#indistinct series

[shinobicyrus]

Now that it’s been out for a few months, what’re all of your thoughts on the Lackadaisy Pilot?

I can only give my opinion on the Pilot as a standalone work, since I've never read the comics.

I adored it. The animation was just... I have no words. After so many years of everything turning into CGI, seeing expertly done traditional animation like that was delightful! The details, the character designs, expressions, the colors, the style! The voice actors did spectacularly with their performances. Everyone had personality and flavor even if I didn't know their names.

Beat-by-beat the story was well-paced and executed. Again, as someone who never read the comics, I never felt lost, but I could also sense that there were nods to things that were for fans. That's a hard line to walk, but they managed it.

They also did a good job balancing the era with the tone and style. The whole world felt...well. Believable isn't quite the way I'd put it. It remained a cartoon that maybe my niece could watch with all the impressions of something appropriately darker, considering its bloody setting and era. It reminded me of an older style of animated movies/shows I grew up with. A bit cartoony but still...grounded.

Watching Lackadaisy was a treat, but it also made me realize that we had been missing something that was lost (or taken away) for a long time, and had no idea when it had happened.

[daisyachain]

the Banana Fish soundtrack cover is a vision of hell.

[vagabond-umlaut]

you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry

only the sun has come this close, only the sun

gojo satoru x wife!reader; tooth-rotting domestic fluff; gojo LOVERBOY™️ satoru; you aren't any better than him [but less poetic abt the predicament]; tw: pregnancy, 1 tiny mention of throwing up; satoru calls you 'cookie'; and he redefines the word besotted here; his thoughts are also a little yandere-ish but tht's cute, methinks; 2.3k wc; i just wish satoru was real and in my arms rn T-T

belongs to the series 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate' but can be read as a stand-alone fic if you wanna

the fic title and summary don't rly hv a very strong connection to the fic plot— except the fact they fit both satoru's & reader's characters in this series to a tee ^_^

fic title and summary from 'gps' by shauna barbosa // header frm pinterest // divider by @/benkeibear // jjk isn't mine

you are clingy.

always have been, in fact, now that gojo thinks about it. long before the two of you were married. long before you were engaged. quite a long time before the two of you were anything apart from friends at best, acquaintances at worst.

yet now, as he feels a pair of arms squeeze tighter around his middle, not really still very much squeezing the air out of him— your husband reckons you've grown loads clingier now—

and he loves you for this. loving you even more when he feels kisses being pressed into the space between his shoulder blades.

soft lips, a tad chapped. not without the shy grazing of your teeth.

just how he likes it.

very much how he adores you.

affection, settled deeper than should be feasible into the hollow of his chest, flutters a little when you nuzzle into his back; that pleased little hum of yours quick to follow it. smiling, gojo turns his head a touch to catch a glimpse of you. it takes a beat before you remove your face to lock eyes with him, before returning your face to his back.

he huffs a chuckle, sounding incredibly fond all the same. his feelings for you can never be suppressed anyway. time has proved this to him enough number of times.

he runs a finger down the length of your arm, relishing how it leaves a line of goosebumps in its wake—

"you wanna tell me something, cookie?" your husband finally asks.

your reply doesn't come immediately. and when it does, it is nothing more than a noncommittal noise. too spoiled. too stubborn. a bit too satisfied as well, the emotion further expressed when you nuzzle his back yet again.

gojo's smile grows bigger. his cheeks hurt a little.

he thinks he can live forever with this kind of pain, not even a sigh of complaint ever leaving him.

"aha—" he exclaims loudly, still soft enough to keep the quiet of this sweet bubble you've pulled you both into, "so it's just my irresistible charm that's making you so clingy tonight, hm?"

another beat passes.

and just when he thinks he might have to do with another one of your indistinct sounds for an answer, you speak. to be more precise, whine and grumble, everything so sweet in your adorable voice.

"it's not me being clingy, 'toru— it's the baby— the baby is making me so clingy. making me feel as if i can't live even for one second without squishing you like thisss!!!"

the first reaction your tightening grasp brings out is the wind getting knocked out of his lungs— the second reaction being all that oxygen, nitrogen and carbon dioxide being replaced by a feeling so fierce and so tender— the strongest thinks his knees would have buckled under its weight had he not been lying down but standing—

not that he really minds that, though.

for you, he's always on his knees. whether you ask it of him or not. the only light in this world he is willing to bow his eyes before.

it takes him not too much effort but gojo makes a point of struggling whilst he shifts in your hold. and grins when he finally comes face-to-face with you, drinking in the way your brows are puckered and lips a little parted in an incredulous expression.

his grin simmers down however, when his six eyes notice the spark in your tummy. so tiny. so blinding. so priceless— to him and you both— he knows this, surer than he is of the scars on his palms.

thumbing the hem of your t-shirt, he hums, dragging his eyes back to be drowned in yours, "how many weeks along are you, wifey?"

"satoru," you start, voice turning sharper and just as skeptical as your face was, still is— only to be shushed by a finger to your lips. the man addressed feels his heart skip a beat at your confused big scowl— it's got to be a crime to be as cute as you— really!!!

he pinches your cheek lightly.

"it isn't like i don't remember that, cookie. i just wanted you to say it— c'mon, tell me quickly!" he presses, noting then utilising the moment your face begins to lose its cynical hue over his words.

the scowl lingers there however, twisting your delectably pretty lips—

"nine weeks," you say, hooking a leg over his waist to pull him closer. can he be any closer to you, though? your answer is always a yes, he knows you well enough to know this.

"thirty-one weeks more before we meet our baby."

it's not exactly thirty-one weeks; it's thirty weeks and five days before either of you can meet the baby, but gojo decides not to point out the error. you always hate it when he points out your tiny errors and make a point of snarking about it every time he opens his mouth to speak a word next— the man is wary not to upset his wife, yes, thank you very much.

he offers a sage "hm" in response, one he observes you accept slowly. the scowl lifts itself into a curve so fond— gojo thinks once before he vaults his next query your way. not wanting to see that smile vanish in front of him—

the ask won't cause anything so. but he can never be too sure. he has read too many books and articles to not grasp how fragile pregnancy hormones can make one be.

he tucks a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear.

fingers tarrying there when he sees you lean into his touch— not akin a moth to a bright flame, no. he can never hurt you. not even for once in his wildest dreams—

but how the north pole of a magnet hurries towards the south pole of another magnet. so different in their nature, a perfect pair of opposite crafted by the nature— maybe that's why nothing can ever stop them from rushing to each other once they're proximated, the lines of their mutual attraction existing even when thousands of miles apart.

just like you and him.

contrasting, complementing, completing each other every instant, in every facet of life.

he lets his fingers dance through the tangles in your hair, unravelling the knots in there. that pleased little hum of yours reaches him once again.

stowing the sound away, later to be placed on a pedestal in an ornate glass case as the most valuable praise ever given to him for his effort, he runs a gentle hand, nails scratching your scalp carefully.

"and at nine weeks old, just how big might our baby be?"

"i think there is a chart comparing our baby's size to fruits..." syllables unhurried and a pinch mumbled, you press your heel to draw him in a little more. "i did not really read that too attentively— oh. but. yeah!" a grin forms on your features, sleepy still twinkling in excitement.

"shoko sent me a link to this website earlier today— any ideas, 'toru, what it might be about?"

gojo does have an idea. he has a very, very good idea.

but he chooses not to say that aloud. you look so extremely adorable when you are being this excited. he would hate nothing more than to see your amped up self getting interrupted by him.

he shakes his head. your grin brightens. eyes crinkling with a glint, he can tell even without looking, is knowing.

the tips of your fingers caress his bare back, softer than a breath. "it's about when our baby forms which organs— our baby's eyes are being formed now!!! isn't that too cute, 'toru?"

"it is, cookie," he hums without any hesitation, six eyes activating one more time to zero in on that teeny-tiny spark. then deactivating when he looks back up to your sleepy eyes. a terribly tickled, equally wicked glimmer creeps into his grin. "so our baby is just like a tiny ball of cells with two big blue eyes, huh? they must look so scary, heh— ouch!"

your pinch did not really pain him, but gojo does his best to mimic an awfully wounded puppy, sogging wet from the rain and waiting at the doorstep with his moving blue eyes— it takes less than three seconds before you let go of your glare with a sigh.

you massaging the sore spot on his arm, your husband watches you give yet another sigh.

"first of all, there's no guarantee our baby will have your eye color and not mine, 'toru," you explain, pinning him under your drowsy stare, "it is very difficult to predict that for sure— and secondly: i'll punch you if you ever call our baby scary— sure, they don't really look like a human in this moment, but they'll slowly get there in forty weeks— as per the website, their face, hands and feet are forming in the ninth—"

"okay, alright!! i get your point, my insanely smart, insanely beautiful, insanely sexy wife," gojo cuts in, smiling while warning bells chime in his head at the faintest gloss in your eyes—

but maybe they weren't noisy enough. that is why he doesn't bite his tongue, rather continuing, "but you weren't actually blaming our poor human-ey baby for your clinginess, were you? it's not like they have a telepathic communication set up with you— hell, maybe they haven't even started forming their brain!"

"the baby's brain starts forming by the fifth week, satoru," your quiet reply reaches him exactly when he gets his last giggle out. the moist sheen in your eyes grows more prominent.

and his insides begin to twist—

one-third helpless. two-thirds contrite.

you don't stop talking, tone lower than he has heard you use in nearly forever, "and you better not comment on my bond with our baby— i'll punch you twice if you—"

"i wasn't doing that and i promise to never make you feel that way, my cutie-pie cookie," gojo interrupts, voice far gentler than earlier, just as low as yours, "but feel free to throw me out the house if i ever do that, even accidentally. okay?"

you're not okay.

you never are, when it comes to you being actually harsh to him, even when he's the one asking you to be— shakespeare once called love to be blind— your husband doesn't think you're blind, however. it is your well-contemplated decision to see his mistakes and see each of them as excusable, perfectly pardonable, no matter how silly or serious the world might regard them to be—

you make a noise. somewhat annoyed. unhappy too, yeah. before you push your face into the crook of his neck, nose nuzzling into the flesh there.

you would have bitten him by now. but he reckons you might be a bit too tired for all that. you couldn't even finish your dinner before facing the urge to throw up tonight, yet again.

feeling sorry, almost, gojo resumes his ministrations to your hair, half because you need to fall asleep now; the hands on the clock are close to striking midnight. the other half because he just loves playing with your hair— only to still when you suddenly pull your head back.

brows furrowed as you peer at him, eyes big and earnest.

"you don't really mind when i hug you like this, do you, 'toru?"

"no, cookie!! of course not!!" the man wastes not even a breath before he rushes to explain— because seriously, what!??

sure, he wasn't the first one to fall between you two. but ever since he did fall, he has never not expressed how every second away from you, every fraction of an instant away from you, causes him pain.

and yeah, he might have been a tad too dramatic whilst doing so, but you've always been so good at reading him— then why on earth can't you read him now? why don't you read, he loves it when you seek him out, he loves you more than anyone and anything else??

"good," your satisfied little chirp gives him a light shove away from his frantic thoughts. something tells him he should be put on alert by the way your lips curve into a smug smile next.

but gojo finds himself uncaring. just immensely relieved as he trails his fingers from the back of your head to your chin. thumb reaching out to brush the corner of your infectious smile. you continue.

"but even if you did mind, sorry not sorry— you were the one who put the ring on my finger, so you have to deal with everything i'm, mister!! no refunds nor complaints can be filed here, gojo-san~"

and neither refunds nor complaints he wishes to file, satoru muses to himself as he cups your cheek in one hand. bending down to steal the taste of your beam, your tease, your love for him on his tongue—

not when he has received the world in exchange for letting go of that poor splintered mess of a heart, he used to call his, but is now yours.

and will always stay yours—

"hey 'toru��� what will you do if i chomp on your fingers right now, like really hard? will you yell? or will you be the freak that you're and enjoy it, huh?"

gojo pauses.

and wonders.

is there any binding vow one can make to secure oneself to another in every lifetime, for all eternity?

he hopes there is.

your husband really, seriously hopes there is—

'cause no way in heaven, earth or hell, does gojo satoru want to let go of you— and he will not let go of you.

this idea was ROTTING in my brain for ages, but wht gave me the spark– the boost to write this was the wonderful sukuna fic written by ari @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat ❤️❤️❤️ i seriously love u & ur writings sm, babes 🥹🥹 everyone pls go check their masterlist out. it's studded w diamonds and pearls 😌😌🥰

and this is also for my sweet & sour bestie mimi @avatarofstars 🤭🤭— u 🤝 me in being clingy af towards our fictional hubbies 😂😂🥰

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[earthchica]

Right My Wrongs | 2

terry richmond x black fem! reader

summary: You attempt to move on from Terry and explore a new relationship, but Terry discovers this and refuses to let you go.

warning: ANGST, a little fluff, emotions, heartache, new character, pleading, complicated situation, co-parenting, six-year-old daughter, name calling &, etc.

note: thank you so much for the love on the first part. This might be a little mini-series; I have a whole lot to write. <3

series masterlist

It's been three months, and you were doing much better than before, but a sense of loss and longing remained in your heart.

Terry has respected your wishes, kept his distance, and is cordial with you when Jasmine is around.

You wish things were different between you and him, but it aren't, so you need to move on.

You've been on multiple dates with a few guys, but unfortunately, none have sparked your interest.

Jasmine asked about these dates and wondered what happened with you and Terry.

She hoped you two would finally get togather since Terry wasn't seeing Olivia anymore.

Yet, she noticed a difference in the way you two behaved towards each other.

You attempted to explain the situation to her as clearly as possible, but it only made her feel sadder.

Jasmine expressed her true feelings on the matter, leaving you feeling disappointed for making your daughter feel that way.

Because of that, you almost abandoned the idea of dating again until your friend Bri convinced you to go on a date with her brother.

His name was Marcus, and you've met him once or twice, and he was always sweet.

So there you stood, next to him, in a sexy, form-fitting black dress that highlighted your curves.

Your hair was styled in a slicked-back ponytail, and your makeup was subtle.

This had to be your fifth date with Marcus, and it's been going pretty great so far.

Marcus was a tall, slender man with a deep brown complexion and brown hooded eyes.

He was not only handsome and sweet, but he also dedicated his life to saving lives as a firefighter.

Marcus radiated an irresistible charm and sweet bliss that truly captivated you.

You might say he was the perfect guy, but you longed for someone else, and that was Terry.

Maybe you could settle for Marcus, and down the line, you fall in love with him.

"Hey, you good? " He asked, cutting you out of your thoughts with his husky voice.

Marcus smirked when you made eye contact, shuffling and coming closer to you.

You nodded "Yeah...."

"Do ya want to get out of here?" His voice dripped with a lustful tone that sent a shiver down your spine, leaving you intrigued.

"And go where?" you replied. Maybe you could also have fun with him first, but you had to be careful.

Marcus rested his hands on your lower back, and his lips drew closer to your ears.

You could feel the warmth of his breath trailing on you, straightening your back a little.

"Somewhere private. What do ya say, beautiful?" Marcus whispered, moving away to gaze into your eyes.

That night ended with you two having hot, wild, rough sex, which you really needed.

You, of course, used protection and were totally satisfied; Marcus knew how to dick a girl down.

The sudden ringing of your phone disrupted the peace, prompting a groan out of you.

You reached for your phone, checked the time, and noticed it was almost noon.

You answer the call.

"Hello?" You spoke in a low, indistinct voice, and there was a brief silence before the sound of a familiar voice reached your ears.

"Hey, baby girl," Terry answered.

"Uh, hey, Terry," You said, clearing your throat. You sat up slowly so as not to wake Marcus up.

"I was just calling to see if you were alright. And are you still coming to pick up Jazzy,"

"Shit...uh, yeah," You replied, gently releasing yourself from Marcus's hold before rising from the bed to make your way to the bathroom.

"Hey, beautiful, come back to bed!" Marcus mumbled in a drowsy state; you gestured for him to lower his voice.

He winked at you with a lazy smirk, and in response, you rolled your eyes and returned your attention to your phone.

"Who the hell was that? Are-are you seeing someone?" Terry asked in a tone filled with aggravation and panic.

"It's none of your business, Terry. I'll be over there to pick up Jazzy. Okay?" You uttered coldly and abruptly hung up the phone before he could respond.

You gazed at yourself in the mirror; your makeup was messy, and your hair was frizzy and wild, but nothing you couldn't fix.

You began your morning routine while Marcus was still sleeping in your bed.

Once you walk out of the bathroom fully dressed. You sighed, seeing him still asleep.

You wake him up, and he groans and turns over his side to look at you.

"Time to go?" Marcus asked, a slight smirk on his face while sitting on his back.

"Yeah, I have to pick my daughter I'm sor-" You started, and he cut you off.

"No, no, it's fine. I was just hoping to have lunch with you, but I get it," He says with a playful smirk, then gets out of bed to get dressed.

You waited for him downstairs. As he walked towards you, you turned and gazed at him, and he greeted you with a smile.

You laced your hands behind his neck and pulled him closer to your face; his hands found your sides.

"Marcus, you're a great guy, and I like you, and I want something out of this than just sex, if that makes sense."

"Hey, it's okay. I want something more, too, sugar," He says before leaning in and kissing your cheek.

"For real?" You asked with a slight smile, which made him grow a much bigger one.

"For real, beautiful," he said with a nod. You smiled and kissed him passionately.

-

Meanwhile, Terry felt his heart sink as he realized you might be with another man.

Terry couldn't shake the thought from his mind: "You were with another man." 

The words echoed in his head until he flinched out of it when he heard the voice of his daughter calling him.

"Daddy, are you okay?" she asked, confused while gazing at him from where she stood.

"Yeah, princess. Shouldn't you be getting ready?; your mom will be here soon," he said, quickly putting his phone down and tucking it away.

"Daddy, I can tell when you're lying. I know something happened between you and Mommy; she's been going on dates," she said, sighing.

Her eyes filled with concern as she sat beside him on the couch. Terry heaved a sigh, the weight of his mistakes.

"Yeah, figure that. I messed up really bad, Jazzy; she's upset with me and probably hates my guts."

"She doesn't, Daddy. You can fix it, and you can make her happy again. You both need each other; I need you together, I-I" she stopped, looking down at her hands.

"What is it, Jazzy?" Terry asked, gently placing his hand on her tiny shoulder, conveying his worry and care for her.

"I don't like going back and forth between houses. I wish we could all be together and live as a family—I told mommy...that's all the kids at my school have. I always wanted that. I don't like you and Mommy not talking and being happy like you used to," she explains.

Terry felt a deep pang of sorrow as he listened to his daughter's words.

He tenderly drew her into his embrace, comforting her as she shed a few tears.

"It's okay, baby. I'm so sorry; we've tried to make this work as best as possible."

"You can try harder, Daddy. Fix it with Mommy. Don't you love her?" She asked, looking up at him with her light eyes that matched his.

At that moment, Terry found himself wrestling with a tangle of emotions.

He was in love with you, but his fear and foolishness prevented him from acknowledging his true feelings.

The idea of you being with another man was too much for him to handle.

"I do, princess. I love her so much." Terry felt a profound sense of relief as he finally confessed his feelings.

There was something incredibly liberating about sharing this with his daughter.

"You have to tell her then; I'm sure she'll find it in her heart to forgive you…She loves you; she always has," she says, her eyes sparkling with hope as she smiles.

"Okay, Jazzy. I'll try," Terry said softly, with a warm smile. She nodded with an even more radiant smile.

-

You arrived at Terry's apartment door and were about to knock when it swung open, revealing your daughter, Jasmine.

"Mommy, can we please stay for dinner with Daddy? He made pasta and garlic bread," Jasmine begged without saying hello to you.

"Wow, no, hi, hello, mommy. I missed you, nothing?" you asked in a playful tone.

"Sorry," She giggled joyfully and wrapped her arms tightly around your waist.

"Hi, Mommy. I missed you so much," she exclaimed with genuine warmth.

"That's more like it, and I missed you too, baby. Were you good for your dad?" You asked with a slight chuckle.

You both enter Terry's apartment, greeted by the aroma of a home-cooked meal.

"Yeah, I was good. So...Is that a yes?" Jasmine asked, crossing her fingers with a hopeful smile.

You briefly looked down at her, then shifted your gaze to the big window, lost in thought for a moment.

"I don't know, Jazzy. Did you ask your dad if it was ok?" You asked, looking back at her.

"No need. I would love for you two to stay for dinner, only if you want to," Terry says, adding to the conversation.

His intense gaze met yours as he stood before you, clad in a snug gray T-shirt and jeans accentuating his muscular form.

"Just do it for Jazzy," you repeat these words, reassuring yourself that everything will be okay.

"I guess we can stay for dinner," You said with a small smile, shifting your gaze to your daughter, who looked so joyful.

"YAYYY!!! Thank you, Mommy," Jasmine yelled joyfully and enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around your waist once more.

You reciprocated her hug with a warm chuckle, and said, "You're welcome, baby."

"Come on," With a gentle tug, she beckons you into the quaint dining room while Terry quietly follows suit and graciously pulls out your chair.

"Thank you," you murmured, feeling a bit shy, and he nodded in response.

Terry proceeded to carry the steaming, appetizing food to the table. The dish looked and smelled absolutely delightful.

"That looks good, Daddy," Jasmine smiles, getting garlic bread with her pasta on her plate.

You nodded in agreement with Jasmine, expressing your approval to Terry.

"Yeah, Terry, this dish looks really appetizing. I'm sure it's going to taste amazing."

"Thanks, girls, I really appreciate both of you," Terry says warmly, flashing a charming smile.

Terry blessed the food, and you all began to eat and engage in light, casual conversation.

"Mommy, can we stay and watch TV?" Jasmine asked, her eyes filled with hope.

"No, Jazzy. You only asked to stay for dinner, and I'm pretty sure your dad has company coming over," you said, rolling your eyes.

"He doesn't, mommy. I promise...It's gonna just be three of us, right, Daddy?" Jasmine asked with a little grin.

You were keenly aware of her intentions, and you were certain her little plan would not work.

You shot a quick look at Terry, who had a slightly nervous expression on his face.

"Yeah, come on, baby girl. Just one show, and that's it," Terry says with a small smile.

You just gave him a hesitant look, and then there was a knock on the door.

Terry sighed and politely excused himself, reaching the door to answer it.

Once he disappeared from view, you turned your attention to Jasmine.

"Okay, Jazzy. What's going on?" You asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest and looking at her with raised eyebrows.

"What do you mean, Mommy? " she asked, looking at you innocently and shrugging shortly.

"You know what I'm talking about, little girl. We talked about this," you told her, uncrossing your arms.

"Just wait and see, Mommy," Jasmine says sassily. You look at her shock and wonder where she got that from. *you silly*

Terry returned with a large bouquet containing a mixture of your three favorite flowers.

"Woah, Daddy! Who are those for?" Jasmine asked with a giggle as she watched the expression on your face.

The delicate beauty of flowers always captivated you, and receiving them never failed to fill you with an indescribable sense of joy and warmth.

"These are for your mother. It looks like she's got a secret admirer," Terry said, giving you the flowers.

You took the flowers from Terry's hands, feeling his fingers brush against yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

You cleared your throat and moved away, giving Terry and Jasmine both a look before smelling the flower.

"Hmm, I guess we can stay and watch a show," you said with a shrug while rolling your eyes.

You three were cozied up on the couch, engrossed in an episode of Family Feud.

Jasmine gradually drifted into a peaceful slumber as the show progressed, finding comfort in Terry's embrace.

Terry took her to the other room, and when he came, you two discussed watching another episode.

"Oh shit, is it really three pounds?" You inquired, glancing over at Terry, who was chuckling and shaking his head in amusement.

"I am unsure," he says nonchalantly, lifting and dropping his broad shoulders in a casual shrug.

Steve Harvey on TV: Name a salad dressing that you see at a salad bar.

Both you and Terry simultaneously exclaimed, "Ranch," but then you quickly added, "I said it first."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did," you playfully remarked, jabbing your finger into his chest, teasingly referring to him as "applehead."

Terry chuckled as he gestured toward the TV screen. "Well, even if you did, they've already said 'Ranch,' he remarked.

"Mmm, whatever," you said, playfully rolling your eyes at him with a hint of amusement.

Steve Harvey on TV: Name something that happens in April.

The phrase "April Fools" echoed in unison from both of you once more.

A brief moment of shared laughter passed as you exchanged glances before refocusing on the television.

"I guess you can say I won," you said, rising from the plush couch, gracefully bowed and waved, silently mouthing "thank you" with a grateful smile.

"I didn't know it was a competition, baby girl." Terry lets out a hearty laugh as he rises to his feet and positions himself before you.

"Well, it was, so I won! What you gotta say to that, applehead," You said with a giggle, moving closer to him.

"You betta stop calling that," he said gently, tickling you, making you laugh.

Terry's heart couldn't help but flutter joyfully as your laughter filled the air.

You abruptly ceased laughing, feeling captivated as you shifted your gaze back and forth between his pretty eyes and his luscious, plump lips.

Terry leaned in, and you gave in to the kiss despite wanting to stop him.

The electric sensation you felt during the kiss, the comforting strength of his embrace, you shake your head before pulling away.

"Um...thanks for dinner, Terry. I know It means a lot to Jasmine. It's time to go. Yeah, it's time," You were about to leave, but Terry quickly intervened and stopped you."

"Hey, you can't just walk away after that," Terry's voice trembled with emotion as he reached out to hold both of your hands.

"Terry-" You began speaking, but he silenced you with a gentle touch on your lips.

"Please just listen. I'm sorry for a lot of shit I put you through; you never deserved it. You've been the best thing ever to me, and I've taken you for granted. I want to right my wrongs; I want to fix them. I'm tired of this tension between you and me. I want us to move past this and become like we used to be but different; I want us to be a family, for real this time." Terry said, a few tears streaming down his face as he continued.

"You love me, I know you do, and I love you, and I always have; I know it may be hard to believe, but I do love you, baby girl. I'm in love with you and don't want to lose you to someone else; give me a chance, baby. I know actions speak louder than words, but I just....need you to tell me it's okay," Terry said, his eyes searching yours for hope.

His words were sincere and borne the weight of his emotions, and you longed to hear that from him.

Though your simmering anger and stubborn pride obstructed your way, you didn't know if you could let go of the hurt.

"You must think I'm a damn fool, huh? You had plenty of opportunities to tell me how you felt, but you waited until Imma trying to move on to confess your feelings, huh? No, Terry." You said, shaking your head.

"No...I don't. I'm the damn fool, really...I know, I know. Come on...baby girl, you don't even want to try to give me a chance. Let me fix it; let's try to fix it. I want you, and only you, baby girl; I fucking love you, please," Terry pleaded, dropping down on both knees.

"Terry, stop. Please get up." You said, tightly gripped his shirt and yanked him upward, but he clutched onto your legs, pleading with you.

"Please," He whispered lowly. You are getting a little overwhelmed with emotions.

"I can't, I just can't," you said, harshly pushing him away before rushing to get Jasmine from the other room. "She can, but she is afraid."

You gently awakened her, whispering that it was time to say bye and go home.

As you gathered her belongings and prepared the car, you waited patiently for her to join you.

"Bye, Daddy," She said, kissing his cheek before wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Bye, princess. See you next week," Terry said in a low voice, desperately trying to hold back his emotions to shield his daughter from noticing his heartache.

[moondirti]

pregnant diner waitress reader just has a dirtbag babydaddy, calling her and screaming the whole over the car and her being late.

honestly i hadn’t planned to have her baby daddy in the picture at all but the angst potential here… too tempting to pass up

PART 1 • PART 2

tags: simon x reader x johnny. darkfic. dirtbags. verbal abuse (not by ghost or soap). pregnant fem!reader who still hasn’t realised she’s being actively abducted.

It takes a bit to convince you to let them drive you home.

Your resistance is met with a paradoxical reaction by both men. On the one hand, there’s a warm comfort at the knowledge that you aren’t so easy to take advantage of. Even in your distraught state, you push back against every solution they propose. It is quite a detour, I’d hate to inconvenience you or I’m sure I can get a friend to come out instead. You’re wary, though your exhaustion sways you to assume the best of them, which means that you aren’t quite at the point of flat out refusal.

Otherwise, they – Simon, in particular – simmer in frustration. Red wine in a saucepan, reduced to a stronger version of itself over flame. Bitter. Strong. More insistent: cannae rest easy tonicht knowing we left an expecting hen tae fend fur herself. They poke at the knot until they find a loosening, tugging, tugging, then abandoning it once a more promising end appears.

Eventually, their combined efforts (though most of the credit can be attributed to the sincere, puppy dog look Johnny sports at all times. Hard to resist, even for Simon) dismantle your willpower. You duck your head in a modest thank you and shuffle behind them, seating yourself firmly behind the drivers seat even though you’re offered shotgun, hugging your bag over your belly.

“Do you need me to type in the address on google maps or something?” You say after they pull out of the parking lot.

“Y’were on about Adderford.” Simon meets your wide eyes in the rearview.

“Yeah.”

“Reckon I know the road.”

Simon does know the way, and so does Johnny. Adderford, off of exit A36. Near a polluted lake that was the victim of an attempt to turn the town into an industrial hub. Nothing to show for that, of course – all it has to offer now is a poor quality of life for all those who weren’t fortunate enough to get out.

Yeah. They know the way, and their confidence must set a precedent for the trip. Your anxious fidgeting stops after 10 minutes of driving, and you’re smiling at the nonsensical story coming from the passengers seat a mere 5 minutes later. In the meanwhile, your rationalisation is visible. Simon watches your gaze flicker back and forth between them, then around the car that must feel luxurious next to yours. If they wanted to do something bad to you, then they would’ve already done so. Besides, what kind of delinquents drive a wrangler?

30 minutes in, you’re fast asleep.

They really couldn’t have asked for a better turn of events.

They come up on exit A36 and stick to the middle lane, passing the little sign that points to Adderford being a couple miles out. Past the point of no return, beelining towards the secluded house they’ve made your new home, and you can be none the wiser. Johnny can’t believe their luck, babbling in a hushed voice about how nice it’ll when you to wake up in their bed.

The fantasy loses its grip when your phone rings, blaring from deep within your bag. Panic ripples across your face, jolting you from your sleep as you scramble for the device. The series of events unfolds in far too familiar a way for one of them. Simon – a buried torment wringing around his guts as he listens in.

“H-Hello? Shit. What–” You’re breathless, stuttering. Back to that scared little thing they found by her car, crying. “Please- please calm down.”

And though you try to keep your voice low, they leech on to every word you say. Someone on the other line yells, indistinct insults punching through the mic and landing. You wilt, tucking your lip underneath two teeth, waiting the anger out.

(Tommy donned the same expression those nights when things got bad. Simon remembers hugging him against his chest so he wouldn’t have to face the misery his brother’s countenance wrought.)

“You shouldn’t- I’m sorry, but I thought I c-changed the locks. You’re not allowed to be in… not in my apartment.” More yelling. Soap twists a fist, concoting a hundred different ways he can track whoever it is down. Make them pay for their abuse with their own tongue down their throat. “It’s none of your business- you left…”

“Easy.” Simon whispers to his partner.

“Si.”

“I know, boy.” Perhaps all too well. It gets harder to keep a firm steer over the wheel.

“Don’t accuse me of– my fucking car broke down! You shouldn’t even– fuck! Hello? Hello?” A low scream tears from your throat, prelude to the aggressive shoving of your phone down into back your bag. Trembling fingers press down over your eyes, rubbing until your tears soak into your skin. Ridding of the evidence to your dismay. You suck in large gulps of air, holding them in your chest until it aches, then gasp out equally hefty exhales.

No one speaks for a while. Then–

“I don’t think I should go home right now.”

Too broken for them to feel anything but overwhelming pity. Johnny clicks his tongue, looking over his shoulder so you can latch on to the sincerity that seems to calms you so.

“O’course. Whatever ye need, lass.”

Your frown softens “There’s a motel–”

“Next one’s farther ou’ than our place is. Can’t take you there and back m’fraid.” Simon interjects. Like a record scratch, or sandpaper on an already raw moment. It must make him an awful man to use your earlier propriety against you, but conviction has superseded his desire to act decently.

Sure enough, you visibly blanch, shaking your head and stumbling over your words.

“No! No, of course not. Of course- that was so silly of me to ask. You can, I mean… you can drop me off anywhere, really. I’ll sort t-things out for myself.”

“Not what I meant, pet.”

You don’t catch on. He doesn’t repeat.

Johnny bridges the gap.

“We’ve got a spare bedroom.”

next part

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 13: The Regrets Are Useless] [Series Finale]

A/N: Below are your final predictions. Let's see how you did... 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Whatsername” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Rain pours outside the cabin, mist-shrouded pine trees and still dark water, a place in southern Oregon called Lake of the Woods. The twin-sized bed with a thin foam mattress was once used by kids attending summer camp, capture the flag and s’mores, hikes and scary stories, but now the children are ghosts and the monsters are real, stumbling down streets and lurking in dark places, licking blood from what’s left of their lips.

Aemond is here but he’s also not, a castaway on an island where the world never ended, his hands in your hair as you straddle him, your hips moving tentatively, his lips and teeth at your throat, the sharp points of his canines like fangs.

“Am I doing this right?” you murmur doubtfully. “I feel like I’m definitely not doing this right…”

“Shh, you’re great, you’re incredible.”

“I’m sorry I don’t know how to do everything already, I’m sorry you have to teach me—”

“Stop,” Aemond commands, a sharp sigh through your hair. “I love this. I love you. I want to teach you things until the day I die.”

The nervous tension in your muscles unravels—peddles thrown into water, campfire smoke vanishing into indigo night—and now his hands are on your hips, steadying you, guiding you. You link your fingers around the back of his neck and try to find a cadence that isn’t uncomfortable, ungainly, effortful. You wanted to try this. You want to experience everything with him.

“Take your time,” Aemond is saying like it’s difficult for him to keep a train of thought, his eye closed, his cheeks flushed, blood-colored blooms like a dusk sky. “I’m fine down here, don’t worry about me…”

Rain drums against the windows; lightning flashes in the sky and thunder growls. From the front porch of one of the other cabins, you can hear the indistinct droning of conversations and Aegon strumming the acoustic guitar he brought from the beach house. It’s something you’ve overheard him singing before, one of his strange midcentury darlings, a song that should be too old for him to know the words to.

“All you big and burly men who roll the trucks along

Better listen, you’ll be thankful when you hear my song

You have really got it made if you’re haulin’ goods

Any place on earth but those Haynesville Woods…”

Your skin gleams with a cool sheen of sweat; there is a draft through the cabin walls that makes you shiver as you cling to Aemond. You roll your hips a certain way and he moans—suddenly, involuntarily—and you know you’ve found the right rhythm.

“It’s a stretch of road up north in Maine

That’s never ever ever seen a smile

If they’d buried all them truckers lost in them woods

There’d be a tombstone every mile

Count ‘em off, there’d be a tombstone every mile…”

Aemond is kissing you deeply, desperately, trembling hands and gasping shallow breaths. And there is not just euphoria written into the lines of his face; there is disorientation, there is wonder. He barely manages: “Alright…um…if you want me to last longer than about thirty more seconds, you should probably slow down…”

“No,” you tease, grinning as you bite at his full lips.

“When you’re loaded with potatoes and you’re headed down

You’ve got to drive the woods to get to Boston town

When it’s winter up in Maine, better check it over twice

That Haynesville road is just a ribbon of ice…”

Aemond cries out, louder than you’ve ever heard him before—you’ve never had privacy, you’ve never truly been alone—and then again, a helpless ecstatic sound, pleasure so overwhelming it almost starts to feel like pain.

“Quiet!” you whisper, giggling, touching two fingers to his mouth. “Everyone’s going to hear you.”

“Oh my God,” Aemond says. He falls back onto the mattress and brings you with him, his arms wrapped around you, kissing your cheeks and your forehead as the two of you lie there panting and entangled, his blue eye astonished. “Okay, okay, I need a minute. I think I just burst an aneurysm.”

“I killed you?” you purr with feigned distress, basking in your conquest.

“You can kill me whenever you want. You can kill me five times a day.”

“When you’re talking to a trucker that’s been haulin’ goods

Down that stretch of road in Maine they call the Haynesville Woods

He’ll tell you that dying and going down below

Won’t be half as bad as driving on that road of ice and snow…”

Aemond stares up at the ceiling—a steep gable roof, a motionless fan—and now you can tell he’s thinking about his family again, discorporate screams, misplaced trust. Otto Hightower’s bones were found in the shower, meaning he likely died before or not long after their power failed and water would have run out in the municipal system. They were probably killed before you and Aemond ever met, distant galaxies lightyears away, remote long-dead stars. And so all the blood you paid to get to California was wasted.

“Do you ever think about the people you have saved?” you ask gently as your fingertips trace the ridge of his scar. “You stitched yourself back together. You healed Aegon’s burns. You sutured Cregan’s arm. You got me and Rio down from that transmission tower.”

“I guess I did,” Aemond says, but his voice is ambivalent, as if none of these things count. He has not found someplace safe for you yet. His job is not finished; his triumphs may only be temporary.

“Aemond…back in Pennsylvania…why did you decide to help us?”

“Luke spotted you guys, and we all talked it over. If it had just been Rio, honestly, I wouldn’t have taken the chance. A man his size, and possibly armed…could be trouble, you know? But I figured since he was traveling with a woman and you seemed to be with him by choice, he was probably okay. And then when we first met, he was so protective of you…didn’t want me touching you, didn’t leave you alone…I realized he had to be a good guy.”

“He was,” you say solemnly. I was supposed to remind him about the racks. I was supposed to warn him. But you didn’t warn Rio about what was waiting to kill him in that sand-swept grocery store in Winnemucca, just like you didn’t warn Jace about radiation or Baela about the way the rungs of the ladder that ran up the side of the grain bin were rusted and creaking, and maybe there is more than enough blame to go around.

“And then after Battle Mountain, as soon as we found the gasoline and ammo, I knew we had to go back for you. It hit me all at once. I couldn’t protect you by leaving you with Rio and Cregan. And I couldn’t let you go. I’ve never had something like this before. I didn’t know it existed. I told the others we were turning around, and Aegon said: Thank fucking God. Rhaena took off sprinting towards the car.” Then Aemond kisses you again, but tenderly this time, slowly, like you’ll have forever and there’s no need to rush. “I’m going to get you to Odessa. I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”

The rain is stopping; there are still a few hours of daylight left.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Chip Skylark. Check it out,” Aegon says, grinning at you from where he’s sprawled on the wet dock and smoking a cigarette, wearing his neon green plastic sunglasses, his left leg finally freed from its bandages and on full display. You’re all wearing the same things, stolen t-shirts and shorts, sweatshirts at night when it gets cold, sneakers you can walk hundreds of miles in; but Aegon won’t give up his Sperry Bahamas. “It’s nature’s tattoo.”

You sit down beside him and admire the scar tissue, red knots and white cords, jagged terrain like a mountain range, organic highways and bridges and trails. “It’s a roadmap.”

“That’s appropriate.”

You’ve been traveling on foot for two weeks since Criston’s white Tahoe ran out of gas and was abandoned in the town of Mad River, California. Now you are only about ten miles from Odessa, close enough to reach in half a day but too far to get into town before nightfall. This time tomorrow you’ll be there, and it will either be a haven or a wasteland, and if Rio’s parents’ community in Odessa has disappeared then so has your last idea for where to go. Absentmindedly, you skate your fingerprints over the bumps and grooves of Aegon’s leg like a blind man reading braille. He shifts and clears his throat; you’ve made him uncomfortable somehow. You lift your hand away.

“I’m sorry, does that hurt?”

“Nah. I can’t really feel anything besides pressure. The nerve endings got fried.”

“Oh.” But now you don’t know what you did to upset him. Aegon doesn’t provide an explanation. Down the dock a ways towards the shore, Rhaena is reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and listening to the pink Sony Walkman formerly owned by a little girl named Ava. Inside whirls Green Day’s 2004 album American Idiot, which Aegon took from his bedroom at the beach house to add to his CD collection, a cultural archive, a gift for posterity. Cregan is teaching Daeron to fish with poles he found in one of the cabins; Helaena is bringing them worms. Aemond and Luke are gathering things dry enough to burn—books and wooden chairs from inside the cabins—and piling them up so Cregan can cook dinner once it’s caught.

“So,” Aegon says, changing the subject, scrutinizing you as he puffs on a Marlboro Gold. “Everything going okay?”

You know what he means; he must have heard Aemond earlier. “Yup.”

“Got it all figured out?”

“Sure did.”

“Great. I’m happy for you,” Aegon says, and yet there’s a twinge of melancholy he’s trying to hide. It must be hard for him; he and Daeron are the only single ones.

“We’ll find you some suitable candidates for your harem when we get to Odessa.”

He chuckles. “Oh, come on.”

“Guys, girls? Do you have a preference?”

He’s smiling wistfully down into the water, a dark rippling mirror. “I have too specific a preference, that’s the problem.”

“Yacht girls in bikinis. Golf cheerleaders.”

“There are no cheerleaders in golf, you yokel.”

“Okay, well…I’m sure you’ll be very popular with the lonely, traumatized, widowed women of the apocalypse.”

Aegon gazes morosely out over the lake. He pitches the end of his cigarette into the water, and your eyes catch briefly on the black ink of the tattoo on his forearm: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. “I don’t know. I’ve been sober for two weeks and now everything is annoyingly clear.”

“What’s bothering you?”

He waits a while before he answers, evasive. “I’ve never been good at anything.”

“Everyone feels that way sometimes. Luke thinks he’s not good at anything either.”

“But Luke’s nice. I’m a rat bastard.”

You laugh. “You’re kind of nice, Aegon.”

“Yeah right.”

“No, seriously. I like being around you. You make me feel better. You’re like…” You ponder how to word it. “I feel like I could tell you whatever and not worry about being judged for it.”

He snorts. “As if you’ve ever done anything judgeable.”

You shrug, peering out over the lake. “I abandoned my family. I stopped sending them money, I stopped calling. And when everything happened…the zombies, the world ending…I didn’t even consider going back to Kentucky to try to help them. I went west with Rio instead. And now they’re probably all dead and it’s my fault. That’s evil. I couldn’t have gotten away with that level of betrayal. I must be cursed.”

Aegon is watching you, eyebrows raised. He has never heard this before. “But your family sucked, right?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “I think it would be hard to argue they didn’t.”

“So fuck ‘em,” Aegon says simply.

You smile at him, touched, grateful. “Okay. Fuck ‘em.”

“I’m relieved my family’s gone,” Aegon confesses, something so brutal he’d never tell anyone else. “I mean…I feel kind of bad about my mom and Criston. But as long as they were alive, I’d always be the person they raised. And if I could bring someone back, it wouldn’t be any of them. I’d pick Rio.”

“I would too,” you say softly, staring down at the faint burn marks on your palms from when you were stranded on that transmission tower with him, talking him out of suicide, so adamant that both of you were going to make it to Oregon. And you were wrong.

“So if you’re cursed, Pita Chips, sign me up because I’m right there with you.”

Rhaena pulls out an earbud and says to Aegon: “I don’t get this album.”

“What?!” he exclaims.

“It’s so good!” you concur. On the shore, Cregan is spearing several gutted rainbow trout on sticks so they can be roasted over the fire. Ice is gleefully gulping down fish organs.

Aegon continues: “Whatsername! St. Jimmy! Jesus of Suburbia!”

Rhaena blinks, glancing between you and Aegon. “But neither of you grew up in the suburbs.”

“It’s not about the suburbs, Rhaena!” Aegon replies with frenetic hand gestures. “It’s about being disillusioned and angry and failed by all the adults in your life, and self-medicating, and losing love every time you get a taste of it, and wanting to burn everything down and start over. It’s about hating the world and the world hating you back.”

“Okay, sure. I still don’t get it.”

You say: “You might have had too happy a childhood.” And you and Aegon burst out laughing.

“You guys are so weird,” Rhaena says, but she’s smiling. She stands up, gives Aegon back his Walkman, and walks to the end of the dock where Cregan is cooking the rainbow trout. Aemond and Daeron are gathering up the aluminum buckets found at the campground and set outside earlier today to collect rainwater. There is one five-pound bag of trail mix left to share, and then all the food is gone. If Cregan doesn’t kill something, you won’t eat.

“We should go help them with dinner,” you tell Aegon.

He groans. “Should we really?”

“Yeah. We should.”

“Fine.” He takes your hand when you offer it and struggles to his feet. Then you inhale a lungful of the scent of roasting trout, and startlingly powerful nausea punches through your stomach, so repellant you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from retching.

There has to be something wrong with the fish. It’s never smelled like that before.

Aegon seems baffled. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Does the trout smell right to you?”

Aegon sniffs the air like a labrador. “I guess…? I barely smell anything.”

“Well you probably destroyed your nose cells with all the coke.”

“That’s discriminatory. Addiction is a disease.” But his brow is furrowed with concern. “Seriously, are you okay? You look awful. Not like that. You know what I mean.”

“I’m fine.” You don’t feel fine; but everyone down by the fire is chatting and joking around nonchalantly, and surely if there actually was something wrong they would have noticed. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, perplexed.

You hurry past the others and take refuge in the cabin you’re sharing with Aemond. Inside the trout smell isn’t so strong. You sit at the edge of the bed and suck in several deep breaths, trying to calm down, willing the confounding wave of nausea to pass.

Did I eat something bad, did I get bit by a spider or something…?

You are checking your arms and legs for little raised bitemarks when Helaena enters the cabin and shuts the door behind her. When she opens her burlap messenger bag to root around inside, you glimpse photographs she must have taken from the beach house, the frames left empty on the mantle of the fireplace. Then Helaena pulls out a pregnancy test, just one, Clearblue.

You gawk at it. “What are you doing?”

“You look sick,” Helaena says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s that.”

She is puzzled, wide innocent blue eyes. “Why not?”

“Well…I mean…that would be freakishly quick, wouldn’t it? Like…quick as in immediately. People can’t get pregnant the first time they have sex, right?”

“Huh. They really don’t have sex ed in Kentucky,” Helaena says, and leaves you alone with your pregnancy test. You don’t feel so nauseous anymore, but you sneak around the back of the cabin to take it anyway, because now you’re thinking about the possibility with a vividness you’ve never experienced before: a round blossoming belly and tiny handprints and Aemond cradling his child in his arms. And by the time you get the result, you aren’t even shocked. It feels like something that’s supposed to happen.

You and Aemond don’t have a moment alone together until after dark, sitting on the porch swing outside your cabin for first watch, everyone else asleep, Ice dozing serenely by your feet. The only sounds are the breeze through the pine trees, cool and damp, and the hoots of owls, and the chirping of crickets and cicadas.

“So guess what,” you say casually as moonbeams float rippling and fractured on the surface of the black-glass lake.

Aemond smiles drowsily, not expecting anything. “What?”

“In approximately eight months, I might be having your baby.”

At first, he doesn’t speak; he only studies the test when you hand it to him, and then looks at you like he’s not convinced you aren’t angry, like he can’t quite bring himself to believe that you’d want this with someone like him. “Are you afraid?”

“No,” you answer honestly. Maybe you should be, but you aren’t. “I’m hopeful. I feel like as soon as I realized it, everything got brighter. And now I’m thinking about the future instead of the past.” They’re not going to grow up like I did. They’re never going to think they aren’t loved. “What should we name it?”

“Not Otter.”

You laugh, trying to muffle it so you don’t wake anyone. Ice lifts her head and stares at you curiously, her shaggy grey ears straight up.

“I don’t know, I’m terrible with names,” Aemond says; and now he’s smiling again, a wide radiant smile, and you know he’s thinking about the future too. “Hope or Peace or something. Something happy. Something about starting over.”

You take his hand. “I can’t wait to start over with you.”

“Just one more day,” Aemond says.

One more day.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So what am I going to do in Odessa?” Luke asks as the eight of you—nine, if you count Ice—trek eastbound on Route 140. You are about five miles from Lake of the Woods and halfway to your destination. It’s only 80 degrees and overcast, good walking weather, although there is a looming threat of rain, occasional rogue drops and far-off rumbles of thunder. “Everyone has valuable skills except me. Chips has great aim and can build things, Daeron has his compound bow, Aemond is basically a doctor, Rhaena is learning how to shoot guns and treat injuries…”

“Aegon has skills?” Cregan jokes, casting him a good-natured grin. Aegon acts like he’s going to whack Cregan with his golf club, which he’s spinning around haphazardly. Both his Marlin .22 and acoustic guitar are slung across his back. There aren’t many bullets left, but everyone has a few.

“Aegon can navigate,” Luke says. “And probably impregnate ten women a day. Very useful during a population crisis.”

“We don’t need that in the gene pool,” Rhaena notes.

“You wrote stories in college, right?” you ask Luke.

“Screenplays, yeah,” he says hesitantly. “But I wouldn’t say I was super talented or anything.”

Aegon claps him on the shoulder “Well I’ve got good news for you, kid. A big chunk of the world’s screenwriters are probably dead now. So you’ll look so much better in comparison!”

“Thanks…?” Luke says.

“What I mean is,” you continue. “You could write books for people to read, since there aren’t really libraries or Barnes & Nobles anymore. And you could interview people to get their life stories and then record them so they aren’t lost forever. The next generation should know what the world was like before the zombies.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says as he pets Ice. “Someone has to tell them about blue raspberry Icees, right Blue Raspberry Icee?”

“Maybe,” Luke says thoughtfully, and you notice that he’s smiling a little.

Ice begins whining, and there is a rustling in the woods to the north, low-hanging branches of bigleaf maple and dogwood and Douglas fir trees being forced aside. “Zombie!” Aegon announces, pointing. Immediately, Daeron nocks an arrow and then releases it, and the figure draped in the shifting shadows of foliage drops to the ground.

“Hey Aegon,” Daeron says after a few seconds.

“Yeah?”

“That was actually a zombie, right?”

“Totally,” Aegon replies, but he doesn’t sound certain.

Aemond turns to his older brother accusingly. “How sure are you?”

“Like…50%.”

“Aegon!” Rhaena cries, petrified, and everyone rushes off the road to investigate.

Blessedly, the felled creature is long-dead, a former park ranger whose tan uniform hangs in gore-stained tatters. The nametag reads: Underwood. The arrow pierced its soft rotting skull and remains lodged there until Daeron pulls it out to be used again, giving Aegon an impatient scowl as he does.

“Close call,” Aegon tells him. “Think they would have charged you as an adult?”

“Lord almighty, that gave me a scare,” Cregan says, chuckling. Helaena spies a blackberry bush and begins picking a handful, and Cregan goes over to join her. Rhaena and Luke are telling Aegon that he needs to be more responsible and should have waited for Luke to confirm it was a zombie with his binoculars. You exchange a glance with Aegon: he rolls his eyes, you offer a smirk of commiseration. Ice is already trotting back towards Oregon Route 140.

You haven’t told anyone else that you’re pregnant yet, but eventually they’re going to notice that Aemond won’t leave your side. He sighs and asks you: “Have you had enough of this little field trip?”

“Definitely.” You head for the road. Aemond walks with you, placing you not on his left side but on his right where he can see you. You ask, smiling: “You don’t trust me to watch your blind side anymore, huh?”

“I prefer the view the way it is.”

You are only a few steps from the black artery of pavement that cuts through the Cascade-Siskiyou National Monument, a 114,000-acre preserve of wilderness that somehow—although it is 2,500 miles away—reminds you a bit of eastern Kentucky, endless emerald forests, the omnipotent shadows of mountains. And because you are on Aemond’s right side, he can look down and see something just in front of you on the earth strewn with knobby roots and pine needles and dead leaves.

“Don’t!” he shouts, snatching your forearm and yanking you backwards, and he’s never touched you like this before—so forcefully, so violently—and you stumble and almost fall, and your arm burns and aches where he grabbed you, and people are asking what’s going on, and you peer up at Aemond with confusion, fear, mistrust.

“Why…?”

And then you hear it rustling from the same place where you were standing a moment ago. The others yelp and dash out of the way as the snake escapes into the woods, a drab spotted olive green, a rattling tail, an angular skull like an arrowhead.

“Aemond?” you say, because he hasn’t moved, hasn’t made a sound. He looks down, and your gaze follows his. On his right calf, just a few inches above his ankle, are two small puncture wounds from the snake’s fangs, each dribbling a thin river of blood.

“Northern Pacific rattlesnake,” Helaena says, her voice shaking, tears welling up in her horrified eyes. “Venomous.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond has one arm draped across Cregan’s shoulders, the other over Aegon’s. He’s moving slower, or is that just your imagination? His steps are less steady, his breathing more labored. His leg is swelling, a deep blue phantom of a bruise spreading beneath his skin, so tight it looks like it might split open.

“We’re almost there,” you say; you keep saying it, because hopefully that will make it true. “We’re only a few miles from Odessa, and we’ll find people who can help us.”

“Aemond, you’re a doctor,” Luke says.

Aemond’s voice is weak, pained, hazy. “I’m not a doctor.”

“You know what I mean!” Luke yells, frantic. “How do we fix you? What can we do?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says listlessly. “There’s nothing you can do without a hospital. I’ll either get better or I won’t.”

“People in Odessa will know how to help,” you insist. “They’re outside all the time, they hike, they hunt, they fish, they’ve seen snakebites before. They must have. They’ll have treatments.”

“Aemond,” Rhaena breathes, and you turn to see there is blood running from his nostrils. You scream, and Aemond touches his fingers to his face and then watches as they come away bloody.

“Put me down,” he tells Cregan and Aegon.

“No—” you begin, but then his knees buckle and he’s on the pavement anyway, blood pouring from his nose and his lips, blood filling up his right eye. Cregan walks to the shoulder of the highway, his head in his hands. Aegon stays beside Aemond, and you’re kneeling there with him, both of you using anything you have to clean the blood from Aemond’s face: the corners of your shirts, your bare hands.

He’s covered in blood, you think. Just like Jace, Baela, Rio.

“Can’t clot,” Aemond is murmuring. “The venom causes coagulotoxicity. Internal bleeding too. I feel like…like there’s all this pressure inside…”

Rhaena is taking Aemond’s pulse like he taught her to, fingers on the underside of his wrist. “It’s really faint,” she says quietly.

You grab a plastic Gatorade bottle filled with rainwater out of your backpack and tilt it against Aemond’s crimson-stained lips. He manages to swallow some of it. “Aemond, listen to me,” you say as calmly as you can. “You’re so close. We’re almost there. I need you to hang on a little longer.”

He shakes his head, slow dizzy motions. “It doesn’t matter.”

“They might have doctors in Odessa.” This is a fantasy, but you can’t resist it.

“Even if they do, there won’t be any antivenom. And it’s too late anyway.”

“No,” you say savagely, a sob ripping through your throat. “We didn’t cross 3,000 miles so you could die here. I won’t let you. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not fair.”

“Aegon,” Aemond says, reaching for him, drained and fumbling.

Aegon catches his hand. “I’m here.”

His eye—crystalline blue corrupted with red, blood in clear water—drifts to his brother. “You have to get her to Odessa. You have to help take care of everyone.”

Aegon is weeping. “Man, it’s supposed to be you. How can I still be here if you aren’t?”

“You can do this,” Aemond says.

“I’ll try.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, Aemond,” Aegon says, then crawls away on his hands and knees and collapses on the pavement, gutted, inconsolable, hemorrhaging grief instead of gore.

Everyone is crying and touching Aemond—his face, his hands—saying goodbye, accepting tasks, and they come away stained with red, and rain has begun to fall from a dark sky growling with thunder. Rhaena takes his medical kit. Helaena takes his Glock and stows it away in her messenger mag. Then Aemond looks for you, and now you are alone with him here in the middle of the highway, two golden lines on black asphalt, and with your thumbprint you whisk away the rivulet of blood that is spilling from his eye.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers as his heart fails, as his lungs fill with blood instead of air, as his pores leak rust and ruin. “Odessa will be everything we hoped for. I just won’t be there with you.”

“You can’t leave me,” you’re saying as rain patters against the road. I left my family and now my family is leaving me.

“Love,” he sighs, almost too softly to hear. “I don’t want to.”

You lie down on the pavement with him and rest your head on his chest, feel it rise and fall beneath you as the rain descends in sheets. And then Aemond exhales, deep and rattling, and he never tastes oxygen again, never speaks, never touches you. You don’t move from where you’re lying. You’re there until you’re drenched to the bones with rain and the world is a cold mist of pine trees, of wilderness, and you can never go back to any of the places you’ve been before, you can never get back the people you’ve left there.

Aegon is shaking you. “We have to keep moving,” he chokes out through tears.

You reply without looking at him. “I’m giving up now.”

“No you’re fucking not. We have to walk to Odessa.”

“Everyone’s dead in Odessa. Everyone’s dead everywhere. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to stay in a world like this.”

On the periphery of your vision, you can see Aegon glancing at the others, standing just off the highway and under the canopy of the pine trees. He seems defeated, he seems lost.

Then suddenly Aegon turns back to you. “Hey!” he screams, so loudly you jolt upright, your palms on wet pavement, rain dripping from your hair. “I’m still alive. You’re still alive. This isn’t over yet. I said I would get you to Odessa, so that’s where we’re going. Stand up. Right now.”

Aegon holds out his hand. Thunder booms, lightning strobes, and then you take it. He pulls you to your feet and hesitates, as if he didn’t think he would get this far. Then he throws his arms around you, a crushing desperate embrace, a wordless devotion, a silent vow, sobbing into the curve of your neck, tasting the copper and iron of his brother’s blood on your skin.

“We have to keep moving,” he says again, like an apology, like he understands how impossible it feels. “The storm’s getting worse. It’ll be too dark to see soon.”

“We can’t leave him alone like this.”

“That’s not Aemond anymore,” Aegon pleads. “Aemond’s gone. And he would want us to live.”

Now the others are here on the road too: Daeron, Helaena, Cregan, Rhaena, Luke, Ice whimpering and licking scarlet stains of blood off your hands. You’re all holding each other; you’re all any of you have left. Cregan carries Aemond off the pavement and on a patch of grass alongside Route 140, the seven of you cover his body with branches of pine needles and white petals from dogwood trees. Rhaena is the first person to begin walking again, heading east. One by one you follow her. The downpour is torrential; if you are attacked now, you are nearly blind. Aegon stays beside you no matter how slow your steps are. You think if he disappears, you will too; the strings that tie you to the earth will fray and unweave and your bones will turn to mist, your voice will only be the wind howling down mountainsides. You have no way of knowing how long you’ve been walking or how many miles are left. You wonder what will happen to Aemond’s child if there is nothing for you in Odessa.

The rain is stopping. Now you can hear crows, woodpeckers, formations of geese honking in a foggy sky and squirrels scrabbling up tree trunks. Falcons perch watchfully on dead power lines. Rare aisles of sunlight are breaking through dissipating clouds.

They rise up out of the verdant jungle, a tangle of Pacific ninebark and blue elderberry: four figures in green camouflage, two men and two women, all wearing tactical sunglasses and wielding assault rifles, M16s you’re fairly sure, automatic and with 20-round magazines. Daeron moves to nock an arrow and then stops when he sees you’ve put up your hands. The others follow your lead: palms empty, willingly surrendering.

It’s them, you think dazedly. The people in Odessa. They’re alive, they’re real.

“Please cooperate and hand over all your weapons,” one of the women says, fifties, muscular, alert hawkish eyes.

No one moves. Then you unholster your Beretta M9—received from the U.S. Navy almost exactly five years ago, a different lifetime, a different world—and hold it out to the woman in your open palm. And now everybody else is giving their weapons over too: Aegon and Luke’s .22s, Rhaena’s Ruger, the spare Ruger and Aemond’s Glock hidden in Helaena’s burlap messenger bag, Daeron’s compound bow, Cregan’s axe. Ice peers up at Cregan anxiously, her yellowish eyes wide, but she wags her tail when he runs one of his large, calloused hands over her rain-soaked fur.

Aegon is still clutching his golf club. One of the men stares at him, incredulous. “You can keep that, son,” he says.

The woman nods to the men. “Nick and Glen will escort you five miles up the road, and then return your weapons. We ask that you keep moving and do not turn around. We don’t want trouble, but we can defend ourselves. Don’t think you can double back tomorrow and try to loot us or anything. This is your only warning. Do you understand?”

Aegon nudges your hand with his knuckles, then taps you harder when at first you’re too shellshocked to notice. You have to explain. You have to tell them why you’re here.

“I…I…” You begin, unable to make the words leave your lips, rats from a sinking ship, plummeting bodies from a burning building. Here you stand on a precipice, and with so many other people to save. “I served in the Navy with Bryan Osorio. We left Saratoga Springs together. He told me it would be safe here.”

Now they are interested. Slowly, the woman lowers her M16. “You know the Osorios?”

“I do.” I’ve known them for half a decade.

“Could any of them identify you and verify what you’re saying?”

“His wife, Sophie. She’s blonde, and she likes elephants, and she had a baby recently.”

The woman is scanning the faces behind you. “And where’s Bryan?”

“He’s not here anymore,” you say, and now you’re sobbing again. Aegon is squeezing your shoulder, his head bowed. “I’m sorry. I wanted to help him get home. I was supposed to warn him, I was supposed to stop it from biting him, but I didn’t and now he’s gone—”

“Okay, okay.” The woman motions for you to calm down, but her voice is kind. “Who are these guys? Your colleagues, your friends?”

“They’re my family.”

“You can vouch for them?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll all submit to searches for bitemarks?”

“Yes.”

The woman turns to the men she called Nick and Glen. “Take them inside, will you? Get the ID verified and then we’ll process everyone.”

“Got it,” the older man says. And then, to you and your companions: “Follow me.”

Nick and Glen lead you into the forest, the canopy of pine needles so thick the daylight turns to dusk, and you think of lightning bugs, of firelight, of drinking Guinness on the beach with Rio on Diego Garcia. There are several patrols, groups of four or five, that approach to stop you until they see Nick and Glen and wave you through. Then the trees open into a meadow of buttercups and daisies and pink fawn lilies, and beyond that an immense village, some houses decades old, others currently being constructed with logs from pine trees. There are hundreds of people tending to livestock, hanging up laundry to dry on clotheslines, digging in gardens, making candles and soap and butter. There are children playing without fear, giggling as they chase after scampering dogs, challenging each other to games of kickball and Uno.

In front of one of the houses that predates the apocalypse, brick with a screened-in porch, there is a small blonde woman standing in a garden, smiling and chatting with a middle-aged couple. The baby she carries against her chest in a blue sling has dark curly hair like Rio’s.

Sophie and the baby are here. They’ve been alive the whole time.

You rest a palm on your belly without realizing you’re doing it. “What happens now?” you ask Aegon.

“The rest of our lives.”

It is unimaginable, it is impossible, it is so full of luminous potential you feel like the light will spill out of your pores like blood, it’s an oasis, it’s a second chance, it’s an island in the vast lethal untamed blue of the Indian Ocean.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says softly, taking your hand and leading you across the field of wildflowers, kaleidoscopic blooms in the last days of summer.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Stuck in a Snowstorm (m) | pjm

You don’t know how you ended up here. Stuck with your mortal enemy, Park Jimin, in you car – in a fucking snowstorm.

→ Pairing: Jimin x female reader → AU + genres: enemies to lovers, pwp (very little plot – let me be honest, it’s just pure smut). Humor/crack, smut. → Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 - this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact. → Word count: 6,1k → Warnings (general) + triggers: Jimin is just a mean jerk and reader is a brat 😂 Lots of banter, crack and anger towards each other. → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex, dirty talk, orgasm denial/delay, hair pulling, oral (female and male receiving), breasts and nipple play. Also, use of a tie 👀 → Author’s note: This is actually a story that I planned to write all the way back in 2017 – better late than never, right? 😂 I had only made the plot with some outline, so I basically started from scrap. But it had been stuck in my mind since FOREVER and now I just miss Jimin a shit ton, so I made this. I hope you enjoy it! Also, it shouldn’t be taken too seriously, it’s just smut with minimal plot and don’t question the characters bad actions or some minor plot holes 😂 (Also, I did not proofread this, just because). Also, merry Christmas / happy holidays – this is my gift to you wonderful people out there 💜AND are you guys looking forward to Jimin’s ‘Closer than This’ tomorrow???? 💜

If you prefer to read on AO3 you can read it here 😀

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

“I can’t believe this…” in disbelief, you mutter, your voice tinged with uncertainty, while you desperately activate the windshield wiper, yearning for even a fleeting glimpse through the thick curtain of falling snow.

“I can,” Jimin declares from his spot beside you in the passenger seat. His playful critique follows swiftly, delivered with a pout and a firm voice, as he shakes his head in mock disbelief, “You're a terrible driver.”

“Am not!” you retort defiantly, your voice cutting through the air, even as your unwavering gaze remains fixed on the snowy expanse ahead.

A curtain of thick snow descends, veiling everything in an opaque white shroud. The road ahead is swallowed by the relentless onslaught, turning visibility into an elusive challenge.

Your hands clench the wheel with a vice-like grip, the strain evident as your knuckles whiten under the pressure. The tension in your entire body is so palpable that it hurts to fucking drive.

Exhaustion weighs on you heavily, a relentless burden, yet the realization hits that you're only halfway to your friends' Christmas party. Two more hours loom ahead, a daunting stretch of time spent in the company of Park Jimin, your sworn enemy.

The decision to share a car ride is a mystery even to yourself; perhaps it was a fleeting concern for the planet, a noble intention to save fuel by consolidating into one vehicle. Yet, as the journey unfolds, the real reasons behind your choice become an enigma.

Regret courses through you like a bitter undercurrent as you ponder the altruistic intentions behind considering the planet and the environment. The thought of advising Jimin to take his own car nags at you, a missed opportunity for a peaceful solo drive. In a self-cursing moment, you rue your own kindness.

“Let me drive; I’m a better driver than you anyway.” Jimin declares with casual confidence, his tone carrying an air of nonchalance.

“Fuck off, Jimin!” you hiss, frustration dripping from your words like venom.

You squint against the relentless assault of heavy snow, the world outside morphing into an indistinct blur as visibility dwindles.

Your pace is deliberate, a cautious dance with the road, but after several minutes, you relent, succumbing to the inevitable by slowing down even further.

“Fine!” you declare, seizing the steering wheel in a determined clench, bringing the car to an abrupt halt.

You pivot your gaze towards Jimin, the words cutting through the tension, “You fucking drive then.”

Shifting the car into park, you unclip your seatbelt with a determined click, swing the door open, and brave the biting embrace of the freezing snowstorm outside.

In synchronized movements, Jimin mirrors your actions, and together, you step out into the frigid air. The two of you converge outside, a silent agreement palpable in the crunch of snow beneath your feet, as you navigate around the car, preparing to swap seats.

“If you crash my car, I’ll kill you.” you menace, venom seeping through your words as you stride past him, positioning yourself in front of the vehicle.

He nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, a smug satisfaction evident in his demeanor, relishing the fact that you've conceded to let him take the wheel.

Jimin confidently eases his plump figure into the driver's seat, and you avert your gaze (definitely not looking!). With a self-assured demeanor, he expertly adjusts the seat to accommodate his frame.

You attempt to thaw your chilled hands under the blast of hot air from the air conditioner, the sour mood hanging heavy around you as you settle into the passenger seat, donning a visible pout.

“Relax, I’m not gonna crash your precious car,” he teases, the playfulness evident in his voice, just before smoothly shifting the car into gear and forging ahead.

In response, a huff escapes your lips, arms instinctively crossing in a silent declaration of your lingering displeasure.

You surrender to a sense of ease as Jimin takes the wheel, his deliberate pace aligning with caution. It's a mutual understanding — in this snow-laden terrain, slow and steady becomes a shared creed for safety.

The once teasing atmosphere now gives way to palpable tension, the air thick with the weight of swirling snow that has intensified. Jimin, too, struggles visibly against the heavier onslaught, the challenge of navigating through the snow turning the car into a place of shared unease.

Your gaze fixates on Jimin, observing as his fingers clench the steering wheel with a tension mirroring your own, and his shoulders stiffen in sync. A chuckle escapes you, unexpectedly audible, as you notice the ironic similarity between his reaction and your earlier demeanor.

“What’s so funny?” Jimin spits, the tension reverberating unmistakably in his voice, each word a note in the symphony of strained emotions.

“Your driving,” you start to chuckle, the amusement laced with a hint of mischief.

“You're not exactly outclassing my skills,” you declare, sinking into the seat with a self-assured smirk, relishing the satisfaction of your own driving prowess.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” he seethes, the words charged with anger, his gaze sharply turning towards you, locking onto your eyes.

Despite Jimin's cautious speed, the car subtly veers, casting doubt on whether you're still on the road or lost in the oblivion of the thick snow. The blinding white landscape offers no clarity, leaving you uncertain and immersed in a disorienting wintry haze.

“I can’t see fucking shit!” he exclaims, abruptly bringing the car to a halt and cutting the engine in an instant, plunging you both into an eerie silence amid the obscured surroundings.

Your gaze locks onto him, urgency etched across your face. “What are you doing? We've got Seokjin's Christmas party in less than an hour!” The frustration in your voice reverberates, a ticking clock amplifying the stakes of the impending deadline.

“It’s not safe to drive in this freaking snowstorm!” he bellows in response, frustration escalating in his voice, punctuated by the sharp flick of the hazard warning lights, signaling the urgency and danger of the situation.

“I just want to get there already. I'd rather not be stuck with you,” you seethe, teeth gritted, a visible huff escaping in a cloud of anger. The tension hangs heavy, fueled by the biting words that linger in the now frosty air.

“Like I'd willingly be stuck with your sour attitude,” he retorts, his gaze sweeping you from head to toe for some inscrutable reason. “I don't even like you,” he declares, the words loaded with an unspoken tension that hangs in the frosty air between you two.

You gape at him, the bitter truth resonating in the air—an unspoken agreement that neither of you harbors any liking for the other. The animosity between you has solidified into a hostile dynamic, despite the shared circle of friends that consistently throws you together, much to your enduring displeasure.

Jimin exudes an infuriating level of cockiness, ceaselessly pushing your buttons and expertly tapping into the art of annoyance until it feels like your nerves are unraveling at his mere presence.

You'd willingly brave the biting cold rather than endure the prospect of an unpredictable future confined with him inside the car. Fate seems to revel in mocking you, as the car rapidly succumbs to the encroaching chill, each passing minute intensifying the unwelcome cold that now permeates the confined space.

You clutch your arms tightly around your body, desperately running your hands up and down in a futile attempt to gather some warmth. A curse slips from your lips as you question your own sanity—why in the world did you take off your jacket for the drive? Now it's trapped in the damn trunk, and the thought of braving the freezing cold to retrieve it is utterly unappealing.

“Cold?” he chuckles, the sound carrying an edge of amusement that only amplifies the chill sinking into your bones.

You nod your head.

“Well, I’m not giving you my jacket,” he states matter-of-factly, cocooning himself in the evident warmth of his puffer jacket. Damn Park Jimin and his infuriating nonchalance, he's truly a master of being a jerk!

“Can't even manage a simple act of kindness,” you mutter with disdain, the words escaping in a sharp hiss, a low and almost grumbling tone, accompanied by a dismissive eye roll.

“What's that?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips, relishing the snug warmth of his jacket while you shiver in the cold. 

“Fuck you, Park!” you shout directly in his face, your words laced with frustration. Instead of a retort, he just chuckles, the sound taking on a manic edge that lingers in the frosty air, leaving an unsettling resonance to your heated exchange.

An indeterminate amount of time slips away, lost in the relentless snowfall that shows no sign of relenting. Frustration building, you reach for your phone and decide to text Seokjin, realizing that this damn snow isn't planning on letting up anytime soon.

You [15.42]: Stuck in a snowstorm with fucking Park Jimin. I don’t know when we’ll arrive 🙄

Jin [15.48]: Just stay safe 😂

Fuck Seokjin! You’re convinced that he’s somewhere enjoying a good laugh at your misfortune.

A surge of realization hits you like a bolt of inspiration—there's a blanket tucked away in the backseat. Swiftly moving up, you make your way to the center console.

“What’re you doing?” Jimin questions, his curiosity evident in the quirk of his eyebrow as you navigate over the center console, leaving him bewildered by your sudden, mysterious movements.

“There's a blanket back here,” you announce triumphantly, finally laying hands on the sought-after comfort. With a satisfying plop into the seat, you tug the blanket snugly over your cold body, a gesture that transforms the atmosphere within the car from chilly discomfort to a brief oasis of warmth.

After a few contemplative minutes, Jimin breaks the silence with a question that hangs in the air, “Mind if I join you?”

Your mouth falls agape, and your eyes widen in astonishment at his unexpected question. Collecting yourself, you respond with a hint of sarcasm, “You weren't keen on sharing your jacket with me. What makes you think I'd be willing to share my blanket with you?” The tension between you and Jimin escalates with each word, hanging palpably in the cold air.

Without a pause for your response, he defies the silence, navigating over the center console with the same determined crawl you had exhibited moments before. The unspoken tension between you both amplifies, turning the confined space into an arena of silent rivalry.

Seated beside you, he makes a grab for the blanket cocooning your shivering form. Resolute, you refuse to surrender it, your hands engaging in a tug of war with him.

“Share, you brat,” he hisses with a mix of irritation and amusement, his determination evident in the forceful tug at the blanket. 

“No!” you hiss back defiantly, the word laced with a stubborn refusal as you hold your ground.

With a forceful yank, he wrenches the blanket from your grasp, and in the struggle, he ends up with it draped across his lap. The victorious outcome of the skirmish leaves a charged atmosphere between you and Jimin, the warmth of the blanket now a coveted prize in his possession.

A triumphant smirk plays on his lips as he envelops himself in the captured blanket. His eyes lock onto your moping expression before descending further, a mischievous gleam indicating that his victory goes beyond the simple conquest of the blanket. 

“I can totally see your nipples,” he chuckles. 

You glance down, and sure enough, your nipples stand out against the satin material of your dress. Swiftly, you react, pressing your hands over your breasts in a sudden move to conceal their visibility. 

“Why the fuck are you look at my tits?” you yell at him, your frustration audible, but he merely chuckles in response. 

“You must really be freezing, huh?” he observes, and you simply nod in agreement, a silent acknowledgment of the biting cold that permeates the confined space. 

“I can warm you up,” he suggests with a playful wink, both eyes and eyebrows conspiring in unison. The underlying implication of his words hangs in the air, and you instantly grasp the nature of his playful proposition.

“I'm not that desperate, Park,” you scoff with a hint of disgust, the rejection laced with a prideful undertone. In response, he simply chuckles, finding amusement in your candid dismissal.

Following his suggestive remark, an electric charge seems to surge through the atmosphere in the car. Your mind involuntarily races, envisioning the prospect of warming up next to him, his hands tracing every contour of your body,  his di—

Stop. You admonish yourself sternly, a mental command to cease the vivid thoughts involving him. He's your enemy, you remind yourself, emphasizing the intense dislike you harbor for Park Jimin. The internal conflict heightens, the struggle between attraction and animosity weaving a complex web within your mind.

His chuckle resonates beside you, a sound that grates on your nerves. Irritation mounts, and you sharply turn your head towards him, your annoyance evident in the flicker of your gaze. 

“Need help?” he inquires, his gaze suddenly deepening, the darkness in his eyes unveiling a subtle intensity that lingers in the air. 

“With what?” you spit back at him, the confusion evident in your tone. 

“You're grinding against the seat,” he bluntly points out, his gaze fixed on your crotch. You glance down, discovering your unconscious movement against the fabric of the seat. A sudden realization dawns, and an expletive slips from your lips. 

A wave of discomfort washes over you, an intense desire to squirm and disappear into the ground, engulfed by the embarrassment that now saturates the air. The profound sense of shame hangs heavy, making the moment so excruciatingly humiliating.

You inhale sharply, drawing in a breath that seems to shudder through you, and with a deliberate move, you roll your hips once more.

“No…” you murmur, the word escaping with a shaky uncertainty that even your own ears can detect. 

Jimin scoots closer to you, the warmth radiating from his body sending sparks that seem to dance through yours. 

He leans into you, his mouth dangerously close to your ear, and in a breathy whisper, he offers, “I can help you with that.”

His words alone send a jolt through your body, a sudden tightening that ignites a fiery sensation. Damn it. The internal conflict and desire entwine, creating a tumultuous storm within you in the presence of him. It's undeniable—your entire being yearns for the touch you never thought you'd crave. 

His warm hand finds its way to your thigh, and a low moan escapes your lips at the contact. Fuck. 

His hand ventures down to the hem of your dress, grabbing and pulling it back to expose more of your thighs. A shiver runs down your spine as the cold air embraces your newly exposed skin, and a hiss escapes your lips. However, the sensation is quickly replaced by a different kind of warmth as his hand cups your clothed core. A breathless expletive escapes your lips, leaving your mind in a blissful blank state.

Instantly, you feel the warmth of his hand intimately against you, and your head falls back against the seat involuntarily. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you respond to the touch, unable to resist rolling your hips into the sensation.

“You’re needy,” he breathes against your ear, the words carrying a provocative weight that reverberates through you. 

His warm breath sends a cascade of shivers down your spine, clouding your thoughts in a haze of desire. The desire for release intensifies, eclipsing any reservations you may have about seeking it from your mortal enemy. 

“Shut up and just touch me,” you utter in frustration, the words punctuated by the deliberate grind of your hips into his hand, a desperate quest for any kind of friction. You're acutely aware of the desperation seeping through your actions, but at this moment, you don’t give a fuck.

And touch you he does. His fingers begin to rub your clit over the fabric of your panties, and you don't hold back your moans.

Your hips gyrate, a rhythmic dance in pursuit of your impending orgasm. The sensation builds rapidly, a cascade of pleasure on the brink. The question lingers in your mind—why does your body respond so eagerly to his touch?

He tugs your panties to the side, his touch on your clit eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips. The warmth of his fingers against your skin amplifies the sensation, and you're already soaked.

“You're so wet already,” he chuckles against your ear, his lips teasingly grazing your skin. The desire to retaliate surges within you, but then, with a sudden and deliberate movement, one of his fingers enters your pussy, stealing your breath away.

He skillfully fingers you with one finger, the motion of his wrist simultaneously stroking against your clit, creating a sensation that's nothing short of delicious. The desire for more intensifies, an insatiable craving building within you.

“More,” you breathe, your voice escaping chapped and laden with a raw, lustful edge. 

Jimin adds one more digit, and you relish in the precision with which he finds your soft spot, hitting it perfectly.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers?” he whispers in your ear, the suggestive question sending an instant jolt through your body, a yearning for more. 

A throaty moan escapes your lips as you willingly spread your legs wider, granting him more space.

He deftly introduces a third finger into you, and you feel yourself losing control, swept away by the overwhelming pleasure. It's already so good—how is he so skilled with his fingers?

The way he skillfully uses his fingers inside you while simultaneously rubbing your clit with his wrist propels you relentlessly toward the precipice of climax. The knot in your stomach tightens, and you're on the verge of that intoxicating release.

“Jimin, fuck. I'm gonna come soon,” you pant, the urgency in your voice underscored by the rhythmic grind of your pussy against his hand. 

He accelerates the pace of his fingers inside you, bringing you to the brink, but just as your body teeters on the edge of release, he abruptly withdraws his fingers and hand altogether.

His fingers and hand vanish, leaving you hanging on the precipice of your orgasm. The abrupt absence intensifies the frustration and desire you feel surge through your body. Fuck!

Your legs tremble beneath you, and a frustrated hiss escapes your lips as you pant for breath.

“You didn't want to share the blanket,” he spews, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your evident frustration.

You're on the verge of tears, overwhelmed with anger. The desperate desire for release compounds the emotional turmoil within you. The audacity of him! The frustration boils over, cementing Jimin as nothing short of a fucking jerk in your mind.

“I'm not letting you come unless you beg for it,” he adds in a smug voice, a smirk playing on his lips as he purposefully puts some distance between you. 

You can't believe him. The brink of pleasure was within reach—just a few more rubs and you would have unraveled on his fingers. The yearning is palpable, a frustrating ache that intensifies with each passing moment. 

You growl at him, caught in a heated internal debate about whether to plead with him or not. 

Your pussy clenches around emptiness, a visceral reminder of your desperation.

“Please, Jimin. Please let me come,” you implore, locking eyes with him and turning your body toward him. The desperation in your gaze is palpable. Almost inadvertently, you press your chest closer, your stiff nipples drawing his gaze downward.

He licks his lips teasingly, a wicked glint in his eyes, before seizing your hips and drawing you irresistibly toward him. With a swift yet controlled motion, he manipulates your body, guiding you to lie on the seat. As you settle into the unexpected position, he chuckles at the genuine confusion etched across your face.

“Because you asked so nicely,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and in a bold move, he shoves your dress up to your stomach. With swift precision, he snatches your panties, sliding them down your legs. “I'll give you what you want.”

He discards your panties with a deliberate flick, his focus unwavering as he plunges down to your throbbing pussy. There's no hesitation; he immediately delves into licking at your folds and clit with a hunger that matches your own. 

Your body instinctively arches off the length of the seat, a wave of pleasure coursing through you. It feels unbelievably good. In the heat of the moment, your hands find his hair, fingers gripping and pulling at the strands, eliciting a guttural groan from him. 

Your muscles tighten, and the echoes of the previous orgasm, forcefully ripped from you, return with an intensity that feels tenfold. Each breath is a furious pant as he continues to lap at your folds, the relentless pleasure building and intertwining with your gasps. 

Then, with a skillful touch, he adds a finger to your clit, rubbing it in tantalizing circles. Your senses heighten, and just as you succumb to the pleasure, he skillfully continues to ravish your entrance with his tongue. 

“Jimin!” you scream his name, a raw and unrestrained cry escaping your lips as you reach the peak of ecstasy on his tongue. Your body tightens, toes curling, and you involuntarily hitch your heels against his legs. In the throes of pleasure, your vision blurs, and you fight for air.

He chuckles, a throaty sound that reverberates in the aftermath of your high. Not giving you a moment to fully come down, he skillfully inserts two of his fingers inside you, drawing a hiss from your lips at the touch—your body rendered oversensitive.

He extends his fingers, proudly displaying them, glistening with your intimate juices. A wicked glint in his eyes, he issues a command, “Clean them.” 

You meet his gaze defiantly, a spark of challenge in your eyes, before obediently rising to carry out his command. Taking hold of his hand, you sensually draw his slick digits into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them like a provocative dance. Your eyes lock onto his, witnessing the raw desire in his gaze as you release his fingers with an audible ‘pop’.

“I hate you,” you declare, breathless, the words carrying a mixture of frustration and desire. His response is a low chuckle, his perceptive gaze catching the teasing glint in your eyes.

He leans back, a provocative smirk playing on his lips, and starts palming himself through his dress pants. Your eyes involuntarily follow the movement of his hands, and a jolt of desire courses through you as you realize he's already rock hard. The unmistakable bulge strains against his pants, a visual testament to the arousal simmering between you two. 

“I can help you with that,” you purr, a sultry promise lingering in your eyes, eager to reciprocate the pleasure.

He chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and smoothly turns his body to fully face you. With a teasing smirk, he unzips his pants, skillfully pulling down both his trousers and underwear enough to liberate his hardened dick.

His cock springs free, defiantly brushing against the bottom of his loosened tie, a sight that's undeniably tantalizing. Perfectly sculpted, it's veiny and slightly flushed at the tip, mirroring the allure of every inch of him. A surge of conflicting emotions overwhelms you – the hate, the desire, the acknowledgment of his undeniable appeal. You despise how effortlessly good-looking he is, from the tousled blonde locks to those lips you now crave to taste. 

However, your gaze returns to his dick, noting its average size but with a satisfying girth that catches your attention. A subtle hint of anticipation flickers in your eyes, and your tongue instinctively darts out to moisten your lips. 

“Then get to work,” he pants, a breathy command, as he sensually spreads his legs, creating an inviting space for you. 

You descend eagerly, ensuring your mouth is generously coated with saliva before you engulf him, starting with just the tip. 

He hisses the moment your lips meet his dick, his head instinctively colliding with the window behind him, an involuntary exclamation escaping, “Ah, fuck.”

You engulf more of him, your mouth descending entirely, and the sound of his primal moan reverberates in response. You add a sultry hum, a note of satisfaction coursing through you.

You initiate a slow, deliberate pace, skillfully sucking him off, and anything beyond your mouth's capacity, you sensually stroke with your hand. 

His hands seek out your hair, effortlessly capturing the neatly arranged high ponytail that he grasps with a possessive confidence. 

You revel in the subtle tension, accelerating your descent on him with a newfound urgency. Your tongue skillfully traces intricate patterns, dancing across his tip and the sensitive folds of his frenulum.

He moans in ecstasy as you withdraw with a satisfying ‘pop,’ only to treat the head of his throbbing dick like a tempting lollipop, your tongue swirling around it with deliberate sensuality.

As you glance up at him, he appears utterly lost in the moment. His eyes, once vibrant, are now dilated orbs of desire, his parted lips releasing audible breaths. The state of bliss enveloping him transforms his features into a breathtaking display of vulnerability and beauty.

You envelop him once more, relishing the subtle tremor that courses through him, a tangible response to the sensations you're skillfully orchestrating with your lips and tongue.

He yanks you away from him, his voice a raw whisper laden with desire, “I want to fuck you.”

You prop yourself up, captivated by the transformation before you. The usual arrogant Park Jimin is replaced by this vulnerable, needy version, and against your better judgment, a desperate craving for him builds inside you. You ache for him to consume you entirely.

A mischievous smirk plays on your lips as you echo his earlier taunts, “Beg for it,” you challenge, aware of the palpable tension between you, a shared desire pulsating in the charged air.

A low, throaty chuckle escapes him as his fingers glide through the tousled strands of his blonde hair, a mixture of frustration and amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re really a fucking brat,” he hisses, a smirk playing on his lips.

He sits up, a subtle smirk playing on his lips as he sheds his open jacket, the confined warmth of the car now turning uncomfortably sweltering. You can't help but acknowledge the irony; at least you're not freezing anymore, which, after all, was the primary objective of this unexpected detour, wasn't it?

“Please let me fuck you,” his plea hangs in the air, a desperate echo of your own request, and you can't help but chuckle, slowly crawling closer to him.

“Turn around, let me straddle you. Leaning against the headrest will give us more space,” you suggest, and he shifts in an instant, his arousal evident in the casual sway of his dick with each movement.

Then you confidently straddle him, your hand instinctively reaching for his dick, guiding him to align perfectly with your eager entrance.

Before you lower yourself onto him, you sensually trail his dick through your wetness, relishing in the intimate friction. A moan escapes your lips as you then descend onto his lap in one smooth, sultry motion.

The exquisite stretch sends a shiver down your spine, and he effortlessly glides in, eliciting a breathless ‘Fuck!’ from your lips.

As your hands find their place on his shoulders for support, his eyes, now hooded, follow your every movement as you begin to ride him with a rhythm that echoes the passion pulsing between you.

You pant furiously, your breath hot against his face. The sensation of him inside you is nothing short of heavenly, an electrifying connection that feels as if every contour of him aligns perfectly with every curve of your pussy.

“Ah,” ecstasy courses through you with each fervent bounce on his throbbing length, a harmonious rhythm of pleasure escaping your lips in breathless gasps.

“You’re so tight,” his ragged breaths synchronize with the rhythmic clench of your walls, his hands anchoring to your hips, adding an electrifying intensity to each blissful plunge into your velvet warmth.

Between gasps, you manage to growl, “Fuck. I hate you,” only to be met with his deep, throaty chuckle as he continues the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, each one a tumultuous clash of conflicting desires.

Amidst heavy breaths, he accuses, “I know you're lying,” his words punctuated by the rhythmic tempo of his panting. Undeterred, he leans in for a searing kiss, his lips caressing yours with a softness akin to pillows. Your defenses crumble as you melt into his touch, tongues colliding in a fervent dance that defies the lingering tension.

“Why is it that you feel so damn good?” you gasp, interrupting the kiss only to plunge back into its intoxicating depths. Each moment spent in his embrace feels like a surrender to a passionate whirlwind. His every thrust reverberates through you, sending electrifying shivers down your spine, an exquisite dance of pleasure and desire that you find impossible to resist.

“Perhaps I should prolong your climax, just as you did to me?” you purr with a mischievous smirk playing on your lips, resurrecting the playful brat within you.

He chuckles, his hands leaving the curve of your hips to gracefully undo his tie at his neck. Your gaze fixates on him, observing each deliberate move as he frees himself from the constriction of the tie, all while you continue to ride him with an unabashed hunger.

“You really are a fucking brat,” he mutters, the corners of his lips quirking into a sly smile as he pulls off his tie. “Now, shut up,” he commands, silencing any potential retorts by expertly stuffing the tie into your open, protesting mouth.

You yield to the makeshift gag, sinking your teeth into the fabric, muffling the symphony of your own desperate moans.

A smirk plays on his lips as his hands reclaim your hips, commanding, “Now take it like the fucking brat that you are.”

His movements become a relentless rhythm, thrusting deep inside you. All you can do is cling to his shoulders, swept away by the force of his desire.

Ecstasy courses through you, and you can't help but moan into the fabric of his tie. It feels too damn good to contain.

His voice drips with satisfaction as he senses your walls tightening around him, and a smug grin plays on his lips. “You like that, huh?”

A guttural moan escapes your lips in response, the crescendo of pleasure building, and you sense the impending climax drawing near.

“Fuck yourself on my dick,” his command hangs in the air, thick with desire, as his hands abandon your hips, embarking on a journey down your back. With a swift motion, he unzips your dress, letting it cascade down your shoulders.

Your naked breasts dances to the rhythm of his powerful thrusts, an erotic ballet of passion and desire.

“Fuck. You’re not wearing a bra, just like I thought,” his eyes widen in delighted surprise, a devilish grin playing on his lips. His hands eagerly exploring the contours of your exposed tits.

His words hang in the air, sending a shiver down your spine. “Your tits are beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing delicate patterns around your stiffened nipples. Your body reacts instinctively, a primal moan escaping through the tie as desire courses through you.

Every grind and movement becomes a challenge as he expertly tweaks and pulls at your nipples, sending waves of pleasure and distraction through your body. You fight to maintain a rhythm, desperately trying to pleasure yourself on his dick amidst the electrifying sensations dancing across your chest.

As your walls clench around him, a whirlwind of sensations floods your body, signaling that the peak of pleasure is just a breath away. Every nerve is on edge, and the anticipation of an imminent climax tingles through you, a storm about to erupt.

As he skillfully massages your tits, he breathlessly teases, “You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” his words send shivers down your spine, intensifying the pleasure that's building within you.

With a fervent nod, you surrender to the sensations, your muffled moans echoing through the tie as pleasure courses through every inch of your being.

As he plunges into you, he urges you with a guttural command, “Cream my cock, brat.” The raw desire in his voice fuels the intensity of your connection, igniting a blaze of passion.

Overwhelmed by desire, his dick finding every exquisite spot within you, you unleash a guttural moan, your pleasure echoing into the fabric of the tie as you climax on his pulsating cock.

Jimin's fingers twist around your hardened nipples, sending electric shocks of ecstasy through your body. A guttural exclamation escapes your lips, muffled by the tie, as pleasure courses through every fiber of your being.

He pounds into you relentlessly, the rhythm building towards an intense climax. His hands firmly grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he desperately seeks his own release.

He reaches the peak of ecstasy, his body shuddering with the force of his release as he spills into the warmth of your pussy.

Heaving for breath, the silence between you two speaks volumes, a shared understanding lingering in the air as you descend from the euphoric heights of your climaxes.

Collapsing onto his chest, you revel in the soothing aftermath, liberated from the restraint of his tie. As his body relaxes within you, the intimacy lingers, a tangible connection forged in the heat of passion.

His lips graze your neck with a gentle touch, igniting a cascade of thoughts about the significance behind this tender gesture.

As laughter fills the air, shattering the lingering tension, your attention shifts to the foggy windows and the oppressive heaviness in the car, making each breath a deliberate act.

As you hastily redress, Jimin slips into his jacket and steps out of the car, retrieving your coat from the trunk. With a gentle handoff, he passes it to you, and you quickly slip into its comforting warmth.

“Thank you,” your gratitude escapes in a hushed whisper, laden with a touch of bewilderment. The encounter, while undeniably electrifying, leaves you grappling with conflicting emotions. It's Park Jimin, your sworn adversary, and the intensity of the shared moment hangs between you, a paradox of pleasure and rivalry.

“You’re welcome,” his response carries a self-assured smirk, echoing the lingering traces of the shared intimacy. As he confidently returns to the driver's seat, you mirror his actions, settling into the passenger's seat, both enveloped in a charged silence that speaks volumes.

The snowfall has eased, no longer as relentless as before. A subtle nostalgia creeps in as you reflect on his desire to keep you warm. The gentle flakes now fall, leaving you yearning for the lingering warmth of his touch.

As he revs the engine to life, a gust of chilly air sweeps through the car, causing you to emit an involuntary grunt. His chuckle fills the cabin, accompanied by a smirk and a teasing wink. “I can warm you up anytime,”

You shoot him a moping gaze, wondering if he has a knack for deciphering your thoughts. Can he sense the magnetic pull, the unspoken attraction that mirrors your own inner turmoil?

You return his smile, a silent agreement resonating between you as he steers the car forward, setting the wheels and unspoken possibilities in motion.

Three hours fashionably late, you finally arrive at Seokjin's Christmas party. The distant hum of music greets you as you step out of the car, signaling that the celebration is already in full swing.

As you rap your knuckles against the door, you steal a glance at Jimin who's busy adjusting his attire. His fingers deftly tighten the knot of his tie, and his pants get a quick, inconspicuous tug into place.

As Seokjin swings the door open, a tantalizing waft of mouthwatering aromas envelops your senses, instantly sparking a smile on your face.

Seokjin's laughter echoes as he playfully accuses, “You fucked Jimin!” and your jaw drops in disbelief to the floor.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Baki Series:

The Midnight Man

Yandere Hanayama Kaoru x Fem Reader

TW: Somnophilia (just a kiss on the head), stalking, kidnapping (future plan), yandere behavior, obsession, etc.

I’m making three very short stories! First is with Hanayama, then Katsumi, and then Jack!

A large hand gently stroked (your name)’s cheeks while she slept peacefully. Fat fingers traced indistinctive shapes on the smooth skin. The young woman was blissfully unaware of her nighttime visitor. Her chest softly rose with each breath she took. In… out. In… out.

Hanayama Kaoru had never cared about anyone at the degree he cared about (your name). A startling revelation when he came to terms with the depth of his feelings. Love was foreign to him… but not limerence.

At first, it was merely physical attraction but then Kaoru began to care about her. He now wanted to make sure she made it home safely everyday. He wanted to hold her and tenderly press his lips against (your name)’s soft skin… and Kaoru wanted to grow old with her.

Kaoru could not understand why he had to have her. Why it had to be (your name), but alas his heart had picked her. She was his soul mate.

Kaoru’s thumb absentmindedly brushed against her pillow plumped lips with a soft smile. ”I’m going to make you my wife…”

Yes… his wife. Not Katsumi’s or Jack’s. His wife. Kaoru was willing to fight tooth and nail for (your name). Kaoru wanted to keep her sweetness to himself.

Her small act of kindness all those years ago had never left his mind. (Your name)’s soft hands that once changed his bandages deserved to be adorned in expensive jewelry beyond her comprehension. (Your name) would be pampered by his side. Kaoru was sure she’d love to travel the world with him… to be loved by him.

Kaoru bent down and pressed a kiss to (your name)’s forehead, an action that made her stir a bit in her sleep. His heart fluttered at how cute her reaction was. Although this wasn’t nearly as satisfactory if she were awake, Kaoru would settle with this small touch.

Soon… he would sweep her off her feet soon. And he would show her how wonderful of a life she could have being an oyabun’s wife. His wife.

[mysunshinetemptress]

Luch

(Lil McCabe Universe)

Katie McCabe x Lil McCabe

Warnings: Part of the unseen series this part focuses more on Katie, it’s got angst and is like a little background and a way to go forward with Katie and Lil McCabes relationship

Katie didn't quite know when you fell through the cracks and faded into the back. She could still remember you being born, though. She was seven, a whirlwind of freckles and laughter, so excited to have a new baby in the family. It had become a tradition in their house, this older sibling adoption. The eldest would take the youngest, showering them with attention, teaching them everything they knew. A miniature mentorship program, filled with scraped knees, shared secrets, and an unwavering bond.

For Katie, it was her turn. She was going to be the best big sister ever. A boy or a girl, it didn’t matter. She’d teach them everything, from the best hiding spots in the garden to the correct way to tackle a football. She’d introduce them to her friends, share her toys, and protect them from the world.

She remembered the day you arrived, a tiny, wrinkled bundle. You fit perfectly in the palm of her hand. She was careful, so careful, as she held you, her heart pounding with a mixture of love and responsibility. She’d named you ‘Squishy’ that day, a name that stuck for a few weeks before you graduated to something more...permanent.

What was it, why can't she remeber it now, its the only thing she called you, the only thing SHE called you.

There are gaps in her memory now, like pieces of a puzzle missing. You were there, a constant in the chaotic tapestry of her childhood, and then you weren’t. It’s as if someone had gently peeled you away, leaving an indistinct shape where you once were.

She remembers your laughter, a clear bell-like sound that would fill the house. She remembers the way your eyes would light up when she read you stories. And she remembers the day you took your first steps, holding onto her finger for dear life.

She dressed you in tiny football jerseys, her favorite team’s colors blazing against your soft skin. She taught you the alphabet with the help of her toy animals, her patience endless as you struggled to pronounce the letters. Weekends were spent at the park, Katie pushing you on the swings, her laughter mingling with yours as you soared through the air.

But then, the memories start to blur. There are fragments, snapshots, like a photo album with missing pages. You’re there, but you’re also not. You morph into Ella and Lauryn, She starts being unable to tell what memories are with you and what memories are with them.

Cheeky, no thats what she called Ella

Sometimes, late at night, when the house is quiet, Katie will close her eyes and try to remember you. She’ll see a small figure, a blur of color, a sound. But then, the image fades, and she’s left with an aching emptiness.

Munchkin, no thats what she called Lauryn

The name was on the tip of her tongue, a phantom word dancing just beyond her grasp. It was a small thing, a trivial detail, but in the grand scheme of her fading memories, it was a cornerstone. Squishy was a placeholder, a temporary label for a child who had become an integral part of her life. The real name, the one that fit perfectly, was buried beneath layers of time and confusion.

It was a name whispered in countless bedtime stories, shouted in shared laughter, and softly murmured in moments of comfort. A name that held the weight of a world, a universe contained within a single syllable. Now, it was a ghost, haunting the corridors of her mind.

The blurring of memories was a cruel thief, stealing the clarity of childhood. Ella and Lauryn, the subsequent additions to the family, had cast long shadows, their presences eclipsing you. Yet, there was a part of Katie that refused to accept this erasure.

The name was a whisper in the wind, a phantom echo in the chambers of her mind. Katie clutched at the edges of her memory, desperate to grasp the elusive word. It was a puzzle piece, missing from the grand tapestry of her childhood, a void that gnawed at her with an insistent hunger.

Days turned into weeks as she delved deeper into the recesses of her mind. She revisited old photo albums, the glossy pages filled with smiling faces. There you were, standing at the back sometimes only the top of your head only visible, a tiny speck in a sea of laughter, your eyes holding a spark of mischief that mirrored her own. But the name remained out of reach, a tantalizing mirage in the desert of her recollection.

She tried talk to your parents, hoping they might remember. But your mam still refusued to talk to her and your da was no help not even remembering if her himself had given you a nickname like he had the rest of his kids. She tried your siblings but they were no use each either shouting out random names or asking "Wait Y/n had a nickname, i thought it was just Ella and Lauren." It was as if it had been erased from the family history, a forgotten chapter in a well-loved story.

Desperation crept into her heart. She was losing you, she had lost you. Katie remembered, the fearless, protective big sister role she used to proudly play, but your part was fading if not already gone.

One evening, as she sat alone in the quiet of her living room, a flicker of memory ignited within her. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of warmth, the smell of baby powder, the sound of soft giggles. And then, it came to her, as clear as day.

"Luch."

The word slipped out of her lips, a whisper in the still air. It was perfect, simple, and utterly fitting. Luch it was mouse in Irish something she had just learned in school and it fit you perfectly you were as quite as a mouse even as a baby and she used to laugh at the way you scrunched your nose just before you cried. It was the name she had given you, the name that had defined your place in her heart.

You were her baby sister. Her first responsibility, her first love. And somewhere along the way she had failed to even notice you slip through the cracks, she had turned into the person she had sworn to protect you from at just seven years old and she didn't know how to fix it.

[inkspiredwriting]

Oh Boy

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: Welcome Milo Hargreeves :)

Warnings: none

The Hargreeves siblings were on the road, packed into Klaus's eclectic van that smelled faintly of patchouli and spilled coffee. They helped five with a mission for the CIA and as usual, the situation had spiraled into a series of bizarre events. Currently, they were arguing about the quickest route back to the house, with Luther insisting on a shortcut through a dense forest and Diego arguing for the main highway.

"I’m telling you, Diego, the forest is faster!" Luther exclaimed, leaning over the map splayed across his knees.

"And I’m telling you, it’s full of potholes and we’ll get stuck," Diego countered, his brow furrowing.

In the back of the van, Five was sandwiched between Viktor and Ben, trying to tune out the noise. He sighed and glanced at his watch, wondering how much longer this argument would last. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing.

"Hold on," Five said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. "It’s Y/n."

The van quieted slightly, everyone curious about the call. Five answered, his expression softening of the thought of his wife’s voice.

"Hey, Y/n. What’s up?" he asked, but before Y/n could respond, a high-pitched, excited voice cut in.

"Daddy! Daddy! It’s happening!" Maddie’s voice squealed over the line, almost making Five drop his phone.

"Maddie? What’s happening?" Five asked, a sudden sense of urgency creeping into his voice.

"Mommy’s having the baby! Right now!" Maddie announced with the dramatic flair only a four-year-old could muster. "She said you need to come to the hospital fast!"

Five’s eyes widened, and he shot up straight in his seat. "What? Now? She’s having the baby now?"

"Yes, right now!" Maddie confirmed. "Mommy’s really funny. She keeps saying she’s never letting you near her again."

Five’s mind raced as he heard Y/n’s voice in the background, yelling something indistinct but likely very colorful about her current situation. He looked around at his siblings, his urgency palpable.

"We need to get to the hospital, now!" he shouted, cutting through the chatter.

"What? Why?" Diego asked, confused.

"Y/n’s in labor!" Five snapped, already clambering over Ben to get to the front seat. "Maddie just called me. She’s having the baby right now!"

The van erupted into chaos as everyone started talking at once, but Klaus, in a rare moment of clarity, turned the key in the ignition and started the engine.

"Hold on tight, everyone!" Klaus shouted, slamming his foot on the gas. "Baby on the way!"

Klaus drove like a man possessed, weaving through traffic with an agility that had Diego clutching his seatbelt and Luther grumbling about safety. Five was in the passenger seat, frantically giving directions to the hospital while trying to keep Maddie calm on the phone.

"It’s okay, Maddie. I’m on my way," Five said, his voice as calm as he could manage. "Tell Mommy I’ll be there soon."

"Hurry, Daddy! Mommy looks like she’s gonna explode!" Maddie replied, clearly enjoying the drama more than Five appreciated.

"Exploding wives, huh?" Klaus quipped, glancing at Five. "Sounds like a blast!"

"Not the time, Klaus!" Five barked, clutching his phone tighter. "Just drive faster."

"On it, Chief," Klaus said, narrowly avoiding a pedestrian as he took a sharp turn.

"Can’t you just, you know, teleport there?" Viktor asked from the back seat.

"I would, but I need to get to the exact location and I can't teleport straight into the hospital without potentially causing a scene," Five replied, his foot tapping anxiously.

"Like this isn’t causing a scene," Ben muttered, gripping the edge of his seat as Klaus swerved around a slow-moving truck.

By some miracle (and a lot of near-misses), they arrived at the hospital. Klaus parked the van haphazardly across two spaces, and Five was out of the vehicle before it even came to a complete stop.

"Come on, move!" he shouted over his shoulder, racing towards the hospital entrance. His siblings scrambled to keep up, but Five was a man on a mission.

Bursting through the hospital doors, Five dashed to the reception desk. "My wife is having a baby! Where’s the maternity ward?"

The receptionist blinked, startled by his sudden appearance. "Uh, down the hall to the left, sir."

Five didn’t wait for further instructions. He took off, navigating the hospital corridors with the precision of a seasoned time traveler.

He finally reached the maternity ward and skidded to a stop outside the room. He could hear Y/n’s voice, alternating between shouting at the nurses and groaning in pain.

"Y/n?" Five called, pushing open the door.

Y/n, in the midst of a contraction, looked up, her face red and sweaty but breaking into a relieved smile when she saw him. "Five! About time you got here!"

"Sorry, traffic was a nightmare," Five said, rushing to her side and taking her hand. "How are you holding up?"

"How do you think?" Y/n snapped, then softened as she squeezed his hand. "I’m glad you’re here."

"Me too," Five said, kissing her forehead. "I wouldn’t miss this for the world."

"Daddy!" Maddie piped up from the corner, sitting on a chair with Allison. "Mommy said a lot of bad words."

"Yeah, she does that sometimes," Five said, smiling despite the chaos.

The next few hours were a blur of contractions, encouraging words, and a lot of hand-squeezing (mostly on Y/n’s part). Five stayed by her side the entire time, alternating between calming her and glaring at the clock as if willing it to speed up.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the cries of a newborn filled the room. Five’s heart swelled as the nurse placed their baby boy in Y/n’s arms.

"Welcome to the world, Milo," Five whispered, his voice choked with emotion as he gently touched the baby’s tiny hand.

"He’s beautiful," Y/n murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked up at Five. "Just like his dad."

"I don’t know about that," Five said, his own eyes misty. "But he’s perfect."

"Daddy! Is that my brother?" Maddie asked, peeking over the edge of the bed.

"Yes, sweetie," Five said, lifting her up so she could see. "This is Milo. You’re a big sister now."

Maddie’s eyes widened as she looked at her baby brother, a mixture of awe and curiosity on her face. "He’s so small. Can I hold him?"

"Maybe later," Five said, ruffling her hair. "Right now, he needs to stay with Mommy."

The Hargreeves siblings, who had been waiting anxiously in the hallway, were finally allowed into the room. They filed in, each offering congratulations and admiring the newest member of the family.

"Nice job, Five," Diego said, clapping him on the back.

"He’s adorable," Allison cooed, peeking at Milo.

"Looks like you didn’t miss the main event after all," Viktor said, smiling.

"Yeah, thanks to Klaus’s driving," Five admitted, glancing at his brother.

"Hey, any time," Klaus said, grinning. "Just don’t expect me to do it every day."

Five rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile. As he looked around at his family, gathered around Y/n and baby Milo, he felt a profound sense of happiness and contentment.

Despite the chaos and the near heart attacks along the way, he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. Because now, more than ever, he knew that his family—both immediate and extended—was what mattered most.

[velarisdusk]

Melted Resolve

Hockey AU | Helion x Reader x Tarquin

Series Masterlist Part 2 <- ✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦ -> Part 4 - Shattered

word count: 15k (i got carried away i'm so sorry they're so hot) content: [ explicit sexual content, PIV (protected), oral sex (m&f receiving), voyeuristic elements, dirty talk, praise, degradation, light choking, public sex (rooftop setting), threesome, dominance/submission, overstimulation, hair pulling, cum play (kinda?), gagging with panties (sure you can guess where the cum play comes in now huh) | infidelity, alcohol, strong language, emotional conflict ] (if i missed any, and im sure i did, pls lmk) summary: In the aftermath of a triumphant victory, you join the Vipers at a club they frequent downtown for a night of celebration. Yet, the shadow of past secrets lingers, especially with Rhysand and Azriel nearby. As the night unfolds, a secluded rooftop terrace leaves you grappling with exhilarating passion and profound guilt as you confront the weight of your choices. author's note: first, this one is hot so strap in. second, appreciate how nice and fun and carefree things are rn... that's all :) EDIT: WAIT ALSO LMK IF YOU FIND TYPOS PLS ITS SO EMBARRASSING TO FIND THEM A WEEK LATER

The clink of shot glasses hitting the table was a sharp contrast to the thumping bass of the music around you. You felt the burning liquid slide down your throat, its fiery path leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Everyone around you cheered, the celebratory energy palpable.

Cassian sat beside you, his arm casually draped over the back of your seat. His laughter was warm and infectious as he watched Nesta try not to gag (“I fucking hate cinnamon, you all know that!”). The ambient noise of the club was a constant hum, punctuated by bursts of laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional cheer from the dance floor as a particularly popular song came on. The music was loud, the lyrics indistinct, but the beat infectious, making it impossible to sit still for long. You could feel the vibrations of the bass in your chest, matching the rapid thrum of your heartbeat.

The VIP booth offered a perfect vantage point for watching the dance floor, bathed in a kaleidoscope of colors from the overhead lights. The air was thick with a mix of perfume, sweat, and the faint scent of spilled alcohol — a blend that was uniquely nightlife. Occasionally, a server would approach your booth, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease, balancing trays of drinks with a grace that seemed almost supernatural. 

You could taste the lingering sweetness of your cocktail on your lips, a fruity concoction that was deceptively potent, its effects buzzing pleasantly through your veins. Seated comfortably in the plush leather seats, the polished wood table in front of you was littered with empty glasses and half-finished cocktails from the past hour’s celebration. A bottle of champagne stood in the center, its neck adorned with a thin layer of condensation, glistening in the low light.

Your eyes drifted to the hookah in the center of the table. Elain, her face serene, took an expert drag, the smoke curling elegantly from her lips as she leaned back. Her ease with the hookah wasn’t surprising; you’d seen her with a cigarette more often than not these days. 

Around the booth, your friends were caught up in the joy of winning this evening’s game. Feyre and Elain were deep in conversation with Nesta and Gwyn, their faces alight with excitement. Emerie and Mor were dancing nearby, their movements fluid and carefree, drawing appreciative glances from those around them. Tarquin and Helion were engaged in a lively conversation, their gestures becoming more expressive with each drink. Tarquin seemed to glow under the club lights, his easy smile infectious. Helion, with his rich, dark hair and striking presence, seemed to catch eyes from all over, even while seated at the booth.

Despite the lively atmosphere, a knot of unease twisted in your stomach. It had been a little over a month since Tarquin sprained his ankle, leading to your encounter with Rhysand and Azriel. Since then, you'd been avoiding them, wary of getting too close or being alone with either of them; you were afraid of what you might do if you did. But tonight, they were impossible to ignore. You couldn't help but steal glances at them, the memories vivid and intrusive. Their presence was magnetic, drawing your eyes despite yourself, and you felt a pang of guilt each time you were caught looking.

Rhysand, in a black button-down with the first few buttons undone, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of his chest, was lounging on the opposite side of the rounded booth. His piercing gaze occasionally met yours, making your stomach flip each time. You couldn't help but recall the feel of his toned, firm chest flush against yours that day in the locker room. And Azriel, dressed in a fitted dark grey shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders — the shoulders you’d seen tensing in the moments before he caught you watching, the ones you dug your nails into not 20 minutes later — stood leaned against the edge of the booth with his arms crossed. His hazel eyes were unreadable but no less intense.

Cassian’s laughter in your ear anchored you as your thoughts began to wander.

Noticing your tension, Tarquin placed his hand on your thigh. His warm touch rested against the skin left bare by your miniskirt. "You good?" he asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the club’s noise, concern evident in his eyes. You nodded, offering him a reassuring smile, though it felt more like a grimace. The concern on his face didn't fully fade, but he let it go, returning to his conversation with Helion. His hand remained on your thigh.

Emerie and Mor returned from the dance floor just as the server arrived with another round of drinks. They squealed in delight, grabbing two fruity cocktails from the tray, their laughter bubbling over as they toasted to perfect timing. Mor, followed by Emerie, plopped down next to Azriel, her golden curls glowing in the club lights. The sudden movement caused Helion, then everyone else, to scoot over, filling the booth to capacity.

The table erupted into easy banter. Stories were swapped, each more outrageous than the last, and laughter rang out freely. Jokes flew back and forth, drawing everyone into the lively exchange.

“Did anyone catch Challengers last weekend?” Feyre asked, leaning back with a grin. The buzz of conversation dipped for a moment as she spoke.

Gwyn’s eyes lit up. “Yes, oh my God — it was wild!” she blurted out, her excitement making her words tumble out rapidly, the memory of the film still fresh and vivid.

Cassian leaned in. “Isn't that the one with the tennis players who all end up...?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, drawing laughter from around the table. 

“Yeah, there’s a pretty light threesome scene,” Nesta smirked, taking a sip of her drink. “The two guys end up making out.” Her tone was casual, but the corner of her lips quirked up.

“Them making out wasn’t even the best part,” you cut in, “it was the sexual tension between them. So hot.”

Mor grinned mischievously. “What do you all think about that kind of arrangement? Threesomes, I mean, not tennis.” She looked around the table with a teasing smile.

Azriel, leaning comfortably against the booth, took a long pull from his beer, hiding a smirk. 

“Eh, I’ve thought about it,” Feyre shrugged, “but I think I'd rather focus my attention on one person. Quality over quantity, you know? Maybe at some point though, I won’t rule it out entirely.” Her fingers absently traced patterns on the condensation of her glass. Her eyes darted briefly to Rhysand, a private, knowing look passing between them. You caught the exchange, your gaze lingering on Rhysand until he met your eyes. Your brows furrowed slightly, suspicion and curiosity crossing your face. He only shrugged, though you could tell it was an effort for him to keep his lip from twitching up into a smirk.

Nesta’s eyes glinted as she spoke. "Could be fun, if the mood strikes. Why not?" Her casual demeanor contrasted sharply with the weight of her words.

“You all already know where I stand on that." Helion’s smooth voice cut through the momentary lull in conversation, audible even above the pulsing beat of the club music and the buzz of surrounding patrons.

Tarquin tapped his fingers lightly on the polished wood, a teasing glint in his eyes as he looked about the table. “It’s all about finding the right balance.” His tone was playful, yet thoughtful, reflecting his careful consideration of the topic. 

Cassian, who had been jovially participating in the discussion, suddenly tensed beside you. His eyes darted to Tarquin's hand, then back to your face. 

With deliberate casualness, Cassian pulled you closer, his arm tightening around your shoulders. "Speaking of balance," he interjected, his voice light but with an undercurrent of challenge, only loud enough for you three to hear, "I think we’re tipping a bit too far into the ‘friendly’ side of things, don’t you?" His gaze pointedly dropped to Tarquin's hand.

Tarquin, ever smooth, simply smiled and gave your thigh a gentle squeeze before removing his hand. "No harm in a little friendliness," he responded, his tone light but eyes sharp, meeting Cassian's stare with a hint of amusement. The tension lingered for a moment before dissipating into the background noise of the club.

Rhysand finally spoke up, his voice smooth and casual. “Sometimes the most… intense experiences come when you least expect them,” he said, his gaze briefly meeting yours before shifting to Azriel. “Wouldn’t you agree, Az?” He only nodded in response, taking another swig of his beer.

As the conversation moved on, you caught Mor’s gaze traveling between the three of you, her expression unreadable behind her glass. You recalled that day in the locker room, her sharp eyes taking in your damp hair, the pointed questions at karaoke night. "Nothing happened," you'd insisted, but her skeptical look had spoken volumes. The unspoken warning hung in the air – if there was something to tell Cassian, you'd better do it before she found out.

Now, watching Mor's subtle scrutiny, you felt that familiar knot of unease tighten in your stomach. Her suspicions, it seemed, were far from laid to rest.

“I’ll go get us another round of shots,” you spoke over the music. A chorus of voices erupted, overlapping in their enthusiasm.

“Fireball!” (“No!”)

“Fruit loop shots!”

“How about gummy bear shots?”

With a roll of your eyes and a playful smirk, you cut through the chaos. “Alright, I’ll get a mix of those. Be right back.”

You slid out of the booth, and though most returned to their conversations, you felt the weight of eyes on you as you made your way to the bar. The crowd pulsed around you, bodies moving in sync with the music, but your mind was elsewhere. The knot of unease tightened with every step. 

At the bar, you flagged down the bartender, who greeted you with a dazzling smile. “What can I get you?”

“Can I get ten green tea shots, eight fruit loop shots, and eight gummy bear shots?” you replied, leaning in so he’d hear you over the thumping music.

He nodded, setting to work with practiced ease. As you waited, you glanced back at your friends but found yourself face-to-face with a broad, muscular chest.

“Want to let me in on what Rhysand was talking about?” Helion’s voice was smooth and teasing, a playful glint in his eyes as he looked down at you.

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to sound casual despite the rush in your ears. If he’d picked up on it, who else might have noticed? Had Cassian just hidden it well?

“Relax,” he laughed lowly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. His hand was so large it wrapped over your shoulder, its warmth both reassuring and intimidating. “I don’t think anyone else caught it. But now you’ve got to explain what ‘it’ is, (y/n)…”

“No, seriously, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Rhys is drunk,” you say, surprisingly convincingly. Must have been the liquid courage. 

“Yes he is. And Rhys is an honest drunk, so wouldn’t you like for me to get him into an Uber before he…?”

You both fell silent, the thumping bass and clinking glasses of the club filling the void. The music was a distant roar, and the chatter around you felt like a heavy blanket, smothering the words you couldn’t quite say.

“This is extortion,” you say flatly. 

“I’m just looking out for you,” he said, a sly grin playing on his lips. “If you shed some light on this for me, I’ll make sure nothing slips that you don’t want slipping. Scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

You’d love to scratch that back. 

“What do you think he meant…?” You were trying to gauge how much you should reveal. 

“I know what he meant. I’m not stupid, and I’m not drunk yet. I want to hear you say it.”

Rhysand directed his question at Azriel, making eye contact with you as he did. Anyone with half a brain who caught that look would know what he meant.

“If you already know then there’s no use in me saying it.”

“Then I don’t know. I only have a suspicion that needs confirming,” he smirked. 

“… We did…” Your words were hardly audible, but it didn’t matter because he pressed. 

“‘We did’ what?”

With a roll of your eyes and a glance back at the booth, you loosed a sigh. The words came out almost in a whisper. “We fucked.”

“When?”

“A month or so ago. When Tarquin sprained his ankle.”

“That’s why you took so long with my phone,” a voice cut in, the tone somehow both cool and accusatory. Tarquin. 

You whipped your head around to face him but froze. When had he gotten behind you? How had you not noticed? You’d been facing the booth the entire time!

“I figured something was up when Cass looked pissed after you answered the phone. Once I heard you were stuck in the locker room with them? I mean, it practically writes itself, (y/n).” At the look on your face, he continued. “He doesn’t know, but he definitely suspects.”

Your heart pounded as you looked between Helion and Tarquin, trying to gauge their reactions. Both had a teasing glint in their eyes, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

“Why didn't you just tell me?" Tarquin asked, his voice laced with mock curiosity. "We could have had some fun with this."

You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. "Oh, shut up, it’s not like I meant for it to happen,” you muttered. 

Helion's hand, warm and solid, was still on your shoulder, his thumb absently tracing small circles that only added to your anxiety. “So, what now?" he asked, his tone playful. "Are you going to keep hiding it, or are you going to let us in on the fun?"

Before you could answer, the bartender returned with a tray laden with shots. “Here you go,” he said cheerfully, sliding the tray onto the bar. “Rhysand’s tab, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” you muttered, grateful for the distraction. You reached for the tray, desperate for an excuse to leave this conversation behind, but Helion’s hand finally left your shoulder and closed over your own.

“I’ll carry these,” he said smoothly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You tried to pull your hand back, but he held firm, his grip gentle but unyielding. “Helion, please...”

“No, I’m a gentleman.” He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “We’re not done talking about this. But for now, let’s get these back to the table. We don’t want anyone to get suspicious, do we?”

Reluctantly, you let him take the tray. Tarquin’s eyes followed you as you turned back toward the booth, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

As you slid back into your seat, the conversation around the table picked up again, oblivious to the tension that had just unfolded. Cassian’s arm found its way back around your shoulders, his laughter a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside you.

Helion placed the tray in the center of the table, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Shots, anyone?” he called out, his voice light and carefree. Hands from all around reached for them, liquid splashing out of glasses as they were pulled from the tray. 

“To a winning team, and good friends,” Cassian said, his voice warm. 

You forced a smile, lifting one of the glasses. “To good friends,” you said, your voice lost under everyone else’s.

The glasses clinked together, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to be swept up in the revelry. But as you drank, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep up this charade, and what would happen when it all came crashing down. 

Helion leaned closer to Cassian, who was engaged in an animated conversation with Eris, of all people. "Mind if I steal her for a dance?" Helion asked, his tone light but dripping with suggestion.

Cassian glanced at you, then back at Helion, a playful but knowing grin on his face. "Go ahead," he said, his voice tinged with possessive amusement. "Just make sure you bring her back in one piece."

Helion circled the table and extended his hand to you, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. “Shall we?”

You hesitated for a moment before taking his hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. As he led you to the dance floor, you glanced back at Cassian, who was now fully absorbed in his conversation with Eris.

The music pulsed around you, a steady beat that thrummed in your chest. He pulled you close, his hands resting lightly on your waist. You felt a bit tense, the events from earlier still lingering in your mind.

"Relax," Helion murmured in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "We’re here to have a good time."

You nodded, trying to let go of your unease. Gradually, you began to sway with the rhythm, allowing yourself to get lost in the music. Helion’s touch was gentle but confident, guiding you with subtle movements. As you became more comfortable, your body moved more fluidly with his.

"That’s it, good girl," Helion murmured, his voice a soothing contrast to the thumping music.

The dance grew more intimate as he pulled you closer, his hands resting lower on your back. The closeness created a warm, almost electric tension between you. You found yourself responding to his movements, your bodies moving in sync.

Just then, Tarquin appeared beside you, slipping his arm around your waist. The sudden addition of his presence made the dance even more intense. Tarquin's proximity pressed you snugly between the two of them.

“Mind if I join in?” Tarquin’s voice was low, a playful edge to his tone.

You felt a flicker of anxiety and glanced around, briefly searching for Cassian. Instead, your gaze locked onto Eris, who stood at the edge of the dance floor. His eyes met yours for a moment, his expression unreadable but carrying a smirk that made your pulse quicken. As quickly as it came, the moment was gone. Tarquin gently turned your face back toward him, your chin in his grasp. “Hey, stay with us,” he said, his voice reassuring.

You relaxed slightly as their combined presence guided you through the dance. “Is this how you usually dance with someone?” you asked, trying to keep the mood light.

“Only when they’re as stiff as a board,” Tarquin replied with a chuckle. “You’re doing great, though.”

Helion smirked, his hand lingering on your hips as he moved in rhythm with you. “He’s right. And I’d say you’re better than anyone we’ve danced with tonight.”

You let out a soft laugh, trying to shake off the last of your nerves. “Well, I guess I have good company.”

Tarquin leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “If you keep this up, I might just want to keep you between us all night.” His words sent a shiver down your spine. 

Before you could look back at him in shock, Helion’s fingers tightened their grip, his voice low and teasing. “Careful, Tarquin. You might make her think she’s the center of the universe.”

With an arched brow, you looked at Helion and retorted with a playful smirk, “Well, aren’t I?”

Tarquin leaned closer to the man at your front. “You know, Helion” he murmured, “being the center of attention isn’t so bad. Especially when the attention comes from us.” Sensing the opportunity, he brought his lips to your ear. “If you keep that smile going, we might just find a few more ways to keep you entertained.”

You felt a flutter of anticipation, caught between the two of them as they moved against you. Helion’s touch was confident, and Tarquin’s words were a tantalizing promise of what might come next. You couldn’t help but feel drawn deeper into the flirtatious dance they were orchestrating.

Helion’s hands roamed slowly over your waist as he drew you closer, his touch electrifying against your skin. His lips grazed your ear, his voice a sultry whisper. “You’re doing a great job of keeping us entertained.”

You shivered at the sensation of their combined presence, their touches becoming increasingly intimate. Their movements were fluid, guiding you into a rhythm that was both exhilarating and intense. Helion’s grip tightened, pulling you against him as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your temple. “You feel so good like this,” he said softly.

You could feel the rising heat and the tantalizing pressure of their bodies against yours. The music seemed to fade away, leaving only the intense connection between the three of you. Each touch and whisper only deepened the charged atmosphere, making it hard to think of anything but the electric sensation of their attention.

After what felt like an eternity of heated dancing, you began to feel a wave of dizziness. You needed air. Sensing your discomfort, Tarquin and Helion exchanged a knowing look.

Tarquin’s hand found yours, his touch gentle but firm. “Let’s get some fresh air,” he suggested, his voice a soothing contrast to the earlier heat.

Helion nodded in agreement, slipping an arm around you for support. “We know just the place.”

Guiding you through the crowd, they led you toward a quieter area. They approached a security guard stationed at the door to the stairs leading to the rooftop terrace. The guard eyed the VIP bands on your wrists and let you all through without a word. As you ascended the stairs, Helion slipped the guard a generous tip, murmuring, “Don’t let anyone else up.”

As you reached the rooftop, the cool night air hit you like a refreshing breeze, cutting through the lingering heat from the club. The city lights stretched out before you, their twinkle a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos below.

Tarquin and Helion led you to a corner of the terrace. The space was elegantly furnished with plush seating and low tables, providing a serene escape from the pulsating energy inside.

Tarquin gestured to a comfortable chaise lounge. “Here, sit down. You look like you could use a minute.”

You took a seat, grateful for the respite. Helion moved to a nearby table and poured you a glass of cool water from a pitcher. “This should help,” he said with a reassuring smile as he handed it to you.

The chill of the water was soothing, and you drank it down eagerly, feeling the dizziness start to subside. Tarquin settled down beside you, his proximity warm and comforting, while Helion took a seat on the other side, his gaze flicking between you and the cityscape.

“So, how are you feeling now?” Tarquin asked, his voice soft.

“Much better, thanks,” you replied, taking a deep breath of the crisp air. “I just needed a break.”

Helion leaned back, a casual, knowing smile on his lips. “You know, fresh air is nice, but it’s even better with the right company.” He glanced at you with a twinkle in his eye.

Tarquin tilted his head, his grin more genuine. “And I think I recall you saying we’re wonderful company.”

Still looking straight ahead, you replied, “I don’t know about wonderful; I think the word I used was ‘good.’”

Helion’s smile widened. “I’d say ‘good’ is an understatement. Let us prove it to you,” his smile turned into a smirk. “We could make this night a lot more interesting.”

You turned to face him, your eyes flashing with a mix of resolve and irritation. You had given them the benefit of the doubt when they danced with you, assuming it was just the heat of the moment or perhaps a bit of playful flirtation. But now that you were alone with them on the terrace… You had sensed the shift the moment they suggested stepping away from the crowd, their casual touches and lingering glances all hinting at an underlying agenda.

“No, I’m not interested,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the cool night air as you turned to face Tarquin on your other side. “I came up here for some air, not to be part of a game.” The words came out sharper than you intended.

Tarquin’s grin faltered slightly but then softened as he leaned in, his voice gentle but persistent. “You’ve been with Rhys and Az. We’re all here, and it seems a shame to waste the opportunity when we’re all just looking for a good time.”

The comment hit you hard, a sting of anger flaring up. “A good time?” you echoed, disbelief lacing your voice. “You think just because I’ve been with them, you’re somehow entitled to your turn? I don’t owe you anything.”

Helion stepped in, his expression a mix of charm and a hint of irritation. “We’re not trying to make you feel pressured,” he said, shooting a pointed look at Tarquin. “We’re just offering you a chance to enjoy the night with us.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up. “I’m not interested in being part of some game or fulfilling some sort of quota. I’m not going around sleeping with everyone on the team just because they’re interested. If that were the case, this would’ve all been over and done with years ago when you all seemed to lose the ability to keep your mouths shut and be respectful of Cassian and I’s relationship.”

Helion shrugged. “We’re not trying to force anything. Just… We’re here, and you’re here. It could be fun, that’s all.”

Tarquin’s tone grew more earnest. “If you’re not into it, that’s fine. But don’t act like it’s a big deal. We’re just having fun, same as everyone else.”

You took a deep breath, holding your ground. “Two other people are not ‘everyone else.’ I’m not about to give in just because you think you have a right to it.”

Tarquin’s expression softened further, a mix of frustration and something like sympathy in his eyes. “I get that. I really do. But we’re all adults here, and it’s not like we’re asking for anything serious. Just one night.”

He slid his hand to your thigh, the touch lingering with a slow, deliberate caress. The heat from his palm contrasted sharply with the cool night air. His touch was just as it had been in the booth, but now, with Cassian absent, there was no one to reprimand his advances.

Helion, sensing the slight crack in your resolve, leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a more intimate tone. “You’re overthinking it. It’s just us here, and we’re not asking for anything more than what you’re willing to give. It’s not about entitlement; it’s about enjoying each other.” His hand grazed your shoulder lightly, pushing your hair to the side. His proximity heightened the tension between you all. The warmth of his breath against your ear as he spoke made it hard to ignore the growing desire within you.

You felt the weight of their combined pressure, the playful but persistent charm starting to chip away at your defenses. Despite yourself, you began to question if it was worth fighting against this particular tide. The idea of one more night of reckless indulgence, without any deeper expectations, seemed to blur the line between wrong and thrilling.

You sighed, a conflicted look crossing your face. “I just don’t want to be treated like a prize to be won or a notch on a belt.”

Tarquin’s tone grew more soothing. “We’re not treating you like that. We just thought you might enjoy it. But if you’re not up for it, we can drop it. No hard feelings.”

Helion nodded, his gaze steady and reassuring. “We just want to make sure you’re having as much fun as we are. There’s no pressure.”

You hesitated, the words of their argument settling in your mind. Though part of you was still set on holding firm, you weren’t blind to the coercion in their tone. Of course there was pressure, they’d been pressuring you the whole time. However true, the temptation was hard to ignore. The night was young, and despite your reservations, the allure of a reckless escape with them was incredibly enticing.

You took a deep breath, weighing the tension in the air against your growing desire. You glanced at both Tarquin and Helion, a mix of defiance and resignation in your eyes. 

“Fine,” you said, your voice steady but laced with a hint of vulnerability. “But if I do this, it stays between us. No talking about it, no bragging. Just... tonight. Agreed?”

Tarquin’s eyes lit up with a mix of relief and excitement. “Absolutely,” he said quickly, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

Helion nodded in agreement, his eyes darkening. “We won’t say a word.”

The air between you shifted, the unspoken agreement hanging heavy. Tarquin leaned closer, the hand on your thigh rubbing and squeezing. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, heightening the anticipation.

Helion’s hand slid to your lower back, his touch both firm and gentle. “You sure you want this?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves and excitement. “Yeah,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m sure.”

The three of you were enveloped in the dim light of the terrace, the cool air and their hands roaming over your body raised goosebumps across your skin as they explored with a mix of gentleness and urgency. Every caress was a mix of gentleness and urgency, heightening the anticipation as the city lights below seemed to blur into insignificance.

Tarquin’s lips found yours first, his kiss slow and exploratory. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks as his tongue traced the contours of your mouth. The kiss deepened, his lips moving with a controlled passion that made your heart race. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a smoldering intensity.

“God, you’re stunning,” Tarquin murmured, his voice low and husky. He let his hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer until you were pressed against him. His touch was warm and possessive, sending shivers through you.

Helion, observing with a burning gaze, slid his hands to your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you toward him. As you shifted, he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips grazing your skin in a teasing manner. His hands traveled down your arms, fingers lightly grazing your skin before finding the curve of your hips.

Tarquin’s hands slipped beneath your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. With a playful grin, he shifted you onto his lap, your legs straddling him. His hands explored your back, fingers dancing over your skin as he leaned in to kiss you again, more urgently this time. His mouth moved from your lips to your neck, trailing soft bites and kisses that made you gasp.

“You feel incredible,” Tarquin breathed against your skin. 

Helion’s hands were now roaming over your sides, his touch firm but tender as he leaned in to whisper in your ear. “What a perfect girl, just for us,” he said, his breath hot against your skin. His lips brushed against the edge of your ear as he placed soft kisses along your jawline.

The two of them worked in tandem, their touches synchronized and perfectly attuned to your responses. Helion’s hands found their way to your chest, fingertips lightly grazing your curves, while Tarquin’s lips continued to worship your neck and shoulders. He would occasionally lift his gaze to meet yours, his eyes filled with admiration and hunger.

Tarquin’s hands moved from your thighs to your hips, guiding you to move against him as he pulled you closer. His grip tightened slightly, his touch conveying both dominance and affection. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice full of awe. Helion’s hands were equally attentive, tracing the lines of your body with meticulous care. His lips followed the path his fingers traced, placing lingering kisses that made you shiver with pleasure.

You moaned softly as their touches and kisses ignited your senses, but a playful glint appeared in your eyes. You arched your back slightly, pushing against Tarquin’s chest, and let out a breathy laugh. “So, is this how you two always work your charm? Sweet talk and flattery?”

Tarquin’s lips curled into a smirk, his breath warm on your neck as he whispered, “Only when it’s truly deserved. And believe me, you’re worth every word.”

Helion’s hands paused momentarily as he looked into your eyes, his expression both mischievous and earnest. “I thought you’d appreciate the honesty,” he said, his voice smooth. 

You arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips as you met Helion’s gaze. “Honesty, huh? Seems like you both have a knack for turning compliments into a game.”

“Well, if the game’s as enjoyable as this, who are we to complain?” Tarquin’s grin widened, his hands still exploring your back with a touch that was both gentle and possessive.

Helion leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “It’s not just about the words. It’s about making you feel as incredible as you look.”

You shivered at the sensation, the mix of his breath and his touch sending jolts of pleasure through you. “And if I call you out on it?” you challenged, your voice teasing despite the breathless quality it carried.

Tarquin’s fingers danced over your hips, his eyes never leaving yours. “Call us out all you want. We’re still here, giving you exactly what you want.” He ground you down harder onto himself, and you felt the hard outline of his cock through the fabric of his pants. “You do want this, don’t you?” You nod in response.

“Mhm, want it so bad,” you murmur before crashing your lips back onto his. The two of them continued their relentless pursuit of pleasure, their hands and mouths finding new ways to torment you. The atmosphere on the terrace grew more charged with every passing second, your body caught in a whirlwind of sensation. Tarquin’s hands were warm and commanding, his touch making every part of you throb with need. Your shared kiss was deep and demanding as he guided your movements with a blend of passion and control.

Helion’s hands were relentless, his touch exploring every curve of your body with a mix of urgency and reverence. He leaned in to press kisses along your collarbone, his lips brushing against your skin with a teasing, hot breath. His voice was a velvety whisper in your ear, his words a mix of praise and persuasion. “You’re doing so well, so good for us. You’re exactly what we wanted.”

Your breath hitched as his hands slid down to cup your breasts, his fingers gently kneading and teasing. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, every touch making you writhe against Tarquin’s body. “You like that, don’t you?” Helion’s voice was dripping with both admiration and a hint of something darker.

The edge of humiliation combined with the praise made your cheeks flush, your head spinning with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. “Yes,” you gasped into Tarquin’s mouth, “I like it, I want it.”

Tarquin’s hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding you as he rolled his own body against yours. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “Tell us how much you want it.”

“Mmm, I want it so badly,” you moaned against his lips, your words barely audible as you ground down on him. The friction was almost unbearable, your body a hot, trembling mess of desire.

Helion’s hands roamed lower, his fingers sliding under your skirt and between your legs, teasing and stroking with practiced ease. He pressed a finger against your clothed clit, his touch sending electric jolts through your body. “Look at you,” he said with a smirk, “so eager, so ready for us. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?”

Your response was a breathless, needy whimper, your body arching into his touch. “Yes, I’m a good girl.”

As the intensity of their touch grew, so did your need for more. Tarquin’s hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of you with an almost reverent touch. His kisses were feverish, trailing down your neck and shoulders, his breath warm and urgent against your skin.

Helion’s fingers deftly worked you to the edge of pleasure. Just as you threw your head back in pleasure, he stole your lips into a kiss with a fierce hunger as his touch grew more insistent. “You’re doing so well,” he murmured between kisses. “You’re making us both so proud.”

The mix of their touches was almost too much to bear, your body quivering with need as they continued their relentless pursuit. Tarquin’s hands slid to your thighs, spreading your legs further apart to allow Helion better access. The air was thick with the sound of your moans and their encouraging praise, every sound heightening the intensity of the moment.

Finally, the need for release became too much to contain. The tension in your body reached its peak, and with a final, shuddering cry of pleasure, you came undone. Helion’s hands continued their relentless work, Tarquin’s grip on you tighter than ever as you experienced an intense, mind-blowing climax.

The overwhelming pleasure of your climax still rippling through you, Helion didn’t waste a moment. He guided you gently but firmly, easing you off Tarquin’s lap and settling you on his own. Your back pressed against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you, his grip both possessive and reassuring. You felt his hardened arousal pressing against your back as he adjusted your position.

“Sit up and lean back,” Helion instructed softly, his breath hot against your ear as he pulled your skirt up to your waist. “Tarquin’s going to taste you now.” You complied, your legs parting as Helion held you steady, guiding your legs open wider, exposing you completely. Tarquin wasted no time, finding his way to your most sensitive spots. He nosed over the thin fabric covering your cunt, inhaling your scent deeply. With a whine, you tried to look away, but Helion chastised you, telling you that good girls watched the person making them feel good, and you’re a good girl, right?

You looked back in time to see Tarquin pulling your underwear off slowly, kissing his way down one leg, and kissing his way back up the other. You watched him give Helion the soaked-through flimsy bit of cloth, then threw your head back into Helion’s chest with a choked gasp as he licked a stripe up your center. 

His tongue moved with practiced skill, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You moaned, your hands gripping Helion’s thighs for support as Tarquin’s mouth worked its magic.

Helion’s hands roamed your body, his touch both commanding and adoring. “Be good,” he murmured, his voice low and dominant. “Hold your legs open for Tarquin. Show him how much you want this.”

You adjusted your position, holding your legs apart as instructed. Helion’s hands traveled over your torso, fingers lightly grazing your skin and heightening every sensation. His voice was a mixture of praise and filth. “Look at you, all exposed and eager. Tell him how much you need him,” Helion demanded, his voice rough with desire. “Tell him what a good girl you are, that you’re here to make him feel amazing.”

You gasped out your responses, the pleasure from Tarquin’s mouth mingling with Helion’s dominant words. “I need you so much, Tarquin,” you moaned. “I’m a good girl, I’ll do whatever I can to make you both feel good.”

Tarquin’s eyes flicked up to meet yours as he continued his relentless work, a satisfied smirk on his lips. Helion’s hands roamed over your body with an almost worshipful touch, his words a mix of admiration and explicit praise.

“You’re doing so well,” Helion continued, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re making us both so proud. Stay like this, just for us.” As Tarquin’s tongue continued its relentless, pleasurable assault, Helion’s grip tightened around you. “Make sure she feels every bit of your attention. I want to hear her scream for you.” His voice was commanding, and laced with an underlying menace.

Tarquin’s eyes flicked up to meet Helion’s, a glimmer of challenge and excitement in his gaze. He intensified his efforts, his tongue moving with greater urgency, the pleasure he gave you unmistakable.

Large hands roamed over your body from behind, guiding you with deliberate touches, but his gaze remained fixed on Tarquin. “You’re doing well, Tarquin, so good for us. But if she comes before I say so, you won’t be finishing tonight. Understand?”

Tarquin’s nod was firm, a mix of eagerness and a hint of defiance in his expression. He focused even more intently on you, his mouth working skillfully to elicit every possible reaction from you. The pleasure was building rapidly, each flick of his tongue drawing the most beautiful, shameless sounds from your lips. Helion’s voice dropped to a low, teasing growl. “Show her how much you want this. Don’t hold back. Make sure she knows just how lucky she is to have us both.”

The pleasure was overwhelming, a swirling vortex of sensation that made it impossible to think of anything but the two men driving you to the brink of ecstasy. Tarquin’s tongue was relentless, each stroke deliberate and calculated, as if he were determined to prove himself under Helion’s watchful eye.

Helion’s hand gripped your chin, tipping your head slightly so you were forced to watch Tarquin’s devotion. “Look at him on his knees,” Helion murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “See how desperate he is to please you? To prove he’s worthy? Tell him how good he’s making you feel. Tell him he’s a good boy.”

Your breath hitched at the command, but the words tumbled from your lips in a breathless moan. “Tarquin, you’re so good… so good at this.” Your praise seemed to spur him on, his efforts becoming even more fervent.

“And…?”

At that moment, Tarquin plunged two fingers into you. “And you’re a good boy— Fuck, you’re such a good fucking boy!” you practically sobbed.

Helion chuckled darkly, clearly pleased by your compliance. His hand slid down your body, his touch firm and possessive. “Don’t be rude, thank her.”

Tarquin’s groan vibrated against your core, his tongue still working its magic even as his eyes flickered up to meet Helion’s gaze. There was a fire in his eyes, determination and submission that made your pulse race when his eyes met yours. He pumped his fingers in and out as he spoke against you. “Thank you,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “You taste so good, so sweet… I want to make you feel everything, tell me how to make you feel good.”

He added a gentle, teasing bite to your thigh, his tone turning possessive but still with a hint of deference, as he met your gaze again. "I’ll give you everything you need, whatever you want, just say the word." His words were meant for both of you.

Helion’s hand snaked down between your thighs, his fingers brushing against your clit with a teasing pressure. “Go ahead,” he told him with a knowing smile, and Tarquin’s eyes seemed to light up as he pulled his fingers out and dove back into you. A groan spilled out of you as his tongue worked, not at your dripping arousal, but further down, at the sensitive, puckered skin of your asshole.

Helion’s touch was maddeningly gentle as he continued to tease you, his fingers ghosting over your sensitive skin with a practiced ease. “You’re doing so well,” he praised, his voice dark and sultry, “giving yourself to us like this. You’re a perfect girl, aren’t you? So ready for us.”

You moaned, the combination of Tarquin’s skilled tongue and Helion’s filthy words driving you to the edge. But you knew better than to let yourself go without permission. The thrill of holding back, of teetering on the brink while they pushed you to your limits, was almost as intoxicating as the pleasure itself.

Tarquin let out a deep, guttural sound of agreement, his efforts redoubling as he focused entirely on your pleasure. He was determined to draw out your ecstasy, to make you tremble with the need to come while obeying Helion’s command.

Helion’s hand continued to roam over your body, his touch both comforting and possessive. “You’re ours tonight,” he whispered against your temple. 

Your breath caught in your throat, your body quivering with the need to let go. “Please,” you begged, your voice trembling as they both worked you closer to the edge. “Please, I need to… I need to come.”

Helion’s grip on your chin tightened, forcing you to keep your eyes locked on Tarquin. “No,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not yet. You’ll come when I say, and not a moment before.”

Tarquin let out a groan of frustration against you but didn’t dare slow down. The denial of release made every flick of his tongue, every squeeze of his fingernails into your thighs, feel like a delicious torment. You were so close, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

Helion’s fingers brushed over your lips, and you instinctively parted them, taking them into your mouth. His smirk widened. “Good girl,” he purred. “But you’re getting a bit too loud — isn’t she getting too loud?” Tarquin’s nod was the only indication he heard him, because his movements never faltered. 

Without warning, the fingers in your mouth pulled your lips further apart, and you barely had a moment to process what was happening before he shoved your balled-up panties into your mouth, muffling your desperate moans. The taste of your own arousal on the fabric only heightened the humiliation, and you felt a fresh wave of heat pool in your core.

Tarquin’s eyes flared with lust as he watched, his breathing ragged. He didn’t let up for a second, his tongue continuing its relentless assault, poking and prodding and sucking at your hole, while Helion leaned down to nibble at the exposed edge of the panties now stuffed in your mouth. He inhaled deeply through his nose, taking in your scent. “Can’t wait to taste you on Tarquin’s tongue,” Helion growled, his voice dripping with dark desire. “You’re going to be so good for us, aren’t you?”

Your muffled cries of pleasure grew louder, your entire body shaking with the effort of holding back. Tarquin’s mouth was everywhere, licking and teasing, pushing you further to the brink until you were sure you couldn’t take it anymore. You were a trembling mess, teetering on the edge of bliss, but you knew you had to wait, had to endure until Helion decided you’d earned it. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge. Your mind swam in a sea of need as they both continued to push you further and further. The humiliation of the situation only added to your arousal, and you knew you were at their mercy, utterly helpless to resist. Every second felt like an eternity, the anticipation building to a crescendo that threatened to consume you entirely.

Your body was a trembling mess, the overwhelming need for release making it impossible to think of anything but the searing pleasure consuming you. Helion’s fingers rubbed you fervently, with more pressure and speed. Tarquin’s mouth was relentless, his tongue swirling and teasing you in a way that made your head spin. Every flick of his tongue, every graze of his nails, sent you spiraling closer to the edge, your willpower slipping with every passing second.

Helion’s voice was a low, commanding growl in your ear. “Hold on just a little longer. You’re being so good for us.”

But the tension in your body was unbearable. Your moans were muffled by the panties stuffed in your mouth, but even that couldn’t silence the desperate, pleading sounds escaping you. The pressure was too much, the pleasure too intense, and despite Helion’s command, you felt yourself slipping.

Tarquin’s tongue found that perfect spot and everything inside you unraveled. Your body bucked against him, a muffled scream of ecstasy escaping your lips as you came hard, the orgasm tearing through you with a force that left you trembling.

Helion’s eyes darkened instantly, his hand tightening on your chin as he realized what had happened. Tarquin paused for a moment, his eyes wide as he looked up at Helion, then back down at you, a mix of shock and concern flickering across his face. He knew you were in trouble now, but he didn’t dare move, his mouth still hovering close to you.

Helion’s grip on your chin was firm as he forced your head back to meet his gaze. “You disobeyed me,” he said, his voice calm but filled with an underlying threat. He pulled the panties from your mouth, letting them dangle from his fingers as he eyed you with a mix of disappointment and desire.“I told you not to come until I gave you permission, and you couldn’t even do that. What happened? Don’t you think that was selfish of you? Do you not want to be our perfect girl?”

You could only whimper in response, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm. You didn’t know whether you should answer or hold your tongue, but when you opened your mouth to steady your breaths, he dropped the fabric onto the chaise and gripped your throat. It was just enough to make you gasp for breath, as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “Since you couldn’t control yourself, we’re going to make sure you learn some restraint. And you’re going to thank us for it.”

He glanced down at Tarquin, who was still watching with concern and excitement, his eyes flickering with a strange kind of submission. “Keep going,” Helion ordered, his voice firm. “I didn’t say you could stop. But don’t give her your tongue. She doesn’t deserve it.”

Tarquin’s gaze met Helion’s, a silent understanding passing between them. Without hesitation, he moved his mouth away from your skin and positioned his fingers at your entrance. The slow, deliberate way he slid them inside you sent a shudder through your body, but it wasn’t enough—not after the climax you’d already stolen.

Helion’s grip on your throat tightened slightly, a warning, as his other hand moved to cover Tarquin’s, guiding the pace. Tarquin rubbed your clit with the pad of his thumb, but the pressure was teasing, not nearly enough to push you back over the edge.

“You don’t get to come,” Helion growled in your ear, his tone harsh. “You’ll suffer through this until I say otherwise. Tarquin, make sure she feels everything—but don’t give her what she wants. Make her squirm.”

Tarquin’s fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot that made your back arch involuntarily, but just as quickly, he slowed down, drawing out your torture. His thumb circled your clit, the sensation driving you wild, but it wasn’t enough to bring you the relief you so desperately craved.

Helion’s dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched you struggle, your body caught between the pleasure of Tarquin’s fingers and the denial of the orgasm you could feel building again. The hand that he’d had over Tarquin’s came firmly over your mouth, quieting you further. He leaned in, his breath hot against your cheek as he whispered, “You want to come, don’t you? You want it so badly… but you don’t deserve it yet.” Your muffled moans only grew louder. “You’re going to thank us for this later,” he said, a sadistic edge to his voice you’d never heard. “You’re going to learn what it means to be good.”

Tarquin’s fingers continued their relentless, teasing pace, keeping you right on the edge, but never letting you tip over. The frustration was overwhelming, every nerve in your body screaming for release, but you knew better than to disobey Helion’s command again. All you could do was writhe under their control, every inch of your skin tingling.

Tarquin’s fingers faltered for just a moment, his frustration evident as he looked up at you, then Helion, then back at you. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” he muttered, his voice low and laced with a mix of annoyance and disappointment. His thumb pressed harder against your clit, but the movement was rougher now, more punishing than teasing. “I hope it was worth it,” he added, his tone cold. “Because now, you’ve made things a lot more difficult for both of us.” He withdrew his fingers just enough to make you whine in protest, then plunged them back in with a sharp thrust, his thumb rubbing against you in tight, controlled circles. “I was looking forward to feeling you come apart on my tongue,” he continued, the frustration clear in his voice.

Helion smirked, clearly enjoying the shift in Tarquin’s demeanor. “That’s right,” he murmured, his voice full of approval. “She doesn’t get to come just because she feels like it.”

Tarquin’s eyes darkened as he focused on you, his frustration at losing his own chance at orgasm fueling his actions as he continued to work you with his fingers. The sensation was intense, the pleasure building in maddening waves, but you knew it wouldn’t be enough to push you over the edge again.

“Do you see what happens when you don’t listen?” Tarquin growled, his thumb circling your clit with that same punishing pressure. “If you’d just been good… if you’d just followed the rules, you’d have everything you want by now. But instead…” His fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot with maddening precision, only to slow down again. “Instead you’re here, squirming, desperate, and unsatisfied.”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a hushed, almost tender tone that contrasted sharply with the frustration in his actions. “Just listen to what we say, and you’ll get everything you want,” he whispered, his breath fanning over your chest. “Be good for us, and I’ll make sure you come so hard you’ll be begging for more. But if you can’t do that…” His fingers withdrew almost entirely before plunging back in with a hard thrust. “You’ll just keep losing out, won’t you?”

Helion’s eyes gleamed with a dark, amused light as he observed the dynamic between you and Tarquin. His hands roamed over your hips, giving a firm, possessive grip before he gently, yet firmly, moved you off of him. He guided you to the side, his hands leaving you with a deliberate, almost teasing touch. 

“Now, let’s see how well you can handle this,” Helion purred, his voice low and filled with a dangerous edge. He gestured toward the loveseat diagonal to the chaise with a commanding flick of his wrist. “Sit there.”

With a mix of frustration and anticipation, you obeyed, positioning yourself as instructed. Helion’s gaze followed you with a smirk, clearly enjoying the control he held over the situation. He turned his attention back to Tarquin, who was still kneeling on the floor before him, a hungry look in his eyes as he waited for Helion’s direction.

“Since you seem to have forgotten your manners, (y/n),” Helion said, his tone dripping with a mix of amusement and authority, “I think it’s only fair you watch us have our fun. After all, you’ve had your moment of pleasure.”

Your eyes widened as you took in his words, and again when he leaned closer to Tarquin, their faces almost touching as they shared a private moment of wickedly seductive conversation. Tarquin’s eyes were locked onto Helion’s, his expression one of fierce desire.

You could only watch, your frustration mingling with undeniable arousal, as Helion and Tarquin engaged in a mesmerizing display of passion and power. Each touch, each kiss, each groan of pleasure, was a reminder of what you were missing out on, and the sight of them together only heightened your longing for what you were being denied.

Helion’s eyes met yours briefly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Enjoy the show,” he said softly, his voice carrying a promise of more to come. “And remember, this is what happens when you don’t play by the rules.”

You pulled your skirt back down, the soft fabric smoothing against your thighs as you adjusted it nervously. The urge to leave was strong—one part of you screamed to escape this tantalizing torment. But as you remained in place, your gaze was magnetically drawn back to them, to Tarquin now climbing into Helion’s lap. The way their bodies moved together was mesmerizing.

Helion's dark eyes glittered with a blend of satisfaction and challenge as he pulled Tarquin closer, their bodies pressing together in a heated embrace. His fingers tangled in Tarquin’s hair, guiding their kisses with a possessive hunger. But Tarquin’s expression remained fierce, his grip on Helion’s hips assertive and unyielding. Despite Helion’s commanding presence, Tarquin's actions spoke of his own dominance, a constant push and pull of control.

Tarquin’s hands roamed over Helion’s body with a possessive edge. His fingers dug into Helion’s sides, pulling him closer, while his lips left a trail of heated kisses that spoke volumes about his own claims and desires. He was relentless, his movements calculated, his strength palpable. Even as Helion leaned into the pleasure, he met Tarquin’s intensity with a smirk, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. The physical clash between them was electric. Tarquin’s lithe but muscular frame contrasted with Helion’s broader build, their bodies weaving together in a dance of dominance and resistance. Helion's laughter was low, a sound of both approval and defiance, as Tarquin’s hands explored every inch of his body, making it clear that while Helion might lead, Tarquin was more than willing to fight for his share of control.

The breeze made their hair flutter, intertwining like threads of dark and light silk, adding to the primal beauty of their struggle for dominance. Tarquin’s fingers gripped Helion’s jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze as their breaths mingled. “You think you can control everything?” Tarquin murmured, his voice a dangerous mix of challenge and desire. “Prove it.”

Helion's smirk never wavered as he met the challenge head-on, his hands pushing back with equal fervor. “Always up for a challenge,” he replied, his voice dripping with confidence. 

As you watched, your thoughts wandered briefly. The intensity of their interaction made you wonder if you could ever convince Cassian to explore something like this. The idea was fleeting, a mere whisper in your mind, but the image of Cassian in a similar dance of power and desire with another man stirred something deep within you.

Helion's gaze met yours. "Look at you, so eager and yet so helpless," he said, his voice soft but laced with an edge of mockery. "You’ve got quite the view, don’t you? It’s a shame you can’t join in, but maybe that’s just the lesson you needed."

Tarquin chuckled softly, his hands still roaming over muscled planes as he looked back at you. "But don’t worry, we won’t forget about you," he said, his tone slightly softer, though still carrying a teasing note. "We’ll give you a chance to be good again—just as soon as we’ve had our fun."

Their bodies moved together with a seamless rhythm, each touch and thrust a testament to their shared control. Helion’s hands roamed confidently over Tarquin’s chest, tracing the contours of his muscles with a possessive touch. Tarquin responded with equal fervor, his own hands sliding over Helion’s back, pulling him closer as their hips ground together in a slow, deliberate dance.

The intensity of their connection was palpable. Helion’s lips found Tarquin’s neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin with a teasing bite. Tarquin’s breathing hitched, his eyes closing as he savored the sensation. They moved in unison, their bodies pressing together with dominance and intimacy. Without breaking their rhythm, Tarquin’s hands slipped down to his pants, deftly undoing them with practiced ease. He pulled out his cock, the sight of it making your eyes darken with lust. Helion, never missing a beat, did the same, exposing his own hardened length.

Tarquin wrapped his hand around both of their cocks, his grip firm and purposeful. He guided their movements, the friction of his hand creating a rhythm that was both intense and exhilarating. Helion moaned softly against his skin, his fingers digging into Tarquin’s shoulders as he matched the rhythm, their bodies moving in perfect harmony.

As their pleasure mounted, the focus shifted entirely between them, the external world fading away. Helion’s breath grew ragged, his hands gripping Tarquin’s hips with a desperate intensity. “Fuck,” Helion growled, his voice a rough whisper against the other’s ear. “You feel so good. I can’t get enough of you.”

Tarquin’s response was a deep, throaty moan, his hand still moving between them, guiding their rhythm. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice heavy with desire. “You know how much I love it when you’re like this. So intense, so fucking demanding.”

Helion’s eyes fluttered closed as he lost himself in the sensation, his hips driving harder against Tarquin’s hand. “Seeing you like this, giving it all to me…” he breathed, his voice a low rumble.

Tarquin’s grip tightened, a primal growl escaping him as he pushed into Helion with renewed vigor. “And you’re not the only one getting a show,” he said, his voice thick with lust. “Imagine how she’s watching us. She’s so fucking desperate, watching every move we make. And here we are, just enjoying each other, giving her a taste of what she can’t have.” The intensity between them grew, their bodies moving in a fevered dance of lust and dominance. Each kiss, each touch, was a testament to their mutual craving, their voices blending in a symphony of pleasure.

Helion’s climax hit with a shuddering breath, his head falling back as he released into Tarquin’s waiting hand, cupping over them to stop the mess. The muscles in his body tensed, his grip on Tarquin’s shoulders tightening as he rode out the waves of pleasure.

Tarquin, still grinding against him, smirked as he felt Helion’s release spill over his fingers. He made a move to take himself over the edge, but Helion’s hand was suddenly on his chest, firm and commanding. “No,” Helion murmured, his voice breathless but authoritative.

With a frustrated growl that went straight to your already throbbing cunt, Tarquin collected the remnants of release. His gaze flicked to Helion, who leaned in close, whispering something into his ear. Whatever he said made Tarquin’s eyes light up with dark amusement, and a slow, wicked smile spread across his face.

Without a word, Tarquin stood and walked over to where you sat, still bound by the torment of watching them together. “Open up,” he commanded, his voice soft but leaving no room for argument. Your eyes widened at the implication, but you obeyed, parting your lips.

Tarquin’s smile grew as he brought his hand closer to your mouth, but instead of what you expected, he reached for your discarded underwear. His eyes locked onto yours as he used the delicate fabric to clean his hand. Then, with a satisfied smirk, he shoved the now-damp underwear back into your mouth. “There,” he murmured, his voice low and mocking. “Hold on to that for us.”

Helion’s dark eyes traced the line of your body, his gaze intense as he watched you struggle with the fabric stuffed back into your mouth. He let the tension build for a moment before speaking, his voice low and smooth. “Are you ready to be good now?” he asked, the question laced with a promise that made your heart race.

You nodded eagerly, desperate to end the torment, your desire to please them both outweighing your earlier defiance. But Tarquin wasn’t about to let you off that easily. His hand gently tilted your chin up so you were forced to look into his eyes. “Use your words,” he said, his tone teasing but firm.

You tried to speak, but the underwear stuffed in your mouth muffled your response, turning your “Yes” into a barely intelligible sound. Tarquin’s lips curved into a sly smile, clearly amused by your predicament. “What was that?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “I didn’t quite catch it.”

Helion chuckled softly from behind him as he walked over to you both, his amusement at the situation clear. “I think she’s ready,” he mused, his hand resting on Tarquin’s waist with a glint of anticipation in his eyes.

The anticipation was almost unbearable as they slowly exposed your skin to the night air, each touch sending sparks of desire through your body, their dominance palpable in every move they made. Tarquin’s lips ghosted over your breasts after he pulled the fabric of your flimsy little top underneath them, and Helion’s fingers toyed with your bare cunt when he hiked your skirt back up over your hips.

As their hands roamed over your body, a desperate yearning welled up inside you. The desire to kiss them, to taste their lips and share in their passion, was overwhelming. But the underwear stuffed in your mouth was a reminder of your place in this moment; you were to take what they gave you.

It was humiliating, the way they had taken away your ability to speak, to kiss, to express the longing that burned inside you. Yet, at the same time, it was intoxicating. The taste of Helion's cum on the fabric only heightened your arousal. You had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and yet so deeply connected to the heat of the moment. You wanted more—more of their touch, more of their dominance, and more of the delicious torment they were inflicting upon you. Your body trembled with the need to kiss them, to show them how much you wanted to please them, but all you could do was whimper softly, your gaze pleading for mercy.

Helion’s fingers slid away from your cunt, leaving you achingly empty, but not for long. He exchanged a brief, heated glance with Tarquin, a silent agreement passing between them. Helion’s hands were firm as he guided you onto all fours, positioning you just where they wanted. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a small, foil packet. Even in the midst of your desperation, you shot him a pointed look as you let the soaked fabric fall from your lips.

“Are you kidding me? You’re such a guy,” you said, “no way you carry a condom in your wallet.”

Helion’s lips curved into a smirk as he tore open the packet. “Always prepared,” he replied, not missing a beat. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint, would I?”

Tarquin chuckled, shaking his head as he moved to your front, his fingers trailing up your spine. “You’ve got a sharp tongue, even now. Let’s see if we can put it to better use.”

As Helion rolled the condom on, Tarquin gently coaxed your head down, guiding you to take him into your mouth. The feeling of his hard length against your lips sent a thrill through you, and as you obediently opened up for him, you felt Helion’s hands spreading your thighs wider.

The anticipation built to a fever pitch as Helion positioned himself at your entrance, his cock pressing against your slick heat. As Tarquin’s cock slid past your lips, filling your mouth completely, the dual sensation of being taken from both ends sent a shiver of pleasure through your body. Their dominance was overwhelming, making every nerve in your body hum with a primal need.

As Helion slowly slid into you, the stretch and fullness made your breath hitch, every inch a reminder of how long you had waited for this moment. “You waited so patiently for us,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Watching us, being such a good girl… you deserve this.”

Tarquin’s fingers threaded through your hair, gently guiding your movements as you took him deeper into your mouth. “Sitting so pretty, waiting for your turn,” he said, his tone carrying a mix of affection and amusement. “Loved seeing you watch us… so eager, so desperate to join in.”

Tarquin’s grip on your hair tightened slightly, holding you still as Helion leaned in closer. “We’re not going to fuck you yet,” Helion murmured, his voice teasingly soft. “If you want it, you’re going to have to work for it.”

The words sent a jolt through you, a mix of frustration and anticipation. They held you in place, their bodies perfectly still, forcing you to take the lead. Slowly, you began to move, rocking your hips back against Helion and taking Tarquin deeper into your mouth. Every motion was deliberate, each shift of your body a silent plea for more. Their eyes were locked on you, watching with dark satisfaction as you worked for every bit of pleasure, proving just how much you craved them.

As you picked up the pace, your movements became more urgent. You could feel the heat building inside you, the rhythm of your hips matching the rhythm of your mouth working around Tarquin’s cock. Each time you emptied your mouth of Tarquin, you rocked back onto Helion, the sensation of being filled made your body shudder with pleasure.

Helion's breathy, approving moans mingled with Tarquin's low growls of satisfaction. “Look at you, taking us so well,” Helion’s voice was thick with desire, his hand gripping your hip to guide your movements. “Such a good little slut, working hard for our pleasure.”

Their praise was as pleasure-inducing as the physical sensations, each comment driving you to push harder, to take more. You hollowed your cheeks around Tarquin’s cock, drawing him deeper into your throat as you squeezed the muscles in your cunt, tightening around Helion. The moment you tightened around them, they both reacted instinctively, their bodies moving with a newfound intensity. Tarquin’s eyes widened with approval, his grip on your hair tightening as he thrust into your mouth, while Helion’s fingers dug into your hips, pulling you down onto him with a fierce, commanding rhythm. Helion’s thrusts were hard and relentless, each motion sending waves of pleasure through you, while Tarquin’s movements became more aggressive, pushing deeper into your mouth with each stroke. The forceful rhythm of their fucking matched the desperate speed of your movements, each thrust and grind creating a symphony of pleasure and raw need.

Their groans of pleasure filled the room, mingling with your muffled cries of ecstasy. You could feel every powerful thrust, every commanding grip, as they took you with wild abandon. The sensation of being used by both men at once left you trembling and gasping for breath between their merciless, demanding movements. 

“That’s it,” Tarquin growled primally, his voice filled with raw desire. “Look at you, working so hard for us. You’re our pretty cocksleeve, taking both of us so well.”

Helion’s breathy, approving moans punctuated the air as he watched you. “Feel how she’s squeezing around you? She’s not just taking it; she’s giving us everything she’s got.” His hand gripped your hip, giving him purchase for his unrelenting pace. “She’s our perfect plaything, proving herself with every thrust. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Tell us how good it feels,” Tarquin urged, his voice a mix of dominance and genuine curiosity. “Let us hear it, tell us with my cock stuffed in this sweet little mouth. We want to know just how much you crave this.” Your rise in volume and the increased frequency of your gasps and moans reflected your enthusiasm — answer enough.

Helion’s gaze remained locked on you, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re making us so proud,” he said softly, gruffly. “Just a little more, and we’ll give you everything you’ve been begging for. You’re so close, just keep going.”

Tarquin’s fingers tangled further in your hair, his grip tightening as he watched you struggle and delight in the dual pleasure. “We’re not stopping until you’re dripping with pleasure, sweetheart,” he growled, his tone promising both pleasure and punishment. “We want to see you come undone, completely ours. No one else’s.”

He knew what he was doing with the utterance of those words.

Completely ours.

No one else’s.

Fuck.

You continued to rock back and forth between them, driven not only by the intensity of their praise and the sensations but also by the reminder of what was going on downstairs — of who you came with. 

Helion’s voice was a low, satisfied growl. “She’s taking it so well,” he said, his gaze fixed on you. “It’s like she was made for this. Isn’t she the best little fuck toy we’ve ever had?”

Tarquin’s lips suddenly found Helion’s in a heated kiss, their mouths clashing in a fervent embrace. The sound of them kissing while they both took pleasure from you was almost more than you could handle. Their tongues tangled and teeth scraped together, the kiss fierce and passionate, mirroring the raw intensity of the moment.

The mingling of their mouths, their bodies moving in perfect rhythm with yours, only heightened the heat coursing through you. You could feel the vibrations of their moans, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. Helion’s hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you to meet his thrusts, while Tarquin held your head in place, his cock filling your mouth to the hilt. The way they devoured each other, while simultaneously taking you, made every nerve in your body stand on edge.

Gasping for breath, you managed to pull off Tarquin’s cock for a moment, desperate to voice your need. “Please, hurry,” you moaned, your voice thick with urgency. “I need to get back—”

“No,” Tarquin responded, his voice a dark growl as he pulled you back down onto his cock. “We’re going to go at the pace we want. You’ll just have to keep up.”

Helion, still thrusting into you with measured force, chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against Tarquin’s as they kissed. “But we wouldn’t want to arouse any suspicion, would we?” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. “If we’re gone for much longer, we might draw unwanted attention.”

Their kiss deepened, and their pace remained deliberate, every thrust and movement calculated. When Helion broke the kiss, his eyes glinted mischievously, his lips brushing against Tarquin’s ear as he addressed you. “Make him feel so good, sweetheart,” Helion commanded softly, his voice like velvet. “But remember, he’s not allowed to come yet. Don’t let him.”

You felt the tension in Tarquin’s body, the way his muscles tightened as you worked him with all the skill you could muster, knowing exactly how close he was. 

Helion's gaze never wavered from Tarquin as he continued to thrust into you, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You love this, don’t you, Tarquin? Feeling her warm mouth wrapped around you, so eager to please.” His hand slid down Tarquin’s chest, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. “But you’re going to hold on, aren’t you? No matter how good she makes you feel.”

Tarquin’s breath hitched, his grip on your hair tightening as he struggled to maintain control. Helion smirked, his words a delicious torment. “I bet you’re aching to let go, to fill her up, but you can’t. Not with your slip-up earlier.”

Tarquin’s growl was low and commanding, his voice steady despite the strain. “I’m not giving in that easily,” he muttered, his grip on your hair firm as he thrust deeper into your mouth. “I can hold out as long as I need to.”

Helion’s smirk widened, his gaze locked on Tarquin’s as he continued to thrust into you with calculated precision. “I don’t doubt your endurance, Tarquin,” he teased, his voice a seductive purr. “But with her working you so well, how long can you really last?”

Tarquin’s breath hitched, but he kept his control, his voice rough but steady. “I’m not losing it,” he insisted, though there was a hint of tension in his tone. “I can take whatever you make her give me.”

Helion chuckled softly, his breath warm against Tarquin’s skin. “You’re trembling, Tarquin,” he murmured with dark satisfaction. You moaned around his cock at the sound of that, bobbing your head fiercely. 

Tarquin’s control was fraying, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. “Helion…” he growled, his voice rough with need. “Fuck, I’m… I can’t—”

Helion silenced him with a deep, demanding kiss, his tongue teasing Tarquin’s as he continued to thrust into you. “Yes, you can,” he whispered against Tarquin’s lips. “And you will, because I want you to.”

Tarquin’s resolve finally broke, a deep, desperate groan escaping him as he thrust into your mouth with barely controlled force. “Please, Helion,” he rasped, the dominance in his tone now edged with raw need. “I can’t hold on much longer... just let me finish. I need it.”

Helion pulled back slightly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he considered Tarquin’s plea. “Oh, Tarquin,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Maybe I’m feeling a little generous tonight. But if you want to finish, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Tarquin’s breath caught, his eyes narrowing as he tried to regain some semblance of control. “What... what do you want?” You didn’t stop pleasuring him, pulling his pants down just a bit more to fondle his balls. 

Helion’s smile was all dark promise as he leaned in, his lips brushing against Tarquin’s ear. “Tell her,” he whispered, his voice a velvety command. “Tell her all the things you’ve thought about doing to her. All those times you’ve imagined fucking her. Like when we took that beach trip a few months ago, and you watched her tanning with Morrigan.”

Tarquin’s gaze flicked to you, the tension between his desire and his pride visible in the clench of his jaw. But Helion’s hold on him was too strong, the command too irresistible.

“I...” Tarquin began, his voice hoarse as he struggled to find the words. “That day... when you were lying there, skin all golden and glistening... I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to fuck you right there on the sand. With everyone watching, knowing you were mine, watching me make you mine.”

Helion hummed in approval, his hand sliding lower on Tarquin’s chest, teasing the sensitive skin just above his waistband. “Good,” he purred. “Now tell her more. When else did you want her?”

Tarquin’s grip on your hair tightened as his memories flowed freely, the desperation in his voice mingling with the intensity of his confession. “Last New Year’s Eve, the party at Rhysand’s, when you wore that little black dress... I couldn’t stop imagining ripping it off you and bending you over the nearest table. Just taking you in front of everyone, making you scream my name.”

“Go on.”

“In the locker room,” he began, his breath hitching as he spoke, his words mixing with whines. “Cassian sent you in to grab his skates off the top shelf. You were wearing that little sundress… the one that rode up just enough when you reached for them. I was ready to take you right there, but then Eris got to you first.”

You remembered that day, remembered it well. The way Eris had slid up behind you, his hand low on your hip, grinding his hips into yours as he reached for the skates. You had loved the feeling of him pressing into you, shirtless with a pair of jeans that hugged his thighs just right, the heat of his body against yours making your breath catch.

“When Az and I were at your place with Cassian, just a few days ago…” Tarquin’s voice was ragged, almost trembling. “You came out of the bedroom in nothing but his t-shirt, no bra—fuck, I could see your nipples through the fabric. You were just after a snack, barely even saw us sitting there, and when you did, your face went all red. All I could think about was making some excuse to follow you back into that room, just taking you right there. I was hanging on by a thread, trying so damn hard not to lose it.”

Then Helion smirked, the corner of his lips curling up as he watched Tarquin’s desperation. "You’ve been a good boy, Tarquin," Helion purred, his voice thick with amusement and satisfaction. "Go ahead, let go. You've earned it."

As Helion’s permission washed over him, Tarquin’s breath caught, and he looked at you with a blend of tenderness and raw need. His voice softened, even as he was on the brink. “Is it okay if I shove my cock all the way down your throat? Hm? Come inside you?” he asked softly, his voice a beautiful blend of filthy and tender.

His eyes never left yours, and the desperation in his voice became more pronounced. “I can’t hold back much longer,” he groaned, his voice breaking with the intensity of his need. “I want to bury myself in your throat, fill you up completely. Feel you swallow all of me. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

His grip on your hair tightened, and his eyes closed for a moment as he fought to reach his peak. “Please,” he pleaded, his voice growing more urgent, “let me come inside you. I need to feel your throat squeeze around me, need to know you’re taking every bit. I’m so close… can’t you feel how much I want it?”

Distantly, you heard Helion let out a long groan of pleasure, slamming into you a few more times before coming to a stop, his heavy breaths lost among Tarquin’s and your moans. 

Tarquin’s breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to hold on, his voice now a raw, desperate plea. “I’m so close,” he groaned, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he neared the edge. “Fuck, I need to come… inside you.”

With a final, strained cry, he shoved himself into your throat to the hilt and held you there. Tarquin’s grip on your hair became painful, his entire body shuddering with the force of his release. His cock throbbed violently in your mouth as he erupted, shooting his hot cum deep down your throat. His moans were of relief and unrestrained pleasure, his desperation giving way to intense, blissful satisfaction.

His voice dropped to a whisper, filled with spent tenderness. “Swallow it all… feel it,” he murmured, still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm. His eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a look of spent but tender satisfaction. “You were incredible,” he added softly, his voice thick with gratitude and lingering need.

As Tarquin’s body finally relaxed, his breath coming in deep, shuddering sighs, Helion leaned in close, his voice soft but filled with genuine warmth. “A perfect girl, weren’t you,” he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. “You’ve taken care of us so well.”

He glanced over at Tarquin with a relaxed grin. “And you weren’t too bad yourself,” he added with a chuckle.

Tarquin, still catching his breath, gave a tired but genuine smile. “Glad you think so,” he said, his voice rough but content.

You, however, were already moving with a sense of urgency. After pulling yourself off both of them, your hands deftly fixed your clothes, your phone in hand as you used its camera as a makeshift mirror to touch up your makeup. You glanced at both of them with a mix of guilt and impatience as they tucked themselves back into their pants, and you let out a quick, apologetic sigh. 

“I have to go,” you said, your voice brisk but apologetic. “We all need to get back.” You smoothed down your hair, your eyes darting between the two men as you adjusted your appearance. “Sorry…”

Helion gave a small nod, his eyes understanding. “We’ll head out with you. No worries.”

With a final glance to make sure you were presentable (and Tarquin wiping something warm off of your neck and licking his thumb clean, and Helion having done God-knows-what with the condom), you led the way, the three of you moving quickly and quietly.

As you re-entered the club, the pulsating music and vibrant lights greeted you. Just as you made your way back to the booth, a voice called out from the crowd.

“Hey, where have you guys been?” It was Elain, her eyes wide with concern and curiosity.

You forced a small, apologetic smile. “I was feeling a bit sick earlier,” you explained. “They were just helping me get some fresh air.”

Elain nodded understandingly, her gaze softening as she took in your appearance. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay, you do seem a bit shaken up.”

More than a bit…

“Let’s get you back to the booth, get you a water.” The four of you headed back to the booth, and Cassian was just as you’d left him, still engaged in conversation with Eris. As you approached, Cassian’s face lit up with a grin, though there was a hint of playful teasing in his eyes.

“Look who finally decided to come back,” Cassian said as you slipped back into the booth beside him, his tone light but affectionate. “Were you having such a good time dancing with Helion that you don’t want to dance with me anymore?”

You felt a pang of guilt at his words, his playful tone contrasting sharply with all that’d happened. You moved closer to him, your heart aching as you took in his familiar, warm presence.

“Not at all,” you spoke softly, reaching out to take his hand. “I’m sorry for being gone so long. I missed you.”

Cassian’s expression softened as he looked at you, his eyes filled with warmth. “I missed you too,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low and sincere. He sounded stone-cold sober, how long had you been gone?

You closed your eyes, savoring the feel of his embrace, and you realized just how much you betrayed his trust, how much this would kill him. The guilt gnawed at you, a viper coiled tightly around your conscience, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. 

Cassian pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with a gentle smile. “Let’s dance,” he said softly. “I want to make up for lost time.” He gently nudged you back out of the booth, his gaze softening as he looked at you, fingers gently brushing against your cheek. “I’ve missed my perfect girl.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your body tensed, a wave of guilt crashing over you so intensely that you had to force yourself to keep breathing. For a moment, you couldn’t move, couldn’t respond, your mind flashing back to just minutes ago when Helion had whispered those exact words in your ear, his voice thick with lust.

Cassian noticed the slight hesitation, his brows knitting together in concern. “Hey,” he said, his tone softening even more, “you okay?”

You quickly forced a smile, willing the tension out of your body as you nodded. “Yeah,” you lied, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you. “Just a little tired, I guess.”

His thumb stroked your cheek, his eyes filled with nothing but warmth and affection. “We can take it easy,” he offered, his concern evident. “Or we can just stay here and relax, whatever you want.”

But the thought of staying there, trapped in the booth with the weight of your betrayal pressing down on you, was unbearable. You shook your head, forcing a more genuine smile this time. “No, I want to dance,” you insisted, taking his hand and guiding him to the dance floor. “Let’s go.” But even as you both reached the middle of the floor and he pulled you flush against him, feeling his familiar warmth and the steady beat of the music around you, the words “perfect girl” echoed in your mind. 

The heat between you is immediate, electric. Cassian’s hands find your hips, guiding you as you start to move together, your bodies syncing effortlessly to the rhythm. His thigh slips between your legs, and you can’t help but grind against him, feeling the solid strength of his muscles beneath you.

His breath is hot against your ear as he leans in, voice low and teasing. “You feel so good, baby. Just how I like you.” His hands roam up and down your sides, fingers brushing the hem of your miniskirt, his touch making you shiver with anticipation.

As the beat picks up, Cassian’s grip tightens, his fingers edging further up your skirt. The movement is subtle, but it’s enough to make your breath catch. His dark eyes are locked on yours, filled with a hunger that sends a thrill through you.

He leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “What’s this? No panties tonight?” His voice is laced with amusement, but there’s a rough edge to it that makes your heart race.

Your eyes widen slightly, and for a split second, you freeze, your mind flashing back to the rooftop. But you recover quickly, giving him a sultry smile as you tilt your head up to look at him.

“I couldn’t help myself.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@bagelsharry @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @girl-math-aint-mathing @paleidiot @panther-girl-124 @secretIyhers @starlightazriel @uncxmfxrtablex

if anyone wants to be added just lmk :)

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Terms and Conditions

Russell Shaw X F!Doctor!Reader

Summary: when your sister's fiance goes missing, you call Colter for help, and he brings along his rugged, but handsome and charming older brother, Russell.

Warnings: mature content, eventual smut so minors dni (always), no use of y/n, this part only contains cursing. I've never written anything so tame (it's okay next part won't be)

WC: 3.6k

A/N: so I finished tracker, yay and Russell owns my thoughts rn so here we are. I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this. I'm not great at writing series, but this idea called for development I can't do in a one-shot. I started this right after finishing tracker last week and I finally had time to proof read it. I also had a hard time with Russell's characterization, mans been in only one episode, so if i didnt portay him perfectly sorry i tried. Happy readings.

I don't do tag lists, if you'd like keep up with upcoming parts follow @midnightreadinglibrary and turn on notifications (I only reblog my written works on there)

You have encountered a lot of grief and sorrow in your life. Pain, you were familiar with it. And you could safely say that one of the worst was heartbreak. You were all too familiar with that one. And right now, your baby sister was experiencing it, too.

“Rosie?” You called into your apartment as you kicked your shoes off and tossed your keys like they had offended you. With a heavy sigh, tired from a long and stressful day at the hospital, you dragged your sore feet through your apartment. 

The living room was empty, TV off. The kitchen was dark with the lights off. You frowned, calling your sister’s name, louder again. Couple seconds went by. Silence. You padded down the hall to the guest room. You could hear faint indistinct sounds. The closer you got to the guest room the clearer the sound became. It sounded like crying.

“Rosalie?” Your voice grew louder with concern as you opened the door to the bedroom, and there you saw your sweet baby sister, sobbing into her pillow. Your heart immediately sank and you rushed to her side. “Oh honey, it’s okay.”

You sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into a hug. She held you tight as she cried. It broke your heart to see her like this.

“It’s not okay! He’s been gone for over a week!” She sobbed. You squeezed her shoulders as she sat up and sniffled. “Our wedding is in three months! Why hasn't he come back?”

You stared into her eyes, the same color as your own and you sighed, only being able to give her a look of sympathy in return. You didn’t want to tell her what you thought.

“I dunno.. I mean.. What if he just.. You know?” The look on your face said everything you couldn’t with words, and Rosie looked like she wanted to cry even more.

“He didn’t bail. He wouldn’t… I know him. He's missing, why won’t anyone believe me?” She raised her voice, almost choking on a sob, and you immediately felt so horrible for even suggesting such a thing. 

“No, hey, I’m sorry for saying that, I do believe you. Have you heard anything from the cops?” She shook her head and you sighed heavily. 

“I can’t keep waiting, what if he got hurt? What if someone hurt him? Please, I need to do something.” She begged you, eyes filled with tears, you had never seen your sister so sad, so hopeless. She was always the more bubbly, optimistic and lively out of the two of you. But ever since her fiance went missing, you didn’t see that spark anymore. It broke your heart.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I think I know someone who can help, alright? We’ll find him.” 

~~~~~~~

“Hey Doc, to what do I owe this call? It’s been like what, three years?” 

You sighed softly at the voice on the other line. You didn’t exactly want to resort to this, but you didn’t know what else to do, but you had the money, your sister didn’t exactly have a lot to spare with her wedding planning, and all.

“I need a favor, Colter. Well, not exactly a favor, I’ll pay but, I need help asap.” You rubbed the side of your throbbing temple, you heard him hum, telling you to go on. “My sister’s fiance went missing last week. They’re supposed to get married in three months, and the poor thing is a wreck.”

Colter sighed. “A runaway groom? You know what that sounds like, right?”

“Yes, I know. But I know this guy, he’s a decent guy, and I know he loves my sister, he wouldn’t just leave her like this.” You tried to explain, Colter sighed again. “Listen, the guy was in the Army, he’s a Navy SEAL now, went overseas a lot, and my sister told me he’s been acting weird since his last assignment. Just humor me, please? I can’t see her like this.”

Colter stayed silent for a long minute, you honestly thought he had hung up, but you ultimately heard him take a deep breath before responding. “Fine, send me his details, I should get there by morning if I head out now.” 

“Thank you.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chaos, chaos and more chaos.

You just wanted five minutes to breathe. You sat down, for the first time in hours today and took in a deep breath. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Rosie, almost zombie-like as she walked through the emergency department  You called out to her.

“Hey, did you get some sleep?” You asked her with worried eyes. She shrugged. “Listen, I called an old friend, he helps find people. Maybe he can find James, ‘cause the cops clearly aren’t going to.” You saw the smallest smile, and the smallest bit of hope light of her eyes.

“Really? What, is he like a PI or something?” She tilted her head at you, seemingly just as exhausted as you were.

“I mean..” You hesitated, unsure on how to explain Colter’s job to her. “I guess? He collects reward money. When someone goes missing and a reward is offered, he finds people for that reward.”

“But I didn’t offer any reward. I can’t even afford to buy a pair of shoes right now.. On my shitty nurse salary. I’ve already spent so much of my savings on planning the wedding. And these student loans are killing me. I can’t pay him.” She started to ramble in panic, motioning her hands around. You stood up and grabbed her hands.

“It’s fine. I got it covered. Take it as your early wedding gift?” You flashed her a toothy smile, hoping to humor her at least a little. She looked at you with apprehension. “Not a word, okay? I want him to come home to you, I don’t mind spending some money if it means you can be happy.”

She could have the happiness you never could.

Rosie’s eyes filled with tears and you thought she was going to burst into tears in the middle of the emergency department, but instead she hugged you, and she hugged you so fucking hard you thought she broke one of your ribs. You laughed softly and patted her head reassuringly. You were about to say something to her but you heard your name being called. You turned around and saw one of the rotation nurses.

“You have visitors at the front desk.” She told you. You scrunched up your face in confusion.

“Who? I wasn't expecting anyone.”

“Don’t know. The front desk just said two guys asked for you directly.”

Oh. Colter. But who was the other guy?

‘Alright, thanks.” You nodded at her. You then looked at Rosie with a warm reassuring smile and you held her hands in yours. “We’re gonna find James, I know it. I’ll let you know when my friend wants to meet with you, he normally likes to talk with the missing person’s closest relative. Try to focus on work alright?” 

You left her with that, hoping she would trust you. And you hoped you could trust Colter. With a heavy sigh you walked to the front desk of the emergency department. And there you saw Colter, hands in his pockets as he talked with another man you didn’t recognize. With a bit of skepticism, you approached both men, letting your presence be known with a clear of your throat. They both turned to look at you, Colter with a warm welcoming smile, but the other guy, who was arguably the hottest man you had ever seen in your life—not that it was relevant—looked at you like a deer in headlights, like starstruck.

“Hey Colter,” you gave him a cordial smile, then you looked at his slightly shorter companion, though both men were still a good head taller than you. “And Colter’s friend. Didn’t know you had a partner.”

“I don’t. This is—”

“Russell. Colter’s more handsome and charming older brother.” Russell interrupted, extending a hand to you. You looked at Colter, who looked less than impressed and you couldn’t help but snort a bit.

“I see the flirty nature is a family thing then?” You took Russell’s hand with a small laugh but you quickly swallowed when you felt the warmness of his large hand as it engulfed your smaller one. You weren’t really laughing then. You made eye contact with Russell, you had never seen a pair of prettier eyes, a breathtaking shade of green, and an intensity that was equally breathtaking. It didn’t help that he was smiling at you, too. 

You cleared your throat and took your hand back, choosing to look at Colter instead, “So uh, what’s the plan?”

“Right, well, first things first, I need more details about this James, think you could take an early lunch? I would also need to talk to your sister as soon as possible.” 

You chewed on your bottom lip, catching a glimpse of your watch before ultimately nodding, “Yeah, just give me an hour. We can meet at this cafe nearby, I’ll send you the address. You can meet with my sister after her shift. She’s been staying with me.”

They looked at each other for a second, shrugged then nodded at you. These two were definitely brothers. 

~~~~~~~~

You were frantic as you pulled into the cafe, running late after a code blue that took up almost the whole hour to get under control. You were sure that you looked like a mess, still in your scrubs, pieces of hair falling out of your bun as you entered the cafe. You were almost embarrassed that Russell was going to see you like this, you didn’t care too much about Colter, though. When you entered you saw them sitting at a booth, two cups of coffee sitting on the table but no food. You felt a bit bad. Colter noticed you and waved you over, making Russell turn his head to look at you. And somehow he didn’t seem to care about how wild you looked. 

“I’m so sorry. I had a code blue. I hope I didn’t waste your guy’s time.” You said almost frantic, barely able to catch your breath. You unconsciously sat next to Russell, who seemed quite happy about that.

“Nonsense. We were actually waiting for you to order, right Colt?” Russell reassured, and when you turned your head to look at him he was smiling at you, a toothy smile that made the corners of his eyes wrinkle a tiny bit, it was kind of cute, actually. 

“Yep. Russell insisted we waited. Even though we haven't eaten anything in over six hours.” Colter sighed sipping on his coffee. 

“Well at least one of you has manners.” You narrowed your eyes at Colter, and you heard Russell rumble a laugh.

“Y’know what? Let’s just focus on the case, okay?” You held back a laugh and simply nodded, trying to ignore the intoxicating scent of Russell beside you, a mixture of bourbon and sandalwood. 

Colter asked you a million questions, ones you had answers to, and others didn’t, which was probably best if he talked to your sister, too. Your food also arrived quickly, which you were thankful for since you hadn’t had anything other than the Keurig coffee from the doctors lounge. 

“So, you said James was in the army?” You nodded as you munched on a fry. “And is Navy SEAL now?” 

“Yeah, he went overseas every month or so. But after his last assignment a few weeks ago he told my sister about getting out.” You answered as you bit into your cheeseburger. You didn’t often like to indulge in greasy heavy foods, but you were beyond stressed from both work and your sister, so you needed some joy in your life.

“He wanted out? Why?” Russell asked beside you. You shrugged.

“I don’t know. One thing or another about being tired of being on the battlefield, wanting to be home more. Or that’s what Rosie told me.” You answered as you munched on your burger. You thought for a few seconds before speaking again. “But if you ask me, I think something went wrong in his last assignment. Rosie said he didn’t speak to her for a whole day after coming home, and that he was constantly on edge and irritable for weeks leading up to his disappearance.” 

“Maybe. Might be worth looking into.” Colter shrugged as he took a bit out of his sandwich. “You think we’d be able to look into his assignments overseas?” He asked Russell.

“Doubt it. If they’re classified, which most likely they are, they’d either have little to no paper trail, or they would be heavily secured.” Russell said with a mouthful of fries, which Colter clearly disapproved of. But Russell paid no mind to it, his attention was all on you.

“How do you know?” You asked Russell with genuine curiosity. He half grinned a bit.

“I used to be in the Army too. Spec ops. That's why Colter brought me along.” Russell explained, and you almost wanted to sigh out loud. “So I know damn well how secretive some of those overseas assignments can be. Most are black-ops and off the books. It’d be hard to find the files.” 

So much for tall, rugged and handsome. Guess you’re going to have to look from afar.

‘Well fuck. That sounds lovely.” You mumbled into your burger, annoyed and frustrated. Russell actually laughed this time.

“You know that burger isn’t gonna run away, right?” He chuckled at the way you were so aggressively stuffing your face. Colter narrowed his eyes at his older brother and kicked him under the table. “Okay, ow.” 

“Mind your business? Also, you have no room to talk dude.” You scoffed, eyeing his sriracha covered fries with disgust. “That’s actually fucking criminal.”

“Well, this one has a mouth on her. And here I was trying to be a gentleman.” He chuckled, playful grin on his face as he shoved a particularly heavily sriracha-covered fry in his mouth while you watched. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.” 

You stared at him with an indescribable feeling. You didn’t remember the last time a man had this much of an effect on you. Sure, in your mind it didn’t do him any favors that he used to be in the military, but you’d gladly break your own rule for just a little taste of him. He was a little rugged, sure, but he was undeniably handsome and carried himself with an alluring sense of self confidence. And the way he smiled at you, God, it made you feel like a schoolgirl, warm and tingly. You didn’t remember the last time a man looked at you like that, either.

“Can we focus here?” Colter, the ever present voice of reason. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Who woulda thought, you look even more beautiful without the scrubs.” Those were the first words out of Russell’s mouth when you opened the door. You had told them to stop by in the evening after Rosie’s shift so they could talk to her. 

“Russell,” Colter sighed, looking at his brother with annoyance but Russell simply smiled, unapologetically proud of himself. They both looked at you, you were trying so hard not to smile right now. “Alright, is Rosie home?”

“Yeah, she’s in the living room. Come in.” You shook your head softly as you allowed both brothers into your apartment. 

You led them to the living room, you caught Russell looking around with curiosity. Maybe he was trying to figure you out, figure out how to get on your good side. But he otherwise didn’t say anything. 

“Rosie, the guys I told you about are here.” You called out to her and she immediately shot up to her feet and rushed to your side. You looked at her, poor thing looked like she had been crying again. “This is Colter, the tracker, and that’s his brother, Russell. They’re going to help us, okay? Colter just needs to ask you a few questions about James.”

Rosie was nodding profusely, “Anything, I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Just help me find him? Please?” 

Colter led her to the couch, perhaps she’d feel safer if she was comfortable. You didn’t want to intrude, you probably weren’t needed right at this time, anyway.

“I’m going to get you guys something to drink.” You announced, wanting to give them some privacy. 

“I’ll help.” Russell piped up and you looked at him with curiosity, he simply smiled at you. You didn’t bother to question him.

You went into the kitchen, Russell was close behind you. You could feel his intense gaze burn into the back of your head as you rummaged through your fridge. You tried to ignore it.

“Beer?” You asked, glancing over your shoulder at him. 

“Sure.” 

You grabbed three beers from the fridge and Rosie’s iced tea. You handed Russell his beer before moving around your kitchen to grab a glass cup from the cupboard. You poured the iced tea into the cup before turning around to find Russell still looking at you, with wonder, and maybe something else you couldn’t quite decipher. 

“So what’s your deal?” He asked you as he sipped his beer. You tilted your head at him and furrowed your eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, yeah you’re clearly a kick-ass doctor, and a caring sister but, what else is there? I don’t see any pets, surely no kids, no pictures on the walls, minimal decor, hopefully no boyfriend,” You laughed at the last part. “So, what are you about?”

“Right, well uh,” you chuckled softly, awkwardly sipping on your beer as you leaned on the counter. You shrugged. “I’m a doctor who works sixty-plus hours a week, I have zero social life, I’m not home nearly enough to have a pet. And I certainly have no time for the nonsense of men my age. But hey, if you want to know what I’m about, it’ll take more than just shitty beer and a kitchen conversation to figure me out.”

Russell smiled. Genuinely smiled. But it was a different kind of glint, like he was amused, impressed almost. He chuckled as he nodded, stepping to stand in front of you. You straightened up, looking up at him.

“Surely you’d have time to get a drink with me sometime then? I don’t know if I’m your age but I can assure you I’m not going to waste your time. Would love to try and figure you out while I’m here.” He bit his bottom lip, eyebrows raised and green eyes big with expectancy. 

Yes—said the warmth between your legs.

No—said your rational mind.

“Russell…” Your voice was a warning, apprehensive as you chewed on your bottom lip. “I don’t think I should be going on dates while my sister’s fiance is missing.” 

“It’s her fiance that’s missing, not yours.” He chuckled. You knew he didn’t mean to sound mean, or mocking but you scoffed softly, moving away from him. His words hit you in ways he could never know.

“I don't do… That. Y’know, dating? Or hookups. I don’t do romance, period.” You argued, hands on your hips. He tilted his head at you, eyebrows raised as he looked at you with that indescribably charming look of his. God, did he make it hard to say no.

“Don’t have to be anything. I’m not expecting anything. Just drinks, no strings attached, we’ll see where the night takes us, yeah?” He made a very compelling argument, and his unwavering confidence and charm was hard to resist.

Truly, you didn’t remember the last time you felt so tempted to go on a date with someone, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. From coworkers to patients have made advances you’ve always easily turned down. But Russell? You didn’t feel like you wanted to turn him down. You gave in so easily.

“Whadaya say?”

“Yeah, okay. Just drinks. We’ll see what happens. But don’t get any funny ideas, okay?” You warned him. He chuckled but ultimately raised his hands up in defense when you narrowed your eyes at him.

“I am a gentleman, sweetheart. I know how to behave in front of a pretty girl.”

Your concern was if you could behave in front of a hot guy. Especially when he was as hot as Russell.

[aphroditelovesu]

The Lost Queen - XIII

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, possibly smut.

— pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader, yandere!generals x female!reader.

— word count: 3,325.

— tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @silmawensgarden.

— the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 13

Time turned into an indistinct blur, while your breath seemed to freeze in the air. Before you, the man emanated an intimidating aura, his presence filling the small space of the tent with palpable tension. Every detail of his face, sculpted by shadow and dancing light, seemed like a macabre work of art, a mixture of mystery and imminent danger. His dark eyes, deep and penetrating, held yours as if they had the power to probe your soul. And you, paralyzed in front of this spectrum of strength and mystery, could barely utter a single word.

"You look like you've seen a ghost." He chuckled, watching you with interest shining in his dark eyes. Those words, tinged with a touch of humor, echoed in your ears like a distant echo of a distorted reality. Was he mocking you?

"It's because I'm seeing one." You scoffed, your tone laced with disdain as you stared at him firmly, barely able to contain the fear from spreading through your body. He clicked his tongue in disgust at your tone.

The man looked inside the tent, his interest piqued by the surrounding environment. "You look good." He commented, his voice carrying a casual tone, but his expression still enigmatic and impenetrable.

"Why did you bring me here?" You finally asked, your fists clenching as you stared at the man with disgust and a slight fear shining in your gaze.

"All in good time, my dear." He hummed in response, his relaxed tone contrasting with the tension that hovered between you. He approached you, his imposing presence filling the space between you as you struggled to maintain your composure in the face of the uncertainty of what would come next.

"Do not play with me." You spat, your voice filled with suspicion and a hint of suppressed anger.

He arched an eyebrow, a subtle smile dancing on his lips.

"I'm not." He replied seriously, his dark eyes boring into yours with piercing intensity, "I'm not messing with you, sweet girl. Everything I've done has a purpose." His voice echoed in the tent, filled with a conviction you struggled to understand, as the mystery around you seemed to deepen even further.

You felt even more suspicious and uncomfortable with the man's words.

Who was he? Or rather, what was he?

"Who are you?" You finally asked, your jaw clenched in a mix of nervousness and defiance.

"I have several names." He purred in response, a chilling sensation running down your spine as he circled around you like a wary predator, "But you can call me Aslan for now."

Aslan? For now? The name echoed in your mind, loaded with a meaning that you could barely begin to understand.

"What do you want with me?" You frowned, your voice thick with tension and distrust.

“What I want doesn't matter, but what you want does.” He replied calmly, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that made you uncomfortable.

What do you want?

"Are you mocking me?" You rolled your eyes, frustrated with his evasive answers, "I'm not in the mood for jokes, Aslan." Your words were spoken firmly, a mixture of irritation and determination evident in your voice. You were going to get answers one way or another.

He laughed darkly, and involuntarily, a chill ran down your spine at the laugh that escaped the man's lips.

"Be patient, my dear. I'll explain everything to you, but for now..." He stopped talking when he heard a commotion outside your tent.

''Finish speaking.'' You ordered, your voice firm and determined, demanding answers in the face of the growing intrigue and urgency of the situation.

He smiled, a mysterious gleam dancing in his eyes, "You're learning to act like a Queen."

You looked him straight into his dark eyes, ''I am one.'' Your statement was delivered with unwavering confidence, your identity and position clearly defined, even amidst the confusion and uncertainty that surrounded you.

You were a Queen. You were the Queen of Macedonia, and as strange as that title still sounded in your ears, it felt right when it left your lips.

Aslan smiled widely, his features softening with the confidence of your words, ''You are.'' He confirmed, his voice filled with respect and recognition, as he slowly headed towards the flap of the tent.

''Where are you going? We're not done talking!'' Your words came out in a rush, your gaze narrowing with each step he took towards the exit.

''Duty calls me.'' He sang, his voice filled with mystery and promise, ''But I'll be back soon. We have plenty of time to talk, (Y/N).'' Aslan bowed slightly and left before you could utter another word.

''Aslan...'' You uttered his name, or one of his names in this case, and was strangely pleased with the sweet way it fell from your lips. Why did he look so familiar? Your fingers gripped the hem of your traditional Persian dress, your nails digging into the soft fabric.

You would have the answers soon, you were sure of that. But for now, there was something more pressing to deal with. You needed to meet Darius in person, a meeting that promised to be crucial to your future.

Darius's tent was exactly as you expected it to be: extravagant. Even in the middle of a war camp, the Persian King did not give up his luxuries and comforts.

As you observed the opulence around him, you couldn't help but reflect on how that very extravagance may have been one of the reasons for Darius' downfall. His excessive indulgence and disconnection from the reality of the challenges he faced as a leader may have weakened his rule and undermined his authority among his people and his armies. Vanity and ostentation can be double-edged weapons, especially in times of conflict and political instability.

As you carefully observed Darius and a man who resembled him, your eyes wandered to the king, whose luxurious attire made it clear that he was Darius. You took in every feature of his features: his dark skin glowing in the golden light of the fire, his long black beard that complemented his face firmly. A faint smile curved his lips as you bowed respectfully before him, and his dark eyes softened slightly.

The similarity between Darius' imposing presence and Alexander's was remarkable, and you couldn't help but find it intriguing. Both possessed an enviable charisma, capable of attracting loyal followers and soldiers, even in the face of defeat and adversity. It was as if an aura of authority and leadership surrounded them, inspiring admiration and respect wherever they went. They were similar in that way.

Perhaps it was this magnetic charisma that allowed Darius to maintain a large number of loyal followers and soldiers, even after suffering defeats in battle. His commanding presence and ability to inspire confidence may have been crucial factors in maintaining his power and influence despite the challenges he faced. That was something admirable, and even though he was technically your enemy, you couldn't help but admire those traits.

''It's a pleasure to meet you in person.'' Darius's deep, calming voice sounded in your ears and you nodded slowly, hiding any possible nervousness. He seemed to know how to speak greek and that made you calmer.

"I say the same," You replied calmly, following Darius' lead and settling into a chair reserved for you, "Though it was unpleasant circumstances we found ourselves in." You couldn't help but poke him lightly, after all, he had kidnapped you. The tension between you was palpable, but you were determined to maintain diplomatic composure. You needed to ensure your safety above all else, especially now that you were pregnant.

Instinctively, your hand found its way to your belly, as if trying to protect the baby growing inside you. Darius's gaze followed the movement and rested on your belly, understanding the source of your apprehension.

"Nothing will happen to you or your child." He assured you calmly, his words filled with sincerity and empathy. A feeling of relief spread through you at his assurance, even though tension still permeated the air around you.

The presence of the man who resembled Darius, with malice shining in his eyes, further heightened your sense of unease. As Darius cleared his throat and called a name in Persian that you vaguely recognized as Bagoas, you knew you were looking at an intriguing historical character.

You knew Bagoas's name from contemporary records, which described him as a eunuch who had been the lover of both Darius and Alexander after the conquest of Persia. Your frown at this information was inevitable, and you stared at him as he entered the tent, carrying a jug of wine. Your eyes followed his every movement as he poured the liquid into three cups, and you couldn't help but notice the subtle glance he threw your way before disappearing with silent steps.

Darius took a sip of his wine and the other man did the same. Meanwhile, the wine in front of you remained untouched, as you knew that drinking alcohol during pregnancy was not recommended at all.

The other man finally decided to speak, his rough voice echoing in the tent. The greek that came from his lips was a little difficult to understand, but his words were clear, "We brought you here to negotiate."

Darius stared at the man disapprovingly and sighed, ''That's Bessus.''

Bessus. Uh-huh. This was bad. You knew this man and didn't trust him at all and it seemed like even Darius didn't trust him.

''To negotiate what?'' You raised your eyebrows.

''In exchange for your safety and life, Alexander must abandon the war and return home.'' Bessus replied, drinking his wine with great enthusiasm. You looked at him with disdain evident in your eyes. Did they really think Alexander would give up so easily? They will be fools then.

The idea that Alexander would give up so easily was absurd, and those who believed it were mistaken. Alexander was a formidable leader, determined to pursue his goals with fierce determination, and you knew he would never abandon the war without fighting until his last breath. He would rather die fighting than return as a coward.

"Alexander won't give up." You replied firmly, your voice thick with conviction, "He never will."

Bessus's expression was disdainful as he arched his eyebrow, "Not even for his beloved pregnant wife?"

You fought the urge to punch Bessus at his taunts and replied dryly, "Alexander will destroy the world for me, and you made a huge mistake by bringing me here."

There was a certain arrogance in your voice, but it was the truth. You knew the destructive power Alexander was capable of inflicting when provoked, and those who dared to defy him were playing with fire.

You remembered the stories about what he did to his enemies, to those who dared to cross his path or take what was his. His revenge was swift and merciless, sending a clear message to all those who dared defy him: there was no mercy for traitors and invaders. Darius and Bessus were in hot water when they decided to kidnap you.

''Let's talk, shall we?'' Darius interrupted the conversation between you and Bessus, sensing the animosity between you.

You nodded, even though you knew this conversation wouldn't get you anywhere. Their situation was complicated, and it seemed like they were about to face the consequences of their actions.

Every action has a reaction, right?

"My wife is not here?" Alexander's voice was low, but his fury resonated clearly in every word, his clenched fists denoting his intense emotion.

The generals present, Hephaestion and Ptolemy, seemed worried and fearful of the king's wrath. Finally, Hephaestion decided to take the lead, his expression carefully controlled to avoid further provoking Alexander's explosive reaction.

"She is not here." He said with the greatest caution he could have at that moment, his words chosen precisely to convey the truth without triggering an even more violent reaction from the King. The tension in the air was palpable, as everyone awaited Alexander's next response and the consequences that could follow.

"She's not here.'' Alexander repeated, his voice sounding louder, reverberating through the room. Ptolemy swallowed hard, feeling the weight of responsibility in deciding to speak,

"(Y/N)'s guards said they didn't find her in her tent when they woke up.'' He stated, holding Alexander's menacing gaze as long as he could, his expression showing both concern and determination.

Finally, the King snapped. His fists hit the poor makeshift table hard, causing it to fall with a deafening crash. Hephaestion fought the urge to shudder at Alexander's display of fury.

"So where is she?" Alexander asked, his voice filled with anger and despair, staring intensely at his two friends, "WHERE IS SHE?" The last question was shouted, echoing off the walls of the room and reverberating in the minds of everyone present. The tension reached its peak, as everyone awaited the answer with a mixture of apprehension and fear for what could happen next.

"W-We don't know!" Ptolemy was quick to say, fearing for his life, his words flowing in a torrent of fear. "We've done a thorough search of the entire camp and surrounding area, but there's no trace of her. It's as if she's disappeared."

"People don't disappear out of thin air." Alexander sneered, his penetrating and suspicious gaze scanning every detail of his generals' faces. His blue eye narrowed, emanating an intensity that made it clear he would not accept evasive answers or excuses.

Hephaestion decided to speak to try to help calm his friend, aware of the urgency of providing any information that could help or worsen the situation.

"According to the guards stationed at her tent, they were knocked out and the Queen was gone." He reported, his voice firm but filled with concern.

Alexander looked his friend in the eyes, his expression a mixture of anger and grim determination, "Who took her?" His question was uttered with increasing urgency, indicating that he would not rest until he found answers and brought his wife back safely.

Ptolemy and Hephaestion exchanged a heavy look of mutual significance. They knew Alexander wouldn't take this information very well. Betrayal was never something he dealt with easily, especially when it came from such a dear friend.

Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing himself for the coming storm, Hephaestion took the lead once again.

"Perdiccas." He said, his voice heavy with the weight of revelation as he faced Alexander's furious gaze. The words hung in the air, loaded with inevitable consequences, while everyone awaited the King's explosive reaction to the betrayal of one of his closest confidants.

"Perdiccas.'' Alexander repeated the name carefully, feeling a bitter taste of betrayal in his mouth.

Perdiccas.

His childhood friend, his trusted general, now revealed himself as the traitor who had kidnapped his wife. The reality of the situation hit Alexander with devastating force, a mixture of disbelief and fury boiling inside him. How could someone he trusted so deeply betray like this?

The feeling of betrayal pierced his heart like a sharp blade, leaving him furious and determined to carry out the worst punishment, torture known to man.

The fury building inside Alexander was like an uncontrolled hurricane, a primal force that threatened to devour everything in its path. His vision turned red, his mind flooded with images of violence and revenge. All he could see was a pool of blood and a cruelly mutilated body in the middle of it. Perdiccas' body.

He wanted revenge, revenge as brutal and painful as the betrayal he had experienced. The pain of being betrayed like that tore him apart, consuming him with an overwhelming rage that threatened to swallow him whole.

The idea of killing Perdiccas slowly and painfully took root in his mind like an obsession. He imagined every macabre detail, every torment he would inflict on the traitor, fueled by the relentless thirst to recover what belonged to him and the unbearable pain of betrayal.

With a herculean effort to contain his burning fury, Alexander finally managed to muster the strength to ask, "Where did he take her?"

"We don't know yet." Ptolemy replied, his eyes fixed on Alexander as he carefully assessed the King's reaction.

The answer seemed to echo in the room, filled with tension and uncertainty. Alexander was strangely restrained, his expression too controlled for the tastes of those present. This was worrying. Ptolemy and Hephaestion exchanged a quick glance, sharing their silent apprehension at what might come next. The approaching storm was invisible, but the tension in the air was palpable, foreshadowing a series of events that could change the course of history.

With palpable determination, Alexander finally made a decision. He stared at the broken table, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and resolve.

"Send all available men to search for any possible information." He ordered firmly, "Spread the news and whoever brings me information about my wife's whereabouts will receive a generous reward."

Ptolemy nodded in understanding and hurriedly left the tent, leaving Hephaestion and Alexander alone in the silent wreckage. The tension in the air was almost palpable, but beneath this layer of anger and worry, there was an unwavering determination that guided Alexander's every action. He was determined to find his wife, no matter the cost.

Hephaestion carefully approached Alexander, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Alexander did not react immediately, his mind still absorbed in turbulent and bloody thoughts.

"Alexander?" Hephaestion's voice sounded gentle and calming, seeking to draw his friend's attention to the present.

"Hephaestion," Alexander replied carefully, his voice filled with determination and a focused intensity, "I want Perdiccas to be brought to me alive."

Hephaestion nodded silently, even though he knew Alexander wasn't looking directly at him. He perfectly understood the implicit meaning behind the order to bring Perdiccas alive.

Even without being asked, Alexander continued, his voice filled with determination and a calculated coldness, "I want to interrogate him personally, ask him why he betrayed me and stole my wife. And then, personally, I will torture him and kill him." The words were delivered with icy calm, but there was no doubt that each one carried a deadly weight.

Alexander's determination was unwavering, his mind focused on just one goal: getting his wife back, no matter the cost. He was willing to throw all of his power and destructive force against any obstacle that he dared to stand in his way.

Cities would fall, armies would be torn to pieces, and populations would be subjugated. Men would be killed, while women and children would be taken into slavery, all in the name of desperately searching for his beloved Queen. Alexander did not care about the human or moral cost of his actions; his fiery fury eclipsed any consideration of compassion or mercy.

The entire world would tremble at Alexander's wrath, for he was determined to leave a trail of destruction in his wake towards those who dared to defy him and take away what was most precious to him. His journey would be marked by blood, pain and suffering, but he would not rest until his wife was safe in his arms again, no matter what the cost.

He would recover his Lost Queen.

— lady l: And things get more and more complicated for the Persians, don't they? Poor things, they thought it was a good idea to steal a yandere's wife. There wasn't one to warn you, right?

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I changed my writing style a little and I hope this pleases you. Feel free to send your feedback and I'll see you in the next chapter! Love you all!! ❤️

[basset-babe]

five times: the three point five.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, anger, frustration, maybe hurtful words, smut!, endearing names during, (semi?) public sex, praise, explicit language, fingering, societal pressure rant

word count: 3.2k+

a/n: heh i finished season 3 heh i'm in (series) bridgerton bliss heh so diz iz smut pls enjoy!

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth . at last.

pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

the three point five.

But it didn't feel right. Benedict just sinking down the velvet cushion chair, his mind stirred. He couldn't shake the feeling that he should do something, a sense of urgency gnawing at his insides.

With a sudden burst of determination, he shot up from the chair, nearly knocking over the glass of champagne on the near side table. Without a second glance at the luscious party or the puzzled expressions of the guests, he made a beeline for the door.

As Benedict pushed through onto the street, the cacophony of the party faded behind him. The crisp night air hit his face, sharpening his focus. He ignored the calls of their acquaintances and other partygoers who were gathered in the rooms, their faces blurred into indistinct shapes as he hurried past.

"Bridgerton! Where are you going?" someone shouted, but he paid no heed.

Benedict's footsteps quickened as he navigated through the dimly lit streets, each step a beat in the frantic rhythm of his heart. The city around him seemed a world apart from the glittering townhouse he had left behind. Here, shadows loomed large, and the quiet was punctuated only by the distant sounds of life continuing in other corners of the city. He scanned the shadows, heart pounding. Y/N was here somewhere. He just knew it.

"Y/N!" he called out, his voice breaking the stillness. No response. He took a few steps further into the garden, the soft crunch of gravel under his feet the only sound accompanying him.

"Y/N, please!" he called again, louder this time, desperation edging his tone. Still, nothing. The garden seemed vast and empty, the shadows playing tricks on his eyes.

Then, by the shops, he saw her silhouette. She was by a lamp post with her back to him, shoulders stiff, her cloaked figure barely illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the trees. He felt a pang of guilt and longing. He had to make this right.

"Y/N," he said once more, softer now, as if speaking too loudly would shatter her already fragile state. He took a hesitant step towards her. "Please, just listen to me."

She didn’t move, didn’t turn to face him. Her silence, heavy and palpable, filled the space between them, echoing louder than any words she could have spoken. The memory of their confrontation at the party played over and over in his mind – the sting of her harsh words, the intensity of her anger, the rawness of her hurt. Each moment replayed like a relentless loop, haunting him with regret. He longed to rewind time, to undo the pain he had caused.

The gossip sheet had been the final straw. His name splashed across the scandalous pages, seen kissing Lady Arnold, while all of the ton knew he was actively courting Miss Y/N. The look on her face when she saw it had been devastating. Accusations flew, voices rose, and the bitter sting of betrayal hung in the room air.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice trembling. "I never meant to hurt you. Please, Y/N, look at me."

She remained motionless, her back still to him, the tension between them palpable, hanging heavy in the air like an unspoken accusation. Benedict hesitated, each step closer feeling like a tentative negotiation with the silence that enveloped them. He paused a moment, weighing his next move, acutely aware of the fragile thread that still tethered them together.

As he stood there, uncertainty gnawed at him. He wanted to bridge the distance, to erase the hurt that lay between them. Yet, the fear of shattering what little remained held him back. His hand hovered in the air, fingers twitching with the desire to reach out and comfort, to mend the rift he had unwittingly deepened.

But words failed him, swallowed by the weight of their shared history and the unspoken emotions that lingered in the space between them. Benedict searched for a way to break the silence, to convey the depths of his regret without risking further damage. Each heartbeat stretched the moment, until finally, he found his voice, tentative and raw with emotion.

"Lady Arnold and I… we shared a brief dalliance. It was a period of self-discovery for me," He elucidated regarding his now scandalized association. "There came a time when she developed feelings for me, but I reveled in my independence. That was until I became utterly captivated by you. When I saw you for the first time, I was astonished to see your family amongst the ton, but never did I anticipate encountering you, Y/N. With your grace and beauty so exquisite, you appeared beyond my grasp, yet I felt compelled to pursue you nonetheless."

Y/N felt a tempest of emotions swirling within her as she absorbed his words. She took a deep, steadying breath before responding, trying to calm her racing heart. "I... I find myself at a loss for words. Your candor has always been something I admired, and I am grateful for your honesty. But this revelation is quite overwhelming and rather sudden."

He took a step closer, his eyes fervently searching hers for understanding. "I am fully aware of how daunting this must be, but I could no longer keep my feelings concealed. Meeting you altered the very fabric of my existence. Lady Arnold is a relic of my past, but you... you embody my present and my future."

Y/N's words spilled forth in a torrent of anger and frustration, her voice trembling with emotion. "But what of the scandal? The relentless gossip of the ton? I am but a woman, Benedict. The ton is far less forgiving to me than it is to you!" Her frustration simmered beneath the surface, barely contained. "You must understand, my reputation hangs by a thread. A single misstep, and I am cast aside, deemed unworthy of respect. Society demands I conform, be a paragon of virtue, a mere homemaker, and nothing more. My worth reduced to how well I can maintain a household, marry advantageously, and produce heirs."

She paced with agitation, each step a declaration of defiance against societal expectations. "You, as a man, have the luxury of making mistakes, of being celebrated as a rogue in drawing rooms and clubs. Meanwhile, every action of mine is scrutinized, dissected, and condemned. Stepping outside the bounds of propriety threatens not just my reputation but my very existence in this suffocating world. The ton is merciless to women who dare to challenge its rigid norms."

Y/N paused, her eyes flashing with unshed tears of anger and injustice. "I am constantly reminded that my sole purpose is to secure a respectable marriage, to be a submissive wife and dutiful mother. Any ambition beyond that is deemed scandalous, improper. The freedom you take for granted is a distant dream for me, a privilege I may never attain. Do you comprehend the weight of all this? To defy this conservative society is a battle for my very identity, for my right to exist as more than society's pawn!" Her voice cracked with raw emotion, the depth of her anger laid bare. The enormity of the challenge ahead loomed large, and she awaited Benedict's response with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability, daring him to understand the gravity of her plight.

Benedict's eyes locked onto hers with unwavering resolve, "I understand the gravity of what you are saying, Y/N. The societal constraints placed upon you are both unjust and formidable. The double standards are abhorrent, and I cannot pretend to fully comprehend the weight you bear."

He took her hands in his, his voice gentle yet firm. "But know this: I do not take lightly what I am asking of you. I see your strength, your intelligence, and your grace, all of which transcend the narrow confines society seeks to impose upon you. You are so much more than a mere homemaker, and you deserve to be seen and valued for all that you are."

Benedict paused, his eyes softening as he continued. "I cannot change the society we live in overnight, but I can promise you that I will stand by your side through the whispers of this very scandal. We will face the ton together, and I will protect your honor and dignity with every fiber of my being."

He gently clasped her hand, his touch a balm to her anxiety. "Let them gossip and speculate. I am prepared to face any adversity, endure any scandal, if it means I can be with you."

Y/N met his intense gaze, searching for any trace of doubt. "Are you genuinely ready for that? To withstand the scrutiny and judgment? For once we embark on this path, there will be no retreat."

He squeezed her hand, his resolve unwavering. "I am more ready than ever. You are worth every challenge, every whispered condemnation. I love you, Y/N. And I am resolved to fight for us, regardless of the cost--"

Benedict's intent profession of his love was cut as Y/N kissed him. His eyes widened in shock but closed as he felt her soft wine-tinged lips in his.

His initial shock melted into a surge of warmth that spread through his entire being. For a fleeting moment, the world around them faded into insignificance, leaving only the sensation of her touch and the taste of her on his lips.

He fervently responded to her kiss, his hands instinctively finding hers, pulling her closer. The moment seemed suspended in time, filled with the heady mix of desire and tenderness. His mind raced with unspoken words of love, now rendered unnecessary by this spontaneous and passionate gesture from Y/N.

As their kiss deepened, Benedict's senses heightened, acutely aware of every detail—the softness of her lips, the faint floral scent of her hair, the warmth of her breath mingling with his. It was a dance of intimacy, a silent exchange of emotions that spoke volumes beyond any words could convey.

Their surroundings faded into obscurity as Benedict and Y/N surrendered to the intoxicating pull of their embrace. The cool touch of the ivy-surrounded shop door against Y/N's back contrasted with the warmth radiating from Benedict's body, igniting a fire of desire between them.

Benedict, towering over her with a commanding presence, deepened the kiss with a hunger that mirrored his longing. His hands, large and gentle, roamed with purpose—tracing the curve of her waist, skimming along her spine, sending shivers of anticipation through her body.

Y/N's own hands trembled as they explored Benedict's form, fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair and tracing the strong lines of his jaw. Every touch was electric, every caress a testament to their shared passion and unspoken yearning.

Their kiss deepened further, each tender exploration of lips and tongues igniting passion that neither could deny. Benedict's hands, firm yet gentle, explored the contours of Y/N's body with a reverence born of adoration and desire. His fingertips traced the curve of her back, eliciting a soft gasp from her as he pulled her closer, molding their bodies together in a seamless fit.

Y/N's back pressed against the cool wood of the shop door, a stark contrast to the heat that surged between them. She felt the solid strength of Benedict's chest against hers, his heartbeat echoing her own racing pulse. Her hands, trembling with need, traced the strong lines of his shoulders, then slid down his chest, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath.

Their bodies pressed closer together, the urgency of their desire palpable in the air. Benedict's lips continued their trail of heated kisses, moving from Y/N's chin to the curve of her neck, where he traced delicate patterns with the tip of his tongue. Benedict moved her cloak aside and her sleeve down. His hands, strong and possessive, slid down her back, pulling her hips against his with an unspoken need.

Y/N's breath hitched as she felt friction between them, her fingers threading through Benedict's hair, urging him closer. Each sensation, from the soft pressure of his lips to the warmth of his touch, sent waves of pleasure coursing through her veins. She surrendered to the overwhelming intensity of their connection, her own hands exploring the contours of his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her touch.

Lost in the haze of desire, Benedict whispered words of adoration against her skin, his voice husky with longing. "Be mine," he breathed, his lips trailing back up to capture hers in a searing kiss. Their mouths melded together hungrily, tongues tangling in a dance, igniting sparks of electricity that seemed to arc between them. In that moment, beneath the canopy of ivy and flowers, they were consumed by the passion that had simmered between them for so long. It was a moment of surrender, of giving in to the primal need that bound them together, transcending any societal expectations or judgments.

Time seemed to stand still as they reveled in the ecstasy of each other's touch, their bodies moving in a symphony of desire and longing. Benedict's touch leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He savored the taste of her lips, the intoxicating scent of her skin, imprinting every sensation into his memory.

Y/N's leg gracefully lifted, curling around Benedict's side as she drew herself closer to him, as if wishing to remove space around them for the nth time. His hand gently traced the edge of her skirt, his gaze meeting hers as her kiss-dazed eyes fluttered open. Their eyes remained locked, speaking volumes in the silent exchange of desire. With a nod of affirmation, she conveyed her consent. Benedict's expression held a mixture of reverence and need, his movements careful and deliberate as he lifted her leg slightly, allowing his touch to travel further up, tracing the intricate patterns of her stockings.

Benedict's touch was tender, his fingers tracing the delicate lace that adorned the edge of Y/N's stockings. The fabric was smooth beneath his touch, a contrast to the warmth of her skin as his hand moved upward with a feather-light caress. Y/N's breath caught in anticipation, her heartbeat quickening with each gentle stroke along her thigh.

Y/N's lips parted slightly, a soft moan escaping as she leaned closer to him, her hand finding its way to rest against his chest. The sensation of his fingers against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, igniting a deeper yearning within her. Y/N bit her lip to suppress her soft whimpers as Benedict's fingers touched her velvet core. "I have never been touched...like this." Y/N says in between catching her breath and quieting herself down.

As her chemise rose, granting Benedict to caress her already dripping entrance, "Never?" He asks as he withdraws his hand from her skirts and licks his glistening slick-coated fingers, "But you taste so sweet like ambrosia, my lady. So delectable, all this nectar for me to savour." He smirks as his flustered lady hangs her mouth agape at his provocative statement.

"Well, I haven't--I never really...I just--" Y/N blushes and fails to complete her words as she looks at the handsome gentleman basking in her virgin sex. Benedict's lips curved into a knowing smile as he pressed against hers with a fervent intensity. His index finger trails the sensitive bud down towards teasing her entrance. Y/N moans in their kiss as her state rendered her sensitive. Her hand grasps his arm as Benedict rubs her clit in circular motions.

"Such a goddess, my darling, my muse." Benedict whispers in her ear as their kiss breaks and Y/N breaths harder, pressing her cheek by Benedict's ear where he can, now, hear her suppressed moans and hitched breaths as she feels pure ecstasy under his touch.

"Ben-Bendict, what is happen-happening to me?" She whispers as she feels her abdomen in knots as he rubs faster. "Let it go, love. Finish for me." Benedict says as he notices you swell on his fingertips. Y/N mind buzzes listlessly as she reaches her climax. Her hips bucking as Benedict now inserts two digits in her cunt leaving Y/N mewling as his fingers speed up, thumb circling her clit, the others buried as far as he can as she rides her high.

Her body surrenders to the rising tide within. With eyes tightly closed, Y/N utter Benedict's name as her core begins to pulse around his touch, her hands grabbing tightly, her every muscle tensing. Her hips arch once more, swept away as the crescendo washes over.

A dribble of wetness runs down Benedict's palm, Y/N's chemise and thighs as the lady feels her mind float away. Distantly, she can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as she catches her breath remembering they are still by the shop door near the square. Satiated, Y/N slowly brings her leg down but too shaky to balance.

Y/N is startled as a warm hand circles her waist, bringing her abruptly back into reality. Benedict looms over her, shielding her to any passerby, with his chest heaving, too. The two were lucky that it's quite possibly the dead of night. No one could've seen what ecstatic pleasure just unfolded between them at all.

As they finally parted, breathless and flushed with desire, Benedict gazed into Y/N's eyes with newfound reverence. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "I never knew I could feel this way. You've utterly bewitched me." With gentle care, he rolled up her sleeves and adjusted her cloak, his fingers lingering on the fabric as if reluctant to let her go.

Y/N followed his hands, then met his gaze, her eyes glassy and her cheeks tinted with a delicate blush. She could feel the intensity of the moment, the weight of their pining hanging in the air. "And you've captured me in ways I never imagined possible, Benedict," she murmured, her voice trembling with her throat dry. Her heart pounded in her chest, a wild rhythm that echoed her racing thoughts.

"The Bridgertons are hosting a ball in a few days' time, and I know you will be attending," he said, his voice a mix of hope and yearning. Y/N nodded in response, her heart pounding in anticipation. "Might I have the honor of a dance, my lady?"

Y/N amusingly quipped, "Of course—just as long as you promise not to step on my toes."

Benedict chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I promise to let you lead, as long as you promise me one thing," he said, leaning in closer, his breath warm against her skin.

"And what might that be?" she asked, her curiosity piqued, her pulse quickening.

"Save me every dance," he whispered, his words carrying the weight of his desire, sending a delightful shiver down her spine. The intensity of his gaze made her feel like the only woman in the world.

With a playful smile, she replied, "Only if you promise to sweep me off my feet."

Benedict's smile widened, his heart swelling with joy. "It's a promise, my lady," he vowed, his voice low and filled with promise.

Their laughter mingled together, a harmonious blend of shared joy and anticipation, as they contemplated the upcoming ball—a night destined to overflow with enchantment, passion, and moments that quicken the heart. The atmosphere hummed with unspoken sentiments and burgeoning emotions, each glance and touch affirming the deepening connection between them.

The two walked to the street corner as a footman was hailed for Y/N's carriage. As Benedict took her hand to bid farewell as the carriage arrived, he brought her knuckles to his lips, brushing a tender kiss across it. "Until then," he said softly, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Until then," she echoed, her voice a whisper of promise.

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[saintsenara]

What parts of canon do you find the most frustrating/that you are dissatisfied with/wished that was handled better/explored more? Mine is the inconsistency of Voldemort as a character. How he is described as being perhaps the most talented student that Hogwarts has ever seen and so powerful and intelligent but regularly made such dumb decisions e.g. in the final battle where he still uses Avada Kedavra despite seeing it not work before. I like the explanation that Horcruxes rotted his brain

thank you very much for the ask, @sarafina-sincerity!

the parts of canon which i find the least satisfying all have the same thing in common: their morality is individualist.

the harry potter series has - at its core - a really profound and very black-and-white belief that good and evil not only exist but are rooted in the individual. and while i understand why this is the case - the later books in the series are governed by the genre conventions of folkloric epic and, especially, of christian folkloric epic, which means that the whole seven-book narrative arc ending in a battle between christ and satan after which all is well is only to be expected - i don't like it.

so here we are... ten things i hate about canon, for fanfic writers to win my heart by interrogating in their work...

i hate the series' insistence that everything is fine once voldemort is dead

the middle books in the series - especially goblet of fire - do a really interesting job at hinting at the endemic rot in the ministry of magic, and the ways that the state and its enforcers perpetuated harm during the first war that was indistinct from that perpetuated by the death eaters - above all the use of internment without trial for suspected death eaters [which is a reference to something the british state actually did in the 1970s!].

they show how widespread blood-supremacy and magic-supremacy is, even among people who don't openly support voldemort; how the wizarding population is kept deliberately ignorant by what appears to be state-controlled media; and how no serious efforts have been made to eradicate the conditions which enabled voldemort to attain such power.

this is then forgotten completely in deathly hallows, where the fact that almost the entire civil service keeps working for a government which is committing genocide is hand-waved away with "oh, people are scared", and both the epilogue and jkr's post-series writing take the view that kingsley manages, as minister, to preside over a government which easily sheds all its old prejudices and starts working properly.

i don't like this! i think it's just much more interesting for corruption to be impossible to fully eradicate from the government, for blood-supremacy to have long-standing causes which actually take a lot of very hard work to untangled [especially the fact that the wizarding world not appearing to have a welfare state means that those whose lives are poor or unstable are prime targets for radicalisation], and for kingsley to have the same capacity for leaning on the prophet and worrying about his polling numbers as any other politician...

i hate that the series changes how the death eaters are written between half-blood prince and deathly hallows

connected to this shift from the series hinting at the broader issues in the wizarding world to a flat battle between good and evil is that the death eaters, their aims, and their modus operandi are written very different between half-blood prince and deathly hallows. in the former, the death eaters can be situated very easily as anti-state sectarian terrorists who have all sorts of complex analogies within british history and politics. in the latter, they're just caricatures of pure evil - which is why the death eaters introduced from the latter stages of half-blood prince onwards, especially the carrows, are considerably less interesting as characters than those, such as lucius malfoy, barty crouch jr. and bellatrix lestrange, who are introduced earlier.

it's also why the voldemort of deathly hallows feels so uninteresting. i don't like the fanon that the horcruxes render him insane at all - when he's shown outside of the epic battle between good and evil in that book, he's shown to be as lucid and cunning as always - but he ends up having to flop because his only purpose in the overarching narrative is to be killed. in the earlier books, in which he's a paramilitary kingpin poisoning and corrupting a society which was designed to exclude him because of the fact of his birth in revenge for its treatment of him, rather than satan and hitler's lovechild, he is so much more interesting.

i hate the series' belief that slavery is fine

obviously, one of the biggest examples of state malevolence in the series is that wizards own slaves. like many readers, i loathe that the house elf plotline ends up being reduced from its potential for radicalism in chamber of secrets - in which dobby mentions whisper-networks of elves who decry their treatment at wizards' hands - to what we see from goblet of fire onwards - in which elves love being enslaved and think that any attempts to free them from their subjugation is cruel.

i also hate that elves' freedom is then hand-waved away as part of the general race towards "all was well" with the implication that hermione found it easy to undo what appears to be centuries of state-sanctioned oppression without any pushback at all.

the house elf plotline is one of the clearest distillations of the series' individualistic morality. harry abhors the treatment of dobby at the malfoys' hands entirely and only because he doesn't like the malfoys. he abhors voldemort's treatment of kreacher, but sees absolutely no issue with sirius' because he likes sirius - and he clearly sees no issue at all with his own legal mastery of kreacher, seeing as, literally minutes after the end of a war in which the good guys fought for the rights of muggles and muggleborns to be seen as fully human... he is considering ordering his slave to make him a sandwich.

i hate that the series doesn't show the realities of resistance

the reason i think the whole "why does voldemort keep using avada kedavra, isn't he supposed to be clever?" question arises is because the series is incredibly resistant to the idea that the good guys must have to kill as well, which makes it look like it's only the death eaters using it while the order use lots of clever magic that the stupid terrorists are too thick to think of.

this is idiotic - not only because the killing curse is canonically flawless unless the thing you're blasting is your own horcrux and so the order would use it for efficiency's sake alone, but because the reality of being a resistance fighter is that, even if you're on the "right" side, you are going to have kill people or they will kill you.

lupin is completely right in deathly hallows that harry is breathtakingly naive to avoid shooting to kill and that - without the protection of genre conventions allowing him to be preternaturally merciful - his resistance to killing is going to result in him being destroyed by the enemy. it is inconceivable that the rest of the order don't using the killing curse - and the question of what this does to their souls [is it murder if you believe yourself to be justified in your actions?] and their senses of self post-war is so interesting to think about - and i wish we were shown this in the text.

especially because molly absolutely blasted bellatrix with it.

but i also hate that the series thinks that violence is fine when the good guys do it

this is primarily another example of the black-and-white "this is fine because harry's good" theme which runs through the series, which we see in things like harry using sectumsempra on draco malfoy in half-blood prince or the cruciatus curse on amycus carrow in deathly hallows. harry's overarching response to committing attempted murder is to sulk that the incredibly minor punishment he receives is reducing the time he could spend hitting on ginny, and his response to torturing amycus is "lol. lmao."

the series thinks - again and again - that cruelty and violence are completely fine when the person they are perpetuated against "deserves" it, and it does not bang.

and that the series allows the good guys more complexity in characterisation

the role played by the house system in the story - and, above all, the fact that our heroes are all connected to one particular house with straightforwardly admirable associated characteristics - means that the villains receive less opportunity to also have positive traits intermingled with their negative ones - and, therefore, complex and interesting personalities.

i also dislike that when non-gryffindor characters - especially slytherins - do reveal themselves to be brave and loyal etc., instead of recognising that this is because bravery can be multi-faceted the series suggests that they should be recategorised as "belonging" to a "good" house.

or, in other words, me and dumbledore's "i think we sort too soon" line in deathly hallows are enemies for life.

i hate that the series blames merope gaunt for dying

and - of course - the main way a villain isn't allowed as much complexity as a hero is that the series never examines the impact of voldemort's childhood on his adult self. while we see hints throughout canon of just how profoundly affected he is by his institutionalised childhood and the weight of his grief over his parents [his mother especially] - such as him learning as a baby never to cry for attention because it's futile - this is hand-waved away throughout the series by dumbledore-as-the-voice-of-god as irrelevant. the eleven-year-old tom riddle is straightforwardly evil, that he grows up in an orphanage is used as nothing more than narrative colour to underline how creepy he is, and dumbledore's spectacular mishandling of their relationship is viewed by the series as undeniably correct right up to the very last moment [when harry imitates dumbledore by - and we should call it what it is - deadnaming voldemort in their final confrontation].

but the most egregious thing that dumbledore does when discussing the course voldemort's life takes is blame merope gaunt for her own death in childbirth, by implying that witches are immune to one of the most common causes of death throughout human history if they just try hard enough and then saying that a nineteen-year-old girl whose life appears to have been nothing more than unrelenting abuse and misery [perpetuated both against her and by her] lacked the moral fibre to try hard enough.

and this infuriates me.

i hate how the series treats female characters who don't fit its narrow spectrum of "correct" womanhood

merope is but one victim of the series' general issues with treating women who aren't its heroes - all of whom are exactly feminine and beautiful and clever and talented enough that we know they're good people, but not any of these things in an extreme which could make them vapid or arrogant or defiant of social norms or so on.

the series takes a very low view of women who exist outside of narrow boxes - whether they are interested in a hyper-feminine aesthetic [lavender brown, rita skeeter] or a more masculine one [marge dursley]; conform to stereotypes about being bitchy, flighty, or vapid [pansy parkinson, romilda vane] or refuse to adhere to social expectations to be polite, meek, and demure [fleur delacour]; are unmarried, are not inherently maternal, and/or are cruel to children [bellatrix lestrange; petunia dursley; dolores umbridge]; are unrestrained emotionally [cho chang; moaning myrtle] and so on. and i don't like it.

and i also hate that - connected to this - the series uses physical appearance - especially weight - as a shorthand for [female] characters we're supposed to dislike.

what it says on the tin, really - if the series doesn't like a character, especially if the character is a woman, you can almost guarantee that they will either be fat or be unusually thin.

and finally...

i hate that the series prioritises one form of love - love as suffering and as sacrifice - over all others

part of the series' march towards the epic two-person showdown between good and evil is that harry is made to endure trial after trial - including his death for the salvation of mankind - in the name of love. obviously this is because he becomes, by the end of deathly hallows an allegory for christ, but it also fits into the series' view - articulated most frequently by dumbledore - that love, suffering, and sacrifice are all synonyms.

the acts of love the series foregrounds - snape's willingness to endure anything because of his love for lily; sirius' willingness to rot in azkaban and caves and grimmauld place because of his love for james and harry; harry giving up a love that's like "someone else's life" with ginny so he can go die - are all sacrificial, and the series generally takes a dull view of love that is fluffy, silly, carnal, selfish, soothing, transformational and so on. lavender and bellatrix's open adoration of their lovers is mocked; dumbledore's sexual desire for grindelwald is punished by his sister's death; tonks and lupin's uncomplicated happiness in the birth of their son is not to last.

but happy endings and silly jokes and forehead kisses are love too. and the hill i will die on is that they have even more potential to bring about the salvation of the world than constant suffering and abiding.

[failbettergames]

Hello Mistrums Failbetter!!

I'm terribly sorry if this is not the place to try and bring this issue to light, but the pronouns feature doesn't seem to work. Setting the variable through Attend To Matters Of Identity works correctly, but it is not applied in the one place that I have found to make use of pronouns - the quote section of the player profile. It still displays them based on the character's gender (they in my case) instead of the chosen ones (in my case it).

Again, I am sorry if there Is a way to report issues through the game's site itself that I have missed, or if it is a non-issue(since I imagine the section could be using they for all characters, not just ones of mysterious and indistinct gender) this has just been bugging me since the update came out::::(

Hello! This is indeed not the best place to put such things, to actually reach a writer/designer you want support@failbettergames.com!

However, I happen to know what's going on here:

The 'they say...' box is working as intended. This box is kind of the word on the street about your character, in the same voice as the sidebar snippets about the world, like this one:

"What is the Correspondence? They say it's a series of confidential negotiations between the Masters and a devil of some note. They say it comprises the billets-doux written by Jack-of-Smiles to the Traitor Empress. They say it's the letter the Pope wrote, the one without which Rome would have been the Fourth City. They say if you read it your eyes boil and your hair turns the white of old ice. They say it's written on slate in the blood of poisoned bats."

What do the mysterious third person 'they,' who are so knowledgeable about everything, have to say about your character?

It's possible that introducing pronoun options is going to cause widespread and ongoing confusion regarding this box, so I'll keep an eye out for anyone else who was confused by it!