#cop!stuck x reader

[thedensworld]

Industry, Baby | k.mg

Pairing: police officer Mingyu! x actress reader!

Genre: bestfriends to lovers au!

Type: fluff, angst, humor(?)

Word count: 16k

Summary: Acting is about observation! And to be honest, your best friend does it best—your handsome cop best friend.

Boring patrol, boring night. It was a Saturday night, and the city was alive—just not for Mingyu. Every street was lined with couples walking hand in hand, whispering sweet nothings, or worse, making out in full public view like they were starring in some low-budget romance drama. Mingyu swore PDA had skyrocketed lately, and yet here he was, stuck in a patrol car with Chan, cruising aimlessly through the district like two third wheels in a world built for pairs.

In the noble name of peace and safety, Mingyu had sacrificed his Saturday night for this mind-numbing routine. No raging bar fights, no drunks passed out on the sidewalk, not even a stray cat causing chaos—just an uneventful drive through the city while couples flourished all around him.

He glanced at Chan, who was casually munching on chips, completely unbothered. “You ever think the real crime here is us being single on a Saturday night?” Mingyu muttered.

Chan crunched down on another chip and shrugged. “Speak for yourself. I have plans after this.”

Mingyu scoffed. “With who? The convenience store cashier?”

Chan smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Mingyu groaned, slumping further into his seat as their car rolled past yet another pair of lovebirds. Maybe he should’ve just taken the risk and faked food poisoning to get out of this shift.

"Isn't that girl from your video call last time your girlfriend? The rising actor… what’s her name again?" Chan asked casually, his tone laced with curiosity.

Mingyu shot him a quick glance before steadying the steering wheel with one hand. The car rolled smoothly down the quiet street, the flashing neon signs of late-night shops reflecting on the windshield. He remembered that night well—he’d been stuck on patrol with Chan when your name suddenly lit up his phone screen, buzzing with an unexpected video call. He hadn’t even thought twice before answering, only to realize too late that Chan had been peering over his shoulder the entire time.

"Oh? You knew her?" Mingyu asked, raising a brow. It wasn’t like anyone ever believed him when he said he had a celebrity friend.

Chan shrugged, popping another chip into his mouth like this was just another ordinary conversation. "I think I saw her picture at your place once."

Mingyu nodded, tapping his fingers against the wheel. "Yeah, you’re right. We’ve known each other since high school. She’s just a friend."

Chan hummed in response, but the knowing smirk on his face made Mingyu frown.

"Wait a second," Mingyu said, narrowing his eyes, realization dawning on him. "Why are we talking about me? You brought this up to dodge my question, didn’t you? Now spill—who’s the girl you’re meeting after shift?"

Chan smirked, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest like he held the world’s greatest secret.

Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head. "If she’s real, then prove it. Otherwise, I’m sticking with my theory that you’ve been secretly flirting with the convenience store cashier."

Chan only grinned, crunching down on another chip. "Believe what you want, man."

*

Mingyu slumped in his chair, drumming his fingers lazily against the desk as he watched the clock inch toward the end of his shift. The office was eerily quiet—just the faint buzz of the vending machine and the occasional shuffle of papers from the few unlucky souls still stuck here. He should’ve been doing something productive, but at this point, he was just killing time.

The second the clock hit shift change, Chan sprang to life. With a dramatic yawn and a stretch that seemed more for show than necessity, he grabbed his bag and disappeared into the changing room. When he emerged, Mingyu did a double take.

Grey hoodie. Black sweatpants. Flip-flops.

Mingyu blinked. Then he blinked again.

"What in the world—" He motioned vaguely at Chan’s outfit. "Are you dating a computer in a PC room?"

Chan scoffed, adjusting his hoodie like it was designer wear. "Whatever, man. Enjoy your loneliness."

Mingyu snorted. "I’ll enjoy it just fine knowing I don’t look like I got dressed in the dark."

Chan ignored him, waving lazily over his shoulder as he headed out the door. Mingyu shook his head, leaning back in his chair as he pulled out his phone. A notification popped up.

Ji Actress: what you do mingooooooooo

Mingyu smirked at the ridiculous spelling, already picturing the way you’d say it in a whiny voice just to annoy him. He typed back a simple Just finished shift, and before he could even lock his phone, it vibrated with an incoming call.

He answered, barely getting a greeting out before your voice burst through the speaker.

"Can I crash at your place? I'll bring food. Please, please, pleaaaaase…"

Mingyu rolled his eyes, though his lips curled into a smirk. "You’ll make my house dirty. And Bobpul hates you."

A dramatic groan came from the other end. "I won’t! I promise! And I hate her too, so that makes two of us!"

Mingyu chuckled, rubbing his face. "Alright, fine. Bring chicken and beer. I’ll get us enough soju for both of us."

A high-pitched squeal erupted from your end—so loud and unexpected that Mingyu had to pull the phone away unless he wanted to go deaf.

"Okay, bye! See you, handsome boy!"

Mingyu let out an amused breath, shaking his head. "Alright, take care," he said before hanging up.

He stared at his phone for a second, the exhaustion of his shift melting away. A late-night hangout with you and free food? Maybe this Saturday night wasn’t a total waste after all.

*

The doorbell rang once. Then twice. Then—

Ding-dong. Ding-ding-dong. Dong-ding-dong.

Mingyu groaned, already knowing it was you before he even got up. Who else would take a perfectly normal doorbell and turn it into a drum solo? If you kept it up, the security guard would be knocking soon, grumbling about noise complaints from the neighbors who, unlike you, actually valued a quiet Saturday night.

He practically ran to the door, yanking it open before you could press the bell again. "You'll wake the whole floor," he hushed, grabbing your wrist mid-motion.

You beamed at him, completely unfazed. "Doom for them. Should’ve had something better to do on a Saturday night."

Mingyu sighed, stepping aside to let you in. You strutted inside like you owned the place, dressed for ultimate comfort—an oversized hoodie, a big T-shirt peeking out from underneath, and bear-printed pajama pants. In your hands, plastic bags filled with food swung dangerously as you made your way straight to the couch, plopping down like you’d just finished a marathon.

Mingyu shut the door, turning to watch you spread out like you paid rent here. He crossed his arms, shaking his head in amusement. "As if you have anything better to do besides crashing my place."

You nodded solemnly, propping your feet up on the armrest. "Yes, you're right. Doom for us."

Mingyu chuckled, rubbing his face. "Unbelievable."

"Correction: predictable," you said, already reaching for the bags. "Now, where’s my soju? You promised enough for both of us."

Mingyu rolled his eyes but was already heading to the kitchen. Whatever peace and quiet he thought he’d get after his shift? Gone. But honestly… he didn’t mind.

"Where’s Bobpul?" You sat up from your spot on the couch, eyes scanning every corner of Mingyu’s apartment like you were on a mission.

Mingyu barely glanced up from unpacking the food. "Don’t bother her. She’s in my bedroom."

You grinned. "Oh? That sounds like an invitation."

"It’s not—"

Too late. You were already up, taking small, sneaky steps toward his bedroom like some kind of cartoon burglar. Mingyu sighed, shaking his head. Sometimes, he seriously wondered how someone like you managed to survive in the acting industry. How many headaches had you caused your filming team? How much patience did your co-stars have?

A moment later, the sound of you sweetly calling Bobpul’s name echoed from the room, followed by an unimpressed grunt from the dog. Mingyu didn’t even need to turn around to know exactly what was happening.

When you finally emerged, you had Bobpul in your arms, cradling her like a spoiled princess. The poor dog looked stressed—her tiny paws stiff, her eyes pleading for help—but at the same time, Mingyu could tell she secretly enjoyed the attention. She always acted like she hated you, but the way her tail twitched slightly told a different story. Bobpul was just playing hard to get. And the worst part? You were thriving on it.

"I got you a treat on the way here, Bobpul!" you chirped, reaching into your bag and pulling out a small snack. Bobpul’s eyes immediately lit up, her internal struggle between pride and greed crumbling in an instant.

You smirked, holding the treat just out of reach. "Just like your oppa, you can’t resist food, huh?"

Mingyu, now setting out the chicken and tteokbokki, snorted at the comparison. "Excuse me?"

You tossed Bobpul the treat, watching in satisfaction as she gobbled it up without hesitation. "See? The Kim family has no self-control when it comes to food."

Mingyu rolled his eyes but couldn’t argue. Instead, he popped open a can of soju, pouring some into a glass before sliding it across the table toward you. "Yeah, yeah. Now sit down and eat before I start charging you rent."

You plopped back onto the couch, Bobpul still in your arms, looking way too smug for someone who had just successfully bullied both dog and owner.

"Ahn and Seola are getting married," Mingyu announced, tossing an envelope onto the table like it was no big deal.

You were in the middle of reaching for a piece of chicken when his words hit you like a truck. Your hand froze mid-air, eyes widening in pure disbelief. "Wait—what?"

Mingyu, completely unfazed, leaned back and stretched his arms. "Yeah, they gave me this at our last meetup. Their wedding’s in two weeks." He nudged the invitation toward you.

You snatched it up, flipping it open as if expecting to see some kind of hidden Gotcha! message inside. "No way. No freaking way."

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, watching your reaction with amusement. "Why are you so shocked? I told you back in academy that they liked each other."

You scoffed, dramatically throwing yourself back onto the couch. "Then why did they spend every single day fighting like they were in some sort of K-drama rivalry? If they liked each other so much, they should’ve just kissed already and saved us the headache!"

Mingyu burst out laughing, shaking his head. "They were dumb high schoolers. And let’s be real, we have no idea what was going on behind the scenes." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

You groaned, shoving his shoulder. "Ew, gross. Do not make me think about that."

Mingyu smirked, dodging your shove. "I’m just saying, they had chemistry. Meanwhile, you were the only clueless one who didn’t see it." He pointed at you accusingly.

You gasped, holding a hand to your chest in mock offense. "Excuse me? Maybe I was just too busy focusing on important things—like, I don’t know, not failing math?"

Mingyu snorted. "Right. And yet you still failed the midterm."

You shot him a glare, but he just grinned, stuffing a piece of tteokbokki into his mouth.

With a dramatic sigh, you waved the invitation in the air. "Still, it’s crazy how they actually ended up together. Like, they were chaos."

Mingyu shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. "Yeah, but I guess some people are just meant to be."

You hummed, staring at the names on the invitation. "Meant to be, huh?" You turned to him with a mischievous grin. "What about us, Mingyu? Are we meant to be?"

Mingyu nearly choked on his drink. "Yah!" He coughed, glaring at you while you burst into laughter.

"Relax, it’s just a question!" you teased, wiggling your eyebrows.

Mingyu rolled his eyes, but a small smirk tugged at his lips as he passed you the soju. "Yeah, yeah. Just shut up and eat your chicken."

"How's your promotion? I saw your press conference," Mingyu said, casually reaching for another piece of chicken.

Your ears perked up immediately. "Really?" You leaned forward, eyes wide with that soft, almost innocent expression—one that might fool anyone else, but not Mingyu. He knew you way too well. That look? Pure concept. A calculated move to appear cute.

"Yeah," he said, unimpressed but amused. "The promotion period ended yesterday, right?"

You nodded, then hesitated for a second, as if debating whether to say something. Finally, you put your drink down and took a deep breath. "Mingyu… I haven’t told you this yet, but—I got the role."

Mingyu frowned mid-chew. "What role?"

"The role."

He blinked, brain lagging for a moment before it clicked. His eyes widened. "Wait—police officer?"

You nodded vigorously, and before Mingyu could react, you let out a scream of excitement. A full-on, top-of-your-lungs, might-get-us-kicked-out kind of scream.

"Yah!" Mingyu panicked, nearly dropping his chopsticks as he lunged forward to slap a hand over your mouth. "Are you trying to get me evicted?!"

You wiggled under his grip, eyes still sparkling with joy as you pried his hand off. "But, Mingyu! I finally did it! You know how bad I wanted this!"

He sighed, shaking his head with a small laugh. "Yeah, yeah. Since forever, right?"

"Since I failed the police academy test," you corrected, dramatically clutching your chest like you were reminiscing about a tragic past life. "I really thought my dream of wearing a uniform was over."

Mingyu rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. "Y/n, you weren’t even good at math. What did you expect?"

You gasped, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "I could’ve improved!"

"You failed the entrance test twice," he deadpanned.

"Okay, but the third time—"

"Didn’t even happen because you gave up."

You groaned, throwing yourself back against the couch. "Alright, alright! We get it, I suck at math. But now, look at me! I finally get to be a police officer… in a drama."

Mingyu chuckled, raising his can of beer. "Well, here’s to achieving your dreams, even if it’s just pretend."

You clinked your can against his, grinning. "Cheers to acting like a responsible adult."

He smirked, taking a sip. "Something you still struggle with in real life."

"Yah! You’re ruining the moment!" you whined, kicking his leg lightly.

Mingyu just laughed, stealing a piece of tteokbokki off your plate while you were distracted. "I’m just saying, let’s be honest—you as a cop? Terrifying. The world isn't ready for you with actual authority."

You squinted at him suspiciously. "What’s that supposed to mean? I can make the better world."

*

Next morning, Mingyu stepped into his bedroom, already dressed for work, adjusting his watch as he approached the bed. The sight of you and Bobpul sprawled across his sheets, tangled in the blankets like some kind of burrito, made him shake his head with amusement.

He reached down and gave your shoulder a firm shake. “Hey, I’m heading out. Clean up before you leave, alright?”

You let out a groggy whine, stirring slightly but refusing to fully wake up. Your eyes barely cracked open as you mumbled, “It’s Sunday… why are you working? You don’t even have a wife and kids to support.”

Mingyu let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, but I do have a broke celebrity friend who couldn’t even pay for extra alcohol last night because all her money is with her manager.”

That earned him a pillow straight to the face.

“You suck,” you muttered, voice muffled against the blanket.

Mingyu chuckled, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I made you breakfast—it’s on the table. Eat before you leave.”

You peeked out from under the blanket just enough to glare at him. “Look at you. So responsible. You sure you don’t secretly have a wife and kids?”

Mingyu smirked, leaning down to pinch your cheek. “Nope, just a very high-maintenance celebrity friend.”

“Kim Mingyu!” you yelped, swatting his hand away.

Laughing, he ruffled your hair for good measure before grabbing his keys. “Alright, see you later, Ms. Officer.”

You groaned dramatically, rolling over and burying your face into his pillow. “Bye, my colleague.”

Mingyu shook his head as he stepped out, knowing full well that you were probably going to sleep in for at least another two hours before even thinking about cleaning up.

Mingyu drove to home once his shift finished. He stepped inside his house, tired from his shift, only to pause at the sight before him. You were sitting at his dining table, hunched over a thick academy textbook, flipping between its pages and your tablet, a pen tucked behind your ear. It wasn’t a very you sight—studying was never something you did voluntarily—but Mingyu knew that when it came to acting, you always took your roles seriously.

Bobpul, who had been silently watching you from her spot on the counter, immediately perked up at Mingyu’s arrival, barking and wagging her tail excitedly.

“You’re still here,” Mingyu said, raising an eyebrow as he set down his things.

You finally looked up from your book, nodding before gesturing vaguely around the apartment. “And I cleaned the house.”

Mingyu glanced around, scanning every corner while cradling Bobpul in his arms. He gave you an approving nod. “Wow. Good job, Y/n. You actually can clean.”

You rolled your eyes but smirked at his teasing.

Mingyu sat down beside you, peering at the chaotic mess of notes scattered across the table. His brows furrowed as he tried to decipher your scribbles. “What’s all this?”

“Studying a murder case,” you said, tapping the script with your pen. “I’m playing Jung Inha, a rookie officer who finds a dead body behind the police station. Turns out it’s a dead body of the serial killer.”

Mingyu snorted, flipping through the pages of your script. “So unrealistic. Every station has CCTV in every corner, and there’s always someone monitoring them. No one’s just dumping bodies behind a station and getting away with it.”

You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “I know, but should I tell that to the director and risk losing my precious role?”

Mingyu didn’t even hesitate. “No, don’t say that.” He shook his head firmly before flipping to another page of your script, scanning the dialogue.

You grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

You watched as Mingyu flipped through your script, his brows occasionally furrowing at the way police work was portrayed. He looked so serious, like he was mentally critiquing every single unrealistic procedure.

That’s when an idea struck you.

“You know,” you started, leaning forward with a sly smile. “You should totally do a cameo.”

Mingyu’s eyes flicked up to you, suspicious. “A cameo?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah! A real-life, handsome police officer appearing in a crime drama? The audience would eat it up. You’d gain, like, a hundred thousand Instagram followers overnight.”

Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t need Instagram clout.”

“Come on, it’d be perfect,” you insisted, nudging his arm. “You’re tall, intimidating when you want to be, and—most importantly—you actually know what you're doing. Unlike half the actors pretending to be cops.”

Mingyu smirked. “Are you saying you don’t know what you’re doing?”

You pouted. “That’s why I’m studying! But it wouldn’t hurt to have a pro like you show up on set. Maybe intimidate the fake officers with your real-life knowledge.”

Mingyu laughed, shaking his head. “What would I even do? Stand in the background looking cool?”

You gasped dramatically. “Exactly! That’s the job! You don’t even have to act—just exist.”

Mingyu sighed, setting your script down with a dramatic thud. “If I’m going to do this, you better not make me regret it.”

You grinned. “Of course not! But if you’re gonna be on set, you might as well help me train properly.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow. “Train?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah—teach me how to act like a real officer. How to hold a gun properly, how to chase a suspect without looking like I’m in a rom-com, stuff like that.”

Mingyu smirked. “You mean you don’t already know? What happened to all your ‘serious studying’?”

You pouted. “I can only learn so much from books! I need practical training, and who better to teach me than my very own cop bestie?”

He leaned back in his chair, watching you with a knowing look. “You know, if I didn’t quit acting, I could’ve been the one taking this role.”

You blinked. “Oh? Now you admit it?”

Mingyu shrugged. “I mean, I was pretty decent at it. Jaehyun and I were killing it at the academy before I left for the police route.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And yet, here you are, getting scouted for a cameo in my drama.”

Mingyu chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Life is funny like that.” He tapped the script. “But you? You stuck with it, and now you’re actually living the dream.”

You softened at his words. “It was your dream too, you know.”

Mingyu gave you a small, lopsided smile before reaching over to flick your forehead. “Maybe in another life. Right now, I’ll just settle for making sure you don’t embarrass real officers on TV.”

“But imagine all the thirsty comments you’ll get. ‘Who’s the hot officer in the background?’ ‘Is he single?’ ‘He can arrest me anytime.’”

Mingyu groaned, rubbing his temples. “You’re insufferable.”

“But you love me,” you said sweetly, batting your lashes.

He sighed, looking at you with fake exasperation before ruffling your hair. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

You squealed in victory, causing Bobpul to bark in alarm. Mingyu shook his head with a chuckle, already regretting letting you put ideas in his head.

*

Mingyu had been tailing you from the moment the two of you arrived on set. With his broad shoulders, long legs, and towering presence, he walked behind you like an oversized lost puppy as you introduced him to the filming team—the director and the assistant director.

The director eyed Mingyu with curiosity before chuckling. “Your friend is handsome. Is he actually a cop or a model?”

You glanced at Mingyu, only to find his ears turning pink. A shy but polite smile graced his face as he bowed slightly in response to the compliment. That was the thing about Mingyu—he was effortlessly good at receiving praise, never letting it get to his head, but always gracious enough that people just wanted to keep complimenting him.

“Right?” You grinned, fully agreeing with the director’s words. “He gets that a lot.”

Mingyu cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed, but you continued, enjoying his reaction. “We actually used to go to the same acting academy, with Jung Jaehyun too.”

At the mention of Jaehyun, Mingyu’s head tilted slightly, his eyes flicking to you. There was nothing odd in the way you said it, but something about hearing his name from your mouth after such a long time felt… different. Not just that guy or your friend, but Jung Jaehyun. It felt like some kind of unspoken progress had been made, like all his efforts to maintain the friendship over the years hadn’t been for nothing.

The director’s eyebrows lifted with interest. “Oh? So you have an acting background too?”

Mingyu scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Ah, well… I trained for a bit, but I didn’t continue with it.”

The assistant director chuckled. “Still, once an actor, always an actor. Let’s see how you do later. If there’s room for an extended scene, we’ll talk about it, okay?”

Mingyu blinked. “Wait, what?”

You patted his arm with a mischievous smile. “Congratulations, Officer Kim. You might just get a bigger role than you signed up for.”

Mingyu groaned, already regretting letting you drag him into this. But when he caught the director giving him an intrigued look, he suddenly wondered—was he actually about to make an unexpected return to acting?

*

Mingyu was glad he had the day off today—though he hadn’t expected to spend it like this. The director, practically glowing with excitement, had pleaded with him to accept an additional role written just for him. With the entire crew looking at him expectantly and you standing across the set flashing him a thumbs-up while getting your makeup fixed, he found himself unable to say no.

One day of shooting. That’s all it would take. He could handle that… right?

Before he could fully process his fate, another actor approached the director, who immediately introduced him. “This is our male lead, Park Yaehan. And this is Kim Mingyu—he’s a cameo, but also a great actor.”

The weight on Mingyu’s shoulders grew heavier. Great actor? That was an exaggeration. His acting career had lasted about as long as a summer fling before he had walked away from it completely.

“Hello, I’m Park Yaehan.” The man offered a friendly handshake. “Are you with Ji Y/n? I saw the two of you together earlier.”

Mingyu firmly shook his hand, nodding. “We’re friends.”

The director beamed, adding enthusiastically, “Kim Mingyu is a real police officer! He’s from the Gangnam district.”

Yaehan looked amused by the information, but Mingyu could tell immediately—he wasn’t really interested in any of it. His polite smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Instead, Mingyu noticed the way Yaehan’s gaze drifted past him, toward you. You were across the set, laughing with the makeup artist, completely unaware of the conversation happening.

Mingyu’s jaw tensed slightly.

He had been in the force long enough to know how to read people. And right now, it was painfully obvious that Park Yaehan was more interested in you than anything else.

The car ride was quiet at first, just the soft hum of the engine and the distant sound of your manager placing a coffee order outside. You scrolled through your phone absentmindedly until Mingyu, who had been unusually silent since leaving the set, suddenly spoke up.

“So… Park Yaehan,” he started, his tone casual—too casual.

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “What about him?”

“What’s his role in the movie?”

“He’s the male lead.”

Mingyu nodded, as if considering something. Then, after a beat, he asked, “Is there any romantic line?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Like… are you going to kiss?” He kept his eyes on the road, his voice carefully neutral.

Your brows furrowed. “Why do you sound like a detective interrogating a suspect?”

“Just curious,” he shrugged. “So there won’t be any romance between your role?”

You stared at him, confused by his sudden interest in the script details. “No, my character is too busy solving crimes to fall in love,” you answered, then waved your hand dismissively. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Mingyu said a little too quickly.

You narrowed your eyes at him but decided to let it go. Instead, you leaned back in your seat and gave him a playful smirk. “You know, I was actually impressed with your acting today. It’s like you never left the academy. Your expressions, your delivery—it was all so natural. Maybe you should consider making a comeback.”

Mingyu scoffed. “Okay, now I know the director told you to say that.”

You giggled, not even trying to deny it. “Maybe.”

Mingyu groaned, shaking his head. “I knew it. I knew something was up.”

“But you were good,” you insisted, nudging his arm. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it a little.”

He sighed, resting one hand on the steering wheel while rubbing his temple with the other. “This is why I never should’ve agreed to this. Now I have both you and the director scheming against me.”

You grinned. “Welcome back to the industry, Officer Kim.”

The neon sign of the chicken shop flickered against the night sky as your manager pulled into the parking lot. The sight of it made Mingyu’s chest tighten with nostalgia. The three of you had spent so many nights here—eating way too much fried chicken, debating acting techniques, and mapping out futures that, at the time, seemed so certain.

Now, Jaehyun was a rising actor. You were an established actress. And he… well, he had taken a different path.

As the two of you stepped inside, the familiar scent of crispy chicken and spice filled the air. The place hadn’t changed much—same wooden tables, same greasy menus, same ahjumma at the counter who used to tease you three for staying too late, insisting you’d end up marrying each other if you didn’t stop hanging out so much.

“Ah! It’s been a long time!” she beamed upon seeing you. “You two still sticking together?”

You laughed, nudging Mingyu playfully. “Yeah, but now he’s a real-life police officer, not just pretending to be one.”

The old woman gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Aigoo, really? I should be careful around you now, huh?”

Mingyu smiled, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t arrest people for eating too much chicken.”

She chuckled, shaking her head as she took your order before leaving you alone at your usual corner booth. Mingyu settled into the seat across from you, glancing around at the familiar space. It felt like stepping back in time, except everything had a slightly faded quality, like an old photograph.

As you scrolled through your phone, Mingyu hesitated before finally asking, “Have you kept in touch with Jaehyun?”

You looked up, a bit surprised by the question. “Not really,” you admitted, tapping idly against the table. “Just a few nods whenever we run into each other… but he’s always busy filming.”

Mingyu nodded, pressing his lips together. He had been meaning to reach out, but time passed too quickly. Before he knew it, years had gone by. Would Jaehyun even pick up his call?

Noticing his hesitation, you leaned forward with a teasing smirk. “Why? Miss him?”

Mingyu rolled his eyes. “I just… I don’t know. It’s been a while. And now, standing in front of a camera again, even just for a cameo, it made me think about everything. About how things could’ve been different.”

You studied him for a moment before your expression softened. “You were really good, you know? Even today, you looked so natural. It’s like you never stopped.”

Mingyu scoffed, leaning back against the seat. “Don’t exaggerate.”

“I’m serious!” you insisted. “Maybe you should consider giving it another shot. Even if it’s just for fun.”

He shook his head, but the thought lingered.

Before he could respond, your phone buzzed with a message. You checked it, and a small chuckle escaped your lips.

“Speak of the devil. Jaehyun just texted.”

Mingyu raised a brow. “Yeah?”

You tilted the screen toward him.

Jaehyun: I heard from the director that a certain police officer was on set today. Are you two together right now?

Mingyu exhaled through his nose, a small smirk playing on his lips. Maybe it really was time to make that call.

But just as he was about to say something, he caught the way your expression flickered—just for a second. Your thumb hovered over the screen, hesitation settling into your features before you quickly typed a reply. It was subtle, but Mingyu had known you too long to miss it.

“You two okay?” he asked, voice laced with curiosity.

You blinked, as if thrown off by the question. “What? Yeah, of course.”

Mingyu narrowed his eyes slightly. “Did something happen?”

You let out a short breath, setting your phone down. “It’s nothing serious. Just… we don’t talk as much anymore.”

That wasn’t a real answer, and you both knew it.

Mingyu tilted his head. “Not talking and actively avoiding someone are two different things.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Since when did you become a detective?”

He smirked. “Since you started looking at his name like it personally offended you.”

You sighed, fingers tracing patterns on the wooden table. “It’s just—he and I don’t see eye to eye on some things. And I guess we never really fixed it.”

Mingyu frowned slightly. You and Jaehyun had always been in sync, always had each other’s backs. For something to put a real wedge between you meant it wasn’t just some small disagreement.

Before he could press further, your phone buzzed again.

Jaehyun: Call me later?

Mingyu watched as you stared at the message for a moment, then locked your phone without responding.

“Are you going to call him?” he asked.

You let out a slow breath, a ghost of a smile on your lips. “I don’t know.”

*

It was another week, and somehow, Mingyu found himself back on a filming set for the second time in a month. What an achievement.

When he asked Chan to cover his shift today, the younger guy had given him the look—the one that clearly screamed, “Mingyu hyung has a date.”

If only.

No, Mingyu had a shoot. And he wished he could’ve just said that instead of muttering, “My friend is moving out, so I’m helping.”

Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic, Kim Mingyu. At this rate, even his excuses were starting to sound like bad drama scripts.

As he adjusted his outfit and took a sip of his coffee, he glanced at the call sheet. The next scene would be with you. And, to his utter delight, Park Yaehan.

Mingyu had almost forgotten about that guy—until today.

Something about him just seemed… off. Like the kind of guy who’d order a burger with no patty and call it a bold choice. Did anyone else notice? Or was Mingyu the only one with a built-in radar for detecting suspiciously annoying people.

But what really boiled his blood was the way Yaehan acted around you.

The guy looked like an uncircumcised sheep meeting a female sheep for the first time. It was ridiculous. His excitement was almost cartoonish—all wide eyes, eager nods, and way-too-excited hand gestures. Was he about to confess his undying love or ask you to join his cult?

The way his lips moved, murmuring something under his breath while his eyes stayed fixed on you, made Mingyu’s fingers twitch. He swore he could land a clean punch. Just one. A tiny one. A warning punch.

Did you notice? Surely, you noticed.

But then again…

A thought struck him, one that gave him equal parts hope and frustration.

You’re an insensitive person.

For once, just this time, please stay that way.

Because while you remained oblivious, Mingyu would handle this for you.

"So, you and Y/n have been friends for a long time? I heard since acting academy?"

Mingyu nodded, shifting in his seat as he waited with Yaehan on set while the director spoke to you. The next scene was simple—yet nerve-wracking.

It wasn’t like this would be his first time seeing you almost naked. Back in the academy, he had seen you nude before during one of those “artistic expression” workshops. He had handled it then, and he could handle it now.

Or so he thought.

Because the real problem here wasn’t you. It was Yaehan.

Mingyu had almost forgotten about this guy until today, and honestly, he wished he could go back to that blissful ignorance. Something about Yaehan just rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the way he laughed a little too hard at his own jokes. Maybe it was the fact that his hair was suspiciously perfect, even under studio lighting. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the way he kept buzzing around you like an overeager puppy seeing a female dog for the first time.

“It’s been almost ten years, I guess,” Mingyu finally answered, keeping his tone casual. “She’s like family. I treasure her a lot.”

And I hope you watch yourself, Park Yaehan.

Which, of course, he kept to himself.

Across the set, you were practicing lifting your tank top under the director’s guidance, adjusting the speed and movement to make it look natural. Mingyu noticed—because of course he did—that you must’ve been hitting the gym more often lately. Your body looked toned, your movements fluid.

Then, right on cue, Yaehan spoke.

“Looking good, Y/n!”

Mingyu exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to ignore the way Yaehan was visibly vibrating with excitement.

Then came the final straw.

Low. Murmured. Almost imperceptible.

“Her body... delicious.”

Mingyu blinked.

Excuse me?

His head turned so fast he nearly pulled a muscle. He stared at Yaehan, expression unreadable, but internally, his brain was short-circuiting.

This man had three seconds to take that back before Mingyu made sure he needed a dental appointment.

*

The filming had wrapped days ago, and everyone insisted that Mingyu come to the wrap party. He had tried to get out of it—he really had—but somehow, he found himself here, surrounded by laughter, drinks, and overly enthusiastic co-stars.

You sat beside him, clapping with excitement as the director took the mic. Mingyu was half-listening, nursing his drink, when the next words hit him like a freight train.

“…And I’m happy to announce that Mingyu will appear in my next movie! Not as a cameo, not as an extra, but as a sub-lead!”

The room erupted in cheers.

Mingyu, meanwhile, nearly choked on his drink.

Wait. What?

He wasn’t informed about that.

He had a life. A job. A routine. And acting? Well, that was very different from them. He liked his stable life, his predictable schedule. The most dramatic thing in his daily existence was deciding whether to order fried chicken or ramen after work.

He knew the director had been hinting at something. He had mentioned finding the right actor for a specific role, had even talked about it with a knowing glint in his eye. But Mingyu didn’t expect the “right actor” to be him.

And why were you enjoying this so much? Why were you clapping like you just won the lottery?

Mingyu turned to glare at you, but you only grinned, elbowing him. “Looks like you’re back in the industry, Officer Kim.”

Before he could argue, the director continued, “And also, the other actor for the second lead will be joining us tonight, so make sure the two of you get to know each other. Chemistry is everything!”

Mingyu exhaled slowly.

First, he gets cast in a movie without his knowledge.

Now, he has to socialize.

He really should’ve just stayed home.

As the party buzzed on inside, you pulled Mingyu by the wrist, leading him out onto the quiet balcony. The cool night air brushed against your skin, a welcome contrast to the heat and noise of the celebration.

"You okay?" you asked, leaning against the railing.

Mingyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know. This all feels... sudden." He paused, staring out at the city lights. "It’s not that I hate it. I just—" He hesitated, pressing his lips together.

"You just what?"

He exhaled sharply. "I don’t know if this is what I really want anymore."

You frowned. "Mingyu, this was your dream."

"Was it, though?" His voice was quiet, thoughtful. "I mean, yeah, back then, I wanted this more than anything. But now... I have a different life. A stable one. And suddenly, I’m just supposed to throw myself back into this world?"

You studied him for a moment before speaking. "Dreams don’t just disappear, Mingyu. They get buried, maybe, or they change shape. But they don’t vanish."

He sighed again, shaking his head. "You make it sound so simple."

"It is," you said, nudging his arm. "You just have to decide if you’re scared of failing again or if you’re scared of actually succeeding."

Mingyu let out a dry chuckle. "Why do you always do this?"

"Do what?"

"Say things that make me think."

You smirked. "It’s a gift."

Before he could respond, a familiar voice cut through the quiet.

"Well, well. Never thought I’d see the two of you having a heart-to-heart out here."

Mingyu turned, his expression shifting instantly as Jaehyun stepped onto the balcony, hands in his pockets, a smirk playing on his lips.

Of all people. Of all times.

Jaehyun’s gaze flickered between you and Mingyu before settling on the latter. "Heard you’re joining the industry. Guess old habits die hard, huh?"

Jaehyun’s smirk lingered as he leaned casually against the railing, the city lights casting a soft glow on his face. Mingyu, ever the friendly one, bumped fists with him in greeting, but you? You just folded your arms and leaned back slightly, eyeing him with the same cautious distance one might have for a cat that scratched them one too many times.

Mingyu, ever oblivious, chuckled. “Man, it’s been a while. Didn’t think I’d be sharing a screen with you.”

Jaehyun grinned. “Yeah, guess fate has a funny way of bringing people back together.”

Your lips twitched into a tight-lipped smile, though the amusement never reached your eyes. “Fate’s got an interesting sense of humor.”

Mingyu noticed the shift in your tone and glanced between the two of you, sensing something he hadn’t before. Jaehyun, for his part, looked completely unbothered. If anything, he seemed to enjoy whatever unspoken thing was happening between you.

“You two good?” Mingyu asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jaehyun let out a light chuckle. “I don’t know. Are we, Y/n?”

You tilted your head, giving him that unreadable look that made men twice as confident as Jaehyun squirm. “I guess that depends,” you said slowly. “Are we being honest these days?”

Mingyu frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jaehyun’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his gaze sharpened ever so slightly. “Nothing serious. Just an old misunderstanding, right, Y/n?”

You let out a quiet hum, as if debating whether or not you agreed. Mingyu knew you well enough to recognize the way your jaw tightened—there was something there, something you knew that Jaehyun was hoping you’d keep quiet about.

But you didn’t elaborate. And neither did he.

Mingyu, caught in the middle, let out a short laugh, trying to ease the tension. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on? Did Y/n steal your lunch money or something?”

Jaehyun chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. If anything, she’s the one keeping the score.”

Your eyes met his, and for a second, the playful air between you both felt like a carefully crafted act, one that only the two of you understood.

Mingyu sighed, rubbing his temples. “Great. So I get thrown back into acting, and now I have to deal with this weird rivalry too?”

Jaehyun patted his shoulder. “Welcome back to the industry, buddy. It’s never just about the acting.”

*

You saw it with your own eyes. You heard it with your own ears. Jaehyun’s voice echoed in the empty practice room that night, sharp and certain, as he reported everything to the acting coach.

It had been an accident—you had only come back to grab your bag, the one you had stupidly left behind after practice. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But how could you walk away when you heard your name? When you heard Mingyu’s name?

It was the night you found out Mingyu had been chosen for a debut project. A real opportunity. One that meant he wouldn’t have to pay tuition to stay in the academy. It should’ve been a moment of celebration, a victory for him—for both of you.

But then you heard Jaehyun’s next words.

“Mingyu can’t take it. He’s being forced to stay in the police academy. His family won’t let him act.”

Your stomach dropped. Mingyu never told you that.

Then, as if that wasn’t enough, Jaehyun’s voice lowered slightly. “How about Y/n? Can she fill the slot for the female role?”

A beat of silence. Then, the coach’s hesitant response.

“She’s good, but…”

“She needs more practice,” Jaehyun finished smoothly, his voice carrying an air of certainty that left no room for argument.

Your breath hitched.

Of course. Because you needed more practice, right? What a revelation. Apparently, everyone else was born with an innate, flawless acting ability. You, on the other hand, just weren’t quite there yet. But no worries—Jaehyun was a professional, after all. He clearly knew best.

You weren’t good enough?

No. No, this wasn’t just about skill, was it? He knew how much this meant to you. He knew how much it meant to Mingyu. And yet, the next thing you knew, Jaehyun was the one landing his debut project in a drama—your opportunity, Mingyu’s opportunity—snatched away in an instant.

Well, of course. He was clearly the only one who deserved it, right?

The betrayal hit like a punch to the gut. But no worries, Y/n, you just needed more practice. You weren’t bitter, just... improving.

You skipped practice for a week after that. Not because you were sick. Not because you were busy. But because you couldn’t stand to see his face.

And when you finally returned, Jaehyun was already moving on to bigger things, smiling as people congratulated him on his debut.

Like nothing had ever happened. How charming.

"You dated him?"

You turned your head to Mingyu, who was sprawled on your couch, lazily watching the same boring TV show he always put on whenever he wasn’t on shift. You, on the other hand, were staring blankly at the screen, barely paying attention—until his question caught you completely off guard.

"Who? Him?" You pointed at the screen just as Seo Kangjoon’s face appeared, his striking brown eyes practically glowing under the soft lighting of the drama.

Mingyu rolled his eyes. "Not him. Jaehyun."

You immediately sat up, feeling inexplicably offended by the accusation. "Excuse me?"

Mingyu, ever the observant one, caught your reaction right away and let out a laugh. "Why so offended? I was just asking."

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "What makes you think that?"

He shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. "The way you act around him is weird. And also, you’ve been very clear about disliking him all of a sudden. Which, by the way, is new."

"I told you, I don’t dislike him," you huffed. "We just drifted apart. He got busy with police academy and acting. I got busy improving myself. And you—" you shot him a pointed look, "were too busy trying to be… I don’t know. A good person or whatever. Why do we even have to talk about him?"

Mingyu smirked. "So you never dated him behind my back?"

You sighed, exasperated. "Mingyu, for the last time, I don’t date anyone. I’m too busy for that. Unlike some people—" you shot him a knowing glance, "who somehow always find time to meet a pretty girl and take her on a date."

Mingyu’s brows furrowed, looking personally offended. "Hey—I don’t ‘always’ date!"

You snorted. "Oh, sure. Just occasionally. Like, I don’t know, every other month?"

"That is so inaccurate," he scoffed, crossing his arms. "And honestly? Hurtful."

You smirked, leaning back against the couch. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Officer Kim."

Mingyu scoffed at your remark, shaking his head. “You know, I actually sleep way better when you’re around.”

You turned to him, arching a brow. “Oh yeah?"

“Yeah.” He stretched his arms over his head, his smirk lazy and teasing. “Something about your presence just knocks me right out. Like, instant peace. Probably ��cause you’re so boring—”

"Or," you cut in smoothly, tilting your head slightly, "it’s because you like having me around."

Mingyu froze for a split second, his smirk twitching—just barely—but enough for you to notice. His body stiffened ever so slightly, as if his brain was trying to process what you had just said.

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your palm, watching him with quiet amusement. "I mean, it would make sense," you mused, voice light yet edged with something deeper. "You always find excuses to hang out. You like teasing me, but the moment I’m not around, you get all sulky. And now you’re saying you sleep better when I’m with you?" You tilted your head, studying his expression. "Sounds like attachment issues to me, Officer Kim."

Mingyu blinked at you, his confidence slipping for the first time. His usual playful arrogance wavered, replaced with something unreadable—uncertainty, maybe even realization. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if searching for a way to dodge whatever trap you had just laid out for him.

“I—what—no—” He scoffed, tearing his gaze away from yours as he ran a hand through his hair, the tips of his ears turning a faint shade of pink. "That’s not—"

You grinned, catching every subtle shift in his expression. “You’re blushing.”

Mingyu groaned, rubbing his face like he could physically erase the heat creeping up his skin. “I am not blushing.”

“Oh, you so are.”

The way you said it—so smug, so effortlessly—made something in his chest tighten. This was unfair. He was supposed to be the one messing with you, not the other way around. But here you were, turning his own words against him, staring at him with that knowing look that made his heart trip over itself.

Letting out a dramatic sigh, he slumped back against the couch, throwing an arm over his face in utter defeat. “This is exactly why I can’t sleep well when you’re here. You stress me out.”

You gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to your chest. “Wait, so now I’m boring and stressful?”

Mingyu peeked at you from under his arm, his lips twitching into a small smile despite himself. "Yeah," he mumbled, his voice softer now, less teasing. "The worst combination."

You watched him for a moment, something warm curling in your chest. He looked different like this—unguarded, just a little bit vulnerable, like he was still trying to figure out what to do with his own emotions.

You reached over and patted his arm, feigning sympathy. “Too late for that, pretty boy.”

Mingyu groaned again, rolling his head to the side to look at you. But despite his exaggerated exasperation, his eyes softened. He shook his head, a quiet chuckle slipping past his lips.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured.

And yet, even as he said it, he knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.

*

Mingyu had been exhausted—dead tired, actually. His body ached from the long shift, his uniform felt suffocating, and his mind had already checked out the moment he stepped into his car. All he wanted was to go home, take a hot shower, and sleep until the sun decided to wake him.

Then his phone rang.

Seeing your name on the screen should’ve been a relief. He always had energy for you, no matter how drained he felt. But the second he answered and heard your voice—low, clipped, urgent—something in his chest twisted, shoving the exhaustion away in an instant.

"Mingyu, I need a taser."

His first instinct was to assume you were joking. "What?"

"A taser. Do you have one?"

Now he was sitting up straight, pulse spiking. His fingers clenched around the steering wheel.

"Why the hell do you need a taser?" His voice came out sharper than he intended, the weight of his concern pressing down on his chest. "Are you gonna go confront your hater or something?"

Silence.

His stomach dropped.

"Y/n." He said your name like a warning, a plea, a demand all at once.

"Just tell me if you have one or not."

That made his skin crawl. Something was wrong. Something was really fucking wrong. You weren’t the type to be vague about things unless you were hiding something.

Mingyu let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. "No. Tell me first. You just called me out of nowhere, sounding like you’re about to fight for your life, asking for a taser, and you expect me to be calm?!"

More silence.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, his breathing picking up. He strained to hear anything in the background of your call—were you outside? Were you alone? Was someone with you?

Then, finally, you sighed. "I’m at home."

Mingyu didn’t waste a second. He started the engine, throwing his car into drive. "Stay there. Don’t open the door for anyone. I’m coming."

"Mingyu—"

"I swear if you tell me not to come, I’ll lose my damn mind," he snapped, pressing harder on the gas. "Just wait."

The fact that you didn’t argue made his stomach tighten. You were stubborn as hell—always had been. If this were nothing, you would’ve shut him down already, told him he was overreacting.

But you didn’t.

And that scared him even more.

Mingyu swung your door open the moment he punched in the code, his heart already racing before he even stepped inside. The sight of you sitting at the dining table sent a fresh wave of worry crashing over him.

You didn’t look like yourself. Gone was the usual confidence, the effortless charm that always made you seem untouchable. Instead, you looked... small. Heavy with something dark and unspoken. It didn’t suit you. Mingyu hated seeing you like this—sad, angry, shaken.

Without thinking, he dropped to his knees in front of you, reaching for your hands. That’s when he noticed it.

You were trembling.

His stomach twisted. Was there someone in your house? A stalker? A threat he couldn’t see?

His lips parted to ask, but you spoke first.

"Someone has a lot of my inappropriate pics."

The words knocked the air from his lungs.

His grip on your hands tightened, his brain scrambling to process what he just heard. "Someone?" His voice came out sharper than he intended. "Who? What the hell are you talking about?"

Your jaw clenched. "And he wants me to come to this hotel room if I want him to delete them."

Mingyu felt something snap inside him.

His entire body went rigid, his pulse hammering in his ears. "Someone is blackmailing you..." The words came out in a low, dangerous murmur, more to himself than to you.

You nodded, confirming what he already knew but desperately wished wasn’t true.

His entire being burned with fury—an all-consuming, violent kind of anger he rarely ever felt. His jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, his fingers curling into fists.

But beneath the rage, there was something else. Something that made his chest ache.

You weren’t just angry. You were ashamed.

Mingyu hated that more than anything.

Carefully, he reached up, cupping the side of your face, forcing you to look at him. "This is not your fault," he said firmly, his voice softer now but still unshakable.

Your eyes flickered with hesitation. "Mingyu—"

"No." His thumb brushed over your cheek. "I need you to hear me. You did nothing wrong. Nothing. That bastard? He’s the one who’s gonna regret messing with you."

For the briefest second, the tension in your shoulders eased. Just a little.

Mingyu exhaled, standing to his full height. "You’re not going anywhere near that hotel room. We’re handling this my way."

And by his way, he meant the legal way.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Because deep down, Kim Mingyu was already thinking of another way. A way that involved him finding this bastard first.

*

Mingyu immediately reported the blackmailing case to the regional district, his voice firm as he relayed the details. This needed to be handled now—not in a few hours, not tomorrow. He couldn’t afford to wait.

But what truly caught him off guard was the number he had just dialed. His fingers hovered over the dial for only a second before he pressed the button, bringing the phone to his ear.

It barely rang twice before a deep, familiar voice answered.

"Mingyu?"

Mingyu swallowed. "Dad, I need a favor."

He never called his father for help. Not even when things got rough in the academy. But this—this wasn’t about pride. This was about you. And for you, he’d push past anything, even his complicated relationship with the retired regional police chairman.

His father listened quietly as Mingyu explained the situation, his voice calm but urgent. When he was done, there was a long pause before his father finally spoke.

"I'll make a call to the district. They'll handle it immediately. Tell your friend not to respond to anything until the officers take over."

Mingyu let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. "Thank you."

"We’ll talk later." The line went dead.

He didn’t care about the weight of what he’d just done—about dragging his father into something when he’d spent years avoiding relying on him. The only thing that mattered was getting this handled as fast as possible.

And it was all for you.

Because if there was one thing Mingyu knew, it was that he would do anything for you. Even if you never felt the same way.

Mingyu couldn’t remember when it started.

Maybe it was back in the academy, when he used to glance around the practice rooms, always searching for you without even realizing it. Maybe it was during late-night hangouts, when he’d pretend he wasn’t looking forward to hearing you laugh. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself, with that impossible mix of confidence and warmth, making the whole world seem smaller whenever you were near.

Or maybe it was just because you were you.

Mingyu had never struggled to date. Women were attractive, intelligent, interesting. But none of them were you.

And that made all the difference.

So he settled for this. For being the person you felt comfortable around. For being the one you called when you needed help. It was enough.

Or at least, he told himself it was.

Because the truth—the painful, unshakable truth—was that no matter how many times he looked at you, no matter how much he wanted to be the person you saw differently.

He knew he never would be.

Mingyu approached you carefully, his footsteps light but urgent. You sat on the couch, hands wrapped around a cup of tea your manager had made, though it remained untouched. He could see the way your fingers trembled slightly, the way your shoulders curled inward as if trying to make yourself smaller.

Without a word, he dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands resting on your thighs, grounding you. His gaze searched your face, his voice steady but gentle.

“Do you have any idea who it might be?”

You inhaled sharply, your lips parting, but hesitation clouded your expression.

Mingyu noticed immediately. “Y/n,” he pressed, voice soft yet firm. “If you know something, anything, you need to tell me.”

You shook your head, fingers tightening around the ceramic cup. “It’s not that simple.”

“Not that simple?” His brows furrowed. “Someone is blackmailing you with nudes, and you’re worried about it being complicated? Y/n, I need to know who we’re dealing with.”

“I just—” You exhaled, frustration flickering in your eyes before you looked away. “I don’t want to accuse someone without proof.”

“Proof?” Mingyu scoffed. “Y/n, someone is threatening you, and you’re worried about proof?” His grip on your thighs tightened slightly. “Who is it?”

You pressed your lips together, torn. You wanted to believe it wasn’t true, that maybe you were overthinking, but deep down, you knew.

Mingyu watched you struggle with your thoughts, his patience thinning. “Y/n.” His voice dropped lower, softer, but edged with desperation. “Please. Trust me.”

You met his gaze, searching for something—reassurance, maybe. And damn it, Mingyu had never let you down before.

Finally, you swallowed hard and whispered a name.

“Jaehyun.”

Mingyu felt his entire body go rigid the moment the name left your lips. His breath hitched, his heart thudding hard against his ribcage, not with excitement or nervousness—no, this was pure, boiling anger. His fingers twitched against your thighs, the warmth of your skin grounding him just enough to keep his emotions in check.

Jaehyun?

Out of all the people in the world, Jaehyun?

The name repeated in his head like a broken record, each syllable hitting him harder, making his jaw clench so tightly it ached. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense.

Yet, there you were, sitting in front of him, your hands curled so tightly around your cup of tea that he worried it might crack under the pressure.

Mingyu exhaled sharply, forcing himself to speak. “What did you just say?”

You flinched at his tone. It wasn’t loud, but there was something raw in it—something you had never heard from him before. Mingyu was always the one who cracked jokes, who lightened the mood even in tense situations. But right now, there was no humor in his expression. Just tightly coiled fury and disbelief.

You swallowed hard, throat dry. “I called him after the wrap party,” you said, voice quiet, as if saying it any louder would make it more real.

Mingyu’s breath came in uneven exhales. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit something or demand answers from you until everything made sense. Instead, he curled his fists in his lap, trying to suppress the tremor in his fingers.

“And?” His voice was strained, like he was using every ounce of his patience to keep himself from completely losing it.

You hesitated. You had known this would be hard, but seeing Mingyu like this—his entire body tense, his brows drawn together in barely contained rage—made your stomach twist with unease.

“I confronted him about something…” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu inhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening on your legs before he forced himself to let go, dragging a hand down his face. His mind was racing, piecing together everything you weren’t saying.

“You confronted him?” he echoed, his voice dangerously calm. “Y/n, what the hell did you say to him that led to this?”

You hesitated again, and that hesitation was enough to make something snap inside Mingyu.

He pushed himself to his feet, pacing in front of you with frantic, frustrated energy. “You knew something, didn’t you?” His voice was rising, not in anger toward you, but in sheer frustration. “You knew something about Jaehyun, and that’s why you confronted him.” He stopped pacing and turned to face you again, his eyes burning into yours. “Did he threaten you then?”

Your silence was answer enough.

Mingyu let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair before gripping the back of his neck. His entire body felt hot with rage, but the worst part? The worst part was that you hadn’t told him sooner.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me, Y/n?” His voice cracked slightly, laced with something deeper than anger—something closer to hurt. “Why did you handle this alone?”

You bit your lip, looking away. “Because I knew you’d react like this,” you admitted, voice soft but weighted.

Mingyu let out a sharp breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “Like this?” He gestured to himself, his fingers pressing into his temples as if trying to physically push away his frustration. “You mean like someone who actually cares about you?”

Your throat tightened. It wasn’t that simple. You had wanted to handle it on your own, to be strong, to not let him carry the burden of something that was yours to deal with. But now, seeing the raw emotion in Mingyu’s eyes—the way he looked at you like he was hurting just as much—you realized how unfair it was.

You weren’t the only one affected by this.

Mingyu ran a hand down his face again before letting out a shaky exhale. When he finally looked at you, there was something different in his gaze—something softer, but just as intense.

“Y/n,” he murmured, stepping closer again, kneeling down so he was level with you once more. His hands reached out, grasping yours, firm but gentle. “You’re not alone in this, okay? You never have to be.”

His voice wavered slightly, but his grip remained steady, his warmth grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

You blinked, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “I know,” you whispered, voice finally breaking.

Mingyu squeezed your hands, his own shaking slightly. He wasn’t sure what burned more—the anger of knowing someone had done this to you, or the ache of realizing how much you had tried to bear on your own.

*

Mingyu walked toward the hotel room with two detectives from the regional office, his jaw set, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The only way to catch the culprit was to confront them directly, and though the plan was risky, it was the best way to ensure your safety. Your label had tried to intervene, worried about the scandal that would erupt if this reached the media. But Mingyu had shut them down without hesitation. How could they care more about their public image than protecting you? They had failed you once already—he wouldn't let it happen again.

The tension in the air was thick as the hotel staff hesitated before unlocking the door. Mingyu braced himself, expecting to see Jaehyun sprawled across the couch, waiting with a smug, taunting grin. A part of him still wanted to believe it wasn’t true—that Jaehyun wouldn’t do this to you. To him. The idea had made his stomach turn, his knuckles itch to land a punch before the law could take its course.

But as the door swung open, the sight before him made his stomach churn.

It wasn’t Jaehyun.

But instead, it was Park Yaehan.

Sitting leisurely on the couch, draped in nothing but a plush hotel robe, swirling a glass of deep red wine in his hand like he had all the time in the world. His lips curled into a smirk, one that sent a sick wave of fury rolling through Mingyu’s chest.

The detectives wasted no time. One of them stepped forward, flashing his badge as his voice rang through the room with authority.

“Park Yaehan, you are under arrest for blackmail, illegal possession of private material, and attempted coercion.”

Mingyu barely heard the rest. His blood was boiling too hot, his vision sharpening to a pinpoint focus on the man before him.

Yaehan barely reacted—if anything, his smirk grew wider. He didn’t resist when one of the officers yanked him up and twisted his arms behind his back, locking the handcuffs in place with a click. Instead, he let out a low chuckle, eyes flickering to Mingyu.

“You’re dramatic,” Yaehan mused, tilting his head slightly. “Did she call you crying?” His tone was taunting, venom laced into every syllable. “Begging for help?”

Mingyu’s fists clenched at his sides so hard he could feel his nails biting into his palms. His breathing was ragged, but he didn’t move—didn’t give Yaehan the satisfaction of a reaction.

The detective shoved him forward. “You have the right to remain silent,” he started, his voice cold, detached—like this was just another day on the job.

Yaehan didn’t fight back. He let himself be pushed toward the door, but not before glancing over his shoulder with one final smirk.

“She was always good at making men come running, wasn’t she?”

That was the last straw.

Mingyu lunged before he could stop himself, grabbing Yaehan by the collar with both fists and slamming him against the nearest wall. The impact shook the lamp on the side table, the wine glass shattering on the floor. The detectives barked at him to stand down, but their voices barely registered.

Mingyu’s entire body was trembling with rage, his breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. His face was only inches from Yaehan’s, his grip tightening like he could choke the smugness right out of him.

“If you ever—ever—say her name again, I swear to God, I won’t stop at just this,” Mingyu snarled, his voice low, dangerous.

That was when one of the detectives grabbed Mingyu’s shoulder, pulling him back with force. He let go, but not without one last glare, seething with promises of violence he wished he could deliver.

Yaehan was dragged out of the room, his smirk never fading.

Mingyu stood there for a moment, chest heaving, hands shaking. His head was pounding with the weight of everything—your shaken voice on the phone, the way you had curled into yourself earlier, the fear you had tried to mask.

And now, even though the bastard was in cuffs, Mingyu still didn’t feel relief.

Because the damage had already been done.

And he hated that you had ever been afraid in the first place.

*

Jaehyun immediately drove to your place after receiving Mingyu’s call that morning. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as a heavy feeling settled in his chest. The news had already broken—Park Yaehan, handcuffed and dragged out of a hotel room in the early hours of the morning. But what weighed on Jaehyun’s mind wasn’t just the scandal. It was you.

When he arrived, Mingyu was already at the door, looking exhausted but as sharp as ever. He stepped aside without a word, letting Jaehyun in.

The first thing Jaehyun saw was you, curled up on the couch, fast asleep. A blanket draped over you, barely rising and falling with your soft breaths. You looked… drained. Not the strong, confident person he remembered. A pang of guilt settled deep in his stomach.

"I saw the news," Jaehyun whispered, careful not to wake you. "Park Yaehan was dragged out by the police at 2 AM."

Mingyu motioned for him to move to the dining table. His expression was unreadable, but his voice carried an edge of accusation.

"Tell me something I don’t know, Jaehyun. Because she thought it was you."

Jaehyun exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "We argued weeks ago. After the wrap party."

Mingyu tilted his head slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. "What did you argue about that made her think you'd harm her?"

Jaehyun’s hands trembled slightly as he clasped them together, fingers digging into his knuckles. The weight of Mingyu’s stare felt suffocating, pressing down on him like a boulder he couldn’t push away. He had driven here in a rush, his thoughts tangled in confusion and anger, but now, sitting at the dining table under Mingyu’s piercing gaze, all that energy had drained into something colder—guilt, maybe regret.

Across from him, Mingyu was eerily still. His arms were crossed, his jaw tight, his entire posture unreadable except for the sharp glint in his eyes. The silence stretched between them like a taut rope, fraying at the edges, threatening to snap. Jaehyun had expected some kind of immediate reaction—a scoff, an angry outburst, even just disbelief—but the silence was worse. It made him feel like he had already been judged, found guilty without trial.

"You stole my debut," Mingyu repeated, voice quiet but firm. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement—cold, bitter, but not surprised. He was piecing things together, letting the realization settle in.

Jaehyun swallowed, nodding once. "Yeah."

Mingyu tilted his head slightly, as if scrutinizing him. "And you think that’s why she suspected you? Because of something that happened years ago?"

Jaehyun sighed, rubbing his face with both hands before letting them drop to his lap. "I don’t know. But she was the only one who knew how much it haunted me." His voice faltered for a second, and he glanced toward you, still curled up on the couch, completely unaware of the storm brewing just a few feet away. His throat tightened. "Maybe she never let it go. Maybe she never fully forgave me."

Mingyu exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against his bicep in irritation. "Forgiveness isn’t the issue here, Jaehyun. She didn’t just doubt you—she feared you."

Those words stung more than Jaehyun had anticipated. He flinched slightly, his grip on his knees tightening. "I never gave her a reason to be afraid of me."

"But she was," Mingyu shot back, his tone sharper now. "That’s what matters."

Jaehyun clenched his jaw, frustration simmering beneath his skin. "I would never hurt her."

"Then why did she think you would?" Mingyu challenged, leaning forward slightly. "Do you even realize what she went through the past twenty-four hours? She was terrified, Jaehyun. And out of everyone, the first name that came to her mind was you."

Jaehyun’s breathing grew uneven, his heart pounding against his ribs. He had thought about that too, ever since Mingyu’s call. Why him? Why would you believe he was capable of something so cruel? Was it really because of his past mistake, or had he done something else—something he wasn’t even aware of—that made you see him that way?

Mingyu studied him for a long moment before shaking his head, his voice quieting just slightly. "If you really cared about her, you’d be asking yourself the same question."

Jaehyun wanted to argue, wanted to say that he had been asking himself that question over and over since he found out. But the truth was, he didn’t have an answer. And that uncertainty felt like a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

The weight in his chest grew heavier as he finally whispered, "I thought she knew me better than that."

Mingyu let out a short, humorless laugh. "Did you?”

*

"Mingyu..." Your voice was hoarse from sleep, your throat dry, and your body stiff from spending too many hours curled up on the couch. A dull ache spread across your back, making you wince as you shifted. You had lost track of time, barely aware of when exhaustion had pulled you under. But you remembered Mingyu’s promise—he said he wouldn’t leave you. That was the last thing you clung to before sleep claimed you.

You stirred again, calling his name unconsciously, expecting his presence. But when your eyes fluttered open, it wasn’t Mingyu you saw.

It was him.

"Jung Jaehyun?" Your voice came out weaker than you intended, confusion laced with caution.

Jaehyun sat across from you, his posture relaxed, but his expression was anything but. His lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke. "How are you feeling?"

Your eyes darted around, searching for Mingyu. "How are you here? Where’s Mingyu?"

"He went to the regional office with your manager," Jaehyun answered, his voice measured.

You sighed, nodding as your gaze flickered toward the clock on the wall. The hands pointed to 11. You had been out for nearly six hours. No wonder your body felt sore.

Jaehyun watched you carefully before speaking again. "Mingyu called me about what happened." He hesitated, as if picking his words carefully. "I'm sorry that you had to go through that."

You shook your head slowly, swallowing against the lump in your throat. "I'm just... glad it wasn't you." Your voice wavered, a mix of relief and guilt. "I'm sorry too."

Jaehyun exhaled, running a hand down his face. "I mean... I'm sorry for everything." His fingers curled into fists against his thighs. "For what happened last night. For what happened in the past. I made a lot of mistakes. I—" He exhaled sharply. "I doubted your potential."

The room fell into a heavy silence. It stretched between you like an invisible wall, thick with words left unsaid.

Finally, you broke it. "Have you apologized to Mingyu?"

Jaehyun’s brow furrowed slightly, caught off guard by your sudden shift in focus.

"You stole his debut," you said simply. There was no accusation in your tone—just quiet acknowledgment of a truth you both knew.

Jaehyun’s lips parted as if to respond, but he hesitated. His shoulders tensed. Then, slowly, he nodded.

But something in his expression shifted. It wasn’t just regret that flickered across his face—it was something heavier, something unresolved. A quiet acceptance that things between him and Mingyu would never be the same again.

Friendships, no matter how deep, had their limits. And Jaehyun was starting to wonder if he had already crossed the line too far to go back.

Jaehyun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he let out a slow, measured breath. He hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to tell you, but then he spoke.

"The director called Mingyu earlier," he said carefully, watching your reaction. "He said he couldn’t help but cancel him as a cast."

Your stomach dropped.

Jaehyun’s voice remained calm, but there was an underlying tension in his words. "He was disappointed… about everything that happened. He didn’t want it to affect the production any further."

You felt a sharp pang in your chest. Mingyu had done nothing wrong. If anything, he had fought for you—protected you when no one else did. And now, he was paying the price for it.

Your fingers clenched the blanket draped over you. "He… got fired?"

Jaehyun didn’t say the word, but his silence was enough of an answer.

Jaehyun sighed, rubbing his temple. "The director didn’t want to make the call, but the producers were insistent. They don’t want any scandals tied to the project."

You swallowed hard. The industry was ruthless, you knew that. But hearing it out loud—seeing how easily they discarded Mingyu after everything—made your blood boil.

"This isn’t fair," you muttered, your voice shaking.

"I know," Jaehyun admitted. "But Mingyu probably knew this was coming."

That didn’t make it any less painful.

You exhaled sharply, your head pounding with frustration. Mingyu had given so much—for you, for this project—only to be thrown aside. You knew he’d act like it didn’t bother him, that he’d brush it off with a grin and say it was fine. But it wasn’t fine.

And for the first time since this whole mess started, you weren’t just angry at the people who hurt you.

You were angry at the industry, at the way it treated the people who gave it everything.

And most of all, you were angry at yourself—because no matter how much you hated it, you knew that you were part of the reason this happened to Mingyu.

*

Mingyu hadn’t expected to see anyone when he stepped out of his car that night, much less you.

You stood outside his apartment building, shivering slightly in the cold, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The dim streetlight cast a glow over your face, highlighting the way your breath came out in faint, visible puffs against the chilly night air. Your hair was slightly tousled, as if you had been standing there for a while, debating whether or not to go inside.

His chest tightened at the sight. It had been two weeks since the incident—two weeks since your label announced your hiatus, since the fallout of Park Yaehan’s scandal had sent shockwaves through the industry. Two weeks since you had last reached out to him. And now, here you were, waiting for him outside his home in the dead of night.

“Y/n?” Mingyu called, stepping closer. His voice held a mixture of surprise and concern. “What are you doing here? It’s freezing.”

His voice was softer than he intended, but there was an edge of concern underneath. He knew you weren’t supposed to be out in public, not when your name was still floating around in headlines. Not when you should’ve been resting.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, your expression unreadable at first. But then, you offered a small, tired smile—one that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I needed to see you.”

He didn’t press further. Instead, he sighed, pulling off his coat without a second thought and draping it over your shoulders. His warmth lingered in the fabric, and you instinctively pulled it closer.

“Come inside,” he said gently. “You shouldn’t be out here like this.”

You hesitated for a moment, as if unsure of something, before finally nodding. Without another word, Mingyu reached for the door, holding it open for you as you stepped inside.

Mingyu watched you carefully as the two of you stepped inside his apartment. His eyes traced over your face, taking in the subtle hollowness in your cheeks, the way your sweater hung a little looser on your frame. His chest ached at the realization.

“You lost weight,” he murmured, concern lacing his tone. “Do you want me to cook you something?”

You gave a small nod, your gaze drifting to the floor as if the weight of the conversation in your head was too heavy to meet his eyes.

Mingyu turned toward the kitchen, but before he could take a step, your voice stopped him.

“Mingyu.”

He stilled, nodding slightly to let you know he was listening. His heart pounded a little harder beneath his ribs, sensing there was something you weren’t saying yet.

“When I debuted,” you started, voice quieter now, “how did you feel?”

A silence stretched between you, thick and unspoken. Then, finally, Mingyu sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I was happy for you,” he admitted simply.

You finally lifted your gaze, searching his face. “And when Jaehyun debuted?”

Mingyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Why are we talking about things that have already passed?”

But you weren’t letting this go. “Acting was your dream too, Mingyu,” you pressed. “How did it feel to never debut?”

He let out a short chuckle, though there was no humor behind it. “You really want to hear the answer?” His voice held an edge now, not of anger, but of something close to exhaustion. “Fine. It was nothing. Because I forced myself to focus on getting better at something else.”

Your brows furrowed slightly at his response, but before you could say anything, he continued.

“But why are you still so kind to me and Jaehyun?” You finally asked.

Mingyu blinked at you, as if the question itself was absurd. “Because you guys are my friends,” he said simply. “And I have no reason to hate you. Or dislike you.”

Another silence settled between you. This time, it felt heavier.

Mingyu studied your face for a moment before speaking again, his voice quieter this time.

“Is there something specific you want to hear from me?”

“Tell me you hate me,” you whispered, your voice raw with desperation.

Mingyu blinked at you, disbelief flashing across his face. “What are you talking about?” His voice was uneven, edged with confusion and something dangerously close to anger. “Why would I hate you?”

You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat, your nails digging into your palms. “I— I heard from Jaehyun… the director cut you off.”

Mingyu’s jaw twitched, his fingers flexing at his sides. A flicker of something passed through his eyes—hurt, frustration—but it was gone in a second, masked by indifference. He shrugged, forcing nonchalance into his voice. “So?”

Your breath hitched. “I failed your debut… again.”

Mingyu let out a slow, deliberate exhale, his patience thinning. His voice lowered, calm but edged with warning. “And then?”

The weight of your guilt pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. “You should hate me, Mingyu,” you choked out, the words barely making it past your lips. “I crushed your dream.”

Mingyu’s brows furrowed, and this time, frustration flickered openly across his face. His hands clenched into fists at his sides before he forced them to relax. “No, you didn’t,” he said firmly. “And you never have.”

Your vision blurred slightly, your pulse thrumming painfully in your ears. “I know it was important to you… acting.”

Mingyu inhaled sharply through his nose, his patience wearing thin. “What are you talking about, Y/n? Nothing is important to me right now. You know that.”

Your throat tightened as you stepped forward, your voice barely steady. “But it was always your dream…”

Mingyu dragged a hand down his face, his frustration palpable. “Yeah, it was. In the past.” He exhaled heavily, his tone quieter but weighted with finality. “Now… I don’t think I suit the acting industry. Not after everything that’s happened—”

“I like you, Mingyu.”

The words spilled from your lips before you could stop them, and the shift in the air was immediate—suffocating.

Mingyu froze.

His breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening slightly as your confession settled between you like an earthquake, shaking the fragile ground you stood on. The tension that had been simmering in the room suddenly felt unbearable, pressing against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

His silence was worse than anything you had imagined.

“I like you…” you repeated, but this time, your voice wavered, thick with uncertainty.

Mingyu just stood there, staring at you as if you had just unraveled something inside him he wasn’t ready to face. His lips parted, but no words came out.

You swallowed hard, feeling the burn of unshed tears prick your eyes. “And knowing that I was the reason for everything that happened—the director cutting you off, your failed debut…” Your voice cracked, and you dropped your gaze to the floor, unable to meet his eyes anymore. “I was… I am sorry.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenched, his breathing heavy as if he was struggling with something. “Y/n…”

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered, the weight of your guilt pressing against your ribcage.

Mingyu let out a sharp breath, frustration laced in every syllable. “Stop saying that.”

You shook your head, stepping back slightly, putting distance between you as if it would somehow lessen the ache in your chest. “It’s the truth. You lost so much because of me, and yet… you’re still here, being kind to me, looking after me.” Your voice broke, raw with emotion. “How can you do that? How can you not hate me?”

Mingyu’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line before he finally spoke, his voice low but unwavering. “Because I don’t blame you, Y/n. And I never will.”

Your breath hitched as you looked up at him, searching for something—anger, resentment, anything that would make sense of the situation. But all you found was sincerity, unshaken and firm.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because you couldn’t understand how someone could lose so much and still choose to stay.

Mingyu exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair as if trying to ground himself. His frustration was evident, but it wasn’t directed at you—it was at the situation, at the way you refused to see what he had been trying to tell you all along.

"Y/n, do you really think I'm still hung up on debuting?" His voice was quiet but firm. "Do you really think my entire life was ruined just because I didn’t become an actor?"

You couldn’t answer.

Because wasn’t that the truth?

You had spent so long carrying the weight of his dreams on your shoulders, convincing yourself that your success had come at the cost of his, that you never stopped to consider—maybe you weren’t the one who got to decide what he had lost.

Mingyu sighed, stepping closer, his presence warm despite the cold tension in the air. "I never hated you, not once," he murmured, his eyes searching yours. "So why do you keep trying to push me away?"

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling around the hem of your coat. "Because…" You hesitated, your voice barely above a whisper. "I feel guilty."

Mingyu scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s not a reason to hate someone, Y/n. And it sure as hell isn’t a reason for me to walk away from you."

His words hit deep, unraveling something inside you that had been wound too tight for too long.

Your gaze dropped to the floor. "I just… I don’t know how to make it right."

"You don’t have to."

The certainty in his voice made you look up. Mingyu was watching you, his expression open, unguarded in a way that made your chest tighten.

"You don’t have to make anything right," he repeated. "Because nothing was ever wrong between us."

Silence hung between you again, thick with unspoken feelings, unshed tears, and the weight of too many years spent misunderstanding each other.

And then, in the quiet, Mingyu sighed, tilting his head slightly as if finally acknowledging the other thing lingering between you.

"You like me," he murmured, his voice softer now. It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. "I do."

Mingyu’s lips quirked into the smallest, saddest smile. "And you think you don’t deserve me?"

You nodded hesitantly, unable to meet his gaze.

Mingyu let out a breath, almost like a quiet chuckle, before he reached out—his fingers curling gently around your wrist, his warmth seeping into your skin.

"Y/n," he said, his voice impossibly tender. "You’re the only thing I never regretted."

Your heart clenched.

The air shifted again, this time not with guilt or hesitation, but with something heavier, something deeper.

You had spent so long believing you had ruined his life. And yet, here he was, standing right in front of you, telling you that you were the only thing he never once resented.

Your throat tightened, emotions threatening to spill over. "Mingyu…"

His grip on your wrist tightened just slightly, grounding you. "Stop running away from me," he whispered. "If you like me, then just… stay."

Your chest ached, the words hitting you harder than you expected.

Could you?

Could you really let go of the guilt, of the years of overthinking and self-blame?

Could you stay?

Mingyu let out a shaky breath, his grip on your wrist firm but gentle, as if he were afraid you would disappear if he let go. His heart pounded against his ribs, louder than the silence between you.

For years, he had buried this feeling—stuffed it deep into the corners of his heart, convinced that friendship was enough, that he could endure simply standing by your side. But right now, seeing you like this, so raw, so vulnerable, telling him you liked him while carrying a guilt you never should have had to bear…

Something inside him snapped.

No more holding back.

He swallowed hard, his other hand coming up to cradle the side of your face. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, and he felt the way you tensed under his touch. The hesitation in your eyes, the way your lips parted slightly as if you wanted to say something—but you didn’t.

For once, Mingyu didn’t give you the space to run.

He leaned in, hesitating just for a fraction of a second, just long enough for you to stop him if you wanted to. But you didn’t move.

And then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate, but it wasn’t careful either. It was full of everything he had held back for years—frustration, longing, the silent love he had carried for so long without ever daring to name it.

His lips were warm against yours, the pressure firm yet soft, as if he were trying to tell you with this kiss what he had never been brave enough to say out loud. That he had wanted you all along. That it was never about acting, never about the past—only about you.

You stiffened for a moment, stunned, before your fingers clutched at the fabric of his sweater, grounding yourself. The way your body melted into his just slightly, the way your breath hitched against his lips—it made something deep in Mingyu’s chest ache.

You kissed him back.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

His hand slid from your wrist to your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss just slightly, enough to let you know—he wasn’t going to let you push him away anymore.

He wasn’t going to let either of you keep pretending.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless, the space between you charged with something electric.

"You think you don’t deserve me," he murmured, voice low, warm against your lips. "But, Y/n… I’ve spent years thinking I was the one who didn’t deserve you."

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes fluttering open to meet his. Mingyu’s gaze was soft yet intense, no hesitation left.

"So if we’re both idiots about this," he whispered, "then let’s just stop pretending."

His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch steady, grounding. "Stay," he said again, but this time, it wasn’t just a request. It was a promise.

A promise that if you chose him, he wouldn’t let you regret it.

*

The warm glow of your apartment cast a cozy atmosphere over the small gathering, the scent of takeout and the faint fizz of beer bottles opening filling the air. Mingyu sat beside you on the couch, his arm draped casually behind you, fingers lightly grazing your shoulder. Jaehyun sat across from you both, legs stretched out, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

You had been putting this moment off for too long, but tonight—celebrating Mingyu’s promotion to detective at the regional station—it felt right. The weight that had been sitting in your chest for weeks finally eased as you turned to Jaehyun and said, “By the way… Mingyu and I are dating.”

Jaehyun groaned loudly, throwing his head back against the couch. “Finally!”

Mingyu burst into laughter, nudging you playfully. “He must’ve seen this coming.”

Jaehyun scoffed, sitting up straighter. “Yeah! Who didn’t?” He pointed at you. “I mean, come on, Mingyu literally would do anything for you. The guy has had ‘in love with Y/N’ written all over his face for years.”

Your cheeks flushed as you glanced at Mingyu, but he just shrugged with an easy grin. “Took us long enough, huh?”

Jaehyun rolled his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for this announcement since forever. You guys were dancing around each other so much, I was this close—” he held up his fingers an inch apart “—to locking you in a room until you figured it out.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “We weren’t that obvious.”

Jaehyun snorted. “Oh, you were.” He turned to Mingyu. “Dude, I’ve seen you drop everything for her without even thinking. If she called you at 3 a.m. because she saw a spider, you’d drive across town just to kill it.”

Mingyu shrugged again, taking a sip of his drink. “Well… yeah.”

Jaehyun shook his head with a fond sigh. “Seriously, though, I’m happy for you guys.” He raised his beer. “To Mingyu’s promotion, and to finally putting an end to all the unnecessary tension.”

You and Mingyu clinked your drinks against his, sharing a glance that held something deeper—a quiet understanding that this, right here, was what mattered. The past, the guilt, the hesitation… none of it had a place in the life you were building together now.

And for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

Mingyu scoffed, setting his drink down with a playful glare in Jaehyun’s direction. “Okay, but why does it sound like I was the only one who was obvious? Like I was pathetically in love while she just—what? Kept me around for convenience?” He turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “You really hid it that well, huh?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Jaehyun cut in, shaking his head. “Nah, don’t even start with that, Mingyu. You just never paid attention.”

Mingyu frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jaehyun leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Remember when she confronted me about your debut? When she found out I got cast instead of you?”

Mingyu blinked, caught off guard. “What about it?”

Jaehyun huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “She came at me like she was ready to burn everything down. I’ve never seen her that angry before. She wasn’t mad that I got the role—she was mad that you didn’t. And when I told her there was nothing she could do, that it was already decided, you know what she said?”

Mingyu swallowed, his chest tightening as he looked at you. “…What did she say?”

Jaehyun turned to you, his expression softening. “She said, ‘It’s not fair. No one works harder than Mingyu. No one deserves it more than him.’” He let out a small chuckle. “And then she told me I should apologize to you. That I owed you that much.”

Mingyu’s lips parted slightly as he looked at you, but you couldn’t meet his eyes. Your fingers toyed with the hem of your sleeve, nervous under his gaze.

Jaehyun leaned back, crossing his arms. “So yeah, maybe she wasn’t obvious like you, following her around like a lost puppy.” Mingyu glared at him, but Jaehyun just grinned. “But she cared. A lot. Probably more than she even realized.”

Silence settled between the three of you. Mingyu was still staring at you, and you could feel the weight of his gaze. Slowly, you glanced up at him, your heart hammering in your chest.

Mingyu let out a small, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair. “So all this time… you really did care that much?”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Of course, I did.”

Mingyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a fond, almost exasperated smile. “And you still made me think I was in this alone?”

You bit your lip, but before you could answer, Jaehyun groaned, standing up. “Okay, I’m done being the middleman in your slow-burn romance. You guys figure out the rest.”

With that, he grabbed another drink and headed toward your balcony, giving you and Mingyu some space.

Mingyu watched him leave before turning back to you, his expression unreadable. Then, after a moment, he reached out, fingers brushing against yours before lacing them together.

“You could’ve told me,” he murmured, voice softer now.

You squeezed his hand lightly. “I was scared.”

Mingyu sighed, bringing your hand to his lips for a brief kiss. “Me too,” he admitted.

For the first time, neither of you had to run, hide, or pretend.

*

The warmth of laughter filled your apartment as the three of you huddled around the small coffee table, empty bottles and snack wrappers scattered across it. The air was light, no longer weighed down by unspoken words or past regrets. It felt… normal. Like old times, except better—because now, there were no more barriers.

Jaehyun smirked as he laid down his final card. “And that makes me the winner.”

Mingyu groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Again? Are you cheating?”

“You just suck at this game,” Jaehyun shot back, grinning.

You giggled, nudging Mingyu’s arm. “Loser runs the errand. More drinks and snacks, please.”

Mingyu sighed, dragging himself up from the floor. “You guys planned this, didn’t you?”

Jaehyun shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You’re both evil.” But despite his words, Mingyu smiled as he grabbed his jacket and slipped on his shoes.

The cold night air greeted him as he stepped out of your building, his breath visible in the crisp air. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional car passing by. He shoved his hands into his pockets, heading toward the convenience store a block away.

But as he approached, he slowed his steps, his brows furrowing.

Sitting in front of the store, illuminated by the glow of the streetlights, was a familiar face. Chan. His colleague.

Mingyu tilted his head. “Isn’t that… the part-timer?” he muttered to himself.

Chan was deep in conversation with a girl, her face half-hidden by her long hair. She laughed at something he said, her hand playfully pushing his shoulder.

Mingyu smirked to himself. “Well, well. What’s this?”

It seemed like he wasn’t the only one who had a story unfolding tonight.

Shaking his head in amusement, Mingyu stepped into the store, letting the door chime announce his arrival. He still had an errand to run, after all. But now, he had something interesting to bring up to Chan later.

[warpdrive-witch]

Remind Me

Pairing: Agatha x fem!reader Warnings: NSFW, Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink, Oral, Grinding, Plot: Agatha picks you up from jail after being arrested at a protest. Smut. Pure fucking smut. MEN AND MINORS DNI! Buy Mommy a ☕️

The door to the holding cell groaned open with a mechanical click, a burst of stale air and flickering fluorescent light bleeding across the cement floor. It spilled into the room like something sour and uninvited. You squinted as the frame widened—like the night itself had blinked awake, and you were the first thing it saw.

“Harkness!”

The name cracked through the stale air like a warning shot—sharp, nasal, and clipped with bureaucratic disinterest. The desk sergeant didn’t look up from his clipboard. He didn’t have to.

A summons. A signal. The sound of consequences catching up to chaos… and letting it walk free.

It took you a full breath to register he was calling for you. Your last name, detached and impersonal, echoing across steel and stone like it didn’t belong to flesh. Before you could even respond, it came again—louder, more impatient this time: “Harkness!”

Your name, barked out like an accusation. Like a command. Like you were both the problem and the proof. You rose slowly from the concrete bench you'd been slumped on for hours, spine creaking, shoulders groaning under the weight of stillness and dried sweat. Your legs protested, stiff from sitting cross-legged too long. Every muscle in your body buzzed with fatigue, but you moved like you weren’t giving anyone the satisfaction of seeing it.

Nothing was broken. Nothing that wouldn’t fade. But the ache was real. The skin around your wrists stung, raw and red where the zip-ties had dug in deep. Raised welts circled your skin like branding, half-faded but unforgettable. Your shirt stuck to your back—damp with sweat, dried gas, maybe blood. You couldn’t tell anymore. Couldn’t care.

You smelled like protest: Pepper spray. Adrenaline. Smoke. Truth. And you walked like you’d earned every second of it.

Boots hit concrete with a weight you didn’t bother to hide. Every step was deliberate. Measured. Yours.

The Sharpie number on your forearm was half-smeared from sweat and friction, but still visible. Still inked into your skin like a spell. Still there. Just like you would continue to be until people woke up to the insanity around them taking place.

The hallway stretched ahead like a tunnel built from fatigue and bad lighting. You passed fingerprint stations and cold metal desks. You passed other faces—blank, bureaucratic, bored. The hum of vending machines and overused fluorescents filled the air like static.

And then— him.

The cop.

The officer who’d slammed your face into the sidewalk during the scuffle, who’d muttered something about “you people” when the zip-tie bit into your bone. He sat behind a glass partition in a side office, half-shadowed, chewing the end of a pen like it owed him something.

His eyes didn’t lift. But his presence soured the entire hallway. As you passed, he muttered without looking: “Stay out of trouble and listen next time.”

You didn’t break stride. Didn’t slow. Didn’t blink. You just raised one hand behind you—deliberate, smooth, no hesitation—and extended your middle finger like a quiet act of war. A blessing, even. A fucking benediction. That gesture was a full sentence. A punctuation mark. A signature. One last message to the officer who thought the right to protest needed to be approved by him personally.

The door to the lobby buzzed. A low, grating sound—followed by the clank of an electronic lock disengaging.

You pushed it open with your shoulder. And there she was. Agatha.

Standing just inside the threshold, like she’d been pacing seconds before and froze the moment the door released. A single line of harsh overhead light caught the crown of her head and the curve of her cheekbone, casting the rest of her in shadow.

Her coat was black, unzipped, thrown on in a rush. Her hair was pulled up into a loose knot, haphazard and unstyled—too high, too tight, like she hadn’t meant to come out. Like she hadn’t expected it to be you she was bailing out until it already was. Jeans. Boots. No makeup. Still beautiful. Still furious.

She didn’t move. Not right away. Just stood there, arms folded tightly across her chest, one boot angled slightly out—her weight tilted like she didn’t trust the ground beneath her anymore. Her eyes found you instantly. They dropped to your wrists first, where angry red bands still marked your skin. Then up to your face—your swollen cheekbone, your tear-gas eyes, the smirk you couldn’t quite wipe off your face. And then her gaze hardened. Not in rage. Not in judgment.

In something worse. Fear, choked and weaponized. A gut-punch of helplessness buried under the brittle armor of restraint. Her head tilted just a fraction. Her brow arched just enough. That look. The Agatha Harkness look. Sharp enough to slice through steel. Soft enough to hold your name inside it. Somehow, impossibly, it held both: You absolute idiot and thank God you’re standing. Judgment and devotion in one unbroken, devastating line of sight.

Your lips parted. You had something cocky on the tip of your tongue—something like “Miss me?” or “Wasn’t even the worst night I’ve had.” You almost said it. But before a single syllable passed your lips, her voice cut across the space—low, quiet, final: “Not now.”

It landed like gravity. Not a threat. Not a plea. Just a truth wrapped in warning. An invocation of privacy. Of safety. Of boundaries drawn by love, not law. You stopped. The smirk faded just slightly, tucked back into the corners of your breath.

A pause bloomed between you. Thick enough to carry everything unspoken: the worry in her shoulders, the heat in your ribs, the way you had both seen this moment coming and still hated the fact that it had arrived.

She turned before you could answer, pushing the door open to the parking lot without looking back. The concrete was slick with dew. The air still held a trace of smoke. The smell of asphalt and distant rain filled your nose, wiping away the bleach and stale sweat of the jail behind you. And as you passed her to slide into the car, your thigh brushed hers—accidental, but real. She flinched. Just barely. Just enough.

You climbed into the car without a word. The seat creaked under your weight, the scent of her perfume rising up from the upholstery like muscle memory. She closed the door behind you with the softest click. You closed your eyes for half a second—just long enough to feel the ache settle.

She got in beside you, turned the key, and backed out with a sharp turn of the wrist. Headlights flooded the cracked concrete in front of you, catching the faint haze of rising mist. The tires rolled slow over the speed bump in the lot, then faster once the road widened, away from the building, away from the cuffs, away from everything that reeked of detention and authority and stale coffee breath.

The city was quiet at this hour, not asleep but sedated. Fog drifted low across the asphalt, blurring the orange glow of the streetlamps into watery halos. The roads were slick from earlier rain, and everything smelled like pavement and static.

Agatha said nothing.

The dashboard cast her face in a dim blue wash. Soft shadows sat beneath her eyes, deepening the sharp line of her cheekbone. She looked composed, but not calm. Her jaw was too tight. Her hands too still on the wheel.

You shifted in your seat, restless. Your knee bounced on a melody of its own. Your fingers picked at the half-smeared Sharpie ink on your arm. The numbers were fading fast, blurring into a mess of gray lines and sweat, but you kept rubbing them anyway. Like the act itself might keep you tethered to her voice on the other end of the phone. The bruises on your arms pulled tight when you leaned to adjust your seatbelt. You winced—quietly. Didn’t want her to see.

She saw. She always saw.  Her eyes flicked to you at the next red light. Not long. Just enough. Her gaze lingered on the movement of your hand, your arm, the slight shake in your knee. She didn’t speak. But she didn’t have to.

The silence in the car wasn’t cold. It was thick. Dense with everything she wanted to say but wouldn’t. Not yet. The light turned green. She drove on. Another few blocks passed before her hand moved—slow, deliberate, cutting through the heavy stillness between you. It slid across the center console and found yours.

Warm. Steady. Real. You didn’t squeeze back. Not at first. Afraid to misread it. Afraid this was about control, not comfort. Her thumb brushed across your knuckles. Once. Twice. A soft, rhythmic motion. Not forgiveness. Not approval. Reassurance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your throat tightened. You cleared it, voice catching in the silence. She didn’t look at you, not fully, but her voice came low and edged: “My number is on your skin.”You nodded.

“I said you it might happen. I didn’t even think. Just…Wrote your number before I left the house. I knew it might get bad.” You glanced down at your arm. The numbers were nearly gone.  Her fingers paused. Then gripped tighter. Not painfully. Just... present. “And when I didn’t hear from you for hours?” Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t crack. But you heard it anyway beneath the words. That coil of emotion she wouldn’t let unspool. Not yet. Frustration. Fear. The helpless, gnawing dread ofnot knowing. And something else, too. A flicker. A break in the current. Relief.

You stared out the windshield, the empty stretch of road ahead gleaming with scattered puddles. “I knew you’d find me,”you said quietly.“You always do.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Didn’t nod. Didn’t scoff. Didn’t pull her hand away.

She just kept driving.

The city gave way to quieter streets. The fog thickened, wrapping around the windshield like cotton gauze, softening the edges of the world. The headlights carved a narrow path through it, bright and breathless.

Her hand stayed in yours. You could feel the tremor in her palm—barely there, like something she was holding back on instinct. Rage, maybe. Or the memory of hearing your voice from the other end of a jailhouse phone line, too calm, too quiet, using the word “processed” like it didn’t mean caged.

She took the next turn too quickly. The tires skidded just slightly, and her knuckles went pale around the wheel. Still, her hand in yours never wavered. A streetlight passed overhead. For a moment, her face caught the glare. You saw the tightness in her jaw. The way her lips were pressed thin. The way her eyes flicked to you and then away again like she couldn’t look too long or she’d unravel something she didn’t want you to see.

When she spoke again, it was almost a whisper: “They could’ve hurt you worse.” Her voice was barely above a breath. Flat, restrained. Not numb—but trying to be. You turned your head, slowly, watching the way her fingers tightened against the leather of the wheel. Her other hand was still tangled in yours, thumb still frozen against your skin like she didn’t trust herself to keep moving.

The car was so quiet you could hear the low hum of the tires on wet asphalt. You inhaled through your nose—slow, steady. “They have,” you said finally, eyes fixed ahead. “Not me. But others. Way worse. For generations” Your voice didn’t shake. Not even close. “This?” you added, glancing down at your arms, the bruises just now darkening to a sick shade of violet. “This I can handle.”

She didn’t respond. But her jaw clenched again. You let the silence fill the space between you. Let it be uncomfortable. Let her feel it all.

Because it wasn’t about her. And she knew that. And still—it wrecked her. The drive turned familiar. The houses started to look like memories instead of background noise. You passed the little bookstore she liked, dark now, the yellow awning damp with rain. The corner market. The faded mural three blocks from home.

She made the last turn tight, then slowed into the driveway. The engine ticked softly as she shifted into park. The headlights cut off. Just the amber glow from the porch light now, and the long shadow of the night trailing behind you. She didn’t move to open her door. Neither did you. Her hand still cradled yours, still unmoving. But something in the air shifted—like a held breath exhaled, slow and unwilling. You turned to her fully this time, the side of your body screaming from the movement, but you did it anyway. You turned to her, slow and aching. “I’m okay.”

The words felt small in the air between you, too neat for the wreckage they were meant to contain. Agatha didn’t respond at first. Her hand flexed on the steering wheel—once, then twice—leather creaking beneath her grip. Her jaw was tight. Set. Not clenched in anger, but in preservation. Like her whole body was holding something back.

When she spoke, it was quiet.nNo drama. No theatrics. Just precision. Just truth.

“Your friend called.” A pause. Measured. “Said they took you.” Another. “Said no one knew where.”

Her eyes didn’t leave the road ahead, but her voice came sharp—like frost under fire: “Your friend. Not the police. Not the station.” You heard the emphasis, the edge under it—the insult of being forced to rely on someone who shouldn’t have been the one to tell her. “Then their phone died.” That silence bloomed again—thicker now. Nearly unbearable. “No location,” she said, quieter still. “Just… ‘on the ground. Bleeding.’”

You felt the breath leave her—not all at once, but in pieces, like it cost her something to remember it. She didn’t blink. She didn’t flinch. “Three hours of silence.” Her voice hit like a knife honed on restraint. “I had your blood in my head and some asshole at the desk asking me to spell your name like it was a trivia question.”

She let out a breathless laugh—sharp and mirthless. It sounded like something that had been waiting days to escape. “They made me wait.” Her voice lowered, dropped into something dangerous. Controlled. Clipped. Each word like a match struck and held just shy of flame. “While I imagined your body in the back of a van. Head hitting the floor. Face-down. Cuffed. Bleeding.”

The weight of it landed on your chest before you could process it. She shook her head, just once—barely a movement, but loaded almost like she didn’t trust herself to do more. “I looked at every blank face behind every window and asked for you.” Then, finally, she turned. And when her eyes found yours, they didn’t just hold fury. They held proof.

“And no one said a word. No one gave a shit that you were missing.” A pause. “That you were mine.” The word landed soft, but final. Like it had already been carved into the bones of the night. She exhaled. Not shaky. Not broken. Just steady—like someone who had made it out of the worst moment of her life and hadn’t forgiven the world for it. “The system didn’t just take you.” Her voice lowered to a level that chilled your skin. “It erased you. For hours.”

A pause so long it bordered on sacred. “Like your name didn’t matter.” She blinked once. “Like I wasn’t standing right there. Demanding it. So don’t tell me you’re okay.” There was no venom in it. Only grief sharpened into something lethal. “Let me be angry first.”

She stared straight ahead.

And you sat there, head bowed slightly, fingers curled loosely in your lap. Sharpie smeared. Wrist raw. Still breathing.

A minute passed. Maybe more. You counted the beats of your pulse like footsteps in your chest. Then, without a word, Agatha opened her door and stepped out. Not loud. Not abrupt. Just done waiting. You watched her walk around the front of the car, her silhouette catching the faint wash of the porch light as she moved—composed rage wrapped in denim and shadow. She rounded the passenger side, pulled the handle, and opened your door. She didn’t speak. Just looked at you. Her face was unreadable—not because she was hiding it, but because the storm behind it was still deciding whether to retreat or rise again.

Still, she was here. Still, she’d come for you. Still, she was holding the door open with one hand and her breath with the other.

You stood. It took effort. Your legs protested the movement.  Her hand brushed your back once, barely there. Not a push. Not support. Just… proof. The gravel of the driveway crunched beneath your feet. The porch light caught the corner of your jacket, your frizzed hair, the shine still clinging to your cheeks from dried gas and sweat.

Agatha didn’t walk ahead. She matched your pace. Shoulder to shoulder. No words. Only the quiet weight of everything she hadn’t said—and everything she already had. She unlocked the front door and opened it.

The house greeted you like it had been holding its breath. Soft light spilled in from the kitchen—left on, maybe out of hope. The air was warm, still faintly scented with whatever candle she must’ve blown out before she left. Rosemary. Smoke. Wax. Home.

You stepped inside first. Your boots met hardwood with a soft thud. The ache in your thighs flared with every movement, and your ribs pulled tight where the bruises were beginning to set in. Sweat still clung to your back, to the backs of your knees. The scent of tear gas and adrenaline followed you like a second skin.

Behind you, Agatha closed the door. The lock clicked into place—clean, final. You didn’t look at her. You didn’t need to. You moved on instinct now. Down the hall. Around the corner. Through the bedroom to the bathroom.

The path was muscle memory now—dim light, familiar shadows, every step echoing louder than it should have. You peeled off your jacket as you walked, fingers fumbling a little at the zipper. Then your shirt, tugged over your head with a wince. Every movement dragged at tired muscles, each one aching in a different register. The fabric stuck to your back, damp with sweat and tear gas and hours of tension. You let it fall in the doorway without looking back.

The mirror caught your reflection under the soft, gold light from the fixture overhead—low, almost merciful. Still, it didn’t hide the truth.

Your skin was flushed, red from heat and movement. Dried tear tracks curved down your cheeks in uneven lines. Your hair stuck out in every direction, curls frizzed and tangled from sweat and smoke and the weight of the night. But what caught your eye first—what made your stomach pull—were the bruises.

Dark. Ugly. Blooming across your arm in shades of violet and rust. The edges had already begun to swell, pooling in thick shadows under the skin. And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

You reached forward, turned the water on hot. Steam rushed up almost immediately, fast and thick, wrapping itself around the glass and climbing toward the ceiling. Within seconds, the mirror blurred, softening the edges of your reflection until you couldn’t see yourself at all.

It helped. One by one, your clothes hit the tile—pants, underwear, socks. You didn’t fold them. Didn’t bother. You just wanted them off. Wanted everything that clung to you—the night, the fear, the humiliation—gone.

You stepped into the shower. And the water hit you like gravity. Hot. Relentless. Real. The first few seconds stung, the heat dragging across raw skin, catching every scratch and welt. But then… you exhaled. Not dramatically. Just a slow, shaky breath from somewhere deep in your ribs, like you hadn’t let yourself take one since the moment you were cuffed.

Gas. Dirt. Someone else’s blood. It all swirled down the drain in thick streaks, carried away with the last traces of control you didn’t even know you were still clinging to. You pressed your hands against the tile wall, head bowed, water pounding against the back of your neck. The pressure pushed into your spine, your shoulders, your bruised ribs, until it felt like you might finally collapse.

You didn’t cry. But your shoulders shook anyway. Not from pain. Not from fear. Just from release. Ten minutes passed. Maybe more. Softly, so quietly it could’ve been imagined, you heard the door open behind you. You didn’t flinch You knew it was her. You reached for the knobs and turned the water off slowly, each movement deliberate, aching. Your hands trembled as you pushed the glass door open, steam rolling outward in thick waves. The room had filled with it entirely, fogging the mirror and blurring the outside world to a haze of silver and light.

Agatha stood by the sink, arms crossed, still in the black coat she hadn’t bothered to take off. Her hair had begun to fall from its pin, a strand curling against her cheek. She didn’t speak. Her eyes caught yours in the mirror first—dark, unreadable. Then they dropped.

To your ribs. To your thighs. To the darkening bruise on your shoulder. The raw, red pressure marks around your wrists. The angry welt stretching violet across your hip.

Her entire body tensed, but she didn’t move. And just for a second, you saw it again—the exact expression she’d worn in the jail lobby.

Not horror. Not pity. Rage, tempered only by awe.

Not awe at what had been done to you— But awe at the fact that you had walked away from it.

She didn’t move toward you. Not immediately. Her eyes continued to scan your body, slow and deliberate, like she needed to memorize it. Every mark. Every place they had dared to lay hands on. Every part of you that hurt.

She stepped forward only when the silence between you shifted from fragile to sacred. Her movements were quiet. Almost reverent. She reached for a towel on the nearby rack. Unfolded it with careful hands. Wrapped it around you in one slow, precise motion—starting at your shoulders, tucking it close at your back.

And then, she knelt. Not fully. Just enough to place herself lower than you. Just enough to bring her eye level with the bruise near your hip, the abrasion across your thigh. One of her hands reached out—hovering just above your skin. Waiting.

She didn’t need to ask. But she did, with her body.

You nodded.

Her fingers ghosted over the bruises. Light as air. Not pressing. Just present. Her voice, when it came, was almost nothing. Just breath shaped into words. "This… they’ll answer for this.” Your throat tightened. You swallowed. Still wrapped in the towel, still damp and shaking.

“I’m okay,” you said again, softer now. Not to reassure her. Not even to reassure yourself. Just to mark that you were still here. But she shook her head, rising to her full height with measured grace. “No.” She took a breath, steady and quiet. “You’re hurt. And you’re mine.”

The words rang out low and absolute—like a spell cast not to control you, but to protect you. She looked at you fully now, eyes locked on yours. Every inch of her tall with fury, with grief, with love she hadn't been able to voice while you were missing. “So no—they don’t get to walk away from that.”

And in her gaze, you saw it:

Claim. Sanctity. A rage that bent toward justice, not vengeance.

You stayed like that for a few seconds longer—still damp, wrapped in the towel, her hands no longer touching you but her presence close enough to feel. Then you moved. Not far. Just a few steps out of the fogged bathroom and into the bedroom. You walked slowly, body aching, towel clutched tight around your ribs. Agatha followed without a word, the rhythm of her footsteps deliberate and light behind you.

The bedroom was dim, quiet, safe. Moonlight brushed the edge of the comforter. One lamp glowed on the nightstand. You sat on the edge of the bed, exhaling long and slow. She moved around you—methodical, steady—and pulled a soft shirt from the dresser. One of hers. Black cotton, worn thin from years of wear. The kind that smelled like her skin, like amber and salt. You took it without speaking, tugging it gently over your head. The motion hurt your arms, made your back sore, but once it was on, it felt like being held. Not fabric. Her.

She disappeared for a moment, then returned with a glass of water. She knelt in front of you again, the glass offered in silence. Her hand brushed yours as you took it. You drank slowly. Half the glass, then set it aside. She didn’t move. “You smell like smoke and injustice,” she murmured then—almost to herself, almost like it surprised her.

You let out a breath of a laugh. Not quite humor. Just something loosening inside your chest. You shifted, resting your hands between your knees. “We were handing out water,” you said, voice rough but steady. “It was calm. Peaceful. People were chanting, walking. Holding signs.”

Agatha didn’t interrupt. “Then they brought the riot gear,” you continued, your gaze unfocused, fixed somewhere past the floor. “And the gas hit. I didn’t flinch.” You looked up then. Let her see the fire still sitting behind your eyes. “I didn’t fucking move.”

Her face twisted at that—something sharp and unreadable crossing over her features. Not surprise. Not pride. Something harder. “Of course you didn’t,” she said softly. Her voice was flat, but her body wasn’t. Her shoulders had drawn inward slightly, her hands curling in her lap like she was holding back more than words.

You looked down at your thighs. The bruises. The raw skin near your wrist. “But they saw that as defiance,” you said. “Guess I was easy to grab.” Her exhale was quiet but fierce. Her hand slid along your thigh, slow and grounding, then came to rest on your knee. Warm. Anchored.

“I know why you went,” she said. “I’m not mad.” You turned your head. Met her eyes again. There was something else in her face now—something softer beneath the heat. Something that hadn’t had space to show itself until now. “But next time,” she added, voice lower, almost reverent, “you don’t go without me. Not again.”

There was a beat of silence. Your breath caught somewhere between protest and understanding. “You’d get arrested too.”

“Good.” She didn’t blink when she said it. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t flinch. And she meant it. You stood slowly, rising from the edge of the bed. Her shirt—the one she’d handed you minutes ago—hung loose on your frame, skimming the tops of your thighs, still damp from the towel you let fall in a hush to the floor. The fabric smelled like her. Cedar, smoke, and something deeper—clove, maybe. Home.

She stood a few feet away, still as stone. Her eyes tracked you as you moved—every step, every breath. But she didn’t move toward you. Not yet. You stepped in close. Close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin. Close enough to taste the tension that lingered in the space between your bodies like static before a strike. And then—gently, reverently—you reached for her hands.

Her fingers were warm in yours, a little unsteady. You didn’t rush. You brought them up, guiding them to your waist with a care that felt like ceremony. Her palms settled against your skin. They hesitated for half a second. Then spread—slow, open, searching. “Touch me,” you whispered, voice barely more than a breath. “See? I’m still here.” Agatha’s lashes fluttered once. Her lips parted, but no sound came. She obeyed.

Her hands began to move—not with urgency, but with a sacred slowness. She traced the edge of your hips with the same focus she might have used to trace runes. Her thumbs swept inward, brushing the slight dip just above your pelvis, then up—across your ribs, your sternum, your stomach. Every inch she touched was treated like proof of life. Of endurance. Of return.

She didn’t speak. But her hands said everything. They moved up your sides, cataloging every bruise, every scrape. Her fingers paused at each one—lingering, memorizing. Not because she needed to know where you hurt, but because she needed to know where they had dared to leave a mark.

And then, her mouth followed. She leaned in and pressed her lips to your collarbone, slow and open. You tasted her breath against your skin, warm and uneven. She kissed the hollow of your throat, then lower. Her mouth ghosted over your sternum, then down the side of your ribs, just shy of the bruise beneath. When her lips found the edge of it, she paused. Exhaled. Pressed a kiss there, too. It wasn’t comfort. It was claim. You felt it in the way her lips lingered, in the press of her cheek to your ribs. And then she whispered—barely audible, thick with need. “I need to feel you safe.”

The words hit harder than any bruise. You nodded. You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t need to. Your hands moved to her shoulders—strong, steady. You turned her gently, guiding her backward toward the bed. Her knees hit the mattress first, and she sank down without protest, her hands never leaving your waist. And then—gently—you laid her down, pressing her down like a benediction. The mattress dipped beneath your bodies, the sheets whispering around you. She yielded beneath your touch like water bending to pressure—unresisting, unafraid.

She looked up at you like she was trying not to fall apart. Like she was trying to memorize the angle of your face above her. Her breath caught when your fingertips brushed the inside of her wrist, then her forearm. You kissed your way down to her throat, over the pulse beating there like a secret.

Her hands slid up to your sides, not pulling—just holding. Her touch was slow. Devout. Nothing selfish in it. Just devotion, made flesh. You kissed her like a confession, mouth soft but sure. You opened against her lips, let her taste your exhaustion, your survival, your hunger to be seen again outside of pain. She kissed you back like absolution. Like she needed this to believe it was over.

You whispered her name. Not as a question. Not even as a prayer. Just to say it. Just to feel it in your mouth. Agatha exhaled like she had been holding her breath since the second your name came through the phone hours ago—dry, hoarse, and terrified. Your mouths found each other again, slower this time. Her lips parted under yours, soft and seeking, as though she were relearning how to be kissed after hours of holding her breath. Her hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt—the one now clinging to your damp skin—fingertips brushing your waist like they were rediscovering a coastline she used to know by heart.

Your hands moved up her shirt, lifting it just enough to press your palm to her stomach. You felt her muscles jump beneath your touch—tiny, electric tremors. She let you pull it over her head in silence. Underneath, she was bare. No bra. No armor. Just skin—warm, freckled, trembling faintly where your breath touched her.

You didn’t lunge. You looked at her. The pink rise of her nipples. The soft swell of her stomach. The tension still curled in her lower abdomen like a held note. She didn’t cover herself, but her eyes flicked up to meet yours—waiting to see what you’d do next.

You bent, kissed her sternum. Lowered your mouth to one breast and wrapped your lips around it slowly, drawing her into your mouth with purpose. Her breath caught instantly. One of her hands flew to the back of your head, not to guide but to feel—to tether herself to the reality of your mouth on her.

You sucked, slow and sure, tongue dragging against the peak of her until she arched beneath you. A low sound spilled from her throat—half-gasp, half-growl. You moved to the other breast and gave it the same devotion, your free hand sliding down the flat plane of her stomach, fingers following the subtle lines of muscle and tension.

She was already shaking. Not from fear. From release—emotional, physical, holy. You kissed your way lower, slow as sunrise, your breath warm against her belly as your mouth descended. Her thighs parted instinctively, one drawn up at the knee, the other falling open to welcome you in. Your fingers found the button of her jeans and lingered there—not for permission, but to mark the moment. She watched you with parted lips and a flush blooming along her chest, her pupils wide and swallowing the light.

You undid her pants with deliberate precision, the metal catch releasing with a soft click, the zipper rasping down like silk drawn through clenched teeth. She lifted her hips without being asked—composed, compliant, offering. You eased the denim down her legs, the gentle curve of her thigh, the ridge of her kneecap, the vulnerable softness of her calf.  She was laid bare before you. Her underwear was damp. Not just from arousal, but from everything that had built between you since the moment you stepped out of that jail. Her body had been waiting for this—not just release, but restoration. Her breath hitched as you hooked your fingers under the waistband and dragged the last barrier down, watching the way her body responded: muscles twitching, thighs parting further, the gleam of her already-slick folds catching the low light.

When you reached the edge of her, you paused—your lips hovering just above the place where her scent thickened, where heat pooled, where need lived. She looked at you then, eyes glassy and dark, lips parted around a breath she hadn’t let go. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. You licked her slowly. From base to tip. Flattening your tongue and dragging it up her center like you were writing something into her skin—something she could only read with her body.

Her hips jolted beneath you. Not a flinch. A response. Her thighs locked tighter around your shoulders, anchoring you in place, as if her body already knew this was where it had been trying to return all night. You moaned softly into her—the taste of her warm and familiar and wild. Salt and heat. Lightning and earth. You licked again, slower, firmer, letting your tongue press into her like a vow she could feel in the marrow of her bones. She gasped, a sound caught low in her throat, one hand flying to the headboard as if something in her needed grounding—needed anything to keep her from coming apart too fast. The other found you. 

Her fingers slipped into your hair, threading through the damp strands with the kind of pressure that made your spine tighten. She wasn’t pulling, not exactly. Just holding—curling her fingers into the roots like she needed the physical proof that you were real, grounded, there. Her palm pressed flat to the back of your head, her thumb stroking behind your ear. She guided you not with force but with reverence, her whole body trembling beneath your mouth.

You kissed her clit gently, lips sealing around the swollen flesh, tongue flicking once, twice, slow and deliberate. Her grip in your hair tightened just slightly, and a low, broken sound slipped out of her—half need, half disbelief.

You pushed two fingers inside her—slow, steady, unyielding. Her whole body jolted as if struck from the inside. A gasp tore out of her, raw and ragged, sharp enough to leave her throat aching. It wasn't just breath—it was need, it was the wild instinct of someone who had been holding themselves together for too long.

She clenched down around you immediately, tight and wet and pulsing, the heat of her body drawing your fingers in like a promise. You didn’t give her time to settle. You filled her with purpose, curled your fingers inside her with the quiet rhythm of worship, of knowing. The press of you was deep, certain, reverent. You kissed her clit again, slow and soft, then harder—your tongue circling with aching, relentless care. Agatha’s legs trembled violently around your shoulders. You felt it in the way her calves tensed, the way her thighs bracketed your body like instinct and defense and surrender all at once. She tried to breathe through it—but her body was speaking louder than her control ever could. You didn’t want stillness. You wanted the way her hips bucked upward, wild and graceless, seeking more. You wanted the way her voice cracked open, not in language but in pure, desperate sound. You wanted the way her breath staggered as her fingers twisted deeper into your hair, holding you to her like her life depended on it.

Agatha—always composed, always calculated. The sharpest voice in any room. But here, under your mouth, around your fingers—she fractured. Her back arched off the mattress, the curve of her spine a perfect, trembling bow. Her head fell back, mouth open in a silent plea. One hand fisted the sheets beside her, white-knuckled, pulling until the fitted corner snapped loose. Her other hand never left your head. It gripped the back of your skull like she didn’t dare let go, like if she did she’d be dragged under completely.

You pressed harder. Worked her deeper. Tongue circling her clit in unrelenting spirals, fingers curling inside her with divine purpose. You could feel her starting to break—her muscles locking, her core tightening, the low whimper curling in her chest like lightning about to strike.

You watched her fall apart from the inside out. And just as the first cry spilled from her lips, her hand flew upward—reflexive, frantic—covering her mouth like she could somehow swallow the sound. You lifted your head just enough to speak, your voice dark with reverence and heat. “Agatha.” A pause. Her eyes met yours, wide and wet. “Don’t you dare hide those moans from me.” The hand fell away slowly, shame stripped bare beneath your gaze. Her lips parted, but it wasn’t an apology you were after. It was release. And when she did moan—raw, shattered, helpless—you groaned in return. Low. Hungry. Possessive. The sound of her pleasure ricocheted through your spine, setting your body alight. You moaned into her, the vibration of it surging through her clit like a spark to kindling.

Her whole body jolted. “Fuck—” she gasped, the word dragged from her throat like a secret finally exposed. That’s what you wanted. Not silence. Not restraint. You wanted her loud. You wanted her to give herself over to it completely.  You moaned again—because of her,for her—and she cried out, hips bucking against your mouth like her body couldn’t take it anymore. The way you said her name, the way your voice trembled around her, the way your fingers curled just right inside her—it tore something open.

Her voice followed, thick and broken between panting gasps. “Please—don’t—don’t stop—” The words spilled out of her like a dam had cracked wide. Her voice was hoarse with desperation, her body straining for you, toward you. Every muscle in her thighs trembled, her hands fisting the sheets on either side of her hips. Her knuckles had gone white.

Your fingers stroked deep inside her, slow and relentless. Your mouth latched onto her clit again, tongue pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Your name fell from her lips like worship. Her voice caught on it. Broke. “I need to—God, I need to cum—on your mouth, I want to come on your mouth—”

You paused just long enough for her to feel the absence of your tongue. Then you lifted your head—barely—just enough to speak against the slick heat of her. “Is that what you want, Aggie?” you whispered, voice dark and rich with authority. Your breath dragged over her, teasing the edge of her clit. She whined—high and wrecked.

You slid your fingers deeper.  Her head tossed against the pillow, her voice hoarse with need. “wanna cum for you—please.” You moaned at the sound of her begging, the raw edge of it cutting straight through your chest.  She arched off the mattress, a full-body quake that overtook her entirely. Her thighs trembled, locked around your head like she could fuse you to her. Her fingers dug into your hair—not to guide, not to control, but to hold—to anchor her in the only truth she knew anymore: you.

You pulled your fingers out slowly, deliberately, watching the way her body clenched around the absence. Slick coated your knuckles, glistening with the proof of her need, her surrender. But you weren’t done. You leaned in lower, kissed the inside of her thigh once—then again, a whisper-soft press of lips against skin flushed with heat.  You pushed your tongue inside her. Her moan broke apart mid-air, jagged and helpless. She convulsed. The moment your tongue slid into her—deep, slow, possessive—her back bowed hard off the mattress. Her legs trembled violently on either side of your face as you fucked her with your mouth—smooth and strong and steady—tongue stroking deep, then pulling back, then driving forward again with the full weight of your devotion.

“Fuck—” she sobbed, and the sound was wrecked, nearly inhuman. Her voice cracked in half around it. “Mmmf—right there—””

You curled your arms under her thighs and pressed deeper, locking her in place. You moaned into her and the vibration made her choke on her next cry. She broke. Hard. Messy. Loud. Soaking your mouth, twitching under your tongue, gasping your name like it was the only anchor left in the world. Her thighs shook. Her body trembled. And still, you stayed with her. Inside her. Worshipping her with every stroke of your mouth, until she had nothing left to give but your name, whispered again and again like prayer.

You kissed her one last time, slow and deep, letting your tongue linger inside her. You felt the final tremors roll through her body like aftershocks, her thighs twitching, her chest still heaving, one hand still tangled in your hair like she couldn’t quite bear to let you go.

Your palms pressed into the mattress on either side of her hips as you climbed—not over her, but along her—tracing the altar of her body like scripture. Your mouth dragged over the soft plane of her stomach, the fluttering curve of her ribs, the flushed slope of her breast. She shuddered beneath your touch, every muscle drawn tight in the echo of what you'd already given her—legs parted, chest rising in shaky, uneven gasps.

Her eyes found yours through the haze, wide and reverent and burning. Not begging. Offering. You leaned down, just enough to let your breath ghost over her lips. “I’m not done with you,” you whispered. A vow against her mouth. Your voice was low, wrecked, raw—full of need, full of knowing. “Not even close.” Your mouth collided with hers in heat and hunger, tongue sliding deep. She tasted like salt and surrender—like skin and aftermath, like the echo of your name caught in her throat. She gasped into you, helpless, and you swallowed it whole. Her hands flew to your back, clawing hard down the damp curve of your spine like she needed to leave marks. Maybe she did.

Your chests brushed—nipples tight and aching—and the contact made you both groan into the kiss. A low, shared sound. Desperate. Devout. You sat back slowly. Moving your body to let her see you. Let her watch. Your fingers found her right leg—slick, trembling. You lifted it gently, reverently, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee. And then, in one smooth motion, you draped it over your shoulder. Her body flexed beneath you, breath hitching.

You leaned against her left thigh, sliding into place like you’d been sculpted to fit her. Not above her. Not controlling. Aligned. Open. Anchored. The angle was perfect—your leg slotted beside hers, your center catching hers with devastating precision. That first touch—clit to clit, slick and swollen—made your whole body jolt. Your mouth parted around a gasp, head falling back as heat shot down your spine like lightning.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You leaned back slightly—just enough to keep her leg curled over your shoulder, just enough to rock your hips into her with deliberate rhythm. Your clit caught against the underside of hers—that ridge—so sensitive, so swollen it felt like it was made to meet yours. Agatha’s breath tore from her throat in a raw cry, her head dropping back, spine bowing off the bed. Her hips twitched, chasing your rhythm. Her fingers dug into your waist—not to stop you, never that—but to anchor herself. To feel.

You circled again. Firmer. Sharper. Each pass of your clit dragged through hers with a heat that bordered on unbearable. The contact was obscene—wet silk, soft friction, slippery pressure that made your breath shudder out in broken pieces. Her leg trembled over your shoulder. Her breath faltered. You kissed her calf. Then your voice dropped—low, guttural, trembling. “Just like that.”

You moved—hips grinding in a soaked, sacred rhythm. Every circle hit that same angle, that same nerve-rich ridge where you met her perfectly. Agatha whimpered. You moaned. The sound of your slick bodies meeting filled the air—wet, rhythmic, shameless. And still, you moved. Again. And again. And again. You leaned into the drag—controlled, wrecked, reverent. The pressure bloomed at the base of your spine, sharp and divine. The angle. The heat. It was all too much and not nearly enough. Your clit caught beneath hers again—right in that aching spot—and her entire body arched like she'd been struck by lightning.

“Ahhh—fuck—” Her voice cracked, hands flying to the sheets, the mattress, you. “You feel—oh God—” You rolled your hips again, your breath catching on the impact. The drag was soaked. The ridge was sharp. The friction was perfect. You cried out—raw, guttural—as pleasure surged through you like fire. You kissed the inside of her knee again, teeth scraping lightly against the muscle as your back arched and your hips snapped.

Your grip tightened—one hand braced on her hip, the other still holding her leg where it crowned your shoulder like something holy. She held on. You found your rhythm—deep, slow circles that made her whimper with every pass. Her clit pulsed beneath yours, slick and swollen, catching you in that divine slide. Her head thrashed. Her hips bucked. “Look at me.” Your voice was rough now, cracked with need. Sacred. Sharp. “I want to watch you while I fuck you like this.”

Her eyes flew open—wrecked, glassy, pleading. But they met yours. Locked. Wide. Glowing. And what you saw there was beautiful. Ruined devotion. Wide-open need. It nearly broke you. You ground down harder. Slower. Let your clit drag through hers in one long, brutal slide that made her cry out, voice splintering in your name. Her mouth opened. But no words came. Just sound. Just you. Your body was fire—burning from the inside out, every nerve wired to hers. Every grind of your clit sent new waves of heat crashing through your spine. You moaned—louder this time, no shame, no restraint—as your climax clawed its way up from your core. “F-fuck—Aggie—fuck—”

Your hips moved faster. Deeper. Tighter circles that slammed your clit against hers again and again until the pleasure went white-hot, ragged, unstoppable. The drag of your bodies was slick and relentless. Soaked. Sacred. Her breath caught. It hit her like a tidal wave—her thighs locking, hands clawing at the sheets, mouth torn wide in a moan that cracked into pieces. She came hard, convulsing under you, her whole body seizing with the force of it. You were right behind her. Your orgasm slammed into you like thunder, blinding and wild. You cried out her name—wrecked, gasping—as your clit spasmed with every beat of your heart. Your body shook. Your vision blurred. The pleasure tore through you like something holy.

You kept circling, trembling, your body grinding through the aftershocks as if you could give her more, all of you. You moved her thigh off your shoulder, kissing it once more. Laying it down gently. You collapsed into her, chest to chest, trembling, your breath hot against her throat. Agatha was gasping, your name slipping from her lips in pieces—quiet, hoarse, like a prayer spoken through tears. Her hands slid slowly up your back, not searching, just holding, like she needed to feel you pressed close to believe you were still real. She was shaking, still whimpering softly into your neck, her legs quivering around your waist, her entire body limp with the weight of what had just passed between you. Your slick mingled with hers in a soaked, sacred mess between your thighs—evidence of need, of trust, of everything you’d just given and taken.

The room around you vibrated with aftermath—wet skin, broken rhythm, the trembling hush of something holy having torn through both of you. The air smelled like sex, like salt and heat and skin, but beneath that, it smelled like home—like her. You kissed her. Not hungrily. Not to claim. But because you needed to. Because the only thing left to do in the wake of what you’d shared was to seal it with reverence. Your lips pressed to hers with the kind of aching slowness that meant everything. The kind of kiss that didn’t demand or devour, but promised. A kiss that said, I see you. I always will. You lingered there, mouths open and soft, letting the weight of the moment settle into the center of your chest like gravity.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words catching on what little breath you had left. It wasn’t a dramatic declaration. It didn’t need to be. It came out like marrow—raw and unshakable, undeniable in its truth. Her breath caught, just once. And then her hands began to move.

They slid up your sides in long, steady strokes. Down your spine. Into your hair. Her fingers cradled the back of your head, firm and sure, like she was taking hold of something she already owned. She kissed you again, deeper this time, her mouth opening beneath yours, guiding rather than asking. “I know,” Agatha murmured against your lips, her voice still frayed around the edges—wrecked, but shifting.

And then she moved. It was subtle at first. Barely perceptible. Just the tilt of her mouth against yours, but you felt it. The shift. The transfer. Something beneath your skin recognized it before you did. Her lips parted beneath yours—and then sealed again—this time deeper, firmer. Her kiss was no longer a reply. It was a command. Her tongue met yours, coaxing at first, then catching. And then she sucked—slow, hungry, deliberate—pulling your tongue into her mouth like she was taking something sacred. A taste. A vow. Your breath. The sound you made cracked open from your chest, half-moan, half-sob. You shivered beneath her, your hands slipping, trying to hold on—but she had you.

Agatha kissed you like she wanted to swallow your pulse. And as your hips trembled up into her, she began to rise. One hand cupped the back of your head. The other slid down, anchoring at your hip. She rolled her body against yours—not aggressive, not forceful—but with the quiet power of someone reclaiming ground that had always belonged to her.

She shifted her weight, one leg sliding between yours, her thigh nudging yours apart again, her breath still catching but her movements gaining precision. You felt her fingers flex against your ribs as she took a breath and exhaled through her nose—steadying herself.

And then she rolled you. It happened in a fluid wave. One moment you were on top—straddling, trembling, kissed open. The next, her hands were guiding your hips and your spine, your body turning beneath hers with the ease of water answering gravity. You landed back against the mattress with a soft gasp, your hair fanned across the pillow, your legs open and wet and waiting.

She followed you down. Didn’t hesitate. Her body stretched over yours in one long, heated press—shoulders shadowing yours, her thighs bracketing your hips. She hovered just above you for a breathless second, her gaze drinking you in—cheeks flushed, chest rising fast, lips swollen from the way she'd kissed you.

You stared up at her like you'd never seen anything more beautiful in your life. Agatha was trembling—but it was a different kind of tremor now. Not overwhelmed. Not undone. It was control, newly returned to her hands. It was power, held gently, like fire carried in open palms. She looked at you like she’d waited her whole life for this moment. Her hair fell forward around her face as she leaned in again, mouth just barely brushing yours.

When your lips parted beneath hers, she didn’t hesitate—she sucked your tongue into her mouth with a low, shuddering moan that made your hips jerk up beneath her, involuntary, aching for her again.  She kissed you like she wanted to live inside your mouth. Like she wanted you silent and shaking beneath her. Each pass of her lips tasted like gratitude. Like a name whispered in a temple. There was nothing rushed about it—just warmth and breath and the shared stillness that follows sacred things. And then, slowly, she pulled back.

Her hand slid down your thigh again, steady and grounding, and then she rose—leaning back on her knees, settling between your hips like she belonged there. You blinked, dazed and open, every inch of your body slick and oversensitive. She looked down at you, and something in her expression shifted. Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes roamed over your flushed chest, your parted legs, the shine of your arousal spread across your skin—and something ancient unfurled behind her gaze.

Without speaking, she brought her hand to her abdomen. Her fingers splayed across her skin just below her navel, and the air changed. You felt it first—a pulse, soft and rhythmic, like two heartbeats meeting in the dark. A violet glow flickered to life beneath her palm, faint at first, then brighter. Tendrils of energy coiled outward from her center, crawling across her torso in patterns that looked almost alive. The magic trailed over her hips, down her thighs, up her sternum, like molten silk, casting her skin in otherworldly shimmer. The heat of it rolled off her in waves, thick and heavy. She gritted her teeth, her jaw flexing with the effort of containing it. Every muscle in her body rippled with purpose, tightening as the spell took shape.

Her back arched, and then she gasped. The sound came from deep inside her—a raw, broken groan that fell out of her before she could stop it. Her head bowed. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain as her shoulders shuddered. You could feel the magic converging, sharpening, concentrating in her pelvis.

And then it appeared. Not an illusion. Not a trick. Something real. Summoned from the place where desire and divinity meet. A cock—thick and heavy and irrefutably hers—rose from her body, glowing faintly in the soft violet light of her magic. Veins ridged beneath the skin, hot and flushed, pulsing with the rhythm of her spell. It curved upward as though it had always been there, summoned not just from flesh but from need, from history, from some buried truth made manifest.

She moaned again, quieter this time. Shaken. Her hand wrapped around the base of it, tentative, like she was still learning the shape of herself. She stroked once. Then again. Slow and reverent. Her breath caught on the third pass, her shoulders twitching as her body adjusted to the new weight, the new heat. Her magic shimmered across her chest and arms, trailing after every movement like her skin couldn’t stop singing.

Her arms trembled. Her hips flexed with each slow stroke. She was still getting used to the weight of it, the power of it, the promise of it. "Fuck," she whispered. Her voice broke over the word like it didn’t know how to survive it. Her thumb dragged over the head, gathering her own shimmer-slick, her breath catching as her cock twitched in her grip.

When her eyes lifted to meet yours again, they burned straight through you. You didn’t realize you were moaning until she tilted her head, lips parted, and said your name so softly it sounded like an invocation. There was nothing performative in her expression. Just hunger. Reverence. Love, edged with something wild and claiming. “You’re trembling,” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse, roughened by sensation. “Look at you... spread open for me.”

The words hit you like a wave. You whimpered, hips canting upward in pure, instinctive offering. The air between you crackled. Her hand kept moving between her legs, stroking herself slowly to full hardness. She groaned under her breath, teeth gritted, her jaw clenched like she was holding something back. Then her fingers stilled, and she leaned forward.

She exhaled hard, and her cock twitched in her hand like it heard you. Her magic pulsed with it. Her whole body seemed to sharpen, realign, steady itself around your need. Then she moved. Slow at first—like a wave shifting its weight before the crash. Her hands slid to your knees, guiding your trembling thighs into place with a touch so gentle it hurt. And then she rose higher onto her knees, the heat of her body pulsing between you. Her cock, flushed and gleaming curved up from her hips like something holy. A weapon forged from magic and want. She held it loosely at the base, breath hitching as she watched the way you fluttered open beneath her.

And then—deliberately, devastatingly—she leaned forward. Her thighs slipped between yours like water seeking depth, parting you with reverence. Her body lowered above yours, the air shifting with the weight of her presence, the gravity of what she was about to do. And then you felt her.

The crown of her length, flushed and slick with need, brushed your inner thigh like a secret you weren’t ready to hold. You gasped. The sensation was maddening—too soft, too searing, too much, not enough. A whisper and a thunderclap all at once.

Her skin clung to yours—slick with sweat and humming with magic, the heat between you thick enough to taste. Her hips hovered just above yours, mercilessly patient, but the weight of her cock hung low, suspended in tension, dragging across your thigh like a vow she hadn’t yet spoken.

The tip of it glistened, leaking warmth in slow, deliberate beads. Each time she shifted, it left behind a searing trail—a streak of wanting—a mark not yet visible, but already burned into you.

Her left hand braced beside your head, palm flat, arm trembling under the strain of control. With the other, she reached between your bodies—fingers steady, reverent—and wrapped around the base of herself like she was holding a relic, not flesh. She adjusted the angle, her knuckles grazing your skin as she guided her shaft down to meet you.

And then—you felt it.

The velvet heat of her cock slid through your folds. Once. Twice. Again. Deliberate. Worshipful. Her tip nudged your clit on the third pass and your whole body jumped, a cry torn from your throat as fire shot up your spine. She groaned above you—a low, wrecked sound, as if it cracked something open in her.

But still, she didn’t push in.

She moved through you slowly, the underside of her length dragging across every swollen inch—thick, heated, reverent. Her palm followed the motion, firm around the base, guiding each stroke with ruthless, aching precision. Each pass made your breath stutter. Each drag sent another jolt through your core—not deep, not even close—just enough to leave you soaked and trembling.

The tip of her, slick and flushed, circled your clit with maddening patience before sliding down again, catching against you, spreading you without entering. She kept her grip steady. Adjusted the pressure. Aligned herself perfectly with every trembling inch. Her knuckles brushed your skin as she moved—controlling the rhythm, controlling herself.

The head nudged again, pressing into your clit in a slow, deliberate arc before dragging back down to rest—just barely—at your entrance. The anticipation coiled, sharp and unrelenting. You could feel it gathering in your belly, your throat, your skin—a need edged in reverence.

Her jaw was clenched. Her thighs shook. Her breath came hard and shallow through her nose, and still she didn’t give in. You could feel it—her restraint. A tremor disguised as control.

“God, look at you,” she rasped. “So wet for me. So fucking ready.” Her voice cracked, and she stopped, eyes fluttering shut for a second as she grounded herself in the sensation. When she looked at you again, her pupils were blown wide, her face caught somewhere between awe and hunger.

Your fingers clutched at the sheets. Your mouth opened but only broken sounds came out. Her cock teased your entrance again, pressing in just enough for your body to part around her crown, just enough to make you sob with need.  

“Look at me,” she rasped.

Your eyes flew to hers. Her gaze was fire and storm—wide, blown, burning with something old and sovereign. The magic behind her eyes glowed faintly violet at the edges, laced with reverence, with need, with the terrible beauty of being known. Her fingers released their grip from the base of her cock and braced instead beside your head, caging you in. You felt the shift. The change in gravity. The surrender of resistance.

With the slowest, most devastating precision, she began to push forward. You felt her enter you inch by inch—her, not a spell or a toy or a placeholder, but Agatha. Her cock stretched you open with reverent force, thick and alive, pulsing with magic and heat. Your body gave way around her, clutching tight and slick, your cunt fluttering in desperation as she filled you deeper than you thought you could take.

The pressure was overwhelming, but not pain. It was fullness. Expansion. A claiming. You could feel your walls adjust to her shape, your muscles trembling with the effort of holding her, welcoming her, keeping her. The sensation tore a cry from your throat—raw and helpless—and your head tipped back on instinct.

She exhaled through her nose, slow and measured, as though the feeling of your body accepting her was the reward she’d waited her whole life for. Then her mouth was on yours—hot, breathless, consuming—as her hips pressed forward in one smooth, controlled motion. She slid all the way in. Not fast. Not rough. Just full. The stretch burned its way through your core, your body breaking open around her, split wide by the sacred pressure of being taken. Her moan spilled into your mouth, ragged and low, vibrating against your tongue. Her body shook above yours, her muscles clenching with the effort it took not to lose control.

She collapsed against you, breasts pressed tight to your skin, both of you slick with sweat and spellwork and need. She throbbed inside you, thick and impossibly deep, every pulse matched by the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat. Her thighs braced around your hips, trembling as she held you down with her weight, surrounding you in heat and strength, in the unbearable intimacy of now.

A soft, broken moan spilled from your lips, your mouth grazing her collarbone. “Ahh—Agatha…”

Her breath caught, a low, strangled sound rising in her throat. “Nnh—fuck…” Her hips jerked just slightly. Barely. Just a slow, languid pull of her hips—an inch, maybe two—before she slid back in, deep, deliberate. The stretch renewed, softer now, the ache melting into something wetter, something hungrier, and you moaned again—louder this time, throat open, breathless.

“Ah—god—yes…”

Your voice broke against her skin, trembling against the slope of her neck. She felt it—heard it—and her mouth curved into a smile so gentle, so wrecked, it made your heart seize. “There you go,” she murmured, voice thick with reverence.

She thrust again—slow, fluid, the drag of her cock thick and heavy as she pulled back and sank in deeper, letting her hips roll in a way that made your entire body bow beneath her. Your moan spilled out raw and unrestrained, your hands scrambling from the sheets up her back, trying to hold her closer, tighter, as if you could pull her inside your bones.

She groaned in response—low, breathy, helpless. “Mmmnh—fuck, you feel incredible…”

Her cock slid against every nerve, every tender edge inside you, and her next thrust came with more weight—still slow, still aching, but impossibly deep. You whimpered into the heat of her neck, your lips catching on damp skin as her rhythm built—steady, patient, devastating.

“I’m gonna take my time,” she whispered, breath hot in your ear, voice laced with the strain of control. “I want you to feel all of me… every inch. Every goddamn stroke.”

You moaned again. The syllables dragging out of you like worship. And she gave it to you. One deep, sinuous thrust at a time. Not fast. Not hard. Just full.

She moved like the tide, hips pressing forward in slow, shattering waves, your core gripping her with each stroke, wetter by the second, slick running down your thighs with every deliberate grind. The sound of your bodies meeting—wet, obscene, sacred—filled the room in soft stutters: smack… mmgh… fhh…

“God,” she rasped, biting gently at your earlobe, her hips circling as she stayed buried. “So fucking wet for me already…”

You could barely speak. Could barely breathe. A soft gasp broke from your lips—“Mmh—”—as your head turned into her shoulder, the tremor in your exhale betraying just how deep she’d reached. She pulled back again, then pushed forward once more—deep, slow, consuming—and made your whole body jolt.

“Aahh—Agatha—!”

She leaned in closer—her mouth brushing your jaw, then lower, lips parting against your neck—and sucked just beneath your pulse, slow and deliberate. The drag of her tongue made your breath hitch again— “Ahh—fuhhh—”

“I’ve got you,” she whispered against your skin, voice frayed. “I’m gonna take such good care of you…”

You nodded beneath her mouth, unable to speak—only moaning, low and helpless, as she kept moving. “Nnh… mmh… fuhhh—”

Each thrust was a vow, sinking into you with deliberate pressure, making your body light up, cell by trembling cell. Her cock dragged along every swollen nerve—thick, ridged, pulsing with heat—slow enough that you felt every vein, every twitch of her arousal mirrored through your walls. You were soaked. Slick dripped from the place where you took her deepest, where your body clung to her with desperate, greedy rhythm.

Your moan turned sharp—“Ahh—fuck—Agatha—oh my god—”—your back arching under her weight as you trembled beneth her.

She groaned, low and guttural, a rough sound torn from somewhere deep as you clamped down around her. Her mouth never left your skin—lips dragging upward now to kiss the corner of your mouth, her breath shaking as she murmured into it.

“mhhaahh—shit, baby,” she breathed, hips grinding slow but deeper, “you’re so tight—so wet for me…”

Your answer came in breath, not language— “Mmmh—nnh—tch—” You could barely hold still beneath her. Every inch of you was shaking, your skin buzzing, your mouth dragging open for another moan as she filled you again. The sound of her—the sound of you—was everywhere now. Moans tangled in the thick air, sharp gasps, wet cries. The slick, obscene drag of her inside you. The soft thump of her balls meeting you with each deep roll of her hips, sending shocks through your core that made you cry out, made your thighs tremble wide around her.

And she felt it. All of it. The way your body pulsed around her with every slow retreat, every devastating return. Her rhythm never quickened, not yet—just deep, deliberate strokes that left you clawing at her back, at the sheets, at yourself. She pressed deep again—one long, shattering stroke and bottomed out sending you arching beneath her, your head thrown back in a sobbing moan. “A-ah—Agatha—! I’m gonna—fuck—”

She caught your hips, pinning them down, and stilled inside you buried to the root. Her voice dropped, breath brushing your cheek, dark and loving and absolute.

“No.”

You froze, panting against her shoulder. Her lips ghosted your ear. “You don’t get to cum,” she whispered, voice tight and reverent, “not until Daddy says so.”

You whimpered—clenching hard around her in response, aching, throbbing, already teetering on the edge. The denial cut through the haze like lightning, sharp and grounding, your whole body trembling from the effort of holding back. “Daddy—please—” you gasped, your voice cracking around it.

“No,” she growled again, gently, into your neck. “You’ll wait. Be a good girl and let Daddy take her time.”

She pulled out halfway—your walls clenching, fluttering in protest—then thrust back in with such aching slowness you nearly sobbed. Your hands flew to her back, to her ass, to anything you could hold to keep from unraveling. Her shaft was too thick, too hot, too deep, every vein scraping against the inside of you in a rhythm that bordered on torture.

“You feel that?” she breathed. “Every inch of me—every fucking part of me inside you?”

Your mouths found each other in the mess of it—open, gasping, wet. Lips clashed, tongues tangled. It wasn’t clean, it wasn’t composed.

She groaned into your mouth as she thrust again, harder this time—still controlled, still intentional, but the power behind it made your back arch and your thighs tremble. Her cock pushed deep and her balls slapped wetly against your ass with a smack that made your toes curl and your walls clench down tight.

She felt it.

“Fuuuck—” Her voice cracked, hips stuttering before she caught herself.

Your legs wrapped tighter around her hips, locking her in, refusing to let her go. You felt her cock throb inside you, thick and soaked, every thrust now hitting deeper, sharper—wet, messy, sacred. Her hips slammed into yours with rising urgency, the sound of your slick bodies meeting echoing between the broken gasps and frantic kisses.

Your head dropped back against the pillow, a sound catching in your throat— “Hnn—ah—mmnh—” It slipped out helplessly, your body arching to meet her.

“Ahhh—f-fuck, Daddy—!” you sobbed, your voice cracking open as her thrusts drove deeper, each one dragging more sound from your chest than you knew you had. “You feel so good—so fucking good—”

She groaned—loud, guttural—as your words washed over her. Her mouth dropped to your throat, lips grazing your pulse, breath thick against your skin. “Yeah? You like how my cock feels inside you, baby?”

You moaned again—shakier this time— “Nnhh—tch—fuhhh—” Your hips twitched under her weight, your legs squeezing tighter as your body began to tremble. “God, yes—yes, I love it, I—fuck—I love when you fuck me like this, Daddy—”

Her pace stuttered, her next thrust rougher, deeper—perfect. “Mmmnnh—shit,” she growled, hips grinding into you. “You were made for this—look at the way you open up for me… this pussy’s mine, isn’t it?”

“Yours,” you choked.

She moaned against your skin, the sound rough and filthy and wrecked. “I love fucking you,” she gasped. “I love how deep I get—how tight you are—how you clench around me like you never want me to leave—”

Her next thrust had you screaming—sharp and desperate. She slammed into you again—deep and wet, the slap of her balls hitting you sending stars through your vision—and you cried out, your voice breaking, body shaking beneath her.

“Listen to you,” she panted, mouth dragging across your jaw, lips brushing your ear. “So loud for Daddy. You need it, don’t you? You need my cock. Say it.”

“I need it,” you gasped. “I need your cock—”

She growled again, fucking into you harder now, her pace still controlled but relentless, every thrust sinking to the hilt. “That’s it. That’s my girl. So fucking wet for me—dripping, soaking my cock like you’ve been waiting your whole life to take me—”

Her words drove you wild—your hips rocked up to meet her, thighs trembling, moans pouring out of you like prayer. “Nnnh—ah—ahhh—”

“I can feel it,” she groaned, biting your neck. “The way your pussy’s clenching—grabbing me—like it knows it’s mine…”

You whimpered, nearly crying from how full you felt, how good she felt, how you couldn’t get close enough. Your bodies moved like one—your sounds rising together.

Her voice hit your ear again, raw and breaking. “No one else gets this. No one else makes me this hard. This gone. It’s only you. You do this to me.”

Your head fell back, a guttural moan breaking free. Your voice cracked, legs shaking around her as she rocked her hips again, just as slow, just as merciless.

Her hands found your wrists and pinned them above your head, her body bearing down with all that heat and weight. She kissed you hard—messy, open-mouthed—tongue sliding over yours as another deep thrust made your body arch, your cunt gripping her so tight she groaned straight into your mouth.

“Not yet. My brave girl.” she whispered.

You whimpered, sobbing softly, your body shaking beneath her from the ache of holding back. Every part of you was strung tight, your cunt soaked and pulsing around the heat of her cock, your breaths ragged, mouth open in helpless moans.

And then she pulled back just enough to see you, releasing your wrist.

She braced above you, trembling slightly, and her eyes scanned every inch of your face like she was trying to memorize the way you fall apart just for her. Your hair was a wild halo against the pillow, lips kiss-bruised and parted, breath coming hard and fast. The flush on your cheeks mirrored the heat in hers. Your chest rose and fell in sharp waves beneath her, the soft swell of your breasts brushing against hers with every trembling inhale.

She stared—stilled in that space where worship met want—and her pupils were blown wide, blue and endless. Her mouth hung open, the bottom lip twitching like she was about to say something, then forgot how to form words. She looked down, groaning softly at the sight of her cock still buried deep in your cunt, slick and twitching inside you. Then her gaze snapped back up—eyes glazed with heat, yes, but also something raw. Something more than hunger.

Devotion.

Her breath hitched. You felt it—tight and shaky where her chest brushed yours. Then her voice, low and cracked and full of awe: “God, baby…” Her eyes traced your every ruined, radiant inch. “Just lay there like that. Let me look at you.” Her hips rocked forward again, slow and dragging, her cock pulling nearly out before she slid back in, pressing so deep it punched a moan from your throat.

Your mouth dropped open, head falling back. Your fingers fisted the sheets. Your back arched. “Ahhh—nghhh—”

She groaned at the sound, her whole body stuttering like your voice had gone straight through her. Her hands trembled against the bed, but then she moved—shifted her weight to one arm, keeping her chest hovering just above yours. Her other hand slipped down, fingertips brushing your stomach, then lower, slow and reverent, until she found the base of her cock where it disappeared inside you.

You felt her knuckles brush your swollen lips as she wrapped her fingers around herself again—steadying, guiding. Then she pulled back. Her cock dragged through your slick heat, every vein scraping against the oversensitive clutch of your walls until just the head remained inside you. She paused there, hovering, teasing. Her breath fell hot against your cheek as she looked down between your bodies, watching the way you stretched, watching your cunt flutter open and empty without her.

And then she slid herself along you—up through your folds, thick and slick and unbearably slow—rubbing the head of her cock up your center and catching on your clit with a pressure that made you cry out.

“Mmmppphhhh—” The sound cracked from your throat before you could swallow it.

She moaned at the sound—low, wrecked—and did it again. Dragged herself down your slick folds, nudging at your entrance, pressing just enough to feel the resistance, then slipping back up. Her cock gleamed with you, soaked, pulsing in her hand. “Fuck…” she breathed, her voice unraveling. “God, baby, look how wet you are for me…”

Another pass—slow, obscene. She rubbed herself against your clit again, made you jerk under her, made your thighs twitch and your cunt clench around nothing. You gasped—“Ahhh—nnh—mmh—”—half-sob, half-shiver, your voice catching on the edge of need.

Then, finally, she lined herself up and pushed back in. Her hand stayed there, guiding herself through the tight squeeze of your cunt until her hips pressed flush to yours again, and she moaned—long, guttural, helpless. “Fuuuck…” You sobbed beneath her, legs wrapped tight around her waist. “D-Daddy—” The word fell apart on your tongue.

She did it again. Pulled back with aching control. Rubbed herself through your folds once more—slow, loving, filthy—then pushed back inside, slower this time, like she needed to feel every twitch of your body welcoming her.

And you gave it to her. Every time she slid in, you opened for her. Every time she dragged herself out, you ached for more—hips twitching, coating her cock in wet devotion. Her voice broke at your ear, thick with need. “I could do this forever… tease you, fuck you slow, watch your face every time Daddy slides back in…”

“Shit,” she breathed, eyes locked on your face as she pulled out again. Her fingers wrapped tight around the base, guiding herself back through your folds. You whimpered when the head rubbed over your clit, your voice breaking with it— “Nnh—ah—don’t—please—” She grinned—crooked, hungry, knowing. She lined herself up and sank in once more, all the way to the hilt, slow enough that your whole body arched and your breath caught. “Ohhh—fuhhh—Agatha—”

She groaned. Long. Shattered. “God, baby… you love this, don’t you?” she whispered. “It kills you, but you love it…” Her thrusts slowed again, her hand still on herself, controlling the angle, the pressure, the tease. You nodded, tears in your lashes from the burn of holding it all in. Her lips ghosted across your cheek, her breath hitching. “This drives you just as crazy as it drives me. Say it.”

You moaned against her jaw—“Mmnh—yeah—”—your voice breaking on the inhale. “I love it… I love when you do this to me…”

She pulled out again, ran herself over your folds—your clit, your entrance, back again—her cock soaked and twitching against your skin. “You love the way I fuck you slow. The way I wait.”

“D-daddy—please—” The word tore from you—broken, breathless, soaked.

Her hand still gripped her base, steadying, guiding, shaking. Then she pressed forward and slid back in, slow and devastating, until she was buried to the hilt.

Your whole body seized with it—back arching, a sob of a moan catching in your throat. “Ahhh—nnn—fuck—”

Her eyes dropped to where your bodies met, to where your cunt stretched around the thick base of her cock, soaked and trembling. “You’re so full—fuck—you look so good full of me.”

The words hit like heat. Your chest heaved. Your walls fluttered around her. She held there a beat longer, breathing hard, eyes locked on your face like she was reading every quake of your body, every trembling moan. Then her hand left the base of her cock—slow, deliberate.

And she moved.

One thrust. Then another. Deep. Heavy. Unforgiving. Her length dragged through you with unbearable thickness, every swollen vein and pronounced ridge scraping slow along your walls like a brand. It was too much—it was perfect. A stretch that lit you from the inside out, left your thighs trembling and your cunt fluttering wildly around her. Your slick coated her, dripped down between your legs, wet and hot and endless, every stroke pulling more from you.

Your fingers twisted the sheets. Your breath stuttered through parted lips. Each time she bottomed out, your voice cracked with it.

Above you, Agatha groaned—low, long, aching—her chest beginning to tremble with every thrust. “Shit—ahh—fuck—” “Mmmgh—god—baby—” She didn’t hold back now. Didn’t slow. Her hips rocked into you with rhythm and reverence, every stroke buried to the hilt.

Then she folded over you.

Bracing on her elbows, her chest flush to yours, slick with heat and breathless sweat, her mouth caught your cry as her hips thrust hard. The weight of her ground deep inside you like she belonged nowhere else—like home was something she found in you.

You felt her everywhere. The pressure. The weight. The relentless drag of her rubbing inside you. She slammed into yours, her hips pressing down, claiming. Her skin was hot and tight and trembling against yours, and your legs fell open without thought, trying to take her deeper.

Her balls slapped against your ass—wet, rhythmic, relentless. Each impact hit with a soaked precision that made your breath stutter and your cunt clench around her cock. That sound—obscene and sacred all at once—echoed between you like worship. Like ruin. Like everything she ever wanted was happening right here, in the way your bodies met over and over again.

Agatha groaned behind your ear—“Uhhhn—fuck—”—deep and thick, pulled straight from her chest. Her hips ground into you harder, her weight pressing you down into the mattress like she wanted to leave a mark on your soul.

“God—your pussy’s so fucking tight, baby,” she growled, her voice shredded with reverence and need. “So tight for Daddy…”

Your mouth fell open, your head thrown back. You couldn’t stop the moan that spilled out—high, broken, needy. “Hhhah—uhh—uhnnh—”

You could feel everything—every drag, every pulse, every twitch of her cock inside you. The way she dragged along your walls, the ridges of her veins catching and pulling against every swollen edge. The head—wide, swollen, pressure-heavy—pressed deeper and brushed the place that made your voice snap in half.

Your nails scraped down her back, desperate and trembling, your voice cracking as it left you. “Ah—ghhh—f-fuck—too much—”

She moaned into your skin, low and guttural, the sound scraped from deep in her chest. Her hips stuttered for half a breath, tension rippling through her frame. “Ffhh—shit—baby—”

Then she snapped forward again, grinding so deep the base of her cock pressed flush to your slick folds, her hips rocking in like she needed to carve herself into you. “I know, baby. I know it’s too much,” she panted, her lips dragging across your cheek, your temple, your throat—frantic with reverence. “But you’re doing so good—so fucking good—. You love how full you are, don’t you?”

You whimpered. Your voice failed. Your whole body locked up in answer. All you could do was nod—trembling, wide-eyed, jaw slack—until another thrust knocked a cry out of you. “Hh—ahh—mmgh—fuck—” The burn was sacred. The stretch was heaven. You nodded, head rolling back, jaw slack—until her next thrust forced a sound out of you that didn’t sound human.

“Ahnn—huhh—hahhh—D-Daddy—”

She didn’t slow. She didn’t let you breathe.  “That’s it,” she growled, lost now. “Let me in, baby. Let me have all of you—”

Her cock slammed in again. Then again. Every thrust was heavier now—deeper, like she wasn’t just fucking you, she was planting herself inside you. The drag of her cock pulled a string of slick sounds from your body—lewd and soaked and sacred.

Your legs trembled around her waist. Your arms locked around her shoulders like you could anchor yourself through the storm. “T-too big,” you gasped, voice thin and shaking. “So fucking big—mmmnnh—hurts, Daddy—feels s-so good—”

Agatha moaned again—“Fuck, fuck—”—low and biting, like she was barely holding it together. Her forehead pressed to yours, her breath pouring over your lips, every exhale unsteady. Her voice dropped to a growl. “Shhh… look at you—so good for me, baby, so fucking good—””

She rolled her hips again—slow, so deep—and your whole body jumped. Your cunt spasmed around her. Another gush of slick spilled between you, coating her cock, your thighs, the sheets. “Unhh—nhghhh—c-can’t—can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” she breathed, panting now, voice twisted with awe and hunger. “You want this. You want me to fuck you until you can’t think—til you're crying, saying it’s too much—while your pussy just keeps sucking me in—begging me to stay—”

You moaned—long, cracked, desperate—as you clenched down without meaning to, your cunt fluttering like your body had made peace with breaking.

Agatha groaned—“Hhrrgh—shit, baby—you feel that?” Her voice cracked. Her hips jerked again, her cock twitching inside you. “You’re dripping—fucking shaking— and your body’s still begging—still asking Daddy for more—”

Her rhythm faltered—hips stuttering, breath catching—but she forced herself back in. Controlled. Grinding. Her thrusts weren’t wild anymore. They were starving.

Each one came with a moan scraped straight from her lungs: “Ngh—fhhk—hnnh—so deep—” “Mmmnn—tight—tight—fuck—”

The slap of her hips against yours filled the room. Louder. Faster. Filthier. Her balls hit you with every stroke—wet, heavy, punishing. Each smack made your thighs twitch, your mouth fall open, your eyes roll back. Your cries came in waves—shattered, breathless, sobbing sounds. No words. No shape. Just the wreckage of want echoing off the walls.

“So hard…” you gasped, barely audible. “So deep—c-can’t—mmmnngh—so full—”

Agatha kissed your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—open-mouthed and panting. She moaned against your skin, her voice raw. Her hips never stopped. She rutted into you like she was losing herself inside your body. “I know, baby. I know. You’re being so good—taking every inch”

The bed creaked beneath you in a steady rhythm—sharp, hollow thuds that matched the weight of her hips slamming into yours. Each thrust jolted the frame, the soft squeal of wood and motion becoming a relentless cadence. Her cock dragged through your core with lewd, aching precision—thick and soaked, every ridge and vein scraping along your walls like it had been made to fit you and only you. The wet sound of her slipping in and out filled the room, louder now, impossible to ignore—raw, slick, sacred. The weight of her balls slapped against you, adding to the slick echo of your bodies meeting. Slap. Slap. Slap.

You choked on a moan, eyes fluttering, mouth falling open. “Mmf—mmf—nnnh—”

The bed rocked harder, the headboard tapping the wall in time with every movement. Her skin stuck to yours. Her sweat beaded at the hollow of your throat. Your slick coated her thighs, ran down onto the sheets, made every stroke louder. The air was thick with it—sex and heat and magic and the kind of desperation only she ever pulled from you. The mattress heaved beneath you, the bed groaning under the force of her body. Slap. Her balls struck you with the next thrust—wet, firm, heavy. Slap. Slap. Slap.

Your breath hitched. “Hnnn—hh—gghnn—” A sob burst from your throat, crumpling your voice in the middle of a gasp. “Uh—uh—uh—ahhh—f-fuck—” you whimpered, each gasp caught on the back of your tongue like you couldn’t quite keep up with her. “Daddy—” Above you, her breath broke into a moan—low, guttural, feral. “Nnnnnnnnnh—fuck—”

Her teeth grazed your neck as her hips slammed forward again, chasing the sound she just pulled from you. “You sound so good when I’m inside you,” she panted, voice hoarse, ruined. “You love when I fuck you like this, don’t you?”

You nodded before you could speak, tears clinging to your lashes, jaw slack as your body rocked beneath her. The rhythm of her cock was constant and unholy, the obscene drag of her thickness pulling out just enough to make you cry for her, then slamming back in with a slick slap that echoed off the walls. “Khh—khhn—fuckfuck—” Your voice cracked, dragged raw with the rhythm.

The sound was so intimate it made you cry out, your body convulsing in helpless pleasure. You felt it—the swing and slap against your ass with every deep thrust, every grind that forced her cock as far as you could take. They were hot and tight, bouncing against your skin, again and again, swinging low enough to land perfectly, rhythmically, over and over, until your spine arched to meet each blow. The pressure, the weight—it made your thighs tremble. Your walls clenched around her, clutching with instinctive hunger. “Nnnh—nghh—fuck—Agatha—ahh—”

Agatha let out another moan—drawn from the depths of her chest, broken at the top. “—god, baby—” She bent low, her mouth pressed to the corner of your jaw, sucking in each of your sounds like breath.

Your voice cracked on her name, and something in her broke open. She groaned low, primal, her mouth pressed to your jaw as her hips rolled again. Slap. Your breath hitched. A choked moan escaped—half-formed, soaked in need. Slap. Again. Again. The sound of your slick, her cock, your moans—the rhythm was deafening now.

“Mmmph f-fuck—” you gasped, voice high and wrecked. “—it’s s-so loud—” you sobbed, voice cracking as the bed knocked against the wall, as the slap of her balls hit you again, again, again. “So loud, Daddy—””

Agatha froze for just a beat—like the words gripped her spine and dragged a moan straight from her chest. It rolled out of her low and shaking, not a word, not a command—just a raw, punched-out “Nnh—ah!”, scraped from somewhere primal. Her hips stuttered, cock buried deep, her body trembling from the force of it.

She loved it. The wet slap of her against you, the bed knocking the wall, your cries catching on every thrust—it did something to her. Her moan deepened into your neck, long and ruined, the sound vibrating straight through you. She didn’t speak right away—just groaned again, voice curling out of her like smoke, like surrender and power in the same breath.

The slick wet sound of your cunt wrapped around her cock echoed loud in the room now. Louder than it should’ve been. Louder than it had to be.

Agatha moaned into your skin, deep and drawn out, her hips stuttered for half a beat—not from weakness, but from the way you said it. From the way you meant it. Her grin was sharp, breathless, possessive—pressed against your jaw as she rocked deeper. “You hear that, baby?”  

She thrust again and your body jolted under her, a wet cry tearing from your throat. “Ahn—ahn—ahn—ahhh—fuck!”

“That’s your pussy,” she murmured, voice soaked in reverence. “That’s what you sound like when I’m inside you. When I’m fucking you right.”  She thrust again and your body jolted under her, a wet cry tearing from your throat. “Hnn—fuck—” Her voice dropped, low and ruined, right against your ear. “Listen to it.”

Another thrust. She eased in until her thick tip went slack, swelling in your depths, pressuring just enough before she rocked forward.  Slap. “That’s us. That’s my cock, my balls, —Daddy fucking you raw and open—fuck…..” she growled, voice thick with awe, her lips brushing your ear.  She snapped her hips harder, and the slap was louder this time, more deliberate.

You whimpered, your whole body tensing beneath her. It was so obscene. So perfect. That heavy, rhythmic smack against your skin—it drove you wild.  You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe. You nodded, whimpering, pussy fluttering as her cock dragged slow through you again, thick and pulsing. You sobbed beneath her, helpless and soaked. Her moan hit your ear, rough and ragged, her body trembling above yours. “I love it,” she said, breathless. “No one else gets to hear this. Just you. Just me.”

Every sound matched the sensation: her grinding deep, hitting your cervix with every pass, her balls smacking your skin, the slick, obscene squelch of your core soaked around her. The headboard rattled. The sheets shifted. The whole room sang with it.

“It’s so much,” you gasped, your voice shredded, every breath catching. “So loud—”

“I know it is,” she gasped, rutting forward, her hips finding that devastating rhythm again. “You’re taking it. Like you always do.”

Your cries weren’t words anymore. They were open-mouthed gasps, whines, shattered, aching moans you couldn’t hold in if you tried. “Ahnn—khh—hhhn—!”

Agatha kissed you hard, catching one of those sounds against her tongue, swallowing it like a gift. She twitched inside you as you clenched again.

“That’s it,” she moaned. “Sounds so pretty—every fucking sound you make for daddy.”

You tried to speak—but your mouth only opened around air, around need. A whimper escaped instead, thick and trembling, catching on your tongue like it wasn’t sure if it belonged to pain or pleasure. You felt splintered under her—overwhelmed and pinned and dripping with want. You couldn’t shape a single word. Just noise. Just that sound, raw and bitten down, forced from your throat as she drove deeper.

“Open your mouth,” she whispered.

Your lips parted before your mind could catch up. Agatha moaned—a deep, wrecked sound scraped from somewhere primal—before leaning in and spitting into it. It hit your tongue hot and heavy, tasting like salt and sin and the sacred claim she never stopped making. You swallowed instantly. Reflex. Worship. Her breath caught as she watched you do it, her body twitching above yours like she could feel it in her spine.

“That’s my girl,” she breathed, voice shaking. “So fucking good—so sweet like this.”

And then her hips snapped forward.

Slap.

It echoed off the walls like punctuation—sharp, soaking, final.

“Say it,” she growled, voice barely tethered. “Say who’s fucking you like this.”

You tried. Tried to speak through the wreckage of your breath, through the tears on your tongue and the moans stuck to your ribs. Your head tipped back into the pillow, mouth open, body trembling beneath her. Your throat gave first.

You sobbed. “You, Daddy. Always—fuck—always—”

Her moan followed instantly—“Nnhhh—fuck, that’s it—”—shuddering out of her like she couldn’t keep it in. Her chest pressed flush to yours, sweat-slick and searing, grinding impossibly deeper as she whispered into your skin.

“That’s right. All mine.” One hand slid under your thigh and lifted it higher, spreading you wide, forcing you open. The angle was brutal. Perfect. She surged again, driving into the softest, deepest part of your body. “Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin. Mine to keep.”

Her next thrust was devastating—hard, slow, exacting. You screamed—wordless, holy. A wrecked, high sob tangled with a moan. Your core gushed around her again, drenching her, the sheets, everything. The sound was wet, shameless, sacred.

“Khh—ahhh—mmnfhh—Daddy—fuck—”

Agatha shuddered. Her voice splintered on a groan. “God—baby, you sound so fucking good—so wet—so tight—so fucking mine—”

The bed slammed into the wall now, over and over, in time with her thrusts. Her moans broke free between clenched teeth, and each one only drove her harder. Deeper.

Your cries poured from you like heat, each one higher than the last— “Ahh—mmhh—nnnh—please—please—please—” You didn’t know what you were begging for. More? Mercy? Her? All of it?

Her hand caught the back of your neck. Her thumb pressed under your jaw—not choking, not cruel—just enough to hold you in place. To feel the moans crawling out of your throat.

You clenched again—reflexive, involuntary—tightening around her your body was trying to keep her there, locked inside, sealed with heat and need. Agatha moaned, deep and guttural, the sound catching at the base of her throat before it cracked on the way out. Her hips stuttered—barely—but enough for you to feel her restraint fracture.

“Fffffuck—” It rasped through her teeth, rough and trembling, her breath dragging across your jaw like she couldn’t speak without breaking.

She pulled back—slow, every ridge and vein dragging through your slick, swollen walls—until your breath caught, and you whined for her, small and shaking: “Nnnh—D-Daddy—please—” —and then slammed back in, hips smacking wet against your ass, her balls landing with a heavy slap.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open as your body seized beneath her. The sounds pouring from you weren’t words anymore—just cracked, desperate gasps from somewhere deep inside: “Ghhn—nnnk—fffh—ahhh—”

Agatha groaned—louder now, breathless, strained. She kissed you mid-sound, catching one of your cries against her mouth like it belonged to her.  Her thrusts were steady, punishing, exquisite—like her rhythm had been carved to match yours. She dragged perfectly along your soaked walls, each grind punching a new sound out of you. Your body knew her. Reacted to her. Opened for her.

Her voice broke into your mouth like a spell. “You’re gonna cum on me, baby—I can feel it—fuck—you’re right there—” You gasped—nodding frantically, helpless. Too wrecked to speak. Your whole body trembled beneath her, thighs shaking, breath stuck somewhere between a sob and a scream. “C-can’t—hold—oh God—f-fuck—please—”

Agatha was groaning now—low and constant—every breath a ruin. “Mhrrnnh—hfff—nnngh—baby—fuuuck—” Her voice was shot—rasped thin from the strain of holding on.

She pressed her palm flat over your stomach, just above your center, the weight of her hand grounding, claiming, sacred. She could feel it—every flex of your walls around her. Every tremor building in your core.

Her lips touched your ear. “Let me feel it,” she whispered, voice trembling with reverence. “Let Daddy feel you break.”

Your whole body snapped tight as the orgasm hit—no warning, no space to think—just white-hot pressure exploding outward, dragging a scream from your lungs as you clamped around her shaft like you never wanted to let go.

“Aahhh—hhnhhh—ghhk—fuckfuckfuck—” You shook—legs twitching, mouth open, your cries slurring into each other as you came hard around her.

Agatha groaned so deep it sounded like her soul cracked open. Her hips stuttered mid-thrust, unable to stay steady through the feel of you pulsing around her like that. “That’s it,” she gasped, voice shaking. “Just like that—cum for me—goddamn—you’re perfect—”

You sobbed beneath her, back arched, drenched in heat and sound and the rhythm of your own ruin—every part of you drawn tight and trembling as she fucked you through it, holding you to the edge of yourself like it was a prayer.

Her thrusts slowed, then stilled—hips hovering just above yours, trembling with the effort not to fall. Her cock pulsed inside you, deep and thick, twitching like it was lost without movement. The flush across her cheeks deepened, crawling down her throat like it had been dragged from the furnace of her chest. The fire in her eyes didn’t fade—but it flickered. Drawn inward. Banked behind clenched teeth and a jaw so tight you could see the restraint in every shaking muscle.

Her breath hitched—hard and sudden. Not a moan. Not even a gasp. A warning. One she couldn’t bear to give voice to.

And then she shook. Not from weakness. Not from fear. From restraint.

A full-body ripple of heat and hesitation rolled through her like a tide breaking against stone. Her shoulders tensed. Her eyes fluttered closed. And then she smiled—barely. Just enough to reveal the crack in her armor. That soft, secret kind of smile she only ever wore when she was on the edge of breaking. The kind that belonged to you alone.

“I don’t—I don’t have a condom,” she said, and the words came out wrecked. Frayed at the edges. Her voice trembled like it hurt to say, like it was a confession she didn’t want to give. “Fuck, I don’t—I don’t wanna hurt you—”

But you knew that tone. You knew what came after it.

This was the part of the story you’d rewritten a thousand times—on breath, on trust, on soaked sheets and holy promises. The line between devotion and craving blurred so beautifully here, it left you both trembling. This was the game. The ritual. The ache you loved to live in.

She was your first. She was your only. And she was already shaking from how badly she wanted to stay buried inside you.

You didn’t answer.

You moaned—deep and cracked, a sound that came from the pit of your stomach—and let your legs fall open beneath her, wider than before. A silent dare. A sacred offering.

Agatha’s breath hitched again—this time so violently it punched through her chest. Her hands flew to your thighs, clinging like she needed the contact or she'd fall through you. “You—fuck—” she gasped, her voice breaking. Her head dropped to your shoulder, trembling, her breath ragged against your neck. “You’re not making this easy on Daddy…”

She lifted her head—barely. Her eyes dragged down your body, slow and reverent, until they landed between your legs—at the place where her cock was still sheathed inside you, flushed and soaked and trembling. And something broke in her. You saw it.

“You look so fucking perfect like this,” she whispered. Reverent. Wrecked. “So full of me…”

You moaned again—low, guttural, full of possession. Your arms came up around her, locking behind her back like you could hold her in place with will alone. Your chests pressed tight together, sweat slick between you, the heat of her body pulsing like a second heartbeat inside you. The tremble in her thighs grew more frantic. Her breath stuttered into your hair.

“So good—so good—so—fucking—good—” she panted, forehead pressed to yours. Every inch of her was shaking. Every muscle burning with restraint. “I don’t wanna hurt you…”

But her body had already betrayed her.

Her hips shifted—just a twitch—but you felt it. The slow, aching grind of her cock rocked through you—deep, searching. Not a thrust. Not a decision. Instinct. Need. Too old and too deep to be masked. She gasped—sharp and startled—like the motion had shocked her. She shook her head. “No—fuck—” she whispered, almost to herself, like she was trying to anchor her soul to her skin.

She tried to pull back. Not in fear. Not in shame. In discipline. In love. Her hips lifted slowly, deliberately, every muscle in her fighting the pull of your body. Her cock dragged against your walls—thick, soaked, trembling—and the stretch of losing her made your whole body whimper. You felt your cunt clutch at her, fluttering, desperate, slick and aching. Your body didn’t want to let her go. Her thighs tensed. Her shoulders shook. Her breath fractured into your neck. She was slipping.

You felt it. Her cock twitched at your entrance. Her chest quaked with effort. Her mouth opened—maybe to apologize, maybe to say goodbye.

But you didn’t let her. You moved. Your hips surged upward, deliberate. Hungry. You caught her just as the head of her cock began to pull free. Your thighs clamped around her waist, anchoring her with something deeper than muscle.

You knew. You knew she needed this. You knew what she was asking without saying. You caught her. And she gasped—a sound so raw it cracked through the air like lightning. Her hands flew to the mattress, bracing herself. Trembling. Her whole body thrown into chaos by the feel of you tightening around her again.

“Baby—” she choked. But it was already too late. You were clinging to her, soaked and shaking, every inch of your body begging to be filled. Your arms wrapped around her back. Your legs held her in place.

And then—your voice. It rose like a vow between you, trembled in the stillness, and split the world open. “Stay,” you whispered, your lips brushing hers, your eyes locked to the soul of her. “Don’t pull out. Cum in me.”

Her breath hitched like a sob. Her hands braced hard against the mattress like she was trying not to collapse. Her whole body trembled above you, suspended between the ruin she wanted and the reverence she still thought she had to maintain. “Fuck—baby, I can’t—” she moaned, voice breaking apart in your ear. Her hips pressed forward again, helplessly. Her cock twitched deep inside you. “Daddy won’t be able to stop.”

Your voice cracked. “I said don’t.” Her hips twitched—once, then again—small, helpless movements that betrayed her restraint. She hovered over you, every muscle shaking, her cock still buried to the hilt inside your soaked, aching cunt. You could feel her pulse there—thick and frantic—each beat a warning, a plea, a promise she was no longer capable of keeping. She was holding herself back with trembling, white-knuckled effort. But the illusion of control was slipping.

“I wanna come so deep inside you,” she whispered, voice splintered at the edges, her lips brushing your cheek like a kiss she couldn’t quite commit to. “I want it to spill out when I’m done. I want you to feel it all night.”

Your answer wasn’t a word. It was a moan—low, wet, reverent—dragged from your throat like prayer. Your body arched to meet hers, your center clenching around her with instinctive, aching hunger. It felt like your entire body was answering for you.

You couldn’t speak at first. Couldn’t breathe. And then, breathless: “Y-yeah…”

Her breath hitched like the word wounded her—like it split something in her open.

“You want that, don’t you?” she rasped, grinding into you—barely. Just once. Just enough for her cock to drag thick and slow through your desperate heat. “You love it when I talk about it. When I tell you how bad daddy wants to cum inside her girl’s perfect pussy.”

Your whimper cracked through the air like a sob, high and broken and helpless. It echoed between your bodies, filled the room with something raw and sacred. Agatha shuddered. Her hands clenched against the mattress like she was trying to anchor herself.

“Fuck—when I say how bad I want to breed you—”

That shattered something inside you.

She was all instinct now. All ruin. And then—mid-thrust—you cried out: “Daaaaaadddyyyyy”

Your clamped around her with brutal force—slick, pulsing, desperate—and your moan tore loose like your body couldn’t contain it another second. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t quiet. It came out high and aching, the kind of sound only she ever got from you. The kind that made her shake. Her own cry followed—lower, guttural, deep in her chest like it had been buried there and finally broke free. She rocked forward again, unable to stop herself, her body betraying her with every twitch.

“You want me to fill you so full it leaks down your thighs,” she choked, voice climbing, rhythm faltering. “Claim you from the inside out—mark you.”

Her balls slapped wetly against your ass with the next thrust—sharp, filthy, final. The sound echoed off the walls: smack, squelch, moan. The bed creaked. The headboard tapped. Your soaked body made everything louder.

“I want to stay inside you, baby,” she panted, forehead dropping to yours. “Come so deep you’ll feel it tomorrow. I need it—”

That was when the rhythm changed.

No more reverence. No more restraint. No more holding back.

Her hips slammed into you with rising desperation—wet, heavy, obscene. Slap, slap, slap. Her cock drove deep, the sound of her plunging into your soaked heat nothing short of sacrilegious. Every thrust rang through the room like a chant. Her moans broke free without filter now—low and guttural, cracked and pleading.

Her breath stuttered each time she bottomed out, your name tumbling from her lips like a litany—like she needed to say it or lose herself entirely. Her voice cracked.

“God—you feel so fucking good—so fucking tight—”

You couldn’t even think. You were sobbing with every thrust, breath catching, cunt fluttering helplessly around her cock. You were soaked. Slick poured down your thighs, your body begging for everything she had.

And she felt it.

She felt how you welcomed her—dragged her deeper, clung tighter, fluttering open with every thrust like your body had been waiting just for this. Just for her.

Her hands tightened around your hips, knuckles white, anchoring her to this moment like it was the only thing keeping her breathing. Her mouth found your throat—hot, desperate—moaning into your skin like she needed the taste of you to survive. Her hips rolled harder, faster, her cock grinding deep with every wet, shuddering thrust, the bed groaning beneath you both.

“Mmnnnnghh—D-Daddyyy—” The moan cracked from your throat like it had been torn loose from your chest, thick with heat, soaked in reverence. Your head fell back, your lips parted in a ruined O, and your cunt clenched down around her—tight, fluttering, dripping—as her cock dragged deep through your heat.

“F-fuck—s’too big—” you sobbed, voice catching as her hips rolled forward again, thick and unrelenting. “You’re so big—fuck—you're splitting me open—”

That shattered what little restraint she had left.

Her hips slammed forward with a groan, and her cock drove into you—deep. Thicker than you could bear. Harder than you could take. And still you took it.

Slap.

Her balls struck your ass, wet and firm.

Your soaked core sang with the sound of her sliding through you, obscene and perfect.

Smack. Slap. Wet. Slap.

The room echoed with it—your joined bodies loud and desperate, a symphony of slick, moans, and the stuttering bedframe beneath you. The headboard tapped the wall, sharp and rhythmic, as she fucked you into it without mercy.

You were sobbing now, openly, your moans cracked and high and helpless. “Mmmmppph—ahhh—ngghhh—so full—c-can’t—”

And still you clung to her. Still you begged. “make me take it—”

Agatha gasped, like your words pierced her straight through. Her hips rolled forward harder, pounding into you with a rhythm that bordered on reverent destruction. Her cock dragged against every nerve ending inside you—every ridge and vein catching on your walls, scraping you open, carving her into your body with every thrust.

“You’re takin’ it,” she growled, voice ragged with awe. “So fucking deep, baby—God—look at you—squeezin’ me like that—like your body wants me to stay inside forever—”

You moaned so loud it made her groan, your body shaking under hers. “Mmmmnnghh—ahhh—fuck—s-so deep, so fucking big—can feel it all—every inch—”

She was unraveling above you, moaning into your skin, her voice breathless and raw, hips slamming deep inside you. Your slick spilled over her, onto your thighs, onto the bed.

“Y-you love it,” you gasped, your voice shattered but sure. “You love how my pussy pulls you in—how it takes you—how it wants you—”

“Fuck—fuck—I love it, baby,” she cried, hips stuttering. “I love how you open for me—how you beg for it—how your body won’t let me go—”

And she was right. You couldn’t let go. Your walls fluttered, clenching down, milking her cock with every thrust, chasing every ridge like it was holy.

“Fuuuck—” you sobbed, voice breaking into a high, helpless cry. “Harder—don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

The bed creaked beneath you, wild and unsteady, as her hips slammed into yours again—wet, sharp, sacred. The sound filled the room, slick and obscene, the rhythm of your bodies raw and unrelenting.

Her length dragged through you with brutal grace—thick and veined and so hot you could barely breathe through it. You felt the tilt of it, the way the thick underside vein caught on your soaked walls with every pull, every push—rubbing you open, making your thighs shake, making your core weep for her.

“Mmmnnnh—ahhh—fuck—right there, right fucking there—” you gasped, your moans slurring into sobs, your hands flying to her back, your nails clawing down in frantic arcs. “You feel so big—s-so big—your cock’s too big—fuck, fuck, please—”

“Good girl” Agatha groaned, voice wrecked, teeth gritted as she slammed into you again, cock throbbing inside you. “ so fucking good—”

“Don’t stop—please don’t stop—d-don’t stop,” you begged again, crying through your moans, your voice nothing but cracked sound and open-mouthed gasps.

“Shhh, I won’t,” she panted, her forehead dropping to yours, sweat dripping between your bodies. “I’ve got you—so fucking tight around me—gonna make me—fuck—”

You whimpered, sobbed, rocked up into her again and again, chasing every inch of her with your body. You could feel it—every vein, every ridge, every desperate throb as her cock dragged through your fluttering walls. That thick vein on the underside—that was what made your back arch, made you scream, made you sob out again, “Daddy—right there—ahhhhhh—”

Her rhythm snapped, her hips tilting just enough to catch that same spot over and over. You choked, your whole body clenching around her as the pressure spiraled again, unbearable and holy.

Agatha growled above you—low, breathless, wrecked. Her hair stuck to her cheeks, her shoulders gleamed with sweat, and her jaw locked tight as she slammed forward again, cock dragging through your heat like a live wire.

“I know those sounds,” she panted, her voice a ragged whisper right against your mouth. “That little gasp—right there—that’s the one you make when you’re close, baby. That’s the one that drives me fucking insane—”

“‘M close,” you cried, tears brimming again, your thighs quaking.

She moaned—loud, raw, her voice breaking open in your ear as her hips snapped forward again, rough and deliberate. “Fuck—you feel so good—so fucking wet—I can feel you clenching—you’re right there, I know you are—just a little more—give it to me, baby, let me feel it—”

The sounds were obscene now—your soaked bodies meeting in a frantic, slapping rhythm, the headboard knocking faintly against the wall, your moans a rising symphony of want and unraveling. Her cock dragged deep with every stroke, her balls slapping wetly against your skin.

“Ahnnn—nnnghh—mmmphh—please—please—” You sobbed, clutching at her arms, at her back, your nails digging in as the pressure crested inside you like a tidal wave breaking.

Agatha kissed your mouth and didn’t stop moving. Her thrusts were steady, punishing, exquisite. Her rhythm owned you, like her body knew exactly how to wring sound from yours with every thrust, every grind, every perfect drag of her cock along your soaked walls. Her voice broke into your mouth like a confession. “You’re gonna cum on me, baby—I can feel it—fuck, you’re right there—”

You gasped, nodding frantically, too wrecked to speak. Your whole body trembled around her, thighs shaking, breath stuck somewhere between a sob and a scream. “C-can’t—hold—oh God—f-fuck—please—”

Agatha was groaning now—low and constant—every breath a ruin. “Mhrrnnh—hfff—nnngh—baby—fuuuck—” Her voice was shot—rasped thin from the strain of holding on.

She pressed her palm flat over your stomach, just above your core, the weight of her hand grounding, claiming, sacred. She could feel it—every flex of your walls around her cock. Every tremor building in your core.

Her lips touched your ear. “Cum for me.”

That was all it took. Your whole body snapped tight as the orgasm hit—no warning, no space to think—just white-hot pressure exploding outward, dragging a scream from your lungs as your cunt clamped around her cock like it never wanted to let go.

“Aahhh—hhnhhh—ghhk—fuckfuckfuck—” You shook—legs twitching, mouth open, your cries slurring into each other as you came hard around her.

Agatha didn’t stop. Even as your body convulsed beneath her, even as your walls clamped tight around her cock and your thighs trembled like you were breaking apart, she kept moving—rocking through you with reverent, unrelenting strokes. Her breath caught on every thrust, her voice splintered with awe and desperation.

“That’s it—fuck, that’s it,” she panted, her rhythm fraying, her body grinding into yours like she was trying to leave a part of herself inside you. “You’re taking me so good, baby—look at you—fucking soaked for me…”

Your moans were ragged, helpless. Every inch of you was pulsing, oversensitive, radiant with aftershock. But you didn’t pull away. You pulled her in. Your arms moved across her slick skin, trembling, desperate. Your thighs quivered but refused to loosen. You held her like you were afraid the world might end if she left your body before you were ready—before she was ready.

And Agatha felt it.

Felt the way you clung to her cock, still fluttering, still wet, still begging even as it throbbed with the remnants of release. The way your body flexed in involuntary aftershocks—tight, wet pulls that milked her deeper, pulled her harder, made her gasp like it physically hurt to stay buried inside you and still not cum.

She whimpered at the feel of you—guttural, raw, her whole body stuttering like she’d forgotten how to hold herself together. “Oh my god—” she breathed, voice catching on a ragged moan as your walls fluttered again, sucking her back in with that perfect, maddening grip. “You’re still—fuck, you’re still clenching around me…”

Her hips drew back just enough for you both to feel it—that slick, obscene stretch, that almost-pull that made your spine arch and your mouth drop open in a soft, broken cry. Then she sank in again—slow, dragging, deliberate. Her shaft pushed through the mess she’d made of you, thick and trembling, gliding past every hypersensitive nerve like worship.

The sound of it was devastating—wet, sticky, sacred. A lewd kiss of bodies slick and shaking, heat folding into heat. Your hips twitched as she bottomed out again, and you sobbed—a soft, breathless whimper that turned her bones to ash.

“Ahhh—nnghh—m-mmmhhf—” The sounds tore out of you unbidden, your voice cracking as she rocked inside you with aching precision, her breath catching at your neck.

Her hand slid up your side, knuckles grazing slick skin, then curled around your ribs like a promise. A grounding point. A quiet prayer not to fall apart then dragged slowly down your body, over the swell of your hip, the dip of your waist, until it slid between your thighs and gripped the inside of your knee.

And then she opened you.

Not with haste, not with force—but with reverence. Her fingers spread wide, guiding your leg open, wider, until your body trembled with the exposure. She tilted your hips with one slow pull, adjusting the angle like she was tuning a sacred instrument. And when she moved again—when her cock sank into you, deep and deliberate—you both gasped at once.

“F-fuck—” she choked out, her voice wrecked, her restraint fraying at the edges. The new angle let her slide in deeper—thicker, hotter, pressing right up against that swollen, aching place inside you that made your legs jerk and your mouth fall open in a helpless moan.

“Dadddyyy”

Your voice cracked, and she shuddered.

Her grip tightened, her body bowed over yours like she was praying with her whole form. Her hips rocked forward again, slow but devastating, and your thighs twitched wider under her hands—open, aching, desperate.

She dragged back. So slow it felt like cruelty. Deliberate. Precise. She slipped out inch by inch, gliding slick and thick from your cunt until just the head remained—pulsing, wet, swollen. It caught on the sensitive swell of your entrance, and your pussy fluttered instinctively around it, already aching, already begging .

Your moan tore loose—not pretty, not practiced, but primal. “Nhh-ahhh—fhhuhhckk—don’t—don’t—”

Your hips chased her before you could think, lifting from the bed in a frantic tilt, body arching toward her like gravity had shifted.

Agatha hissed—a feral, guttural sound that rattled in her chest. Her cock twitched hard between your legs, flushed and glistening, so slick with you it looked glazed. Her whole body shook like restraint was becoming impossible.

The air around you thickened—hot, drenched, heavy—as if even the room couldn’t bear the tension.

“Brave fucking girl,” she rasped, voice thinned with strain. “Taking me so deep—so fucking deep— and now you’re just… letting me pull out like this?” She leaned in closer, her breath against your mouth. “Fuck. Knowing I won’t last. Knowing it makes me fucking insane—”

She wasn’t wrong. Her grip faltered, breath staggered, like she was seconds from falling apart. Her hand fisted the curve of your hip, grounding herself. But it was your body that wrecked her. soaking her cock, shining her in the mess of your need, and clenching around nothing like you were trying to break yourself with how much you needed her back inside.

“Fhhuckk—” she groaned, barely able to breathe. “Look at you. All spread out for me… greedy little pussy begging to be filled—”

Her hips rolled forward—slow, steady, claiming. The thick head of her length slid through your slick folds, dragging across every soaked, swollen inch until it caught right at your entrance. She paused just long enough for your body to twitch—needing, fluttering—and then she pushed.

Hard. Deep. All at once.

Your body seized, a strangled cry catching in your throat as her cock slammed in to the hilt—thick, soaked, unrelenting. The breath left your lungs in a stuttering rush, and your walls clamped down on her so tight, so instinctively, it felt like a reflex as old as need.

“Hhhhnn—nnhhhGod—”

The stretch hit you like heat, like revelation. Blistering. Breath-stealing. Fucking perfect. Your legs wrapped around her waist before you even realized—desperate, trembling, refusing to let her go. She groaned at the feel of it, low and wrecked, her hips twitching inside you from the tightness. “That’s it,” she panted, her voice cracked and reverent. “Show me how bad you need it.”

Her next thrust came slow—a long, merciless drag pulling partway out, slick with your need, before sinking deep again, grinding up into your cunt like she was branding her shape into your walls.

You sobbed—sharp and soaked—your nails biting into her back. “Ahh—ahhhnn—f-fuckkk—Daddy—”

She moaned at the sound of her name on your tongue, her whole body shuddering. “Say it again,” she breathed against your mouth. “Fuck, say my name like that again while I ruin this sweet little pussy—”

Your response came as a broken whimper—high, desperate, wet—and she answered it with another thrust. Another brutal, gorgeous stroke that dragged through your core like lightning. The sound of her shaft sinking in—slow, soaked, reverent—filled the room like worship.

Her breath trembled as she rocked into you again, each grind deeper than the last, her rhythm steady but intense—each movement designed to undo you slowly, intimately, until all you could do was moan for her.

You whimpered, long and low, your hips arching, body trembling under the weight of her cock. “Mnnnh—nnhh—please—”

Her hips pulled back—just slightly, her cock dragging against your walls with a pressure that felt like it had teeth. And then she pushed forward again, slow and relentless, like the world had narrowed to the wet sound of her moving inside you.

You gasped—a soft, wrecked little sound that left your mouth open and trembling. Her cock ground into you with purpose, every ridge catching just enough to make your legs twitch beneath her, your back arch without permission.

“Fuck,” you choked, the word falling apart against her throat. Your lips brushed her skin, tasted sweat and salt and something like surrender. “It’s s-so—” but you couldn’t finish. Your breath caught. Your throat closed.

Because she was still moving.

Not fast—never fast. Just intense, deliberate, soaking you in friction so slow it felt like it burned. Each thrust was a promise and a threat, her cock dragging out, then sinking back in like she had all the time in the world to destroy you.

“Daddyyy—” Her name tore loose, wet and high and wrecked.

She moaned at the sound of it—deep, from her chest, like the syllables had lit her nerve endings on fire. Her mouth found your jaw, her lips brushing just below your ear as her hips rolled forward again—slow, wide, obscene. You felt her cock pulse inside you, thick and flushed and so deep you couldn’t tell where your body ended and hers began.

You whimpered again—softer this time, soaked and clinging—because it wasn’t even the pressure that undid you. It was the control. The fact that she hadn’t let herself go yet. That she was holding back—on purpose—just to see how much you could take.

She moved again.

A small thrust. Just the tip. A drag that barely stroked you, but still sent heat rippling up your spine. Then another. A deep, steady push that made your breath catch, her cock sinking into you slow and wet and endless. Your walls clenched, slick and fluttering around her, soaking her in the need she'd spent the whole night building. Another thrust followed—then another—a rhythm, slow but complete, deep enough that your back arched off the mattress, your mouth falling open.

"ffhhhh—fuck—Daddy—" you gasped, your hands clenching at the sheets.

And then she found it. That spot. You felt it when her cock dragged over it—a thick, swollen place deep inside that made your whole body jolt. You spasmed, fluttering around her as if to plead. Your thighs twitched. Your voice cracked on a moan that spilled out half-broken and high.

She felt it too. Her hips froze—just for a breath.

Then she moved again. A full thrust—slow, deep, deliberate. Her cock dragged right over that swollen, aching spot, and you seized beneath her like you'd been shocked. She watched it happen—watched your breath hitch, your mouth fall open, your thighs jerk around her waist.

Another thrust. Then another. Each one deep, steady, unhurried—just to feel you react. To feel how you spasmed around her, fluttering wildly, your moans breaking apart with every stroke. Your body arched helplessly, your hands scrambling for her arms, her shoulders, for anything to hold onto.

"That’s it," she murmured, voice thick with hunger. "—so fucking good when I fuck you just like this—" And then she paused. Her hips rolled forward, cock still buried deep.

She adjusted—tilted her angle just a little—just enough to align the swollen head of her cock against that spot with surgical precision. Her eyes never left your face.  A small, deliberate thrust. Just enough to let the swollen head of her cock nudge that same spot—deep, aching, devastating. The one that made your whole body seize like it had been struck by lightning.

Your spine arched. Your throat tore open. “Ahhh—hnnnnngh—fuuhhhk—” The sound cracked out of you like a sob, soaked and raw, half-swallowed against the damp heat of her shoulder. It didn’t even sound like your voice anymore—just broken need scraped into sound.

She did it again. Then again. Tiny thrusts. Measured. Cruel. Divine. Each one punched into that throbbing bundle of nerves buried inside you like she was branding her name into it. The angle was obscene—too precise, too perfect—and it made you clench in helpless, fluttering waves around her cock, soaked and swollen and desperate to keep her there.

You twitched. Your hips jerked. Your moan came high and strangled, shattered through your teeth like it was being dragged from your lungs by force.

Your body rocked in place, helpless under the weight of her control, the friction of her dragging slow, shallow, maddening strokes that felt like they were splitting you open by degrees. She wasn’t fucking you in thrusts—she was fucking you in fractions, in slow surgical pressure that didn’t allow for escape. Just sensation. Just fullness. Just the aching slide of her cock dragging across that place again—

—and again—

—and again.

You whimpered—wrecked, breathless—as the pressure curled tighter in your belly, your thighs trembling with every grind. Your chest heaved. Your mouth stayed open but nothing came out. Just panting. Gasping. Trembling heat. The edges of your vision blurred with tears. Your hands clawed at the sheets, desperate for something to ground you. Your hips moved. Just a little. An unconscious roll. A silent plea. You didn’t even realize you were doing it—seeking relief, seeking mercy, seeking more.

But Agatha was already there. She growled—deep and guttural, her voice catching fire in the space between you—and grabbed your hips with one hand. The grip was brutal. Final. “Stay open for me.” Her breath shook. Her voice was wrecked with the sound of restraint ripping at the seams. “Take it. Just like this.” You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Her cock moved inside you in slow, measured drags—barely there, but devastating—like she had all the time in the world to watch you fall apart.

Your hips trembled in her grip, thighs twitching as you tried to stay still, tried not to writhe under her—because she wouldn’t let you. Her hands held your hips firm, thumbs digging in just enough to ground you, to remind you who you belonged to. You sobbed through clenched teeth, your fingers scrambling for purchase—her back, her arms, the sheets—anything to hold you down as she ruined you.

Her rhythm stayed slow. That deliberate grind of thick pressure against your most sensitive place made your toes curl, your back arch, your core clench like it couldn’t bear the emptiness between each stroke. The weight of it. The ruin. It was too much. And not enough.

“Daddyyyy—” you moaned, her name tumbling out wrecked and helpless.

She groaned at the sound of it. Deep. Unrestrained. Her hips never stopped. “That’s it,” she murmured, voice thick with reverence. “Say my name like that, baby. Let me hear who’s fucking you like this—who’s got you dripping and shaking—”

You gasped, eyes fluttering, the tears finally breaking loose. The intensity was overwhelming—but holy. Her cock ground into that spot again, and your whole body jerked. You couldn’t stop it—your hips rolled beneath her, your body moving without permission, chasing something, anything, everything. Her moan tore free—loud, wrecked, helpless. “Fuuuuck—”

She sped up. Not in distance. Not in depth. Just speed. Just those tiny, punishing thrusts. Again. And again. And again. The swollen head of her cock hit that same spot over and over until it felt like your soul was unraveling. You screamed for her without words, your moans peaking, catching, melting into hers.

“Mmpphh—ahhnn—A-Agatha—fuck—please—”

“That’s it, baby,” she gasped. “That’s my good girl.” She didn’t let up. Those shallow thrusts grew quicker, sharper—just a little more pull, just a little more force. Just enough to build power. Her hips rocked with ruthless control, her cock dragging back that fraction further before driving in again, each time landing squarely on that spot that had you twitching, sobbing, writhing beneath her like a live wire.

You were keening now—moaning raw and wordless, your breath stuttering out in high, desperate pitches. Each sound was a plea without shape, every vowel broken around the weight of her inside you. Your walls fluttered. Clenched. Gasped for her.

Agatha’s eyes were locked to you, wide and dark and awestruck—like she couldn’t believe the way you looked, wrecked and shaking, stretched around her, soaking her with every thrust. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched your body pulse, your cunt gripping her cock like it knew who it belonged to.

You pulled back. Not much. Just a shift. Your hips arched, spine bowing, breath caught in your throat as your body tried—futilely—to seize control. To find air. To keep from drowning in her. But the second your movement met hers, the second your cunt flexed and fluttered around her cock with that slick, aching need.  She felt it. Her grip, already tight on your hips, turned punishing. Her fingers dug in—possessive, anchoring you like she owned the gravity that held you down. “Don’t run,” she snarled, low and savage, her breath ghosting over your cheek. “You’ll take it—just like this—”

Then she fucked you. Hard. Ruthless, hungry thrusts that left nothing between you—no space, no pause, no forgiveness. Just slick, brutal friction. Just her cock pounding deep and thick and fast, burying itself inside you like she was trying to mark the end of you. The mattress jolted beneath each stroke. Your moans cracked apart, helpless and high, as she chased the sound of you breaking.

Her own moans hitched in rhythm with yours—guttural, choked, holy. She gasped your name like a prayer and a curse, her mouth falling open, her breath stuttering as her heat pistoned into you. Sweat slipped down her spine. Her chest rocked against yours.

And she didn’t stop. She drove into you—loud, soaked, merciless. Her cock slick with everything you’d already given her, now thrusting so deep your legs shook with every impact.

Your voice broke entirely, no longer words, just sound. Sharp, aching cries tangled with breathless whimpers as she fucked you through it—through the overwhelm, through the heat building low in your belly, through the raw, shattering edge of too much and not enough.

She groaned into your throat, ragged and desperate, her jaw clenching as she slammed forward again, and again, and again. “Fuck—fuck, you feel so good—so fucking tight—you’re soaking me, baby, you’re—”

A moan ripped out of you before she could finish.

You sobbed against her shoulder, shaking under the weight of her body and the brutal rhythm of her cock. You spasmed around her, fluttering hard with every stroke, and still she kept going, chasing the slick, squeezing heat until your whole body seized up beneath her.

Her hips stuttered. Slowed. Still deep. Still buried to the hilt. Her thrusts shifted again—shorter. Sharper. Targeted. Right against that devastating spot, Right at the edge. She stayed deep, her hips rolling in those slow, ruinous thrusts—angled just enough to keep dragging over that spot again and again. Precise. Relentless. Her grip on your hips didn’t loosen, not even a little. She kept you pinned, trembling and slick, her rhythm steady enough to drive you mad.

You whimpered—soft at first, then louder, less coherent. A stream of helpless sound slipped from your lips with every motion. Moans, gasps, fragments of her name tangled with raw pleas you couldn’t form into sentences.

She kissed you. Not a whisper of a kiss—no, this was a claiming. Her mouth crushed against yours, open and messy, slick with sweat and moans. Her tongue moved with purpose, with need, with heat that stole the very breath from your lungs. She kissed you like she was trying to crawl inside you through your mouth, like the only way to survive was to be in you—flesh to flesh, soul to soul.

Her hips never faltered. That same brutal slowness. That same precision. Her cock moved with surgical intent, grinding into that spot again and again—so deep, so devastating. You clenched with every drag, every wet pass of her catching exactly where you needed it. The rhythm stayed maddeningly slow, each thrust pushing the pleasure further past the threshold of what should’ve been survivable. You moaned into her mouth, and she moaned back—low, wrecked, the sound of a woman losing herself. Her breath stuttered. Her hips rocked again, her cock thick and wet inside you, your slick coating every inch of her with obscene warmth.

She tilted her hips—just a breath, just enough—and everything changed. Her cock slid deeper, impossibly deep, the head angling upward until it caught perfectly, scraping over that swollen, desperate knot of nerves with surgical precision. You seized under her. Your whole body jolted, a cry half-caught in your throat as your eyes went wide.

And Agatha—Agatha felt it.

Her hips stayed locked to yours, her cock buried to the hilt, pulsing thick inside you—and then her breath shattered. She gasped into your mouth—sharp and sudden—like the new angle had struck something deep inside her. Like it had split her open. You felt it too. The way her cock drove even deeper now, angled just right, the thick underside catching along the swollen nerve-vein that pulsed like it belonged to her. It did. Everything did. Your body arched without asking—hips lifting, thighs trembling, nails digging into her shoulders with a force that barely scratched the ache blooming inside you.

“—fuuhhckkk—” she gasped, voice breaking on the inhale, as if she hadn’t expected you to feel that good. Like the new angle had touched something in her, too—something raw and holy and ruinous. Her head dropped, her chest pressed to yours, and her mouth found your lips again, crushing into you like it was the only thing tethering her to this earth.

She kissed you hard. Desperate. Tongue deep. Mouth open. Breath lost between you. And all the while, her hips never stopped moving.

That same precise rhythm. That same controlled torture. Slow, shallow thrusts that dragged the over your sweet spot with agonizing accuracy, over and over and over again, each one punching the air from your lungs like she was sculpting you into something she could never let go. Agatha moaned into your mouth—wrecked, high, trembling—and you felt it everywhere. It wasn’t just sound. It was a vibration, a tremor that started in her chest and spilled into you, flooding the heat where your bodies met. Her shaft dragged deep inside you with slow, devastating precision, and your whimper cracked open between her lips like an offering. Then she pulled away, lips brushing across your cheek, breath stuttering like she couldn’t believe what she was feeling. You barely had time to brace.

Her mouth dropped to your neck. And that was it. She broke. Her moan punched out of her chest like it had been trapped there raw and ragged, hot and hoarse, muffled against your skin like she was trying to bite it back and couldn’t. It didn’t sound human. It sounded wrecked. And still—her hips kept moving.

Slow. Focused. Punishing. Tiny thrusts that shouldn’t have had power but did—because they hit that spot. Your spot. The one only she could reach. And she hit it again. And again. And again. The swollen head of her cock dragged across that nerve like it was drawn there by instinct, and your back arched in response, a choked cry tearing from your throat.

Her moans were relentless now. Shaky, high-pitched, desperate. Her hips shifted just enough to pull back, to gain power, and she slammed into you once. Then twice. Then again. Each thrust was thick and brutal and blinding. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You could only feel. “F-fuck—fuck, baby—oh my God—” Agatha gasped, her voice cracking like she couldn’t bear how good you felt. Her grip on your hips tightened like iron, holding you steady while her cock hit that spot with every merciless stroke.

“You feel—Christ, you feel so fucking good—so tight—so wet—fuck.” Her words broke into moans, open and unfiltered. She sounded wrecked, like your cunt was pulling her apart from the inside out.

All you could do was sob under her, your moans coming in a frantic, wet string of syllables that barely made it out of your mouth. You tried to move—just a little, just to breathe—just to ease the pressure—but her hands slammed you right back down. Her hands gripped tighter, holding you down as her hips dragged another thrust through you, deeper this time, devastating.

“Stay,” she growled, voice ragged and raw.

Then she fucked you harder. One deep thrust. Then another. Then another—each one angled with perfect cruelty, hitting that electric place inside you that made your thighs twitch, your nails claw for her back, your mouth fall open in a gasping, soundless scream.

And then—she slowed again. Back to those small, ruinous thrusts. That lazy, agonizing rhythm that had your whole body convulsing. She moaned into your neck—long, loud, nearly broken. Her mouth was open against your skin, panting raggedly, her voice trembling like she was right on the edge of losing control. Each thrust felt sharper, deeper somehow, as if the new angle had split her wide open, too.

You didn’t know when the tears had started—only that your body was shaking, soaked and clenching, your voice long past words. Your mouth hung open, too breathless to moan, too full to beg, your head tipped back against the mattress like it was the only thing still holding you together. Everything below your ribs was pure sensation: wet friction, aching fullness, the relentless grind of Agatha’s cock dragging through your cunt like she owned it—because she did. She hadn’t even let herself move fast yet. That was the worst part. She was still slow. Still deliberate. Still holding back just enough to ruin you by inches.

Her body hovered over yours—forearms braced, muscles tight, sweat dripping from her collarbone onto your chest. Her eyes stayed on your face like she could read every flinch, every twitch, every sobbed breath that fell from your lips. She shifted her weight slightly, and her cock pressed deeper—thick, hot, soaked in everything your body kept giving her. And then she stilled.

The sudden lack of movement made your hips jerk without permission. Your cunt clenched again, fluttering helplessly around her. The need to be filled, to be fucked, was unbearable. And still—she waited.

“Say it,” she gasped, and her voice cracked on the words—wrecked, raw, barely tethered to control. Her grip on your waist tightened, possessive and bruising, like she could hold you in place with just her fingers and her will. “Say you want it—say you want Daddy to fucking breed you—”

You tried to speak, but your throat failed you, too full of breathless sobs and trembling tension. And that silence was all she needed.

A growl tore from her chest—a sound so low and feral it vibrated straight through your ribs—and her hips snapped forward. The slap of her heat plunging back into your core was brutal and wet and final, your whole body jolted from the force of it.

“Don’t make me pull it out of you,” she snarled, and her words hit your skin like a lash. Her cock ground in deep—long, slow, ruthless—dragging against every oversensitive inch inside you, catching on your swollen edges like she wanted to carve the shape of herself into your body from the inside out.

“You want me to cum in your perfect pussy?” she hissed, and her breath hit your mouth like fire, like fury. Her hips stayed locked, buried to the hilt, and the twitch of her cock inside you made your walls flutter again. You moaned—a broken, sobbed sound, high and shivering, your voice catching on the unbearable friction of her filling you. “Nnnh—A-ahhh—!”

She groaned at the sound, her lips curling into a cruel, reverent grin. “You want it so bad—you're shaking for it—so fucking say it.”

Another thrust—hard, sharp, deep—and it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your hands scrabbled for her shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto, something to ground yourself against the storm building behind your ribs. “Open your mouth, pretty girl. Beg for it.”

You sobbed. You were past pride now—your body slick, your cunt aching, your thighs trembling from the tension she kept you locked inside. Her next thrust came slow and punishing, grinding every ridge of her cock against your slick walls, dragging her heat through the soaked, swollen mess between your legs. “I said beg. Fucking earn it,” she rasped, her voice splitting on the edges, straining against how close she was to breaking.

“F-fuhhh—Daaddyy—” The words broke on your breath, a guttural gasp that scraped its way from deep in your chest. Your hips jerked beneath her, legs trembling, cunt already clenching down around her cock like you were trying to drag the orgasm from her by force. You didn’t even realize you were grinding up into her until her hands locked tighter on your waist, holding you steady, making you take it.

Your body was soaked—dripping—slick sliding down your thighs, your cunt fluttering and flushed, too hot, too open, too needy. Every thrust made you arch—your back lifting from the bed, your moans torn out in broken, breathless gasps, each one louder than the last. The sound of her inside you was obscene—wet and thick and holy—the slap of skin, the suck of soaked friction, the quiet gasp that came every time your body clenched and pulled at her cock like it needed more.

Agatha’s breath hitched—sharp and shaking—a broken inhale like the pleasure had caught her mid-thrust and split her wide. Her hips bucked forward hard, slamming deep enough to flatten your spine to the mattress. Her groan cracked—rough, frantic, raw.

“Oh—fuck—baby, I’m close—so close,” she gasped, the words punched out of her. Her rhythm faltered, hips rocking now in rougher, needier strokes—her control hanging by a thread. And then her hand slid from your waist down—down—until it found your thigh.

She shoved it open—rough, sure, demanding—until your legs were spread so wide you could feel the stretch in your hips and the throb of your cunt fluttering open around her. Her palm pressed firm, keeping you there, your body trembling and exposed, laid bare for her to take.

“Open for me,” she groaned, voice cracking, thick with possession. “Let me in—take it—fuck, take all of it. You’re mine. You’re gonna take all of me—every inch—until I can’t pull out.”

Your moan cracked high and raw as your body gave way, the new angle hitting so deep your vision blurred. Her cock slid in to the hilt, thick and pulsing, stretching you wide with every slow, ruinous grind. The sound of it—of her fucking you open—was soaked, filthy, full of slick and breath and gasping. Your cunt sucked her in like you were starving for her. The room echoed with it.

She let out a moan—wrecked and guttural—as she rocked into you again, rougher now, desperate. “I’m gonna fill you up,” she groaned, biting the words into your throat. “Put a baby in you—fuck—stuff you so full they’ll know. Everyone will know. You’re mine—you’re fucking mine—” You sobbed, body spasming under her, your mouth falling open in disbelief. “Yes—Aggie—oh god, yes—please—fill me—”

A fresh rush of wetness coated her cock as she rutted into you. Your body was shaking, thighs trembling, nerves sparking at every contact point. She kissed you then—wet and open-mouthed—her tongue dragging across your cheek, your lips, your jaw.

“You take me so well—fuck—you’re perfect—” Her thrusts were messier now, deeper, sloppy with need. Her breath fell against your ear in shuddering waves. And you couldn’t stop it—the pleading, the hunger, the ache rising up your throat in sobbed, desperate moans. “Please—need to know I’m yours—make me yours—” you whimpered, voice cracking wide open. “Want it—wanna belong to you—please, baby, remind me—remind me who I belong to—”

Agatha’s head snapped down like she’d been summoned. Her mouth sealed over your pulse—hot, wet, desperate—and her groan into your skin was a sound ripped from the pit of her body. Her hips surged forward on instinct, cock driving in so deep your breath punched out of you, your moans dissolving into strangled, broken gasps. “Mine,” she growled into your neck, her teeth grazing just shy of another bite. “Say it. Say it again—”

“Yours—yours—oh my God, Agatha, I’m—”

Her thrusts hit ruinous—hard and shallow and perfectly angled. You were soaked, your cunt a mess of slick and stretch, fluttering around her like your body didn’t know how to stop wanting. Her cock slid through it like she was made for this, made for you, thick and unforgiving, dragging through every nerve-ending she’d ever lit on fire.

Agatha’s hand dragged up your thigh again—pushing, spreading—until your legs were open so wide it hurt, until she could grind deeper, slower, filthier. The sound of it—wet and loud and holy—filled the room. Her body slapped into yours again and again, skin sticking, breath caught, sweat slicking both of you down to your bones.

Her moans were wrecked now—short and guttural and constant, bursting from her throat with every slam of her hips. Her hand braced beside your head trembled, the other still clutching your thigh, pressing you wide, open, made to take every inch of her.

You cried out, unable to hold anything back. “You feel so good—so fucking hard—I can feel you in my stomach—don’t stop—don’t stop—” She gasped. Then again—louder, messier, mouth dragging along your jaw like she was chasing the taste of you. Her magic surged in pulses, crackling in the air, slipping between your fingers, coiling low in your spine like it knew.

“I’m not stopping,” she growled, each word slurred through moans and ragged breath. “You’re gonna take it—all of it—I’m gonna fill you up, baby, fuck you full till there’s nothing left but me. I want you full, round with me—I want them to see who you belong to.” You sobbed. Loud. Soaked. Arching into her like your body was pleading to be taken.

Your orgasm broke. Silent at first. A flash of heat and lightning ripping through your spine—your hips jerking, toes curling, breath seizing like you’d been struck from the inside out.Then came the sound—wet, obscene, sacred. A guttural cry torn from your throat as your cunt clenched tight around her cock and your body poured slick over her. Your magic surged with it—bright, violet, starbursting—casting light against the ceiling, illuminating the soaked sheets, curling through Agatha’s body like a brand. You felt her breath catch against your throat, her pulse jump beneath her skin where it pressed to yours.

Agatha’s lips kissed across your face—your cheek, your jaw, your temple—as if grounding herself in the reality of your body. Her tongue followed in a slow, trembling drag, licking the sweat from your skin like it was the holiest thing she'd ever tasted. The air shimmered—tinted violet and silver—threads of your magic clinging to her lips, to the curve of her neck, to the space between you like spider silk laced with starlight.

She didn’t speak—couldn’t. She only moaned—low, broken, reverent—as her tongue moved down to your neck, licking gently over the skin, her breath hot and shaking. Her hips slowed, not stopping but savoring, every grind of her cock dragging her deeper into your soaked cunt. The sound of it filled the air—squelching, filthy, beautiful. Yours.

Your breath hitched, caught between the rhythm of her thrusts and the heat crawling up your spine. The words slipped out raw, instinctive—low enough that only she could hear. “Baby,” you whispered, voice cracking on want, not weakness. “Remind me.”

Agatha froze—just a little. Just long enough for your hand to curl around her shoulder, your chest arching into her. And that’s when she saw it. The faint bruise beneath your collarbone—just left of center. A shadow from only hours ago—the press of a baton or a boot or a body that never should have touched you. It wasn’t fresh enough to bleed. But it was fresh enough to burn.

She inhaled sharply—like it hit her in the lungs. Her gaze locked there. Her jaw tightened. And then she kissed it. Softly. Once. Then again. Her lips shaking. Your body clenched around her again, fluttering with the weight of what you meant. Not just pleasure. Not just release. “Fill me,” you breathed, your hands curling around her shoulders, anchoring her. “So they know who I belong to.”

That did it. Agatha’s jaw slackened, just slightly— But her moan tore straight from her chest like it had been waiting to be born. Her hips jerked once, deep—reflexive. Her tongue dragged across your neck again before her mouth opened in a gasp that cracked into your skin like thunder

She collapsed into you—pressed belly to belly, chest to chest—skin flushed, breath tangled, soaked in want—like she needed more than friction. She needed contact. She needed you. Her body sank against yours in full surrender, and for a moment, she stopped holding back—stopped pretending she could be anywhere else. Like if she didn’t touch you, she’d come undone entirely.

One hand was already braced beside your head—steady, grounding, trembling under the weight of restraint. The other, still gripping your waist, loosened. Her fingers slid upward—shaking, reverent—as they skimmed the curve of your ribs, your side, your breast… until they reached your face. She cupped your cheek with a touch that felt more like worship than control, her thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like she needed to feel how ruined you were. Like she had to know it in her bones.

You turned into the touch with a gasp, lips parting around her thumb—and sucked. Slow. Needy. Mindless.The taste of her skin, the tremble in her breath, the way her hips faltered just slightly—it all fed the hunger curling hot and helpless in your gut. She moaned—low, wrecked—and pulled her thumb from your mouth with a slick drag. The loss made you whimper, chasing her without thinking, your mouth still open, your chest arching into her.

Your hand reached for hers—blind, aching, instinctive—and she caught it at once. Her fingers threaded between yours, firm and grounding, then she pushed your joined hand up above your head, bracing them there with steady pressure. Holding you down without force. Her hips surged, fast and wild, fucking into you with the sharp, soaked sound of flesh meeting flesh, louder now, endless, devotional. The weight of her body—all of her—was on you. Not crushing. Claiming. Her nipples dragged across yours with every thrust, hard and aching, the friction a lightning-hot drag of sensation that made her whimper against your mouth.

Her thrusts turned frantic—wild and deep, lost in the rhythm of her need. The bed rocked with every soaked collision of her hips against yours, the wet slap of your bodies filling the air with each devastating stroke. She wasn’t holding back anymore. She couldn’t. Her breath hitched with every thrust, torn from her in half-formed gasps and ragged, broken moans.

“Ahhh—nnhhh—hahh—baby” She sounded ruined. Ruined for you. Each one sounded like it shocked her, like she couldn’t hold them back anymore. She bucked wildly, her thighs trembling, your slick coating her skin with every desperate grind, and she was sliding through it—like lightning made flesh, called home to the storm you had become.

Her fingers unthreaded from yours and cupped your jaw like something sacred. Her thumb brushed your lip—slow, reverent—and then she pulled you into her, kissing you like it was the only thing anchoring her to this world. Mouths collided. Moans spilled. The taste of her breath, the tremble of her need—it filled you like a spell already cast. You could taste her desperation, feel it in the way she clung to you, like if she didn’t kiss you now, she’d fall apart completely. The kiss broke as she gasped against your mouth, voice shaking.

“My love,” she whispered, wrecked and reverent, her eyes glassy, wide, worshipful. “Fuck—I’m gonna—”

Her whole body arched into you—wild, trembling, possessed—and she shattered.. She slammed deep and then she shattered. The first pulse hit like lightning—hot, thick, claiming—flooding you with an overwhelming heat, and you felt every drop. Felt it rush into you like a spell, like a star being born inside you. The shock of it seized you—your spine bowed, your mouth fell open in a voiceless cry before it cracked loose on a sob of disbelief:

“Ohh—ahhh—Agatha—”

She moaned—loud, guttural, a wrecked whimper that cracked straight from her chest as her whole body locked down against yours.  Her hips jolted, trembling as she spilled into you with another pulse, each one thick and sacred, flooding you so fast and so full your body could only convulse around her, slick and radiant and open.

She was panting against your cheek now, whimpering with every twitch—“H-hhhnn—God—ohh—yes—”—her voice a spiral of disbelief and surrender. Her cock jerked helplessly inside you, sliding deeper as her body rocked with the rhythm of release. It was messy. It was unstoppable.

And it was holy. You could feel it in your bones, like magic. Like she had poured a piece of her soul into you and sealed it with heat. Like a sacred claim that threaded itself through your womb, your blood, your ribs. Like she was pouring a part of herself into you, and the universe was holding its breath. The world narrowed to the rush of her coming undone in you, for you, because of you.

Her forehead dropped to yours, sweat-slick and burning. Her breath tangled with yours. The moans didn’t stop—smaller now, sweeter, every sound peeled straight from her chest like she couldn’t hold anything back.

Even as the last pulse shuddered through her, Agatha didn’t stop moving. Small, soaked thrusts. Slow and instinctive. Like her body needed to feel it deeper. Like she had to work every drop further into you—into the place that belonged to her—and couldn’t stop until she had.

The motion wasn’t about climax anymore. It was about claiming. About connection. About sealing herself inside you in every way that mattered. You whimpered at the sensation—body still twitching, overstimulated and glowing, every nerve stretched thin with aftershock—but you didn’t pull away. You let her move. You let her stay.

And oh—God, the way she moaned.

Quiet now. Wrecked. Her voice broken open at the edges as her lips brushed your skin between panting breaths. Little sounds spilled from her as if her heart couldn’t hold them anymore. You felt her everywhere. Her sweat-slick chest flush against yours, her hardened nipples dragging gently over your skin with every tender thrust. Her breath hitched every time your clenched down, milked her deeper.  Agatha buried her face against your neck, inhaling you like you were air. Her body finally began to still—her hips slowing, her weight sinking into you as though gravity had finally caught her in full. Her voice, barely a whisper. Wrecked. Honest.

“I love you.” She didn’t lift her head. Didn’t pull back. She just held you—in her, around her, with her—and let the words breathe where they belonged: in the space between your joined hands, your joined bodies, your joined futures.

----------

Time had folded in on itself. The air still smelled like sweat and skin and magic, like something sacred had split open and wrapped around the two of you.

Agatha hadn’t moved far. Just enough to rest her forehead against yours, her breath mingling with your own, her hand still twined in yours above your head. You felt her pulse in her wrist. Still fast. Still real.

Your voice broke the silence—ragged and dry, but smiling. “…I should get arrested more often.”

Agatha’s laugh cracked out low, wrecked, and full of wonder. “You’re insufferable,” she whispered, but she didn’t let go. You squeezed her hand. “And yours.”

Her lips brushed your cheek. “Always.”

And that was how it ended—your body still open around hers, her magic still glowing somewhere low and deep inside you, and the weight of her love holding you exactly where you’d always belonged. Even when the world was burning around you, Agatha was there to light the next match.

-----------

Now go ahead and tell Mommy what you think. I may need to ask for forgiveness for this shit.

[rikas-musings]

PROJECT SHATTERCORE ☣︎

DIRECTORY

bruce wayne x reader, jason todd x reader, dick grayson x reader, damian wayne x reader, tim drake x reader

SYNOPSIS: you were taken young, too young to ever have known anything other than needles and pain. stuck inside a lab that was bright and loud, they enhanced every neural frequency within you, transforming you into more than you could have ever been. after years of experiments, someone finally comes to save you. he’s tall, dark, and terrifying. but he offers you safety in a new home. you feel like an outsider in the gloomy mansion, but you understand why they behave as though you’re not there. it’s probably your fault, but over time, things begin to change, and the people in your home are starting to act as if they want you here. is this desire something normal?

WARNINGS: 18+ only, DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT, mild violence and blood, angst, child endangerment, alcoholism, cops being horrible

PLAYLIST FOR THE CHAPTER: ♫ slipping through my fingers - abba listen to this for ultimate immersion

A/N : welcome to my first batfamily x reader series!! please read ALL warnings because there are a lot in the series directory. here comes the prologue!! let me know if you enjoy :3

PROLOGUE

You lived on the streets from the little life you can remember, barely conscious at the ripe age of six years old. Your mother was always in a drunkard state, but you clung onto her for dear life. You depended on it, you did. Tiny grimey hands clutching onto her dress, eyes bearing into her face, wishing for any sort of love to emit from her. 

You always watched. You were quiet, but occasionally, you tried to garner attention from her. When things were right—if they ever were right—you’d vaguely remember her humming a lullaby that never quite left your memory. Her smooth hands caressing your velveteen hair, back when it wasn’t grimey and unkept. Back when you weren’t on the streets. 

This was your life, this was all Mama and you had known. Days spent searching for scraps in garbage bins, watching your mama disappear for nights at a time. She’d come back with scraps of food and more bottles.

The lights flickered whenever she came back, as if an angel had come down to bless the two of you, but changed its mind halfway. In the abandoned warehouse you and your Mama stayed in for the past while, you were tired. Your small body was littered with bruises and cuts from staying in the grimiest parts of Gotham City. But you persevered. Mama always tried her best for the two of you.

It happened on a Saturday night, the night’s mama always tried to get you special treats from the bakery that had leftovers in the trash. 

There were loud crashes, and the police were everywhere; you felt terrified. Unbeknownst to you, a robbery was happening at the bank beside the bakery. You shook like a leaf, scared for your life as you huddled in the alleyway between the bakery and the bank. A man as large as what you imagined a giant might look like, with blood splattered on his face, entered the alleyway. But that’s not what frightened you. He stood to the side, observing everything. Your mama was still far back, rummaging through the trash, most likely very drunk and oblivious to the situation unfolding before you. 

The police had entered the alleyway, and you were terrified. 

You felt the buzz of the radio before you heard it ‘The bats have the villain under control, but we got a call about a potential robber at this bakery.’ The man in uniform sighed and rubbed his face with his free hand before replying.

“Tell me why I got stuck dealing with the fucking homeless scum in the area.” He groaned, and your body stiffened. He made eye contact with you before you could attempt to run, even if you could, you could never leave Mama behind. 

Not long after, he caught sight of your mom and the other shadow lurking in the dark. His eyes widened, and he sneered before trying to call for backup.

The lights flickered violently as you desperately put your hands up in defence, staring at the police officer, he was gonna arrest Mama. Hurt Mama.

I don't want him to hurt Mama. 

You screamed and wailed, rendering your voice raw. When suddenly the radio crackled and sparked, the line cut and the police officer fell back off balance. You sighed in relief at the faulty hardware and his loss of balance.

Daniel was a weapon, made to be at least. Today’s mission was to stage a bank robbery. The place wasn’t big in itself, but the doctor had been hired to create new weapons and test them out by the harbour; therefore, he needed a distraction in the city to throw off the scent of any unwanted heroes. 

When he’d arrived, he’d blown up quite a few people before listening to the police’s radios on his comms. They were coming, and so were the bats. He gruffed, and his partner decided to be the bait.

“I’m gonna hide out until things calm down, don’t let them find out what the doctor is doing.” He grunts to his weasly looking partner beside him and hands him a bag stuffed with cash. His partner grins and nods their head before scurrying off to deal with the situation. Daniel sneaks out of the back entrance of the bank before entering an alleyway beside it. He let a smug grin fall onto his face. The plan was going spectacularly. 

In the alleyway was a woman rifling through a huge trash bin, and a little kid quivering as they clung to the brick wall. He hid among the shadows of the alleyway when a police officer showed up. He watched as the kid began to cry, but he froze when he noticed something.

The kid's eyes began to vibrate as the light flickered. While you screamed and wailed at the officer to stop, he watched as faint electricity crackled through your vibrating eyes, seemingly sending the officer stumbling back. His radio crackled with that same electricity. It was almost unnoticeable, especially to the untrained eye; it resembled any malfunction of faulty technology.

But not to Daniel. He noticed. 

He watched as the officer pulled out a gun, and before he could get his finger on the trigger, he smashed him into the wall with a loud-

CRACK.

Blood dripped down the wall of the alleyway as the officer's limp body crumpled to the pavement. Your breath quickened as you covered your ears at the sudden loud noise. You felt dizzy and tired—running away with Mama was the only thing replaying in your head.

She’d finally stumbled out of the bin when you made eye contact with her, her eyes sparkled with a sense of familiarity, as she clung onto a brown paper bag with oil spots. 

“Mama!” you wailed and went to dash into her arms, snot running down your face as you mustered all the strength in your body to reach her. 

But you didn’t reach her, not before the man did. 

He grabbed her neck, the skin taught against his grip, then looked down at you. 

“Hello, little one.” You looked up at him as your mama dropped the bag of baked goods, her hands going limp. You hesitantly reach out a hand.

“W-what’re you doing with Mama?” you spoke with furrowed brows, you were too dizzy and too tired as you watched the giant man, his orange eyes looked down at you with curiosity. 

“I’m thinking you two can come home with us tonight. The doctor would love to meet you.” He offers a faux grin. You feel sick to your stomach, but all you could do was hesitantly nod at him. 

He threw your now passed out Mama on his shoulder before picking you up and holding you with one arm. He smelled like smoke and gunpowder. You inhaled the weird smell before relaxing in his arms.

Maybe he wanted to help you and Mama.

TAGLIST: @alishii @lalana1703 @purple-obsidian @ghosty-the-grim-fairy @shadowsingers-redhood @staarflowerr @nininehaaa @hai-there-how-are-you @cynniee @lovebug-apple @nervousalpacalady @nisarelle @lilyalone @cxcilla @cupid73 @swag13r @ninabinna @welpthisisboring @hana-no-seiiki @iminlovewithjasontodd @alisteraille @crackpeole

[pearlessance]

Beneath the Armor —part one

summary: Joel Miller has been the center of all the gossip in the trailer park since he tragically lost his daughter. He's short-tempered and mean as hell, his hostility no doubt spurred on by that beer he always has in hand. But when you need a ride to work and he's your last resort, you come to find he's much more than what meets the eye.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI (not in this part but in part two!), ANGST with a happy ending, grief, mention of child loss, daddy issues, age difference, slow burn, attempted seduction, use of alcohol, and references to alcohol abuse, brat taming, eventual smut

wc: 6.9k

note: this entire concept is owed to my bff joelmillersgirlfriend over on AO3! we've cowritten this together (to the shock of no one, i'm pretty sure i need her to write at this point), and if you haven't gone over there to read her stuff by now then you're missing out!! part two coming soon <3 let us know what you think!

[part two]

[masterlist] [read on AO3!]

Talking to Joel Miller was like pulling teeth with a rusty old plier, one by one, nerve by nerve. He used his silence, his pity like a suit of armor. Meant to protect him, but still wrapped around a man who was too scared to confront his fears. To learn his own forgiveness. 

You had vaguely known him since you were a senior in high school and had seen him and his little girl move into the trailer across from yours. You were sitting on the front porch, occasionally sipping from the iced lemonade in your hand. Summer had come in hot, and the beaming sun was relentless during the first humid weeks of July. 

Joel and Sarah had been the talk of the neighborhood — the dad and the little girl with an oxygen tank. You heard the rumors from some of your friends in the trailer park - that Joel couldn’t afford to keep up with her medical bills, so he had to sell his house and abandon the business he had built up with his bare hands. 

Still, she was a fighter until her last breath. Joel, however, died the day Sarah did. She had only lived for eleven months after moving into the park. What was once a motivated little family fighting hard against the disease soon became a single man inside of an empty shell. 

His warm smiles that he would give to neighbors who brought Sarah over toys and “get well soon!” cards soon turned into nothingness — a dark, empty expression. Joel stopped going out as much, replacing soccer balls and dirty sneakers with whiskey and cigarettes. He no longer stood out on his porch, playing guitar and smiling at you once he met your eyes from your own porch. 

Kathy, who lived directly next to you, begged her husband, Parker, to call the cops for a wellness check for Joel. On the first anniversary of her death, he didn’t leave the house for a week. 

“Mind your own business. God only knows how he’s havin’ to cope; seeing cops knocking on his front door in the middle of the night won’t help nothing.”

You had to admit you were more than a little relieved when you saw him finally emerge, tired-looking with heavy eyes. He got in his car and left before coming back thirty minutes later, a new case of beer in tow.

You spent too much time observing him, ensuring he was alright, even if he didn’t know that. With no dad that you could remember and a mother who remarried some douchebag and skipped town after you were old enough to live on your own, all you had was time. After senior graduation, your friends in the park found a way to escape to college, but you were stuck and unable to escape, just like Joel. 

While your friends went to get a degree, you found a job at a bar up the road. It was grimy and far beyond your dream, but you earned good tips. With responsibilities that caused you to stay and a deep fear of failure, you could not leave the town you’d grown up in. 

Out of desperation, you’d leaped and applied to some college several towns away. It was a spur-of-the-moment impulse, an unrealistic kind of thing. It’s not like you’d be able to afford it anyway. 

So it was a cycle: wake up, work, sleep, and do it all over again. You understood how Joel must feel, trapped in a never-ending pattern, reliving memories that couldn’t ever really go away — not entirely.

And of course, you understood what it was like being handed the short end of the stick. You both wound up in the same place, after all. 

Which was what led you to walk towards Joel’s trailer one evening. Your shift at work was about to start, but your car wouldn’t crank. You'd tried going to Kathy’s house first, but nobody answered. You couldn’t lose your job, already having too many tardies because of your piece of shit car.

The soles of your shoes crunched against the leaves on Joel’s front porch step, your eyes moving to look at him sitting in a plastic lawn chair. His hair was getting long, hanging over his eyes wildly. 

Joel bristled when he noticed you standing on his front porch step, a cigarette hanging between his lips. You’d never been this close to him. It was much easier to see how handsome he was up close: thick hair, a graying beard. Simply too easy on the eyes.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his eyes slipping away from your face and down to your outfit. You always dressed up for work, knowing it’d get you extra tips. Maybe you went a little overboard with the fishnets and the amount of cleavage you were showing, but it always paid off in the end.

His hips shift in his seat, waiting for you to answer his question. 

You cleared your throat, standing up straight to make yourself feel more significant compared to the giant man. “I’m sorry to bother you. My car won’t start, and I’m gonna be late for work.”

Joel glared up at you. “So?”

Taken aback by his hostility, you paused, hesitating. You knew that he was a sad man, but nobody had told you that he was an asshole.

“So… I was hoping you could give me a ride. I could pay you for the gas and-“

Joel stood up in the middle of you talking, the wood creaking under his boots as he walked to the front door and into the house. You faltered, standing stupidly on this rude man’s front porch step.

With a huff, you spun around, leaving the porch. “Fuckin’ asshole,” you muttered under your breath, suddenly jumping at the sound of the screen door slamming shut behind you. Joel had returned, this time with keys in his hand and a brown t-shirt pulled over his white wife's beater. 

“Say somethin’?” Joel asked, walking ahead but narrowing his eyes directly at your face. 

“Nope,” you quickly chirped, rushing to catch up with him. “I thought you’d left me standing outside.”

“‘Bout did,” Joel grumbled under his breath, unlocking the truck door before climbing in. It was your turn to narrow your eyes at Joel, rolling them at the asshole. Even though he was an unexpected dickhead, you had to admit that you enjoyed the way his arms flexed as he pulled himself into his truck.

The drive to the bar was filled with mostly silence, except for the hum of some Radiohead album playing on the radio. Joel had the truck windows rolled down, the wind whipping the loose strands of your hair around your face. 

You tried to subtly glance over at him, watching the same cigarette from earlier placed between his plush lips. Without thinking, you reached over, plucking the cigarette away from his mouth. 

His dark eyes snapped at you in disbelief as he watched you inhale his cigarette, the residue from your lipstick staining the filter. You weren’t sure why you needed to catch Joel’s attention, but you were sure it somehow related to how he was ignoring you. It made you crave his attention. Fucking daddy issues. 

“Now you owe me gas money and a pack of Marlboro’s,” Joel said, reaching over to swipe the cigarette out of your mouth. He eyed the lipstick stain, sighing in annoyance before deciding the nicotine was worth it. 

Your blood warmed at the thought that Joel’s lips touched where yours had just been, indirectly tasting your mouth. His eyes flickered over to you, watching him, a low frown on his face. 

“What’s a girl like you workin’ at Dazzlers anyways?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes at his remark. “I’m a bartender, not a lap dancer,” you said, prompting Joel to give you an eye roll in return.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, almost so quietly that you didn’t notice, but you did. You understood that he had been through a lot, but Christ, there was no need to take it out on you. You swallowed your pride, knowing he was your last resort to not being fired.

Despite the weird tension and the silence, you found yourself drawn to Joel’s brooding energy, glancing at him occasionally through the darkness. 

Apparently, he was more observant than you thought.

“Need somethin’?” he questioned, not even glancing in your direction. Maybe it had to do with dad spidey senses or something, but being caught had made your blood warm in your veins.

You shook your head, unable to bite your tongue. 

“Nobody told me that you were such a dickhead.”

To your surprise, Joel didn’t even falter, with almost no response to your jab at his aggressive demeanor. 

“Yeah, well, watchin’ your daughter deteriorate right in front of you can change a man,” he replied bluntly, taking a long drag of his cigarette without even looking away from the road. 

It made you instantly feel bad, regretting your words no matter how much truth they held. 

“That’s not what I meant-“ you tried to explain, but Joel waved his hand, dismissing your excuse. His large palm made a rush of air past your face, your eyes blinking at him in response.

“Just leave it,” Joel grumbled, so you obeyed. It wasn’t for long before you arrived at your job, your eyes watching the bright neon lights flashing through the parking lot. You rifled through your purse, attempting to retrieve a couple of bills, but Joel’s palm wrapping around your own stopped you.

Bright-eyed, you looked up to meet his gaze, his usual timid expression replaced with one of determination. 

“You don’t gotta pay me.”

Strong words coming from someone who was just belittling you for owing him money for gas and cigarettes.

“I don’t wanna owe you anything. Just let me give you a couple of dollars and we’ll call it even,” you said, attempting to rifle back through your bag, but being stopped by his massive palm once again.

“Who’s gonna bring you back home tonight?” Joel questioned, his concern genuinely surprising you. Before you shrugged, you allowed your defenses to fall, mostly due to your shock.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll figure it out.”

Joel shook his head, rolling his eyes at your half-assed answer. “What time does your shift end?”

You paused, pulling your purse to your chest before glancing at the front of the building. Did you really want Joel to pick you up? Was sitting through another weirdly comforting yet intense ride worth it?

When you looked back at Joel, he didn’t seem willing to take no for an answer; his eyebrows were drawn into an almost scowl-like expression. Sighing with exasperation, you finally spoke. 

“We close at midnight.”

He nodded in response, breaking his intense eye contact with you before opting out to seemingly judge the building itself. It was a rough place, with neon lights flashing and motorcycles lined up at the entrance. It certainly looked more intimidating than it actually was. 

You were surprised when Joel decided to bite his tongue, not slipping out with some smart allelic response about the place. Instead, he hummed, a quick and easy response to your answer.  

“I’ll see you then,” he replied, but something about his words made your chest burn, like it was almost a promise that he’d be there to look out for you. To protect you. 

He did wind up picking you up that night and numerous nights after you explained to him that your alternator had given out and your car would be in the shop for a couple of days. He never argued or took your gas money despite the way he grumbled under his breath when you knocked at his front door at quarter past three. 

It was almost routine to have Joel take you to and from work, and when your car was back in operation, you nearly didn’t want to tell him. Though your time together hadn’t really given you a glimpse into the man Joel truly was since he hardly spoke, it allowed him to get to know you.

You’d rambled on about your absent father, how your mom had abandoned you once she realized you could support yourself. Never did he judge or belittle you. He’d always listen and make sure you were heard. 

Despite that, he never answered your questions when you’d pried at him. Asking him about family? No go. The business he’d given up? Of course not. 

Anything about Sarah?

The first and only time you had fished for information about her, you thought he was going to toss you out of his car. His eyes narrowed and fists clenched the steering wheel, an audible growl of anger leaving his throat.

“You ever say her name again, and you can walk to work, understand?” 

You hadn’t seen much of his anger explode like that before, except during the unexpected arrival of his brother, Tommy. It was on the evening that you finally got your car back, and as you mustered the courage to walk over to Joel’s trailer to let him know that he didn’t have to take you back and forth, you noticed something. In front of his crumbling front deck was a dark pick-up truck, one that didn’t belong in a place like this. It was sparkling new, clearly waxed, with big, gleaming rims.

Before you even had the chance to think much about it, you heard a shout inside Joel’s trailer, a booming voice that almost made you scurry back to your own home.

“I already told you, Tommy! I’m not doin’ it!” Footsteps tracked through the house, heavy boots against weak plywood practically shaking the trailer. You could see shapes pass by the front window, suggesting that both Joel and his seemingly unwanted guest were about to come outside.

Now you were actually scurrying across his lawn, attempting to retreat back from Joel’s yard before you were spotted, but the front door opened too quickly. Thankfully, the heated conversation between him and who you assumed to be Tommy precluded their heated gazes from meeting yours. 

Without wanting to assume who Tommy was, he certainly looked like he was related to Joel - their intense glares were almost identical. The height, the face-shapes, all of it. Even Tommy’s deep drawl matched as he bellowed in return. 

“I don’t understand why you gotta be so goddamn stubborn. Here I am, drivin’ halfway across the county just to see you, to give you an opportunity to get out of this shithole, but instead, you’re chosin’ to live in a shell and letting yourself wind up just like-”

Joel’s frame towered over Tommy’s despite the considerable height that Tommy had himself. Something dark was brewing beneath Joel’s features, clearly quite close to boiling over. Even though you knew you were watching an intense, private moment, you had never seen this kind of emotion from Joel before. You were almost bewitched, unmoving, questioning if you should intervene to stop a potential fight from breaking out.

Tommy’s nostrils were flared, his chest pressed against Joel’s, while Joel’s fists were clenched into a tight ball, threatening to strike like a snake. 

“I told you last time. Bring her up again, and you won’t have a mouth left to speak from.”

Tommy scoffed. “She was just as much mine as she was yours, Joel. Just because you ran away when things got hard and buried yourself deeper and deeper into a hole doesn’t mean I don’t miss her.” He began to stomp off of the front porch, making his way to the truck that was parked in the driveway. 

“But that’s fine! This will be the last damn time I come over thinkin’ that maybe you’re ready to change. Go ahead and delete my number from your phone.”

Both you and Joel, as well as a couple of other neighbors who had decided to leave their houses to view the commotion, watched Tommy’s truck tires screech against the pavement. His departure was bitter and final, an angry bite to the way he spit those words.

You can’t imagine being on the receiving end of them, and when you turned your head to glance at Joel, you found his eyes boring into you. His shoulders are pulled tight, and his jaw is set, and he said nothing as he stepped back into his trailer and slammed the door hard behind him. 

Perfect timing, you thought to yourself. There’s never been a better day for your car to have been up and running again. You didn’t waste time lingering in his yard.

But before you can feel the pavement of the narrow street beneath your sneakers, his disgruntled voice cut through the air. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”

You turned to face him, unsure of yourself. Joel’s an asshole, you know that much, but you didn’t think you’ve ever seen him this worked up and angry. “Uhm…about that. I was just coming to tell you that I don’t need a ride today-”

Joel scoffed and shook his head, keys jingling in his hand “Get in the damn truck,” he said, venom on his tongue. And you know he’s not mad at you, but your stomach turned at his fury anyway. “Gonna be late if we don’t get a move on.”

Tomorrow, you decide. You’ll tell him about your car tomorrow. But for now, you do as he said. While he stuck the key in the ignition and turned the engine over, you climbed into the passenger seat, which still smelled faintly of your perfume from the night before.

He pulled onto the road and started the familiar route to the bar, his movements rehearsed and, by now, muscle memory. You sat in silence as he steered with one hand and pulled a cigarette from the center console with the other. He lit it, inhaled the nicotine deep into his lungs, and let out a heavy sigh.

You wondered if you should say something. A million questions are pressed against the back of your teeth. But now isn’t the best time to poke and prod for a glimpse into the man he is outside of what you’ve seen with your own two eyes. So you decided to say something else instead, something that might grant him a little relief. “My car is fixed. That’s what I was trying to tell you. So, tomorrow, you won’t have to worry about giving me rides anymore.”

He glanced at you briefly and then shook his head. “No.”

The word is so simple and definitive in his mouth that it caught you off guard. So much so that you found yourself fighting amusement. “What do you mean no?”

“Just what I said, damn it. You hard of hearing all of a sudden?”

“Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with you?” You hadn’t wanted to press his buttons. Truly. But what right does he have to spew insults as if you were the one screaming at him on his front porch? Your tone was condescending as you said, “Come on. Try it with me; congrats! I’m sooo happy things are finally going your way! I’m glad I could be of help! No problem at all-!”

“Cut that shit out.”

“Me? You first.”

His jaw feathered as he clenched his teeth. He ashed his cigarette out of the open window and then sighed again, calmer this time. “Alright. I’m…”

“Sorry?”

His throat bobbed as if he tried to get the word out but it didn’t quite make it to his tongue. Instead, he just said, “Yeah.”

This time, you’re the one sighing. “It’s okay.”

Another few seconds of silence passed between you, but they were not as uncomfortable as they’d been when you’d first gotten into the truck. Less tension, less anger. And then he said, “Don’t want you drivin’ anywhere in that thing in the middle of the night.”

Your heart pinched in your chest at the words. They’re said with a certain sort of irritation, but yet they’re still so… protective. It’s not something you’ve ever had before, but in the last few days he’s given you a taste and it isn’t until now that you realized you’d developed a craving for it. “Why not?”

“Ain’t safe. Could break down again any second. Leave you stranded at midnight in the middle of nowhere. God knows the kinda people you’re servin’ at that place, would consider themselves lucky to find ya on the side of the road.” He shook his head as if to clear the image from his mind. “I’ll just keep takin’ ya.”

Even though you fought the warmth that crawled up your cheeks, you know he could tell his words did something to you. Joel’s attention left the road for only long enough to steal a fleeting glance at your face, and when he turned back to the task at hand he snorted incredulously. 

But it’s the first time that anyone has ever considered your safety and altered their routine to make it a priority. It makes you feel special and warm and…wanted. And you know it’s likely your daddy issues blurring the lines once again, but you just can’t help yourself or the way your mind jumped to conclusions. “Is that your way of saying you care about me?”

He pressed his fingertips into his temple to massage away a headache. “Stop that.”

You didn’t listen. Of course, you don’t. You leaned in closer, hands on the empty leather seat between you. “Aww… who would've thought Joel Miller would secretly be a softie?” You’d never been so close to him before, so close that you could see the brown-colored freckles splattered across the bridge of his nose.

You swallowed down your sudden nerves due to the close proximity, enjoying the way Joel shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I said cut it out. Sit back down the right way ‘fore I get a ticket.”

It was impossible to follow his orders now, not after seeing how easy it was to rile him up.

Moving even closer, your lips a breath's distance away from Joel’s neck, you whispered, “I think you like the attention.”

“I think you’re mistaken,” he huffed back, but his voice lacked the bite he intended, much softer than the way he was yelling at Tommy earlier. His gaze flicked over to you, watching with an intense curiosity, but only momentarily. 

“I won’t tell you again,” Joel commanded, brushing you back to your seat with a gentle shove of his elbow.

“What are you gonna do if I don’t?” you questioned, although you were sitting back in your seat like he asked you to. “Punish me? Spank me?”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, I oughta. Maybe it’d finally teach you some manners,” Joel glanced over to catch your eye. “Anyone ever told you that you got a real weird sense of humor?”

Shrugging, you couldn’t help the slide smirk that spread across your face. “Blame it on my daddy issues.”

Joel didn’t even try to hide his disbelief, a red flush rising from the top of his collarbones and up his neck.

“Lord help me,” he whispered under his breath. 

You granted him a bit of grace, ending your teasing and opting to enjoy the sound of music playing on the radio for the rest of the ride. It was always peaceful riding with Joel, the heat of the summer breeze warming your face. 

From the heady smell of Joel’s Marlboros to the shrill voice of The Smashing Pumpkins playing over the speakers; the comfort of the situation always made you want to break down Joel’s walls. You wanted to see what he was like when he was entirely vulnerable, what he looked like when he woke up in the morning and didn’t have the opportunity to remember all his worries.

From that moment, you decided that you would get Joel to open up one way or another.

Your heart dropped a little when he pulled into the bar's parking lot, his tires crunching against the loose gravel. Joel’s long fingers were swift, reaching to the radio to turn down the music. 

Things felt weird, that same intensity from the moment you’d gotten into the car returning. It felt like he wanted to say something, his mouth twitching before his lips were pressed into a straight line.

“I wasn’t joking, y’know,” you said, hoping to break the awkward silence of saying goodbye. 

Joel didn’t say anything, the curious raise of his eyebrow speaking for him. 

“About wanting you to spank me,” you snipped back, hopping out of his truck right after you admitted it to him. You could see what appeared to be a stifled smile forming on his lips as he shook his head. It made you feel good that you were able to distract him from reality for even a couple of minutes. God knew he needed it.

“See you at midnight. Stay out of trouble,” he called back from his truck, waiting to leave until he watched you safely enter the building.

He was on your brain your entire shift, which wasn’t unusual. What was different now was the pieces of information you’d found out, ranging from his argument with Tommy and his little resistance to your flirting.

So, of course, curiosity killed the cat. On your break you found yourself googling a string of searches; Joel Miller, Tommy, Joel and Tommy, until eventually you landed on an old company website.

Miller Bros Construction Company.

It was outdated, with inquiries and testimonials from years ago, but it did answer a couple of your questions. After clicking on the “about us” tab, you saw a photo of a much younger, happier-looking Joel. 

His arm was thrown around Tommy’s shoulder, a huge smile plastered on his face. If you didn’t know every inch of Joel’s face, you would’ve considered that it wasn’t actually him. He looked so… happy. It broke your heart to know that he had become half of the man he used to be.

‘Brothers Joel and Tommy Miller have been serving the greater population of Austin, TX for several years,’ the tab read, confirming your suspicions that they were related. You glanced at Tommy, happily smiling next to Joel, directly contradicting what you’d seen earlier.

The inquiry tab at the bottom was broken, redirecting to a no longer active form.

Christ. His daughter's death had indeed ruined him. It had sucked all of the happiness out of Joel, leaving him angry and alone. He pushed everything good and decent away.

You spent the rest of your break lurking, sifting through Tommy’s Facebook page, seeing his now solely owned business booming. He had a pretty fiancé, and things honestly looked good for him. You noticed that Joel was nowhere on his page, but you would occasionally see photos of Tommy and Sarah beaming together before she’d gotten sick.

The guilt of it all had eaten at you, so severely that you decided to buy a burger plate before the kitchen closed for the night. Joel had gone out of his way to take care of you, to take you back and forth from work, even though he grumbled about it. He deserved to feel taken care of in return.

Plus, you were almost certain that his diet mainly consisted of cigarettes and alcohol. How he still looked so goddamn good was a question you’d never have answered.  

When you left work, it was like clockwork; Joel’s truck sat outside the building, waiting for you.

The sun was long gone by now, so it was difficult to see Joel sitting in the driver's seat. You’d hoped that he had cooled off from earlier, especially now that you know more about the context of the argument. 

You plopped into the passenger seat, greeting Joel only by placing the plate of food on the center console.

“What’s this?” Joel questioned, no hello or how was your shift? Typical Joel Miller.

“What’s it look like? I got you dinner.”

He rolled his eyes, pointing a finger at the clock display. “It’s midnight.”

“And…?” He raised his brows and you clicked your tongue in response. “When was the last time you had a meal that wasn’t made in a microwave?”

Joel fixed you with a stare, and something lingered in his eyes that you couldn’t quite make out. It’s as if he’s trying to decide whether to yell at you or simply say thank you. “I didn’t ask you to do that,” he stated, but there was no malice in it. 

“I know. I wanted to.” You shrugged casually because it was truly nothing to you. But apparently, Joel didn’t see it that way.

The truck sat idle in the parking lot. He said nothing for several seconds, which felt far too long. It was dark—the only illumination provided was the distant street lamps outside, but you swore you could see the corners of his mouth turn up. Not quite a smile, but something. And it made you feel so victorious that you thought about mentioning it, about making some snide remark, but know better by now. 

Instead, you teased him. “At this rate, I might as well pack a bag and stay the night here.”

Joel scoffed but turned the key in the ignition anyway. “You got a mouth on you, girl. That’s for damn sure.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t sent me away yet. So there must be something you like about it, right?”

He doesn’t agree but he doesn’t deny it, either. Still, sarcasm dripped off his tongue as he said, “Somethin’ like that.”

When he turned the radio up, a rock ballad played and put you at ease. You start to realize that these quiet moments with him are the lightest part of your days. Nothing to think about but the way the cool wind hit your face and the sound of his soft humming from behind the wheel. It’s simple and good and you feel safe.

When he pulled into the trailer park a short while later, you almost hated to see it end. For a split second, you debated inviting him over in an attempt to extend your time together. But you knew that after the day he’s had, he probably didn’t want the company. So instead, you gathered your things and hopped out of the truck. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Hang on a sec.”

You paused with your hand on the passenger door. “Yeah?”

Joel hesitated. He opened his mouth to speak, but all he managed was, “Uh..” His eyes darted everywhere but yours. The dashboard, the steering wheel, his hands - everywhere but you.

He’s nervous, you realized. Uneasy. You tried to comfort him. “What is it?”

“I, uh…I was just wonderin’ if, I don’t know. You wanna… split it with me?” He pointed to the takeout container. “Or you could have a drink, or…do you drink?”

Your heart was doing somersaults behind your sternum. A girlish giggle left you despite your attempts to hide your excitement. Through a face-splitting grin, you asked, “Like a date?”

“Christ,” he sneered. “You know what? I take it back. Never-”

“I’m kidding!” Your laughter filled the cab of the truck. “I’m just kidding, Joel, I swear. Of course, I’ll come in for a drink.”

He looked hesitant, and at first, you thought it was because of how you’d been pulling his leg all night. By the time you had made it inside of his trailer, you realized that he was probably a little nervous on account of the mess in his living room.

Empty bud light bottles covered the surface of the side table next to his couch. An ashtray haphazardly placed on the kitchen counter was long overdue to be emptied, ash and half-smoked cigarettes threatening to spill over. Next to it were a couple of prescription bottles, the print too small for you to make out what they were supposed to be treating.

No matter how you felt about the place, you understood how difficult it all must’ve been for Joel. It wasn’t dirty or anything, just unkempt, a man overwhelmed by grief too distracted to focus on cleaning.

“It’s not much to see, but feel free to make yourself at home,” Joel said, slipping past you at the front door to place the bag of food down on the kitchen counter. You watched him momentarily, taking in the normalcy of his routine.

His movements to wash his hands before eating, the clatter of plates being pulled out of the dishwasher. Watching him in his element relaxed you. You tried to envision what it was like in the home when Sarah was still alive, filling the space with her innocent laughter. 

“I won’t bite,” Joel spoke, pulling you out of your own head. Your gaze refocused, a quiet sense of fulfillment washing over you as you watched him for a fleeting second. 

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” you chirped back, toeing out of your work shoes and heading over to his leather couch. A knitted blanket thrown across the leather prevented the back of your legs from pressing against the cold material, and you were grateful. 

“Do you get pleasure outta givin’ me a hard time or something?” Joel asked, plopping next to you. He slid a plate over to your side of the coffee table, pulling the table forward slightly so you’d be able to reach it easier. He placed two beers on the table, too, and cracked the seal of yours. It’s such a small but gentlemanly thing to do, and you try not to think too hard about how it makes your heart swell.  

You hadn’t even realized how hungry you were until he unwrapped the bag and split the food between the two of you, your stomach growling in response. 

“I just like seeing you squirm,” you joked, noticing how Joel shook his head and snorted under his breath. Both of you ate together, quietly but comfortably. 

You were sure that Joel spent most of his nights like this, in his living room with the TV flashing light across the walls of the house. It made you feel good that you were there to change his routine so he wouldn’t have to be alone.

The longer that time passed and the less food on your plate created an odd sense of pressure, that you were running out of time to pull something new out of Joel. Being in his home was an accomplishment on its own, but you still had a challenge with yourself to learn even more.

“Do you wanna, uh,” you began to speak, picking at one of your fries to fill the awkward space, “y’know… talk about earlier?”

“Nope,” he replied without hesitation, which you probably should’ve expected. Your pout was uncontrollable, discouraged by his instant lack of vulnerability. But you weren’t going to force him to talk, because he’d for sure shut down. 

“Not to be cheesy or anything, but you’re pretty decent to be around, once you stopped being an asshole all the time,” you said, finishing the final bite of your fry. “If you ever need to talk about shit, I’m probably the best option you got here. Kathy tells everyone’s business, so.”

Joel actually chuckled at that, a deep, rumbling sound that made your gut twist. “I didn’t plan on talkin’ to anybody about anything, much less Kathy. But thanks.”

You nodded, a pang of disappointment flickering through your abdomen.

That night, you thanked him for the company and he promised to meet you in the afternoon right on time. The same routine you’ve had all week. 

You and Joel get good at routines. Because the next night when you brought him dinner again, he didn’t even ask if you’d like to eat with him. He just said, “Picked up some sodas earlier. Figured you might want that instead of beer.”

And just like that, it became a nightly thing. The cooks at the bar don’t even ask what you want any more, they simply have the food finished by the time you’re ready to meet Joel in the parking lot. You had even occasionally fallen asleep in his living room, the comforting sound of the TV humming and Joel’s even breathing lulling you to sleep.

He always made sure to throw a blanket over you and quietly slip into his room, never waking you or forcing you to leave. It was an unspoken rule.

So, due to your growing interest in Joel and alleviating some of his stress, you decided to take a leap. One morning you’d woken up on Joel’s couch after falling asleep there the night before. Joel wasn’t home, which wasn’t unusual since he sometimes picked up odd jobs at the mechanic's shop in town to pay the bills. 

It was the perfect opportunity to clean his house. You weren’t sure how he was going to feel about it, but you were only going to take out the trash and leave everything else as it was. You didn’t need him hollering at you for moving his shit around.

You had a good four hours to just clean out the place, and Jesus, you needed it. It appeared that he didn’t have any other cleaning products besides bleach and dish soap, which you couldn’t really use to get some old stains out of the carpet. It had taken you an hour of rifling through your own stuff to get the correct products and supplies to make a dent. 

By the time you finished a couple hours later, you had three trash bags full of random newspapers, beer cans, and whatever other miscellaneous stuff you were sure Joel wouldn’t be upset to part with. Surprisingly, you hadn’t seen anything belonging to Sarah, no pictures hanging on the wall, no toys, nothing that indicated that anyone besides Joel had lived there.

That was until you’d decided to step into the room towards the back of the trailer. Joel’s bedroom was hardly used, his bed made and room clean, indicating that he probably spent most of his nights on the couch, so you didn’t bother cleaning that space. You were, however, curious about the spare room.

As soon as you’d opened it, you knew why you couldn’t find anything of Sarah’s. It was like a museum, a room stuck in time. Light pink paint covered the wall, the late afternoon sun streaming in colorful rays through the sheer purple curtains. The bed was made, without a wrinkle in sight, with a little teddy bear tucked in, as if it was keeping the bed warm for Sarah’s return.

You stepped in a little, taking in the small details; the photos of Joel and Sarah hugging on the wall, a little caboodle makeup box, and nail polishes lined up against the dresser. What truly broke your heart was the oxygen tank that was placed next to her bed, still attached to the mask. 

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” spoke a voice from behind you, almost causing your body to jump out of its skin. You whipped around to see an absolutely fuming Joel watching you with narrowed eyes. You stammered, quickly trying to come up with some sort of excuse.

“I was cleaning and I thought, I mean I was thinking that-“

Joel quickly approached you, his face only a mere breath away from yours. You were too anxious to even notice the closeness because you knew he was beyond pissed. You don’t think he was even this mad when he was fighting with Tommy.

“I don’t know why you think that you’re entitled to comin’ into my life, touchin’ my shit, steppin’ foot into this room, but guess what? You’re not.” He spat, stepping even closer to you. You felt tiny, like a bug ready to be squashed by a foot. 

“You don’t mean shit to me. Just because your life is fucked up doesn’t mean I need you to try to come into mine and save me. I don’t wanna be saved. Now get the hell outta my house,” he spoke, his voice unwavering and scarily calm. It took every ounce of strength inside of you not to cry, not to shout, because you knew he didn’t mean it. You had crossed his invisible line, despite not doing it intentionally.

But you weren’t strong enough to control your emotions, and eventually, the pressure of Joel’s angry words left your eyes watering. Though your jaw was clenched and your face wasn’t giving much away, Joel easily saw past the facade and noticed the tears welling up in your eyes.

And he scoffed. A quick laugh, right in your face, at seeing your tears. 

“Christ, you gonna cry now? Upset that you don’t got no daddy here to comfort you, gotta take out all your trauma on me? Fuckin’ pathetic.” 

Your tears turned from hurt, into angry, hot streams rolling down your face.

“Fuck you, Joel.”

You could feel your blood pumping in your head, so angry that you could break something. He was lucky that you made your way straight out of his house instead of grabbing all of the trash bags and pouring them right back onto the floor. 

You knew that he was self-destructing, that he was pushing you away because you were too good for him, but it didn’t make his words hurt any less. He wasn’t wrong. You did take interest in him because he was broken, similar to yourself. Despite that, it didn’t hurt any less.

As painful as it was to believe, you began to wonder if he had fooled you.

Maybe all that remained of Joel Miller was the worst part of him.

[part two]

[gothicmisty]

── .✦ too sweet

masterlist | ao3

18+ !no outbreak joel x f!reader

── .✦ story summary: “Joel—are you su—” “Let’s go.” A few hours ago, you were sitting in a freezing police station with no phone, no money, and a record waiting to happen. Then Joel Miller—your daddy's long time friend—walked in, spoke six words to the cop, and took you home like you already belonged to him. Now you’re in his house. Wearing his shirts. Sleeping in his spare room. He buys you a brand new phone, stocks the fridge with things he knows you like, leaves cash on the counter like it’s nothing. In which Joel Miller ends up being your sugar daddy who absolutely ruins you.

author's note: hi, this is my first time publishing fanfiction to tumblr. (please tell me if i'm not doing something right.) i've only been an ao3 author(bridgerton/stranger things). so here is sugar daddy joel. now, it's not full on. it's not he's buyin' her expensive stuff — think practical sugar daddy? i'd like to thank my bff karina for encouraging me to try another fandom out.

tags: content warning!! blowjob, male orgasm, dbf!joel, joel miller x f!reader, lots of smut, slowburn on romance, dom joel, alternative universe - no outbreak, !light sugar daddy, sugar daddy/sugar baby, joel is bad at feelings, age gap, joel is 50s x reader is 26-27, (honestly you could make her a little older.)

word count: 4.2k status: ongoing.

chapter 1: i'm starvin', darlin', let me put my lips to somethin' next chapter

I think I'll take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three you're too sweet for me

The police station ain’t exactly the best place to be on a Thursday night. 

It’s cold. The bright lights are flickerin’ on and off giving you a headache that rings in your skull. You sit there, arms crossed, eyes on the dirty tile like it might somehow make the time pass a little faster. 

How the hell did you end up here?

Well, that’s easy. Your dad. 

Fraud. Money Laundering. Stolen Cars. 

Stealing cars? Yeah. That included the one you were driving home. 

Figures. 

The lobby’s dead. Cold air blowing in from the doors, buzzing lights, and the smell of someone’s dinner filled the air. Nobody wants to sit at a police station unless they have to. Fuck, you just wanna go home. 

To make matters fuckin’ worse, you lost your phone. 

You had the cop call Tommy—your dad’s friend, well sort of. The only one who might answer and not make a huge scene out of all of this. 

That was over an hour ago. 

Were you going to be stuck here forever?

The officer walks over, bored expression and a small note pad in his hand. “Tommy answered,” he says. “Said his brother’s on his way.” 

He looks down at the paper in his notebook. “Joel, I think his name was.” 

Fuck. Joel.

Joel was your dad’s best friend. Well…before all this.

Told him not to get involved in all that messy shit. Warned him somethin’ bad was going to happen. Said it to him straight, like he always did. But your dad…he didn’t listen. He never really did.

You grew up around Joel around. He was there–almost every barbecue, every holiday. Always showing up with a six pack and that quiet look that always said so much more than your dad’s drunk yelling ever did. After your mom left, he stuck around. Checked in every once in a while. Fixed your car when your dad was too drunk to. Made sure your dad didn’t drink himself stupid. You’d watch his daughter, Sarah, she was younger, always tagging along like a little shadow. 

He was always around. 

That’s what made this worse. 

You sigh and stare down at the checkered tile, the kind that somehow looks dirty even when it’s scrubbed clean. You’re just waiting now. For this mess to be over. For a way out. 

The front door creaks open. Heavy boots echo across the lobby floor.  You don’t even have to really look up to know who it is. 

It’s Joel. Rugged. Grey streaks in his hair. Worn denim and that damn tan jacket he’d had for years. Jeans. Boots scruffed. That look on his face—the one he wore when someone around him did something stupid. Like this wasn’t the first time he had to clean up someone else’s mess. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, casually, like you’re not sitting in a fucking police station. 

“Hey,” you mutter back, quietly. 

“Y’they lettin’ you go?” Joel asks. 

You shrug. Been there for hours at this point and honestly, no one’s told you shit. 

“They won’t say much,” you say. “Talkin’ to me like I’m five.” 

Joel doesn’t say much. Just walks over to the cops, starts talking in that low voice that somehow makes people listen. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him. Between work and part-time classes, life just… got in the way. 

But Joel?

He hasn’t really changed. He’s always had this way of making you feel—calm. Safe, maybe. Even now. Joel handles shit the way men are supposed too. Not like other people who’d just talk too loud and make things a thousand times worse. 

You find yourself staring. Too long. Watching him as he talks to the cop, his voice low, hands in his pockets like he doesn’t have a worry in the world. Like he’s got everything handled. 

Joel walks back over, his expression unreadable. 

“Get your stuff,” he says. 

“–Joel—are you su–” 

“Let’s go.” 

You grab your backpack, sling it over your shoulder, and follow him out. 

He’s already at the truck, passenger door open, just waiting. It’s newer, bigger, and cleaner. You can smell the leather and sawdust as you climb in. 

Your dad had mentioned the construction business was doing well. Said Joel had a crew now. Jobs lined up for months. You’d seen it too; last year at the neighborhood barbecue, when he showed up in a clean shirt and boots that didn’t look like he’d been wearing them for a decade. 

He shuts the door and doesn’t look at you. Just rounds the truck, climbs in, and starts the engine. He doesn’t say a word as he drives. Neither do you. 

Feels like Joel don’t even know what to say. Truth is, you don’t either. He just picked you up from a goddamn police station. You were so fucking close to being tangled up in your dad’s mess. 

“Where ya stayin’?” he asks finally. “Dorm?” 

You shake your head. “No…I–uh.” 

School wasn’t something you could afford anymore. Had to drop to part-time. Scrape by. Make payments late and hope the university didn’t send you notices. Your dad was paying for it. 

Until he wasn’t. 

“I’m crashin’ at a friends,” you mutter. “Just ‘til I find somewhere.” 

“Your dad said you were livin’ in the dorms,” Joel says. “Or was he payin’ for that?” 

“He was.” 

Joel just nods. Doesn’t say nothin’ else for a while. His eyes fixated on the road. 

“You’re comin’ home with me,” he says. 

“Joel…” you sigh. “It’s fine. I’m good, really, I promi–”

“You’re stayin’,” he says, sharper now. “Got the space. You don’t gotta figure this shit out on ya own.” 

You nod, slow. “Ain’t forever,” he says, looking over. “Just ‘til ya get settled.” 

And you can’t help but wonder— Is he just sayin’ that ‘cause you’re his friend's kid? His only kid. “Ya eaten anythin’?” Joel asks. 

You shake your head. “No.”

Before you know it, Joel’s pulling into your favorite fast food place. Doesn’t ask. Just knows. 

Maybe–just maybe–this won’t be so bad.

Stayin’ with your dad’s best friend? Can’t be the end of the world. Right?

You wake up to the smell of bacon. Don’t know what time it is. Don’t even remember falling asleep, really. First night in a new place–well, not new. Just unfamiliar. Same floors, same creaky hall, different energy. 

You slept in a baggy T-shirt Joel gave you last night. Soft, worn with a hole in the bottom of it, it smelled like fabric softener. You stretch, muscles feeling stiff, hair a fuckin’ mess, then slip out of bed. The house is quiet as you wander downstairs, walkin' across the cold hardwood floors. The clock in the living room blinks:12:30. 

Fuck. 

You step into the kitchen, Joel’s at the stove, back to you, flipping something in a pan. He looks over his shoulder, shakes his head at you. 

“It’s past noon,” he says. “Whole damn mornin’ gone, sunshine.” 

“I don’t ‘member what time I fell asleep,” you mumble through a yawn. “Hard to sleep.” 

Joel doesn’t say anything. Just keeps working at the stove, like he hears you, like he understands what you mean. You sit down at the table. The chair creaks loudly under you. It’s strange being here. Still not yours.  But it’s quiet. Feels like something solid after years of nothing but mess. 

It was quiet for a while. Just the sound of the pan and the clock on the wall ticking. Then he moves, walks over, grabs something from his bag. A small box. Black Bow. 

He sets it down in front of you. 

“Ain’t like not bein’ able to reach you,” he says, firmly. “Use it. Set it up how you want.” 

You look down. It’s a phone, a brand new one. You’re speechless. You’re not even sure what to say to him. Joel doesn’t look at you. “Didn’t ask what color,” he mutters. “Don’t bitch.” 

“Joel–you—” you start. 

He cuts you a look, a look that was sharp. You know better than to argue with him. 

“Thank you,” you say, quietly. 

He sets a plate of breakfast down in front of you, still hot. He writes something quickly on a different piece of paper, then he grabs a scrap of paper and a pen from the counter. 

“I’ll grab your stuff later,” he says. “Write the address.” 

That’s it. No offer for you to go with. No questions. You just do it. 

Used to bite people’s heads off who told you what to do. Your parents, they constantly told you what to do. Exhausted you with it.  But with Joel? You don’t. You just listen. 

“You sure you don’t want me to come?” You ask, quietly. 

“Quicker if I do it myself,” he mutters. 

You write the address. Slide it over and he grabs the paper, grabs his work bag. Doesn’t say nothin’ else. Just leaves. 

Now you’re alone. In Joel’s house. 

You look down at the box, phone still laying neatly inside.

He bought you a phone. Just like that. No big talk about it, no strings attached. You’re sleepin’ in his spare room. Eating his food. Staying here “until you figure shit out.” 

And he’s not asking for a damn thing. Why does that feel so fuckin’ strange?

That he’d just do this. No questions. No rules. Just–here. 

You finish up your breakfast, scrape the plate, head to the sink.  There is a note. 

Home late. 

Order Pizza. 

–Joel. 

Twenty dollars sitting on top of it. That’s it.

It’s been almost two weeks at Joel’s. 

Feels longer. Feels like nothing. He’s barely home. Out before you wake up, back late. 

You get rides to work. Keep your head down mostly. Classes are on break ‘til spring, not that you’ve paid your tuition bill at all. You’re not even sure if you can. 

Joel doesn’t say much. But he does things. 

Keeps the fridge stocked. Leaves a clean towel on the counter for you to shower. Bought you face wash last week–just left it by the sink. No note. No comment. Just there. 

You never asked for any of it. You keep wondering what he gets out of this. 

It’s not like you’re doing anything. Not helping. Not giving him a reason to keep getting you things. You just exist in this house. Taking up space. Most likely annoying him.  You’ve started thinkin’ maybe you should cook dinner.

Something simple. Just…something. Feels like the least you could do. Joel’s never been picky. Not that you know. But cooking feels like a way to give a little back.  It’s been quiet though. He works all the time. But not the bad kind. 

The kind that makes you feel safe, but drives you mad. Still, you’ve found yourself lying awake more than once, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he’s doing just down the hall. If you knocked on the door; if you asked to just sit with him. Would he let you?

You don’t. 

There’s a line. 

Should you cross it? No. Yes.  No. 

Today, you got home later than usual. Picked up a shift at the restaurant  for a friend. Didn’t mind it–kept yourself busy to keep out of your head. You take a quick shower when you get in. Let the water rinse the entire day off your skin. Let yourself feel clean again. 

You head downstairs, barefoot. Hair still damp, dripping down your back. Thin tank top. Shorts. Should be fuckin’ freezin’, it’s winter. But Joel kept the house warm for you. 

You round the corner and see him. 

Feet kicked up on the coffee table. One hand wrapped around a half-empty beer. TV playing some old black-and-white western, the kind he’s probably seen a hundred times. He doesn’t look away from the screen. 

Just says–

“C’mere.” 

You do. No hesitation. 

You walk over, eyes landing on the screen. “What’s on?” 

Joel doesn’t look over at you.

“Nothin’ good,” he mutters. 

You sit beside him. Close, but not too close. His arm draped around the back of the couch. Casual. Calm. But it’s there. 

He smells like cedar soap. The kind you saw in the shower earlier. And underneath that–sawdust and a little bit of sweat after a long day. 

After a while, he speaks. “Work was a bitch.” 

You look over at him. His head leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. Then his hand drags down his face, slowly. He looked tired, completely worn out. 

“Delivery truck didn’t show,” Joel mutters. “Big job. Had me on the damn phone all day with some fuckin’ kid who didn’t know shit.” 

He shakes his head and takes a slow slip of his beer. 

“Bein’ in charge just means cleanin’ up everybody else’s fuckups.” 

It’s the first time he’s ever opened up and said anything about work. Or when you think about it, his day. 

You reach out to him, slowly. Hand resting on his arm–just above the elbow, your touch so light and careful. Your thumb moves softly over the fabric of his shirt. You’re nervous. You shouldn’t be. 

But you are. 

Your fingers keep fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

You look up at him. “You do a lot,” you say. “You…deserve to relax.” 

He tenses, shoulders shift, like he’s a little caught off guard. You freeze–should you stop? But…he isn’t pulling away. Doesn’t move at all. So, you leave your hand there. Fingers moving along his arm. You’re not trying to push, just trying to be there. A quiet way of showing that you care. 

He continues to watch the movie, keeping his eyes on it like nothing’s changed. You feel the change in him, the tension, the stillness. Like he’s holding his breath and doesn’t even realize it. 

The movie keeps playing, slow, pointless background now. You’re used to the quiet now, used to him. Joel’s never been a man who needed to fill the space with words.  You don’t even realize how much time’s passed. Not ‘til Joel shifts. Subtle, just barely. Then his hand finds your knee. He still doesn’t say anything, just leaves it there.

A minute later, it moves. Slow. Steady. 

Fingers drifting up, stopping just shy of the hem of your shorts. He squeezes your thigh lightly. Then his fingers slip higher, pushing your shorts up a little, settling on the bareskin. Like it’s nothing, like he’s just mindlessly doing it. 

Your breathin’ practically stops. He just keeps watching tv, and doesn't flinch. Doesn't look over at you. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe, he did. He just keeps watching the screen like nothing’s changed. 

But…something has changed. 

Joel’s been on your mind for weeks. 

Won’t leave your head. Not when you’re awake, not when you’re dreaming. You know it’s wrong–thinking about him like that. Wanting him so fuckin’ bad it keeps you awake. 

Imagining what it would feel like for your lips to be on his, him on top of you. Imagining what it would be like to knock on his door in the middle of the night. But you don’t. You stop yourself…every time. 

After that night on the couch, movies became your routine. Evenings where he wasn’t workin’ late, you’d sit together on the couch, watching whatever you’d bicker about puttin’ on.

Somehow it was just…easy. 

Money left on the counter without a word. A new pair of headphones when you complained that yours stopped workin’. Always buyin’ your favorite snacks. One afternoon, last thursday, he dropped you off at the mall–handed you his credit card. 

Said, “Get what you want.” 

Still, somehow, didn’t ask for anything back. 

But no matter what, you settled nicely into this routine. Nights with Joel. He’d sit beside you on the couch, he’d rub your leg with that hand of his, like he didn’t even realize he was doin’ it. You’d lay against him sometimes, feel his chest through that old flannel, watchin’ whatever movie he picked–usually some western, sometimes an action flick that had low ratings. 

One night, you talked him into Friday the 13th. 

He just grumbled about it being total nonsense. 

But he still watched it all the way through. 

You wanted to cross that line, needed to. Every night, it got so much harder not to. But you held back. 

Until now…

You woke up late. House was quiet already. Joel was gone… at work. 

But when you walk into the kitchen, there’s a box on the counter. Wrapped, a bow on top of it. Joel’s thing he did with his gifts for you. 

You recognize it before you even open it—the necklace. The one your mom gave you. The one that snapped last week when it got caught on your sweater. He fixed it. Didn’t say a word. Just left a little note folded under the ribbon. 

For you, Darlin’. 

—Joel. 

You’ve been tryin’ to get used to the gifts. 

To the way Joel leaves things for you without a word. Pays for what you need. Asks for nothin’ back. You don’t know if it’s guilt over your dad bein’ locked away—or if he just likes takin’ care of you. 

There’s a part of you that wrestles with it. That still wants to earn it somehow.

But there is another part. One that secretly loves the idea of being taken care of. 

You made him dinner tonight, even he was a little shocked. He ate in silence, like he asked. You left him there while you showered. Now you’re headin’ back downstairs. Back to him. 

Back to this new routine. 

You’re wearin’ one of his shirts–big, warm right out of the dryer. You took it from his drawer a few weeks ago, he didn’t notice. 

But he’s seen it on you. 

“We ain’t watchin’ another one of them damn horror movies,” Joel grumbled, settling back on the couch. “Last one was fuckin’ terrible.” 

You roll your eyes as you sit down next to him. “Fine,” you mutter. “You pick, then. Since I’m so awful at it.” 

He picks some older movies. Lettin’ it play in the background, more noise than anything else. You take a small sip of beer he put out for you. 

“How was work?” you ask softly. Joel just huffs. Doesn’t look over. “Long,” he says. “Tired of dealin’ with people who don’t know what the hell they’re doin’.”

He seemed a little better when he walked through the door. A little less stressed out. You wonder if it’s the movies. The silence. Just sittin’ together. 

You lean into him, slow, like you always do. And he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shift away from you. He’s gotten used to it.

You watch him. Not sayin’ a word—just takin’ in the way his jaw stays tighty, the way he grips his beer a little too firm. Eyes on the TV, but not really watchin’. He’s so wound up. You can see it. The movie drags on, just background noise between the two of you now.  You debate it. Talk yourself out of it. Then back into it. Then out again. 

And then his hand moves. To your thigh, fingers slowly grazing your skin. Like he means it this time. 

Fuck it.  You slide off the couch and down to your knees. Settle between his legs–spread wide and lazy where he sits. 

He looks down at you. Eyes dark. Jaw tight. 

“What’re y’doin’, sweetheart?” he asks, voice low. 

You don’t answer at first, just reach for his belt; your fingers trembling, eyes locked on his. “Helpin’ you relax.” 

Joel doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t flinch. Just exhales through his nose.  You tug the belt free quickly. Pop the button, fingers slippin’ to the zipper–but he gets there first. Reaches down before you, grabbing it. 

Drags it down himself. The sound cuts through the room. Then he pushes his jeans and boxers down to his thighs, stopping just under the muscle. Hard. Already waiting for you. Joel leans back into the couch. One arm thrown over the back like he’s settlin’ in. His eyes are on you, just watching. 

You pause. Just for a second. Because he’s there–thick, swollen, and the tip of his cock is glistening with pre-cum. 

You swallow hard. 

“Go on, princess,” he mutters. “Ain’t the time to get shy on me now.”

You reach out, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock. A low groan comes from his throat when you start stroking him.

“Fuck,” he says, jaw tight. “This’ a bad fuckin’ idea.” 

 But he’s not pulling away. Just lets you keep going. 

You stroke him, feel him twitch in your hand, just a little. Then again. You do it just to tease him, you hear him moan, strained, quiet, fighting that need to thrust into your palm. Leaning in, you lick a slow line from the base of his cock to the tip. Draggin’ your tongue over the thick vein. The taste of him–salty–spreads across your lips. Then your mouth wraps around the head of his cock, tongue swirling. 

Joel’s hand moves fast–right to the back of your head and his fingers knot in your hair, firmly. Holding you. 

You open your mouth wider, taking him in slowly. Let him guide across your tongue, inch by inch, until your lips are nearly at the base and your throat tightens around him.

“God—fuck,” he breaths. “That mouth... Been thinkin’ about this. Thinkin’ how good it’d feel.” 

You set a rhythm, steady, wet and he lets you for a minute. Just watches. His cock disappears into your mouth over and over, until your chin’s slick and his cock’s shining with spit. 

“You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” Joel mutters. He grips your hair tighter, it hurts a little. 

“You hear me?” 

You moan around him. You’re drooling now, a filthy fuckin’ mess and he’s lovin’ it. 

His hands lock in your hair now, fingers twisting deep as he starts to move. Not sloppy. Not rushed. 

Controlled. 

He knows what he’s doin’. Knows how to use your mouth…how long to keep you right there on the edge. Just enough to drive you crazy. Just enough to make you fuckin’ need it. 

“Just like that, baby,” he groans. “Goddamn–y’know what you’re doing, don’t you?” 

You gag, just a little, when he pushes deeper and he grunts, breathless. “Easy,” he says, even as his hips roll forward. 

“Don’t choke, sweetheart,” he breaths. “Ain’t done with you yet.” 

Your spit is all over his cock, your throat is raw, eyes glassy, tears threatenin’ to spill. Joel watches, doesn’t miss a thing. 

“Look at that mess,” he groans. “Drippin’ down your chin. So fuckin’ pretty like this.” 

He holds your head steady and starts to thrust harder into your mouth. Your hands dig into his thighs, bracing. Your jaw burns–but you don’t stop. You take it, like you’re supposed to. 

“Shit,” Joel growls, voice cracking. “The way you suck my cock–princess, fuck.” 

A deep moan.

“Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.” 

He’s breathing is ragged now. Not gone…not yet…but close. Right on the edge. 

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” he asks. “Wanted me usin’ that mouth like this.” 

You moan around him and his cock twitches on your tongue. 

“Baby,” he breaths. “You keep doin’ that–I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.” 

But you don’t stop. You moan again–on purpose. Throat tight, lips wrapped, tongue draggin’ slow along every thick inch as he fucks your mouth. 

Joel moans, louder this time. 

“Jesus–fuck—you’re takin’ me so good,” he pants. “So. Fuckin’. Good.” 

You can feel it. The way his thighs tense up. The sharp jerk of his hips, the rough sound of his breathing. “I’m gon’ cum,” he growls. “You ready for it? Gonna swallow for me, huh?” 

You nod–best you can, mouth full, eyes up. He pushes you down deeper onto his cock. 

“That’s it,” Joel groans. “That’s it–God—don’t—”  Then he spills into your mouth. Thick, hot, endless. You try to swallow every drop, but he’s still twitching, still pulsing, and it leaks past your lip.

His chest heaves, breath ragged. 

And then—

Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz.

The phone on the coffee table goes off.

Joel exhales hard, like the wind just got knocked out of him. Then carefully, he pulls out of your mouth, stands up, pulls up his pants and grabs the phone off the table. You’re still on your knees. Panting. Lips swollen. His cum at the corner of your lips. “Yeah?” he answers. 

A pause. 

“I’m home.” 

His eyes drop down to you. He reaches out and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip. Smears the cum away with one slow drag. “Tommy,” he sighs. “Was workin’ on somethin’.” 

Walks into the kitchen like nothin’s changed. Pulls his zipper up, belt clicks as he threads it back through. Phone still pressed to his ear. 

He leaves you there. Kneeling. Swollen-lipped. Messy. Wet. 

And you don’t know what’s worse. That he walked off like nothin’ happened–like everything’s still the same. Or that you’re just kneelin’ there–cunt throbbing, soaked, mouth wrecked from takin’ him. Wanting more. 

[vanillefawnn]

Leather & Lace 𖹭.ᐟ

Dean winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: suggestive content, Sam being the poor third wheel and getting stuck between you Dean's freakness, language

Summary: You like to leave Dean little trinkets when he goes on hunts, just little things to help keep you in his head when he's out on the road.

Authors note: I'm gonna tackle this man and get him PREGNANT !! (I also did NAWT proof read this sooo ye)

Dean wasn't a sentimental guy—not really. Not in the way people wrote sonnets about or cried over in movies. But there was something about you that rewired the whole system, made him soft in places he'd spent his whole life keeping armored.

It started with a polaroid.

The two of you at a diner somewhere in Missouri, your face squished against his shoulder, both of you grinning like idiots. He found it one morning tucked into the crease of Baby's dashboard, right between the speedometer and the gas gauge.

"Figured you'd miss my face," your neat hand writing read on the back.

He chuckled, thumb brushing over the image as he slid it into the glovebox. He would miss your face, hell, he already did.

From then on, it became a thing.

Every time Dean left for a hunt—wether it be with Sam or solo—there was always something left behind. A sticky note on the steering wheel that said "Drive safe, handsome. I'll be thinking about you." Sometimes, a folded square of paper that smelled just like you, perfume soaked into the fibers until it clung to the leather seats like memory.

Dean had never told you how much it meant. He didn't have to.

But then—somewhere along the line—it stopped being just sweet.

One week, he found a photograph.

And not the diner kind, either.

It was tasteful, if not exactly safe-for-work—your body clad in soft, black lacy lingerie, all curves and skin and confidence. Dean found it when he was rummaging for a cassette tape. Sam was two feet away, completely unaware.

Dean coughed—choked, really—and shoved it into his jacket pocket like it was a contraband. His ears were pink the entire drive to Minnesota.

The next time, it was a lipstick kiss on the rearview mirror. A perfectly formed pout of crimson that made his gut twist in all the right ways. He sat there for a moment, hand resting against the glass like he could somehow hold it.

Sam noticed that one.

"Oh my god," he'd muttered "Can you two not?"

Dean just smirked and peeled out of the parking lot.

But nothing—not one thing—compared to what he found this time.

He was loading up the impala, tossing a duffle into the trunk, shotgun shells rattling in his pocket. Sam was still inside. Grabbing coffee, grumbling something to himself about early mornings and the lore of the case they were working on.

Dean slide into the driver's seat, ready to start the engine—and froze.

There they were.

Hanging from the rearview mirror like the worlds most scandalous charm.

Baby blue lace panties.

Your panties.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Nope. Still there.

Delicate, floral patterns, tiny enough to fit in the palm of his hand. His name was stitched in tiny cursive into the inner waistband—Dean, in pale silver thread. His jaw clenched.

The fuck were you trying to do to him?

He practically snatched them off the mirror, glancing around like some cop was gonna pull up and arrest him for public indecency. His fingers brushed the lace. Soft. Still warm from wherever you'd hidden them. Maybe even your skin. His brain was officially out of commission.

You'd attached a note to them, of course.

"Thought you might like to keep a little peice of me with you."

Dean was gonna die.

Actually, no—Sam was gonna die. Because the second he saw these? it was over.

Dean shoved them into the glovebox like they were ticking explosives, slamming it shut just as Sam rounded the corner with two cups.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

Dean cleared his throat. "Nope."

"Your face is red."

"It's hot."

"It's forty degrees."

Dean started the car. "Shut up."

Sam blinked. "Why does it smell like her perfume in here again?"

Dean said nothing.

Sam groaned, leaning back in his seat, already regretting this entire trip. "You two are disgusting."

Dean just smirked, hand resting on the wheel.

But later, that night, when they checked into a ratty motel, Dean opened the glovebox again—just to see them. To touch the lace. Hold them against his chest, breathe you in.

And that night, when he slipped between the sheets. He tucked the panties beneath his pillow and fell asleep to the ghost of your perfume and the sound of your voice in his head.

Yeah.

Maybe he was sentimental, after all.

[gutsby]

Joel Miller

Waiting Game (dbf!Joel)

Joel has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

One shots for the Waiting Game ‘verse

Homemade: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

Diehard: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Ruined!: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Raw: Joel begs to cum inside you.

Make It Stick

Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Stiff: At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in.

Stuck: Joel gets nominated to play Santa Claus for Jackson’s holiday festivities. Of course, you’re into that.

Stubborn: Joel sees your baby bump for the first time.

Stutter: Your daughter says her first word.

Cabin Fever (Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader) [DEAD DOVE]

Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Confines: Joel locks you up in a subterranean bunker.

Finders Keepers (bfd!Joel)

When you find an old shirt of Mr. Miller’s lying around, you can’t resist. When he finds you humping a pillow and moaning his name, neither can he.

Cry, Baby

Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That’s all.

Just Peachy [anal]

Joel’s got a jealous streak and a bold idea.

Wingman (himbo!Joel crackfic)

Your bestie braves the tampon aisle for you.

Watch Your Mouth

Joel teaches you to keep quiet during sex.

Love Tap (dad!Joel)

Old habits die hard with your husband—touching you at inappropriate times is one of them.

If You Like Piña Coladas (neighbor!Joel)

You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

My Body, His Choice [freeuse]

After a long day, Joel just needs some relief.

Who’s Your Daddy? (stepdad!Joel)

You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.

Cowboy Killers

On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Seeing Pink [DD/LG]

Joel steals more of your innocence every day. Fortunately, you love to give as much as he loves to take.

Easy to Please (sleazy landlord!Joel)

Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

Wants and Needs (sugar daddy!Joel)

Bills are high; your dad’s boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him—for now.

Bigger in Texas

Joel won’t fit.

Trashed (trailer park!Joel)

You fuck Joel in his filthy double-wide.

Too Close for Comfort

You’ve been babysitting Sarah Miller forever. One day, you’re surfing the web on her dad’s computer, and you find some…unusual things in his search history.

Brighter Times (dark!Joel)

You’ve always been Joel’s favorite. Always.

Older, Bolder (GILF!Joel)

Joel can’t get it up.

Marcus Acacius

Bloodline

The General needs an heir.

Bucky Barnes

Wedded Bliss (Mob!Bucky)

The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Daryl Dixon

Dead Ringer

Weeks of separation and sexual frustration come to a head when Daryl pays you a visit in the middle of the night. Whether it's the product of your own sex-deprived subconscious or reality, you can't be sure—and couldn't care less. Daryl wants to fulfill the fantasy any way he can.

Easy Street

You steal a cop car and almost run Daryl over en route to the Sanctuary. You can’t decide if you want to fight him, fuck him, or bring him back to Negan. Lucky for you, Daryl is game for all three.

Nighthawk

You decide to bring Spencer to the neighborhood Halloween bash to take your mind off your breakup with Daryl. Your ex isn't so easily convinced of your intentions and decides there's no better place than his motorcycle to show you just how much he misses you.

Cherry Pie

You know virtually nothing about sex, and Daryl’s done it all. Together, you take on an impromptu anatomy lesson, and you learn that Daryl has a lot more to teach you than what’s covered in the textbooks.

Walker Bait

An unforeseen foray into a sex shop leaves you and Daryl trapped between a plastic cock and a hard place as a herd of walkers closes in. Angry sex ensues.

Grow a Uterus and We’ll Talk

Daryl has a bad case of baby fever, to put it lightly. You’re practically terrified of children. Rick lends you his kid for the night, and together, you come to learn that parenthood might not be the worst thing in the world. Even easier than baking muffins, one might say.

Honey Trap

You’ve been tasked with two simple jobs: infiltrate Alexandria’s community and bring intel back to your boss by any means necessary. When your entry point into the group takes the form of a familiar blue-eyed archer, you expect this to be your easiest gig yet—that is, until your prey decides to hunt you back.

Pregnant Pause

Babymaking is a bit trickier than anticipated, and months have passed with no sign of pregnancy. When your period finally doesn’t show up on time, you and Daryl act fast and head straight for the pharmacy—and get a little caught up along the way.

Mr. Dixon

Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

I’m a Good Girl, Officer!

Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.

Playing Dangerous

Working undercover in a seedy part of town, homicide detective Daryl sees you in your skimpy club attire and mistakes you for a hooker. A wrongful arrest makes for a funny way to foreplay, but you’re still game.

Fake It Til You Make It (Or Drown)

Daryl finds out you faked an orgasm. Instead of getting mad, he decides to get even.

Best Served Cold

Since your fiancé can’t seem to keep his hands off of Lori, you decide Daryl is the perfect way to make him pay. Revenge sex has never felt so good.

Coming Soon:

Bite the Bullet

Back at the prison, new recruits have been showering you with gifts. One of these presents doesn’t sit quite right with Daryl, and he decides it’s time to let the men know just how he feels—and who you belong to.

Atlantic City

A very drunk Daryl meets a stripper in Jersey and wastes no time putting a ring on her finger. With the late, great Elvis Presley presiding, the two get hitched in a slipshod ceremony a couple weeks before the world descends into chaos. This marriage may be short-lived, but damn if the honeymoon won’t be one to remember.

Requests are open!

[absinthe-over-tea]

either way it's gonna || the pitt

pt 5 - 3.7k <<start at the beginning • prev • next>>

pairing: jack abbott x f!resident!reader quick synopsis: When Langdon leaves The Pitt for rehab, Robby hires you as a new senior resident. Meeting Jack on your first day spirals into a year of almosts and miscommunication — all you know is either way this goes, it's going to hurt. Inspired by Hurt by Jasmine Jethwa. tags/warnings: angst, will-they-won't-they, unspecified age gap (older man/younger woman), canon-typical death, probably an insulting number of medical inaccuracies but Google only tells you so much, Jack is taking Robby's title for Sad Boy™ this week, Jack's POV a/n: We are earning that will-they-won't-they, y'all. Thank each and every one of you who have read, liked, reblogged or commented on this fic. It's been amazing jumping back into writing, and I'm blown away at the response to my first-ever x reader fic! Sorry this one's a little late — work was a hellscape this week. Pls let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list! Not beta read.

Jack was pretty sure the universe was taunting him. 

It had been hard enough to stay away from you when you were on day shifts and you only shared the hospital for a few minutes each day. Then, you got moved to night shift because Robby needed to keep an eye on fucking Frank Langdon. 

He’d tried to keep his distance as best he could, respect your boundaries. You’d made it clear on your first day on the night shift — you were interested in a professional relationship with one another, and that was it. 

But you were so fucking good. Impressive. Quick on your feet. Compassionate. Funny. You had the entire ED wrapped around your pretty little finger, and all he could do was watch from afar as you built connections with everyone in his department but him. 

Then the night of that fucking Marine came.

The cops said it had been a convenience store robbery attempt gone wrong. She’d tried to stop the guy, talk him down from hurting the old man behind the counter, and he’d panicked. Turned on her instead. 

Four lacerations, one puncturing a lung and another nicking the abdominal aorta. She’d already lost well over a liter of blood by the time she’d gotten to the hospital. Anyone else, and Jack would have called it immediately. But she was so young. Had survived god knows what overseas just to be killed for being at the wrong place at the wrong time? For trying to protect someone else? 

He always had a hard time reconciling a vet dying on his table. War made sense to him, even if the reasons we shipped people off to it didn’t. The death and destruction, it was every bit as devastating regardless of where it happened. But there was a logic to it happening in war at the hands of an IED or a sniper, at least in Jack’s mind. 

He had a principle to hold onto. They died for their country, they knew the risks they signed up for, every soldier would willingly sacrifice themselves for what they are fighting for. Maybe it was just a lie he told himself — he’d long passed the time in his life when he was an idealist about the motives and practices of the U.S. military industrial complex. But it was something. This? This was nonsensical. Meaningless. A reminder that he was alive when so many in his old unit weren’t. A reminder that just because he survived his tours didn’t mean he’d survive tomorrow. 

It always got him stuck in his head, stuck in 2007 in a desert field hospital. 

Of course, you’d witnessed every second. His failure to save her, and his failure to step away. And then you’d gone and intercepted him at the foot of the stairs, too. Jack honestly wasn’t sure if he was immensely grateful you’d refused to let him be alone or disappointed to be pulled away from the doorway to the roof. 

Either way, he was powerless to do anything but follow you out to his truck. 

“Keys,” you prompted, voice somehow both soft and unyielding. You held out your hand in expectation. He should have argued with you. He was perfectly capable of driving himself, and it would mean leaving your car here. But he found himself handing over his keys without a fight. 

The drive to your place was silent aside from the low drone of the radio. Later, Jack would kick himself for not taking the opportunity to watch you in his space — take in how you drove his GMC like you were born behind the wheel, posture relaxed and fingers tapping quietly in rhythm with the music. 

But his mind was elsewhere. Busy replaying every second the Marine — Taylor, he’d learned her name was — was in front of him. Should he have applied more pressure, why did it take him so long to figure out her aorta had been nicked, why couldn’t he have just cauterized the wounds to stop the bleeding first and ask questions later like he would have done had they been in a warzone, why even attempt to wait for surgery, maybe he should have said to hell with Walsh’s critiques and just plugged the holes with his damn fingers, why the fuck didn’t she just run? 

He knew the answers, deep down. Pressure wouldn’t have helped a collapsed lung, there was no way to know an artery was nicked without seeing or feeling it, cauterization came with risk of infection and you couldn’t cauterize a goddamn lung or an aorta, this wasn’t a warzone (and thank god for that), Walsh had the best hands in the building, she wouldn’t have been a Marine if she’d ran away from someone who needed her. 

But knowing and feeling weren’t synonymous. The weight on his chest wouldn’t let up, and when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the eyes of her husband when he told him the love of his life was dead. So he stared blankly ahead while he started the analysis all over again. 

Jack was pulled from his thoughts when the passenger door opened. You lived in a highrise, which somewhat shocked him. Didn’t seem like your type of place. You don’t actually know her outside of the hospital, he reminded himself. Part of him disagreed with that. He felt like he did know you, like he’d known you for far longer than he actually had. Then again, he’d already proven once that he wasn’t foolproof at reading you, so what did he know? 

“Living room is through there, bathroom is down the hall to the right,” you said, opening the door wide to let him in first. You slipped your shoes off before stepping fully inside, picking them up and placing them in a shoe cabinet in the entryway once the door was shut and locked. His eyes snagged down to his own feet, to the tactical boots he still wore most shifts.

Of course, you noticed his gaze. “Oh, don’t feel like you have to. I really only do it out of habit. Strict parents and all that.” You huffed out a laugh at that statement, but there was something off about it. Like it was a defense mechanism rather than genuine. 

“I don’t mind,” he assured, crouching down to untie his boots. He realized suddenly that he didn’t know if you knew, if you’d ever seen his prosthetic before. “It’s just-” But you cut him off before he could finish stammering out an admission about the metal that you’d see in place of the lower part of his right leg. 

“Jack, seriously. Most prosthetics are made to be worn with shoes. If it’s easier to keep them on, keep them on.” You said it so casually, attention already shifted away from him to the now open fridge door. So you did know. 

He made his way over to one of the barstools arranged at your kitchen island, setting his bag down on the stool next to him and watching as you pulled out a carton of eggs, bacon and strawberries from the fridge. 

“I didn’t realize you knew.” He didn’t specify, but he knew you’d understand. 

“Heather told me, back when I first started,” you admitted, and Jack could see a slight flush color the tops of your cheeks. You didn’t meet his eyes, almost seeming embarrassed — though Jack didn’t understand what there was for you to feel embarrassed about. He didn’t advertise the prosthetic at work most of the time, but it also wasn’t a secret. 

“You never mentioned.” 

“Neither did you. I didn’t think it was any of my business.” He was grateful for the sentiment, a rarity at The Pitt where gossip might as well be its own form of currency. But part of him wanted it to be your business, wanted you to make everything about him your business. 

“This will take a minute — I’m unfortunately faster with a suture kit than a skillet,” you deftly changed the subject with a wry smile. 

“Would you like some help?” Jack was far from a savant in the kitchen, but he didn’t want you to think you had to cook for him. 

“No, no. I promised you breakfast and a view, and I’m a woman of my word.” You gestured to the doorway that led to the living room. “Go make yourself at home out on the balcony. As much as I hate this apartment sometimes, the sunrise is admittedly pretty great.” 

You all but shooed him out of the kitchen, and he figured you must not want the audience.

Jack let himself linger in your living room, allowing himself to be distracted by taking in every single detail of your space. It was tastefully decorated, a cream sectional with perfectly placed throw pillows against one wall and a matching end table and coffee table set. A reading chair sat under a curved lampshade in the opposite corner next to bookshelves that were near bursting. 

He smiled to himself at the mental image of you curled up with a blanket and a book in that chair, hair pulled up in that same messy bun you always kept it in at work, eyes flying through the words on the page in front of you like they did a patient chart. 

He was a little disappointed that you didn’t have any photos framed, on the walls or otherwise. Nothing to tell him about the people you spent time with other than the Pitt crew or your family. In fact, looking around the room, it was almost as if the reading corner was the only part of the room that actually felt lived in. Maybe you’d recently moved or something. 

Jack eventually made his way out to the small balcony. You hadn’t been kidding about the view of the skyline. The sun was just peaking above the buildings in downtown Pittsburgh across the river. 

Alone with his own thoughts again, Jack’s mind went back to Taylor. How this was the first morning her husband would be waking up without her. It’d be the first time she didn’t go through her morning routine, whatever it had been. It’d be the first time the home she and her husband had shared would be quiet in the morning without her puttering around and getting ready. 

He leaned over with his forearms against the balcony railing, eyes aggressively held shut to hold back the wetness forming behind them. 

Jack knew intimately how loud that silence was. After his wife died, he used to have the TV or police scanner on constantly. Anything to drown out the quiet. A decade later, and he still felt the loss in those first few moments of silence in the mornings between him opening his door and his police scanner being turned on as background noise while he readied for sleep. 

Inhale, two, three, four. Hold, two three four. Exhale, two three four. Hold, two, three, four. It was a tip his therapist had taught him, a way to regulate his nervous system when emotions threatened to overwhelm him, to keep himself from falling apart. 

A hand smoothed over his shoulder, and he immediately straightened in alarm. 

“It’s just me,” you said softly, pulling your hand back. He missed the sensation, the warmth he could feel even through the layers of his scrub top and undershirt, as soon as it was gone. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I guess you didn’t hear me calling your name. Breakfast’s ready.” 

He nodded absently and followed you back inside. You’d put music on, lyrics playing low over the stereo. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who didn’t love the quiet. 

Two plates were waiting at the small breakfast nook off to the side of the kitchen, piled with sausage, eggs, fruit and toast. A matching mug sat steaming next to one of the plates, your sticker-clad water bottle you always had within reach during shifts next to the other.

You padded over to the bench, curling your legs underneath you as you sat. He sat in the chair opposite of you. Took a cautious sip of the mug you’d obviously prepared for him and tasted chamomile tea lightly sweetened with honey instead of coffee. How you knew that was his typical end-of-shift drink, he had no idea. 

He’d expected an interrogation once you started eating. You weren’t typically one to hold back when you had questions, and he knew there were a million ping-ponging around in that beautiful head of yours. But you didn’t say anything. Instead, you held a paperback book open on the table in front of you with one hand and ate with the other. He got the sense that you weren’t ignoring him, but rather giving him space. Allowing him peace without loneliness.  

The entire scene was oddly domestic, intimate in a way that twisted at something in Jack’s chest. A longing he hadn’t experienced in a very long time before you’d waltzed into his life. 

When you both finished eating, you dog-eared your page and set your book aside, got up and took both of your plates to the sink. Jack shifted to get up and help, but you just placed that hand on his shoulder again, silently telling him to stay put. 

He watched you as you rinsed the plates, placed them in the dishwasher and walked back to the table to grab his mug. There were so many things he wanted to say, felt he should say. Thank you for breakfast. I’m sorry for being such shit company. I didn’t know just how badly I didn’t want to be alone after last night. I tried my best not to, but I think I fell in love with you anyway. 

You broke the silence before he could force any words past the lump lodged in his throat, though, once again saving him from himself. “You don’t have to talk about it,” you said, your hand once again finding his shoulder as you made your way past him again. All he could do was look up at you, meeting those eyes that held more kindness toward him than he felt he deserved. “But I want you to know that I’m here. If you need me.” 

And god, he did need you. Desperately. Rules and propriety and all sense of self preservation be damned. 

When he didn’t say anything, you gave him a small smile and his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before starting to move away. His hand reached out, fingers wrapping around your wrist to keep you there, closing his eyes and leaning his head against your arm. Needing more of your warmth, more of you. 

You let out an exhale, gingerly turning in his grasp until you were facing him. Your other hand came up to tenderly weave through his hair. The soothing sensation of your fingertips against his scalp forced a low hum to leave him as he leaned deeper into your embrace. 

He used the hand still clutching to your wrist to drag you in front of him. He just needed more of you, more of that unending warmth that was slowly chasing away that bone-deep cold that had taken over him throughout the night. 

You let him, not saying anything as his forehead rested against your abdomen and his hands landed on the backs of your lower thighs, keeping you there for him to lean against. Any second now, you’d pull away. You’d reassert the boundaries you’d drawn months ago. But he’d take whatever comfort you’d allow him in the meantime, holding onto you like you were his only mooring in a storm. 

“Survived a damn war and then murdered five minutes from home,” he whispered, voice hoarse and barely loud enough to be heard. “She had her whole life ahead of her. And now she’s gone, another full life lost, and I’m still here left trying to figure out why.” 

He felt the way your arms tightened around him, how your body curved just slightly over him. Sheltering him. “Oh, Jack.” 

It was the way you said his name, like hearing him in pain hurt you, that broke the fucking dam. Hot tears he’d been holding back for the better part of five hours streamed down his face, and he let out an audible sob. 

You didn’t pull away, just held onto him as his shoulders shook and his fingers dug into the backs of your legs to keep him anchored. His ears were ringing too loud for him to hear you, but he could feel the vibrations of your voice speaking to him. 

For the first time in years, maybe in over a decade, he let himself be held while he lost it. He didn’t try to be strong and he didn’t try to hold back the tears and he didn’t try to rationalize away the anger and sadness and bone-breaking guilt. Instead, he allowed you to hold the broken pieces together for him. Let himself need you. 

With every pass of your fingers through his hair and every fresh wave of tears that he let your shirt absorb, he felt a little bit more of the pain slowly start to drain until all he felt was numbness and overwhelming exhaustion. 

Once his fingers unclenched themselves from your skin, you stood a little straighter. Your hands coaxed him to look up at you, and he noticed that your own eyes were a little glassy. He opened his mouth to apologize for upsetting you, but you shook your head. Used your thumbs to gently and painstakingly wipe any remaining tears from his cheeks. 

“I should go,” he said finally, and god, his voice was wrecked. 

“Absolutely not,” you protested, your own voice resolute. “You’re exhausted and in no state to drive. You’re staying; I have a guest room with black out curtains and a perfectly comfortable bed.” You left no room for argument, and he would have found the defiant glint in your eye daring him to challenge you adorable under different circumstances. 

Maybe it was a testament to just how tired Jack was that he didn’t fight you on it. Or, maybe it was a testament to the grip you had on his heart. He couldn’t recall ever putting up much of a fight when it came to you. 

You showed him to your guest bathroom, pointing out where he could find towels and a still-packaged spare toothbrush. You told him to leave his hospital clothes in the hamper and you’d put them in the wash with your own. 

He savored the feel of the hot water and the smell of your soap, and by the time he stepped across the hall and into your guest room wearing the spare tshirt and boxers he always kept in his go-bag, you’d already drawn the curtains, turned down the top sheet and duvet, and set out a glass of water with three ibuprofen on the bedside table. A small alarm clock radio was turned to some sports broadcast, as if she somehow knew he’d need the noise, and the only light in the room was coming from the warm light of a lamp on the opposite side of the bed. 

Once again, he was struck with the casual intimacy of it all. To be taken care of in this effortless sort of way, like there was nothing else you would be doing with your morning other than making sure he didn’t lose himself. 

For a split second, he saw a version of what his life could be like with you laid out in front of him. 

Working night shifts together before leaving the hospital arm in arm, quiet drives back to your shared space, breakfasts and morning bedtime routines before shuffling into bed together. Your fingers in his hair chasing away his worst nights, and his mouth chasing away yours. Falling asleep curled up next to you, the radio a quiet lull in the background. Waking up the same way. 

It was so close he felt like could reach out and grab it, this future he knew he didn’t deserve and thought he’d lost forever. So when you went to leave, telling him you’d give him some privacy and bidding him a soft goodnight, he let himself reach out and grab your hand. 

“Stay,” he begged. “You were right, I… I don’t want to be alone.” 

When he met your eyes, he expected to find hesitation. Maybe even pity. But instead, he was met with an inexplicable expression shining in those beautiful, striking eyes of yours. It almost seemed like something close to hope. 

“Let me take a shower and brush my teeth real quick. I’ll be right back,” you promised. You squeezed the hand that was still holding onto yours before letting go and stepping back through the door. 

Jack took the opportunity to go through the routine of taking off his prosthetic — he hadn’t put his liner back on after the shower for the short walk across the hall — and massaging the tissue around his scar. He also downed the full glass of water you’d left him and all three ibuprofen. By the time he was done 10 minutes later, you were cautiously padding back into the room, face bare, hair down and clad in an old, oversized tshirt and pajama shorts. 

“Are you sure?” you asked hesitantly, one knee propped on the bed. As if there was a universe where he’d rather be alone than next to you. 

He nodded and you crawled the rest of the way under the covers, leaning over to switch off the lamp. You were both turned toward each other, and he reached out, searching for you in the now dark room, wanting you as close as you’d allow him.

“Is this okay?” Suddenly, he was the one hesitant, not sure where the lines were anymore. 

You curled into him willingly, head fitting seamlessly into the crook of his shoulder and a hand coming up to curl against his chest. “Yeah. It’s okay.” 

He inhaled deeply, the scent of your vanilla bourbon lotion flooding his senses, and the remaining tension fully melted from his body with his exhale. Sleep overtook him before he even finished taking his next breath.

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Yandere cop x Reader

Part two

Biting your lower lip, you pressed down carefully on the man's bullet wound. He let out a pained groan, his eyelids squeezing shut in response to the pressure. His breath was labored, ragged, and yet he still had the audacity to shoot you a weary glance.

"Maybe a little gentler?" he rasped.

You shot him a pointed look. "You wouldn't even be in this mess if you hadn't stuck your nose where it didn't belong." You took a deep breath, tightening your grip on the cloth.

He held your gaze for a moment, then, despite the obvious agony he was in, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Snooping's part of the job," he muttered, his eyes never leaving yours. He hesitated, then added, "Any chance you could untie me?"

"Not a chance," you said flatly, yanking the cloth away from his shoulder to reveal the raw, bloodied wound beneath. You soaked it in the water again, watching as the cloth darkened with his blood. His groan was quieter this time, less pronounced.

He exhaled sharply, giving a slow, almost resigned nod. You could see his chest rise and fall in shallow breaths as you pressed the cloth back to the wound.

"You’re lucky he didn’t aim for your head," you muttered.

The man gave a dry chuckle, his lips curling in spite of the pain. "Lucky? I wouldn’t exactly call it that."

His hands strained against the ropes, the muscles flexing as he tested his restraints. He winced with every shift. "So... what's your name?" he asked, his voice softer now, as if trying to fill the space with something other than silence.

You hesitated. Giving him your real name felt dangerous, too risky. But lying felt like a waste of breath. He was probably going to die anyway. "Why do you care?"

He gave a half-shrug, a slight twinkle of amusement flickering in his pained gaze. "Because it’s harder to hate someone when you know their name."

You swallowed hard, glancing at the door. Your dad was still in the next room, probably making a call—arranging whatever came next for this cop. You weren’t sure what that was, but you had a sinking feeling it wasn’t going to end well for him.

"Look," the cop continued, his voice a little softer now, "you don’t seem like the type who wants blood on their hands. If you untie me—"

"Not a chance," you cut in quickly, eyes narrowing.

He sighed, a mix of frustration and resignation. "Okay. Then just... let me live. I know your dad's not going to keep me around forever."

You felt your fingers tighten around the bloodied rag. "You think I have any say in that?" you muttered under your breath, wringing the rag between your fingers.

His eyes flickered to yours, sharp and assessing. "I think you have more say than you let on," he said quietly. "You're still here, aren’t you? Still patching me up instead of letting me bleed out like your father probably wants."

You scowled. "It’s not mercy. If my dad wanted you dead, you’d already be in a ditch somewhere. He wouldn’t waste a bullet when blood loss could do the job just fine."

"Comforting," he deadpanned, his expression pained but somehow still mocking. He shifted in the chair, testing the ropes around his wrists. "So, you're a loyal child, huh? Sticking around, doing the dirty work, making sure Daddy Dearest’s plans go smoothly?"

Your jaw tightened. "You talk too much."

"Yeah, that's what my partner always says," he replied with a humorless chuckle. He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders with the effort. "You know, the one who’s probably looking for me right now. The one who's going to come knocking soon if I don’t check in."

You froze for a moment. A cop going missing was one thing—plenty of bodies went missing in this part of town. But a partner who cared? That could complicate things.

"You're bluffing," you said, though the uncertainty in your voice betrayed you.

He gave you a lopsided grin. "You wanna bet on that?"

You clenched your jaw, eyes flickering to his wound again. The bleeding had slowed, but he was still pale, drenched in sweat, and his breathing was uneven. He was in more pain than he let on. And yet, even bound to a chair in your father's safe house, he was still trying to engage with you. Still pushing for something.

"Why do you care so much?" you muttered, dabbing at the raw edges of the wound. "You don’t even know me."

"Maybe I like knowing the people who might decide whether I live or die," he said. His eyes were steady, his gaze cutting through your defenses like he could see right through you.

You scoffed. "You're acting like you have a choice in the matter."

His expression softened ever so slightly, but his voice remained firm. "I think you do."

You felt your fingers twitch around the rag. Damn it. He wasn’t wrong. You could leave. You could walk out, leave him to your father's plans, and never look back. Or you could do something reckless. Something stupid.

"You should stop talking.”

"And you should stop pretending you don’t care."

You exhaled, dropping the rag back into the bowl with a soft splash. Your hands were stained with his blood—sticky and warm, the crimson dye too familiar against your skin. You hated it. Hated that you still flinched when you felt it, even after everything you’d seen.

"I don’t care," you stated, but the words felt hollow.

He hummed, tilting his head, considering you for a long moment. "Then why are your hands shaking?"

Your breath hitched. You curled your fingers into fists, willing the tremor to stop. He was good. Too good.

"You think you know me?" you whispered, barely able to speak through the lump in your throat.

"No," he admitted quietly, his voice raw, "But I'd like to."

You bit your lower lip, looking away from him. He was dangerous—not like your father. Not like the men who worked for him. No, this was different. He wasn’t a threat you could see or control. This was a kind of dangerous you didn’t know how to navigate because, deep down, you knew you could easily fall into it.

"Why?" you asked before you could stop yourself, the words tumbling out.

He studied you for a long moment. "Because you don’t belong here."

Your chest tightened, a strange mixture of fear and something else rising in your throat. You weren’t sure what you had expected him to say, but it sure as hell wasn’t that. It wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

"Don’t pretend you know me," you snapped, trying to steel your voice.

"I’m not pretending," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of truth. "I see it in your eyes. You hate this."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking deep into your bones. You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came. You couldn’t admit it. You couldn’t.

Before you could speak, the door creaked open behind you, your father's voice filling the room. "Is he still breathing?"

You stiffened, your heart racing. You masked your expression, turning slowly to face him. "Yeah."

Your father stepped closer, his sharp gaze sweeping over the scene—the bloodied rag, the cop’s pale face, the ropes that still held him in place. He nodded approvingly. "Good. Wouldn’t want him dying too soon."

The cop chuckled dryly. "Touching."

Your father barely glanced at him, his attention fixated on you. "I got what I needed. Take care of him."

Your stomach churned. "Take care of him" was never a good thing. It never ended well.

You swallowed hard, keeping your face blank. "How?"

Your father raised an eyebrow, his gaze a silent warning. "You know how."

The cop's gaze burned into you, his eyes wide, but he didn’t speak, didn’t beg. He just stared at you, waiting. You nodded slowly, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. "Got it."

Your father gave you one last look before stepping out, leaving the two of you alone in the dim room. The second the door clicked shut, he exhaled heavily. "So," he murmured, voice strained, "this is it, huh?"

You swallowed, your pulse hammering in your ears. You had a choice. He would die if you did nothing. If you made the wrong move, you might die too.

"Turn around," you muttered, barely above a whisper.

His brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Turn around," you repeated, moving behind him. "If I cut these ropes, you’ve got thirty seconds to figure out an escape plan."

He didn’t hesitate. He shifted in the chair, bracing himself. "I knew you had a heart in there somewhere."

"Shut up and don’t waste this," you hissed, pulling a small blade from your pocket. With quick, precise movements, you began to cut the ropes.

As soon as his hands were free, he surged forward, almost toppling out of the chair. His balance wavered, but he caught himself. Weak from blood loss, but his eyes still burned with determination.

He looked at you, something unreadable in his gaze. "Come with me."

Your heart pounded in your chest. "I—"

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hall.

No time.

You shoved him toward the window. "Go."

For a split second, he hesitated, his gaze locking with yours one last time, before he nodded. "See you around."

And then, just like that, he was gone, slipping into the night.

You stood there, heart racing, blood staining your hands, knowing that the choice you just made would haunt you forever. There was no going back now.

Masterlist

[bvidzsoo]

You can run but you can't hide

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: vampire hunter!Jeong Yunho x vampire!female reader

𓇬 Warning: rather suggestive, gore, blood, violence, death, murder, lot's of blood drinking, manhandling, toxic relationship, lots of hate ngl, maybe some medical inaccuracies, slight power dynamic? 𓇬 Word count: 25.8k 𓇬 Rating: mature 𓇬 Genre: vampire x vampire hunter romance, enemies to lovers, they've known each other for centuries, modern time setting, doctor!reader, cop!Yunho, smut, angst 𓇬 Summary: You thought your life ended with your sister's, but then you realised there was nothing sweeter than revenge. Finding the vampire hunter who had killed your sister proved to be easier than you had first anticipated, but you changed your plans last minute. Walking away after turning him into a vampire wasn't your smartest move, and you'd learn to profusely regret it.

A/N: Oh my, oh my, lovelies I'm back! Starting off the new year with this monster of a oneshot? Yup, this took me like two weeks to write, and I hope it's good and that you'll love it! ^^ I'm working on a Mingi mini-series, so look out for that! Let me know if I didn't tag something, and let me know what you thought of this piece! I appreciate your feedback lots. <3 I hope y'all had a lovely weekend, and honestly, huge shootout to @spiralala because if they didn't send in that ask, this oneshot wouldn't exist lmao, so if you read this, I hope you enjoy it! Man, my gallery is a shrine of Yunho performing that Oz thingy, istg I have a problem but he looked so hot that day ugh...see y'all again soon! ^^ divider

1822

            There was nothing more pleasant than hearing the writhing man’s moans on the floor, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he clutched his forearm. His face was bruised from the blows he had taken prior, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as his smooth light blue velvet suit was all muddy and torn. The violin in the distance created a haunting ambivalence with the rattling wind, chilling you down to the bone…if you could feel it. I circled the man, his left hand still tightly clutching his silver stake, and a malicious chuckle tumbled past my lips. He looked pathetic laying in his own pool of blood, his pride not letting him beg for his life…yet. I could make any man beg; he wasn’t different. Once the venom started spreading through his bloodstream, he’d be screaming for me to put him out of his misery. If he begged nicely, I might make his demise quicker than planned.

“Look at you,” I snarled, lips curling into a disgusted smile as he blindly whacked his hand out, trying to aim for me uselessly, “So pathetic, so frail, so…human. Weren’t those serums supposed to make you strong?”

The man heaved a sharp breath, his eyes snapping open. They were hazy and painted with pain, but the fire was still rampant in them, furious, and so ready to wreak havoc…if only he could, “I’m-I’m going to—ugh—I will kill you, monster.”

“Yeah? You will?” I chuckled, giving his torso a good kick, making the man cry out in pain. He tried to pull his legs to his chest, still gripping his silver stake, sweat beading his bruised face. He breathed through his mouth, his right hand convulsing as his jaw clenched, “When? Are you sure you can do that right now, darling?”

“Don’t—” But he couldn’t speak as a yell tore through his lips, his whole face going beat red as he trashed around on the cold forest floor. The leaves had long died, and snow was supposed to fall anytime. I watched as the man tried to regain some sanity, but his veins started blackening. The venom was spreading, once it reached his heart, he was a gone man.

“Don’t what?” I hissed, grabbing the layers of my skirt and bunching them up so that I could crouch down next to him. He tried stabbing at me pathetically, barely able to lift his arm anymore, so I kicked the stake out of his hand, sending it flying into the tree closest to us. It stuck into it, my jaw clenched as I watched it, wondering just how many of my fellow vampires’ lives it had taken. The man at my mercy was a vicious hunter, the best in their coven, and he had taken my sister’s life. He deserved no mercy nor forgiveness, and none would be given to him tonight. He had messed with the wrong vampire, I shall not stop until my sister is avenged, “I’ve dreamed of this moment, hunter. Want to know why?”

He spluttered words intangibly, and I gripped his thick black hair to yank his head back. His eyes flew open and he tried to trash away from me, but the venom had his body mobilized, “You think I don’t know?”

His words were barely a whisper, his throat no doubt on fire. His sheer willpower was impressive, others would’ve already succumbed to the excruciating pain. My eyebrows furrowed slightly, curious as much as confused. How could a mere mortal hold on for so long? I would’ve found it impressive if it was anyone else.

“Yeri.” The utterance of my sister’s name brought a painful stab to my frozen heart as if I was the one stabbed to death by the vampire hunter at my mercy. Her name leaving his lips felt like a sin, it made bile rise in my throat as my hands started shaking, paralyzing anger streaming through my bloodstream. He had no right saying her name, his smug smile despite the painful wince burned into the back of my mind. I moved fast without thinking, gripping his jaw into a crushing hold as the hunter’s eyes widened. He didn’t look confident anymore, a shuddering breath left his lips as his body started trembling. My sharp nails dug into his skin to draw more blood, and I relished in the fire that burned through my body, leaving me even more hungry for revenge, for justice.

“You know what?” I whispered through gritted teeth as our eyes bled into each other’s, our faces mere inches away as I yanked him up effortlessly. He moaned in pain and clutched at his bleeding bite wound, his eyes slowly becoming bloodshot. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to see, “I was going to kill you, to end your pathetic existence for once and for all.”

He gulped nervously, but he showed no fear on his face, making me even angrier that he was still holding out, acting like this was nothing. I wanted him to scream in pain, to beg for his life, and promise he’d do anything for me if I kept him alive…but the vampire hunter remained true to the tales told about him around campfires. He was unafraid, dedicated, focused, fierce, and unapologetic. To think he could’ve lived for another day if he hadn’t fallen for my trap was almost satisfying enough. The ball was beautiful, people inside the castle were drunk, causing mayhem to their liking. The hunter had been part of the celebrating people before I managed to lure him away, far away from any prying eyes. He was strong and had managed to cut me here and there in our tousle, but it was nothing compared to the cuts I had given him. Cuts that would stay with him for eternity. I smirked, watching as life slowly drained from his once handsome face.

“But you made me realise something, hunter,” I paused, making sure he could still hear me as his heartbeat started vanning, “Letting you die is no punishment to someone like you, it’s an honour. And I cannot let you have it after what you’ve done to my sister, Yunho…no, I will turn you into the monster you’ve hated your whole life. I’ll create something you were taught to hate, to hunt. And I’ll enjoy every single moment of it, hunter.”

Nothing but Yunho’s widening eyes with fear and desperation could’ve given me this immense satisfaction I felt as my words dawned on him, words sputtering past his lips, intangible and breathy as he tried to grasp for his psyche. But he was far too gone to try and save himself now, and I closed my eyes to drink in the broken pleas falling off his lips, the begging and panic that coursed through his body, so delicious, so thrilling to take it all in. I bit my bottom lip as I felt my fangs shift, poking past my lip as Yunho shook his head furiously, his eyes filled with tears. Their redness blurred with his tears was almost beautiful.

“No, don’t do it—please,Y/N, you can’t—”

“I can’t?”

His screams fell to deaf ears as my fangs pierced the pale smooth skin of his neck, drinking his rich and warm blood…at least what was left of it. Feeling his lax body in my arms reminded me of my sister’s numb body, and I ignored the burning of my chest as I sucked the blood out of his system, only to replace it with a piece of mine, forever part of me for I was his creator and him my genesis.

Current time

            It had always amused me that despite all the monsters lurking in the shadows, humans never learned from their mistakes. Nighttime in a big city made no difference to the daytime, the wicked still prowled, catching the innocent in their web of lies and tricks. And due to that, the hospital never slept at night. The electronics’ low buzz was like a constant ringing in my ears, I could hear it even when I was far away from the hectic environment. My forehead creased as I read through another file, wondering where Yeosang had gone when we still had so many patients whose data wasn’t placed into our database. On a night like tonight, busier than usual, we were short on staff, so I had no choice but to help out with the administrative work if I wasn’t needed in the ER. My office was far away from the hustle and bustle of the emergency room, but still close enough that I was easily reachable in case of an emergency. The clock on the wall kept ticking, and my head had started aching at some point in the night. I still haven't gotten used to the fluorescent lights and the strong smell of sanitiser even after sixty years of being in the field. I was, however, thankful that I managed to get over my bloodthirst.

I cannot say there hadn’t been incidents when I had just started working as a doctor, but it was easily explainable if you knew how to cover your tracks. Besides, my coven was influential enough to get me out of trouble if I managed to mess up even after all these years of practice. I sighed and reached for my thermos, taking a sip of the salty fresh blood I had borrowed just at the beginning of my shift. Nobody would notice, there were enough blood donors daily, allowing me to take a few blood bags for myself and my coven. With the changing of times, we also had to change and accommodate to the modern world. Life was a lot easier now, and if you kept a low profile and knew the right people, staying under the radar wasn’t too difficult. If there was anything I missed from the eighteen hundreds, however, it was the possibility of coming and going without anyone keeping tabs on you. Social media was a fun thing that I couldn’t fully enjoy, not unless I wanted the leader of our coven breathing down my neck and locking me away for a century or two. So, empty and blank accounts were the only way to go by if I wanted to watch those stupid, but hilarious, reels that my coworkers sent to each other. Nobody was supposed to know, but I had one follower, and that was Yeosang, easily the first human I had actually grown to somehow care for.

He was adorable yet fierce, very loyal, and the hardest-working person I had come across in the few years I had been alive. But speaking of Yeosang, I glanced at the clock again and wondered if he had decided to take his much-needed break. It was close to midnight, he would usually join me at this hour and eat his meal in silence while I typed away on my computer. I pushed the glasses higher up on the bridge of my nose and focused back on my task, knowing it was best if I got this over with before the next influx of patients came. I wasn’t in the mood to work afterhours tonight, our leader had come up with a new tradition solely for her own enjoyment, and I needed every wink of sleep I could get if I wanted to sit through a night of nostalgic vampires conversing about the rottenness of our current world…as if we weren’t part of what made it worse. The clock to my left beeped and I jumped as the door of my office suddenly slammed open, Yeosang’s frantic eyes falling on me.

“Doctor!” For such an angelic face, it would surprise everyone when they first heard his deep voice, “We need you down, there was a shootout close by and several police officers were injured. You are needed to take care of the less serious ones.”

Well, duty calls then. I pressed the power off button of the screen and took my glasses off, closing the buttons of my white gown as I followed after Yeosang. His heart was beating fast as he dodged the few people in the hallway, hurriedly leading the way as I kept up with his pace. There was no reason for us to take the elevator, so we quickly ran down the stairs and headed for the ER, which was once again filled with patients in need.

“Doctor Bae!” The head doctor yelled once he noticed me, Yeosang and I headed over, “Room three is yours, we will send the patient in as soon as we’ve got his information noted down.”

I nodded and headed for the private rooms just past the doctor, eyes set on the third room. Yeosang ran ahead and pulled the door to the side for me, and I thanked him quietly as I rushed in to wash my hands and quickly wear clean glows. The screen on the wall beeped and I looked up at it, reading the extent of the cop’s injury. He was grazed by one bullet while he needed another one taken out, stitches no doubt necessary. I nodded to myself and was about to mentally map out my actions when the door was pulled to the side and Yeosang’s comforting voice flooded the room.

“Right here, Doctor Bae will now take care of you.” The man’s back was to me, and Yeosang was already at the door, “I’ll be back to assist you, Doctor, but I’m needed at the front desk still.”

I ushered him out with a flick of my wrist, knowing that I was capable of taking care of the patient on my own. This wasn’t my first time stitching up bullet wounds, besides, if the man was able to walk inside on his own, he was doing better than I had first expected. The examination room wasn’t too big, so it took me barely three steps to cross over and come to a standstill in front of the patient. Mouth opening to ask for the place of the injury, I froze when my eyes finally fell on his face. The silence was eery in the room as the man’s head raised, one reddish eye staring back at me widely. His heartbeat stuttered, and his blood smelt fresh and—alive. He wasn’t supposed to have a heartbeat. My mouth dropped open as my eyes ran over his face, trying to make sense of the situation. He looked the same as all those years ago. Youthful and handsome, slopping nose and pouty lips, cheeks flushed and jawline prominent. One eye, however, was hidden behind a black eye patch, his dark blue hair framing it so people wouldn’t stare at him. And yet, the sight of the vampire hunter wouldn’t have been so shocking if he didn’t feel so…human.

Without thinking, I grabbed his chin and tilted his head back, eyes tracking his smooth neck. The bitemark was gone since it wasn’t the first one on his body, long healed, yet the paleness and coldness of his skin felt familiar under my fingertips. His jaw had clenched as he yanked his head out of my grip, his expression transparent for once. He was seething, it was easy to see the hatred in his one eye…another telltale that he was a vampire, which left me confused as to why his heart was still beating.

“Look at you,” My voice was quiet, almost disbelieving as I let my eyes roam over his sturdy body, “I thought you would’ve killed yourself once you awakened as a vampire, but no, you’re living like all those monsters you hunted.”

His jaw clenched as I smirked, something heavy settling over my chest. Was it satisfaction? Then why did I not feel any pride gazing upon him? Wasn’t I supposed to feel smug and fulfilled that my creation was right in front of me? A successful transition was rare, sometimes the venom destroyed the human if they were too weak physically or mentally. I hadn’t even stuck around to make sure Yunho would indeed transform into a vampire, I wasn’t interested enough to see it to the end. The thought of knowing that I had made him suffer as much as I had suffered upon the loss of my sister was enough…it was everything I needed. So, seeing him now, the same body and soul I had drained the life from, why wasn’t I over the moon to know he had made it? That he was punished and living the nightmare I had trapped him inside of.

The shouting voices outside the room snapped me into action, I was a doctor first and foremost here, and he was my patient. I would’ve loved watching his blood dry out of his body as I made his bullet wound worse, but I would have lost everything I had built so far. Besides, he was a vampire, that wouldn’t kill him. I grabbed the hem of his leather jacket, intending to yank it off him, but suddenly long fingers were wrapped around my wrist.

“What are you doing?” Yunho hissed, his one eye narrowing suspiciously. I paused and raised an eyebrow.

“Patching you up, since I’m a Doctor…” I trailed off, letting it hang in the air as Yunho scoffed, his grip tightening around my wrist. It didn’t hurt, but it would’ve crushed my bone if I was a human, “Why are you bleeding? Vampires don’t bleed like this.”

But Yunho didn’t answer, he just pushed off the bed, towering over me. Any vampire hunter coven would’ve scrambled to have Yunho with them, he was practically designed to be one. Intimidatingly tall with a strong build, able to hunt and good at combat. He was fierce and fast, he was so quiet even the vampires failed to hear him coming. The serum his coven had forced him to drink only enhanced his skills, making him stronger and quicker than a human was supposed to be. He bled like any other one but his wounds healed faster, his grip was of iron, able to snap anyone’s neck in two. I wasn’t scared of him, not now, not back then. I had taken care of him once and showed him that he wasn’t untouchable nor undestroyable like he was made to believe. The pure rage I had felt back then was nothing but a simmer now, but it only needed a little timber to set it off once again, destroying anything in its path.

“I’m like this because of you.” Yunho was breathing hard as he grabbed my arm with his other hand, gripping it a bit too forcefully. I didn’t flinch as I stared up at him, trying to keep my satisfied smirk at bay. Provoking an irate vampire was never smart, especially not a stronger and bigger one, “I’ve been looking for you, Y/N, and I’m going to destroy you now that I’ve found you. You and your coven too.”

I chuckled cynically, grabbing his wrist to squeeze it until his hand turned blue from the loss of circulation, “Oh, really, now? Is that all you’ve got? An empty little threat? I’m so—”

But I never got to finish my taunting as I was flung into the nearest wall, the breath knocked from my lungs as I collided with the strong surface. I caught myself quickly, though, and looked at Yunho unimpressed. Was this the best he got? He had done more damage as a human compared to this.

“That’s not how you treat your doctor, Yunho, should I sedate you?” The brush of wind touched my cheek as Yunho stood in front of me once again, perhaps impressively fast. I smiled at him, crossing my arms in front of my chest, “Why don’t you sit down and—”

I gasped as my airways were constricted by a choking grip, the back of my head colliding with the wall as Yunho threw me up against it again, his fingers locked around my throat in a vice-like grip. My jaw clenched as I hissed at him, kneeling him in the groin. If this is how he wanted to play, I was going to give it to him. I kicked him in the stomach, sending him stumbling back as his eye narrowed again, darkness settling over it. I chuckled and ran towards him, throwing a punch that he easily dodged, but not so much the knee in his gut that had him groaning and hunching over. I chuckled and grabbed his hair, yanking his head back as he glared at me, “When will you learn that you can’t defeat me?”

Instead of an answer, an elbow came up and knocked my head back by the chin, making me bite my tongue painfully so. I hissed as my fangs poked past my bottom lips, letting Yunho know that I was triggered. Before I could get it back under control together with the fire in the pit of my stomach, he grabbed me by the hair and dragged me over to the medical table, grabbing the first thing he could…which was a scalpel that he held dangerously close to my eye.

“When will you stop underestimating me?” Yunho growled, and I tried to yank my head away, hands gripping the edge of the table, as one wrong move would have the scalpel in my eyeball, “I’m not a human anymore, Y/N.”

Before I could answer, the rattling of the door caught both of our attention. I sucked in a deep breath as the door started opening, Yeosang’s heartbeat pattern already familiar, “Doctor, I’m—”

But thankfully someone called his name out before he could pull the door open, “Gosh, okay—I’ll be with you in a second, Doctor Bae!”

“Who’s that little weasel?” Yunho leaned down, his hot breath hitting the side of my cheek, “Your little blood bag?”

“Watch your mouth.” I hissed and braced myself on the table as I forcefully yanked myself away and out of Yunho’s grip, kicking the back of his knees, and making him buckle forward. He was still holding the scalpel, so I yanked it out of his hand and held it to his neck as I yanked on his hair, “He’s a nurse, leave him alone.”

Yunho chuckled, grabbing my wrist and twisting it until I yelped, having to release him. He wasn’t even phased by the sharp knife cutting into his neck, fresh blood dribbling down his neck. His scent was sweet, almost intoxicating as my mouth started salivating. But I had no time to waste as Yunho twisted around, rising to his full height, grabbing me, only to fling me into the wall on the other side of the room. The door rattled as my body collided against it and a sharp pain shot up my spine, leaving me breathless as I lay on the floor, holding myself up by my arms.

“Did the modern age make you weak, Y/N?” Yunho taunted, his lips pulled into a vile sneer as he stalked towards me. I chuckled, brushing the hair out of my eyes as I looked up at him. Before I could answer, however, the door started opening again.

“Doctor, I—” I was up in a second, pushing the door closed and keeping it shut despite Yeosang’s struggle to open it.

“Get me gauze!” I called out, watching Yunho as he hadn’t stopped advancing towards me, “From my office!”

“But that’s too—”

“Now, Yeosang!” I shouted as Yunho snickered, grabbing me by my skull and squeezing. It wasn’t enough to crush it, but I winced as I tried to kneel him in the groin again, but he was smarter this time and knocked my leg almost out from underneath me with his. Then, very predictably, I was once again flung across the room, crashing into the machines and utility metal desk, a pained groan leaving my mouth as my side started throbbing.

“Doctor Bae?” Yeosang sounded alarmed as I heard his footsteps come closer once again, “Is everything—”

“Yes! Get me that gauze, now!” I shouted again, standing up and throwing Yunho a glare. I’ve had enough. I gritted my teeth as he chuckled, stalking towards me, no doubt wanting to throw me against another wall again. The room already looked like a mess, I couldn’t let him break even more expensive equipment. So, when he was close enough, I moved behind him before he could catch me, grabbing him by the hair and yanking as hard as I could as I veered him towards the examination table. I pressed his head against the cold metal and leaned forward, eyes set on the silver cutter I kept there for emergencies like this one. Yunho was trashing around like a wild animal in my hold, and I had to strain my muscles and use all the strength I had to keep him put with my body, but he thankfully went lax when the silver touched his cheek.

“You are done, do you hear me?” I hissed close to his ear, anger seeping into my voice, “I will not let you walk into my workplace and act like an animal. If you wish to kill me, fine, you can have your way outside the hospital.”

“A vampire having a conscience?” Yunho huffed, relaxing in my hold as I pressed the silver cutter deeper into his cheek to make a point.

“Times have changed, Yunho, but don’t think I have forgotten what you did.” I hissed and he shouldered me, making me step back, my grip falling from his hair. As he whirled around to face me, his face was red, his chest rising and falling rapidly. I didn’t drop the silver cutter even though it had started burning my skin too. It seems like Yunho didn’t take his time to train himself with silver, the cutter had left an angry red mark on his cheek.

“Oh, I’m glad you haven’t forgotten, Y/N.” He smirked, my stomach dropping, hatred blinding my mind, “I just regret not making it more painful for her, I wonder how much torture she could’ve taken before—”

The slap echoed in the trashed room as my chest fell and rose rapidly, my hands trembling as I tried to push the vision of Yeri’s numb body out of my mind. If I lost control in the hospital, everything would be compromised. We wouldn’t be able to just leave. I couldn’t let Yunho’s presence and words shake me up so hard, I was his creator and he’d never be able to dominate me…it’s not how things worked. Yunho slowly turned his head, glaring at me fiercely as he suddenly grabbed his side, wincing in pain. The black fabric was soft in my hand, and as I looked back up at his face, I realised I had yanked the eye patch off his face, now two round, but sharp eyes staring back at me. The eye that he had concealed looked normal, without any faults, until I looked closer. I still remember what Yunho’s human eyes looked like. They were a rich brown almost like dark chocolate, warm and deep, it was easy to get lost in them. And the concealed eye had remained the same as if his humanity had refused to let go of him. My eyebrows furrowed as I tried to recall having come across something like this before, but I came up empty-handed. Was he a vampire? Or was he a human?

“What are you?” I whispered, eyebrows furrowing as fresh blood oozed out of Yunho’s bullet wound.

“The monster you had created.” He hissed, his fangs suddenly flashing as he opened his mouth, his reddish eye bright under the white fluorescent light. But his heart continued to beat and his blood continued to flow, his brown eye odd against all the anomalies of his being. Before I could patch him up, however, he whirled around and stumbled towards the door, having me race after him.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t need your help, I can heal just like you.”

And then the door was pulled open forcefully, rattling under Yunho’s strength. Yeosang was in the doorway, hand outstretched, and his eyes widened as he looked up at Yunho, then at me, confusion slowly overtaking his expression as he looked past us, and inside the examination room. The gauze I had asked for was in his hands, but he seemed lost for words.

“What—what happened?” He asked quietly, coming to Yunho’s aid when he stumbled forward, trying to leave the room. Before he could speak up and say anything, I chuckled and walked back inside the room, trying to tidy up the mess we had created.

“He’s a bit dizzy so he stumbled and fell.” Yeosang looked more confused as he held Yunho up, who was becoming paler by the second, “Don’t worry, he’s okay.”

“He doesn’t look okay, though,” Yeosang muttered and veered Yunho back inside the examination room.

“Just bring me water.” Yunho croaked out as he finally lay on the table, wincing as he tried to get rid of his leather jacket. Yeosang nodded and hurried towards the bottle of water, grabbing a clean cup for Yunho.

“Now stay silent and let me fix you.” I hissed under my breath as I tore his tee apart, eyebrows furrowing at the many scars littered across his abdomen. The first bullet had grazed his ribs and the other one was ledged in an otherwise life-threatening spot, but Yunho would be fine once I had extracted it. I made sure Yeosang didn’t see the second bullet as he handed Yunho his water, eyes sweeping over the room.

“I’ll try and fix up this place,” He muttered under his breath, giving me a questioning gaze. I nodded before I looked back at Yunho, who had started sweating. So much for playing the tough guy, he couldn’t even fix his problem without my help. But I didn’t forget what he had done to Yeri, and he wasn’t safe from the coven. They would hear about this, and I’d find out what caused him to turn into this half-looking human and vampire.

            The end of my shift came with the orange sun brimming the horizon. The hospital was relatively calm once the police department left, and because we had to keep up the appearances, Yunho was advised to return in a few days to get his stitches checked. I hadn’t actually stitched him up since his body was already healing by the time the bullet was out, but nobody had to know that. One look from him told me I wouldn’t return to my coven if any human found out about his true nature. It was ironic, wasn’t it? Having to hide amongst the creatures you once used to be, used to love and cherish. Now, there was no resemblance to the human he had once been, just the pure darkness of the creature he had succumbed to. I recognised the look in his eyes, I had stared at it many times in the mirror in the past, but for someone so desperate to preserve their humanity, it was disarming to see none of it left in him.

The sounds of the busy road became white noise as I got off the highway, the dirt road leading me far away from the lively city and deeper into the forest. A typical location for a vampire coven’s mansion, but it’s what worked best for us. Nobody bothered us here, and we didn’t bother others either…well, except for the few neighbours who shared our wish for solitude. But the houses were far paced out, we rarely saw each other. If the elderly couple had already died, I wouldn’t be able to tell…except that the light was on outside their porch, and the man was having his first cup of coffee for the day ahead of him. He raised the mug in a greeting and I made sure to wave at him, wondering when was the last time I did a wellness check on them. They had no family to take care of them, so, out of generosity, I would visit them every few months to make sure they were as healthy as possible.

The mansion came in sight as I drove towards the driveway, four garage doors hiding our other luxury vehicles. I was never one to show off our unlimited wealth, but our leader had an eye for collectable pieces and wasn’t shy to parade around the city with them. I parked just to the side and took a deep breath, closing my eyes as the car’s engine was killed, utter silence wrapping around me. I smelled like the sanitiser from the hospital, and my white boots were dirty from Yeosang accidentally stepping on them in his rush to help other officers once Yunho was taken care of. My wrists ached from having typed on the computer numerous patients data, but my skin was cold and smooth. I didn’t have to worry about growing bloodthirsty, not for another week. The fridge inside the mansion was stuffed with blood bags, so making up another lie as to why I’d have to check on the blood donors again wasn’t necessary for a good month. I had a feeling Yeosang was growing suspicious of me, he’s been by my side for four years, and without undermining his intelligence, I doubted he’d ever figure out I was a vampire. There were few clues he could catch onto, and he’s seen me in the daylight, so he couldn’t actually blame it on the fact that I only took night shifts…if it came down to that and I didn’t know better, I could also say he was a vampire too since he only took night shifts as well.

I flinched when I felt warmth on my face, and I blinked my eyes open, staring into the blinding rays of the rising sun. Another day had come, a new beginning for humans, and the moment to retreat for the monsters. I wondered if Yunho was capable of walking in the sun without feeling fatigued or nauseous, I wondered if he fed on blood or food like humans, and I wondered…why he was back just now. Was it sheer coincidence we had run into each other once again? Or was it the bond that connected us, somehow always leading us to each other in the end? I sighed and grabbed my purse and keys, getting out of the car and shivering at the cool breeze of the morning. Summer was a few months away, half of my coven might leave for the time being and retreat to colder places, but I couldn’t. I had a job and a life outside of being a vampire, I knew Yeosang would ask questions if I just up and left. In fact, I was more than sure he’d try to follow me. We had gone to a team dinner a long time ago, and in his drunken stupor, he had confessed that he’d follow me to the ends of the Earth because he trusted my judgment and expertise. Perhaps it was that moment which made me adore the frail human, wanting to make sure he was safe from other creatures like myself.

I locked the car and headed for the front entrance, listening to the gravel crunch underneath my boots. I could use my vampire speed, but there was something in me that wanted to enjoy the mundane things today. It’s not like I could shut off my powers and heightened senses, but I had control over them, and it came in handy quite often. If not because I had to appear human around the humans, then for all the things that went down inside the mansion. Fifteen people weren’t little nor much, but they each had needs and cravings that I honestly found no joy in overhearing anymore. Over two hundred years of housing together did that to you. For once, the mansion was silent as I entered it, locking the door after me since I knew nobody would leave the house until twilight. The property we lived on was huge, the mansion was probably capable of housing up to thirty people. I had no idea how our leader had found it, nor how she managed to convince the realtor to let us have it, but it was luxurious and somehow comfy still, I liked it. It looked a lot like those Pinterest vision boards I did for myself about a hypothetical small apartment in the heart of the city. I could leave the mansion, and step out of the motherly arms of the coven, but it wasn’t that easy.

They depended on me and I needed them. All my life, the vampire one at least, they were the closest thing to a family, they were the only constant in my life. I grew and learned with them and from them, they forgave my mistakes and rarely punished me, but maybe that was because they didn’t know what I had done all those years ago, in 1822. Nobody knew about Yunho anymore, the feared vampire hunter had just disappeared one day and his own coven had gone to war with ours, only to massively lose against us. Our coven had been bigger back then, some perished and others decided it was time to move on, but those who had a deep sense of loyalty and craved to belong somewhere were still here. I headed for the marble stairs, the interior just a tad bit colder than outside, my footsteps loud as I followed the stairs to the third floor, where most of our rooms were. We had maids and a few butlers, but that was only because our leader preferred blood fresh from the source, and to be honest, we were too lazy to keep the whole mansion clean, so we needed a little bit of help. The closer I got to my room, the more my stomach twisted with nerves and uncertainty. I couldn’t keep Yunho a secret anymore, not when he was so close to us and a very potent threat. I could tell he still hated our kind, and I knew just because he was one of us now didn’t stop him from wanting to kill us. And because he was a cop now, he could easily get rid of the coven without anyone raising any suspicions. I wished this was only about our safety, but his existence could be my sister’s salvation.

Knowing that the wisest thing to do now was let our leader know about Jeong Yunho, I stopped in front of her door and took a deep breath, telling myself that facing punishment was good if it meant Yeri could see another break of dawn. I raised my hand and knocked against Joohyun’s door, three times in the pattern that told her I was calling for a meeting, then hurried to my room to get rid of my things. I had left my gown at the hospital, but as I walked inside my en-suite bathroom, the stench of the disinfectant was sickening, so I quickly splashed water over my face and scrubbed my hands until they were raw. I pulled my hair in a low ponytail and changed out of my tight black blouse in exchange for a comfortable sweater that felt like a shield around my body once Joohyun’s sharp eyes were to stare me down. I knew I had to do this, it was for my sister. So, I left my room and hurried towards the meeting room, one floor below, not bothering to knock since I knew everyone who needed to be inside was already there. The heavy door opened easily under my hands, giving way to the dimly lit room with a long table in the middle. The floors and walls were covered in pure marble, glimmering in the yellowy light as I eyed the vampires sitting scarcely around the table.

Sooyoung, who was our financial advisor, looked like she had just been awakened, and I knew I’d get an earful for not letting her have her beauty sleep. Seungwan, who looked bored as her sharp nails clicked against the wooden table was busy sketching in her notebook, her hair a mess, and I wondered when was the last time she had gone to sleep. She was a renowned artist, and speculations were going around the internet that she was the reincarnation of a princess living in the 17th hundreds, her current photos compared to the paintings made of the princess. It didn’t take two to guess whether she was a reincarnation or not, those inside the coven knew the truth. Then Seulgi, who was glaring at me annoyed, didn’t even bother sitting down, her arms crossed over her chest. I wondered if she had ever come across Jeong Yunho without knowing his identity, she was the head chief of the police. She was probably supposed to head in right now and I was keeping her back, maybe that’s why she was so annoyed. Lastly, our leader, Joohyun, sat at the head of the table, expression gentle as her arms rested on the massive chair’s armrest. She looked tiny in that big chair, but then again, she had always been tiny.

“Will you explain why you’ve evoked us here?” Seulgi snapped, her annoyance spilling into her tone as I gulped, advancing further inside the room. Behind Joohyun, a thinly veiled curtain served as a divider. What was beyond it would’ve made my heart race in nervousness, the lump in my throat choking if I allowed myself to miss my sister too much.

“Sit down, Seulgi,” Joohyun muttered, still only looking at me, “You will give me a headache if you keep pacing around, your job isn’t more important than a council meeting.”

That seemed to get Seulgi to tense up, but she couldn’t say anything against Joohyun, so she took her seat close to hers, crossing a leg over the other as well as her arms across her chest. I gulped and stood at the other end of the table, gaining Seungwan’s attention as well as she stopped doodling. Sooyoung was more awake now, easily able to notice my hesitance since she had always been a good observer.

“You did something, didn’t you?” Sooyoung asked, narrowing her eyes in disdain. Joohyun raised her hand to silence everyone, looking around the room before she leaned forward, her long black hair silky and straight as it fell to her hips.

“Let her speak,” She snapped, raising an eyebrow, “Why did you invoke the council, Y/N?”

It was now or never; I couldn’t back out anymore. I licked my lips and pictured myself speaking to my boss, who was an old man, borderline insane but still an exceptional doctor. If I imagined I was speaking to him, who rivalled Joohyun’s sharp features, the words came a bit easier to speak. I lowered my eyes to the table and decided to tell them where it all started, “After Yeri was killed, I was on a rampage to find the hunter who had done that to her. It took me three years, but I found him, he was a Jeong, from the Jung hunter coven, and he was their most prised soldier. His name is Jeong Yunho, and he…he’s still alive. After I found him, I planned on killing him, but he said things that angered me and I didn’t go through with it, I bit him a second time and…left.”

“You left?” It was Seungwan asking, her eyebrows furrowed, her tone alarmed.

“Is this why that fucking vampire-hunting coven attacked us?” Sooyoung snapped, her sharp eyes burning into the side of my head as she stood up revolted.

“Enough, let her continue!” Joohyun snapped, and everyone settled back down as I pursed my lips, reluctantly looking up at Joohyun. Her expression gave nothing away, but she had one hand fisted and it was enough to tell me I was in trouble, big time.

“Yes, I left him there, and yes, that’s why the coven attacked us,” I admitted shamefully, even after all the time that had passed, I haven’t stopped feeling guilty for the loss I caused, but it was only fair. He had taken Yeri from us, I took him from the Jung’s.

“I’m just impressed you managed to take Jeong down,” Seulgi muttered, ignoring Joohyun’s sharp glare for interrupting me, “But I suppose something happened, otherwise you wouldn’t have admitted to trying to kill him.”

And she was right, I nodded a bit embarrassed, “Yeah, he’s…alive. And a vampire, but not really, I—it’s difficult to explain. When I bit him a second time, I knew he’d become a vampire but I didn’t stay there until the transformation went fully through, I felt the bond between us spark to life and ran off. Humans were also coming inside the forest for some reason, I couldn’t let them see me. But he’s back, and he’s not fully a vampire. He came in tonight with a bullet shot, he’s a cop, and his heart is still beating. He bleeds like humans and he doesn’t heal as fast as vampires, but he’s inhumanely strong and fast, and his eyes…one is crimson and the other brown. But he’s still youthful, he looks the same as back then, and he hasn’t aged one bit. He is a vampire, but he’s somehow also a human, and I…I don’t know. I made a mistake, and I have to fix it before it gets bad.”

“Yeah, you better.” Sooyoung snapped, her face red from anger, “If I knew you’d be this daft, I would’ve never transformed you.”

“I didn’t ask to be transformed!” I snapped, turning sharply to glare at Sooyoung, who deflated in her seat and looked away, “None of us did, Sooyoung, Yunho is the only one I transformed besides Yeri.”

A deafening silence settled over the room, however, it didn’t last long as Seulgi was swiping on her phone rapidly, her eyebrows more and more furrowed as seconds passed by, “You don’t mean this Jeong Yunho, do you?”

I gulped as she turned her phone, showing me his profile, his information written in small letters right underneath his picture, “That’s him.”

“He’s in my division, way too small to come in contact with me.” Seulgi muttered, turning her phone to look at it as Joohyun motioned to be handed the phone too, “He’s been an officer for six years, always gets the most brutal crime scenes, and does some private investigation from time to time. He’s also great undercover and refuses to work with partners, he’s quite promising, I cannot lie. A few other officers have been fighting over him to get him in their team, but he refuses them and says he wants to stay in my division. Do you think he knows who I am?”

“I doubt it,” I shook my head, pulling out the chair to sit down, “Unless he’s kept in contact with the Jung’s, who know our faces.”

“He hasn’t,” Joohyun spoke up, still staring at the photo, “The coven would’ve long killed him, it’s impossible he’s still in contact with them. But if he’s operating on his own, he’s a greater danger than the coven itself, he’s a rogue and they are dangerous. It’s good you told us, Y/N, even if he’s the fruit of your mistake, getting rid of him now is better than never.”

“We can’t get rid of him.” I whispered, but they all heard me as my eyes went past Joohyun, falling on the divider, “Not yet.”

“Why?” Seungwan asked confused, looking towards the divider as well, her eyes solemn as she stared longingly at it. Yeri was beyond the veil, I hoped she could hear us, hear me that I hadn’t given up on her, not now and not ever. If this didn’t work, I’d find another way to bring her back from her eternal slumber. I was a doctor, medicine was evolving in ways one could only dream about back in our days, I’d find a miracle and make her live again if I had to.

“There’s an ancient tale,” I gulped nervously, Joohyun’s eyes narrowed as the other three girls watched me closely, “That says if a vampire is placed in eternal slumber, their essence isn’t lost yet. We can save Yeri if we find her hunter and feed her their blood…the hunter who had tried to kill her was Yunho, and he’s here.”

“But he’s a vampire,” Joohyun spoke, finality to her tone as if she thought I was insane for bringing this tale up, “And the hunter needs to be human in order to bring the fallen vampire back, the blood needs to be fresh and untainted, which you had made sure isn’t anymore.”

“He is human, Joohyun!” I exclaimed, feeling desperation crawl up my chest, “Half human, but it’s still there. He could be useful, we could try at least. The tale doesn’t say anything will happen to the vampire if the ritual fails, no?”

Joohyun pursed her lips, glancing at Seulgi who looked uncertain, “Giving away our location and identities is very risky, Y/N. Even if nothing happens to Yeri if the ritual fails, we will suffer. Sure, he isn’t in contact with his coven anymore, but if you say his strength can rival ours, he’s a threat. I cannot risk exposing my whole coven to something like that, it’s enough that he knows you still exist. He’s too close to us, get rid of him before I interfere.”

I opened my mouth, ready to plead, but surprisingly, Sooyoung beat me to it, “It’s about Yeri, don’t you miss her too? I want to hear her joyful laughter again and look into her soulful eyes, our coven has been so cold ever since she died…and if we have such a high chance of bringing her back, why should we waste it, Joohyun? We could kill Yunho anytime, I can do it if nobody else wants to, I’ve taken men down twice his size and strength, I’m not afraid.”

“This isn’t about who’s afraid and who’s got more ego, Sooyoung!” Joohyun snapped, slamming her palm on the table. Seungwan jumped and looked down, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Everyone wants something, Joohyun,” She spoke up quietly, playing with her fingers, “He must want something too, maybe he’s looking for someone, maybe he wants to kill someone, if we find out what he wants, we could blackmail him into helping us. Think about it…”

“She’s not wrong,” Seulgi muttered under her breath, swiping left a call that seemed important by her exasperated sigh. Silence settled over our group as everyone looked at Joohyun, awaiting her final decision. She didn’t look pleased or trusting of our ideas, but I knew she missed Yeri just as much as the rest of us. She was my sister, but she was everyone else’s sister too. She was young when I had turned her in order to save her from sickness, she never really had the chance to grow up and become a woman, she was everyone’s little sister.

“Seulgi, find out everything about Jeong Yunho and bring the information to me in two days,” Joohyun’s tone was final, her jaw clenched. I tried to keep the smile off my face, but I was beyond ecstatic. Finally, we had a real chance of awakening Yeri, “Make sure the others don’t know much about this, especially not that he’s from the Jung coven and Y/N—he’s your responsibility. Keep an eye on him, find out more about his peculiar condition, and bring him to me when I say so. Everyone is dismissed.”

We stood at once, but I didn’t leave the room like the others, my feet carried me towards the thin veil. I pulled the curtain to the side and proceeded further inside, eyes falling on the altar that allowed Yeri’s body to rest upon. Her body was placed on silky cushions, a thin blanket pulled over her body to keep her warm despite her not needing it. I took a deep breath and neared her, staring down at her frail skin, with no wrinkles or blemishes on her face as her eyes remained closed. Her chest fell and rose, a dark splinter still in her, close to her heart, from where Yunho had attacked her. Her wavy blonde hair was faded and her lips were a light pink, making her look closer to a corpse than a living being. She was sicklier than even a vampire. I gulped and gingerly traced my fingers over her eyes, wishing to see the flutter and open, their familiar crimson just a distant memory.

“We’ll meet soon, Yeri, I promise,” I whispered and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, hoping she could feel it and hear my words too. She was beautiful, her white dress spilling off the altar as I committed her serene face to memory once again, then turned, my mind set to find Jeong Yunho and make him pay one last time.

            In all my six years of working at the hospital, I hadn’t bothered taking any days off . There was no reason for me to go on a vacation, I had already seen most of the world. Besides, I didn’t tire like humans, so really, there was no need for me to take days off. Besides, I felt it was my duty to be at the disposal of those humans that needed me. So, when I called in and told my boss that I would like to take the night off since a family emergency had come up, he was rather surprised but mostly happy. He even added that I should take off another day or two and have a quick relaxing trip while I was at that. If I thought more of it, I might take him up on his offer, but not to go on a relaxing trip…but to bring back my fallen sister. Yeosang, however, was less enthusiastic about my sudden absence.

“Wait, what do you mean something came up?” I could hear the confusion through the phone as I walked down the dimly lit streets, water splashing against my boots since it had rained not long ago. I hated the muddy smell of the earth after the rain, and especially all the worms that sought refuge above ground.

“Well, exactly that, Yeosang.” I answered amused, glaring at a drunken couple that was ready to fuck by the wall of a building on a rather busy street, even at this ungodly hour, “One of my family member’s dog died and…I need to attend the funeral.”

I hoped I didn’t jinx it, Sooyoung would have my head if anything happened to her lovely Bishon Maltez, Haetnimie. Yeosang paused, releasing a long sigh, then hummed, probably feeling bored all alone in my office. It was past midnight, so he must’ve already had his meal for the night, “I’m sorry to hear that, my condolences.”

“Yup, I will let her know,” I muttered half-heartedly, eyebrows furrowing when my eyes zeroed in on the neon sign above the door Yunho was just about to enter. Two days ago, Seulgi placed a heavy folder in front of Joohyun with all the necessary information about Jeong Yunho, and now, I was tasked with following him and finding out more about his ‘mundane’ life since there were very few records about it. He was rather good at keeping low-key, it was annoying. Not even the trace of a money transfer, I wondered how he did it. Thankfully to Seulgi, we still managed to get a basic background check on him, hence I knew his location now. His apartment was in a rather high-end part of the city, which was surprising since I thought he’d want to stay away from humans. He often bought beer after being finished with his shift and conversed with the old lady at the laundry mat, who lived in the less fancy apartment complex next to his. He also liked petting stray kittens, even if they hissed at him at first. I thought animals sensed evil, but then again…Sooyoung did own a dog too, and she was an angel, liked everyone but Baekhyun who would bark back at her.

“Hey, I’ll talk to you later, Yeosang,” I said as the bouncer let Yunho inside the nightclub, spiking my curiosity. Was he really here to admire some pretty ladies? Is this how he fed? A bit perverted and sadistic, but I couldn’t judge him too hard, “Have an easy shift.”

“Thank you,” Yeosang muttered, and I figured he was pouting since our conversation was short cut, “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Old habits die hard.” I chuckled before hanging up, then cut the line and smiled at the bouncer charmingly. He eyed me up and down, not budging. Great, of course, he’d let Yunho in without a blink, but not a fine lady wanting to enjoy some other fine ladies.

“Are only men allowed inside?” I raised an eyebrow, rolling my shoulders back. I wasn’t too muscular or too small, but I looked far from threatening still. Unless I showed my fangs, of course, “Thought the pretty ladies were for everyone to enjoy.”

I flashed him a hefty bill from my pocket, and the bouncer coughed and looked towards the line, pursing his lips. He glanced at the bill before he nodded, knocking on the door. It opened swiftly and I flashed the bouncer a charming smile before I slipped inside, making sure the bill landed in his opened palm without anyone seeing. And just like that, my eardrums were overwhelmed with loud thudding music. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, willing myself to acclimate to the sudden change. The blinding lights made my eyes water and my head ached from the much too loud noise, the sweaty bodies making my skin itchy, but I willed my mind to focus on finding Jeong Yunho again. I knew he was in here somewhere, but I needed to find him to observe him more, learn his patterns to know how to lure him into my trap. I had done it once, I could do it twice. I didn’t need Sooyoung to interfere like she so much wished to do, I was grateful Joohyun knew that and told her to prepare herself for the ritual, instead.

The club wasn’t exactly like I had expected it to be, the dance floor was filled to the brim with raunchy dressed people, drunk or high out of their minds. The pretty ladies performing were there too, trapped in glass cages, their makeup sparkly and their dresses skimpy as they danced provocatively, prompting even more lustful eyes to watch them. A few bills were caught in their bras or the string of their visible thongs, and men were desperately throwing even more at them. Turning my head away from the sight, I looked towards the bar, hoping to find Yunho there, but it was almost as if he had vanished. Finding a tall and hunky man like him shouldn’t have been so hard, not with his dark blue hair and the distinctive long leather coat he was wearing tonight. Not giving up just yet, I ventured further inside the club, scooping out the place, trying to locate the restrooms…maybe he had gone there. I felt someone slap my ass and my irritancy instantly flared as I whirled around, crimson eyes burning into hazed ones. The man wasn’t ugly, but he was too drunk to know where he was, and he had touched me without consent. He tried staggering towards me, but I stopped him before he could, hissing at him, my fangs showing. Even a drunk man knew to stay away, and after he raised his hands in surrender he stumbled away, already finding his next victim.

I scoffed under my breath and walked away from the overcrowded dance floor, eyes narrowing when I realised there was a narrow corridor right by the restrooms. And just like that, Yunho was back in my sight as he appeared out of nowhere, rounding the corner and hurrying down the hallway. I followed after him, hastening my pace to keep up with his long strides, and felt a little hesitant when I saw two big-looking bodyguards blocking the middle of the hallway. They didn’t stop Yunho, though, so I hoped they wouldn’t stop me either. I clenched my jaw and held my head high, making sure to not look them in the eyes as I neared them. If they were to stop me, I would just knock them out. I knew I was too close to Yunho, that he might’ve already noticed my presence, but there were no signs he had, so I continued with my pursuit once the bodyguards didn’t even as much as glanced down at me. The walls were blood red, and Yunho had long rounded the corner to the right, disappearing to somewhere else. The music from the rowdy club was just a dull sound now, and something lower and much slower flooded the corridor as I came closer and closer to the corner. Then, as if I had been teleported to another dimension, this room was bigger and less filled with people.

The lights were dim and burgundy, coating everything and everyone in a reddish haze. The people in here were also fancily dressed, sitting around huge tables, bottle girls in their laps or walking up to their tables with fresh champagne. The sight was jarring, but I played it off as I looked for Yunho again, who was at the bar now. He was leaning over it and speaking to the barman, who was smirking at him while checking Yunho out repeatedly. Yeah, anyone with a good pair of eyes would appreciate his looks, especially his innocent face when his eyes were filled with darkness and danger. I gulped and walked to the very end of the bar, where a man was already sitting and could cover me from Yunho’s eyes with his large body. I wasn’t here to get anything, but I suppose I would’ve looked suspicious, so I flagged down another barman and asked for a Hugo. The man I decided to sit next to glanced at me a few times from the corner of his eyes, but I kept looking straight ahead so he wouldn’t try and speak to me.

The Hugo was delicious as I sipped on it, turning around in my seat to further observe the room. The women dancing in here mostly lacked their bras, and a few guys who were placed in glass cages wore nothing but jockstraps. Yunho, who had migrated from the bar, was now speaking to someone sitting by a large table, surrounded by men in suits and women in tight body dresses. Yunho didn’t sit down, his eyebrows were furrowed as he stared down at the man smirking at him, pointing towards a young-looking guy in the glass cage. I looked at the boy and wondered how old he was, his ankles were wobbly as he danced in his heels, his chest red and eyes mostly cast down. I wondered if he needed a way out and if I could provide it to him. My thoughts, however, quickly returned to Yunho as his body tensed, eyes turning into slits as the man he was talking to laughed loudly. I took a sip of my drink and watched as Yunho’s hand balled up into a fist, his arms shaking. Would a massacre occur now? Or was he strong enough to withhold his anger? I watched with excitement licking up my stomach, suddenly realising that I was watching my creation.

And he was a fine piece at that, visually, it would be even more satisfying if he was a strong-willed vampire as well. My suspicions were confirmed when Yunho took a step back, nodding his head stiffly and stalking off. I finished my drink when I realised there were multiple corridors leading to who knows where, and Yunho was headed down a brighter one. The light was distracting as it flashed over my head, my footsteps louder than I would’ve liked them despite the music playing in the main room. Yunho was ahead one second, and then the next second my back was digging into the hard wall, my airways restricted as Yunho’s large hand wrapped around my neck, squeezing mercilessly.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hissed under his breath, jaw clenching even more. I could practically hear his teeth gritting together, it was a jarring sound. I couldn’t speak with how strongly he was squeezing my neck, so I opened my lips and grabbed his wrist, trying to make a sound to no avail. His grip loosened just enough to let me speak as he towered over me with his menacing height.

“What?” I chuckled, my throat a bit scrappy despite the drink I had just minutes ago, “Can’t a woman enjoy a place like this one? The girls are rather pretty—”

“Bullshit.” Yunho hissed, suddenly pulling himself away from me as he glared at me. I smiled, adjusting the collar of my black shirt, pretending that I was then dusting off the corset I decided to wear tonight. Yunho didn’t say anything else, but suddenly, he took off back towards the main room, me hotly following after him. Well, since I had been already discovered, there was no reason for me to pretend I wasn’t here. Maybe if I talked to him, I could get more information out of him.

“Where are you going?” I called after him as Yunho hurried back down the corridor, walking too fast but not that it looked unnatural to the human eye. He didn’t answer, obviously, so I just followed after him. I felt eyes on us as we stormed through the main room, and Yunho came to an abrupt halt when the man he had been speaking to suddenly raised an arm, his head tilted as he was looking me up and down curiously.

“Brought a snack for me?” My eyebrows furrowed as I turned to look at the man, ready to lash out or even bare my fangs at him, but I realised he was human. What an odd thing to say, then. Too focused on the man, I didn’t notice Yunho stepping closer to me, nor did I realise he grabbed me until he was squeezing my bicep so hard I almost whimpered. I know we were vampires and our pain tolerance was higher, but he could be a bit gentler with me.

“Found her for myself, actually.” Yunho’s tone had completely changed from how he had spoken to me. It was velvety, dripping with cynicism yet honey at the same time. One glance down at me and his eyes narrowed slightly, “Mind if I don’t share her with you tonight?”

What was going on? Who were these people and why was Yunho hounding me like his life depended on it? Taking a deep breath, I realised his cologne was oozing off of him, dark and somehow sweet, nauseating for my sensitive nostrils.

“You’re quite quick, Jeong.” The man huffed, clearly displeased by Yunho’s words, but he chuckled and flicked his hand, turning his attention away from us. I looked up at Yunho questioningly, but he started pulling me after himself, his jaw clenched tight still. I had to sprint to keep up with him, and my arm was turning white from how hard he was squeezing me. But he didn’t slow down until we left the weird room as he pushed me towards the corridor that led us here. I stumbled before catching my footing and whirled around annoyed, glaring up at him as he stormed up to my face.

“Stop pushing and pulling me around, fucker.” I hissed, craning my neck back to glare into his eyes. Yunho huffed, an unamused grin settling on his lips as he tilted his head.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” He asked, tone gravely as I smiled, trying to tone down my sudden anger.

“Clubbing, what else am I supposed to do here?” I raised an eyebrow, but Yunho didn’t seem to buy my explanation. I wouldn’t stand around here and let him manhandle me more, so, I turned to leave but as I rounded the corner, I was being held back by my nape, Yunho’s hot breath hitting my ear from behind.

“I know you’re lying to me,” He hissed, his grip tightening around my nape when I tried to brush his touch off, “Why were you following me all night long?”

I chuckled, staring at the backs of the bodyguards who seemed like mannequins since they weren’t moving at all, “What are you doing in a dodgy place like this one? At first, I figured you were just a pervert coming here to feed, but clearly, I don’t know enough about you. You are my second creation, and you turn out to be pitiful—”

I gasped as my back collided with the wall loudly, a sharp ache shooting up my shoulder blade. I glared at Yunho, pushing at his chest when he came towards me, but he didn’t budge too much. I didn’t try too hard either, so maybe that’s why.

“Shut your mouth,” Yunho growled, his face contorted in pure anger. I laughed, letting my head fall back against the wall as I watched Yunho, “You don’t know nothing.”

“Yeah?” I hummed, chewing on my bottom lip as I let my eyes take him in again, “I pride myself on having a good eye for beauty, but really…that broody personality of yours ruins it all, Yunho. A master would usually want to be proud of their offspring, but you are making me question my judgment all those years ago. I should have let you die, shouldn’t I?”

That seemed to hit a nerve as Yunho huffed through his nose, his neck flushing red. I smirked, raising my eyebrows to provoke him even more, but he was still practising self-restraint, so it wasn’t fun anymore. Deciding that I wanted to know more about this place, I continued, “Why are you here, Yunho? And what’s this club?”

He seemed to consider his answer for a second as he glanced towards the motionless bodyguards, I wondered why they weren’t reacting to our little fight. Maybe they just didn’t care, maybe couples fought all the time in these narrow corridors.

“I’m undercover.” Yunho barely but whispered, knowing that I would hear him, “So get the fuck out before you ruin the whole operation!”

I pursed my lips, looking left and right, slowly nodding my head, “Right, you’re a cop. Interesting choice for a career, you miss hunting, don’t you? Makes sense, I suppose—”

I was cut off as noise filled the corridor, coming from the red-light room. It was two men, conversing with each other, saying something about Yunho and…me. Yunho’s jaw clenched as he heard them too, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. He looked annoyed as he looked back at me. I blew his cover, the men were coming to get him. I suppose the man he had been talking to was the one he was after, and now I had probably ruined Yunho’s credibility to him. Not wanting to be captured for no reason, or for a bloodbath judging based on Yunho’s rapid heartbeat, I did what I thought was best for a distraction. Just as the two buff men rounded the corner, I slapped Yunho hard across the cheek, the sound echoing in the hallway. Even the two bodyguards glanced back before minding their own business again. Yunho’s eyes widened as he held his red cheek, slowly turning his head to look at me bewildered.

“I hate you!” I screamed shrilly and grabbed the collar of Yunho’s leather coat to yank him into myself, making him knock me back against into the wall since he lost his balance. His eyebrows furrowed for a second, but then I slammed my lips against his, our eyes stayed open as Yunho stiffened. The press of our lips was painful and Yunho had started pulling away, but my grip tightened on his leather coat as I pulled him even closer, my eyebrows furrowing as I subtly moved my eyes towards the frozen men sent to take care of us. It seemed like Yunho finally understood what I had in mind because his body relaxed a bit, large hands coming up to cup my cheeks strongly. His eyes slowly fluttered shut and so did mine as I pressed up on my tiptoes to kiss him better, letting him tilt my head back just a little bit. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, the opposite of my cold and smooth lips. The kiss was aggressive and lacked any warmth or pleasure as our lips smacked together painfully, but at least the two men sent to take care of us were slowly backing away.

My lips parted in a silent gasp when Yunho pressed me back up against the wall, licking into my mouth with little care as I grabbed the back of his head, fingers tangling into his smooth dyed hair. I yanked on the short strands as he sucked on my tongue, starting a burning fire in the pit of my stomach as I tried to keep the sounds threatening to leave my mouth down, eyebrows furrowing as a pleasurable feeling bloomed in my chest. I’ve kissed many before, but neither had felt so right and so fitting. Maybe it was because he was my creation, but the longer our mouths stayed glued together, the more clouded my mind became with his scent and beating warm heart. I could smell his blood pumping through his body, the veins on his hands bulging and a rich blue, his fingertips digging into my cheeks painfully. My fangs ached as he pressed his body against mine, keeping me caged between himself and the wall, my nerves on fire. If my heart would’ve been able to still beat, it would’ve been racing and flooding my cheeks with warmth, instead, it was my ears ringing and my stomach churning in unexpected want. Unable to hold back as Yunho’s tongue slid against mine, I grabbed his neck to keep him locked in place and swiftly sunk my fangs into his bottom lip. He let out a loud whine as fresh, rich-flavoured blood flooded my tastebuds, making my eyebrows furrow as I moaned.

The taste lingered on my tongue as Yunho pulled back with a loud gasp, his bottom lip slightly bloody as my jaw ached even more, my fangs yearning to sink into his smooth veins. I was breathing hard as Yunho kept me immobilised against the wall with his own body, his eyes shaking with anger. The men who had come to take care of Yunho had backed down, probably to report back to their boss.

“You’re human,” I whispered as I licked the remnant of Yunho’s blood off my lip, hands balling up into fists as I struggled to hold back from biting him again. He hadn’t been this sweet as a human when I had transformed him…or maybe I just hadn’t had blood from a living source in too long? That could affect how I reacted to fresh blood.

“I’m a monster.” Yunho looked disgusted as he forced the words out, his jaw clenched and face still close, “You did this to me.”

“Yeah, I did, but you’re not fully a vampire, are you?” I whispered, looking into his eyes once again, observing the crimson of one and the brownness of the other.

“It’s your fault.” Yunho hissed and I hummed, reaching forward to touch his chin, but he knocked my hand to the side with hatred written all over his face, “I will rip you to shreds if you cross my path ever again.”

I chuckled, “No, you won’t, because you can’t, Yunho.”

He licked his lips, tilting his head as he slowly leaned back close, lips ghosting over mine as I gulped, feeling something in me tremble at the proximity. I wanted his lips on mine again, my fangs in his skin and his blood on my tongue.

“If I can’t kill you, I’ll stake you like I staked Yeri.” My blood froze as I looked at Yunho with tense shoulders. His smile grew, looking smug and taunting, “Will you scream like she did? Beg for mercy and call for help? For your sisters like she had? Oh, what I would do just to see the light drain from your soulless eyes like hers had, slowly, teary, and shakingly, with your name dying on her lips.”

I prided myself on having great self-control, on knowing when to stay level-headed, and on not losing my head when provoked. But not even Yunho had expected the speed nor force I threw him against the wall with, both hands wrapped around his neck and squeezing until I could feel his muscles caving in underneath my skin. His eyes were bulging as he tried to claw at my hands, push me away and free himself, but my whole body was rooted in anger, wanting to take, to destroy, to avenge. I felt sick to my stomach as bile rose in my throat, my body shaking as Yunho tried to gasp for air, his eyes glossy, and I wanted to hear the snap of his bone, I wanted his head to roll to the side boneless, I needed his breath to freeze in his throat, his lungs never to function ever again. And I wanted to rip his still-beating heart out too, just for good measure. But wouldn’t that make me the monster he thought we were? The monster he had become? There was no light left in Yunho’s eyes, in his soul and heart, his body remained the same while he had lost his psyche. I felt tears stream down my cheeks, hot and burning, as I ripped myself away from Yunho, who started wheezing for air and fell to the floor in a ball, coughing and holding his neck. The bodyguards glanced back but didn’t do anything when I looked at them.

“If I can’t kill you, then Yeri will.” I gritted through my teeth, and with one last glance at him, I didn’t even care who saw me, I left the club in the blink of an eye, chest heaving as my head thumped, bile rising higher into my throat until I was forced to find a trashbin and double over it. Acid burned my throat as much as the tears in my eyes, but I willed myself to take a deep breath and relax my muscles. Yunho was still human, his blood and heart at least, so he would bring Yeri back. He would pay for what he did, and I’ll be there to watch his downfall.

            We knew what—no, who—Yunho was after. The universe had mysterious ways of working. Perhaps it was his punishment for taking so many innocent lives, perhaps it was the curse I wished to put upon him when I found Yeri’s motionless body lying on the cold floor of Seungwan’s castle, right in the middle of a ball where she was supposed to find a suitor for herself. I sighed as my eyebrows furrowed, eyes staring down at the paperwork without seeing the words. The ER had been busy all night long, Yeosang and I had just caught a break, Kai and Jennie telling us they’d cover for us while we’d take a breather. I didn’t think I needed it until the brisk night air filled my lungs, Yeosang’s steady heartbeat a nice reminder that I was alive. He was silent until he excused himself to grab some much-needed coffee, asking if I’d like a cup too, much like always. The answer was always the same, no, thank you. Coffee was too bitter and didn’t help me stay alert, so I preferred not to drink it for appearance's sake. My phone pinged with a new message, and I was finally able to release a sigh of ease. Yunho was supposed to come in to check on his non-existent stitches, I had begged the head doctor all night long for him to appoint Yunho to me again, making up all sorts of far-fetched explanations.

“What’s got you thinking so deeply?” I flinched hearing Yeosang’s deep voice next to me, having failed to notice his approach. Yeah, I was too in my head if I couldn’t notice an approaching human.

“Life, I guess…” I muttered as I leaned over the railing, looking down at the ground. It wouldn’t be a high enough jump, not to me. Yeosang just hummed and mirrored me, taking slow sips of his warm coffee. It was very bitter based on its scent, I wondered how he could stomach it.

“Time flies by fast, doesn’t it?” Yeosang spoke quietly, his cup of coffee hanging over the railing, “One second you’re just a child, and then the next you’re supposed to make money and look out for yourself in a world that mostly isn’t fair.”

Humans had different issues than us, I glanced at Yeosang and saw his eyebrows furrowed deeply. I wondered if life hadn’t been kind to him. It wouldn’t be fair if anything happened to Yeosang, he was too good, too kind. I hummed, watching him take another sip of his coffee before he hung his head low.

“My best friend is sick,” He whispered, voice gravely, and something stiffened in my chest. Perhaps it would have been my heart breaking for him if it were still functioning, “Very sick. I’m a nurse, I know so much about medicine and how to help people, I know the best doctors and yet—I can’t do anything to help him. He’s going to die, Y/N, and I can’t stop it.”

I had never heard Yeosang so broken before, so small and helpless. My eyebrows furrowed and I sighed, figuring he looked like he needed a hug right now. So, I turned towards him and grabbed his bicep, making him look at me defeated. I offered him a small smile and pulled him towards me, confusion visible on his face as he let himself be manoeuvred around. My arms wrapped around him in a friendly hug, hoping it would be comforting too. He remained stiff for a few more seconds, but then his arms wrapped around my torso and he placed his chin on my shoulder, squeezing me for a second.

“Thank you.” Yeosang whispered with a smile in his voice, “I didn’t think I’d find a friend at my workplace, especially not a doctor, but you’ve treated me with respect since the beginning. Even when I still felt nauseous taking blood.”

We both chuckled at that as I remembered Yeosang’s rocky start at the hospital. He needed a good year until he got completely in shape and accustomed to the life he had chosen, and that was understandable. What he did wasn’t easy, yet he managed better than most people I knew. Before the hug could become uncomfortable, we pulled away and Yeosang took a sip of his coffee to hide his small smile. Turning humans into vampires wasn’t like what it used to be. Mistakes happened, of course, but my coven believed in giving a choice to the human that wished to turn into one of us. We didn’t just take it greedily, we asked and told them what this life came with. We didn’t just stop existing one day, even when the earth threatened to stop spinning, we’d be here, living and breathing. We weren’t invincible, no, but we were durable and stronger than those around us. Joohyun had always believed even vampires could be forgiven for their sins, and bringing another person into our coven without a deep reason meant expulsion from it. I gulped and took a second to reconsider my words, but I hated seeing Yeosang in pain.

“And if…there was a cure for your best friend, would you want him to have it?” Asking without explaining first was greedy, but maybe I didn’t want to lose Yeosang and his kindness in this unfair world. Surely if his best friend became a vampire he’d wish to follow, no? That was greedy of me and wishful thinking, but I had long stopped asking for forgiveness for my sins. If I truly wasn’t greedy, I would’ve never transformed Yeri, I would’ve let everything progress by its natural rhythm.

“There would be a price to pay, I suppose…” Yeosang was smart, he knew there were things he couldn’t explain, I smiled as I nodded, “Yes, I would want him to have it as long as he does too.”

I hummed, deciding that bringing this up to Joohyun once the whole Yeri thing was over would be worth it. Our coven was tight-knit and strong, filled with talented people, offering a home to Yeosang’s friend would be nothing. He’d learn from the best and become even better. Perhaps it would be Joohyun or Seulgi turning him, after all, it was inevitable for the offspring not to take attributes from its creator once the transformation was through, it was smartest if the bite came from the best of the best vampires.

“Well, then—” Before I could tell Yeosang that I might be able to help him, my phone beeped, signalling that Yeosang and I were needed down, “Jeong Yunho just came in, I’m needed, but you can stay and finish your coffee.”

Yeosang’s eyebrows furrowed as he grabbed my wrist before I could hurry away, “Is this that man? The cop who was shot at twice? The one who fell over and destroyed the whole room?”

There was a tinge of scepticism and amusement in Yeosang’s tone as I hummed, averting my eyes because I hated lying to him, “Yeah, so I better go before he falls over again.”

Yeosang snorted as he released my wrist, raising his eyebrows, “I won’t have to fix up that room again, right?”

“Nope, I promise.” I blinked at him innocently and he shook his head, leaning back against the railing as I headed for the door, “I’ll call you when I need you, don’t come down until then!”

Yeosang nodded and I turned to race back to the ER, using my vampire speed since nobody was around, besides, I knew nobody was interested enough to watch or rewatch the security cameras. I fixed the collar of my white gown and nodded at the receptionist, showing her a thumbs up when she pointed towards private room number three. The head doctor spotted me and gave me a curt nod before he was whisked away by a nurse, who rushed him down towards the cardiovascular section. The door to the room was already open and Yunho was sitting on the table, his hands intertwined and placed in his lap as he stared at the floor. I pulled the door closed behind me, shutting us in, silence enveloping around us. I knew he didn’t need to get checked, but it would be too suspicious if I came in and he left right away. Besides, this was my chance to get him. I had told Joohyun that Yunho was partly human, so his blood was useful to us. This was the best time to knock him out and kidnap him. He’d do the same if he was in our spot, I’m sure of it.

“Good evening, Mr Jeong,” I spoke up as Yunho raised his head, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever, why did I have to come to the ER again?” He sounded stoic and unimpressed, “You know I didn’t even get stitches.”

“Yes, I do, but the rest of the staff doesn’t.” I snapped, trying to keep my vexation at bay, but after our last encounter I couldn’t help but look at him with spite, bile rising in my throat as his words echoed in my head, he was insufferable, “So unless you want to be discovered, you sit on your ass and shut the fuck up.”

Yunho smirked as I walked closer to him, tilting his head, “Careful, your true colours are showing, Dr Bae, where’s the tempered and kindred-hearted Samaritan wannabe?”

I released a long huff, an unamused smile settling on my lips, “I suppose someone like you doesn’t deserve that treatment from me, so there’s no need to act differently around you. Besides, are you sure that it’s just an act? I’ve lived for over two hundred years, people change.”

“People, yes, not vampires.” His eyes narrowed as I came to stand in front of him, my hands in my pockets, fingers playing with the syringe hidden there.

“You’re wrong about that, Yunho, but you’re too rooted in your hatred to notice it.” Yunho’s rosy cheeks twitched, his eyebrows furrowing some more, “If you wouldn’t have been so blinded by your stupid coven’s preachings, you would have seen that the coven you’ve been hunting for centuries weren’t your enemy.”

“Yeah, right.” Yunho snapped, his jaw clenching, “Every bad thing that’s happened to me was because of you and your leader. I won’t let you walk away anymore, not now that I’ve found you again.”

I smiled, gripping the syringe as I could tell Yunho was getting more and more aggravated. His heart was picking up its rhythm and his eyes were slowly darkening, the crimson swirling deep in his pupil.

“Did you never try to find out more about the bond between the creator and its creation?” I quirked an eyebrow, and based on Yunho’s clenching jaw, it confirmed that he knew about it, but not enough, “You know…I made a mistake after I turned you into a vampire. I left you to fend for yourself, I left you alone and unprotected from the hunters. I can admit my mistake, sure, but I’m also conscious taming you might’ve never worked like with other hunters.”

Yunho released a long huff, sneering at me, “I would’ve ripped you to shreds.”

“Yes, I know.” I chuckled, tilting my head with mock concern, “I heard the carnage you caused once you awakened. As much as I find that hot and appalling at the same time, you ostracised yourself from every coven by doing that. That’s why you’re alone now.”

“No,” Yunho smirked, slowly standing up to tower over me. I gulped as I tilted my head back, unafraid, “I’m alone because I choose to be. I don’t need anyone telling me what to do or breathing down my neck like your stupid coven leader does. Even as a human and a vampire hunter, I never operated on my coven’s terms, that’s why I managed to kill so many vampires.”

I tried to smile, but my blood was boiling in anger as he leaned closer, licking his lips slowly as he took in my expression. Something made my fangs ache the longer we stared into each other’s eyes, my stomach coiling as his sweet blood called out to me.

“That’s why I still manage to kill so many vampires.” Yunho’s deep voice was nothing but a whisper, taunting and full of himself. My hands started trembling as I itched to bash his head in and scream at him, a sinking feeling settling in my gut this time, “Remember Seonghwa? Oh, poor little, gentle, Seonghwa…”

I couldn’t breathe, and my vision blurred as Yunho snorted, raising his hand to cup my cheek, fingers tracing my cold skin, “He begged, a lot, he even promised to stop drinking blood altogether. He almost had me convinced, I can’t lie, his eyes were just so innocent, and he was really loyal to you, did you know that? He actually loved you, fascinating, isn’t it?”

I wished for Yunho to drop dead, for the ground to open up and swallow him alive, for the earth to roll into his lungs and choke him to death. I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from whimpering when he grabbed the side of my neck, caressing my skin so lovingly that he could’ve fooled anyone. There were faint bruises around his neck, my fingerprints ebbed into his skin in an ugly black and green, perhaps he was too human for simple bruises to heal fast, “Would you like to join him?”

Hate was something I had grown familiar with a long time ago. It was an emotion that wrapped around my dead heart and cocooned it in a safety net, protecting it from the coldness of the world, the unfairness and tragedy that followed everywhere I went. In this second, I knew that it was no accident Seonghwa just perished one day, disappearing without a trace and a word. My bottom lip threatened to tremble as I gripped the syringe firmly in my hand, fingers wrapping around it tightly. Then, before Yunho could strike again, I moved swiftly and plunged it into his neck, injecting the sedative into his body. Yunho’s eyes widened as he wrapped his hand around my wrist, yanking the syringe out, but it was already too late. I knew he’d fall to the ground, so I grabbed his arms and pushed him down on the table as he gasped for air, his eyes becoming hazy as he tried to stand, but his muscles were too relaxed, his mind slowly slipping away from his grasp.

“I’ll see you in hell, Jeong Yunho.” I hissed before his eyes fluttered closed, his body going lax on the table. With shaky hands, I fished my phone out of my pocket and texted Joohyun that I had Yunho, and that they had to come to the hospital now. She replied that they were on their way, equipped to take Yunho back to the mansion. Without allowing myself to think about the fact that Yunho was the cause I lost two people I loved most—Yeri, my sister, and Seonghwa, my lover—I dialled Yeosang’s number while I walked to the door and locked it.

“Is the room still in one piece?” Yeosang asked jokingly and I tried to smile, but I felt hollow.

“The room, yes,” But I wasn’t anymore, before Yeosang could realise something was wrong, I continued, “Can you get me a gurney without anyone asking questions?”

“I—what?” Yeosang sounded confused and surprised, but he was up on his feet and moving based on the click of the door on the other side of the phone, “If the head doctor is busy, I might get away with it.”

“Good, I’m in room three, be swift, yeah?”

“Okay, I’ll be there in five.”

And just like that, Jeong Yunho would never see the daylight ever again.

            I was exhausted by the end of my shift. The sun was high up in the sky with a few clouds obscuring it as the morning traffic was rambunctious, with angry and impatient drivers honking every few minutes. The ride home felt like it would never end, the highway was blocked off at one point and I had to wait for twenty minutes until we could get going again. Yeosang, my light and saviour, had proposed staying on a call with me after he saw my state by the end of our shift. He rambled on about cooking a delicious breakfast before putting on his favourite show, rolling into bed, and falling asleep to it. He hadn’t asked questions when I had let him inside the small room with the gurney, eyes falling on Yunho, a flash of recognition crossing Yeosang’s features. I expected him to ask questions and demand answers I couldn’t give him, but he just chuckled and told me he was glad the room had stayed intact this time. He, once more, didn’t ask questions when Joohyun arrived with her two bodyguards, two buff men who were more than excited to haul Yunho on the gurney and out of the hospital, placing a white sheet over his body so nobody would grow suspicious.

“Come straight home once you’re done with your shift,” Joohyun had muttered, her eyes falling on Yeosang, who was busy sanitising the table Yunho had been laying on moments ago, “Make sure he doesn’t say a word.”

There was a threat in Joohyun’s words that didn’t sit well with me, so before she could leave, I grabbed her arm and glared at her, “Yeosang isn’t a threat, don’t make Mark follow him.”

Joohyun considered it for a second as her eyes fell on my co-worker again, a contemplating look crossing her features, “Yunho was your first mistake, so I’ll let you off the hook this time, but make sure it’s not repeated with this Yeosang guy.”

And I knew she meant it, I wouldn’t mess up anything with Yeosang. He didn’t know the truth, but he knew something wasn’t right. As long as he didn’t ask too many questions and didn’t try to find out for himself, I could help his best friend, and perhaps even offer him eternal life. But all these thoughts were pushed to the back of my mind as I pulled up to the mansion, the sunrays were just a bit hotter today as they rosied my cheeks. I could hear a commotion inside as I walked closer, the door opening before I could even grab the doorknob. Seulgi stood in the foyer with her arms crossed, expression displeased.

“Your little hunter killed a maid, screamed to be let out for hours on end, and finally stopped when Seungwan went inside to give him another sedative. He’s been silent since, but he’s tried to break free at least three times.” I sighed, closing my eyes as I leaned against the wall, my feet aching from having stood on them so much all night long, “Now, thanks to him, everyone in the mansion knows of our plan, and there have been upheavals. Joohyun’s been holding a meeting since five o’clock, welcome home, Y/N.”

My jaw clenched as my head pulsated, muscles begging for a long hot bath. I suppose I wouldn’t get that, not yet at least, “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry?”

“No,” Seulgi scoffed, walking closer as she grabbed the tray of food off the table in the middle of the room, “He’s your creation, so go tame him. I don’t care what you do with him, but if he’s not well-behaved, I will kill him before we can awaken Yeri. This is your mess, so fix it.”

My jaw clenched as she pushed the tray of food against my abdomen, forcing me to take hold of it, “He’s been refusing to drink any blood, so go feed him. He can’t be malnourished when we need his blood.”

“Can’t I take a bath first?” I asked defeated as I let my bag fall to the ground, hopeful that our maid would notice it and take it up to my room for me. I don’t think I’d have the power to come downstairs once more today before I get to sleep. Seulgi’s face, however, was a clear answer that I wouldn’t get a breather before I’d have to face Yunho, so, I sighed and headed for the wide staircase, trying to steel my nerves and push through just for a little bit more. My phone dinged, and I grabbed it before I could head down the hallway to check Yeosang’s message. It was a selfie of him and his favourite plushie, a cute expression on his face as he winked at the camera. I chuckled and snapped a shot of the meal on the tray, telling him my breakfast was ready too…even if it was a lie. After covering for me today, I felt like he deserved to believe my being was normal, even if not true. Yeosang didn’t deserve to lay awake at night—or day, in our case—wondering why I was so strange and whether he was safe or not by my side.

I came to a stop in front of the room Yunho was held hostage in and looked down at my black heels, ankles a bit wobbly. I stepped out of the heels before pushing them to the side, instant relief flooding my calves and toes, a quiet groan leaving my lips. If Yunho’s hearing wasn’t already focused on every little sound, now he certainly was alerted of my presence outside his door. I didn’t knock even though it felt wrong, just unlocked the door and hurried inside to make sure he didn’t try to leave. I expected him to be all up in my face, expression maddened and chest heaving, his face red from anger and his muscles shaking from straining, but I was met with a Yunho sprawled out on the queen-sized bed, his feet dangling off the edge. The lock clicked into place behind me as I walked further inside, taking in the brightness of the room. The blackout curtains were completely undrawn, a harsh stream of light flooding the room. So, Yunho wasn’t as bothered by sunlight as the rest of us. I kept my eyes on his unmoving body as I proceeded further into the room, placing the tray on the desk. There was a bottle of water, half emptied, next to some painkillers that looked untouched. Right, I had used a higher dose of the sedative since I didn’t know how his body would take it, some side effects like a headache and nausea would be expected for a human…but Yunho wasn’t fully human, so we had no idea how his body would take it.

The silver tray clinked as it slipped from my hands slightly, fingers shaky from exhaustion as I took a deep breath, telling myself that I would be soon done here and in the safety of my room. The sound, however, elicited the skip of Yunho’s heartbeat as his head raised, eyes narrowed when he realised it was me in his room. Perhaps he was still under the influence of the sedative, that’s why he looked slightly dazed. He stood, slowly pushing himself up as I released the tray and set it aside, ready to leave, but suddenly he was all up in my personal space, crowding me against the side of the desk. I flinched, taken aback by his actions, and gripped the edge of the desk for stability. There was exhaustion in Yunho’s eyes as he stared down at me, then looked past me at the tray. There was no reason for me to feel nervous all of a sudden, especially not when my anger was far from being gone, but the sudden closeness allowed for me to inhale Yunho’s scent greedily, gums itchy as my fangs wanted to grow just a bit longer to sink into his warm skin.

“Is that for me?” Yunho’s voice was raspy as he nodded towards the food on the tray, and I glanced back to look at the copious food.

“Yes—” My answer was cut short when a hand wrapped around my neck, slamming me against the wall. I groaned in exasperation and grabbed Yunho’s wrist, my nails sinking into his skin as I scowled at him, annoyance flaring up my insides, “You have to stop throwing me around, it’s getting old, Yunho.”

He didn’t say anything as his fingers started squeezing harder, making it difficult for me to breathe. But I wouldn’t give in, not when we were so close to having Yeri back, so I kicked at his legs until he had to step back, his crimson eye gleaming under the natural light.

“You took me as your hostage,” Yunho spat, his heart slowly starting to race, “And you’re planning on using me to awaken your sister, wasn’t she dead?”

“I see they’ve explained everything to you.” I smirked and patted down the front of my blouse, an expression of satisfaction crossing my features as I raised an eyebrow at Yunho, “How does it feel to know you didn’t actually kill my sister? Even better…you are going to bring her back to life—”

But truly to Yunho, his anger got the better of him as he slammed me back into the wall, squeezing my cheeks together so it was difficult to speak. I must’ve looked silly with my lips jutting out, the pressure on my cheekbones wasn’t light, but I couldn’t help but feel satisfied by his reaction.

“She won’t come back, I’ll make sure of that.” Yunho hissed, his eyes searching my face, “You’ve led me to your lovely hideout, too, I’m going to hunt down every single one of you, Y/N. And I’ll leave you for last so that you can watch everyone perish right in front of your eyes.”

I slapped his hand away as I sneered at him, resisting the urge to punch him, “Your threats, too, are getting old, Yunho. If you think you can just waltz in here and take down a whole coven, you are wrong. Nothing is the same anymore, we’ve changed too. What makes you think you’d get away with it?”

“I’m part of the police.”

“And so are we.” A beat of silence passed as Yunho processed the information, eyebrows furrowing for a second in confusion, “Now eat your goddamn food and behave, Yunho, don’t make it harder than it has to be. You shouldn’t have killed that maid, she did nothing to wrong you.”

“A human willingly subjecting themselves to vampires are just as vile as the creatures we are, I should put each one of them out of their misery.” Yunho hissed, his jaw clenching as I huffed, pushing him back by his chest to free myself. I barely took a few steps, however, when Yunho’s iron grip around my bicep stopped me, “Take that disgusting thing away from me, I don’t eat human food.”

I paused, eyebrows furrowing. I thought Yunho was more human than a vampire, so how come he didn’t eat normal food? Maybe he was just trying to play with us. I took a deep breath and turned my head to look over my shoulder at him, “Don’t think you can toy with me, Yunho, the less difficult you are, the faster we’ll be done with everything.”

“I’m a goddamn vampire, how do you expect me to stomach regular food?!” Yunho snapped, his patience running thin once again as he whirled me around, dragging me back towards the desk. I stumbled over my feet due to the force but caught myself on the edge of the desk. I threw him a heated glare, narrowing my eyes at him in annoyance. Getting manhandled by him was turning old rather fast.

“You taste and smell human, your heart is still pumping blood, why do you think I assumed you ate food like any other human?” I scoffed, grabbing the tray to take it away with me. If he didn’t want to eat normal food, fine, I didn’t care. He could starve himself, at least he’d die faster once we were done with the ritual.

“Stop saying I’m human!” Yunho screamed, his voice wavering, “I’m a fucking monster, I’m just like you! That thing they gave me—my coven—that serum made me like this! I didn’t die nor become completely a vampire because I was already digesting vampire blood, to begin with, unbeknownst to me. My system was used to it and couldn’t break the particles down accordingly, I’m an abomination.”

So that’s why he was like this, then. I knew the hunters were taking something back then, something that enhanced their strength and speed, but I would’ve never thought they willingly drained the blood of vampires just to harvest it for terrible experiments. I sighed, looking down at the tray in my hands. I didn’t understand why Yunho hated being a vampire so much, after all those years, I assumed his prejudice would lessen, but no, he was still rooted in his hatred for us, indoctrinated to take us out no matter what…no matter if he was one of us, now.

“Can you…” I sounded tired as my jaw clenched, my exhaustion catching up with me all of a sudden, “Stop calling us monsters? Calling yourself an abomination? It’s not—we’re not the devils you were made to believe we are, Yunho, we were once, yes, I can’t deny that. But not anymore, we’ve evolved with the rest of the world, we’ve changed our ways, it’s…we don’t kill for the fun of it anymore, can’t you see that? Can’t you try and understand?”

Yunho shook his head, expression filled with disgust, “Maybe you think so, but I see it first hand, day after day what vampires are capable of, the many lives they still take, the families they rip apart for entertainment, the people they drive mad because they can—so don’t come here and try to lecture me about my beliefs when you don’t know shit!”

I jumped when Yunho’s curled fist came down on the tray I was holding, sending the contents to the ground as the porcelain shattered and the delicious-looking food splashed all over the floor. I stared at it, dumbfounded, until I felt something warm trickle down my palm, between my fingers. I hissed as I registered the sting of the cut left by the sharp edge of the tray, turning around my hand to bring it closer to my face. The wound wasn’t too big, located in the centre of my palm, but it oozed more blood than it was supposed to. Perhaps the cut went deeper than I expected, that would explain the dull sting of pain travelling through my nerves. Nothing a little sanitiser couldn’t help, though I doubt the wound would stay open until I reached my room to clean it up, it was already slowly closing up. There was a strained inhale, however, and I realised Yunho’s heart was racing as I slowly lifted my head. His face had paled and his lips were parted, saliva gathering in the corner of his mouth as he gulped down the excess, his eyes shaking. Yunho’s scent was suddenly overbearing as he stepped over the mess on the floor, his eyes fixed on the blood that had pooled in my palm. I felt something deep in my gut coil, my skin feeling peculiarly hot as Yunho gripped my hand harshly, raising it to his face.

I stopped breathing as I watched his eyes flutter closed, nose almost buried into my palm as he inhaled long, his lips parting even further as a small groan slipped through. My eyes widened, and before I could pull back and make sense of his sudden actions, fingers cradling through my hair at the back of my head immobilised me, the grip firm and strong as I felt cold and sharp teeth sink into my neck. I tried to recoil from Yunho’s fangs sinking deeper into my skin, but he was suddenly much stronger than ever before, flushing me against his body in an iron grip as his fangs hit my artery, making me groan in pain. I could feel every single muscle in my body tense up at the intrusion, my brain commanding me to fight back as bile raised in my throat, my fingers curling into Yunho’s form-fitting black blouse. It stung as he greedily gulped down my rich blood, the gurgling noises were loud as I was moved backwards until my back hit the wall. I was too exhausted to fight back with my whole being, but the more I tugged at Yunho’s hair in hopes he’d release me, the harder he sucked, moans slipping past his lips. I was getting lightheaded as my legs became sore, unable to feel my toes I gasped, something snapping deep in my gut.

A scorching hot flame travelled through my body, making me gasp loudly as my head fell back against the wall, lips parted in a whine as I leaned more towards Yunho, baring my neck for him so he’d have more access to it. The light-headedness turned into a daze one only experienced when drinking from their partner during sex, and suddenly I was aching all over, my fangs pushing past my bottom lip as my gums ached, “Yunho, wait, stop—”

But he didn’t listen as he slotted a thigh between my legs, pressing it against my suddenly aching core, and I moaned, relieved by the pressure, but it wasn’t good enough. If he continued drinking my blood, he’d leave me too drained. I couldn’t let him do that, but I couldn’t make him budge as he clung to me, whimpers slipping past his lips as if he hadn’t fed in over a month. I had never experienced anything like this with anyone before, drinking blood without having sex wasn’t pleasurable, it was painful and appalling, but right now all I could think about was Yunho’s strong thigh pressing against where I needed him most, my hips slowly starting to move as I ground against him. Yunho’s large hand curled around my jaw as I felt his fangs finally retract from my neck, the bite leaving a dull pulsating in my neck. I felt breathless, my body on fire as Yunho raised his head, both eyes bloodshot. I would’ve gasped at the sight if it wasn’t for the lips that pressed hungrily against mine, tasting my own blood on Yunho’s lips felt foreign but not as disgusting as one would expect.

There was something about his warmth and his racing heart that made my brain feel intoxicated, making me realise this wasn’t enough, that I needed more and that I needed it now. I groaned as our lips tried to find a rhythm, but Yunho wouldn’t surrender as he nipped at my bottom lip, trying to lick into my mouth as I resisted giving in fully to him. He was so warm it felt as if his body was burning up, much like the sun, melting away the coldness that clung to mine all the time. It felt like when I had awakened, aware of everything surrounding me and so overly sensitive. He gripped my hip with one hand as the other still cradled my jaw, and suddenly started guiding my hip in a dangerously slow rhythm, making me groan against his lips. I couldn’t fight back, though, it felt too good to ask him to stop, and yet it wasn’t enough, so I finally parted my lips and allowed him to explore my mouth with his eager tongue, suckling on my tongue like it would satiate his hunger. Yunho moaned as I felt his hand on my hip start to trace up my torso, gripping at my skin through my clothes, cupping my breast as he squeezed it, not stalling as it travelled up to rest at the base of my neck.

“Why is your blood so sweet?” Yunho rasped out as our mouths finally detached, my lungs felt on fire despite us not having kissed for too long. I needed a second to realise Yunho had asked me a question, mind fogged up with desire as I could finally grind against him however I wished. Yunho looked down between us and groaned, his grip tightening just a bit around my neck, “Answer me, Y/N.”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, eyebrows furrowing when Yunho grabbed me again, stilling my movements, “Fuck, I’m not lying, I genuinely don’t know. Your blood is sweet too, too sweet, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Anytime your scent hit me harder, all I could think about was sinking my teeth into your skin, your warm and rich blood, the aching of my fangs.”

“Yeah?” Yunho groaned, his eyebrows furrowed as he leaned closer, his lips ghosting over my neck and I shuddered, fingers tangling into his dark blue hair.

“Yeah.” I keened as he pressed a gentle kiss against my neck, tongue lapping at the teeth marks that hadn’t faded yet. Feeling his tongue against my skin made me tremble as my body felt ignited by sparks of desire, and I massaged Yunho’s scalp as he continued peppering kisses against my neck, sometimes nipping at the skin without biting into it.

“I could suck you dry,” Yunho mumbled, biting at my jaw just a bit harder, making me yelp. He raised his head so we were looking into each other’s eyes, both burning with want in them, “I could rip your heart out even, or I could tie you down and escape, kill your whole coven and come back to finish you off later.”

I chuckled, one hand sneaking down his torso, grabbing at the obvious bulge in his jeans. Yunho’s jaw suddenly clenched, his eyes shifting downwards before he looked back at me, “Really? Could you do that when your dick is straining like that against your pants?”

“Shut up.” Yunho hissed, disgust crossing his features before he slammed his lips against mine for a second time, making me laugh as I tried to dodge his insistent kiss. My amusement didn’t last for long, however, because I was suddenly hoisted up, legs around Yunho’s hips as I clung to his larger body, confusion written all over my face. Yunho didn’t look at me as he took us to the bed, sitting down with me in his lap as he leaned closer, burying his nose in my neck as he inhaled deeply, long fingers digging into my back as he felt me up. I closed my eyes and shifted forward just slightly, back arching when Yunho’s hands settled on my hip, realising I was seated right over his dick, his bulge pressing up into my clenching core. With an experimental roll, I tilted Yunho’s head back and leaned down, lips hovering above his as he breathed through his mouth, eyebrows furrowed and eyes ablaze as he stared up at me.

“I’m your creator, don’t think you can harm me as easily as you’d like.” Before he could say anything, our lips met again, moving hungrily as I pushed my tongue past his teeth, tasting him again with hunger, hips picking up a steady rhythm as Yunho’s hands helped for an easier glide. He tasted like mint and candy, not as sweet as his blood, but almost just as satiating. It was a constant push and pull between us, and I knew I didn’t want to be in his arms like this, but something just felt right about letting him kiss me, touch me, feel me up, and even feed from me. I suppressed a moan as he ground up just a bit harsher, his fingers to leave faint bruises if he squeezed any harder, mouth warm against mine. He tipped his head back as my hands cradled his cheeks, fingers buried in his warm skin as our tongues continued to tangle together. A particularly slower roll of my hips, however, had Yunho’s eyebrows furrowing as he turned his head, breathing loudly as his chest heaved. I smirked and kissed his cheek before dipping my head, exploring his soft skin and appetizing neck, his bulging veins practically begging for my fangs to sink into them.

“Is there—fuck,” I teased his skin by biting into it without leaving a trace, licking the faint teeth mark with my tongue before it could disappear, “There’s a deeper connection between us, isn’t it?”

I hummed, pulling back to look down at Yunho, my hips finding a slower rhythm just to antagonise him more, “Yeah, I made you, so in some ways we are connected. It manifests differently in each vampire, though.”

Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed and suddenly he stopped me, leaning forward so that his lips hovered over mine, “You think I can’t kill you?”

“I know you’d like to try,” I chuckled, pressing a mocking kiss against the corner of his mouth. Being with Yunho felt right, something about our bodies being so close to each other felt calming despite the hatred we carried for each other. I couldn’t trust him, but something told me he wouldn’t rip out my heart right now, “But when I turned you, I only wanted you to suffer and not actually lose your life. When one turns into a vampire, it takes attributes from their creator and the purpose they’ve been turned with matters for how they’ll look at their creator. I know you’ll eventually find a way to kill me, but until then, you’re physically unable to do so, Yunho.”

Yunho’s jaw clenched as he stopped my ministrations, hatred and disgust swirling in his irises. He didn’t say anything for a second, but the hand around my throat was a good warning that he thought about choking me again. At this point, he made me think he had a kink for seeing me fight for a single breath, and it wasn’t as hot as one would think. But behind all those strong emotions, there was fear hiding behind Yunho’s brown eye, his bottom lip quivering when he spoke.

“I hate what I am, and I will make sure all of us eventually die, I won’t let humanity become enslaved to vampires.” He whispered, gripping my neck just a bit tighter, “You can keep me here all you want, Y/N, I will never help you. Yeri will remain in her slumber because I refuse to give you my blood, and you can’t take it if I won’t let it.”

I smiled, patting Yunho’s cheek almost affectionately, “I can’t, but Sooyoung and anyone else can.”

I pressed a chaste kiss against his lips before detaching myself, oddly feeling cold and guilty. I didn’t want Yunho to hate me so ardently, but the feeling was mutual despite me having pushed it to the darkest corners of my mind. He had killed Seonghwa, the man I wished to live with for an eternity. There was no scenario in which I could forgive Yunho for his sins, and I trusted he’d be punished for everything he’s done one day. Yunho remained motionless as I stood, patting down my hair and readjusting my blouse, my swollen lips tingling as Yunho licked his. My desire wasn’t the most important thing, I wasn’t here to sleep with Yunho, no matter how much my body yearned for it.

“I will slaughter you if you touch me—”

“Everyone has a price, Yunho.”

“I don’t, Y/N.”

I chuckled, walking past the mess on the floor as I grabbed the key out of my pocket. Yunho could’ve taken it this whole time, yet he didn’t. He knew where it was, his eyes now fixed on it, but he made no moves to stand from the bed. His cheeks were flushed and his pouty lips even plumper, his blouse askew, and the bulge less visible in his jeans.

“Yes, you do, Yunho.” I twisted the lock and turned to give his defeated body one last look, “Song Mingi.”

And I left the room as Yunho gasped, springing up from the bed and banging on the door to be let out. Everyone had a price, even Jeong Yunho. A life for a life.

            The full moon was high in the sky, its gentle light radiating through the open windows. The breeze was cool but nobody could feel it in the dimly lit room, red candles burning away as the strong scent of blue sage filled our nostrils. The vampires around me wore dark burgundy capes, the hoods draped over their eyes as their hands remained buried in their sleeves. My fingers gently traced Yeri’s soft hair, her skin pale and sickly as she remained unmoving. The conference room had been transformed for the ritual, Yeri’s body now aligned in the middle on an altar decorated with white flowers and a silky tablecloth. Her dress was pristine, the small gems embroidered into it sparkling if the light fell on it just right. My dark gown touched the floor as I remained standing next to Yeri’s body, murmuring reassuring things to her in hopes she could hear me. The low murmur of the other vampires suddenly stopped as the double doors opened, Mingyu and Chanyeol carrying a tied-down Yunho inside the room. The silver around his body dug into his skin, and judging by the prominent vein on his forehead and his straining jaw, it was more painful than he could handle. Our eyes met as he was dragged towards the altar, Mingyu muttering a low warning in his ear before Yunho could even think of escaping.

Joohyun, wearing her white dress followed inside, a flower crown prettily decorating her head. She looked innocent, dainty, like an unassuming maiden as she took slow but powerful steps towards the altar, a book in her hands. The long sleeves of her dress hid her hands, and I flinched when I felt a hand grab my shoulder. Sooyoung motioned to the side, gently pulling me away from my sister’s body as my gut coiled nervously, eyes falling on her before watching Yunho again, scared that he’d try to kill her once more. Flashes of Yeri’s bloodied body made me close my eyes, my hands shaky as Sooyoung offered her hand silently, a support she knew I needed right now. I released a shaky breath and watched as Joohyun went to the head of the altar, standing behind Yeri. She looked down at my sister and smiled softly as she traced her eyes for a second, then looked up with a hardened expression. Yunho was dragged next to her by the two bodyguards, trying to trash around in their grips, but the silver only made his skin burn more, so he succumbed to the pain and stopped moving around. His chest was heaving and everyone could hear his racing heart, our eyes found each other once again and I could see just how much he wished to kill every single one of us in the room. I don’t think I have ever felt someone’s hatred as intensely as Yunho’s right now. My jaw clenched as I looked away, focusing on Yeri instead as Joohyun opened her arms, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Everyone, please join hands.” Her soothing voice rang out in the quiet room as everyone followed Joohyun’s instructions. We all stepped closer to the altar, our hands joining together as Yunho looked around frantically, probably looking for a route to escape, “We are here, Yerim, we will set you free. Your suffering ends today.”

I gulped, feeling a tightness in my throat as I looked at my sister, everyone else’s head bowed down in respect to the coven leader. Joohyun met my eyes as she opened the book she had brought with her, an ancient artefact that carried all of our secrets. Perhaps Yunho knew that too because his eyes widened as they fell on it, trying to mutter something, but the rag tied around his mouth made it sound intangible. A slow hum left Joohyun’s throat as she grabbed the silver knife placed on the altar, the book placed by Yeri’s head was flipped open to a page I had never seen before. The gathered vampires followed Joohyun’s lead, and soon I found myself humming lowly in my throat, feeling like I was being electroshocked each time Joohyun’s intonation changed. She was humming a lullaby I hadn’t heard before, but the rest of us kept the initial hum going, concentrating on keeping it uniform. Joohyun raised her hand, muttering a quiet prayer before she cut her finger, drawing a bloody cross on Yeri’s forehead. Yunho’s face morphed into disgust as he tried to speak, yanking on his restraints to no avail as I watched him with furrowed eyebrows, coming to a sudden realisation. Joohyun would kill Yunho once the ritual was over, he wasn’t allowed to live another day.

That wasn’t the realisation, however, but the voice that whispered to me to save him, to take him away before the light faded from his eyes. It was always hard for the creator to watch its offspring perish, but there was something deeper about this that I couldn’t fully understand. Yunho’s eyes shook as we looked at each other again and his jaw clenched when he was hauled forward by Mingyu, Joohyun’s arms extended as she continued to mutter under her breath an incantation in an ancient language I’d never heard before. I didn’t want Yunho to die once Yeri awakened, I had promised a life for a life, and suddenly I realised the voice I heard in my head wasn’t mine, it was Yunho’s low timbre pleading with me to find a way out. He was looking for Song Mingi, whoever that was, he couldn’t die until he found him alive and breathing. My eyes widened as Joohyun raised the silver knife high, her eyes completely white as she hissed. I tried to move towards her, suddenly afraid she’d kill Yunho right now, but Sooyoung’s grip on my hand tightened, yanking me back to my spot. She shot me a warning look, enough to tell me that if I broke the circle, the ritual would not work out. So, with bile in my throat, I was forced to listen to Yunho’s racing heart as Joohyun cut a small gash on his neck, grabbing the back of his head and forcing it down.

His blood trickled slowly as he forced his eyes shut, arms trying to rip his silver chains apart, but I could smell his burnt skin mixing with his blood’s intoxicating scent. I could feel my fangs poking against my bottom lip, but this wasn’t the time or place to yearn for Yunho’s sweet blood. My eyes zeroed in on the first blood droplet as it splashed against Yeri’s closed mouth, then another, and another, until it was enough to trickle inside her mouth. Joohyun continued chanting, her voice rising in volume as did the hum of the vampires, and I realised I was doing it involuntarily as if I was entranced by our leader. Joohyun’s head snapped back with a sickening crack as her mouth opened, all sounds halting as Yunho was trembling, fear, anger, and disgust swirling in his irises as more blood trickled down his neck, wetting Yeri’s lips. Then, as the silence stretched on and Chanyeol had to catch Joohyun’s limp body when it fell backwards, there was a loud gasp as if someone had been suffocating but managed to break through the surface. The vampires froze as my eyes widened, watching as Yeri’s bloodshot eyes snapped open, disoriented and full of fear until they fell on the hovering hunter above her.

I felt my knees wobble as I watched my once again living little sister grab the back of Yunho’s head and yank him down, sinking her fangs into his neck. A pained sound left Yunho’s body as Mingyu stepped back, a satisfied smirk on his face as he let Yeri have her way with Yunho. The vampires looked astonished as our circle broke apart, some taking steps back while the others remained frozen. I could hear Seungwan crying behind me, her sobs loud as Seulgi hurried to Joohyun’s aid, snapping orders at Chanyeol as to what to do with her. Sooyoung remained on my side, her grip bruising on my bicep as we watched Yeri breathlessly, my eyes filled with burning tears as Yunho struggled to break free from my sister’s attack. She looked famished, her eyes were gleaming red and she was greedily gulping down Yunho’s blood, long nails piercing his skin as her eyes snapped around the room alarmed until they fell on me. Yunho had stopped trashing around, his breathing becoming shallow, and I realised that his heartbeat was alarmingly slowing down. Feeling an unexplainable pull, I jumped forward and pushed Yeri off him, her fangs dripping with his hot blood as Yunho slumped against the altar, struggling to breathe. Sooyoung was by my side, cradling Yeri to her chest as I rushed around the altar, holding Yunho up and yanking the rag off his mouth.

“Water.” He heaved out, struggling to breathe, “I can’t—breathe.”

I felt myself panic as I looked around, but nobody seemed to want to help the hunter. My jaw clenched as I heard my sister’s timid voice asking what had happened and why everything felt so weird, but upon my eyes meeting with Sooyoung’s, I understood that she’d take care of my sister while I tended to the hunter.

“Come on,” I whispered and hauled Yunho’s large form into my arms, his weight pressing but nothing I couldn’t handle. I felt judgmental stares follow after me, some murmured even, as I hurried back to the room Yunho was held inside, wondering if my heart would be racing in fright if it was still beating. Yunho was mumbling intangible things, but I didn’t focus on them as I barged inside the bedroom and hurriedly placed him on the bed, my skin burning when I touched the silver chains. They were enchanted so that Yunho couldn’t break them, but they came undone easily under my grip. His arms unravelled from around his body as he groaned, trying to turn onto his side as he squeezed his eyes shut. I hurried to the desk, grabbed the bottle of water he hadn’t touched since yesterday, and uncapped it as I held his head up, knees sinking into the soft mattress of the bed. When Yunho realised I was helping him drink, he gripped my hand greedily and downed the bottle, breathing hard as his head fell back to the mattress, eyes half opened as he tiredly looked at me.

I gulped and stood back, putting distance between us when I realised his heart had a steady rhythm once again, “You didn’t let her kill me.”

I huffed, an unimpressed smile pulling at my lips, “It’s not just you who can’t kill me, Yunho, I can’t kill you either…for now.”

“For now.” Yunho echoed, his voice gruff as he curled up in a ball, his teeth chattering, “I will escape—and there will be no trace left of the Bae Coven.”

And I knew he meant it, so I hummed and pulled a blanket over his shivering body, knowing that he needed the rest. I left the room with a sinking feeling in my stomach and locked the door twice, pocketing the key to make sure nobody would be able to enter it. I couldn’t risk them doing anything to Yunho. But until he recovered, my sister was the most important thing.

            The mansion felt more alive than ever before. It’s been barely three days since Yeri awakened, yet joy and laughter filled every hallway of the otherwise sombre house. It felt like a rock had been lifted off my chest, like I could breathe easier as I could finally smile and enjoy another sunrise. Yeri, despite her brightness, hid a darkness she thought we couldn’t see. She was trying to come to terms with the fact that she’d been dead for over two hundred years and that the world she once knew wasn’t the same. It was hard, I could see it in her forced smiles and her jumpy body whenever someone crept too close to her as if she was expecting to be staked again. I couldn’t understand her pain, but I could be there for her to help her out. My bed no longer was empty, she’d be waiting for me after my shifts, her pyjamas pink and her hair now short. She looked gorgeous as the sun beamed inside, surprisingly she craved the summer warmth more than any of us. I smiled as I entered my room, a phone she still struggled to understand in her hands, her eyebrows furrowed as she kept pressing the screen.

“What are you doing?” I asked with a chuckle, walking closer to my bed. Nobody had seen Yunho in the past three days, and nobody but me was allowed to enter his room. The coven was undecided about his fate, and it was all thanks to Seungwan’s kindred spirit and my insistence that keeping him alive would benefit us. The others didn’t have to know that somehow a selfish part of me had grown dependent on the vampire hunter, the thought of losing him now sounded terrible. He was a bad man worthy of punishment, but the song of his blood was stronger than all the bottled-up feelings I’d felt for him for so long.

“Seulgi downloaded some game for me, apparently,” Yeri answered as I kneeled on the bed next to her, my room now decorated in pink trinkets. Yeri’s always loved pink, she even wanted to dye her hair the colour once she found out it was now possible, “But this stupid thing won’t work!”

Her accent was heavy and of different times, it brought a sense of nostalgia over me as I grabbed her phone out of her hands and placed it aside. Yeri just pouted as she looked at me, her calmness managing to settle my nerves. Our bond was special, after I had turned her into a vampire, something connected us like nobody else. I could feel her emotions and she could tell where I was all the time, whether I was safe or in danger. Knowing that she finally wasn’t in distress managed to make me feel less bad about the fact that I couldn’t be by her side all the time due to my job.

“What did you do today?” I asked as I brushed a strand of short hair out of her eyes.

“Sooyoung showed me the—garage and we went for a ride?” Yeri’s lips pursed as she grabbed my hand to hold it, “But she said the horses and carriages were replaced a long time ago…I really wanted to go on horseback, though.”

I chuckled, taking in my sister’s less pale complex and her reddish irises. She wasn’t warm, but her voice filled my chest with adoration, “We’ll buy you some horses, I’ll talk to Joohyun.”

“Is it true you won’t let anyone see the hunter?” Yeri’s voice was just a whisper as I looked down, chewing the inside of my mouth.

“Yes, I have to sort out some issues first, I’m sorry.” Yeri just hummed, and then I felt her hand cupping my cheek.

“I’m not mad at you,” She was smiling softly, her eyes sad, “You can do whatever to him, he’s yours. If you wouldn’t have turned him, I would’ve never returned. Seungwan told me all the things you did for me, the research, the places you visited to find out more, thank you. I knew you were a great sister, yet you surprised me once again. I love you, Y/N.”

I leaned forward to hug her tightly, sniffing a bit as I felt the tears burn my eyes, “I love you too, Yeri, I’m glad you are back.”

“Me too,” Yeri giggled, but then her excitement died down, “This world is scary, though, I don’t think I like it here.”

“You’ll get used to it, a lot has changed and a lot has improved, living now is a bit more comfortable.” Yeri nodded as I slowly got off the bed, looking towards the bag I had discarded at the door.

“You’ll go see him, right?” She pointed towards my bag, “That’s why you brought home blood.”

I hummed as I grabbed the two blood bags out of my bag, gripping the doorknob, “I have to, if I didn’t hear his heartbeat, I’d think he was already dead.”

Yeri chuckled as she fell back into the pillows, clutching one to her chest, “Don’t take too long, I still have so many questions before you fall asleep.”

I laughed and nodded before closing the door, then headed for Yunho’s room which was one floor underneath us. I could feel my hands sweat for no reason, something in my gut twisting. I fidgeted with the key as I stopped in front of his door, debating whether I should knock first or not. Most of the coven was asleep now or out doing their daytime jobs, but a few remained in the mansion to hide out. I unlocked the door and slowly pushed it open, looking first at the bed, but Yunho wasn’t there. My eyebrows furrowed as I realised I could smell his scent inside the room, but it was faint. His heartbeat, however, was strong and telling me that he was inside the room. The door clicked shut behind me as I realised the window’s lock was broken, now wide open as the breeze billowed through the curtains. My eyebrows furrowed as I whirled around, looking for Yunho. Was he inside the bathroom? The water wasn’t running, but maybe he was in there. But if the window was open, why hadn’t he escaped yet? In my confusion, I failed to notice him creeping up on me, one large hand wrapping around my throat from behind. I froze, hands holding the blood bags tighter.

“You finally came,” Yunho muttered into my ear and goosebumps erupted on my skin, his lips warm as they brushed against the shell of my ear, “Thought you’d never visit your favourite vampire hunter.”

“You’re a bit bold, don’t you think?” I questioned, making Yunho chuckle, “Did you regain your power?”

“Mostly,” Yunho hummed walking us closer to the window, “But I’m famished.”

“That’s why I brought you blood.” I raised one blood bag, but Yunho tsked, “What? Is it not good enough for you?”

“I have my ways of hunting, and right now…” My jaw clenched as he lightly nipped at my jaw, “I’m craving something fresh, something warm, young, and something that’s inside this mansion.”

My eyebrows furrowed as Yunho’s hand tightened around my neck, the two of us standing in front of the window. He chuckled, and before I could ask what he meant, he kissed the corner of my mouth tauntingly before his lips brushed against my ear once again, “You didn’t lock the door.”

The glass cracked as my head collided with it, making me let out a pained yelp as I fell against the windows, blood bags falling from my hands. My head thumped painfully as I hissed, trying to regain my bearings as my vision swam for a second, turning around to face Yunho…except that he wasn’t inside the room anymore, the door wide open. My eyes widened as I felt a chill run down my spine, with feet tangling together, I dashed towards the door, mind whirling where he could’ve gone. And then, the thought struck me like lightning, and I screamed Yeri’s name as I dashed up towards our shared room, my hands shaking as I barged inside. The window was still open, a pink shawl on the floor as she lay on it, her eyes closed and—I stopped breathing as I kneeled next to her, unable to tell if she was dead or not. But gripping her cheeks painfully, she stirred and blinked her eyes open, confused and alarmed.

“Y/N?”

“Lock the door and the windows, do not go out until I say so,” I commanded as I rose to my feet, body now shaking from anger as I realised Yunho had tricked me on purpose so he could flee. I slammed the door behind myself and fled the mansion as well, sweating under the scorching hot sun as I turned around in one spot, trying to clear my mind to find Yunho. He was close, without drinking blood, he wasn’t as fast as usual, and the sun would also hurt him now, so I wondered where he was hiding. Taking a car would’ve been too obvious and loud, so that means…my eyes fell on the forest, and before I could blink my feet were already moving towards it, branches snapping under my weight as I ran fast, trying to track his scent down. The sounds of the forest felt disorienting with all the flowery scents making me feel nauseous, the birds chirping over my head feeling as if they were taunting me since I couldn’t hear Yunho’s heart anymore. I stopped to catch my breath and closed my eyes, hearing the creak not far from here. Would he go there to try and refresh himself before he continued trekking back to the city? And just like that, faint sweetness made my throat go dry. He was here, close by, and I would catch him.

I took off running again, pushing myself just a bit further despite the strong sun making my muscles ache, and I almost missed him as I wheezed past a deer. He was using it to mask himself, I smirked as I stopped behind a tree, watching the two move as one. The deer seemed almost unaware of Yunho’s presence right next to it, but Yunho’s narrowed eyes told me that he was trying to find me as he felt the place out. Without giving him the chance to find me, I pounced towards him, scaring the deer off as Yunho hissed when my body collided with his, pushing him down to the ground. The scenery felt eerily similar, except that it was daytime now and Yunho was as much of a vampire as me. The last I got to straddle him in a forest was the night I turned him into one of us after having played around with him for a bit. Yunho’s chest fell and rose rapidly, his eyes burning as he gripped my hips and tried to flip us over, but my thighs squeezed his torso firmly.

“Did you think you could outrun me?” I chuckled, raising my eyebrows at him, “You haven’t had any blood in three days after you were nearly drained, I thought you were smarter than that, Yunho.”

“How’s your sister doing, by the way?” The question paired with his insufferable smirk felt like a punch to my gut, and before I could stop myself, I landed a harsh slap across his cheek. Yunho’s head whipped to the side, but instead of the anger I was expecting, he started laughing, his shoulders shaking as he suddenly went lax underneath me. I glared at him as I gripped his jaw and forced him to face me, his cheeks and neck were red, his pointy lips chapped, and his dark blue hair messy.

“You’re fucking lucky I created you, Yunho.” I hissed, grip tightening on his jaw. He hummed, staring up at the clear sky.

“I almost thought you had forgotten about me,” It seemed like he wasn’t done taunting me as he pushed his lips out, looking up at me with his big eyes, “Shouldn’t you look out for me? See? You abandoned me again, and then you’re surprised I can’t trust you…”

“Quit the bullshit, Yunho.” I snapped, fed up with his attitude as he laughed, one hand sneaking to my lower back as I tensed, “You can’t leave until the coven hasn’t decided your fate. Joohyun won’t let you leave now, most likely, and it’s your fault.”

“Everything is always my fault,” Yunho groaned as he rolled his eyes, his other hand sneaking up on my thigh. My eyebrows furrowed as I looked down at his hand, feeling that warm flicker deep in my stomach. It was back, that feeling of belonging and lust as I stared at Yunho, confused by his words and actions, “If you would have just killed me, I would be out of your hair right now. Admit it, Y/N, you wanted someone to play with and that’s why you walked away in the end.”

“I did not want anything to do with the man that tried to kill my sister—” My words died in my throat when I was suddenly flipped over, my back hitting the cold ground. I froze as Yunho now kneeled between my legs, his hands trailing up my thighs as I frowned at him. This wasn’t like the Yunho I knew, he’d be threatening me and trying to kill me by now. What was his plan?

“And yet here you are, with him between your legs and his fangs sunken deep into your neck.” He smirked as he lowered himself, biting my jaw mockingly as I tried to slap his head away, but his fingers intertwined with mine, hands immobilised on both sides of my head.

“Yunho—” My warning fell on deaf ears as his teeth sunk into my neck, a moan falling past my lips as the initial pain didn’t even come this time, just soaring hotness that travelled through every limb, alighting the dormant fire underneath my skin. My head fell back as my fingers tightened against Yunho’s, his heavier body pressing mine firmly down into the ground. He grunted as he took more blood, his hips grinding down almost teasingly as my eyebrows furrowed, stomach clenching in yearning, “I thought you didn’t feed from living people.”

Yunho chuckled as he pulled back, licking my neck and kissing up to my ear, where he nibbled on my lobe, “You are not alive, though, and I think I found a new way to feed. Aren’t you just so pliant, Y/N?”

My jaw clenched and I turned my head swiftly, aiming to headbutt him, but he was faster. Yunho laughed, thrusting once as my thighs tightened around his hips, my eyes bleeding into his with anger, “You don’t seem to hate it as much as you make it seem.”

“Get off, Yunho!” I snapped, ripping my hands out of his as he slightly leaned back, tilting his head in amusement, “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

He grinned and braced his weight on his hands, but he didn’t sit back. I glared at him, but he didn’t seem to care as he pretended to think, “You said I have a price, and you’re right. Your little sister is well and alive once again, how about we make a little deal?”

That sounded horrible, “What deal?”

He leaned down to press a chaste kiss to my lips, and I should’ve been embarrassed that I chased after his lips when he pulled back. Yunho was amused by it, one hand coming to cradle my cheek as he hummed, “I saved your little sister, you help me find someone…”

“You saved her?” My laugh was humourless, “After you killed her, right…”

“Song Mingi.” Yunho snapped suddenly, his features darkening. So, he was done playing around, huh?

“What about him?”

“You said I have a price, and that it comes with him, well you were right. That Seungwan girl…she seems to know him.” Right, Seungwan could find anyone in a matter of hours, “Yeri is alive, so help me find him.”

“Why?” I raised an eyebrow, tilting my head, “Who’s he to you?”

Yunho looked reluctant to speak, but he gave in when I raised both eyebrows, “Someone whose life I ruined a long time ago. I was foolish and I went back to my coven thinking they’d help me, instead, they locked me up and started experimenting with my blood when they realised I was half human. Mingi…he’s a victim of that experiment, he’s…he’s like me just more…violent.”

Understanding washed over me as Yunho’s eyes lowered, “You created him, didn’t you?”

He looked at me without answering, and I just knew, “You love him.”

Yunho’s jaw clenched and I scoffed, something like regret, anger, and disgust swirling in my stomach, “You want me to find your lover for you after you killed mine?”

“You can do whatever you want with me once I know Mingi is well and alive, just help me out this once.” He didn’t look into my eyes, but he looked so small as he lowered his head. I scoffed, wanting to refuse him, to rip his head off, but I couldn’t. The pain, the uncertainty and the yearning of not knowing what happened to your lover hit me like a truck, and I felt pity for Yunho because I knew what that felt like.

“Once you find Mingi, you’ll never cross my path, do you understand?” My eyes were hard and my voice cold as he looked at me, face impassive, “And if I see either one of you, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“Deal.” Yunho didn’t even miss a beat as he sat back, extending one hand.

“Make it a blood promise,” I smirked as Yunho’s jaw clenched, but he bit into his palm and so did I, our blood smearing together once we shook hands.

“I’ll leave your coven alone, then, but if I see you or Yeri, you’ll be dead.” I chuckled and nodded, sitting up as Yunho got off me, surprisingly even helping me up. He remained gripping my arm as he pulled me close into himself, his eyes soft for the first time I’ve known him.

“Thank you.” He whispered, his eyes fluttering closed as he leaned down, our lips meeting in a soft kiss. I gripped his nape and pushed up on my tiptoes, our lips locking together as Yunho hummed, pressing more kisses against my lips as we pulled apart.

“Thank you too, although I’ll never forgive you.” Yunho smiled, stepping back.

“That’s alright, I’ll never forgive you either.” I nodded, watching him step into the sun, making me wonder how one man could be as beautiful as Yunho. Before he departed, however, he seemed to linger for a second, his eyebrows furrowed.

“There was a belief in my coven…that a soul that is suddenly ripped away from this realm will wander back to claim what’s theirs.” I didn’t understand what he meant by that, but before I could question it, he continued, “How long has it been since I killed Seonghwa?”

I froze, breath stuttering in my throat, “Are you saying—”

“He’s around, you just have to find him.” A small smile settled over Yunho’s lips as I felt tears brimming my eyes, hands shaking. He turned his back to me with a chuckle, waving his fingers as he took off, walking further into the trees.

“I’ll stop by to get my refill later this week!” Yunho’s voice called as I listened to his even heartbeat, feeling weak all of a sudden as I had to lean against a tree for support. I had Yeri back, and now all I had to do was find Seonghwa once again. A shuddered breath left my lips as I smiled, flipping Yunho off before I started walking back to the mansion, keeping to the shade since I was already feeling lightheaded.

Maybe keeping him alive was the best decision I could’ve made, after all.

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[dreamersworldduh]

Seeing as the people yearn for Brenton Thwaites Dick Grayson what about a fic where reader gets sent to prison for something stupid or whatever. He gets put into a cell with Dick. Dick is indifferent to his presence, but when reader gets threatened buy some inmates Dick offers protection in exchange for- well you know what! completely consensual but is an favour exchange

Thankuuu

PROTECTION

• DICK GRAYSON x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — In the brutal confines of Gotham State Penitentiary, survival depends on silence, strength, and knowing exactly who to avoid. When you arrive—fresh meat, still raw with the anger that got you locked up—you expect isolation, maybe violence, definitely fear. What you don’t expect is Grayson: your quiet, unreadable cellmate who keeps to himself, barely speaks, and yet commands a kind of fear that even the worst predators respect.

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing. Violence.

WORDS! 17.2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Okay, I know I’ve been absence but I haven’t been doing nothing—this fic right here took a week to finish and I have more coming. So be prepared for the flood, thank you for requesting—enjoy your reading✨🫶🏽

For the next twelve months, your home is Gotham State Penitentiary—cell block D, unit 43, third bunk from the left. A narrow slab of metal bolted to the wall, thin mattress, no privacy, and a toilet in full view. Why are you here? Because you did something reckless. No, scratch that—something flat-out insane. The kind of act that blows up your life in one quick, satisfying explosion. You knew the fallout was coming. You just didn't care—not in that moment.

Not when you saw your ex-boyfriend's face go white. Eyes wide. Mouth half-open, like the words he wanted to say got stuck in his throat. That raw mix of betrayal, disbelief, and something close to heartbreak—that was the payoff. That was what you wanted. That split-second where you had all the power, and he had nothing but shock. For five glorious minutes, it felt worth it.

Then the sirens wailed. Then the cops tackled you to the ground. Then the gates of Gotham State slammed shut behind you with a metal scream that echoed in your spine.

Intake was where it hit you. Cold tile floors. Buzzing fluorescents. The stench of bleach and sweat and fear. This wasn't juvie. This wasn't a night in a holding cell and a slap on the wrist. This was a maximum-security prison built like a fortress—gray concrete walls, watchtowers, razor wire, and no easy exits. Everyone here was doing real time. Fifteen-year sentences. Life without parole. Robbery, arson, aggravated assault. Murder. The kind of men who didn't just talk tough—they were tough. The kind who broke fingers like they were snapping twigs. No metahumans, no masks, but make no mistake: these guys were predators. And you? You were the new one. The untested one. The one who still smelled like the outside.

The guards? They barely looked at you. They'd seen a thousand versions of you before—new meat with a chip on his shoulder and regret kicking in fast. They barked orders, shoved you through processing, and handed you your jumpsuit like you were a product on an assembly line. And the other inmates? They noticed you the second you stepped onto the block. Some just stared. Others smiled. A few muttered under their breath. You felt it all—eyes crawling across your skin like ants. That smug defiance you brought with you? Gone. Somewhere between the strip search and the fingerprinting and the cold metal bracelet slapped on your wrist, it evaporated. Fast.

You started to wonder.

Was five minutes of satisfaction really worth a year behind these walls?

You're about to find out.

You stepped into the cell, the heavy metal door clanging shut behind you like a final verdict. The lock clicked with a dull thud that seemed to echo straight into your chest. No going back now. The room was barely big enough for two bunks, a toilet, and a metal sink. The air was stale, thick with the layered stench of old sweat, bleach, and institutional despair. Cold, too—like the concrete walls were leeching heat straight out of your skin.

You'd braced yourself for this—cramped quarters, zero privacy, the kind of silence that always felt like it was holding its breath. But what you hadn't expected was the guy already inside.

He was shirtless, crouched low to the ground, cranking out push-ups with a pace that wasn't fast, but relentless. Controlled. Like every movement had a purpose. His back was broad and cut with muscle, the kind you didn't get from casual gym visits. This was functional strength—prison strength. A body built to survive, not just look good. Sweat rolled down his spine in slow rivulets, catching the flickering fluorescent light above and making his skin shine like polished bronze.

His hair was damp and messy, brown and curling slightly where it brushed the tops of his ears. You could tell it had been cut a while ago, probably by clippers with no guard, the kind of rough cut you got from a guard or a fellow inmate with a dull blade. He looked young—mid twenties, maybe—but carried himself like someone much older. Someone who'd seen shit and came out the other side sharper for it.

When he finally finished a set, he rocked back on his heels and sat up, breathing steady, not even winded. That's when he turned his head just enough for you to see his face. Sharp jawline, a couple days of scruff, and a purpling bruise blooming under his left eye. His expression was unreadable—blank, almost bored. But his eyes were the curveball: deep brown, warm, soft in a way that didn't match the rest of him. Kind eyes. The kind that made you think of a loyal dog, the type that would follow you anywhere... or rip someone apart if you told it to.

You opened your mouth, figuring it was smart to at least introduce yourself. Tension like this? It didn't need help getting worse.

"Hey. I'm—"

Nothing.

He didn't look at you. Didn't ask your name. Didn't even flinch. He just reached down, grabbed a stained white towel—your towel, sitting on the lower bunk that was clearly supposed to be yours—and wiped the sweat from his face. Then, without so much as a glance your way, he dropped back to the floor and kept moving, muscles flexing again, the rhythm of his push-ups steady as a ticking clock.

You stood there for a beat, hand still halfway raised, words dying in your throat. Right. Message received.

So much for small talk.

You were seven days into your sentence, and already the rhythm of prison life had sunk into your bones. You woke up with the clang of metal, moved through the day like a ghost. No eye contact, no conversation, no sudden movements. Just survive. Keep your head down, your mouth shut, and your back to the wall. Blend in. Be invisible.

So far, it had worked. Mostly.

That afternoon, you sat alone at one of the scarred metal tables in the cafeteria, your tray of prison-issued "lunch" cooling in front of you. The food was barely food—grayish boiled potatoes swimming in lukewarm water and a scoop of something that might have once been beans, or maybe meat, or maybe nothing at all. You weren't trying to figure it out. You just chewed slowly, methodically, eyes locked on the tray like it held state secrets.

Around you, the room buzzed with controlled chaos: trays clattering, low murmurs of conversation, the occasional bark of laughter, the slap of boots against linoleum as guards walked their lazy loops. Nothing sounded urgent. Nothing felt out of place.

Until it did.

It started with a hush. Not loud, but unnatural. A drop in volume that spread like a ripple through water. A subtle shift in air pressure, like the room itself was holding its breath. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up before you even looked up. You'd felt it before, on the streets, in bad neighborhoods, in worse moments—when things were about to go sideways.

You lifted your eyes.

Three men. Moving with purpose. They didn't bother hiding it. They walked like they owned the floor, like the space around them belonged to them and they were just deciding what to take next. Big guys, all of them, their bodies built from endless reps in the yard and lives lived by force. Ink crawled down their necks, across their knuckles, dark lines telling stories of loyalty and violence. The one in front had a scar that split his face from lip to jaw, puckered and pale, like someone had tried to give him a permanent grin with a razor blade.

They stopped in front of your table.

Didn't speak. Didn't blink. Just stood there, letting their presence do the talking. The leader's hands were buried casually in the pockets of his jumpsuit, but the two behind him were coiled tight, fists clenched, shoulders squared. Ready.

You didn't recognize them, but from the way they were looking at you—like a wolf pack eyeing a stray rabbit—they definitely recognized you. Or thought they did. Maybe you looked like someone they hated. Maybe you'd stepped into the wrong shower stall without knowing it. Or maybe they just needed someone to make an example of.

Either way, trouble had found you.

And it brought friends.

The leader stepped forward until his boots were nearly brushing your tray. His shadow stretched long across your food, and the smell hit you—sweat, cigarettes, and that thick, sour stench of too many men packed into too small a space for too long. He looked down at your plate, then at you, that twisted half-smile curling up the side of his scarred mouth.

"Kang wants your tray," he said, tapping two fingers against the edge of it. Slow. Lazy. Like he was already bored with how easy this was going to be.

You didn't answer right away.

Your jaw locked. You stared at him, then at the tray—your tray. The same godawful meal every inmate got, but to you, it was everything. You hadn't bought anything from commissary since you got in. No cookies. No cup noodles. No candy bars tucked into the corner of your locker. This was it. The only food you were going to see until the next morning.

Give it up, and you were going hungry for the next eleven hours.

You looked at the clock on the wall. 6:00 PM.

No chips. No extras. Just this tray and your pride.

And pride in prison could be dangerous.

Still, you didn't move. You didn't flinch. You just met his eyes—briefly—and gave your answer.

"Nah," you said, voice low but clear. "I'm eating today."

The tap of his fingers stopped.

The smile faded. Just a bit. Enough for the temperature in the room to drop.

Kang didn't like your answer.

You saw it in the subtle snap of tension across his jaw, the way his lips twitched as if suppressing a snarl. Something shifted behind his eyes—like a door slammed shut and locked from the inside. Whatever mild amusement he'd been faking a moment ago evaporated. What replaced it was colder. Sharper. A quiet kind of fury, the kind that didn't explode—it waited.

The air between you thickened, as if the room had narrowed and the space around your table had turned into a pressure chamber. You could feel it. Something was about to happen.

Then, like someone flipped a switch, his two boys moved.

The one on the left cracked his knuckles as he stepped forward, broad shoulders rolling like he was stretching before a workout. He had that look—tight jaw, steady eyes, like he was already picturing your head bouncing off the table. The other guy circled fast, his boots silent, his posture practiced. He didn't hesitate. This wasn't his first time cornering someone. He moved like muscle memory was guiding him, like he'd done this same dance a dozen times before with the same ending every time.

Your hands tensed. You pushed your legs back under the bench just enough to brace yourself. Fight or flight didn't really exist in a place like this. There was only fight or fold. And folding too early meant you'd be folding every damn day after that.

Then Kang raised a hand.

Just a flick of his wrist. No words. No theatrics.

And they stopped. Froze in place mid-step like they'd been put on pause. Neither one said anything, but they didn't need to. The obedience was instant, reflexive. Kang didn't even glance at them—his gaze stayed locked on you.

The smile returned, but it wasn't smug this time. It was calculated. Cold. The kind of smile that says, Not today. But soon.

He leaned forward slightly, just enough to cross into your space without touching you. Close enough that you could smell the faint trace of mint gum—unexpected, oddly clean—and the sweat dried into the seams of his collar. His voice was low, casual, like you were sharing a joke.

"Eat up, rookie. Gotta keep your strength."

Then he straightened, turned, and walked away like nothing had happened. His crew hesitated half a second longer before following, their bodies still thrumming with restrained violence. They didn't look back.

You didn't move.

Couldn't. Your body was locked in place. Heart hammering behind your ribs like it wanted out. You could feel the weight of the room now—every stare, every unspoken question. The cafeteria hadn't gone silent, but it had definitely shifted. Conversations had dipped. Forks hovered mid-air. Dozens of inmates had watched the scene unfold, and none of them had said a word.

They didn't need to. The looks said enough.

You'd just made a move. Or a mistake. Or maybe both.

You turned back to your tray. The potatoes looked grayer now. The mush looked wetter. Your appetite, what little there was, had vanished completely. You forced one bite. It tasted like nothing and sat in your mouth like concrete.

And then—movement. Out of the corner of your eye.

Across the room, half-hidden in shadow, leaning against the back wall where the light flickered overhead.

Grayson.

Your cellmate.

He stood there with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, his back pressed against the wall like he'd been there the whole time. Maybe he had. His brown hair was damp, as usual, curling slightly at the ends. Sweat darkened the collar of his worn gray shirt. His face was unreadable.

He didn't nod. Didn't smirk. Didn't blink.

He was just watching you.

Studying you.

Like you were some puzzle he hadn't quite solved yet.

It wasn't judgment. Wasn't concern. It was something colder. More analytical. Like he was mentally filing this moment away, deciding what kind of person you were—what kind of problem you might become.

And that stare? That flat, steady stare?

It rattled you more than Kang ever could.

The next day, you were knee-deep in the laundry room, sweating through your uniform and elbow-deep in someone else's filth. The air was thick—humid, heavy, saturated with the sharp sting of bleach and the mildewy undertone of fabric that had soaked in too much sweat and too little detergent over the years. It stank. The kind of stink that settled into your nose and wouldn't leave, even when you scrubbed your face with cold water later.

It wasn't glamorous. Hell, it was barely tolerable. But you'd put your name on the assignment sheet the moment you got processed, before the ink had even dried on your intake forms. It was one of the last jobs left—nobody wanted it. Most inmates scrambled for the kitchen (extra food), or the library (peace and quiet, maybe a little dignity). Laundry, though? That was bottom of the barrel. Grunt work. Lifting, scrubbing, folding, hauling. All day on your feet, back screaming, hands stinging from bleach and constant friction.

And still, you considered it a win.

The room was big, at least by prison standards—concrete floors, exposed pipes overhead, and rows of industrial washing machines the size of small cars. They clanged and rattled violently as they spun, shaking the floor and making conversation nearly impossible, which suited you just fine. Giant wheeled bins overflowed with orange jumpsuits, socks stiff with dried sweat, towels that looked like they'd been dragged through a sewer. Sorting them was mindless work—sort by color, by smell, by how likely they were to fall apart in the wash. Rinse. Repeat. Literally.

Your shirt clung to your back, soaked through. Your shoulders burned with every load you dragged from machine to dryer. Your fingers were cracked and red from wringing out piles of soaked fabric. But there was space. There was movement. There was a task to keep your brain occupied.

And, most importantly, there was no Grayson.

Your cellmate hadn't said a single word to you in a week. Not a greeting. Not a threat. Not a grunt of acknowledgment. Just... nothing. He existed in that cell like a shadow pinned to the corner. Silent. Unblinking. When you spoke, he didn't answer. When you coughed, he didn't flinch. You weren't even sure if he noticed you most of the time. It was like living with a mannequin someone had carved from stone.

At night, it got worse. You'd lie on your bunk and glance over to find him sitting upright, staring at the far wall. Eyes half-shut, maybe resting, but never fully asleep. Always alert. Always still. The man never twitched, never turned over, never made a sound. Like he was wired to stay on watch, even when the world around him went still.

That kind of silence? It wasn't peaceful. It was oppressive.

So yeah—folding underwear in a stinking hellhole for eight hours a day felt like a goddamn vacation.

In the laundry room, you had noise—clanging, hissing, grinding, rumbling machines that made it impossible to think too long or too hard. You had motion—tasks to finish, bins to move, towels to fold. You had space. You weren't being watched. Judged. Weighed and measured by a man who hadn't spoken to you but somehow still made you feel small every time he looked your way.

Here, in this sweltering box of sweat and steam, you could just be a body doing a job. No past, no mistakes, no ex-boyfriends, no cellmates with haunted eyes.

Just heat. Just noise.

And for now, that was enough.

You were working alongside Cruz—a rail-thin guy with hollow cheeks and tattoos that looked like they'd been scratched into his skin with a pen and a needle. He never talked. Just grunted now and then, more to himself than anyone else. You didn't mind. You'd grown to like the quiet between you. He folded fast, moved with practiced efficiency, and never asked questions.

A guard stood by the door. Mid-forties, heavyset, with eyes that looked half-asleep under his buzzed haircut. He wasn't watching you so much as trying not to care. Arms crossed. Slouched. Counting the minutes until his shift ended. He hadn't spoken in over an hour. You hadn't either.

For once, the silence wasn't heavy. It felt... peaceful. Like the room was its own little bubble, sealed off from the rest of the prison.

Then you heard it.

A sharp whistle. Clean. Controlled. Echoing off the tiled walls like a knife clinking against glass.

Your head snapped up.

Cruz froze mid-fold. You exchanged a glance, brief but sharp. You could see the tension rise in his shoulders. That whistle hadn't been random. It was a signal.

The guard straightened. His posture shifted just slightly—shoulders up, eyes suddenly focused. He looked at the door, nodded to himself, and then... walked out. No warning. No radio call. No command. He didn't even look back.

Just turned, opened the door, and disappeared into the hallway like he'd never been there at all.

Your gut twisted.

Then they walked in.

Kang came first, his swagger slow and deliberate, the way someone walked when they were sure no one could touch them. His jumpsuit hung open halfway, sleeves tied around his waist like he was too relaxed to care about protocol. Behind him came his two usual shadows—huge, mean, built like failed linebackers. One of them had a split lip that never seemed to heal. The other had a shaved head and a tattoo on his neck that looked like a noose.

The door slammed shut behind them with a hollow clank that echoed all the way through your chest.

Your heart sank.

You already knew this wasn't a chat. They hadn't come here to scare you. That part had already passed.

Cruz didn't say a word. Didn't ask what was going on or if you were okay. He just wiped his hands on the thighs of his pants, walked around the folding table, and slipped past them like he wasn't even there. Like this was choreography. Like this had all been planned and he'd practiced his exit.

No eye contact. No hesitation.

And then it was just you.

Standing in the middle of the room. Hands wet from handling clothes. Shirt stuck to your back. The sweat between your shoulder blades now cold. Piles of dirty jumpsuits boxed you in like low, fabric-covered walls. The machines kept groaning, kept spinning, like they couldn't care less about the shift in air, the building tension, the inevitability of what was coming.

Kang stepped closer. That grin on his face again—casual, slow-spreading, cruel in its patience.

No words yet.

Just that smile.

And you knew, with a certainty that hit like ice in your veins: You were completely, absolutely alone.

The silence in the room wasn't natural. It didn't feel empty—it felt charged. Like a live wire had been strung through the air, humming just beneath your skin. Your heartbeat was too loud in your ears, thudding hard, fast, like it knew time was running out.

You started doing the math in your head—how many steps to the door, how far they'd have to move to cut you off, what you could use in here as a weapon. Nothing promising. Nothing that ended with you walking out of the room unscathed.

They hadn't rushed you. That was worse. They were still, deliberate, watching you with the patience of men who enjoyed dragging things out. Kang stood at the front, relaxed, loose-limbed, like this was all a game and he already knew the outcome. His two boys flanked him like shadows—silent, unmoving, faces unreadable. One cracked his neck. The other smiled, just barely.

You scanned the room again.

No help. No cameras. No corners to hide in.

The folding tables were bolted to the floor, the carts too heavy to push quickly. Wet clothes filled every bin—useless. The only things within reach were towels, shirts, and socks that smelled like mildew and stale body odor. There was no guard. No Cruz. No one sticking their head in to check on you.

No witnesses.

Maybe if you moved fast, you could sidestep them. Get to the door, pound on it, scream. But that would mean turning your back. You'd be giving them a clean shot at your spine before your foot even hit the floor.

And you weren't naïve. You weren't strong. You weren't built for this. You were wiry, sure, but that meant nothing against guys who looked like they bench-pressed concrete for fun. The kind of men whose knuckles were scarred from too many fights, whose eyes didn't blink when fists flew.

You were fast. You had a mouth. Neither of those things would save you here.

Your fingers curled into fists without you telling them to. Not because you thought you could win. But because there was no other choice. It was instinct. Cornered animal shit. If this was going down, you weren't going to make it easy for them.

Your pulse spiked again.

Kang moved without warning—no glare, no wind-up, just a blur of motion and then crack. The sound echoed off the concrete walls like a gunshot, sharp and brutal in the stale air. Fire bloomed across your cheekbone. Your head snapped sideways with the force of the slap, and your knees buckled, legs giving out like someone had cut your strings. You hit the floor hard, palms scraping raw against the rough concrete as you caught yourself.

There was no time to breathe. No time to think.

Two sets of hands grabbed you—thick, callused, fingers digging into your arms like meat hooks. They jerked you upright with zero effort, your boots scraping across the floor. You tried to twist, to pull free on instinct, but it was useless. They held you wide and exposed, your arms stretched out like you were on a goddamn cross. Their grips were iron. You were nothing but a rag doll in their fists.

Kang stepped in.

Not fast. Not angry. Just... calm. Collected. His face was blank, like he was checking a box on a to-do list. He moved into your space with the quiet confidence of someone who never had to raise his voice to get what he wanted. That slap? It hadn't been punishment. It had been punctuation. A statement.

He tilted his head, eyes scanning your face. His expression was almost lazy, like you were a stain he'd been meaning to wipe off the wall for a while.

"I run this place," he said. His voice was low, smooth, practiced—like he'd given this speech before. "Not the warden. Not the guards. Me."

He took a step closer. The heat of his body was sudden and suffocating. His breath smelled like cafeteria coffee and old garlic. You could see the fine sheen of sweat along his hairline.

"When I want something," he said, "I take it. Food. Respect. Space. Doesn't matter."

His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back to your eyes. "You don't tell me no. Not ever."

You clenched your jaw. Tried to breathe through your nose, to stop your hands from shaking, but your pulse was a drumbeat in your ears. You knew what was coming next. Everyone did. Kang didn't threaten. He demonstrated. Pain was his language, and you'd just signed up for a private lesson.

He reached toward your face again.

And then—the door creaked open.

It wasn't loud. But it cut through everything.

All four of you froze.

The machine noise faded into the background. Time stopped, suspended on that creak of rusted hinges and the faint squeak of rubber soles.

In the doorway stood Grayson.

Framed by the flickering light of the hallway, dressed in his gray work shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His posture was casual—almost too casual. Hands loose at his sides, legs slightly apart, like he'd just happened to walk in at the exact wrong time. Or maybe the exact right one.

His eyes moved slowly across the room. Took in Kang. The goons. You, held like an offering. His expression didn't change. No surprise. No concern. Just that unreadable look he always wore, like he was scanning a puzzle and hadn't yet decided if he was interested in solving it.

He didn't speak.

Didn't have to.

The effect was immediate. Subtle, but real.

The grip on your arms slackened, just slightly. Enough for you to feel it. The weight shifted behind you. Kang's posture didn't break, but something in his shoulders went taut. You didn't need to see his face to know he hadn't planned for this. And that he didn't like variables.

Still, no one moved until Grayson stepped into the room with a slow, deliberate calm, each movement quiet but purposeful—like a wolf entering unfamiliar territory, already calculating every exit, every angle. His eyes didn't flicker. Didn't scan. They locked straight onto Kang and stayed there, unwavering. His voice, when it came, wasn't loud. But it sliced clean through the thick air like a razor.

"Let him go."

No shouting. No threats. Just four words, spoken with the kind of authority that didn't need volume to be heard. There was no plea in his tone. No uncertainty. It was a command, plain and final—like he was stating the obvious, and the rest of the room was just waiting to catch up.

Kang turned his head slowly, pivoting toward Grayson with a deliberate laziness, the kind that said I don't take orders from anyone. His smirk curled wider, sharp with amusement, but his eyes had gone colder, narrower.

"Well, well," he said, drawing the words out like taffy. "The silent bunkmate speaks."

He gave Grayson a once-over, casual on the surface, but you could see the tension behind his smile—the calculation. The pause as his mind worked, trying to figure out if this was posturing, bluff, or something else entirely.

His two goons didn't move. But their grips on you changed. It was subtle, but you felt it—uncertainty in their hands, the beginning of hesitation. Their fingers twitched like they were waiting for new orders. You were still trapped between them, arms pinned, but now the pressure had eased, just slightly. Enough to know they weren't so sure anymore.

Grayson didn't respond. Didn't blink. He stood there, loose but grounded, like a stone dropped in the middle of the room—immovable. His expression didn't change, and somehow, that made it worse. He wasn't trying to intimidate Kang. He wasn't trying anything. He was just watching. Waiting. Not out of fear, but out of restraint.

It was quiet. Tense.

The kind of silence where even the machines in the background seemed to hold their breath.

Then: footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Heavy.

The guard reappeared, sauntering back in with a wad of gum in his mouth and a face that said he hadn't seen—or cared about—a single thing. He didn't ask what was happening. Didn't scold or intervene. Just leaned against the doorframe, scanned the room once, and let his eyes settle on Kang.

A single nod.

Nothing more.

But it was enough.

Kang clicked his tongue in irritation, barely masking his frustration, and took a slow step back. "Another time, then," he muttered, voice low and clipped.

The moment his weight shifted, the hands on your arms released. Just like that. Like someone had pulled the plug on a machine. Your legs wobbled beneath you, the blood rushing back through your muscles like static. You stumbled but caught yourself, knees bending just enough to avoid collapsing again.

Kang didn't look at you as he passed. His smirk was back, but thinner now. Hollow. Performed.

As he brushed past Grayson, there was a flicker—just a beat—where something unspoken passed between them. No words. No challenge. Just acknowledgment. The kind of look that says, We're not done.

And then they were gone.

The door swung closed behind them with a dull, mechanical clunk.

The room was still spinning slightly. Your cheek throbbed with every beat of your heart, a deep, stinging heat settling under your skin. Your hands were shaking, though you didn't notice until you tried to wipe your face.

Grayson was still there.

Still silent.

He looked at you for a long second—expression unreadable, face set like it had been carved out of stone.

Then, without a word, he turned and walked back into the hallway. No nod. No check-in. No acknowledgment that he'd just stopped something from going very, very bad.

But you felt it.

Something had shifted.

Kang had walked in to remind everyone of the rules.

Grayson had just rewritten them.

That night, the cell was colder than usual. The kind of cold that crawled into your bones and stayed there, slow and deliberate. You lay flat on your bunk, arms at your sides, staring up at the cracked ceiling where the concrete spiderwebbed from years of stress and neglect. Outside the narrow window, the yard lights cast dim streaks across the walls, long shadows that moved with the occasional passing guard. The rest of the cell was dark, quiet. Too quiet.

Your cheek throbbed with a deep, pulsing ache. Swollen. Tender. Every time your head shifted against the thin prison pillow, the pain flared back up—Kang's signature, branded onto your skin without even breaking it. A reminder that he wasn't finished with you. Not by a long shot.

You didn't move when the cell door opened with its usual mechanical groan. You just kept staring up, eyes unfocused, waiting.

Grayson stepped inside without a word. No hesitation. No glance in your direction. He moved like he always did—silent, efficient, like the space belonged to him and you were just borrowing it. He went straight to the sink, pulled a towel off the rack, and turned his back to you.

Then, without looking, he tossed something onto your chest. A small plastic-wrapped rectangle. Cold.

You blinked, startled, then looked down. An ice pack. Already chilled. The kind they handed out in medical for sprains, bruises, maybe worse.

"I convinced the nurse," he said, voice flat as ever, like he was commenting on the weather. "Told her it was for me."

He didn't wait for thanks. Didn't ask how you were. He just sank down onto his bunk, elbows on his knees, fingers laced loosely, eyes on the floor like this was just another night.

You pressed the ice to your cheek. The sting hit first—sharp, biting—but it faded quickly into a dull numbness that took the edge off the pain. You winced, but you didn't say anything. Part of you wanted to thank him, but the words wouldn't come. Not just because of the pain. Because you didn't trust it. Grayson didn't do favors. He moved with purpose. He chose silence like a weapon. Whatever this was, it wasn't kindness.

After a moment, he spoke again—still staring at the floor.

"Kang's not going to let this go."

You turned your head slightly, the crinkle of the plastic pack breaking the quiet. "Figured."

Grayson nodded once. A slow, deliberate motion. "He doesn't like being challenged. Not in public. Not anywhere. That little stunt in the laundry room? That wasn't just about you. That was about his reputation. You embarrassed him. Made him look weak."

You didn't respond. You didn't need to.

"He'll come at you again," Grayson said. "Sooner. Harder. Maybe not with fists next time. Maybe with something worse."

Your fingers tightened around the ice pack. You could already feel the bruise setting in under your skin.

"But not you," you said, turning your gaze toward him. "He doesn't touch you. Doesn't even look at you twice."

Grayson's jaw flexed. A faint, imperceptible shift in his expression. His eyes lifted slowly to meet yours, sharp and focused, like you'd just asked a question with more weight than you realized.

"There's a reason for that," he said, quiet but heavy.

He didn't offer more. No backstory. No threats. Just a fact, dropped into the air between you like a stone in still water.

The silence stretched. Long enough to feel uncomfortable. Long enough to realize he was sizing you up—again. Reading your face, your posture, your pain. And then, without ceremony, he said:

"I'll keep Kang off you."

Like he was offering to loan you a book instead of rewriting your entire survival plan. "You'll be left alone. No more looking over your shoulder, no more counting footsteps outside your cell at night."

You stayed silent, the ice pack cold against your cheek, its edges beginning to soften with body heat. The dull ache in your face was still there, throbbing just beneath the surface, but the shock of what he was saying cut through it like glass.

Then he added—clear, calm, deliberate:

"In exchange for sex. Consensual. No games. No power plays. Just the real thing."

The sentence dropped like a steel door slamming shut. Final. Inescapable.

Your grip on the ice pack didn't tighten, but your breath did—held for just a second too long before you forced it out through your nose. Inside, your brain kicked into gear, scrambling to catch up. You'd heard things. Stories. Deals. Quiet arrangements. But this—coming from him—this wasn't what you expected.

Not from the guy who barely spoke, who moved through the prison like a ghost no one dared touch. Not from the man who hadn't so much as looked your way for a week, and then stepped in like some grim-faced deus ex machina just when Kang's fist was ready to follow his slap.

You didn't let your reaction show. Not here. Not now. Subtle was survival. Everything else was weakness.

Slowly, you lowered the ice pack and met his gaze.

He wasn't smirking. He wasn't taunting. There was no predatory glint in his eye, no sadistic edge. Just that same unshakable calm, that careful calculation. He wasn't trying to shock you. He was stating a fact. An equation, plain and simple.

He'd run the numbers.

This was the solution.

You swallowed once, quietly. "That's... direct," you said, your voice steady, even though your pulse had started to spike in your throat.

A faint flicker of something moved across his face—maybe a smile, maybe not. It was gone too fast to be sure. "Figured you'd respect that more than bullshit."

You didn't respond right away. You kept your breathing even, your expression neutral, but inside your thoughts were tearing in five different directions. Part of you felt insulted. Part of you was curious. Part of you just didn't know what the hell to feel. He hadn't threatened you. He hadn't cornered you. But he'd still pushed the air out of the room with a single sentence.

You looked at him, really looked—trying to find the angle. Because there was always an angle. You'd learned that fast in this place. Trust was just another word for "what's the catch?"

But Grayson... he just waited.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Like he knew you were going to weigh it.

And like he already knew which way you'd tip.

He said it the way someone might suggest a trade—cigarettes for soup. Calm. Logical. Like he'd already weighed the terms and filed them away in some internal ledger.

At first, all you could do was sit with it. Let it rattle around in your chest.

It wasn't shock, not exactly. You weren't naïve. You'd seen the system behind the system—the quiet transactions that ran this place. Protection had a price. Affection had a currency. Sex was often part of the bargain, sometimes bartered, sometimes taken. No one talked about it in the open, but everyone knew.

What did catch you off guard was the source.

Grayson.

The man who barely spoke. Who watched the room like a hawk and moved through the prison like he wasn't part of it. Who never smiled, never postured, never tried to make friends—or enemies. He was a ghost with weight, and somehow that made him more dangerous than the loudest guys in the yard.

You'd spent nights wondering what his angle was. If he even had one. And now here it was. Laid bare. Simple. Blunt.

And somehow... clean.

Your instinct was to recoil—but only for a second.

Then you started thinking.

You'd already made a mistake with Kang. Not the choice itself, but the visibility of it. Everyone saw you stand up to him. And now? That bruise on your cheek wasn't just swelling—it was a warning. A message. An open invitation.

Kang wouldn't forget. And he definitely wouldn't forgive.

You could try to bluff. Act crazy. Pick a fight. Keep a sharpened toothbrush under your mattress and pray you saw it coming next time. But deep down, you knew: you weren't built for that war. You were smart, fast, sharp with your words—but that only got you so far when the wolves started circling.

So you turned your head. Just enough to look at Grayson.

He was still sitting there—motionless. Silent. Watching you with those dark eyes that didn't blink. Didn't push. Didn't plead.

And damn it, he was beautiful.

Not soft, not romantic—but raw. Lean muscle and clean lines. Tension in every inch of his body, like he was always ready to spring. That kind of strength that didn't shout, but hummed beneath the surface. His skin glistened faintly from the heat. Hair a little messy. Jaw clenched in that permanent neutral.

And yet, his expression didn't carry lust or pressure. It carried... certainty. He'd said what he wanted. Now he was waiting.

The power wasn't in his muscles. It was in his patience.

You shifted the ice pack in your hand, feeling it begin to melt. The chill slipping down your wrist.

This wasn't about desperation. It wasn't coercion.

It was an offer.

No strings, no threats. Just a choice.

And maybe that's what threw you most of all—because in a place where choices were rare, this one was real. Yours.

You weren't sure how you felt about it. Not yet. Part of you bristled. Another part—the tired, scared part—considered it for what it really was: a lifeline wrapped in something that, under different circumstances, you might have even wanted.

And sitting in the dim cell light, your face bruised and body aching, you realized something simple and undeniable.

You were considering it.

You slowly pulled the ice pack from your cheek and placed it on the edge of the bunk, fingers lingering on it a moment longer than necessary. The skin still throbbed, but the cold had taken the edge off. You exhaled, long and steady, then lifted your eyes to meet his.

Grayson hadn't looked away. His expression was the same—still, focused, unreadable. But there was something in the quiet way he watched you, something that wasn't demand or hunger. It was patience. Restraint. Like he was giving you all the space you needed to decide.

And you had decided.

"Alright," you said quietly. "I'm in."

His reaction was subtle—barely more than a shift. A slight lift in his chin. A faint ease in the way his shoulders dropped half an inch. No smile, no gloating. Just that quiet, settled energy, like something had clicked into place for him and he didn't need to announce it. He just knew.

He didn't move. Didn't speak right away. Let the weight of your answer settle into the room.

You swallowed once, nerves fluttering low in your stomach. Not regret—just uncertainty. This was new territory, and you were stepping into it without a map.

"So..." you said, your voice a little rougher now, not quite sure how to phrase it. "How does this work? What do you want me to do?"

Grayson's head tilted slightly. Not in judgment—more like he was giving you his full attention.

You kept going, half-serious, half-deflecting. "Do I just lie there? Do whatever you say? Not touch you? Just... shut up and take it?"

The sarcasm was there, but it didn't quite mask the question underneath. You were still feeling the edges of what this was—what it could be. You didn't want to feel owned. You didn't want to feel used. You just didn't know what he wanted from you... or what you were even willing to give.

He stood then.

Not abruptly. Not to intimidate. Just stood, calm and steady, and stepped across the narrow space between your bunks. It only took two strides in a cell that small, but it felt bigger in the moment. You stayed seated, but your body tensed slightly, every nerve awake.

He didn't reach for you. He didn't tower. He simply stood close enough for you to feel him—his presence, his heat. And when he spoke, his voice was low and measured, the same steady cadence as always, but heavier now. Intentional.

"I don't want you passive."

That alone made you blink. It wasn't what you expected—not from a man who had the power to demand anything.

"This isn't about control," he said. "It's not about taking something you don't want to give."

He paused, eyes locked with yours, and his tone didn't waver.

"You're not just a body. And I'm not some caged animal looking to use you."

It hit harder than you expected—because it wasn't just reassurance. It was respect. In this place, that was rarer than anything.

You didn't look away.

"Touching's fine. Wanted, actually," he added, softer now, but not uncertain. "I want you in it. Real. Responsive. Not because you owe me, but because you want to."

You felt that—deep in your gut.

He was giving you something more than protection. He was giving you a line you didn't have to cross. He was giving you choice in a place that had stripped almost all of it away.

For the first time since Kang cornered you in the laundry room, the weight pressing down on your chest started to ease. Not vanish. But loosen. Just enough to let you breathe.

You looked up at him, heart thudding against your ribs, voice low and steady—though the tension threading through it betrayed the anticipation running under your skin.

"So... when does this deal start?" You asked him.

Grayson didn't answer. Not out loud.

He moved instead—slow, smooth, not a wasted motion. He leaned in, his presence surrounding you before he even touched you. His hand braced lightly on the wall just above your shoulder, not trapping, but claiming space. His breath reached your skin before his mouth did—warm, steady, close enough to make your own catch in your throat.

Then his lips touched your neck.

Not rushed. Not rough. Just a brush—barely there, but enough to make your skin spark under the contact. He moved deliberately, kissing the line just beneath your jaw with a quiet confidence, like he knew the map of your body without ever having to ask for directions. He wasn't fumbling. He wasn't testing. He knew.

You let out a breath—soft, shaky—more reaction than choice.

Goddamn.

It wasn't just that he was good. It was the control. The restraint. The way he didn't need to push because every movement felt earned. Like he'd been waiting for the exact right moment to act and now that it was here, he wasn't going to waste a second.

Your body betrayed you almost immediately. Your head tilted to the side, exposing your throat, giving him more without thinking. It didn't feel like surrender. It felt like instinct.

Your hands moved without command—up his chest first, fingertips brushing the thin cotton of his shirt. Solid. Tense. He wasn't flexing, but the definition was there, unmistakable. Strength built from routine, from discipline. You slid your hands lower, slow, feeling the faint ridges of his abdomen shift under your palm with each breath he took.

And then—lower.

You felt him. Already hardening. The heat of him pressed behind coarse fabric, thick and undeniable beneath your fingers. Your hand paused there, resting lightly, the reality of it grounding you in this moment in a way nothing else could.

Grayson exhaled—low, quiet, controlled. A sound you wouldn't have noticed unless you were this close. But it was enough. Enough to confirm this wasn't just physical for him. He felt it too. The charge. The gravity.

Still, he didn't push. Didn't grab. Just kept his mouth on your neck, his lips dragging slowly along your skin like he had all the time in the world.

And in this brutal, suffocating place where control was currency and vulnerability could get you killed... there was something disarming about the way he held both and still let you lead.

You let your hand curl slightly against him. Felt the response, the subtle twitch, the tension roll through his body like a wave he didn't show on his face.

This was real. Immediate. Intimate in a way that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with survival, desire, and the rare luxury of choice.

And as Grayson's mouth moved lower, dragging along your collarbone, your fingers still curled against him, one thought floated through your mind—sharp and clear:

Yeah... this deal might just work.

Grayson then he pulled back—not fast, not hesitant, but with a deliberate sort of calm. Like he'd decided the pace and wasn't going to let anything rush it. Not even you.

Without saying a word, he reached down, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and pulled it over his head in one smooth, fluid motion. The fabric slid up and off, and then it was just him—bare from the waist up under the stark overhead light. And for a moment, all you could do was look.

He was exactly what you'd imagined—only better.

His body was a blueprint of quiet strength. Not bulky, not showy, just carved from repetition and necessity. Lean muscle that wrapped around his torso in clean, defined lines, as if every inch of him had a job and no part of him was wasted. His chest was firm, his stomach tight and flat, each ridge of his abdomen catching the light like they'd been sculpted in concrete. No ink. No flash. No need to prove anything.

Just him.

Raw. Clean. Focused.

You barely had time to process it before his hands were on you. And when they were—God, they were careful. His fingers slid under the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head with a gentleness that felt almost surreal in contrast to the hardness of the space around you. There was no grab, no jerk. Just patience. Precision. He moved like he was unwrapping something rare, and he didn't want to miss a single second.

When the fabric cleared your skin, the chill of the air rushed in fast and sharp, dancing across your ribs, your shoulders, your neck. It made your breath hitch. Made everything inside you light up.

Then he hooked his arms under your thighs and lifted you like it was nothing.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up—legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, hands bracing on his shoulders. His grip was strong, firm, but not harsh. Your back hit the wall with a thud softened by the hard plane of his chest pressing into you. The cold of the concrete kissed your spine, but the heat of him overwhelmed it—his body flush against yours, radiating warmth that seemed to sink into your skin.

His face was right there.

Close.

Too close.

His lips hovered a breath above yours, and you could feel everything—his exhale, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. He didn't move. Didn't close the space. He just waited, suspended in the moment, so close it made your skin ache.

And then, finally, his voice came—low, rough-edged but soft.

"Is kissing okay?"

The question slid over your skin like silk, and it hit harder than anything else he'd done. Not because of the words—but because of what was behind them. The restraint. The awareness. The choice.

Even now, with your body wrapped around his, with heat rolling off both of you like fire pressed between steel, he was still asking. Still making sure. Still giving you the space to say no.

That shouldn't have made your pulse jump the way it did.

But it did.

Because here, in a place where everything was taken, he was offering.

And the answer was already rising in your throat, warm and breathless, your lips brushing his as you whispered it.

"Yes."

You weren't prepared for the softness.

Grayson, the man who moved like a blade in a sheath—controlled, silent, always coiled—had never once given the impression that gentleness lived anywhere inside him. He existed in sharp lines and quiet authority, the kind of presence that warned people without a single word. In Gotham State, that was survival. That was currency. And you'd assumed, understandably, that if he ever touched you, it would feel like possession. Like dominance.

But now, with your back pressed to cold concrete and your body caged between his and the wall, what you felt was something else entirely.

His breath was warm against your lips. His arms held you steady, his strength obvious—but unused. He didn't press forward. He didn't claim. He just waited, suspended in that breath of space between decision and action.

He could've done anything in that moment. You'd already said yes. The deal was made. There was no performance left to put on, no power struggle to win.

And still—he waited for you.

That undid you more than any aggressive advance ever could've. Because in a place where most people only took, he was offering. Quietly. Patiently.

Your hands slid up his shoulders, anchoring yourself to something solid. Your fingers curled into the firm shape of him, skin warm under your touch, the tension in his muscles humming just below the surface. You were steadying yourself, but also learning him—tracing the lines of someone who'd spent years being unapproachable.

You gave a small nod.

Barely anything.

But it was enough.

His lips met yours.

And everything else fell away.

The kiss wasn't hungry. It wasn't rushed or desperate. It was measured. Intentional. The same way he moved, the same way he spoke—every motion deliberate, like he'd thought it through before he did it. His mouth brushed yours, then deepened the kiss slowly, pulling you in without overwhelming. It wasn't the kiss of a man used to getting what he wanted—it was the kiss of someone who knew the value of patience. Who didn't take—he drew you in.

His hands stayed locked under your thighs, holding you firm, grounded. You were suspended there, between his strength and the wall, but you didn't feel trapped. You felt held. The tension in your body, the one you didn't even know you'd been carrying, began to unravel. It started in your chest and rippled outward—through your fingertips, into your breath, into the way your body softened into his.

Your mouth moved with his, slow at first, then with growing need. But the need wasn't for escape or dominance. It was for connection. For something human in a place that thrived on the absence of it.

You felt yourself give in—not because you were expected to, but because in that moment, you wanted to. The pressure, the fear, the fight you'd been clutching to in your gut like armor—it all cracked under the warmth of that kiss. You let it.

Time stopped meaning anything. The cell, the cold wall, the ever-present buzz of prison noise outside the door—they disappeared. It was just the two of you, suspended in heat and stillness, your heart beating fast against his chest and his breath breaking softly against your lips.

You didn't know what this meant.

You didn't know what it would turn into.

But for now, with Grayson's lips against yours and something honest threading between your bodies, you let go of the questions.

You let yourself feel it.

And for the first time since walking into Gotham State, you didn't feel afraid.

Suddenly, a soft moan slipped from your lips before you even realized it—quiet, breathy, but thick with heat. The sound seemed to ignite something in Grayson. His body pressed harder into yours, his hips rolling forward with slow, deliberate pressure that left no question about how badly he wanted you. The friction sent a sharp jolt through you—skin to skin in places, fabric between you in others, but nothing close to a barrier.

You could feel everything.

He was hard against you—thick, insistent, grinding in just the right way. The pressure wasn't rushed. It was controlled, like he was savoring every inch of contact, letting it build between you. Every slow rock of his hips made your pulse race faster, the tension curling low in your stomach, hot and tight.

Then his mouth left yours.

His lips trailed down along your jaw, kissing softly at first, then lower—nuzzling into the sensitive skin of your neck. His breath was hot against you, a low exhale brushing across your skin right before his mouth opened and he latched on, sucking lightly.

You gasped—eyes fluttering shut, head tipping back to give him more access. He didn't waste it.

His tongue flicked across your skin, slow and precise, teasing before he pulled you between his lips again. He sucked with a rhythm—measured, maddening—each pull of his mouth sending little shocks of pleasure radiating down your spine. You felt his stubble scrape faintly against your neck, rough and grounding, a contrast to the heat building inside you.

And all the while, his hips kept moving.

Slow. Grinding. Deliberate.

The tension building where your bodies met had you trembling slightly, your breath catching every time he shifted just right. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, gripping tight, anchoring yourself to something solid as your nerves sparked beneath your skin. You weren't thinking anymore. You were feeling. Reacting. Leaning into every brush of his lips, every thrust of his hips.

It was overwhelming.

The heat. The pressure. The way your bodies fit together like you'd done this before, like you belonged there—against that wall, in his arms, surrounded by cold concrete and the kind of intensity that made the whole world fall away.

You'd expected this to be physical. Transactional. Something raw and efficient—a trade of protection for sex, stripped of emotion, clean in its purpose.

But this?

This wasn't clean. This wasn't distant.

This was intimate.

Every kiss, every grind, every breath shared between you blurred the lines further. It was fast becoming something else—something dangerous, something real.

Then Grayson's hands slid beneath your thighs again, firm and steady, but this time there was a shift in intention. He wasn't lifting—you felt it immediately. He was lowering you, guiding you down with a careful kind of control, like he didn't want to break the rhythm that had built between you. Your back eased away from the wall, and gravity took over, pulling you into the next part of whatever this was.

He followed your descent the whole way, his hands never leaving you. His palms were warm, anchoring you even as your knees met the cold, unforgiving concrete. The chill bit at your skin—sharp, immediate—but you barely registered it. All your focus was fixed on him. On the rise and fall of his chest, damp with a thin sheen of sweat. On the way his eyes locked onto yours, steady and unreadable except for the heat flickering behind them.

He didn't speak. He didn't have to.

The silence between you was louder than anything words could've added. It pulsed with tension, thick and charged, the air so heavy it felt like it was pushing in on your lungs.

Grayson's hands slipped from your legs as he straightened, towering over you, and reached down to the waistband of his prison-issue pants. You watched, transfixed, as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic and pushed both the pants and boxers down in one fluid motion. The fabric dropped, pooling soundlessly at his feet.

And then he was bare in front of you.

There was no hesitation, no need for show. His cock stood thick and hard, flushed at the tip, the shaft veined and heavy, the weight of it making it twitch subtly as it was freed. The sight of him made your breath catch—sharp and sudden. You'd imagined, sure. Thought about what he might look like under all that control and silence. But seeing it?

It hit different.

He was big—unquestionably. But more than that, there was something commanding about the way he stood there, fully exposed, entirely still. Like he knew what he was offering. Like he trusted you to take it without needing to be told.

Your breath caught as you looked up at him—Grayson standing over you, skin flushed, every line of his body drawn tight with control. His dick hovered just inches from your mouth, thick and pulsing with heat. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, but his eyes... his eyes told a different story.

There was fire behind them now.

Not wild, not reckless—contained, but alive. A low-burning hunger that simmered just beneath the surface of his usually unreadable expression. He wanted you. Badly. But more than that, he was letting you have this moment. Letting you choose. Still silent. Still still. But utterly focused on you.

You leaned in slowly, deliberately, keeping your gaze locked to his. There was a kind of power in that—knowing he wasn't directing this, knowing he was waiting for you. You wanted him to see it, to feel it: this wasn't submission. This was your decision. Your yes. And you wanted him to understand exactly what that meant.

Your lips parted.

You took him in—just the tip at first. Warm, heavy, the taste of him blooming on your tongue, earthy and unmistakably male. His breath hitched above you, the sound sharp and quiet, but you caught it. His fingers curled slightly at his sides, like he was fighting the instinct to reach for you. That restraint made the heat between you flare.

You drew your tongue around the head in a slow, deliberate circle before easing lower, inch by inch. He was thick—more than you were used to—and your jaw ached as your mouth stretched to accommodate him. But the discomfort faded into sensation, into purpose. It was grounding. Real.

He let out a long, quiet breath. His abs flexed, the muscle twitching beneath the surface as he tried to stay still.

You found your rhythm—slow, deep pulls of your mouth as your hand wrapped around what you couldn't take, stroking in time with every movement. The pressure built with each pass, saliva slicking his skin, heat growing between your legs with every soft sound he didn't mean to make.

You watched him the whole time.

Every clench of his jaw. Every subtle shift of his hips. The way his nostrils flared when your tongue dragged along the underside of him on the way back up. He was still trying to hold it together—still composed, still Grayson—but you could see the edges beginning to fray.

That restraint, the way he gave you space and didn't take—it only made you want more.

You went deeper, slower. Hollowing your cheeks. Tightening your grip. You heard his breath catch again, heard the faintest curse slip past his lips, low and rough.

And that was when it clicked.

This wasn't just about the deal anymore.

This wasn't obligation.

This was something else.

With every bob of your head, every flick of your tongue, you could feel the tension rising in him. The pressure. The effort it took to stay still. And you liked it—knowing you were the one pulling him apart, inch by inch.

The man who didn't bend for anyone...

Was beginning to lose control.

And it was because of you.

Grayson's fingers clenched around the edge of the bunk behind him, knuckles whitening as they curled tight around the cold metal frame. The rigid press of steel against his skin grounded him—barely. His grip was the only thing keeping him tethered, keeping him from sinking completely into the rush of sensation spiraling up through his spine. But you were making it impossible.

Your mouth moved with slow, focused purpose. Every glide of your lips down his cock was smooth, wet, perfectly controlled. You didn't rush. You didn't falter. You knew what you were doing—and worse, you knew what it was doing to him. Your tongue traced sensitive veins, your lips sealed around his dick, the suction just right. Every pass was a tease and a promise all at once.

And your eyes—fuck, your eyes.

Locked on his. Dark with heat. Steady. Unapologetic. There was no submission in your gaze, no fear. Just intention. Confidence. You looked at him like you were daring him to fall apart.

And he was.

Grayson had spent his time in Gotham State like a shadow—quiet, untouchable, locked behind layers of discipline. He never got close. Never entertained the idea of letting anyone in. Survival here depended on that distance, on keeping your needs buried where no one could use them against you.

So when you first walked into his cell, he'd barely glanced your way. Just another body. Another sentence. Another soul trying to disappear.

But then you spoke—sharp, biting, eyes defiant even after being thrown into hell. You didn't shrink. You didn't plead. There was something alive in you. Unbroken.

And it had hooked him from the first second.

He hadn't touched anyone in months. Years, maybe. Inside this place, time was elastic. Weeks bled into each other until need became background noise—something you ignored or turned into rage. Release was rare. Trust, rarer.

But now? Now your mouth was wrapped around him, and all those things he'd buried were clawing their way to the surface.

Every movement of your tongue, every subtle shift of your lips, every sound you made as you took more of him—it built pressure in his core like a fuse inching toward its end. His hips stayed still only because he willed them to. His muscles were tight with restraint, the need to thrust forward—deep, hard—simmering just beneath the surface. But he didn't. Not yet.

Because you were owning this. Guiding it. Controlling it.

And that wrecked him in a way nothing else could.

You were better than he'd expected—better than his most desperate, late-night fantasies. He knew you'd be sharp, knew you'd come into this with something to prove. But this? The way you sucked him in like you were claiming him, the way your hand stroked in time, the little flicks of your tongue that made him curse under his breath?

It was more than just good.

It was devastating.

And he loved it.

Grayson's breath was coming harder now, each inhale deeper than the last, chest rising and falling like he was in a fight—but he wasn't trying to win. Not anymore. He was teetering on the edge, and for once, he didn't want to pull back.

Because for the first time in too long, he wasn't just enduring.

He was feeling—every inch of your mouth, every drag of pleasure, every crack in the wall he'd spent years building.

And the thought hit him hard, almost dizzying:

If this is what it feels like to lose control... maybe it's worth it.

You drew his dick deeper with another slow, deliberate pull of your mouth. His stomach tightened, muscles along his abdomen flexing like cords pulled taut. For a split second, he let his eyes close, not to block anything out, but to feel it more clearly. The warmth of your mouth, the slick glide of your tongue, the tight pull of your lips—it was dragging him toward the edge faster than he'd meant to go.

And he was losing his grip.

He opened his eyes and looked down at you—saw your mouth stretched around him, your jaw working, your eyes still locked to his like you were daring him to let go.

That was all it took.

Something inside him cracked open.

Grayson's hand moved, slow but deliberate, threading through your hair until his palm pressed firm against the back of your head. He didn't force. Not yet. He just held you there—grounded you. The weight of his hand, the way his fingers curled into your hair, sent a message without needing words: you're mine now.

Then he moved.

His hips rolled forward, gentle at first, testing the rhythm. Shallow thrusts, slow and controlled, as he began to guide the motion—his dick slipping deeper, the tip brushing the back of your throat before he eased out again. You adjusted, your lips tightening, your breath coming shallow through your nose as you accepted his pace.

And that—your willingness, your trust—only poured gasoline on the fire under his skin.

His grip in your hair tightened slightly, his rhythm beginning to shift. Less careful. Less composed. The control he'd clung to was unraveling, thread by thread, replaced by something more raw, more real. His thrusts deepened—not brutal, not careless, but charged with heat and hunger. With need.

A groan slipped from him, low and ragged. It rumbled from his chest, unguarded and full. He wasn't just reacting to your mouth anymore—he was surrendering to it.

The bunk behind him creaked as he braced a hand against it, the strain in his shoulders visible, his knuckles white from the force of his grip. The only sounds in the cell were the wet glide of your lips around him, the quiet suck of pressure, and the steady, increasingly broken rhythm of his breathing.

Then your eyes flicked up again.

You looked at him, mouth full, cheeks hollowed, and in that moment, something changed in him.

His gaze darkened. That controlled fire in his eyes flared into something possessive, feral. Not cruel—but intense. Hungry. Like he was seeing you not just as the person on your knees, but as his. Someone who could take him. Who wanted to. Who chose to.

And that made it deeper. Hotter. More than just sex.

This was trust. Power. Desire, tangled together until they couldn't be separated anymore.

His hips snapped forward again, harder now, your throat taking the full length of him. He felt you gag, just a little, and immediately eased up—but you didn't pull away. You held, breathing through it, letting him stay deep for a beat before he withdrew. His fingers stroked the back of your head once before his grip in your hair eased, his fingers slowly unwinding, trailing through the strands like he wasn't quite ready to let go. His chest was rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, the heat rolling off him in waves. He held your gaze as he pulled you up—one smooth, unhurried motion, like he was savoring every second of bringing you back to your feet.

The second you were upright, he was on you.

His mouth crashed into yours, and the kiss was nothing like before. This one was heat and teeth, deep and messy and full of all the tension that had been coiled between you since the day you stepped into that cell. It was greedy—desperate in a way that made your knees go weak. His tongue slid against yours, taking what he wanted, demanding everything back.

His hands moved like they had a map—roaming down your spine, finding the dip of your back, then gripping your waist tight, pulling your body flush against his. You could feel every inch of him—his chest heaving, the strain in his arms, the hard press of his cock still wet from your mouth.

Then he broke the kiss, panting, lips swollen, eyes dark.

No words. Just movement.

His hands dropped to your waistband and in a single, practiced motion, he tugged your pants and boxers down. The fabric clung briefly to your skin before sliding down your legs and pooling around your ankles, but Grayson didn't give it time to settle—he kicked it aside with his foot, sending it somewhere into the shadows behind you. Gone. Out of the way.

The cold air hit your skin and made you shiver, a rush of sensation climbing your spine. But his body was already there, already pulling you back into heat. His hands returned to your waist—firm, possessive—as he turned you, guiding you toward the wall like he'd done it a hundred times in his head.

You let him.

Your palms braced against the concrete, cool and unforgiving under your skin. You leaned into it, your breath fogging faintly in front of you, chest rising as anticipation clawed its way through your veins.

Behind you, Grayson stepped in close, the warmth of him immediately wrapping around you again. His chest brushed your back, his breath ghosting across the side of your neck. Then you felt it—him—thick and hard, pressing between your cheeks, hot skin against bare skin, no fabric left between you.

One of his hands held your hip, his grip steady, grounding. The other slipped lower, fingers curling around the base of his dick as he guided himself down, the head nudging between your legs—slick, swollen, precise.

He didn't shove. He didn't rush.

He just waited there—lined up, ready—the thick head of him brushing against your hole in slow, deliberate pulses, each movement a promise, each breath a countdown.

The tension was suffocating.

And in that breathless moment, with your body open and aching, the concrete cold beneath your hands and the heat of him poised behind you, it was clear:

He wasn't just going to fuck you.

He was going to claim you.

You felt the first press of Grayson's dick against you—broad, hot, deliberate. He didn't shove. Didn't rush. Just held you there, his hand firm on your hip, anchoring you while he pushed forward with steady, unrelenting pressure. The thick head of his dick eased past the resistance, stretching you slowly, and the sensation was instant—deep, all-consuming.

He was big. You'd known it from before, seen it, felt the weight of him in your mouth—but this was different. This was inside.

Your breath stuttered, body instinctively tensing as the stretch intensified. Your fingers curled against the concrete wall for balance, knuckles whitening. Inch by inch, he sank into you, each movement slow and controlled, like he was trying to give you time to feel every part of him.

Halfway in, he paused.

His chest hovered behind your back, his breath hot against your shoulder. His voice came low—hoarse, threaded with restraint.

"Breathe."

The word skimmed your skin like a touch, and you obeyed. You focused on your inhale, long and shaky, letting it move through your body as you tried to relax around him. The pressure began to shift—still intense, still burning, but now edged with something else. Something that made your stomach tighten and your thighs tremble.

You exhaled. He moved again.

The final push was slow, smooth, deep. He filled you completely, his hips pressing flush to yours, the stretch turning molten as your body yielded. You gasped, not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming fullness of it. Of him.

Grayson stilled.

One hand remained braced on your hip, the other sliding up to your lower back, fingers spreading wide across your skin to keep you steady. He held you like that—completely still—his cock buried to the hilt, his breathing ragged and uneven behind you.

You could feel it.

Every inch of him. Every beat of his heart pounding through the tension in his muscles.

He was holding himself back.

Then, slowly, he began to move.

The first thrust was shallow, careful—testing. A slow pull out, a gentle slide back in. Your breath caught again, but your body was adjusting now, learning the rhythm, the weight, the heat. He pulled out a little further the second time, then drove back in with more pressure, more hunger. The sound of it echoed—quiet, rhythmic, skin meeting skin in the heavy silence of the cell.

His grip on your hips tightened.

Each thrust grew more certain, more claiming. His control was still there, but it was fraying at the edges. His rhythm quickened—steady, deep, purposeful. Like he was imprinting something with every push of his hips. Like he wasn't just fucking you. He was taking you.

And your body responded.

You pressed back into him, breath hitching with every stroke, chasing the rhythm he was setting. Your knees quivered, your palms flat against the wall for balance, your skin burning with sensation. Each thrust sent a rush of heat curling up your spine, blooming outward through your limbs.

The reasons behind this—survival, protection, need—blurred.

What mattered now was the way he felt inside you. The way he moved—like he couldn't stop himself. Like having you this way was something he'd imagined for too long, and now that he had you, he couldn't get close enough.

Each thrust now came with intention, a growing urgency pulsing through every snap of his hips. What had started as deep, steady motion turned rougher, needier, the pressure mounting with every inch he drove into you. He pushed deeper with each roll of his body, filling you until you felt stretched to your absolute limit—and maybe even a little past it. The sound of him—his skin slapping against yours, the wet drag of each thrust, the ragged rhythm of his breath—filled the concrete cell like a pulse, a beat that matched your racing heart.

You squirmed beneath him, breath catching, your body trying to process the overwhelming sensations. Your fingers scraped along the cold wall, twitching for purchase, trying to find something—anything—to brace against. The pressure inside you was intense, unbearable in the best possible way. You weren't trying to pull away. You were just trying to keep up.

But the second you shifted, the second your hands moved even a little—

Grayson was there.

His free hand swept your wrists back in one fluid motion, fast and smooth, like he'd been waiting for it. Before you could even gasp, he had both of your arms pinned behind you, your wrists locked in one strong hand, the roughness of his palm pressed tight between your shoulder blades and his chest.

You cried out—a sharp, breathy sound, half-surprise, half-desire—as the change in angle sent heat rushing straight to your core. The new position made everything feel sharper. Tighter. More exposed. More his.

Grayson leaned in, his body flush against your back, his voice low and rough in your ear.

"You're not going anywhere."

His breath was hot on your neck. His grip on your wrists firm and unrelenting. And then he thrust.

Hard.

You choked on a moan, your mouth open but no sound escaping, your body jolting forward as he bottomed out inside you with brutal precision. You arched, spine bending, the air knocked from your lungs as pleasure crashed through you like a wave. Your hands flexed uselessly in his grip, pinned tight. He wasn't letting go. He was anchoring you, locking you in place while he took you apart.

Every thrust after that came with purpose.

Not careless, not wild—but focused. He moved like he was memorizing the shape of you, the sounds you made when he hit just the right spot, the way your walls fluttered around him when he pushed too deep, too slow, too good. He groaned—low and guttural—his lips brushing against your shoulder, his breath ragged now, heat radiating off him like fire under your skin.

The wall was cold beneath your chest. The floor hard under your knees. But all of that faded into the background.

There was only him.

Inside you. Around you. Taking and giving in equal measure.

And then his voice came again—right against your ear this time, deep and breathless, tinged with something feral he was barely holding back.

"Just like that."

His words sent another ripple down your spine, your body clenching in response, and you realized you'd stopped thinking about why this started—what it meant.

Now all you could do was feel.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the tiny cell, rhythmic and relentless—wet, sharp, unmistakably intimate. It bounced off the cold concrete like the walls were holding onto it, amplifying every thrust, every breath, every moan that slipped past your lips no matter how hard you tried to bite them back.

Anyone walking by would hear it.

Hell, anyone on the block would.

And you didn't care. Not even a little.

Grayson had you pinned hard against the wall, one hand locked around your wrists behind your back, the other gripping your hip like he owned it. His chest was slick against your back, his body moving with brutal, focused precision—each thrust deep, controlled, calculated like he wasn't just trying to fuck you—he was studying you. Learning you.

He hit that spot again and your knees buckled slightly, a broken sound catching in your throat as your forehead pressed into the wall. The pleasure was too much—dense and burning, winding through your body like fire in your veins. Every time he pulled back and slammed into you, your breath hitched, your skin jolted with heat, and you sank deeper into the rhythm of him.

It wasn't just good. It was overwhelming.

It was obliterating.

You weren't afraid. You weren't nervous.

You were fucking gone.

And it wasn't because this was some prison-born desperation. No. It was because of him. Grayson fucked like he knew exactly what you needed before you did. Like he'd mapped out every nerve ending, every twitch of your hips, every soft gasp and sharp moan—and was playing your body like a goddamn instrument.

Your ex? Forget it. That was fumbling hands and pretty words. That was heat without depth, desire without gravity. This was different. This was raw, physical, soul-deep. This was someone driving into you like he was erasing something—every bad touch, every cold night, every ache that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with being unseen.

Grayson saw you.

And now he was taking you—fully, completely—like he'd been waiting for the exact moment when you'd finally let him.

Your head thudded lightly against the wall as he buried himself in you again, hard and deep, a groan tearing out of him that sounded half-possessed. His hips slammed into yours, his grip bruising in the best way, and all you could do was hold on—your body vibrating, melting, tightening around him with every punishing thrust.

And god, it was insane.

Of course it took a prison cell. Of course it took Gotham.

Of course it took getting slapped around by Kang and nearly broken by the system before ending up here—pinned, breathless, fucked half out of your mind by the one man in this hellhole who could handle you.

It should've been a tragedy.

But it felt like deliverance.

Suddenly, Grayson stopped—every muscle in his body going rigid all at once, like someone had thrown a switch.

You were so deep in the rhythm of him, the weight of him, the pulse of pleasure pounding through your body, that it took a full second to register the shift. But then you heard it too.

A sharp crackle—pshhht—followed by low, garbled voices over a walkie-talkie. Codes. Numbers. Instructions. The language of authority, clipped and cold. Then came the unmistakable sound of heavy boots echoing down the concrete corridor. A slow, measured march of guards making their rounds.

Your heart shot into your throat.

Grayson didn't say a word. He didn't have to.

His grip on you tightened—protective, grounding—as he gently eased out, the motion achingly slow, and guided you away from the wall. His hands, which had been so rough seconds ago, now moved with surgical calm. No panic. No wasted motion. Just control.

He navigated the darkness with ease, guiding you across the cell to his bunk with a hand on your lower back. The sheets were rumpled, the scent of sweat and sex still clinging to the air—thick, unmistakable. Outside the cell bars, the overhead floodlights spilled silvery stripes across the floor. It wasn't total darkness, just enough to blur details. Just enough to hide.

He lay down first—on his side, facing the wall—and without hesitation, pulled you down in front of him. Your back pressed to his chest, your legs curled into the shape of his, your skin still flushed and tingling from everything that had come before. His arm slid over your waist, holding you like a shield, like a secret.

Then he slipped back inside you.

You nearly gasped—but bit it back hard, teeth sinking into your lip as his dick pushed in slow and deep, your body already open and greedy for him. The new angle was different—less force, more stretch—but it hit something inside you that made your toes curl against the sheets. It wasn't urgent now. It was deliberate.

A quiet, controlled burn.

He held you flush to him, chest to your back, your bodies locked together like one solid shape beneath the thin blanket. His hips moved in the smallest motions, just enough to keep you full, to keep the fire stoked.

Then—clank.

The cell door rattled as the latch was tested. A flashlight beam cut across the floor—bright, white, and merciless—sweeping over the bunks.

You shut your eyes, breath frozen in your throat, willing your body to stillness even as Grayson kept moving inside you. Barely-there thrusts, slow and subtle. But the pressure was growing again, the friction impossible to ignore. Every pulse of his dick made your insides clench, your core tighten, your heart pound harder.

The light passed over your face. You didn't flinch.

Grayson's breath hovered just behind your ear, hot and slow. He wasn't kissing you—just breathing there. His lips ghosted over your skin like a secret, and somehow that felt more intimate than anything that had come before.

Outside the bars, the guards moved on.

Boots faded down the corridor. The radio static became distant noise. The threat passed—but the tension didn't leave.

Grayson didn't loosen his grip. Didn't pull out.

He just held you tighter.

And kept going.

His body curved perfectly into yours, every inch of him aligned like he'd been shaped for this—for you. His chest was warm and firm at your back, his breath ghosting against the nape of your neck in slow, steady waves. Each thrust into you was deep, precise, measured—like every movement was part of some intimate choreography only he knew. Even with the faint noise of guards still echoing down the corridor, he moved like nothing else existed. No prison. No threat. Just the two of you in this sliver of darkness and heat.

Then his hand slid lower.

You felt the rough drag of his fingertips first, tracing down your stomach with purpose. Then he wrapped his fingers around your dick—warm, solid, confident—and you had to suck in a breath through clenched teeth. The touch jolted through you like a live wire. He didn't hesitate. His grip was just right—firm, not painful—just enough to let you know he was fully in control.

He began to stroke you in perfect rhythm with his hips. Each push inside you was mirrored by the glide of his hand, like his body was reading yours in real time. The synergy was unreal—too perfect. Every part of you was being worked in sync: his dick filling you in slow, relentless waves, his hand coaxing your dick forward with practiced ease, his breath warming your skin in ragged exhales.

You tried to stay quiet. You had to stay quiet.

But your body was unraveling fast.

Pleasure blurred your thoughts at the edges, your nerves on fire, every muscle locked tight in anticipation. His thumb dragged across the most sensitive part of you with maddening precision, over and over again, and your hips twitched forward instinctively, chasing the friction.

Still, his rhythm didn't falter.

He was methodical—focused—stroking you just enough to push you closer, then slowing just enough to hold you there, right on that precipice. It was maddening. Addictive. The pressure was coiling in your core, heat blooming in your gut and spreading outward, your whole body tensing, tightening, needing.

Your breathing turned erratic—shallow and fast, teeth pressed into your lip to keep the sound in. But Grayson felt it. He knew. He adjusted, just barely, and the stroke of his hand picked up—faster now, firmer. His thrusts grew more intense too, still quiet but sharper, each one angled with purpose. Precision. Like he wasn't just chasing your climax—he was crafting it.

You reached back blindly, your hand finding his forearm and gripping tight—needing something solid to hold on to as your body began to tremble under the pressure. The tension built in waves, fast and brutal, spiraling through your spine, into your stomach, burning through your chest like it was ripping you apart from the inside out.

You were there.

Perched on the edge of everything—control, silence, sensation—tipping closer with every stroke, every thrust, every quiet, burning breath from the man wrapped around you.

And there was no going back.

The pressure in your core finally shattered—white-hot and blinding.

A low, broken moan tore out of you, half-smothered against the pillow, the rest caught somewhere deep in your throat, raw and involuntary. Your entire body seized as your orgasm ripped through you in sharp, uncontrollable waves. Your hips jerked forward, muscles locking, then trembling as the cum pulsed out of you, thick and hot between Grayson's fingers.

But he didn't stop.

His hand kept stroking you through it—slow, firm, relentless—dragging every last spasm out of you like he was determined to wring you dry. Your body twitched under his touch, every nerve lit up and blazing, the overstimulation skimming the edge between pleasure and something more intense, more overwhelming. You gasped again, body straining, your back arching off the mattress as the aftershocks rolled through your limbs.

The world around you blurred—the prison, the cold air, the hard cement and steel. It all fell away. All you could hear was the thunder of your heartbeat in your ears and the wet, rhythmic sound of his hand gliding along your spent dick.

Then, as your muscles started to go slack and your breathing began to even out, Grayson shifted behind you.

Still hard. Still deep inside you.

He let out a quiet grunt, low and restrained, as he adjusted his hold, one hand sliding up your torso while the other anchored you by the hip. He moved with focus, but not urgency—like a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and exactly how he planned to take it.

In one smooth, powerful motion, he guided you flat onto your stomach. The sheets were still warm beneath you, damp with sweat and heat, but you barely had time to register it before his weight was on you again—his chest pressed to your back, skin slick, heartbeat fast. His hands skimmed down your sides, large and steady, before settling at your hips, where he gripped and lifted, raising you just enough to give him the angle he wanted.

You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt him again.

The head of his dick nudged back at your ass—slick, thick, still pulsing with need. And then—he pushed in.

You choked on a sharp gasp, your entire body lighting up as he filled you again. The sensation, so soon after your orgasm, was almost too much. But it wasn't pain—it was intensity. Blistering and deep. Your fingers curled into the mattress, jaw clenched as your body tried to keep up with the new onslaught of sensation.

His pace had changed. Gone was the slow, deliberate rhythm.

Now he moved with force. With hunger.

Grayson's hips snapped forward, hard and fast, the slap of his skin against yours loud in the quiet of the cell. He drove into you again and again, each thrust hitting deeper, sharper, the bed creaking beneath the rhythm of his body. It wasn't reckless. It wasn't out of control. It was focused. Primal. A man possessed by need, but still terrifyingly precise.

His grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging into your skin, holding you right where he wanted you—grounded to the bed, to him. Each thrust sent sparks up your spine, your thighs shaking from the overstimulation, your breath catching with every impact.

You couldn't speak.

Could barely breathe.

All you could do was hold on.

Then he leaned down again, the heat of him searing against your back, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Still with me?" he growled, voice low and rough, thick with lust and that razor-sharp focus that had never once let up.

You nodded—barely able to move—teeth sinking into the sheets as another helpless moan escaped your lips.

His thrusts came faster now, rougher, each one driving into you with the kind of force that made your breath punch out in soft gasps. You felt it in everything—the tension rippling through his muscles, the bruising grip of his fingers at your hips, the way his breath broke apart against the back of your neck in short, uneven bursts.

He was close.

You could feel it.

His body was fire against yours, sweat slicking the space where your backs touched, the heat of his skin branding yours. He pounded into you harder, deeper, and you could feel every bit of it—your thighs trembling, your spine bowing beneath the force of it.

Then it happened—that telltale shift.

You felt him twitch inside you.

His abs clenched.

His rhythm faltered, stuttered—just for a second.

Then Grayson pulled out fast, sharp, with a hiss of breath gritted between his teeth.

You barely had time to turn your head, to blink, before you felt the first hot pulse of his release hit your lower back—thick, warm, unmistakable. He groaned low, the sound rough and almost broken as his hand wrapped around his dick, jerking himself through it. Thick ropes spilled across your skin, warm and heavy, his chest rising and falling in shallow, trembling waves as he rode out the last of it.

He kept stroking—slower now, riding the final throbs of his orgasm with his forehead tilted down, his breath catching like he was still inside the freefall. His body hovered over yours, the tension slowly leaking from his frame, replaced with the kind of raw stillness that only came after something real.

The air in the cell was thick—heat, sweat, sex. The scent of it clung to your skin, to the sheets, to the very air you pulled into your lungs.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Not because there was nothing to say—just because there was no need to say it.

Grayson's hands slid from your hips, fingers soft now, brushing your skin like an afterthought—like he wasn't ready to let go just yet. He stayed close, his body still pressed lightly to yours, the last of his weight resting against your back as he caught his breath, head bowed, chest still heaving.

And you—body tingling, heart racing, mind blank and full all at once—just lay there.

Feeling every inch of him cooling against your skin.

Feeling everything you'd just done settle into your bones.

The cell was quiet again.

Only the distant sounds of the prison reminded you where you were—metal doors clanking far down the corridor, the occasional echo of voices too muffled to understand, the steady electric buzz of the overhead lights that never quite turned off. The rest of the world had returned, creeping in around the edges of the moment you and Grayson had just carved out of it.

Then you felt him behind you.

Grayson moved with the same calm he always had—efficient, steady, but now slower, like the adrenaline was leaving him too. The mattress dipped slightly as he leaned forward. Then something warm, slightly rough—an old shirt maybe, or a towel that had seen better days—passed gently over your lower back.

You inhaled sharply at the first touch, more from surprise than discomfort.

He was careful.

Wiping away the mess he'd left behind with a tenderness you hadn't expected. There was none of the force from earlier, none of the raw, consuming need. His touch now was quiet. Respectful. Almost reverent. He didn't rush. He made sure you were clean.

You let out a slow breath, tension bleeding from your limbs as your body slowly settled, the last sparks of heat fading into something calmer. Something almost fragile.

When he was done, the mattress shifted again as he stood. You heard the soft rustle of fabric behind you—pants pulled up, a belt being fastened, the subtle pull of cotton sliding over skin. You stayed where you were for a few more seconds, gathering yourself. Then you pushed up onto your elbows, your shoulders tight, your spine giving a dull, satisfying ache. The blanket slid down your back as you rolled onto your side.

Your feet touched the cold floor with a soft slap, grounding you.

You stayed like that for a beat, head bowed, eyes adjusting to the dim light, heart still trying to find a steady rhythm.

Then you looked up.

Grayson stood near his bunk, already halfway dressed. He was pulling his shirt over his head, the motion smooth, practiced. His back flexed with the effort, every line of him lean and strong, carved by habit and survival. When the fabric settled into place, he glanced over at you—just once.

His face was unreadable again.

Whatever fire had burned in him minutes ago was tucked away, folded back into the quiet calm he wore like armor. His breathing had evened out. His jaw was tight. But something in his eyes lingered—something he didn't say, didn't show fully, but couldn't quite hide either.

There was no awkwardness in him. No regret. He wasn't avoiding your gaze, and he wasn't searching it either.

Just existing in that space between what had happened and what it meant.

You ran a hand through your hair, your fingers tangling for a second before falling away. You thought about speaking—but the words didn't come. You didn't know what to say that wouldn't feel too big, or too small.

So you didn't say anything.

Neither did he.

You stood up slowly, muscles still loose, legs shaky with that strange, post-release ache—the kind that lingers in your bones long after your body's stopped moving. The chill in the cell kissed your bare skin, raising goosebumps along your arms and thighs. You bent to grab your underwear from where they'd landed near the edge of the bed, the cool floor biting at the soles of your feet. The fabric felt thin and scratchy as you pulled it back up, the elastic waistband snapping softly into place against your hips.

As you straightened up, still adjusting the band with one hand, Grayson's voice cut through the air.

"Thanks for that."

You turned your head, caught off guard not by the words themselves, but by the way he said them—low, even, casual. Like you'd handed him something small, like you'd shared a cigarette or a joke. Not like you'd just let him bend you over in the dark and fuck you into the mattress until your body forgot how to breathe.

He was fully dressed again, sitting on the edge of his bunk. Elbows on his knees. Spine straight. Watching you. His face had settled back into that unreadable calm you were starting to recognize—not cold, not guarded, just contained. But his eyes gave something away. Not much. Just enough.

There was no smugness in his tone. No self-satisfaction.

Just quiet sincerity.

And that—somehow—hit harder than the sex.

You didn't answer right away. You weren't sure how to answer. Your heart was still beating too fast for words, your mind still trying to sort out what this all meant, if it meant anything at all.

Then he added, "You really won't have to worry about Kang or his boys again. I mean that."

Your gaze locked with his. And this time, there was no question in it.

His voice was steady. Grounded. Like a door slamming shut with finality. Not a threat. Not a boast. Just a promise. Quiet and unshakable.

And somehow, you believed him.

Because something in his tone—the weight, the stillness—said he'd already decided what would happen if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way.

He wasn't offering protection anymore.

He was giving it.

And whether you'd meant for it to happen or not, something had shifted. Something real. Heavy. Irrevocable.

And now it was yours.

What you didn't know—what no one ever said aloud, not even in whispers—was why Grayson could make a promise like that and mean it. Why just a few words from him could silence the threat of Kang and every man behind him.

It wasn't just about reputation. It wasn't about owing favors, or pulling strings with the right guards. That kind of power could be taken. Challenged. Broken.

What Grayson had... was fear.

Cold. Heavy. Earned fear.

Because Grayson wasn't just respected in Gotham State—he was the reason the worst of them watched where they stepped. The ones who ran gangs, who extorted commissary and blood and loyalty out of the weak—they gave him space. Not because he asked for it. Not because he made threats.

But because they'd seen what happened when someone didn't.

Kang had a crew, sure. He had numbers. He had swagger. But he didn't have the one thing Grayson had buried in the silence behind his eyes: history.

He never raised his voice. Never threw a punch unless it was absolutely necessary. He didn't posture, didn't bark commands, didn't play the dominance game like the rest of them.

Grayson didn't need to.

He was the kind of dangerous that walked quiet and ended things completely.

Because under that steady calm, beneath the silent routines and the unreadable expressions, was a man who had once taken apart a crime empire with his bare hands. Not figuratively. Not through lawyers or backroom deals.

Richard Grayson had dismantled Tony Zucco's empire piece by piece—burned down his warehouses, exposed his smuggling routes, slit the throat of his most trusted lieutenant in front of a room full of witnesses. And when Zucco's daughter tried to run, tried to avenge the family name, Grayson tracked her down, too.

No hesitation. No loose ends.

And then, he vanished behind prison walls—and every name connected to Zucco stopped breathing.

That's what they didn't say in here.

That's why the old-timers didn't look him in the eye.

Why the guards never searched his cell too hard.

Why Kang kept his distance, even when you gave him the perfect excuse to strike.

Because when Richard Grayson said you were safe...

You were.

And anyone stupid enough to test that?

They didn't leave the same.

If they left at all.

[kisses4themissus]

Private Eye || Hwang In-Ho x Reader

wc : 2.6k a/n : and the crowd is...not surprised that Its gonna be a series.. !! warning; not proof-read so possible misspelling ahead !!

masterlist

Beep Beep Beep.

You groaned as your alarm went off, without looking you had stopped the annoying alarm; Your boyfriend also stirring at the sound. “You have to leave already?” He sighed turning to lay on his back, wiping sleep from his eyes. You smiled at him and sleepily nodded. “Duty calls..” You sighed, swing your legs that touched the cold floor.

As you went to stand a warm embrace wrapped around you. 

“Jun-ho, i need to get up!” You chuckled, rubbing his hands that rested on your waist. “Meet me for lunch?” He asked, smiling up at you.

A moment passed, “Ok, but just this time!” You teasingly pointed your finger at him. Jun-ho nodded and released you from his grasp.

Once freed you had ran to the connected bathroom to get ready for the day. It had been a few months since you’d been anonymously hired to watch, seong gi-hun a fifty one year old man; he had gone from being severely in debt to having billions of dollars in his account. You had grown tired of the case, he had rarely left a motel he had bought out.

You groaned internally, it’d be another day of sitting in an alleyway that had a good view of the motel. Occasionally getting to an abandoned building, watching as he’d park on the roof and sit their for the day; at first you thought he was contemplating killing himself but after a few visits you grew used to his routine. 

As you passed through the kitchen to grab your coffee, jun-ho handed you a small paper bag, he handed it over with a small smile. “Breakfast for you!” 

You leaned closer and kissed his cheeks before kissing his lips. “Thank you, honey!” You both smiled into your kiss, not wanting to leave you parted away first, chuckling as he leaned forward as you parted. “I’ll see you for lunch.” You said, holding two fingers to his lips before grabbing you coffee and breakfast and ran to your car.

- - - - - - - - - - -

It had been months of the same routine, you had watched as gi-hun looked over his several tablets and phones he had in his car.

You quickly grabbed your camera as he answered a phone call, his eyes widened at whatever the other person had said, he quickly started up his car and backed out of the roof and began to drive off.

You raised your eyebrows at his action, you quickly placed your camera down and began to follow behind him

You had kept yourself from pushing the gas, slowing down as he got pulled over. You cursed as you recognized one of the traffic cops; You had been told to keep quiet about the case, you had been lucky enough for jun-ho to understand since he was a detective and tried his best to keep you away from his own work back then.

Once back on the road, you followed behind as he parked his car in front of a shady alleyway. You groaned as you parked further away and got out, camera in hand. Before walking to the alley, you pulled out a tracker from your jacket and stuck it on gi-hun’s car.

You watched from the shadows as gi-hun looked frantically around the alleyway, you pulled out your camera and began snapping photos, you had froze as you noticed a man on top of a building, staring down at gi-hun with a smirk, had there been another P.I working on gi-hun’s case?

You quickly snapped a photo of him before hiding away further as gi-hun ran back to his car.

The other man walked away, back into the building, once you knew it was clear you walked further and began to take photos, there had been blood splatter all over. As you went to leave, you stumbled.

You looked down at your foot and tiled your head at the small brown card, it had three different shapes on the front. You turned it over to see a number, with a confused mindset you tucked it away into your pocket and walked to your car to follow gi-hun again, what was he really involved with…

You had gotten back to the motel before gi-hun. You watched and took photos as the man from before walked into the motel and turned on the sign’s light. You slouched into your seat, waiting for the next movement.

As you waited, the rain fell on top of the car, it had soothed you, unlike the events you had encountered earlier. As you sat in your car you quickly pulled out the brown card from earlier and picked up your phone to call it, you quickly began recording the call.

As you dialed the number, it clicked, someone had picked up. “Hello, who’s calling?” A stern voice answered. “I was given this card earlier today.” You lied, the other person shifted. “Do you wish to participate in the games?” They asked, you furrowed your brows. “Yes.” You shifted in your seat.

“Name and birthday.” They requested.

You gave them your information and waited. He gave you a location to be picked up, it’d be on halloween night, you nodded to yourself, now trying to find an excuse to tell jun-ho. “Thank you.” You hung up and sighed shakily. You perked up as gi-hun walked back into the motel.

An hour had gone by, you had left, there had been no activity.

Once you had gotten home, you paced around your living room; trying to think of things to tell jun-ho. It had been a surprise once you walked through the doors to see he hadn’t gotten home yet. Luckily it was the weekend tomorrow, the employer had given you the weekends off from gi-hun’s case, which you were lucky to have.

You had gotten ready for bed, the cool covers over your body. You had managed to dose off but was woken up when jun-ho had gotten into the bed. You turned over and stared at your boyfriend. “Busy day?” You questioned, making jun-ho tiredly laugh and nodded. “Me too.” You smiled and snuggled into his arms.

As he began to rub your arm in comfort he sighed, looking at the ceiling of the room. “Tomorrow we’re going to the memorial site then my mom asked if we could go over for dinner..” He hesitated, you knew his half brother’s family and himself in general was a harsh subject.

“I’ll be right beside you the whole time.” You reassured, smiling tiredly at him.

The next day you both had strolled through the memorial site, other families bringing gifts, you held a small bouquet of flowers for jun-ho’s sister in law’s grave. You tuned out what his mom had been saying as you walked to the wall.

You sighed as jun-ho walked ahead and hung up with his mother, he grabbed a photo and painfully sighed. You carefully approached, noticing the very wilted flowers, you quickly switched it out for the new ones you both a had bought. You both stayed silent, stopping to give your respects to her. 

You looked to the side and smiled sadly at all the graves without flowers, jun-ho bit his lip as he placed the photo of in-ho and his ex-wife back on the wall.

Jun-ho cleared his throat and turned to you, reaching out his hand. You gave him a soft smile and took it as you both walked back to the car.

“She’s very pretty!” You exclaimed as you both got in. “She’s was very kindhearted too.” Jun-ho smiled, thinking about his sister-in-law. As you both got in the car and began to drive to the store, your happy mood was brought down as your phone buzzed. You pulled it out from your bag, your smile had dropped as you read the text.

“I need the update on seong gi-hun by tonight.” 

You scoffed, jun-ho turned to you concerned, holding two fruit trays in his hands. “No to the pears?” He questioned, chuckling softly. You sighed and shook your head. “I have to skip out on dinner with your mother, the new employer wants an update tonight.” You explained.

“It’s alright, my mom will understand, you work very hard!” He reassured, placing one of the fruit into the small basket. “Thank you.” You smiled at him before leading him down the snack aisle.

- - - - - - - - - - -

You groaned as you send another file to a strange unknown email. It had been all the updates from the past month. Tired you walked to your closet to change into your pajamas.

As you moved through your closet you accidentally knocked down a box of things jun-ho kept on his side. You groaned and knelt down to pick up the small knick knacks and stray photos. You stopped at one, it had been jun-ho when he was younger with a bit older guy, you turned the photo around, looking for a date.

Jun-ho’s highschool graduation, you stopped as you furrowed your brows at the photo, who was the other man then? His half brother? You and jun-ho had begun dating after your college program had ended, you had never met his brother but alway heard of his mother’s guilt. As you stared at the picture, the sound of the door opening made you jump, quickly swiping everything into the box and back on the top shelf of the closet.

“How was dinner?” You questioned, walking out of the closet to see jun-ho taking off his jacket. “It was alright, she sent leftovers for you…” He said, distracted. You sighed walking over to him. “The anniversary gotten to her?” You questioned, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Jun-ho nodded sadly, tossing his jacket on the bed. 

“She feels guilty for no reason, he choose to leave..” Jun-ho ranted, you nodded at his words, letting him get it out. 

- - - - - - - - - - -

In-ho sighed as he took off his mask, it had been rough preparing for the upcoming games, it didn’t help gi-hun was trying to worm back, his own brother was now attempting to find the island. 

He sighed, pouring himself whiskey before opening a burner email he had created for the private investigator he had hired to keep watch on gi-hun. He drank as he went through photo after photo, it had been the same routine, til he saw a photo of the recruiter, in-ho stopped and looked once more at the photos.

Gi-hun was getting too close for comfort again.

You sighed as you watched jun-ho collect his things, he said he had begin to investigate the islands where he has washed up on once again and had now even more info thanks to someone else.

You chuckled as he sighed to himself before walking over to you. “How long will you be gone?” He questioned, sitting down beside you on the bed, “Don’t know…” You shrugged sadly; you had come up with the excuse you had been requested to go to another country to investigate someone badly.

“I’ll miss you!” Jun-ho leaned in and kissed you tenderly on your lips, you smiled into the kiss. “I’ll miss you too..” You both pulled away, looking into each others eyes lovingly. “I actually got you a gift!” Jun-ho smiled and popped up and walked to the dresser and pulled out a small velvet box.

“For me?” You questioned, smiling as he placed it in your palm. “For you to have a piece of me with you.” he explained, you smiled at his words and opened to see a heart shaped necklace. With a gasp you jumped up and hugged your boyfriend, smothering him with kisses. “Thank you, this is so beautiful!” You squealed, taking it out of the box.

“I’ll put it on you..” Jun-ho took the necklace and moved your hair to the side as he clasped the necklace. You smiled as the heart sat perfectly. “You’re the perfect boyfriend!” You smiled and brought him into another kiss, you both pulled away after you had begun to loose oxygen.

“Alright now go see your evidence!” You smiled as jun-ho nodded and kissed you bye once more before leaving the apartment. 

You sighed and stood up from the bed, you looked around, you had cleaned everything up. You were ready to see what gi-hun had gotten himself into with that man.

You nervously looked at your phone again, you’re pick up was at twelve, it quickly approached hte time and you hadn’t seen any sign of a car.

As you went to walk back to your complex, the sound of brakes came from behind you, slowly turning you saw a van, the window rolled down to see someone in a pink suit with a circle on their mask; you brushed it off and assumed it was a costume.

“Ms y/l/n?” You nodded, the back door opened itself. You quickly got in and looked around to see other people fast asleep in their chairs.

As the car began to move you heard a soft hiss and gaz filled the car, it had smelt of lavender; you moved your head back as you got lulled to a soft deep sleep.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Classical music filled your ears as you woke up to see bunks all around you. 

With wide eyes you got up and looked around, your clothes had been changed too; you wore a green tracksuit with a numbers over the right side and the shirt; player 455.

You stopped looking around as you spotted gi-hun getting up from his own bunk. A loud buzz came from the center of the room. You looked over and saw more pink suited people walk out. You quickly follow gi-hun and listened as the pink suits explained everything and answer some questions from people.

As you all lined up to sign the contact you stopped, the strange man, the money gi-hun randomly earned. You quickly searched for him in the crowd and walked over to the line he stood in. You watched as he signed his name. Once you walked up, you quickly filled out the form before running to where gi-hun began walking through all the confusing stairs.

You kept your eye on his as you all passed through the photos and were led to an open field, a weird animatronic doll sat on the other end of the field. The first game was announced to be red light, green light.

You watched gi-hun with furrowed brows as he told you all explained what to do. Most had brushed it off as him being paranoid or high off drugs. You could see the fear in his eyes as he spotted the animatronic. You listened to his instructions. You closed your eyes as gunshots rang out around you.

Once you opened your eyes, you quickly moved behind player 230. Your eyes widened as the doll turned once more and he pushed the players in front of him. Once clear you stood up and followed him.

“Who’s shuffling behind me like a rat?” He grumbled out, you quickly grabbed the back of his jacket collar with a tight grasp. “A rat.” You smiled; once in the clear you used your strength and threw him to th ground and ran ahead.

- - - - - - - - - - -

In-ho quietly sipped on his whiskey as he watched players drop dead. He sighed, growing bored of the same reaction, he stopped sipping as a familiar looking player held thanos by his collar. 

He quickly, leaned over to his side table and went through the player files. He stopped as he found player 455; Y/n Y/l/n. The name had looked familiar. He walked over to the latest photos he had gotten of his family, he shuffled through them and finally stopped at one, jun-ho and his girlfriend at a friend’s party, both hangoff each other smiling.

Jun-ho’s girlfriend.

hwang in-ho taglist: @snowtargaryen @menabuser16 @azusdump @jspidey5 @annasnape7 @macnbriee @ookybatt @sasha-swftie @moonxnite

[jjscrybaby]

I looooved your seatbelt rafe fic — could you do one with the same vibe (bsf rafe, Topper & Kelce)

with the shattered windshield prompt 🤞🏼

I love how he takes care of her 🤍🤍🤍🤍

prompt: ‘a shattered windscreen’ from @scealaiscoite

rafe cameron x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (car accident not in detail, drunk driver not reader, protective!rafe)

just got out of the hospital and am stuck in bed, so figured i’d do a bit of writing whilst watching love island! this one isn’t great but in my defence i’m unwell🥲

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Rafe repeated, his legs carrying him through the wreckage around him. All he could focus on was you, sitting with your legs hanging out your car and an ice pack held to your head.

You looked up at the sound of his voice, tears welling up in your eyes at the sight of him. All the fear and anxiety vanished, replaced with pure relief. Rafe was here now, and when Rafe’s around you know that nothing bad is going to happen to you. You could see Kelce and Topper behind him, stopping to talk to the cops on the scene.

“Rafey,” you murmured as he reached your side, kneeling down in front of you just to tug you into his embrace.

“You okay? Are you hurt?” He pulled back to cup your face in his hands, eyes manic and wide as he scanned every detail of your skin to find a mark.

“Hit my head, but I got checked over and they said they don’t think I’ve got a concussion,” you explained, removing the ice pack to show him the bruise above your eyebrow. “I’m more upset about my car.”

He shook his head at you, letting out an exasperated sigh. “The last thing you gotta worry about is that. It’s fixed, a’ight? Tomorrow, I’ll take it in and get it sorted. The windshield’s smashed, right? Anythin’ else?”

“It’s all scratched,” you murmured, looking at him. You should’ve known, Rafe loves money but he loves you more. He’d spend every cent to his name if it meant you’d stay happy.

“We’ll sort it out,” he soothed, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Now, where’s the drunk bastard that hit you?”

“In the back of the car.” You pointed to Shoupe’s squad car, Rafe could vaguely make out the shadow of a young man.

He nodded once, beckoning Topper and Kelce over. “Take her to the truck, I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Where you goin’?” Kelce asked, his arm wrapping around your still-shaking shoulders to lead you.

“Just take her, man. Can’t you follow a damn order?” Rafe complained, mumbling to himself as he wandered over to the cops; pulling out wads of cash from his pocket.

“No way that’ll work,” Topper murmured, but was quickly proven wrong as Shoupe and the other cop walked away.

Rafe turned around and shot you a wink before he pulled open the door, the drunk who had hit you appeared for a split second before Rafe’s fist was in his face. You probably should’ve felt the urge to stop him, but he’d already paid for his time. You might as well let him finish.

[adelliet]

Wolverine x f!reader

SILENT HUNT

Summary: You are running from the FBI, spending days hiding and surviving until you meet a man who helped you and saved your life.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, corn with plot, soft Logan, harassment, age gap (reader in 20s Logan in his 30s), reader is much smaller than Logan, mentions of trauma, hunting animals, light fingering, oral (f!receiving), nicknames (sweetie, princess), unprotected sex ( p i v ), aftercare, praise kink, good~sweet ending

A/n: Hey so um I didn't expect it to be so long 0-0 sorry for that…but I hope you're gonna like it (I'm going insane over this man help)

Masterlist

,,She ran this way!” You heard one of the cops shouting. You knew they were up your ass. Despite your speed, sooner or later they will catch up. You couldn't allow that.

You quickly tried to analyze the environment around you and when your eyes spotted a thick bush, you took advantage of it and quickly hid behind it. You couldn't hide here forever, but you wanted to gain some time to think. Terrified, you looked around, desperately trying to find a place where you could hide longer.

"Where did she go?!" You recognized the bitter male voice. It belonged to one of them, actually to the main guy who destroyed you. Who used you and turned you into the monster you are now. He took away your rights, your dignity, your life. He didn't care that he could've killed you. You were just a lab rat to him who had beneficially succeeded his experiment.

Just his tone made your heart rate rise, your claws were pressing against your knuckles, struggling to break through. You concentrate all your nerves for stopping the mutant DNA inside you bubble to the surface. The rage and hatred for the man was incalculable, but you couldn't attack him. At least, not right now. You just had to wait quietly for him and his entire team to leave.

"Fuck! Find her or I'll cut your throat!" he shouted angrily. Then you heard vehicles and thousands of footsteps finally fading away from you. You were holding your breath the whole time, finally relieving yourself and carefully climbed out from the bush. You did have a clear air, for now. Time was precious at the moment and you decided to use it well. That's why the moment you left your previous hiding spot, you ran after your goal.

Any shack, abandoned building or cabin would be ideal. Well, your wish was granted. You hadn't been running for long before you saw a small wooden cabin in the distance. Your eyes lit up, excited smile forming on your face. There was still a hope.

Running to the door, you weren't even going to waste time knocking. You rush inside and close the door by leaning against it. You throw your head back, trying to calm your breathing, before opening your eyes again.

You were quite surprised. The furniture and everything in the cabin looked exceedingly good. As if someone lived here. You barely took two steps forward and were about to continue exploring, but you were stopped by sharp objects lightly touching your back. "Who are you and what do you want" a rough male voice made your breath stuck in your throat, goosebumps rose all over your body.

You started shaking and you knew if you won't speak asap, you are dead. But your ability to talk was quite interrupted by those really sharp objects pressing on your back. Yet you inhale deeply and tried to answer calmly.

"I need to hide from the FBI..." there was a moment of silence. "They want me" "Why?" You could still feel the knives touching your back, keeping you in a position where you couldn't do anything but answer. "They want my DNA..." again there was a silent pause until the man finally set you free, so you could finally turn around and see his face.

Your eyes widened. You didn't expect this. It was pretty tall man, at least 6 feet tall. You admired his beard and hair, which created a strange illusion of a wild animal. His hands were huge, not only his biceps but also his palms. When he sees your face, his eyes soften. He did not expect this either.

"Why they want your DNA?" he asked with confusion in his voice. Before you manage to say anything, you hear vehicles outside the cabin. Your instincts immediately got the better of you and claws came out of your knuckles in self-defense. Logan pulled back in surprise and looked at you with raised eyebrow.

He had so many questions but this wasn't the time to ask. He knew that. He smelled your fear and saw your terrified eyes, you've been through a lot. Besides, you didn't look like someone who wanted to hurt him. "Go, hide under the bed in that room" he pointed to one of the doors and you wasted no time.

You did as he told you so and waited, your pulse raising again. "Wait until I tell you" he whispered before he closed the door. No sooner had he closed it, than they aggressively knocked with the words "FBI open the door or we break in!”

Your mind was filled with million scenarios and they weren't in a positive light. What if they find you? What if you get caught and you never see day light again? What if they try more experiments on you until you suffer to death? What if they kill you as soon as they see you? These questions spawned in your head as you tried to control your breathing.

"Hello gentlemen, how can I help you?"

"Have you seen this girl?" you quietly listened to their conversation expectantly. "No, why is she missing or someth-" 

"That's none of your bussines sir, just answer honestly. Have you seen this girl running through here?" you heard rich laugh as you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Are you for real? I haven't seen a single soul in here for couple of years..." your breathing and heart raise was slowly going back to normal speed and rhythm. "Okay, let us check the cabin and we can leave" fuck. Just when you though you won…

“I told you I haven't seen her-" "We have the right to come in sir, now stand back or force will come" You could feel beads of sweat rolling down your forehead. You're done. You weren't ready for it but you had no choice. At least you tried. Hope dies last, how they say…

You quietly awaited your fate and listened to the slow stomping around the cabin. There were only a few seconds left before they will enter the room where you were hiding. "Sir I told you I haven't seen that girl!" that wolf-looking guy kept trying to save you and chase them away before they find you. It was pointless. Not only did they not listen to him, but they just accelerated the search.

There it is.

All that running, all that hiding and all that starving was for nothing. Everything led to only one result, which will now be fulfilled.

The hair on your arms stood on end when you heard a loud creaking of the door. You held your breath as you watched the massive black boots move eerily slowly around the room. Then you heard more faster footsteps, before seeing shoes. They were different, so you recognized that this was your salvation.

"I don't know what you're looking for in here. I've told you several times that I've never seen that girl!" you watched the shoes of both men with frightened eyes. There was a silence for a moment, before you heard the transmitter switch on. "All clear" a weight lift off your heart when you heard those words. You waited still, as you were told to do so.

“Alright, you can come out now” you literally jumped out from under the bed and were completely changed. The scared expression turned to excited and your eyes shone like never before. You felt incredible relief, but mostly you were grateful.

"Thank you so much!" he just nodded and checked you up and down before going somewhere else. You followed him, curious what will happen next.

"So now you're going to tell me why they want your DNA?" he raised his eyebrow as he poured rum into the glass. You watched him for a while, observing his large, big, massive hands until you caught yourself. You cleared your throat akwardly.

“I'm…a successful lab experiment” his face expression still didn't change, letting you know he wanted more. "I was born as a normal person, but these guys took me from my parents and used me as their lab rat. They tried to give me DNA from some mutant" he listened carefully, being very interested in your speech. "The chance of me dying was over 90%, but I survived even with mutant genes. They want to know how it's possible. That's why they want me"

You look down, remembering all the traumatic experiences from the lab. "I know what it's like" You look up at him. "I've been…lab rat too" he looked thoughtfully at his hand before sharp claws came out from his knuckles. You gasped quietly, before squeezing your eyes. "You are Wolverine!" you said in disbelief. He looks at you with furrowed brows. "Am I that famous?" you scoffed and shook your head. "They talked about you a lot in the lab. You were...their insiration"

"Well that isn't that something I should be proud of huh?" he chuckled, joking sarcastically but he had a point. You watched his claws. They were much bigger, sharper than yours. "Adamantium" he got your attention again, watching his claws. "Unbreakable metal. I have it instead of my bones" he slid them back in and looked at your face to finally see your reaction.

"Really? That must've hurt..." "Like hell" he agreed and took a sip. He held out the glass to you. It took you a moment to understand what he wanted. "Oh no thank you, I don't drink" you shake your hand and suck your lips into a thin line. "Good girl" he nodded and instead of placing the glass on the counter, he drank it to the bottom and only then put it down.

"But you also have…these don't you?" he asked you and you nodded. "Yeah but my bones are not made from that metal, only these" you also wanted to flex so you took your claws out. There were only two sharp ones on one hand, but they were enough.

"I see..." he poured another shot of rum into his glass and drank it immediately. You were starting to worry about his livers. "I'm Logan by the way" you smiled, introducing yourself too. He repeated your name to himself, smiling at the way those letters tickle his tongue.

"What about your family, where are they now?" your smile dropped immediately and you looked down again. “I don't know” you whispered darkly, hoping, praying that they are still alive. Logan realized that this was probably an inappropriate question and instantly began to act.

"Anyway, are you hungry?" he opened a fridge and looked around there. Of course you were hungry. You were starving. You couldn't remember the last time you had normal meat, vegetables or fruit. Practically any normal food.

You didn't want to sound annoying tho, but before you could say no, Logan was already taking spaghetti out of the fridge. “These are leftovers from yesterday…I can make more if you want” you wanted to refuse the offer, but the longer you watched and smelled the aromatic smell of meat and tomatoes, saliva started pooling in your mouth. Your stomach rumbled and that was a sign that you had to accept Logan's food.

"Here" he handed you a fork which you quickly grab and started eating like an animal. Logan was surprised, he watched you with raised eyebrows but later, he understood. He was glad he could help you. A warm grin began to form on his face so he quickly looked away and pretended to be busy with something, while he kept an eye on you and checking when you are finished. It wasn't even ten minutes and your plate was empty. Completely empty.

After you wiped your lips and calmed your beast inside you a bit, you thanked and gave Logan a grateful puppy eyes. He smiled a bit and nodded. "Do you want more?" you shake your head even though you wouldn't mind extra portion.

There was an awkward silence for a while. Neither of you knew what to talk about, however both of you were thinking the exact same thing. What will happen next? Will Logan let you stay here or will he kick you out? You were so desperately curious, but too scared to ask.

You decided to use reverse psychology. "I should get going" Logan jerked his head and frowned. "Have you lost your mind?" you look up at him, eyes big and sparkling. "You can't leave, definitely not now" and your trick worked. Your heart warmed when Logan let you stay. He was the first person in a long time to be kind to you. You valued him immensely.

The evening came. You were so tired and looking forward to wrapping yourself in the covers and falling asleep. Logan let you sleep in his bed while he slept on the couch. It must've been really uncomfortable, but he wanted to give you some space.

You evoked something in him that no one had been able to do for a long time. Compassion. You both have a pretty similar past and you've been through hard times, why should he be mean to you? Plus, you looked so innocent, so soft and beautiful. Oh you are beautiful.

The moment you turned around and your eyes met, it was as if time stood still. He felt his heart race, yet everything around him faded into silence. Your gaze held him captive, soft yet intense, as though you could see through every layer of him.

You seemed both familiar and mysterious, like a dream he wanted to keep reliving. And your eyes, there was something about them. So bright, yet with a hidden depth, as if they held secrets you weren't ready to share. Just looking into them left him breathless, his thoughts scattering with each heartbeat.

As he lay on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Of course, it was only natural that you’d occupy his thoughts; after all, you were a new event in his life. But this was different. He wasn’t just thinking about you in any ordinary way. His thoughts lingered on you in a way that maybe he shouldn’t have allowed.

There was a heat in his chest, a longing he couldn’t shake off. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have you near in a way that went beyond the boundaries of mere thoughts. The thought of you, of the way you made him feel, ignited something inside of him…a desire, a craving, that he wasn’t sure how to control.

You weren't much better of.

You could feel it, the connection between you, like an invisible thread tugging at your heart, pulling your thoughts to him. As you lay beneath the blankets, you couldn’t escape the images of him. His face, rugged and intense. His hair, wild and untamed, like the ears of a wolf, a perfect reflection of his untouchable, yet undeniable nature. You could almost smell the mix of rum and cigarettes that clung to him, that scent that was both comforting and dangerously alluring.

But it was his hands, those massive hands, that lingered in your mind the most. They were like a sign of safety, as if Logan could protect you from the world. Even now, surrounded by the softness of the sheets, you couldn’t escape the heat Logan left behind, the longing that burned inside you.

You couldn’t sleep. Your mind was too consumed with thoughts of Logan. Every time you closed your eyes, his face was there, vivid in your mind. His intense gaze, the roughness of his voice, the way he moved. It was as if he was everywhere, and you couldn’t escape him, no matter how hard you tried.

You tossed and turned, the sheets tangled around you, but no matter what, sleep didn’t come. It was like your body and mind were in conflict. You were exhausted, but the thought of him wouldn’t let you rest.

Finally, as the hours passed, your thoughts began to blur, the constant tug of his presence softening. Slowly, your breathing slowed, and the weight of the day caught up with you. The last thing you remember was the faintest image of him lingering in your mind before sleep finally claimed you.

You woke with a start, gasping for air, your body drenched in sweat. Your heart raced as the remnants of the nightmare clung to you like a heavy fog. You were back in the lab, the sterile, suffocating air, the cold metal table beneath you, the sharp sting of needles, the hum of machines monitoring your every heartbeat. The doctors—no, they weren’t doctors—had done this to you.

The pain… it was unbearable. You had screamed in your mind, desperate to escape, to survive. But it hadn’t been enough. The dream always ended the same way: your body convulsing, your breath leaving you, your heart stopping. You died there.

And then, as the darkness closed in, your eyes shot open. The scream tore from your throat before you could stop it, raw and terrified. Your body trembled, the terror from the nightmare still alive inside you.

A voice, low and familiar, cut through the panic. “Hey, hey… are you okay?” Logan’s voice, filled with concern, echoed in the quiet of the room. You blinked rapidly, your eyes focusing on him. You were safe. Your were alive. But your mind was still trapped in that place, that nightmare. The pain, the fear… it was all too real.

“Logan…” you breathed, your voice shaking, your body still trembling as his presence grounded you.His brows furrowed as he moved closer, his hand instinctively reaching for your.

He took both your small, trembling hands into his one, massive palm, covering them completely. Logan's rough thumb gently stroked across the back of your hand, the warmth and weight of his touch grounding you, bringing you back from the dark memories of the nightmare.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, his voice low and comforting. “You’re safe now. You’re okay.” He kept his voice calm, his thumb continuing to trace soothing circles as he waited for your breathing to even out. Slowly, you began to calm, your fingers loosening in his grip.

“I… I had a nightmare,” you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes, feeling the remnants of fear still lingering. Logan gave a slight nod, his gaze steady and understanding. “It’s okay. I get those too.” He didn’t press you, just held your hands in his, keeping his presence steady, like an anchor. He stayed there a few moments longer, not moving, until he was sure you were truly alright.

When he finally started to release her hands and stand, her fingers tightened around his. “Wait… would you… stay with me?” You asked, hope and despair could be heard in your throbbing voice.

He glanced at you for a moment, reading the vulnerability in your eyes, and gave a brief nod. “Sure,” he said softly, settling back down by your side. You felt a wave of relief wash over you, as his presence remained close. Gently, he kept your hands in his, his steady, quiet strength surrounding you, until you drifted off again, finally feeling safe.

The sun's rays shone directly into your eyes through the blinds, waking you up. You moved a bit and left a pleased quiet yawn from your lips. You realized you were lying on top of Logan's bare chest, his massive hand resting on your hip. The realization left you in shock for a small moment. After all, it felt comfortable.

The heat from his body warmed yours, his heartbeat was slow in rhythm and you enjoyed listening to it. It was a lovely melody that you wouldn't get tired of.

You slowly looked over at Logan, who was still sleeping. You couldn’t help but let your gaze linger a bit longer, taking in every detail. The way his profile softened under the light, the relaxed way he held himself, like he belonged nowhere else but right here, right now. Your heart began to race, almost as if you'd just realized something you hadn’t quite let yourself feel before.

There was a flutter deep inside you, a mix of nerves and excitement, tiny, electric sparks that seemed to move from her your to your stomach, filling it with a soft, almost dizzying warmth.

You'd heard people talk about “butterflies,” but until now, you hadn’t understood just how real they were. It was overwhelming but oddly comforting at the same time, like an emotion you'd always wanted to feel but never quite believed you would.

You could barely focus, all your senses drawn toward Logan, wondering if he’d notice how your cheeks were flushed, or if he could sense the way your pulse seemed to echo in your ears. In that moment, everything else faded, and it was just you. Just you, discovering that maybe, just maybe, you were falling for him.

Suddenly, Logan woke up. You quickly closed your eyes, pretending to be asleep. You wanted to avoid any awkward situation where he might realize you'd been watching him sleep. What kind of creep does that? He’d definitely think you were crazy, and you weren't about to risk that.

He took a deep breath and clumsily looked around. He seemed confused, but you understood why. After a long, deep sleep, it made sense. Once he finally got his bearings, remembering where he was or who he was, he realized the position the two of you were in. He quickly jerked his hand away from your hip. Part of him enjoyed it, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. That was the last thing he wanted.

He yawned loudly, and you took the opportunity to pretend you are waking up too. He looked at you and couldn’t help but smile. Even though it was morning, you still looked so stunning and majestic. You glanced at him and pretended that you had only just realized you were lying on him. Quickly, you pulled away and cleared your throat awkwardly. He chuckled under his breath and stretched his arms.

“Good morning,” he said in his rough morning voice, sending strange waves of pleasure down between your legs. Quietly and shyly, you murmured a good morning back and stretched your back.

“Did you sleep better?” he asked, sitting up so he could at least see half of your face. You nodded, looking at him with a grateful smile. He returned the smile, and when he felt his cheeks starting to warm, he decided to get out of bed. “I’ll go make breakfast,” he added before leaving the room.

You couldn’t shake the lingering scent of Logan, as you lay in bed for a few moments longer. The nightmare had already faded from your mind. You stepped out of the room and made your way to the kitchen, where Logan was at the stove, frying eggs and bacon in a skillet. He looked up at her, did a quick double-take, and smiled. Inside, though, you felt anything but fresh. You felt grimy, sweaty, and were sure your breath wasn’t at its best. “Mind if I use your shower?” You asked softly, your voice shy. Logan nodded and pointed down the hall.

Before you left the room, though, you naturally realized, that your clothes weren't clean either. Feeling a bit nervous, you asked Logan again, “Um, and could I maybe borrow some of your clothes?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard, but he couldn’t say no. “Yeah, I’ve got some shirts in the closet,” he replied, focusing intently on the bacon in the pan without looking at you.

You whispered a soft thank you and went to find something of his to wear. You found a red flannel shirt, and it smelled incredible. You couldn’t resist, taking a deep inhale of the scent was like breathing in Logan himself, a scent so intoxicating it felt like a drug.

Finally, you went to shower, freshen up, and take care of a little hygiene. You tossed your dirty clothes aside and slipped into Logan’s shirt. It hung loosely around you, the hem falling nearly to your thighs and the sleeves draping well past your hands. It felt oversized, almost like a protective blanket, wrapping you in his warmth. His scent, smoky, rugged, with a hint of rum, was woven into the fabric, surrounding you completely.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, the warm scent of breakfast led you toward the kitchen. Logan had just finished setting the plates, but when he looked up and saw you in his oversized flannel shirt, he froze.

It was clear it was his, unmistakably his, and seeing you in it stirred something fierce within him. He couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming over you, taking in how small you looked wrapped up in his clothes. But it wasn't just that, It was the way it clung to you in places, falling just so across your curves, that drove him wild. The collar hung slightly open, teasing him with glimpses of bare skin, and he found himself aching to close that distance, to run his hands along your waist and pull you close, inhaling that soft scent of yours now mingled with his own.

He swallowed hard, silently praying you couldn’t read his thoughts, because the things running through his mind right then were nowhere near decent. Trying to keep his composure, he gave you a lopsided smile. Get it together, he thought, but it was hopeless. All he could think about was how right it felt to see you in his shirt and how much he was craving for your lips right now.

When Logan finished his breakfast, he pushed back from the table and wiped his mouth. He looked ready to leave, grabbing his jacket and placing his hands on the table, looking resolute, like he planned something.

“Alright, I’m heading out for a hunt. Need to stock up for the week,” he said, his voice firm and unwavering.

You paused for a moment, then looked up at him. You weren’t sure if that was a good idea. After all, the FBI is still looking for you and who knows if they'll come to search the cabin again. This time Logan won't be there to protect you. But it wasn't just the FBI that worried you. You didn't want to be alone. You didn't want Logan to leave for god knows how long. You wanted to be with him.

“Y-you're going hunting?” you assured, trying to keep your tone as casual as possible. “Yeah,” he replied, already moving toward the door. “Won’t take long. Just need to get an early start.” You didn’t want him to go alone, and you definitely didn’t want to stay behind.

“Can I come with you?” you blurted out quickly to get his attention before he left. Logan slowly turned and looked at you blankly. “I don’t have anything else to do and… I’d like to help. Can you take me with you?”

Logan was surprised. His eyes softened a bit, but he still seemed unsure. He lowered his head slightly, his face unreadable, as he thought it over. You couldn’t tell if he was considering the idea or just trying to decide how to say no.

“This isn’t exactly a leisure trip, you know?” he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “And it’s not exactly safe. This isn’t the kind of place for someone without experience.”

But there was something in your eyes that made him hesitate. Maybe it was the fear in your eyes for being alone, or maybe you really wanted to learn hunting… Whatever it was, he didn’t dismiss the idea immediately.

“I know it’s not going to be easy,” you replied, looking at him intently. “But I’d feel better going with you…safer.”

Logan looked at you carefully, his gaze softening a little, though his posture was still tense. “Are you sure you can handle it?” You could tell he wasn’t as convinced as he sounded, but your puppy eyes were the last straw for him.

“Alright, fine,” he said, finally relenting. His voice was still serious, but his lips quirked into something like a smile. “Just keep up and don’t slow me down.” You smiled widely, your heart racing a little faster as you stand up from the table, excited.

Logan suddenly raised both hands, holding them in front of him like a stop sign, his expression playful but firm. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said with a smirk, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. “Where exactly do you think you’re going in that outfit?”

His tone was teasing, but there was a flicker of seriousness and concern in his gaze. You look down at yourself and realize you were wearing just his shirt and panties. This is probably not a best suit for hunting.

You looked back at Logan apologetically and a little embarrassed. He shook his head amused and went to hand you some pants.

"I hope they fit...I wore them when I was 14" You both giggled and you put the pants on right in front of him. He watched you the whole time and when you were finally dressed formally, you went out.

You walked with Logan into the woods, your eyes darting cautiously to every shadow and rustling leaf. The thought of the FBI lurking around still haunted you, keeping you tense and alert with every step. But gradually, Logan’s mere presence started to ease your nerves, grounding you in a sense of safety. He didn’t need to say anything; just being near him seemed to calm your racing mind.

Then, a sudden snap of a branch echoed through the trees. Without thinking, you moved closer to Logan, pressing against him instinctively. Your heartbeat quickened, and your breath caught in your chest, certain that you were being watched. But Logan, calm and unbothered, scanned the trees and then nodded toward the source of the sound.

“It’s just a squirrel,” he murmured with a small, amused smile.

You exhaled, your shoulders relaxing as you glanced up at him, feeling a little silly but reassured.

You and Logan kept moving deeper into the woods, his steady pace reassuring even as you couldn’t quite shake the edge of tension from earlier. After a while, Logan spotted a deer grazing in the distance. He motioned for you to be quiet, and the two of you slowly crept toward it.

You both took cover behind a bush, and you watched as Logan readied himself to take aim. But something in you hesitated, you couldn’t help but feel for the gentle creature standing unaware, and a wave of reluctance washed over you. Turning to him, you whispered, trying to convince him, “It’s just a helpless animal…”

Logan’s jaw tightened, a hint of irritation crossing his face. But after a moment, his expression softened as he looked at you, and he let out a quiet sigh. Though a bit begrudgingly, he lowered his weapon.

“Fine,” he muttered, barely concealing a small smirk. Together, you moved on to search for something smaller, Logan leading the way with a slight shake of his head, as if both amused and exasperated.

After walking a little further, you both spotted a wild boar rummaging around the forest floor. Though the idea still tugged painfully at you, you managed to steel yourself, accepting that Logan would take this one down. Once again, you crouched behind cover, careful to stay hidden from the boar’s sight.

Logan took aim and fired, the shot ringing out sharply in the quiet of the woods. You flinched slightly, a quick jolt of surprise, but it wasn’t as bad as you expected. With just one shot, Logan brought the boar down, his skill evident in that single, precise hit. “Come on” he clicked his head towards the animal and you slowly followed him.

When you reached the fallen animal, a wave of sadness stirred in you, seeing it lying there. Logan noticed your expression, and without a word, he stepped closer to you, his gaze softening.

He placed a warm, steady hand on your shoulder, grounding you. “Hey,” he murmured gently, his voice low and calm. “It’s alright. I know this feels…heavy.” His hand moved in a slow, reassuring circle, and you could feel the tension in your body start to melt just a little.

“Hunting isn’t easy, but sometimes it’s necessary. Out here, it’s survival.”

You looked up at him, catching the quiet sympathy in his eyes. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes softened as he gave you a small smile. “We use what we take,” he added, as if sensing you needed something more to ease your mind. “Nothing goes to waste.”

His thumb brushed your shoulder with an unexpected tenderness, and the weight on your chest began to lift. You nodded, still feeling a little heavy-hearted but reassured by his words. “Thank you,” you whispered, feeling his warmth seeping through you.

Logan gave your shoulder one last squeeze, lingering just a moment before he released you. “Come on,” he said, his tone back to its usual steady resolve. “We’ll take care of him. I’ll show you how.”

He began to prepare the boar, his movements efficient but respectful, and you felt grateful that he understood the balance between survival and compassion.

Logan already carried two boars effortlessly over his shoulders, his strength nothing short of superhuman. Watching him handle such weight so casually stirred a flicker of admiration and something else, a heated thrill you couldn’t quite ignore.

When he looked over with a faint smirk, you felt warmth rise to your cheeks and quickly glanced away, flustered. Logan caught the gesture, and a low chuckle escaped him.

Then, without warning, he pressed a firm hand against your chest, stopping you in your tracks. His gaze turned serious, and he tilted his head toward the trees up ahead. “See that?” he whispered, nodding toward another boar just in the distance.

You nodded, heart thumping a little faster. Together, you crept forward, crouching low as you hid yourselves behind a bush. Logan carefully lowered the animals he was carrying to the ground and pulled out his rifle, eyes focused on the target. For a few seconds, he lined up his shot, but then he turned his gaze toward you, a determined glint in his eye.

“If you’re going to survive out here, you’re going to have to learn how to handle this,” he murmured, holding the rifle out to you. With a nod, he motioned for you to move in closer.

For a moment, you hesitated, but the intensity in Logan’s eyes drew you in. You stepped closer, until you were pressed against him, his sturdy form shielding you from behind. The closeness felt reassuring, comforting even, yet you struggled to focus on anything other than the way his body molded perfectly against yours.

Slowly, you reached out for the rifle, feeling its unexpected weight. Sensing your effort, Logan wrapped his hands around yours, helping you hold it steady. You both gripped it together, his strong hands guiding yours.

The warmth of Logan’s chest pressed against your back sent shivers down your spine, awakening a flood of excitement that you couldn’t control. His strong arms surrounded you, hands wrapped firmly around yours on the rifle, steady and commanding. Each breath he took brushed softly against your neck, and you found yourself unable to think of anything but his presence. Solid, protective, and impossibly close.

His touch was rough but careful, and the way his fingers enveloped yours made your pulse race. You couldn’t ignore the way his grip felt, strong and possessive, sending waves of thrill and desire through you.

He covered you like a protective barrier, making you feel safe enough to face anything.

“All right,” he murmured in a voice that was dark, smooth, almost too tempting. “Now, aim at him.” His breath brushed your ear, making it even harder to concentrate. Your fingers touched his where they rested over yours, sending sparks down your spine. But you tried your best to focus, steadying your gaze on the boar ahead.

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly, his voice a low rumble that made you take a deep breath, willing yourself to keep your aim.

Your hands were shaking a bit, but Logan’s massive hands kept the rifle steady, guiding it in perfect alignment. “Shoot,” he commanded, and for a moment, you hesitated, unsure of yourself. But then, with a gentle push from him, you squeezed the trigger, and the shot rang out. The impact sent a jolt through you, and you stumbled slightly backward into Logan’s chest. He chuckled softly, glancing down at you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and reassuring. You nodded quickly, eyes already moving to the wild boar lying motionless on the ground.

“You did it. Good job,” he praised, and the words sent another wave of satisfaction rushing through you, a pleasant heat spreading between your thighs.

Logan then stood, offering his hand to help you up, and you both walked over to inspect the boar. You felt terrible, a heavy weight pressing on your chest as you stared at the lifeless body of the wild boar, the one you had just killed. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, and a wave of guilt washed over you. But Logan didn’t seem bothered by it at all.

Without hesitation, he hoisted the dead boar over his shoulders, along with the two others, and started walking back toward the cabin with you.

Before getting in the truck, he tossed the animals into the back with ease, as though it was nothing. Then he climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving you standing outside, unsure of what to do next.

“Hop in!” Logan called out with a grin, and you quickly obeyed, climbing into the truck. “We’re going to the store. I’ll need something,” he said, and with a turn of the key, the engine roared to life.

As soon as you stepped into the store, everything felt new. You had never been inside a store before, and it amazed you. Shelves upon shelves filled with things you’d never seen, snacks, drinks, and foods that were completely unfamiliar to you. Logan had told you to stay close to him, but the overwhelming curiosity got the best of you. You couldn’t help but wander around, eyeing all the delicious treats you had no idea existed.

Suddenly, three men approached you. “Hey cutie” one of the slimy guys called out making you turn around. You raised your eyebrows innocently and incomprehension as you watched them approach you. They kept whispering something to each other and laughing, in a very creepy way.

"Damn you're a snack!" "Nice curves you've got there!" they said and kept getting closer. You backed up until you hit a shelf, not allowed to move away from them anymore. "What's a hot chick like you doing in a place like this?" the tallest guy with a beard, that smelled like rotten fish, reached out and tried to touch your arm. You flinched, trying to step away, but they only followed.

You took another step back, hoping to escape their grip, but it was no use. Another hand reached out to brush against your waist, sending a shiver of discomfort down your spine. “Yeah, come on sweetheart, don’t be shy. Let us show you a good time.”

Your heart raced, fear bubbling inside, but before you could react, you heard a familiar, low voice. “I think she’s good, boys”

He was standing there now, his arms crossed, his presence like a wall of muscle, dark eyes locked on the men. His voice was calm but deadly serious.

“And who the hell are you? You some kinda hero?”

Logan stepped closer, his gaze never leaving them. “No, I’m not. But I’ll make sure you wish you were never born if you keep this up.”

The men hesitated, clearly weighing their options. Logan’s stance and cold, threatening tone made them think twice. He reached out, grabbing one by the collar and pulling him a few inches off the ground.

“You’d better walk away. Now.” The men quickly realized they were outmatched, and with a few muttered curses, they backed off, turning and walking away in defeat. Logan kept his eyes on them, waiting until they were completely gone before letting the tension in his body ease.

He turned to you, his expression softening just slightly, though still protective. “You good?” You nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over you, though your heart was still racing. Logan’s presence had been a shield, and you couldn’t help but feel safe again.

You quietly thanked him, and Logan simply nodded. He didn’t hesitate any longer, unwilling to risk more men getting too close to you. Gently, he grabbed your waist and pulled you to his side, holding you there. You didn’t protest.

Logan’s usual cool demeanor had a hint of something else now, something possessive, as his hand rested firmly on your side. He wasn’t just guarding you, he was claiming you in a way. His thoughts were elsewhere, likely simmering with anger over what had just happened. Though he’d tried to handle things calmly with words, the desire to protect you at all costs was stronger than ever.

He might’ve been trying to be civil, but if anyone tried something again, there would be no hesitation. Logan would’ve torn them apart in seconds if you weren’t around. He had a certain control over himself, but it was clear, he didn’t like anyone stepping too close to what was his.

You came to the register, Logan paid and you left. You didn't exchange a word until then. "What would you like for dinner?" he asked, turning the subject away. He didn't want to discuss the uncomfortable situation further and make you feel uneasy. Talking about food seemed like a better topic to him.

“I don't know” Logan left you from his grip, when you were already at the car. You got inside, where Logan placed the grocery bag in the back seat, before starting the car. "We'll figure something out"

It was evening when you were finally back at the cabin, and Logan was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. The scent of fresh ingredients filled the air, mixing with the smoky, earthy aroma of the forest outside. He was focused, moving with the kind of purpose you admired. You sat on the couch, leaning back into the cushions, watching him from where you were. You were wearing a new shirt, his shirt, of course, but nothing else but your underwear.

As your eyes traced the muscles in his arms, the way his body moved as he chopped and stirred, you felt yourself growing more and more captivated by him. The warmth from the kitchen contrasted with the cool air in the room, but it only added to the heat that built inside you, a feeling that had nothing to do with temperature.

You wanted to help, of course, but when you offered, Logan shook his head. “You should rest,” he said softly, glancing over his shoulder at you, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got this.”

With a small, reluctant sigh, you sank back further into the couch, feeling the warmth of the room settle around you. Logan finished preparing the meal, but instead of rushing to serve, he made you a cup of warm tea. The steam rose up, delicate and soothing. He handed it to you with a soft smile, the heat of the cup spilling into your hands, grounding you in the moment.

You wrapped your fingers around the warm ceramic, grateful for the comfort he offered, both physically and emotionally. The tenderness, the care he took in everything he did for you, it made you feel both vulnerable and cherished.

Logan leaned against the counter, watching you with those intense eyes of his, the same gaze that had been on you since the moment you met. It was as though you were the only thing that mattered in that moment. And you couldn’t deny the way it made your heart race.

Logan finished preparing the meal, a hearty dish of seared steaks, roasted vegetables, and mashed potatoes, the savory smells filling the cabin and making your stomach growl with anticipation. He set the plates down on the coffee table in front of the couch where you were sitting, making sure everything was just right. You couldn’t help but smile, taking in the scene. The warm glow of the lights in the cabin made it feel cozy and intimate, a stark contrast to the chaos of your past.

You both settled onto the couch, Logan taking a seat beside you. The food was delicious, and even though the conversation wasn’t centered around anything important, it felt grounding. Logan had a way of making even the smallest details sound interesting. His deep voice, full of humor, washed over you as he shared stories of his time on the road, a mix of ridiculous adventures and near-disasters.

Logan’s laughter was like music, deep and genuine. He didn’t laugh often, but when he did, it was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from him, even if only for a moment. You couldn’t help but laugh along, his energy infectious, his smile that much brighter when he caught your eye.

As you both continued eating, you realized how easy it was to be with him. There was no need to act or pretend, no awkward silences or forced small talk. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were completely at ease. The sound of Logan’s voice, the warmth of the food, the softness of the couch beneath you, it all felt like home.

You didn’t even notice how much time had passed, how the world outside the cabin had ceased to exist in that moment. For the first time in years, you felt truly happy.

Logan’s eyes caught yours, a small smile on his lips. “What?” he asked, noticing your gaze. You shook your head, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. “Nothing, just… this feels nice,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Logan raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Nice, huh? You sure know how to flatter a guy.” You laughed, feeling a warmth spread through you, but it wasn’t just from the food. It was from being here, with him. Safe. Comfortable. Content.

“I mean it,” you said, your voice softer now. “For the first time in a long time, I feel like… I don’t have to worry about anything.”

Logan paused, his fork hovering in the air for a second before he set it down on his plate. His gaze softened, just for a moment, before he looked away. “I get that,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Things don’t have to be complicated, not when you’re with the right people.”

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words, his sincerity making you feel something deep within. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that for once, you could just be happy. That you didn’t need to keep fighting.

He looked back at you, his expression now more serious. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his voice low, yet filled with an honesty that hit you in a way you hadn’t expected.

Your chest tightened with emotion, and you nodded, trying to mask how much those words meant. It was strange, how something so simple could affect you so much. But then again, everything with Logan felt different, more real.

The night wore on, and the two of you shared stories, laughed, and ate. The weight of the world didn’t seem as heavy as it had just hours ago. You were no longer thinking about the FBI or what had brought you here. You were only thinking about the present, about Logan.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Logan’s voice was casual, but there was something in it that caught your attention. You nodded, waiting for him to continue. He took a final bite of his food, chewing slowly before setting his plate down with a soft clink.

“Have you ever been with anyone?” The question hung in the air, unexpected and direct. It startled you, leaving you unsure of how to respond. Your mind raced, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to answer. Logan, sensing the hesitation, quickly shifted his tone, as if trying to soften the impact. But you still found yourself replying simply, “No. I never really had the chance.”

He seemed to understand, nodding thoughtfully. “If you had the chance, though, I bet you’d have no trouble at all.”

You laughed nervously and shook your head in disbelief. “No way… I don’t think so.”

Logan’s expression softened as he leaned slightly forward, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a seriousness in his voice when he spoke again, but a warmth too. “Yes way, I mean look at you. You’re beautiful, not just on the outside, but in everything you are. The way you carry yourself, your strength, the way you laugh, it all draws people in. You have this… presence. I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to be close to you.”

The sincerity in his words made your breath catch. It was as though every insecurity you’d hidden deep inside was being slowly unraveled, laid bare in the best possible way. His words, simple but heartfelt, wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, making you feel seen in a way you hadn’t in a long time.

Logan kept speaking, his words filling the space between you. “I’ve never met anyone like you.” His voice was deep, full of admiration, and you could feel how much he meant it. “You’ve got this amazing energy, this fire. I don’t know how you do it.”

But despite his compliments, something inside you was aching to stop him, to silence all those words. You wanted him in a way you couldn’t explain, something fierce that pulsed through your veins. You couldn’t hold back any longer. You leaned in, your breath catching as you pressed your lips gently against his.

Logan was surprised at first, barely reacting, his lips soft under yours. He wasn’t expecting this, and neither were you, but the spark that ignited between you two was undeniable.

Before you could even think, Logan’s hands found their way to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His lips parted, deepening the kiss. This time, there was no hesitation. His kiss was hungry, passionate, like he couldn’t get enough of you. You felt his fingers move, cupping your face gently, as though he was afraid of breaking something precious between you. But you weren’t fragile. You weren’t scared.

You responded, matching his intensity, the heat between you two overwhelming, leaving you both breathless.

You put your plate down on the table as Logan's weight weighed you down, so you were underneath him. He didn't want to rush into anything, but at the same time, he couldn't keep that desire inside him for long.

He was kissing you hungrily and you kissed him back, your fingers found a place between his soft hair, which you pulled and messed up. His knee, without his intention, slowly rubbed against your panties. He created the pressure that you wanted for a long time. Your core was pulsating, greedily, desperately wanting something to drive away that annoying lust.

Your lips leaving a soft moans between the kisses, making Logan's pants tighter. Your sweet sound made it hard for Logan to be patient with you. His hands were slowly moving down, gently exploring your body. Every touch of his filled you with doses of adrenaline. Your hips were carefully rocking against Logan's knee as a natural instinct. He scoffed and stopped kissing you to take a look at you.

"Someone's eager huh?" His voice sounded mocking but at the same time, irritated you much more than his leg against your core. You wanted him. You needed him. Lust like you've never experienced before. It was stronger than hunger or thirst, it was much more intense.

You had no idea what was happening to you but you knew you needed Logan. Much, much closer. He didn't need to read minds to see how frantically you needed this.

He lunged at your lips again, much more wildly. One of his hands traveled quite quickly to your legs. When he reached your thighs, he massaged you for a while there. Oh god he needed it as badly as you did.

He couldn't remember the last time he had good sex. It's been a while since he's been living alone in this cabin with only the animals around. Of course, when he got the hang of it, he masturbated, but over time he got tired of it. But the moment you appeared in his sight, you reawakened in him the flame of passion and especially erection, which he was still trying to hide and suppress whenever you were near him.

But now was the time when you both could finally indulge. To relax, achieve pleasure and share the most intimate moment with the person who saved you.

Logan's hand smoothly moved from your thigh to your inner thigh, way too close to the point you wanted him the most. You tried to move your hips so that he would finally touch you. He chuckled softly, noticing your movements. “Easy there”

His middle finger started gently brushing you through your panties. Your eyes widened, as you felt a tickle warm feeling in your lower stomach. You couldn't describe what exactly you felt but it was breathtaking. You couldn't get enough of it.

Logan was careful, gentle and obedient, but you kept implying that you wanted the exact opposite. You wanted more, more pressure, more fingers, but most of all you wanted him to finally take off your panties. You bit your lower lip, trying to be quiet as the soft groans of desperation started leaving your throat, without even realizing it.

"Come on princess, let me hear you" Logan put more pressure into his finger, making you close your eyes and drop your jaw. You couldn't control your voice anymore and that was exactly what Logan wanted. Hearing your moaning and seeing your eyebrows twitching in pleasure, made his dick even harder.

He wanted to feel you, he wanted to taste you, that's why he grabbed your panties made of soft fabric and pulled them off you in one swipe. You gasped a bit as the cold fresh air touched your bare core, wet and pulsating.

When Logan saw your pussy, his breath caught in his chest. You were beautiful. The transparent glistening liquid on your labia was driving him crazy. It looked like the most delicious meat he would ever taste and he decided to not waste any more time, even though he would love to look at you even longer.

He got on his knees on the couch, lowering himself so that his head was right between your thighs. You lowered your head, heavy breathing and heart beating like never before. This image will be etched in your memory forever. His devilish smile and flirtatious wink was the last time you saw, before you started seeing stars.

He buried his face into your cunt, his nose teasing your clit while his tongue was swirling around your surface. He licked off all your wetness while you had to catch on to something. You grab his already disheveled hair, pulling and tugging him.

Your strokes, which Logan barely felt, made him growl against you, sending pleasent vibration right into your core. "Logan" you gasped as his tongue finally penetrated you. He was stretching you and surprisingly, it didn't hurt at all. You were so horny that his penetration was smooth without any problems.

You bit your lips again, creating a bloody mess there, but you could care less. You kept moving your hips awkwardly as Logan created a volcano of emotions inside you. His tongue touched your walls, twirling around and tasting every drop of your juice. On top of that, his nose didn't stop at deliberately provoking your sensitive clit, sending you closer and closer to orgasm.

Logan kept his eyes on you. He watched as your nostrils flared, your brows furrowed, and your muscles tensed beyond belief trying to hold on. You could feel his cocky smile, as your walls started to tighten around his tongue. He knew you were close. “You taste so good”

Your grunt grew louder with every flick of Logan's tongue, your hips moving against his face, before you felt a pressing sensation in your lower abdomen. Goosebumps covered your entire body and a chill ran down your spine, before it happened. Your jaw fall open, your eyes tight close and you shouted over the entire cottage, that even the birds outside flew away.

You squirm all over Logan's face. The feeling of release washed over you until you fell from the height and struggled to catch your breath. Logan licked you, he was very dusty and didn't want to leave even a drop of your cum. The overstimulation started heating up your core.

Logan moved away from your crotch, sitting on his ankles and watching you for a moment. Even though you were drained, you still looked stunning. You opened your eyes when you felt huge warm hands on your cheeks. "That's my girl" you chuckled, your eyelids felt heavy but you couldn't stop looking at Logan's face. He still had the rest of your squirm on his chin and nose, glistening through the rays of cozy light around the room.

"Are you ready?" your heart skipped a beat at his question, but his messy hair with face like an angel made you nod your head. Logan smiled with a huff, kissing you harshly. His hands weren't as careful as before, he was reaching all over you and didn't hesitate to touch you under your, actually his, shirt at all.

You cooperated with his passionate kissing, both of you sighing. Suddenly you felt something poking you which started to annoy you. You pulled away from Logan's lips and looked down to see his huge erection still trapped in his pants. Your eyes widened and your core started pulsating again. Logan noticed your staring and couldn't help but chuckle.

“What are you lookin' at?” you quickly look back into his eyes, embarrassed. As a result, you started to blush and had to suck your lips into a thin line. God Logan adored you.

"Don't worry sweetie" he leans, brushing his lips against your ear as his hot breath warmed your skin. “You'll get it” with those words, he covered your face in soft kisses. You were enjoying it until you heard belt unfastening and a zipper. You knew it was coming and you couldn't wait. You were so heated up and that Logan's cock could cool you down.

You felt the excitement spread throughout your body, as Logan's pants fell onto the floor. You already felt something hard tickling you in your inner thigh. You were impatient. You let out an eager purr, indicating that you absolutely needed to have Logan inside you. He sense your hints and the uncontrollable movements of your hips, fervently trying to get some friction.

Logan look at you, eyes dark with lust, before he presses his lips against yours and at that exact same time, he slowly thrust into you. You squeak, eyes widened as he stretched your walls extremely wide. You were wrapped around him, so fucking tight. His precum mixed with the remaining juices inside you, creating a useful natural lubricant.

"Fuck" he dropped his forehead against yours, his hot breathing in shallow, uneven gasps as he continued his way to get fully inside you. You were quietly whimpering, eyes closed but you felt amazing. Logan's presence so close to you finally got rid of that aggravating aching between your legs.

“Hold onto me baby,” Logan kept comforting you and whispering sweet things that made your heart beat faster. “Just like that” his voice low and hard, ruspy in a way that tickled your eardrums. You automatically wrapped your legs around Logan's waist when he was inside to the base. You felt so full, but that it still wasn't enough. You begged for more.

Logan, like a true gentleman, let you get used to him and catch a breath a little, before he started the rodeo. He moved his pan with incredibly gentle movements. His tip touching and provoking your cervix and places you didn't even know could be reached.

Your mouth opened automatically as you were sighing, your voice pitch and strong. "You like that?" Logan was looking at you and even though you couldn't see him, you instinctively suspected that he was watching you. You didn't mind. You didn't mind at all. You nodded carelessly and threw your head back as Logan started to pick up the pace.

Exactly what you needed and wanted. It's like he's reading your mind. As if he knew your body perfectly and knew exactly what you want, what you desire, what you need.

He took both of your hands and held them tightly as he placed them above your head. Again, you didn't mind. Your only focus was his cock in your vagina. How wonderful he feels. How his massive cock touches every sensitive spot inside you, slowly but surely bringing you to climax.

“Look at you,” he said with a smile as he fought himself not to empty himself into you yet. You're making it really hard for him though. "Such a...." he dropped his head as his dick started twitching, his thrusts gained strength and intensity. "Such a good girl”

He felt it. You felt it too. You stopped perceiving your surroundings, your ears started ringing and the rumbling in your stomach burned. Logan, on the other hand, felt he wouldn't last much longer.

He quickly unbuttoned your shirt, the buttons flew around but it was a blast for both of you. Your breasts bounced to the rhythm of Logan's thrusting, which started being unbearable. He lost control of his pelvis and movements in order to catch up with his orgasm. He got on his knees, freeing your hands but held your hips firmly, while keep pounding into you without mercy.

"You feel s-so good" he groaned his eyes tightly shut as he felt his orgasm being implausibly close. Your legs started shaking, vibrating. You stopped feeling your toes and that's when you felt it. You arch your back, jaw wide open while you moaned really, really loudly.

Your walls tightened around Logan's length, but he didn't stop. All of your muscles stiffened until in one moment, they suddenly relaxed and you let out a soft sigh of relief. Logan chuckled when you cum all over his dick and decided not to wait for his moment anymore. Few more hard thrust, before he pulled out and sprayed your belly with his seed.

His moan was really intense and turned you on again, plus the realization that he made this sound just because of you, your heart was melting.

After that he collapsed on you but carefully, not to smash your tiny body. His forehead was leaning against yours, both of you breathing heavily while giggling. "That was...awesome" Logan sighed, making you laugh and blush. It was that good, that you couldn't even talk. But Logan made sure that there was no awkward silence.

"You were quite loud, princess,” your cheeks started to blush but you didn't break eye contact with Logan, even with such close proximity. “Always so quiet and mysterious… but in bed? You’re not afraid of that, are you?” you were terribly shy, but in a good way. You didn't know you could make such sounds yourself.

He grinned, seeing you all red and sweaty was a moment of comfort for him. He didn't want to admit it, but he felt butterflies in his stomach and they just wouldn't go away since he saw you.

"Come on, let's get you clean up" Logan grunted as he stood up and didn't ask you, just grabbed you and carried you into the bathroom like a princess. You didn't complain, you swung your legs and rested your head on his chest, feeling indescribably good with him.

A few years had passed, and the life you and Logan had built together only grew deeper and richer with time. You’d both settled into a quiet, natural rhythm, a blend of strength and softness, of trust and a fierce loyalty that had grown from countless shared moments, both big and small. Logan, once guarded and wary, had opened up to you in ways neither of you expected, revealing a side that was as protective and tender as it was wild. And you, too, had found a quiet courage within yourself, rooted in him and in the life you shared. Your bond felt like something timeless and unbreakable, a connection that had only strengthened as the years drifted by, like roots that had grown deep and steady in the rich earth of your love.

Logan stood outside the cabin, dressed only in a pair of worn, dark-gray sweatpants that clung to his muscular frame. His gaze stretched out over the rugged landscape, eyes fixed on the rolling hills and dense trees, but his thoughts were somewhere far beyond the scenery. The dawn air was cool, mist rising in thin wisps over the ground, and Logan breathed it in slowly, grounding himself in the calm solitude of nature. His rugged face was softened in the morning light, deep in thought, a rare vulnerability showing in his expression as he seemed to wrestle with something private, something known only to him.

Then, as if sensing him, you stepped quietly onto the porch, carrying a small, bundled form against your chest. You approached him with a warmth and excitement that seemed to break through his solitude. The tiny child in your arms cooed softly, and Logan, feeling your presence before even hearing a sound, turned around. His face lit up with an expression that was a blend of pride, awe, and something deeper, something fierce and protective.

With a gentle smile, you cradled his newborn closer, offering the child toward him. Logan’s face softened, and he reached out, his large, roughened hand brushing over the child’s head with an almost reverent touch.

“She really do have your nose,” he murmured, a smirk breaking across his face as he looked up at you.

You laughed softly, stepping close to wrap your arm around his waist. Logan pulled you in, his warmth settling around you both. Together, you looked out over the vast expanse of trees and sky stretching endlessly before you, wrapped in the serenity of the moment.

“Can you believe this?” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder.

Logan’s voice was low but sure. “Wouldn’t trade it for anything.” He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his rough hand squeezing your shoulder gently.

The life you shared with him in that moment, under the quiet sky, was both humbling and thrilling, an unexpected future he never dared to hope for but now couldn’t imagine living without.

[dominiquelucalover]

Center of Danger | Dominique Luca x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Your Tuesday plans are put on hold when you're caught in the middle of a bank robbery, but as if that didn't put a damper on your day, going into labor in the middle of it certainly did.

CW: fem!reader, pregnancy, labor, hostage situation, guns, death threats, death, blood, mild descriptions of violence, pre-established relationship. If any of these topics trigger you in any way, please do not read. Your wellbeing is so important.

A/N: I tried to make reader a behavioral analysis expert who works with S.W.A.T. but I don't know how well I incorporated that. ( not me trying to flex my Criminal Minds knowledge like a fucking nerd.) PS: I spent four straight hours writing this lol. and nother hour and a half proofreading and editing (and adding a whole 'nother fucking thing to the end of this jfc) (I'm having fun lol)

Your day had been going well. You went to one of your final doctors appointments before you were supposed to have the baby, you'd grabbed some of the last minute things on your baby list, and you were going over what you needed from the grocery store while you stood in line at the bank. It was one of those errands that you couldn't put off doing anymore, especially with the impending birth of your child, so it seemed easy enough to get out of the way today while you were already out and about. Unfortunately, a group of greedy, grubby-handed robbers decided to ruin those plans.

You couldn't lay on the ground like they wanted everyone to, which already irritated not only them but you too. The floor was uncomfortable as you sat against one of the desks while everyone else was forced to lay face down and not to move. It was a tense situation as the three robbers made the tellers fill their bags, one you wished would be over soon.

However, the robbers had already fucked up and got themselves stuck in the bank. A teller had sounded the silent alarm and in a fit of anger, one of the criminals shot the security officer dead. Another one freaked out because "no one was supposed to die" and seemed to be on the verge of tears, but it was hard to tell because they were all wearing plastic Halloween masks. This was turning out to be the worst bank robbery you had ever witnessed, not that you had ever actually witnessed a bank robbery but you had studied plenty.

"Shit, man! The cops are here!" one of the robbers all but growled. He turned his weapon on the tellers with a nasty glare from behind his ghoul mask. "Which one of you sounded the alarm, huh? Fucking idiots!"

He shot at the ceiling suddenly, causing people to scream. You jumped and held your belly protectively, taking a deep breath as you tried to stay calm. However, your blood pressure was already up and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. The baby was kicking, sensing your distress, and you rubbed your bump in an attempt to soothe them.

"Cool it!" another of the robbers chastised his buddy, seething with anger behind his devil mask. "You're gonna need those bullets. So chill the fuck out."

"I'll do as I damn-well please," the first one said, then walked away, seeming to look for another way out.

The freaked-out robber stayed out of the conversation, seeming more subservient to the other two. He just stood the to side, watching over the hostages like he'd been told to, hiding behind his clown mask. You knew from that if any of them were going to break first, it was him.

As things around you began to calm down, you leaned your head back on the desk and took even, deep breaths. Of course, the quiet couldn't last long.

A couple were whispering to each other a few feet away and as soon as the robber with the devil mask, who seemed to be the leader, caught wind of it, he stomped over and pointed his gun at the woman's head. "I said to keep quiet! You want me to blow her head off?"

"No, please! We'll be quiet!" the man begged.

"I should make sure you stay quiet for good," the leader said, teasing the trigger of his gun. The grin of his devil mask made the scene more unsettling.

At that moment, you felt a sharp pain in your belly and let out a heavy groan. All eyes turned to you and watched as you withered in your spot. You were caught between pain and confusion, hoping that you weren't going into labor. You weren't due for another three and a half weeks. Your baby couldn't come now, this was the worst-case scenario. Anywhere else but in the middle of a robbery would have been ideal.

The devil walked over to see what you were doing, letting out a frustrated groan. "Oh, for fuck's sake! Give me a break!"

You looked up at him as the contraction passed, irritated and not ready to give birth. You spat, "Sorry to ruin your parade!"

He pointed his gun at you but the clown ran over and pushed it down. "Dude, you can't shoot a pregnant lady!"

The leader looked at him, then walked away muttering under his breath about how this was going terribly and how the last thing he needed was a baby to mess it up further.

It was about that time one of the phones rang and he walked over to answer it, knowing it was the police outside. It was about time, but you thought that perhaps they needed a negotiator to show up, which was unfortunate for you. A few minutes earlier and you might not be in the early stages of labor right now.

"What do you want?" Devil asked brashly.

You couldn't hear who was on the other side of the call, sitting too far away. You watched closely, hoping your boyfriend was outside with his team. It would be the perfect fantasy if he came to your rescue; besides, they were the best S.W.A.T. team in LA. What were the chances that they weren't here?

The phone call only lasted about two minutes before the leader hung up having made no demands. He laughed, shaking his head. "They think I'm an idiot."

The ghoul came back into the room and grunted. "They've got the whole place surrounded! They probably have snipers ready to kill us if we walk outta here. What do we do?"

Devil thought for a moment, then gestured with his gun at the people laying on the floor. "Put them in front of the doors and windows. Use them as a shield. They won't shoot in here with hostages in the way and it'll give us time to think."

His accomplices nodded and started getting people up, guiding them with their guns to form a line around the center of the bank. The patrons followed orders dutifully and linked their arms together, their lives put further in danger by their captors.

The leader came over to you and grabbed your arm, but the clown came over and asked him what he was doing. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting her off her ass."

"She's pregnant, man," he said, his voice a little more confident than before. He didn't seem to like that you were there at all, but as soon as his bossy friend came near you, he jumped to your aid. "Just leave her alone."

"You questioning me?"

He seemed to think on his feet. "I'm just saying, if the cops know we got a pregnant lady in here, thye're gonna get more aggressive. They'll try harder to get in here. Think about it, man."

"Kid's got a point," Ghoul said, looking over. "She'll be our secret weapon."

Devil looked between them and shook his head, letting you go. "Fine, maybe you're right... this time. We'll see."

He walked away to make sure the wall of hostages was cooperating, looking out the glass doors and windows at the front of the bank to evaluate what his next move should be. He took slow, calculated steps, taunting the police and the hostages at the same time.

Another contraction hit you and you whimpered, holding your stomach and slightly curling up. The clown crouched down beside you, looking at you with wide eyes from behind his mask. He stuttered, "A-are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" you asked through clenched teeth. He looked down, almost ashamed for asking the question. You would feel bad if he wasn't hiding his identity and holding a large automatic gun on his back. Once the pain passed, you breathed out. "How old are you?"

"Doesn't matter," he answered.

"Sure it does. They called you kid," you told him, making him look up at you. "Means they don't respect you."

"That's not true," he said, shaking his head. He stood up and walked away, but looked back at you as he did. That was how you knew you did it. You planted that seed of doubt in his mind.

The next call came in not that long after, but Devil made one of the hostages answer the phone, a terrified older man who had been there to help his son open a bank account. He instructed the man on what to say, telling the officer on the other end that they wanted an armored car and a one way trip out of the country for the three of them, all within the next hour. It wasn't possible, you thought, which you were sure was what they were told before the hostage was made to hangup the phone with the promise that if their demands weren't met by that time, someone else was going to die.

The time seemed to pass sluggishly. You wouldn't have known it was going by at all were it not for the contractions picking up speed. You had read all your books about pregnancy and birth, so you knew that wasn't a great sign in this particular situation. Your labor seemed to be fast approaching, but you didn't want it to be. Were this in line with your birth plan, that would be ideal. However, a speedy birth was not on your agenda for the day.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock," Devil taunted as he walked the line of hostages again. He'd been pacing behind them to needlessly remind them of his presence. It was cruel and having to watch him was intense. "Five more minutes."

"What if they get us what we want?" Clown asked, looking at his friend.

The leader shook his head. "They won't get us what we want. They'll try to bribe us with less than what we asked for just to get us outside."

"So you're just gonna kill one?"

"Yup."

A woman in line cried out at hearing this and she was snapped at to shut up by the ghoul. He held a gun to her back and laughed at her terror as she tried to muffle her cries.

Clown watched, clutching his gun to his chest, before looking at Devil. "Wasn't killing the guard enough?"

"Not until we get out of here with the money and our lives," the leader answered, then shoved him. "Now shut up and do your job."

You watched as the 'kid' shook his head and walked away, listening to the devil without another question. Paying attention to everything else around you was the only thing keeping you from going insane from the pain. It was more persistent now and you felt the baby had moved lower. It was getting harder to keep your cool as all you wanted to do was yell and kick your feet at these guys who had forced you into early labor.

You were trying not to think about the time passing, watching Devil pace back and forth behind the line. He was looking at them, gun pointed at their backs. Then, suddenly, another sharp contraction shot through you and all you could do was scream as he shot a woman in the back.

She would have dropped to the floor were it not for the two people on either side of her whose arms were linked with hers. They were told to drop her as she cried and writhed. Then Devil went to stand over her, watching her squirm on the ground and bleed, before lifting his gun and shooting her in the head. Everything stopped and grew quiet except for your cries. They echoed off the high walls of the bank, violently reminding everyone there that life came with pain.

Sweat and tears slipped down your face as people were forced to listen to you until you quieted down. The contraction passed and you were slumped against the desk once more.

The devil turned to Clown and motioned toward you. "Go make sure she's alive."

"Okay," he said and walked over to you. He put his gun on his back and crouched beside you, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat from your forehead. "You're, uh, you're getting closer to, um, having the baby, aren't you?"

You nodded, keeping your eyes forward, watching the way Devil made two hostages move the woman's body closer to the door. They were going to use her as a block in front of the door incase S.W.A.T. came running in, which made you sick to your stomach. You'd seen a lot of malicious shit, but that was a new low.

The phone rang, but no one moved to answer it. Then the devil chuckled.

"Get her on her feet," he said, looking over at you and the 'kid.'

Clown puffed up his chest. "She can't possibly-"

Devil got angry. "Don't question me! Just do it!"

Clown looked at you apologetically and put an arm around your back and hoisted you up. You cried out as you felt the baby shift lower. It was hard to walk, awkward really. But he held you up and guided you to the phone as it rang. Just as you reached the desk, it stopped, and you wanted to scream but managed to hold it in. You knew they would call back. They had to.

The clown leant you against the desk and brought its accompanying chair over to you. He helped you sit in it as his buddies scolded him, but he didn't argue back or justify his actions then. Only when you were seated did he turn to them and bark back.

"You're making a pregnant lady do all this shit when she's about to have a goddamn baby! What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled.

Devil got in his face. "I'm the one calling the shots around here! You do as I say, and if I want that fat bitch to answer the damn phone, she will, or she and that baby won't-"

"Oh, so you're gonna kill a lady and her baby?"

"Wait a minute!" Ghoul interrupted, looking at the devil, "Who died and put you in charge?"

"I've been in charge, numbnuts!"

The argument would have continued on from there, but the phone rang. They all looked at your tired face and waited for you to comply with what Devil wanted. So, you did.

"Hello," you said.

The voice on the other end of the phone made you feel some relief as he said your name. It was Hondo. "Is that you?"

You didn't answer immediately, not wanting to put the robbers on edge or clue them in to anything.

He seemed to understand. "If you are who I think you are, say 'where's the car?' if you're not, say 'please help us.' Okay?"

"Where's the car?" you asked, eyes trained on the robbers. Devil nodded at you, seeming to like that you were apparently smart enough to understand the situation at hand - you got right to the point of things and had been paying attention. Little did he know...

"We're gonna get you out of there, okay? We're working on it," Hondo told you.

"Well work on it faster," you told him, wincing in pain. You held your belly with your free hand. You kept your mouth shut about being in labor, knowing the robbers didn't want that detail known to anyone outside. "They've already killed someone else."

"We know, we saw," he said, letting out a regretful sigh. "But our eyes can only see in through the windows. The camera system is down. How many people are left inside with you?"

You looked around the room, trying to count the number of hostages, but it was harder to concentrate on something like that. "I don't know."

"What did he say?" Devil asked.

"They want to know how many people are alive."

Ghoul huffed. "Why does he want to know?"

"I don't know," you groaned, feeling another contraction rearing its ugly head. You did know, but there was no way you could strategize what the right thing to say to them was at that moment. "They-they probably- ahh!"

Hondo said your name several times, keeping his voice even. "Talk to me, mama. What's going on in there?"

Devil came over and seethed at you, "Tell him to get us what we want or we're gonna kill another person. Then hang up."

You spoke through the pain. "Get them what they want-"

"Are you in labor?" Hondo asked, hearing the strain in your voice.

"Or they're going to kill again," you said. "Please, please hurry."

Ghoul took the phone from your hand shook, slamming it into the holder. He watched you as you grabbed the arms of the chair, digging your nails into the hard wood. You scraped it and he shook his head. "Pregnant people are weird," he mumbled.

He and the devil moved on, talking to each other about what to do next. They began to argue about it but it was short lived as they parted ways. Ghoul slammed his fist on a desk and stomped away to try again at finding a plan-b escape. Devil leaned on a desk out of view of the windows, near you, and waited.

Clown stayed with you and talked you through the contraction. His voice wavered with fear and nervousness, seemingly never been in a situation like this before, as far as pregnancy went at the very least. Once it passed, he wiped your forehead again. "What-what's going to happen if you give birth in here?"

You looked at him, unsure yourself. "Well, there will be a baby in here and we'll both need immediate medical attention. If at that point they know about that, S.W.A.T. might just do anything to get in here."

Now that Hondo knew you were in here, there was more pressure on him to get inside and ensure your safety. You knew he wasn't going to tell Luca that you were one of the hostages because it would cloud his judgement, damned be the third generation S.W.A.T. officer that he was. His girlfriend and unborn child were in the center of danger and he'd do anything to get you out of there.

Clown got you water and helped you drink it as you continued to wallow in pain. As you sat there, you knew the situation was dire. You could see out some of the windows, seeing S.W.A.T. officers gearing up. You knew that sooner or later, they were going to come inside. You also saw an armored car pulling up, but it was a great distance away from the doors.

Ghoul came back, a little bit of a skip in his step. "They got our car! Let's go!"

"Wait!" Devil said, standing from his position and walking up behind the hostages. He took a man from them by putting his arm around his neck and pointing his gun into his side. They slowly made their way to the windows so he could peer out. He seethed. "They're trying to lure us out."

When he got back to the safe zone, the devil scratched his head, clearly deep in thought. He knew they were in deep, and with your timely reminders about the impending birth of your child, their odds of getting out of here was getting slimmer and slimmer.

"Wait for them to call," he said, turning to his friends. "We tell them we're going to take a hostage with us to ensure our escape."

"Dude, they got the fucking car, why do we gotta wait?" Ghoul asked.

"Because as soon as we step anywhere near those windows, they're gonna gun us down," Devil said, shoving him. "This is why I'm in charge, because you don't think!"

"I think better than you!" the ghoul yelled. "It was my idea to come here, remember?"

"And look at where that got us! You could of picked any other bank, but it had to be this big fancy one in the middle of town!"

"The cameras are out! They can't see in here, dimwit!"

You were about to yell at them to shut up when the phone rang. Devil looked at you and nodded. As you picked up the phone, Ghoul tried to continue the argument, but the devil shoved him away and told him to be quiet.

"Hello," you said.

Hondo sighed with relief at hearing your voice. "Say 'what do you want?' if you're okay. Say anything else if not."

"What do you want?" you asked.

"Tell the brothers we have their car ready for them," he said, which peaked your interest. You looked at the robbers in front of you and it clicked. Their arguing and dynamics made sense now.

They were brothers.

"Your car is ready," you told them.

Ghoul leaned against the desk in front of you. "Tell him we want it closer!"

Devil shoved him away again. "And that we're taking a hostage with us, so if they shoot at us, they'll be killing the next innocent person."

You took a deep breath and nodded. "They want the car closer so that they can get in with a hostage."

Hondo grunted. "Of course they'd try that trick. Listen to me, okay, we're not gonna let that happen. But tell them that we have to make room to move the car, so it'll be a minute."

"Okay," you said and sighed, rubbing your belly. You were in the last stretch of contraction. You could just feel it. "They have to make room for the car to get closer, so it'll be a few minutes before you can leave."

Devil didn't say anything, only took the phone from you and hung it up. "Get ready to get out of here, boys. Make the hostages take our bags to the door."

Then he walked away.

Ghoul took control of that mini mission, bossing two of the men in line to move and hustle to get their bags full of money to the door. They dropped them off and promptly got back in line, seeing the robber's finger ever-present on the trigger of his gun.

You were leaning forward on the desk, head laying on your arms as you whined and tried to breath deeply. You tried to hold your legs closed, preventing the progression of labor in anyway you could. You cursed having worn a dress today. You tried to think about anything else but where you where in that moment and what was happening. You tried to put yourself at home, in your baby's nursery that you and Luca had spent the last few weeks putting together and decorating. It helped distract you for a few minutes until more yelling broke the illusion.

Looking up, you saw Devil and Ghoul arguing about which hostage to take with them, which was the stupidest thing you had ever seen. It made you angry as you sat there, in labor, having to listen to this. Devil wanted to take you but Ghoul wanted to take anyone else. You were at your breaking point.

However, Clown snubbed out your lit fuse. He came with more water and helped you sit up so he could bring the cup to your lips. You sipped it, thankful that he was the kindest of the brothers. From what you had observed, he had to be the baby of the three and didn't want to hurt anyone there. He was there to rob a bank, not kill anyone, and each time you were in pain, he came to your side. He took care of you as much as he knew how. Something inside of him was redeemable, you thought so at least.

"They're both idiots," you whispered to him.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah... I can't believe I agreed to do this. I should have never let them talk me into this."

You nodded. "Yeah, that's true."

He leaned against the desk, staying close to you as you both listened to the argument devolve, once more, into who is in charge. It was beginning to sound like they were a broken record, but as they continued the back and forth, you heard how similar their voices were, how similarly they spoke, and you could picture them as brothers more and more. It was in contrast to the 'kid', who seemed a little more mild mannered and quiet. He only spoke against the other two when he was passionate about whatever he was fighting them for, be it the lives of the people there or your wellbeing. It made you wonder how he was a part of this family.

Suddenly, everything came to a head.

"I told you to stop questioning me!" someone yelled, followed by a round of rapid pops from a gun.

You couldn't process anything for a moment, stomach tightening and making double over, leaning onto the desk again. You held your belly, screaming with the other scared people trapped with you. The moment passed quickly, but you couldn't look up.

"Bobby, what did you do?" Clown yelled.

The devil, Bobby, turned and criticized his kid brother. "Shut up! Don't say my name, you idiot!"

"But-"

"I said shut up!" he yelled and pointed the gun at him. "Now stop asking stupid questions or you're next."

You peeked up from your arm, seeing how far Devil had devolved. In the beginning, he was semi-organized (given how shittily the robbery was planned, there was at least some effort on his behalf), but the stress of the situation and his brother's mouth had finally snapped his last nerve.

Clown backed down and slowly sank to the ground beside your chair. Bobby began pacing again.

The phone range and you answered it.

"What's happening in there?" Hondo asked.

You could feel the devil's eyes on you. "You need to hurry."

"What happened?" he said again, fearing the worst.

You let out a breath. "Someone else is dead."

"Tell them we're going as fast as we can," he said.

You looked over at Bobby. "They're going as fast as they can. Please don't shoot anyone else."

"I'll shoot whoever I damn-well please," he said and took the phone from you, putting it to his ear. "You listen here, buddy. You don't tell me what to do, got it? Now, if that car isn't at the front door in five minutes, I'm killing everyone in here."

He slammed the phone into the holder before ripping it off of the desk and throwing it across the room. He stomped off, going back to his look out position from behind the line of people. He watched the doors impatiently, seemingly unbothered by the crying people before him. Their anguish brought him no joy, unlike his now-dead brother, as it was obvious that the people were merely pawns in his game. He didn't care about them whatsoever.

You laid your head down and whispered, "He's gonna kill you."

Clown made a worried noise in the back of his throat. "No-no he won't. He-he's my brother..."

"You blew his cover. Everyone here knows his name and it won't be hard to track down a Bobby in an armored car," you said, pausing to moan and shift your seated position. You couldn't hold your legs together anymore, knowing it was dangerous. It was a feeble attempt anyway. "He's already angry and you're the only one left brave enough to stand up to him."

He whined. "I-I'm really not."

"Yeah, you are," you told him, hoping to break through to him. "You've protected me from him this whole time. That took a lot of courage, I know it did."

"But... he's my brother... The only family I have left now," he said.

You looked at him, meeting his sad eyes past the mask. "Family wouldn't put you in this position."

He stared into your eyes for a moment, then looked away in contemplation. He didn't say anything for a moment, which felt like an eternity, and then he looked at you again. "What's your name?"

"Why does it matter now?" you asked.

"Because if I'm gonna die, I'd like to know the name of the lady I protected," he said.

You didn't understand what that meant, it could mean many things, and as you felt the pain getting worse, you couldn't think very well anyway. You told him your name between heavy breathes.

He gently wiped your forehead again, talking you through the pain. Then he took off his mask, revealing his face to you, and you were saddened to see how young he was. There was no doubt he was in his early twenties but he still had a baby face and the biggest eyes you'd ever seen a man have, giving him a deer in the headlights look.

"I'm Eric."

Then he stood up and moved away from you, walking over to another desk quietly. He moved out of your sight and you couldn't move much anymore, too tired to do much of anything as it were. Despite the situation, all you wanted to do was get this over with.

Then, there was a loud thud from where Eric had disappeared to.

Bobby turned around and marched over to you. "What the hell are you doing?"

You groaned, looking up at him. "Nothing."

He seethed again, "I've about had enough of you and you're whining."

"I'm about to push a watermelon out of me, what do you want from me?"

"I want you to shut u-" BANG!

He fell to the ground in front of you, his blood splattering on the desk. Looking over, Eric had his gun trained on his brother from behind the desk a few feet away, eerily still, like he was trained for this. It made your heart ache because your stomach was already twisted. What kind of life had this kid had that led him and his brothers to this?

As he walked over to you, he yelled at the other hostages, "Go! Get out of here! Go! Get out!" They listened without hesitance and ran screaming and crying for the door.

He crouched down beside his brother's body and took the gun off of him, sliding it across the floor. He then took his own gun and push it to follow. Then he turned to you, "Are you okay?"

You nodded. "More or less."

Eric couldn't say another word before S.W.A.T. came into the bank with guns at the ready. They aimed at him and he put his arms up, already on his knees. You screamed in pain and he turned to look at you, making Hondo yell at him to stay still, but he didn't seem to hear him. If he did, he didn't listen and reached out to you.

He took your hand and let you squeeze it as the pain made you sob.

You managed to cry out, "He's unarmed!"

The team got closer and saw the truth in your words. They pulled his hand from yours despite your tight grip and handcuffed him, getting him onto his feet. While Chris and Street patted him down, Luca and Hondo came to your side.

"Fucking hell, I could kill this guy for all this," Luca grunted, clearly angry. He took your hand into his.

You shook your head. "He's a hero, believe me."

"How is he-?" Hondo asked, but was cut off by your guttural scream.

Deacon shook his head as he watched. "We need to get her out of here. Now."

The paramedics came in with their gurneys and attended to the bodies on the floor, but by the time it was decerned that they were beyond saving, everyone was busy and there was no room for you anywhere. Luca picked you up and carried you outside in hopes of finding an ambulance to take you to the nearest hospital, but they were all tending to the injured who had run outside earlier.

Tan opened up the back doors of Black Betty and called out to Luca, ushering the team over. Street helped get you inside while Tan and Chris ran to the side doors to get in. Once you were laying on the floor, Luca behind you and holding you close, everyone else piled in and closed everything up, turning on the lights and sirens.

You were screaming the whole time, crying as it became too much. Your body was telling you to push and that was all you could think about doing. Luca was trying to soothe you, telling you that you would be at the hospital soon and that it would be okay. But your baby had other ideas, they had waited long enough.

"The baby's coming!" you cried out.

"We know, we're gonna-"

"No! Now! The baby's coming right now!"

You let out another scream as you pushed. Deacon slide onto the floor and pulled your legs up onto the seats on either side of you, pushing your dress away. He ripped your underwear to get a look at how things were progressing and then looked up at Luca, Street, and Hondo, "She's right. She's crowning."

Hondo called out to the front, "Tan, pull over!"

Luca held your hands as you rested you head back against his abdomen, crying as your body guided you. Everything you'd read and come to understand was nothing compared to the way your body told you what to do.

Black Betty came to a stop on the side of the road, but it only took three more powerful pushes that the ended the pressure. You ached, but the pain was lessened dramatically. You opened your eyes to see Deacon picking up your baby, who was a little chubby for a newborn and rather long, aka big like their daddy.

Deacon gently held them and patted their back, getting them to cry and clear their airways. He smiled at them and happily said, "Welcome to the world, Baby Luca."

Street rummaged around for anything to wrap the baby in, only for Chris to pass a fresh shirt to him from the front. He thanked her and helped Deacon wrap your little angel up to keep warm before they were laid on your chest. You took her, Luca's arm coming under yours to support you both.

"It's a girl," Deacon told you and you smiled. He smiled too, knowing that joy and pride well. "Congratulations."

Tan put Black Betty in gear and let everyone know he was going to start driving again, as you and your daughter needed to be taken to the hospital. After that, no one said anything. They just let you and Luca have your moment with your daughter.

Luca couldn't even speak. He had spent the day tirelessly trying to save hostages from a bad situation that only got worse as the minutes passed by, only to learn from Hondo that you were one of them minutes before they stormed in there. He ran to you as soon as he could and wanted to burn the robbers to the ground with how angry he was because you were caught in the middle of their idiocy. Then, as soon as he saw you were in labor, he was scared, too. However, now, all that stress and anger and fear was erased. You were safe in his arms with your daughter. He had a daughter! He was nothing my happy.

Street inevitably ruined the precious moment, but lightened it at the same time as he broke the silence. "I can't believe you gave birth in Black Betty."

The team didn't react until you laughed, which let them know they could laugh too.

"I'm just glad it wasn't in the bank," you said, the ache still in your heart for the people who were lost and the kid brother who had saved you. You looked at Hondo as you remembered him. "I wanna be there for Eric. He really did save those of us that he could."

Hondo didn't question you, because you were tired and hormonal and he knew you knew what you were talking about. He just nodded and said, "I'll talk to the DA, but for now, you just worry about that cutiepie you got, okay?"

"Okay," you said.

When you got to the hospital, you were taken to a room immediately. Not only because you were wheeled in with a baby in your arms, but because you had a team of S.W.A.T. officers escorting you. Luca went back with you and ensured you and your baby daughter were okay.

Despite being three and a half weeks early, she was healthy. She would need to stay a few extra days for observation, but that was okay with you. Both you and Luca wanted the best for her, so you knew she might need a little extra watching over because of her early arrival and the stress you were under, and you needed to recover as well. It would work out, you were sure.

Once that was cleared up, Luca sat beside you with your daughter asleep in her basinet at your bedside. He watched her with nothing but love in his eyes. He'd only been talking about how excited he was for her to 'hurry up and get here' in the months leading up to this moment. He hadn't cared if she were a boy or a girl, as you'd left finding out to be a surprise at the birth, because he was going to love his kid no matter what. You knew he was going to be an amazing father.

You watched him, tired as all hell, but couldn't fall asleep. Even after the day you'd had, you laid awake on some pain killers with a soft smile on your lips. "I love you."

Luca turned to you and chuckled. "I love you, too." He reached out for your hand and squeezed it gently. "You are the most amazing woman I've ever met, you know that?"

"You only tell me that at least once a day," you laughed softly, careful not to wake your sleeping angel.

"Well, I mean it so much this time," he told you, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. "You're so strong and smart and brave. What you went through today was a lot and you powered through it like a champ. And you see the good in people even in situations when it's hard to see anything but bad."

"What can I say?" you asked, not really sure what there was to say. You just read the situation like it was. And it helped you and several other people get through it. "I'm just a woman."

"Nah, you're more than that," he said and leaned in closer, kissing your head. Your eyes closed and this time they were too heavy to lift back open. "You're Superwoman."

"If you say so," you mumbled. You then fell into a dreamless sleep, getting the much needed rest your deserved.

Lowkey, I'm now attached to the backstory I accidentally gave Bobby, Ghoul, and Eric, so here it is if anyone cares. Bobby, Ghoul - who's real name is Terry, and Eric were born in a less than ideal home. Raised by a worked to the bone mother and a father who had lengthy arrest record, they were doomed from the start. Bobby and Terry were closer in age to each other than either of them were to Eric, often getting into trouble and leaving him out. When they weren't getting suspended from school, they were pushing Eric around metaphorically and literally. They would often use Eric as a punching bag when they weren't getting into fights with each other. They mother wasn't around a lot as she worked multiple jobs to keep a roof over their heads. When she was around, she was frustrated and tired, often getting angry at them for little problems like leaving their shoes out for her to trip over and bigger issues like getting kicked out of school. Their father was in and out of jail for most of their lives, but when he was around, he taught them how to shoot, steal, and hot wire cars. Averse to these activities, Eric was once again the odd one out and often the target of his brothers' criticism. Their father often got drunk and ranted to his sons about his drawbacks in life, often blaming others. Due to this unstable environment, it was no wonder the brothers turned out the way they did. Bobby followed in their father's footsteps, often helping their old man with his criminal endeavors when he could. After their father's untimely death at the hands of a homeowner protecting himself after he broke into the house, Bobby was angry. He went on a bend of drinking and crime, ending him up in jail where he made friends. Once he was out, he started robbing houses and small business. Terry at least finished high school and got a job as a mechanic, which was stable enough for a while. He started to doing shotty work for cheap and got fired once his boss found out. He did a number of odd jobs after that. Eric was on the right track but couldn't catch a break. With a grant, he was able to start college but had to leave after his mother became ill. He was almost done with college when he dropped out to take care of her, but it was fruitless. He didn't blame his mom but rather the bad hand life had dealt him, but didn't grow very bitter. He got a shitty job and went about his life. However, their mother's death is what brought the brothers back together. It was several months after the funeral that Bobby came around with the idea to rob a bank. Terry was crashing on Eric's couch at the time and liked the idea, immediately liking the idea of free money and getting to go anywhere they wanted. The two oldest brothers talked Eric into it, telling him they could go live their dream lives and get out of the shambles they called a life. Plus, they were brothers, the only family he had left, was he really gonna left them do it alone?

And yeah, that's what I got for the bank robbing brothers. If it doesn't make any sense, I came up with all of this over the span of 8 hours and little to no sleep.

[gloomskulls]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ YELP REVIEWS [tasm!peter parker x reader]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ a fan decided to make an unofficial yelp page for spider man as a joke. A lot of clients...or citizens had so much to say.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ none

A/n: Just a random short fluff. I'll go back doing dark stories once I feel like it. I haven't really used Yelp, but my friend gave me this idea lol, so credit to Angelina lol. Don't steal this coz I'll shave your head.

Peter slumped on the couch scrolling through his phone. He frowned intensely and tapped a link you had just sent him, headlined as "Spider-Man Yelp Reviews"

You leaned against the door with a stifled grin. "Found it while looking at reviews for that new pizza place. Thought you'd get a kick out of the comments from your…clients."

Peter groaned. "Clients? I'm not running a business. What is this?"

Thumbing through the reviews, he cycled through disbelief, frustration then finally wounded pride.

2 stars

"He saved me from a mugger, but he sailed so quickly I didn't even manage to get the chance to say than you. Really rude."

3 stars

"I appreciate the help...however, he left me dangling from a lamppost for 20 minutes until the cops arrived. You could have just dropped me on the ground bro."

4 stars

"Brilliant rescue, but my phone screen got cracked when he yanked me into a speeding car. Thanks, I guess"

Peter threw his head back, exasperated. "Cracked phone screens? I'm sorry, Janet, would you prefer to have been hit by the car?"

"Peter, this is gold," you dropped beside him taking the phone to scroll further. "Ooh, look at this one!"

1 star

“I yelled for Spider-Man to come help me when my cat was stuck in a fire escape. He didn’t show. What’s the worth of a superhero when they won’t even help the little guy from time to time?”

"That wasn't even a crime," Peter exclaimed with hands thrown up. "What do people expect me to do run a cat rescue hotline?"

"I mean…isn't helping people your whole thing? Even the little guys? Or, in this case, little cats?"

He narrowed his eyes at you. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Oh, I'm loving it." You scrolled to another review.

3 stars

"Got my purse back after it was snatched, but when he handed it to me, he just said, 'Here ya go,' and left. No photo, no autograph. Kinda rude."

"Oh no, Peter, how dare you not stay for selfies mid-crime fighting?" You snickered.

Peter dragged a hand down his face. "Am I supposed to throw a meet and greet after every mugging? Should I bring merch? Web-slingers for kids? Spider-Man action figures?"

You wiggled your eyebrows. "Don't tempt me to start a side hustle."

He shook his head, scrolling further. His eyes widening in disbelief at the review.

1 star

"I yelled for Spider-Man to help me with my groceries. He didn't show up. Ended up dragging six bags up five flights of stairs by myself. What's even the point of having a superhero if he doesn't help the little people?"

Peter let out a strangled laugh. "Groceries? I have to save people from groceries now?"

"Be honest," you teased. "If you would have heard her, would you help?"

He hesitated. "…I mean, maybe. If I wasn't busy."

"Softie," you said, poking his cheek. "You're gonna carry someone's Costco haul one day; I just know it."

Peter groaned louder and clicked on another review, muttering, "It can't get worse. It can't possibly—"

0 stars

"Spider-Man swung by my building and broke my balcony railing. Now my landlord's charging me for repairs. Thanks, webhead."

"Oh," you managed a stifled laugh. "Isn't that the guy from your last patrol? You know, the one who yelled at you when you were chasing that car thief?"

Peter buried his face into his hands. "It's not my fault that balconies are so flimsy in the city. It's very hard to swing around without hitting something."

You patted his shoulder soothingly. "Don't worry, hero. I'm sure you'll get your Yelp rating up again. Maybe even start a loyalty program? Save five, get a free coffee?"

Peter shot you a look, betraying irritation and amusement. "You're impossible." You just grinned menacingly at his words.

"Hey, look at this one," you said, stealing the phone and scrolling to a five-star review, finally. "Finally, some love."

5 stars

“Spider-Man saved my dog from traffic. My girlfriend thinks he's cute. I do too, honestly. Would let him rescue me any day.”

He blinked. "What…what does that even mean?!"

"It means you’re the city’s hottest, most eligible bachelor,” you said, draping an arm over his shoulders. "Even dogs are falling for you. Can't blame them."

He rubbed his temples. “I think I need to retire. Or move to a quieter city. Do they need Spider-Man in, like, Ohio? Whadoyo think baby?”

You smiled and opened the Yelp app. “There, there, hero. I’ll fix your reputation." You assured him as you patted his back

Peter leaned over, squinting as you typed. “What are you— '5 stars. Spider-Man is amazing. Handsome. Athletic. Definitely has a great butt' Babe!" He read out everything you typed for him as you clicked the submit button

You winked. "Just telling the truth. Besides, if you're going to be stuck here, you might as well be a five-star hero."

"Unbelievable," he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile.

@gloomskulls 2024, DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE OF MY WORKS IN ANY OTHER WEBSITE. Photos don't belong to me