between your legs looking down at you. your hair was a mess against the silk sheets, roses surrounding your figure. your chest rose and fell with each breath, soft hands coming to lay on your tummy.

“you’re so beautiful baby, oh my god. i’m the luckiest man in the universe.”

you brought your hands up to hide your face, feeling shy at his words. you felt a kiss against your hands, your fingers opening to peek at the man above you. he laughed softly, hands coming down to move yours.

“need to see you while i eat this pussy baby.”

you moaned out as his fingers ran along you core, panties creating friction against your clit. he slipped his hand under the fabric, swirling his fingers in your juices,

“so wet princess, this all for me hm?”

you nodded quickly hands coming down to grip at his wrist,

“yes jae, all for you.”

your voice was breathless, stomach tense as jaehyun slid his fingers along your clit, rubbing slow circles around the sensitive bud. you gasped as you felt his lips on your breasts again, wet kisses heating your skin.

he trailed his lips downward placing kisses around your tummy before landing on your core. you were propped on your elbows watching his every move. he had removed his hands from your panties, your juices soaking the fabric.

you bit your lip as you watched him plant a kiss against your heat, a small smirk on his lips as you lifted your hips to chase his mouth,

“so desperate baby, want my mouth that bad?”

he chuckled at your soft mhm need it, deciding not to tease you any longer. he moved you panties to the slide, watching as your juices dripped past your folds.

he shut his eyes as he licked a stripe up your cunt, a satisfied groan leaving his mouth,

“so fucking sweet jesus, could eat this pussy everyday, fuck.”

he didn’t waste time diving back in, lips wrapping around you clit and sucking roughly. your fingers gripped his hair tightly holding him in place as you rode his face gently. he chuckled into your core, sticking his tongue out so you could use him.

“fuck jae, oh my- so good fuck.”

he flicked his tongue with the rhythm of your hips, hands coming to hold your thighs for support.

you don’t think you’ve ever seen jaehyun this hot. his long blonde hair between your fingers, cheeks flushed, fingers digging into your thighs, his eyes desperate for something.

you moaned loudly a light sparking in jaehyun’s eyes,

“wanna cum jae, wanna cum on your tongue, please.”

he nodded against your cunt his mhm mhm vibrating against your core only pushing you closer. you shut your eyes focusing on the feeling of his tongue, small jolts of pleasure being sent through your body.

you let out a little groan as he replaced his tongue with his fingers, quickly rubbing them against your clit as he came close to your face,

“want you to come on my fingers baby, come on angel you can do it hm?”

you nodded into his kiss, tasting yourself on him.

“oh my- jae, jaehyun i’m oh!”

your head ached at the force you squeezed your eyes shut, hips lifting off the bed, toes curled as you grabbed onto jaehyun’s wrist. his movements slowed as you began to whine, hips inching away from his finger.

“that’s right baby, did so good for me, so good.”

he brushed your sweaty hair back planting a kiss on your forehead, a small chuckle leaving his lips,

“ready for your second present?”

maybe you’ll let him spoil you… just this once

[lxndonorris]

much needed break - Lando Norris

Y/N x Lando Norris Theme: Angst/Fluff distracting Lando from social media word count: 1700+

The last rays of sunlight are casting a warm, golden glow through the wide windows of Lando's living room, illuminating the chic but comfortable space that has become almost as much a home for you as it is for him. 

Monaco, with its sparkling blue waters and luxurious life, is a world apart from the intensity of the F1 circuits, yet it can't completely chase away the shadows left by last weekend's race in Brazil.

You step into the living room, spotting him immediately, slouched on the sofa, a hoodie pulled up over his messy curls, sweatpants, and socks, completing his relaxed look. 

His attention is absorbed by the screen of his phone, his face half-lit by its soft glow, and even from across the room, you can see the slight frown creasing his brows. 

He looks up briefly as you approach, giving you a small, half-hearted smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. There is a heaviness hanging in the room, one you know all too well.

Without a word, you sit down beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body but not so close as to intrude. You gently lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, just watching him, letting him feel your presence.

"What are you up to?" You ask, keeping your voice soft and casual, as though you are just enjoying a quiet moment together.

"Oh, nothing," he replies quickly, glancing away. But his voice holds a strain, and his fingers are white-knuckled around the phone. 

He tries to shift his body slightly, as if to hide the screen from your view, but you catch a glimpse of the comments he is scrolling through.

You know exactly what he is doing. It is always the same pattern when things don't go well on track—no matter how many times you tell him not to, he'll always go looking for those negative comments, taking in every word, every hurtful critique.

You feel a pang in your chest seeing how hard he takes it, how deeply he allows it to affect him.

Without a second thought, you reach over and gently snatch the phone from his hands. 

Lando lets out a protest, reaching for it instinctively, but you hold it out of reach, flashing him a playful, determined look.

"Lando," you say softly, yet firmly, "you shouldn't read those comments. You know it never does any good."

He huffs, crossing his arms and letting out a reluctant sigh.

"It's not that bad," he mumbles, his gaze dropping to his lap. But the crack in his voice, the way he avoids meeting your eyes, tells you otherwise.

It hurts to see him like this, this strong, talented person you know feeling so vulnerable.

You lock his phone without another glance at the screen and slip it into your pocket, feeling him deflate beside you, as if he'd just relinquished some hidden weight he had been carrying.

"You're right," he admits quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "But I just... I can't help it sometimes."

You open your arms, inviting him in, and for a moment, he hesitates. But then, his defenses fall, and he leans into you, letting you hold him close.

He wraps his arms around you, his hands gently resting against your back, and you can feel the tension slowly melting from his body.

"It's okay," you whisper, rubbing his back gently, your fingers tracing soothing circles. "You're more than what those people online think. You've done so well this season, and no matter the outcome isn't going to change that."

He sighs, the sound almost lost in the space between you.

"I know, I just... I don't want to let anyone down."

Your heart clenches at his words.

Lando always holds himself to such high standards, always worried about letting down his team, his fans, even himself. You can tell the weight of it is heavy on his shoulders.

You slide your hands underneath his hoodie, feeling his warmth against your cold fingertips. He lets out a surprised laugh at the sudden chill, wiggling away slightly but not enough to break the embrace.

You chuckle, trailing your hands along his chest and feeling him relax again, his breathing slowing as he allows himself to let go. His head rests against your shoulder, and you feel his body sink into yours, surrendering to the comfort and warmth you share.

"You're doing so well, Lando," you murmur, your fingers tracing the lines of his back, the tension melting away under your touch. "I'm so proud of you, and I don't think anything less of you because of one bad race."

He nods slowly, his curls brushing your cheek as he settles deeper into your arms.

"I guess... I guess it's just hard sometimes to ignore it all. I feel like everyone's watching, and every mistake is magnified." His voice is soft, laced with vulnerability.

You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, your hand moving up to caress his cheek, your thumb brushing over the faint shadow of a stubble.

"But you don't have to carry that alone. I'm here, and I see you for who you are—not for your results on track. And I know so many people who feel the same."

He looks up at you, his eyes shining with a mixture of gratitude and something deeper.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispers, his voice breaking slightly.

"You don't have to worry about that," you say with a smile, your fingers tracing soft patterns along his jawline. "I'm not going anywhere."

He shifts closer, his head coming to rest against your chest as he closes his eyes, a sigh of contentment escaping his lips. You feel his heartbeat slow, his breathing deepen as he begins to let go of worries that have been plaguing him.

For a while, you just lay there, wrapped up in each other, letting the quiet settle around you. Your fingers continue their gentle journey, stroking his hair, tracing the line of his cheekbone, his lips. He is lost in thought, you can tell, but there is a peace in his expression now, a softening of the lines of stress and worry.

"You know," you murmur after a while, breaking the comfortable silence. "I've watched you grow so much this season. You've overcome so many challenges, and that's what really matters."

Lando nods, his eyes still closed, his breathing deep and even.

"I guess I just want to make everyone proud. Make you proud."

You lean down, your lips brushing softly against his. 

"I am already proud of you," you whisper. "Not just for what you do on track, but for who you are—your determination, your kindness, your resilience, your humor. That's what makes you so amazing."

His arms tighten around you, a silent acknowledgement, a thank you that doesn't need words. You feel his fingers trace slow, gentle lines along your back, his hand brushing against your waist, grounding himself in your connection.

It is in these moments that you see the man behind the racer, the vulnerability he so rarely shows to the world. And you love him all the more for it.

You stay there, wrapped in each other's arms as the evening light softens, your breaths syncing in a gentle rhythm. He closes his eyes, his head nestled against you, and you feel his worries fading, replaced by a peace you know he finds only with you. 

And you realize that, as much as he thinks he needs you, you need him just as much.

Lando shifts, settling himself more comfortably, his head resting gently on your lap. A soft hum escapes his lips, a sound of pure contentment that makes your heart swell.

You can tell he is finally starting to unwind, to let go of the weight he'd been carrying since the race. His eyes are closed, and a faint smile curves at the edges of his lips, softening his whole expression.

You let your hand slip under his hoodie once again, your fingertips brushing along his warm skin, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest with each relaxed breath. 

He shivers slightly at your touch, but it isn't from the cold this time—it is from the warmth and comfort you share in this moment together.

Lando's smile grows as he adjusts, placing one of his hands on his thigh, his fingers curling slightly as if to hold onto this feeling. His other hand rests just beside yours on his stomach, and you feel his fingers twitch, brushing against yours.

Gently, you slide your hand further under his hoodie, fingers tracing small, soft circles across his skin, feeling the warmth radiate from him.

He opens his eyes briefly, looking up at you with a softness and gratitude that makes your breath hitch. Then he closes them again, a peaceful smile gracing his face as he settles deeper into your lap, his body completely at ease. 

The quiet hum of his voice, his gentle breathing, the closeness you share—all of it feels so incredibly precious.

"You know," he murmurs after a while, his voice a lazy drawl, "I could get used to this."

You chuckle, running your hand slowly across his stomach, feeling the warmth, the steady rise and fall of his breaths beneath your touch.

"Oh yeah?" You tease, your fingers brushing just under his ribcage. "Then you should let yourself rest more often."

He lets out a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating against your hand.

"Maybe I will, if I have you around," he replies, his voice soft and warm.

He opens his eyes again, looking up at you with that familiar twinkle, the one that tells you he is feeling more himself again.

You feel his fingers drift up, tracing light patterns along your wrist. His touch is warm and grounding. 

Leaning down, you brush a kiss against his forehead, feeling him smile beneath the touch.

His head nestles in your lap, the weight of him grounding you just as much as you ground him. In this moment, everything else—races, comments, expectations—fades away.

All that matters is the two of you, right there, sharing this moment of quiet, unspoken love.

[readerforexiao]

𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ

⌗ Itoshi Sae x Reader | angst, open ending?? | tw: heartbreak/seperation, self worth issues, emotional neglect, codependency/unbalanced relationship, fear of abandonment, internalized guilt, self blame, | wc: 1.4k

⌗ A/n: Honestly, I never planned on writing for Blue Lock because I don't feel confident enough to be able to capture their characters to my liking. But I’m hoping this is a decent first attempt <3 (i use the term soccer but changed it to football bcs..)

⌗ "To love you was to lose you. But as it turns out I never really had you to begin with"

“I always knew,” you admitted, the words leaving your lips heavier than you’d imagined. It would appear confronting the truth out loud, stripped away the barriers of ignorance and bliss and made it feel much too real and inescapable.

“And it was enough…”

A tear gathered in the corners of your eyes like an unwelcomed tide. The moisture blurred your sight, clinging stubbornly to the edges as if hesitant to fall, but the weight of emotion behind them pressed forward.

Your thumb trembled as it traced the apples of his cheeks, the motion delicate and almost reverent. Your touch lingered with hesitancy and perhaps for the last time, you thought in bitter sweetness as it settled in your chest like stone, for the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips felt so real but the uncertainty made it feel like the distance between you had never been wider.

He said nothing as he looked you in the eye, his expression unreadable and his mind an empty canvas— or perhaps a ruined masterpiece, where vibrant colors and once-clear memories bled into shadows that left only smudges of black, where the only hope of restoration and of salvation seemed to lie in wiping it clean and starting anew.

“You’re not hard to love, Itoshi Sae.” Your voice faltered, but the honesty behind it rang clear contrasting with his face through the blurring bleakness of your vision, which wavered like a fragment of a dream slipping beyond reach, as if he were already beginning to dissolve from your life.

If anything you must admit that the past year apart only made you desperate to love him more, aching for nothing more than the sight of him, your heart pulsing for his touch and for his fingers to weave through yours despite his careful distance with physicality.

Sae’s gaze peered into your soul and his pupils dilated, beckoning you into an everlasting silence as his grip on your waist faltered, fearing that like everything else you would slip through his fingers, like sand carried away by the wind into nothingness— lost alongside his former self and the desires he long abandoned to the tides of forgetting.

A slow breath passed from him with the faintest of tension in his jaw as he processed what you said. His eyes were empty and his hands, numb as they fell to his sides almost mechanically. “Is it worth it?”

For as long as you’d known him, Itoshi Sae never uttered such a thing that allowed even the slightest hint of vulnerability to pass his lips. He never let the quiet ache of it slip free.

His life, his single-minded pursuit of greatness had always been a wall and a boundary he never let anyone cross. He always expected you to walk away eventually, to realize what he was— how cold and distant he could truly be— and leave. At the time, the thought of you leaving didn’t seem to hurt at all. He believed he’d be able to move forward and continue as he always did— chasing after a goal, never allowing failure to deter him, because in time that persistence paid off and he learned never to falter again.

Why was this so different?

Why did he find himself yearning to understand what it was like to feel the way you did, to experience that unfiltered hunger that pulsed in your veins.

He could perhaps draw a parallel of his obsession with football to your devotion to him but it would be weak, pitiful even, because the look in your eyes was something beyond comprehension, something pure and genuine, greedy but not in the way he was greedy for success.

It was a hunger that didn’t claw at the world for dominance but sought something he could hardly remember: a kind of affection and affinity so unmeasurable and untouchable.

In that moment, he realized it was beyond him and that he would never truly be able to grasp.

“You’re worth every effort”

“…You’re a fool,” he muttered, but there was no malice in his voice.

You could feel the weight of his emotions in that sentence. The longing in your chest burned, but you knew no matter how much you reached for him, no matter how desperately your heart called out— it wouldn’t be enough to pull him back.

“… In everything else, but never for loving you.”

Ever stubborn, he might have smiled if not for the suffocating melancholy coiling around his throat like a tightening noose.

“You make it sound so simple,” he said, his tone flat, “Like I could change, or let myself be something else. But that’s not who I am. I’ve never been anything other than the pursuit of my ambition. I’ve built my entire life around this… around what I’ve become”

You understood it more than you ever wanted to because loving him was like admiring a flame that burned so brightly it scorched your heart in return. His passion, his arrogance, both were impossible to ignore and somehow endearing. But to love someone like Itoshi Sae meant accepting the inevitable loss because he’d never truly be yours. Not yet. Not in this lifetime. Maybe not ever.

You held your quivering lip hostage between your teeth, your hands shaking as they fumbled restlessly in front of you.

Sae looked at you, his heart a mess of conflict, wavering in a way he couldn’t shut it up. Fuck… he couldn’t do this. He was so cruel for taking your hand and pressing it to his lips.

The warmth of his touch seered itself into you, a memory carved into the deepest corners of your mind, destined to be punished by the sin of remembering.

“You say I’m worth it,” His breath caressed your knuckles, “But is it worth it for you? To love someone like me, someone who’s never been able to love you back the way you deserve?”

Your time together had been marked by missed anniversaries, quiet nights where the words that needed to be spoken were left unsaid. Too many moments passed without enough kisses, without enough attention.

But still, you wanted to tell him that it meant everything to you— the flowers he’d leave on the table, the small, neatly wrapped gifts with his name on the card.

He was distant, fumbling through the things he didn’t know how to express or handle, but those little gestures in place of him filled you with happiness.

How could you explain to him just how much those stolen moments meant to you? The times you’d slip into the living room while he was busy, leaning over the back of the couch to steal a kiss, and how he’d subtly tilt his head, creating the perfect space for your face to rest between his ear and shoulder, or how he never once missed the chance to meet your lips, even in passing.

How could you tell him that is what you cherished without it seeming like you were sinking in denial and desperation?

“It’s enough,” you whispered, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt. You didn’t need anything more, just him, as he was.

“Until it wasn’t,” Sae murmured, saying what you couldn’t. He slowly loosened your grip, his hands guiding yours away, letting them drop in front of you.

He was letting you go…

As he pulled away, a suffocating heaviness settled in his chest— he was going to leave you with nothing but the ache of all his failures. And you couldn’t help but feel that it might be the last time he’d touch you like that

“I…” His words barely alive before his hand tangled its way into your hair and pulled you close until his lips crashed against yours with a desperation that twisted something deep inside him.

The kiss was torn, like a fragile thread snapping under the strain of something too heavy to hold. It was clumsy and urgent— agonizing and broken as the world crumbled between you.

A tear, unnoticed at first, broke free and drifted between your mouths, a silent testament to all that was buried deep within him.

He was crying…

But of course, it was just like him to remain so impossibly composed.

“You deserve better than me…” His words hit with finality, leaving no room for argument. “You deserve someone who can give you all the attention and time that I can’t.”

“Maybe I do… But I wish that person was you”

All rights reserved | Copyright @readerforexiao 2024 | Do not copy, steal, or repost to any other platform 💙

[lowkeyren]

—catch me if you can!

in which : it’s a classic game of cat and mouse between you and moze, yet why does it seem like the mouse is enjoying the chase far more than the cat?

pairing : moze x gn!reader

wc 1.9k, exorcist x ghost, last part ib a chinese superstition (ghost marriages), u tease HIM like.. a lot, implied past lovers if u squint, art by @/darkavey, reblogs r much appreciated!! enjoy <3

"the hunter gets haunted while trying to hunt the haunter" brain stroke? yeah me too. anyway, happy halloween! dearest @https-sourlimes moze kisser + lovely @cherieiu n @iceunhie proofread this ^^

moze senses your presence long before he sees you. the flickering candle flames dance erratically, casting long, distorted shadows across the walls as if acknowledging your arrival. his instincts sharpen as he scans the room, fully aware that you're close —though unable to pinpoint where you’re hiding.

his grip on the dagger remains firm, a steady calm settling over him as he prepares, knowing you're out there, watching him from within the shadows, waiting. he starts to recite an incantation; his voice echoes through the hall, the air crackles with energy, ready to draw you out. 

(after months of this relentless back-and-forth —countless of times you’ve narrowly evaded him, slipping through his fingers just when he thought he had you caught, he’s confident he finally has you in his grasp.)

the silence that follows his pause is nearly suffocating, broken only by the steady ticking of the clock. until a sudden chill slithers down his spine, accompanied by a soft, teasing whisper near his ear, so close it feels as if lips are hovering just above his skin, “were you hoping i’d appear just for you?” 

moze swears he can see you smiling through the reflection of his dagger.

instinctively, he spins around, heart racing, adrenaline surging through his veins —only to find nothing. the room is exactly as it was, albeit this time the ticking has stopped, and the candles in the room start to flicker, before the room goes completely dark.

he hurriedly scrambles to find a match, striking it to bring a flicker of light to illuminate the dark room, but his breath catches in his throat when he finds your face just inches away from his.

“boo—!” he’s unsure if his heart is racing from the shock of your sudden appearance or from your close proximity, perhaps it’s a mix of both. any closer and you would've…

he quickly composes himself and swings his dagger, aiming right for your chest —only for the metal to pass right through you. he stumbles back. “really, moze?”

“you should know by now that these basic rituals don’t work on me.” you tilt your head at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips, your eyes gleaming with mischief. “you wretched—” he begins through gritted teeth; you gently place a finger on his lips, the ghostly touch silencing him instantly.

“better luck next time, pretty boy.” 

his eye narrows at the nickname, a mix of exasperation and a flutter in his chest he can't quite put a finger on. he raises his dagger in a futile attempt to strike, but by then, you’ve already disappeared into a whirl of mist, leaving him grasping at nothing but the lingering echo of your laughter.

moze isn’t able to get a wink of sleep. 

pretty boy? he scoffs at the thought, not sure whether he should feel insulted that you called him a boy, or focus on the fact that you called him pretty. 

he shifts in his bed uncomfortably, trying to dismiss the strange flutter in his chest, but it’s no use. every time he closes his eyes, you're there —hovering at the edge of his thoughts, as if you’re haunting him (when he’s supposed to be the one hunting you.)

the memory of your teasing voice and the glint in your eyes keeps pulling him back from slumber, making him question why, of all things that happened today, that’s what stuck with him.

moze is anything but weak, renowned for his skill, his expertise is unmatched; yet of all the spirits he's faced —some stubborn, some cunning —none have been as elusive as you. 

what makes you so different, so maddeningly irresistible?

but now that he thinks about it, you’ve never attacked him, not once. it’s always him on the offensive; chasing, striking, trying to pin you down. while you, on the other hand, merely tease and toy with him, calling him those pet names that feel far too intimate for mere “enemies” before disappearing into thin air.

breaking his line of thought, a soft giggle reverberates through the hall, a sound both familiar and infuriating. 

…ah right, focus. 

he scans the shadows, every inch of the room, but finds nothing. “come out, i know you’re here!” he calls out, frustration creeping into his tone. you’re playing your games again, always just beyond his grasp, a tantalising wisp of a spirit who knows precisely how to keep him on edge.

in the dark, you closely observe moze. you notice the subtle rise and fall of his breath; he’s tense, exasperated, and yet something in his eyes betrays that flicker of intrigue he tries so hard to bury. it’s almost endearing, the way he’s so wound up, yet completely at your mercy.

“you can't hide forever,” he growls, his voice low, the sound echoing through the empty room. "show yourself, or i’ll—”

“you’ll do what, exactly?” you whisper from just behind him, a teasing murmur that brushes past his ear, vanishing as soon as he whips around to strike. “you’ve had a hundred chances to exorcise me, but you still can’t bring yourself to let go.”

“i’ll finish what i started,” he scowls, though it sounds more like a threat than a promise.

“so you say, but deep down? i think you’re starting to like this little chase of ours. are you sure you’re not the one who keeps coming back to me?"

—you swear you catch the slightest twitch in his expression.

“don’t flatter yourself," he mutters, though his words don’t quite carry the same conviction.

"then why do you look for me?" you tease, circling around him like mist, your voice a gentle taunt in his ear. "it’s not duty that brings you here every night, is it, moze?"

he’s known many spirits, but this —you, are something else.

as he stands there, lost in thought, you whistle from the end of the hall, your voice ringing out like a beckoning call. “over here, pretty boy.”

he fights the urge to smile at your audacity, the playful lilt of your voice slipping under his skin. “what are you playing at?”

“nothing, i just want to see how far you’ll go,” you reply, your voice laced with mischief as you linger just out of reach. “come catch me if you can.”

with that, you vanish into the shadows, leaving him standing there, heart racing, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. he steels himself, adrenaline kicking in as he begins his pursuit once more, knowing that this game is far from over.

“i know you’re here,” he murmurs to the empty space, half hoping for a response, half expecting you to just flit out from a corner without warning. 

just then, a sudden chill envelops him as your cool hand gently obscures his vision, he feels icy fingers trail along his skin, teasingly tracing a path from the nape of his neck down to his shoulders and across his chest, sending shivers coursing through him. 

a huff of cold air brushes against his cheeks, delicate and fleeting, like the whisper of a lover's breath. it lingers just above his skin, as if someone exhaled right beside his face.

(every fiber of his being yearns to call it a night, and maybe it's the exhaustion washing for him but… for a ghost, you sure smell good.)

he feels a cold touch on his neck, and he knows damn well that it isn't your hand, because one of your hands is still covering his eyes, while the other rests on his chest, fingers splayed across his palpitating heart. a gentle nip leaves behind a chill, igniting his senses and drawing a soft gasp from his lips.

his grip on the dagger falters, the weapon clattering to the floor as if it’s nothing more than weightless feathers. one hand finds its way to your waist, pulling you closer. the other instinctively lifts to your wrist, gently prying your fingers away from his eyes.

“don’t hide,” he murmurs, his voice more of a plea than a challenge, as if he craves the clarity of your presence more than the thrill of the chase.

“you want me to look at you?” you tease, a familiar smirk gracing your lips.

he’s acutely aware of how your body fits against his, the way your cold body contrasts with the heat radiating from him. “yes,” he replies, there’s a softness in his eyes, his gaze traces over you, as if to will you into life.

you lean in closer, the space between you narrowing until it feels like you’re suspended in time, and he realises he doesn’t want this game to end. not yet. not ever.

in xianzhou, there's a superstition —a whispered belief, if you will; that picking up money from the ground can bring bad luck, or worse yet, lead to an "accidental marriage" with a ghost. accepting the money, it’s said, forms an unintended bond between the person and the spirit who left it behind.

moze is well aware of this. he’s also very aware of the strales scattered across the ground in front of him, seemingly waiting for him to make a choice.

he glances around, though he’s not entirely sure why; deep down, he already knows there’s only one person who could be behind this.

“not today,” he mutters under his breath, though the way his heart quickens suggests he’s not as resolute as he wants to be. “why are you messing with me like this?” 

a soft giggle echoes in response, light and airy, as if carried on the wind. “it's fun watching you squirm,” you tease, your voice carrying a haunting ring that lingers in the air.

he narrows his eyes, trying to shake off the feeling that clings to him— “i don’t believe in superstitions.” —yet a faint, stubborn “unease” still twists in his chest.

“is that so?” you reply, amusement dripping from every syllable. “then prove it. show me how brave you are.”

his own heart betrays him with its racing beat.

“fine, if you’re so keen on games, i’ll play.” he hopes the sound of his boots scuffing against the floor will mask the frantic beating of his heart.

but as he reaches out, the air around him cools, prickling the skin at his nape. your presence looms close, closer than ever. “...are you sure?” you murmur, the amusement in your voice giving way to something softer. 

his fingers twitch, as the cold sinks deeper, prickling through his skin and settling somewhere far more vulnerable. “i’m sure.” he’s teetering on the edge of something dangerously familiar, a reminder of a time when your touch was warm, alive. 

“i wonder, will you regret it?”

he glances over his shoulder, feeling your chill wrap around him like a shroud. his hand hovers above the strales, fingertips just grazing the metal. “only if you give me a reason to.” 

"careful what you ask for,” you whisper. and he closes his eyes, unable to deny the ache that resurfaces, raw and unbidden. 

what makes you so different, so maddeningly irresistible? it’s a foolish question, yet he knows the answer lies within your eyes. he can’t help but wonder if, when he opens his eyes to meet yours, he’ll be stepping closer to salvation.

MASTERLIST.

[hanasnx]

“ YOU GOT A FETISH FOR MY LOVE, I PUSH YOU OUT AND YOU COME RIGHT BACK ” — anakin skywalker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: if this counts for kinktober, i'm saying the kink is begging. WARNINGS: ex!anakin ノ fem reader ノ mild angst ノ established relationship ノ size difference ノ sexual content: some p in v stuff ノ pathetic begging anakin.

All of your relationships leading up to this point had resolutely ended. There were no loose ends, and nothing worth sacrificing your self-respect for. You'd cut them off, or burn the bridge if you had to, just to ensure you couldn't backslide on your decision. It's an incredible trust to place in yourself, and a little lonely. No matter how much your heart ached for the person you separated from, you would not reach out, and you'd make it pretty clear you didn't want to hear from them either. One exception stands before you now, that familiar crease in EX!ANAKIN SKYWALKER's brow as he demands to be let inside.

"It can't end like this." A statement that leaves no room for argument. One of the reasons you called it quits in the first place is dating a general doesn't feel like dating, it just feels like taking orders. "Do you have any idea what I've done for you? What I've sacrificed?" he admonishes incredulously, taking up the space of your doorway as stand your ground.

"Anakin- leave." you command. You know he's just here to pick a fight, to see if he can break your spirit with guilt-tripping manipulations. It's hard to feel large against a towering figure like General Skywalker, but you're bold enough to try to. Even if he can sweep you out of his way with an arm, you block his entrance with your body.

"You stubborn girl. You don't understand anything, do you?" he spits, the deep lines of his scowl drawing shadows that cascade his expression to a near unrecognizable degree. If you didn't know him, you'd fear for your safety.

"I told you to go!" you cry, jabbing your finger over his shoulder to signal him to turn around.

He advances, forcing you to arch away. "You don't mean that!" His voice is a lot louder than yours, and it carries. The frown in your brow relaxes as your eyes widen in response to his outburst. In a way, it's a keen reading. If it combats the loneliness of your self-sabotaging nature, you wish you'd let yourself invite him to stay. However, your pride has gotten you this far, and you don't want to appear weak. Perhaps, you don't want him to go, but it's the right thing to do.

You've been through so much together, and you're sure that he only holds onto you so tightly because you're all he's ever known when it comes to romantic entanglements. If he had been more experienced when you'd met him, he wouldn't have such passionate outrage about being refused.

He's the only one who's chased you so closely while you ran away. Retreating from intimacy, retreating from love, he's the only one who's seen right through you, and demanded you anyway.

"Anakin, you should go." you whisper against his lips as he backs you up deeper into your apartment. Eager hands curtly whip your clothes from your body, careful not to disrupt the connection of your mouths, recycling breath between you.

"Please, don't say that—You don't mean that." he murmurs, the vulnerability of being rejected laced into his plea. Your hands suspended in air from shock come to rest on his leather padding, helping him out of his robing like you've done a thousand times before. It's like a dance, the way your figures move fluidly, retracing the steps, how he backs you up against the wall as he slips his tongue between your lips, tilting his head to reach you as you're less than cooperative. The taste of him intoxicates you, coaxing your own tongue to smooth over his, and he expels a pleasant noise through his nose. His fingers splay on your shoulders, keeping you in place while staying at an uncharacteristic distance. It's as if he's begging for you with his body, showing you he'll do whatever it takes to prove to you his devotion, his love. Kiss him without touching places he's not allowed to touch anymore.

Part of you wishes he'd get over that, and in a fit of impatience, you place them for him, tracing them over the curves of your bare figure.

Herding you to the bedroom you once shared, his hand comes to cup the nape of your neck, pinning you to him as he delves his tongue deeper. You've never had anyone kiss you like Anakin, and if you didn't care for him it would be unpleasant. The impatient plunge of an inexperienced lover still laces the way he makes out with you, and it's clingy, it's forceful, it's desperate. At its end, he sucks your bottom lip between his, dragging it through his teeth. Plump, wet, and pink he speaks against yours, hushed and hurried. "Say you love me." he breathes—another plea, delicately concealed.

"Say you love me." he asks again, holding your gaze while he enters you. The fragile flinch of his softened features endears you, reintroducing his sex to yours as if its his first time—like the sensation is just too much, evidenced by the hitch in his throat when he questions you.

He sinks to the hilt over and over again, using his own hands to wrap your legs around his hips, keeping you close in embrace. He squeezes his eyes shut, grunting through his mouth from effort as he buys your love with his body, begs for your attention through his pitying ministrations. "Say you love me." he pleas one more time. "Please- please, I need you. Even if you don't mean it, even if you hate me... just... just..."

You bite hard into your lip, trying to think your way through the pleasure coursing through your veins. Skin hot and mind occupied, you clutch onto him as if he grounds you. In the dull light of the room, you find his eyes again, glossy and bloodshot. You palm his cheek, and his face softens. "I love you." you concede. The wall you've put up begins to dismantle.