#enjoy this attempt at trying for the life of me to write something short

[mythicalmaven]

Revealed Desires - Lando Norris

(This is a sequel to Secret Desires, but could also be read separately)

Here is part two of the requested oneshot! I loved writing it so much, that I needed to write a part two! It accidentally turned out WAY longer than I intended, but I love how it turned out! Hope y'all like it! Please let me know if you did! :)

Masterlist This is part two of this one (reading the previous part is advised for more context lol, but you technically could read it separately) ↳pairing: Lando Norris x f!verstappen!reader ↳word count: 8,9K ↳Summary: In which the story continues after the reader (Max Verstappen's twin sister) had a rather interesting text exchange with & FaceTime call with her best friend Lando Norris after he had drunkenly texted her about his sexual fantasies about her. ↳content warnings: reader is Max Verstappen's twin sister, Lando is her best friend, but also more, friends to lovers, first kiss, sexual tension, teasing, dirty talk, smut, 18+ content (MDNI!), explicit sexual content, handjob, blowjob, oral sex f!receiving, orgasm denial, p in v, making love, praise kink,

It had been a few hours since that intimate phone call with you, and yet the giddy sensation still coursed through Lando's veins like wildfire. He obviously still felt incredibly embarrassed about drunk texting you the way he did, but it lead to something great. Something he enjoyed so much, he can't put it into words. The knowledge that you felt the same way about him had turned the usually composed British driver into a lovesick puppy, unable to wipe the goofy grin off his face. He'd been in love with you for quite some time, but now that his feelings were out in the open, everything felt more intense, more real.

Since that call, Lando had managed to shower, get dressed, and gather his things to hang out with a few of the guys at Charles’ place. But the whole time, he’d been distracted, replaying every moment of your conversation, every breathy word exchanged, over and over in his mind.

By the time he arrived at Charles' house and plopped down onto the couch, the weight of it all��how much his life had changed in a few short hours—settled in. But just as he began to sink into his thoughts, he felt a pair of familiar eyes boring into him.

Max was staring at him, that infuriatingly smug grin stretching across his face. "Good morning, Mr. Casanova," Max teased, the humor in his voice impossible to miss as he watched Lando try to hide within the collar of his hoodie.

"Oh god, please, shut up," Lando groaned, pulling the hood further over his face in a futile attempt to disappear. "I don't even remember half of what I said to you last night."

Charles, who had perched himself on the armrest of the couch, took a casual sip of his coffee. The amusement radiating off him was palpable as he clapped a hand on Lando’s shoulder. "Unfortunately for you, Max remembers all of it."

Max leaned back into the cushions, making a dramatic gagging sound as if to punctuate his point. "I wish I could forget some of the things you said, mate," he chuckled. "But I have to admit, some of it was pretty funny. Adorable, even."

Lando's face flushed a deep crimson, his stomach twisting with embarrassment. "Do I even want to know what I said?" he mumbled, his voice barely audible as he avoided the eyes of both his friends.

Charles set his coffee cup down on the table, his expression turning thoughtful. "Well," he began, running a hand through his hair, "you started out pretty innocent. You were going on about how head over heels you are for her—though I can’t recall the exact words, it was clear enough."

Lando groaned again, his face burning with shame as he sank further into the couch. "God, Max, I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. "I never wanted you to find out like this."

Max raised his eyebrows, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "You really think I didn’t already know you were in love with my sister?" he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle. "You’ve been obvious for a while now, even when you weren’t drunk off your ass."

Lando’s eyes widened in shock, his heart skipping a beat. "A-Are… you s-serious?" he stammered, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Charles rolled his eyes, smirking. "Dude, you stare at her more than you do your own race car," he teased. "And let’s not forget that your entire way of talking to each other is just… well, flirting."

Lando felt his heart rate pick up, a mix of relief and mortification washing over him. "Oh," he muttered, his voice small.

"But if that was the innocent part," Lando began, dreading the answer, "what in god's name were the other things I said?"

Max snorted, leaning forward with a grin. "Well, once you were really wasted, you didn’t even seem to notice I was there anymore," he began, the disgust creeping back into his voice. "You were pretty much ranting to Charles about how hot she is and how you’d kill to see her naked."

Charles burst out laughing, almost spilling his coffee in the process. "Hey! Don’t leave out the best part," he chuckled, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "You also said that if you had the chance, you’d fuck her on every single piece of furniture in your house."

Max made a dramatic gagging noise again, waving his hands in front of his face. "Okay, enough, ew," he protested, though the laughter in his voice was unmistakable. "We’re talking about my twin sister here, remember?"

Lando buried his face in his hands, sinking so far into the couch he thought he might disappear entirely. "Fucking hell," he muttered, staring up at the ceiling in defeat. "I really am a gigantic idiot."

Max’s laughter subsided into a low chuckle as he leaned back into the cushions. "Well, spilling the beans on your feelings was one thing, but I’m curious how you’re going to talk your way out of this with her," he said, his tone a mix of amusement and curiosity. "You kept going on about needing to text her about something 'very private.'"

Lando groaned again, this time so deeply it resonated in his chest. "Please don’t remind me," he mumbled, knowing all too well what Max was referring to.

Max grinned, clearly enjoying every second of Lando’s discomfort. "So, after I dragged your sorry ass home, I decided to give her a little heads up," he continued, his voice dripping with teasing humor. "But she told me it was a little too late because, apparently, you had already sent her quite the intense text."

Charles, who had been taking another sip of his coffee, choked on it immediately, coughing violently as he tried to suppress his laughter. "Mon dieu," he managed to gasp out between coughs, his face turning red from the effort. "What the heck did you even text her? Did you send her a nude or something?"

Before Lando could even process the question, Max threw his hands up in the air. "Don’t answer that while I’m in the room! I don’t even want to know!" he exclaimed, half laughing, half horrified. "We’re talking about my twin sister here! I need more coffee."

With that, Max got up and headed towards the kitchen, leaving Lando and Charles alone in the living room.

Charles eyed Lando with a raised eyebrow, the teasing smirk never leaving his face. "Now, do tell," he urged, clearly eager to hear the juicy details.

Lando sighed, running a hand through his messy curls. "God, I don’t even want to think about it," he muttered, his voice filled with both regret and reluctant amusement. "I cringe at myself every time I read it back."

Charles chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Did you at least talk to her about it?" he asked, his tone becoming more serious. "I mean, considering you’re not sulking in a corner, I assume she doesn’t hate you now, right?"

Lando felt the heat rise to his cheeks again, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Ehm… yeah, we talked about it," he admitted, his voice trailing off as he tried to downplay the situation.

Charles’ eyes widened in surprise, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "Oh my god, you guys did not…" he started, his voice dripping with playful accusation.

Lando hesitated, biting his lip. "Maybe," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Charles burst out laughing, clapping Lando on the back with a hearty smack. "So, let me get this straight," he began, still chuckling. "You got wasted, accidentally sexted your best friend, and she… liked it? And then you pretty much continued the conversation? Do you even remember a thing of it, or is your text history your only proof?"

Lando’s face turned an even deeper shade of red as he avoided Charles’ gaze, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "Ehm… it might’ve happened this morning through text… then later through FaceTime," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Charles let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Nice job, mate," he said, his tone filled with both amusement and genuine admiration. "Better not tell Max that you had literal phone sex with his twin sister."

Before Lando could respond, they heard Max’s voice echoing from the kitchen. "God, I really did not want to hear that," Max groaned, his tone laced with exasperation.

Charles laughed again, turning his attention back to Lando. "Well, now that you’ve crossed that line, what’s the next step?" he asked, his tone more serious now. "Are you going to talk to her about where this is going?"

Lando let out a long sigh, leaning back into the couch as he tried to collect his thoughts. "I mean… yeah, I guess I have to," he admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I can’t just pretend like nothing happened."

Charles nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. "You’re right," he agreed. "But, honestly, it sounds like you two are already on the same page. You just need to have an actual conversation about it."

Lando nodded, feeling a mix of anxiety and anticipation swirling in his chest. "Yeah… I know, we talked about if for a little.." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I-I admitted my feelings to her. We did kind of agree to starting something real once she's back in Monaco"

Charles gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, his smile softening. "That's good"

"Yeah, I actually have to pick her up from the airport tomorrow" he told Charles, a hint of something else in his voice "I would lie if I said I wasn't nervous about it. Just scared that she might come to the conclusion that she regrets it, once she sees me in real life again"

*The following day*

Lando sat in his car at the airport, his nerves doubling with each passing second. His fingers fumbled restlessly in his lap as he tried—and failed—to calm himself down. He had spent the entire night tossing and turning, his mind racing with thoughts of how he should greet you when you finally arrived. Despite offering numerous times to meet you at the gate, to carry your suitcases like a gentleman, you had refused each one with a teasing smile, insisting that you were "a big girl" and could manage on your own. Now, he wondered if he had been too pushy, if maybe he should have backed off and given you more space.

As he waited, Lando’s mind continued to wage a war against itself. Should he just hug you like he always did, keeping things light and familiar? Or should he throw caution to the wind and kiss you, putting everything on the line? The thought of kissing you, of finally feeling your lips on his after all these years of longing, made his heart race. But what if you didn’t want that? What if you pulled away, leaving him to wallow in his embarrassment?

His internal debate was abruptly cut short by the sound of a knock on his window. Lando looked up, his heart skipping a beat as he met your eyes. There you were, standing just outside his car, a soft smile on your lips. That smile—the one that always made his chest tighten—sent a wave of warmth through him. He quickly opened the door, jumping out to help you with your luggage.

"Hi," you murmured softly, echoing the way you had greeted him during your FaceTime call. The familiarity of your voice, that gentle tone, sent a shiver down his spine.

Lando smiled back, feeling the tips of his fingers brush against yours as you both reached for the handle of your suitcase. The slight contact sent a jolt of electricity up his arm, and he had to resist the urge to pull you into his arms right then and there. He inhaled deeply, trying to steady his breathing, but the proximity, the way you looked at him, made it impossible to think straight.

"Fuck this," he muttered under his breath, the words slipping out before he could stop them. In a swift movement, he reached up, sliding his fingers around the back of your neck, his thumb gently brushing against your jaw. The world seemed to slow down as he tilted your face up toward his, his heart pounding in his chest as he finally closed the distance between you.

When his lips met yours, it was like every pent-up emotion, every moment of longing, exploded into that kiss. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a confession, a release, an answer to all the questions that had been swirling in his mind. His fingers tightened in your hair, pulling you closer as he let himself get lost in the sensation of finally, finally, kissing the one girl he had been in love with for what felt like forever.

Your response was immediate and overwhelming. You released the suitcase from your grip, one of your hands moved up to tangle in his curls, pulling him closer, while the other slid down to cover his hand, guiding it to your waist. The heat of your body against his was intoxicating, and Lando felt like he was drowning in you, in the softness of your lips, in the way you seemed to melt into him.

As your kiss deepened, Lando could feel your breath hitch, your body pressing even closer to his as if you couldn’t get enough. He took the invitation, gently parting your lips with his, and when your tongues met, it was like a spark igniting a wildfire. His hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him as he backed you up against the side of the car. The cool metal of the car against your back contrasted with the heat between you, making you gasp softly into the kiss.

Every touch, every brush of your lips, every flick of your tongue sent shivers down Lando’s spine. He could feel your heartbeat against his chest, could hear the soft, breathy sounds you made as the kiss grew more urgent. His hands roamed your back, sliding up to cup your face, then back down to your waist, as if trying to memorize every curve, every inch of you. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you, completely lost in each other.

You responded with equal fervor, your hands exploring the expanse of his back, his shoulders, as you gave in to the overwhelming pull of desire that had been building between you for so long. The way Lando kissed you—desperate yet tender, with a mix of hunger and reverence—made your heart swell with emotion. It was as if he was pouring all his love, all his need, into that kiss, and you couldn’t help but respond in kind.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady your racing hearts. Lando’s fingers played with a stray strand of your hair, his touch feather-light as he whispered, "Sorry if that was too straightforward. I just… I couldn’t help myself."

You giggled softly, your lips brushing against his as you spoke. "Lan, we both know we crossed the 'too straightforward' line already when you sent me that one text," you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

Lando’s cheeks flushed a deep red, his gaze dropping to the ground as he muttered, "Shut up."

But you weren’t about to let him get away that easily. Smiling, you tilted his chin up with your finger, forcing him to meet your gaze before leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. "Hey, I never said I was complaining" you murmured against his lips, your voice filled with affection.

Lando felt a surge of relief wash over him, his lips curling into a smile against yours. All the tension, all the nerves, seemed to melt away in that moment, replaced by a warmth that spread through his entire being. As you pulled back slightly, his eyes searched yours, finding only the same affection and desire that he felt reflected back at him.

"Now, let's get this stuff in the car and head back to my place. Because I think we both waited long enough now, don't you think?" you teased him, your fingers playing with the hem of his t-shirt.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺

As Lando and you finally settled into the car, the engine's quiet hum filled the space, a stark contrast to the roaring thoughts and desires that swirled between you. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, the kind that made every breath feel heavier, every glance more charged. The drive back to your place had never felt so excruciatingly long, and the unspoken understanding between you made the tension all the more palpable.

You both tried to keep the conversation light, casual even, but it was impossible to ignore the undercurrent of desire that crackled between you like static electricity. Lando gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, his knuckles turning white as he navigated through the city streets. He stole glances at you whenever he thought you weren’t looking, his mind racing with thoughts of what would happen once you finally reached your apartment.

“So, did you miss me?” you teased, your voice playful yet laced with something deeper.

Lando chuckled, his voice strained as he responded. “Miss you?” He shot you a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Yeah, something like that.”

Your hand slowly inched its way over to his thigh, resting lightly at first, but enough to make him shift in his seat. You could feel the muscle tense beneath your fingers, his reaction immediate and telling. You didn’t miss the way his breath hitched, or the subtle clenching of his jaw as he tried to maintain his focus on the road.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and warning, though you could hear the underlying strain, the barely restrained desire.

“Nothing,” you replied innocently, your fingers beginning to trace small, teasing circles on his thigh, gradually moving closer to where you knew he was most sensitive. “Just… thinking.”

“Thinking?” Lando’s voice had dropped to a husky whisper, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried—and failed—to ignore the effect your touch was having on him. “About what, exactly?”

You leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear as you whispered, “About how long this drive is taking. Don’t you think it’s… too long?”

Lando let out a low, frustrated groan, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before he forced them open again, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

You giggled softly, the sound filled with a mix of mischief and satisfaction. Your hand moved higher, your fingers brushing against the growing bulge in his pants, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. He glanced over at you, his eyes darkening with lust, and you could see the tension in his expression, the way he was barely holding himself together.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, your voice dripping with mock innocence, though the wicked glint in your eyes betrayed your intentions.

“Fuck…” Lando cursed under his breath, his hips involuntarily jerking forward at the contact. “You’re going to make me crash this car if you keep that up.”

But despite his words, he didn’t make any move to stop you. Instead, he shifted slightly in his seat, almost as if inviting you to continue. The knowledge that you had this kind of power over him, that you could unravel him with just a few touches, sent a thrill through you, your own arousal growing with each passing second.

As your hand pressed more firmly against him, Lando couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped his lips, low and guttural, filled with the kind of raw need that made your stomach tighten with anticipation. The sound of it, the way his body responded so helplessly to your touch, only fueled your desire, your own breath becoming shallow as you leaned in closer.

“I think you like this,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear as you spoke, your hand slowly, deliberately, palming him through his jeans. You could feel him hardening beneath your touch, and the thought of what was to come made your own body ache with need.

“Fuck, you’re right,” Lando admitted, his voice rough and strained. He let out another soft moan, his hips shifting again, seeking more of your touch despite his earlier protests. “But you’re also going to regret teasing me like this.”

“Is that a threat?” you teased, your hand now fully exploring the outline of his erection, your fingers pressing just hard enough to drive him crazy, but not enough to satisfy.

“Consider it a promise,” Lando growled, his voice thick with lust. The tension in the car was nearly unbearable now, every second feeling like an eternity as you continued to push him closer to the edge.

The rest of the drive was a torturous mix of heated touches and ragged breaths, the air thick with anticipation. Every kilometer that separated you from your apartment seemed to stretch on forever, amplifying the tension that crackled between you. Lando’s eyes flicked from the road to your hand on his bulge, watching as your fingers continued their slow, deliberate exploration. His breathing was uneven, the struggle to keep his focus on driving becoming increasingly difficult with each passing second.

You noticed how his grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles white, the strain evident in every line of his body. His jaw was clenched, his gaze forward, but you could see the way his eyes darkened, how his breath hitched every time your fingers palmed over the bulge straining against his jeans.

“You’re awfully quiet, Lando,” you teased, your voice low and sultry, your fingers tracing the outline of his erection with maddening slowness. “Cat got your tongue?”

Lando let out a shaky breath, his voice strained as he responded. “Trying to focus on not crashing the car, love,” he muttered, his words laced with a mixture of frustration and arousal. His eyes briefly met yours, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. “But you’re making that damn near impossible.”

You smiled, pleased with the effect you were having on him. Leaning in closer, your lips brushed against his ear as you whispered, “What would you do to me if we weren’t in this car right now?”

Lando’s breath hitched again, a soft groan escaping his lips as your words sent a surge of heat through him. He swallowed hard, his mind racing with images of all the things he wanted to do to you. “You really want to know?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone that made your pulse quicken.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, your hand pressing more firmly against his erection, eliciting another groan from him. “Tell me, Lando. What would you do if you had me all to yourself right now?”

Lando’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his grip on the wheel tightening as he tried to maintain control. “I’d start by pinning you against the wall,” he began, his voice thick with desire. “I’d kiss you until you were breathless, until you couldn’t think straight. And then I’d strip you down, piece by piece, until there was nothing between us.”

His words sent a thrill through you, your body reacting instantly to the vivid images he painted with his voice. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, the ache of wanting him becoming almost unbearable. “And then?” you prompted, your voice breathy, urging him to continue.

Lando swallowed hard, his hips shifting slightly under your touch. “Then I’d lay you down, spread you out for me,” he continued, his voice growing darker, more intense. “I’d take my time, kiss every inch of you, taste you until you’re begging for more.”

A soft whimper escaped your lips at his words, the need inside you flaring hotter with every second. “Fuck, Lando,” you breathed, your hand moving up to cup him more fully, feeling the hardness beneath your fingers. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“You think you’re the only one?” Lando shot back, his voice rough with arousal. He let out another low groan as you began to palm him through his jeans, his hips lifting slightly into your touch, seeking more. “Keep that up and we won’t even make it to your apartment.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the way you were affecting him. “Maybe that’s the idea,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his neck, your breath warm against his skin. “Maybe I want to see how much you can take.”

Lando let out a soft, desperate moan, his control slipping further with every touch, every word. “You’re fucking evil, you know that?” he groaned, his head falling back against the headrest as he gave in to the pleasure, his body reacting instinctively to your teasing. “But god, I love it.”

The tension in the car was nearly unbearable now, the air thick with the scent of arousal and the promise of what was to come. Every brush of your fingers, every shift of your body sent waves of desire crashing over both of you, making it almost impossible to think clearly.

As you continued to tease him, your own body was alight with need, every fiber of your being aching for him. The sight of Lando struggling to keep his composure, the way he was completely at your mercy, only fueled your desire, your own breaths coming in short, shallow gasps as you pressed your lips to his neck, feeling his pulse racing beneath your touch.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lando pulled up to your apartment building, the car coming to a sudden, jerky stop as he practically slammed on the brakes. He turned to you, his eyes dark and filled with a mixture of frustration and desire. “Get out of the car,” he commanded, his voice rough and strained, leaving no room for argument.

You didn’t need to be told twice. The moment you stepped out, Lando was there, his hands gripping your waist as he pushed you back against the car, his lips crashing onto yours with a desperate, almost frantic intensity. The kiss was hot, urgent, filled with all the pent-up desire that had been building between you for so long. His hands roamed your body, sliding down to your hips as he pressed himself against you, letting you feel the full extent of his arousal.

“You have no idea what you’re in for,” Lando murmured against your lips, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer as his lips moved to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you moan softly.

“Then show me,” you whispered back, your voice trembling with anticipation as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. “I want to feel everything.”

Lando groaned at your words, his control slipping further as he kissed his way down your neck, his hands sliding under your shirt, exploring the soft skin of your back. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin as he nipped at your collarbone, making you gasp.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with lust, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Without another word, he grabbed your hand, practically dragging you toward the entrance of the building. The anticipation was palpable, every step closer to your apartment only adding to the tension between you.

The elevator ride up was a blur of heated touches and frantic kisses, Lando’s lips never leaving your skin as he pressed you against the wall, his hands roaming your body with a mix of urgency and reverence. “Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured against your neck, his voice rough and filled with raw need.

“Me too,” you breathed, your voice trembling with desire as your hands explored the planes of his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Lando.”

His lips found yours again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if savoring the taste of you. The kiss was deep, consuming, and you could feel every ounce of his passion, his longing, in the way his tongue danced with yours, the way his hands gripped you as if he was afraid you might slip away.

When the elevator finally dinged at your floor, Lando wasted no time, pulling you out and down the hall toward your apartment. His impatience was evident in the way he fumbled with the keys, his hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline and lust coursing through his veins.

“You’re driving me insane,” he muttered under his breath, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and arousal as he finally managed to unlock the door. The moment it swung open, he had you inside, slamming it shut behind him as he pressed you up against it, his lips crashing onto yours once again.

The kiss was even more intense this time, fueled by the knowledge that there were no more interruptions, no more delays. This was it. You were finally alone, and nothing was going to stop what came next.

His hands were everywhere, sliding under your shirt, up your back, down to your thighs, as if he couldn’t decide where to touch you first. Every brush of his fingers against your skin sent jolts of pleasure through you, and you could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, the anticipation becoming almost unbearable.

Lando’s lips left yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jawline to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you shiver. “I’m going to make you pay for teasing me like that,” he whispered against your neck, his voice a low, seductive growl that made your heart race.

“I’m counting on it,” you replied breathlessly, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you pulled him even closer, your body aching with need.

And with that, any remaining restraint between you shattered, the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface finally boiling over as Lando’s hands and lips claimed every inch of you, leaving you both lost in the heat of the moment, eager to make up for all the time you had spent longing for each other.

When his lips left yours again, you barely had time to catch your breath before they were on your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. His hands continued their slow exploration, moving higher until they reached the curve of your breasts, his thumbs brushing teasingly over your hardened nipples through the thin fabric of your bra.

A soft moan escaped your lips at the contact, your back arching slightly as you pressed into his touch. Lando’s breath was hot against your skin as he nipped at your collarbone, his hands moving to unhook your bra with practiced ease. The garment fell away, leaving you exposed to his hungry gaze.

“You have no idea how much I want this,” Lando murmured against your skin, his voice low and filled with a mix of reverence and desire. His hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples as he captured your lips in another searing kiss.

“Then stop teasing,” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling with anticipation as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. “I want you, Lando.”

Lando groaned softly at your words, his resolve crumbling as his hands began to roam lower, sliding down your stomach to the waistband of your jeans. He unbuttoned them slowly, his fingers brushing against your skin as he tugged the fabric down your hips, leaving you in just your panties.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with lust as he took in the sight of you standing before him, half-naked and completely vulnerable. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe as his hands traced the curve of your hips, his thumbs brushing against the delicate lace of your panties.

Without another word, Lando’s hands moved to your thighs, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate paths along your skin, causing shivers to run down your spine. He stood in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs with agonizing slowness.

The cool air against your exposed skin only heightened your sensitivity, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation. Lando’s hands moved back up your thighs, his touch firm yet gentle as he spread your legs wider. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to an exposed bit of skin, just behind your ear, before his fingers began their slow, torturous journey closer to your core.

Your breath hitched, your body trembling with need as his fingers hovered just above where you wanted them most. He teased you, his fingertips brushing lightly against your sensitive skin, drawing out soft whimpers from your lips. The tension in your body grew unbearable as Lando finally let his fingers slide through your wetness, his touch sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

He began to move his fingers with expert precision, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched your reactions, each moan, each gasp fueling his desire. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles as his fingers delved deeper, the sensation building with every stroke. You could feel the pressure mounting, your body arching into his touch as you teetered on the edge of release.

But just as you were about to fall over the precipice, Lando’s movements slowed, his fingers pulling back, leaving you hanging in that unbearable space between pleasure and release. A frustrated whimper escaped your lips as you looked up at him, your body aching with the need for more.

But Lando only smirked up at you, his eyes filled with a mischievous glint. “That’s for teasing me in the car,” he teased, his voice low and filled with satisfaction as he slowly rose to his feet, his hands resting on your hips as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“You’re an asshole,” you whispered against his lips, your voice filled with a mix of frustration and determination as you reached for his shirt, unbuttoning it with trembling fingers. You pushed the fabric off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor before your hands moved to the waistband of his jeans.

But before you could undo the button, Lando’s hands were on you again, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you to the kitchen counter. He placed you on the cool surface, his hands sliding up your thighs as he positioned himself between your legs.

His lips were on yours again, hot and demanding, as his hands roamed your body, exploring every curve, every dip, as if trying to memorize the feel of you. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with lust, his breathing heavy as he knelt down between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs as he spread you open before him.

The anticipation was almost unbearable as you watched him, his gaze locked on yours as he lowered his head, his lips brushing against your most sensitive spot. The first stroke of his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your hands flying to his hair as you arched into him, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

Lando’s tongue moved with precision, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge, the pleasure building with every second. You could feel the heat pooling in your belly, your body trembling with the need for release as he continued to pleasure you with slow, deliberate movements.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, just when you were about to tip over the edge, once again, Lando pulled back, leaving you gasping for breath, your body aching with the need for more.

“Lando!” you cried out, your voice filled with frustration as you looked down at him, your chest heaving with the effort to catch your breath.

Lando only chuckled, a smug smile playing on his lips as he slowly rose to his feet, his hands resting on your hips as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “I told you I would make you regret teasing me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with satisfaction as he nipped at your lower lip.

“You're lucky you're hot” you shot back, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and determination as you reached for his jeans, unbuttoning them with your fingers. You pushed the fabric down his hips, letting it fall to the floor as you slid off the counter, your hands moving to his hips, guiding him against the kitchen counter, sinking to your knees.

Lando’s breath hitched as you knelt before him, your fingers teasing the waistband of his boxers as you looked up at him, a wicked glint in your eyes. “Is this what you want?” you asked, your voice low and sultry as your fingers brushed against his erection, the contact sending a shiver of pleasure through him.

“Please,” Lando groaned, his hands clutching at the counter behind him as he watched you, his eyes filled with a mixture of desperation and lust. “Don’t tease me.”

But you weren’t done with him yet. You wanted to make him feel the same frustration, the same desperation that he had made you feel. Slowly, deliberately, you began to kiss your way up his thigh, your lips brushing against his skin in a way that made his breath catch in his throat.

"You look so good, Lan. You make me so wet.” you whispered against his skin, your voice filled with a mix of challenge and desire as your fingers teased him, brushing against his erection but never quite touching him where he needed it most.

Lando’s hips jerked forward, a soft moan escaping his lips as he clutched at the counter, his control slipping further with every touch, every kiss. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough and strained. “You’re killing me.”

You smiled up at him, your hands finally sliding up to his boxers, pulling them down to free his aching length. The sight of him, hard and ready for you, sent a thrill of anticipation through you, your own arousal heightening as you took him in your hand, feeling the warmth and hardness of him against your palm.

Lando’s breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as you began to stroke him slowly, your movements deliberate and teasing. Your thumb brushed over the sensitive tip, gathering the bead of moisture there before sliding back down his length. His hips bucked slightly into your hand, a low groan escaping his lips as he watched you through half-lidded eyes, his gaze dark with lust.

“F-Fuck, that feels so good,” he muttered, his voice rough and thick with need. His hands gripped the counter behind him, knuckles white as he tried to maintain some semblance of control. But you could see the tension in his muscles, the way his body responded to every touch, every twist of your wrist.

You increased the pace slightly, your strokes becoming firmer, more purposeful as you worked him with your hand. Lando’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to keep his composure. “You like that?” you whispered, your voice sultry, dripping with seduction as you watched him with hooded eyes.

“God, yes,” Lando groaned, his head falling back as another moan slipped from his lips. “So fucking good.”

You smirked, your confidence growing with every sound of pleasure that escaped him. You changed your technique, your grip tightening slightly as you twisted your wrist at the top, your thumb rubbing over the sensitive underside of his tip in a way that made his hips jerk forward, his breath catching in his throat.

“Is this what you’ve been fantasizing about?” you asked, your voice low and teasing as you leaned in closer, your breath hot against his skin. “Thinking about me, touching you like this?”

Lando let out a shaky breath, his eyes squeezing shut as he struggled to find the words. “Yes,” he managed to choke out, his voice strained with the effort to hold back. “Every night. Fuck, you have no idea.”

You smiled, satisfied with his response as you continued to stroke him, your movements becoming a little faster, a little more intense. You could feel him throbbing in your hand, his body trembling with the need for release. “Do you want more, Lando?” you whispered, your lips brushing against the base of his length as you spoke, sending a shiver through him. “Do you want my mouth on you?”

Lando’s eyes flew open, the raw need in them making your own arousal spike. “Please,” he groaned, his voice a desperate plea. “I need it. I need you.”

His words sent a jolt of excitement through you, and without breaking eye contact, you slowly lowered your head, your lips parting as you took him into your mouth. The sensation of his hard length filling you, the taste of him on your tongue, was intoxicating, and you let out a soft moan as you began to move, your mouth working him with the same deliberate, teasing pace you had used with your hand.

Lando’s reaction was immediate, his hands flying to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he tried to maintain control. “Fuck,” he hissed, his hips bucking involuntarily as you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

Encouraged by his praise, you began to move faster, your tongue swirling around him, flicking against the sensitive underside as you bobbed your head, taking him in as deep as you could. You could feel the tension in his thighs, the way his muscles tightened and quivered under your touch, his body responding to every flick of your tongue, every suction of your lips.

You placed your hands on the back of his thighs, your fingers digging into his flesh as you pulled him closer, encouraging him to let go, to give in to the pleasure. “Is this what you wanted?” you asked, pulling back just enough to speak, your voice breathy and filled with desire. “Is this what you’ve been dreaming about?”

“Yes,” Lando groaned, his voice strained as he fought to keep control. “Fuck, you’re perfect. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

His words only spurred you on, and you resumed your pace, your mouth working him with more intensity, more urgency as you brought him closer to the edge. His breathing grew ragged, his moans becoming more frequent, more desperate as he hovered on the brink of release.

But just as you felt him start to tense, his body trembling with the need for release, you pulled back, letting him slip from your mouth with a teasing smile. Lando let out a frustrated groan, his head falling back as his hands tightened in your hair, the sensation of being so close yet denied driving him to the brink of madness.

“Fuck,” Lando breathed out, his voice laced with desperation. His eyes were half-lidded, darkened with lust as he looked down at you, still kneeling before him, that wicked glint in your eyes. “Why did you stop?”

“Two can play that game,” you whispered, your voice filled with playful challenge as you looked up at him, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his thigh. “How does it feel, Lando? To be so close and yet so far?”

Lando’s breath was ragged, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and raw need. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice rough with desperation, but there was a spark of amusement in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment that he was enjoying this, even if it was driving him crazy.

Lando let out a shaky breath, his hands moving to your waist as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a brief, heated kiss. “Fucking hell, you have no idea what you do to me” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with need, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed you back against the counter.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the heat in his voice, the raw intensity of his words sending a surge of desire straight to your core. Lando’s lips met yours again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if he was savoring every second. His hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you slightly so he could press you even closer against the counter, his body flush against yours. You responded eagerly, your hands threading through his hair, tugging lightly as you deepened the kiss, your tongue teasingly flicking against his.

You could feel the tension building between you, the need to be even closer, but you couldn’t resist playing with him just a little more. You nipped at his lower lip, pulling back slightly to murmur against his mouth, “You’re holding back, Lando. What’s wrong? Afraid you can’t handle a little teasing?”

Your words drew a low, frustrated growl from him, his eyes darkening with desire as he looked at you, the playful spark in your gaze only spurring him on. “Oh, I can handle it,” he replied, his voice a rough whisper, full of promise. And with that, he closed the distance between you in an instant, his hands grabbing you by the waist as he lifted you off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you towards the bedroom.

Your laughter echoed through the kitchen as Lando carried you towards the bedroom, his grip on you firm, yet gentle, as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. The intensity in his eyes sent a thrill through you, your heart racing as you felt the cool air on your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body.

He pushed the bedroom door open with his foot, and before you knew it, you were on the bed, Lando hovering above you, his hands framing your face as he stared down at you with a mixture of love and raw need. The look in his eyes made your breath catch, the reality of the moment crashing over you. This was real. This was happening.

Lando’s lips found yours again, the kiss slower this time, more deliberate, as if he was savoring every second, every taste of you. His hands roamed your body, sliding down your sides, over your hips, before coming to rest on your thighs, spreading them apart as he settled between them.

But just as Lando was about to move lower, his lips brushing against the curve of your breast, he paused, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as he looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice soft, but carrying a depth of sincerity that made your heart swell.

“I’m sure, Lando,” you whispered, your voice filled with certainty and affection. “I want this. I want you.”

Lando’s eyes searched yours for a moment longer, as if making absolutely certain, before he spoke again, his tone gentle but serious. “I just want to make sure you don’t feel pressured into anything. This… this means a lot to me. It’s more than just sex for me.”

Your heart melted at his words, the care and concern in his voice making you fall even more for him. You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin as you smiled up at him. “I don’t feel pressured at all. I want this just as much as you do, Lando. It means a lot to me too.”

Relief washed over his features, his eyes softening as he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your lips, filled with all the emotion he couldn’t quite put into words. “Thank you,” he whispered against your lips, his hands gently caressing your sides as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing warmly against yours.

With that final confirmation, the last of his restraint melted away. The kiss grew more intense, more passionate, as Lando’s hands roamed your body with a newfound purpose, exploring every inch of you with reverence and need. His lips moved down your neck, to your chest, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses that made you shiver with anticipation.

You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, the evidence of his desire only fueling your own. Your hands roamed his back, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way his body responded to your touch. The heat between you was almost unbearable now, the need for him becoming overwhelming as his lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, making you moan softly.

“Please, Lando,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desperation as you arched into him, your body aching with the need for release. “I need you.”

Lando let out a low groan at your words, his hands sliding down to your hips as he positioned himself between your legs. He paused for a moment, his eyes locking onto yours as he whispered, “I want to make this perfect for you.”

“It already is,” you whispered back, your voice filled with affection as you cupped his face, pulling him into a soft, lingering kiss. “Just make love to me, Lando.”

With a soft, almost reverent sigh, Lando pressed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he slowly, gently, entered you. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and emotion that made you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he filled you completely.

Lando let out a shaky breath, his body trembling slightly as he stilled for a moment, letting you both adjust to the new, intimate connection. The feeling of him inside you, of being so close, so connected, was almost too much to bear, the intensity of it sending waves of pleasure and emotion crashing over you.

He began to move slowly, his thrusts gentle and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours as he made love to you with a tenderness that took your breath away. Every movement, every touch was filled with love, with a depth of emotion that made your heart swell with affection for him.

You could feel the tension building again, the pleasure mounting with every thrust, every brush of his skin against yours. Lando’s hands roamed your body, his lips pressing soft kisses to your neck, your collarbone, as he whispered sweet, breathless praises in your ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with love and desire. “I can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

“Lando,” you gasped, your voice trembling with emotion as you clutched at him, your body moving in sync with his. “I love you.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, the raw truth of your feelings finally breaking free. Lando’s eyes widened in surprise, his movements slowing for a moment as he stared down at you, his breath catching in his throat.

“I love you too,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of awe and affection as he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your lips. The words hung in the air between you, a promise, a declaration that made your heart swell with happiness.

With those words still echoing in the air, Lando’s pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension coiling tighter in your belly as you held onto him, your body trembling with the need for release.

Lando’s breath was hot against your ear, his voice rough and filled with desperation as he whispered, “Come for me, love. I want to feel you.”

His words, the way he moved inside you with such passion and tenderness, was enough to send you over the edge. Your body tensed, your back arching off the bed as the wave of pleasure crashed over you, your breathless moans filling the room as you came undone in his arms.

The sensation of you tightening around him, the way you cried out his name in pure ecstasy, was enough to push Lando over the edge with you. With a few more deep, urgent thrusts, he followed you into bliss, his body trembling as he found his release, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sound in the room the heavy breathing of two people who had just found something they had both been longing for. Lando collapsed on top of you, his weight comforting as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

You held him close, your fingers running through his hair as you both came down from the high, your bodies still entwined, the connection between you stronger than ever.

“I love you,” Lando whispered again, his voice soft and filled with affection as he pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

“I love you too,” you murmured back, your heart swelling with happiness as you held him close, your eyes fluttering shut as you savored the warmth of his body against yours, the contentment that filled you both as you lay there, basking in the afterglow of the most intense, passionate, and loving moment you had ever shared.

Masterlist | Promptlist (requests are still open)

[supernotnatural2005]

The Great Sam Winchester C*ck Block!

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean and you have been desperate for some much needed alone time. However, a certain Winchester keeps getting in the way.

Word Count: 4106

Warnings: Smut! 18+ ONLY!!! Fluff, Sam is a massive c*ck block (yes that’s a warning!)

A/N: I know it’s been a hot minute since i posted anything. Life has been wild. But i miss writing so much and have a few WIP. This just happens to be the one i’ve finished! 😅 Just something fun and spicy. I hope you enjoy and feedback is always welcome!

My Masterlist

You sighed, head thrown back against the leather seat, back arched and legs spread wide as Dean scissored two of his thick fingers inside of you.

Soft lips caressed the sensitive skin of your neck and suckled at the spot behind your ear, which only added to the desperate throb of the walls of your pussy.

Your skin flushed and breathing laboured as he expertly rubbed at that spongey spot inside you, making you gasp and tense at the thrum of pleasure, tingling from the tops of your ears down to the tips of your toes.

The soft praises of; “you’re so wet”, “so beautiful” and “come for me baby”, followed by the lewd sounds of your dripping core against the harsh thrust of his digits, echoed in the small confinements of Baby’s backseat. Resulting in an ecstasy like state of desperation to reach your peak for him.

Your hands found purchase on his broad shoulders, the material covering his skin all but assaulted by your vice-like grip, as he brought you closer and closer to your impending crash.

You opened your eyes, gaze heated and glazed as you met fiery green orbs, drinking in your wrecked state with satisfaction and pride.

With his thumb now rubbing against your clit, you could feel your body begin to tense. The coil in your lower belly wound tight, ready to just about snap, when something over his shoulder caught your attention.

“Sam!” You gasped in an attempt to warn him. Though in your current state, it came out as more of a gasp of unmeant pleasure. But it had Dean’s fingers stilling instantly, drowning the flame he’d brought to life inside of you.

“What?” The shock was evident in his voice and the same eyes that had been filled with lust just moments ago, now laced with hurt at your outburst of his brother’s name. Made ten times worse at the fact it was whilst he was fingering you into oblivion.

Dread filled you at his harshly retracted fingers and you scrambled to explain before another fire brewed in his eyes, but this time with intent to burn rather than pleasure.

“Oh God, no baby! Sam is coming.” You guided his head in the direction of the other end on the motel’s parking lot, to where Sam was indeed approaching.

Relief flooded him like a cold drink of water quenching one’s thirst in a hot desert. His rapidly beating heart simmered somewhat at the realisation and he welcomed the soothing hand you ran through his short strands as he dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

You felt the rumble of his chuckle before you heard it, finding yourself joining in at the absurdity and worst timing ever of your boyfriend’s baby-bro.

“I guess we’re gonna have to pick this up another time.” He sighed disappointedly, but his eyes held a promise you clung to.

Sam Winchester was many things. A great hunter, empathetic and kind, your best friend. But mostly, he was the most oblivious cock block known to man.

For weeks you and Dean had been trying to have a little alone time. If it wasn’t the motel’s having only one twin room left, or a case taking its tole on you both to the point of pure exhaution, it was Sam’s impeccable timing.

You righted yourself by pulling on your discarded underwear and sleep-shorts, grimacing as the fabric met the mess between your legs.

Dean casually sucked his fingers clean of your juices, making your jaw drop and clit pulse in want.

Noticing your longing stare, he winked and slid a hand beneath his sweat pants to adjust the obvious tent, just in time for Sam to tap on the window.

“What are you guys doing out here? I tried calling you both for the past half hour.” Dean had opened the back seat and stepped out, allowing you to shuffle to the edge of the seat.

“I had a nightmare.” You lied easily as you stepped out of the car as well.

“I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you, so Dean offered to sit with me, calm me down.”

If oscars were awarded for best lie told, you’re sure you’d be up there in the nominees. It wasn’t necessary to lie to Sam but it beat, “your brother was just fingering me in the back of his car because we never have any time alone away from you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sam was sincere and his look sympathetic. It allowed for a shred of guilt to be had.

“Why were you looking for us anyway?” Dean interrupted, voice slightly rough and irritated, although Sam didn’t seem to notice.

“I found a case a couple of miles out. Three victims have turned up dead in the last week, all with their hearts missing. Sherif is calling it a vicious animal attack but, i figures we got ourselves a werewolf.”

Silence.

“And that couldn’t wait until morning.” Dean speaks up first. His agitation clear this time.

“Well, technically it is morning. It’s like five A M.” Sam shrugs like it’s nothing and you internally sigh.

“You’re right, we just lost track of time.” You force a smile and ignore Dean’s pointed look as a sudden plan forms in your mind.

“Let us freshen up and maybe you could grab us some coffee and breakfast? You know, since you’re the only one dressed and all.” You ask sweetly, hoping he takes the bait.

“Yeah sure. I was going to grab us all some breakfast anyway.” Sam offers.

Bingo.

“That’d be great, i’m starving.” You exaggerate with a hand on your stomach. In the corner of your eye, Dean gives you a funny look and it takes everything in you not to smirk.

“Okay, well i’ll see you in ten.” Sam says before making his way across the street toward the 24 hour diner.

Wasting no time, you grab Dean’s hand and roughly pull him with you toward the room.

“Woah, what in the-“ You shut him up with your lips roughly pressing to his once you enter the room. His back hitting the closed door with a dull thud.

“If you think i’m going to wait for God knows how long before i feel you inside me again. You’ve got another thing coming.” You explain in a rush as you tug his plain-black t-shirt over his head.

A smirk forms on his lips at your eagerness and Dean has to admit, it turns him on just how desperate you are.

“Oh, i like the way you think sweetheart.”

You sat in the backseat of baby, irritable, uncomfortable and beyond sexually frustrated.

Your attempt to finish what you and Dean had started back in the room was short lived, when Sam returned only 2 minutes later, having forgotten his wallet.

To say you were in a mood was an understatement. And the permanent scowl on Dean’s face and his white knuckling grip on the steering wheel, told you he was right there with you.

In the end, the three of you figured out who the culprit was, or should you say culprits were, relatively quickly. It was a young man, Johnny Turner who was recently turned, which explained the sloppy kills. And you later discovered the pack who’d turned him, hiding out in a cabin just outside of town.

Overall, it was a successful hunt with minimum injuries and you had prevented a young girl from being the fourth victim. But three people had still died and a young man had to spend his last moments of life as a monster he never wanted to be.

You still remember the fear and confusion in his eyes at what he’d done. But then he’d went to attack you and ended up with three silver bullets from Dean’s gun lodged in his chest.

So, when you climbed into bed that night, Dean following shortly after you as Sam lightly snored away on the bed opposite. There were no wandering hands under the covers, working each other up until you were desperate enough to find yourself back in the back seat of baby. Just silence.

All in all, Sam’s case had inadvertently been another giant cock-block in itself.

3 Days Later.

It wasn’t your most classiest moment, but you found yourself knelt on a grubby restroom floor; Dean above you with his jeans and boxers pushed down mid thigh as you took his heavy, achingly hard length into your mouth.

You could be ashamed at how horny you were. That you’d stoop so low as to pushing him into a disgusting bathroom stall; dropping to your knees and blowing him right then and there.

But after a whole day of watching him work on Baby, greased up, sweaty and watching his biceps flex as he adjusted loose bolts and nuts under the hood. It was like dangling a piece of meat in-front of a starving dog. You just had to take a bite.

After being unfairly teased all day, you had all ventured to the local dive in town. Of course, Sam came along, actually wanting to join in for once.

Despite your own sexual frustrations, you’d had a good time. Drunk Sam was a lot of fun and it was nice seeing everyone relaxed and with a smile on their face for once.

However, once Sam’s attention was preoccupied by a pretty brunette; and with a strong bout of liquid courage in your system, you’d taken advantage of the situation and summoned Dean to join you in the restroom.

You knew he was just as worked up as you were. You’d felt as much whilst playing a game pool earlier on in the night, when he’d pressed up against you, not so subtly and let you feel just how much the skirt you’d opted to wear turned him on.

So now here you were, sucking off your boyfriend in the restroom stall of a dive bar, like some horny teenager. But if his moans and grunts as he lightly thrusted his hips intime with the bobbing of your head, told you anything. It was that he was more than on board.

Your panties were beyond soaked and uncomfortable but, Dean’s laboured breath’s and flushed cheeks as you looked up at him; his balls drawing up tight in your palm as you let him fuck into your mouth, a tell tail sign he was close, had you doubling your efforts to get him there.

“Holy shit baby. Right there.” He panted as you breathed deeply through your nose and took him as deep as your gag reflex would allow. The hand holding your hair back tightened, bringing with it a sharp sting of pleasure, making you moan around him.

He was seconds away from his release, when a loud bang interrupted you. It was as if an ice-cold bucket of water had been poured over your heads.

Startled, Dean’s slick cock slipped from your lips as you jumped back in shock. The loud bang was shortly followed by a girly giggle and a mans chuckle.

You looked up at Dean, wide eyed and silently asking if he wanted you to continue, when you heard it.

The stall next you rattled as the couple stumbled inside, the sounds of lips lewdly smacking together and then a voice you’d recognise anywhere, instantly cleared your sex hazed fog and had you as dry as a desert.

It was Sam.

You’ve got to be kidding me, Dean’s look told you.

One week later found the three of you pulling into Bobby’s for some much needed R&R.

After a week of non stop hunts, your bruised and beaten body needed at least a long weekend to recover. And the boys were more than inclined to agree.

As soon as your feet hit the gravel outside of Bobby’s house, you sighed in relief. The drive was long and your back, legs and butt ached from the lengthy position held.

“S’good to see you idgits.” Came the gruff greeting from Bobby as he stepped out the front door. You smiled at the term that had always been more out of endearment rather than as an insult.

You were the first to make your way over and fall into his embrace. Bobby always did give the best hugs. You’d missed him, a lot you realised as he gave you a big squeeze.

Although, your wince had him pulling back immediately to assess you with concern.

“Im all good, it’s just been a long week.” You explained truthfully and though he let it go, you could see he wasn’t fully satisfied with your answer.

“Mind if i grab a shower? I need to get the stink of hours being hot-boxed with the most gassiest man alive off of me.” You jab your finger blindly in Sam’s direction and miss his offended look.

Dean however, barks out a laugh to which Sam throws him his signature bitch-face.

“Hey, she’s not wrong man. S’probably all that rabbit food you eat.” Dean shrugs innocently, but is unable to contain his amusement.

“I’m not going to apologise for eating healthy Dean. Wouldn’t kill you to eat a salad once in a while mister, two double cheese burgers with extra bacon for breakfast.” Sam sasses back, mocking Dean’s gravelly voice. And in doing so, starts the endless bickering between the two brothers.

You decide then to make your escape, passing Bobby with a thankful hand on his shoulder and an apologetic look in your eyes as you make your way inside and upstairs toward the bathroom.

You drop your duffle to the floor and rummage through for some clean clothes. Luckily, you find a faded band t-shirt that you’re pretty sure once belonged to Dean and some leggings. It’ll have to do until you can take advantage of Bobby’s washer and dryer.

You’ll have to cook dinner as a thank you, you decide before peeling off your two day old clothes; grimacing slightly at the pain in your overused muscles and possibly bruised ribs.

You turn on the shower, making sure it’s on the verge of scolding, allowing for a billow of steam to encompass the medium sized bathroom, before stepping into the tub.

At first you flinch at warm spray in contrast to your much cooler skin, but quickly melt under the pressure and warmth seeping deep into your bones.

As you stand motionless, the weight of the last few weeks, possibly months, of being tense, unsatisfied and in pain, gradually releases it’s vice-like grip on you and washes away with the muck and grime accumulated on your skin.

Bliss. Thats what this was. Pure unadulterated bliss.

You’re so enraptured with the feeling, you don’t even notice him enter the room. Nor do you hear the shuffling of clothes being removed, or the curtain pulling back for him to step inside behind you.

It’s not until the coolness of his palms makes contact with your hips, do you startle and turn to meet the vibrant green eyes of your intruder.

“You don’t mind if i join you, do you?” Dean asks. As if you had a choice on the matter, as if you’d ever refuse.

You shake your head in both amusement and in answer to his question, and turn back around as he begins to lather his palms up with the body wash you’d brought with you.

A welcoming fruity smell of strawberries invades your sinuses and you soon hum in pleasure as his large, soapy hands glide across your skin. The act is incredibly intimate without the need to initiate into anything more than Dean simply taking care of you.

However, as his slick hands wander to your front, gliding across your stomach and up to lather your breasts. A fire that had been put out one too many times, reignites within you.

You bite your lip and lay your head back against his shoulder as his hands travel back south. Your breathing grows heavier as his seemingly innocent actions spark you to life.

The feel of his smile against the side of your head, tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing though. So as a form of punishment, you subtly press back against him, smiling devilishly at the feel of his hardening length against your lower back.

His breathing shallows as you slowly gyrate your hips back against him and your pussy throbs in need of something, anything.

The famous saying, ‘great minds think alike’ had never proven more true as Dean’s right hand continues its journey, until two of his thick digits part your wet folds.

You gasp as his middle finger begins to slowly circle your clit, causing an electric jolt of pleasure to course through your entire body.

“You’re so wet already baby.” Dean husks in your ear, just as he briefly dips a finger into your dripping hole before returning the coated digit to your clit.

Adding his forefinger, Dean begins to quicken the pace of his fingers and adds pressure onto the pulsing bundle of nerves, making you cry out and twitch and convulse in his embrace.

He holds you tightly to him by wrapping his other arm around your waist, as you shake and your stance falters, gripping onto the arm wrapped around you like a life line.

“Come for me baby.” You hear him all but growl, before you feel his soft lips begin to nip and suck at the sensitive junction between your neck and shoulder. His fingers are vigorous now and the coil wound tight within in you finally snaps.

Everything goes white; your veins like molten lava, fiery hot and melting your bones as the tremors of your well- overdue orgasm course through you.

“Fuuuck.” You can’t help but moan as your tense body slowly becomes like jelly against the strength of your boyfriend. Dean holds you upright as you slowly come to and only loosens his hold when he knows you’re able to stand on your own.

For a moment you feel like you had died and gone to heaven. Utterly relaxed and boneless, you smile dopily until the numbness fades and the overwhelming need to feel him inside you takes over.

You twist in his embrace and pull his face down to crash your lips to his. It’s messy, all tongue and clashing teeth, both blinded by pure desire and pent up frustrations.

You slide a hand between your bodies and glide your hand up and down his length. He’s hard as a rock and seeping at the tip, which you gather in your palm as you continue to jerk him off.

“Shit.” He pulls away with a hiss, eyes closed tight as he presses his forehead to yours. You bite your lip as you take him in, forever impressed of the beauty that is Dean Winchester.

His hand moves to stop you suddenly and he meets your questioning look with pupils blown wide.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep it up. Need to be inside you now.” He all but growls before sliding his hands under your thighs and lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

You wrap your legs securely around his waist as he pushes you against the tile. The coolness brings out a gasp that’s soon swallowed by Dean’s all consuming, toe curling kiss.

“Please.” You beg as you pull away for a needed breath. Too worked up to vocalise anything else. Dean understands you though and shifts you higher up the wall, using it as leverage as he frees an arm to guide himself into you.

Your eyes cross as he slowly descends you onto his cock. The stretch is both overwhelming and not enough at the same time as he bottoms out. It’s a feeling you’ve missed gravely and he hasn’t even moved yet.

“Holy fuck.” Dean groans deep in his throat at the feel of your tight, warm walls finally wrapped around him. A feeling he’s been starved of for too damn long.

“You feel so good baby.” You praise and cup his cheek to guide his lips back to yours. He slowly slides his way out of you until just his tip remains, before thrusting back in with a sharp snap of his hips.

The action makes you cry out breathlessly, eyes wide in the most painful pleasure. You keep your eyes locked when he does it again, mouth agape in a silent scream with each drag of his length against your sensitive walls.

He builds up a confident rhythm, hitting you in the sweet spot every time, making your toes curl and breathing labour.

“Fuck i’ve missed the feel of you.” You moan particularly loudly when he hits the right spot.

“You’re so tight and wet. Fuck.” Dean groans as he picks up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin, almost overshadowing the patter of the showers spray.

You’re close, you can feel it. Feel it in the way your lower belly clenches and limbs tense as your nerve endings spark with each thrust.

Dean’s close too. His panting breaths making way for the odd growl to slip out as he strains with effort to keep you both up. His own limbs starting to flutter in strength at his impending release.

Just as you’re about to loose it, there’s knock on the door, causing Dean to still and you to bite your lip in attempt to stop a frustrated groan.

“Hey Y/N? Have you seen Dean? I need the keys to the impala.” Sam’s muffled voice carried through the door.

Dean looks livid, but you look at him questioning eyes. ‘What do i say?’

It takes a moment, but Deans irritation fades and a sly smirk replaces it.

“I’m in here Sammy!” Dean calls out and your eyes widen in shock. However, you’re unable to say a thing when he shifts his hips, slowly dragging his cock almost all the way out, before pushing just as slowly back in.

Your mouth drops open and eyes flutter as he repeats the action.

“Wait why are you…” Sam trails off and you almost don’t hear his “oh.” Of realisation.

“Might not wanna traumatise yourself Sammy.” Dean calls out, just before he snaps his hips harshly into you again, and you can’t help but cry out. Your cheeks blush at the fact Sam could hear you.

“Dean!” You scold in a hushed whisper, but he doesn’t stop, making you bite your lip to stop from crying out more. Thankfully you hear Sam’s footsteps quickly retreat.

“I’m done with interruptions.” Dean all but growls before crashing his lips to yours. His hips begin to piston into you at an almost bruising, quickly bringing you both back to the brink. Your cries of pleasure muffle against his lips and your hands tangle in his hair harshly, making him moan.

“Fuck i’m going to cum.” You gasp, head thrown back and back arching as much as was possible in the position you were in.

“Let go baby. I’m right there with you.” Dean pants and you meet his eyes in a silent cry as you tense up. Your orgasm rippling through you like a bolt of electricity.

“Fuuuuck.” Dean quickly follows you with a couple more thrusts. His body tensing as he grunts into your neck, each twitch of his cock as he empties his seed deep inside you, sending little aftershocks through your body.

You’re both breathing hard, even when he pulls back to look at you. Dopy smiles rise on your lips simultaneously, and laughter soon follows. Dean slowly puts you down on shaky legs, but keeps you close as he leans down to claim your lips once more.

It’s slow and passionate and striking you back to life as we speak. The smirk on Dean’s lips is all knowing and you want to smack away his smugness, but you can’t find it in you to make on that promise when his wandering hand cups your aching sex.

“Someone’s a needy girl, ain’t they.” He mumbles between kissing his way down your neck as his thick digits stroke you to life.

You gasp at the sensation, torn between too sensitive and desperate to feel more.

You glide your hand up his broad shoulder and through his damp hair before gripping tight enough to make him hiss. His eyes darken lustfully and you smirk a little at the feel of him twitching against you.

“You have no fucking idea.” You whisper, before pulling his lips to yours.

It’s safe to say Bobby’s water bill paid a price that day.

[gurugirl]

BRUTAL | step!dad!h

NOTE: Just a reminder that while this is step!dad x step!daughter - Harry has never been a father figure to Y/n in this story. They met when she was already in her 20s and Harry is closer in age to Y/n than he is to her mother. Their relationship is clearly inappropriate but he never knew her as a minor or a child and I would never write that kind of stepdad fic (anyone who's been a fan of this trope since the beginning knows this). < for all the haters who accused me of that not long ago

Summary: You come home for the weekend and Harry just wants you to tell the truth. Based on this ask!

A/n: It's been almost a year since I've given y'all anything for stepdad!H. ENJOY!

Word Count: 2.1k

Warning: cheating, smut, lying, inappropriate relationship, spanking

step!dad!harry masterlist

. .

“Stop,” Harry warned.

You did it again. Reached your socked foot out to his lap and nudged against his crotch. Your mom was just in the other room talking to you about what she should make for dinner since you were planning on staying for the weekend.

“What if we just order pizza?” You answered as you grinned at your stepdad, pressing down at the lump that he was trying to keep at bay.

Your mom walked into the living room just as you quickly pulled your foot away from Harry. You’d both been sitting on opposite sides of the couch and the moment she stepped out of the living room to get ready for her scheduled surgery you started fucking with him.

“Okay. I’ll pick up a couple of pizzas on the way back. There’s this new pizza spot not far from here that I’ve been wanting to try.”

Harry sat up and placed his elbows on his knees to hide the way he was already thickening in his pants, “Sounds good, love.”

She bent down to kiss him and then looked at you, patting your knee, “Glad you’re here for the weekend. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

You smirked to yourself as you turned your attention to the TV and Harry sat quietly in his spot as your mom walked out. You knew you were in for it.

For one, you hadn’t seen Harry in weeks. You’d been too busy and you were enjoying college life. You still texted him frequently but he was jealous because you’d often be out with friends and that included guys. He’d see your Instagram posts where you were dancing with other boys or wearing very little and he’d text you asking who you were with and it’d just make you feel all smug and satisfied to know he was suffering like he was.

For another thing, the moment you walked into the door that morning you’d been nothing but bratty with him. A right pain. But that was because you needed something punishing and rough from him. Something that would stick between your teeth and that you’d feel for a few days after you left.

Well, you just needed Harry to fuck your brains out. You’d tried fucking around with other guys but they didn’t do it for you. No one did it the way Harry did.

And the moment your mom’s car was out of the driveway and down the street you felt his hand gripping your arm and pulling at you, “You know better than to act this way with me.” He pulled your stretchy shorts down, taking your panties with them and tossing them across the room before he had you stuffed, face down on the couch with your bare bottom up in the air.

The first swat to your ass was welcome. It was like a shot of pain relief to your insides. The next one stung but you moaned with a grin on your face. The third and fourth made you wiggle your bottom at him and sigh loudly, “Yes, Daddy…”

And that made him pause, “You know what? I’m too nice to you, aren’t I? Giving you exactly what you wanted. But you’re nothing but a childish brat,” the palm that landed on your ass that time had you hissing in pain. He did it again, harder and you felt like your skin was starting to welt.

He held your wrists together behind your back as he landed blow after blow to your backside, making you howl and attempt to move away from him but you had nowhere to go. Tears and slobber were wetting your face and the couch cushion.

It hurt. It fucking smarted. Every strike was worse than before and you knew you’d started it all but damn was he making you wish you’d just been nice.

There was also the fact that you sent Harry a photo of yourself making out with a college guy as you sat in his lap half-naked. You and Harry had been arguing and he told you he didn’t want you anymore anyway and you were hurt by that so you found yourself someone who did want you. You knew Harry was pissed about that too.

“So did you fuck him?” He growled as he finally let up with the spankings.

“Yes. Big cock too,” you lied. You didn’t have sex with him, but he did finger you and it was awful and the moment he pulled his pants down so you could blow him you realized what a mistake it was. His prick was barely half the size of Harry’s.

“Oh yeah? Then why are you so wet from me just beating your ass like this, hmm?” His palm ran over the achy raised skin on your bum and then down to your pussy where you were drenched, “Feel like if you were being fucked properly you wouldn’t be so desperate right now. Bet you’re lying to me.”

You grunted into the couch, your words muffled, “I’m not lying. He’s so good in bed. Miss him.”

Harry laughed, “No you don’t. You missed Daddy. That’s why you got all excited the moment my hands got on you… Yes, Daddy…” he mocked your voice as he repeated your words before landing another solid thud against your bum cheek. You jolted forward and cried out.

“Just tell me the truth and I’ll give you what you want. Something you can’t get from anyone else.”

“He fucked me with his big cock, bigger than yours, and he made me come so much. I let him have me anally last night.”

Harry’s thumb slid over your ass, “If he did then he has a pencil dick. Either that or you’re still lying to me. All you have to do is fess up. Be a good girl for Daddy and tell the truth. Have you really had sex with him?”

You gulped as you felt his thumb tease around your tight hole. Rearing back to urge him to push it in he pushed you back into place, “I’ll stick my thumb inside and fuck your pretty cunt if you tell me the truth.”

Moaning at just the thought of it you turned your head, “He only fingered me. But I hated it. I promise that’s the truth. Now please, Daddy…”

Harry was still and stiff suddenly. It was like the atmosphere in the room had grown thick and heavy as he pulled away from you completely, your hands falling away when he released your wrists. You turned to look at him.

“Harry… I only did it because I’m trying to move on. You get to–”

“I really don’t want to talk about it. Get your top off.”

You stood from the couch and pressed your lips flat, pulling your t-shirt off over your head before stepping in front of Harry completely naked for him to do with as he pleased.

His eyes were dark, brutal, as he slowly removed his belt and then tugged at his button and zipper.

“On your knees on the couch, turned away, face down. I don’t want to look at you right now.”

You did as he said. You knew he was extra pissed off. That you let someone else touch you. Placing your knees on the couch cushion you bent forward and placed your face back into the cushions, “Daddy, I’m sorry. I only want you. He wasn’t even goo–”

You yelped at another smack to your very tender ass and felt his hand pressing down at the back of your neck, “Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear about him.”

He stood behind you and you felt his hands on your hips after letting go of the back of your neck before he rewarded you with his big cock, impaling himself until he was buried in balls deep. You were already sodden from the way he’d spanked you and the way he spoke to you. You’d needed it. You’d need him.

And when he began jackhammering into you, hips thudding against your ass, hands gripping meat of your hips to pull you against him every time he thrust forward, the sticky heat that formed around his cock from your dripping hole… it was relief.

You knew you were fucked in the head for everything. For what you liked and for doing what you were.

He was pounding into you like he was in a hurry and it was all you could do to hold yourself steady as he bullied his fat cock inside. He hissed as he watched the way he stretched you open, “Always gonna need Daddy, aren’t you?”

You gurgled as drool pooled onto the cushion under your mouth, “Yes!”

Just like what you wanted, it was punishing and unkind. You gasped as you held onto the material that covered the cushions. Involuntary grunts were falling from your chest as Harry punched into you.

“Try to make me jealous by sending photos of little twerps you’re seeing but we both know they can’t give it to you like this. Because you’re dirty, filthy… you like your pussy getting railed deep and hard with a nice big dick just like this…” He was panting his words, gritting his teeth. He was on the edge already. He’d missed your tight your pussy. And you too, but he wouldn’t admit it right then.

Letting go of one side of your hip he slowed his plunges and you felt his thumb drag through the spot against your pussy where he was pushing into you. He wiped your arousal all over his thumb and smeared it around your anus before awarding you with a nice little stretch as he pushed his digit inside and began it thrusting, “Need your ass and your pussy stuffed, need to be spanked… you need a lot of things don’t you, baby?”

His cock was dragging into your guts and against your front wall just right, making your walls flutter. And when Harry felt you squeezing he couldn’t help but to take his fingers over your clit and press circles where you needed it. As mean as he might be, he still wanted you to come. That was partly due to his ego and needing to be the best. At least if you did sleep with someone else one day, Harry could tell himself he always made you feel good when he fucked you.

You were grinding back against him, muffled moans coming from you as slick dripped down your thigh. Every plunge of his cock through your wet pussy was gushing, sloshing and Harry was clenching his jaw. What he was watching was filthy and hotter than anything he’d ever seen. Your ass was all marked up, your swollen pussy was gulping him in, and your ass was pulsing around his thumb.

“Coming already?” Harry inhaled deeply, almost in a whimper when he felt you begin to shake and your pussy began to milk him. “Fuck… So desperate to have someone take care of you. Can’t get what you need from any of those losers… mmm shit baby… always coming back to me for more.”

It was true. You hadn’t had sex with any of the guys you tried dating because they didn’t do it for you. You tried but they weren’t Harry. They didn’t handle you the way he did. They didn’t know your body the way he did and they never would because you didn’t want them anyway.

Harry groaned and cursed as he drove into you deeply and you could feel him throbbing as he pumped his come into your tummy. Illicit and hot… you both got each other off like no one else ever could.

When he pulled himself out he cooed, his thumb gently tracing around your ass, “That’s my favorite. Watching my come drip from your pussy after I just destroyed it. Still shaking too,” he gripped the back of your thighs, “Can you sit up?”

You mumbled affirmatively and pushed yourself up slowly, Harry steadying you with his hands. He helped you off the couch and you noted he’d already tucked himself back into his pants, while you were stark naked still.

“You okay?”

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips, “So good. That’s just what I needed.”

Harry smiled and splayed his big hand around the front of your neck and drew you in for a kiss that had you melting.

One day it’d come back to bite you, you were sure, all that sneaking around. But in that moment it was a secret you and Harry would keep holding onto to enjoy for as long as possible.

. .

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[changetyre]

So what if its the reader and lando are enemies (but both are teammates at mclaren) they absolutely despise each other for no reason and it’ll stay that way (none of this hidden love masked by feelings stuff this time) and they both get stuck in a closet at hq or something and they dont get out for a while. its rlly small in there so there bodies are almost touching always and one thing leads to another but its just steamy stuff but while they still hate eachother but they keep hitting there body parts on stuff in the closet and it keeps getting them more riled up so they just decide to stop?

idk why its so specific or why i thought of this rn but i need it 🙏 feel free to change anything if you’re not comfortable or have other ideas (again sorry about it being a bit long)

i rlly love ur writing 💗honestly so excited to read this one🫶✨

What the f*** did we just do? II Lando Norris x Driver!Reader Ⓦ

SUMMARY: Working with someone you dislike is one thing, but working with someone who brings nothing but the worst side out of you is the hardest thing on the planet.

WARNINGS: **18+**, not proofread, hate.

A/N: Quite short but still hope you enjoy ;)

"You are truly the biggest fucking idiot I have ever met in my entire life." It took everything in you not to punch the man in front of you right now after he once again had successfully taken you both out of the race because he couldn't bear the thought of

"I'm the idiot?!" Lando yelled back at you. "You're the one who couldn't put her fucking ego aside for one fucking second to let the faster car through!" He followed after you as you attempted to get away from him.

The people at McLaren knew it wasn't pretty between you too even on a regular day so whenever you were angry at each other it was best to let you hash it out which meant the rooms and hallways quickly emptied as soon as they saw you both walk in.

"Faster car." you laughed obnoxiously loud. "Maybe that cup did more damage than you imagined-" You gestured to the small cut on his nose. "Since it seems you can't read the data right anymore." You continued laughing at him which only fueled his anger.

"The only thing doing damage to me is you!" He yelled to you again as he kept following you.

You weren't exactly where you were going only hoping he would leave you alone as you opened an unfamiliar door walking into darkness.

"Then maybe you should just-" You were interrupted as you walked into a shelf, Lando bumping into you soon after as you were enveloped in darkness after the door closed after you.

"What the fu*ck, watch out!" Lando muttered annoyed as he attempted to walk back only to hit the door.

"You're the one who's following me around like a lost fucking puppy." You reminded him as you reached for your phone to get some light.

Lando beat you to it lighting up the place and showing the tiny electrical room you had walked into.

"Why the hell did you even walk in here?" He asked you.

"I was trying to get away from you dipshit." You shoved past him as best as you could in the tiny space feeling parts of him that made you gag as you went to try to open the door.

"It's locked from the outside genius don't you think I already tried that?" Lando gestured to the nonexistent door knob.

"HELP! GET ME OUT OF HERE!" You banged on the door yelling hoping someone would hear you.

"OW! Shut the fuck up!" Lando was startled by your screaming.

"I am not staying in here with you another second." You shuffled looking back at him before shuffling again towards the door.

"Shit stop moving." Lando held your waist stilling you.

"Eww get your hands off me!" You slapped his hand away.

"JUST stop moving!" He grits his teeth.

You were about to turn back but felt something in the back of your ass. Once you realized what it was you were ready to yell back at him.

"I swear to god if you don't stop moving-" Lando tried to stop you as you began turning around.

"You're so fucking disgusting, what is your-" Your breath hitched as his hand rubbed at your front all of a sudden.

"This is your fault!" Lando tried cupping himself to stop you from rubbing against him without realizing his hand was pressing against your slit now.

"We have to get out of here-" Lando moved his hand again making your breath hitch again and you thrust forward unintentionally searching for more friction.

"What just-" Lando realized what his hand had grazed this time. "Are you really-"

"You have no right no speak right now!" You reminded him of his own predicament.

"I cannot walk out of here right now with this." Lando pointed the lamp down at the large bulge in his pants.

"What the hell do you want me to do about it?!" You angrily asked him.

"Don't think you can walk out of here with this either!" Lando pressed his finger to your wet core. You grasped his hand tightly.

"Sh*t don't-" You stilled his hand but his finger still pressed against you.

"You're not exactly helping here." He pointed the light back to his bulge which you noticed got tighter.

"Eww, take care of that and I'll take care of myself." You turned back around looking for anything to dry yourself with as Lando proceeded to unzip his pants freeing himself.

"What the f-" You felt Lando's dick against your ass. "Is that?"

"Where the fuck do you expect me to put it?!" Lando defended himself, the lack of space really making this impossible.

You shimmied turning back around realizing this only made it worse as his tip now pressed between your legs directly on your clit.

"Shit, this isn't helping." Lando's head fell back in pleasure.

"Mmm-" You couldn't hold back the moan. "Let's just get this done with fast." You suggested as you opened your legs slightly letting his dick slide between your legs a little further.

"Agh fuck!" Lando was taken aback by the unexpected friction.

"You're gonna get my jeans dirty!" you complained.

"Then take them off!" Lando bit back.

"Turn the light off!" You yelled back at him.

"Fine!" Lando reluctantly agreed shutting off his phone. He heard as your pants unzipped before you moved back slightly as you pulled your pants down.

He expected to feel your bear skin against his dick but what he certainly didn't expect was feeling your folds over his dick moments later.

"Holy sh*t." Lando moaned breathlessly as he could feel your wetness coat his member.

"Let's just hurry up" You said equally breathless thankful you couldn't see anything right now, hoping to imagine Lando was someone else right now and not the person you despised the most on this planet.

You felt Lando pull back as much as the room allowed him before moving forward his dick rubbing against you.

You moaned in pleasure enjoying the friction attempting to move as much as you could too.

"This would go faster if I could just-" Lando started.

"Don't even think about it." You knew what he'd suggest and embarrassingly enough you knew you would finish faster too if he slipped inside you but the thought repulsed you too much still.

"Fine," Lando muttered angrily as you felt him grip your waist and pull you against him as he began thrusting back and forward faster.

You would've complained but the pleasure was too good for you to try to stop it.

"Agh shit-" You moaned as you could feel the knot starting to form in the pit of your stomach.

"Fuck I'm close." Lando panted and you were getting lost in the pleasure.

Your mind was in a haze you forgot who was doing this as your eyes squeezed shut in delight.

"Just fuck me already!" You asked him, a momentary lapse in judgment you had no further time to process as you felt Lando slip inside of you.

"Agh fuck you're so tight." Lando would've cum just from the feeling right then if it wasn't for the reminder that it was you he was inside of.

"Just go harder and shut up." You muttered as Lando obliged picking up the pace and fucking into you.

"Hmm- ahhh- harder!" You were reaching your high and only hoped Lando was near too.

"He began thrusting faster and no more than a few seconds later your legs trembled as you came on his dick, Lando following soon after as he came inside of you. You felt his cum fill you up as you came down from your high trembling at the sensitiveness." You tried catching your breath as Lando pulled out.

A few seconds later the post-orgasm clarity hit you both realizing what had just happened.

"Ewww what the fuck did we just do!" You screamed at him as you could feel his cum start dripping out of you giving you shivers of disgust.

"GET US OUT OF HERE!" Lando was also mortified as he felt your wetness around him as he tried to tuck himself away.

Lando banged at the door harder as you grabbed your phone calling for help. You had to get out of here and take a bath in bleach now!

[dollfaceksj]

reminder | jjk (m)

➥ PAIRING: jungkook x fem!reader

➥ SUMMARY: Whenever he flies back into town, your doorbell is the first he rings. When he has to fly out again, your bed is the last he lies in. However, you’re not stupid. You know your ex-boyfriend, that also happens to be an up-and-coming professional boxer, Jeon Jungkook, doesn’t come to you only. Unfortunately, you have no right to be jealous, not when you’re the one that ended the relationship.

➥ GENRE: angst ⋆ smut ⋆ bit of fluff ⋆ exes with benefits

➥ CATEGORY: three-shot

➥ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, exes, second chance, angst, fuckboy!jk, possessiveness, jealousy, exes with benefits, boxer!jk, unprotected sex(STAY SAFE), creampie, fingering, squirting, pussy slapping, oral sex (f. rec), handjob, spanking, toxicity (a lot if it), shower sex, heterosexuals (sorry), fluff if u squint, mutual pining, sooooo much pining, minors DNI

➥ WORDCOUNT: 8.7k

a/n: ck jungkook has given me brain rot and i just had to write something about it. sorry in advance.

⋆ TAGLIST ⋆

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Change is inevitable. Everything changes. Everyone changes. You love change, though. You don’t like clinging to things and you’re always up to try out new things. You’re the one in your friend group that’s always trying new items on a menu, always checking out random music, trying different things with your hair.

Maybe it’s because of the way you’ve grown up, always taught to move on and enjoy new things because life is short. No dwelling on the past, no asking yourself ‘why me?’, no fear of change in your life. That’s exactly how you’ve always been.

So, what you have trouble understanding is how you allow yourself to be in this situation right now, a book you should’ve closed a long time ago.

With your face pressed into your wet sheets, back arched, bare ass in the air and lewd moans spilling from your lips as you get fucked into your mattress by the man you broke up with 2 years ago.

“Jungkook! Slow down, I’m gonna–”

You’re cut off by a harsh slap to your left asscheek, your teeth sinking into the bunched up sheets in front of your face as the stinging and warmth from the spank spreads through your skin. You yelp in pain yet pleasure, your fingers gripping the sheets even tighter. You usually don’t orgasm from solely penetration but the overstimulation is causing you to physically feel every single one of your nerves electrifying in your nether regions.

“Cum, then. I’ll fuck you through as many orgasms as you want.” The pace of his merciless pounding never falters and it has you seeing every celestial body in the universe every time you blink. He grunts loudly as you start clenching around him, his hand reaching for your forearm and pulling it back to press it into your back as he continues to fuck you.

Your other hand reaches behind you, pressing flat into his lower abdomen to get him to slow down but he just swats your hand away. You attempt it for a second time and this time he grabs your wrist, bringing it next to your other arm that he’s already pressing into your back, now caging both of your arms in his grasp against your back as his hips slam into your ass.

A cry rips through your throat, eyes tightly squeezing shut as you drool into the covers. Your orgasm hits you like a fucking train, the knot in your stomach snapping and your entire body heats up as if you’ve been set on fire. Your slick walls constantly clench around Jungkook’s dick, making him grunt your name alongside a few swear words. His hips stutter in their movement, speed faltering as you continue to cry out in pleasure under him.

He curses under his breath, letting go of your arms. He presses his hands down on your ass until you’re fully lying on your stomach, face still pressed into the sheets. He never pulls out, on the contrary, he continues to fuck into you as you sob under him, the overstimulation has you squirming like a fish out of water.

There’s a pressure against your upper back, one that you quickly realize is his bare chest as he leans into your ear. “I’ve missed you so much,” he breathlessly says into your ear, a soft moan following his words and you feel his dick twitch inside of you. He’s close.

“Fuck,” he grunts, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. His thrusts start getting inconsistent and sloppy.

“Jungkook,” you sob, a sniff following your cry and it’s the final thing you know he needs to get that knot in his stomach to snap. It doesn’t take long after for him to shoot his load into you, coating your walls with his cum.

He moans in your ear softly, something you swear is the single best sound on Earth. Paired with the best feeling on Earth, having Jungkook fuck the shit out of you.

After a few more lazy thrusts, continuously fucking his load into you, he comes to a full stop. His hips are still pressed into your ass and his forehead is pressed against your shoulder.

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2 hours ago

You’re scrubbing the last of your dirty cutlery with your soapy sponge when you hear 3 soft knocks on your front door.

It’s him.

You glance at the clock that’s hung up on the wall in your kitchen, your hands automatically reaching for the kitchen towel that you slung over your shoulder when you started washing your dishes. 10:45PM. You dry your hands and neatly drape the damp kitchen towel back over the cupboard’s handle before heading into the hallway.

You peek through the peephole but it’s blackened out, already knowing who it is with the way he always presses his thumb into your peephole to keep you from seeing him. You fight the smile that’s trying to force its way onto your lips as you reach for your keys.

With a sigh, you slowly unlock your front door. Your hand pulls on the door handle, creating a bigger gap and allowing yourself to be seen as your eyes make contact with his big brown ones and his sheepish smile.

There’s a cut on his cheekbone, bags under his eyes, his long black locks pulled back into a small bun. The layers that are too short to fit into the bun frame his face so perfectly, kissing the top of his brows and tickling his temples.

Still as gorgeous as ever.

He’s wearing a black shirt and grey sweats and he’s got luggage with him, allowing you to assume he probably came here straight from the airport. He must be absolutely exhausted. Or at least jetlagged.

You cross your arms, closing your cardigan around your torso in the process. “You’re back.” It’s all you can say, really. It’s all you ever say when he’s suddenly in front of your front door every few days or weeks.

Like it’s become some kind of inside joke, an inside joke just for the two of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he says without any hesitation right after the words leave your mouth. He always replies with these exact words but it catches you off guard every single time.

He doesn’t wait for you to invite him in, he knows you’ll let him. Like you always have, like you always do, like you always will.

He struts in, kicking his shoes off his feet but neatly placing them by the door next to his luggage before returning his attention to you, his big hands finding their way to your waist as he pulls you closer. You lean back a bit to glance up at him, your thumb gently grazing the cut on his cheekbone.

He doesn’t react, just stares at you as he lets you do whatever you want. He’ll always let you do whatever you want.

Because it’s no secret that Jungkook is still in love with you.

“Does it hurt?” you ask softly, bringing the same thumb down to rub his bottom lip, peeking at him through your pretty lashes.

He shakes his head, parting his lips as he takes your thumb into his mouth and slowly circles the tip of your thumb with his warm tongue.

“You must be hungry if you came here straight from the airport. I just made some pasta, you want some?” You move your other hand up to brush some of his hair out of his face.

“Hm, I can have you for dinner as well.”

You roll your eyes and take the opportunity to take your thumb out of his mouth and pry his hands off your waist to head into the kitchen. He huffs but quickly follows you, trailing behind you like a stray kitten.

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With your empty dinner plates in front of you, your conversation goes on. He’s just staring at you, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. It makes him look like a bunny.

“How long are you staying in town this time?” you question, already assuming since he usually stays a week or 2 before he flies out again.

“5 days.” His answer is almost immediate, like he knew you were going to ask that question. It’s only natural, though, you usually ask him that.

“How was Paris?” you ask as you reach for your glass of water and bring it to your lips, keeping eye contact with him over the rim of your glass.

“It was good.” He leans back into his chair, rubbing his stomach which he always does after dinner. “Cold, though.”

“Yeah? I bet some lucky ladies kept you warm, no?” you tease, knowing he hates talking about that with you. You watch as he cringes, adjusting in his seat as he sits straight up.

He glances at you for a moment with a slight frown on his face and then rises to his feet, gathering the dirty plates and utensils before heading into the kitchen. You’re used to him completely ignoring questions like that.

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you momentarily look out the window. You’ve always pushed him to try new things like you do, that includes moving on from you.

He simply refuses.

You need him to move on from you so you can move on from him. It’s that simple. But every single time he stands before you, it’s like he sucks all the strength to turn him down out of your body.

The water runs and you hear the clatter of dishes, assuming he’s washing them. You get up and clean the table before walking up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his back.

He dries his hands with your kitchen towel and turns around in your arms, cupping your face delicately, his pretty brown eyes scanning your features.

“Will you let me kiss you?” he quietly asks, thumb rubbing back and forth on your cheek.

He always asks this when you see him again. You always agree.

Your eyes shift from his left eye to his right repeatedly, a look of contemplation on your face. You both know that you really, really want him to, though.

Does he kiss the other people too? Does he caress their faces like he does you? Hold them so gently?

With a curt nod of your head, he finally leans down and presses his lips to yours. With your chin tilted up to meet his lips, your eyelids flutter close instantly, your heart rate picking up whilst a bubbling heat spreads through your body, starting in your stomach and growing all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

His lips were made to be on top of yours.

His kiss gets a bit needier, his hands holding your face so gently yet so firm, as if he’s scared to let you go. He tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, a soft muffled sound resounding in your throat.

The wet muscle you feel poking your lip doesn’t go unnoticed by you and you happily welcome his tongue, letting him lick into your mouth. By now his kiss has gotten heavy, tongue ready to devour you and swallow you whole.

With your hands still on his waist, you squeeze him gently, wanting to feel more of him. Needing to feel more of him.

After a few more minutes of passionate making out, he pulls back and deeply inhales. He’s still holding your face, tilting it even more to make you look up at him. “Will you let me fuck you?”

He always asks this when you see him again. You always agree.

Your heart jolts in your chest at the unexpectedly expected words. If the making out didn’t already leave you soaking, those words surely did.

You quickly nod to his question. As if you’d ever decline. He drops his hands, moving one to wrap around your wrist as he starts leading you toward your bedroom.

He sneaks his arm around your waist and pushes you toward your bed again, slowly letting you down onto your mattress. You reach for your pyjama shorts and yank them down, leaving you in your tank top and panties.

He drops down onto his knees in front of the bed, dragging you to the edge of your mattress by your thighs. You softly gasp at the sudden force pulling you, propping yourself up on your elbows as you set your gaze on him between your thighs, intently.

He takes his time, bringing his index finger to your clothed sex to gently rub all over your slit. Your hips jolt up like they’ve got a mind of their own but Jungkook presses you down by your lower stomach with one hand, shaking his head.

“Let me take my time, baby. You know I’ve missed this pussy.”

The moment those words leave his mouth, you let yourself fall back on your mattress. You’re sprawled on your bed with your ex-boyfriend in between your thighs and if you told yourself at 16 that this is who you were going to be when you grow up, that girl would’ve laughed at you.

Because you don’t dwell. You don’t go back. You don’t cling to the past.

But all those thoughts instantly disappear like fog in your head the moment Jungkook presses a kiss to your clit through your panties. A soft gasp leaves your lips, your fingers tucking under the hem of your panties as you try to yank them off.

He simply chuckles as he allows you to take them off, his eyes glued to your glistening sex. He wastes no time latching his tongue onto your wetness, licking a thick stripe up your slit before wrapping his lips around your pulsating clit. He hums in delight at the taste of you.

A cry falls from your lips, your fingers making their way to the top of his skull. You tug on the loose strands that frame his perfect face so well as you grind into his mouth.

“Hm, missed me?” he purrs, pressing you back down by pushing on your pelvic bone. He slides his hands up the back of your thighs from your ass to the back of your knees, pushing them back as he continues to devour you.

Soft moans spill from your lips as you arch your back off the bed, toes curling at the sensation of your clit being sucked on with so much fervor. “Jungkook!” you cry, pressing your palms into your eyes to try and keep yourself from bursting into tears at the pleasure.

He simply hums against your sex, dark eyes peeking up at you. His tongue slides down your slit, teasing your hole before licking back up to your clit. “There’s nothing better than the taste of this pussy,” he mumbles before wrapping his lips around your clit again, gently sucking on it.

A soft moan bubbles up the back of your throat, leaving your lips which makes him smirk against your skin. “Hm, even better than your little girlfriends?” you tease. You always use the words ‘little girlfriends’ to refer to all the girls in the city he fucks besides you, all the girls he fucks overseas, all the girls he fucks that aren’t you.

He peeks up at you again, this time a frown on his brows. You steal a glance at him when you sense him looking at you, a sheepish smile on your face. He pulls back and wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand as he lets go of your legs and rises to his feet.

You eternally groan at the fact that made him stop fucking you with his mouth but the show he’s giving you as he removes his shirt almost makes you thankful that he did.

“Yeah. And I fucked a bunch of ‘em in Paris,” he replies as he tugs his sweatpants down his legs, kicking them somewhere across the floor.

The slight raise in your eyebrows shows that you’re surprised. Jungkook never comments on your attempts at provoking him and mentions of other women.

You just shot yourself in the foot because you really, really don’t want to imagine him fucking someone else. You usually bring it up to provoke him and he usually dismisses it but this time, he puts a vivid image in your head and you don’t like it.

You huff as you sit up on your bed, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His response is immediate, his hand reaching for the hem of your tank top. You let him pull it off your body and allow him to ogle at your breasts.

He tosses your tank top at the growing pile of clothes on your floor before licking his thumb and bringing it to one of your nipples, rubbing circles around it with his wet thumb.

You sigh at the stimulation. “Were they good?” You can’t help but ask him this question, your voice coming out a bit choked but he doesn’t comment on it.

“They were fucking great.”

You almost bite a piece off your tongue, the entity that’s called Jealousy menacingly looming over your body and ready to devour you whole. You know you always provoke him but you only do it because he never responds.

You don’t comment further, you just reach for the hem of his boxers but he stops you. He swats your hands away and pushes you further back onto your mattress, so you scoot back whilst still sitting up right. He climbs into your bed next to you, sitting down on his ankles as he leans over you.

You place your hands behind you, leaning back on them as you glance up at him. He’s staring down at you, hand sliding up and down your thigh. With a little pressure, he spreads your thighs further apart and his fingers find their way back to your sex.

You grunt once his fingers make contact with your clit again, a tiny shiver running down your legs. You bend your legs at the knees, placing your feet on the edge of your bed and spreading your thighs further, still looking up at Jungkook who is staring you down like he wants to absolutely ruin you.

The tips of his middle and ring finger start rubbing consistent circles onto your pussy and you scrunch your eyebrows together, mouth falling open.

“Whose pussy is this?” he murmurs, fingers sliding down your slit and rubbing in between your folds. You moan softly at the sensation, thighs jerking in the process.

You quip, “Mine.” You know that’s not the answer he’s looking for, especially with the way his eyes narrow at you.

“Mad because I finally answered your stupid questions for once?” he scoffs, fingers sliding straight into you which earns a surprised gasp from you.

Your eyebrows scrunch together even more, your mouth still agape and your big eyes pleading for more. It’s the face you know Jungkook can’t resist, he usually kisses you right away.

But this time, he doesn’t. He doesn’t kiss you. He just stares you down as his hand starts slamming into your sex, fingers rubbing against your slick walls with each movement.

The lewd sound of your wetness almost embarrasses you but your mind is too clouded, his lustful eyes never leaving yours.

Before you can fathom what just happened, you yelp out in painful pleasure. Jungkook has retreated his fingers and brought his palm down with a slap to your wet pussy, making your legs jerk and your hands reach up to grab at his biceps.

“Ah!” you cry out at the sudden impact, your nose warming up and you know you’re about to start tearing up.

“I asked you a question.” His voice resounds inside your head, it almost makes the return of his fingers inside of you go unnoticed by you.

He fucks his fingers into you, palm slamming down on your clit whilst his fingers thrust in and out of you.

Moans spill from your throat as you hold onto his neck now, eyes squeezing shut at the delicious torture on your sex.

“Answer me, Y/N.”

You cry out when he slaps your pussy once again, your hips jolting under him but he pushes you down by your lower abdomen. He enters his fingers again, palm still continuously slamming down on your clit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you manage to say without sobbing, the pleasure he’s giving you is making you dizzy.

“Bullshit,” he grunts, picking up the pace of his hand.

You want to pull his face closer by tugging on his neck but he doesn’t budge, his hand adamant on making you cum and it’s succeeding.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, clenching around his fingers with your eyes shut tightly. You wince when he pulls his fingers out but you have no time to react when he suddenly rubs all 4 fingers in a waving motion against your clit at an incomprehensible speed.

You cry out again, squirming under him when a different kind of knot in your stomach snaps. You open your eyes just in time to watch yourself squirt all over his hand, all over your sheets, all over your floor.

All the strength in your body dissolves and you fall back against your mattress, the sensation of squirting all over your mattress still going as you writhe under him.

His torture never stops, the demonic speed in which he assaults your clit is enough to have tears bursting out of your eyesockets and the longer he keeps going, the more you keep squirting. “You gonna answer or want me to keep going?

His name falls out of your mouth in a series of sobs. “Fuck–! Yeah, I’m mad!” you admit, pushing against his arm to try and get him to finally stop.

And he does, he pulls his hand away. He takes a while to just stare you down and if you weren’t already, you’d describe the feeling as feeling naked under him.

“So then, why do you keep asking me if you know you’ll get mad?” he asks as he starts tugging his boxers down, allowing his erection to spring free. He kicks his underwear off the bed as he uses his wet hand to pump himself, essentially lubing himself up with your slick.

Not that you’d need any type of lube now, you are completely and disgustingly soaked.

You’re still on your back, trying to catch your breath when his hand slips under the back of your knee. He spreads you for him again and circles his tip all around your sensitive sex.

“Jungkook,” you warn, the effects of overstimulation making anything you say sound like a pathetic cry.

“Shhh, I know.” He pushes into you and usually circles your clit with his thumb but he doesn’t this time, for obvious reasons. You’re grateful, though. Jungkook can get pretty rough with his so-called punishments – that are absolutely sublime – but you don’t think you could take any more clit stimulation now.

He places his hands on either side of your head and leans forward, his silver chain dangling in your face. He presses a soft kiss to your lips before he pulls away to watch your face as his hips start slamming into you.

You sob his name, legs falling limb after an attempt at wrapping them around his waist. He leans down and presses his lips to your cheeks, softly kissing your tears away.

You sniffle, enjoying his proximity as he continues to fuck into you. Soft moans escape his throat too and it’s your favorite sound in the whole world. He sounds angelic. His lips retreat from your face in the meantime as he watches your face, a look of admiration on his.

“Do you kiss them as well?” you quietly whimper, sincerity in your eyes instead of the usual teaseful look.

He observes you for a moment longer, gaze dropping to your lips quickly before returning to your eyes.

You’d tease Jungkook about being with other women, something he hated and he never took the bait, and in the two years after your break up of the two of you casually having sex whenever he’s back in town, you’d never crossed the emotional territory. Because you had always taught yourself to move on, to not dwell, to not beat yourself up.

But with Jungkook, it’s just inexplicable. You want him, you need him, you breathe him.

You didn’t expect this time to be so emotional. So raw. So unchanged.

“Would kissing be worse than fucking?” he asks, dragging you out of your thoughts. You try to fight the quiver in your bottom lip but you can’t help it, your hands wrapping around each of his wrists that are caging your head in between them.

You turn your head to look away from his overwhelming gaze, pressing your lips to the side of his arm.

Out of the blue, he picks up the pace and starts fucking into you again. Several moans and cries fall from your lips, muffled by the skin of his arm. You sense his eyes on you from your peripherals but you don’t return the eye contact, you can’t. You might burst into tears. And this time it won’t be from pleasure.

He takes the opportunity to press his lips to your neck, kissing the skin under your earlobe and making his way down.

The words ‘I love you’ are stuck in your throat, threatening to blurt out. With all the strength you can gather, you swallow them down, squeezing your eyes shut tightly.

“No one will ever compare to you.” His voice is muffled from kissing your skin but you can hear him loud and clear, aside from the skin slapping and the wet sounds from your pussy being pummeled by his hips.

You shake your head in response to him, not wanting to hear that at this moment. You’ll just fall in love with him all over again and you’d rather die, you’d much rather die.

“Shut up,” you mumble after another sniffle, turning your head to face him again. He takes his lips off your throat, letting his gaze drape all over you again and it makes you feel so small.

His thrusts come to an abrupt halt, making you wince. In one swift motion, he pulls out of you with a grunt. He sits back on his ankles and gently – yet with a firm grip – turns you around onto your stomach. His hands return to your body with a tight grip around your hips, yanking your ass up into the air.

“You want to know how I fuck them? I’ll show you,” he says breathlessly as he shoves himself right back into your wetness, fingers sinking into your skin as he pounds his hips into your ass and the back of your thighs.

This is how he fucked you when you’d have an argument back when you were together, when he was mad at you, when you were acting up. He would say he didn’t want those eyes of yours looking up at him if he was fucking you with no emotion, with no warmth, with no love.

This is his way of answering your annoying questions, you suppose.

You mewl under him, your hands gripping the soaking sheets tightly to support yourself from the momentum of his thrusts. A low grunt rumbles in his chest when you clench your walls around him. His speed is almost demonic at this point, your body being sent into overdrive as your stomach tightens again.

“Jungkook! Slow down, I’m gonna–”

You’re cut off by a harsh slap to your left asscheek, your teeth sinking into the bunched up sheets in front of your face as the stinging and warmth from the spank spreads through your skin. You yelp in pain yet pleasure, your fingers gripping the sheets even tighter. You usually don’t orgasm from solely penetration but the overstimulation is causing you to physically feel every single one of your nerves electrifying in your nether regions.

“Cum, then. I’ll fuck you through as many orgasms as you want.” The pace of his merciless pounding never falters and it has you seeing every celestial body in the universe every time you blink. He grunts loudly as you start clenching around him, his hand reaching for your forearm and pulling it back to press it into your back as he continues to fuck you.

Your other hand reaches behind you, pressing flat into his lower abdomen to get him to slow down but he just swats your hand away. You attempt it for a second time and this time he grabs your wrist, bringing it next to your other arm that he’s already pressing into your back, now caging both of your arms in his grasp against your back as his hips slam into your ass.

A cry rips through your throat, eyes tightly squeezing shut as you drool into the covers. Your orgasm hits you like a fucking train, the knot in your stomach snapping and your entire body heats up as if you’ve been set on fire. Your slick walls constantly clench around Jungkook’s dick, making him grunt your name alongside a few swear words. His hips stutter in their movement, speed faltering as you continue to cry out in pleasure under him.

He curses under his breath, letting go of your arms. He presses his hands down on your ass until you’re fully lying on your stomach, face still pressed into the sheets. He never pulls out, on the contrary, he continues to fuck into you as you sob under him, the overstimulation has you squirming like a fish out of water.

There’s a pressure against your upper back, one that you quickly realize is his bare chest as he leans into your ear. “I’ve missed you so much,” he breathlessly says into your ear, a soft moan following his words and you feel his dick twitch inside of you. He’s close.

“Fuck,” he grunts, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. His thrusts start getting inconsistent and sloppy.

“Jungkook,” you sob, a sniff following your cry and it’s the final thing you know he needs to get that knot in his stomach to snap. It doesn’t take long after for him to shoot his load into you, coating your walls with his seed.

He moans in your ear softly, something you swear is the single best sound on Earth. Paired with the best feeling on Earth, having Jungkook fuck the shit out of you.

After a few more lazy thrusts, continuously fucking his load into you, he comes to a full stop. His hips are still pressed into your ass and his forehead is pressed against your shoulder.

He pulls out and collapses onto your mattress, right next to your body. You crack one of your eyes open to peek at him. He’s on his back, the back of his hand pressed into his forehead with his eyes shut tight as he’s focused on steadying his breath.

You stare at him for a moment, captivated by his utter beauty. Your eyes trail the bridge of his nose, his pretty black lashes, his red cheeks and swollen lips. The thin layer of sweat makes him look like he’s covered in glitter, his cheeks glistening like a glazed donut, the pretty moles on his face making his soft skin look like a starry night sky.

The small cut on his cheekbone doesn’t go unnoticed by you, of course. The wound has seemingly healed but the skin around it is still purple and has some traces of yellow too. He’s way too beautiful to be fighting for a living.

You quickly avert your eyes when he opens his eyes again, staring straight at you as if he sensed you staring at him. You clear your throat awkwardly as you slowly turn onto your other side, giving him your cold back.

A finger starts drawing patterns on the bare skin of your back and you’re incapable of stopping the goosebumps from popping out of your skin. The mattress dips, telling you he’s scooting closer until he’s completely pressed up into your back.

He places his lips on your shoulder blade, not moving them, not kissing your shoulder. Just keeping them there, like they belong there, like they’re magnetized.

Neither of you say anything.

Nothing has to be said. You just enjoy the moment.

Because you know once he walks out your front door, you won’t see him until the day he has to catch another flight.

You know where he goes, you know what he does, you know how he spends the nights when he’s not with you.

He just showed you.

And you have no right to feel any way about it. You broke his heart.

Shattered his heart into so many pieces that you’re still the first one he sees when he’s back in town, you’re still the only one he actually lies with.

You’re the only one.

But you’re also not the only one.

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You stir, eyes fluttering open in the darkness of your room. It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts and recognize your surroundings. It’s then when you notice Jungkook’s tattooed arm lazily slung around your waist. Soft puffs leave his mouth, his breathing slow and very quiet snores fill up the room.

You silently reach for your phone, turning the screen to you and almost being blinded by the light of your phone. You squint as you try to figure out what time it is. 6:01AM.

You’re startled by the sudden jerk of his arm and you realize he’s waking up. With a turn of your head, you glance at him. He peeks at you through one eye, a sheepish smile on his lips.

“Sorry,” you start, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He shakes his head, his lips puckered as he leans into your face. He places his lips on your jaw, softly kissing down your neck which awakens the goosebumps on the upper layer of your skin.

You squirm once his breath hits your neck. “That tickles,” you giggle as you scoot away from him but he doesn’t let you get too far, quickly climbing on top of you.

You turn onto your back, tired eyes staring up at him, his beautiful hair falling forward which frames his face beautifully. It’s now that you’re reminded you’re both still naked and it makes your cheeks instantly heat up. Not because you’re embarrassed but because Jungkook’s body is temptation itself.

His muscles are soft and squishy now that they’re not flexed but you know how tight and hard his body really is. Your eyes trail the contours of his pecs and biceps, at least what you can make out in the dark.

His black locks must’ve escaped the elastic that kept his hair together in a bun whilst he was sleeping. Your hands automatically reach up, running your fingers through his beautiful hair to push it out of his face. “It’s getting quite long, hm?” you muse, ruffling through it in the meantime.

He lets you, of course, a soft chuckle leaving his throat as you play with his hair.

“You don’t like it?” he quips, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. You can hear the attempt at making it sound like a joke but you know him well enough to know he values your opinion about him.

Your tongue slides over your teeth from left to right, fighting your smirk. “Are you crazy? I love it.” You tug the hair on the back of his head, smirking when he hisses at the grip you have on him.

He pokes your rib which makes you release his hair, a quiet yelp leaving your lips at the feeling. “What time is it?” he mumbles as he buries his face in the crook over your neck, leaving wet pecks all over your skin.

“6 in the fucking morning,” you groan as you squeeze his waist, nails grazing his skin gently, rubbing patterns on his exposed skin.

He grunts as he pulls away from your neck, rolling off of you in the meantime. Your eyes are greeted with his bare back as he sits up in your bed, your hand automatically tracing the back muscles he’s putting on display for you. “I should leave, Yoongi-hyung needs me to go take new photos for my passport,” he mumbles as he lazily rubs his face.

Your eyebrows raise at the mention of Jungkook’s coach-slash-manager, Min Yoongi. You haven’t seen him since the breakup. “Already?” you ask as you crawl toward him. “Can’t you stay a little while longer?” You press your bare chest into his back and wrap your arms around his waist, pressing soft kisses to his earlobe.

His hands automatically move up to yours on his chest, bringing one of your hands up to his lips to press a kiss to it. “I was supposed to do it yesterday because I ran into some trouble at the airport. I have to fly to Australia in a couple of days.” He peels your hands off his body and gets up, pulling you up with him.

“Let’s go take a shower, we passed out in all that shit,” he laughs as he nods towards the big wet patch, right where you squirted. You’re instantly reminded of the fact you both passed out right after that intense fuck session, you didn’t even clean up after yourself. Gross.

You wince in disgust and scrunch your nose up as you nod quickly, swinging your legs off the bed and placing your feet on the floor. You stand up and let him lead you to your bathroom, he could do it blindfolded – obviously, he used to live here.

You awkwardly wobble to the bathroom, the load he fucked into you last night threatening to spill out of you with each step you take.

You switch the lights on and let him close the door behind you, trapping you against it in between his arms. He takes this opportunity to kiss you softly, catching you off guard by the sudden affection.

You welcome his kiss nonetheless, your hands roaming all over his shoulders and squeezing his muscles. You can’t get enough of him.

He abruptly pulls away and rubs your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, something unfamiliar pooling in his dark eyes as he stares you down. He parts his lips and it looks like he’s about to say something but he doesn’t. He closes his mouth and takes a step back, turning around and reaches for the lever to let the water run before he enters the shower.

A frown climbs onto your brows but you don’t comment on it. You won’t push him to talk. You quietly follow him, simply just getting into the shower and sliding the glass door shut. You cross your arms nervously as you wait for the water to heat up.

Jungkook is already used to cold showers so he hops right under, letting the droplets of water trickle down his honey skin. You reach out to him, suddenly getting the urge to slap his buttcheek, and you do.

He grunts as he glares at you over his shoulder, his buttcheeks clenching in response. You laugh as you reach for the body wash, squirting a generous amount onto your palm before you rub your hands all over his back. It’s almost like it happens automatically, he always used to ask you if you could wash his back for him.

You rub down to his buttcheeks and he whines your name childishly, making you laugh loudly. “Come on, you know I love your booty,” you tease, reaching around his waist from the back to grope his pecs.

He throws his head back in exasperation but he can’t help but chuckle, the lukewarm water finally hitting your skin. You sigh as you hold onto him, feeling his heart drum against your palm.

It’s quiet for a moment, the sound of the water hitting your bodies and the tiles filling up your eardrums. That is, until Jungkook breaks the silence.

“Have you been with anyone?” he quietly asks. The sudden question knocks the air out of your lungs for a moment because he has never asked this before in the 2 years you’ve been broken up.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he could feel your heart thumping against his back.

“Yeah.”

Jungkook’s body tenses under your skin and it isn’t long until he turns around to face you, a blank expression on his face but he doesn’t say anything.

“Do you know how it feels knowing you’re overseas fucking other people? Even when you’re here,” you explain in a panic, heart racing as he just stares you down intently.

“You’re the one that walked out on me, Y/N.”

His words sting.

“You know why I did that, Jungkook,” you whisper, tearing your gaze away from him as you pull your arms away from him to rub your own arms in an attempt to comfort yourself.

He huffs, “Yeah, and it was bullshit.”

Your head snaps back in his direction, anger bubbling in your chest and threatening to burst out of your throat in a pathetic cry. “What’s that supposed to mean, you dickhead?”

“Exactly what you think it means.” He nonchalantly shrugs, looking away from you for a moment as he rinses the bodywash. “Breaking up with me because I was ‘gone all the time’ and had a ‘dangerous job’, but you’re still here. You still let me hold you, you still let me kiss you, you still let me fuck you.”

You scoff, pushing against his chest but he doesn’t budge. You spin on your heels and reach out to the glass door of the shower, ready to make your exit but Jungkook is quicker. He doesn’t let you.

He pulls you back by your bicep, tugging on it until your back meets his chest. “You’re not going to rob me of the little time I have with you,” he mumbles as he wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Let go.”

“No.” His reply is instantaneous, arms strongly caging you in.

You blink back the tears threatening to fall, his proximity enough to calm you down yet drive you crazy. You shake your head and begin, “Jungkook, I–”

“I’ll always want you, Y/N. Just say the words.”

You freeze, breath hitching in the back of your throat. You already know this. Jungkook doesn’t shy away from telling you about his feelings and reminds you every once in a while.

Before you can let your mind wander even more, you’re turned around by his strong arms in one swift motion, both his hands moving up to cup your face.

He tilts your face to make you look at him but you stay quiet. The words he’s yearning for you to say never come.

“Kiss me,” you whimper, not able to take this silence and not in the mood for a staring competition.

He doesn’t waste any time, he instantly leans down and presses his lips against yours whilst slowly pushing you backwards until your back collides with the cold tiles.

You deepen the kiss, your hands roaming his chest as he licks into your mouth. A grunt resounds in the back of your throat at the feeling of his hand slowly making its way down your waist, to your hip, to finally your bum.

He grabs a handful of your asscheek, squeezing it and it elicits a lewd moan from you. It doesn’t take long for you to feel his growing erection inflating against your lower stomach and you reach for it.

You pump him slowly, making him grunt into your mouth. You rub your thumb all over his tip, gathering his precum and spreading it all over the head of his dick.

He pulls away from the kiss, his head dropping to your shoulder as you continue to pleasure him. His hand continues to knead your asscheek, a low swear word escaping his lips.

“Look at me,” you whisper, hand still jerking him off at a torturously slow pace.

He lifts his head off your shoulder slowly and let’s his eyes meet yours, head tilted downwards as he towers over you.

“How does it feel, knowing I did this with another man?” you ask him, a clear attempt at provoking him as you peek at him through your pretty lashes.

Something between an angry scowl and a confused frown etches onto his face and he merely grunts in response. His hand stops kneading your asscheek and before you know it, he’s turned you around, your front pressed into the tiles.

You’ve let go of his dick, hands now on each side of your breasts against the tiles in front of you. Your cheek is pressed against it as well, head turned enough to see him over your shoulder.

“I don’t want to hear about that fucking garbage,” he grunts, his hand pressed flat against the spot in between your shoulder blades as he holds you against the wall firmly.

You huff, but before you know it, his hand comes down to your asscheek in a powerful slap. It makes you jolt under his hold, a yelp ripping through your throat.

He spreads your asscheeks and slowly rubs the tip of his dick between your folds, earning a moan from you and you relax under his touch.

He pushes into you, eliciting a gasp from you at the intrusion. The delicious burn makes you arch your back more. He doesn’t really wait, he just starts slamming his hips into you, a series of cries and moans falling from your lips.

“Gonna fuck me like one of your hoes again?” you snark in between moans. Another slap to your asscheek makes you grunt and you look over your shoulder at him again.

He doesn’t even look at you, just snakes his hand around your face and drapes his palm over your mouth as he peels your face off the tiles and toward him, making you arch your back even more.

He continues to fuck angrily into you. “I fucking hate you,” he grunts, eyes glued to his dick disappearing inside of you.

You moan into his palm, eyes rolling back as the head of his dick repeatedly kisses your cervix. “Jungkook–!”

His other hand grips onto your waist, keeping you steady as he pounds into you. The strength in his hand has you seeing stars, if he put just a little more strength into it, you’re convinced he could crack your ribs.

“Come with me to Australia,” he whispers in your ear, lips softly brushing against the shell.

You close your eyes as you listen to his words. He’s often offered to take you with him, offered any way to keep seeing you, to keep being with you, to still have you.

“Please,” he whispers in desperation, the hand on your waist moving down to your sex as he furiously rubs your clit.

You cry into his hand, squirming and writhing under him but he has you under control. His thrusts never falter in speed and it has your eyes rolling back as you recognize the familiar knot in your stomach growing.

“Am gonna cum,” you whimper into his palm, but he doesn’t comment as he continues to destroy you.

He presses a kiss to the back of your ear, teeth gently nibbling on your earlobe and you slowly start losing control.

Your entire body is set alight, his hand leaving your mouth so he can listen to your pretty moans for him. Your orgasm comes to you like a punch to the gut, your eyes shutting tightly as pure bliss takes over you. You squirm under him, hips involuntarily jolting and knees buckling.

Both his hands return to your waist as he continues to fuck into you, wanting to get to his own release.

You’re fucked out, pressing your cheek against the tiles as moans continue to spill from your lips.

It doesn’t take long after for Jungkook to cum, shooting his release straight into you as he moans your name softly into your ear alongside a few swear words, which you’ve grown used to.

His thrusts get inconsistent, his breaths heavy and his grip on you loosens until he comes to a complete stop.

You stay there, mind clouded with nothing but Jungkook.

You’d considered going with him often but being on planes and having jet lag every few days wasn’t your dream, it was his. And while you would give up your life for him, you didn’t want him giving up his life for you. You know he’d start taking less fights, training, matches just to please you, to be with you, to love you.

He quietly pulls out but you don’t budge. When he notices, he takes it upon himself to clean you up, draping the showerhead over you, washing your body, your hair, his body, his hair.

The rest of the shower is quiet.

Not a single word was spoken.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

You both get dressed in silence, the occasional clinking of metal and ruffling of fabric being the only sounds in the room.

After he’s fully dressed and you’re back in your comfortable pajamas, you head down the corridor with him closely following behind you.

A soft exhale pushes past your lips when you unlock your front door as he puts his shoes on. You suddenly slouch, pressing your forehead against the front door. You think about the situation for a moment, the ruffling of him putting his shoes on being the only thing you hear.

“What?” he asks once he straightens his back and sees you looking out of it.

You push yourself off the door, turning to glance at him before momentarily looking away. “What are we doing, Jungkook?”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is not right.” You shake your head, your hand moving up to adjust the earring in your earlobe. “Why do you keep showing up at my front door?”

You’d never asked him that before so he’s surprised, the slight raise in his eyebrows being proof of that.

His brown eyes stare you down, a look of contemplation on his face before he takes a step closer to you – making your heartbeat mess up its perfectly fine pace.

“Why do you keep opening it for me?”

He knows he’s got you, that much is clear. You’re at fault as much as he is. You know you shouldn’t keep letting him in but you do and you always will. You’ll always want him.

He reaches for the door handle but you make no effort to move out of his way, essentially letting him cage you in between him and the door.

You really don’t want him to go.

You prepare to speak, clearing your throat in hopes that your voice doesn’t give out. “I’m trying to forget about you. You know that.”

His gaze burns holes in your irises, a whimper threatening to burst from your throat at the intensity. He leans down and presses his lips to yours in a quick kiss but pulls away too quickly for you, your lips chasing his for a split second before you realize he has already pulled away.

“I will never let you forget about me.”

The words leave his mouth with a certain arrogance yet desperation before he pulls you toward him by your waist. You think he’s going to kiss you again but he’s simply pulling you out of the way, to allow himself to open the door and leave.

And he does, your sad eyes intently watching as he exits your once-shared home and closes the door behind him, luggage in hand.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

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[satorulovebot]

so scarlet it was, maroon | chapter two

✧₊⁺ pairing — satoru gojou x journalist!reader

✧₊⁺ chapter summary — satoru comes home to his angry wife and he said some questionable stuff the night before. satoru meets suguru at a bar in shinjuku and they discuss what they should do with their nosy little journalist and they manage to come up with a plan on how they should deal with her, and it doesn't include the most moral of ways.

✧₊⁺ word count — 4.6k

✧₊⁺ warnings — nsfw (minors dni), alcohol use, drug mentions, manipulation, mentions of sex (not with reader)

✧₊⁺ notes — well hello to all my new readers this was very unexpected for me. i started this blog with max 4 readers interacting with my work (i love you btw) and now i have 1k interactions on my ssiwm masterlist which is crazy and anxiety inducing (i’m a wuss if you couldn’t tell). but thank you to my cursed seas babies who voted for the f1 gojo series and i thank them because they brought me here and i wouldn’t have kept writing without them and thank you for the lovely comments on the first chapter also short chapter because life longer chapter soon i promise :)

♪ on the floor — jennifer lopez ft. pitbull

series masterlist // pinterest moodboard // general masterlist

previous chap. tokyo, japan | next chap. (coming coon)

The world around Satoru was hazy when he opened his eyes, barely able to make out the details of the ceiling above him. His head throbbed and pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He let out a groan before rolling over on the couch in a desperate attempt to block out the morning sunlight.

Where was he? Oh, right. His apartment. The couch. Again.

He remembered stumbling into the house at some obscure hour of the night, unaware of how he swayed as he tried to navigate the hallway of his home. Memories of the previous night came rushing back and all of a sudden, a conversation came to him—a memory of the curious face that sat across from him in the dimly lit bar, asking him questions he would usually brush off with a smirk. What was it he had said about her last night? Something about a cute, nosy journalist being at the bar. He could only hope he didn't say that out loud.

“Oh, look who finally decided to wake up." Hana stood above him, her arms crossed, glaring down at him, “How nice of you to finally come home.”

Gojou grunted, pushing himself up, though he instantly regretted it as a wave of nausea hit him. “Morning to you too,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can you keep it down? It feels like I’ve been hit by a damn truck.”

“Maybe that’s because you came home drunk out of your mind, yet again,” Hana snapped. “And stumbling around the house at two in the morning, shouting nonsense about some ‘nosy journalist’? Really, Satoru?”

He blinked slowly, trying to make sense of her words. Oh right, maybe he had gone on a bit too much about that girl at the bar last night, hadn’t he? What was her name? No, she never gave it to him, had she? Or had he just forgotten?

“I wasn’t shouting. And… she was just doing her job, asking questions. It wasn’t anything"

“Just doing her job? Is that what you call it now? Going to bars and flirting with journalists instead of coming home to your wife?”

He groaned, slumping back against the couch. “Hana, I wasn’t flirting with her,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s just a journalist. You know how it is.”

“Oh, I know how it is. I know exactly how it is. You spend every other night at some bar, ‘meeting’ people, and coming home like this.” She gestured at him, sprawled out on the couch, his shirt rumpled and hair a mess, the smell of last night’s whiskey still clinging to him. “And I’m supposed to just sit here and take it? Pretend this is normal?”

“Can we not do this right now?” he muttered. “It’s too early for a lecture.”

“A lecture? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you actually enjoy making a mess of everything. And let me guess, you were just at the bar for a ‘break’ from everything, right?”

“Yes, actually,” he shot back, finally sitting up. "I needed a break, Hana. Do you know what it’s like? Everyone expects me to be this… perfect person, and I'm not. And then I come home, and it’s more of the same.”

“So you’re the victim here? I’m sorry, but did I ask for this life of constant rumors and watching my husband stumble in drunk, muttering about some cute journalist?”

Did he really say that last night? He couldn’t remember, but if Hana said so… maybe he did.

“That’s not—Hana, it wasn’t like that. She was just… She’s just doing research on me for some project. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“Oh, of course. Just research. Because there’s nothing strange about you going off with some girl who’s practically a stranger and giving her everything she wants to know about your life while leaving me in the dark.”

He looked at her, genuinely surprised by her comment. “Hana,” he started slowly, “I don’t ‘leave you in the dark.’”

“Really? Then tell me, what about all the rumors, Satoru? The ones I have to read about in the papers? The ones I have to brush off every time someone asks if our marriage is ‘really okay.’ Do you have any idea what it’s like having to deal with that?”

Do you think I like having my life dissected by the media, or dealing with every fucking rumor about me? I didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” she shot back, “but you made it worse. Do you ever think about how your actions make me look? Every time you’re out drinking, showing up in those trashy tabloids with someone else, it’s me they look at, like I’m the one who can’t control her husband.”

“So what do you want from me, Hana? An apology? Fine. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I went out. I’m sorry I had a drink. I’m sorry I talked to some journalists. But I can’t pretend to be something I’m not.”

“You can’t pretend? Satoru, you’ve been pretending for years. You’re not fooling anyone but yourself.”

He stared at her, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. “Hana…”

“I can’t keep doing this, Satoru,” she said softly, her voice breaking just a little. “I can’t keep watching you spiral like this, hurting yourself, hurting me. I didn’t marry you so you could destroy yourself.”

Hana let out a shaky breath, running a hand through her hair. “You’re not the only one with limits, Satoru. And I think I’m reaching mine.”

Without another word, Hana turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

“Great job, Satoru,” he muttered to himself, dragging a hand through his hair.

He let his gaze fall around the room, landing on a few framed pictures scattered on the shelves. One photo caught his eye—a photo of his and Hana's engagement party. The two of them had looked so happy, so in love, but that was before he let the fame and pressure eat away at him and his marriage.

“God,” he muttered under his breath. He needed to get out before the walls began to close in on him. The last thing he wanted was to sit around in the empty house alone with his thoughts. Grabbing his jacket from the arm of the couch, he stood up, ignoring the fresh wave of nausea hitting him. With a quick glance down the hallway where Hana had disappeared, he slipped out the front door.

Satoru found Suguru in their usual spot—seated in the corner of a booth in a low-lit bar tucked away in Shinjuku. He was nursing a whiskey and a cigarette between two fingers, rolling the glass, and watching the ice melt. Satoru slid in across from him and ordered himself a whiskey.

“You look like hell,” Suguru said, his mouth twitching into a faint smile as he raised an eyebrow. “Long night?”

Satoru snorted. “You could say that.”

“Ah, the usual, then,” he replied, not even looking up. “Guessing it ended with a headache and Hana kicking you out onto the couch?”

Satoru grimaced, taking the glass of whiskey the server put down in front of him. “Something like that.” He took a long sip, letting the burn trail down his throat. “Or maybe I just wanted a break from the domestic life.”

“Right. Is that why you look like you’ve gone ten rounds with a wall and lost? What happened?”

“Same shit as always,” Satoru muttered, running a hand through his hair. “She’s pissed I was out last night. Probably more pissed that I came home talking about some journalist.”

“A journalist, huh? She’s probably wondering if she should be jealous.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly help by calling her ‘cute’ and ‘nosy’ in the same sentence. Not my best moment.”

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

"Tell me something I don't know." Satoru leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. "This girl… she's doing this project or something on me and TJR. She was in the press booth at the race yesterday and happened to be at the same bar as me after. Seemed a little too interested in getting into my head."

"Maybe she just wants a good story for her project. Or," He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table, "maybe she's looking for more than that. Journalists are like that, especially extra nosy ones. They'll dig until there's nothing left, then still find a way to bring things up."

"She wouldn't be the first," Satoru scoffed.

“What exactly did she ask you about? Anything too close for comfort?”

Satoru swirled the whiskey in his glass, thinking. "To be honest, Suguru, I can't even remember half of what she said because I was too busy staring at her tits."

"Fucking Christ, Satoru. The hell?"

"What? She's got nice tits," he shrugged. "But in all seriousness, I think she was just asking the basics at first… and I might have opened my mouth a little too much."

"Sounds like she's already done her homework. If she's that determined, she's not going to stop at surface-level questions. Do you think she knows about all of it?"

Satoru knew what he was referring to.

“I don’t know, maybe. But if she is, she’s damn good at hiding it.”

“Then maybe you should start doing the same,” Suguru said quietly. Keep her close. See what she knows.”

“You’re saying I should let her in? What the hell do you think she’s going to do if she gets any closer?”

"You don’t have to let her in. Just make her think you are. Play the game, Satoru. You can be charming when you want to be. Distract her, keep her off your trail. If she’s nosy, then give her a story that’ll satisfy her and keep her from digging deeper. You’ve got the upper hand here; use it.”

Satoru thought over Suguru's suggestion, the gears in his mind turning. It wasn’t a terrible idea. It was probably his best option. If he was going to stay ahead, he’d have to play it better than her.

“Alright,” Satoru said, setting his glass down. “I’ll get close. Make her think I’m letting her in, give her just enough to chew on. And if she does know more than she’s letting on, maybe I can find a way to turn it against her.”

“Now you’re thinking like a true strategist. Just remember, don’t let her get under your skin. Journalist's loyalty is to their story, not to their subject."

Suguru's smirk widened, raising his glass in a mock toast. Satoru clinked his glass against his before downing the rest of the whiskey.

You had decided to get a closer look at the in's and out's of how Tokyo Jujutsu Racing worked. And for that, you needed to go to TJR's headquarters. You somehow managed to get your professor to get you inside the place, although it wasn't easy and he said your payment was a good project. The place was sleek and modern, with open spaces and luxury design elements. It was a playground for the rich as much as it was a workplace.

Earlier, you had been asking the staff about Gojou Satoru's training and habits, hoping to get some good information from them. They were surprisingly open to answering your questions, and you got some more information for your project, which was overall great.

Your media pass, which had thankfully been upgraded, hung around your neck as you waited for your tour guide to take you around the place. You decided to roam around for a bit while you waited and that led you down a hallway with team posters and trophies lining the walls.

You were so lost in your observations that you didn’t even realize someone had come up behind you. “Enjoying the view?”

Startled, you turned to find none other than Gojou Satoru leaning casually against the wall. He was dressed in his team's uniform, the red and black accentuating his tall figure, with dark shades covering his eyes.

He was probably high.

“Didn’t think of you as the observant type."

You composed yourself before speaking, “I'm a journalist. I like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

“And you think you’ll figure that out by staring at the walls?”

“Could be. I think they tell you a lot.” You shrugged. "Like how serious the team is about their image. Or how much they care about their past wins and not their current ones. That kind of thing."

“Oh? And what do you make of me, then?”

“Still deciding. I'd like to think you're more than a drunken idiot."

"I see you still remember that, unfortunately."

“That’s what a good journalist does. They remember."

He pushed himself off the wall, straightening up to his full height. “Well, since you’re here to observe, why don’t I give you something more to write about?”

Before you could respond, he turned on his heel and motioned for you to follow him. You hurried to keep up, glancing around as he led you through the winding corridors. Eventually, you entered a room with a massive window overlooking the racetrack.

Gojou leaned against the railing, gesturing to the track below. "So, this is where the magic happens. The place where we come to win."

You nodded, taking in the view. “It’s impressive, I’ll give you that. But it takes more than just a fast car to win, doesn’t it?”

"Oh, absolutely. It takes balls of steel, the reflexes of a god, and just the right amount of craziness. All of those, fortunately, I happen to possess.”

“Modesty isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

“Not when you’re the best."

"Right. The best has an attitude I see."

A silence hung in the hair for a few moments as you studied him.

“So, are you planning to spend the rest of your time here psychoanalyzing me?”

“Depends. Are you planning to keep giving me things to analyze?”

“Touche. Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

At that moment, a team member entered the room, interrupting the moment. "Gojou, they’re ready for you on the track."

Stay here,” he said. “You’ll want a good view of this.”

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving you alone in the observation room. You watched as he made his way down to the track, confident as ever with not a care in the world either.

Cocky Bastard.

You stood in the observation deck for a little before you saw Gojou

You stayed in the observation room, your eyes fixed on the scene below. You saw Gojou greet a few team members, exchange words with his pit crew, and slip into the driver’s seat of his car. 

Gojou maneuvered effortlessly, weaving through turns and accelerating with insane amounts of speed. You couldn’t deny, he was talented and he had clearly worked his ass off to get here as his talent isn’t something that can be taught.

After about forty-five minutes of observing Gojou racing, he brought the car to a halt and hopped out of the driver's seat. You watched him walk into the garage and disappear out of sight, presumably going to speak to his crew.

You couldn’t deny it—there was something magnetic about him.

Your pen scratched against your notepad as you scribbled down every single detail possible.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, his tall frame standing in the doorway.

“Eh,” you shrugged.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means it was okay you ass. It gave me something for my project but nothing really noteworthy.”

“You’re lucky you know that? Not many people get to see me in action.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Okay? I’m not like many people if you couldn’t tell.”

“Clearly,” he scoffed.

“Do you know you’ve racked up more racked up more fines and close calls than any other driver in the league this season?”

“Look, sweetheart,” he said, voice low, “everyone out there knows I can handle the shit I do out there. Besides…” He trailed off. “People love a driver who’s a bit dangerous. Keeps things exciting.”

You met his eyes, holding his gaze without blinking. “You think the world loves you, huh? Interesting. Because from what I’ve read, people seem split between calling you a genius and calling you a liability.”

“Hm. Is that so? Do you believe that?” he replied.

“Yes, and you would know that if you let me interview you properly.”

“Okay how about this,” he glances down at his watch. “We can meet up in the parking garage here in about an hour and you can ask me anything you want for thirty minutes.”

Wait What?

“Uh… Okay, I think I can make it,” you mumbled.

“Great! See you in an hour sweets.”

The roar of an engine echoed through the underground parking lot, the sharp screeching of tires signaling the arrival of the Gojou. You leaned against the concrete pillar, your arms crossed and your foot tapping impatiently. He was late.

You’d waited over an hour, hoping he’d attend the interview he promised you.

When his sleek black Porsche 911 came into view with his window rolled down, you got even more pissed off than you already were

“Glad you could make it,” you called out, voice tinged with sarcasm.

He stretched, not even acknowledging your tone. “What can I say? Traffic was a nightmare.”

“Sure,” you replied dryly, your patience wearing thin. “We were supposed to meet an hour ago. Some of us value punctuality.”

He pulled off his sunglasses, revealing those piercing blue eyes that could disarm almost anyone. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get another word out, he walked right past you, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Give me a sec,” he waved his hand over his shoulder. “Gotta take care of something.”

“Wait—” you started, but he was already striding off, leaving you standing there, seething.

The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. Your annoyance morphed into frustration. After waiting a bit longer, you decided enough was enough. If he thought he could blow you off, he was in for a rude awakening.

Determined, you followed the direction he’d gone. The echo of your footsteps bounced off the concrete walls as you weaved through the garage and into the back corridors of the venue.

“Mr. Gojou!” you called out. “This isn’t funny. Where the hell are you?”

You rounded a corner and stopped in your tracks. The faint sound of laughter—his unmistakable laugh—came from behind a partially open supply closet door a few feet ahead. You narrowed your eyes, creeping closer.

At first, you thought maybe he was on the phone. But as you drew nearer, it became painfully clear that this wasn’t a casual conversation.

“Mmm, you’re so bad,” a woman’s voice purred, followed by the unmistakable rustle of fabric.

Your stomach sank. No. He wouldn’t. Not right Now.

Would he?

Against your better judgment, you stepped closer, your movements quieter now. Peeking through the crack in the door, you instantly regretted it.

There he was, pressed against the back wall of the closet, shirt unbuttoned, and his hair disheveled. His hands were tangled in the hair of a woman whose face you couldn’t see, her body pinned against his as they made out with a fervor that bordered on obscene.

Was this seriously how he’d chosen to spend the time he owed you for your interview? The audacity was almost impressive.

You cleared your throat loudly, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the confined space.

The woman gasped, pulling away from him in shock. Gojou, however, turned his head lazily toward you, his expression unreadable. For a split second, there was something in his eyes—a flicker of annoyance, maybe even embarrassment—but it was quickly replaced by his usual, smirk.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite journalist.”

You folded your arms tightly across your chest, glaring at him. “Seriously?”

The woman, clearly flustered, muttered something about leaving and quickly ducked out of the room, her heels clicking against the floor as she disappeared down the hallway.

He sighed, buttoning up his shirt. “What?” he said. “You’ve never seen two consenting adults have a little fun before?”

“Fun?” you snapped. “We had an interview. You made me wait for over an hour before you showed up and then you go and do this?”

He shrugged, unbothered. “You’re the one who followed me. Maybe I would’ve shown up if you’d just stayed put. Plus, I had actually agreed to meet her here before I promised you the interview.”

“You make no fucking sense, do you know that?”

He grinned, running a hand through his hair, which only made it look messier. “I get that a lot.”

“Do you even care how this looks? You’re already under a microscope with all your scandals, and now this?”

“Why do you care so much? You writing a piece on my love life now, too?”

“No, but the media sure as hell is. What does your wife think of this? Of your reputation?”

“Reputation’s overrated,” he said, brushing past you as he headed for the door. “People are gonna think what they want, no matter what I do.”

You turned to watch him leave, your fists clenching at your sides. “Maybe if you gave them less to work with, they’d think better of you,” you called after him.

He paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice low and tired. “This is who I am. Take it or leave it.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you alone in the empty hallway, your heart pounding and your mind racing.

The sound of footsteps reverberated through the corridor as you leaned against the cold, concrete wall, still processing what had just happened. You were about to leave and write off this night as yet another chapter in the disaster that was Gojou Satoru.

But then, you heard his footsteps return.

“You still here?” he called out, voice echoing through the silence.

You didn’t move. “Should I be?”

He walked towards you, his gait relaxed, almost predatory. “Depends.” He stopped a few feet away, eyes fixed on yours. “You want a story for your project or what?”

You frowned, arms still crossed. “I’ve already seen more than enough tonight.”

 “Come by my garage tomorrow. I’ve got something to show you. Something you can use.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” 

“Fine. Tomorrow. But this better not be another waste of my time.”

“You won’t regret it.”

The smell of motor oil and metal hung in the air the moment you stepped inside the dimly lit garage. The concrete floor was stained with years of grease with tool scattered across the workbench. The garage was big, to say the least, there were rows of high-performance cars lining the walls, their glossy bodies gleaming under the garage's fluorescent lights. It was a bit of a mess inside the garage, as there were different car parts strewn across the garage.

Gojou stood beside it, sleeves rolled up, grease smudged on his forearms. The sight was so out of place.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show up,” he drawled, tossing a wrench onto a nearby workbench with a clatter.

“Neither did I,” you shot back, arms crossed. “So, what’s the big secret? Planning on showing me how you avoid drug tests?”

“Always so sharp. No, this...” He gestured to the car. “This is one of my hobbies.”

You walked closer, eyeing the vintage vehicle with skepticism. “You? Fixing cars? Sounds like a PR stunt.”

He wiped his hands on a rag, smirking. “You think everything I do is a stunt?”

“You haven’t given me a reason to think otherwise.”

“Careful, sweetheart. I might start thinking you’re obsessed with me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Get over yourself. I’m here for my project, not for you.”

He leaned casually against the car, arms crossed over his chest. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.

“So, what’s the deal with this thing?”

“It was my dad’s. He used to take me to the track in this.”

“And you think this will make a good addition to my project? What, ‘Gojou Satoru: The Man Behind the Wheel’?”

People love a good redemption arc. Makes me more... relatable.”

You snorted. “You? Relatable? That’s a stretch.”

He pushed off the car, stepping closer again, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe you just haven’t gotten to know me well enough.”

 “Or maybe I’ve seen enough to know exactly who you are.”

His smile faltered, just for a second. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

“I think you’re a mess hiding behind a pretty face and a fast car.”

“You might be the first person who’s ever said that to my face.”

“Good. Someone needed to.”

…

“You know, I could help you relax a bit. Take the edge off.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Seriously? That’s your move? Pathetic.”

He grinned, unbothered by the insult. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“Actually, I can. And I will.” You turned away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Cold as ever,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I like it.”

“Good for you.” You grabbed your bag, ready to leave. “Thanks for the... insight. I’ll be sure to include ‘Gojou Satoru: Amateur Mechanic’ in my report.”

“You really don’t give a shit, do you?”

You paused at the door, glancing back over your shoulder. “Not about you.”

You barely made it five steps outside the garage before his voice called after you. "Running away already? Thought you were supposed to be fearless."

You stopped, the night air cool against your skin. Turning slowly, you saw him leaning against the garage doorframe.

“I’m not running, Gojou. I’m just done wasting my time.”

"You say that, but here you are. You could've written this off as another scandal of mine or another fall from grace. But you’re still digging. Makes me wonder why."

“Because you’re a story people want. A cautionary tale. People love watching someone like you crash and burn.”

“And here I thought you saw me as more than just some headline.”

“You’re not that special.”

“You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

“What’s your deal, Gojou? Really,” you asked, voice softer now. “Is this all a game to you?”

“Everyone’s playing a game. I just play it better.”

“And what happens when you lose?”

He stepped closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. “I don’t lose.”

“Everyone loses eventually. Even you.”

“Well then,” he said. “We will see.”

He turned, walking back toward the garage, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You coming or not?”

You frowned. “What?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve got something else to show you. Unless you’re too scared.”

You hesitated, every instinct telling you to walk away. But damn it, you couldn’t. There was something here, something you needed to understand and against your better judgment, you followed him back inside.

Gojou walked over to the workbench, picking up a small, silver object. He held it out to you.

“What’s this?” you asked, eyeing it warily.

He shrugged. “Figure it out. You’re the journalist.”

“Why are you giving this to me?”

“Maybe I’ll let you know the truth. Or maybe I just like fucking with you.” He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Before you could respond, he walked away, disappearing deeper into the garage. You stood there, the key clutched in your hand. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot. Gojou Satoru was a puzzle, a mess of contradictions and lies. And you were going to unravel him, piece by piece.

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[chimcess]

Lady's Honor || ksj

Pairing: Seokjin x ReaderOther Tags: Lord!Seokjin, Lady!Reader, Lord!Jimin, Lord!Jimin, Lord!Yoongi Genre: Regency!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Angst, Fluff, HEA Word Count: 16.8k+ Summary: What unfolds when a gentleman's noble effort to help a lady in distress inadvertently tarnishes her reputation? He finds himself bound to protect her honor at any cost—even if it means risking his own life. Warnings: Attempted assault on reader, society at this time was very judgement, practically forced marriage, but they like one another so it's fine, everyone has a title that is different from their true names, because they're Earls and own land, Eisen is disgusting, Jin is a gentleman, mentions of sex, illusions to sex, light teasing, need for an heir, Jin has a 'My Lord' kink, kissing (scandalous at this time), pregnancy, child birth, minor character death, dueling, main character injured, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: I've been trying to write in new styles and dive into different themes outside of fantasy, and so I really stepped out of my comfort zone to write this one. Rereading some Jane Austen was also helpful. Hope you enjoy.

Perhaps it was the oppressive heat radiating from the hundreds of flickering candles scattered throughout the ballroom that made him uneasy. But more likely, it was the desperate air of the young woman he’d just finished dancing with. The Earl of Rushmore felt a prickling sensation crawl up his spine, a warning he couldn’t quite dismiss.

“That was ever so splendid, my lord,” Miss Rose Tyrell tittered, bouncing on her toes like an eager puppy. Every exaggerated movement seemed calculated to draw his gaze to her décolletage. “You dance exquisitely.” She leaned in, flashing a smile that he could only interpret as desperate. It turned his stomach.

“It was my pleasure,” he replied, forcing his lips into a smile that barely masked his irritation. The corners of his eyes tightened as he nodded to Sir Gerald Tyrell, her father, standing awkwardly on the periphery. With that, he made to escape the stifling encounter.

Yet just as he turned to leave, the shrill voice of Lady Tyrell pierced the air, dragging him back into tedious conversation. “My lord, we are organizing an outing to Vauxhall Gardens next week, and one of our gentlemen has had to leave London for urgent family business, leaving us one short.” She fluttered her fan with all the grace of a chicken flapping its wings. “Would you do us the honor of joining our group?”

A familiar panic clawed at him, a suffocating sensation that had haunted him through countless soirées with the daughters of ambitious families. It was as if his sordid reputation—of womanizing, reckless drinking, and gambling—had become a beacon, attracting those looking to snag a title for their daughters. The very thought made him itch with the need to flee.

“I’ll have to check my availability,” he said, the words falling from his lips with the practiced ease of a politician. “I shall send word on the morrow. Good evening, ladies.” He bowed stiffly to Miss Tyrell and her mother before making a purposeful exit, each step a declaration of his freedom.

The musicians began to play the next set, and a wave of relief washed over him as he realized he was free from the obligation of dancing with any particular young lady. The evening had thus far been a parade of vapid chatter and trivial pursuits, save for one notable exception—Miss Y/L/N.

He had heard whispers of her modest debut the previous season but had only caught a glimpse of her tonight. There was something about her, an ethereal beauty that shone through the murk of societal expectations, and a vivacious yet modest personality that intrigued him. She shared his passion for stargazing, a rare treasure amidst the sea of watercolor painting and embroidery that most young ladies feigned expertise in.

He spotted his mother among a gaggle of women and approached, forcing a smile. “Mother, I’m going to take a stroll in the garden.”

“Oh, my dear, I had hoped to present you to Miss Webber,” she said, her tone a blend of disappointment and guilt.

Resigned to the endless parade of introductions and dances, he craved a brief escape. “I shall only be gone for one set,” he promised, his voice laced with indulgence.

“Ah yes, and then you’ll disappear into the card room, and it will be impossible to find you a suitable wife. Really, Rushmore, you are two-and-thirty. It’s time you settled down and set up your nursery.”

Her words pricked at him like thorns, and he fought the urge to unleash the torrent of frustration bubbling inside. He knew she meant well; her intentions were rooted in love, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped in a gilded cage.

“Yes, Mother, I understand. If you will excuse me?” He nodded to acquaintances as he maneuvered through the ballroom. Stepping out onto the terrace, he finally felt the weight lift, if only slightly. The coolness of the evening enveloped him, a comforting embrace that allowed him to breathe freely.

Only the crunch of his gleaming Hessian boots broke the silence as he wandered along the gravel path that wove between hedgerows and blooms. He was weary, so utterly weary of the relentless pressure of the marriage mart. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, the sound mingling with the night air.

After a few minutes, he wandered beyond the glow of the paper lanterns dangling from the trees, halting to let his eyes adjust to the enveloping darkness. He tilted his head back, searching for constellations, but the encroaching clouds obscured his view.

In these precious moments of solitude, he could cast aside the weight of his title, the incessant pleas of his mother for an heir. Here, he could simply be Seokjin, not “Rushmore” or “my lord.” He wasn’t sure how long he’d been absent, but he knew it had been long enough for his mother to send a search party to drag him back to the ballroom for another tedious encounter.

The rebellious spirit that had defined his youth flared within him. He would be damned if he shackled himself to one of these vapid fortune hunters. When he married, it would be on his terms, in his time. In a final act of defiance, he chose a longer route back, hoping to prolong this rare moment of freedom.

As he strolled, he noticed a section of the path where the stones had been disturbed and the flowers trampled. He frowned, planning to speak with Lord Min; the gardener needed a firm reminder of his duties.

He had not taken but two steps past the ruined path when he heard a rustling from the rhododendron bushes to his left. He paused, hesitant to interrupt whatever clandestine meeting might be unfolding there. When silence fell once more, curiosity gnawed at him, urging him closer.

Peering through the foliage, he caught sight of an abandoned dancing slipper, its owner nowhere in sight. He almost dismissed it, the corners of his mouth lifting in a wry grin. It had been far too long since he had shared the company of a woman who intrigued him. 

But then the unmistakable sound of sobbing pierced the air, and his heart twisted in an unexpected pang of concern. The battle within him waged on, but as he took another step, he spotted a young woman crawling on the ground, frantically searching for that missing shoe. 

Instinct propelled him forward. He stepped off the path, making his presence known through the rustling bushes, startling her in the process. She scrambled backward, eyes wide with panic, as if he were a specter come to haunt her. Her skirts were stained with dirt, and her hair hung in disarray, obscuring her features.

“Miss? Are you hurt?” His voice broke the tension, filled with concern.

She whimpered softly, the sound twisting his gut. What had happened to her?

Looking around, he saw no one else nearby, no lurking assailants or companions to provide solace. Crouching down, he made no sudden movements toward her.

“Please, miss, I have no wish to harm you. Do you have a companion or chaperone you would like me to summon?” When silence stretched between them, he tried again, softer this time. “Let me help you back to the ball. We’ll find a discreet entrance—somewhere hidden.”

At last, she raised her head, and he sucked in a sharp breath. How had Y/N Y/L/N ended up in such a predicament? By all accounts, she was the embodiment of propriety, not one to engage in scandal.

As he took in her appearance, he noticed the tear in the bodice of her gown, the clutched remnants of a pair of drawers that were also damaged. Rage ignited within him, a hot ember that flared into a blaze. It was one thing for a man to indulge his desires with a mistress, but to force himself on an innocent like Miss Y/L/N? That was an outrage beyond measure.

"Who did this to you, Miss Y/L/N?" he demanded, his voice low, strained, as though the question had been pulled from the very depths of a dark pit within him.

She shook her head, her entire body trembling, a fragile thing caught in a tempest. "No one, my lord," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Her reticence ignited a fury in him, a volcanic rage simmering beneath the surface, but he clamped down on it. He wanted to shake her, to rattle loose the truth from her lips like a confession from a guilty soul. But he held back, aware that rage could consume him whole.

"So you mean to tell me that you've ruined your hair, shredded your dress, and torn your—" He faltered, words dying on his tongue as he caught sight of the cruel red welts marring her cheek, vivid streaks of pain that seemed to shout a silent accusation at the dark night. His nostrils flared, drawing in the scent of roses mingling with something more sinister—fear. 

"And you did this all to yourself?" he asked through gritted teeth, the effort to contain his fury almost painful. "Forgive me if I find that scenario a little hard to swallow. Tell me who has harmed you, and I will see the blackguard brought to account for his actions."

He stood up, a sudden restlessness seizing him, his hands clenching and unclenching as he flipped the tails of his dark blue superfine coat behind him. The air crackled with the unspoken promise of violence, a storm gathering within him as he paced, thoughts colliding like thunderheads in a darkening sky. Abruptly, he stopped and pointed at her drawers, still clutched tightly against her chest. "Did he manage to...?"

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. He couldn’t voice the horrific possibility that loomed over them, and for a fleeting moment, he marveled at the violent protectiveness rising up from the depths of his heart. It felt foreign, primal.

She shook her head, her gaze dropping to the ground, a broken bird struggling to mend its wings. A small whimper escaped her lips, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. She winced as she shifted her weight to her unshod foot, and his anger flared anew. Who had she been dancing with after him? The names flooded his mind, but one stood out—a dark specter of a man who lurked at the edges of polite society.

Jonathon, Lord Eisen.

In the grand tapestry of reputation, Seokjin would be the saint compared to the notorious Viscount Eisen, a man known for treating young ladies like pawns in his cruel game. Wealthy, yes, but at what cost? 

"Did Lord Eisen do this?" he pressed, the words a growl. "Did he lure you into the gardens?"

Her eyes widened, a silent acknowledgment that echoed like a bell tolling a grim fate. In the distance, a chorus of voices called her name, the urgency cutting through the night like a knife. They were looking for her, and the dread of discovery hung in the air, a heavy mist curling around them.

"Miss Y/L/N, please, let me help you back before we’re found in this position. There’s no reason to ruin your reputation by being seen with someone like me." 

She blushed, ducking her head, and for a moment, he thought he glimpsed a flicker of a smile. But then, she faltered, her fragile façade crumbling. "I cannot walk, my lord. I fear I have... s-sprained my ankle."

Reality crashed over him as he realized that the chill in the air had seeped into her bones, amplifying the shivering that gripped her. With a quick determination, he shrugged off his topcoat and draped it around her shoulders, enveloping her in warmth, an oasis in a desert of despair.

"Put your arm around my neck," he instructed gently, bending down to meet her eyes. When she complied, her drawers still clutched in the other hand, he lifted her as though she weighed nothing, an echo of the strength he didn’t know he possessed. As he carried her toward the house, the softness of her body against his ignited something deep within him, a rush of feelings he was unprepared to face.

"Why did he stop?" he asked, the question an uneasy tremor in the quiet of the night.

She inhaled sharply, her breath hitching, and laid her head against his shoulder. For a heartbeat, he thought she wouldn’t answer, but then, with a voice steeped in trembling fear, she whispered close to his ear, "I fought him. I kicked and scratched... That’s when he slapped me. I think he heard you coming."

The revelation stirred a darkness within him, igniting a fierce desire for vengeance. "He will pay for this," Seokjin vowed, his heart pounding with a dangerous intensity. The very air crackled with his determination to protect her honor. She had a brother, a man more than willing to seek revenge, and yet, here he was, feeling like a moth drawn to the flame of her vulnerability. 

As her head rested against his shoulder, a curious weight settled around his throat, tightening like a noose, a reminder that he had no business becoming entangled in her fate. But how could he turn away when the shadows had crept into her life, and he felt the unmistakable tug of something deeper than duty—something that felt like destiny.

What a coil! thought Y/N, a frenzied swirl of confusion and unease tightening in her chest. She had only intended to stroll with Lord Eisen along the terrace, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the manicured gardens. But when he asked about her interest in the stars, her passion ignited, and she began chattering like an eager canary, the words spilling forth in a rush, a desperate bid for connection. 

Lost in her own celestial musings, she hadn’t noticed the subtle shift in direction until it was too late. The secluded part of the garden loomed before her like a trap waiting to snap shut. In an instant, the air around her thickened with a sense of foreboding, the fragrant blooms suddenly oppressive. 

It was all she could do to keep her wits about her as he forced her against a tree, the bark digging into her back, bruising her lips with punishing kisses that felt like a betrayal of her very soul. She raked her fingernails down his cheek, a desperate act of defiance, but instead of pulling back, it only seemed to stoke the fire in his eyes, a dark hunger awakening within him.

She burrowed her face into Lord Rushmore's shoulder, desperately trying to will the shame of what Lord Eisen had done to her to dissipate like morning mist. Had she behaved wantonly? No, she had acted every bit the lady, hadn’t she? But the tightness in her throat mounted, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Cursing her overactive emotions, she knew she needed a moment to compose herself before returning to the ball, to that cruel world of social masks and whispered judgments.

As they entered the lit portion of the garden, her brother's voice bellowed her name, booming through the night like a thunderclap. Panic surged in her chest, and she cast about for a more private place, somewhere she could gather the scattered pieces of herself.

"Lord Rushmore's, might we sit at that bench for a moment while I attempt to put myself to rights?" she implored, her voice quivering.

When she looked up into his eyes, she felt that same fluttering sensation that had gripped her during their earlier waltz. His eyes, an unsettling shade of green, seemed to pierce through the façade she tried so hard to maintain. She couldn't help but notice the strength of his arms, how effortlessly he carried her, as if she were nothing more than a feather. And if she were being completely honest, the way his coat hugged his broad torso and how those buff-colored breeches molded to his powerful thighs made her heart race in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

Heat flooded her cheeks as that thought twisted inside her like a serpent coiling tighter, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw something flicker in Lord Rushmore's gaze—a fleeting spark that vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind only his mask of calm.

He nodded once, a movement fluid and deliberate, and made his way to a weathered stone bench nestled behind a grouping of lilacs. The flowers whispered secrets in the night breeze, and she felt both comforted and exposed in their presence. With utmost care, he deposited her onto the bench before turning to stand guard, his posture protective, a fortress against the horrors she had just endured.

Hastily, she donned the torn drawers, feeling the fabric scratch against her skin, but it was better than being seen carrying her undergarments. As she fussed with the bodice of her cream chiffon and lace gown, the reality of her disheveled state crashed over her, a wave of hopelessness that threatened to drown her. The earlier magic of the evening had been shattered, leaving only fragments of what could have been. 

But perhaps not completely. The thrill of being in the arms of such a handsome man still pulsed through her veins, even if he wasn’t the type a respectable girl should find appealing. The allure of a man with a dangerous reputation was like a moth drawn to flame, intoxicating yet perilous.

It was silly to think such thoughts, she chastised herself. He was merely doing his gentlemanly duty, ensuring her safe return. Any notion that he might entertain feelings for her was absurd. Besides, the gossip among the parlors of the ton painted him as a confirmed bachelor, much to his mother’s dismay.

She twisted one last piece of hair, pinning it into the mass of curls and braids atop her head. "Do I still look as though I’ve been tumbled in the bushes?" She rested her hands in her lap and looked at the Earl, who seemed lost in thought.

He took several deep breaths, and she wondered if he, too, felt the weight of the moment pressing down on them. His nostrils flared, lips pursed, as he studied her appearance, and the intensity of his gaze sent a fresh wave of heat rising in her cheeks. She cast her eyes down, biting her lower lip to keep from trembling under the weight of his scrutiny.

"Well, your color seems to have returned," he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, reminiscent of her brother's teasing ways.

"May I examine your ankle?" he asked, shifting to sit next to her on the bench.

Without waiting for her consent, he leaned down and lifted both of her feet, drawing them across his lap. A furious heat shot through her, screaming in indignation, How dare he? But as his warm hands slipped off her dancing shoe and began to probe her foot, any righteous fury fled her like a shadow at dawn.

His touch was gentle, exploring the instep, his fingers moving with a calm assurance that sent shivers racing up her spine. She hissed when he pressed on a particularly tender spot, and he nodded softly, his eyes focused and intent, then replaced her slipper without lowering her feet.

"It has begun to swell slightly, but I don’t believe it to be broken." His words were curt, almost clinical, yet they held a honeyed warmth that seeped into her bones, loosening the tension that had coiled tightly within her.

"And my hair— is it even remotely presentable?" She caught his gaze, feeling ensnared, unable to break free from the magnetic pull between them. The sweet scent of lilacs surrounded them like a fog, and even though she was wrapped snugly in the Earl’s topcoat, a chill raced through her.

For a long moment, the world around them fell away, leaving only the two of them in that secret garden, an electric energy drawing them closer together. 

"Far more than presentable," he murmured, inching closer, his breath warm against her skin.

His hand lifted, tentatively brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. As his fingers lingered against her jaw, she felt the weight of his gaze, a tether pulling her into the depths of something she could neither understand nor resist. 

Her heart thundered in her chest, a wild drumbeat that seemed to echo the chaos of the night. In that fleeting moment, as the lilacs danced in the night breeze, the world faded away, leaving only the two of them standing on the precipice of something undeniably profound.

“Sis-...Kim! Unhand my sister at once!”

Like the fragile sheen of a child’s soap bubble, the magic enveloping them burst the moment Anthony’s voice cut through the night—a jagged shard of ice in a world of warmth. In what felt like a heartbeat, Anthony surged forward, seizing the Earl and slamming him against the rough bark of an ancient elm, his forearm digging into the Earl’s throat with a grim resolve.

Lord Rushmore's retreating form was replaced by her father, who seized her by the shoulders, his gaze sweeping over her with the intensity of a hawk eyeing its prey. "Her dress is torn," he shouted, as if those words could mend the fraying fabric of her dignity. The sheer horror in her father’s tone twisted the knife in her gut, causing Anthony’s grip on the Earl to tighten, his elbow pressing cruelly into the Earl’s neck.

“Anthony, stop! This isn’t what it seems…” Panic clawed at her throat as she saw the search party gather, shadows converging on their secluded haven. Her heart sank, heavy and leaden, as if it were chained to the ground. 

“What has that scoundrel done to you, my child?” Her father’s voice was a fierce whisper, laden with unspoken fears. 

To his credit, the  Earl of Rushmore merely grasped Anthony's arm, a desperate attempt to stave off asphyxiation, doing nothing to fight back against the encroaching storm.

In moments, the terrace teemed with onlookers, the whole ballroom spilling out into the moonlight, the murmurs and gasps igniting an electric buzz that thrummed in the air, each sound a reminder of their encroaching doom. 

“Anthony, summon the carriage and fetch your mother,” her father commanded, voice clipped and taut.

Anthony nodded, stepping back, the heat of anger still radiating from him. He straightened, eyes ablaze, locking onto the Earl with a fury that promised retribution. “This isn’t over, Kim. We’ll speak tomorrow at Parke’s.” With that, he turned and stormed off, leaving chaos in his wake, people scattering like leaves before a gale.

The music from the ballroom swelled, Lady Min's voice announcing the supper dances, a cruel mockery of their plight. In mere moments, the crowd thinned, but it was clear that The Honorable Y/N Y/L/N, daughter of Lord and Lady Y/L/N, and The  Earl of Rushmore would become the latest gossip—a scandal writ large against the night sky.

By dawn, Parke’s gentleman's club buzzed with wagers, bets slung like daggers as men debated Lord Rushmore's fate: Would he indeed find himself shackled in matrimony? How quickly would he wed Miss Y/L/N? And would her brother, Mr. Y/L/N, take the Earl’s life for this affront?

“Tough lot there, ol’ chap,” Lord Newton said as Seokjin strode past, his voice laced with mockery. “Too much trouble for a bit of muslin, wouldn’t you agree?”

Seokjin turned, ready to unleash fury, but two strong hands—one muscular, the other wiry—restrained him, anchoring him before he could lash out. 

“Save your fists, Kim. There’s nothing to be gained from boors like Newton,” Namjoon, Lord Halston, his cousin, interjected, grounding Seokjin with his steady presence. 

The fight ebbed from Seokjin’s body as Halston’s words sank in. Jimin, Lord Whitmore, gave his shoulder a reassuring pat before releasing him, the trio turning from the cowering Lord Bolton as they slipped into a more private parlor. 

Both Park and Halston had witnessed the disastrous ball, no explanation needed for the morning’s stirrings around the betting book. Seokjin had already divulged the details of the night’s chaos, though in truth, it mattered little. Reputation was a delicate thing, and in the eyes of the ton, he’d become the villain in Miss Y/L/N’s tale.

“Will you go make your addresses to her father?” Park asked, his tone serious.

“I fear I must,” Seokjin replied, frustration twisting in his gut. “Blast it, I never meant to land myself in this mess.”

“Come now, Kim. The chit seems biddable enough. She won’t put up a fuss if you want your freedoms, will she?” Halston suggested, shaking open the daily news with a flourish.

Seokjin groaned, raking his fingers through his hair, the weight of propriety and duty pressing down on him. “That’s not how the Kim men are bred. Blast!” He tapped his fingers against the table, cursing the moral fibers woven into his being.

A light touch on his forearm brought his attention back. Park’s finger pointed to the door, signaling an approaching visitor. Seokjin looked up to see Anthony Y/L/N enter, flanked by two unfamiliar young men. 

“Kim,” Anthony greeted, his tone frosty.

“Mr. Y/L/N,” Seokjin replied, offering a curt nod, the air thickening with tension.

“I’m here to settle the matter of my sister’s honor.” 

“I assumed as much. I assure you, I’ll speak to Lord Y/L/N and Miss Y/L/N tomorrow.”

“Did you compromise her on purpose? What was your design?” Anthony stepped forward, rage simmering just beneath the surface.

Seokjin sighed, rising from his chair, emboldened by the silent support of his friends. “I did no such thing. Did she explain what happened?”

“She did, but you should have known better than to be caught in such a position with her—especially with her appearance in such a state. You knew that tongues would wag, and wag they have.”

Seokjin could see Anthony’s fists clenching, breath coming in sharp bursts, his face a mask of barely-contained fury. He’d heard whispers of Anthony’s quick temper but had never imagined standing on the receiving end.

He took a step closer, his finger jabbing into Anthony’s chest. “See here, Y/L/N, I’m prepared to offer the protection of my name and title to your sister. What would you have had me do? Walk away and leave her vulnerable? If I hadn’t intervened, Lord Eisen would have ruined her reputation, violated her very person.”

The words struck a nerve, twisting Anthony’s expression into one of frustration and disbelief. 

“Her reputation will be salvaged,” Seokjin pressed on, “and in a few weeks, another scandal will eclipse this one. What more do you want? Will you have your pound of flesh, too?”

They stood nearly nose to nose now, the air between them electric with tension, fists ready to unleash fury. 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I require,” Anthony spat, his voice low and dangerous. 

“And if you kill me, where does that leave your sister?” 

Seokjin should have known better than to expect any form of civility from the brutish Anthony. The man was a wall of muscle, a shadow looming over him like a thunderstorm ready to unleash its fury. Sure, Anthony had height and heft on his side, but Seokjin was no stranger to the dark art of combat, having spent countless hours in the ring at Gentleman Jackson's boxing saloon. There, he had learned the subtleties of tactical fighting—the way a well-placed jab could shift the tide of a bout. Confidence flowed through him like the heavy liquor that coated the floor of the dimly lit establishment.

"Well, then, let us do this in grand fashion, shall we?" Seokjin said, a smirk dancing on his lips, concealing the tremor of anxiety curling in his gut like a serpent ready to strike.

"What did you have in mind?" Anthony grunted, his voice deep and gravelly, like rocks grinding underfoot.

"A match at Jackson's. Until one of us is rendered unconscious or yields." Seokjin’s heart raced at the thought, part anticipation, part dread.

Mr. Y/L/N paused, glancing between his companions as if he were deciphering a silent code in their expressions. After a moment’s consideration, he crossed his meaty arms over his chest, the muscles bulging like a tightly wound spring. "Agreed. When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. I shall call upon your father and sister in the morning." The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

"Very well," Anthony replied, the growl in his throat barely concealing his eagerness for confrontation.

As the brutish figure turned to leave, Seokjin felt a sudden surge of courage. "Mr. Y/L/N?" 

The response was a low, menacing growl. "What now?"

"I do have one small request." 

"And that is?"

"Try not to do too much damage to my face. I would hate to have two black eyes and a crooked nose on my wedding day." He forced a chuckle, but it echoed hollowly against the walls of the club.

"You'll be lucky if that's all I leave you with," Anthony grumbled, the threat hanging in the air like a storm cloud. He turned and strode out of the club, his companions trailing like lost souls in his wake.

Once the tension subsided, Seokjin let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. 

"Park?" he asked, turning to his friend.

"Yes, Kim?"

"Do you still have a connection with a certain Bow Street informant?" His voice was a low murmur, as if the walls had ears.

"I do. Shall I put him on the lookout for Lord Eisen?" Park asked, his brow furrowing.

"If you would be so kind, but nothing official, mind." Seokjin felt the weight of impending doom settle over him like a shroud.

Jimin nodded in understanding, murmuring, "Of course." 

"And cousin, will you stand as my second on the morrow?" Seokjin's heart raced at the thought of what was to come.

Namjoon slapped a heavy hand on Seokjin's shoulder, the gesture grounding him. "You needn't ask, my friend. I should be honored to watch you knock some sense into the man." 

Y/N sat at her dressing table, her maid working diligently to pin up her hair. As she gazed at her reflection, the visage staring back was a stranger, a ghost of the girl she once was. Her eyes felt like sandpaper, dry and weary, the dark smudges beneath them growing more pronounced, shadows of a soul haunted by secrets. 

The day after the ball had stretched on in suffocating isolation, each hour dragging like a lead weight. She preferred the company of her book of prayers, each line a refuge from the storm brewing outside her door. It was far better than facing the ire of her father, who would surely unleash a torrent of censure and berating upon her head.

She had attempted to explain the events with Lord Eisen, how Lord Rushmore's was more the hero than the villain in this twisted tale, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. Ignoring her mother’s advice to stay on the terrace, she had strolled with Lord Eisen, allowing the specter of scandal to wrap its cold fingers around her throat.

Her mother had nearly succumbed to a fit of vapors upon hearing the details. The tips of her father’s waxed moustache twitched with barely suppressed rage, while Anthony, her brother, remained frighteningly silent. Once home, she had been ushered into her father’s study for a thorough dressing down, sent to her room like a recalcitrant child.

With a final pin, her maid bobbed a curtsy and exited Y/N’s bedchamber, leaving her in a silence thick enough to suffocate. Lady Y/L/N had dispatched her own maid with orders for Y/N to don her most modest day gown and report to the formal parlor. With trepidation, she slipped into a simple, light blue frock that covered her to her collarbones, devoid of any embellishments. Her hair twisted into a knot, soft waves framing her face, a fragile semblance of grace.

She took her time nibbling on toast, each bite a reminder of the world outside her door, where shadows danced with whispers of her impending fate. Checking her appearance once more, she steeled herself and made her way to the parlor. 

There, she found her mother waiting for her, worry etched into every line of her refined features. Lady Y/L/N had once been a beauty, but the years had wrought their toll, drawing tight the skin around her eyes and pursing her lips into a thin line.

"Good morning, Mother," Y/N said, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on her mother’s cheek, the contact feeling more like a farewell than a greeting.

"Your father is speaking to the Earl of Rushmore. I suggest you prepare yourself for his offer. You’ll be the luckiest girl of the season if he does what is proper and expected." 

Stunned, Y/N felt her heart drop into the abyss of despair. This was only her second season, and she was barely prepared for the storm brewing on the horizon. Marriage? To a man she hardly knew, with a reputation as murky as the depths of a shadowy lake?

"Mother, I cannot marry him. I do not even know him. I—"

"Do not entertain any notion of rebellion, Y/N. If he offers, you shall accept. It is the only way to salvage your reputation, which is, at this moment, in tatters after your comfortable coze in Lady Min’s garden." Her mother's voice was sharp, laced with urgency.

"But I... I had hoped to have some kind of affection for the man I married." Her voice trailed off, nearly swallowed by the silence, as tears threatened to spill over.

The rustle of her mother’s voluminous skirts approached, and she felt the settee dip as Lady Y/L/N sat beside her, a gentle finger lifting Y/N’s chin. Their eyes met, and in that moment, she saw the weight of her mother’s own sacrifices reflected back at her. 

"My child, I wish it were possible for us all to marry for love. But circumstances dictate otherwise. If you do not accept Lord Rushmore's, your prospects of a good match will vanish. And there are far worse fates than becoming a countess, don't you think?"

As if summoned by fate, the door swung open, and a footman announced Lord Rushmore's and Lord Y/L/N, their arrival heralded like the final note of a dissonant chord.

"My lady, if you will accompany me, there are a few matters we must attend to," her father said, glancing at her mother with a look that brooked no argument. "Y/N, the Earl has a matter of utmost importance to discuss with you." 

The footman closed the door, sealing her in a cage of expectation with Lord Rushmore's.

He was breathtakingly handsome, a figure draped in a dark brown topcoat, gold embroidery catching the dim light like whispers of wealth and power. Beneath it, a tan waistcoat clung to him, a gold watch fob glinting like a promise—or a threat. The crisp, white linen neckcloth, simply knotted, was elegant against his throat, while breeches hugged his thighs sinfully until they disappeared into polished boots, a facade of civility masking the predator within.

It seemed that Seokjin had made a valiant attempt to bring order to his hair, but it had either been ruffled by his own restless hands or simply refused to be tamed, a wild, untamed creature defying all attempts at restraint. If one were to judge solely by his disheveled appearance, one might assume he had just rolled out of bed, a thought that sent Y/N's mind spiraling into a frenzy of embarrassment and shame. What was she doing, allowing herself to entertain such visions of him in her most private moments?

As she cataloged his tousled locks and haphazard attire, she caught him doing the very same, his eyes roving over her like a thief scouting for hidden treasures. Suddenly, she felt exposed, vulnerable before this man whose presence filled the room with an unsettling energy. She ducked her head, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth, unable to find a single word to break the silence.

"Miss Y/L/N, I … How do you fare?" His voice was hesitant, laced with a nervous edge that made her heart race.

She glanced up just in time to see him pinch his eyes shut, as if steeling himself against a tempest of emotions. 

"I am as fine as can be expected," she replied, her words feeling hollow in the charged atmosphere.

"Yes, well. To the matter at hand, then." He cleared his throat, the sound echoing like a distant thunderclap, and positioned himself in front of her, a statue of formal propriety. "Your father and I have discussed the situation, and I am prepared to offer you the protection of my name. I should have exercised more discretion at the ball, and for that, I apologize."

His hands clasped behind his back, his tone dripping with cold formality, the chill of icicles punctuating his every syllable. This was not the vibrant man she had encountered amidst the chaos of the ball. No, this was a figure of duty, an automaton wrapped in layers of ice, and she hated him for it.

"The protection of your name?" she echoed, her voice trembling slightly. "And what exactly would that mean?" She widened her eyes, feigning innocence, though she was no naive girl fresh from the nursery. She understood that marriage in their society came with varying degrees of commitment, some more binding than others.

His forehead wrinkled as he coughed, the sound a harsh rasp, before he paced toward the fireplace. Leaning on the mantle, he turned his gaze toward her, and she stood frozen in place, her spine straightening, shoulders squared, meeting his eyes with an intensity that seemed to draw the very air from the room.

"You would be my wife," he said, words flowing from him like a river, cold and unyielding. "The Countess of Rushmore. You would receive a generous allowance to purchase whatever you desire, and any scandal that may have tongues wagging today would practically disappear once we are wed."

"Do you wish to marry me?" The question escaped her lips before she could cage it, catching him off guard, a momentary flicker of surprise crossing his handsome face.

"Of course I do. I feel immensely… protective of you. I care a great deal for you." His eyes bore into hers, but she sensed a wall between them, one built on duty rather than desire.

"And is there anyone else for whom you care a great deal?" The words trembled on her tongue, and she felt the atmosphere thicken, charged with unspoken truths.

"I beg your pardon, but I don’t follow," he replied, brow furrowing in confusion.

She twisted her fingers together, summoning every ounce of courage as she faced the specter of societal norms that haunted her thoughts. "Do you support a… a mistress?" The word slipped out in a whisper, the weight of it heavy as it filled the space between them. She glanced up and saw his eyes widen, then quickly cast her gaze down, words tumbling out in a rush. "Because I do not believe I could stand such an arrangement. I would rather be a ruined woman and marry a nobody and live in the country for the rest of my life than to share a husband with another woman." Her voice faded into nothing, grounded firmly in the floorboards beneath her.

"I do not have a mistress," he replied, the certainty in his voice like a lifeline. "Once we are wed, I will remain faithful to you and you alone. You have nothing to worry about on that score." 

Relief washed over her for a fleeting moment before the weight of his words sank in. If he had no mistress, then he would expect a marriage that was not just a façade but a binding of souls, in name and in deed. She swallowed thickly and nodded, her heart a tumultuous storm of fear and longing.

"Y/N," he began, then hesitated, as if the weight of her name held more gravity than he anticipated. "May I call you Y/N?"

"Yes, my lord." 

He had moved closer, now standing directly in front of her, the space between them charged with a palpable energy. "Will you call me Seokjin?" he asked, his voice dropping to a soothing tenor that wrapped around her insides like a warm embrace, calming the quivering nerves.

Tentatively, she peeked up from beneath her eyelashes, finding his gaze steady, a promise held within its depths. She nodded, a silent acceptance.

"Very well. Y/N, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" His words, heavy with intent, settled over her like a shroud.

"Yes, Seokjin. I will marry you." 

In that moment, as the promise hung in the air, she felt the world shift beneath her, a groundless fear mingling with an unexpected thrill. What lay ahead was shrouded in shadows, and yet, she found herself stepping forward into the unknown, hand in hand with a man who, in this moment, could be both her salvation and her doom.

It had been two days since the boxing match with Y/N, a brutal affair that had gone better than Seokjin had dared to hope. Anthony had landed only a single glancing blow to his jaw, leaving a faint bruise that shadowed his skin like a lingering ghost. But the rest of him was a veritable tapestry of pain—blues and purples smeared across his torso, greens and yellows blooming like grotesque flowers. He had given as good as he got, though, and after twelve grueling rounds, Gentleman Jackson had declared the contest a tie. Both men had stood, panting and bloodied, a testament to their resilience and foolishness.

As he climbed into the high-perch phaeton, wincing at the pressure on his bruised ribs, he took the reins from his tiger. Concealing his injuries from Y/N would be no easy feat. The drive to the Y/L/N home was filled with thoughts that gnawed at him like a persistent rat. He couldn’t shake the notion that he had unwittingly fallen into a parson’s mousetrap, the kind of snare that snapped shut when you least expected it.

It wasn’t exactly a shock that Y/N had accepted his proposal. Had she not, London would have turned into a bleak wasteland for her and her family, the whispers of scandal echoing like a funeral dirge. No, the real surprise was the absence of panic that usually clawed at him like a feral animal. He felt no urge to flee, no desire to escape as he had with every other prospective bride. Not even the promise of fidelity had made him balk. Instead, he felt an unsettling calm settle over him, a strange sort of acceptance.

But one thing did trouble him: the absence of Lord Eisen. The man who had wronged Y/N had become a phantom, slipping through the cracks of society’s brittle façade. Seokjin felt a duty to call the villain to account for his behavior, and if an apology was not forthcoming, a duel would have to suffice—a duel to defend her honor, the stakes set high against the backdrop of the London social season.

To his surprise, Y/N was ready only moments after he entered the foyer. His feet seemed to sprout roots, anchoring him to the spot as he watched her descend the staircase. She wore a fashionable lemon-colored dress that clung to her slim waist, the kind of style that screamed sophistication, while her straw bonnet was adorned with a delicate spray of white and yellow flowers. Yet, despite the beauty of the scene, her smile was an unsettling mask—forced, like a stage actor trying desperately to remember their lines.

Perhaps she was not as pleased with her lot as she ought to be. Wasn’t every young woman supposed to dream of snagging a peer for a husband? Seokjin didn’t think himself a hardship to look at, and he had promised her generosity. It left him genuinely perplexed at the cloudiness of her demeanor, like storm clouds brewing overhead. He would have to suss her out during their drive.

“Good afternoon, Miss Y/L/N. You are as lovely as a summer day,” he said, taking her gloved hand and pressing his lips to it, a gesture that felt both tender and fraught with unspoken tension.

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, that delicious blush creeping into her cheeks, bright as the dawn.

“Have you driven in a phaeton before?” he inquired, trying to gauge her mood, the air thick with an undercurrent of something he couldn't quite name.

“No, I have not. Is it terribly high?” she asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into her voice.

“The highest,” he grinned, tucking her hand through his arm, the warmth of her presence grounding him amidst his swirling thoughts.

They crept along Rotten Row, the most fashionable hour for seeing and being seen. Nods and exchanges flitted between them like whispers in a crowded theater, laughter and gossip hanging heavy in the air. Park and Halston stopped to chat, their words a playful torment that turned Seokjin’s ears to fire. To her credit, Y/N managed to handle his friends with a practiced expertise, her demure laughter a welcome balm.

But as they parted ways, an open barouche approached, filled with the resident dragons of the beau monde—women so high in the instep they would snub even their own kin if it threatened their standing. Seokjin braced himself, prepared for the cut direct that would slice through the pretense of civility. He turned on his most charming smile, tipping the brim of his hat to them, a mask of confidence. To his relief, they nodded at him and Y/N, their plumed hats bobbing like strange birds pecking for seeds, momentarily offering her the protection that came with his name.

He directed the phaeton down a less congested avenue, glancing at his fiancée. “I’ve acquired a special license to marry. I thought this Friday would give you enough time to have your maid pack your things and deliver them to my home. Is that enough time for you to prepare?”

Her gaze drifted, unfocused as she twirled her parasol in lazy circles, caught somewhere between anticipation and anxiety. “Yes. I believe that will be enough time. Mother has a modiste working ‘round the clock, but my gown should be ready by then.” A laugh erupted from her, bright but edged with a hint of disbelief. “The poor woman nearly fell over herself for the privilege of making the new Countess of Kim’s wedding dress.” Her voice trailed off, shyness washing over her as if she had stepped into a cold river. “We’ll be going to Bond Street tomorrow for my other bride clothes, so there is little else for me to assemble.”

He was disarmed by her effortless humility, the sincerity of her words only adding to her appeal, like a faint light in the darkness. 

“Do you have any opinion on the location? Somewhere small and private, perhaps?” 

Had this been a typical courtship, he would have expected them to reserve St. George’s in Hanover Square, the kind of place where fashionable ton weddings occurred. His mother would’ve insisted upon it, a parade of acquaintances, all eager to witness the spectacle. But this was no ordinary wedding; it was a necessity—a desperate plea for normalcy in a world that felt increasingly chaotic. A smaller chapel would better serve their needs, he thought, yet he couldn’t shake the sense that their union was more than just a formality.

“Whatever you think best,” she said, her voice flat, as if she were reading from a script that had long lost its meaning.

Seokjin snapped the reins, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence that enveloped them. He tried to ignore the unease pooling in his gut, still grappling with the enigma of Y/N’s enthusiasm—or lack thereof. Just then, the wheels on his side of the phaeton jolted over a substantial pothole, and Y/N slammed into him, the impact hard enough to make the breath hiss from his lungs. 

The sudden gasp nearly made him curse, but he swallowed it down, letting his hand drift to the bruised ribs that throbbed beneath his shirt. “I’m terribly sorry, my lo—Seokjin. I didn’t think I jarred you so.” 

“No, it’s not your fault. I… I’m just careless with the ribbons,” he replied, teeth clenched like a vice. 

Her brow furrowed in confusion, as if she were trying to decipher a foreign language. He waved away her concern, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Why do you seem so displeased with our arrangement?” 

She sighed, her mouth curving downward, eyes fixated on something far beyond the horizon. “It’s rather silly, really.” 

“Nothing important to you is silly,” he countered, slowing the horses until they came to a stop beneath a canopy of fragrant trees, their leaves whispering secrets to one another. He turned to face her fully, heart hammering like a ticking time bomb. 

“I suppose I just feel… very inexperienced.” 

“Shall we try and remedy that, my darling?” He took her hand, cradling it gently as if it were something fragile, something that might shatter at the slightest misstep. 

“Whatever do you mean?” Her voice dropped to a whisper that danced over him, sparking warmth in the chill air, stirring something deep within his chest. 

“May I try something?” 

She blinked, once, twice, the uncertainty in her gaze unraveling him. “Yes?” 

He leaned closer, slowly, carefully, as if drawing nearer to a wild creature, waiting for it to either flee or surrender. Patience enveloped them, thick and electric, rekindling that tension from the ball, drawing them together like moths to a flickering flame. 

When her eyes fluttered shut, he crossed the distance and pressed his lips to hers. It was a gentle exploration, soft and hesitant, the taste of sweetness enveloping him like a shroud. Her rigid posture melted against him, a warmth spreading through his veins. He relished the sound of her breath hitching, the quiet gasps of surprise that filled the air like a prayer. 

But reality loomed, a footman lurking at the back of the phaeton, the world of Hyde Park still swirling around them. He savored the way her hands clung to his biceps, the way she leaned into him, trusting and vulnerable. 

As their kiss lingered, he pulled back, heart racing, and squeezed her hands gently. “Despite what you may have heard of my reputation, I want you to be happy. It’s my foremost pursuit. You’ve come to mean the world to me, Y/N. Once we are wed, I hope you will let me court you properly.” 

She bit her lip, turning her face just enough to hide a smile beneath the brim of her bonnet. “That sounds lovely.” 

A week passed—an entire week!—since their wedding, and Seokjin had done nothing more than kiss her lightly before she retreated to her separate bedchamber. Days melted into one another in their Mayfair townhouse, filled with light conversation about likes and dislikes, books, and the shifting tides of politics. Each night, he would escort her to her door, kiss her as one might kiss a sibling, and disappear into the silence of his own room. 

Y/N had mentally prepared herself for the duty all wives were expected to perform, and the absence of that first night stung like a phantom limb. With each passing day, her fondness for Seokjin grew—perhaps even love—but every time he sent her to bed alone felt like a deeper wound, a rejection wrapped in tenderness. 

Staring at the heavy brocaded tapestries above her, she fumed, a tempest brewing in her chest. Enough was enough. She threw off the covers, slipped into her dressing gown, and marched through the hushed rooms until she found his. His valet must have retired, for the air was thick with stillness and the promise of secrets. 

Without so much as a knock, she flung open the door to his bedroom and halted. There he stood, just out of reach of the fire’s glow, a vision of raw masculinity with one hand resting on the counterpane of his bed. Her breath caught in her throat, captivated by the lean muscles of his back, the dimples above his shapely behind. But then she saw the shadows—fading bruises that painted his torso like a cruel map of his suffering. 

“Good Lord,” she gasped, horror mingling with concern. “What happened to you?” 

His shoulders slumped as he shrugged into his dressing gown, the fabric whispering secrets against his skin. He approached her, tying the sash, hands sliding into the pockets like a man trying to hide the evidence of his pain. 

“It’s nothing, my sweet. Please don’t concern yourself.” 

“Is this why you have not touched me since our wedding?” 

“I didn’t want you to see me in such a battered state. If I were to do more than kiss you, I wouldn’t be able to control myself.” 

“What happened?” 

“An overly enthusiastic sparring partner at Jackson’s boxing saloon.” 

Timidly, she spread open the top of his gown. Her heart raced as she traced her fingers over his bruised skin, circling the marks of violence like a moth drawn to a flame. “Who was your partner?” 

“I… can’t say as—” 

“Please be honest with me. I cannot abide liars.” 

He paused, gaze shifting from her eyes to the floor. “It was your brother,” he confessed, the weight of his words pressing down like an anvil. 

“And he is the one who gave you the bruise here, I suppose?” Her fingers brushed against the stubble on his jaw, memories of their earlier kiss flooding back, tainted now by the knowledge of violence. 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“He felt the need to defend your honor. I was the only target available.” 

Her grip tightened on his lapels, a surge of anger coursing through her veins. “How positively stupid! You had already offered for me, and I had accepted. Why would you let him pummel you so?” 

His soothing voice gripped her, but she wanted no part of it. She stepped away, feeling sick, as if the world had spun off its axis. “And what good would that do? Will you beat him into unconsciousness?” 

He winced, a sheepish smile flickering across his face like the dying light of a sunset. “Will you challenge him to a duel?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. When he said nothing, her breath hitched, and she gasped, “You would leave me a widow less than a month after our wedding? A marriage we haven’t even consummated?”

His eyes flared like flames licking at dry wood, and he stepped forward, closing the distance between them in one swift motion. His hands gripped her arms, pulling her face to his, their noses almost touching. “Don’t for a second think, Y/N, that I don’t want to consummate our marriage. I’ve burned for you since the moment we crossed that threshold as husband and wife.”

Then, in a rush, his lips crashed against hers, an urgent storm of desire. His hands slipped from her arms, gliding over her shoulders, up her neck, cupping her face with a tenderness that belied the tempest brewing within him. He kissed her, nipping and sucking at the tender flesh along her neck, each brush of his mouth a brush against the very core of her being.

Dizzy, she felt their bodies meld together, pressed tightly from knees to chest, sensations swirling like a maelstrom. When his lips reached her ear, he whispered, “It’s a matter of honor,” and with that simple phrase, she snapped back to reality, the haze of desire dissipating like fog in the morning sun.

“Go then,” she said, her voice sharp as a knife, pushing away from him. “Seek your satisfaction, but do not come to me. I could not bear it if I gave you my entire self only to have you killed over something so trivial now. Y/N Y/L/N is no more; only Lady Y/N Kim, Countess of Rushmore, remains, a woman of standing, one of the most sought-after guests in London.”

With that, she turned and fled to her chamber, locking the doors behind her as if sealing away the chaos of her heart. She collapsed onto her bed, sobbing until her tears ran dry, feeling the weight of her world pressing down upon her.

Seokjin waited for over an hour, but she did not join him in the breakfast parlor. He could feel her vexation in the air, thick and heavy, like a summer storm hanging just before the downpour. If only she could understand how her honor intertwined with his own, how he could not simply walk away from the challenge that had been laid before him.

The prospect of a duel with Eisen loomed, but Seokjin preferred other avenues to address the scoundrel's transgressions. He was ready to confront the man, but only if words failed. Until then, he could only wait, his heart heavy with concern and unspoken words. 

He left the door to his study open, hoping to hear the sound of her footsteps. The empty fireplace crackled softly, but the only thing he could focus on was the gnawing worry about her silence. Just then, his butler knocked and announced Lord Whitmore’s arrival.

Seokjin rose to greet his friend, who brushed aside the butler’s offer to take his coat and hat. 

“I don’t believe I shall tarry long, Forbes, but thank you,” Lord Whitmore said, glancing at Seokjin with a look that could only be described as appraising.

“Morning, Park. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“You look terrible, Kim. Is the little wife not pleasing you?” 

“Speak another word on that subject, and you may find yourself missing a few teeth,” Seokjin growled, tension flooding his veins.

“Easy, friend. I have other news. Eisen’s been spotted.”

At the mention of the man’s name, Seokjin felt his entire body tense, a primal instinct surging through him, the urge to fight. He flexed his fingers, pacing the length of the room. “Where? Has he returned home?”

“No, he was seen last night at a gaming hell near Covent Garden.”

“Your Bow Street friend is tailing him, I presume?”

“Of course.”

“Then what are we doing standing around woolgathering?”

When they found Jonathon Bartlett, Viscount Eisen, he lay slumped over the gaming table, still dazed from the previous night's indulgences. The weary proprietor explained how he’d tried to send the viscount home, but Eisen had threatened violence if anyone laid a hand on him. It went without saying that the authorities weren’t called in, given the establishment’s questionable legality. But that didn’t deter Seokjin; he was resolute in seeking justice for his wife.

“Lord Eisen, I would like a word with you.”

The viscount lifted his head, eyes bloodshot and watering, about to lay it back down when comprehension finally broke through the fog of drink clouding his mind. “Rushmore? Is that you? Poor sot you are, shackled to a fish like her,” he began to laugh, but before he could rise, he slumped back down, surrendering to the inebriation that held him captive.

“You behaved in a most heinous way toward my wife, Eisen,” Seokjin said, his voice steady as granite, muscles taut like a bowstring. He stood with his arms braced on the table, the weight of his indignation anchoring him against the crude laughter of the man before him.

Eisen leaned back, his arrogance filling the space like stale smoke. “You see, Rushmore,” he continued, as if Seokjin’s words were mere whispers against the roar of his own hubris, “it’s not good form to take the chit astride you in plain view of her papa. One must be smarter about these things. At least I had the decency to carry her off to a nice, dark corner of the garden for some real fun.” 

“Eisen, I warn you—”

“Doesn’t she have the creamiest thighs you’ve ever seen? A right shame she had to ruin everything by carrying on like a hellcat. What I would give to sink into th—”

In the heartbeat it took for the air to thicken with tension, Lord Rushmore's fist connected with Eisen’s nose, a sickening crunch echoing through the room as the viscount crumpled to the floor, blood spilling like a crimson secret onto the polished wood.

Seokjin would have launched himself atop the man, would have rained down blows until his fury found satisfaction, had it not been for Jimin’s firm hands grasping his shoulders, holding him back like a rabid dog on a leash.

Jonathon, now upright but wobbling, wiped the blood from his face, confusion mingling with rage. “What the devil are you playing at, Rushmore?”

“You will apologize to Lady Rushmore.”

“She barely got what she deserved, the tease. Making eyes and overtures all night, then turning into a proper little prudish thing…”

Seokjin slowly removed his leather gloves, peeling them off with a deliberate precision that bespoke his simmering wrath. He straightened each finger, each gesture methodical, before slapping the gloves across Eisen’s face, satisfaction blooming within him as he noted the three pink scars Y/N had left on the viscount’s cheek.

Eisen let out a sick, hysterical bark of laughter. “You’re challenging me, then?”

Seokjin remained a statue, unyielding.

“What’s it to be? Another bout of fisticuffs at Jackson’s? I assure you, I won’t spare your pretty face like the Y/L/N lad did.”

“Pistols, tomorrow at dawn. Who is your second?”

Eisen narrowed his eyes, scanning the growing crowd in the club with a predator’s focus. “Lord Alec Winters,” he replied, a cold gleam dancing in his gaze.

“Lord Halston will be in contact with him to determine the field of honor. Good day.” 

As they mounted their horses, Lord Whitmore turned to Seokjin, his expression grave and weighted with concern. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“What’s done is done,” Seokjin replied, each word heavy with the inevitability of consequence. “I cannot recall the challenge without appearing a coward.”

“Very well, my lord. I shall stand at your side with Halston.”

Seokjin spent the rest of the day cloistered in his study, though hiding would be a more accurate term. Y/N was noticeably absent when he returned home after issuing his challenge. The butler had handed him a note stating that his wife was spending the day with her particular friends, Ladies Jeon and Jung, but it made no mention of when she would return.

He ate his meal alone, the silence in the room amplifying the thrum of his thoughts, before returning once more to the sanctuary of his study. After pouring himself a generous glass of port, he opened the case that held his dueling pistols. He examined the moving parts, ensuring everything was in proper working order, the metallic tang of the weapons grounding him amidst the swirling chaos in his mind.

It was well after dark when he heard her voice echo through the foyer. “Is Lord Rushmore's at home?” she asked, her tone light but edged with something he couldn’t quite decipher.

“Yes, my lady. He is in the study,” came the butler’s formal reply.

“Thank you, Forbes. That will be all.”

Before he could consider the implications of the pistols laid out on his desk, she appeared in the doorway, her presence a sharp contrast to the darkness of the room.

“Seokjin, I just wanted to…” Her voice faded as her gaze fell on the dueling pistols, an expressionless veneer sliding over her features like a heavy curtain. “I just wanted to let you know I was home.”

“Y/N…”

“Goodnight, Seokjin.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, as she turned and left, the door closing behind her with a finality that echoed like a gunshot in the night.

She couldn’t sleep a wink. The moment she’d spotted the gleaming pistols on Seokjin’s desk, nausea twisted in her stomach like a coiled snake. All night, she lay in the dark, listening for any sound from his bedchamber, but there was nothing. The silence stretched, oppressive and thick, until her unease multiplied, leaving her trembling, a leaf caught in an unforgiving wind.

In the pre-dawn darkness, she lit a single candle, its flickering flame casting long shadows as she made her way to the kitchen, seeking a biscuit or something to settle her roiling stomach. But as she crept into the dimly lit space, her heart plummeted when she overheard Forbes speaking to Mrs. Cope, the housekeeper.

“He’s goin’ through with that bloody duel?” Mrs. Cope’s voice dripped with concern, thick as treacle.

“It would seem so,” Forbes replied, his tone grave.

“The poor girl,” Mrs. Cope continued, her voice low, “she was so out of sorts yesterday, and just when I thought they were beginnin’ to warm up to each other…”

Madness. Absolute madness. How could she sit idly by, waiting for news that might shatter her world, wondering if her husband lay dead in a field of honor? Clearing her throat, she startled the two servants. “Forbes, please have a footman saddle my horse.”

His eyebrows raised slightly, but he schooled his features, nodding with a single, curt motion.

“And when you’re done with him, bring him here and I’ll box his ears,” Mrs. Cope added with a wink, a twinkle of mischief in her eye.

Y/N knew the housekeeper had cared for Seokjin since he was a lad of seventeen, just stepping into the world as an Earl after his father’s death. She’d watched Mrs. Cope fuss over him like a second mother, a bond forged in years of loyalty and affection.

“You can count on it, to be sure, Mrs. Cope,” Y/N promised, her resolve hardening.

She rushed back to her chamber, dressing in her riding habit without a moment’s thought for her maid. Tying her hair into a simple queue, she ignored the elaborate hats hanging in her dressing room, knowing they would do little to comfort her.

Forbes held the door open, and as she passed, he murmured, “Hyde Park, just north of the Serpentine.”

“Thank you, Forbes,” she replied, determination coursing through her veins.

The groom helped her into the side-saddle, and she urged her horse into a slow trot until she found her seat. Then she pressed the beast into a gallop, the wind whipping around her face as the world blurred by. The gray mist of foreboding cloaked the park, but she pressed on toward the bridge, morning light peeking over the horizon, the air crisp and biting.

As she crossed the bridge, her heart raced at the sight of a gathering of gentlemen, tension crackling in the air. Two men stood poised to fire, and she could faintly hear Lord Halston calling out, “Ready. Aim. Fire!”

Time slowed as she careened toward the group, her voice piercing the morning hush. “NO!” But it was too late; the shots rang out, echoing in her ears like the toll of a death knell. 

She leapt from her horse, barreling through the crowd of men, her heart pounding like a war drum. “Seokjin!” she called, desperation clawing at her throat as she broke through the front line. Lord Eisen stood to her left, his pistol still raised, confusion painted across his face. To her right, she saw Seokjin, his arm raised to the sky, expression a tempest of fury and concern.

“I am satisfied,” he declared, his voice steady despite the chaos, “Let it be known that Lord Eisen is a debaucher of innocence and a dishonorable blackguard.” He lowered his pistol, striding toward her with purpose.

But before he could reach her, another gunshot shattered the stillness, a sharp crack in the fragile morning. Horror twisted in her gut as Seokjin howled in pain, crumpling to the ground, blood blooming like dark petals through the fabric of his breeches. Disapproving murmurs erupted from the gathered crowd, a cacophony of gasps and curses directed at Lord Eisen.

Her focus narrowed to Seokjin, writhing on the ground as blood seeped from his wound. She fell to her knees, hands trembling as they fluttered over his injured leg.

“Stay back, Y/N, this is no place for you,” he gritted out, his voice strained with pain. “Park, take her back home.”

“No. I’m not leaving. I can help.”

“Dammit, woman, why will you not do as I say?”

“Because I love you!” she shouted, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. “And I won’t leave your side.” She cupped his sweat-dampened cheek, searching his eyes for any sign of hope. “Lord Whitmore, is there a physician present?” she asked, desperation lacing her voice, unwilling to tear her gaze from Seokjin.

“Here, my lady. I’ll just see to binding the wound,” a gray-haired gentleman replied, a black satchel slung over his shoulder.

Seokjin threw his head back on the grass, a roar of agony ripping from his throat. “Be quick about it. I’m not sure how much longer I can remain conscious!”

Once the physician bound his leg, Park and Halston helped Seokjin into the doctor’s carriage, then Park handed Y/N inside, her heart hammering with fear as they made their way home, Seokjin’s head resting on her lap, his warmth a fragile reminder of life.

When they arrived at Kim House, Halston administered copious amounts of brandy until Seokjin was thoroughly foxed, the alcohol dulling the edges of his pain.

The doctor worked efficiently, extracting the bullet with practiced hands, though he was the recipient of a lengthy string of vitriol from the Earl. “Curse you, Eisen!” Seokjin spat, his voice thick with indignation. The doctor promised to return the following day to check the dressing and promptly exited the room.

Y/N remained at Seokjin’s side, mopping his forehead with a cool cloth, his features a pale shadow of their usual vigor. He was insensible from both the liquor and the laudanum, yet he managed to crack his eyes open, a flicker of recognition igniting within.

“Did you mean it?” he asked, voice slurred yet filled with an urgency that made her heart leap.

“Why was your pistol raised when I arrived?” She couldn’t help but question, a mix of fear and frustration welling within her.

“I shot into the air,” he scowled, eyes narrowing. “The cur wasn’t worth even a single bullet.” He paused, searching her gaze with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “Did you mean what you said? That you love me?”

“Yes, you ridiculously honorable man. I love you,” she confessed, her heart swelling with the truth of her words.

“As I love you,” he replied, his voice softer, a gentle lullaby beneath the tumult of the day. “’Tis why I had to confront him the way I did.” His words were heavy with sleep, yet fervent as though each syllable was an anchor in the storm.

“Well, you’re going to have to come up with a different way of expressing it. I don’t think I could bear to see you… For a moment, I thought you were dead.” The weight of those words pressed down on her, a chill creeping through her veins.

“I shall never leave your side again, my love.” His voice softened, eyes fluttering closed, his breathing slowing like the ebb of the tide.

For a heartbeat, she thought he had finally succumbed to sleep, but then she felt the gentle pressure of his hand around hers, a tether that bound them even amidst the shadows, a promise whispered in the dark.

"I fear I shall be a useless husband for the next several weeks until the wound is well on its way to healing." Seokjin's gaze pierced through her, an intensity lurking behind his words that took her a moment to grasp. 

A rush of crimson crept up her neck, and she quickly averted her gaze. “Don’t be vulgar. It is far too early in the morning for such talk.”

"I will require a great deal of nursing and special care, you know." His voice was a teasing whisper, laced with something more primal that made her heart race.

"Yes, the doctor explained what would need to be done. I shall take extra special care of you, my lord," she replied, tracing a delicate finger over the smattering of hair on his chest, the softness of the moment shattered by the storm brewing beneath the surface.

"Vixen," he murmured, eyes fluttering shut, a smile playing on his lips. "These next weeks will be torture."

"I do hope so," she shot back, her tone teasing but edged with sincerity. "Perhaps next time you won’t be so quick to engage in something as foolish as this."

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his, the kiss igniting a warmth that spread through them both. Seokjin’s hand found the back of her neck, holding her gently in place as he feasted on her mouth, nibbling and sucking, each sigh from him a reminder of the thin line between pleasure and pain.

With a soft thud, his head dropped back onto the pillow, and he looked deeply into her eyes. “When my leg has healed, the first order of business will be to see to the matter of an heir for the Earldom.”

“Agreed,” she whispered, lying down next to him on the bed for the first time, a sense of gravity settling over them.

Meanwhile, Lord Rushmore stood with his hands casually clasped behind his back, watching a stable boy lead a striking pair of chestnut horses around the yard at Tattersalls. He had no real intention of acquiring any new horseflesh; he had simply agreed to meet Lords Park and Halston there, his mind elsewhere, adrift in thoughts of a summer retreat at Willow Hill, his country estate.

It had been an arduous month, the wound inflicted by Lord Eisen a constant reminder of his vulnerability. Kim hated being an invalid, but Y/N’s determined care was a salve to his wounded pride, particularly when she offered to help him bathe. Yet now, as he was finally cleared to bear weight on his injured leg, her shyness returned, casting a pall over the intimacy they had shared.

“Kim!” Namjoon’s voice cut through his reverie, yanking him back to the present.

“How goes it, Halston?” Seokjin asked, forcing a smile.

“Well, very well. And how does the livestock look?” Namjoon’s tone was light, masking the concern lurking just beneath.

Seokjin circled the courtyard, moving smoothly as Namjoon trailed slowly behind. 

“Still walking like you’ve got a dry stick in your boot instead of a leg, I see?” Lord Whitmore called from behind, his friendly jab punctuating the air.

Seokjin turned, a rueful grin tugging at his lips. He had long since stopped limping, yet the familiar teasing felt like a balm, a reminder of their shared camaraderie.

Jimin stepped up beside Seokjin, tilting his head slightly. “They’re preparing the gallows at Newgate,” he said, his voice low, the gravity of his words palpable.

“I see,” Seokjin replied, his brow furrowing. “And has your Bow Street source heard anything that would be of particular interest to me?”

Jimin shook his head, frustration evident. “He wasn’t able to get a look at the list of condemned.”

“After shooting you in the leg and then strangling his new bride to death, it would serve him right to dance upon nothing. I shudder when I think of the reports that were given as to her physical condition before death. The man is a monster.” Namjoon’s voice grew impassioned, his anger simmering just below the surface. He despised violence against women, a sentiment that burned hotter with each word. “If I had the chance, I’d dispatch Eisen with my bare hands.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Seokjin replied, the heat of righteous indignation flaring in his chest. “Though I must admit, it would take Herculean effort to prevent a towering rage from overcoming me if I were to find Y/N with another man—and in the very act, no less.”

Namjoon opened his mouth to protest, but Seokjin raised a hand. “No, friend, I understand. Her dalliance certainly did not merit her death. If Eisen is to be hanged, he has certainly earned his fate.”

The three stood in a tense silence as the auctioneer began the bidding on a black thoroughbred racehorse, the tension in the air palpable.

“Halston, are you bidding today?” Jimin asked, his voice light, yet curiosity tinged his tone.

Namjoon’s brows pinched together, shaking his head. “No, I haven’t seen anything that strikes my fancy.”

“Shall we be off to Park’s, then?” Jimin’s brow rose expectantly, glancing between Namjoon and Seokjin.

“Not for me, lads. I must see to a few last-minute preparations before we leave for Willow Hill.”

They strolled a short distance away from Tattersalls, where Seokjin’s coach awaited. 

“We shall join you in a week’s time,” Namjoon said, a promise hanging in the air.

“I look forward to a few weeks in the country,” Seokjin replied, a smile creeping onto his lips despite the heavy weight of recent events. “Though I daresay this house party will be quite different from those of past years, with Lady Rushmore now leading you about by the nose.” Jimin chuckled, nudging Namjoon with his elbow, their shared mirth a small reprieve from the shadows of their reality. They exchanged a pitying glance with Seokjin, who merely smiled, shaking his head, caught in the bittersweet nature of love, loss, and the unbearable weight of impending fate.

"I'll have you know that in addition to her Mama and Papa, Lady Rushmore has also invited the Jeons and the Jungs. I would not doubt she has matchmaking on the mind." The words tumbled from Seokjin’s mouth, heavy with implication, each syllable dripping with the kind of mischief that hangs thick in the air before a storm.

Jimin scoffed, shaking his head. "The day I fall into a parson's mousetrap, as you did, is the day I shall kick the bucket from under my own feet and take a short drop."

"Ah, my dear Park, there are a great many advantages to having a wife," Seokjin replied, climbing into the carriage, the sound of his voice echoing like a warning bell against the backdrop of laughter and banter.

"Does that mean you're no longer living the life of a monk?" Jimin called after him, his words laced with a teasing edge. As Seokjin gave two swift raps to the roof of the carriage, the laughter of his friends faded, oblivious to the rich tapestry of pleasure that a loving wife waiting at home could weave into a man's life.

The scene that greeted Seokjin upon his arrival home was chaos incarnate. Maids bustled about like frantic bees, arms laden with linens and other household goods, while footmen heaved large trunks and portmanteaus down the stairs, the very air vibrating with urgency. 

He nodded as he passed various servants, each one bobbing curtsies or bowing stiffly before resuming their frenetic tasks. But as he reached the top of the stairs, a familiar voice cut through the cacophony—Y/N, directing her maid with a calm authority that belied the frenzy around her.

"I'm afraid I'll need the basin with me inside the coach. Heaven help me if I should cast up my crumpets during the journey. Lord Rushmore's has yet to witness such a distasteful episode. I fear I shall die of mortification if he were to witness such unpleasantness." 

A flicker of irritation sparked within Seokjin at the thought of her hiding an illness from him, a dark cloud threatening to obscure his sunny disposition. He had every intention of chastising her for keeping silent about her health, but that resolve evaporated like morning mist when he rounded the corner into their bedroom. 

There she was, bent over a valise, sorting through her chemises and nightdresses, a vision of domesticity that stole the breath from his lungs. 

The maid was the first to notice him. He raised a finger to his lips and nodded toward the door, signaling his desire for privacy. She nodded once and slipped out, closing the door without so much as a whisper. 

Seokjin moved across the room, his footsteps muffled by the plush woven rug beneath him, until he stood directly behind his still-leaning wife. 

"Liza, have you already packed my tan kid glo—" He gripped her hips, pulling her backside against him, eliciting a shriek of surprise. When she spun around, he caught her in his arms, her wide eyes a mirror of astonishment. 

"Hello, my love."

"Seokjin! How you startled me." She swatted her hand against his chest, but the smile creeping across her lips melted the tension from her flushed features, leaving only warmth in its wake. 

"I am sorry for that, but I was loath to interrupt my view of your delightful figure." 

He stroked his finger along her cheekbone, which bloomed with a telltale blush. She studied him as he trailed the same finger down her throat and around the back of her neck, delighting in the shivers that coursed through her at his touch. Leaning down, he followed the path with the tip of his nose, stopping momentarily to graze the tender flesh behind her ear with his lips. 

"My lord," she whispered, and he felt the weight of that title hang between them like a breathless promise. 

"Yes, my lady?" 

He continued to kiss and nibble his way across her jaw and up to her lips, savoring the sweet aftertaste of honey that lingered from her tea. She responded with equal enthusiasm, suckling his lower lip and tilting her head for a better angle. After what felt like hours, she finally pulled away, gasping for breath. 

"Seokjin, there is too much to do." She leaned away from him, perhaps expecting him to release her, but he tightened his grip around her waist, kissing her again, lost in the moment. 

"We have a moment, do we not?" he murmured against her lips, the world outside fading into insignificance. 

Suddenly, she stiffened in his arms, and he instinctively relaxed his hold. Her hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes widened with a dawning horror. He let her go as she rushed to the washstand, emptying the contents of her stomach into the basin. 

With purposeful strides, he crossed the room and laid a gentle hand on her back, offering comfort as she heaved, the sound echoing in the quiet of the room. When she was finished, he extended his handkerchief and waited, heart pounding in his chest. 

She shuffled to the tea tray, returning to the basin with a cup full of lukewarm tea. Swishing mouthfuls and spitting them back into the basin, she did her best to maintain some semblance of delicacy, but her weariness was palpable. 

When she finally turned to face him, the rosy flush had drained from her cheeks, replaced by an ashen pallor that sent a chill through him. How long had she been hiding her illness? 

"Must you look at me with such pity?" she asked, setting the teacup down and twisting her hands together, a nervous habit that made his heart ache. 

"My sweet, how long have you felt ill? We can postpone our departure until you are well. Everyone coming to Willow Hill will understand." He reached out to caress her cheek, but she turned away from his touch, brushing past him like a ghost. 

He watched, concern knitting his brow, as she paced the room, muttering under her breath, a whirlwind of anxiety. Finally, she cast herself onto the bed, curling into a tight ball, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Seokjin was taken aback, concern spiraling into panic at the sudden shift in her demeanor. Every instinct screamed at him to rush to her side, but he remained frozen, captivated by the raw vulnerability laid bare before him. 

As if pulled by an unseen string, she sat up, wiping her eyes before their gazes connected, and he felt propelled into action. 

He hurriedly knelt in front of her, grasping her hands in his. "What is wrong, Y/N?"

"I did not… It was supposed to be… Oh botheration. I must look a fright." She dabbed the handkerchief at the corners of her eyes, a picture of fragility. 

"Should I summon the doctor?" he asked, dread pooling in his stomach at the thought of his wife being gravely ill. 

The lines of worry etched on her face began to soften, replaced by a look of adoration that made his heart race. 

"I have already seen the doctor." 

"And what is his diagnosis?" Seokjin’s heart plummeted, a darkness settling over him at the very thought of her suffering.

She wriggled one of her hands free from his grasp—he hadn’t realized he was squeezing her so tightly—and cupped the side of his face with a tenderness that caught him off guard. “I’m afraid you were quite successful in your quest for an heir,” she said, her voice trembling like a leaf in a storm.

His brow furrowed as the meaning of her words sunk in, slowly creeping through the fog of his mind like a dark shadow. “Do you mean… I say! Are you—” He sprang to his feet, a surge of exhilaration propelling him to nearly drag Y/N off the bed in his excitement.

“I am increasing, and it is all your fault, you insufferable man! I don’t feel the least bit well, and of course, there’s nothing to be done for it but nibble dry toast when the nausea strikes.” Her voice had a sharp edge to it, yet there was a sparkle in her eyes that ignited something primal within him.

Dropping to his knees, he surrounded her with his arms, resting his head gently against her still-flat abdomen. The thought “I am going to be a father” echoed in his mind, a mantra that swelled until it overwhelmed him like a tidal wave.

Y/N threaded her fingers through his hair, massaging soothing circles on his scalp, murmuring sweet nothings that drifted like whispers in the night until, finally, she grasped his chin and gently lifted him to his feet. “I wanted to tell you at Willow Hill. The doctor confirmed the pregnancy only this morning.”

“When will it be here?” he asked, his heart pounding like a drum echoing through an empty hall.

“He shall be born in early February.”

He smirked, a wild gleam igniting in his eyes as he led her back to the bed. With a tenderness that seemed to transcend reality, he cradled her in his arms. “You are sure, then, that I have produced an heir for the title of Lord Rushmore’s?” His voice danced with mischief.

“Of course. It is my greatest wish that the lineage for the earldom be secured, but…”

“But what, my darling?”

“What if it is a girl?” 

“It gives us all the more reason to practice the arduous task of producing a male heir.” He kissed her soundly as he laid her on the bed, hovering protectively over her, his body a fortress against the world. 

“There are still so many things to prepare, Seokjin.”

“Hush, my dear. Let the housekeeper do her job. The world will not fall apart if we steal a few moments of quiet together.” 

She pressed herself into his side, and in that fleeting moment, as if they had stolen a slice of eternity, he felt her body relax, her breaths evening into those of a slumbering angel, wrapped in the cocoon of their shared warmth.

The next morning unfolded like a symphony of chaos as the coaches were readied for the departure of the Earl of Rushmore’s household. When Forbes gave the word, Seokjin tucked Y/N’s hand in the crook of his elbow and led her to the carriage. Once she was settled, he followed her in, sitting close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. His gaze flicked nervously to the basin opposite them, stacked with lavender-scented handkerchiefs and towels. He hoped her sickness wouldn’t turn their journey into a nightmare.

The carriage lurched into motion, rattling off through the streets of London, bound for the quieter Hampshire countryside. The sun barely peeked over the rooftops, and the cool breeze whispered secrets through the open windows. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment of calm until Y/N spoke, shattering the fragile peace.

“Seokjin, why are we going in the wrong direction? This is not the road to Hampshire.”

He opened his eyes and sat up straighter, unease coiling in his stomach like a serpent. “I have a small matter of business I need to see to before we leave town.”

She frowned, her brow knitting together in concern. “I thought you took care of all your business yesterday.”

“Yes, well, one other matter came up.”

“I see.” 

She shifted away from him, her attention drawn outside. His heart sank as he realized where they were headed. The closer they came to Newgate prison, the more agitated he became, as if an unseen force was tightening around his throat.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, glancing at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Do you not have a book or some kind of embroidery with which to occupy yourself?”

“I fear I would grow ill if I tried to read, and heaven forbid I should attempt any kind of needlecraft. I would most likely end up sticking myself and bleed to death.” 

He sighed, defeated by her stubbornness. Minutes ticked by, and the rattling wheels on the cobblestone streets were replaced by the jeers of a growing mob gathering for the hangings.

“Seokjin, why is there such a crowd at this early hour?” Her voice was laced with dread, and he could feel her eyes boring into him, demanding answers he couldn’t provide.

He stood, head bent, shoulders rounded, and leaned over his legs to peer out his window. The prison loomed ahead, and the gallows stood like a grim sentinel against the morning sky.

As they approached, the carriage slowed, stopping some distance from the raised platform, yet they had a perfect view. When the gaoler stood and raised his arms, the crowd fell silent, anticipation crackling in the air like static before a storm.

As he read the names of the condemned and their crimes, a chill crept down Seokjin’s spine. One by one, the hooded figures were brought forth, the nooses cinched around their necks as the crowd hissed and jeered, throwing stones and objects at the prisoners.

“And last we have, Jonathon Bartlett, Viscount Eisen, condemned to hang by the neck until dead for the murder in cold blood of Louis Montford, Marquis of Calais.”

Y/N gasped, scrambling backward into her seat, her breath quickening as panic washed over her like a wave. She waved her hand in front of her face, but that same wide-eyed look of distress he had witnessed the day before seized her. She lunged forward, retching violently into the basin.

Once again, he handed her a clean square of toweling and waited, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. 

“I had heard of the scandal. Lady Min was quite thrilled to share the news with your mother. But… he is not condemned for the death of Lady Eisen?”

Seokjin shook his head, his heart pounding like a war drum. “No. Had he only killed her, he most likely would not be in this position. When he murdered the Marquis in front of his entire household, he sealed his fate.” 

Though he glossed over the details for her benefit, the gruesome images of Lord Montford’s lifeless body, throat slit from ear to ear, lingered in his mind like a dark specter. It was damning, to say the least.

Seokjin peered out of the carriage window, the air thick with a tension that prickled at the nape of his neck. It was nearly time.

“Please, Seokjin,” Y/N’s voice quivered, raw with dread. “I can’t bear this. Let’s go.”

He nodded once, the sound of his heart thumping painfully in his chest. With a sharp rap on the carriage's wooden panel, the horses whinnied in response, and the vehicle lurched forward, rattling down the cobbled streets. 

As they rounded the corner, the roar of the mob reached a crescendo, a grotesque symphony of triumph and bloodlust. It echoed in his ears, a haunting reminder of what awaited them. Y/N leaned heavily against him, her body trembling as she covered her face with shaking hands, bent double as if the weight of the world bore down on her fragile frame. For a moment, he feared she might be sick again.

After a silence that stretched like a taut wire, she slowly lifted her head, her eyes glistening. “I don’t understand why I’ve turned into a watering pot.”

“It’s the good and kind nature within you,” he murmured, though he felt the tremor in his own voice.

“It’s never good to revel in the death of one of God’s children, even if he was a very bad man.” She sniffled into her handkerchief, and gradually, the plush upholstery of the carriage seemed to embrace her weary form, pulling her back from the brink of despair.

“True. He was indeed a most depraved individual, but now we shall never have to worry about him again.”

“Do you think he really would have followed through on his threats against me?” She looked at him, eyes wide with fear.

“It’s hard to say for certain. But if his madness regarding his wife’s lover is any indication, I’m relieved to think you need not worry about his intentions any longer.” 

28 February 1816

11:54 pm

“I swear to God himself, if I am not allowed to see my wife this instant, I shall break down the door!” Seokjin's voice reverberated through the upper halls of Willow Hill as he pounded on the door to their shared bedchamber, desperation clawing at him.

Y/N had been laboring for nearly twenty hours. The doctor had even consented to allow the local midwife to assist, though his reluctant agreement came with warnings laced with disapproval. 

Just as Seokjin was about to start kicking the door, he heard the soft click of the lock. A frightened, doe-eyed maid opened the door, stepping aside just in time as he barreled past her into the room.

Y/N sat hunched over on a peculiar chair, sweat beading on her forehead and clinging to her hair. On either side of her stood their mothers, both wearing matching scowls, while Siobhan, the midwife, whispered instructions into Y/N’s ear, her voice thick and accented. 

When Siobhan glanced up, her eyes sparkled with an unsettling gleam. Her hair was a wild halo of gray curls, and her face bore the deep lines of age, looking like an apple left too long in the orchard—wrinkled, desiccated.

“The babby is almost here,” she crooned, “but she be waitin’ fer her own special day. This'un is sure to be full o’ spirit.” Her words slurred together, but the meaning hung in the air, heavy and ripe.

“How do you know it’s a girl?” Y/N grunted, a fresh wave of pain coursing through her. “Ooooh, another…”

“Bear down and push, lovey. ’Tis almost done. Are ye ready to catch, doctor?” 

“Hush, witch. I know how to bring a child into the world,” snapped the doctor, irritation coating his every word.

“Kim, come take my place,” Seokjin’s mother urged, but he hardly heard her over the pounding of his heart.

“We’ve only ever talked about names for a boy,” he murmured, glancing at the doctor’s bloodied hand reaching for a towel. 

“Och, there he goes,” Siobhan said, her voice laced with disapproval, and that was the last thing Seokjin remembered before the world around him faded to black.

Everything became muffled, foggy, like he was submerged in deep water. He tried to reach for Y/N’s voice, but his limbs felt like lead, unresponsive. 

Then, a sharp, acrid smell invaded his senses, burning his nostrils. His eyes shot open, heart racing as he scanned the room, confused and disoriented. He was on the floor of his chamber, the strange chair gone, the chaotic mess of moments before replaced by eerie calm. How long had he been unconscious?

A familiar wrinkled face appeared above him. “Ah, there ye be. ’Tis why we don’t let the papas in until after the wee ones are born.”

“Y/N!” he gasped, shaking off the haze. “Where is my wife?”

“I’m right here, my lord.”

He rose unsteadily, dread curling in his stomach, and turned slowly toward her voice. Y/N lay on the bed in a fresh, white nightdress, hair neatly plaited over one shoulder, and cradled in her arms was a tiny bundle wrapped in blankets, a serene infant nestled against her.

He stumbled forward, drawn by an unseen force, and perched next to her, awe washing over him. Siobhan’s departing words barely registered as he soaked in the sight of his wife and child. 

“Y/N, my beautiful Y/N. How do you fare?” he whispered, his heart swelling.

A knowing smile danced on her lips. “You fainted, my lord.”

He felt the warmth of laughter bubbling just beneath the surface. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He remained silent, mesmerized by the tiny rosebud lips of their child. “I hope everyone has sworn an oath to take the events of this room to the grave.”

“Oh dear, I do believe we forgot to summon a magistrate for such proceedings.”

“Then I will assume the entire township, nay the whole of Hampshire, will know of my weak constitution by midday.” He sighed, resting his head on her shoulder, feeling the weight of the world lift just slightly. After a contemplative silence, he asked, “Was she right? Siobhan, I mean.”

“Does it matter?”

“You are alive. The child is alive. Of course it matters.”

He watched as Y/N’s fingers traced the soft strands of reddish-brown hair that crowned their daughter’s head. “She was right. You have a daughter, my love.”

“A girl,” he breathed, the word heavy with meaning. “Was she indeed born on the twenty-ninth?”

“Yes, she waited until it was two minutes past midnight. Siobhan was right on both counts. She wanted to have her own special day.”

The thought struck him like a chill in the night air—he would never survive having a daughter. Anxiety twisted in his chest, coiling around his heart until it clenched painfully with every beat.

Y/N must have sensed his turmoil, her gaze steady and soothing. “Please don’t give yourself an apoplexy thinking of suitors and her coming out. We have many, many years before that becomes an issue.”

“You know me too well, my sweet. But it changes nothing. I would go to the ends of the earth to protect my ladies’ honor.”

He extended his arms, lifting the stirring infant into his embrace. “What shall we call her?”

Y/N tucked the blankets around her legs, her smile illuminating the dim room. “I was thinking perhaps, Lady Caroline Marie Kim, in honor of your late father.”

“Perfect. My mother will be deeply touched.” He marveled at the strength of the little fist that curled around his finger. “She will need a brother to protect her. When shall we start working on that endeavor?”

Y/N arched an eyebrow and shook her head. “You may address that subject with me in three or four years’ time. Until then, do I need to cloister myself in a separate bedchamber?”

Seokjin’s grin took on a mischievous edge as he shook his head. “I don’t think I can bear to sleep without you, my love. I promise I will behave.”

But beneath the surface of their laughter, a dark shadow lingered—a reminder that the world outside could be as dangerous as it was beautiful. And it wouldn’t be until the twenty-ninth of February 1820, that a boy, the next Earl of Rushmore, would arrive.

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[stargirl-int3rlud3]

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬.

monkey d. luffy x fem! reader

🗯 ! swearing, old man being gross, kicking ass, sexualizing, injuries, luffy being a cutie pie per usual !

synopsis; luffy notices a girl being hit on by a creepy old man and informs his crew of the occurrence as he goes to try to break up the interaction. unbeknownst to luffy, she can handle herself. — ♡ ᵎᵎ

You had walked into an establishment hoping for a nice meal and something to quench your thirst. After days of the beating sun on your skin your body needed rest to recharge. The place looks nice enough and to be fair it was. a blonde waiter took your order, of course he was clearly flirting with you but you took it more as a compliment as he told you how beautiful your hair was. You had no idea letting one person harmless flirt with you would lead to this.

A much older looking man approaches you as you're enjoying your meal.

With a smirk on his face he says, "Nice ass, young lady"

The vulgar use of language caught you off guard as you choke on your food for a split second.

"Excuse me?" You ask in a squeaky voice.

"You heard me, nice ass" He chuckles loudly, gaining unnecessary attention towards you two.

He seats himself next to you, far too close for comfort. This makes you scoot away from him. A frown flashes on his face as he grabs the legs of your chair, moving you even closer to him than before. You could feel his god awful breath on your skin and you swear you could vomit right now.

Luffy watches the whole thing go down and for the second time in his life, he isn't hungry anymore as he witnesses the old man attempt to grope and grab at you. Luffy thought you were a pretty girl and he knew that you didn't deserve to be treated that way. He tells his crew that about the situation. Before Luffy can step any closer the old man flies across the room into another table.

The aggravation in your eyes was more than obvious as your leg was stuck out from kicking the man. A small group of men race towards you as you roll your eyes. All you had wanted was a meal and drink, apparently that was too much to ask for.

You take out two of the men with a kick to the face from your leg. You flip backwards, your palms on a table, shooting your heeled boots into another guy's face. You grab hold of a chair smashing into a guys face, you use it to boost yourself into the air, you flew in the air like an angel. Landing gracefully back onto flat ground you dust your hands off with a satisfied smile. A guy perks back up causing you elbow to him in the face making him fall back down.

You take your leave, setting money down on the table of your empty dishes. However, you weren't able to get far before Luffy approaches you.

"Hey!"

You swivel around to be met with a Brazillian boy with dark chocolate hair and eyes to match well with his honey skin. He has a wide smile across your face.

"Yes?" You respond.

"That was so cool! Would you like to be apart of my pirate crew!" He asks with a cute smile, a group of people follow behind him.

Looking at them and then back to his beautiful eyes that wait for your response, you smile, "Sure! Why not!"

As if you had just hung the stars for the boy, he looks at you and somehow his smile grows wider than ever. He jumps up punching the air, letting out a loud laugh before his feet hit the ground once more.

You can't help but giggle at his cute mannerisms.

☆ | kind of short, but i had the urge to write for my cutie patootie luffy!!

[brickmvster]

An Old Flame | L.K.

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader

Synopsis: After getting hammered at a club in attempts to repair a broken heart, in your drunken stupor, you call the one person you were trying to get over. He takes you back to his place, taking care of you, and it's then you realize that your feelings for him never quite dissipated.

Tags: breaking up and making up/exes to lovers, angst, fluff, a little bit of emotional hurt/comfort that goes both ways, reconciliation

Warnings: Alcohol consumption

Word Count: 6,309

Author's Note: I'm alive 😭 writer's block sucks, but I'm slowly getting back into the swing of things, I think. I hope you guys enjoy this!! Notes and reblogs are appreciated of course. This has been proofread, but if any mistakes still managed to slip by me, apologies in advance, they're all mine.

I imagined RE4R Leon while writing this but please feel free to imagine any version of him you'd like!

(Read on AO3)

Sobbing in a dirty bathroom stall was definitely not how you envisioned your Friday night going.

The fact that you were also considerably drunk and could feel the liquid sloshing around inside of your belly, threatening to come up your throat and all over the floor, certainly didn't make matters any better.

You had come to the club with a group of friends who were all far more enthusiastic than you to be there. You never considered yourself much of a party person; and if you were going to attend a party, it was always a small one with people that you knew or were at least acquaintances with. At a dingy nightclub, you were surrounded by hundreds of sweaty strangers, and the music was so loud that you were sure you were going to be temporarily deaf for a while. To make the long story short – you weren't looking forward to coming here, but you regrettably let your friends drag you out of the comfort of your home.

The stupid leather pants your friends insisted you wore were feeling too tight. The bathroom was so stuffy and unbearably hot. There were two individuals in the stall next to you engaging in… a certain activity that you really didn't want to be around to hear. And the awful, terrible smell of puke was probably one of the worst things you've ever smelled in your entire life. It was all too much, every single one of your five senses being mercilessly attacked.

You shouldn't have let yourself get wasted; you knew that, and you mentally cursed yourself for such reckless behavior. But the longer you sat at the bar, completely by yourself and with your friends nowhere in sight, it was like no one was there to stop you. You still missed him and you thought alcohol would be better at numbing the pain than a tub of ice cream. Both were terrible items for getting over a heartbreak because they both only made you want to vomit, which is something you always learned the hard way.

That's how you ended up in a stall, tears freely running down your cheeks in a drunken haze. Your friends were on your mind, but more than anything you just wanted to be carried out of here. You grabbed your phone out of your bag and opened up your contacts. But for some reason, instead of clicking on one of your friend's names, you kept scrolling further down, subconsciously searching for that specific name that you knew you should've just deleted a long time ago.

You clicked on the little phone icon, and listened attentively to the ringing on the other end. It rang and rang and rang, and it went on for so long that it almost snapped you out of the very stupid thing you were doing, but then–

"Hello?"

Leon actually answered. And even after all this time, his voice was still the most soothing sound in the world. You cleared your throat before attempting to put together a sentence in response.

"Hey… I'm… I'm, uh, in a gross bathroom at, um… fuck, what was the name of this place…" you trailed off, your cheeks heating up out of embarrassment. You rubbed your forehead, trying to think despite how hard it was to do.

Leon was silent for a bit on the other end before speaking up.

"___? Are you okay? It's… really late."

You chuckled, a burp coming out alongside the sound. "I know, right? What the fuck am I even doing here?"

"___, listen to me. Are you alright? Why did you call?" Leon asked. You could just faintly hear shuffling on the other end, and the unmistakable sound of keys jingling, as if he was already gathering his things before you even told him the location. Your heart fluttered at that and even more warmth was sent to your cheeks.

"No. No, I'm not alright. I feel really fucking sick right now and I don't know where my friends are and I fucking hate being here and-"

"Slow down, sweetheart," Leon said. If the alcohol didn't kill you, the pet name that Leon apparently still liked using for you would.

Leon fell quiet on the line, almost as if suddenly realizing the word that had slipped from his mouth.

"Sorry, I mean– look, tell me where you are. Do you want me to come and get you?"

There was a voice in your head screaming at you to just say no. Your friends were a text message away. If they saw the state you were in they'd take you home in a heartbeat. You knew the right thing to do was apologize to Leon, hang up, and get your ass out of the bathroom stall to find your group. But the alcohol was clouding your judgment, and the rational part of you simply didn't exist right now. Going back to Leon's apartment was like reopening a wound that had just healed. But you couldn't deny how much you needed him in this moment, no matter how pathetic it sounded. He had been on your mind the entire time you were at the club, and hell, even if you had been sober you probably would have ended up back at his place anyway. Because you simply didn't know how to stay away from things that you walked away from.

"Yes. Please come and get me." You replied softly, your words shaky with sorrow and guilt, your voice cracking.

"On my way. Stay put, okay?"

____

"___?"

Your eyes opened slowly. The side of your mouth felt wet with drool. Your brows furrowed as you took in your surroundings.

"___, are you in here?"

Your eyes widened a bit more upon registering whose voice was calling for you. You immediately sat up, trying to adjust your hair and straighten your shirt – before quickly giving up, because you knew no amount of adjusting would make you look like less of a hot mess.

"In here," you called out, not bothering to get up and open the door as your legs felt like they didn't work and any small movement would've caused you to expel your breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

You saw two feet stop right in front of the door. You recognized those boots anywhere. They were your favorite pair.

"Are you… decent? Can I open the door?" Leon asked. You nodded, before quickly realizing he can't hear the movement of your head.

"Yeah," you replied weakly. Leon did just that, opening the stall door slowly.

God, you wanted the ground to swallow you up right then and there. You knew you looked terrible, disgusting even. Your ex, on the other hand, still looked as gorgeous as ever, with his dirty blonde hair slightly longer than the last time you saw it and prettily falling into his deep blue eyes. He was wearing a form fitting black shirt that left nothing to the imagination with a pair of blue jeans and his expensive brown coat.

You averted your gaze out of pure embarrassment. Leon had never seen you in this state and you wish he hadn't. You wished you could turn back time and call your friends instead of him.

Leon kneeled in front of you in the cramped space, gently lifting your chin and making you look him in the eyes. The action only made you feel smaller.

"Hey, let me see you," he started, his gaze softening as he observed you.

"What happened? Nobody-" his jaw clenched. "Nobody did anything to you, right?"

You shook your head. You didn't trust your voice enough to speak.

"Okay, good. You just drank too much?"

You nodded that time.

Leon seemed physically relieved, his shoulders relaxing a bit as he stood back up. He held out his hand.

"Can you stand?" He asked. You muttered out something that sounded like a "yes," taking his hand and slowly rising off the toilet seat. You almost toppled over, but Leon was there to steady you.

"Put your arm around my shoulder." He instructed, but he was already moving your arm for you. You gladly took ahold of his shoulder as his hand held your wrist; his other arm was wrapped around your waist, holding you firmly. The two of you walked out of the bathroom together, ignoring the stares from other club goers.

The both of you made outside, and the cool air was a pleasant sensation to your extremely warm body. Leon helped you into your car, handling you like you were made of glass, before getting into the driver's side himself. He buckled you up first, leaning over you to pull the strap across your chest. His breath was fanning across your face, and you felt your heart rate skyrocket. You gazed at him with tired eyes, and he returned the eye contact briefly, his eyes mostly unreadable, but definitely filled with concern no less.

Once he was buckled up himself, he took off, and you just closed your eyes, hoping and praying that the motion of the car wouldn't cause any sudden hurling.

The car ride was mostly silent; aside from the radio that Leon had turned up slightly, playing some rock song, you were far too exhausted to say anything. You didn't even know what to say, anyway, and it seemed like Leon didn't either.

Eventually, when he stopped at a light, he spoke for the first time in several long minutes. "Your friends – did they abandon you?"

You shook your head. "No… I was the one who split from them. Told them I wanted to be alone."

"But they didn't even check on you?"

You glanced at him and noticed his tense jaw had returned, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"They're all probably shit-faced, too." You replied dryly.

Leon sighed. "I… sure, I guess. Then that brings me to my next question… Why did you go over your limit? You could've put yourself in danger."

You shrugged, gazing out the window.

"I really don't know," you lied.

"God, ___, don't do something like this again. Please." Leon replied.

"I'm… sorry." You said. What you were apologizing for exactly, you weren't sure. For worrying him? For making him come all the way out here to save you like a damsel in distress? The more you thought about it, the more you leaned toward all of the above.

Leon seemed to relax again upon hearing your soft-spoken apology. "There's no need for that, I just…" a sigh. "You should rest. We're almost home."

Home.

You let your eyes slowly drift closed again. The last thing you saw was the sight of Leon driving with one hand, still wearing that unreadable expression.

____

Leon was quick to help you out the car after finding a parking spot. He guided you up the steps to the second floor of the complex, walking to his door. You leaned against him while he fiddled with his keys.

He eventually got the door open, helping you walk through the door. As he walked you through his living room to the bathroom, rather slowly as your feet were slightly dragging across the floor, you took in the familiar space around you. Leon's apartment was, of course, just how you remembered it. He had few decorations, most of them put up by you. His raggedy, but deceptively comfortable couch was somehow still standing strong. His place looked well lived-in; not terribly disorganized, just slightly cluttered. Given the nature of his career and how often he was away, he was never home long enough to let huge messes pile up anyway. You felt a smile tug at your lips as memories crawled back into your mind.

You remembered shopping with Leon for his decorations shortly after you moved in. He pretended to be indifferent, but you'll never forget the grin on his face as he helped you hang up some abstract paintings with poorly hidden amusement. That very couch was often where you spent your time resting your head on Leon's shoulders, or sometimes his head on your lap. The kitchen was where you and Leon made huge messes together, doing more kissing than cooking.

But your smile slightly faded as memories of the tail end of your relationship tainted your mind. Waiting alone for Leon to return home for a mission, worrying yourself sick. Sometimes Leon was distant, going from attentive and caring to cold and unresponsive in a heartbeat. You knew his trauma made it difficult for him to be fully present in the relationship – but sometimes you acted harshly anyway, both out of frustration and out of concern. His career was eating away at you, too.

The sound of running water pulled you out of your thoughts. You quickly registered that Leon had sat you down on his toilet. After wetting a washcloth, he leaned down in front of you again.

"I'm just gonna wipe your face, alright?" He said. You nodded, closing your eyes.

Leon wiped your face with the washcloth ever so gently, dabbing away dried drool and removing the light sweat that had formed across your forehead. He even went as far as to brush your teeth for you, thoroughly reaching every inch of your mouth to the best of his ability. Somehow, even during this, you found yourself dozing off a few times.

"You don't have to wash up now if you're too tired." Leon said once he had finished a portion of your nighttime routine for you. He stood in front of you while you were still seated, waiting for your next move.

You wanted nothing more than to wish the stink of the nightclub off your skin, but your eyelids were getting heavier by the second.

"Take me to bed, Leon." You muttered, wrapping your hands around his waist and leaning against his torso.

Leon found himself grinning at how much of a koala you became when sleepy and drunk. With one hand, he played with your hair for a bit as you continued holding him. You sighed contently as you felt yourself slip away in the sensation. Leon looked down at you, feeling something tug at his heart strings at how vulnerable you looked like this. The warmth from your arms around his waist brought Leon to a painful realization – that he missed your touch more than he thought.

Leon tried to store that thought away. You'd be gone by the morning, right? He couldn't allow himself to open up to you after all this time. You had made the choice to walk away and as far as he knew, you hadn't changed your mind.

He gently tapped your arms, causing you to stir a bit.

"If you want me to take you to bed, you have to get up first." He said teasingly. You groaned, but reluctantly did what he asked. Even while standing, your eyes were barely open.

"Do you wanna change?” He asked.

“Into what?” You said sleepily, words slurring together.

“I can give you one of my shirts and a pair of my pants. I don't mind.”

You just nodded, leaning into Leon's side, your head falling onto his shoulder.

Leon walked you to his bedroom, grabbing some clothes for you as you stood there patiently, your eyes half open. He gave you an old shirt of his and some gray sweatpants.

You began stepping out of your gross nightclub clothes right in front of Leon, who didn't seem to mind – he helped keep you from stumbling as you got dressed.

“This is so much better.” You said, feeling free and unconstrained now that you were out of those awful leather pants. Leon found himself holding back a grin at the way you were happily rubbing at the fabric of his shirt.

“Let's get you to bed.” He spoke.

He assisted you in getting cozy under the large comforter, even going as far as to tuck you in.

Leon's scent washed over you as you sunk into the softness of his mattress. You almost instantly succumbed to slumber, subconsciously burying your head into Leon's pillow.

For a long time, Leon just stared.

You were safe now, finally out of that awful nightclub and resting comfortably. He felt the tension leave his body, and he could finally go about his nightly routine at ease knowing you were taken care of.

Seeing you in his bed like this reminded him of the nights he came home late. Those nights, he'd crawl into bed next to you, holding you close as if you'd disappear into thin air. Strangely, despite the fact that he was looking directly at you, this was another moment where he felt like you'd cease to exist if he so much as looked away.

But he eventually forced himself to look away, sighing to himself as he went back to the bathroom to freshen up himself. He decided to sleep on the couch, falling asleep with you in his mind and still feeling the phantom touch of your arms around his waist.

____

Upon slowly opening your eyes, squinting slightly at the sunlight filtering through the room, it didn't take you long to notice the splitting headache that pulsated uncomfortably right behind your eyes. You also took note of the fact that you were clad in Leon's clothing.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, your face bunching up in pain at your awful hangover. You were mentally chastising yourself, as you knew that this terrible headache could've been easily avoided had you not gone past your limit the night before. It was at the moment, as you were lying on your back and staring at the familiar sight of Leon's apartment ceiling, that all of the memories from last night came rushing back to you.

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, feeling a sense of shame wash over you. You barely remember anything from last night, but you knew that when you were shit-faced you turned into a giant child, and you were already feeling apologetic for putting Leon through your drunken antics. You didn't even want to get out of bed and face the man.

So, you did just that; you lied there for a few extra minutes, absolutely dreading the moment when you would have to get up eventually. You sighed, rolling over on your side, facing the closed bedroom door. It was then that you noticed the tall glass of water and bottle of painkillers on the bedside table.

You sat up slowly, feeling your heart warm at Leon's thoughtfulness. You took one pill from the bottle, swallowing it down in one large gulp of water.

You also noticed your phone on the table. Curiously, you checked to see if your phone was even alive – which it was, much to your surprise, but the battery was low. You saw numerous text messages from your acquaintances last night. Some of them were just talking about how much fun they had and thanking you for coming out. Others seem concerned about where you had gone. You didn't feel like replying to any of them, so you promptly shut your phone off. You needed to save your battery, anyway, as you didn't have a charger. You left your phone in its place on the table.

You sat in Leon's bed for a little longer after that, sighing to yourself, before getting up to go find where he was.

You didn't have to look very far after opening the door; there Leon stood in the kitchen, occupied with making breakfast. It seemed like he didn't notice your presence at first, so you took that opportunity to gaze at him, grinning softly at the concentrated look on his face as he flipped over a pancake, his hair falling into his eyes. He looked cuter than ever, clad in his well-loved plaid pajama pants and a loose black shirt. It felt strange, seeing him like this again after so many months.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Leon suddenly spoke, still turned away from you. You were slightly startled, quickly averting your gaze.

“Morning,” you said softly. “Did you know I was standing here the whole time?”

“Of course I did,” Leon replied, finally turning to you with a pretty smile on his face, one that you couldn't help but immediately return. “Government training helped me with my awareness, y'know.”

You chuckled at that, making your way over to the dining table and taking a seat. Resting your chin in your hand, you watched Leon lovingly, a comfortable silence settling between you.

“Need a hand with anything?” you asked.

“Nah, it's alright. I'm almost done, anyway.” Leon replied. “By the way, how did you sleep?”

“Like a baby. I forgot how comfortable your bed was.” you said.

Leon grinned. “That's good. And your head?”

“It's feeling better. Thanks for the medicine, by the way.”

“Of course.” Leon replied.

Eventually, he carried to the table two plates of food, along with two tall glasses of orange juice. It was a simple breakfast, consisting of just pancakes, but it was totally fine by you. They looked fluffy and perfectly cooked and you didn't hesitate to dive in.

Leon just watched you eat in silence, a small grin on his face as he watched you do a little happy dance upon taking a bite. He wasn't really showing it, but he was very pleased with himself; not just because he made you a decent plate of pancakes but because you were here with him, out of that grimy nightclub, content and being taken care of. Leon felt a tug at his heartstrings as he realized just how much he missed taking care of you.

“Leon. Are you gonna eat?” you said with a chuckle, nearly done with your food. Leon seemed to snap out of whatever trance you had put him in, quickly glancing at his untouched plate of food.

“Yeah. Sorry.” He said in a slightly bashful way that made you swoon. He finally had begun eating, thoughtfully chewing, taking his time.

You leaned back in your chair, feeling completely satiated. For a while, the two of you just sat in comfortable silence. It dawned on you that eventually you'd have to leave, sadness beginning to wash over you like waves.

“What's the matter?” Leon suddenly spoke. “Be honest, were the pancakes actually terrible?” He said jokingly. That got you smiling again, and you let out a small, half-hearted laugh.

“Leon, they were fucking amazing,” you replied sincerely. You smiled then faltered a bit. “I just… I still feel bad.”

Leon, who was also sitting lax in his chair, had straightened up, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he gazed warmly at you.

“About?” He inquired.

You sighed, looking down at your lap. Suddenly eye contact was too much right now.

“For last night. I know I've already apologized but… seriously, I'm really sorry for making you drive all the way out there. And for worrying you.”

Leon shook his head, looking at you with an expression that could only be read as sympathetic.

“I've said it before and I'll say it again – you don't have to apologize, okay? If anything, I'm glad you called me. It meant that you trusted me to ensure your safety; and that made me feel good.”

You felt your heart warm at that. You continued to stare down at your lap, twiddling your thumbs, still hesitant to let him into your gaze.

“Can you look at me? Please?” Leon said ever so softly. The gentle, almost desperate tone of voice was enough to get you to finally raise your head and meet his eyes.

“There you are,” he said fondly. “I want you to know that you can always call me. For anything. And if you need me, I'll be there. We're not… together anymore but that doesn't mean I'm just gonna step out of your life, okay? I still care about you. Always will.”

You were effectively silenced, so deeply touched by Leon's words that you couldn't even produce any of your own. Suddenly your vision began to blur and your bottom lip was quivering.

Your friends – really, just your co-workers – who had practically forgotten about you at that club? They probably didn't care about you all like they claimed to. But if there was one person that would always stand up for you, help you, tend to your needs – it was Leon. It had always been him.

With a shaky voice, you responded, “Thank you, Leon. I… still care about you, too. So much. I totally owe you after last night.” you said with a playful smile, although you were honestly very serious.

“No, it's okay. You don't owe me anything. I was just doing what a good friend is supposed to do.”

Friend.

You brushed the word off, ignoring the pang of disappointment that hit you. You simply smiled at him.

Clearing your throat, you started another topic. “So, um… I guess since I'm here, we should catch up a bit. It's been so long since I've last spoken to you.”

Leon shrugged. “Honestly? I don't have much to catch you up on. I've just been doing what I always do, lounging around, working, occasionally going out with Claire and Chris. You know me, I'm a boring guy.”

“You are not at all boring, Kennedy,” you said teasingly.

“You know, it's okay to admit it.” He replied, and you could only shake your head, laughing quietly to yourself.

“You're literally a government agent. That's the opposite of boring.”

“Well, what a lot of people don't know is that being a government agent also comes with a shit-ton of paperwork.”

“I suppose,” you said with a completely playful roll of your eyes. “Anyway, Claire and her brother doing well?”

“They're doing great. They're always asking about you.”

You felt guilt begin to rear its ugly head at Leon's comment. “I haven't spoken to them in a while too… God, I'm terrible.” You said.

“Hey, don't make it a huge deal. They know how busy you are. They still care about you too. You could go a thousand years without speaking to them and they'd still be excited to hear from you.”

“That's nice to know.” You replied. You made it a mental note to get in contact with them soon.

The dining table fell quiet again. There was this undeniable tension in the air, one that the two of you couldn't shake. As much as you hated to admit it, you had missed sitting at Leon's dining table, sitting across from him specifically, sharing peaceful mornings together. You knew that eventually you'd have to leave; you'd part ways with Leon once more. You wish you could say that'd be easy to do.

Leon pulled you out of the recesses of your mind when he suddenly stood up, grabbing the two plates and cups. You silently watched as he went over to the sink, turning on the faucet.

Without even thinking, you stood up as well, joining him in the kitchen.

“Let me help you,” you said, not even giving him the choice.

Leon shook his head, like you knew he would. “It's alright, I got it. I know you've probably got things to do, so I understand if you need to go-”

“Things to do? Like what?” You interrupted with a playful grin. “I want to help, Leon, please.”

“It's only a few dishes.”

“I know– look, stop being so stubborn and let me help. Please.” You said, taking a plate out of his hand and grabbing a washcloth to help with drying. Leon just chuckled, having paused his washing for a bit to admire you.

“You haven't changed.” He spoke.

“What do you mean?” You asked as you put the plate back in its respective cabinet. You didn't even need to ask where it went – it was muscle memory for you.

“I mean… always wanting to help with stuff. It's what I've always liked about you.” Leon replied, handing you a newly washed cup. You took it, slowly, still processing his words. You felt a certain warmth throughout your body, trying to distract yourself from the feeling by rather furiously drying the glass.

“That's just how I am. Can't help it.” You replied shyly, your voice coming out small.

“I know. You should consider being an agent since you like helping so much.” Leon teased. You were putting the glass up when he had said that and weren't looking directly at him, but you could hear the smirk in his voice. It made you smile.

“Absolutely not.” You replied immediately, to which the both of you broke out into laughter, the sound filling the kitchen.

The two of you finished doing the dishes fairly quickly, falling into an easy rhythm. It all felt too familiar. The both of you fell into your usual banter so easily, and it was almost like you two hadn't just spent months apart.

You ended up helping Leon clean his entire kitchen after the dishes, chatting with him every second and moving around each other with the sort of ease you can only get when you've spent enough time in one place to memorize everything. You told Leon that you didn't mind helping him knock out a few chores, which was true; you knew how busy he was and how he was usually too tired to take care of things like this himself. But deep down, the true reason why you were still here was because you just didn't want to leave. But you kept that part buried within you. It was difficult coming to terms with what that meant and you didn't want to think about it.

“Does anything else need tidying?” You asked him once you finished wiping the kitchen counter. Leon looked around, seemingly thinking for a moment, before shaking his head.

“Nah, it's all good. But I appreciate it.”

Your grin faltered a bit. You knew you had to go. You had been here for hours now.

“Ah, okay,” you said, trying to hide the dejection in your voice. “Well, um… I guess I should get out of your hair then.”

Leon perked up at that. “You don't have to leave.” He said quickly. He then cleared his throat, looking away. “I mean, uh– if you don't want to, you can stay as long as you want.”

You wanted to more than anything else. But the right thing would be to leave, even though that went against your heart's desires. Who knows what you'd end up saying– or doing– if you stayed. Whatever it'd be, you'd probably regret it.

“I should really go.” You said quietly. Leon just silently nodded. His expression was unreadable yet again.

After making sure you had all your belongings, and unfortunately having to change back into your cursed club outfit for the time being, you now stood in front of the door. Leon had changed out of his pajamas too, looking as handsome as ever in a simple pair of jeans, a black shirt, and boots.

Since your friends had driven you to the club, and Leon drove you to his place, he'd have to drive you back. You were waiting for him after he had said he had to find his keys. You took one long, final glance around his house as you stood there with a heavy heart.

Quite a bit of time had passed, though, and you were about to call out to Leon, as you noticed he seemed to be taking longer than you expected. You figured he just needed help searching for his keys, so you jogged over to his bedroom, where you saw him enter.

When you walked in, he was kneeling in front of a cardboard box. His closet door was open, so you presumed that's where the box came from. Your brows pinched together in confusion.

“Leon? I can help with finding your keys-”

“Oh, I have my keys. I just, um… suddenly remembered something.” He said, a bit cryptically.

You were still visibly puzzled. “Remembered what?” you asked, walking a bit closer to see the contents of the box. And then you realized.

In the box was some jewelry of yours, one of your shirts, and a bottle of perfume that you had forgotten at his home ages ago.

Your heart warmed at the fact that Leon kept them safe and tucked away in his closet, almost as if he was waiting for the day to return them to you.

“I completely forgot about these,” he said, standing up to face you. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I've been meaning to give these back.”

You just smiled, feeling so incredibly touched and endeared.

“It's okay, Leon. I didn't even realize I was missing these items.” You said with a chuckle. You kneeled down yourself, sifting through the contents of the box and reminiscing. The perfume especially reminded you of so many date nights and all the times Leon told you how nice you smelled.

“You know, that reminds me,” You began, feeling the cotton of your old, worn t-shirt that lay perfectly folded in the box. “I think I still have one of your sweatshirts. The old RPD one.”

You knew you did. It was still in your closet, hidden away. Not forgotten, just out of sight.

“You can keep it.” Leon said. “You looked better in it anyway.”

You felt that familiar heat rush to your face again. Even after all this time, his words still affected you.

“Well, um… thanks.” You replied.

“It's nothing.”

You stood up, holding the box, and the two of you walked back to the door. Every step felt heavier than the last.

You watched as Leon was about to open the door for you. But in that moment, as he was about to turn the knob, something within you snapped.

“Wait.” You said.

Leon paused, turning to look at you. “Did– did you forget something?” He asked.

You shook your head. You slowly put the box down on the floor, gently kicking it aside.

“I don't wanna leave, Leon.”

Leon still seemed perplexed. “I told you, you can stay as long as you-”

“No, I mean… I'm not leaving… again.”

It didn't take long for the realization to hit Leon. He was silent for a bit, unsure of how to proceed, or what to say.

“I need you to be more clear.” He said simply.

You stepped closer to him. You nearly reached your hand out, wanting to gently stroke his hair like you always used to do, but you weren't sure if he was ready to jump back into physical affection like that. You restrained yourself.

“I want to try again, Leon. I'm so sorry for how I treated you. At the time, I didn't understand your trauma – I failed to accommodate you. When I left… I realized how shitty I had been. How much I had missed you. I dated other people and none of them gave me what you did. You were too good to me and I was too selfish. I'm sorry, and I want you to know that I've grown. I will try my best to meet you where you are from now on if you just let me back in.”

You said all of this while staring directly into Leon's captivating eyes, sincerity in your tone and in the way you gazed at him. You hoped Leon could feel your guilt. Your remorse.

Leon just stared back, stunned into silence. You could tell his mind was racing, searching for what to say, processing everything you had told him. You were prepared for him to say no. You were bracing for the heartbreak. You wouldn't be upset, no. You'd be understanding. You were ready to leave for good if that's what he wanted.

But heartbreak isn't what you got.

“Thank you. For apologizing.” Leon said. “I should, too. I wasn't being totally honest about my line of work. And dating a government agent isn't necessarily an easy thing to handle. It was probably traumatic for you, too, seeing me come home so damaged, physically and mentally.

“And for the record, I don't think you were being selfish. You wanted to help, I know you did, you just didn't know how and it was frustrating.”

You felt a stinging sensation in your eyes, your emotions nearly meeting their boiling point, tears threatening to spill. Deep down, you didn't think Leon had anything to apologize for, considering everything he's been through and seen, but you were appreciative of his apology nonetheless. It warmed your heart to know that he never resented you when you were together, like you always thought he did.

“So… should we try this again?” you said, a playful glint in your watery eyes.

Leon grinned. “We should.”

At that, you couldn't hold back any longer. You went in for a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck snugly. He wasted no time in wrapping his around your waist. Being back in his arms again felt like a dream.

You brought a hand up to his hair, running your fingers through it. You felt Leon relax even more at the soft touch.

With your lips close to his ear, you whispered:

“I never stopped loving you.”

Leon pulled away a bit, his hands just lightly resting on your waist.

“Neither did I.”

A pause. You felt his breath fan across your face.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked, already grinning like a lovesick teenager.

“Please.” Was all Leon said before you leaned in, your lips finding purchase on top of his, bodies pressed close together.

You had a hunch that making yourself at home again wouldn't be difficult at all.

[itskattkm]

Day & Night

Mabel (Finestkind) x G!P Reader

Warnings: life crisis, bruises, smut, bad writing because of translation

A/N: hello my dears. Here a Mabel short story. Maybe making a part two. The requests I had got are in work :) So this is my first try of some spice in English and I could cry in pain. The translation is so bad. And I need to stop changing perspective so often. It’s getting confusing right? Hope you guys can still enjoy

Part 2, Part 3

I remembered as if it was yesterday when I kept an eye on Mabel after she was beaten up by these damn dealers. I didn't know much but what I knew was that things didn't go as they should. So before Charlie took Mabel's car to take care of some things, I got the call to watch out for Mabel until he would be back.

I leaned against the wall when I looked through the small slit in her cardboard at the window. The sun seemed to go down. I sighed softly. What situation did I find myself in again? How many times had I asked myself this when it came to Mabel. For a very long time I thought that we were friends... although I knew deep inside that we never were. I was just like a lost puppy... someone who would follow her wherever she wanted to go. Someone who would do anything to pray for her. Someone whose feelings were obviously not reciprocated. Someone... who was self-evident.

I looked over my shoulder back at her. As if frozen, she sat at the end of her bed and stared at the dark floor. I could feel her pain... her fear. What should you say to someone who was beaten up by dealers a few hours ago? Was there anything right to say?

As I knew Mabel, it was probably raging in her thoughts. Accusations. Shame. Disappointment. She hated the life she came from. I never knew anyone who had longed for a different life like me. At that time, I thought this was something that had connected us. Or did I just try to look longing for things that weren't there? For things that would connect us in any way?

I turned around and walked to the small dining table to take one of the chairs. When I now picked up one of the older wooden chairs and placed it in front of Mabel to sit im front of her, I got her attention. But I only got this because I had made noises that weren't there before.

I slowly sat down opposite her, looking down at the pack full of swabs and the alcohol bottle. I took out one of the swabs and moistened it with the alcohol.

I carefully lifted Mabel's chin with my hand. My eyes were now on her lips. The laceration on her lip had opened again. I didn't know if my attempt to take care of her injury made sense. Whether it did anything at all. But I couldn't stand here any further, wait for Charlie's return and drown in silence.

"You fumble too much on it... it opens again and again" I whispered gently before I dabbing her wound and only got a soft hiss from Mabel when she consumed herself because of the burning.

Again, a sigh escaped me. I threw the cotton wool aside. I wondered how long I would have to suffer. Would it ever be over?

"Thank you..."

The words and the me making me feel goosebumps tone in her voice brought me back. I looked with a mix of worry and sadness in her dark eyes, slightly smeared eyelashes ink emphasized her aura. Her left eye was decorated with yellow bruised spots that slowly turned purple.

I lost myself in the darkness of her eyes. Asked me if she could ever see how much was hidden in my eyes? Every time I looked at her, I had the feeling that I knew what was going on in her. How she felt.

My heart was bleeding and although I knew that my presence and the attempt to sit or just be there for her would not change anything , I couldn’t help it. I hesitantly raised my hand and fixed her bangs, with an almost trembling hand I tried to wipe a strand to the side to see her face better. I didn't want to hurt her. I was afraid of getting so close to her at all.

Now I could admire her injured face in full costume. Why is my heart bleeding all the more to see her in such a state? Why did I find her even more beautiful? Why couldn't these feelings disappear?

The burning of my eyes brought me back from a so-called trance. I didn't smell any of these feelings. Never.

"You are very strong... never forget that," I whispered because I didn't know what else to say. Her eyes pierced me. This time I didn't know what I could see in it. Gratitude? Security? Or maybe it was nothing at all?

But they seemed so gentle. So gently that I had to fight with the urge to somehow tell her my feelings.

Almost a year passed after this incident.

Mabel and Charlie have been still a couple. Charlie and Tom had now built a new bussines with the Finestkind. The crew still had hard jobs... yet they were independent and very important... not on the criminal path.

It was again one of those nights when I sat on the scaffolding of the bridge and just watched as the sea and the sky became one in the dark.

Never before had I felt so lost. So lost from my path.

It was the stormy days when I was here at the pier and watched the raging sea. It should remind me that I was alive... that there had to be a reason for all this. That there was a story for me that I didn't know anything about yet, but when would all this come? When would I feel free. When would I feel important?

"It's one of those days again?"

a voice too familiar to me spoke.

I looked to the side, Mabel slowly approached the terrain and looked out into the distance in which the lights of the Finestkind could already be seen.

Then my heart sank. I knew she was here to pick up Charlie. It wasn't a prescribed path that should lead her to me... No... but to Charlie.

I looked at the ship.

"I guess" I said because I didn't know if Mabel was really interested in how I was doing and what I was doing. Most of the time I was the one who asked and listened, I mean… I cared.

"How's it going with college?" I asked her

Mabel nodded and had this beautiful wide smile on her lips as she looked out to the ship. From the side I could she her dimples and beautiful side profile.

"It was definitely the right decision," she said.

I smiled because of her happiness. Of her her joy...

"I'm happy about that," I said and looked back at the ship. As it got more and more windy, Mabel had hooked her arm in mine and laughed slightly "you have to stop being up here in this weather. It's dangerous"

I grinned. Was this a concern? Was she really interested? This sentence warmed my heart in so many ways. The fact that she knew how many times I was here... that alone gave me hope.

"But at those times it looks the most beautiful out here!" I shouted when a stronger gust of wind hit us.

Mabel shook her head "you really have to stop falling for the things that could kill you"

I looked at her thoughtfully.

What did she mean by that?

Suddenly the horn of the finestkind sounded. Mabel grabbed my arm more firmly and pulled me with her to leave the scaffolding of the bridge together.

When we arrived downstairs and watched the boys docking, my heart began to race. As soon as Charlie had left the ship, Mabels loosened her grip around my arm and she landed in his. He put his arms around her narrow waist and kissed her for a long time.

How much I wish I could have been Charlie. How much I wanted to give her my love and everything else in the world... how much I wanted this from her. The other boys greeted me with hugs. Tom laughed dry

"Y/N if you continue like this you will become our lighthouse" a laugh escaped me and I boxed into his shoulder.

"Beauty and death at the same time... I say," Mabel joked. I grinned and gradually began to understand. "What do you think... are we still going to the bar?" Charlie asked.

More months passed after that day. It was a day like almost any other.

I didn't go to the community college like Mabel, but I had studied online. In the summer season, Mabel actually began to spent most of her time with me on the grounds of the bridge. We learned together. Waited until the boys would come back.

It became our thing. Now I knew that Mabel came here not only because of Charlie... but also because of me.

"How are things going?" I asked her because she was exceptionally quiet today. She looked into the distance and said "I'm not sure..."

I knew this look. Pain. Longing. So I counted one and one together. Things between her and Charlie seemed to have changed.

The boys haven't come back for a long time now. They were on a almost one month long "trip" if I could call it that.

I followed her gaze, a fisherman to date, I indeed imagined that difficult.

"Do you have time tonight?" Mabel asked me with this self-confident strong tone. I looked back at my laptop

"Probably why?"

"I could use some help..."

She began to pack her things and looked down at me. The wind blew slightly through her hair, she looked at me with a grin to which I could never say no.

"So?" She Hacked after I was just staring at her. I shook my head slightly to wake up.

"Yes... yes, of course. When should I come over?" I asked her

"I'll come to you... in about an hour..."

I nodded and watched her go down.

Maybe we were friends after all.

Later in the evening I was just cooking food.

One hour became two... and two almost three. It has now been 11 o'clock at night. I was tired and would still have to do some tasks.

Just when I was about to change, it suddenly knocked on my door. Confused about the late time, I went to the door and opened it. Immediately Mabel entered my apartment slightly out of breath with a wide grin.

Confused, I locked the door behind her and looked after her. She put her shoulder bag on my dining table and said

"Sorry, I'm late..."

I laughed dryly and looked at the clock

"Three hours..."

Mabel continued to grin as if she was in a “that interested me at least now mode”. She took off her leather jacket and looked at me "it's not a bad thing"

I walked past her to drink a glass of water in the kitchen "it's not like I would have liked to have done something else instead of waiting here and worrying a little".

Mabel followed every movement of Y/N with a cheeky yet gentle smile.

"You were worried?" She asked in a teasing tone. Surprised by the sound, I looked at her nervously "of course... it's dark outside and you didn't even send me a text"

Mabel laughed slightly as she walked closer to Y/N "You could have texted me too..." she whispered and looked at her urgently.

Y/N felt a heat in herself that was difficult to control. In order not to respond to Mabel's last words, I said nervously "you wanted my help... what exactly?"

Mabel came closer and held the eye contact for unusually long "did I want that?" She whispered.

Slightly confused, I looked at her and didn't quite understand. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what.

Suddenly Mable slowly put her hand around my waist and said "I meant rather... that I need you tonight"

The place where she touched me sent a wave of goose bumps to the rest of my body. Were those signals? Did I understand the situation I was in right now?

She got closer and closer to me and I didn't even think about moving at all. Her eyes moved back and forth between my eyes and lips. Her face was only centimeters away when her lips slightly brushed mine.

"How much do you want me y/n?" She whispered.

My heart beated hard against my chest.

As if attracted by a siren, I lean in. Next, I felt her soft lips on mine.

The lips that I wanted to feel for so long. To taste.

Mabel grabbed my neck and kissed me back deeper as she slowly led us into my bedroom.

There she pushed me down on the edge of my bed before she made herself comfortable on my lap and started kissing on my neck. Her hips moved into mine. My member immediately started to get hard. This seemed to please her because she rubbed herself more and more firmly on it as she held my neck tightly and kissed me passionately.

I was breathing heavily. Held her hip that was moving back and forth in my hands when I began to breathe heavily. I kissed her back hungry. My lips brushed hers over and over again when I tried to hold back.

"Don't hold back... show me" she whispered seductive. I pressed my nails into the fabric of her hotpants before kissing her hard and then bit on her lower lip to pull it slightly. Mabel gasped slight in surprise of the intense feeling and was overwhelmed by the fact how good y/n felt.

She kept grinding on y/n lap. She felt the big and hard bump in y/n pants and wanted to feel it so bad... wanted to touch it so bad. So she opened y/n pants and observed how rapid the breathing of y/n became.

Both looked down when Mabel freed y/n hard cock. Suddenly it felt like time had stopped. Very slowly she took him in her hand became aware of the size and felt the warmth he radiated. Y/N swallowed hard when she could watch Mabel hold her hard cock in her hand. Her hand was warm and it just felt so good. Both raised their heads and their eyes met. Mable's gaze wandered between Y/N's eyes and lips.

Y/n put her hand around the back of Mabel's head and pulled her closer. She kissed her slowly, breathed heavily and groped herself slowly with her tongue. Mabel escaped a slight moan when she returned this kiss and her tongue hit y/n. She grabbed her cock more firmly and began to move her hand up and down very slowly. Y/n felt all the pleasure coming over search. These touches. That's all she had always longed for.

Mabel observes satisfied the effective she exercised on y/n when she breathed heavily into her neck and tried to hold back her moans.

But she felt and could see how harder y/n always became. She wondered if the pain was with pleasure. She looked down at the pink tip as she slowed down her firm movements and stroked her thumb over her tip. Mabel herself felt an unbearably good pulsation inside of her when she saw some white liquid coming out of y/n cock.

Her heart was racing like crazy. Oh how much her body screamed for y/n. The things she wanted to do with her. She slowly began to kiss her neck. Her tongue strokes slightly over y/n pulse. She now moved her hand a little faster. But didn't want to take y/n too far because she wanted to feel her inside of herself.

She breathed heavily against y/n neck as she started to grind on her thighs while she gave you a probably long-awaited handjob.

"Do you have condoms?" Asked Mabel with a raspy voice. Y/n held tight Mabel’s waist. She breathed heavily when she said "Night table... top... top drawer"

Mabel nodded and reached for y/n jaw before she kissed her deeply and her tongue explored her mouth. She had some condoms herself, of course, but she preferred to use y/n... especially since this was a size that was clearly not comparable to that of Charlie and that in a good sense.

When her lips loosened, she let go of her hard limb. She began to take off y/n sweatshirt and shortly afterwards y/n helped Mabel get rid of her clothes.

Mabel slowly pressed y/n into the mattress so that she was laying on her back.

Mabel leaned over her as she began to kiss her passionately and rubbed her wet middle over the erection of y/n.

Y/n moaned and turned around so that Mabel was now under her. She kissed her jaw, throat and neck before she slightly bit into it and made Mabel escape moan.

She places herself between Mabel's legs. Their naked bodies touched each other and y/n struggled with an almost painful erection. She felt Mabel's warm and moist vagina. With her tip, she brushed Mabel's clit and breathed heavily as Mabel's grip solidified around y/n shoulders.

With full passion, y/n looked into Mabel's dark eyes before she bent over her chest and began to kiss her left breast. Mabel's grip demanded herself in y/n hair when she arched her back in pleasure and moaned. Y/n took time to taste her warm and gentle skin. In a teasing way she brushed her lips above the sensitive skin of Mabel's breast before teasing her nipple.

"Y/n..."

Gasped Mabel heavy. A shiver hit down y/n spine. How long did she want to hear Mabel call her. Taste and touch her body. She slowly kissed her nipples. And moved her tongue around it in circle movements. Everything y/n did robbed Mabel of her mind.

Mabel stretched out her arm and opened the top drawer of the bedside table to look for the condom.

That was a signal for y/n that Mabel wanted more and needed it. With hot and wet kisses y/n covered Mabel's neck and whispered Husky "don't be so impatient Mabel..."

Mabel shivered and chuckled slight before locking eyes with y/n and whispered seductive "just do what I'm telling you to do...".

She caressed y/n stomach... moving her hand slowly down to your hard cock "...please"

She added.

You nodded and let her put the condom on your hard cock.

You shivered when her hands touched you again and rolled over the condom in the most sensual way you could have imagine.

You spread her legs more before burying your face in the crook of her neck. Slowly you penetrated into her. Her walls are tighter than you could ever have imagined.

Some sounds left Mabel as you continue to slowly go deeper. You had reached for the lacquer when Mabel pressed her nails into your back and moaned as you extended her further. After a few moments, you both breathed harder. Mabel put her legs around your hip and whispered "deeper".

You did her that favor and fill her completely with your length in the next moment.

A loud moan caught her and for you it was like music. You finally got what you wanted. What you had longed for. Mabel. In your arms. Connected to each other. You would never be able to let her go again. She was what kept you alive... what motivated you every day even if it was so hard.

I held her hip tightly as I began to move slowly. Mabel's breathing became more and more intense. She moaned almost evenly and called my name.

I began to bump harder, had a firm grip around her thigh when I breathed heavily against her lips. She stretched out her head. Put her arms around my neck to be able to kiss me. Her tongue brushed my lips as she whispered “...y/n”.

I felt how she became more and more tighter with excitement. I felt a soft end with every new and faster push that made her moan more. I knew... that I had found the spot... and it wouldn't be long before she would have her orgasm.

"Y/n!" She shouted, totally intoxicated. Your body was shaking. With every push, she came closer to the feeling of pure satisfaction.

I kissed her hard before I buried my face back in her neck and whispered "your mine now..."

[itsswritten]

Share your pain.

Request: From anon “Hiiii would you write reader saying something hurtful to az during an argument (established relationship btw)??? And az gets upset over it but they later make up and it ends in fluff? I'm sorry I'm obsessed with hurt/comfort 😔”

Pairing: azriel x reader

Word count: 2.3K

Warings: Angst, nightmares…I think that’s it. Let me know if I’ve missed anything.

Summary: In the wake of a heated argument, you and Azriel find yourselves adrift, the once unbreakable bond strained... :(

A/n: hi again, hope you enjoy this. First time I’ve written a bit of angst for Azriel. Let me know what you all think! <3 - L

The air in your bedroom hung heavy, the usual sanctuary of rest and reprieve now echoing with the bitter remnants of a lovers' quarrel. You hadn’t meant for things to get this tense, but as the moon cast long shadows across your bedroom, there was no denying the unresolved tension between Azriel and you.

The first six months of your mating had been a whirlwind of passion and frenzy, a time you fondly recalled. The initial intensity of the bond was like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. You had known Azriel more intimately than anyone else, or so you thought.

Yet, as the months rolled on, the veneer of your relationship began to crack. Despite the depth of your bond, Azriel remained an enigma, his troubles hidden beneath layers you couldn't penetrate. Initially, this mystery was part of the intrigue you loved about him. But as the struggles of the war haunted him, manifesting in nightmares that would leave him thrashing in the solitude of his own battles, the barriers between you grew thicker.

This particular night had been no different. Azriel, caught in the clutches of a haunting dream, had awoken hot and thrashing.

"Az… let me help you" you whispered, reaching out with a tenderness only a mate could offer.

But he pulled away. Recoiling from your touch and standing by the side of the bed. He erected an invisible barrier, refusing the solace you offered and, as always, shutting you off from the bond. 

The rejection hurt.

At times, he would freeze over, pulling a wall up so high to stop his feelings from spilling over to yours. Initially, you assumed it was to spare you the pain he felt, but with time, it began to feel like mistrust.

"Please, Azriel," you pleaded, the use of his full name an attempt to bridge the growing chasm between you. "Don't shut me out."

"Y/n…Don't" he bit back sharply, a flash of frustration in his eyes. The lump in your throat grew, emotions simmering beneath the surface. You were on your feet now too, flimsy night shorts and a vest hanging loosely on your frame, while the air around you turned cold. Any remaining shadows that had been soothing your skin fled to their master to comfort him.

"Is this how it's going to be, then?" you asked, your voice strained with the weight of unspoken grievances.

This was never how you imagined having a mate would be like.

Cold and lonely.

Your fingers played with the bottom hem of your sleep shorts while trying to muster through your feelings. Trying to keep calm, find the right words to soothe your partner, but no matter what you did or said, it never worked, and you began to doubt if you were the person he even wanted to find comfort in.

Your chest seized, a pang of hurt rolling through. You had hoped Azriel could feel the anguish he was putting you through, but of course, that ice wall was built up. It not only stopped you from seeing into him, but it rejected any connection from you too.

You had been suppressing your own needs and feelings for far too long, prioritising his pain over your own. You could feel the anger begging to spill over your edges.

“We might as well not be mates..” you choked out.

A gasp left Azriel’s lips as he said your name, disbelief clouding his expression at such a notion.

You knew it was a cruel thing to say.

Azriel had been waiting for this type of connection all his life. He had told you that you were worth the centuries of waiting. And even though you knew he loved you dearly, and his intentions were never malicious, he was hurting you. 

Selfishly, you wanted to hurt him back.

“Maybe you’re better off alone with your shadows” you bit out spitefully.

His gaze shattered, a flicker of pain mirroring your own. As if the mere mention of his shadows had drained the strength from him, they slumped in a rare display of vulnerability. Before he could utter another word, unable to bear the weight of your words, you stormed out of your bedroom, and out of the House of Wind.

~~~

Days passed in an agonising blur, the weight of your words lingering in the air like a heavy stormcloud. That night, you had winnowed away to a friend's apartment in the city, seeking refuge far from the House of Wind. Leaving those walls behind offered a semblance of peace, though you remained unsure of how to navigate this situation under the prying eyes of the Inner Circle.

Your friends were always lovely, but it was hard to escape the fact that they were Azriel's friends first. Azriel’s family. 

Lily, an old study companion, opened her home to you without hesitation, setting up her spare room and insisting you stay as long as needed. In moments like these, you regretted letting go of your own apartment. In the frenzy of the mating bond, you had moved in with Azriel, opting for proximity to his friends and his high lord's court.

The morning after the fight, Azriel had sent a ripple down the bond.

"Can we talk, love?"

You instantly rejected his call, erecting your own emotional barrier around the bond. The irony wasn't lost on you – you were now doing the very thing that hurt you, mirroring Azriel's tendency to shut you off. 

Perhaps a taste of his own medicine was warranted?

You had been an open book for him, laying your wounds and traumas bare. Despite the difficulty of discussing certain matters, you wanted Azriel to know every part of you. 

Yet, here you were, mimicking his defensive actions.

Azriel could probably find you if he wished. As the Spymaster of the Night Court, he likely knew your location without relying on the bond. Although he had never visited Lily's place, you were sure his shadows had scoured the city for you as soon as you left that night.

You missed them. His little minions, you would call them as a way to tease him. Always at his beck and call, and quick to caress you, much like his own touches

A pang of guilt washed over you as you recalled his expression before you left.

"Maybe you're better off alone with your shadows."

It had been a petty, low blow from you. Azriel had confided in the past that he once worried it would only ever be him and his shadows, that he was somehow cursed to not find love, companionship, a life partner. 

A soft rap at the door interrupted your thoughts. You had secluded yourself in Lily's apartment for four days now, ignoring any attempts from Rhysand to contact you mentally. 

“Y/n…It’s me” the soft female voice spoke behind the door. Feyre.

You invited your friend in. Quickly popping the kettle on and making you both tea. You sank into the plush sofa next to Feyre, bringing your teacups to the coffee table in front of you as you both idled in general chit chat. 

“How is Rhys? …and everyone?” You asked. You hadn’t realised till not being there how much the inner circle had become integrated into your life. Your days often spent with laughter over meals, mornings spent sparring with Cassain and your afternoons filled with fun company of the girls. 

And of course the nights, spent all consumed with your mate.

“Everyone is good” Feyre spoke, her smile dropping at the edges “Well not everyone” she spoke honestly. Feyre gently guided the conversation toward the true reason for her visit.

"I'm sure you know why I'm here," she said, her eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and concern.

"Did Azriel send you to check on me?" you asked, a hint of scepticism in your voice.

Feyre's hurt was palpable. "Y/N, I came here to check on you. I’ve been worried about you. We all have.” Your own gaze softened, embarrassed at the harsh assumption you had made. 

“But I would be lying if I didn't say I didn't come partially because of Azriel. I'm worried about him too. He's not acting like himself, not sleeping, not eating, avoiding us all…even Rhys and Cassian."

Your heart hurt. The bond aching at the news of your mate suffering.

"I know you want to punish him," Feyre added gently.

"I don't want to punish him," you replied, though a part of you realised that, in a way, you were. Hurting him the exact same way he had hurt you.

Feyre sighed, her gaze never leaving yours. "I get it, trust me I do. But just come home, please" she pleaded.

You sat as you recalled what she had said. Perhaps it was time. 

~~~

You waited for Rhysand to dispatch Azriel on a task before returning, unsure if you were ready to face him immediately. Feyre had kept you informed, grateful for her assistance in navigating this delicate situation.

Avoiding your shared bedroom, the space now haunted by the memories of your recent argument – you sought refuge on one of the balconies overlooking the city. The night had descended, casting the realm below into a humming sea of lights beneath the purple midnight sky.

Perched on a comfortable lounge chair, a blanket draped around you, you found solace in a book you had forgotten about. Left untouched when you departed, was laid waiting on the bedside table for you when you returned. In fact the entire bedroom looked untouched, the bedsheets had not been warmed for a while.

He’s not been sleeping. You remembered Feyre’s words from earlier, the realisation breaking you a little at your mates pain.

Deciding it was time to address the tension that lingered between you and Azriel, you closed the book and set it aside. Breaking down the emotional barrier hastily erected around the bond, you sent a gentle ripple through the thread – a subtle breath to signal your readiness to talk.

Hoping Azriel had concluded whatever task had taken him away, you pondered on the fact that, even without the ripple, he would likely sense your return. His keen senses, coupled with the vigilance of his shadows and network of spies, made you a detectable presence. You understood your mate well enough to know though that he wouldn't intrude if you needed space. 

The ripple was your invitation, an indication that you were ready to see him.

The first sign of his return was the wind, a gentle breeze brushing across your face as Azriel's wings beat the air upon his descent. Looking up, you caught your breath at the sight of your godly partner. It took a conscious effort to regain your composure, resisting the urge to succumb to the overwhelming emotions stirred by his presence.

“My love…” he breathed. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes and a ruggedness that was unusual for him.

“Azriel,” you spoke his full name, tilting your head to encourage him to join you on the lounge chair. Instead, he stepped forward, dropping to his knees in front of you. 

Cauldron give me strength; he was so painstakingly beautiful. 

His large hands found your lap, yours naturally finding his fingers, tracing the harsh lines that covered them.

"I've been giving this a lot of thought," he began, his voice a low murmur. "I never meant to shut you out, Y/N. I’m so sorry”

You nodded, your eyes settling on his hazel gaze. Letting your mate speak his truth, his own self-reflections.

“It’s just always been me. Me and my shadows,” he smiled, glancing over to the little grey flurries that were now tangled up in your hair. “So when I finally met you, got you…I was scared,” he admitted. “Scared, my demons might repulse you, terrify you, make you leave me. It was... instinct. To protect myself."

Your gaze softened, the realisation settling in that the barrier Azriel erected wasn't out of a lack of trust, but rather a reflex born from deep-seated pain. 

"Azriel," you spoke gently, "I don't want to dictate how you deal with your trauma.” Your hand moved to his face now, thumb rubbing his cheek gently. He breathed in at your touch, closing his eyes at the intimacy he had missed for days. “But I need you to trust in us, in me. Let me share the burden, even if it's just a fraction."

Azriel's shoulders sagged, a mixture of relief and regret evident in his eyes. "I want to, Y/N."

"I understand it won't happen overnight. I just need you to believe that I'm here, that you don't have to carry everything on your own."

The vulnerability in your words mirrored Azriel's, creating a fragile bridge between you. His shadows, attuned to the subtleties of emotion, responded by weaving gently around you. 

"I'm sorry for the things I said," you admitted, humility colouring your voice. "I never should have pushed you like that. It's not my place to demand you share those things with me."

Azriel shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "No, you're right. I need to change, to let you in more. It's just hard, but I'm willing to try."

A shared understanding passed between you, a silent pact to navigate the complexities of healing together. 

"Let's start fresh," he proposed, sincerity in his eyes.

You nodded with a gentle smile on your face. The mating bond buzzed. Azriel leaned over, his lips pressing against yours in a not-so-subtle, hungry kiss.

“Now come here” He growled with a teasing grin, you screamed lightly as he pulled you into his arms as he stood. He looked at you with a feral glint in his eyes.

We have some catching up to do, my love.

[sonamytrash]

Midnight, part two

Underground Virgin!Levi x Virgin!Femreader

MDNI

Warnings: y/n used, Childhood friends to lovers, fluff, smut, puberty mentioned, masturbation mentioned, fingering, sex, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, mentions of prostitution, creampie, orgasm, characters ages aren't mentioned, but it's suggested they're both in their late teens, of age when writing but could be interpreted as underage? Virgin levi, virgin reader. Not proofread.

Note: Wow, thanks for the love, guys! Here's part two, hope you enjoy.

‐--------------------

He's experienced a lot in his short life. But interactions of the romantic kind aren't something he's familiar with. Despite his his feelings for you and innocent exchanges of affection here and there, he really isn't sure where to start. Levi breathes in deeply and exhales, trying to collect his thoughts.You wanted to be intimate with him. You wanted him to be your first. He could only thank the heavens for the opportunity to show you how much you mean to him, to show you the very least of what you deserve. To be loved, cherished, and worshipped.

Levi pulls you close to him on the bed, his arms wrapped around you as he leans closer, and your lips are practically brushing against each other. "I'd do anything for you, you know that, right?"

Your hand still resting against his cheek, you scan his face for any signs of reluctantly. Both of you lean into one another, and finally your lips meet for the first time.

Levi can feel your warm hand on his chest, making his body tingle every time it brushes against his skin. His breath grows increasingly heavier, and his heart rate starts to rise as his hand slowly moves down your arm and makes its way to your hips.

You tug his shirt over his head before he does the same to yours and returns to your embrace. The kiss is messy and irrepressible. Both of you are absolutely desperate for the taste of one another after pining so long. 

The kiss never wavers as he pushes you down onto the bed and crawls on top of you. He's enjoying the feeling of your body beneath him. Your little moans and mewls encouraged him to go further, as he started slowly moving his hands down your body, his breath growing heavier with every move.

Levi's body aches for you as you touch and trace your fingers over his muscles. He continues to kiss you as your hands explore his body, the body that has kept you safe for all these years, the body you have stolen glances at given any opportunity, the body that you ache for. His grip on your hip gets firmer as he enjoys your every movement, every touch, and every kiss you bestow upon him.

Both of your bodies are in an incredible state of arousal. You attempt to speak up to tell him how you've felt all this time. Even in this intimate moment, you can't quite find the words, even after having just been so bold. You feel a bit embarrassed about your lack of experience, but you're determined to push through, determined to share this moment with him. There's nobody in this world who makes you feel safer.

Levi's eyes shift to yours as he pauses shortly to speak. Seeing that you're struggling.

"You don't have to tell me with words, I know exactly how you feel. I'm nervous, too. I've never done this before either."  He tells you shyly, you smile and nod. "I trust you, Levi." He smiles."Just tell me if anything hurts or you want me to stop, okay?."

He caresses the side of your face. Enjoying every moment of intimacy. Your bodies are already communicating past what you can or can't coherently say. He trails his hand over your breast, gently taking your nipple between his fingers as he begins to suck on the other. You moan at the new and different sensations on each of your nipples. "Levi..." You're moan breathlessly.

"You're beautiful," he says, his voice low. "Let me make you feel good." He says as his mouth returns to your erect nipple. You nod, feeling a sense of excitement and anticipation building within you. You had wanted this for so long. Fucked yourself silly on your fingers night after night at the thought of him. Never able to fully satisfy your desires.

Levi's fingers reach down to your drenched underwear, he rubs his fingers over the fabric and smirks at the thought of making you this aroused, before he moves the garment to one side, feeling your wet slit, he groans as he moves one of his fingers over your clit, caressing the swollen nub gently, eliciting another moan from your lips. As Levi touches you, you feel a surge of pleasure run through your body. You throw your head back, letting out a louder moan as he continues. He looks into your eyes, "Is this okay? Does it feel good?" He asks, your pleasure being his only priority in this moment. You nod, "Yes" you breathe, "It feels good." You mewl as he toys with your clit applying more pressure, before he slowly inserts a finger into your tight heat, you gasp. They're longer than your own, your pussy sucks his finger in, twitching around his digit at the newfound feeling and depth. He moans in suprise at the wet and warm sensation around his finger as he returns to sucking one of your nipples, hunger and desire burning within him as he slowly moves his finger inside of you, when he adds another finger you bite your lip, adjusting to the feeling of a second digit. He moves them rhythmically as he uses his thumb to rub your clit. He had no idea that a womens body would twitch and move around him like this, he gets excited at the thought of how you're going to feel around his cock, trying to ressist the urge to almost dry hump the air as he focuses on only your pleasure for now. He knows the first time can be painful for women. He doesn't want to hurt you, so he's determined to make the process as enjoyable as possible. It doesn't take long for you to feel a familiar knot in your stomach, something you had been able to achieve alone but never this quickly or intense. "Levi, I'm-" you moan as you push your hips up into his fingers as he picks up the pace, he removes his mouth from your nipple and comes up to kiss along your jaw and encourage you "Cum for me, y/n." You squeak delightfully as you come around his fingers, your body shaking from the intensity of the orgasm as he guides you through. He keeps going until you grab his wrist, needing a second from the overstimulation. Levi watches in amazement as you cum around his fingers. He can feel every twitch and spasm, a sense of pride washes over him at having brought you such pleasure. But he wants to see so, so much more of that cute little fucked out face you've just made.

Leaning down to kiss you deeply once more, he smiles. "You did great, such a good girl." He says reassuringly as he removes your drenched underwear and looks over your body. Living in the underground, it isn't the first time he has seen a woman in the nude. However, gazing over the form of someone you love in such an intimate moment is something that he can't describe, something so much more erotic. Your body is so perfect that it's almost like it could've been sculpted by the gods. As you recover from your orgasm and begin to touch him, he can't resist looking at your flushed face, his equally as red giving a slight moan as he reacts to your touch. You trail your hands down to the waistband of his underwear, "Can I?" You ask him, looking into his eyes seductively, he nods. He lets out a shaky breath as you trace your fingers along the trail of hair from his navel to the waistband of his underwear, where it becomes thicker. Anticipation builds within him at the thought of being with you in this way. With need, he guides your hand to his cock, eager to feel your touch there. His breathing is already ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as he anticipates what is to come. He hisses feeling your hand against him through the fabric, before you free his cock from the confinement of his underwear. Your eyes widen as you run your fingers over his length. You internally contemplated how this thing was supposed fit inside you. Levi must have sensed your concern "It'll be fine." He reassures you, struggling to concentrate at the mercy of your touch. As much as he wanted to feel your hands or even mouth around him, he knew he'd never last if things went in that direction. There would be another time, having come this far, of that he was certain.

He enjoys the sensation of you stroking him for a few moments, though, before he tries to read your expression, "Do you want to continue?" He asks nervously. You smile, meeting his gaze and nodding. "Yes." You say seductively. He pulls you in for another kiss as he positions himself at your entrance, slowly rubbing his cock against your dripping wet slit, covering himself in your essence. You both moan into the kiss, the whole situation is so erotic that your mind can only comprehend the sensation of his movements against you, all you want is him to take you. He takes one of your hands and squeezes it tightly as he begins to enter you, the tip of his cock glistening with precum as he moves.

Levi thrusts slowly into you, inch by inch, groaning with pleasure as he feels your virgin pussy clamping down around him. You whimper under him, your nails digging into his shoulders with your free hand as you try to adjust to the alien but welcome feeling of having him inside you. It hurts but it isn't unbearable. Your other hand entwined with his as you both experience this moment together.

Levi tries to be gentle, knowing that it's your first time, but he can't help the intensity of his desire and fights the urge to start thrusting inside you, your tightness and warmth enveloping him completely. Surely, he was in heaven. Nothing on this earth had ever been kind or good to him until there was you. The fact that this was unravelling now between the both of you was unreal.

You look into his eyes, your own completely glazed over with lust. "It's okay, you can move. I'm alright." You say breathlessly.

He moves slowly at first, using your expressions as his guide. His thrusts grow deeper and more forceful with each moment. He captures your lips again passionately, needing to be as close to you as physically possible.

You moan loudly, feeling a sense of pleasure spreading through you as Levi takes you to new heights of ecstasy. You arch your back under him, wrapping your legs around his waist as you try to take him even deeper.

Levi responds, thrusting harder and harder into you with each passing moment. You feel like you're going to explode with pleasure, and you can't help but cry out his name repeatedly as he fills you up with his cock.

The sound of your skin slapping together fills the room as he moves inside you, the intensity between you both, only growing with each passing moment. Your pleasure builds with each of his thrusts, and soon you're both rambling sweet nothings to one another, your bodies writhing together blissfully.

He's delirious with the wet embrace of your pussy sucking him in, the feeling of your walls constricting around his cock almost too much. He knows that you're close to cumming again, he can feel your pussy quivering around him. He moans loudly with you, your tight hole squeezing him as you scream his name. His lips crash down on your own. With one final thrust, he feels his cock pulsing inside of you as he reaches his own orgasm, he lets out a loud groan into the kiss, spilling his seed inside you. Neither of you in the right frame of mind to consider any of the consequences right now. You feel a sense of warmth spreading through you as he finishes. Both of you have a tight grip on one another as you ride out your high. He collapses on top of you, panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath. The room is filled with nothing but the sounds of heavy breathing, the smell of sex and sweat permeates the air.

"I love you, y/n." He says breathlessly in your ear. You trail your fingers over the back of his head, feeling the contrast of longer hairs and his undercut. "I love you too, Levi."

@mei-mei01

[simplyraeblue]

King and Captive

(Hunter and Hunted Spin-Off) read here

a chance meeting with Sukuna quickly turns into a nightly routine you can't escape. as the lines between game and something more blur, you start to wonder—how long can you keep playing, or will Sukuna make you his next conquest? !Sukuna x !femreader

chapter warnings/tags: swearing, drinking, use of "princess", not much of anything this part tbh. eventual smut warning tho of course ( • ᴗ - ) A/N: THE SPIN OFF IS FINALLY HERE! of course, because I'm obsessive I've already written 3 full parts... I suck at writing beginnings though, so bear with me as things are a lil slow in my opinion! I hope you all enjoy it as much as you enjoyed Hunter and Hunted; and be prepared for MORE smut cause its SUKUNA OF COURSE.

index part one | part two

part one word count: 2,762

Christmas had come and gone, and you had stepped into the new year with an even angrier outlook on life than you’d had before. sure, last year had been rough; you’d been cheated on and promptly dumped for someone else, and the bittersweet icing on the cake was when you found out your ex had gotten engaged over the holiday season. you’d done what any sane person would do – drank away your feelings.

the past few weeks, your friends could often find you at the bottom of a mug, angry eyes watching as you toyed with the coaster at any bar you’d walked into. you need – no, wanted – vengeance. you imagined the look on your ex’s face if you ran into him with another, maybe hotter, guy on your arm. men these days were only looking to get their dicks wet, how hard could it be to snag one?

you came to realize it was incredibly hard.

any man that gave you the time of day seemed to be scraping the bottom of the barrel, consistently sleezy and looking like they hadn’t showered in days. or worse, still lived in their mother’s basement. the men you worked with were no better. constantly watching your ass as you walked by, attempting to slyly cop a feel in the break room, and so on.

so, here you were, walking down the street to a pub around the corner from your job to grab a drink. you had a one-track mind for this sort of thing, oblivious to your surroundings until two men stepped into your path to stop you.

“excuse me.” you muttered as you took a step to the side, trying to go around them. before you could get back to your mission one of their hands reached out and snagged your wrist. ugh, more disgusting pigs. “I’ll ask you once to kindly let go off me.”

“c’mon pretty, we just wanna talk t’ ya.” the bigger, burlier one gave you a sly grin that made your skin crawl.

“yea, walking around with a skirt that short we couldn’t help but notice ya.” the one holding your wrist tightened his grip slightly. your frown stretched down your face as you took a moment to assess the situation. what was it your friends always said? right – be loud, draw attention, scream fire and whatnot.

“oi, get your fucking hands off me!” you shouted, tugging your wrist against the firm hold.

“what do ya expect when ya dress like a whore?” one of them snapped as they stepped closer. you were only dressed for work; skirt that came down mid-thigh, button up blouse that covered every inch of your skin, so how was this outfit whorish?

“she’s got a mouth on her, huh?” they nudged each other as you struggled to get free. with your free hand, you made a fist and pulled it back. you wouldn’t be able to seriously injure them, that was for sure, but you could at least distract and get away.

“I said leave me the hell alone, twatbags!” you shouted, fist shaking but staying firm in a pulled-back position. if they made one more move, you’d muster up the courage and hit one of them.

suddenly, both men went wide-eyed in front of you and your wrist was released from it’s prison. hah, so my scare tactics worked, you thought. you’d have to pat yourself on the back later for this achievement. “aw, little ole me got you boys scared? looks like you’re about to wet your pants.” you smirked, crossing your arms in triumph.

until their eyes traveled from you, to over your head.

“these guys bothering you?”

your body tensed at the deep, baritone voice from behind you. so that’s what had the men backing off – but that scared? whoever was behind you had to be huge, like a wrestler or something. you imagine big, bulging muscles and a towering figure, and you gulped.

“I believe she asked you to leave her alone.” whoever was behind you continued, and with each word you almost shivered. his voice exuded strength, even something like anger laced in his tone. or was it just annoyance? “oh, forgot to add the twatbags part. that was a good descriptor.”

the two men stepped back and the other man stepped forward, now standing slightly in front of you. you dared to scan his figure – not a body builder, but definitely not small. he wore a black compression tee that showed off his muscles, and you could see the tattoos running all across his skin, intertwined and connected everywhere you looked. your eyes caught on his light pink hair, slicked back but disheveled on the sides as if he’d been running a hand through the strands.

“while I’d love the entertainment of watching her take a swing at you, I don’t think you want to see what happens if you retaliated.” the man merely crossed his arms before looking down at you. he did in fact tower, maybe just over you but he was still above average height. something flickered in his eyes as they met yours, and you could only stare at him speechlessly.

he hadn’t even had to do anything before the men scoffed and walked away, albeit hurriedly like a fire had been lit under their asses. you and the man watched as they scurried down the sidewalk, and you finally let out a sigh when they disappeared from sight.

“thanks for that. although I’m pretty sure I had it covered.” you felt him look at you as you watched the distance – double checking that they were in fact gone before you left the protection of the stranger.

he chuckled lowly as he shook his head. “looks like you did. but, I thought I’d provide backup just in case.”

but before he could continue, you were already walking away in the opposite direction of the two men. all you had wanted was a damn drink, and by god you were going to get one.

you could hear the faint echo of footsteps behind you, but you tried to push it out of your mind, focusing instead on the door to the bar in front of you. with a swift motion, you yanked it open, stepping inside and hoping to lose the stranger following you.

but when you heard those same footsteps following you in, your patience snapped. you turned around, irritation bubbling to the surface. “are you following me?” you demanded, locking eyes with the man who had been trailing behind you. “do I need to be worried about you too?”

he just chuckled, his casual demeanor only adding to your annoyance. “do you think I owe you something now?” you shot back, trying to keep your tone serious, though it was clear he didn’t take you seriously at all.

his laughter echoed in the small space; a mocking sound that only made your frustration grow. “actually,” he said, his voice steady, “I came back to finish the beer I left to save your ass.” he gestured nonchalantly at a knocked-over bar stool and the half-empty drink sitting nearby, the remnants of the drink he’d been enjoying before the whole mess began.

the heat of embarrassment crept up your neck as you processed his words. “oh.” you mumbled, feeling the awkwardness seep into your skin. "sorry. considering the kind of men I’ve just dealt with, I didn’t know if you were some sleazeball too.”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “sleazeball? you sound like my little brother,” he said with a smirk, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

you couldn't help but throw a jab back. “then he has good taste in vocabulary.”

the man’s grin only grew wider, clearly amused by the bite in your tone. his eyes glinted with something like genuine entertainment as he took a step closer. “my name’s Ryomen Sukuna, by the way,” he said, his voice dripping with casual confidence.

you narrowed your eyes, studying him with suspicion. there was something about the way he carried himself that set your nerves on edge. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable giving my full name to a complete stranger,” you replied, your tone a mix of caution and defiance.

Sukuna simply shrugged, as though your response didn’t faze him in the least. “but I just introduced myself, after acting as your knight in shining armor, I might add.” he gave a lazy stretch, his posture relaxed as he leaned against the bar, his gaze fixed on you as if daring you to challenge him further.

you didn’t back down. “that doesn’t mean I know you now,” you said, your eyes still narrowed. you turned away from him, flagging down the bartender who had just started to clean the counter. “a drink. whiskey, neat,” you said, your voice firm as you slid a few bills across the bar.

normally, you wouldn’t dare drink hard liquor on a weekday at five o’clock, but goddamn you needed it now. your nerves were on edge, but a stronger feeling had settled within you since the start of this particular conversation.

he was unbelievably attractive. pierced ears, tattooed skin, and a smile reminiscent of the devil across his lips. so so not your usual type. but then again, your type had cheated on you. Sukuna’s presence was almost overwhelming – strength, confidence or cockiness – the air stilled around him like it was intruding his space.

Sukuna watched you with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “then get to know me,” he said, his voice low and almost coaxing, as if the idea of you refusing was an amusing thought to him.

you didn’t hesitate in your response. “buy me a drink and I’ll consider it,” you shot back, your tone playful but laced with a challenge. you’d be damned if you’d make it that easy for him, knowing all to well the type of men that seem to flirt with you always turn out to be disgusting.

he raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your boldness, but said nothing as the bartender set your drink down in front of you. it was clear you weren’t going to make things easy for him, but that only seemed to fuel his curiosity.

you were already fascinating him. from Sukuna’s first look at you, ready to stand your ground against two grown men, to now acting defiant against him even as he could see the tension in your shoulders with every sentence you spoke. were you feigning confidence or was it real? he liked the way you talked back to him; it made the conversation more entertaining, and he eased into it with pleasure.

Sukuna’s eyes never left you as you took your drink from the bartender, the smooth amber liquid catching the dim light of the bar. he didn't immediately respond, just leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, a thoughtful expression playing across his features. for a moment, you wondered if he was going to let the challenge slide.

then, to your surprise, he pushed off the bar with a slow, deliberate movement and took a step toward you. his presence felt heavier now, more intense. heat rolled off of him and over you, his cologne drowned your senses. “a drink, huh?” he mused, his voice taking on a playful edge, like he was toying with you. “that’s all it takes to get you to talk to me?”

you took a sip of your whiskey, cringing at the burn as you met his gaze head-on. “depends on the drink,” you replied, the hint of a smirk curling at your lips. you had no intention of giving in that quickly, not when he still felt like a puzzle you weren’t sure you wanted to solve.

Sukuna chuckled softly, the sound deep and almost predatory, like he was enjoying the chase. “I think I can handle that,” he said, raising a hand to signal the bartender. his attention briefly shifted to the man behind the counter, but when it returned to you, his expression had softened, just a fraction, though the amusement never fully left his eyes. “is whiskey your usual, then?” he asked, his tone suddenly more casual, almost conversational.

you tilted your head, considering him for a moment. “I’m not sure it’s the drink I’m worried about,” you said, leaning in just slightly, your voice quieter now. “it’s the company.”

he gave you a look that said he wasn’t fazed by your words, not in the slightest. "trust me," he replied smoothly, "I’m better company than most people you'd find in this place."

he wasn't wrong. there was something undeniably magnetic about him, an energy that drew you in despite your better judgment. you could sense there was more to him than what he was showing, and a part of you couldn’t help but wonder what he was really after.

the bartender placed a fresh drink in front of Sukuna — a glass of something darker, likely whiskey as well, and more expensive than the one you had just ordered. Sukuna didn’t touch it immediately, instead shifting his stance so he was fully facing you, his eyes now narrowing just slightly, as if sizing you up. like you were a snack he wanted to take a bite out of.

"alright, I’ll bite," he said, his voice a low murmur as he watched you closely. “what’s your story?”

you took another sip of your drink, your gaze never leaving his. “maybe I’ll tell you,” you said slowly, deliberately, “but it’s going to cost you more than just a drink.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into another half-smile, his confidence never wavering. “I’m up for the challenge. what’s the price?” his tone had shifted again, all business now, but there was still an edge of that playful intensity behind it.

for the briefest moment, you almost felt like you were playing a game with him, something neither of you had agreed on but that you both instinctively understood. you hesitated, eyes scanning his face for any hint of vulnerability — but there was none.

“get me another round, and we’ll talk,” you finally said, giving him a sly smile that matched the gleam in your eyes.

Sukuna didn’t need another word. he turned away, reaching for the glass, a quiet satisfaction in his movements. he knew the game was far from over, but there was no doubt in his mind that he’d be the one to win it.

you lifted your eyes to meet his, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and caution. he was still an enigma, his expression unreadable, his posture relaxed but with an edge that hinted at something more dangerous beneath.

“you’re a man of few words,” you observed, your voice playful but with an undercurrent of challenge. “or is it that you’re waiting for me to spill my life story?”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your attempt to provoke him. “I’ve got all the time in the world,” he replied smoothly, voice low and even. you could feel his eyes on you, studying you in a way that made you want to pull back, but also something else—a curiosity, maybe even an unspoken challenge.

you took another sip, avoiding his gaze for a moment. “and what’s in it for me?” you asked, your voice steady but carrying a hint of sarcasm. “why should I bother getting to know you?”

Sukuna’s smile deepened, almost like he was savoring the moment. “because,” he said, his voice now tinged with something a little darker, “I’m not just any stranger. and I think you’ll find out, sooner or later, that I’m worth your time.”

his confidence was almost infuriating, but you couldn’t deny that something about him intrigued you. maybe it was his audacity, or maybe it was the mystery that clung to him like a second skin. or possibly, that he could be the hottest man you’d ever laid eyes on. either way, you weren’t ready to walk away just yet.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” you replied, a small challenge in your voice, but this time, there was a flicker of curiosity in your gaze too.

Sukuna met your challenge with a steady, unwavering stare, his smirk never fading. “then I guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out, won’t you?”

it wasn’t an offer. it wasn’t even a question. it was a promise. and whether you liked it or not, you were beginning to realize that you might just be caught up in his game—whether you wanted to be or not.

it wasn’t an offer, or even a question. it was a damn promise. whether you realized it, you were beginning to get caught up in his game – it was inevitable.

⊹. ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . taglist: @mangiswig @aldebrana @ravester @marie-is-in-the-dark @makingtimemine @sorahatake @osohchoso @csolya I tagged some people that interacted A TON with Hunter and Hunted who I appreciate so so much ; so if you were tagged and would like to be removed just let me know! ♡ I hope this fic is as loved as Hunter and Hunted! . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

[hotheadedhero]

i am absolutely in love with your writing style and i see requests are open hehehehe

perhaps a rise!donnie with a gn reader that is “high intelligence low wisdom”? like, theyre smart and all and can understand a lot of his work, but they next moment they do something absolutely idiotic?

anyway thanks for considering <3

AN: If I've got the right idea then oh, ohoho, I think I can do this. Kinda describes me as a person 😅 And thank you!! I'm glad you enjoy the spoils of my crazy brain <3

A Dichotomy in Donnie's Dearest

Donatello x Reader

Donatello has a field day with you. Finding another entity as smart as him is unfounded but you're an enigma altogether. You're not necessarily the next Einstein, but your ability to fathom even half of the stuff that comes out of his mouth is impressive. Some nights, you'll both have conversations about biomechanics, nuclear chemistry, or anything that weasels its way into the mix. It isn't uncommon for you two to stay up until the break of dawn when you get caught up in such exchanges. In fact, your propensity for science drew him towards you in the first place. You make quite a pair, like how a covalent bond is a formation of electrons shared between two atoms.

Although, he supposes that if that is the attractive force in this analogy, your disposition for thick-witted conduct is the repulsive force. The difference between your divine intellect and your misshapen ability to function in society is an astounding, if not worrying prospect. It's as though you completely forgot yourself and he can only speculate how.

Initially, he chalked it up to a faulty memory: forgetting to switch the socket on when you plug your laptop in, not realising your phone is in your hand whilst it's 'lost', completely losing your train of thought mid-conversation. Standard, everyday predicaments that aren't unfounded amongst the greater world.

That assumption was quickly abandoned when he took closer note of some things that come out of your mouth - certain "theories" of yours that he hopes are funny thoughts and nothing more.

"Do you reckon tissues get their name from the fact that when we sneeze, we say, a-tissue?" you ask him.

You can't be serious, surely. Perhaps it was merely a bad attempt at a pun. If so, he'll have to limit your spending time with his oh-so-dear brother, Leonardo. It's bad enough having one person galivanting around thinking they're funny, let alone two.

He can't even begin to form a base for what you've just asked him, and instead replies so, "Life is too short for me to answer such questions."

It doesn't end there. He wishes he could say it does but it doesn't.

"I just figured out why a peanut is called a peanut!" The unparalleled excitement in your voice is enough to shock him out of his mortal body but the content source of your jovial commotion is mind-boggling and not in a good way. When he does nothing other than stare, you continue, "They're like peas in a pod but the nut version!"

"A dazzling deduction, my love," he remarks tiredly, wondering how you're the same person he discusses string theory with. "The limits of your knowledge truly know no bounds."

He's just glad Aristotle isn't around to see this side of humanity. It isn't limited to what you say, either. Worst of all, it's the things you do. Such as, when you try to eat something despite the fact it's just come out of the oven. Bonus 'dumb-dumb' points if you try to take food out of the oven without gloves. To put it simply, he doesn't trust you in the kitchen - a caution further validated when you rubbed your eyes after cutting jalapeno peppers once. You have been effectively banned.

He's lost count of how many times you've elbowed your own hip whilst rolling over in bed, or the many instances you've attempted to pull a push door and vice versa. That isn't even taking into account the countless times you have visited the lair without waterproof clothing, despite how long you've been coming down. Let's just say that the already long list is seemingly never-ending.

His frequent sighs of annoyance never offend you. If anything, it makes you laugh that much more when he appears physically pained by your antics. It's as though you enjoy his suffering. From your perspective, there's no harm in the odd hiccup here and there. You're merely enjoying life for what it is and know when to have a giggle at yourself.

Donnie believes himself to be a prodigy and he is! He can solve most if not all conundrums thrust his way but you - you - are the one he can't figure out. Yet, no matter how many times you engage in these idiotic behaviours, he still loves you. Besides, thinking any less of you would be a stupefying case of hypocrisy if he weren't to acknowledge his own blunders. Granted, his mistakes are often in the name of science but you are truly a match made in imbecilically astute Elysium.

AN: Btw, the things about the tissues, peanuts, and elbowing hips? Real stuff from me. Idk how I function

[sheeezu]

Lately I've been struggling to even attempt to shift because I don't know where to go. You mentioned that your 'DR' was more made from scratch and piecing things together and I was wondering if you had any advice on that since I think it would be a good idea for me aswell but I don't know where to start.

My DR was actually very carefully made, and it took a lot of time, without a doubt (like i said, a year or something)

It was basically everything i loved about existing, compiled into a single reality.

It wasn't easy with me being a perfectionist, i'd get upset if i didn't get good enough crockery recommendation from pinterest (but in the end i did it, expensive and delicate looking china teacups, which got a crack the second day i was in my DR)

Ok-

Your DR self:

So my DR self was made from imagination, i don't even think anyone has any trouble with face claims, so we'll skip this portion.

Now for the personality, i'd always recommend going in the opposite direction of how you are in your CR.

A compelling personality would not only attract potential DR suitors but also yourself to your DR.

Try to balance your personality - a cold and sarcastic personality layered with sweetness, since in my opinion being either the biggest jerk or just being a doormat is unappealing.

Your DR personality is the most important part of your DR, even more important than your face claims, a good understanding of your personality basically guarantees a shift.

I'm a little short on words for this post since all of this is supposed to be personal to yourself, but i'm trying to write advice anyways.

Improve your environment, look at your CR, try to see what's lacking, try to figure out what's so irrational that you want to shift?

Make your DR engaging, script it's like a movie, a lot is happening, and you're often dragged into stuff which you've never signed up for (just like a romcom- trust me, you'll thank me on this one, even in my home reality, or even just now, i recall the memories very fondly to the opportunities and main character vibes i got to experience)

Try to be creative, do not care about it being quirky or weird, make notion notes (...? is that what they're called?) and write down all of the in the moment and full of life scenarios you'd like to experience, it'll induce a certain longing and excitement for your DR.

Read and or watch media. Read books and watch movies, this will increase your world building skills, and there's no shame in taking the plot of a entire movie and making it your DR's, it's your DR, no one is judging, it'll be just you there.

Balance. A good balance in a reality is what you want, if your DR has lot of action, don't just make it just about that, you'll burnout. Add other elements, soft moments, during which you can enjoy living in the place you've worked hard to come to.

Don't just make yourself perfect! Let yourself have flaws, trust me, your loved ones will love you anyways, in my DR, i made tea for my family and it was absolutely terrible, and to not hurt my feelings they drank it with a smile hiding there grimaces, it was only after i tasted it, i figured it out. (point of the storytime being, there is no issue with being authentic)

Visually appealing DR. Colorful lights and colors, lanterns, scenic nature, a "glow" to everything (like a calm filter of your choice, in my DR i just made the sunlight be bright golden, it added magic to everything :)

Let yourself experience unconditional love, care and respect. You deserve it.

Make pinterest boards, spotify (or any other music app o.o) playlists, use notion (my beloved)

Romanticize your DR (make everything beautiful- except perhaps not committing felonies)

Ok that's it, i suppose, all the actual DR, who you are, who are your loved ones, what you do, what your aim is, you're supposed to ponder on that yourself (trust me, it'll come to you) , i can't exactly make it or script it out for you, but you know what you like, take bits and pieces from already popular drs, and follow the corny statement:

Just be yourself.

Thank for coming to my ted talk

(Btw, i'd love to upload my script and about my DR or something, but eh, if i feel like it, my already existing script is cringe, and it'll definitely need dusting up)

oh and yeah forgot i was answering to someone, so i hoped this helped (:

[1chaerry]

Hello dear Chae, please could you write a (platonic) Kim Dokja x male!reader, the reader is a constellation and Secretive Plotter's husband, I hope I don't you mind , take care of yourself 🤍

hii!!! I love anything to do with ORV!! Okay, so this fueling my ORV obsession more. hope you like it!!

A Plot-Twist In The Stars

summary: a sudden sub-scenario appears for Kim Dokja and for some reason, all the Constellations seem excited for it. Kim Dokja skeptically accepts it.

c.w: fluff, fluff, FLUFF, a bit of plot [come on, it's ORV], sub-scenario, platonic love,

w.c: 2.7k

disclaimer: Reader is called 'Saram' meaning 'Human/Person.'

Kim Dokja had long since learned to distrust the Star Stream’s attempts at “entertainment.” So when the system announced a new sub-scenario with a flourish, complete with a suspicious lack of immediate death flags, he instinctively frowned

[A SUB-SCENARIO HAS BEEN TRIGGERED!]

Objective: Accompany [The Secretive Plotter’s Husband] for one (1) day.

Reward: ???

The chat room exploded with excitement.

⎡ Constellation Prisoner of the Golden Headband is rolling on the ground laughing. ⎤

⎡ Constellation Bald General of Justice eagerly leans forward, wondering how this will play out. ⎤

⎡ Constellation Demon-like Judge of Fire clicks her tongue, muttering something about romantic plots. ⎤

Kim Dokja's brow twitched. “Why do I feel like this is going to be humiliating?”

“What's wrong?” Yoo Joonghyuk said gruffly, arms crossed as he eyed the notification on Dokja’s screen.

“No,” Kim Dokja replied flatly. “Something about this feels deeply wrong.”

Before Yoo Joonghyuk could retort, the world around them shimmered, and Kim Dokja found himself somewhere else entirely.

The setting was surreal: a cozy, starlit garden with soft cushions and a low table laden with snacks. Across from him sat a man—tall, elegant, and exuding an aura of mischief. His eyes glittered with a sharp intelligence that made Kim Dokja’s survival instincts scream.

“Ah, so you’re the famous Kim Dokja,” the man said, resting his chin on one hand. “My husband speaks of you often.”

Kim Dokja’s brain short-circuited. “Your… husband?”

The man smiled. “I am [Halo of the Golden Sea], the Secretive Plotter’s beloved, or, Saram, if the moniker is too long. Don't worry, it's a false name, won't cause you probability.”

Kim Dokja stared. “The Secretive Plotter… has a husband?”

⎡ The Constellation Secretive Plotter coughs awkwardly. ⎤

The man—no, the Constellation—leaned back, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “You seem surprised. Did you think he was incapable of love?”

Kim Dokja did not say, Yes, absolutely.

Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, “What exactly is the purpose of this scenario?”

“To spend time with me, of course!” Saram replied brightly, before leaning closer, his voice dropping suggestively. “Don’t worry—I don’t bite. Much.”

Kim Dokja scooted back instinctively.

⎡ Constellation Abyssal Black Flame Dragon bursts into laughter, finding your plight amusing. ⎤

⎡ Constellation Secretive Plotter sighs but says nothing. ⎤

Throughout the day, Saram found every opportunity to fluster Kim Dokja.

While showing Dokja the starlit garden that seemed to exist between realities, Saram casually commented, “You know, for someone who deals with life-and-death scenarios daily, you have a surprisingly composed face. It’s almost… infuriatingly unreadable. Are you always this calm, or is this just for me?”

Dokja avoided eye contact, trying to focus on the nonsensical task of categorizing glowing star fragments. “I just… don’t let things get to me.”

Sarambraised an eyebrow. “Really? Not even when I look at you like this?” He leaned closer, his expression playful but his gaze sharp.

⎡ Constellation Bald General of Justice whistles approvingly. ⎤

⎡ Constellation Demon-like Judge of Fire mutters, ‘I ship it.’ ⎤

Saram casts a glance at the Constellations, "Behave, you children."

There's a silence from the Constellations which made Dokja gulp, wondering how much power this man had to quiet them all.

Dokja turned away, his voice clipped. “Do you always tease strangers like this?”

Saram laughed, the sound warm and unapologetic. “Only the interesting ones.”

As the day wore on, Saram grew bolder in his attempts to rattle Dokja’s composure.

At one point, he leaned against a tree, arms crossed, and watched Dokja struggle with yet another nonsensical task involving glowing orbs. “You know,” he said casually, “if I weren’t already married, I might have considered claiming you for myself.”

Dokja froze mid-motion, nearly dropping the orb in his hand. “Excuse me?”

Saram smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction. “What? Can’t I appreciate a brilliant mind and an unyielding spirit? Don’t tell me you’re completely oblivious to how captivating you are.”

Dokja’s face burned, though he quickly masked it with his usual deadpan expression. “I think your husband might have something to say about that.”

⎡ Constellation Secretive Plotter silently tightens his grip on his sword. ⎤

Saram laughed, completely unbothered. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He knows I like to keep things interesting.”

As the scenario progressed, Kim Dokja began to notice a certain spark in Saram's behavior that made him uneasy, and it wasn’t just the unnerving way he casually teased him throughout the day. It was the subtle but undeniable attention that Saram seemed to give him—like he was studying him, analyzing his every move with a sharp, calculating gaze.

Though the garden was serene, with a gentle breeze rustling the trees and soft light from the stars above, the atmosphere between them felt charged with something far more intense than just casual conversation. Every glance from Saram lingered just a little too long, and every comment was laden with something more than what was on the surface. At first, Kim Dokja brushed it off as part of the oddity of being in this strange scenario, but soon, he realized that there was an unmistakable curiosity behind those bright eyes.

Saram would often watch him intently as they sipped tea, as if waiting for Kim Dokja to reveal something of himself—his thoughts, his plans, his secrets. There was an eerie quality to it, like he could see right through him. And the way he’d occasionally smile, just the slightest curl of his lips, gave Kim Dokja the distinct feeling that he was being toyed with.

“Tell me, Kim Dokja,” Saram asked that afternoon, as they walked side by side through the starry garden, “Why do you always seem so guarded? Are you afraid of revealing too much?”

Kim Dokja stiffened at the question, instinctively shutting himself off even further. “I’m not ‘guarded,’” he replied stiffly. “I’m just… cautious.”

Saram chuckled, the sound warm but tinged with something mischievous. “Cautious, yes. But you’re not fooling anyone. You’re hiding something, aren’t you? Something important.”

Kim Dokja’s eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was an unsettling truth to what Saram said.

“It’s none of your business,” he shot back, trying to regain his usual composure, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that every word out of Saram’s mouth felt like a carefully crafted move.

And that was when he realized: this wasn’t just a random Constellation. There was something strategic behind the way Saram spoke, something calculated in his interest in him. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Saram wasn’t simply curious about him—he was intrigued.

The other Constellations had been amused by the sub-scenario, but Saram’s interest seemed far deeper. He wasn’t just playing along for fun. No, he was actively pulling at the threads of Kim Dokja’s life, his story, and perhaps even his own motivations. It felt like he was trying to understand the very fabric of his being, as if he could somehow use it for his own ends—or perhaps to simply learn about him on a more personal level.

Kim Dokja could tell that Saram was a skilled manipulator, one who thrived in situations where he could read others and subtly influence them. And yet, for all his caution, Kim Dokja couldn’t help but wonder…...

Did Saram actually want something from him? Or was this all just a game—one that Saram was determined to play to the very end?

As they shared a quiet moment, sitting beneath the stars, Saram leaned in just a little closer, his gaze sharp but playful. “You know, Kim Dokja… I find you fascinating. There’s something about you that’s both frustrating and intriguing. I wonder…” His voice dropped, almost teasing. “What would it take to get you to let me in? To show me the real you?”

Kim Dokja couldn’t help but tense at the question, feeling a surge of irritation mixed with something else. Was it fear? Or was it just the sense of being cornered by someone who could so effortlessly navigate the intricate web of his emotions?

“I don’t let anyone in,” he said, voice steady but the words betraying him. “I’m not a person you want to know.”

But Saram only smiled wider, like a cat with its prey. “Ah, but that’s exactly what makes you interesting.” He leaned back slightly, as if giving Kim Dokja a moment to reconsider, but the glint in his eyes never wavered. “You’re not as impenetrable as you think, Kim Dokja. Maybe, in time, you’ll come to realize that.”

The rest of the day unfolded with a constant undercurrent of this unspoken tension. Kim Dokja couldn’t shake the feeling that every word, every interaction, was another thread being woven into a bigger, more complex pattern that Saram was crafting with remarkable precision. As much as he tried to distance himself, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that Saram was interested in him—more so than any other Constellation Kim Dokja had encountered.

And it wasn’t just curiosity. No, Saram seemed to be quietly testing his boundaries, pushing to see how far he could go before Kim Dokja either cracked or completely shut him out.

The more Kim Dokja tried to maintain his distance, the more Saram seemed determined to break down his walls. It was becoming less about the scenario itself and more about the challenge of unraveling the mystery that was Kim Dokja.

By the end of the day, Kim Dokja realized that Saram wasn’t just interested in him because of the Star Stream or the scenario—it was because he saw something in Kim Dokja. Something that made him worthy of fascination.

Whether Kim Dokja liked it or not, he had unknowingly become a part of Saram’s plot—a plot he had no idea how to navigate. But that was nothing new for Kim Dokja, was it? After all, he had been thrown into enough convoluted plots to know that sometimes, the best way to survive was to embrace the chaos and play along.

The day was an utter whirlwind of chaos.

Saram insisted on dragging Kim Dokja through activities that ranged from mildly ridiculous (picking constellations to “adopt” as stars in their garden) to outright absurd (convincing Kim Dokja to play tag while the chat room provided commentary).

At one point, Saram raised a glass of wine and smirked. “You know, Kim Dokja, you’re not half bad. Maybe I’ll convince my husband to let me keep you.”

[ Constellation Secretive Plotter glares coldly. ⎤

Kim Dokja, somehow completely sober, replied, “I think your husband would kill me. Again.”

Saram only laughed. “He wouldn’t dare. I’m the only one who gets to torment you today.”

⎡ Constellation Secretive Plotter looks away, his ears suspiciously red. ⎤

As the day came to an end, Kim Dokja collapsed onto the cushions, exhausted but somehow… content. Saram lounged nearby, still radiating that chaotic energy, but with a softer, almost fond smile.

“You’re interesting,” Saram said. “I can see why the Star Stream loves you.”

Kim Dokja groaned. “I hate that.”

Saram chuckled, then stood. “Well, this was fun. But don’t think you’re off the hook. If you survive the next scenario, we might meet again.”

The world shimmered once more, and Kim Dokja found himself back with Yoo Joonghyuk and the others.

“What happened?” Yoo Sangaj asked, concerned.

Kim Dokja stared into the distance, his voice hollow. “I… bonded with the Secretive Plotter’s husband.”

The chat room exploded into laughter once again.

⎡ Constellation Secretive Plotter silently vows to make amends for the day’s chaos. ⎤

And somewhere in the Star Stream, Saram laughed.

The garden was quiet now, bathed in the soft, silver light of the stars. The stars above twinkled as if to remind Saram that time was still passing, even if it felt as though the entire world had paused for a moment. He leaned against a stone pillar, his gaze fixed on the starlit horizon, though his mind wasn’t on the scenery.

Behind him, the shimmering air twisted as a familiar presence appeared. It was a subtle distortion in the fabric of reality—one that only someone accustomed to the Star Stream’s constant manipulations would recognize.

"I see you’ve finally arrived," Saram said, not turning around. His tone was calm, almost casual, but there was a flicker of something more behind his words.

The figure that appeared behind him, silent as ever, stepped into the moonlight. The tall, imposing silhouette belonged to none other than the Constellation known as Secretive Plotter. Despite the heavy air between them, the quiet tension was almost… playful.

"Saram," Plotter’s voice rumbled, low and deliberately distant. "That was a rather… interesting day."

Saram allowed himself a small, knowing smile. "Interesting? Or just entertaining?" He raised an eyebrow, turning to face the other Constellation. "You didn’t think it would be easy to keep things simple, did you?"

Plotter’s expression didn’t change, but the glimmer in his eyes seemed sharper, like the gears of a complex plan were grinding slowly into motion. "You are… unpredictable."

"I prefer to think of myself as entertaining," Saram replied with a playful shrug, stepping closer to Plotter. "But I think you enjoyed it more than you’re letting on."

For a moment, there was silence. The kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled, because neither of them were in a rush. Plotter studied him, his gaze steady and unreadable.

"Why him?" Plotter asked after a pause, his tone quiet but cutting through the night air like a sharp blade. "Kim Dokja. Why go to such lengths with him? You know what kind of person he is."

Saram chuckled softly, eyes glinting with mischief. "He’s interesting, that’s why. He’s got this air of… complexity about him. You can never quite pin him down. Don’t you find that fascinating?" He tilted his head slightly, like he was watching Plotter carefully for any reaction.

Plotter didn’t answer immediately, but the corners of his mouth twitched, as though a rare smile had almost escaped him. It quickly disappeared, replaced by the usual, unreadable mask.

"You know him well," Plotter finally said. "But I wonder… do you see something in him beyond that? Or is it just the game for you?"

Saram met Plotter’s gaze unflinchingly, his eyes sparkling with something deeper. "Is it so wrong to want to have a little fun while playing the game? To see how long it takes before he finally cracks, or maybe—" He stepped closer again, his voice lowering to a near whisper, "—to see what lies beneath all those layers he’s so desperate to keep hidden?"

Plotter didn’t react, but the air around him seemed to crackle with the unspoken understanding between them. Despite his cold, distant demeanor, it was clear that Plotter had been watching his every move. And in that silent exchange, the tension between them was palpable. There was no need for words—both understood exactly what the other was thinking.

"And you?" Saram continued, this time leaning in ever so slightly, close enough for Plotter to feel his presence. "Do you ever let your walls down, or is it just me who has the privilege of seeing them crumble?"

Plotter’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, the faintest trace of something that could have been a smile playing at his lips. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the familiar, cryptic expression. "I have no need to lower my guard with you," he said, his voice low and controlled. "But you… you are something else."

Saram laughed, the sound rich with amusement. "I suppose we are something else together, aren't we?" He paused, then leaned in, his tone suddenly more serious, more intimate. "But don’t think for a moment I won’t be keeping an eye on you. This game of ours… it’s just beginning."

Plotter met his gaze evenly, his eyes filled with that same cool, inscrutable depth. "I don’t need your protection, but I’ll be watching, too."

They stood there for a moment, the starlit garden between them, both of them perfectly aware of the unspoken understanding that tied them together. It was a strange alliance, one forged in the midst of games and plots, but it was real in its own way. Neither of them knew what would come next, but neither of them was ready to let go just yet.

As the night air drifted softly around them, Saram smiled—a smile that wasn’t entirely light, but more of an invitation, a challenge. "Shall we see where this story takes us next, then?"

Plotter’s only response was a silent nod. He stepped back, his eyes lingering for a moment longer before turning to leave.

But Saram stayed, watching the stars as they sparkled above.

"Let’s see how far we can push this game," he murmured to the empty night.