#its almost like breathing in deep one day and never exhaling

[stevie-petey]

do you have any headcanons or ideias for bug and steve’s first time?

i honestly dont really think about them in that way !!

all i can really envision is that when it does finally happen, it happens naturally, it isnt a big deal or something done consciously. they simply just fall into each other one night and dont stop.

in the morning, steve is extra gentle with bug and they share a small, secret and shy smile. they dont say anything, they dont need to. nothing changes. their relationship just becomes a little fuller, a little more all encompassing.

as for timeline, sometime between season 4 and 5 obviously. if we do get the time jump, id say it happens closer to the start of season 5. bug needs time to mourn everyone, and steve never tries anything unless she initiates first <3

[anantaru]

— when he kisses you

including. zhongli, cyno, diluc, kinich

genre. making out & slightly suggestive, gn! reader

— zhongli

alongside zhongli, you feel his presence instantly, it reminds you of a comforting and reassuring constant— a cradling you wholly worshipped as the bustle of the harbor behind you faded away.

"thank you for showing me this place," your eyes glow as you said softly, glancing up at him, "it's beautiful."

with you, zhongli can leave his stern demeanor behind for once and actually smile, wholeheartedly, his golden eyes warm just by the mere sight of you, "it is a place i often come to for reflection."

"i thought you might appreciate its tranquility."

feeling a sense of peace wash over you, you took in the serene surroundings— the gentle rustling of leaves and the soft trickle of a nearby stream creating a soothing melody as zhongli held you in his arms.

the moment felt perfect, almost surreal.

his gaze was intense, dragon eyes yet so tender when he looks at you.

before you could say anything, he leans in, his hand gently cupping your cheek to feel you on his cold skin— within this subtle second, the world seemed to pause as he fully leans in, his lips meeting yours in a slow, purposeful kiss.

it was unlike anything you had ever experienced before— his lips were soft, his tongue deep, and filled with a profound sense of reverence as he captured you.

your mind swirled with a mix of emotions as his kiss was turning measured, each movement precise and purposeful, as if he was savoring every second— almost as if he was scared you'd one day, disappear from his lonely, immortal life.

the experience he held in life and the time he's conquered was evident in the way he guided the kiss, controlled it, drew you in and made you feel cherished beyond words.

as he deepened the kiss, a heated curl crept up your cheeks, your shyness growing with each passing moment.

you couldn't help but feel self-conscious about your own inexperience compared to his practiced, almost ancient touch— yet, zhongli's gentle and patient approach made you feel safe and valued, as if you were the only person in the world.

— cyno

"ugh— today was exhausting," you exhale shakily, bound within exhaustion, yet your voice was barely above a whisper, not wanting to break the serene silence as you rested against cyno's shoulder.

and well, he? he simply looked at you, his eyes intense yet gentle, "indeed, it was," he agrees with a small smile playing at his lips, "but it was worth it, having you by my side Iimean."

the butterflies finish filling your stomach, and the spinning in your mind begins— fuck, you adore him so much, and the sincerity in his tone made your heart race, "i'm glad i could be with you," you replied, your smile tight to your teeth like you're holding back a grin, "thank you for taking me,"

before advancing, he takes your hand in his, his thumb gently caressing your skin, "there’s just something about you i cannot discern," he begins to ponder, his gaze never leaving yours, "that makes everything we do together feel special."

you knew what was coming— was this finally it? cyno has never kissed you before and beneath your nervousness, your breath hitched in anticipation.

his hand moved to the back of your neck, his touch firm yet controlled as he pressed you closer.

his lips met yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle— it was messy and raw, filled with a demanding passion that took your breath away— it's as if he was waiting, storing this bubbling energy and deep want inside his heart for the longest time.

it pained him, fuck, he wanted to kiss you a million times already.

cyno kissed you as if he couldn't get enough, his mouth moving against yours with an urgency that left you feeling dizzy— truly, you could feel the heat of his desire inside each kiss and lap of tongue, in the way he seemed to pour all of his stored up emotions into every movement.

you moaned softly against his lips, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as he continued his fervent assault on your plush lips.

cyno's kisses were unrestrained, a chaotic mix of tenderness and hunger that sent shivers down your spine, no, it was beyond that— well into the confines of your flesh, he took over as he nipped at your bottom lip, teasing you before deepening the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a possessive fervor.

— diluc

the tavern was quiet after closing hours, even quieter after the last customer have left minutes ago as the dim lighting created a cozy, intimate atmosphere.

you actually favored this time of the night, especially when you helped your boyfriend diluc clean up the tavern, the clinking of glasses and the soft hums of the wind outside the only sounds that were almost as serene and familiar as his tender exhales.

in all honesty, he never wants you to help him, rather does he love watching you wait for him as he does all the work— yet he cannot lie, it makes his heart ten times faster when you really want to help him, just because you love him so much.

"thank you for staying to help," the master of the dawn winery says, despite a little awkward, yet his voice gentle as he wiped down the bar covered in wine, "you really didn't need to,"

"of course, diluc, no need to thank me," you reply, smiling at him. "i enjoy spending time with you, no matter what we do as long as we're together."

he glances at you in an almost shocked expression, like your little confession was struck inside his heart and carved there for eternity, a soft look in his eyes making your heart flutter, "there’s something about these quiet moments that i cherish too,"

you felt a warmth spread through you at his words, they're always so carefully selected, so passionately exuded, and you keep sneaking little glances over to him while he finishes off his task. 

as you finished your own, you too noticed how diluc was watching you with a contemplative expression and before you could ask what he was thinking, he stepped closer, his presence magnetic, his smile intoxicating.

he exhaustedly huffs out before nuzzling his head in your neck while wrapping one large arm around your waist.

you giggle, welcoming him and stroking over his silken hair as his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

the touch was soft at first, almost hesitant, but as he felt you relax into him, his kisses grew more confident.

diluc’s lips moved with a slow, unhurried precision, each kiss a perfect blend of pressure and tenderness— beyond that, he seemed to know exactly where to place them, as if he had memorized every inch of your neck.

the sensation was eye crossing, a mix of warmth and electricity that left you breathless and at his total mercy.

you close your eyes, your fingers gripping his shirt as he continued— each kiss seemingly lasting an eternity when in reality, not long enough.

his mouth explores with a patience and care that enveloped you, all of his senses filled by your scent, the temperature of your body and your traces on his scalp.

the way he kissed you spoke volumes, a silent declaration of his feelings as the way you welcomed it made him feel safe.

when he reaches a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear, you couldn’t suppress a soft moan— and you're a sweating mess by now , yet diluc abruptly paused, his breath warm against your skin,

"did I hurt you?" he asks, concern lacing his voice.

"no," you whisper and tug him closer to you "it feels… incredible."

— kinich

"kinich," your breath hitches the moment you open the door to your bedroom and find yourself looking at the mysterious man you've barely known for a week, a hand over your heart signalizing your surprise.

"you scared me."

"apologies, my dear," he drawls, smirking, his voice smooth and calm, " i didn’t mean to frighten you, i would never intentionally do such."

"—although, i needed to see you,"

you smile at him, slightly awkwardly but granted, he did break into your home.

up till now, the tension eases as you placed your jacket on the drawer next to your bed, "uh, it's alright, it would be better if you could tell me next time."

kinich's gaze softens, a playful glint in his eyes, "so— you don't like when i surprise you?" he says, stepping closer, "the quiet of the night is a perfect time for surprises, no?"

you roll your eyes, feeling a warmth spread through you at his sudden nearness— he's so close, but what was he thinking? what games was he playing and were you even able to participate?

fuck, there was just something different about kinich tonight, a confidence in his demeanor that made your heart skip a beat.

and as he moved even closer, you could feel the intensity of his presence and his signature musk, his eyes immediately locking onto yours.

"you want me to show you my actual reason for coming here?" he toys with you, pinching your cheek.

shortly after, he closes the gap between you, his hand gently but firmly pressing against your lower back as with a swift, smooth motion, he guides you until you felt back against the soft mattress of your bed.

the suddenness of it took your breath away, catching you off guard and as you looked up at him, his eyes glow wide.

"I couldn't help myself, —couldn't get you out of my head," he whispers, his lips a hairbreadth away from yours, "you draw me in like no one else, you put a spell on me or something?"

without another word, he captured your lips in a kiss that was both confident and playful, a perfect blend of passion and control that marked the obvious in his personality.

his mouth moved against yours with a practiced ease, exploring and conquering with a fervor that left you wish for more, thighs clenching— not to mention the intensity of his kiss which was simply overwhelming, in fact, you found yourself surrendering to it, letting him lead you.

kinich's free hand found its way to your hip, holding you firmly against the bed as he deepened the kiss in no time.

for the first time, you could feel the strength in his grip, the possessiveness in his touch, and it made you both a little scared and excited.

beyond second thoughts, his lips were hungry, his kisses demanding and full of a restrained desire that seemed to build up with every passing second he wasn't able to see you.

you melt against him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling his abs tightly as his tongue lapped around your own in a masterful dance that left you yearning for more.

"you're irresistible," he admits bluntly before releasing his grip on your hips and sliding his palm lower, "—and every time i see you, i have to fight the urge to do this."

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[peachofu]

݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ missin’ you 2.3k

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

contains: 18+ smut, explicit language, dirty talk, f and m masturbation, fingering, swearing, brief scent kink, brief mention of pain, multiple orgasms, made with origins!logan in mind, set in late 1970s.

the days were stretching longer as each passed, tedious tasks that distracted you from the distance no longer keeping you occupied.

it had been around three weeks since logan had departed for a mission. he claimed that it was something he had to do, and you didn’t interfere due to his adamance. he stood firmly on getting a job done, no matter the risks, which only made it so much harder for you.

logan hadn’t disclosed the details to you, despite you being the only person he trusts. he was always aloof when you questioned him about his missions, dismissing the conversation with a grumble or quickly switching to another topic.

so you gave up on asking, letting him do what he was so headstrong on doing, regardless of the ache in your heart as you watched him leave. not knowing when or if he was going to return.

-

another restless night approached after a day filled with unwontedly familiar longing. you had slipped into an evening routine, one that brought you an ounce of peace through the distress. it kept you tranquil for a while, focusing on repetitive things like making dinner or engrossing yourself in a book before bed.

you slipped beneath the chill sheets, the lack of a brawny frame to warm you up once again sending a soft huff of dismay from your lips. the bedroom was silent, as it had been for the past few weeks yet you still hadn’t adjusted to it. you refused to.

“god,” you muttered, cupping your face and sighing heavily.

the absence of contact from logan was getting more worrying by the day, and as much as you tried to avoid it, the uncertainty was eating away at you. his missions had never lasted this long, possibly a couple days at most.

constantly feeling on edge led to things worsening, like waking up in the night with nightmares just like logan did. he wouldn’t want that for you. so you stayed optimistic, dismissing the cluster of dreadful thoughts that wavered in your mind.

you reached over the bedside table, fingertips grazing over the pull chain before a ringing sound reverberated around the bedroom. your gaze fixed onto the phone, eyes skeptically surveying over the keypad for a few seconds.

you were taught to always pick up the phone, incase of emergency, but it was almost midnight and you certainly weren’t in the mood for an urgency. but due to the consistent ringing, you reluctantly reached down to pick up the handset, settling it between your ear and shoulder.

“hello?” the words left your lips in a exhausted whisper, voice strained and almost impertinent. but that couldn’t be helped, you had only one thing weighing on your mind, another was unnecessary.

your words were met with ragged breaths from the other end, a sound that you instantaneously recognised.

“logan? is…is that you?” you stammered, eyes wide as you sat up, completely immersed in expecting a reply.

before he replied, the breathing paused for a beat, tension rising rapidly as you began to yearn for a response.

“yeah, darlin’. it’s me,” he finally answered, his voice still retaining its usual huskiness that always put you at ease.

you let out a gentle, breathy exhale of pure relief, a smile spreading over your face. your features twitched indecisively for a few seconds, the overwhelming feeling of consolation consuming you whole.

“i’m—sorry i didn’t call,” he murmured, breaking the momentary silence between you, “things got outta hand. didn’t want you worrying ‘bout me.”

his voice was deep, carrying that standard resonance which you had pined for everyday. to hear his voice after what felt like an eternity filled you with warmth. even with this brief occurrence, despite not being able to see him, touch him, it was enough.

“well you failed at that,” you retorted in a whisper, eyebrows slightly raised as you leaned back against the pillow.

logan let out a low, almost inaudible chuckle in response. the pert tone in your voice never failed to amuse him, especially now. he was well aware of what you were referring to, guilt beginning to creep up into his conscience.

the mission had been rough, sending an array of conflicted emotions his way throughout the process. being away from you for such an unbearable amount of time filled him with anguish, dealing with those emotions didn’t alleviate that.

“yeah, guess i did,” he muttered, a tinge of regret lingering in his tone, “i’m sorry, darlin’. wasn’t fair to leave you in the dark like that.”

another pause filled the line, thick with every left unspoken between the two of you. he could feel the distance between you as much as he could feel the roughness of his own scars. but the sound of your voice was something he had coveted more than he wanted to admit.

“i miss ya,” he said finally, the words a simple gesture of affection but they carried emotion that he rarely revealed to you, “more than anything. you know that?”

your heart swelled with an unmistakable hankering for him, one that you had never experienced before. you wanted no more than to be in his arms again, for him to whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you embraced each other.

“mhm,” you hummed, finger absentmindedly twisting around the phone cord as his voice echoed through your head.

then came another pause, but the mood had shifted, a distinctive tension passing through the line. the momentary penitence that logan had felt was still present, but it wasn’t the prominent thought in his mind.

“never stopped thinkin’ about you,” he spoke again, voice trailing off into a quiet murmur. you both knew where this was heading, but it was unknown territory.

“just ask me what i’m wearing,” you whispered encouragingly, a roguish smile crossing your face.

“what’re you wearing, darlin’?”

the words sent a shiver down your spine, faint puffs of breath leaving your lips as you reached out to peel the silk duvet off your reclined form.

“one of your shirts,” you whispered, fingertips brushing against each button of his flannel.

you had plucked the shirt from the laundry basket earlier today, enveloping yourself in the heady, manly scent. wearing his flannels to bed had become a ritual for comfort, which came to be incredibly fortunate.

“nothing underneath,” you followed on, fingertips running up and down the thin fabric.

logan let out a low growl in rejoinder, his jeans tightening as the image of you wearing nothing but his flannel flooded through his mind. he felt a fleeting note of shame from getting aroused so quickly, but you always had that effect on him, there was no benefit in denying it.

“is that so?” he spoke, his voice dropping an obvious octave.

his free hand snaked down towards his belt, unbuckling it with a deft precision. the soft metallic clink of the prong releasing resounded across the line, the vivid picture of logan freeing his erection from the confines of his boxers sending warmth through your body.

“wish you were here to help me, baby,” he murmured, his voice now a sultry tone.

there was an unequivocal tremble in your breath as his words registered, his sultry tone sending heat directly towards your core. you squeezed your legs together gently, your inner thighs slick with arousal.

“touch yourself for me, baby. give me something to keep me goin’ until i get back,” logan commanded serenely, the underlying hunger in his voice betraying his true intentions.

“okay,” you whispered, obliging to his order almost immediately due to the growing ache between your legs.

your hand glided down the plane of your chest and down your midriff, slowly dipping beneath the hem of logan’s flannel. you adjusted yourself against the mattress, parting your legs slightly and reposing into the pillows.

the handset was still fitted between your head and shoulder, causing your neck to strain scarcely. but you paid no mind to that, gradually working your hand down towards your glistening folds, moist with anticipation.

“god…” you suppressed a moan, your lower lip slipped between your teeth to silence yourself.

“c’mon, don’t hold out on me. i wanna hear all those pretty little moans,” logan whispered, tugging down his jeans and yanking his boxers down slightly.

he freed his pulsing erection, thick veins running along the shaft, stopping at his glossy tip. he grasped the handset firmly in one hand, leaking cock in the other. his calloused palm added a partial bit of extra friction, already causing his ragged breaths to huff heavier.

your fingers finally came into contact with your soaked pussy, a quick gasp escaping your lips at the sudden connection. your eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, adjusting to the feeling of your fingers working their way over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“f-fuck…logan,” you moaned, beginning to set a rhythmic circling motion around your clit.

the sound of his name elicited from your lips like that was enough to make him come undone. his grip tightened on the handset, his other hand sliding up and down his length at a slow pace. his jaw tensed, pleasure sparking through his lower half as he jerked himself off.

“that’s it, baby…lemme hear ya,” logan cooed, proceeding to work his hand against his length, pre-cum beading at the tip.

his words sent you into a moaning frenzy, your hips bucking up against your fingers as they continued their stimulating assault. your mind was solely focused on imagining logan beside you, picturing that they were his fingers instead of yours.

“fuck,” he groaned, uneven breaths leaving his lips as he picked up the pace, the pleasure building up at a rapid pace. the sound of your moans drove him unruly, his mind painted with how you looked. all sprawled out on the bed, cheeks rosy and fingers slick with your fluids.

the two of you simultaneously pleasured yourselves, the delicious cocktail of moans mixing together. all of the built up longing was being appeased, a temporary distraction from the distance between you both.

“feels s’good,” you uttered, opening your eyes to glance down at your fingers and the arousal that coated them.

you swallowed thickly, gnawing at your bottom lip as you prodded one against your entrance. you brows furrowed at the sensation, jaw slacking as you slowly slipped your finger inside. the intrusion took a few seconds to adapt to, before you decided to add another.

“logan!” you whined, another digit sinking into your tight channel.

logan’s whole body tensed at the sound of your voice switching to a higher pitch, a grunt escaping through his gritted teeth. he fisted his cock quicker, knuckles repeatedly grazing against the coarse hair at his base. his hand was slick with pre-cum, eyebrows upturned in bliss with every pump of his hand.

“that’s right, darlin’. so good for me,” he spoke breathlessly, clearly nearing the edge of release as he struggled to choke out the words.

goosebumps travelled up your body as you began to piston your digits in and out of your hole, the sound of his voice urging you on even further. the lewd sound of your fingers penetrating your tight hole filled the room, so audible that even logan could hear it. he let out a guttural groan in response, using all of his strength to refrain himself from cumming right there and then.

“need you, lo,” you cried, drool wetting your lips as they parted even wider.

“fuck, baby, i’m right here. focus on my voice,” he mandated hoarsely, stifling a guttural moan as he thrusted into his hand, pre-cum dribbling down his knuckles.

“you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t ya? you gonna listen to me?”

arousal dripped onto the under-sheet as you continued your movements, curling your fingers into a beckoning motion. tears pricked at your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure, fingers plunging in and out of your taut hole.

“y-yes…i’m gonna cum,” you babbled, sporadic moans leaving your lips.

logan felt his orgasm approaching, his pace speeding up against his twitching cock, eager for that sweet release. he grunted softly, that familiar tension coiling low in his abdomen. his jaw slacked, his sealed clutch on the handset almost destroying it from how strong it was.

“cum for me, baby. make a mess for me,” he exhorted through a groan, feeding onto his approaching release with the faint sounds of your pussy and the sultry moans escaping your lips.

you relentlessly pumped your fingers into your aching hole, fingers gripping the silk under-sheet beneath you. the handset was still slotted between your head and shoulder, digging into your cheek. but the subtle pain mixed with the intense pleasure only pushed your further, hips jolting upwards as you felt your stomach tightening.

“f-fuck!” you shouted, your climax crashing over you at an intense force. your eyes turned white for a brief second, slipping back into your head as ecstasy rippled over your body in repeated motions.

logan came just a few seconds after you, bucking up into his hand as hot ropes of his seed spurted all over his abdomen, “f-fuckin’ christ…shit,” he rasped, shaky breaths escaping his lips as his motions slowed, milking his cock for all its worth.

your juices coated your fingers, glistening beneath the dim lighting of the bedroom. you slowly pulled them out of your channel, sighing heavily at the sudden emptiness. your chest rose and fell in exasperation, the aftershocks of the orgasm completely stilling you.

logan basked in the silence for a moment, staring down at the gluey mess of cum dribbling down his knuckles and onto his waistline, coating the coarse hair just below his pelvis.

“guess the wait was worth it then, huh?” logan finally spoke, chuckling breathlessly.

[chiumii]

dirty thoughts ~ park jongseong x reader

ଓ ⋆˙⊹ [ 성훈 ] ☆ you and jay have an.. odd relationship. you haven't known him long as he was paired with you in a group project for a class. he acts as if he hates you one day, but then it feels like he's you're his best friend the next. you've been having... weird... dreams about him. they started off tame, but as time went on; they began to get more and more heated... so when you wake up in the middle of the night to a figure looming over the foot of your bed, you only assumed it to be Jay. so its not fear you feel when he tells you to run.

word count ; 8.7k

incubus! dom! jay x sub! reader. reader has the worst dirty thoughts about jay its funny. chasing / hunter + prey dynamic , masochism , monster(ish) fucking , cnc , size kink , orgasm denial , dacryphilia , bulge kink , breeding , man handling , dacryphilia , fingering , stalking , corruption , reader is a bit of an oc for the plot line , sorry ! very poorly proof read so dismiss any mistakes pls !

"that's odd, I've never seen him before" you lean close to one of your friends who you sit next by, looking at the unfamiliar black-haired man that sits in the back of the classroom, his eyes locked onto his computer screen. your friend turns her head, following your line of eyesight to look at the mystery man.

"Park Jongseong I believe is what his name is" she says, briefly pausing. she squints her eyes in order to get a good look at the man before continuing

"He's really fucking attractive though, y/n. you should go over there, I mean you were partnered with him, right?" she asks, making you nod your head as an answer. Almost as if he felt your stare, his eyes look up from the computer screen in- making direct eye contact with you. his face is completely expressionless, a chill running up your spine at his stare.

You turn back around in your seat, exhaling a deep breath you didn't know you were holding before groaning.

"I guess so. I'll see you after class, yeah?' she mumbles a quick 'sure' before diverting her attention back onto her laptop.

you gather your things into your bag before standing up and heading over to the man, sucking in a deep breath before sitting down in the chair next to him. you're too afraid to say anything, his dark aura making your vocal chords feel as if they were tangled.

as you sit down, your eyes drift off to the side of his face. his jawline is perfectly chiseled and sharp, his lips full and he has his ears pierced. you mentally take note of the attractive man that sits next to you, your thoughts drifting out of your head- but are quickly snapped out of your trance as he shifts his eyes to look at you.

a gasp spills from your lips at the intense eye contact, quickly looking away from him in embarrassment.

"you are?" he asks, his tone of voice sharp and to the point - low-key scaring you.

"y/n, y/n l/n... and you?' you return the question, immediately mentally face palming as you already know who he is.

"Park Jongseong, but you can call me Jay." his voice direct and solid, no undertones of amusement that you can detect. you shift uncomfortably in your seat, grabbing out your computer before putting it on the table in front of you and creating a google slide for the project the two of you will be spending the next couple months working on.

The two of you work in silence- you being too nervous to say anything and him not wanting to speak. it was honestly frustrating, but you could care less.

class is about to end, and you still haven't said a word to each other in the agazoning hour and a half. Jay begins packing up, making you frantically pull out your phone and open up the call app in order to create a new contact. you turn to jay with a deep breath before asking your question.

"uhm, I was wondering if I could get your number? you know, since we're gonna be working together" he stares at you as if you spoke a different language, making you uncomfortable beyond belief.

"no thanks, im good." is all he says before turning around and walking out of the classroom, leaving you completely dumbfounded and a little upset.

after a moment of standing there in disbelief at his rudeness, you huff and roll your eyes- exiting the classroom angry before heading home.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"he was so rude, I don't know why I didn't even do anything" you huff into the phone speaker, finishing up your skin care routine before putting vaseline on your lips.

"don't even worry about him, maybe he's a tough cookie to crack" you sigh, silently agreeing with your best friend. you stand up from your vanity, checking yourself out slightly as you turn around and look at your ass, your pajama shorts complimenting your figure and your tight night-shirt holding up your breasts perfectly.

"whatever, I don't care anyways. if he doesn't want to exchange numbers and at least attempt to work together in order to get a good grade, I wont object, I'll just do my half and hope he does his" you collapse onto your bed dramatically, looking up at your ceiling which glows a dim yellow thanks to your fairy lights glimmering around your room.

you flip over on your stomach, getting out your MacBook and opening instagram.

"do you think he has any social media?' you ask her, mischief laced in your voice.

"you better not." she warns, but you do it anyways.

"p-a-r-k , j-o-n-g-s-e-o-n-g.." you emphasize each letter as you type on the keyboard. the line goes quiet as you search for your project partner, but to your dismay, you find nothing.

"ugh, who on earth doesn't at least have an instagram in this day and age" you complain, making your friend giggle on the other line.

"maybe he blocked you" you instantly sit up, glaring into the empty room at who knows what.

"that's not funny." a loud laugh rings in your ear, making you groan.

"stop laughing at my misery you whore" but she doesn't, making you hang up on her. you yawn and plug your phone into the charger before turning out the lights and crawling under the covers.

the only thought in your mind as you drift off to sleep being your mysterious study partner

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

you walk into class, your mind racing a million miles a minute as you look around for your seat partner, not quite seeing him until the small crowd of people disperses away from your desk, catching sight of him immediately.

his black hair is more kept today and his outfit seems a little brighter- as does his face. as soon as you walk into the room his head tilts up, his eyes meeting yours.

your heart feels as if it stops for a split second as you abruptly come to a stop.

god he's so fucking attractive

you shake your head slightly before pushing yourself into the room , your guard up and ready as you sit down next to him. you pull your stuff out of your book bag and turn to face the front of the room as he speaks.

"hi, um, sorry about last class, I wasn't feeling very good so I was kind of a dick.." his voice trails off as a shy smile spreads on his lips, his body turning in his chair to face you. your face heats up as you reciprocate his smile.

"its alright, we all have bad days" your smile doesn't falter, and neither does his. you take not of his well kept, thick eyebrows and the shape of his nose, his appearance is absolutely breathtaking and it makes you feel all sorts of things.

"so, about the project.. I was wondering if-" the two of you begin speaking about the project, picking out a topic and a format was easier than you thought.

the two of you begin chatting about other things, and you learned a few facts about your used-to-be-mysterious seat partner; how he enjoys playing the guitar in his free time, how he was born in Seattle and is a huge fan of the mariner baseball team, just a bunch of facts he shared about himself in order to bring the two of you closer together.

you also shared some interesting things about yourself; how you have two baby kitties at home , you're an art major who loves to sit and read or watch kdramas in your cozy room while drinking iced tea, or doing your makeup.

things jay already knew about you, but enjoyed listening to you ramble about them anyways.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"he wasn't actually an asshole, he was just having a bad day is all" you explain to your friend, freshly showered and painting your toenails in your robe while sitting on your bed. your phone is on speaker sitting next to you as Sixteen Candles plays on your laptop in the background.

"that's good at least, you know... y/n you haven't really been so interested in a guy before.. let alone talked about one to me" your friend speaks honestly, making you halt your focus on your pinky toenail.

"what? ive only spoken to him twice, what makes you think I have an interest in him?" you question, going back to painting your nails a pastel pink. there's shuffling in the background before she speaks again

"I mean you've never really paid this much attention to a guy ever, you've encountered plenty of assholes guys before, but you've never spoken to me about any of them with me the way you do with jay" she says, making you poke your tongue out of the side of your mouth in frustration.

"I mean, he was actually kind of nice today, we even got to know each other a little bit. he even asked me for my phone number" you smile at the memory of him asking for your phone number.

you forgot to get his, so the communication relies on him.

"well just be careful, you never know mens' intentions these days" she warns, and you take note. you finish painting your toenails, waving your hand in order to get them to dry faster.

"yeah I will" you speak semi-honestly. for some reason, jay doesn't feel like any of the men you've encountered before; he feels warm and safe to be around even though you haven't known him for very long.

suddenly, a harsh knock can be heard coming from the front door downstairs, startling you from your quick daydream. you begin to slide off your bed with a groan, quickly exiting your room and heading downstairs.

"hey, I got to go, I'll see you later, yeah?" you say into the phone, she says a quick 'alright' before the two of you hang up.

your feet feel cold on the hardwood floor, making a shiver run up your spine with each step you take towards the front door. you look out of the peephole, only to be met with nothing on the outside.

just as you turn your back, another harsh knock echoes off the walls of the apartment, only this time its louder. your breathing turns heavy as you hesitate, turning around and unlocking and swinging the door open.

a gust of cold wind grazes your cheek and into the house, making your hair blow in the wind just slightly. you see nobody around, and a weird feeling begins to pool in your stomach.

you slam the door closed and lock both locks on it, making sure its secure before heading back over to your bed to bury yourself under the covers.

that night, you decide to leave your laptop and fairy lights on.

but when you wake up, they're both turned off.

Jay's figure looms over yours as you sleep soundly in your bed. the shadow of his silhouette cascades onto your sleeping figure thanks to the dim moonlight shining in through your window.

your skin looks soft, almost as if it was glimmering in the lighting. all he wants to do is reach out and touch your cheek- but he holds himself.

instead, he manipulates his way into your mind- but not quite altering it... yet.

he has to be patient.

he has to wait for you to bare yourself completely to him in order to have your full word.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"oh my god" you jump up out of bed in excitement. running over to your vanity in order to grab your head band before making your way into the bathroom. jay texted you around an hour ago, asking if you wanted to meet up at his apartment in order to study. you quickly texted back a "sure" before washing your face and doing your makeup.

on the way to jay's place, you picked up an iced coffee for him , and an iced tea for you before making your way to his apartment.

"hi y/n, come on in" he greets you with a smile. he leads you into his room and its unsurprisingly clean- his bed is made neatly and his closet is organized along with his cologne collection that adorns the side of his desk. you look around the room, taking in how it smells exactly like him.

you accept his request to sit down on the bed, taking out your laptop and opening the slides of your project.

the two of you discuss further plans for the assignment for a couple hours, coming up with strategic ways to get your point across to the professor in a professional manner all while following along with the criteria of the project.

after a while of brain-sucking studying, you lean back onto the bed and stretch- your joints popping as you do so.

jay leans back on his palms and observes you, noting how tired you already are just from a couple measly hours of studying. you yawn slightly, closing your eyes as you begin to feel exhaustion wash over you.

after a few moments, you open your eyes, making direct eye contact with his and just as you do so, it feels as if the wind was knocked out of you.

jay's eyes are dark and his hair is disheveled. you gulp down saliva, not daring to move as he observes your face. your lips are parted and your fingers fidget with the rings you wear.

you feel heat begin to pool in your lower abdomen, your eyes beginning to cloud over.

oh the way he's looking at you is beginning to drive you insane, your mind racing a million miles a minute - he finds it so fucking adorable - the way you are already falling into the palm of his hand , playing right into his devious tricks.

he can basically smell the pathetic arousal pooling in your panties , and you're too innocent and confused to even know its even happening.

"jay.." his name rolls off his tongue and it takes everything inside of him to stop himself from taking you this very second - but he keeps reminding himself to be patient.

patience.

that's all he needs for his plan to fall into place.

"do you wanna go get ramen ?" his words snap you out of your haze, the whiplash hitting you like a brick from his earlier stare. you sit up on your forearms, trying to get your head to stop spinning around.

you look at him as he stands up, grabbing a coat and tossing it over to you.

"why do I need this?" you question as he puts on a coat of his own. he turns around and looks at you, crossing his arms over his chest.

"its cold out, and you didn't wear a jacket. come on , we'll go get ramen and then I'll take you home, yeah?" without questioning him, you stand up and put the jacket on before walking out the door and heading towards his car.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

desperate whimpers and whines bounce off the walls of your studio. your limbs beginning to entangle in the sheets of your bed as you attempt to relieve the tingling sensation that spreads throughout your body through your aching pussy.

your eyes are closed - a deep sleep looming over you as you dream of jays body on top of yours. his hands are soft and gentle as they caress that sweetest spot inside your cunt, the moans in your dream come out of your throat in the real world.

a thin layer of sweat coats your forehead, and your hair begins to tangle as you gently thrash around on top of your mattress in a desperate attempt to find any sort of friction.

jay finds himself standing above your bed once more, witnessing just how much he has altered your pathetic little mind in such a short amount of time, a small smirk graced on his lips.

he watches how your hips rock into nothing, the smell of your arousal circulating all around him- feeding him. his eyes glow in the dark as they look directly into your soul that will once become his.

he reaches his hand out, using the back of his fingers to brush a stray hair out of your face. he coo's at the way your face contorts into one of pleasure and pain- confusion and unsatisfactory.

"you poor thing.. soon baby, I promise." he whispers, the adorable sounds you make influence a deep sense of dread to fill his mind- he wants to take you for himself, now.

right fucking now.

but you're not finished yet, oh no.

the gears in your mind haven't been shifted to fit into his just yet.

jay kisses the top of your forehead, easing the throbbing of your clit slightly- giving you some sort of relaxation in the midst of driving you absolutely insane.

he can see inside your mind- he can see all the nasty- dirty things he does to you in the dream. how be bends you in half in order to fuck you just right- how he pulls your hair so your back can fold into a painful arch- and especially how he splits you in half with his huge cock in any position you can think of, your juices squirting over fucking everything in sight.

his eyes grow a darker shade of black, and his horns double in size as does his tail and wings, and he can feel himself gain at least a foot taller.

god how perfectly you feed right into his power- giving him everything he wished for so, so easily

your eyes open, your mind coming out of the heated dream you found yourself having. sweat covers your body and your clit still throbs at the thought of him. you lay back down, your head hitting the cushioning of the pillow as you attempt to calm your heavy breathing.

the dream felt so vivid.. and real. the way jay's cold hands caressed your soft skin, his fingers curling up inside your core. heat spreads through you in ripples just at the thought.

you felt so unbelievably guilty and somewhat disgusting as your hands slip past the waistband of your panties, your fingers finding your pulsating clit.

you rub gentle circles on your mound of muscle, wetness spreading through your folds with ease. you close your eyes and bite your lip in order to hush your moans that fill the room.

your fingers split you open, fucking your tight cunt the way you wished jay would- and how he was previously doing in the dream you so rudely awaked from.

"j-jay please" you whimper,

and little to your knowledge- he heard the way you pathetically moaned his name- he was perched on the railing of your house balcony, his huge wings drooping to the sides of his figure as his golden eyes bore into your figure as you fucked your wet pussy just to the thought of him.

the way you moaned his name made goosebumps arise on his skin, his most favorite melody you could ever create in this life time. his most favorite song he's ever heard and his restraint is wearing thin as you continue to use your pathetic little fingers to get yourself off.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"you look tired, y/n are you alright" jay voices his concern as you enter the class. its been two months since the two of you began hanging out, so his concern wasn't out of the ordinary anymore.

jay and you have spent a lot of time together, studying and hanging out in general. you got to know him better- understand him. he was honestly so sweet and collected, his nurturing personality making you fall head over heels for him in so many ways.

especially now, when he notices the prominent eyeballs that soil the skin under your eyes- which are red and watery. your hair is a mess and you feel as if you could slump over and fall asleep any second now.

you approach the desk, setting your stuff down before laying your head down on the cool wood.

"I'll be fine, I haven't been sleeping well recently" you reply honestly, making him pinch his eyebrows at you in worry. he hesitates before putting a comforting hand on your back, rubbing up and down to soothe your mind.

heat instantly spreads through your body like wildfire.

"how about we ditch this class and go back to mine and watch a movie, we could stop and get snacks on the way" he leans down to whisper in your ear. your head turns to the side with a sly smirk gracing your lips.

"jay, wait up" you giggle as he runs towards the entrance of the corner store. he doesn't listen though, running into the store to grab whatever snacks he could find.

you run in after him, grabbing a dr. pepper and a bag of chips before looking around the building in an attempt to find the man. you spot him in the candy aisle, picking up your favorite candy bar before turning around to face you. you notice the piece of food in his hand, your mouth watering instantly.

"is that... those are my favorite" of course he already knew that, but plays dumb anyways.

"you want one" he smiles at you, grabbing another off the shelf and handing it to you.

just as the two of you go up to pay, jay whips out his card and hands it to the cashier before you had the chance to.

"you really didn't have to pay for my stuff" you say, a pout on your face as you speak. he wants to kiss that pout right off your lips- but stops himself.

he grabs the grocery bag and leans down into your ear

"shut up, let me take care of you" he runs out of the building and towards his car, leaving you whiplashed and confused. you push through the exit and head towards his car, falling into the passenger seat as you connect to the aux.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

the two of you decide to watch the original scream movie, your shared snacks sitting inbetween the two of you who sit down on the couch, undivided attention on the tv.

the sex scene comes on, and you know that even though they don't show them having sex, your cheeks heat up red anyways, looking away from the tv and focusing on grabbing the chips- but when you go and look for them, jay has them on the other side of his body, away from you.

you huff slightly to get his attention, his eyes finding yours. he follows your field of vision, an idea popping into his head.

"you can have them, but you have to take them from me" you groan dramatically, giving him an 'are you serious' look. jays expression is playful, giving you your answer.

you go to reach for them, leaning over his lap as you do so. Jay gets a good smell of your perfume, inhaling your scent deeply. he moves the chips out of your reach and above his head. you instinctively reach for them again, a giggle followed by a whine can be heard from you as you shift your body to sit on his lap.

jay freezes instantly, letting you grab the snack out of his hands before realizing what you just did.

your body freezes, and jay's hands find their way to your waist, holding you in place.

"j-jay..?' you look up at him, your face coated in a deep blush as he stares at you- his eyes turning dark... way too dark for comfort- but you don't care.

"y/n.." your ears perk up at the sound of him calling your name, like a little puppy.

"have you ever had sex?" the question throws you completely off guard, making you shift in his lap uncomfortably. he then realizes the position the two of you are in and how you squirm around in his hold.. he could overpower you oh so easily, it makes his cock begin to harden. Jay has a mental war with himself before he grips your waist and pulls you to sit right next to him instead. you avert your eyes away from the man- deciding to look at the tv instead, trying to gather your thoughts.

your reaction is enough of an answer, wetness pooling in your panties- you feel his eyes burning into your body. as you focus your eyes onto the tv, and your face heats up even more at the scene where Stu chases Sidney through the house in the ghost face mask. you know this is supposed to be a horror movie, but something about the idea of being chased makes you feel so much hotter than you already are.

you swallow hard, deciding to look back at jay in order to distract yourself, answering his question.

"u-uhm, no ? I mean guess not.." god you're so fucking cute. so perfect and innocent, the newfound information making jays head feel light as he stares at you, completely forgetting about the movie.

he can tell just by how red your face is that you are enjoying this part of the movie. almost as if hes reading your thoughts.

you enjoy being chased, the thrill and adrenaline caused by the question of 'what if I get caught' fuels your growing arousal, the two of you looking at each other deeply. for a second, you think hes about to lean in to kiss you, but just before he does..

he focuses his attention back onto the movie, leaving you to widen your eyes and question what the hell just happened within the last five minutes.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

the next couple of weeks felt long and agonizing, your feelings for jay only growing stronger by the second.

countless nights you spent awake, or forced awake due to the dirty dreams you've been having about the familiar black haired male. everything about him kept dragging you in more and more, it was almost impossible to stay away from him for more than a few hours.

the dreams became more vivid- jays face gaining more and more detail with every dream you have.

its driving you insane. everything about him is. the way his touch would linger on your skin, the way his eyes would darken every time he looked at you, the way he was beginning to be protective over you- everything he does make you feel like bursting at the seams.

especially with the last dream you had. it felt like it kept going on and on for hours at a time.

his hips snapping against yours in a beautiful rhythm, how his cock split you in half, how his hands would ease you to orgasm over and over again repeatedly.

it felt wrong how many nights you'd masturbaited to the thought of his touch, the sound of his voice whenever he would send you an audio message or leave a voicemail.

oh fuck was he driving you crazy and you have no idea why. it was honestly making you feel sick with how badly you've begun to ache for him, any part of him.

so here you were now... one week without a word from jay, and it was honestly one of the worst weeks you've had in years.

he missed the group presentation- leaving you to do it all alone. the feeling of patheticness radiates through your body as you walk to campus, sending jay yet another text about how worried you were about him.

he missed your happy reaction to getting an A on the project... but having nobody to celebrate with.

Jay left without a trace, and without a warning , leaving you with nothing but his hoodie. you've even gone to his apartment in hopes of running into him, but came up empty-handed.

a couple weeks ago, the two of you were almost never seen without the other, if one was somewhere- the other had to be somewhere close by. Jay treated you so gently- like you were the most precious thing on this earth before he disappeared.

"y/n, he's fine I promise" your best friend tries to ease your mind as she lays on your bed, looking through your magazines while music plays in the background.

you've been going on a tangent about how jay hasnt even texted you in the last week, let alone make his existence known to you at all. it was weird and out of the ordinary for him to just, stop existing.

you look at yourself in the mirror, not really recognizing the person on the other side of the mirror. eyebags are heavily tainting your skin, and you've lost weight due to the fact that you never sleep.

although jay was gone, the dreams remained.

you sigh into your palms, raking your fingers through your freshly-washed hair and then down your face in frustration.

"you're right, maybe something came up and his phone broke, im sure I'll hear from him soon" you attempt to reassure yourself, standing up from your vanity after finishing your skincare.

you turn to face your best friend as she stands up, grabbing her bag.

"I need to go, its hella late and I have class in the morning" you nod your head, seeing her out of the house before collapsing into bed, sipping your phone out of your pocket and checking yours and jays text chain.

still nothing

you sigh, turning on your side as your head begins to hurt once more, a familiar feeling you've grown accustomed to.

your eyes feel like burning as a single tear makes its way down your cheek.

you're so fucking worried about him.

you would give just about anything to see him again, the feeling of unknowing agony coursing through your veins as you type out another message, sending it without hesitation.

please answer me

I love you

it seems fast- but it really wasn't. especially with how close the two of you have grown in these passed few months, it was going to come sooner or later- you just wish it was under different circumstances.

your head hits the pillow after you turn out your lights, drifting off into a deep sleep.

feel your core tingle, feeling as if it was on fire.

your eyes open, the first thing in sight was jay's eyes bearing into you- but hes different. everything about him is different as his fingers reach inside your core- threatening to split you down the middle in the most prettiest way.

his eyes are golden, shining in the light. his face is sharp, curled horns complimenting the top of his head that you've never seen before. a huge pair of wings drape down on either side of his body, a pointed tail flicking up and over his head inbetween his wings.

you gasp- not only at his new appearance- but the odd pleasure that takes over your entire being as jay toys with you ever so slightly, an overwhelming feeling of dread, anxiety, and oh so much pleasure to where it feels like its going to explode out of your fingertips.

jay leans down, beginning to hover over your much smaller frame. his name rolls off your tongue, and for some reason- you feel tears roll down your cheek while your hands reach up to wrap around his back- pulling him in closer to your body as he fucks his fingers inside you.

your body is hot- your hips bucking up into nothing but air as you whine incoherent sentences.

he stands at the foot of your bed- witnessing you fall apart under his gaze. the strong scent of your hormones and arousal filter through his nose- claiming his senses.

his name rolling off your tongue makes his eyes shift even darker than they are currently, your sleepy body beginning to shift awake just before your orgasm washes over you.

your body forces itself to sit up, heavy breathing filling the room of your studio. confusion washes over your face as you look up at the man before you, pain radiating out of your heart so severe, it almost physically pains you.

"j-jay..?"

"hello, beautiful." your breath shudders as you exhale, taking in his appearance; he looks the exact same way he did in your dream... he's freakishly tall with curled horns, huge wings, a tale and deep golden eyes that make you shrink ever so slightly.

warm tears run down your cheeks, a number of emotions cloud your brain so badly that it affects the way you think- unable to form any useful thoughts.

"jay please" you have no idea what you're begging for, but do so anyways. he lifts his eyebrows, a pout on his lips as he tilts his head to the side.

"what do you want, my love?" its abundantly obvious how needy you have become... but jay's going through the exact same thing, but he's better at concealing it. more tears spill from your red eyes, and they feel like acid on your face.

"you.. please, I need you please" you crawl across the bed towards his huge frame, his chest broad and open due to the fact that he's only wearing a pair of what appears to be tan shorts. you stop just in front of him, his body leaning down to capture your face in his hand.

his breath fans your face, observing you up close.

you should be scared- you should be telling him to run away- but the fluttering of your pussy prevents you from doing so, your abdomen tight and cramping with need.

your eyebrows pinch together, your skin glowing in the moonlight that shines down through your curtains that dance in the wind thanks to your open balcony door.

he chuckles at the look on your face, letting you go and standing back up. his body straightens as he looks down at your trembling body.

"run" before a thought can form, your feet are already moving before you know it. your hand tightens on the railing as you sprint downstairs in the dark.

you turn a sharp corner and head straight for the kitchen, but your short freedom is cut to an abrupt halt as you see jay standing on the other side of the kitchen, his arms folded across his chest.

your breathing is heavy, your body spinning around on your heel while you break into another sprint; this time heading down a hallway and towards the front door.

his laugh is surrounding you, almost taunting your pathetic attempts of escape.

you fling the front door open, but scream when you see his tall figure standing on the other side just before you slam it just as quickly as it was opened. your body rushes into the living room which is completely coated in darkness that its borderline impossible to make out any sort of figure.

you run into a wall, and that's when you see the golden eyes- standing a mere couple feet away from you.

"got you" his voice carries through the room, making a shiver run down your spine. within a blink of an eye, his body is right in front of yours- hovering over you. your eyes bore into his lower chest.

a whine leaves your throat as his fingers ghost across your thigh, trailing up your arm and towards your face as he cups your cheek, tilting your head up in order to look at him.

sweat drips off your hairline, your body trembling in his hold.

you're so conflicted as his thumb traces gentle circles on your skin. your nose begins to sting, as do your eyes.

the smallest of tears trail down your cheek, hitting jays thumb as he caresses you. his body contact feels like fire, the burning pit in your stomach only grows and you swear your underwear is completely soiled at this point.

more hushed whines string out of your parted, chapped lips.

he would have taken you in an instant, never giving you the chance to run away. but ever since he saw you all those months ago, he knew you weren't just some ordinary human.

you were a human that was worth all the pain that this world has pushed onto him, and then some.

he loves you.

he looks at you as if you hold the entire world in his hands, and it calms you for just a second

"jay.."

but no matter how badly he wants to be with you; it simply can't happen.

"what do you want, sweetheart?" he asks, watching your face contort into one of painful pleasure. your eyes are teary and half-lidded as they stare into his.

"you... please... need you and only you jay please" you beg, making a smile arise on his face.

fuck he's insane.

"give yourself to me baby, let me take you for myself precious" you frantically nod your head, his body beginning to press into yours- resulting in your back hitting the cool wall behind you.

"are you really willing to give up everything you are? your god wont ever be able to save you my love, no amount of wishing, praying, reading, or manifesting will ever be in your favor, you will forever me mine until death do you part.. and even past then." he questions, watching your every move as his free hand comes to the slope of your waist, holding you in place as his knee begins to push your legs apart, your clothed heat pressing up against his thigh.

"please.. yes take me, take me please I dont- I dont want anything else" the second the words leave your mouth, he kisses your forehead, a ripple of gold spreading from his lips onto your skin and down your face; making this moment official. his hands lift you into the air. your legs wrap around his torso, your hands flying towards the back of his head in order to tug on his black locks.

his lips finds yours in an instant, his long tongue intruding passed your lips in order to explore your mouth. he pushes you into the wall once more, making you hiss at the sharp cold of the sheet rock.

everything around you feels like its burning, especially his skin on yours. your hips grind into his body, your wetness being felt on his skin instantly.

he detaches his lips from yours with a wet pop, moving his head down to the crook of your neck in order to suck deep, purple marks into your perfect skin. your hands tug his hair roughly, the heat of his lips making it impossible to focus. you squirm in his hold, pressing your body impossibly closer to his.

Jay groans at the feeling of you tugging his hair and begins to move, walking up the stairs and towards your room. He gently puts you down onto the bed, beginning to crawl over your shaking figure.

you lay down, your back flush against the comfortable sheets as he hovers over you. your hands instantly move to wrap around his neck, bringing him down so his lips meet with yours in a deep, passionate kiss.

you feel his hands wander to the base of your shirt, and in one swift motion; he rips the flimsy piece of fabric while a gasp exits your mouth. Jay tosses it across the room to be forgotten, his focus primarily on you and you alone.

his knee makes its way to your clothed heat, pressing up against your pussy in order to give you the slightest bit of friction you so desperately wished to possess. you moan into his mouth, to which he happily swallows into the depths of his being.

you grind down onto his thigh, a sigh of relief can be heard from you as his hands move down to your hips, guiding you down onto him.

he feels his cock harden, straining against his shorts painfully. you feel him grow against you, your eyes opening slowly as you lean back to look at him- the real him.

"Jay..." he licks his bottom lip, his eyes glowing brighter with every passing second.

"please" you say, almost as if you're in agony. he shakes his head with a smirk on his face, dipping down to the junction between your neck and shoulder, licking a stripe up your skin towards your ear before his teeth sink into you.

a scream erupts from your throat, pushing your hips downwards harshly, releasing the pent up frustration through the tugging on his hair.

Jay sits up, admiring the beautiful little thing squirming underneath him. your hips pathetically rock into his leg, a wet patch forming on his shorts.

He hisses at the sight, instantly halting your hips as a whine of protests sounds out of you. With impatience, jay rips your flimsy lace panties and tosses them onto the ground. you suck in a deep breath at his actions just before he leans down to capture his mouth on yours once more.

after a few moments, he detaches from you, trailing his kisses towards your neck and down your sternum. Jay then takes one of your already-perky nipples into his mouth, mounding the other in his huge hands. the ring that he wears pinches you with cold, making you shiver.

he tongues your nipple, sucking and biting on your nub as you buck your hips into nothing, searching for him without meaning to. he chuckles at your actions, moving his face to the other nipple.

you squeal as he takes your nipple inbetween his teeth and bites down harshly, looking at you through his eyebrows before detaching. your breathing increases after, his wet kisses trailing down your stomach and abdomen, leaving scorching fire in its wake.

the pressure in your abdomen grows as he stops his lips right above your pussy, blowing cold air onto your clit.

"fuck baby.. you're dripping all over the bed sweetheart.." he taunts you, your face heating up in embarrassment. the way your cunt squeezes around nothing drives him up the wall, and all he wants to do is fuck you raw right then and there.

instead, his mouth latches onto your clit- licking, sucking and biting on your bundle of nerves instantly. your back arches off the bed and you thrust your fingers into the sheets, keeping yourself grounded as he begins to eat you out.

his long tongue fucks itself into your throbbing hole, your legs beginning to shake just from the pure euphoric feeling of this demons mouth.

"j-jay oh my g-od pl-please" you hiccup, your eyes slowly close as you're left seeing stars. the way your pussy clenches down onto his tongue makes him question how on earth are you going to be able to take his cock... because its bigger than the average human... much bigger.

he's worried he would quite literally split you in half.

but you're such a good girl, so he know's you'll be able to take it.

your legs move on their own, helping your hips grind into his face in search of your orgasm. Jay alternates from splitting you open with his tongue, to licking and sucking on your puffy clit.

he laps at you like a dog in heat; as if his life depends on it.

he's set on completely and utterly consuming your entire being, making you one with him.

you feel a knot begin to form, jumbled and beyond tangled as his tongue works its magic on your virgin clit, and you feel that knot start to unravel; quickly.

Jay moves his hand to your pussy, pushing one of his long, thick fingers into your pussy, resulting in a choked moan to sound from just above him. you squeeze around his digit that's curling and twisting up inside you in order to graze that candy-sweet spot deep inside your walls.

"c-cum please.. wan' cum jay please" his eyes never look away from you, witnessing all the pretty faces you make as you create a mess all over his face, your juices dripping down his chin to stain the bedding below.

"let go baby, make a mess all over me sweet girl" and so you do, your back arching as your legs move in an attempt to squeeze around his head, his tongue not letting up the quick pace he has set whilst eating you out.

your taste is heavenly as you cream all over his face, pulling his fingers out of you to wrap his arms around your legs in order to pull your pussy impossible closer to him. your juices stain his entire face as you orgasm, your stomach feels tight and your walls flutter around nothing in particular apart from the air.

you come down from your high just as jay sits up, peeling off the shorts in order to reveal his cock and oh fuck...

he was fucking massive. his tip was leaking pretty pearls of precum that drip down his length as his dick springs up to hit his stomach, reaching passed his belly button.

his cock was so fucking pretty, veins complimenting his girth that run up his entire length and his tip was tan-ish pink, your mouth instantly dried at the sight.

"'s big.. 'nd pretty.." you whisper, your gaze already completely fucked out. you glow in the moonlight, the way you look is nothing short of angelic- and even more. your hands reach out for him, a silent plea for him to come closer.

you need to touch him, feel him, take him.

every fiber of your being craves the man before you, possessively. he crawls over you, his large hand coming to cup your cheek, his forehead resting on yours as he takes his cock into his other hand, pressing his tip against your clit.

your eyes stare into his as he rubs his dick up and down your wet slit, gathering your slick before pushing his tip in.

the stretch hurts an unbelievable amount, and you see his wings shudder at the feeling of your cunt's squeeze. your hands move on their own, coming to grips the top of his pitch black wings to keep yourself steady.

he slowly pushes inside you, thoughts beginning to pop up in your mind if he's going to tear you.

your breathing turns rapid and your eyes start to roll into the back of your head with every fucking centimeter, but jay can't take his eyes off of how a bulge begins to form in your lower abdomen the more he pushes himself inside you.

"so small.. such a tiny little girl, I could break you so easily" he speaks to himself, the way your drenched cunt sucks him in causes him to thrust his entire length inside you, his balls smacking the skin of your ass.

a pained cream scratches its way out of your throat, your nails dig into his wings while tears spill down your cheeks for the nth time that night. he trails his eyes up to your face, leaning down to kiss away the salty tears on your face before kissing your forehead.

you squirm around under him, his entire body swallowing yours while you adjust to his length. his cock pushes up passed your cervix and you swear his tip kisses your god damn stomach.

"j-jay 's too much- can't... pleaase oh god." your helpless squirming continues, but he only hushes you.

"you can take it sweet thing, such a good girl f' me yeah?" you nod your head, his hips moving in order to start thrusting inside of you. it takes a little for the stinging to go away, the pain being replaced by earth shattering pleasure as his pace picks up.

the hand on your face moves to hold himself up on his forearm, resting above your head as the other holds onto your waist, keeping you in place as he fucks himself into you at a rougher, meaner pace that has your nails drawing blood from his wings.

he splits you completely open, the bulge in your belly disappearing and reappearing with every thrust of his hips that snap against yours ruthlessly. you throw your head back into the pillow, your back arching off the mattress. your cunt squeezes down on him tightly, milking him completely dry.

the sounds of skin slapping fill the entire house along side deep groans coming from the demon that takes your breath away, complimented with the perfect melody of your high-pitched, sweet moans.

a white ring forms at the base of jay's cock, a symbol of your guy's unison as one. his balls smack against you.

he lifts his hand up from the mattress above your head, gripping onto the bed frame instead. his nails dig into the skin of your waist so harshly, jay can almost feel blood under his fingernails.

your legs begin to kick around while your hole flutters around jays dick like the prettiest butterfly that's been caught in the devils cage- keeping you all for himself, your beauty being seen for his eyes and his eyes alone.

another orgasm begins to over flow, jay helping you tip it over. your hands move from his gigantic wings in order to grip the sheets besides you, your jaw slacking open while your moans pick up hefty volume.

Jay senses your orgasm before you do, so he sits up and leans back, both hands finding their way to your hips in order to force your body down onto his cock as his pace turns insane, fucking you senseless from the inside out. your body is lifted up into the air apart from your shoulders and head which lay on the comfortable mattress.

"oh my god h-holy fuck s' full, no no can't, please" you shake your head from side to side, your cheeks completely soaked with tears from the scorching pleasure your entire body feels, each thrust feeling like heatwaves that course through your veins .

"look at you; a pathetic, needy little mess. gonna breed this fucking pussy until my cum is dripping out of your hole. would you like that sweetheart?" you nod your head, not understanding a word hes saying.

the coil snaps, your orgasm squirting all over his chest and abdomen.

jay tongues his cheek, a smile forming on his face as he decides to fuck you through your orgasm. overstimulation controls your senses, your hands find his chest in an attempt to push him away.

"no s-stop please, no no please" your words make him scoff, his eyes hold all the lust imaginable as he effortlessly flips you over onto your stomach before landing a stinging slap on your ass.

"shut up" he grips your hair and pulls, your back arching and your scalp burns. he leans down to your ear, licking the skin behind it before speaking.

"you're gonna take whatever I give you like a good little girl, understand?" before getting an answer, he pushes your face into the sheets and spreads your legs, inserting his cock back into your messy, abused hole.

he resumes his pace, his tip kissing passed your cervix painfully as you lay down and take it. your pleasured sounds are swallowed by the pillows on your bed, your hands pull at the sheets desperately and you feel yourself begin to fall apart.

bursts of colors are seen behind your eyelids as you cum once more, making jay throw his head back with one particularly loud groan. he slaps your ass once more, the red hand print taking up the entirety of your ass cheek.

"'m almost done darling, I got you baby, I got you im right here" he hears your loud moans turn into quiet mewls, your drool soaks the pillow beneath you.

his words make you squeeze his length one last time as he shoots his warm ropes of cum deep into your body, completing his final wish in making you his.

"shh baby, its okay im right here"

౨ৎ taglist ;

@honeybelleee

[prythianpages]

Wanna Be Yours | Rhysand x Reader

Rhysand x Reader | When the Night Court and Dawn Court strike a deal, healers in exchange for Illyrian training, you rush at the opportunity to leave your home. You plan to keep a low profile but upon meeting the High Lord of night, your efforts are futile. He takes an instant liking to you and is set on being yours.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and injury

a/n: This can be read as a stand alone imagine :) but there will be a part two. once again, we have another mini series inspired by a song: I wanna be yours by the Arctic Monkeys. I love when the guy falls in love with the girl first and I feel like it suits Rhys. This takes place before the events of ACOTAR.

The world awakens to a gentle warmth–a tender kiss from dawn. The stars are like a fading dream, bidding their silent farewell and the first rays of sunlight emerge, painting the sky in hues of soft pinks and purples. The world seems to hold its breath and so do you.

It’s so beautiful. The way night surrenders to day. The way that no matter how dark it gets, the sun will rise again. It makes you miss home but you don’t miss what waits for you there.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and the world tilts beneath your feet. The edge of the terrace offers a daunting view of the Court of Nightmares–a harsh landscape of rocky mountains that seems to promise a swift but unforgiving descent. A hand grasps your arm, pulling you back from the brink, the force spinning you around until you find sanctuary in a pair of strong arms.

As you lift your head, the world regains its focus, but your breath hitches at the sight before you.

 A man, heartbreakingly handsome, captures your gaze. He has sun-kissed skin and short dark hair, reminiscent of a raven’s feather, that frames features that seem almost too perfect to be real. Yet, it’s his eyes that draw you in–a shade of blue so deep it borders on violet. Flecks of silver dance within those celestial irises, mirroring the stars that had bid their farewell earlier. His gaze is intense, sparkling with an allure that feels both familiar and bewitching.

“Breathe, darling.”

His voice wraps around you like the answer to a question you hadn’t even fathomed to think of yet–a revelation that ignites a feeling you can’t quite discern but it stirs the deepest recesses of your heart. 

Suddenly, you’re pushing away from the male with a deep exhale as a delicate pink that reflects the sky above you flushes your cheeks.

“y/n!”

Your eyes widen at the sound of your name being called.

“y/n.” The male in front of you repeats to himself and you never thought your name would sound so beautiful as it does in this very moment. His lips curl into a knowing smirk.

Alette, your guide, comes into your view. She bends over slightly as her chest heaves and she catches up with her breath. She turns to the male, bowing her head in acknowledgment. “My High Lord.”

All blood drains from your face and your heart skips a beat. High Lord. You just met the High Lord of the Night Court and embarrassingly so. You contemplate whether it’s too late to bow your head or not but the thought of Alette scolding you for not doing it sooner stops you.

“I see you’ve met one of our new healers.” Alette inclines her head toward your sorry state. “I do apologize for her entering your palace without prior clearance.”

Cauldron boil you. You caught a glimpse of him pressing his lips together, as if suppressing something. Perhaps a scowl, frown or smile–you don’t know– because you're swiftly averting your gaze. You’re too scared to move, not wanting to draw more attention to yourself than you already have.

“Forgive me,” you’re saying as you drop to your knees and bow your head. “I didn't mean to trespass. I felt a little suffocated down there and I had no idea this was your home.”

“Where are you from?”

Panic steals your voice and it’s Alette who answers for you.

“She’s one of the few healers that came from Dawn, my High Lord.”

You sense the weight of his gaze upon you, an intensity that envelops you with an almost overwhelming power. Your throat tightens.

“And what of her skill?”

“The best of this year’s cohort.” Alette replies with no hesitation. There’s a fondness in her voice that makes your heart swell with pride. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

“You may rise.” It takes a while for you to register that the High Lord is addressing you until Alette is awkwardly clearing her throat. You blink and rise to your feet but keep your gaze low. 

“You’re coming with me.”

You lift your gaze, gaping at his back. Does he—No, there’s no way he can know. The High Lord pauses. 

He turns his head over his shoulder and looks at you in an expectant manner. You look at Alette, who nods her head at you, so hesitantly, you follow after him. Your heart races as you hear him tell Alette to pack your things because you won’t be staying in the Court of Nightmares anymore.

**

Velaris, the city of Starlight, is a breathtaking haven nestled within the Night Court. It’s often referred to as the Court of Dreams. It’s a place of ethereal beauty and enchantment. The stark contrast it presents in comparison to the haunting Court of Nightmares leaves you in awe. 

But what strikes you the most is the High Lord of the Night Court–the master of duality. In Hewn City, where the air is always thick with tension, he wears a cold, stoic mask and every calculated step he takes echoes the weight of his stern authority and great power. This is the High Lord you’ve heard of. So when he told you, you’d be joining him in the city of his private residence, you were terrified.

It was a short lived fear because the High Lord you’ve heard of is not the High Lord you’ve come to know over the past couple of weeks. In Velaris, he sheds the shroud of shadows and reveals a different side to him. A softer side. A leader built from genuine warmth and kindness. 

You’ve come to understand he has a complex role as High Lord of the Night Court. He is a blend that is both harsh and dangerous, yet undeniably beautiful and remarkable, constantly navigating through the delicate balance of power and compassion. 

There is one unchanging thread that weaves through both cities. A thread of charismatic arrogance. He carries it effortlessly, employing it in a charming grace. One that he directs skillfully, particularly, when he turns the full force of his charm on you. You’d be lying if you said you were immune to it.

Upon your arrival, the High Lord–or Rhysand as he prefers you to call him– introduced you to the city’s healer. Madja. Though you’ve undergone extensive training in your home court, it felt little compared to the years of experience Madja carried with her, leading her to take you under her wing as her apprentice. You were a fast learner and given the nature of Azriel’s–Rhysand’s spymaster– and Cassian’s –Rhysand’s general commander– jobs, you had a lot of practice and challenges to hone your skills.

A tired yawn escapes from you as you navigate the halls of the infirmary to Madja’s study with the intention of wishing her a goodnight before retiring to your room. Your stops falter when your ears pick up on the distinct voices of Cassian and Azriel and suddenly you’re wide awake.

“–was ambushed by dark forces–”

“–never seen so much blood–”

“–I should make haste then–”

“–he only wants y/n–”

Shadows slink out from the corners, momentarily dimming the faelight in your hand in a silent greeting. The voices, once animated, hush and then cease altogether. Madja is the first to emerge from the study, with Azriel and Cassian trailing behind.

"The High Lord requests your presence.”

**

Not much can unsettle you, given your role as a healer. You’ve tended to a variety of injuries, seen tremendous amounts of spilled blood and have had to navigate through the sorrow of heartbreaking losses. But this. This feels different. This isn’t just anyone.

It’s Rhysand.

The male, who despite his shameless flirting, has consistently shown nothing but kindness to you. Though the nature of your relationship is uncertain, the mere thought of him being harmed sends a sharp pang through your chest, an ache that transcends the usual clinical detachment you maintain in your profession.

There’s an urgency in your steps as you approach Rhysand’s weak form on the infirmary bed. His body is extremely pale and shivering. A thick layer of sweat clings to his skin. There’s blood everywhere. On the floor, on the bed. It continues to seep out of the wound at his abdomen.

His lids are heavy, laden with exhaustion but he still manages a weary smile when he spots you. “You’re here,” he breathes in surprise, his words carrying a blend of relief and vulnerability.

“I’m here,” you confirm with a reassuring smile as you brush back his hair from his face. Though your touch is gentle, the lines on his face seem to deepen.

The air around you begins to shimmer with a soft, golden light. You cast a keen eye over his abdomen, the golden light dancing around you as you assess the full extent of his injury. The wound is deep and not healing as it should and your nose crinkles as the pungent smell of poison drifts up at you.

Rhysand winces as your healing touch meets his wound. Despite his blood staining your hands, you move with practiced ease, drawing upon the healing energies within you. Each movement is deliberate, an intricate crossing between magic and skill as you strive to counteract the effects of the poison.

Rhysand sucks in a sharp breath. He feels like he is dying but he won’t admit that to you. He doesn’t want to scare you. “It hurts.”

“I know,” you respond, your brows furrowing in concentration. The quicker you work, the less pain he’ll have to endure altogether. “It’s the poison.”

His eyes squeeze shut and his face contorts with agony as you press further into the wound. A strangled whimper escapes from his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you frown, halting your movements. You turn your head toward the double doors, where you know Madja waited in her study despite the late hour, in case you required assistance. “Should I go get Madja instead?”

“No,” his hands weakly grasps yours to keep them from leaving him. “I–I’m okay. I only need you.”

You nod and take a deep breath, urging your power to continue surging through your bones and veins. Your power is like a current, charged with vitality, eager to breathe life into every fiber of the recipient’s being. You sense the poison recoiling at your touch, prompting another cry from Rhysand. Though you know the poison will put up a painful fight, there’s a sense of relief as you realize it is one you can win.

“It’s going to feel worse before it gets better,” you say, your eyes darting to your makeshift table. “I don’t have anything for you to bite down onto. I’m sorry.”

 “Tell me a story,” he pleads, his voice desperate and raspy. “Anything. Please.”

“Anything?” You say in contemplation, falling into a thoughtful pause as you search your mind for a story to tell.

“When I was a little girl and my parents were separating, my uncle would take me to the countryside,” you begin to share, your voice softening from the fond memory. And in the intimate space between you and Rhysand, a shift occurs. 

“It was my favorite place in all of Dawn. The flowers were always in bloom and the grass was tall and green. We would wake up early to watch the sunrise together. Those were the moments where the world felt so still yet so gentle.”

“One night, as the moon surrendered its space to the rising sun, I cried. The realization of the sun and moon being eternal strangers gripped my little heart. The sun, in its golden glory, would never know the tender glow of the moon, and the moon, adorned in silver brilliance, would remain untouched by the sun's warm embrace. It made me sad.”

“My uncle, at first, laughed. He teased me, which made me cry harder. He realized the genuine depth of my sorrow and that’s when he shared something with me,” you continue, a nostalgic smile plays on your lips. 

Unbeknownst to you, Rhysand’s gaze warms in the embrace of the shared memory. He’s momentarily distracted from the stabbing pain.

"He told me that the moon's glow is but a reflection of the sun's radiance," you explain, the magic of your tale intertwining with the magic of your healing touch. "How beautiful, he said. That the love of the sun for the moon is so pure that he sets down so that people can admire the beauty of her.”

"I was still sad, holding onto that stubborn desire to witness the sun and moon together. That's when my uncle introduced me to the magic of an eclipse—a rare celestial dance where the sun and moon finally come face to face. When the next one arrived, my uncle whisked me back to the countryside to witness it, and for the first time, I felt such overwhelming joy. Tears welled in my eyes but they were tears of happiness. I didn’t know one could cry tears of joy until that moment.”

Still aglow, your hands continue their delicate work. You take note of the relaxation manifesting into the features of Rhysand but there’s a weariness that now settles over you. You know all traces of the poison are gone because its toxic essence was absorbed by you in your haste to protect him. It takes its toll on you, wearing you down and leaving you feeling slightly unsteady, but all you care about is him.

The gaping wound on his abdomen gradually yields to your skillful touch, and a peaceful look settles over his face. His eyes flutter shut, and in the hushed room, Rhysand's words pierce through, lingering like a delicate whisper in the air.

"I think I might be in love with you." 

The confession tugs at the strings of your heart, urging it to soar, but you swiftly quell the rising emotions. You attribute Rhysand's words to the delirium induced by his pain, knowing he’d forget all about it. You wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot your story as well.

You swiftly clean him up and use your magic to replace the bloody sheets with clean ones before taking your leave. Exhaustion tears at your bones and you can only muster a meek smile to Azriel and Cassian, who waited anxiously outside the infirmary doors for an update. You head straight to your room after and collapse onto your bed.

The following night, as you retire to your room from another day of endless work and studying, you find a carefully wrapped gift at your door. There’s no name on it but as you read the note attached, you have an intuitive inkling as to who the thoughtful gifter was. 

To the Sun, in your golden glory, may you always feel such overwhelming joy.

A beautiful embellished trinket box lays beneath the wrapping engraved with two cosmic entities–the sun and the moon. As you open the small keepsake, you're greeted by an ethereal glow that radiates from within. It casts a warm and soft light and you watch as a projection of the moon and sun dance around you before finally converging into a mesmerizing eclipse. 

**

Rhysand's POV

Like clockwork, Rhysand wakes at the break of dawn with the tendrils of a persistent dream lingering in his mind. A dream that has possessed his nights for weeks. As sleep releases its grasp on his eyes, he reluctantly rises from the bed and decides to get ready for the day, knowing that if he tried, he would not be able to fall back asleep.

He navigates through the familiar halls of the Moonstone palace, mindlessly making his way toward one of the terraces. His steps falter.

There, amidst the hues of the awakening city below, stands a feminine silhouette–a vision bathed in the tender light of dawn. You.

A sense of cautious curiosity courses through him, eclipsing the remnants of his restless dreams. His gaze lingers on you. There's a nuance in your presence, a fine radiance that hints that you are not from here and though he should be concerned over an unannounced visitor in his home, he can’t bring himself to do so.

 A flutter dances in his chest. He’s speaking before he could even properly think.

“You don’t belong here.”

You startle and lose your footing. You’re about to fall but before gravity claims its toll, he moves quickly. He reaches forward and grasps your arm, pulling you from the dangers of the edge of the terrace and into the safety of his arms instead. You lift your head and a gasp escapes your lips. Your eyes widen as they look up into his.

“Breathe, darling.”

His mind is searching yours with a quiet desperation but all you are thinking about is how devastatingly handsome he is. He doesn’t perceive you as a threat. Yet, there’s something hauntingly familiar about you.

He hears a name being called. Yours. And then it hits him like a sudden gust of wind. You’re the girl from his dreams. The one he’s dreamt of nearly every day this week and as he repeats the name, his lips curve up into a smirk.

He found you and realization dawns upon him like the morning sun. You don’t belong here but not because you’re from a different court. It’s because you belong with him.

[jollyhunter]

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings! MDNI, explicit sexual content (light), fluffy smut, but also cuddling and lots of teasing, Dean being needy and touchy and soft!dom

EDIT: Whoa!! I just woke up to 100+ likes and I am speechless! I never found the courage to post any of my stuff, until yesterday. Thank you all so so much - you have no idea how much this means to me, especially since I just joined tumblr and felt a bit intimidated and lost. You’re all amazing <3

Now enjoy! …already sorry for the damn tease kishishi 🦊

A/N: Heya! This is my first fanfic post- woohzaa [throws glitter and anxiety across the post]. English isn't my native language but I tried to make up for it with spell-checking? Also, I'm sorry for the cliffhanger sweethearts! Let me know if you liked it <3

Word count: 1,700

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

The smell of musky sweat still hung in the thick air and the sheets around you looked like a strangled mess. So your sleep was deep, exhausted but also feeling all spent and fuzzy from the several rounds you and Dean had a couple of hours ago. Your breathing was serene, your nose nuzzled into Dean‘s arm which worked as a makeshift pillow. The other one was tightly wrapped around your waist, keeping you close, holding your back against his slowly moving chest, keeping you warm and save in his tight locked arms.

A sudden bump against your butt stirred you slightly, but you assumed Dean was just being restless again. His arm tightened around you when you pressed your body further into him in a reassuring gesture, your hand meanwhile untangling itself from the sheets to interlace your slender fingers with his calloused ones.

Then the broad shoulders that were glued to your back, suddenly shift. His breath against your neck coming in short little excited puffs. And his hips gently rock against your arse, slowly and almost testing. You grumble in response and give his hand a little warning squeeze. „You have to sleep, Dean…“ you remind him with a dozily slurred voice. He‘d have to get up in an hour or so, as he and Sam were going to investigate a case somewhere up in Nebraska. It would probably take at least a couple of days, and you already knew he’d miss you just as much as you’d miss him, because he was always especially needy and touch-deprived before he left the bunker for longer.

Another bump against your back. You curl up into a ball, not wanting to leave his comfortable warmth but still trying to get your point across without having to use your voice.

When you cuddled up against him like a kitten, Dean stilled his movements. And you left a soft exhale of something like relief, snuggling under his strong arm, loving the feeling of his shielding presence all around you.

But Dean was not done. And you curling up like a cat didn’t help either - if anything, it just made his hidden sly smirk widen. Just when you went back to dreamland, you felt something brush against your knee. Then your thighs. Dean snaked his leg over yours, trapping you against the mattress. „Dean…“ you grumble again, your eyes still shut and your face buried under his arm while you tried to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine. He doesn’t reply. Instead his foot slips between your knees and he now slowly pushes your legs apart, parking his thigh between them to keep them spread for him. He brushed his nose against your neck, taking in your sweet scent, his fingers slowly dancing down your body, tracing every curve like he knew them by heart. Another shiver went through your body and it became harder to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach, the sleepiness somehow just accelerating your arousal. You wiggle under him when you suddenly feel his hot breath waft against your ear, „uh-uh-uh…“ His gravelly voice earns him a little shaky exhale from your parted lips while he quickly pins you further down.

Dean traced the rim of your pajamas pants with his fingers, teasingly slow while his other hand tightened its grip around yours, to keep you from slipping away. „Just lemme take care of you, baby…“ he murmured with his lips pressed against your ear, his head keeping you flush against the mattress. He wanted you to keep your eyes closed, stay sleepy, just relax and enjoy.

Not sure anymore whether you were dreaming or not, you found yourself nodding against his side, and that quite eagerly despite your half-asleep state. Satisfied with your answer, he slipped his fingers under the rim of your pants, taking his sweet time as his hand traveled down between your legs.

Just when his fingertip brushed against your clit, a loud knock at the door made you startle from your half-sleep-half-needy state.

„Dean? Come on man- we gotta go. Get your arse moving!“ Sam called out from the other side of the door, knocking again just to make sure he’d not ignore him.

Dean’s finger still idly circled your clit, torn between ignoring him or getting out of bed. After a moment he groans, his arms and legs still tightly in position around you, as he opens his mouth to bark back - but then is cut short by your lips on his cheek.

He turns back to look down at your curled up sleepy form, your cheeks flushed and goddamn you‘re already wet between your legs. „’tis okay” You reassure him, although you had to really force yourself to not sound frustrated and needy.

Dean grunted, knowing exactly that you were just trying to get him out of bed and out of trouble for being too late. But man he could have kicked his brother in the arse right about now.

He gave you a quick peck on the forehead and with a reluctant movement pulled his hand from your pants and untangled himself from your body. When he kicked his legs over the edge of the bed and got up, he suddenly turned around again, his eyes darkening and his lips curling into a sly smile.

“C’mere” he said gruffly, making it sound like an order. But you just looked up at him with bleary eyes, blinking in confusion as your mind was still half asleep. “On your knees.” He patted the spot in front of him with an air of authority.

You weren’t sure where this was going but were curious enough to play along. So you sat up, swaying a bit as you scooted closer to the edge on your knees. “Uh-uh,” you stopped and tilted your head in confusion, giving him that befuddled puppy look. He circled his index finger, gesturing for you to turn around. “On your hands and knees.” He said with that iconic deep and firm voice.

You swallowed, a little shiver running down your spine again. Without any protest you did as you were told and backed up against the edge of the bed again, this time facing away from him.

“Wanna get a look again.” He began, while his hands suddenly cupped your arse, squeezing them. „Wanna memorize what I’ll miss.“ You bit your lower lip, glad he couldn’t see your needy eyes right now. With a swift motion, his fingers hooked under the rim of your pants and he pulled them all the way down to your knees. The moment the air hit your bare skin, you were suddenly fully aware of how exposed you felt, unable to see what he was doing, where his eyes were going and what his next move would be. Without a word his hands immediately went back to your hips, slipping up to the back of your waist and pressing you down with a certain strength that made you follow each of his movements like a tamed horse. He ran one hand up between your shoulder blades and pushed down there as well until your tilted head and your chest were flush against the mattress, drawing a small whimper from your mouth. God how he loved seeing you comply like this, exposed, open and vulnerable to him, filling his heart with pride.

He kept one hand on your back to pin you down while his other went to tug at your lowered pants. “Jesus… you’re dripping, sweetheart.” He mutters almost in awe when you felt his eyes roaming your wetted thighs and pants. Suddenly he slides his hand back up along your spine until each of them grabs your hips. He angles them so your butt would point more up for him, pushing you even further into the bed, just the way he wanted you. Then out of nowhere his firm hands grab your arse cheeks and without a warning he pulled them apart, getting a real nice look on your slick folds. „I want to remember this view…“ He mutters, spreading your arse even more while you felt him bend down, his hot breath hitting the inside of your thighs, „Want to think of that beautiful pussy when I‘m alone…“

And then you suddenly feel the tip of his tongue flick against your clit, the unexpected sensation almost making you buckle while a shuddering moan slips your lips. Dean chuckles, relishing the effect he’s having on you. „Hold still, baby.“ He ordered while his one hand trailed over your hip and to the small of your back, holding you down, and his other started to rub your arse cheek, affectionately and proudly. „God… you’re so beautiful… Want to remember your taste…“ He continued before his tongue flicked across your folds this time, wetting his lips with your sweet juice, followed by a deep groan, "God you taste so fucking good...". He pulled the stroking hand back, and then brought it down again with a sharp swat to your arse. You yelped and your legs trembled, which made Dean grin proudly that he managed to surprise you with that move. „You a good girl until I‘m back?“

He didn’t wait for an answer but swats your arse again, this time definitely leaving a red mark he knew you wouldn’t mind. „You be good?“ He asks again, his voice taking that gravely tone which always made you squirm.

„Mhm,“ you mutter against the mattress, trying to hold still for him. „I‘ll be good.“

„That’s my girl.“ He patted your red arse cheek, his lips widening into that cheshire grin of his, „Now you get some rest.“

Before you could protest, he wiggled the soaked pants up your legs and over your hips again. You stifled a soft whine but knew it was no use, he‘d need to go now. Dean chuckled at the needy sound that slipped your perfect cute lips and it took all of his willpower to not just take you right there. He leaned over you to kiss you on the neck, his lips lingering there for a little longer than usual before he whispered in a low rumbling voice, „We‘ll continue right here when I‘m back, sweetheart... and 'till then... I‘ll always think of you.“

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

DON’T LET ME STOP YOU

KINKTOBER DAY 15 - CAUGHT MASTERBATING WITH JIM (TDS)

Pairing.| Jim x fem!reader

Summary.| You babysit Jim’s kids, he happens to catch you going down on yourself in his living room.

Warnings.| Dubcon, masterbating, p in v, age gap, power imbalance, peeping tom, infidelity, implied breeding.

Word count.| 1.3k

Notes.| I have been warned not to watch this horribly written film, so again I'm just going off tiktok.

He wasn’t supposed to be home this early. Let alone be watching you with your knuckles deep inside of your cunt, on his couch. But there he was, shamelessly leant against the doorframe as his mouth drooled and lustful eyes ate you alive. 

“Mister-!” you’re lost for words, your throat clenched and body shook. 

You felt too paralyzed to reach for your bottoms on the edge of the couch. You never meant to end up like this. But you were watching a movie to help pass the time and when a rather steamy scene came on, you felt like you were in the movie. The beer that Jim had offered you before he left didn’t help in the matter. 

“This what you always do when the kids go to sleep?” Jim murmured, his words almost untranslatable from how watery his mouth was. 

“No sir!” you squeaked. 

“Well, don’t let me stop you” Jim exhaled as he resisted the urge to rub his clearly already formed erection. 

“M’sorry!” you apologized pathetically and scrambled to make yourself decent. 

“What are you doing?” Jim frowned as he moved towards you, his arms crossed over his chest, his footsteps creaked loudly over the floorboards. 

“What?” You whispered so faintly that you couldn’t hear it as well. His head tilted to the side, blue eyes narrowed darkly. You swore your body was growing smaller by the second. 

“Continue on, I want to watch” Jim explained slowly as he gestured his hands at you. 

“Jim?” You gulped. Jim rubbed his chin as analyzed every spec of you. 

“Yeah, that’s a smart idea. Moan my name while you do it” Jim grinned as he plopped himself onto the arm rest of the couch, his blue eyes glued onto your little cunt covered by your hand as he rubbed his bulge with his palm, a dramatic relieving moan left his lips. 

Gradually, you fell onto your back again, your eyes planted on him in a mixture of fear and adrenaline. Saying that you had a crush on him was an understatement. He was beautiful, sweet, and thoughtful. But this side of him, the intimidation, dominance and crazed look on his face made your core turn in a way you didn’t know was possible. 

Your shaky fingers ran over your soaked cunt. Slowly, your index finger disappeared inside of you and you moaned out softly. When Jim gave you an approving nod, two more of your fingers quickly followed their way in. Your fingers thrusted in and out of you, you didn’t shift your eyes off of him by even an inch. 

“Jim” you moaned softly, your breath hitching nervously. 

“Fuck, didn’t realise I hired a little whore” Jim chuckled harshly.

It went on for a while, Jim merely watching you perform for him privately. He never knew his name could sound so angelic. So drawing, warmly, exhilarating. When his primal needs busted out of its cage, Jim crawled on top of you. 

Saying that he didn’t have the hots for his children’s babysitter would feel illegal. His desires secretly bent to you. Most of the time he’d have to close his eyes as he fucked his wife. He’d feel most elated and initiate intercourse with his wife always after saying goodbye to you. 

And knowing that you just lived across the road was a fucking delight. Your room was in perfect view from his. Stupidly, you left your curtains open constantly. Deep down he knew you hoped he’d see you, watch you slowly undress yourself for him.

When you’d babysit and he’d come home to you asleep on the couch, he’d watch you for ages. One time he watched you for almost an hour when his wife stumbled through the door and he lied and said that he didn’t want to disturb your sleep. Well, it wasn’t necessarily a lie. 

“Can I touch your pretty pussy?” Jim licked his lips. 

It wasn’t a question, the both of you knew it was inevitable. But you quickly nodded and tried to relax your body as his fingers brushed over your dripping folds. You moaned out at the initial impact, his fingers felt so firm yet soft. The scent of alcohol was strong on his lips too. 

“You wanted me to see, didn't you? I came home exactly when I told you I would” Jim whispered through a trial of kisses up your neck. The clock worked in his favor, the beer motivated your deep desires. “You can’t tell me that you didn’t hear the door open” he continued, snickering at the dirty idea. 

You hummed in response. It was certainly not your primary decision, but through the mixture of desire and intoxication, you can’t help but to think that you really did want to get caught. But ironically, you didn’t hear him come in even though you were thinking of him. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous sweetheart” Jim confessed, his voice hungry and raspy. 

“You’re so handsome Jim” you confessed back, mouth wide open, ready for a taste of him. 

“Are you mine?” Jim asked softly, his lips brushed over yours. 

“Yes!” you answered, your mouth watering at the thirst for him. 

“Good girl” Jim praised before kissing you passionately. 

You’d never been with an older guy before, someone almost the same age as your own father. But he felt so securing, loving and sensual. He slipped two fingers inside of you easily and curled them. A whimpering moan echoed through the room. Through a motion of curling and straightening his buried fingers, Jim smiled softly as he encouraged you to squeeze them tightly. 

“Can I make love to you sweetheart?” Jim shuddered out, his lashes batted. 

“Yes Jim! Please!” you smiled widely, your eyes fluttering at the effects of stimulation in your core. 

Quickly, Jim freed his throbbing cock and stroked his lengthy size a couple of times. As he pressed his thick head to your entrance, his free hand grabbed ahold of your chin and directed you to look at him. With a gentle kiss, he pushed himself inside of you, you whined out at the initial stretch. As he continued to slide himself inside, he hushed you by sliding his fingers into your mouth to the base of your tongue.

When he completely fitted himself in, he exhaled heavily, his head pressed against yours. Gentle moans and whines left your lips as you blinked hard, your arms wrapped around his sweater. You felt exactly how he dreamt you would, complete paradise. He needed to barricade you from any intruders, Jim needed to mark you as his.  

“I’ve wanted to bury my cock inside of you forever. You’d make such a cute mother” Jim smiled innocently as he slowly thrusted in and out of you, his pace increased with each thrust. 

When the sounds of his balls slapping against your sensitive skin mixed with his heavy moans and grunts, you lay paralyzed through a trance of pleasure and lust. The sense of belonging settled in, you were his. Jim owned you completely now, you were to bend at his will. 

He didn’t know if you were on birth control, nor did he care. It was well overdue with him claiming you. Your walls squeezed his twitching cock still. It was a wonder as to who would finish first. Through his stern expression, he was trying to hold himself out, but he found himself severely drunk in your rapture and warmth. Without warning, his firm thrusts quickly turned sloppy. With one final push, his hips still deep inside of you as he came through a loud groan. You whined out, your own hips created enough friction to push you over the edge into a pool of blissful pleasure. 

Jim collapsed on top of you as he planted sloppy kisses all over your face. Both of you could have fallen asleep at that very moment. But neither of you knew that you were being watched. 

“Jim? What the fuck!” A voice screamed in raging betrayal.  you both shot your eyes up to look at his wife standing there in complete frozen fury.

[msriri030]

Saving By Hare Pt2: The Love Doctor

Mafia!König x Doctor! Reader

Cw: mention torture and drugs. afab!reader but try most to be gn.

Part 3

Horangi was walking down the hall when his attention was caught by Hutch and Roze standing in front of a one-way mirror. Curiosity piqued, he asked, "What are you up to?"

"Watching the boss torture an enemy underling," Roze replied, her eyes glinting with amusement as Hutch chuckled happily at the scene unfolding before them. 

Raising an eyebrow, Horangi stepped closer to the window. He saw König pacing back and forth, visibly anxious, as he spoke to the enemy, who looked increasingly unsettled. Suddenly, König slammed his hand down on the table, causing the enemy to flinch.

"What’s the torture?" Horangi asked, confusion etched on his face. Hutch smirked, adjusting his shades. "The boss is asking for romantic advice from Deadman."

Horangi sighed, watching König slowly lower himself into the chair across from the captive, his hulking frame almost too large for the delicate wooden seat. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, a nervous habit uncharacteristic of the usually imposing man.

The captive, a wiry man with a bloodied nose, looked utterly bewildered. Sweat dripped from his brow as he stammered, “W-why are you asking me? I don’t—I don’t know anything about dating!”

König leaned forward, his icy blue eyes narrowing as he demanded, “Then what do you know about wooing someone? Surely you’ve liked someone before. Speak.”

The man fumbled, glancing toward the one-way mirror in silent desperation, as if pleading for a rescue that would never come.

Roze stifled a laugh, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. “I never thought I’d see the day. Our Big bad Boss, König,…asking a guy who can’t even keep his own teeth in his mouth for advice on romance. This is priceless.”

Hutch let out a low chuckle, pushing his sunglasses up. “The boss is down bad. I mean, look at him—he’s got the guy more scared of giving the wrong pickup line than getting shot.”

Inside the room, König pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly frustrated with the captive's nonsensical answers. The poor man was a stuttering mess, rattling off clichés like, ‘Buy them flowers,’ and ‘Compliment their eyes.’

König growled softly, not out of anger, but sheer exasperation. “This is useless.” He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, causing the captive to flinch again. König loomed over him, arms crossed, his massive frame casting a shadow over the trembling man.

“I don’t need basic advice!” König barked, his voice deep and commanding. “I need something… meaningful. Specific. If you were trying to win someone over—someone kind, strong, and… special—what would you do?”

The captive blinked up at him, wide-eyed and utterly lost. “I—I don’t know! Cook for them? Write them a letter? Please, man, I don’t even have a girlfriend!”

Horangi, watching from the other side of the glass, finally sighed and turned to Hutch and Roze. “This is pathetic. Should we step in before he kills the guy with his awkwardness?”

“Nah,” Hutch replied with a grin. “This is better than TV. Besides, it’s not like the guy’s bleeding out or anything.”

Roze tilted her head, feigning innocence. “You think König will actually take advice from someone who’s tied to a chair?”

Before Horangi could respond, König’s voice boomed again, shaking the room with its intensity.

"Write what, exactly?" He leaned in closer to the captive, who was now shaking like a leaf. "Give me something better than 'flowers' or 'letters,' or I will personally—" He caught himself, exhaling sharply and stepping back, muttering under his breath in frustration.

The captive, desperate to avoid whatever fate his imagination was conjuring, blurted out, "S-surprise them! Do something unexpected! Something only you would do! Something that shows y-you’re thinking about them!"

König paused, straightening to his full height. His imposing shadow loomed even larger over the man as he stared down at him with piercing eyes. Slowly, a glimmer of realization crossed König’s face. He said nothing for a long moment, then gave a curt nod, muttering, “Hmm. Yes. That’s… something.”

The captive sagged in his chair, relief washing over him as König turned abruptly and made for the door.

From behind the glass, Roze covered her mouth to keep from laughing. “I swear to God, he’s going to come back tomorrow with a dozen roses and a poem, isn’t he?”

Hutch snorted, shaking his head. “If he writes a poem, I’m retiring. I’ve seen enough for one lifetime.”

Horangi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous. I’m going to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid… like kidnapping them instead of asking them on a date.”

The door to the interrogation room slammed open as König stepped out, his gaze distant, as if he were already lost in thought. He brushed past the group without a word, his broad shoulders rigid and his stride purposeful.

“Yup,” Roze said with a smirk, watching him disappear down the hall. “He’s definitely writing a poem.”

Hutch clapped Horangi on the back. “Good luck keeping him out of trouble. You’re going to need it.”

Horangi sighed again, glancing toward the interrogation room before reluctantly following after König. “This better not end with me having to talk him out of some overly dramatic romantic gesture…”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Roze and Hutch exchanged a look before bursting into laughter, their amusement echoing through the observation room.

It had been a couple of weeks since you last saw König. The memory of that night lingered in your mind, resurfacing at the most unexpected moments. You found yourself wondering—was his wound healing properly? Had he taken care of himself?

The thought gnawed at you as you went about your day, your hands busy with patients, but your mind elsewhere. You had done everything you could to stabilize him that night, yet the worry persisted. Men like him, with their dangerous lives and stoic fronts, weren’t the type to follow medical advice.

You sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you closed your clinic for the evening to grab some lunch. The streets were quiet, the crisp winter air biting against your cheeks as you locked the door behind you. You paused for a moment, glancing down the empty street, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows.

Was he okay? The question echoed in your mind again, and you shook your head with a small, self-deprecating smile. Why do I even care so much?

But deep down, you knew the answer. There had been something in König’s eyes that night—something that stuck with you. A vulnerability beneath the ice, a fleeting glimpse of someone who, for all his sharp edges and danger, carried a burden far heavier than any physical wound.

And now, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was just okay in general. You groan in frustration kicking a discarded can. Why?! You just met the man. You sighed. You look at the sky a little bit to ground yourself before continuing along your way.  You entered your favorite dinner, Dash out.

The warm, familiar hum of Dash Out greeted you as you stepped inside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, a sharp contrast to the biting chill outside. You waved to the staff behind the counter, giving them a tired but genuine smile.

Sliding into a booth near the window, you let out a long sigh and leaned back against the worn vinyl. This was your safe haven—a place where the stress of the day melted away with every sip of coffee or bite of a greasy burger.

A waitress approached, her name tag reading Lisa, her smile as warm as ever. “The usual?”

You nodded. “Please.”

Lisa scribbled on her notepad, her gaze flickering to your face with a touch of curiosity. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind. Long day?”

“Yeah,” you admitted with a small laugh. “Something like that.”

Lisa gave you a knowing nod before walking off, leaving you to your thoughts. You stared out the window, watching the soft, lazy flakes of snow drift down, the streetlights casting a warm, amber glow over the quiet street. Your reflection stared back at you, and for a moment, you barely recognized the furrowed brow and distant eyes.

Your food arrived swiftly, the plate settling in front of you with a soft clink. A classic burger, fries, and a steaming cup of hot cocoa—comfort food at its finest. Lisa let you know the pie was on the house. You took a bite, hoping the familiar taste would provide some distraction, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

The sound of the diner door opening pulled you from your reverie. You glanced up absently, expecting nothing more than another weary worker grabbing a late meal or perhaps a family seeking warmth from the biting cold outside.

But before you could focus on it, a pair of warm, calloused hands gently covered your eyes, halting your sip mid-air. A playful, familiar Scottish lilt followed. “Guess who it is, lass?”

You couldn’t suppress a smile, a soft laugh escaping as you tilted your head slightly. “Soap,” you said, the word slipping out with amused certainty.

The hands pulled away with a chuckle, and there he was—grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off the world’s greatest prank. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned casually against the booth.

Next to him, Ghost stood silently, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the cheerful exchange. He rolled his eyes and scoffed under his breath before turning toward the counter, his gait purposeful as he went to collect the protection money for their boss.

You giggled, glancing back at Soap. “I see you brought Ghost with you on your rounds.”

“Yup, Doc,” Soap said, scratching the back of his neck with mock exasperation. “Didn’t want to, but you know—gangster life’s no walk in the park.” His grin widened, as if the admission didn’t carry the weight it should have.

Before you could respond, Lisa returned, balancing a tray with your pie. She set the plate in front of you with a warm smile. “Enjoy, honey,” she said before bustling off to tend to another table.

“Thanks, Lisa.” You glanced at Soap and tilted the plate slightly in his direction, your voice teasing. “Want some, Soap? Or is gangster life too glamorous for diner fries?”

“Never! That’s like forgetting the roots you came from!” Soap declared dramatically, as if you’d just suggested the unthinkable. “Plus, I love sharing fries with the person who’s saved our arses more times than I can count!”

Without waiting for an invitation, he plopped himself down in the seat across from you, stealing a fry with a triumphant grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his antics. As Soap munched happily, Ghost returned from the counter, his dark gaze flicking between the two of you before settling on Soap with a mix of amusement and quiet disapproval.

You looked up at Ghost with a smile, gesturing toward the plate of fries you were now sharing. “Want some?” you offered lightly.

He shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips under his mask as he slid into the booth beside you. “No thanks, Doll,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “I’ll leave the fry-stealing to him.”

Soap, mid-bite, pointed a fry at Ghost. “That’s because you’re no fun, mate.”

Ghost gave him a sidelong glance, muttering, “I’m plenty fun. Just not when it comes to your greasy fingers all over the food.”

The banter made you smile as you picked up another fry, savoring the rare moment of levity amid the chaos their lives seemed to attract. It was hard not to think back to when you first met them. Soap had stormed into your clinic, practically kicking the door down, with Ghost slung over his back and bleeding profusely.

You’d barely had time to process their arrival before Soap started barking orders—half panicked, half determined. Ghost, even in his weakened state, had muttered something about "not scaring the doc." It had been a whirlwind of blood, adrenaline, and sharp commands, but you’d patched Ghost up, and from that moment on, the two had made you an unspoken part of their world.

Since then, they’d drop by every so often—not just for patch-ups, though those were frequent—but also to walk you home after late nights at the clinic or during their rounds collecting protection money for their boss. You knew the line of work they were in was dangerous, but you couldn’t deny the strange sense of security you felt whenever they were around.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Soap said, snapping you out of your thoughts as he stole another fry. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just remembering how we met,” you said with a small smile, glancing between him and Ghost. “And how you two basically barged into my life like a hurricane.”

Soap grinned, unrepentant. “Aye, but a good hurricane, right?”

Ghost shook his head, muttering, “More like a bloody disaster.”

You laughed softly, their easy camaraderie a welcome reprieve from the weight of your own thoughts. Likewise, your presence seemed to brighten their otherwise cold and chaotic world, though they’d never outright admit it. Yet the way they smiled at you in that unspoken, rare softness said enough.

After finishing your meal, the three of you stepped outside into the biting cold. They insisted on walking you back to the clinic—something they’d done countless times before. As the chill seeped into your bones, you tugged your jacket tighter around yourself, but it wasn’t enough to keep the cold at bay.

Ghost noticed, his sharp eyes catching the subtle shiver you tried to hide. Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. The material was heavy, smelling faintly of leather and a hint of something clean and woodsy.

“Here, Doll,” he murmured, his voice low but kind in its gruffness.

“No, I—It’s okay,” you stammered, feeling a bit flustered by the gesture. “We’re not far from the clinic. You’ll be cold.”

You tried to hand the jacket back, but Soap looped an arm around your shoulders with a grin, stopping you in your tracks.

“And let our favorite doc get sick?” he teased, his tone playful but firm. “Never! Ghost and I have seen enough blood for one lifetime, thank you very much. Now let’s get to the clinic, warm up with some tea, and then we’ll handle the rest of our business.”

You rolled your eyes with a fond smile but didn’t argue. Wrapped in Ghost’s jacket and flanked by the two men, you felt a sense of safety you didn’t often experience. As you walked, the quiet of the night was punctuated by the soft crunch of boots on snow and Soap’s endless chatter about everything and nothing.

For a moment, as the warm glow of the clinic’s lights came into view, you let yourself forget about the dangers that lurked in their world—and your own. The three of you entered the clinic, the familiar scent of antiseptic and faint lavender welcoming you like an old friend. Without hesitation, you all made your way to the break room, a cozy little space you had managed to make feel homier despite the sterile surroundings.

Soap, ever the ball of energy, immediately busied himself grabbing three mugs from the cupboard. “Tea’s on me!” he declared, his enthusiasm almost infectious as he examined the mismatched cups with mock seriousness.

Meanwhile, you filled the kettle, setting it to boil. You handed Ghost his jacket back, and he took it with a quiet nod, draping it over the back of a chair before sitting down. His tall frame seemed oddly at ease in the tiny space, though his ever-watchful gaze remained sharp, flicking from you to Soap and back again.

“Thanks for lending this,” you said softly, glancing at Ghost as you adjusted your sweater.

He gave a slight shrug, his mask concealing any hint of a smile, though his tone held the barest trace of warmth. “Didn’t want you catching cold. You’d be no use to anyone if you’re laid up sick.”

Soap turned around with a playful grin, balancing the mugs in one hand while gesturing dramatically with the other. “See, Doc? That’s as close to a love letter as Ghost will ever get. Cherish it!”

“Don’t push your luck, Soap,” Ghost muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you set the tea bags into the mugs Soap had placed on the counter. Once the water was ready, you poured it carefully, the steam rising and curling in the air. The quiet hum of the kettle, the clink of ceramic, and the shared companionship filled the small room with a sense of peace that felt rare in their chaotic world

 The phone's shrill ring sliced through the comfortable quiet like a blade, cutting Soap off mid-sentence and making Ghost’s gaze sharpen instantly. Pulling the phone from your pocket, you glanced at the screen. The number was vaguely familiar, but as a doctor, you were accustomed to unexpected calls from patients in need.

With a soft sigh, you answered, balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you continued preparing the tea. “Hello, this is Dr. [Last Name]. How can I help you?”

A beat of silence stretched on the other end, broken only by faint, shallow breathing. A chill prickled at the back of your neck. Something about it felt wrong.

“Hello?” you repeated, this time with more authority.

The voice that finally responded was shaky, almost desperate. “Hase? Is this... is this you?”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. “König? Yes, it’s me.”

You didn’t notice Soap’s eyes widened or Ghost’s gaze turned cold as they recognized the name. König—the mob boss who controlled half the city and the territory just down the street from your clinic. A heavy silence hung in the air before the voice whispered, almost painfully, “Yes, it’s König, my Hase.”

You felt a warmth flush your cheeks, but you quickly brushed it aside, forcing your expression to remain neutral. “What can I do for you?”

There was a brief silence, the sound of steady breathing on the other end before König’s voice returned—tentative, yet edged with a quiet urgency. “I was wondering… if I could take you to dinner tonight at the Diamond Petals. Or tomorrow, if you’re not working. As a thank you… for everything.”  

The request hung in the air, unexpected. Dinner at such a fancy restaurant? You smiled, a soft giggle escaping. “Yeah… I’d love to have dinner with you. Maybe tomorrow, though—I’ll need to shop for new clothes. I don’t have anything good to wear.”  

“Nien,” he replied smoothly, his tone firm yet gentle. “Anything you wear looks like gold.”  

The words, simple yet laced with affection, sent warmth flooding to your cheeks. Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could recover, he added, “What about I pick you up and take you shopping for clothes?”  

His suggestion caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless, your mind racing to process the unexpected offer. Meanwhile, Ghost and Soap, lingering nearby, exchanged knowing glances. The palpable tension in the air was broken only by the sound of their deliberate throat-clearing, an unsubtle reminder of their presence.  

“Sure,” you finally managed, your voice slightly flustered. “I’ll send you the location of my clinic then… see you later.”  

You ended the call, the phone still warm in your hand as you set it down on the counter. Ghost calmly lifted his mask just over his nose, sipping his tea with deliberate slowness. The corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly, a subtle sign of amusement, while Soap, never one to miss an opportunity, grinned widely.  

“So~ you’ve got yourself a boyfriend now, eh?” Soap teased, leaning against the counter with a cheeky tilt of his head.  

You blushed furiously, waving your hands in protest. “It’s not like that!”  

Soap’s grin widened as Ghost let out a low chuckle. “Aye, Doc. Whatever you say.”  

Meanwhile, König stood in the dimly lit expanse of one of his warehouses, the sharp tang of metal and oil lingering in the air. His broad shoulders were tense, his posture rigid as he turned to the scene behind him. Vega and Roze hovered over their latest victim—a poor drug shipper whose trembling form bore the tattooed mark of the 141 on his neck.  

The man's muffled gasps and splashes filled the room as Vega pressed his head underwater, his grip merciless, while Roze crouched beside them, her dark eyes glinting with cruel amusement. She glanced over her shoulder at König, an arched brow accompanying her mocking tone.  

“So~ what did she say?” Roze asked, her voice dripping with feigned curiosity as she twirled a blade in her hand, its edge catching the faint light.  

König’s gaze flickered to the struggling man for a moment, then back to Roze, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, though his voice, when he finally spoke, was calm, almost detached.  

“She said yes,” he murmured, the weight of the words carrying an edge that made even Vega glance up from her task.  

Roze grinned, sharp and predatory. “Look at you, big guy. Dinner at the Diamond Petals, huh? Gonna make it all romantic?”  

König’s towering frame shifted slightly as he took a step closer, his boots heavy against the concrete floor. “Focus,” he said, his voice cold enough to make the room feel even icier. “The questions are not for me.”  

Roze’s smirk faltered, and she shrugged, motioning to Vega, who yanked the man’s head back above water with a violent jerk. The shivering victim gasped for air, coughing and sputtering, as König loomed over him, his massive shadow swallowing the man whole.  

“Now,” König said softly, his tone deceptively calm but carrying an undercurrent of menace. “Let’s try this again. Who sent you?”  

After promising Soap and Ghost that you’d text them after your “date,” you closed up your clinic and waved them goodbye. Their knowing smirks lingered in your mind, but you brushed them off, focusing instead on the evening ahead.  

Standing outside in the cool night air, you waited patiently, smoothing down your outfit one more time to make sure everything was perfect.  

Moments later, a sleek, black BMW with tinted windows pulled up to the curb. Your breath caught when König stepped out. Even with his mask on, you could tell he had gone out of his way to prepare for this. His broad frame was wrapped in a perfectly tailored black button-up shirt and slacks, the subtle sheen of his polished shoes catching the light.  

The faint scent of musk and cedar drifted toward you, the unmistakable aroma of freshly applied cologne mingling with the lingering freshness of a recent shower. You couldn’t help but notice the effort he had put in—it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.  

You instinctively sniffed yourself, worried for a fleeting moment about how you smelled. A wave of relief washed over you when you realized you didn’t smell unpleasant—your perfume still lingered, light and floral.  

“Guten Abend,” König greeted, his voice deep and soft as he extended a hand toward you. “You look… breathtaking.”  

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, and you smiled shyly, taking his hand. “Thank you. You look great too.”  

He held your hand for a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles before he released it and gestured toward the car. “Shall we?”  

You nodded, letting him open the car door for you. As you slid into the plush leather seat, your nerves began to settle, replaced by a growing excitement. Whatever tonight had in store, it was already starting to feel like something special.  

As the car cruised smoothly toward the eastern side of the city, you stole a glance at König. His focus was trained on the road ahead, his large hands gripping the steering wheel with a surprising gentleness. The soft hum of the car’s engine filled the silence between you, and you found yourself nervously fiddling with the ends of your sleeves, wracking your brain for something—anything—to say.

Your gaze drifted out the window in quiet defeat, watching as the snow fell in lazy flakes, blanketing the streets in a serene glow.

Little did you know, König was locked in a similar mental battle. Small talk had never been his strength. Socializing, in general, was a struggle, a deep-seated insecurity born from years of bullying and isolation. Even now, he could still hear the mocking laughter of his classmates, and feel the sting of their taunts. The only reason he’d entered the mafia world was because a mobster had seen him, bloodied but unyielding, defending himself against a particularly cruel bully.

König let out a heavy sigh, the sound breaking the quiet tension in the car and catching your attention.

“Sorry, Liebling,” he muttered, his voice low and tinged with self-consciousness. “I am not... how do you say? Good at starting conversations. Sorry.”

His admission was so earnest, so vulnerable, that it made your chest tighten. You smiled softly, shaking your head.

“Don’t be,” you said, your voice kind. “I’m not that great at it either.”

You hesitated for a moment, then, desperate to keep the conversation going, asked, “What about your wound? Is it healed?”

Your cheeks flushed as soon as the words left your mouth, and you inwardly cringed. Of all things to ask…

König’s head tilted slightly toward you, and even with the mask, you could tell he was surprised—and perhaps a little touched—by your concern.

“It’s much better now,” he said, his tone warming. “Thanks to you.”

You glanced at him, catching the faintest hint of a smile beneath the fabric of his mask. His hand briefly left the steering wheel to tap lightly at his side. “Your stitches—they hold perfectly. You are... very skilled.”

His compliment made your blush deepen, and you ducked your head to hide your smile. “I just did what anyone would do.”

“No,” he replied firmly, his voice softening again. “Not anyone. You cared.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and the comfortable silence between you both felt surprisingly warm. You realized something else now—König had called you Liebling instead of his usual Hase. You couldn’t help but wonder about the change, and the question bubbled up before you could stop it.

“König,” you asked, your curiosity piqued, “What does Hase mean? And... why do you call me that?”

The sudden question seemed to catch König off guard. His face, though still obscured by the mask, darkened in a deep flush. He cleared his throat, a nervous, almost sheepish sound, before turning his attention back to the road as he guided the car into the parking lot of a luxury store.

You watched him closely, waiting for him to speak, the soft hum of the engine accompanying the brief pause.

After a moment, he exhaled, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly as he parked the car. He took a slow breath, as if preparing himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was more measured, quieter than usual.

“It means... rabbit or hare,” he replied, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I called you that because... when we first met, your doctor’s coat made you look like a white rabbit in winter.”

The words were simple, but the warmth in his tone made your heart flutter. You blinked, surprised, but then a small smile tugged at your lips. The idea of him thinking of you that way—fragile, maybe, but also somehow strong—was endearing.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your cheeks warming from his unexpected but sweet reasoning. “A white rabbit, huh? That’s... oddly fitting, I think.”

König shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a faint hint of embarrassment in his posture, but there was something soft in his eyes as he glanced over at you. "I think you were my... safe place. Like how a rabbit would always hide in the snow."

His words settled in the car with a quiet, tender weight that was almost too much to process. You didn’t quite know what to say in response, but the gesture—his quiet affection—spoke volumes.

You couldn’t help but rest your head on König’s arm, a soft giggle escaping your lips. “I’m grateful you see me that way,” you murmured, feeling the warmth of his presence. Then, with a playful smile, you added, “If I can say something... you remind me of a bear. You make me feel so safe, and yet, you’re so strong, but gentle too.”

König’s breath caught at your words, and a soft chuckle escaped him, a deep rumble that made your heart flutter. He gently tightened his arm around you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A bear, huh?” he said, his voice warm and almost teasing. “I can live with that. As long as I’m your bear.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection, and smiled. The warmth between you felt unspoken, but it lingered in the air, like a silent promise. As the two of you shared a quiet moment, you stepped out of the car, his hand brushing against yours. Together, you walked towards the entrance of the store, the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet almost drowned out by the beating of your heart.  

You entered the store, the soft chime of the door marking your arrival. At first, the clerks seemed uninterested in you, going about their tasks as if you were just another customer. But when they noticed König holding your hand, their demeanor shifted instantly. Their attention focused on you, and suddenly, they began pulling out the most elegant, expensive dresses, each more beautiful than the last. Yet, despite their efforts, nothing felt quite right. You sighed, feeling a little discouraged.

"Why don’t you look around while I talk to the clerk?" König suggested, noticing the frustration in your expression. You nodded, giving him a small smile, and wandered off, leaving him to converse with the store manager.

As you walked through the store, you couldn’t shake the feeling of hopelessness. Nothing seemed to catch your eye. But then, in the corner of your vision, something shimmered—something that made your heart skip a beat. A black silk off-shoulder gown with a striking collar. The material looked luxurious, the color deep and alluring, and you felt drawn to it immediately.

Without thinking, you walked straight toward it, your fingers grazing the fabric.

A store clerk, noticing your interest, approached with a polite smile. "Would you like to try it on, Miss?"

"Yes, please," you replied, your voice filled with excitement and a touch of hope. You couldn’t wait to see how it would look on you.

When you slipped into the gown, it fit you like a glove. The silk hugged your curves in all the right places, the off-shoulder design showcasing your collarbones beautifully. You turned to face the mirror, admiring the way the gown shimmered under the lights. To complete the look, you added red heels, their bold color a perfect contrast to the black silk, and slipped on a pair of pearl earrings and a matching necklace that the clerk suggested.

As you turned to take in your reflection, you caught a glimpse of König in the mirror. His eyes were locked on you, a look of awe on his face. He stood there, frozen for a moment, his usual confident demeanor replaced with something softer. The intensity in his gaze made your heart race as you smiled shyly at him.

“You look... breathtaking, Hase,” König murmured, his voice low and full of admiration. His words seemed to hang in the air between you, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared, leaving only the two of you. 

You blushed, clasping your hands together. “Thank you, König. I think I’ll take it, but I can’t really let you pay for this. It’s… 2,500! Not to mention everything else–”

“It is a gift for saving my life, Meine Liebe,” König said softly, taking your hand and kissing it gently. His lips lingered for a moment before he pulled back to look at you, his eyes filled with sincerity.

You looked slightly puzzled. “But the dinner—”

“It was a way for me to try to confess my feelings. I’ve fallen in love with you, Meine Liebe. So now, I will properly say it. Will you go out with me, Hase?”

The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you froze in shock. Your heart raced as the realization sank in. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, your mind spinning. He had fallen for you? The man you had admired from a distance, the one who had quietly made an impact on your life—he felt the same way?

You couldn’t help but smile, your voice soft but steady. “Yes,” you whispered, the word barely escaping your lips, but it was everything. It was the answer you both had been waiting for.

König’s face broke into a smile, his eyes shining with warmth and affection. He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace. The world around you faded once again, and for the first time, you truly felt like you belonged with someone.

The car ride was quiet, the gentle hum of the engine filling the space as König drove you to your apartment. The soft glow of the streetlights passed by, casting fleeting shadows through the window. Neither of you spoke much, but there was a calm, unspoken understanding between you—comfort in each other's presence.

When the car finally came to a stop in front of your apartment building, König turned off the engine and met your gaze. The silence stretched for a moment, but there was no awkwardness, only a sense of warmth and connection.

"You sure you're okay?" König asked softly, his voice carrying that familiar concern.

You nodded with a smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Thank you for everything tonight. It was... perfect."

His eyes softened as he gave you a small smile. "I’m glad you think so."

You opened the door and stepped out, pausing as you turned back to face him. “König?”

“Yes–”

Before he could say anything else, you leaned in quickly, pressing a gentle kiss on top of his mask. The contact was brief, but the warmth of it lingered between you, and you felt your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected.

"Goodnight, König," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

"Goodnight, Liebling," he replied, his voice filled with something tender, as his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer. He smiled softly, his expression almost unreadable, but the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable.

As you watched him drive away, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. Tonight had felt like something out of a dream, and as you walked toward the entrance of your building, your thoughts swirled with everything that had happened. You were already looking forward to whatever came next.

Back in the car, König blushed deeply, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. His heart was pounding, and he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He fumbled for his phone and quickly dialed Horangi, his voice nervous.

“Horangi... you won’t believe it... She kissed me...” König muttered, his words coming out in a rush.

Horangi's voice crackled on the other end, a knowing smirk evident in his tone. “Oh, really now? What did I tell you?”

König groaned, his face flushing even deeper. "Shut up... it was... it was on my mask, but still! She kissed me!"

The sound of Horangi laughing loudly was unmistakable, filling the quiet car. “Man, you’re blushing like crazy. Just wait till the others hear about this!”

König sighed, feeling embarrassed but also a little giddy, as his mind replayed the moment over and over.

Extra

Horangi hung up the phone with an amused look, his eyes scanning the group of mobsters who had been eagerly watching him. The tension in the room was palpable as they waited for his verdict. They had been betting on how König’s confession would go—whether it would scare the girl away, make things awkward, or perhaps be the perfect moment for romance.

Horangi glanced around at the eager faces, then with a dramatic pause, he delivered the news.

“She kissed him.”

The room erupted into chaos. Hutch and Roze both slammed their hands on the table, raging over their bet that it would make things awkward. “I knew it! I knew it was going to be awkward!” Roze grumbled, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Verge groaned from his corner, cursing under his breath. “Dammit! I bet it would scare her off. How did I get that so wrong?”

The only one who remained calm amidst the chaos was Oni, who was lounging comfortably on the couch, casually counting his winnings. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he observed the mayhem unfolding around him. He was the only one who had placed his bet on the doc not being scared away—and as the others argued, Oni leaned back, savoring his victory.

“Easy money,” he muttered to himself, not bothering to glance up at the group.

Part 1

Part 3

[killeromanoff]

I KNOW YOUR GHOST | ch. 1

summary: Cassie Jones thought she had it all figured out—a career built on exposing the truth, a reputation for digging where others wouldn’t, and a burning drive to make the world listen. But after a fallout with her station, the looming shadow of Crawford’s FM... She’s left with nothing but unanswered calls and a shrinking list of allies. Enter Declan O’Hara, a man she’s admired from a distance but never spoken to until now. As he steps into her life, his presence ignites more questions than answers.

pairing: Declan O’Hara x Cassandra 'Cassie' Jones (Female OC)

warnings: Mild language, Some political and media industry-related themes, Power dynamics, Age-Gap (Cassie is 25 yo), Moral conflict, Slow-burn tension

w.c: 16k

[prologue], [here], [chapter two], [chapter three]

o1. But we could be safer, just for one day

The morning was biting, the kind of cold that seeped through layers and clung stubbornly to the skin. The air smelled faintly of damp stone and the remnants of an early frost that had yet to burn away under the pale winter sun. Cassie stepped out of the station, her boots scraping against the worn stone steps, each movement deliberate, as though bracing herself for the gauntlet that awaited.

Cassie squinted against the glare of the weak sunlight reflecting off the windows of parked cars. The cold was biting, but the sharp light stung her eyes more than the chill ever could. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, the fabric worn but comforting, even as the weight of the morning pressed down on her shoulders.

Every exhale fogged in the cold air, each one a fleeting reminder of how little control she had over the situation.

The street outside looked deceptively calm at first glance—just another morning in Rutshire. Yet, the moment she stepped outside, everything shifted.

The sound of murmurs started low but quickly grew, swelling into a wave as if the whole town had been holding its breath and now it was released all at once. Cameras snapped into focus, their lenses swinging toward her with mechanical precision. She froze for half a second, her fingers tightening reflexively around the strap of her bag.

It wasn’t fear, exactly, but… Complicated , something complicated lodging itself deep in her gut.

The flash of cameras disoriented her, each click and whirr slicing through the air like a small, deliberate insult. The noise built up, crashing into her like an ocean, drowning out everything else. Her breath caught in her throat, her body instinctively wanting to shrink, to step back, but she couldn’t. She forced herself to keep moving, step by step, as though the very act of walking could outrun their focus, could break free from the suffocating weight of their gaze.

The worst of it wasn’t the flashes of light. It wasn’t the blinding intensity of the cameras, each burst of light cutting through the air like a sharp, unwelcome reminder of her visibility. No, the worst of it was how their eyes turned toward her, narrowing like daggers, gleaming with hunger, tracking her every movement.

She could feel them at her back, their stares pressing into her skin, each one sharper than the last, more invasive. It was as if they were waiting—waiting for her to make a mistake, to falter, to give them the moment they’d been thirsting for.

Cassie could almost feel the weight of their stares like knives against her body. She tried not to imagine what would happen if she turned and met one of their eyes, if she dared to look into the crowd. She feared the pain of the blade they would drive into her, the sensation of being pierced by their judgment, their expectations, their need for her to fall apart in front of them.

She didn’t look. She wouldn’t. Instead, her focus remained ahead, her breath shallow, pulse hammering in her ears. Her feet moved forward, one step at a time, as though the act of walking could carry her away from them, from their questions, from the crushing weight of their gaze.

“Miss Jones! Do you have a statement on Crawford’s allegations?”

The voice rang out sharp, pulling her back from the thickening fog in her mind. Another flash, bright and blinding, and she flinched, her grip on her bag tightening until her knuckles ached. She forced her gaze forward, locking it on a single point—just ahead, a cracked tile on the sidewalk.

The cracked edge of it grounded her, something to hold onto in the mess of the moment, something familiar enough to cling to as she willed herself not to crumble.

“Was locking yourself in the studio worth it?”

Another voice, another flash. It felt like the cameras were multiplying, the sounds of shutters clicking so close that she could barely hear herself think. Focus, she told herself. Focus.

Her father’s voice echoed faintly in her mind. Five things you can see.

She squinted, trying to block out the flashes, trying to center herself.

Five things you can see.

The cracked pavement beneath her feet, the chipped paint on the nearest lamppost, the red scarf fluttering against the side of a woman’s coat, the white tips of her breath fogging in the cold air, the green of Freddie’s car ahead, parked just beyond the throng of reporters.

“Do you think your career is over after this?”

Cassie’s chest tightened further at the question, the implication looming over her like a shadow she couldn’t shake. Her throat constricted, her jaw clenching with the effort to hold it all in. She couldn't stop walking, couldn’t let herself falter even as the questions piled on.

Four things you can touch.

Think. Think .

Her fingers gripped the strap of her bag so tightly that her knuckles burned. The rough fabric of her coat rubbed against her arms with each step, a small reminder of the layers between herself and the world pressing in on her. The cold bite of the winter air sliced through the fabric of her clothing, its sharpness grounding her even as it threatened to freeze her in place. The faint warmth rising from her own breath, visible in the air, was a fragile comfort—an acknowledgment that she was still here, still breathing.

The crowd pressed in tighter. The noise only grew louder, more insistent. The cameras closed the distance, their flashes blinding. Eyes trained on her with hungry precision, demanding something from her, something she didn’t know if she could give.

Three things you can hear.

The flash of cameras was constant, a sharp rhythm that pounded against her skull. The voices, though—those were the worst. The questions, the demands, the judgment—they cut through the air like daggers.

“Miss Jones, is this the end of your time at Crawford’s FM?”

“Do you regret your actions of yesterday?”

“Aren't you the daughter of Matthew Jones?”

The noise, overwhelming, disorienting, built to a wave that crashed into her with each step she took. Every flash felt like it was aimed directly at her, a blinding light that numbed the world and forced her to squint, to retreat further within herself. It wasn’t just the flashes, though. It was the voices, the questions, the insistent demand for something from her.

She could feel it— they wanted her. They wanted her to crumble, to break down, to make a spectacle of herself. But she had nothing left to give. Nothing more to offer.

She felt herself drowning in it, the pressure to answer, to be something for them, something they could consume, a story they could shape and sell. But there was no way out. No safe place. She wasn’t a person to them. She was just a story—a body, walking through their storm of flashing lights and sharp words, an object to dissect, to feed on.

The truth, her truth, was being drowned in the noise.

Two things you can smell.

She tried to focus on something, anything, that would pull her back from the whirlpool of anxiety that threatened to swallow her whole. Focus, Cassie. You can do this.

The cold, biting air around her was sharp and raw, its chill sinking through her coat, its edge cutting deeper than it should. It was a reminder of the world outside the press—of the tangible, of reality.

But even it felt foreign now, distorted by everything else around her. The faint scent of gasoline mingled with the exhaust from the parked cars, the smell of something mechanical, something that didn’t belong to her. But it wasn’t just the smell of the cars—it was the smell of the crowd, too.

Sweat, metal, cold breath—the scent of people packed too closely, their energy seeping into her, their anxiety feeding into her own. There was something else, though, something unfamiliar that made her feel like the air itself was pressing in too tightly around her. Something suffocating, almost as if the weight of their gaze had become a physical force in the air.

One thing you can taste.

Her body reacted, a reflex that she couldn’t control, couldn’t stop. The taste in her mouth was dry, metallic, like blood, like copper. It wasn’t from any injury—no physical wound—but from the panic, from the rush of fear and overwhelm that surged in her chest and settled like a lead weight in her stomach.

It was the taste of her body’s fight-or-flight response. Her mouth was dry, and the bitter, coppery sensation settled on her tongue, warning her, something’s wrong .

But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t falter now, not with Freddie’s car just ahead. One more step, she thought. Just one more step.

And then— there it was.

The green of Freddie’s car, parked at the curb just ahead, a solid anchor in the chaos. The outline of Freddie leaning against it, arms casually crossed, waiting. His posture was relaxed, but Cassie could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes followed her.

He didn’t move toward her just yet—he knew better than that. But she could feel the steadiness in his gaze, the quiet readiness to step in if she needed him.

Freddie had always been that way. Even in moments like this—when the whole world seemed to close in around her, when every click of a camera or harsh question from the press felt like it was driving her deeper into a corner—he knew how to stay calm. He wasn’t a man who panicked, not for himself and certainly not for her.

And Cassie? She could almost feel the pull of his calmness, the way it anchored her, made the world outside his car feel distant, less suffocating.

Everytime she found themselves in those situations, she wondered if he didn’t give her these first minutes so she could try to stand her ground herself.

Perhaps the time she had screamed at him as a child when he tried to help her walk through a park truly traumatized him.

She kept her eyes on him, letting the sight of him be the only constant in the storm. She could tell he was waiting for her to reach him, not pushing, not rushing, but keeping his distance just enough to give her space to breathe. He knew the look on her face—the exhaustion, the determination not to break. He’d seen it in her before.

She wasn’t sure if it was the heaviness of the day or the sheer relief of seeing him, but the tension in her chest eased just slightly. One more step. One more.

As she neared the car, Freddie moved toward her, stepping into her path to shield her from the press that was pressing in too closely. His hand lightly touched her elbow as if to guide her, but not to hurry her.

It was almost written in his face: See? You could do it, I didn’t want to risk and get punched again.

“You good?” he asked, not so much a question but more a reassurance. He’d seen her more stressed than this, but it didn’t make seeing her like this any easier.

Cassie looked at him for a moment, her breath shallow but steadying, and she nodded, though the tightness in her chest hadn’t entirely gone. She couldn’t quite manage a smile, but she appreciated the simplicity of his gesture.

He wasn’t making her talk. He wasn’t pushing her. He just... Knew.

“I’ll get you out of here,” he said quietly, as they navigated through the last of the reporters. His voice was calm, not dismissive, just steady—almost like a shield that kept the world from closing in.

When they reached the car, Freddie opened the door for her with a quiet gentleness that was far removed from the scene around them. Cassie didn’t hesitate. She slipped inside, letting the car’s quiet hum swallow the noise outside. Freddie followed her, shutting the door behind him with a definitive sound that felt like the end of something—of the chaos, of the pressure.

He turned the key in the ignition, and the familiar rumble of the engine was the first real sound that felt like it belonged to her world again.

Freddie kept his hands on the wheel, his grip firm but relaxed, as the quiet rumble of the car engine filled the space between them. The steady hum felt comforting, a far cry from the chaos they’d just left behind. Cassie stared out the window, watching the blur of streets pass by, the world outside still moving while hers had felt like it had frozen in place.

She was aware of the pressure building up again in her chest, that familiar uncertainty, the questions she hadn’t yet answered echoing in her mind.

The soft click of the blinker was the only interruption to the silence. Freddie glanced at her quickly, his gaze steady, his voice almost too calm.

“What was the one thing I asked you not to do?”

She didn’t look at him, just stared out the window, biting the inside of her cheek as she replayed the conversation he was referring to in her mind.

“To not blow this up?” she said, her voice reluctant.

Freddie nodded slowly, his eyes back on the road. He didn’t sound angry—just... Resigned. Like he had been expecting this.

“And what did you do?”

Cassie shifted in her seat, her fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the door. She didn’t have the energy to lie, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to face the truth, either.

She shifted uncomfortably, leaning her head back against the headrest.

“Are you really gonna make me say it?” She asked back.

Freddie didn’t respond right away. Instead, he gave a little grunt, his focus unwavering as they passed the familiar landmarks of the town.

After a long moment, he finally spoke again, his tone gentle but with that firm edge she knew too well.

“You know,” he started, letting the words sit for a moment before continuing, “this could’ve been a lot easier if you'd just listened. You could've avoided this whole thing.”

Cassie’s eyes narrowed slightly, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

“Easier?” she repeated quietly, “You know I couldn’t just sit there and let them sweep everything I had done under the rug, Uncle. Not after what happened.”

He didn’t respond right away, but his gaze flicked to her, then back to the road.

The hum of the tires on the road became a steady rhythm, grounding Cassie even as her thoughts threatened to spiral.

She glanced out the window again, the passing scenery blurring into a canvas of muted colors. She recognized the landmarks of Rutshire, the same streets she’d walked as a kid, but they felt distant now, like they belonged to someone else’s story.

Freddie sighed, a low sound that seemed to carry his unspoken concerns. His hands on the wheel tightened briefly before relaxing again.

“I get it,” he said, his tone softer now, “I do . But it doesn’t make it any easier. And now you’ve got to deal with the fallout. The press is going to keep circling, and you’re not going to be able to outrun them.”

Cassie’s fingers curled around the strap of her bag, the worn leather grounding her in a way she desperately needed.

“I know," she said, her voice quieter but resolute, "But I won’t just lie down and take it. If they want to turn me into a headline, fine. I just want it to be the truth.”

Freddie glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable.

“So what happens now?” he asked after a beat, his tone quieter but still steady, “What’s your plan?”

Cassie shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under the weight of the question.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

She hadn’t thought that far ahead, hadn’t allowed herself to. The last 24 hours had been a blur of adrenaline and consequence. She couldn’t see past the next few steps, and even those felt like quicksand.

She hesitated, her throat tightening, “I just… I don’t want Mom to know. Not yet. Please.”

Freddie let out another sigh, heavier this time.

“Cassie—she’s going to find out sooner or later. You can’t keep this from her.”

“I know,” Cassie snapped, her tone sharper than she intended. She closed her eyes briefly, exhaling slowly before continuing, “But I need time to figure it out. I need some space.”

Freddie’s gaze softened slightly as he glanced at her again, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Please, Uncle Freddie,” she asked, “She’ll just… Freak out. I can’t deal with that right now.”

He didn’t respond immediately. The quiet in the car felt almost oppressive, the unspoken tension between them stretching thin.

“Fine,” he said, sighing one more time, “I won’t tell her. But this thing, it’s not going away. You’re going to have to face it sooner or later.”

“I know,” Cassie whispered, her words barely audible, “But not yet.”

The conversation lulled, the hum of the tires filling the space again. Cassie leaned back in her seat, her body heavy with exhaustion. The familiar sight of her father’s house came into view, and for a moment, a wave of nostalgia and grief washed over her.

It had been years since she’d been back—since it had been anything but a memory she tried to keep at arm’s length. But now, it was all she had left for a couple of months.

Freddie pulled into the driveway, the car slowing to a stop. Cassie glanced over at him, his jaw tight, his expression set in that familiar way that reminded her of how he’d always been: protective, steady, the kind of presence she could rely on even when everything else felt like it was crumbling.

“Thanks for bailing me out,” she said, her voice softer now.

Freddie’s lips twitched into a small smile, but his eyes were still focused ahead.

“You’re lucky I was already there and the one who got the call, kid. If it had been your mom, you’d be locked down tighter than Fort Knox for the next week.”

Cassie let out a dry chuckle, though the sound didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’ll take my chances with you.”

Freddie shut off the engine and leaned back in his seat, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, let’s just hope the next ‘incident’ doesn’t involve a higher bail, alright?” he lifted his brows, a funny smile adorning his face, “For now, let’s get you inside.”

The click of the car doors broke the stillness, and Cassie stepped out, her boots crunching against the gravel. The air was crisp and sharp, carrying the faint smell of damp earth from the recent rain. She tugged her coat closer, her breath visible in the chilly morning light as she took in the surroundings.

The house looked much the same as it had for the past few months since she’d moved in—though a little too neat now, suspiciously so .

The front porch, which had once been stacked with deliveries and odds and ends she hadn’t yet unpacked, was clear. The flowerbeds on either side of the walkway, previously overrun with weeds she hadn’t bothered to tackle, had been trimmed and tidied, the soil freshly turned. Even the small patch of grass in front of the house, which she had ignored in favor of her work, had been cut with a precision she could never have mustered.

Her little witch house , how Bas liked so much of calling it, was a witch house no more.

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in.

“Wait a second,” she followed Freddie toward the door, “You’ve been here, haven’t you?”

“I might’ve stopped by,” he said nonchalantly, “Didn’t think you’d want to come home to a mess.”

Cassie’s gaze darted to the freshly swept porch and then back to him, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and reluctant gratitude. He wasn’t wrong—coming home to overgrown chaos would’ve made the day feel even worse. It was already getting her nervous: the chaos and her lack of time to take care of it.

Now that she was unemployed, time wouldn’t be lacking! Ha-ha!

“You’re right,” she admitted begrudgingly, crossing her arms, “But still…” She let the words trail off, “How thorough were you? Please tell me you didn’t drag her into this.”

Freddie turned to face her fully this time, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk.

“Her?” he asked, his tone deliberately teasing.

Cassie groaned, her arms tightening across her chest.

“You know who,” she replied, her voice dry, “If I walk in and find that wife of yours, I’m kicking you both out. No offense, but I really don’t like her. What’s the problem with eating—”

She stopped mid-sentence as she unlocked the front door and opened it, her words dying on her lips. Standing in the living room, a teacup balanced effortlessly in one hand, was Lizzie Vereker.

Lizzie’s presence filled the room effortlessly, as it always did.

She had a certain poise that was hard to define—an air of effortless elegance mixed with sharp wit. Her blonde hair was pulled back neatly, not a strand out of place, and her fitted jacket and boots suggested she had walked straight out of a glossy magazine but didn’t care enough to admit it.

“Cassie,” Lizzie raised her teacup in greeting, “Welcome home.”

Cassie blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before her expression softened into a wide smile. The tension in her shoulders eased for the first time in hours.

“Oh, Lizzie!” she exclaimed, her tone immediately warmer, “So good to see you!”

Lizzie stepped forward gracefully, her movements fluid, as if the chaos of the world outside the house couldn’t touch her. She stopped just short of Cassie, her eyes flickering with humor as she surveyed her.

“And you,” Lizzie replied, her voice carrying that natural lilt of amusement Cassie had always liked about her, “Though I imagine this isn’t the time, I must say, I loved everything you said yesterday. It takes some courage, that’s for sure.”

Cassie’s smile faltered for a moment, the weight of the day creeping back into her mind. She opened her mouth to respond, but Freddie cut in from the doorway, where he leaned with arms crossed, clearly enjoying the exchange.

“Oh, don’t encourage her, Lizzie,” Freddie said with a grin, “She’ll think storming a studio and locking herself in was part of some grand plan.”

Cassie turned, raising an eyebrow at him, grinning herself, “And wasn’t it?”

Freddie snorted, shaking his head.

“If by ‘plan,’ you mean dragging me out of bed at some ungodly hour to try to intercept you,” Freddie said, his voice tinged with dry humor, “Failing spectacularly , and then having to bail you out— sure , let’s call it that.”

Lizzie chuckled, her eyes darting between them as if she were watching a particularly entertaining play. She took a slow sip of her tea, her smirk growing.

“Well,” she said, her tone light but unmistakably sharp, “if it was a plan, I’d say it worked. You’ve certainly got people talking.”

Cassie groaned softly, raking a hand through her hair, the tension in her body apparent.

“Yeah, talking about whether I’ve completely lost my mind.”

Lizzie didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she turned gracefully and gestured toward the living room.

“Come on, then,” she said, moving toward the small table set with a teapot and two extra cups, “Let’s get off our feet. You both look like you could use this more than me.”

Freddie followed without hesitation, while Cassie lingered for a moment, watching Lizzie’s movements. She was always so effortless, so deliberate in everything she did, as though every small gesture had its own purpose.

By the time Cassie joined them, Lizzie had already poured tea into the two remaining cups. She handed Freddie his first, then turned to Cassie, pressing the warm porcelain into her hands with a small smile.

“Drink,” she said, raising her own teacup slightly, her smirk softening into something more thoughtful.

Cassie took a cautious sip, the warmth of the tea spreading through her palms and easing the edge of the cold still clinging to her. She watched as Lizzie raised her cup again, her movements almost ceremonial.

“A touch of madness is underrated, Cassie,” Lizzie said, her voice quieter now, but no less confident, “It’s the predictable ones no one remembers.”

Cassie paused, letting the words settle in her mind. There was something about the way Lizzie said them, the precision and ease in her delivery, that made them linger.

It wasn’t just what she said but how she said it—measured and deliberate, like a writer crafting her lines with the kind of care that made them stick.

Of course, Lizzie was a writer. That’s why she could sway people so effortlessly, why her words carried weight even when they came wrapped in a smirk. It wasn’t lost on Cassie how Lizzie’s confidence seemed to fill the room, not overwhelming it but grounding it, drawing others in without demanding their attention.

The thought brought Cassie a small, unexpected comfort, easing the tension in her chest just slightly. Lizzie’s presence had a way of making things feel less chaotic, less overwhelming, as though the storm outside the house couldn’t touch them here.

It was good to see her like this, Cassie realized, enjoying the side of Lizzie that was unburdened by her husband’s presence. If anyone asked her, Cassie would have no problem saying it: Lizzie and Freddie were undoubtedly bound by their shared taste in... Less-than-ideal partners.

For the first time that morning, Cassie allowed herself to let go of her guard. She looked directly at Lizzie, meeting her gaze fully. It wasn’t something she often did—eye contact always felt like a risk, like it would slice her in a half.

But now, the act felt steadying, reassuring in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

She smiled, small but genuine, the warmth from the teacup in her hands spreading to her chest. Lizzie noticed, of course—she always noticed—but said nothing, simply tilting her head slightly in acknowledgment before taking another sip of tea.

“Then they say I’m the one talented with words,” Cassie said, her voice tinged with a trace of irony. She darted her gaze away, focusing on the warm tea in her hands, using the cup as a shield from the thoughts still swirling in her mind.

“And you are,” Lizzie said, the smile never leaving her lips, “You could write a book if you wanted. People would read it.”

Cassie let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head as she leaned back, letting the softness of the moment wrap around her like a warm blanket.

“Doubt it would sell,” she muttered.

In the corner of the room, the rotary phone began to ring, its sharp, persistent tone cutting through the warmth of their conversation. Cassie’s gaze flicked to it briefly before returning to the scattered papers on the table—notes from interviews that felt like relics of a past life.

The ringing persisted, the sound grating and insistent, like an accusation she couldn’t ignore.

“Crawford’s plan is working, though,” Cassie continued, her voice trailing off as the unease in her stomach twisted again, “He’s made sure anyone who could help me—anyone who might’ve given me a shot—they’re already turned away. Every single one of the people I had planned to interview…”

Her words faltered as her hand gestured vaguely toward the table.

Lizzie leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, her expression softening. The room, warm with the aroma of tea and faint lavender, seemed to hold its breath as she spoke.

“You’re giving Crawford too much credit,” her tone measured, as though she were trying to pull Cassie back from her spiraling thoughts, “He’s powerful, sure. But he’s not omnipotent.”

Cassie’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile—more a bitter acknowledgment.

The phone’s ringing continued, cutting through the air like a blade.

“You think I’m being paranoid?” Cassie asked, her voice carrying a weary edge as her eyes darted between Lizzie and Freddie.

Freddie, who had been quietly nursing his own cup of tea, leaned forward. The leather of his chair creaked softly under the shift of his weight. His elbows rested on his knees, and his hands clasped loosely as he regarded her with a steady, thoughtful gaze.

“No,” Freddie said plainly, his voice steady but not unkind, “I think you’re being too negative.”

The silence that followed seemed to settle heavily over the room, broken only by the soft hiss of the radiator. Cassie’s frown deepened as she thought more and more about what had happened, what she had done.

Freddie pushed himself up from his chair, his movements deliberate, and crossed the room. The floor creaked beneath his weight, a sound that seemed louder in the tense quiet. He stopped at the rotary phone, his gaze falling on the answering machine beside it.

“You want to talk about Crawford’s plan?” he said, resting his hand lightly on the edge of the machine, “Let’s hear it for ourselves.”

Cassie stiffened in her chair, her lips parting as though to protest, “Freddie, don’t—”

“Might as well,” Lizzie interrupted, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms, “If you’re convinced everyone’s turned their back on you, let’s see if that’s true.”

Cassie shook her head, her hands gripping the bloody teacup.

“I don’t need to hear it. I already know what they’ll say.”

“Do you?” Freddie asked, his calm tone challenging her resolve.

Cassie opened her mouth to protest, but Freddie was quicker. His fingers moved with purpose, pressing the button on the answering machine. The mechanical click echoed through the quiet room, a sound that, despite its ordinariness, seemed to sharpen the tension in the air.

Her fingers held firmly around the edges of her teacup, her knuckles pale against the porcelain as the words from the machine filled the room.

“Cassandra,” the first voice said, clipped and urgent, “This is Alan Withers. I’ve heard about the stunt you pulled, and while I understand you’re passionate, I cannot afford to be seen associated with... Good luck. ”

Cassie’s eyes dropped to her lap, the cold porcelain of the teacup doing nothing to help her. The air around her felt thinner, as if it were trying to suffocate the storm swirling inside her.

Alan . Now, a closed door.

His rejection felt personal, even though she knew it wasn’t. It was just the world she had chosen to be a part of.

But now, standing in the wake of that decision, it didn’t feel like a choice at all.

Lizzie shifted slightly, the soft clink of her teacup against the saucer as she adjusted her position. She spoke, but her words felt distant, as if they were just part of the atmosphere and not quite meant for Cassie.

“Well, that’s one way to say nothing,” she muttered under her breath, trying to lighten the moment, but the words fell flat, like a poorly thrown stone.

Cassie didn’t respond, her mind spinning with the implications of Alan’s words. She wanted to argue, to tell herself that this didn’t matter—that she was right, that she wasn’t the problem—but she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

She shifted in her seat, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the teacup. The warm porcelain against her fingertips should have been comforting, but her thoughts were miles away, swirling in a mix of frustration and helplessness.

The machine beeped again, and Cassie’s stomach churned with the anticipation of what might come next.

“Cassie, it’s David from Insight Weekly . I’m sorry, but after everything that’s happened, we’ve decided to shelve the feature. It’s just... Too hot right now. I wish you the best.”

Her chest tightened further at the sound of his voice. She had relied on David—trusted him as one of the few allies who might have helped her navigate the politics of this world.

But now, even he has backed away. She knew it wasn’t personal, again , she knew that—she knew it was the nature of the beast they were all a part of— but it felt personal. No matter how she tried to convince herself it wasn’t.

Every time one of them backed away, it felt like another piece of herself was chipped away.

“See?” she said softly, almost to herself, “This is exactly what Crawford wanted. He’s cut me off from everything.”

Freddie stood silently, his gaze focused on the machine, but he didn’t speak immediately. Cassie wanted to say something—wanted to ask him to turn it off. But she couldn’t find the words.

Her throat was dry, a knot in her chest, and the room felt smaller than it had just moments before.

“Cassie,” a familiar, softer voice began, “It’s Nathan. I think I might’ve found more documents you’d want to see. I can meet this weekend. Let me know.”

Cassie’s focus snapped back to the speaker, and the suddenness of the words made her pause.

Nathan’s voice brought with it a reminder of everything she had worked for—the construction scandal, the faulty materials, the cover-up that had been buried beneath corporate lies. All in his own workplace.

She remembered the late nights, the piles of documents strewn across her desk, the adrenaline of uncovering something that could actually make a difference. But those days felt distant now, like something just out of reach.

Lizzie watched her closely, a quiet acknowledgment of Cassie’s internal shift. Always reading her mind.

“See, not everyone’s written you off,” she said gently.

Cassie didn’t respond right away, lost in the recollections of what Nathan had told her. She had started this, but now the world seemed too big to handle alone. Every part of her wanted to follow through, to pick up the pieces, but the reality of being on her own—the consequences of defying Crawford—had set in. She had nothing to rely on now.

Then, another voice came through.

“Cassie,” the machine crackled, “It’s Sarah Halverson. You talked to me about the water issues near the factory. I—I’m scared. They’ve been sending people to my house, and I don’t know what to do. Please, if you’re still working on this, call me.”

Cassie stood frozen for a moment.

She remembered Sarah clearly—her face, her quiet fear as they sat together and discussed the dangers surrounding the factory. Cassie had promised Sarah she’d do everything she could to get the truth out.

But now, with everything falling apart, it felt like Sarah’s voice was just one more reminder of how far she had fallen.

For a moment, the room felt unbearably quiet, the hum of the radiator and Lizzie’s tea cup returning to her hands. Everything felt so irrelevant.

Her mind pulled her back to the interview with Sarah, her trembling hands clutching a cheap plastic cup of tea. Cassie had promised her, “I’ll make sure they hear your story.” But now?

Now Sarah was being threatened, and Cassie had no platform left to fight for her. The silence stretched on until Freddie cleared his throat, his voice breaking through her haze.

“This woman believes in you, Cassie,” he said quietly, nodding toward the phone, “She’s terrified, and she still called you. That means something.”

But Freddie’s words didn’t reach her—not fully.

"Depending on me?" she muttered, her voice barely audible.

She crossed her arms tightly, her teacup long forgotten—pacing toward the window. The pale light filtering through the sheer curtains did little to soften the storm raging inside her.

"How am I supposed to help anyone?" The words burst out of her, "I don’t have a platform, Uncle. Crawford made sure of that. No one will hire me—not after what I’ve done. I’ve got nothing."

Her fingers tightened against the window frame, the cold biting at her skin. She tried to steady her breathing, but the thought of Sarah—alone, frightened—twisted in her chest like a knife.

"I promised her I’d help," she whispered, almost to herself, "But what can I even do anymore? There’s no one left to listen."

The next message began, not giving time for Freddie or Lizzie to try arguing. Instead, both of them exchanged a look.

Cassie steeled herself. She wasn’t sure if she could handle more disappointment.

“Cassie,” came the familiar voice of her mother, chirpy and unaware. Despite everything, Cassie tried to embrace herself, but more disappointment would come for sure , “Sweetie, I miss you! How are you there? How’s your job? You do know if anything goes south, you can always come back here and I’ll help you find a good husband. Just please, give me some updates about how you’re doing there!”

Cassie groaned, dragging a hand through her hair. Her mother’s words stabbed at her, each one a reminder of how far removed her family was from her world. To her mother, Cassie’s career was just a phase—a way to delay the inevitable: s ettling down, giving up .

The gulf between their worlds had never seemed so wide.

She was exhausted—exhausted in a way that went beyond sleepless nights and long days. It was a bone-deep weariness, the kind that came from constantly trying to explain herself to people who never seemed to understand. How could they?

She had left Chicago for a reason, though even now, it felt like no one really got why. It wasn’t just about escaping the predictable future her mother envisioned for her—a housewife with a perfect smile and a carefully curated life. It was more than that.

Cassie wanted to matter.

She wanted to take the tools she had—the sharp instincts, the knack for seeing what others missed—and do something with them. The world was covered in layers of polished lies, a pristine rug under which powerful men swept their sins. She wanted to rip that rug away, to expose what lay beneath: the stolen innocence, the squandered money, the lives destroyed by greed and neglect.

And yet, no one else seemed to understand.

To her mother, ambition was just a stepping stone to disappointment. To her peers, it was easier to keep their heads down, to avoid making waves…

The loneliness of it all dragged her down, but the spark inside her refused to die. If no one else saw it, if no one else believed in it, then she would . She had to. Because if she didn’t, who would?

“Can we be done already?”

The words slipped from her lips, soft and fractured, as if she’d spoken them into a void. Cassie wasn’t talking to Lizzie or Freddie; she was talking to the storm in her head, to the endless loop of thoughts that kept dragging her under.

Freddie didn’t respond right away. Instead, he moved with deliberate calm, stepping over to the phone and turning it off, silencing missed calls. The absence of sound was deafening, the stillness thick and unyielding.

Then, he finally dared to ask, “You’re still against the idea of joining, aren’t you?”

Cassie stopped mid-step, her pulse quickening as her shoulders stiffened. She didn’t need him to say it. The meaning hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken but unmistakable . Her gaze dropped to the floor, as though meeting his eyes might shatter whatever fragile resolve she had left.

“ I can’t ,” she said, her voice trembling under the weight of her own admission. She straightened her posture, trying to steady herself, but the words felt like glass in her throat, “ I wasn’t made for that. I can’t have my face on a screen, Freddie. It’s not who I am. ”

The silence that followed felt sharper than any argument, heavier than any rebuke. She wished, desperately, that she was wrong. That she could be the person Freddie seemed to think she could be.

How much easier would everything be if she had been born with a stronger spine. If her voice didn’t falter when too many eyes turned her way…

The thought of stepping in front of a camera made her stomach churn, her pulse thrum erratically in her ears.

The idea of Venturer had been lingering for weeks now—a chance to join her uncle’s project, to have a platform big enough to amplify voices like Sarah’s and Nathan’s. It was everything she had ever wanted, yet it felt wrong , suffocating in ways she couldn’t put into words.

The thought of facing an audience, of staring into cold, unblinking cameras instead of speaking from the safety of her anonymity, made her chest tighten painfully. She shook her head as nausea crept up, sharp and relentless.

“ How would I even do it? ” she whispered, almost to herself.

Cassie looked away, fixing her gaze on the far wall as if it might anchor her.

I can barely look someone in the eyes without my nerves turning on me. How could I put myself on a screen for all of them to see? For all of them to judge?

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She had stories to tell—a cause worth fighting for. But could she sacrifice herself, her sense of safety, to make it happen?

The unease settled in deeper as her thoughts spiraled further, pulling her into darker considerations. Freddie had spent weeks trying to bring her into Venturer, his work on the project tethered to his closest friends.

But in Rutshire, nothing came without opposition, and Venturer had its rival: Tony Baddingham’s empire…

Goddamnit , she had almost forgotten about that bastard.

“Do you think that maniac, Tony Baddingham, knows anything about this yet? My... Stunt? ” Cassie’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet the concern was clear in her tone.

Lizzie raised an eyebrow, her calm demeanor not faltering.

“Probably doesn’t even know you exist,” she tried to brush the tension aside.

But Freddie’s reaction was different. His brow furrowed, the corners of his mouth tightening as his thoughts drifted to darker possibilities.

“I’ve kept my word," he said after a pause, his voice steadier than his expression, “I haven’t mentioned you to anyone in the circles you wanted to avoid. That includes Tony.”

Cassie exhaled, relief washing over her in brief, fleeting waves. But the fear lingered, shadowy and persistent.

What if they were wrong?

Her connection to Freddie had always been something she kept at arm’s length, knowing full well the consequences if someone like Baddingham found out. Her uncle had warned her countless times about the man’s ruthlessness, his uncanny ability to weaponize even the smallest vulnerabilities.

Tony Baddingham would do anything to destroy Venturer, without hesitation, and if he found out she was part of it—Freddie’s niece—she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to use her against them.

Freddie stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. His touch was grounding, a small gesture meant to steady her as her thoughts threatened to spiral out of control again.

“Hey,” he said softly, “It won’t happen. You’re too careful. There’s no way for him to make the connection—not unless you want him to.”

His confidence was reassuring, but Cassie couldn’t ignore the tightness in his jaw, the unspoken acknowledgment that even Freddie couldn’t control every variable.

“We’re resilient,” he added, his hand giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, “If it comes to it, we’ll figure it out. But this?” He gestured faintly toward her, toward the doubt clouding her features, “You can’t let it paralyze you.”

Cassie nodded slowly, though the storm inside her was far from over. Still, Freddie’s presence gave her something to hold onto—a flicker of possibility in the chaos. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to take the next step forward.

“I don’t know, Uncle,” she darted her aways between him and Lizzie, “I don’t know how to help these people anymore, I don’t have a platform to do that. No radio station will hire me, and I won’t go back to Chicago.”

Freddie’s gaze held steady, his voice unwavering.

“You don’t need a platform handed to you, Cassie. You’ve always found your own way. You didn’t start because someone gave you a microphone—you started because you couldn’t stay quiet.”

Cassie’s shoulders tensed at his words, how they pondered in her mind. She leaned forward, running a hand through her hair, frustrated by the constant loop of helpless thoughts swirling in her mind.

“But that was different,” she replied, her voice strained. She rubbed her temples, trying to stave off the headache that seemed to pulse with each word, “This isn’t some blog or local tip-off. Sarah needs real help. Nathan’s risking his neck with those documents… And there is for sure more people where they came from. They need more than someone shouting into the void.”

The room seemed to close in around her as the words left her mouth, the air heavy with the unsaid. She wasn’t just talking about Sarah and Nathan anymore. She was talking about herself, the fight she had started that now felt like it was slipping out of her control.

The frustration simmered beneath her skin, making her restless.

Lizzie, who had been sitting across the table, leaned back in her chair with a slight, knowing smile. Her tone was light, almost teasing, but there was a sharpness to it that Cassie couldn’t ignore.

"You make it sound like shouting into the void is nothing," Lizzie said, carrying an edge that cut through the fog in Cassie’s mind, "Maybe you forgot, but you’ve been shouting into the void for years—and people listened. That’s why you’re here."

Cassie shot Lizzie a look, but didn’t respond.

She knew Lizzie was right. Deep down, she knew it. But that didn’t make the doubt fade.

It didn’t make the uncertainty about whether she had anything left to give vanish.

She’d always believed that stories could change the world—that her voice could make the difference. But lately? Lately, it felt like all she was doing was chasing her own tail, stuck in a cycle of frustration and failure. There was too much at stake now. The fight wasn’t just hers anymore.

Her eyes wandered across the room, lingering on the mess of papers scattered on the table. Her unfinished work. Her unspoken promises. And through it all, that suffocating feeling—the one that told her she was running out of time to make any of it count.

Cassie swallowed hard, trying to push the tightness in her throat down, but it wouldn’t go.

“I don’t know if I can do it anymore,” she muttered, more to herself than to either of them.

Freddie sighed, but kept himself quiet. He could hear it in her voice—the uncertainty, the defeat she was too proud to admit. His jaw clenched briefly before he exhaled, shifting in his seat.

“Cassie, you’ve been through worse, and you’ve always come out the other side. This is no different.”

Freddie’s voice was steady, but there was something in the way he said it—something that held the weight of their shared history. She met his eyes despite the internal pain it caused, yet her gaze quickly faltered, unable to hold the connection.

His belief in her was palpable, but it only made the doubt gnaw at her harder.

“I’ve never been silenced like this before,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

She turned away slightly, her back to him, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. The room was suddenly too small, the air too thick with the pressure of his expectations.

Cassie knew what he was thinking.

He was thinking that if she accepted his offer, everything could change. She’d have a platform, a voice loud enough to make a difference. It was the opportunity she’d always dreamed of, a step up in her career. She had always prided herself on being someone who didn’t wait for opportunities to come to her—she made them.

But this? This felt different.

Her mind raced, but it wouldn’t let her consider it fully. She could see it, clear as day—the image of her face, her name, broadcasted across every screen in Rutshire, in every household. Everyone would know her. Everyone would see who she really was, the woman behind the words, the person who had always kept her distance from the limelight.

It wasn’t about the career boost. She knew this was the kind of exposure that would propel her forward, that could change everything for her. But it came with a price. The idea of being that exposed, of having every part of her life scrutinized by people who would never understand, made her stomach twist.

Would they care about the stories she told? Or would they focus on what she wore, how she stood, whether her words matched her image? She wasn’t sure she could bear the thought of being picked apart in that way, of everyone trying to dissect her every move.

She’d always been better off behind the scenes, in the shadows where she could move unnoticed, a voice without a face.

Cassie turned back to Freddie, her hands clenched at her sides.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” she said, her voice small, “To be seen. To be exposed.”

Freddie didn’t respond immediately. He didn’t need to. He understood what she meant, even if he didn’t fully understand how deep was her turmoil.

He had his own demons, his own vulnerabilities. But Cassie wasn’t him. She wasn’t built for the spotlight in the way he might’ve been.

“I get it,” Freddie said quietly after a moment, “You don’t have to make the decision right now. But you’ve never backed down before. You’ve always had the courage to stand up and face it. This... This could be another one of those times. Just think about it, Cass.”

The words felt both comforting and suffocating. The encouragement was there, but so was the unspoken pressure, the weight of an opportunity that might slip through her fingers if she didn’t take it now. It wasn’t just about the decision anymore—it was about whether or not she had the courage to step into the unknown and face everything that would come with it.

She didn’t want to disappoint him, or herself. But this wasn’t just another story to chase. This was her life, her identity, everything she’d built and protected slipping away in an instant. And the scariest part? She didn’t know if she was ready to give that up. Not yet.

Lizzie and Freddie had been gone for about an hour, but it felt like the day had stretched into an eternity. The silence in the house was deafening, a stark contrast to the constant buzz of the phone calls and conversations that had been filling her life just days ago. Cassie leaned back in her chair, the worn wood creaking under her, as her eyes fixed on the rotary phone in the corner of the room.

The phone, once a lifeline, now seemed like an enemy. Its presence mocked her, a reminder of the calls she had ignored—the people reaching out for help, for answers. Every missed call, every voicemail, was a reminder of her failure to provide what they needed.

The truth. Justice. Their voices. Now, she was unable to even summon the will to pick up the receiver.

Her mind ran in circles.

They’re all waiting for me, and I can’t even give them the time of day, she thought bitterly.

How could she help them when she couldn’t help herself? How could she expose the corruption, the lies when she didn’t have a platform to stand on? Without the station, without any means to broadcast what she knew, the truth seemed so much more distant.

What good were all the documents, all the testimonials, if no one would listen to them? No one would care?

The fear twisted inside her, sharp and suffocating.

What am I going to do? she wondered, staring at the receiver.

She thought back to the last time she’d seen Bas, how worried he had looked when she left the bar with only one goal in mind. She hadn’t known then just how wrong things would go—how horribly everything would spiral.

All she had wanted was to make things right, to take down the people who’d been abusing their power for years. But now, what did she have left?

Nothing but the wreckage of a failed mission, the remnants of a career she’d spent years building, now in ruins.

How did it all go so wrong?

Her fingers hovered over the fabric of her sweater, fear gripping her. Every number in her contacts list felt like a mountain too high to climb. What would they think of me now?

Her father’s name, Jones—what a curse it felt like now. He had built his own reputation, a notorious one, but would it help her now if she attempted to use it in her favor now? Could it?

It was a thought that had crossed her mind more than once. If she could just use his legacy—his connections—maybe there would be a way to turn things around. Once, the mere thought of it would have hurt her dignity, but now ? She was desperate enough to consider it.

If anyone would take a chance on me now, they wouldn’t be doing it for me. They’d be doing it for my father’s name, she realized.

But was her father’s name enough to erase the stain she’d just inherited from her failed career at Crawford’s?

Her mind countered: What if it works? Then, what?

Cassie pulled a piece of paper from the pile beside her and began scribbling down names—contacts from her past stories, the ones she had been able to trust, all who had once worked with Charles Crawford. Some of them were still working at other stations. Others had long since been fired, discarded by Crawford and the network for not fitting the mold, no other stations willing to hire them.

Fired employees, they knew the dirt. Perhaps, more than her even. They could help her to tear down the last brick of Crawford’s empire.

If he wanted to tear her name apart, then, she would return the favor.

She stared at the list in front of her, wondering if any of them would be willing to talk to her now, knowing that she was, for all intents and purposes, unemployed. And so fucked up as most of them were.

It would be a long shot, and she knew it. How far using her father’s name would let her go?

But even as the thought flickered in her mind, the reality of it hit her like a wave: I don’t have anything left to work with. If no one will hire me, all of this is meaningless.

All of it.

She stared at the list again, the names swimming in her vision, and then her eyes shifted to the window. Outside, the world was moving, indifferent to her turmoil. The thought of picking up the phone and calling any of these people felt like a weight she couldn’t bear.

Would any of them be willing to talk to her? A girl with a reputation her father had left behind—a reputation I don’t even want to be a part of anymore. But, suddenly is ready to take upon what he had started?

Would they even take her seriously?

She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to shake the doubt from her mind. If only she could find someone who would listen to her for who she was and not who her father was… But that wasn’t how the world worked, if she wanted someone to still see some spark in her, she would have to play dirty and use her father’s name.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Her heart jumped into her throat, her hands tightening around her sweater as her mind scrambled to make sense of it.

Who could that be?

She stood, her legs shaky, and made her way to the door, still holding into the edges of the damn sweater as if her life depended on it. If it was another reporter again, she didn’t know if she would be strong enough to shove them off.

For a moment, she just… Stood there, really . Her fingers moving only to hover over the knob, waiting for something—anything—to give her the clarity she needed.

"Who is it?" she called out, her voice sounding small and weak in the vast emptiness of the house.

There was a brief pause, and then the response came.

"Ahm, Declan O'Hara."

Declan O’Hara? The Declan Fucking O’Hara?

She had never spoken to him—not directly, not since she moved to Rutshire. But his name… She knew it well . It had come up in nearly every conversation with Bas, with her uncle, even Lizzie.

The man who had made a career of being sharp, ruthless, and always in control of the room.

She wasn’t sure why he would be here, at her door, now of all times .

What does he want with me? She thought, a flash of unease running through her.

Cassie’s mind raced through the stories she had heard about him—the interviews that made headlines, the scandals that had followed him like shadows, the way people either loved or hated him, but never ignored him. She had followed his career almost from the beginning, admiring the boldness in his approach, the way he could dissect a situation with just a few well-chosen words.

It was exactly what she had once wanted for herself, when she first dreamed of being a journalist. Back in Chicago.

Yet here he was, standing at her door, a reality she never could have predicted.

Why now?

Cassie stared at the door as though willing it to explain itself. Declan O’Hara—her thoughts were still tripping over the impossibility of his presence here. It didn’t make sense. Why would someone like him, a man whose name carried both weight and controversy, show up unannounced at her door?

Taking a steadying breath, she pulled the door open.

And there was he.

Declan O’Hara stood on her doorstep, casual yet undeniably present, the kind of man who didn’t knock on doors unless he already knew they’d be opened.

His features were sharper in person than in the photographs or on television—his jawline more defined, the stubble catching the dim light. His dark eyes, shadowed but piercing, seemed to size her up in an instant, taking in every detail without giving much away. The lines at the corners of his mouth hinted at a man who’d seen enough to be cynical but wore charm like a second skin instead, a disarming weapon as much as a choice.

And then, of course, there was the mustache, impeccably trimmed, adding an air of polish to someone who seemed never rushed, never flustered, and entirely too aware of the presence he carried with himself.

Cassie’s breath caught in her chest, and she wondered, not for the first time that morning, if she was still asleep and dreaming up the absurdity of it all.

“Miss Jones,” his voice even, the faint trace of a Dublin lilt giving his words an edge. He regarded her with quiet interest, his eyes scanning her face like a puzzle.

“Mr. O’Hara,” she managed, her tone steady despite the racing in her chest.

He tilted his head slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Cassie frowned, unsure how to answer. Was he joking? Interrupting what—her ongoing existential crisis?

God , he could have interrupted it anytime he preferred, really. She wouldn’t complain.

“You’ve certainly caught me off guard,” she admitted instead, her fingers tightening on the knob.

“Good,” he said simply, as though that had been his goal all along.

Cassie blinked at him, her world spinning a bit too fast. She wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or intrigued by his audacity. The air felt heavier, charged with an energy that hadn’t been there moments before.

Declan O’Hara wasn’t just a man standing at her door; he was a presence . A gravitational force pulling her in despite every instinct screaming to guard herself.

That was how his guests felt? That's why they continued in their seats even when he crossed the line?

“I heard your broadcast,” he said, the trace of an Irish lilt softening his words, “It made an impression.”

“An impression,” Cassie repeated, frowning, “I assume you’re here to tell me it was a bad one.”

Declan’s mustache twitched, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if he was suppressing a smile or a retort.

“Not quite,” he said, his voice hinting at something more than polite interest.

His dark eyes settled back on hers, unflinching and steady. There was something in his gaze, as though he were testing her, waiting to see how she’d react to his scrutiny.

It hurt her to look away, but the force of it was too much. She glanced toward the floor, the slight chill of the open doorway creeping up her spine.

Declan didn’t move, obviously

Seeing him on television was one thing—his charisma contained within the screen, his sharp words cutting through interviews like a scalpel. But here, standing in front of her, he was... Different. He wasn’t just a personality, a face attached to the stories she’d watched from a distance.

He was real . And his presence wasn’t something she’d prepared herself for.

There was a magnetic quality to him, the kind of charm that wasn’t loud or forced but instead lingered in the way he carried himself, in the deliberate cadence of his words. It unsettled her, this awareness of him.

She tried to lock the thought away before it could take root. The last thing she needed was to feel self-conscious about Declan O’Hara.

“Then what exactly are you here to tell me?” she asked, forcing her voice into a steadiness she didn’t entirely feel.

Declan’s lips curved ever so slightly, his expression one of quiet amusement.

“I’d say it’s less about telling and more about asking,” he said, his tone dropping, the lilt wrapping around each syllable with an ease that felt entirely unfair.

“Asking what ?” she pressed, her brows drawing together in suspicion.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze shifted past her, sweeping over the interior of her home with the same sharpness he had directed at her moments ago. The soft yellow glow from the hallway lamps cast long shadows against the worn wallpaper and the scattered mess of papers on the table just visible in the background.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the space behind her. The neutrality of his tone made the question feel less like a request and more like a formality.

Cassie hesitated. For a moment, she considered shutting the door in his face, but the calm, unhurried way he stood there made her pause. Declan O’Hara didn’t knock on doors without a reason, and whatever he wanted to say, she had a feeling it wasn’t something she could afford to ignore.

She stepped back reluctantly, gesturing for him to enter.

“You’ve come this far,” she said, her voice filled with dry humor, “I suppose it would be rude to leave you standing in the cold.”

Declan’s eyes flicked back to hers, lingering for a fraction longer than necessary. She could feel his gaze over her, the way it seemed to cut through her walls without effort, slashing her insides.

There was nothing overt in the way he looked at her—no smirk, no lingering stare—but the intensity of his gaze was unsettling all the same. It wasn’t something she could pin down, and that only made it harder to shake.

That was the Declan O’Hara effect, she guessed.

“Generous of you,” he murmured, stepping inside with an ease that suggested he was no stranger to navigating unfamiliar spaces. His coat shifted as he moved, the dark fabric catching the light as he turned to take in the room.

Cassie shut the door behind him, the sound of it closing grounding her slightly. She leaned against the frame for a moment, her eyes instinctively following his movements as he took in the room.

He didn’t linger on any one thing, yet it felt as though nothing escaped his notice—the scattered papers on the table, the crumpled throw on the couch, the worn edges of the armchair by the window…

Everything felt suddenly too intimate, too exposed under his quiet scrutiny, as though her home had unwittingly laid bare the corners of her mind.

And then, he moved. Just a slight shift as he turned, the muted light catching on the sharp line of his jaw, casting shadows along his cheekbones. His coat hung open, revealing the crisp lines of his shirt beneath, the gleam of a watch peeking out from under his sleeve. The shadows softened the severity of his features, but the intensity remained, resting in the sharp focus of his dark eyes.

For a brief moment, Cassie wondered what it would be like to see him somewhere else, as a stranger in some bar—a thought she quickly pushed aside. Declan O’Hara wasn’t someone you invited to drink, in this case, her specifically .

There was no world where she would be in a bar, sat by his side, drinking and laughing about drunk jokes.

“Not what I expected,” he said, his voice breaking the silence. He didn’t elaborate, but there was no judgment in his tone, only curiosity.

Cassie raised an eyebrow, masking her unease with a wry smile.

“What were you expecting? A newsroom?”

He glanced at her, and for the briefest moment, his mustache twitched with what might have been amusement, “Something a little more... Guarded.”

“Well, that was my father’s place,” she shrugged, “I didn’t change anything since I moved in, it still has his face and personality.”

Declan’s head inclined ever so slightly, his gaze not trembling as it traced the room’s quiet details. The soft lamplight cast long shadows over the cluttered surfaces, the books stacked unevenly on the table, the photograph frames turned just slightly askew.

If he found anything notable, he didn’t show it; his face remained unreadable, save for the slightest narrowing of his eyes, as though he were cataloging each element of her space.

“It feels lived in,” he said, his voice measured, a step back from casual but not quite formal.

Cassie stilled, her weight shifting onto one foot as though to anchor herself. The idea of this place—the remnants of someone else’s life—feeling lived in was strange, almost laughable. Especially by her. It wasn’t hers, for starters.

“Borrowed,” she corrected, “It’s borrowed.”

Declan’s mouth curved weakly—not quite a smile, more of a quiet acknowledgment. He said nothing at first, letting the moment breathe. The hum of the overhead light filled the silence, a sound she hadn’t noticed until now.

“What brings you here, Mr. O’Hara?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Her words came sharper now, an effort to push through the strange atmosphere he seemed to carry with him. The air felt electrical in his presence, as though the room itself had to adjust to accommodate him.

“I told you,” he replied, meeting her eyes with a calm intensity, “Your broadcast made an impression.”

The way he said it gave her pause.

Cassie felt his gaze settle on her as though waiting to see how she’d react. She took a slow breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater.

“And that’s enough to knock on someone’s door unannounced?”

“Sometimes,” he said, with a small shrug that somehow managed not to look dismissive, “Though I’ll admit, it wasn’t just the broadcast.”

Her posture stiffened, “Then what was it?”

Declan stepped closer—not enough to invade her space, but just enough that his presence felt more immediate. The creak of the floorboards under his weight seemed louder than it should have been. His gaze flicked briefly to the papers scattered across the table, her scrawled notes forming a haphazard pile that betrayed the frantic way she’d been grasping for control.

Cassie felt his focus shift back to her. It was deliberate, calculated, and entirely unsettling. She resisted the urge to shrink back. Instead, she stayed rooted where she stood, gripping her sweater tighter.

His hesitation was subtle—so brief she might have missed it if she weren’t watching him so closely.

Declan O’Hara wasn’t someone who hesitated often, she imagined. That thought, more than anything, unsettled her even more.

“You’ve put yourself in a position where people are either going to admire you or come for you,” he said, his voice measured but low enough to make her lean in slightly to hear him.

“Admire me?” she asked dryly, the corner of her mouth quirking upward in a humorless smile, “You think that’s likely?”

Declan’s expression didn’t shift much, but the glint in his eyes pierced as he regarded her. Standing there in the muted glow of her living room, he looked entirely at ease—his posture loose, hands slipping casually into his pockets. Yet, there was a coiled energy to him, like a predator content to observe but ready to strike when necessary.

“Admire you?” His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile but close, “They’d be foolish not to. Anyone paying attention would see you’ve got something most people don’t.”

Cassie blinked at that, thrown for a moment by the unexpected turn. The words weren’t overly complimentary. Still, there was something in how he said them—deliberate and matter-of-fact—that left her feeling exposed.

“Crawford isn’t most people,” she countered, her tone cautious, “And I’m not sure anyone else is paying attention.”

Declan tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes scanning her face as if weighing her words against something he already knew, “Crawford’s watching you. I’d bet more people are too.”

The amusement in his voice hinted at more than what he was saying, but he didn’t elaborate.

Cassie felt a flicker of something sharp and unsettling under his gaze—like he was dissecting her, piecing her together in real time. She crossed her arms over her chest, more for herself than for him, and forced out a brittle laugh to deflect.

“That’s a poetic way of telling me I’ve already lost.”

Declan’s gaze drifted briefly around the room again, his expression unreadable. The warmth of the space contrasted with the calculated intensity he carried with him, making her feel simultaneously guarded and cornered.

When his eyes found her figure again, his voice softened, though it didn’t lose its power.

“You haven’t lost,” he said simply, “but making Crawford an enemy wasn’t smart.”

“Don’t you say it,” Cassie chuckled, “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

“And yet,” he said, his tone as even as ever, “you don’t seem the type to let obvious risks stop you.”

Cassie exhaled sharply, darting her gaze toward the notes scattered across the table—a deliberate escape from the way his presence seemed to charge the air between them.

“Obvious risks don’t bother me,” she replied, “Obvious consequences do.”

His head tilted slightly, the movement small but deliberate, “Is that why you haven’t made the calls yet?”

Her head snapped up, a flicker of irritation flashing in her eyes.

“You’ve been here for all of five minutes, and you think you’ve got me figured out?”

Declan didn’t rise to the bait, his expression remaining frustratingly composed. He let the question linger for a beat before answering.

“I don’t need to figure you out,” he said plainly, “It’s written all over you. You’ve gone through every word you’d say, rehearsed every answer they might give, but the phone’s still on the table.”

Cassie stiffened, her arms crossing tighter over her chest.

“And if it is?” she shot back, her tone defensive but softer, hesitant. Doubt , maybe.

“Then it tells me you’re not ready to decide what matters most,” Declan said, his voice dangerously low, if she wasn’t looking at his feet, she would be sure he had whispered in her ear.

Cassie felt the words hit their mark before she could deflect. It wasn’t just what he said but the way he said it, like he wasn’t trying to convince her of anything, merely stating the obvious. The restraint in his tone grated at her more than a lecture ever could.

“I’m not sure that’s any of your business,” she shot back, but the bite in her words was dulled by hesitation, “I didn’t ask you to come here and give me advice last time I checked.”

Declan didn’t step back. If anything, his presence seemed more focused, more intentional. He had a way of occupying space without crowding it, though it didn’t stop Cassie from feeling scrutinized under his gaze. His fingers brushed the edge of another page on the table, the smallest of gestures, yet it felt charged.

“Maybe not,” he admitted, the hint of a shrug in his shoulders, “But you’re the one who put your voice out there for the world to hear. That’s not the move of someone afraid to make a decision.”

Her chest tightened at the subtle jab, even though she knew it wasn’t meant to be cruel. Cassie uncrossed her arms, only to realize she had no idea what to do with her hands. They hovered awkwardly for a moment before she shoved them into the pockets of her sweater.

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” she muttered, her gaze dropping to the scrawled notes on the table, “It was either speak up or keep quiet and let him win.”

“I noticed,” Declan said, his voice cutting through the air with deliberate clarity, “And for what it’s worth—you didn’t waste a single word. Your broadcast wasn’t just speaking up. It was precision. You wielded those words like a scalpel, cutting exactly where it needed to hurt.”

There was something in the way he said it—calm, matter-of-fact—that made her dizzy. The sincerity in his tone was disarming, but there was weight to it that felt impossible to carry. Her breath hitched involuntarily, her fingers curling deeper into the fabric of her sweater as though she could steady herself against it.

“You make it sound like I had thought about what I would say before I broke in Dan’s show. Maybe in my shows, yes, but not yesterday,” she muttered, her voice quiet, “ It wasn’t. I didn’t plan for any of this.”

Declan didn’t look away, his attention anchored to her with unnerving steadiness.

“Maybe not consciously,” he allowed, leaning back slightly but still holding her in his focus, “But it’s in how you speak—every pause, every shift in tone. It’s not accidental. It’s instinct, you have a gift.”

Cassie felt the words swirl in her chest, a strange mixture of unease and something she couldn’t quite name. Gratitude? Validation? She wasn’t sure, but it unsettled her all the same.

She huffed quietly, her eyes darting toward the window. The sheer curtains filtered the outside light, casting soft patterns on the walls. It was the kind of view that might have once soothed her, but right now, the delicate glow did nothing to ease the unease thrumming beneath her skin.

“You say that like it’s so simple,” she muttered, her voice tight, “Like gifts or instincts are enough to untangle all of this.”

Declan didn’t rush to respond, his silence deliberate. It wasn’t a silence that pressed or demanded—it allowed her words to sit. He moved, finally, his hand brushing against her notes scattered haphazardly, almost grasping at them.

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” he said, “You didn’t just call out Crawford. You made people listen. That’s what scares him, or anyone really.”

Cassie’s fingers twitched at his words, biting her cheeks. She didn’t want to meet his eyes, but her gaze betrayed her, flicking up to find him watching her with that unrelenting steadiness.

Soon, she looked away again.

“I wasn’t trying to scare anyone,” she murmured, barely audible, “I just… Couldn’t let him get away with it.”

Declan’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Exactly,” he said, “And that’s the kind of drive we need on Venturer.”

Her breath caught, and the tension in her chest tightened like a coil.

That was what he had come to ask.

Cassie’s hands tightened into fists against her sides, her nails biting into her palms. The air in the room felt dense, not from the warmth of the radiator or the faint aroma of tea and ink, but from Declan’s words lingering in the air like a challenge she wasn’t ready to face.

“I can’t,” she said quickly, shaking her head, “I’m not made for that. I already told my uncle—”

“Freddie understands,” Declan interjected smoothly, “But I don’t think you do.”

Cassie stiffened, her shoulders rising defensively.

“I know exactly what I can and can’t do,” she snapped, “And I’m telling you: I can’t do that .”

Declan’s presence felt suffocating in its quiet intensity. The room seemed smaller with him in it, every detail sharper and more vivid under his gaze. The cold wind blowing, the soft tick of the clock on the wall—it all pressed against her, amplifying doubts swirling inside her.

How could she explain it to him, this bone-deep dread that came with the idea of being seen? Not just seen, but scrutinized, judged .

Being a voice on the airwaves had given her a layer of protection—a wall between herself and the people who listened. They could hear her passion, her anger, her conviction, but they couldn’t see the fear that sometimes gripped her chest like a vice.

They couldn’t look at her eyes and see what she truly was: a young woman afraid of every step she took.

The thought of standing in front of a camera, her face projected into thousands of homes, made her stomach churn. Every slip of the tongue, every stutter or hesitation, would be magnified a hundredfold. She wasn’t built for that kind of exposure.

“I can’t,” she said again, though her voice sounded weaker this time, frayed at the edges.

Declan didn’t move, didn’t blink. His stillness was maddening.

“Why not?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and that bloody sharpness again, something that cut straight to the heart of her defenses.

Cassie inhaled deeply, trying to quell the rising panic that threatened to choke her. Her gaze flickered across the room, seeking an escape, but there was none—not from him, not from the truth he was pushing her to confront.

“You don’t get it, Mr. O’Hara,” she said, her voice breaking slightly, “It’s not about not wanting recognition or having people listen to me. It’s about...” She trailed off, searching for the words that always seemed to slip through her fingers when she needed them most, “It’s about what happens when they don’t like what they see.”

Declan frowned, leaning forward, “What do you mean?”

Her chest ached as she struggled to articulate the knot of fear and self-doubt that had been her constant companion for as long as she could remember.

“You think it’s just about standing in front of a camera and telling the truth,” she said bitterly, her eyes hardening as she looked at the points of his shoes, “But it’s not . It’s about what happens afterward—when they pick apart every word you said, every expression you made, every tiny flaw you didn’t even realize you had. When they decide who you are based on nothing but a frozen image on a screen.”

Declan’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened slightly, a flicker of understanding passing through them.

“Cassie,” he said, his voice quieter now, “You’ve already faced that. Every time you went on air, every time you published a story. The only difference is, you couldn’t see it happening.”

Cassie’s heart pounded in her chest as Declan’s words hung in the air, each one heavy with intent. He spoke with a calm certainty that made her defenses feel paper-thin.

“I read about your work,” he began, his tone carefully measured, “I’ve listened to the records of your broadcasts. I’ve read the pieces you wrote in Chicago. And I know one thing for certain: you’re not the kind of person who hides behind a mic because she’s afraid. You do it because it’s efficient. Effective .”

Cassie stared at him immediately, her breath catching as the implication of his statement hit her. Her lips parted to respond, but no words came. She felt a strange dizziness, as if the walls of the room had tilted slightly, throwing her off balance.

How?

How could he have done all that in the span of a day ?

He had to have sought out recordings, dug through archives, tracked down articles she hadn’t thought about in years. From yesterday to now, he had made it his mission to know her, to understand her work, her voice.

It was unsettling.

It was…

“Every single one of them had one thing in common,” Declan continued, his tone softening, though his intensity never wavered.

Cassie raised her head, her brow furrowing as she finally managed to find her voice, “What’s that?”

“ You ,” he said, leaning forward again, his eyes never leaving her figure, constantly searching for her eyes, “Your voice, your perspective. You didn’t just report the facts—you made people care about them. You made them feel it. That’s not something everyone can do.”

The sincerity in his tone cut through her like a knife, carving through the doubt she had clung to for so long. She didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t.

She didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t.

Her fingers, still restless, searched for shelter in the fabric of her sweater. The tension in her body refused to ease, the heat creeping up her neck to her cheeks as she processed his gaze—so unwavering, so certain.

“You think being in front of a camera changes that?” he asked, his gaze unwavering, “It doesn’t. If anything, it amplifies it. People don’t connect to perfection—they connect to authenticity. And you, Cassie, are as authentic as it gets.”

The heat crept up her neck, spreading to her cheeks. She could feel it—a flush that she couldn’t suppress, a reaction she couldn’t control. She wanted to blame the intensity of the conversation, but deep down, she knew it was more than that.

There was something in the way he looked at her—unwavering, searching. His eyes, dark and steady, seemed to hold a flicker of something she couldn’t quite place. Admiration? Curiosity?

The corners of his lips lifted, not into a full smile, but a subtle quirk that softened the sharpness of his features. He was close—closer than he needed to be—and she couldn’t decide if it was intentional or just a consequence of his presence.

Her hands fidgeted in the fabric of her sweater again, twisting it as she fought to regain her composure.

“You’re giving me too much credit,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“I don’t think I am,” Declan replied, “If anything, I’m not giving you enough.”

The words struck her like a blow, cutting through the haze of self-doubt that had wrapped itself around her once and for all. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming.

The air between them felt charged, electric in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. Cassie couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to her like this—not with flattery, but with belief.

Her gaze darted to the window again. The pale light filtering through the sheer curtains softened the room's edges but did nothing to dull the sharp edge of Declan’s words. Outside, the distant sound of birdsong felt muted against the tension humming in the room.

Her mind raced, spiraling as it tried to keep up with the emotions swirling inside her. The compliments, the conviction in his voice—it was too much, too fast. She felt like she was teetering on the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to jump or cling to the safety of the ground beneath her feet.

“You don’t know me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “Not really.”

“I know that you’re holding yourself back,” Declan countered.

She shook her head, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“You make it sound so easy,” she muttered, “Like all I have to do is step in front of a camera and everything will fall into place.”

Declan’s expression shifted, softening in a way that made her chest tighten.

“It’s not about it being easy,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle, “It’s about it being worth it.”

Cassie blinked, thrown off balance by the simplicity of his response.

“I’ve been where you are,” Declan continued, “Afraid of what people might see, what they might say. But here’s the thing: it’s not about you. It’s about the story. It’s about what you’re trying to show them, the truth you’re trying to tell.”

His words landed heavily, resonating with something deep inside her. She faltered, her gaze dropping back to her hands. Her fingers trembled slightly, and she clenched them back to her sweater to steady herself.

“You’re talented, Cassie,” Declan said, his voice gaining a firmer edge, “You’re good . You have a way of making people listen—not just to the facts, but to what they mean. We could give you a show, a platform where you can do exactly what you said yesterday: pull back the rug and show people what’s been swept under it.”

He paused, letting the words sink in before adding, “But if you’re not ready to take that jump, then tell me— what do you want to do next? ”

Cassie’s heart hammered in her chest. His words pressed against her like the weight of the world, a challenge, an invitation, all rolled into one. Beneath the pressure, there was a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in a long time: possibility. It was a thought she couldn't shake—the idea of not just telling the truth, but having the power to shape the conversation, to expose the darkness hiding in plain sight.

What would she do next ?

For the first time, the idea didn’t feel impossible. It felt terrifying, yes , but there was a spark of curiosity beneath the fear—a small, stubborn part of her that wanted to know if she could.

Her breath hitched as she looked back at Declan, his gaze steady. Not leaving her sight, not for once.

“I’ll have to think about it,” she took the courage to say it out loud.

Declan’s lips curved into a smile, one that didn’t feel triumphant but rather understanding.

“I’ll wait,” he said, and she believed in him.

Cassie hesitated, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater as a new thought occurred to her. She glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Can I ask you something?”.

“Of course,” he replied immediately.

“Why me?” she asked, her words laced with genuine confusion, “There are dozens of people out there trying to make noise, trying to be heard. What was so special about what I did yesterday?”

Declan’s smile deepened, but there was something else in his expression—a flicker of something warm, almost unspoken.

“It wasn’t just what you did yesterday,” he said, his tone quieter now, more intimate, “It was the way you did it. The way you made people stop and listen. You didn’t just speak—you cut through . You made them care. That’s not something you see every day.”

His gaze lingered on hers, steady and searching, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, the space between them charged with something she couldn’t name.

But, despite it feeling small… That was one of the few times that looking into someone’s eyes didn’t make her feel like drowning. Not in a hurtful way.

“You’re different, Cassie,” Declan continued, “And that scares people like Crawford. It’s also what makes you impossible to ignore. I had heard today some people are already calling you ‘Bloody Harrier’, and I don’t disagree with them, you are a harrier.”

Cassie swallowed hard, her thoughts swirling like a storm. She didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know what to say. All she could do was nod, his words settling heavily in her chest as she tried to make sense of the possibilities now laid before her.

"That’s kind coming from someone like you,” Cassie muttered, her voice laced with skepticism, “But I don’t feel like a harrier .”

Declan’s eyes softened, a quiet understanding passing between them, “That’s because you don’t see yourself the way others do.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as his words lingered in the space between them.

Outside, the breeze rustled the leaves against the windowpane, its soft whisper contrasting with the quiet tension in the room. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though—it was waiting, expectant, as if the world was on pause, waiting for Cassie to choose whether to step forward or remain where she was.

Cassie’s gaze flickered back to him, and for a fleeting moment, the rest of the world seemed to vanish. And in that moment, she became acutely aware of how close he was. His presence, which had always been intense since he had knocked at her door, now felt almost overwhelming.

She noticed the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his lips were slightly parted as he spoke, the faintest trace of stubble that caught the light. The dim afternoon glow from the window washed over his features, softening them in a way that made everything about him seem impossibly magnetic.

It was a fleeting moment, but she felt it, that subtle charge in the air. Something unspoken, something she couldn't put into words, hanging there between them.

For a moment, Declan didn’t speak. He stood still, his gaze steady, as if he too was aware of the proximity. The air seemed to crackle, the space between them shrinking, until finally, with a slight but noticeable shift in his posture, Declan took a step back, breaking the tension.

His eyes never left hers, though, and the understanding between them lingered in the silence.

"Do you really believe that?" Cassie asked, her voice smaller, almost a whisper.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, would I?” Declan asked her back.

The room felt heavy after Declan’s words, his presence an anchor pulling at Cassie’s thoughts. She didn’t know what to say, and for once, she didn’t try to fill the silence. It stretched between them, thick and charged, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater in a futile attempt to ground herself.

Declan’s gaze stayed fixed on her. It wasn’t harsh or prying, but steady, as though he were trying to understand something about her that she hadn’t figured out herself. That quiet intensity unsettled her, a reminder of the kind of man he was—one who didn’t miss the small things, who didn’t let truths slip away unnoticed.

“I should go,” he said, breaking the silence himself. His voice low, almost hesitant, as if leaving wasn’t entirely what he wanted.

Cassie widened her eyes, startled by the shift in the moment. She stepped back slightly, creating a sliver of space between them, though it did nothing to untangle the knot tightening in her chest.

“Right,” she replied, the word coming out too quickly, sharper than she intended, “ Of course. ”

Declan moved toward the door, his steps well measured. He didn’t rush, as though each movement was a chance to reconsider something left unsaid. The air between them felt different now, lighter in some ways but heavy with the lingering weight of their exchange.

When he reached the door, he paused. He turned back, his posture relaxed but his expression still thoughtful.

The dim light coming through the window outlined the sharp edges of his features perfectly, it made him seem less imposing, more human .

“It was good meeting you,” he said, “I wish it had happened sooner.”

His words weren’t dramatic, but they hit somewhere deep, somewhere she didn’t know was vulnerable until now. For a moment, she didn’t respond, unsure of what to say or how to untangle the emotions his presence had stirred.

“Yeah,” she said, her words almost fragile, as if they could break in any second, “Me too.”

Declan’s lips curved into a smile—not the polished, performative kind she’d seen on screens, but something smaller, more genuine.

“Maybe it would’ve made things… Simpler,” he added, his tone light, though his words carried more meaning than they seemed to.

Cassie nodded, unsure how to respond to that . Her thoughts felt tangled, a mess of emotions she didn’t want to unravel just yet.

The least she could do was open the door for him, letting the cold evening air rush in. It swept past her, bracing and sharp, clearing the fog in her mind just enough to remind her where she was. She stepped closer to the doorway, watching as he descended the steps with the same calm confidence he carried everywhere.

At the edge of the porch, he turned back briefly. His dark coat blended with the gray evening, but his eyes caught hers one last time.

“Take care of yourself, Cassie,” he said, his voice warm and familiar, as though he had always known her.

“You too,” she replied, the words barely audible but sincere, “Mr. O’Hara.”

“Please,“ his smile widened, “Call me Declan.”

She didn’t respond immediately, her lips parting as if to say something, but nothing came. Instead, she nodded, her fingers gripping the door for balance.

“Declan ,” she said, the name feeling foreign on her tongue, heavier than it should have been.

The moment lingered settled between them, neither of them seeming in a hurry to break it. Cassie could feel his gaze, the way it softened now, lacking the intensity he’d carried earlier. It made her chest feel tight, but not in the way she was used to.

This wasn’t the suffocating pressure of fear or failure—it was something else, something unfamiliar and unsettling.

Declan glanced past her, his eyes briefly scanning the quiet house behind her. The mess of papers on the table, the dim glow of the single lamp in the corner—it was all so distinctly her, chaotic yet purposeful.

His lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, as though he was about to say more, but then he stepped back, the moment slipping away.

“Goodbye,” he said one more time.

She stayed in the doorway as he walked to his car. The gravel crunched softly under his feet, the sound carrying in the quiet dusk. He opened the driver’s side door, pausing for just a moment before getting in. The headlights flared to life, cutting through the fading light as he started the engine.

Cassie watched as he pulled out of the driveway, the rumble of the car fading as he disappeared down the road. She stayed there long after he was gone, the cold creeping up her arms, her heart still beating a little faster than normal.

When she finally stepped back inside, the warmth of the house felt strange, as though she’d been away for longer than just a moment. She leaned against the door, letting out a slow breath, her thoughts still circling the man who had just left.

Her eyes drifted to the phone on the corner of the room. The list of names was still on her table, waiting for her to take the next step.

For a brief moment, she considered picking up the receiver, calling Sarah, or anyone on that list. But the weight of the decision held her back, the fear of failure keeping her frozen in place.

Declan’s words echoed in her mind: “You made people care.”

She didn’t know if she believed it. Not yet. But the thought lingered, and for now, that was enough.

Enough for her to go to the damn rotary phone and start making her calls.

Rutshire Gazette

Local Radio Dispute Sparks Drama at Crawford’s FM

By Edward Hill

In an unexpected twist during yesterday’s live broadcast, Cassandra Jones, a presenter at Crawford’s FM, took to the airwaves with allegations against station owner Charles Crawford.

Ms. Jones, who recently returned to Rutshire after spending much of her career in Chicago, accused Mr. Crawford of suppressing critical stories in favor of lighter, more commercially viable programming.

Eyewitnesses claim Ms. Jones refused to vacate the studio, reportedly locking herself in for nearly an hour before the police intervened. Sources close to the station describe the incident as “disruptive” and “unprofessional,” with one staff member alleging that Ms. Jones acted “erratically.”

Speaking to the Gazette, Mr. Crawford condemned the incident as a “stunt,” stating: “It’s unfortunate that Ms. Jones felt the need to air grievances in such an inflammatory manner, particularly when we’ve always encouraged an open-door policy for our team. Crawford’s FM prides itself on being a reliable source of entertainment and community news—values clearly lost in Ms. Jones’ actions.”

The details of Ms. Jones’ grievances remain unclear, though snippets from the broadcast suggest dissatisfaction with editorial decisions and claims of mismanagement. The station has confirmed they are pursuing legal action for trespassing and property damage.

Ms. Jones, who was arrested at the scene, declined to comment when approached outside the police station early this morning. However, her outburst has sparked debate among listeners, some of whom have voiced their support. One caller, who wished to remain anonymous, told the Gazette:

"She’s got guts. What she said about the council funds was true. But no one wants to touch it because it’s messy. I say good for her, we need more bloody harriers around here!"

Others, however, have expressed concern over Ms. Jones’ approach, questioning whether such public defiance undermines the credibility of her claims.

For now, the fate of Ms. Jones’ career remains uncertain, with many in the industry speculating whether this incident marks the end of her tenure at Crawford’s FM—or the beginning of something far more contentious.

[grlsbstshot]

Pairing (Original Characters): Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Story Synopsis: R&B singer/songwriter, Jameson Lucas, is well known as a charming playboy. The latest in his line of 'loved em and left em' behavior? Imani St. Cirie, an emotive singer/songwriter herself. A common sense pulls them in opposite directions – friendships are tested, old flames resurface, and new opportunities threaten to tear them apart for good. In this industry, dreams can make or break you – but what happens when love becomes the gamble of a lifetime? Chapter Synopsis: Jameson makes a late night appearance in his ex's life after a year apart. Warnings: Smut (18+), toxic relationship, possessiveness infidelity mentions, explicit language (mild dirty talk), unprotected sex, daddy kink (very much so), unintentional breath play, dirty talking, creampie Word Count: 6.7k Divider Template: @cafekitsune Notes: The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists. There will be alternating POVs between our two leads.

Chapter I: Real Games

[ blockdt unless horny ] : wya?

imani rolled her eyes and tossed the phone back across the couch. of course jameson decided that after a year of not seeing one another, he'd reach out NOW. a year after he broke her heart and ruined their three year relationship, he decided to contact her. with three letters? pathetic. even more pathetic was the fact that she picked the phone back up...and thought of a response.

jameson lucas was like a drug to her. when they met, he was cocky but never without reason. he pursued her relentlessly and it didn't take long until they were everywhere together. the son of a r&b legend, jameson took his own path into music. they just fit each other. imani's own career was in its early stages but she took off like a rocket. soon enough, they were the first names called in their fields. especially when they used their love affair to inspire music. they took a hit of each other and it was nonstop. he knew all he had to do was get his foot in the door and she'd be gone. but imani was determined not to play his game this time. he was almost out of her system. she'd get rid of him for good now.

[ imani ] : why do you care? [ blockdt unless horny ] : i miss you. that better? [ imani ] : no. it's still not explaining what the fuck you want [ blockdt unless horny ] : if i'm looking for you and i want to see you. what do you think i want? [ imani ] : sex? got it. okay, not interested [ blockdt unless horny ] : if i wanted to fuck, i wouldn't have a problem finding somebody to do that with. i want to see you because i miss you. am i being clear enough? [ imani ] : lmfao yeah i guess you wouldn't. i'm not dumb. you want something. [ blockdt unless horny ] : you. i want you. i am literally saying what i want. [ imani ] : and why should i give you access to me? [ blockdt unless horny ] : because i'm asking? begging, really. because i love you? [ imani ] : love me? let's be fucking real, jameson [ blockdt unless horny ] : if i don't love you, i don't love nobody, mani. you not tired of fighting yet? [ imani ] : lmfaoooo you're a fucking joke. you don't cheat on the person you love. [ blockdt unless horny ] : i made a mistake. that doesn't change the fact that i love you. i know we'll never be together again because you don't trust me but what am i supposed to do with the shit i feel? [ imani ] : stop saying you love me. idk maybe you need to live with that shit. i'm doing perfectly fine without you. [ blockdt unless horny ] : okay

jameson exhaled sharply, frustrated with himself. he knew deep in his heart that getting in touch with imani had been a mistake. their relationship came crashing down after his infidelity. a night with a woman he shouldn't have been with spiraled. guilt-ridden, he had confessed the next day then spent months trying to get her back. when his efforts failed and she'd gotten a quarterback as her next man -- jameson had moved on. he'd had another girlfriend for a few months but imani hadn't left his mind. he watched every instagram post with an eager eye but it wasn't like he could avoid her. imani st. cirie was r&b's favorite lover girl. her lyrics were captions more often than his own. he could feel her scolding him with every record release but he listened anyway. the two of them played a game where they pretended not to care or notice one another...but in the dark of night, his finger always hovered over that button to call her. even as another woman lay in his bed. sometimes he fought the urge to press it but most of the time he failed -- and got her voicemail. he wrote songs for her, keeping the object of his affection nameless but their fans could connect the dots. he wasn't over her and never would be.

now his bed was empty and he allowed hope to carry him away. they were both single for the first time in a year. maybe now was the time to work it out? imani's texts quickly shut the idea down. he was losing her and any minute, she'd block him. jameson shuffled uncomfortably in the front seat of his mercedes benz. his gaze strayed up to the gates of her home, wondering if she could see him and knew how atrociously down bad he was. his phone beeped on his lap and he peered down in surprise. she responded ?

[ imani ] : now the cat got your fuckin tongue? [ jameson ] : what would you like me to say to that, imani? nothing, right? [ imani ] : it's just so funny to me. why should i give you what you want? [ jameson ] : why are you asking me questions you really don't care about the answer to? you miss me too. you want to see me too. you love me too. so why are we doing this? [ imani ] : i do want an answer. all that's true but you know it's not good for us to see each other. [ jameson ] : i know, baby. i know you deserve better than this. i just miss you. let me see you for ten minutes. [ imani ] : no. [ jameson ] : baby, please. i swear to god i'll leave after that. [ imani ] : fine. i'm at home. [ jameson ]: i'm outside

imani stared down at her phone with wide eyes, in shock as if she wasn't the one who just texted the words 'fine. i'm at home'. she dropped her phone and jumped off her couch, hands over her mouth. "shit, shit, shit." the woman muttered behind her palms. what the hell was she going to do now? she hadn't expected herself to invite him over and she sure as fuck didn't expect him to be sitting outside.

she took a second more to panic before sprinting up her stairs and down the hall into her bedroom. she tugged her t-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Her shorts followed as she dug into her drawer for another outfit. something that said 'i'm not thinking about you, bitch! but you think i'm cute?' she ended up with a cropped sweatsuit. it showed the tiniest bit of skin and was still comfortable. she didn't bother trying to wrestle with her hair. she left it in a ponytail and practically broke her neck going to brush her teeth.

her doorbell hadn't rung but she could feel the moment he was in front of her home. an electric undercurrent made her body tense. she finished in the bathroom and forced herself to take slow, measured steps back down to the first floor. she wouldn't be seen trying to look her best for him. he was only visiting for ten minutes anyway.

she was crazy for agreeing with this. she knew she should have left the conversation alone but she couldn't help herself. everything that jameson said was true. she missed him. she loved him. she wanted to see him...and imani hated herself for it. yet there she was opening the door for him. "hey." she managed to utter uninterestedly, taking her time before she met his gaze. when she did, she could have choked on her damn spit.

to his mother and god be all the fucking glory...he was beautiful.

it hadn't been as if she hadn't seen his face since they split. he'd released an album, won three grammys for it, and embarked on a very public relationship with a co-star from that little comedic show he was doing. but seeing him up close and personal again? insane. imani grasped the doorknob tightly to keep herself from moving toward him.

freshly braided cornrows lined his scalp and met at the back of his head. she couldn't see the tattoo at the back of his neck but she knew it was there. she had traced her nails across it often enough. it was the soundwave of his first platinum single. he'd been so proud of it. he had numerous other tattoos but that was the one she loved the most. his warm, golden brown skin that she'd kissed and licked so much that she knew every inch of it practically glowed. he had shaved his beard down to a goatee. it framed full lips that could do the most devilish things to her. he lifted his long, incredibly agile, fingers to give her a wave and it broke her out of the spell she was under.

"hey. you got a timer going?" he asked her, humor evident in his tone but she was too distracted by the sound of his voice. deep, soothing, commanding. imani abruptly turned away from the door and stopped in her living room, folding her arms over her chest. the sooner they got this over with, the sooner he could leave.

"i thought you would have it since you said you were only staying for ten minutes." they both knew that he often made promises that he couldn't keep but she wanted to see how long he'd keep up with the charade. imani crossed one leg over the other as she peered at him. why did he have to be so fine? maybe if he wasn't attractive, things would be easier.

"would rather spend my time looking at you than watching a clock." he told her softly, lowering himself onto the same couch as her. as close as he could get. jameson leaned back against the cushions, settling comfortably. he didn't say anything else for a few moments, one hand patting at his chest lightly. "i feel better seeing you." he admitted lowly. "i know you think i'm full of shit...but that's true. i miss you when i'm not with you. i only feel better when i'm right here."

imani sighed softly. she could feel herself crack at the confession but she refused to go down without a fight. "you just wasted two of your minutes." her stony expression didn't hold up so she chose to look away, not responding again. she just didn't know how to. instead, she slightly shifted so she wasn't as close to him. the perfect storm was brewing between them and she had to decide if she was strong enough to withstand it. "is that all you came over here for? we both know you're just gonna get bored with me, cheat, and then leave again. quit while you're behind."

"i'm okay with whatever you want to do." jameson told her, knowing that the day was coming when she would get tired of this and cut him out for good. he'd have no choice but to let her go. but today wasn't that day. he could tell that even though she was sick of his shit, she didn't mean that they should cut things off. and being the man he was...he was glad. instead of answering her question, jameson was quiet. "but i was never bored of you. i swear."

he didn't quite know why they never seemed to get things right. he drifted away from her and then couldn't stand it so he came right back. she got pissed at him and told him to fuck off but then let him come back. it was crazy but it was them. "you know what you mean to me." he said softly, pulling his hand from his pocket to lift his hand. he brushed his thumb against her cheek, tilting his head to watch her expression. "don't you?"

when imani turned to meet his gaze, he knew it hadn't been wrong to contact her. it had been a year but the same energy was between them. he watched her try to pull herself again, try to pull the hardass out and build the wall back up between them. that was the thing about loving someone you knew like the back of your hand -- you saw everything. even the shit they didn't want you to see. "enough with the bullshit, jameson."

literally no other woman could have him open like she did. he spent years sniffing after her. and when he cheated, he spent months begging. he'd never begged a woman for anything. but he knew he'd get down on his knees for her each and every time. "i fucked you over and i regret it everyday." he said softly, pulling his hand from her. "i never loved anybody before i saw you. i can't prove to you it's not bullshit but i swear on everything...you are the love of my life."

it was the one thing he had never told her and he knew saying it shifted things for him emotionally. but damn it, he was running out of answers. "i can't breathe unless i know you're a phone call away. i can barely fucking function if i go too long without seeing you. you are everything." 

silence lapsed between them as they both processed that there was some kind of breakthrough happening. their communication had been better in bed than anywhere else but jameson knew he'd strip as many layers as he could to get down to the heart of it all. the longer they went without speaking, the more he wondered what she was thinking.

"you hurt me, jameson. you do that shit every time and I let you." she said, looking into his eyes. "i don't know why i fuckin' let you do it. but i do." she moved from her spot, positioning herself in his lap. jameson made room for her, wrapping his arms around her waist. the two fell into tandem -- as if they hadn't spent any time apart at all. imani straddled his lap, he could see the regret in her face but he couldn't bring himself to let her ponder on it. he lifted his head and pressed the gentlest kiss to the corner of her mouth. she melted against him and he heard her whisper against his ear. "just don't promise me shit this time. i don't want to hear any lies."

jameson knew he should be a better man and let her be happy with someone else. but he couldn't find it in himself. "okay, baby." what else could he say? he was a piece of shit. "just...don't give up on me." he said softly, surprising himself with how much he meant the words. "i need you. ain't no me without you." his hand pressed against the small of her back, fingertips stroking against her spine as he sighed. "my ten minutes are up, i think. give me a kiss goodnight."

there it was. she had let him just waltz back into her fucking life. folded quicker than a cheap umbrella in a hurricane. a few apologies, kisses, and touches -- imani was partially disgusted with herself. she was relieved to see she wasn't alone in her addiction though. he clung to her body like a man who hadn't been touched in an eternity even though she knew that was far from the truth. maybe she couldn't leave him alone but she could establish a set of boundaries. not lying seemed easy enough.

she sighed as he relaxed into her body. her arms wrapped rightly around his neck and she placed a kiss on his forehead. "i guess you can stay a little longer." imani slipped her hand under his chin, bringing his lips to hers. that familiar feeling washed over her just from the feel of his lips.

imani could feel him smile against her lips and she couldn't help but nip against his lower lip to settle his ego. jameson gave a lingering groan at the contact. it'd been so long since she'd touched him but every single time, it felt like coming home. "mm. mm-uh." he exhaled, breaking the kiss and shaking his head as he swiftly rose from the couch. imani went up with him, thinking quickly and wrapping her legs around his waist. "i can't stay. i gotta go." he muttered, "i promised i'd leave after ten minutes. i just said i wouldn't lie to you."

it was obvious he didn't want to go. if it hadn't been obvious from the way he kept leaning into her, his body begging for those little kisses from her -- it was obvious when he rose from the couch. he braced his hands underneath her, fingers sprawling across her ass. imani was pressed against him, the evidence of what he wanted to do pressed against her thigh. he couldn't lie to her even if he wanted to. "i'm gonna put you down...in a minute." he mumbled, burying his face against the crook of her neck.

suddenly, she didn't want to talk. she didn't want to think of the shit he'd done to her, the way he'd broken her heart. all she wanted to do was feel. That's what she wanted to focus on right now. "no, no, no." she murmured, shaking her head. "this is a promise you can break. it's okay." she placed her hand on the back of his neck. her acrylics grazed his skin -- claiming him once again. imani left a trail of kisses against his neck to his earlobe then sucked it into her mouth. "you're not leaving." she told him in a demanding whisper.

imani pressed herself to him, nails grazing the skin at the back of his neck, and he felt himself break out in chills. the slight pressure there pleased him. his arms tightened around her as he sighed softly. imani pulled back and he saw the smirk gracing her lips. she knew. she knew he was weak for her and knew exactly how to get what she wanted from him. nobody knew him better than her -- whatever she might think of their relationship, she got him in a way nobody else did. she knew exactly what made him tick and she proved it just then. jameson didn't bother to vocally agree. he just began to walk through her living room, headed to the stairs to get to her bedroom. 

"i hate your house sometimes." he huffed as he shifted her in his arms, tossing her onto his shoulder. she gave a short yell of surprise at the move, her hands pressed to his lower back as he carried her up the stairs. the couch wasn't big enough for what he wanted to do with her. "i can't even fuck you on these uncomfortable ass stairs."

"you don't think so?" she asked. "i don't know. that sounds like a challenge to me." the palm of his hand swatted towards her ass, the stinging in his palm probably not as intense as the one she felt. "a challenge for both of us to break our necks." he walked up the stairs easily, her weight against his shoulder going unnoticed. jameson didn't even bother to answer her question any further. he was sure it'd be uncomfortable but he was also sure he'd fuck her anywhere he could. it was the exact reason he walked down her hallway and took the first left he saw. it wasn't the direction of her bedroom...but it was the closest one to them.

even as the heat and tension spiraled between them, he managed to keep his senses alert enough to flip the light switch. in the brightness of the spare bedroom, jameson carefully lowered imani from his shoulder, standing with her next to the bed. for a moment as he placed her onto the bed. he hadn't been lying when he said he'd rather look at her than anything else. he watched as she struggled to get out of the sweatsuit. she tugged her arms free but seemed too jittery to completely get undressed.

jameson began to move closer...leaving her no choice but to fall backward onto the bed. she began to crawl up it, watching him the whole time. "you impatient, mama?" he asked her, a grin gracing his full lips. imani nodded, meeting his gaze. he dropped his hands to her hips, fingertips grazing against the band of her sweatpants. without a word, he gently pulled them over the curve of her ass then down legs. "me too." he confessed. before she could say anything, he was kneeling in front of her. "show me you missed me." jameson said softly, kissing her thigh.

he saw the moment it clicked in her mind what he wanted from her. her hand moved between her legs and jameson spread her thighs greedily, not wanting to miss a moment. they clicked into their typical roles when it came to sex so quickly that he was practically moving on autopilot. he talked to her like he was still her man, like no time had passed at all. imani's fingers parted her folds with ease, wetness sticking to her fingers. she let out a hushed moan as her fingers pressed into her pussy.

some games he and imani played were painful. some pissed him off. some were even amusing. but the best kind of games were the ones where they drove each other crazy. he watched her play along with him -- following his command with ease. "i forgot how pretty she gets when you're turned on." he murmured, slowly pulling his own sweatshirt over his head. jameson tossed it aside, not caring where it landed. "spread. let me see it all. make me remember." he was pleased when imani whimpered softly and did as he said. fingertips parted her folds, exposing her clit to him as her legs parted further as well.

he didn't have any charming shit to say, nothing smooth or seductive. all he knew was that he wanted her more than he wanted his next breath. so jameson descended to the bed, settling himself between her legs. his hand reached out for her own, gently grasping her fingers to pull them to his mouth. he sucked at her digits, carefully pulling each from his mouth to savor the taste of her until he tasted nothing but her skin. both of his hands came to her thighs, pulling her further down the bed and toward his mouth. jameson pressed a kiss to her clit before his tongue pressed to her folds. no sooner had he slid his tongue between her lips did he groan, happy to be home in a sense. and then he went to work.

imani couldn't believe how gone she allowed herself to be for jameson. the woman she was a few months ago would be sickened to see her writhing across a bed, doing his bidding. that thought should have been enough to make her push him away but they were silenced with the kiss to her clit. her back arched, the shock of pleasure bringing a cry from her lips.

the only thing that stopped her from pulling at those big ass ears to stop him and demand he fuck her right then was the fact that he owed her. for every moment he pissed her off or disappointed her, he owed her this pleasure as recompense.

he unwound one arm from around her leg -- pressing his fingers into her. imani lifted his head to watch as her pussy enveloped his digits, pulling and squeezing. he pressed his fingers deeper, harder -- wanting to see how she would react. eventually, he settled into a familiar rhythm. his index and middle finger delving deeply into her, his thumb lazily teasing against her ass. jameson leaned in again, closing his mouth over her clit as he ran his tongue back and forth...back and forth, timing the movement with that of his thumb. he kept it up until arousal soaked his tongue and knew he swallowed it down with glee because he groaned every single time.

her senses were already overloaded. She didn't like the power that jameson had over her. from his slightest touch, she was putty in his hands. "fuck, jameson." she whimpered. her hands palmed the back of his head, fingertips clinging to his braids, pussy grinding against his face. she wasn't going to last long and she hated that. hated him for it. "baby, wait." it hit her like a cramp to the stomach and imani jackknifed up from the bed, one hand pressed to the bed behind her to keep her upright. "i'ma cum, baby." she whimpered. before he could do anything else, her body jerked and her eyes shut close tightly.

she had prepared for him to be right where he was for a while. but it was going to be over before she knew it. jameson picked up his pace and added another finger, at her confession. she was sure he didn't even need the warning but even with her eyes closed, she could feel him watching her -- pleasure written all over her face. "let me see." he urged her own. "give me my shit."

her body jerked and imani felt him slow down. three fingers pressed into her, a thumb pressed to her clit, and another one teasing at her ass -- it was too much. her legs shut tightly over his hands as he pulled the orgasm free. it hit her hard enough to make her thigh shake. imani thrust herself against his fingers, praying he wouldn't stop. and he didn't. as much as she wanted, he gave it to her. she was breathless by the time her hips stopped arching up, begging for more.

only when she came down did she realize he was speaking to her.

"i missed my greedy pussy." "get what you want, baby. take it." "you better keep this energy the same when i get up."

every word brought a moan from her lips and jolt from her hips. imani watched as he pulled his hands free, sucked on his fingers, and stood from the bed. the two didn't exchange a word as she watched him undress. first went his shirt and then his sweatpants. she hadn't even noticed when he took his damn shoes off. his boxers followed next and...behold. a thing of fucking beauty. his dick bobbed freely, fully erect, and she had the urge to taste him. she wanted him sliding between her lips and down her throat the way he used to but she didn't move. she only watched him climb back onto the bed and settled between her legs. then he hesitated.

"fuck." jameson muttered, "baby...i didn't bring shit with me." he told her quietly. imani genuinely felt fear in the moment. fear he would pull away and get up. she wrapped her arms around his neck, keeping him from pulling away even as he continued speaking. "please tell me you have a couple here." imani parted her legs wider, pouting up at him. "you really didn't bring anything?" she repeated, still not processing it. jameson shook his head, his hands pressed to her hips as he kissed her neck and mumbled his apologies. in the moment, she really didn't give a fuck. "it's okay." she whispered. her hand slipped between them and wrapped her hands around his dick. she moved her hips forward to slowly guide him inside of her. she would think about the consequences later. all she knew was that she wanted him NOW.

jameson knew how these things went with imani. they always ended up here one way or another. he cursed himself for not bringing protection. but it didn't matter — they were both desperate for one another. he froze when she reached for him, his breath trapped in his throat at the feel of her hand. he only exhaled sharply when she widened her legs and pressed him inside.

the last time they had sex without protection had been when they were together. now, they were...well, complicated. but he couldn't deny that it felt right. it's why he didn't pull away. "you sure?" he asked her, lust making his speech slurred. even before she nodded her head, he gave a short, gentle thrust — enveloping himself in her entirely. "oh my god -- you feel so good, daddy." she whispered against his ear. "i'm daddy already? i like hearing my baby say that."

their eyes met as he eased deeper into her. imani's hands found his back and jameson fought off a smile as she replied to him. "you never stopped being daddy." she said lowly. He was incomparable to anyone else. despite what happened between them, she still could acknowledge that he was the only one that could make her feel like this. imani sealed their fate when she arched her back, lifted her hips, and told him that she needed him. jameson wanted to be wanted. he wanted to be needed. and he could tell from the sound of her voice that she meant it -- she didn't just want to get off, she meant it. she needed him.

jameson moved his hand from her hips to the small of her back, keeping her hips lifted and pressed against his own. he tested their position -- slowly pulling out. his gaze dropped to watch the movement, a groan leaving his lips as he saw how she coated him in her arousal. as turned on as he was, he still found the time to joke. "don't come so fast this time.", he teased her, his hips moving forward to fill her again. "we're just getting started."

he laughed out loud when her blissed out face turned into a frown. she opened her mouth -- likely to tell him to shut the fuck up -- and he silenced her with a sharp thrust. any insult turned into a moan. "i'm playin, i'm playin." amusement filtering into his tone as he moved his hand from her hip, fingertips gliding down her leg to grasp her thigh. jameson shifted her leg around his waist, picking it up higher so it rested against his back as he slowly fucked her. once he got her leg readjusted, he ran his thumb against her lower lip, his eyes lowered to watch where they connected. "suck."

her brow was still furrowed as they rocked together. it was almost as if she was deciding if she wanted to curse him out but she opened her mouth and took his thumb between her lips. the more precise his movements, the harder it became for her to keep his thumb in her mouth. he didn't think it was possible but it felt like she became even wetter after his command. imani playfully swirled her tongue around his finger and jameson had to close his eyes for a brief second -- lust making his abdomen clench. "shit, mani. oh my -- fuck." jameson panted, slowly pulling his thumb from her mouth. he let it trail across her lower lip before leaning in to kiss her circle his tongue around a nipple. he pressed his body to hers, hips rocking as he wedged his hand between them.

the bedroom was bright and he could see everything -- a blessing, he figured. he dropped his head, looking between their bodies, and made sure he was pressing his wet thumb against her clit. jameson pressed gently, circling there with ease. he was multi-tasking pretty damn well. he could hear his thighs making contact with hers, the squelching between them as he drove himself deeply into her, sucking and gently biting at her nipple.

"jamie. oh baby..." imani hummed, unable to focus on anything besides the sound of her pussy loudly welcoming her lover home. he slid in and out with precision, angling his hips in the exact way to drive her crazy. her moans and screams accompanied the sound of her love. "you're gonna make me -- i'ma cum again." she whimpered, locking her legs around his thighs.

"this my pussy, ain't it?" imani nodded so fast that he was sure she'd cause a sprain in her neck. "then act like it. give me that shit." he knew she was reacting to what he was doing and saying but jameson could hardly hear imani. he was in his own little world, grazing his teeth against her nipple. he kept his thumb pressed to her clit as he kept up the pace of his hips. when he lifted his head, he found that he didn't have much of anything to say. he was in a daze. he heard himself moan, unashamed of the fact that she knew how far gone he was over her.

"i swear to god...i fucking love you." he muttered, eyes drifting closed as he quickly reached out for her leg, pulling it from around his waist to extend. he pressed it to his shoulder, both hands moving to her hips to pull her onto his length harder. all pretenses of taking things slow were out the window. he was fucking her now, his thumb shifting from pressing to quick circles against her clit. "ooh fuck! daddy, i love you too. i swear." she panted.

he could feel her fighting it. she fluttered over him, shaking in his grasp. she didn't want to make this as easy as the first orgasm she experienced but jameson didn't have a problem working for it. her body shifted again with her leg on his shoulder. He picked up his pace and the speed of his thumb. "sh-iiii-t, fuck me daddy. just like that!" imani clawed at his back and tightened her walls around him. her hands grasp at his ass, firm and full in her hands.

he liked the way she called out for him. but he liked the way she told him she loved him. the words had an effect on him. he grunted, gritting his teeth as he tried to rein himself in. it sent chills up his spine and he couldn't shake the desire to hear the words again. jameson slowed down when he should have kept the same pace. "like that?" he asked imani, his hand slowly moving from between her legs and up her abdomen. "yes! yes b-baby." she stuttered. her hands left his body and found the sheets, gripping them tightly as she blinked up at him. it was like she couldn't ground herself no matter what she held on to. good. he didn't want her sane at all. jameson could tell that she wouldn't last much longer.

his other hand caressed her calf, his head turning to press kisses to her leg. he moved slowly, twisting his hips and biting back another moan. it's even better than what he was doing before. how the fuck could she do that without even trying? she made his head spin half the fucking time and he was still in awe of her. "tell me you love me again." he asked her quietly.

she didn't even hesitate to repeat it. "i love you, baby." mani hissed. "i love you so fuckin' much." her eyes shut and she seized so hard that it was almost as if her body froze. she didn't get to warn him that time. her back arched and her eyes fluttered shut. he could feel her holding her breath. he didn't slack up, lifting his hand to slap down against her clit. her body flinched but still, she didn't release her breath. jameson dropped her her leg from his shoulder to give her a moment of rest. "breathe, mani." he commanded. no sooner than he spoke did he feel her let go. she inhaled sharply, whimpering and moaning out as she did so. nobody could tell him this woman didn't belong to him. the evidence was in the way she let him have his way and her essence covering both their thighs.

she moaned and convulsed around him, wringing a groan from his throat. jameson lowered his body to hers, kissing imani deeply. his tongue slipping between her lips as she clung to him. it was his turn to collapse under the pressure of pleasure. "how you want me, baby?" he asked her between kisses, his release nearing the more he pressed into her. she shook her head as if she didn't understand him and jameson held off with a grunt. "where you want this nut, mani? tell daddy." he was asking for permission and holding off until he got it. even if it killed him.

her voice got caught in her throat and finally, she managed to croak out a response. "inside." one word, the last word she should have said to him. they both knew that. she soaked his dick, the wet spot under them expanding each time he pressed into her. it practically spurted from her. she was spent, he knew she had very little left to give him so now it was time for her to take.

her hands lifted to frame his face, her lips pressed to his cheek, and jameson allowed himself to relax into her. he felt the thrill of lust race down his spine, pulling back only to bury his face in the crook of her neck. he thrust into her roughly, his body losing the sensuous sense of coordination he'd used to get her off. there was no focus or gameplan, desire was driving him now.

he whispered words against her neck, mindless praise about how good she felt. how beautiful she was. how much he loved her. he whispered until the words turned into moans. his hips shuddered and then he came. one hand against her hip, the other over her head -- clenched around the sheets. jameson sagged against her, pressing kisses to imani's shoulder as his hand caressed her hip.

post-nut clarity was a bitch. she had given the man permission to do what he wanted with her body and only now -- when he sagged against her -- did it hit her. her unfaithful, untrustworthy ex had come into her home, hit her with some bullshit about love, and she fell on top of his dick. he breathed heavily against her skin, sleepily pressing kisses to her neck. as much as he pissed her off, she ran her hand up and down his back on instinct. "i really do love you." she heard him say.

despite the fact that they exchanged 'i love you' several times while fucking, it took coming on his dick a few times to remember that she didn't believe him anymore. "mhm." she hummed, patting his shoulder. "i gotta clean up." jameson took the hint and pulled out, surprising imani when he placed his hand against her abdomen. "stay here. i got it." she was silent as he left the room, not even watching his ass as he walked away. she was disappointed in herself. even though her thighs and pussy ached, her clit practically tingled, and her eyes felt heavy with exhaustion -- was it worth going on this damn rollercoaster with jameson again?

he returned to the room with a wet towel. neither of them said a word as he went through the motions of cleaning between her thighs. he even rolled her out of the wet spot that she had been unable to escape. she expected him to take the same care with himself but he didn't. once he was done with the towel, he tossed it aside. the air between them had changed. she could feel it and knew he did too.

"mani." "get out." "...baby, we don't have to do it like that. we can start over." "i don't want to start over with you. i wanted to cum and i did that. so now you can get the fuck out of my house."

imani watched the words impact him and knew he was trying to decide if he believed her or not. she slowly sat up, hating that her body still trembled while she was trying to be strong. "get out, jameson." part of her was pleased that he seemed to give up in the moment. she watched him redress mournfully. they didn't trade words. he was fully dressed and she still sat on the bed, undressed.

"i'll call you." "don't bother."

despite the heat in her words, jameson still leaned in to kiss her. she let him do so, telling herself it was easier than to shove him away. when he finally turned to leave the room, imani let her mask slip. she fell back onto the bed, breath shuddering. she had done the right thing. fucking him was a mistake but she could bounce back. she didn't have to let him back into her life anymore. that chapter of her life was over.

We hope you guys like the start of Neon Lights. If not, please keep it to yourself. No, I'm kidding. Constructive criticism is very welcome!

[andreas-river]

➷ Kinktober 2023

Day V: Gangbang || Task Force 141

Cross-posted on Ao3.

It was supposed to be wrong, to feel so good at the point where your body had a mind of its own, to have goosebumps running down your skin as waves of pleasure collided against you, one after the other, like the hands that caressed you so gently, in contrast to the way your Captain drove into you with firm thrusts.

You didn't realize they had that in mind as you were the only ones in the base's private bar, the last mission still too fresh in your tired mind. From talking about some rookie on the base who was causing trouble, to discussing who had to take you first. Definitely normal, and the thought of being the only woman on the team made you almost self-conscious, their words full of lust that made your cheeks blush furiously and your blood boil, but not only from embarrassment.

Ghost was the one holding your wrists, preventing you from controlling your own pleasure—unfortunately, you were the type of woman who needed more than just something pounding inside your pussy to make you come, almost regretting saying it out loud when everyone was undressing—except Ghost of course, who only took off his jacket and unzipped his pants, but at least he didn't have his usual gloves.

Lying down on the wooden coffee table, Price finished with a grunt, pulling out and painting your lower abdomen with his white cum, the room filled with ragged breaths and your whimpers. He fixed himself under your unfocused gaze while the others stared at you with hungrier eyes.

He smiled, sitting on the couch as he lit his cigar. "She's all yours, boys," he takes a drag, everyone staring at your body ravenously. "I'm just going to enjoy this for now."

Gaz exhales, his face adorned with the widest of his grins. "You all heard him—she's ours."

Soon you were manhandled, standing for a brief second before Gaz took your place, encouraging you to straddle him, your thighs trembling at being so open as they helped you down onto his cock, a trail of pre-cum along his entire shaft feeling like natural lubricant.

Not that you needed it, and for a moment you actually denied the thought from your mind as you finally sat on top of him, every vein of him pulsing inside you, but you gasped as something cold made contact with your asshole, your voice silenced by Ghost who made sure you had your lips sealed to his hard cock, your moans and whimpers falling on deaf ears as Soap's finger nudged gently against it, the muscles inside wrapping around his finger so tightly you heard him hiss for a moment.

He opened your hole with another finger, your body naturally trying to escape, but from Simon's big cock resting on your tongue, making you drool on him, coating the hot skin with your saliva, while the shallow thrusts Gaz gave from below, the position perfect for hitting something so deep inside you that you'd never felt so full in your life—it didn't take much, of course, for Soap to start pressing the tip against your hole, the tight ring of muscles trying so hard to accommodate him inside.

You felt dizzy when he was fully inside you, jolts of pain mixing with arousal. You had to close your eyes, overwhelmed by the amount of sensations your body was being subjected to. For a moment your ears were ringing, but the hands on your body helped you back to reality, murmuring praise and caressing your soft skin. Soap began to move slowly and all three men cursed, and you couldn't help but moan at their words, how they praised every part of you and at the same time made your guts twist, setting your nerves on fire and making you a complete mess.

Both Gaz and Soap were merciless, pounding the pleasure out of you as they moved in sync while tears formed in your eyes from Ghost's cock using your throat like a hole to fuck at his own pace—they were the ones who decided where they wanted you, when you would cum, making you feel so helpless yet powerful at how you made them feel, their cock aching only for you. Each of them was so close you could feel Gaz underneath you holding your hips tighter, Soap's thrusting becoming more erratic and Ghost holding your head tighter, the lack of oxygen making you feel like you were under the effect of some drug.

But when something pinched your clit—two fingers right on top of it, rubbing that little bundle of nerves that hadn't received any attention from the start—that was the end, your eyes rolling in your skull as you came, thighs trembling as you almost screamed but your voice still muffled by the cock in your mouth. Your body went completely limp, mind still awake but consciousness elsewhere—definitely on cloud nine.

Even though you didn't realize it, the three men came after you, Ghost being the only one who pulled out to prevent you from choking, while Price was the one who held most of your weight after he decided to rejoin, just to make you cum instantly without any effort at all.

When you opened your eyes again, someone was holding your head and holding a glass of water to your lips, encouraging you to drink it. The fresh liquid felt so good on your sore throat, your body shivered slightly from the adrenaline that was finally wearing off, but they all noticed and placed a blanket on top of you—where they got it, was a mystery.

"Did you have fun?" with your eyes finally open, you finally see Soap holding the glass, Price sitting on the coffee table behind him, Gaz leaning close to your legs and a pair of hands caressing your hair, recognizing Ghost's touch on you, all of them never taking their eyes off you.

You nod in response, too tired to form words. Before you know it, you fall asleep again under their gentle hands, wondering from the back of your mind if it would happen again. Surely you wouldn't mind.

[dearly-somber]

Oh No! | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. fluff, f2l, first-kiss, university!au, werewolf/shifter!au

-> rating. 13+

-> w/c. 1376

-> warnings. a tad suggestive at the end!

-> a/n. Sharp Teeth is nearing its end, my loves 😪 One last installment before the end of the main series 🥹🫶🏻

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. Sept. 14th, 2024 @ 16:54

-> fin. Sat., Aug. 3rd, 2024 @ 00:31

-> edited. Sun., Aug. 4th, 2024 @ 22:07

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn

Oh no! your brain says. I’m kissing my best friend! Whatever shall I do?

Run away, it seems.

Your first thought was woah, and before you could think I want to do that again, you were already running upstairs, the distant sound of your name being called only partially breaking through the panicky mist clouding your senses.

You just kissed Jungkook for the first time and it was for a fucking dare. What? How the fuck even did you let that happen?

It’s like one second you were laughing as the pack was being dared to do funky shit like moon the person next to them or call a random number so they could imitate the sound of an elk, and the next you were sitting like a frightened deer as Yoongi, that bastard (affectionate), dared you to kiss the person to your left.

Jungkook.

Jungkook, who was sitting to your left, his eyes wide and round and pretty and—god, why was he licking his lips?

“Uh,” he said, turning to you with cheeks bright-red from drinking too much, although you wondered if maybe it was because of something else. “Y-you—you don’t have to if you don’t wanna,” he whispered, his tongue dragging slowly over his lower lip as if he was trying to seduce you.

You cleared your throat, your whole body on fire with nerves as you shook your head and leaned toward him. “No,” you said decidedly. “No, let’s do it.”

“Wait, really?” Jimin asked, his eyes flitting between you and Jungkook at a rapid pace.

“Y-yeah,” you shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant despite feeling everything but. “As long as Jungkook is okay with it.”

Jungkook’s Adam’s Apple bobs and you try really hard to stare only a normal amount.

“Okay,” he squeaked.

He watched you with sparkling eyes as you leant forward, entering his space in ways you never thought you’d want to, but now craved like you craved a hot chocolate on a cold day—fervently, obsessively, like you’d be better off having it than not.

You kissed him.

It was wonderful and great and you almost lost yourself in it, but the smallest gasp from the person to your right (you can’t even remember their face) broke your spell…

“Fuck,” you whisper, pulling at your hair. “Fuck!”

You can’t believe that your first kiss with Jungkook happened during a game of dare in front of all your friends and his family.

Fuck.

“Y/N?”

You swivel around with wide eyes. Jungkook steps cautiously into the room as you wrap your arms around yourself, feeling unnaturally nervous when he closes the door gently behind him.

“Can we talk?” he asks, voice low and uncertain. You bite your lip but nod your consent, frozen in place even as Jungkook comes to stand in front of you. “I—“

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt before he can finish his thought, your hands flying out as you nervously wave them around. “Christ, Kook. I don’t know what I was thinking—”

“Bunny—“

“I’m so sorry.” Your feet unfreeze as you walk circles around him, ending with your back to the door. “I was just feeling tipsy and overly adventurous and- and—”

“Y/N.”

Jungkook grabs your hands, a soft, boyishly nervous smile on his face. “It’s okay,” he says softly.

Despite your relief, your stomach still drops to your feet. “It is?” you whisper.

He nods with a gentle hum, his eyes darting down to your lips and back up again. “I… really, really like you,” he exhales, his entire body seeming to deflate with the confession.

“I’ve liked you for a really long time now, and I know this may not be the best way to say it, but…” He takes a deep breath to hide his nerves, but the hopeful smile never leaves his face. “I think… maybe…?” He trails off slowly, maintaining eye contact as he waits for you to either confirm or deny what you know is him nonverbally saying that he’s noticed your emotional shift.

And god, does that scare you.

“Jungkook…”

“What?” he whispers. “What is it?” His face falls so suddenly that you wonder if it’s possible to feel phantom pain from an expression alone. “Do you… do you not like me back?”

“No, Jungkook, I…”

He defeatedly lowers his head, slowly letting go of your hands as he takes a shaky step back, exhaling hard. “But I thought…”

“Jungkook—“

He shakes his head, looking up like he’s trying not to cry. “It’s fine. That’s fine. We can just… we can just forget this happened—“

“No!” you yell suddenly, the nerves and alcohol in your system finally bubbling over even though Jungkook’s wide-eyed and confused deer-in-headlights look makes your knees feel weak. “We can’t forget this happened because that will fucking kill me.”

Jungkook blinks, slow and surprised and trying desperately to hop on the roller coaster your emotions seem to be taking you on. “What—?”

“I love you,” you say, nervous and giddy and scared but so fucking relieved, “I love you and I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long now and it was so good I won’t be able to stop thinking about it until it happens again, I just—” You take a deep breath, your heartbeat pounding against the back of your throat and the bass of your skull and the tips of your fingers. “I just can’t believe our first kiss happened during a game of dare,” you whisper.

Jungkook opens his mouth, but you speak before he has the chance to: “I know it’s dumb and petty and childish and all those other things, but I just… I really wanted it to be special.”

You breathe.

You ruminate in the tummy-churning silence that makes you almost nauseous until you finally take a step toward him.

You stand toe-to-toe, your noses touching as your chests heave almost in sync. Jungkook’s hands are stiff by his sides, your hands shaking where they take him by the shoulders.

“That does not take away from the fact that I really, really like you,” you whisper.

You exhale against his mouth, standing on the tips of your toes to finally press your lips to his.

The kiss itself doesn’t do anything particularly magical—you note that his lips are cushiony-soft and taste faintly of raspberry, but that’s it. No fireworks, no sparks, no the-world-stood-still-for-a-moment feeling in the center of your chest.

You know what does feel magical?

Jungkook’s hand at the back of your neck. Jungkook’s shoulders relaxing as he leans deeper into the kiss, his nose pressing against your cheek. Jungkook pulling you against him, pressing your chests together and letting out what you know by now is an excited whine.

You smile into the kiss, letting your hands slide up and into his hair, letting your nails drag across the nape of his neck. Jungkook shivers with a shaky sigh against your lips, attacking your mouth more fervently.

You make a surprised noise in the back of your throat when Jungkook pushes you back, nearly tripping over your own feet if not for his hand sitting firm on the small of your back. You grunt when you’re pushed roughly against the bedroom door, eating up Jungkook’s noises like a woman starved.

He groans into your kiss when you teasingly pull on his hair, kissing you so hard your teeth knock together.

It feels like forever before he lets you come up for air, resting your foreheads together as you catch your breath. You slide your hands around his face, gently squeezing the lobe of his ear—he whines loud and grips your sides a little harder—before you cup his face and guide his head back enough for you to look at him.

He’s panting and open-mouthed and shaking, his eyes blown so wide you struggle to pinpoint where his pupils start and his irises begin. Loose strands of disheveled hair hang in front of his eyes, long lashes framing his perfectly round cheeks…

“You’re so beautiful,” you mutter. “I don’t tell you enough.”

Jungkook licks his lips, bringing his hand to your face so he can run his thumb over your bottom lip. “You’ll have all the time in world,” he promises, “but for now…”

“Don’t stop kissing me.”

<- prev | next ->

[nausicaaandhermouth]

The Revolutionist

masterlist

pre-canon!silco x gn!reader [2.5k] [AO3]

cw: implied/referenced suicidal ideation, implied/referenced depression

summary: at a particularly melancholy night that drives you to the heights, you meet a stranger in the shadows who coaxes you from the edge.

tags: pre-canon, sexual(?) tension, depression, suicidal ideation, undercity, smoking

a/n girl iono what this is, but here's to my first one shot (clinks glass) idk why i'm nervous (btw requests & taglist are open if you're interested)

From this dizzying height, the Undercity unfurls below. A tapestry of ethereal greens and golds, luminescence piercing through the murky haze—stark silhouettes of buildings jut upwards, defiant sentinels of black and grey amidst the swirling miasma. Its signature sickly green fog blankets the metropolis; coils around structures and seeps into every crevice, a suffocating embrace.

Your feet graze over the edge, toes curling over where solid ground gives way to a yawning abyss. The boundary between life and oblivion is razor-thin here. One small shift, imbalance, and gravity would claim you.

The wind whispers seductive promises of flight, tugging at your clothes, daring you to test the limits—it’s a heady mix of terror and exhilaration.

The precipice beckons, a siren call you’ve never heeded this far before. Each step tracked each loss that then etched into your very bones. First, it was your father, consumed by the blight. Almost expected. It was a degradation the Undercity-born was familiar with. Then, your sister, life snuffed out by an enforcer’s merciless fist. The brutes. Now, your mother, long adrift in her own ocean of grief. You’d become little more than ghosts haunting the same halls, the world’s greed carving an insurmountable chasm between you.

Logic screams that your presence here is madness. The need for comfort, for solace only another soul can provide, wars against reality. You long to bridge the gap, find someone’s warmth, spit out the bitter poison fed by the relentless suffering.

If not today, then tomorrow, or the day after—the world will take again. This grim lottery where Death deals the cards. Will it be the fist of an enforcer or the invisible killers that saturate every breath?

Are you really contemplating this?

“Bit dangerous, don’t you think?” a voice, velvet and silk, cuts blade-like through your contemplation.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up. A jolt of surprise sends you teetering forward. Heart pounding, you stumble back from the edge.

Whirling around, you fix the intruder with a glare. His dark silhouette materialised a few feet away like some spectral apparition, leaning against the roof with an infuriating nonchalance. A cigar dangled between his fingers, wisp of smoke curling around his face.

His eyes, half-moons of disinterest, survey you with the casual indifference of someone observing an insect. It makes a look that makes your spine straighten, your earlier melancholy rapidly morphing into irritation.

“Sort of the point,” you spit back, words tasting of bitterness and bravado. You slide a step away, creating further distance between you and him. The roof suddenly feels too small. Who is he? What does he want? And more importantly, how dare he interrupt your affair with oblivion?

He responds with a half-shrug, somehow making it an eloquent gesture of his impassivity. Drawing a deep breath from his cigar, he exhales a cloud of smoke that hangs in the air like a tangible manifestation of your growing annoyance.

Your mind races and falters. Is he really just going to stand there? Not that you want to be stopped, but his nonchalance was… unsettling? A highly irregular response to finding someone conversing with non-existence. Though, the idea was not novel—a common fate for many under dwellers.

You turn back to face the sprawling cityscape, trying to ignore the insidious tendrils of smoke that start coiling around your senses. The question burns in your mind: What is he doing here? This moment was supposed to be yours alone. You hadn’t anticipated a witness for your last moments.

Unable to resist, you shoot him another glare, only to find him utterly disinterested in your turmoil. He’s busy scraping something off the underside of his boot, as if the grime of the city is more worthy of his attention than your life-or-death deliberation.

Frustration boils over, and your words escape you before you can stop them. “Are you just going to stand there?” the question cuts through the silence and he looks up, meeting you gaze with those half-drooped eyes.

His face remains a mask of calm, thoroughly unaffected by your hostility. It’s a further irritant how much your obvious displeasure slides off him.

“You want me to catch you, or something?” he drawls, tone a perfect blend of sarcasm and boredom that makes your blood even hotter.

His words hang between, a challenge and a dismissal all at once.

“What are you doing here?” you strike back, impatience sharpening your words.

He takes another languid drag from his cigar, smoke veiling his face. “What—can I not be?” his voice carries a hint of amusement as he pushes off from the wall. Each step towards you is a study in fluid grace, soft and languid. “Like you, I can appreciate Zaun’s skyline. Seems we just have a point of preference,”

He halts a few feet away, gaze drawn to the cityscape below. The proximity allows you to truly observe him for the first time, the details etching themselves into your memory with startling clarity.

His eyes, a stormy blue, almost grey when drenched behind mist. They’re set in a face that could have been chiselled from marble—all sharp angles and clean lines, giving him an almost shark-like profile. Long, dark hair is gathered into a careless bun at the nape of his neck, rebellious strands escaping to frame his face, softening the harsh edges ever so slightly.

A spark of gallows humour flickers to life within you, at last a defiant flame against the dark. “Ah,” you nod, wariness still evident in the tension of your shoulders while a sardonic smile curls your lips. “Planning a dive, too, are you?”

A huff escapes him—a sound that might charitably be called laughter, but falls short of genuine mirth.

Suddenly, the name snaps you back to reality. Zaun. The word carries with it its reputation and weight. So few people use the name that it stands more so for people that had “rebel” ideas rather than what it was created for. Your eyes narrow. “You’re one of those… revolutionists, huh?”

He turns to you, face still angled downward, but his gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that momentarily catches your air. You fumble for composure, scraping together the dregs of your wit.

“Nation of Zaun, children, brothers, sisters,” you intone, bobbing your head in mock-solemn gesture as you attempt to recall the group’s motto. The words taste foreign on your tongue, like reciting a prayer to a god you’ve never believed in.

His brow shifts slightly. “Is that mockery?” the question hangs, but not accusatory, rather tinged with a gentle curiosity that catches you off guard.

You shrug. “Sure is an idea,” you mutter, words running away before you can fully process them. You’ve never given it much thought before, too entrenched in the sorrow that’s dogged your family’s steps like perpetually wet shoes, leaving its trail of misery.

This time, he turns to face you fully, his complete attention zeroing in on you. It halts you momentarily, but you push through, averting your gaze as you continue.

“Idealistic. Hard-headed,” you pause, then look up to meet his eyes, your own gaze hardening. “Unrealistic,”

His head tilts slightly, reminiscent of a predator assessing its prey. “You don’t agree with us?”

You exhale sharply, a sound caught between a laugh and a sigh. The revolutionary ideals tumble around you head like a well-worn shopping list. Independence, rid of topside’s clutches, own leadership, own government. “No, I do,” you admit, surprising yourself. Your brows furrow, grappling with the contradiction between your words and your earlier mockery. “Just ballsy, I suppose. It’s never been done, uncharted waters and all that,”

He nods, absorbing your perspective with a thoughtfulness that makes something in you quiver as if in surrender. You find yourself studying his eyes, that stormy blue-grey gaze that seems to hold secrets of their own. They flicker with an inner light as he searches for his response, and you're struck by the intensity of his conviction.

“Then how are we ever to find new land?” he says finally, his voice low and resolute. The simple statement carries an undercurrent of determination that sends a shiver down your back.

“We seem to be surviving fine,” you say, your words dripping with trying humour, a brittle shield.

His response isn't the sad attempt at laughter. Instead, his brow quirks upward, a subtle gesture that feels like a probe into your very secrets. “Then what drove you here?”

You're caught off-balance. How did he read you so easily, peeling back your layers in mere moments? Your gaze darts away, then back to his piercing eyes, discomfort radiating from every pore. “That’s hardly your concern,” you attempt a smile, but it's a weak thing.

“But I can bet it’s one of the following,” he drawls, taking a long, deliberate drag from his cigar. The smoke curls around him like a living thing as he continues. “Lung blight from working in factories, lung blight from working in the mines, or a stray enforcer who got a little too… harsh,” the smoke drifts and drowns you both, swarming your heads in a little bubble.

You inhale, feeling the intoxicating tendrils crawl up into your head, a silent song of temporary escape. Your eyes fix on his cigar, mesmerised. Does it fuel his poetic responses and that maddeningly indifferent stare? You wonder, your hands rising of their own accord, reaching to pluck the cigar from his grasp.

You rest it between your lips, inhaling deeply. The acrid smoke fills your lungs, a familiar burn that grounds you in this surreal moment. With practised ease, you exhale, your tongue crafting perfect smoke rings that float lazily between you. They dissipate against his face, a ghostly caress that lingers.

Your lips twitch, suppressing a smile as his eyes bore into yours. Is he entertained? Infuriated? His face remains an impassive mask, giving nothing away.

“Been trying to learn that,” he says, gaze flickering between the cigar in your hand and your eyes. There's a hint of something else in his voice.

You shrug, aiming for nonchalance. You hope your demeanour mirrors his earlier bored facade. “It’s all the tongue,”

His eyebrow arches slightly. “Is that so?” he murmurs. “And here I thought it was about control,”

You take another drag, letting the smoke curl around your lips before speaking. “Control is part of it,” you concede, voice low. “But flexibility is key,”

He reaches for the cigar, fingers brushing yours as he takes it. “Show me,” he challenges, eyes never leaving yours.

You lean in, forcing your gaze to fixate on the smoke and its origin. Nothing else. “It’s all about the right pressure,” you pause, your breath a ghost drifting from you, as if absorbed by him. “Too much, and it falls apart. Too little, nothing happens at all,”

He inhales deeply, eyes latched onto yours, then attempts a ring. It’s clumsy, dissolving almost instantly. “Pitiful,” he huffs, frustration and amusement colouring him.

You can’t help but chuckle. “Close,”

As if instinctively, he rolls his eyes. “Don’t be kind,”

Is that a dare? Your brows twitch in brief process. You take the cigar back. “Relax your lips, circular,” your eyes fall to his mouth, mimicking yours subconsciously. “Bend your tongue down. Tip on the bottom of your mouth,”

“Mhm,” he hums.

You demonstrate, creating a perfect ring that quivers over his shoulder.

“I see,” he mutters, watching, mesmerised. Whether by the ring or your mouth, you don’t want to know.

Nodding, a slow smile spreads your lips. “Delicate,” you raise the cigar his way.

He takes it with his lips, hooking his fingers around and taking a long drag.

You find yourself captivated by his attempts at smoke rings. As he inhales, his eyes close, a moment of quiet concentration. They flutter open to witness his handiwork—thin, frail rings that dissipate quickly in the air. The corner of his mouth twitches, a hint of a smile breaking through his stoic facade.

He tries again a few times, clearly taken by this newfound skill. His presence has shifted, no longer infuriating but almost... playful.

Emboldened, you gather your courage and circle back to his earlier question. "All of the above," you say, your words herding his attention back to you. Your voice is steady, but there's an undercurrent of pain you couldn't quite strap back. “My dad worked in the mines, and my sister... she got in with the wrong crowd. Crossed some enforcers on the wrong day.”

His eyes soften, a wordless apology that's more than enough. You've never been one for overly expressed sympathies anyway.

“And mom's been showing…” your voice trails off as your mind drifts to your mother's face, the image of her becoming more gaunt with each passing month etched painfully in your memory. It's a familiar process, one you've seen play out in countless Undercity families. Someone's mother or father always showing signs of the blight. Now it's your turn to watch it unfold in your own home. “Declining,” you finish, the word heavy on your tongue.

The light atmosphere dissipates, replaced by a shared understanding of the Undercity's—no, Zaun's harsh realities. You stand there, smoke curling between you.

“It’s never easy, is it?” he says softly, words simple but sincere. He takes another drag of the cigar then offers it back to you. "But we endure," the tone seems to challenge your earlier actions—asking, are you still thinking about it?

You accept the cigar, fingers brushing his. With a long drag, you let the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly. "Guess it's just what we Zaunites do, right?" you take a step away from the edge, nearing his side.

An amused smile finally tugs at his lips.

He was a stranger mere moments ago, and yet here you are, mixing tastes and sharing ideologies. Names seem almost irrelevant. Still, you offer yours, falling from your lips like a confession.

He repeats it, sounding entirely new as his voice wore each letter in that silk tone, escaping his mouth alongside whispers of smoke.

“Silco,” he gives back, the name igniting a spark of recognition that raises your brows as you return his cigar.

The name echoes in your mind, often whispered in the same breath as 'Vander'—the two faces of the revolution. The muscle and the voice of a movement that promised to reshape Zaun's future.

“Mm,” you murmur, your eyes tracing the contours of his face with newfound interest, drinking him in. Each line, each shadow takes on new significance as you piece together the man behind the name. “Not just a revolutionist. The revolutionist,”

A short laugh escapes him, a rare sound that seems to surprise even him. He brings the cigar to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. There's a burning in his gaze that pins you in place, making you acutely aware of every breath.

He takes a deep drag, the ember glowing bright in the dim light of Zaun's eternal twilight. As he exhales, your attention is drawn inexorably to his mouth.

A more practised smoke ring emerges, expanding and drifting between you. It's a marked improvement from his earlier attempts, a physical manifestation of how quickly he learns, adapts. You find yourself wondering what other skills he might possess.

[soap-ify]

nsfw below , mdni.

YOU'RE AN ANGEL, I'M A DOG | simon 'ghost' riley x reader.

02 — you believe me like a god, i destroy you like i am.

chapter summary — after chaos broke out during your work, simon attempts to comfort you in his own way.

tags / cw — angst, reader almost has a panic attack, reactions from bad anxiety, reader is yelled at, verbal assault, violence (simon beats someone up), tending to wounds i don't know how that thing works, just reader and simon being awkward, simon is very self aware, smut 18+, outercourse, grinding through clothes, p in v. [3.8k words]

☆ reader written with afab anatomy but gender neutral terms.

masterlist | ao3 | prev | next

If you had the choice to disappear into the void, you would.

The cafe was quite crowded, which was a good thing for the place but not so welcoming for you. The customers kept on rushing in, rambling out orders while you hastily gave them their stuff while trying your best to not mess anything up. You knew the others were working just as much as you, and you didn’t want to seem selfish by thinking that you were having it the worst out there.

Though your brain truly was horribly overwhelmed with the amount of faces in this small cafe. The heat made your head throb, causing you to rub your hands over your face and take a few deep breaths, afraid that you’d break down in front of everyone, feeling your palms getting clammy. It was so hard to keep your voice controlled and polite while talking to the others, making sure that it didn’t crack.

You despised busy days.

Simon was sitting alone at the far edge seat inside the cafe, a cup of bitter black coffee on the table while his brown eyes blankly stared at you, observing your struggles that you seemingly masked quite well in front of others, but well, not for him.

The rest of the taskforce wasn’t here today since it wasn’t a weekend, and normally Simon himself would have never willingly come over at a crowded place like this. But he was feeling too restless in his apartment. Maybe he just needed fresh air. His mind kept on making dumb excuses, even though he was fully aware that he just wished to see you.

Plus it was always somewhat comforting knowing that he would keep you safe.

You were aware of him, aware of his eyes on you and words couldn’t describe how grateful you were. It was as if his familiar presence was the only thing keeping you sane during this shift, knowing that once this was over, you could talk to him if he’d let you.

You had just given the person standing in the front of the queue their coffee, watching them leave before the other person came at the front — some guy who was probably around your age, looking at you with a wolfish grin plastered on his lips that sent uncomfortable shivers down your spine.

“What would you like, sir?” You asked politely, fumbling with the fabric of your apron behind the counter, thankfully hidden from everyone’s sight. Inhale, exhale.

“A large cup of espresso, sugar.” That man replied, the pet name causing you to internally grimace. Fucking disgusting.

You silently nodded and went back to go over to the coffee machine, only to find out that one of the ingredients had run out. Today truly was your unlucky day.

A wave of panic shot over you as you walked over to the counter once more, facing that man. “I-I am sorry, sir… It seems like the espresso can’t be made due to the shortage of some stuff…” You were unable to hold in the little stammer in your words this time, your breath hitching at the way some anger began making its way over to that man’s face, his mood taking a huge swing. Volatile.

It scared, no, terrified you to see someone angry over something you said. It reminded you of your own parents, reminded you of things you no longer had wished to recall at this point.

“Fuck you mean shortage? What kind of cafe is this?!” The man snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at you, his seething rage causing you to freeze on your spot. Fuck, everyone was looking. You hated this — hated the way you flinched at his loud voice, hated the way everyone was staring at you, silence taking over the cafe before soft murmurs could be heard here and there. Gossiping about this.

As if this was just a joke to them, as if all of this was normal.

“I-I understand your anger, sir… But—” Your words were cut off by his impatient slam on the counter. Your eyes widened and everything for a second seemed too silent, too unbearable. Don’t panic, don’t panic…

“You useless slag. Why don’t you just quit this job and—”

“Fucking get off her, you bastard.” A large hand grabbed the strange man’s collar and shoved him out of your sight, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Simon. You had almost forgotten that he was here too. Another wave of humiliation and helplessness hit you as you just stood there, feeling like a weak idiot.

You didn’t even have to speak, not that you were going to, before Simon pulled the man back up on his feet. “You. Come with me.” He growled and dragged the man out of the cafe, leaving behind an unsettling thick layer of silence caused by the commotion. Over a fucking coffee.

Everyone saw it. Everyone saw you getting yelled at. Everyone saw you being fucking useless.

You soon realised that tears had begun blurring your vision, causing you to hastily undo your apron and scurry off into the staff room.

Simon had that horrendous man thrown into an eerily quiet alley with no one in sight except them both.

“Who do you think you’re messing with?” He growled under his breath, fingers curled up into fists, knuckles a bit bruised and bleeding after having repeatedly punched the man on his face, resulting in a broken nose and some broken teeth. Honestly deserved worse.

Simon didn’t know why he was so angry. He just hated seeing you already on the edge before this man just came in and messed everything up. How dare he yell at you? Scumbag. Simon wanted to spit at him and throw him in the bin like the fucking garbage he was, but he knew that someone could always walk by even in an isolated alley like this and he definitely didn’t want unnecessary attention.

Adrenaline was coursing through Simon’s veins and he could hear the blood rushing into his ears. He looked scary above the man, brown eyes wide and deadly. The fact that his face was covered in that balaclava made him look all the more inhuman.

Thank goodness you weren’t here to witness this.

In Simon’s mind, this was who he really was. Roughened up and turned into this rageful mess after years of brutal training and even worse missions. Trained like a fucking dog. Maybe that was what he was. A dog. Not a human, just a pathetic dirty thing who only knew the worst, who only knew the wrongs.

He was his own poison, killing himself on his own.

With one last kick on the stomach, Simon left the man to weep alone in the alley. He didn’t have to deal with someone like that anymore, all he could think was of you and how you probably were feeling right now.

Your manager had luckily let you end your shift early today, albeit still having scolded you for creating such a ruckus inside the cafe. For ruining a nice busy day. It made your throat tighten, making you feel as if everyone was blaming you for this. Maybe it really was your fault.

You silently stood outside the cafe, staring down at your hands that were clasped together, your fingers visibly trembling. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to clear the fog in your head. Your moment of silence was broken by the familiar sound of soft footsteps nearing you.

Yes, you had memorised his footsteps. You knew everyone’s, actually. And his were your favourite — oddly soft and quiet, juxtaposing to what you initially expected from someone of his size. He was probably very skilled in sneaking up behind the people.

Simon silently stood besides you, not uttering a word. For a whole minute, it was just silence between you, your eyes nervously darting around before landing on his hands that were uncharacteristically not covered in his usual gloves that he wore all the time except for when you both were all alone.

And that’s when you noticed it, his bleeding knuckles.

“Simon…” You breathed out in panic, voice laced with concern as your eyes repeatedly shot back and forth between his face and his hands. What the fuck happened?

“Didn’t want my gloves getting dirty.” He mused gruffly, his eyes slowly looked down at you, causing you to knit your brows even more.

“He’s not gonna bother you again, love. No one is.” He finally mumbled after a few seconds, one hand of his reaching out to gently ruffle your hair. He really wasn’t bothered by the mild cuts on his knuckles. In fact, he really didn’t care. He wasn’t even thinking of bandaging it.

“Let’s go to my place.” You urged him, lips a bit pouty while worry was etched over your face.

He couldn’t help but find you adorable.

Once you both reached your apartment, you were quick to push him onto the couch and hastily grab a first aid kit, scurrying over to sit beside him on the couch.

“Show me your hands.” You mumbled softly, causing him to reluctantly let your gentle hands hold his callused, larger hands. What a contrast. He felt guilty for making you hold such a dirty, damaged thing.

You were quick to clean up his hands, carefully touching the cuts with the cotton pads. You didn’t even want to imagine what Simon was capable of. Your eyes scanned his hands carefully, admiring every scar on his skin.

You never really thought much of it. Sure you knew that he was in the military, always doing some sort of highly dangerous work. But you never really saw that side of his — scary one. So it was fairly easy to forget his real strength until moments like these came to remind you. Though you never really disliked him for it.

You don’t think you could ever dislike him. He was just… everything.

Ever since you both have come to your place, all you could think about was how he stood up for you. You didn’t like pity, but the fact that someone cared, especially if that someone was Simon, made you feel all the more warmer aside.

He did care for you, right? Were you too fond of him? Too in awe of him?

You dabbed some antiseptic on the cuts before applying some cute panda bandaids on his knuckles. He stared at them questionably, brows furrowed though an amused scoff soon escaped his lips behind the mask. “You don’t own normal bandaids?”

“These are normal!” You grumbled, blood rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Just kiddin’... They are cute like you.”

You got up to put the kit away and wash your hands before coming back to sit besides him, pulling your knees to your chest, silence filling the room up once more.

Simon could see how you were still shaken up, the frown etched on your face accentuating the storm of thoughts raging inside your head. It made his heart ache, though he didn’t move a muscle at all, silently staring at you from the corner of his.

He didn’t know how to comfort you at all.

All he knew was how to handle guns and beat up people. All he knew was how to ignite a sense of terror within people.

Simon didn’t want to think of himself as a monster, the word alone making him think of no one other than his father. He wasn’t that man, he wasn’t.

He sighed behind his balaclava after a while and shuffled a bit closer to you on the couch, his arm brushing against yours.

Your body tensed up for a second, and he was just about to back away once he sensed it before you eventually relaxed and leaned into him, a trembling sigh escaping your lips. He was warm, and you couldn’t help but think of him as a blanket that was shielding you from the world. A protector. Though he really wasn’t that, right? What even was he to you?

You didn’t want to think of that right now, not when your brain was already so exhausted after everything that happened today, the little bit of confidence you had already shattered.

Simon’s hand slowly snaked behind your back, drawing lazy discreet circles on your waist through the fabric of your shirt. You could make out some of them — a circle, then a star, then some random incomprehensible shape that he probably just made up on the spot and then a star again. This act of his made you smile a bit, your eyes fluttering up to look at him, only to find him looking back at you.

You had caught him staring at you multiple times before, but this moment felt so different — more cozy and intimate. It made your heart skip a beat, your brain feeling all foggy due to the sudden wave of happiness shooting within you.

Simon probably noticed the change in the air too since his hand was quick to pull back and settle on his lap, fingers drumming on his thigh, pretending as if nothing happened. It left you confused, disappointed even, but more so at yourself then at him. Why were you making every little interaction with him such a big deal? He didn’t like you the way you liked him.

Simon was silent for a while, multiple thoughts going on within his head. His large hand slowly drifted towards you once more, this time towards your thigh, fingers absent-mindedly caressing you. Well, he could comfort you in the way he knew of.

Your body was quick to react to his touch, your breath hitching while you were simultaneously a bit embarrassed of how you were so used to his touch, used to the way his caresses would make you squirm. You could already pick up on his intention behind this, to somehow get your mind off whatever happened in your job today.

“C’mere, love…”

His callused hands pulled you onto his lips with ease, holding onto your hips, your face facing his, eyes meeting. You swear you could feel the world slowing down every time your eyes would meet his, his stare alone coaxing you to lean into him, your head nuzzling into the crook of his neck while your fingers curled up into the fabric of the large grey hoodie he was wearing.

“I’ll take care of you. I promise.” His gruff voice came out as a whisper, making your heart swell yet ache at the same time. Yes, please take care of me, these words repeated over and over in your head while you sheepishly nodded against his neck.

His hands were quick to work, not letting you do a single thing, lifting your hips up gently as he slid down your pants, carefully removing them all the way down, letting it drop to the ground. Your hands reached down in attempted to undo his pants, though he just lightly smacked your hands away and shook his head, huffing softly as he unbuckled the belt and unzipped his pants on his own, tugging them alongside his boxers just a bit so his cock was free from the restraints, already semi-hard.

Your mouth watered at the familiar sight that always made you all heated up and blustered, blood rushing to your cheeks while your eyes stared down at his cock, admiring the veins that adorned it. It was just perfect — girthy and uncut.

“Simon…” A meek whine left your lips while your eyes literally pleaded him to do something, anything to just somehow make your mind empty, to let you forget about everything, to let you pretend that everything was fine. Pretend that you were with him.

His cock twitched at the noise you made, one hand of his tight gripping your hip in position while his other hand gently grabbed the base of his cock, beginning to rub the head against your clothed cunt, watching the way a wet patch was forming on your panties.

“D-Don’t tease me like this!” You grumbled, nibbling on your bottom lip as you felt the swollen head of his now hardened up cock bumping against your clothed clit, making your hips bucking towards him, desperate for more.

“Don’t nibble your lip like that, love. You’re gonna bruise it.” He breathed out, his eyes falling onto your lips that looked so kissable, making him clench his jaw behind that balaclava of his. No, he couldn’t kiss you.

He continued to play with you like this, rubbing and smearing his precum on your panties, continuing to grind against your clothed cunt, ruining this pair of panties. You mentally noted that you should buy some new ones this weekend.

It wasn’t until a few moments later that you started to feel the familiar tight knots building in your abdomen, a soft whimper leaving your lips while your fingers tightened around the fabric of his hoodie, desperately grinding back against his clock. “P-Please, please, Si… So close, pl—”

He stopped, gently pushing you slightly backwards on his lap so his cock was no longer touching you. A frustrated sob left your lips as you glared at him in confusion, eyes all glossy and he couldn’t help but grin behind his mask, noticing how adorable you looked like this. He already knew that he had successfully distracted you from your thoughts. He knew this wasn’t the ideal way. Hell, he should have actually cuddled with you and shared some comforting words. But fuck, he can’t. He shouldn’t. He is already being selfish enough with this whole thing you two have going on, and he definitely doesn’t want to risk progressing into something more.

He was a fucking asshole, he knew it. He knew of how he didn’t deserve you, and you definitely didn’t deserve a broken, fucked up in the head man like him. You deserved better.

But you two were already so far into this, weren’t you?

“Ssh, don’t worry. Gonna make you cum properly.” He assured you, gently pulling you into him once more, his fingers pushing your panties aside and giving your throbbing clit a few sweet rubs before positioning the head of his twitching cock in front of your entrance, looking at you while you were looking down at the spot your bodies were about to be connected at, literally swooning.

“Please…” You pleaded, feeling his cock gently smear your slick all over your folds before beginning to gently push into your tightness, a quiet grunt leaving his lips at the way you clenched around you, still struggling to fully get used to the way his girth would stretch you out. Your head fell onto his shoulder, panting softly as you tried to relax, feeling him slide into you slowly, inch by inch until he was fully snug inside your tight cunt, the cloth of your panties gently grazing against the side of his shaft.

“Takin’ me so well, aren’t ya? Always do. That pretty cunt of yours is so perfect.” He praised hoarsely into your ears, his affectionate words driving you over the edge, feeling him begin to lazily fuck his cock in and out of your fluttering cunt, hitting the spongy spots inside you with ease, as if having them all memorised within his head. Shaky moans would leave your lips at the blissful feeling, eyes rolling back into your head once you felt the head of his cock slam against your cervix, him making sure that it wasn’t painful at all. His hand massaged your hip gently, fondling the flesh and gently guiding you to grind against him while his other hand slid in between your connected bodies, caressing the moist skin of your thigh before moving in between to lightly rub your clit, feeling you clenching around him tightly.

You felt fuzzy, leaning into him fully to let his warmth relax you, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against you while your eyes fluttered shut, head fully nuzzled into his neck. You felt the knots building up again, even stronger this time, leaving you with no time to warn him before your orgasm washed over you hard, your walls spasming around him while a muffled moan left your lips, his fingers rubbing your clit just heightening up your sensitivity. He breathed heavily, his eyes filled with adoration at the way you cummed around his cock, his shaft having a white ring around him, filling his heart with a sickeningly proud feeling at the realisation that only he was capable of making you cum so hard, of making you get rid of all those thoughts.

His own orgasm flooded within him soon after, balls tightening up as he pulled his cock out of your cunt and gave it a few pumps, spraying the thick strings of his cum all over your sweaty, trembling thighs.

Both of you were breathing heavily, tingles spreading through your skin that made you smile at how full of pleasure you felt right now, all floaty as you fully collapsed onto him, clinging onto his tight while his sticky cock rested against your inner thigh, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your lower back.

“Si… Thank you so much…” You sleepily babbled, your breathing getting calmer.

He wished that he could show you the stupid smile that was spread on his face right now.

“I am goin’ to go for deployment after two days.”

He randomly announced that night, causing you to freeze and look away from the movie you both were watching and towards him, eyes all wide. What the fuck? And here you were being happy that he had decided to stay with you tonight, having agreed to spend some time with you.

You were making it all up, all this happiness and whatever feelings and signals you thought you were getting from him. Deployment. God, you hated that word and the way it filled you with dread, the way it always left you all anxious during the weeks he’d be away, fighting god knows who, literally a mistake away from walking on a bridge from life to death.

“How long…?” You quietly asked, trying not to seem so fazed by his sudden words, fingers fiddling with your shirt while your eyes looked away.

“Dunno… I believe it won’t be longer than two weeks. Don’t worry, love.” He mumbled after a while, subtle warmth lingering in his voice as his hand reached to gently caress the back of your head, causing you to sigh softly and lean into him, frowning a bit.

“Okay… Stay safe, Si.”

You trust him. Of course you do.

Liar. Fucking liar. It had been three weeks, three weeks without any contact from him, or any news from him. He wasn’t on this mission with Kyle as far as you knew, so there was no point in asking him.

Was Simon safe? Was he wounded? Did he get captured? Did he get tired of you? Is he finally getting rid of you? Is he… abandoning you?

You tried to shake these thoughts off your mind, trying to remember that his job was a hard one. Still, you stupidly kept grabbing your phone, desperate for any notification or noise.

Only to be met with silence.

notes : thank you so much for the support on the previous chapter :( !! i feel truly grateful. also... feeling evil i love fucking stuff up for simon.

[shaunamilfman]

you must like me for me [1]

summary: You weren't sure what you did to piss off Shauna Shipman, but you've been on the receiving end of her death glares for just as long as you can remember. If looks could kill you'd certainly be six feet under, but hey–it's kind of hot, right? For better or worse, everything changes after a run-in at a party. A/N: NSFW. the "shauna hooks up with you instead of jeff" au that you know and love. Part 2 | Part 3

Click. Click. “Fucking work,” Nat muttered. Click. Click. Click. “Piece of shit.” She hits it against her palm a few times before trying again. Click. 

Stay calm. Deep breaths. 

You bury your face into your hands with a heavy sigh as Nat keeps flicking uselessly at her lighter. “Are you done yet?” You ask wryly, voice muffled by your palm. 

“Nope,” Nat comments, purposefully flicking it louder. The grating sound of her empty lighter catching was starting to drive you insane, and you both knew it would only get worse. You groan as you pull back to glare up at her, dutifully rummaging through your jacket pocket for your own lighter. 

There's the beginnings of a smirk clearly visible on her face, and you realize with a sudden clarity that annoying you had been her goal the entire time. You almost want to keep it from her on sheer principle, but she'd just find another way to irritate you if you did. Pissing you off seemed to be one of her few passions in life. Do what you love and you never work a day or some shit. If only she took algebra this seriously. 

Your hand wraps around the cold metal, your thumb rubbing soothingly over the familiar gouges on the surface. You dreaded having to hand it over, already quietly mourning its comforting weight as you held it loosely up in front of you. It was just a lighter, sure, but it was your favorite lighter. You were aware that it probably wasn’t all that healthy to use a lighter as an emotional crux, but you figured that was a problem for a later you.

Nat shoves her bic back in her pocket with a crooked grin, reaching for yours and snickering as you jerk it away from her. “Don't be a dick,” She says. 

“I want it back, Nat,” You warn. Nat rolls her eyes as she nods, leaning over you to snatch it out of your hand. You let her take it easily, relaxing back against the wall as she finally lights up. Nat exhales slowly, relief evident in her voice as the familiar smell washes over you. You weren’t particularly fond of the smell, but you doubt many people were. You’d smoked here and there when Nat was feeling particularly generous, but it wasn’t a habit you planned on picking up.

You were much more content to watch, basking silently in the smoke of whichever of your friends you’d followed outside. That’s how you preferred to experience most of the world, watching quietly until something caught your attention. Nat called it ‘brooding’, but you preferred to think of yourself just as the silent type. Nat laughed her ass off the one time you mentioned it to her, calming herself down only to randomly burst into laughter for the next week whenever she thought of it. 

Since then you’ve decided to keep that to yourself as well, aghast at the idea of giving Nat more ammo to use against you. Nat was your best friend, sure, that was undeniable. Still, she could be a real bitch when she wanted to– it’s part of why you got along so well in the first place.

“Jesus,” She laughs out suddenly, cigarette held loosely between two fingers as she gestures across the room. “If looks could kill.” Your eyes follow the gesture absentmindedly, grinning as you catch sight of a murderous-looking Shauna staring down Jackie and Jeff across the room. Your eyes widen at the sheer rage she's giving off– you're not sure you've ever felt that strongly about anything in your life. 

There was something about the intensity of her face that made it difficult to tear your eyes away from her. She looked fucking psychotic, like the kind of expression you'd catch on the eleven o'clock news as someone insists that ‘he just seemed so normal’. Honestly, you wouldn't be all that surprised to find out Shauna Shipman already had a trail of bodies behind her. You eye her arms interestedly– she'd certainly be strong enough to carry the body off. 

Still, if Shauna's looks could kill you would've been dead a long time ago. You've been on the receiving end of that particular look so many times that it lost its intended impact a long time ago. You weren't quite sure what you'd done to piss her off, but you quietly thanked yourself for it. You knew she meant it to be intimidating, but the way you shivered under her gaze was never quite as fearful as she probably hoped.

That flaming anger in her eyes that you worried might burn you from the inside out if you weren’t careful only made you want to press more. You wanted so badly to see what would happen when she finally lost it on you. Shauna was dangerous, as you more than well knew. You’ve seen evidence of that more than just about anyone else: always carefully lingering by the edge of the crowd as Shauna started swinging. 

There was something about her then, something utterly enticing in her fury. She seemed larger than life in those moments, all civility leaving her body as she became something to truly be reckoned with. The dead look in her eyes and the harsh look of fury as she lost control of whoever was stupid enough to start shit with her. It was almost intimate.

As many times as she’d glared you down she had never actually tried to swing on you, as much as you sometimes wish she would. You had a pretty similar reputation, and you were more than a little curious about which one of you would come out victorious if ever came down to it. You don’t think you’d mind the result either way in all honesty. You would count yourself lucky to lose a fight if it was to her. Not, of course, that you’d let her win. That would take all the fun out of it, all of the struggle.

You’ve spent more time than you’d care to admit thinking about how her knuckles would feel tearing into your flesh, your face rocked from side to side with the force of every blow as she used the full strength of her body to really lay into you. You liked to imagine the way her fists would look stained with your blood, her heavy breathing above you as she tired herself out beating her fury into your body. 

So, yeah. You were perfectly normal about Shauna Shipman.

“Hey,” You hear a soft voice say, glancing away from Shauna at the sound of fingers snapping right in front of your face. You turn to glare at whatever asshole is in your face, trying to hide your surprise at finding Jackie in front of you. Jackie takes a half step back at the look, hesitation melting into determination as she does her best to stare you down in return. 

You can’t help the way a smile tugs at the corner of your lips: Jackie’s attempt at a glare is more funny than scary. Her eyebrows narrow in determination, but she seems more confused than intimidating. Had she walked up to you on the street you probably would have tried to give her directions. Her lips twisted into a scowl, but you could tell her heart wasn’t in it. It was as if she was imitating a storybook villain more than anything else. She probably should have practiced it in a mirror a few more times before debuting it.

You appreciated the valiant effort but decided she ought to leave the intimidation to Shauna. She seems to come to a similar conclusion, looking down at her feet to hide a slight flush on her face as she awkwardly rocks back on her heels. 

“Did you seriously snap in my face?” You ask, amused.

“You were like totally zoned out,” Jackie defends, rolling her eyes when Nat snickers.

“So you snap in my face?”

“Come on,” Jackie draws out, pouting up at you. “It worked, didn’t it? Besides, that was like five minutes ago now.” You scoff, but decide it was probably best just to let it go at this point. 

“Did you want something?” You prompt.

“Oh! Yeah,” Jackie laughs, waving a joint she seems to pull out of nowhere in your face. “You have a light, right?” You glance at her curiously, before shrugging. You look over your shoulder at Nat who thumbs your lighter open, quickly lighting it up before stuffing it back in her pocket.

Jackie grins as she takes a hit, purposely blowing the smoke in your face as you narrow your eyes at her. Normally you’d excuse it as typical Jackie Taylor brand irritation, but you have an odd feeling that she knows exactly what she’s doing. Her eyes betray just a hint of a smile as if she’s in on a joke you weren’t meant to understand.

You open your mouth to say something in return, probably antagonistic, but Jackie holds the joint out towards you in a peace offering. You consider it for a moment before taking it, deciding there were definitely worse ways to spend a Saturday night. Besides, free weed was free weed. Even if it was somehow already stained with Jackie’s lipstick.

You inhale slowly, purposely blowing out into Jackie’s face. She scowls at you, but quickly gets over it as she snatches it back. You talk to a loose and happy Jackie Taylor for a while, too engrossed in the conversation to realize Shauna's death glare had long since shifted targets.

…

“No,” You say firmly. Nat gives you a sad look as she glances up at you. 

“No,” You repeat again, hesitating this time. Nat, sensing weakness, immediately holds her hands together in a pleading gesture, making you roll your eyes. “Fine,” You start to walk off in search of the kitchen. “But I'm going to get you the warmest can I can find.”

You can faintly hear Nat shouting “Booooo!” As you turn the corner but decide to ignore it. You bypass the ice chest as you see a can sitting off to the side, clearly set down and forgotten. Still, it was definitely unopened. Perfect. 

You're about to walk back into the living room when you catch sight of a flashing light through a window. Your eyes widen as the siren sounds, the flashing blue and red lights bright in the darkness. 

Shit. Nat was on her own. 

The music comes to a dramatic stop as everyone else seems to come to the same conclusion, but you've already slipped out the backdoor before the shouting starts. You run blindly through the forest, waiting until the lights aren't quite as visible in the distance before coming to a stop. You lean against a tree as you catch your breath, silently laughing at the dismayed shouts as people on the edge of the woods are caught.

You duck behind a fallen tree at the sound of a stick breaking, wondering how they'd even get out to you so quickly. The sound of snapping branches only gets louder, quickly approaching your location as you start to hear the sound of heavy breathing. You watch in disbelief as Shauna runs right past you, rolling your eyes as she doesn't even seem to notice you. 

“Shauna,” You whisper harshly. She whirls around in confusion, a slight fear on her face till she seems to just barely make out your face in the dark. 

“Y/N,” She mutters irritatedly. You give her an unimpressed look despite knowing she wouldn't be able to make it out from that far away. 

“Don't sound so excited to see me,” You mutter. Let her get caught if she wants to. She obviously doesn't seem to have much experience running away from the cops. 

“Trust me, you're the last person I'd want to run away from in the woods,” Shauna seethes, but stomps over to lean against a tree near you. 

You start to respond before you hear harsh panting, glancing back over the tree to see Jeff running through the woods right toward the cops. You think about calling out to him, but you think it's funnier to imagine his face when he realizes what he's done. You're not that surprised he's mixed up his directions. You glance over at Shauna's look of disgust as she watches. 

“You could go with him instead,” You offer quietly, grinning smugly as she shoots you a look of disdain. 

She decides to ignore you for a while, bouncing her leg up and down to work off her nervous energy. You both wince at the sound of every broken twig, almost certain this is going to be the one that gets you caught. You finally glare over at her as the rustling starts to get on your nerves. 

“You know, you're pretty bad at this,” You murmur, peering over the tree one last time before settling on the ground with your back against it. You start fumbling through your pockets for your lighter, but quickly realize Nat must've taken it with her. 

Bitch. 

Now you have to deal with Shauna sober. Soberish, you think, searching through your jacket pockets till you find it. You pop the tab open with a grin that quickly slides into a wince as the taste hits your tongue. You'd been tasked with getting the beer can by Nat, a task which you reluctantly agreed to but now felt oddly thankful for. Her loss was your gain, and besides– it's not like it was your fault the party was busted before you could get her lukewarm can of beer back to her. 

You take another sip, almost surprised as it somehow tasted worse than the last one, but Shauna snatches it from your hand and tosses it behind her before you can take another one. You stare at your empty hand in disbelief, hand still clenched around where the stolen can once sat before you slowly look up at her. She's got that famous grin on her face, head tilted in a way that you know means she's about to start shit. 

Still, even you're surprised when she throws the now empty can aimlessly behind her and stumbles forward to straddle your legs. Your eyes are wide when you somehow end up with a lap full of Shipman, hands resting instinctively on her thighs as she scoots up to press her hips flush against yours. 

“Jesus, Shipman,” You mutter. “Warn a girl.”

“You know, I've heard a few rumors about you,” She murmurs, a hungry glint in her eyes. You resist the urge to tremble under her gaze, feeling oddly like a prey animal as she stares intently down at you. You almost want to get up and run, but you shudder at the thought of dumping her off your lap to do it. 

“If you seriously ask me if I've done anal with Kevin we're going to find out which one of us would win in a fight, Shipman. I swear to God.” You say, stealing yourself for a fight as Shauna just smirks down at you with that strange look on her face. 

“Heard you had a thing for girls. Heard you were good at it.”

“I don't kiss and tell,” You say firmly, pointedly digging your thumb into her thighs as they start to bracket you tighter. Shauna hisses in pain, hand clutching your shoulder tightly as you only press them in harder. Shauna relaxed her grip with a whimper, a fucking whimper, as she unconsciously pressed herself further into your thumb. She looks at you with an almost unreadable expression as she thinks for a moment, before shifting and tentatively rocking her hips against yours. 

“Too bad that senior you hooked up with last year doesn't feel the same way about it,” Shauna snarks, rutting down in earnest as your hands come up to encourage her hips as she rides your thigh. 

“What?” You ask distractedly, a breathy sound as you manage to tear your eyes from the way her dress rides up with every roll of her hips. 

“Fuck,” She draws out shakily, eyes slipping shut as she rests her head on your shoulder. A pleasured sigh escaped her as she found a good angle, hips stuttering against you until your guiding hands took over for her. 

“Had to double back last year for something that Jackie forgot,” A strange hint of venom enters her voice at the name. “And Kelly couldn't stop singing your praises to last year's varsity team. Best fuck she's ever had, did you know that? Of course, she's only ever slept with her loser boyfriend so it probably isn't that much of an achievement.”

Your initial wave of disgust at the admission is overshadowed by a feeling of pride. Best fuck she's ever had? No. You're upset that she's talking about you behind your back. Definitely. Your righteous indignation is quickly tamped down as Shauna whines out her protest as she bites pointedly at your neck. 

Right, you think, quickly resuming the endless back-and-forth motions of Shauna's hips as she lets out these perfect little noises into your ear. 

“Think it's a little obvious that I have a thing for girls at this point,” You comment wryly, sneaking a peek down the neckline of her dress as she shudders against you. 

“Oh, fuck. Right there. Right there,” She pleads, the wet glide of her against your thigh rubbing just right. 

“Yeah? Does that feel good, Shipman?” You tease, pulling her down harder against you. She opens her eyes just to glare at you, the heat in her stare almost enough to make you back down as she seems almost resentful of the pleasure you're giving her. 

She scoffs. “Even Randy could…” She trails off into a loud moan, muttering a few quiet curses under her breath before continuing, “...stay still while I get myself off.”

“Is that right?”

“Sure is.”

“Maybe you should go find him, then,” You say, slowly drawing your hands away from her hips. 

“Don't be an asshole,” Shauna snaps, clawing at your back in warning. “Make me come or I’ll–”

“What? You’ll do what?” You pause for a moment, giving her a chance to respond. 

“Maybe you should shut up and take it before I decide to walk off, yeah? Maybe you can be just a little nicer for once so you won’t have to walk back to your car still dripping in your panties.” Her jaw is clenched tightly, an absolute look of murder in her eyes but she doesn’t offer up another threat.

“Can you do that for me?” You taunt, pressing on the sore spot as soon as you realize its existence. Shauna huffs angrily, her nails digging into your shoulders hard enough to draw blood. Strangely the anger seems to make it better for her, her thrusts slowly speeding up the longer you continue to irritate her until she's riding your thigh with a vengeance. 

She whispers breathy threats of violence into your ear in between ragged moans, but it's hard to take her at face value as she rubs herself all over the rough denim of your jeans. You wince at the thought of the stain she's going to leave, quickly pushing it out of your mind as Shauna bites at your shoulder through your shirt to muffle her moan as she comes. Even as muffled as it is she’s so loud that you can still clearly hear her as she continues to grind weakly against you as she rides out her orgasm.

“Did you just...” You ask in astonishment. 

“No,” Shauna lies, voice just a little too high pitched and embarrassed for it to be the truth. She seems to gather as much from the shit-eating grin on your face, slapping weakly at your shoulder with a hint of playfulness you've never seen directed at anyone but Jackie before. She glares at you again a moment later, as if she was trying to take it back. Leave it to Shauna Shipman to regret smiling. 

“Shut up,” She groans, face flushing with embarrassment. “Whatever. Just make me come again. You can do that, can't you?”

With a roll of your eyes, you grab for her discarded flannel and roll it up to lay under her head as you sit up and lay her back on the forest floor. Shauna's smile is almost shy as you look down at her from your position between her spread legs. You trail your hand up her thigh for a moment before thinking better of it. 

“Up,” You direct, tapping at her leg as you shrug your jacket off. She complies with a curious look on her face, a soft smile taking its place as you slip your jacket under her hips on the ground. You take the opportunity that's presented to you and hook your fingers in the waistband of her underwear as you pull it down your legs. 

You hold up your surprising find on one finger, her lacy black panties almost blowing in the gentle breeze. She squeaks in embarrassment, her reflexes fast as she tries to grab for them but not quite as fast as yours as you jerk them away to shove in your pocket. “Didn't strike me as quite your style, Shipman,” You murmur, “Thought you'd be more of a boxers type.”

“Yeah?” Shauna asks. “You spend a lot of time thinking about what's beneath my clothes?”

You flush in embarrassment as you try to sputter out a response, before finally settling on a simple “Fuck you.”

“Gonna have to wear something under my uniform from now on. Had no idea someone was trying to look up my shorts,” Shauna says with feigned disgust, shaking her head as if she truly couldn't believe it. 

“Eat a dick,” You mutter, rocking back on your knees as you move to stand up. 

“Don't be such a baby,” Shauna chides, hooking her leg around your knee to keep you down. She grabs at the collar of your shirt as she drags you into a messy kiss that serves only to emphasize her lack of experience in the area. Still, no one will say that Shauna Shipman isn't a quick study as she thoroughly distracts you from her teasing. 

“Jackie picked them out,” She murmurs lowly as you separate for air.

“What?” You ask. 

“My... My panties,” Shauna admits with a quiet voice.

You grin and she rolls her eyes. “Don't say anything,” She warns. 

“No, hey. I'm sure everyone lets their best friend pick out their panties. Nothing weird there,” You choke the laughter down to give her the most understanding look you can muster on a moment's notice. Shauna glares and you hold your hands up innocently. “Nat picked mine out too.” 

“... Really?” She asks, eyes slowly tracing down to stare at your jeans. 

“Fuck no,” You laugh out, burying your face into her neck as you shake with the force of it. She sighs irritatedly, pinching at your sides until you finally stop. 

“Eat me out before I find someone else to do it,” She threatens, but you can still find the traces of levity on her face she hasn't managed to erase. 

“Yes, Ma'am,” You say sarcastically, shifting to lean on your elbows as you spread her thighs around your shoulders. 

[flaneur001]

Home

Leon x GN reader x Redacted (Leon and Redacted belong to @14dayswithyou)

Fluff and Angst

You swung open the building door, breathing a grateful gulp of fresh air after being holed up all day in the office. Fresh being an overstatement, because the air was mediocre, and on good days. Stretching your limbs, you lingered, taking in your surroundings with tired eyes. 

A forest of concrete, as far as your vision reached. Rows after rows of buildings, small houses, and shops sat clustered on this street. The car horns, and the general cacophony of a busy neighborhood had become white noise to you. Begrudgingly acquainted with city life now. A far cry from Corland Bay. Your hometown felt so distant, wrapped in the salty breeze and cozy charm of its memories. 

The beach, the library, the playground, the lake, your old haunts, and…and…what else

You closed your eyes, heaving in a deep sigh and exhaled. Not today. You wouldn’t go down that road.

The evening sun had already slipped past the horizon, letting its final wisps linger like flickering embers in the sky. 

Its crimson, golden, orange hues, shone like faint, still wet brush strokes on the edges of a black canvas. You had a feeling that it was going to be a dark night. The kind with no stars in sight. Perfect for the Halloween enthusiasts, who had littered the pathway of your neighborhood with various kinds of carved pumpkins sporting jarring, lopsided mocking smiles.

It was late. You were late. Or maybe you had miscalculated. Maybe you should’ve left your office earlier—made some excuse, should’ve faked sickness. Anything really, just to avoid this crowd of people that were already out and about. Donning costumes, gnarly makeup, laughing and hollering. The kids, high on sugar, little demons slipped past the grasp of exhausted parents; who flailed behind them zombie-like, carrying fluorescent orange pumpkin baskets, overflowing with an array of candies.

You stood out, in your disheveled clothes and messy hair, walking amongst the dead and undead. Or perhaps you fit right in, with the way people walked past you, without a sparing glance. A ghost. An invisible specter. Didn’t really need a costume for that.

You looked down, suddenly overcome with this unnamed feeling at the pit of your stomach. You pulled at the ends of your sleeves and hastened your pace. Eyes stinging with a slow pressure that built somewhere deep inside your chest. A dull persistent ache. 

You turned a corner striding blindly—relying more on muscle memory than your sense of direction—towards your apartment building. 

Reaching inside, you mashed the elevator button, repeatedly abusing it, as if willing the old elevator to appear by force. The tacky music grated more on your nerves today.

With a ding, you stepped out. Feet trudging up to your door and stopping in front of it. Yours was the only one to not have a candy basket placed outside. The corridor was deserted too. Silent in the face of the festivities.

For all your fervor to get home, here you were, in a weird stare down with your apartment door. Clutching the key tightly between your thumb and forefinger, you found yourself hesitant, almost appalled by the idea to go inside. 

With a weary sigh you rested your back against the door and slid down it. Sitting in a huddle on the floor. 

What was it really?

Yet you knew the answer to it already.

Fear. It was fear of what you’ll see when you unlock your apartment and walk in. Or more so, how you’ll feel. Dark room, a small dining table with a single chair, pushed into a cramped corner of your compact kitchen. And a withered bouquet of red chrysanthemums—sent by him, weeks ago— that you didn’t have the heart to discard. It sat wilted and droopy, placed in a cut off plastic bottle for lack of a glass vase. Scattered, sparse furniture and blank gray walls. A visual representation of your own emotions really. Cold. Lonely.

You had never bothered to decorate your studio, afraid that if you let this place feel like a home, it’ll be permanent. So you lived like this. Split in halves. With the other dwelling happily somewhere, in that time, frozen and framed in a cute picture that sat on your nightstand. You and Leon. On a summer-y afternoon, running barefoot across the sandy stretches of the beach. 

You closed your eyes, picturing his topaz ones twinkling at you in mischief as he chased after you, amidst playful shrieks and raucous laughter. Hands coming to wrap around your waist as he spun you and dragged you into the embrace of the tides. 

You scoffed, tasting the salt of that balmy ocean on your lips, brushing the traitorous tear that rolled down your cheek, with the back of your hand. At last you had lost to the wave of nostalgia that had been threatening to consume you all day. Holidays made you particularly homesick. And it didn’t help that you were miles apart. That you missed his stupid smile, when he called you by that goofy nickname.

You chewed at your bottom lip, contemplating, debating. When your phone screen lit up catching you off guard, making you almost drop it in surprise.

You stared at the caller ID, dumbfounded.

‘Oarfish’ it read. 

“Leon? What are the odds…” You mumbled, clearing your throat and forcing on a smile, hoping that some cheeriness masks your heavy voice.

 Your fingers toyed with the white beads of your bracelet, thumbing the little fish charm dangling from it. A nervous tic, a comforting fidget. Matching with your childhood friend.

“Heyyy Darl! Miss me?” Leon chirped, voice a bright ray of sunshine splitting through the stormy gray cloud that lingered over your head.

“You know, I’ve got better things to do.” You replied, teasing, imagining the smile etched on the brunet’s face.

“Oh yeah? Better things to do, you say,” Leon intoned. “More important than missing your best mate? Or wishing him a happy Halloween? I’m hurt, Sunfish.” He let out an exaggerated huff, and you could picture the pout he was sporting.

You closed your eyes, chewing the inside of your cheek, feeling that gnatty bit of guilt prick at your heart. It was true. You had been avoiding talking to him. Lying to yourself. Blaming it on your busy work hours, or the timezones. But in reality you knew why. You know why.

“I’m here now aren’t I?” 

“Let’s not forget who called whom first, alright?”  He retorted, playful banter masking the tinges of accusation and hurt in his voice.

“Fine,” you relented, apologetic and awkward,”Happy Halloween Oarfish”

“See, it’s that easy.” Leon chuckled, “Happy Halloween to you too, Darl.” 

You could hear his breaths, soft and steady. The occasional rustle of sheets told you he was in bed. 

A beat passed, and he mumbled, “Wish you were here”

You opened your eyes again, head lulling back to rest at the door of your apartment. Your fingers tightened around the fish charm, tugging at it, just like his words tugged at the tangled mess of your emotions. 

Me too

“I—How have you been?” You exhaled, skirting past the topics that would make you throw every caution to the wind and pack your bags and buy the tickets to the next flight, just so you can see his stupid face and—

Leon smiled, catching onto your miserable attempt at deflecting. No heart to hearts happening tonight. Got it. 

“Same old me” he swallowed, shifting to sit in a more relaxed position, fingers drawing abstract patterns on the sheets.

“What about you? Got any plans for tonight? Any wild Halloween bashes to attend?” He joked.

It was your turn to smile now. Sensing the protectiveness and helplessness that he tried to hide behind callous quips.

“Pfft! Oh you know me! A wild party animal, having orgies left and right—“

“Hang on, wait, did I accidentally ring Teo?” He snorted.

“What, so is he the only one who can be wild?” You grumbled in faux indignation.

“Wild? My little sunfish?” he giggled, “Please, the wildest thing you ever did was winning that Christmas bingo, by nicking my grandma’s winning card. And let’s not forget, you swiped it while she was out cold after three glasses of cheap wine”

“Let’s not forget who goaded me into it—“

“And I felt like such a proud dad doing it—but then, let’s not forget who cried all night after, thinking they’d landed on Santa’s naughty list, and would never get another pressie in their life” He laughed now. A full bellied joyful laugh that made something flutter in your stomach. Making you feel weirdly proud that you were the reason behind it.

“Geez, alright! You win; Teo can be the wild one in the group. I guess I don’t mind being the goody-two-shoes.” You grinned, then added, “the only voice of reason.”

“Uh huh, but you’ve always been the cute one in the group, haven’t you?” he hummed, casually and carelessly. 

Recklessly you’d say. Frowning at the rapid thump of your heart.

You let out a dismissive snort and brought your knees to your chest, hugging them. The cold marble of the lobby floor, making you shiver a little.

“And you, the nagging parent” 

“Tut tut, is this how you’re gonna talk to your daddy?” He snickered

“You did not just say that.”  

*** 

Hours passed. The conversation hopping from light hearted banter, to reminiscing, to talking about the mundane. 

You were stiff and achy all over from sitting on the floor for so long, yet you didn’t want to end this conversation here. Didn’t want to go back to the silence and the voice of your own thoughts. 

“So then, I told my mate to stop being such an arse, and suck it up. I mean who doesn’t get a few sprains during a tough game of volley, right?” Leon continued.

“Mmhm” You mumbled in response, forcing your eyes to stay open.

A pause, and you heard a soft ‘pfft’ of an amused laugh on the other end.

“You sleeping on me, Darl?” Leon whispered, “Am I boring you?”

“Huh? No, no no” you sat up straighter, rubbing your eyes, “I’m here, I’m listening”

Leon smiled gently, as if you could see him. His hand was cramping now, holding up the phone for the last few hours. He knew you were enjoying this conversation. It hadn’t slipped his notice how you’ve been avoiding him. And perhaps, he had let you. 

You have always been like this. Guarded. And Leon wasn’t one to barge. If you were the kind to build up walls, he was the kind to set up a camp on the other side and wait. Wait through all the seasons of your emotions. Wait until you open up and let him in.

“Sunfish?” He hummed, a soft breath in your ear. A hesitant tap on your walls.

“Leon?” You exhaled, holding up your hand in front of you, as if reaching out to him. The bracelet tinkled, catching the light on its beads and shining like seashells in the sun.

Another pause. You listened. To his breathing, to the susurrus of his sheets, straining your ear to hear the million unspoken things he was too considerate to say. And you, too oblivious to figure out.

“I wanted to say *chrrk* want to *chrrk* meet *chrrk* miss you” His voice broke and garbled as the connection waxed and waned.

You lifted the phone off your ear and checked the signal. 

Full bars. Huh, strange.

“Leon, can you repeat that? Your voice keeps cutting out” you asked, standing up to get a better signal.

“Huh? I was saying *chrrk* see you *chrrk* Sunfish—”

Before you could say anything else, the call ended abruptly with a sharp beep.

Your fingers hovered over the redial button, but you were interrupted by a slew of messages that dinged on your phone.

Oarfish- “I was saying, it’s pretty late. You should catch some Zs Darl. We can chat plenty tomorrow.”

Oarfish- “Sweet dreams!”

Oarfish- “PS- I might’ve sent something your way, and no I won’t take it back. Enjoy! xoxo”

Just as you began to type out a response, the elevator at the end of the lobby dinged. You heard footsteps approach your door. You checked the time

1:00 am 

Puzzled, you saw a delivery boy look at the receipt in his hand and then scan the numbers on the apartment doors. With a flourish he stopped before you and held out a package along with a clipboard for you to sign.

You quickly signed, took the rather heavy box, and walked into your apartment, closing the door behind you with a light kick.

Impatient like a kid on Christmas, you tossed your bag and coat on the couch, flung the keys on the table, and grabbed a knife from the kitchen to open the mysterious box sent by Leon.

Brushing aside the protective wrapping, you let out a surprised laugh.

“Oh Leon, you little goofball.” You murmured in fond appreciation as you studied the contents inside.

There were candies— all your favorite kinds—that expensive bottle of perfume you’d raved about to Leon once, a small string bag full of seashells, and Polaroids. Stacks and stacks of them. Different pictures of you, through the years. Your life, captured in perfect squares.

But that wasn’t all. As you rifled through the box, you realized the Polaroids were part of a display set: Fairy lights, clips, and a small tool box with an instruction manual. 

Yet what made you emotional, was the printed card that lay underneath it all. You smiled, reading the words through tear blurred eyes—

“Since you can’t be home this year, I brought the home to you”

And it was true. The seashells, the pictures, and the candies, from that old store near the beach, were like bits of Corland bay packed in a box. 

Giddy you fished out the manual and began reading through the instructions, fingers already untangling the fairly lights. With a gleam in your eye, you approached the blank gray wall in your living room. 

Maybe, just maybe, this can be your home away from home.

***

The dull noise of the metal guitar leaked through the pair of headphones buried somewhere under the mess of clothes on the bed. The chair creaked as they rocked, back and forth, back and forth. Long legs crossed and propped against the table in front of them. 

It was pitch dark. Yet their azure eyes seemed sharp; staring raptly, unblinking, at the bright glare of the large computer screen before them. 

“A little to the left”

“No, it’s still uneven”

They occasionally mumbled, amusedly speaking to the person flitting about on the screen. Slender fingers with black painted nails, twitched as if they wanted to reach out and take the task from your hands, and do it for you.

Later, then. When you’re asleep. 

He watched, until you stretched and yawned. Tired feet taking you to your bedroom.

They rose then too. Unconsciously mimicking your movements. He slipped under the covers, in sync with you. Eyes flitting up to the Polaroids adorning their wall. Similar to the ones you put up, moments ago.

They smiled conspiratorially; pleased at the treats he had shared with you. Pleased at his neat trickery.

They didn’t even need to look at the screen anymore, to know your nightly habits. 

Changing, Brushing your teeth, hair, fluffing your pillows, lifting the end of your duvet and snuggling up all the way to the left side of your bed. The one lined up against the wall. 

He hummed, husky and low. A dulcet timbre, singing the beginnings of an old lullaby. His hand came to rest at the wall separating you. A soft tap. A yearning caress.

Redacted sighed, letting the sleep take him over. They didn’t care, so long as you were near. They were content. They were home.