#its not all smut i promise 😅

[witchywithwhiskey]

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away. 

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk. 

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in. 

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on. 

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away. 

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway. 

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure. 

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit. 

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove. 

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders. 

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice. 

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with. 

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become. 

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home. 

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized. 

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last. 

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life. 

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down. 

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore. 

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears. 

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee. 

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat. 

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else. 

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger. 

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes. 

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans. 

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone. 

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing. 

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine. 

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore. 

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time. 

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it. 

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions. 

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder. 

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun. 

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes. 

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line. 

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? 

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. 

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well. 

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs. 

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup. 

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove. 

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve. 

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk. 

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists. 

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor. 

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions. 

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.” 

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life. 

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you. 

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.” 

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life. 

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town. 

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet. 

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark. 

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest. 

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?” 

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.” 

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.” 

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.” 

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window. 

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it. 

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans. 

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his. 

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.” 

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper. 

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument. 

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together. 

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together. 

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer. 

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.” 

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat. 

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.  

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. 

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning. 

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone. 

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you. 

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname. 

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself. 

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths. 

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.” 

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap. 

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.” 

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near. 

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.” 

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face. 

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand. 

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself. 

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.” 

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine. 

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body. 

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door. 

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus. 

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”  

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. 

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself. 

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

[supernotnatural2005]

The Great Sam Winchester C*ck Block!

Pairing: Dean x Reader

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

Word Count: 4106

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

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

My Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

Bingo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3 Days Later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was Sam.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bliss. Thats what this was. Pure unadulterated bliss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[d-z20]

I'd Hit That (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: Being a professional wrestler means you're used to putting on an act, playing a part, and following a script. Surely, surely the tension you feel with Agatha is purely because you're rivals, right? Right??

-OR-

Staying at the same hotel after the fight can mean only one thing: it's time for a booty calllllll (but it's soft and sweet and stuff)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, switch Agatha, switch Reader, 'making love' sort of smut, very quick rivals to lovers if you squint, scissoring/tribbing, aftercare (from fight and sex), non accurate wrestling events

Words: 3.4k

A/N: Bruh the extent of my knowledge of wrestling before writing this fic was limited to the film 'Fighting with my family' and seeing people horny post about Rhea Ripley putting her opponents in a mating press 😅😂 Requested fic this request takes me back to one of the first I did :')

AO3 | Masterlist

The roar of the crowd was deafening, an electric pulse surging through the packed arena. The promo package had played moments ago, a dramatic montage of the months-long rivalry between you and Agatha—steel chair attacks, stolen victories, scathing words exchanged under the harsh glare of the cameras. Every segment, every promo, every carefully orchestrated brawl had led to this.

You stood in the ring, microphone in hand, pacing like a predator. The championship belt—your championship belt—rested snugly over your shoulder.

“Agatha Harkness,” you called out, your voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “You’ve spent months running your mouth, jumping me from behind, stacking the deck in your favour. But tonight? No more games. No more sneak attacks. Just you and me. And I promise you, when that bell rings, you’ll learn exactly why I’m the one holding this title.”

The crowd erupted, a symphony of cheers and jeers blending into a chaotic soundscape. Then, the familiar beat of Agatha’s entrance music thundered through the speakers, and the energy in the arena shifted.

She sauntered onto the stage, wrapped in a deep purple robe lined with silver, her signature smirk fixed firmly in place. She exuded confidence, but you knew her well enough to spot the flicker of something darker beneath it—excitement, hunger, the same fire that burnt in your own veins.

“Sweetheart,” she purred as she climbed into the ring, stepping dangerously close, “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself. You may be carrying that belt now, but don’t get too attached. By the end of tonight, you’ll be looking up at the lights while the ref raises my hand.”

You scoffed, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife. The fans screamed for a fight, for blood, for one last war before this feud reached its inevitable conclusion.

You wouldn’t let them down.

—

The moment the bell rang, Agatha struck first, catching you with a sharp elbow to the jaw. The impact rattled your skull, but you barely had time to register it before she followed up with a ruthless Irish whip, sending you crashing against the turnbuckle. The crowd gasped as she wasted no time, sprinting forward and driving her knee into your ribs with brutal precision.

Every strike and every manoeuvre was planned, but the force behind them was all too real. The pain was real. The sweat trickling down your spine, the adrenaline flooding your system—it was all real.

She hauled you up for a suplex, but you twisted mid-air, countering into a neckbreaker that sent her sprawling. The arena exploded with cheers as you pushed yourself to your feet, chest heaving.

“You’re slowing down mama,” you taunted, wiping the sweat from your brow.

Agatha smirked even as she winced, rolling her shoulders. “Keep talking, champ. Let’s see how cocky you are when I put you through that table.”

And she damn near did.

Minutes later, she lifted you onto her shoulders, positioning you dangerously close to the announcers table. The commentators shouted in alarm as she launched you forward, the wood splintering on impact as your body crashed through it.

White-hot pain exploded across your back, your breath leaving in a ragged gasp. Through blurry vision, you heard the count starting.

One…

Two…

Three…

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself onto your elbows. Your muscles screamed in protest, but you refused to stay down.

Four…

Five…

You dragged yourself toward the apron, using every ounce of strength left in your battered body.

Six…

Seven…

By eight, you were on your feet. By nine, you had slid under the ropes.

Agatha’s expression flickered with something dangerously close to admiration. You locked eyes across the ring. Both of you were battered, breathing hard, sweat slicking your bodies under the arena lights. The crowd was on their feet, screaming for the climax. Agatha grinned devilishly, wiping blood from her lip.

“Still standing?” she taunted.

You rolled your shoulders, feeling the bruises settle in. “You’re gonna wish I wasn’t.”

She stomped toward you, but this time, you were ready. You ducked her clothesline, spinning on your heel and catching her flush on the jaw with a devastating superkick. She crumpled, her head snapping back against the mat.

This was it. The moment the script demanded.

You climbed the ropes, every muscle burning, and launched yourself into the air. Your finisher connected squarely with her chest, driving the breath from her lungs.

The referee dropped to the mat.

One!

Two!

Three!

The bell rang, and the arena exploded.

You barely had the strength to lift your arms in victory, but the sight of Agatha sprawled beneath you, sent a different kind of thrill down your spine. She laid there, chest rising and falling rapidly. For a moment, just a moment, you thought she might actually be mad. But then—she laughed. A deep, breathless chuckle that sent a thrill down your spine.

“Damn,” she muttered, rolling onto her side, looking at you with something unreadable in her dark eyes. “Guess I’ll have to hit harder next time.”

—

The energy backstage was calmer, but the electricity of the match still crackled in the air. You sat on the bench in the locker room, a towel draped over your shoulders, the sting of sweat and lingering adrenaline keeping you wired. Your championship belt rested beside you, proof of your victory, but your body ached with the price you’d paid for it.

The door creaked open.

Agatha stepped inside, still in her ring gear, damp strands of hair curling against her flushed skin. Bruises had already begun to bloom along her ribs, dark and angry, a testament to every hit you’d landed. But she carried them with the same confidence she always did, like they were just another part of the game.

She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sweeping over you in that slow, unreadable way of hers.

“Made me work for that one,” she finally said, voice even but laced with something heavier.

You smirked, tilting your head. “Would’ve been too easy otherwise.”

She huffed a laugh, pushing off the door and striding toward you. “You’re lucky I like a challenge,” she grumbled, reaching out and grabbing the edge of your towel. She didn’t pull it away, just toyed with the fabric between her fingers, staring at the ground, like she was debating something.

Your body stayed still, but your pulse betrayed you, hammering beneath your skin.

Her gaze flicked up, sharp and knowing. “The fans are losing their minds right now,” she mused, voice lower now. “They think we despise each other.”

You exhaled through your nose, smirking despite yourself. “Let them think what they want.”

For a second, neither of you moved. Just heavy breaths, aching muscles, and something simmering beneath the surface—something neither of you ever acknowledged for long.

Her grip on the towel tightened for just a second. Then she let go.

She took a step back, that smirk curling at the edges of her lips. “Get some rest, champ. Wouldn’t want you falling apart before our rematch.”

You watched as she turned, as she left without another word.

You should’ve let her go. Should’ve focused on your title, on the next fight.

But instead, an hour later, you found yourself standing outside her hotel room.

The hallway was quiet this late at night, save for the distant hum of vending machines and the muffled voices of a television from a nearby room. You knocked once.

You didn’t have to wait long.

Agatha opened the door, already changed into something looser, her damp hair pushed back from her face. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“Figured I’d find you nursing your pride with a drink, not answering your door,” you teased, arching a brow.

Agatha leaned against the doorframe, eyes dark and knowing. “Why would I need to nurse my pride when you’re here, proving I still have something you want?”

The air between you was thick. The kind of thick that came after months of fights, of near misses, of every time you almost let yourself give in but didn’t.

But there were no cameras here. No crowds. No script.

She didn’t invite you in. She didn’t have to.

She just stepped back, leaving the door open.

And you followed.

—

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you both inside the quiet dimness of the hotel room. The air-conditioning hummed softly, a sharp contrast to the raw heat still lingering between you from the match—and everything else unspoken.

Agatha moved first, stepping past you toward the mini-fridge. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was thick, charged. She pulled out a reusable ice pack, pressing it against her ribs with a small wince before tossing another onto the bed near you.

“You’re worse off than me,” she murmured, nodding toward the deepening bruise along your shoulder.

You scoffed. “You didn’t seem to feel that way when you were throwing me into barricades.”

Agatha smirked at that, but it was softer now—more knowing. She walked toward you, her fingers grazing the hem of your shirt. Not in invitation, not yet. Just testing.

You didn’t move, didn’t stop her when she carefully pushed the fabric upward. The motion was slow, almost methodical, revealing fresh bruises—some from the match, some from all the ones before.

She made a small sound in the back of her throat. Not quite regret, not quite apology. Just an acknowledgment.

Her fingers were warm, careful, as she traced the bruised skin along your ribs before pressing the ice pack against it. A sharp inhale left your lips. She didn’t tease you for it, just held it there, watching you.

“Sit,” she said, voice quieter now.

You obeyed, perching on the edge of the bed as she grabbed the small first-aid kit from her bag. She knelt in front of you, flipping the lid open with practiced ease.

Your fingers twitched when she uncapped a tube of ointment. You should’ve done something—said something—to break the moment, but the way she looked at you, focused and unwavering, well, it kept you still.

“This might sting,” she muttered, smoothing a layer of the cool gel over a scrape near your collarbone.

You didn’t flinch. Just exhaled slowly as her touch lingered, fingertips brushing against your skin longer than necessary.

Your eyes met hers, and for a moment, the tension that had been simmering for months threatened to snap.

But instead of acting on it, you reached for the ice pack still clutched in her other hand.

“Your turn.”

She arched a brow, like she was going to argue, but she didn’t. Just sighed and sat back as you took her wrist, gently guiding her onto the bed beside you.

You peeled back her shirt, moving slower than necessary, your fingers skimming over the bruises that lined her ribs.

The ice pack met her skin, and she hissed, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. Your hand stayed steady, applying just enough pressure, your palm resting lightly against her side.

Neither of you dared to speak, afraid of breaking the moment.

Your fingers lingered against Agatha’s ribs, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your touch, the slight hitch in her breath as the ice pack warmed between you. The air between you was charged, and before you could stop yourself, you dipped your head and pressed a featherlight kiss to her bare shoulder.

It was soft. Fleeting almost.

But the way she inhaled sharply, the way her muscles tensed beneath your lips, made your stomach twist with something molten and dangerous.

You lifted your gaze, heart pounding, to find her already watching you.

Something unreadable flickered in her eyes. Not surprise—she’d felt this tension between you just as much as you had. No, this was something else. A quiet challenge. A question.

And then, as if pulled by gravity itself, your lips found hers.

The first kiss was slow—uncertain in a way that sent heat curling low in your stomach. Her lips were warm, softer than you expected, moving against yours with a hesitant deliberation, like neither of you were ready to cross this line but neither of you could stop.

Your hands found her waist, fingertips pressing into bare skin, feeling the taut muscle beneath. She sighed into your mouth, tilting her head, deepening it just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Then it shifted.

Hesitation gave way to hunger, slow to something deeper, something desperate. Agatha’s hands tangled in your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp as she pulled you closer, as if the distance between you was unbearable.

Your breath stuttered as she pushed forward, guiding you onto your back against the mattress, her weight settling over yours in a way that made heat pool between your thighs.

You didn’t just let her take control. You met her movement for movement, rolling so you hovered over her instead, lips ghosting along her jaw, her throat. She arched into you, fingers gripping your hips, urging you closer, and the friction sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body.

You barely registered how your clothes disappeared or how you kept switching positions—only the feeling of her hands dragging fabric from your skin, the way your own fingers traced the newly exposed planes of her body, memorising every dip and curve.

She was breathtaking.

The air between you crackled with something electric as you moved together, lips seeking, hands exploring. Every touch was slow but deliberate, teasing but firm, each sensation unravelling the other piece by piece.

Agatha’s lips left yours, trailing a path of heat down your throat, each kiss softer, slower, as if savouring the way your breath hitched under her touch. Her mouth lingered at the base of your neck, a flicker of teeth sending a shiver down your spine before she continued lower.

She traced the curve of your collarbone, then lower still, her tongue flicking out just enough to tease. Her breath was warm against your skin, the contrast of her lips and the cool air leaving goosebumps in her wake.

When she reached just below your navel, she paused.

Your breath caught as she glanced up through dark lashes, her expression unreadable but undeniably smug, as if she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

Before you could say anything, before you could even think, Agatha shifted, her body aligning with yours in a way that sent anticipation buzzing through your veins.

One of her legs slid over yours, while the other slipped beneath, her hand gripping your thigh and pulling it over her hip. The shift brought you flush together, her clit pressing into yours, her warmth, her weight, surrounding you completely.

Then she moved.

The first slow roll of her hips sent a shockwave through you, the friction delicious and unbearable all at once. A gasp left your lips at the sensation, sharp and involuntary, swallowed by Agatha’s low moan.

She did it again.

A deliberate, languid grind that had your fingers curling into her back, nails digging in as heat coiled low in your stomach.

Agatha’s movements grew more desperate, each grind of her hips sending sparks of heat pulsing through you. The rhythm was intoxicating—a perfect push and pull that had your breath catching with every press of her body against yours.

The friction was exquisite, every brush of her soaked pussy against yours sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. Your nails pressed into her back, searching for an anchor as the slick warmth of your mixed arousal between you made every movement impossibly pleasurable.

A breathy moan spilled from your lips as she rolled her hips just right, the pressure hitting where you needed it most. Agatha’s own gasp followed, her grip on your thigh tightening as her rhythm stuttered for a fraction of a second before she found it again, more determined now.

“Fuck you feel so good,” she groaned, voice rough with pleasure. “So warm—so perfect against me.”

You couldn’t answer—at least not with words. So instead, you tilted your hips up to meet her, pushing harder into the delicious friction between you. The reaction was instant—a sharp inhale from Agatha, a shudder that ran down her spine and into you.

The tension in your stomach coiled tighter, pleasure mounting with every slick roll of her hips against yours. It was maddening—teetering on the edge, neither of you willing to slow down, to let the other escape this unrelenting rhythm.

Agatha was unravelling just as much as you were. Her breaths turned ragged, her movements becoming more desperate, less controlled. She buried her face in the crook of your neck, her lips parting against your skin as a soft, broken moan escaped her.

The sound of it—the way she lost herself for just a moment—sent you spiralling.

Heat exploded through you, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your back arching as your body tightened around the feeling of your orgasm, chasing every last pulse of it. Your moan mixed with hers, tangled in the air between you, and Agatha wasn’t far behind—her rhythm stuttering, her breath shattering into something desperate as she ground into you one last time, biting harshly at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, before giving in completely.

The aftershocks left you both trembling, locked in each other’s arms, breathless and undone. Neither of you dared to speak again, but this time it was because a whole other reason, because this time you didn’t need to; not when every shiver, every lingering touch, said everything.

—

When the adrenaline had finally ebbed, leaving behind only exhaustion and the dull throb of bruises settling into your skin, the dim glow of the hotel room cast soft shadows over Agatha’s body as she stretched out beside you, her breathing still uneven, a quiet hiss slipping past her lips when she shifted the wrong way.

You smirked, propping yourself up on an elbow. “Still hurts, huh?”

Agatha huffed a laugh, rolling onto her side to face you. “Oh, don’t act like you’re any better, champ.” Her fingers ghosted over the mottled bruise forming along your ribs, her touch featherlight but knowing. “I’ll give you credit, though. You really made me work to cause each of these.”

You leaned into her touch, sighing as the tension in your muscles began to settle. “Oh please, it’s not like you could actually beat me anyway

Her smirk deepened. “Is that what you think?”

Before you could answer, she moved—quick as ever—rolling on top of you in one smooth motion. The sudden shift knocked the breath from your lungs, and before you could react, her hands found your wrists, pinning them against the mattress. The familiar press of her body against yours sent a thrill down your spine, though it was tempered by the playful glint in her eyes.

"One...” she purred, lips brushing your ear, her breath warm against your skin.

You arched a brow, amusement flickering beneath your exhaustion. “Really?”

“Two…” Her voice was silk, dripping with satisfaction as she pressed you further into the bed, her grip firm but teasing.

You weren’t about to let her finish, you shifted your weight, using the last of your strength to twist your bodies. In a blink, she was beneath you, wrists trapped against the sheets, your knees bracketing her hips. Her breath hitched, a flash of surprise flickering across her face before it melted into something reminiscent of pleasure.

“Not this time, sweetheart.” You grinned, leaning in until your noses almost brushed.

Agatha let out a breathy chuckle, her eyes half-lidded as she relaxed beneath you. “Damn. Can’t even let me have this one, can you?”

You smirked, leaning down just enough that your noses brushed. “What kind of champion would I be if I did?”

Her breath hitched again, and then she closed the distance, her lips pressing softly against yours. 

The fight, the aches, the exhaustion—it all melted away for a moment, leaving only the warmth of her mouth against yours, the slow, deliberate way she kissed you.

You let yourself sink into her, into the quiet intimacy, knowing that whatever came next would always bring you right back to this.

-----

'author doesn't know fuck about wrestling' probably should probably be a warning for this 😭 I'm so sorry for any inaccuracies they are all entirely my fault :P

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6stolenangel9 @jujuu23 @juls-stark

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Finale — Azriel x Reader

Summary: The grand Illyrian ball is here. Reader is more than ready to return to Windhaven and Azriel, but daddy Fin throws a huge spanner in the works. Life as they know it is about to change.

Note — I’ve tried to tag everyone who’s asked but there are some people that it simply won’t let me tag 🥲

Word Count: 10.6k (oop, sorry 😅)

Warnings: There’s a looot to unpack here. Depictions of violence and gore. Some light smut. 18+!

This place is cold and unforgiving.

The air in your lungs is constricted before you’ve even stepped through the giant gates. They call it the Hewn City due to its entirety being hewn from cold, hard rock.

But you get the feeling these walls are more than that. You can feel the horror in the cracks, the loneliness that screams behind its surface.

You don’t know how Mor has survived so long here. You’re already itching to get out.

A warm hand splays across your back, and you turn to face Fin. It’s not the first time he drinks you in so hungrily, but you could be forgiven for thinking so, by the way his eyes heat all over again. He glances quickly at your lips, and in this empty meeting room that he’s stolen you away to, you’re not at all sure that he isn’t bold enough to act on that hunger.

“Focus, High Lord.” You murmur, brushing the lapel of his tailored jacket. “You’ve an audience waiting for you.”

Somewhat of an infantile groan leaves him — one you’re not sure he’d share with many others. He dips down and allows his forehead to drop against your shoulder, slowly breathing in your scent.

“And if I said fuck the audience,” he murmurs, “and decided to stay here to dip under this gown and ravish you? What then?”

“Then I wager your subjects would be mighty displeased that you brought them here for nothing.”

“I could make you moan,” his nose nudges your neck, “loud enough to give them a show.”

“Later.” You promise falsely, and the lie is sour on your tongue. You step back and straighten yourself out. “You have a duty to attend to.”

The way his eyes sweep you tells you that you are the only duty he wishes to attend to. But he relents with a sigh and inclines his head.

“I do.” He admits. “And I will have to play my role out there. I’ll be mostly unavailable for the duration of this ball, so…I want you to go and have fun. Just don’t stray too far. I’ve organised the evening’s entertainment with you in mind, and I want you by my side when you see it.”

For a beat, you can only blink at him. You’re…touched, that he would do that for you. And your mind immediately starts swirling with possibilities of what that entertainment might be. Perhaps a show of professional dancers or a theatrical performance.

You study him, attempting to glean information merely from the expression on that granite-hewn face. “It’s Starfall.” You remind him. “Is that not the evening’s entertainment?”

He merely smiles. “I’ll send for you when it’s time.” He leans down, coasting his lips over one cheek and then the other. “Enjoy yourself.”

Without another word, he turns. Rolls his shoulders and slips into his High Lord roll. But before he can take a step towards the door, you're grabbing his hand.

“Fin—” You blurt, and he stops. You swallow as you stare up at him. “Just…please don’t let Tathaln Baralas ruin the camps.”

His gaze searches your face. You can’t get a read on his expression.

But then the corners of his lips curve up, and he’s squeezing your hand.

“I won’t let Tathaln become a problem.” He says, and then repeats, “enjoy yourself.”

The way he prises his hand from yours has an air of finality that stops you from pushing any further. You want to ask — beg, if you have to — for his reassurance. But he strides to the door, sleek black shoes clipping against the marble floor.

And left alone, you think you may have done all you possibly can do. That the rest is out of your hands.

So you attempt to shake off your relentless anxiety, and you go to find your friends.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Weaving through the mammoth structure and the sea of Illyrians that fill it, you’ve already witnessed three fights and two couples damn near fucking in nothing more hidden than the alcoves carved into the walls. Pretty tame for your people, but alas, the night is young.

There are so many pairs of wings. There is such a thick air of arrogance and ego and brutishness. You’re not quite sure where you fit in here, but before you can find a refreshment that will dull that feeling, strong arms are wrapping around your waist and yanking you backwards.

You scream, and no one around you bats an eyelash. You thrash and buck, but the attempt is met with—

Deep, smooth laughter that you know so, so well.

You relax in the offender’s hold immediately, and their arms loosen enough for you to twist in them.

You glare up at Cassian and send a punch to his bicep. “Asshole.”

“Ow!” He chokes on another laugh, and then he’s grinning brilliantly, white teeth gleaming in the fae light. “Hello, Sweetpea. I’ve missed you.”

Fuck, you’ve missed him too. And that’s all it takes for you to throw your arms around him and squeeze.

He smells like Cass. That rugged scent of his that is such a comfort. And the way he hugs you back, firm yet gentle, warm and loving and present, tells you that any previous anger he had towards you is a thing of the past.

“Windhaven is fucking boring without you.” He pulls back, holding you at arms length — and blinks. “Holy gods, look at you.”

“Look at you.” Your eyes rove over him, from his tailored, maroon-coloured suit to his brushed, slicked-back hair. His wings are squeaky clean and flared proudly. He’s stunning. Breathtaking.

He cracks another Cassian grin. “Who knew we could brush up so well, hey, Sweetpea? You’re absolutely gorgeous. I’ll be the envy of all these Illyrian males, knowing I fucked you—”

“Cassian.” You land another hit to his bicep. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ve actually been sent to collect you. A certain someone is waiting for you on a patio. I’ll give you a clue — he, too, has fucked you—”

With a roll of your eyes, albeit a fond one, you’re breezing past him with a feeling of…need. To see Azriel. To have him ground you in a place and circumstance of such unfamiliarity. You need that comfort.

Cass follows promptly, slinging an arm around your shoulder — not just because he’s missed you, but because the leering eyes of hundreds of Illyrian males follow your every step. Those gazes seem to drink in your dress bead by little bead. They’re hungry for sex and for violence.

“Out here.” Your friend steers you down a hallway, untouched by not only guests, but also the horrific brilliance of the rest of this place. This is an area that most aren’t supposed to see, with chipped concrete floors and peeling walls. It’s so cold, so ugly and uninviting, that you can’t imagine why Azriel would summon you here, of all places.

But then a door appears at the end of the winding hall, open just enough for a sliver of moonlight to touch the threshold. The fresh air has goosebumps spreading over your skin.

“He wanted some private time with you. Rhys and I said we’d keep watch.” Cass studies you and huffs a deep, dramatic sigh. “I’m trying really hard not to feel left out right now.”

“I’m sure you don’t really want to be the third wheel—”

“Sure I do. I’ve told Az that he wouldn’t even know I’m there, but no, he wants you all to himself. Selfish bastard.” He reaches out, pulling the door open wider for you. And then he calls, “I hope you heard that, fucker!”

Strong footsteps emerge from argent moonlight, and Azriel’s voice is a lilting shiver across your skin. “You know I heard it, you idiot.” He says. “You…”

His words trail off as he takes you in, and suddenly you don’t know what to do with your hands, your face, with any part of you.

His stare holds the weight of a very ancient love, so much older than the both of you. It somehow translates that you had his heart in a previous life, when you were different people entirely, and you’ll still have it in the next, when your souls begin anew.

He swallows, loud enough that you all hear it. And his voice is husky as he says, “There are no words worthy of you.”

And you’re hit with a strange urge to cry. Mostly because you feel exactly the same way about him.

He is…exquisite. He’s slicked his hair back, and that alone is a huge thing for him — to openly show each and every curve and line of his face, with no strands to hide behind. The curtain of his thick, dark lashes only accentuates the honey of his eyes and the gold of his skin.

And the suit he’s donned for the evening — that same maroon colour that Cass is wearing. You wonder if Rhys, wherever he is, is wearing the same. Whether the trio look as breathtaking together as you expect them to.

“No words.” Az repeats, shaking his head. “The Mother herself must have sent you to me.”

Cassian smirks and rests an elbow atop of your head, regardless of your perfected hair. “I said the same.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I said something similar.”

“It wasn’t even close to that.”

“Be grateful of my winning charm—”

“Cassian.” Az cuts him off. “Why don’t you go and find Rhys?”

Cass lets out an infantile whine. “But he’s having private time with Zakai.”

“And I’d like to have some private time with Y/N, so. Run along.”

Your friend offers a great, dramatic huff that makes you grin, but he removes his arm from your head and turns.

“This whole coupling up thing is boring!” He calls, retreating down the hall.

And then it’s just you and Azriel.

Your love. Your heart.

You turn back to him with a coy smile, reaching up to fix your hair.

“Let me.” Az murmurs, and he steps closer, his fingers sinking into the strands of your hair. Up close, you drink him down even more, greedy and insatiable. You want to know every expression, every thought.

“There are no words worthy of you, either.” You whisper, and his eyes drop down from your hair to meet yours. “You’re a vision, Az.”

He studies you for a moment. And though his hands leave the strands, they lower only to cup your face. His thumb strokes your cheek.

“What I am,” he murmurs, “is yours.”

Your eyes shutter, and you drop your forehead against his. Every last bit of trouble and turmoil you’ve experienced has been worth it to hear those words. You want them to mark your skin.

You push up onto the tips of your toes, slanting your mouth over Azriel’s. He wastes no time in sliding his hands to your waist and hauling you close to him.

You kiss him like doing so here isn’t risky. Like you have the freedom to kiss him whenever and however you both want, and there are no outer forces getting in the way. You long for the day when that will be the case. When you can love, and love proudly.

Perhaps that luxury isn’t too far out of reach.

Az seems to think so, too, as he pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours once more, and he says, breathlessly, “Things are going to change — after tonight. I can feel it.”

You study him, searching for deeper meaning. And as though they can sense your anxiety, his shadows snake around your ankles in a soothing caress. “A good change, I hope.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll face it together. Me and you. I’m yours.”

You peck him once, twice. “And I am yours.”

Those words alone are enough to make heat blaze in his eyes. With adoration making way for passion, lust, he allows his gaze to rake over you, and he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

“So fucking gorgeous.” His voice is guttural. “If we didn’t have to attend this ball right now, I would—”

The door flies open behind you, and Az looks more than ready to throttle Cassian as he prances back into sight and announces, “Found Rhys!”

“And we brought booze.” Rhys swiftly follows with a smirk. “Raided personally, by me, from my asshole father’s stash.”

Sure enough, his suit matches the other two. And seeing the three of them together like that, looking so beautiful, so proper, so…matured—

A lump forms in your throat that you force down. You furiously blink away the tears that sting your eyes.

Because it hits you, just then, how much you’ve missed this — the four of you, just being together, like old times. You were always such a strong unit, always driven by your love for one another, and the dysfunctional, unconventional, beautiful family you became. It’s been a long while since you looked upon these three males without burdening thoughts always remaining a step away. You miss the ease. You miss the love.

But here it is, right in front of you, just like it always will be. And in that moment, nothing else matters but your little unit. Just you, Azriel, Cassian and Rhysand.

As you shake out of your thoughts, you realise Rhys is staring at you just as intensely. Strong emotion swims in his eyes.

“…What?” You ask, smoothing your hands over your dress.

“You just…look incredible.” He smiles softly. “Every single star that soars above our heads tonight will have nothing on you.”

Just as you think you’re about to get choked up all over again, Cassian smirks and declares, “I said the same.”

You scowl, reaching out to swat him. “No, you did not. Just accept you’re bad at compliments and move on.”

“I’m a master at compliments, thank you very much.”

Az slides an arm around your waist and quirks an eyebrow. “You took Sacha for a drink and complimented her by saying you look like you bathed. You’re hardly a poet, Cass.”

It’s Cassian’s turn to scowl then. “Well, what I may lack in poetry, I make up for in the bedroom. As Y/N clearly knows.”

A snarl rips from Azriel’s throat. “Watch yourself.”

Rhys rolls his eyes and smacks Cassian upside the head. “Don’t wind him up, dickhead.”

“Who are you calling dickhead?”

“I’m calling you dickhead, dickhead.”

The bickering becomes background noise as you prise the bottle from Rhys’s hand and take a generous swig — none of which he even notices, as he and Cass continue taking swipes at each other.

And as the liquid burns your throat, you meet Azriel’s gaze. Both of you grin. He takes the bottle from you.

In that moment, all you feel is happiness. Beautiful familiarity. Rhys and Cassian tearing chunks out of each other while you and Azriel watch and laugh from the sidelines. It makes your heart feel heavy with such warmth that it may just burst.

You do not need lavishness or luxury. Your life is nothing special, but you do not want for anything.

Just this. Only this.

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“Who knew so many Illyrians could dance?”

Rhysand’s steps are swift and flawless. It’s situations like these — ones of strict propriety and, dare you say, class — that you’re reminded he’s only half-Illyrian. The other males around you may be trying their hand at dancing, but Rhys flows through each number with barely a thought.

You smile up at him, secure in his hold. A dance floor full of Illyrians is a temperamental and, quite frankly, stupid idea. Anyone who gets too close to another’s wings is asking for a punch. Or five.

But so far, it’s been surprisingly uneventful. And you might even begin to relax and enjoy yourself — if not for the images you keep glimpsing in your periphery.

Every now and then, a flash of bright red will pass you by as Kaeda is spun from one set of burly arms to another. Her dress is the same shade as her hair. It’s alarming. Makes you think of blood.

And even more alarming, perhaps, is the pair of eyes that follow you from the dais. Fin spares only cursory glances to the rest of his guests, from where he sits on his throne in pensive silence, but his eyes linger heavily on you. Hungry, flaming eyes that follow your every move. And standing at his side — Tathaln Baralas.

The Lord of Fenlaros is even bigger than you remember. In a tailored suit, he looks…all wrong. That kind of finery will never work with him. He’s rugged, and cold, and something tells you that while Fenlaros is considerably more civilised than the majority of Illyrian camps, Tathaln Baralas feels most at home with the bare necessities. Luxury is nothing but a fly buzzing in his ear.

But he will tolerate that fly, you know — can tell, precisely from the way his dark, frightening eyes watch the room with more intensity than any single person should harbour. And that intensity is directed solely at one person. Azriel.

Tathaln watches the shadowsinger as though he’s weighing up whether he can kidnap him from this event and force him to Fenlaros. It makes your stomach turn.

“You seem on edge tonight.” Rhys’s deep gaze studies you. His hand presses firmer against the small of your back. “I won’t let anything happen to you, don’t worry.”

You’re not sure if he’s referring to his father, or to Kaeda, or to her father. Or even just to the evening in general. But you squeeze his hand, all the same.

“You’re the best.” You tell him. “And you should be dancing with Zakai.”

His eyes glimmer with his signature charm. “Oh, I will. But I always intended to save the first dance for my best girl.”

The sentiment is so…Rhysand, so comforting, that you almost — almost — start to think that everything will be alright.

But he spins you under his arm, and it’s like being spun straight back into reality. Because as you turn, that gaze from up on the dais meets yours again.

And this time, it’s not just hungry — but possessive.

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You dance and dance until your feet feel like they might fall off. Although, you’re not sure how much of that can be attributed to Cassian stepping on them throughout his uncoordinated prancing.

But the more the night wears on, the more your stomach churns with deep, unrelenting anxiety. You feel sick. Like a shadow of doom is looming over your shoulder and waiting to pull you into its thrall. By the time Cassian hands you over to Azriel, you’re not entirely sure that you won’t be sick.

Az studies your face with clear concern on his own — concern that doesn’t make his steps falter. He’s a natural dancer, taught and honed by Roza. Almost as good as Rhys. He moves as swift as flying, but his expression doesn’t hold the same ease.

“What is it?” He asks, and his thumb sweeps a stroke over your hip. “You don’t look well.”

So badly, you want to lean into his touch. But…not now — not with Fin watching. You dare a quick glance at the dais, and sure enough, his eyes stalk you. They follow everywhere Azriel touches your body. Strangely, the hunger in them intensifies. The hickory shade of them has darkened until it’s almost a stark black. He licks his lips and watches Azriel’s fingers caress you through your dress.

“I’m just…ready for this night to be over. You know all this luxury isn’t my thing.”

His hands press firmer against your skin. “I must say, as much as I’m loving this dress, I’m equally excited to rip it off—”

“May I?”

Two seconds. You look away for two seconds, and Fin is suddenly off the dais and behind you. The guests around you all watch with curious eyes.

Azriel pauses, his lingering touch letting you know just how reluctant he is to let you go.

But ultimately, he is wise. And ultimately, he concedes.

“Of course, High Lord.” He inclines his head. “She’s your special guest, after all.”

“Yes.” Fin’s eyes don’t stray from you. “She is.”

You know it’s deliberate — the way he makes sure everyone is watching as he scoops you into his arms with a small lift off the ground. And then he begins dancing, and everyone else resumes.

As you follow his steps, you allow yourself the chance to look at him. Look at him, and wonder if he’ll hate you after all this is over. You…you don’t want him to hate you. That complicates things, but gods above, it’s true.

He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, and you may as well be the only two people in the room as he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear, “When you look at me like that, Y/N, it makes me think I’m not such a bad male as most would think.”

“You’re not.” You respond almost immediately, and you mean it. “I think it’d surprise you to know how highly you’re regarded. Everyone in this room who is looking upon you—”

You yelp as he suddenly dips you, his lips at your ear.

“Everyone in this room,” he says, “is looking at you. And rightfully so. You’re a masterpiece — my masterpiece.”

The compliment — the possessiveness — all seems extreme. But then, you think everything about Fin might be a bit extreme. He doesn’t do anything by halves. The blush that dusts your cheeks seems to please him.

“You like it, don’t you?” His voice is like gravel. “That not a single male in here can take their eyes off you. You are the envy of every female. Stripped of wings, but not of raw, natural beauty.”

He straightens you out before you can reply, and your head spins — with the sudden movement, and with the whiplash of the comment. It both pleases you and reminds you how exposed your back is — the trauma that everyone can see.

“Charming as ever.” You swallow, hope the smile on your face is convincing. “I don’t quite know what to say.”

“Words are not necessary — not tonight.” The song you’re dancing to fades to an end, and he steadies you gently on your feet. His gaze sweeps you again, and he remarks, “The stars will begin their journeys soon.”

In the strange headiness of the evening, you almost forgot that this is, essentially, two events wrapped up in one. Starfall, and Fin’s lavish ball. Perhaps seeing those stars will bring you some semblance of peace — make you feel less lost than you do right now, as they travel somewhere unbeknownst to you, and perhaps unbeknownst to themselves, also.

“Will you be joining us outside to watch them?” You ask.

A strange smile curves his lips. “Indeed I will. It’s a magnificent sight to behold.” He steps back, bowing to press a kiss to the backs of your fingers. And then he straightens up. Retreats.

“However,” he says, “I do believe the entertainment I’ve arranged for you may just outshine those stars this year.”

He saunters away, back to his dais. And as he lowers himself into his throne, he meets your gaze.

That same old thirst in them is unquenchable.

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The males are treating the stardust like it’s the snow that so often coats your respective camps.

The first specks of it showering down on you were surprising, beautiful. But in true Illyrian fashion, what started as a cordial gathering to observe the soaring, luminous beings, has been reduced to little more than a drunken bust up.

You don’t know which camp launched the first clump of glimmering dust at another, but that was all it took for chaos to break out. The fray jostles you away from your friends until you can no longer feel Azriel pressed to your side or hear Cassian’s constant chattering. Try as you might to locate them, it’s impossible to see past giant, burly males with alarming wingspans. It’s a sea of dark hair and tan skin.

You push and push your way through, looking for a small exit through the gathered bodies. Your gown is trampled on, and you’re shoved this way and that, taking a few handfuls of stardust to your face and neck and arms. The feel of it is a cold contrast against your hot skin.

Just as you spot an opening to squeeze through, a male is careening into you and taking you down with him. It stuns you so much that you forget to brace yourself for impact. You’re about to tear your skin open against the sharp ground—

But huge, warm hands from behind catch you beneath your arms and keep you upright. Set you on your feet.

You turn, smacking straight into a broad expanse of chest. And a little higher up — long hair and wicked eyes. A taunting grin. Too-sharp teeth.

Tathaln Baralas seems to command the area around him so much that the fighting moves away from you both. A fact that makes him so incredibly smug.

“You’re welcome.” He sounds as rough and rugged as the mountain rock.

You clear your throat and incline your head in reluctant thanks. You’re not too keen on the idea of lingering for a chat with him.

But before you can so much as turn, his hand is fastening around your wrist. It’s not a tight grip, and yet it’s a warning — that it could become tighter if you tried to move.

“I’d like to go and find my friends—”

“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to work out why the High Lord is so taken by you.” He angles his head, and his eyes travel down, a smirk toying with his lips. “Besides a magnificent pair of tits, of course.”

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to rip your arm away. “You do him a disservice by thinking him so shallow—”

“Does Rhysand know you’re fucking his father?”

“You’re mistaken, my lord, and I’ll thank you to let go of me.”

“My daughter’s warning was clearly of no use. Perhaps I’ll be able to drive the message in harder. Whatever you’re planning—”

“There you are.” Out of seemingly nowhere, Rhysand’s voice saves the day. “I’ve been looking for you.”

The most minuscule, tiny beat passes — but Tathaln Baralas is no damn fool. With such blatant reluctance, he lets go of your wrist and takes a step back.

Rhys presses himself against your side, slinging an arm around your shoulders. He stares at Tathaln as he says, “My father wants everybody rounded up. It’s time for the entertainment he has planned.”

It’s a cloaked order, and you can see how much the Lord of Fenlaros wants to grit his teeth against it. But again — no damn fool.

“I’ll help gather everyone up.” He relents, and then he turns and pushes through fighting males as though they’re not there.

Rhys turns to you, concerned eyes taking you in. “Are you alright?”

“I will be.” You respond vaguely, linking your arm with his. “When this is all over, I will be.”

Little does he know, it’s not only the ball that you’re referring to.

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Like petulant children, the bustling males don’t want to go back under the mountain for the remainder of the ball. They want to stay outside and frolic in the fallen stardust and maybe fight or fuck in it, too.

But somehow, Fin commands their return. And the silence with which they now all stare up at the dais has you wondering if there’s anybody he can’t get to obey him.

Roza, probably. The thought brings a smile to your face.

Gods, you’d love to be with Roza right now, Spending quiet, quality time together. Blocking out the world in its entirety. You’re glad, so heavily pregnant as she is, that she’s not here tonight — but still, you can’t help wishing she was—

A loud clap sounds through the room, jolting you from your thoughts. You force your eyes into focus once more, and though you’re buried a few rows back, Fin finds your gaze immediately. He smiles.

“I wanted to thank each and every one of you for coming here tonight.” He addresses the room. “I understand that Illyrians have a way of life that you like to keep loyal to, and that integrating with other camps is not normally a done thing. I appreciate you keeping your minds open and straying from your traditions to honour this event.”

The crowd stirs and murmurs, and every person packed within it must be wondering why Tathaln Baralas is the only camp lord up on that dais with the High Lord while the others all congregate on the floor, common as muck. They are not privy to the things that you are. You have a horrible feeling that that is all about to change.

“While there have been a few…hiccups, this evening, I have mostly been impressed by how well you were able to interact.” Fin goes on. “That is exactly what this little experiment was intended for. Because that’s what this ball was — an experiment. I address each and every Illyrian when I say this: change is coming.”

No.

Your stomach bottoms out. Hands turn clammy in an instant.

Surely…surely he hasn’t just ignored everything you’ve said. Surely this hasn’t all been for nothing.

“You may recognise the male behind me.” He’s not looking at you now. His eyes skim the room, but they don’t stray in your direction. “Tathaln Baralas — Lord of the Fenlaros camp.”

At that, a small burst of cheers breaks out from one section of the room. Fenlarions, you can only assume. You’re too panicked to care.

Tathaln takes a step forward, not quite in line with Fin, but almost. He seems to be fighting back a smirk. And as you feel another heavy set of eyes on you, you look to your left — to a few steps down, where Kaeda stands. She eyes you with what must be triumph in her eyes, and she doesn’t bother to hide her smirk.

This…this has all gone very, very wrong. You’ve fucked up — failed. Perhaps even doomed the lives of countless people. Fin may have poured sweet sentiments into your ear and boosted your confidence, but you so clearly weren’t enough. Weren’t enough to appeal yourself to him, and weren’t enough to save Illyria as you know it.

You’re not at all certain that you aren’t going to faint. Whatever is about to be said or done, you don’t want to be here for it. You want to gather up Azriel and Cassian and Rhys and get the fuck out of there, far away from this, from him. You look frantically around for them, but you’ve lost them again. Can’t even glimpse the backs of their heads.

“A short while ago, the Lord of Fenlaros came to me with a suggestion. A proposition.” Fin slides his hands into his pockets; a strangely arrogant gesture that tells you just how at ease he is. “But before I tell you all about that, I would like to speak to you about somebody else. Another one of your own who I have recently had the delight of spending my time with. Getting to know.”

It takes a delayed moment for you to realise he’s staring at you once more.

Staring firmly, unflinchingly at you.

He extends a hand in your direction, and everybody — every single fucking person around you — turns to get a look, also.

“Sweet Y/N,” He cocks his head. Smiles. “Would you join me up here, please?”

You falter on the spot, forgetting entirely how to move. Every pair of eyes…the attention…it’s all too much. Everyone is looking at you. Everyone can see you, your scars.

“Y/N.” Fin repeats. “This is for you, after all.”

Someone shoves you in the back, and snickers titter around you, the sounds swimming from one ear to the other. On shaking legs, you slip between bodies. Bodies with faces attached that won’t stop looking at you, staring at you, wondering why you, of all people, have caught the High Lord’s attention. A lowly Illyrian female without any wings.

Numb from head to toe, you climb up onto the dais. Fin takes your trembling hand. Pulls you to his side.

Only then do you find Azriel, Cassian and Rhys in the crowd. All staring up at you with alarmed, horrified expressions. They can sense something very terrible is about to go down, too.

“For all of you who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her — this is Y/N.” Fin speaks loudly, clearly, his tone clipped. “She hails from the Windhaven camp. She is Illyrian in her own right. She has a brain wise beyond her twenty years, and a heart of solid gold. She cares for Illyrians — for all of you. Cares for your futures.” A very, very potent pause. His expression changes — darkens. He purses his lips. “But you all do not care for her, do you?”

Silence. Nobody knows where this is going. There’s a slight movement in the crowd, and out of the corner of your eye, you see your friends pushing closer to the front.

“You cannot claim to care about her — about your own females — when you are willing to do this.”

So quickly, Fin’s hands are gripping your arms, and he’s wrenching you around on the spot. Forcing your back to them. Forcing them to swallow down the sight of your ruined back.

But your scars poking through the sheer fabric is not enough for him, it would seem. Those hands of his, gentle at times and dangerous at others, skate over your shoulders. Stop at the top of your back, where you hate so profoundly to be touched.

And he rips the fabric open like he’s cleaving air.

The cold air hits your exposed back, and surprised murmurs ripple through the room. Each and every one of them will have seen clipped wings before — but not this. Not the brutal hacking you were subjected to.

On instinct, you’re fighting against Fin, trying to turn, trying to hide. He holds you steady.

“Her own father did this to her.” He announces. “As so many of you intend to do to your own daughters, no doubt. Look at her. Look at how she suffered, and believe me when I say, again, change is coming.”

“Father.” Rhysand’s voice reaches you from behind, severe, outraged. “Stop this.”

It surprises you that Fin immediately turns you back around. But you are under no illusion that he’s listened to his son’s plea. He simply isn’t finished.

There is not one part of you that isn’t shaking. You stare firmly at your feet, refusing to meet any of the gazes pinned on you. Some may be pitying. Most will be delighted.

“I understand that Y/N may not appreciate what I just did. And rightfully so.” With a theatrical wave of his hand, the rip at the back of your dress is mended. But the damage is already done. “She has a right to those feelings. A thing I believe you Illyrian males do not understand. That your females feel. That they can rightfully be hurt, and they can rightfully want to be avenged. Y/N?”

You know he’s addressing you, asking you to look at him. But you can’t move. You can’t…can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop feeling like you want to throw up.

“Y/N.” He repeats, softer this time. “Look at me please.”

You pause.

And then you do.

You turn, and you look at him with an expression that will never promise forgiveness.

To his credit, he studies your face. It’s like he’s searching for an answer as to whether his little stunt was irredeemable. His eyes swallow your expression, and a moment passes between you. One that doesn’t include everybody else in this room.

You imagine you look hateful. You imagine you are sneering, and clenching your jaw, and allowing him to see that you will not stand for such disrespect from anybody, including him.

And he…he looks upon you like he wants the rest of the room to disappear. Like he wants nothing more than to steal you into his arms and spirit you away, far away from this.

You take a small step back.

“I got you a gift.” He says, too quietly. Extends a hand again.

You feel yourself shaking your head. You cannot speak. But this does not deter him. He retracts his hand and murmurs to somebody — somebody you can’t see around the roaring in your head — “The box, please.”

As blurred movement stirs in front of you, you angle yourself towards the crowd — towards your friends. You search their terrified faces without seeing them, and you know that they are just as powerless as you are. Even Rhysand. That throwing themselves in the mix may just make the situation worse.

And you don’t even know what the situation is. All you know is that your heart is thudding and your ears are screaming. All you know is that you feel…betrayed…by Fin making a spectacle of you like this. That your body and mind are having such violent reactions because your vulnerabilities, insecurities, may just be the evening’s entertainment that you’re supposed to somehow enjoy—

“Y/N.”

Your eyes snap back to the High Lord, and a tear escapes the corner of it. You pretend it doesn’t exist, even if Fin’s gaze tracks it and softens.

“For you.” He holds a box out to you.

For a moment, you weigh up the likelihood that you could just dart off the stage and make a run for it. Find somewhere to hide and cry. But as your hands extend outwards without you telling them to, you know it’s no use. You’re seeing this through, however reluctantly.

Your trembles are violent as you take the box into your hands — and almost drop it. It’s heavier than you’re expecting. Fin smiles.

Every single person in that room watches you slide the lid off the box.

Every single person in that room watches you peer inside — and drop it. Stagger back.

“What the fuck is this?” You choke. “What have you done?!”

There are murmurs, people angling to get a look, as Fin casually strolls over to that box. As he reaches in.

As he lifts your father’s severed head by his hair and holds it up like it’s a fucking show and tell. And grins at it.

Steeled Illyrian warriors who have been bred for violence scatter back, curses and noises rolling off their tongues.

“Allow this to be a lesson to each and every one of you.” Fin speaks loudly, entirely unperturbed by the head dangling from his fingertips. “That while your camps are overseen by your camp lords, I am still your High Lord, and I am always watching, and listening, and waiting to act, if necessary. This male wronged somebody I care for. The only fitting punishment was this.”

Without a care, he drops your father’s head back into the box and kicks it away. You stumble back, back, toppling off the dais. Somebody catches you.

“I am your High Lord.” Fin repeats, seemingly unaware of the panic roiling in his audience. “I do not take kindly to being used or manipulated. I do not take kindly to somebody presuming to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do with my court. And Illyria is part of my court — no matter how much you try to distance yourselves. You are under my jurisdiction. What happens to you is my call to make.”

For a split second, you can only hear certain words; used, manipulated, presuming to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. You think he’s addressing solely you, but he isn’t.

People are moving around you. Arms wrap around you. It takes a moment for you to register that it’s Azriel. That he’s tucking you between himself and Cassian and Rhys. They’re shielding you.

Fin is now pacing the dais, hands behind his back. “The Lord of Fenlaros spent months concocting –and perfecting — a self-serving scheme that he then presented to me, as though he has the authority to do so.” He stops, turning to Tathaln — a very pale Tathaln. “And while I agree there would be some benefits to what you proposed, your methods have pissed me off. And I don’t like being pissed off.”

Tathaln squares his massive shoulders. Steps forward. “I—”

“What gives you the right to delegate your daughter and sons to rival camps to do your bidding, without bringing your case to me first? I should have been your first port of call. I should have decided how this plan of yours should play out. Yet you schemed behind my back and tried to build power and gain favour in case I disagreed to your plan. So you could then build a cause against me.”

“My Lord, I assure you, that is not—”

“Yes — your Lord.” He reiterates.

And then quick as a flash, he’s drawing a sword.

Quick as a flash, it slices through the air and hacks Tathaln Baralas’s head clean off his neck.

It drops to the dais with a wet-sounding thwack. The rest of his body crumples to the floor.

You can’t breathe, or think, or hear. Can only stare at Tathaln’s open, glazed eyes, peering off into nothing. There are gasps and curses and panic. Hands claw at you. You can’t move.

And then a high-pitched, wailing scream rents the air, like nothing else you’ve ever heard. So loud, it snaps you out of your shock.

You turn, despite the hands that hold you firm and still. Through tear-blurred eyes, you glimpse Kaeda on her knees. Her beautiful face is screwed with despair. She stares at her father’s head, and she wails.

“Change is, indeed, upon us.” Fin says calmly, as though a river of blood is not pooling at his feet. “But it will be dealt by my hands, and my hands only.” He sheathes his blade once more. “This ball is over. You can all leave.”

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he strolls off the dais, tracking blood with each step. He disappears through a door without looking back.

And then chaos is erupting. Kaeda is still screaming. People are scrambling to book it out of there. You turn back to Tathaln’s head. Turn to your father’s, still in that box. You think you might be sick—

“Y/N.” Hands grasp your face tightly. Azriel is staring into your eyes, pleading with you to stare back. “We need to get out of here, okay? We’re getting out of here.”

You open your mouth, and a strangled noise escapes you. “I…I can’t…move.”

“You can. You can. Come.” His arms band around you. And though he holds you strong, you can feel that he’s shaken, too. “We’re leaving before the High Lord comes back. I’m getting you out of here. Hold onto me.”

You have no choice other than to comply. But your grip is as weak as you are. You can’t stop yourself fucking shaking.

You don’t hear the words that Azriel speaks to Cassian and Rhys. All you can hear is Kaeda’s screaming. All you can do is stare over Azriel’s shoulder at your father’s lifeless face. That face didn’t once look upon you with love in twenty years. Now, it certainly never will.

You keep on looking until Azriel spirits you both out of there, and the coppery tang of blood follows you all the way back to Windhaven.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“Please try to drink some of that.”

Azriel perches before you, his eyes fixed upon the steaming cup between your hands. You can’t remember how long ago he handed it to you, or how long ago you made it back to Roza’s cottage, or how long ago you watched Fin cleave Tathaln’s head from his body.

The fire is roaring, and more than one blanket is draped around you, but you can’t get any warmth to seep into your bones. You shiver from head to toe.

“It’ll warm you up.” Az reaches out, pressing a hand to your cheek. “I added a drop of whiskey to take the edge off.”

“I need more than a drop.” Cassian’s voice comes from behind the sofa, where he’s been pacing pretty much since he entered. “What the fuck was that? Your father is insane, Rhys.”

Rhys hasn’t breathed a word — that you’re aware of, anyway. Just sat in the armchair and stared into space. 

But his eyes shutter now, and he murmurs, “I know.”

“Absolutely insane.” Cass repeats. The pacing continues, up and down and up and down. “I didn’t realise you’d gotten so close to him, Y/N.”

As if you need reminding.

Fin had made it clear that in some fucked up way, everything he did tonight was for you. He’d slaughtered two people for you. You’d wanted to stop Tathaln, but not like that…never like that.

A tear rolls down your cheek, and you hear Azriel utter a quiet warning to Cass. Cass stops his pacing.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He says, softer. “I just…didn’t realise there was so much going on while you were in Velaris.”

“I was trying to help.” You whisper. “I didn’t mean for…I didn’t mean—”

“None of what happened tonight was your fault.” Azriel moves to your side. He pulls you close against him, arms soothingly wrapping around you. “Don’t you dare start thinking that. The High Lord does what he wants.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. What if he’s coming for me next? I was scheming, too.”

Az growls quietly. “He can try. He won’t get close.”

“My father doesn’t want you dead.” Rhys rests his head back against the chair. He doesn’t open his eyes, and you’re wondering if he’s replaying the picture of bloodshed as much as you are. “If he did, he would have killed you there and then, alongside Kaeda’s father and…yours.”

Cassian spits on the ground. “And may your father never know a shred of peace.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, allowing yourself to slump fully against Az’s body, be supported by it. You’re not sure you can hold yourself up right now.

And it’s not that you disagree with Cass’s statement…you’re just not sure what to feel right now.

You hated your father. Despised him. But—

But that kill was supposed to be yours.

Fin had taken that from you in some fucked up display of…of affection, you supposed. Maybe even of ownership.

“He may not want me dead,” you whisper, “but I don’t think he’s finished with me. He’s surely not going to let me come back to Windhaven as if nothing happened. And what of Roza and the babe? Are they safe with him?”

Rhys gives a slow, meditative shake of his head. He’s exhausted. You’re all exhausted. The smell of blood clings to you. “I checked in with her. Despite what he did, they’re always safe with him. As for everything else…I don’t know what he intends.”

“Change is coming.” Finally, Cassian sits down. “That’s what he said. Over and over again.”

You don’t want change. Not the kind that Fin is probably thinking. You don’t want extravagance or luxury. You just want…this.

This little cottage. Your friends. Your love. Your simple, quiet life.

It feels like it hangs in the balance more than ever.

Eyes open, you’re staring at everything you may just lose. But the second you squeeze them shut, you see such thick, alarming red. Hear the thwack of Tathaln’s head falling. Hear the carnal scream that rips from Kaeda’s throat.

Your heartbeat picks up, and tears prick in your eyes — but Azriel’s arms tighten around you.

“Easy.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. “I’m right here. All three of us are.”

You know he can’t possibly be as calm as he’s making out. But he’s doing it for you — staying strong for you.

“You should try to sleep, my love.” He murmurs into your hair. “We all should.”

You focus on his warmth, his scent, but the tears keep coming. “I’m not sure I can.”

“Try.” He kisses you again. “For me.”

All you can manage is a relenting nod. And that’s all it takes for him to slide down and pull you with him. He holds you so tightly, as though he’s terrified of letting go. He bundles you against him, wraps a blanket around you both. It can’t be comfortable for him, his wings, but he lays there like it is.

A soft snoring from the armchair tells you that Rhys has already succumbed to exhaustion. You bunch your fingers in the front of Az’s shirt and force your eyes to close, even despite the horrors that await you behind them.

But after a while, you’re aware of the sound of Cassian traipsing to the kitchen. Reaching for the bottle of whiskey that sits mostly drained on the side.

And you realise that in Azriel’s arms, you’d started to drift off, too.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You wake with a gasping start.

It’s pitch black in the room, besides the dying embers of the fire. Their muted orange glow illuminates the space enough for you to glimpse Rhys, still fast asleep in the chair. Cassian is sprawled out and dozing on the floor.

Any one of you could have stowed away upstairs in the privacy of a bedroom, but…you need each other right now. Each other’s comfort.

You don’t know what the time is; the middle of the night, judging by how dark it is. But there’s a lot of noise and foot traffic that’s carried past the house. You assume it must be Illyrians who have attempted to drown the night’s events in alcohol and are now skulking home.

You try to block it all out. Roll over. But as arms tighten around you and pull you flush against a warm body, you glance up to find Azriel awake, already staring at you.

You stare back.

That’s all you do for a while. Just…stare. Drink each other in. He is so beautiful. So brilliant. Your friend, lover and so much more.

“Hi.” He eventually whispers.

You scan his face. Murmur back, “Hi.”

“You should be sleeping.”

“So should you.”

A small shake of his head. Strands of hair fall from where they were earlier slicked back. The grandeur of the ball seems like eons ago, now.

“I can’t.” He says. “I’m worried about you.”

It’s rare…for him to lay vulnerable thoughts and feelings out like that. You study him again. And you want to reassure him, tell him you’re doing okay — but you’re not. Not right now. And don’t you owe him honesty in return?

“I’m scared.” You admit. Keeping your voice hushed doesn’t stop it from cracking.

Azriel leans down, dropping his forehead against yours. His hand rests at the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles.

After a moment, he asks, “What went on in Velaris?”

You don’t know what to say. It was so easy, in the City of Starlight, to pretend to be someone else. Someone that Fin would desire and eventually trust. So easy to follow a plan unflinchingly.

But back in the frozen grips of Windhaven, you do not feel like that person. You do not know her.

“You said you were scheming.” Az presses. “What went on?”

“I told you…I was trying to convince Fin to reject Tathaln’s idea—”

“Convince him how?”

You swallow. Because you hate the truth. Back in the ordinariness of your Illyrian environment, your behaviour seems so, so bad.

“Did he touch you,” Az breathes.

“No.” You immediately shake your head. “I made him want me. I made him want me so badly that he would trust me and listen to me. I never wanted him to kill for me. And I never wanted him. Every single second I spent there, I just wanted to come back to you—”

His lips fold over yours, and he breathes deep and slow. You waste no time in kissing him back. That kiss is truth, and it’s love.

“Only you, Az.” You whisper as you pull away. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

But he’s not done with you. His mouth is on yours again, and he promises into it, “I’ve only ever wanted you, too.”

Not merely wanted, but needed. And you need each other now. It doesn’t matter at all that you’re not alone in the room — that Cass and Rhys are sleeping mere footsteps away.

Your hands are on each other, grasping at each other, and your bodies come together. It’s unhurried and quiet. Azriel’s eyes don’t leave yours once, from the second he slides into you and you both gasp onto each other’s mouths.

Every slow thrust is one of love. Every one of them is a promise.

“Whatever happens,” he pants quietly, pleasure straining his voice, “whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

“Together.” You vow. A tear escapes the corner of your eye, and Azriel leans in to kiss it away.

He holds you as both your climax and his build together. He holds you as you bury into his shoulder to stop you from crying out. He holds you as you clench around his cock and he spills every last drop into you.

And he holds you as you catch your breaths and press your foreheads together, exhaustion beckoning you once more. He’s held you through so much, and he’ll continue to do so to whatever end.

Only when your eyelids are threatening to close does he brush his mouth against yours once more. And he says again, “We’ll face it together.”

There’s a stirring behind you. Cassian rolls over. Croaks out, “Can you quit fucking?”

And then he snores and he’s back to sleep, the fire warming his wings.

You and Az stare at each other and pause. And despite it all — everything that’s happened tonight — you both break into laughter. It vibrates through his chest and into you, the feeling pleasant, reassuring.

He kisses your forehead, a smile still ghosting his lips.

It stays there as he drifts to sleep.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“What the fuck is that?”

Your groggy eyes wrench open and squint at the weak daylight that filters through the cottage. Both Rhys and Cass have bolted upright. Az, too, is jerked awake.

A thumping lands on the front door, urgent, panicked. Anxiety floods your gut.

“I’m coming, fucking hell.” Rhysand clambers to his feet. He’s dishevelled and uncoordinated as he clambers to the door and rips it open.

“Rhys,” Zakai pants from the other side. “What the fuck is your father playing at?”

“What—”

It’s then that the sound hits you all. The sound of authoritative voices calling out. Of people shouting — arguing — back.

Rhys follows Zakai out of the door. You, Azriel and Cassian share a glance before the three of you are also following.

And what you find outside is…chaos.

The sight of Illyrians fighting is nothing new, but males are being ripped from their houses. Children and wives watch, tears staining their cheeks. Paper and clothes and belongings litter the ground as if they’ve been stolen and discarded. The sky is shadowed by the temporary night of soaring Illyrians

Your wide eyes swivel to a roof a few cottages down — where a male stands upon its tiles, his voice bellowing out. He’s leather-clad and puffed up by his own importance — one of Devlon’s cronies, you think.

He seems unperturbed by the pushback on the ground — the gathering, angered males, as he addresses anyone and everyone around him.

“If I call your name, you’re coming with me! You pack the bare necessities — we leave for Steelshore in thirty minutes!” He announces. “Rahu Sepheron, Venia Char, Falkon Galos, Telarion Krin—”

“He’s lost his damn mind.” Rhys grits his teeth, shaking his head.

“He’s actually doing it.” Ice shoots through your veins, nothing to do with the brisk spring morning. “The High Lord is actually splitting everyone up.”

“Zakai Athalar—”

“Fuck this.” Rhys grabs Zakai’s hand, turning to you, Az, Cassian. “Everyone get back inside. None of us are doing anything or going anywhere until I’ve spoken to my father.”

You don’t hesitate to turn on your feet and pull Azriel with you. You want nothing more than to hole yourself up inside the cottage and pretend that none of this is happening. That anxiety and panic isn’t turning your stomach—

But the second you step foot inside, you’re halting in the doorway so suddenly that Cassian smacks into you from behind.

Fin sits at the table, cleaning his nails with a dagger.

He drinks in the sight of you greedily. Glances down at yours and Azriel’s joined hands. Smiles.

“Do you want to tell me what the fuck you’re playing at?” Rhys pushes past you, storming over. “What the hell is all this?”

“This?” Fin sits back. “This, Rhysand, is the reality of war.”

His son grits his teeth. Clenches his fists. “What.”

“War is upon us. Days, weeks, months away. People will have to fight and people will have to die. It is my duty as High Lord to take necessary action to ensure we come out victorious. If I have to sever some relationships for that outcome, then so be it.”

Cassian barrels forward, nothing but anger given flesh. “And what is this supposed necessary action? Tearing families apart?”

Even he, with his quick temper and loose tongue, would never normally address the High Lord in such a way. But Cassian cares. He’s passionate about what’s right.

And what Fin is doing is not right.

But Fin vaguely smiles and picks an invisible piece of dirt from his jacket. “If need be, Cassian, yes.” He says. “I’m delegating Illyrians where they will serve me best in this war. That includes your cosy little unit here.”

“If we are truly at war,” Azriel says quietly, dangerously, “now is not the time to play games.”

“Who’s playing games, shadowsinger?” Fin shrugs. “Not me.”

You don’t think it’s accidental, the way the High Lord’s eyes slide to you in that moment. You look away, refuse to hold his gaze. You could swear he chuckles quietly as he stands up and tucks his chair in.

“So here’s how it’s going to be.” He rests his forearms atop of the chair. “Rhysand — you will be commanding a legion in Camp Theriel.” He glances — barely — at Zakai. “I do believe your lover has already received a summons to leave for Camp Steelshore, so he should probably run along, lest he gets left behind.”

“Father—”

“Cassian.” He interrupts. “You will remain here, in Windhaven — as a common foot soldier in this war.”

“A foot soldier?” Cass spits. “That’s beneath my rank and you know it. You’re only doing this because you’re threatened by Az, Rhys and I being together. How powerful we are. Everyone knows that.”

Fin simply tsks. “Watch yourself, foot soldier. You don’t want to slip further down the ranks, now, do you—”

“Fin.” Finally, you find your voice. You step forward, despite Azriel trying to yank you back. You stare pleadingly at the High Lord.

He turns to you. His eyes sweep your face. His expression seems to go somewhat…quiet.

You had begun to respect this male in some roundabout way. You don’t think you’d ever have fully trusted him, but…there was an understanding, for a time. An allegiance of sorts.

You’d seen a side to him that so few did. And though it’s nowhere to be seen now…you have to believe that it’s still under there somewhere. You have to.

“Please don’t do this.” You whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “Please. This is our home. Our family.”

At the first sight of a tear rolling down your face, Fin swallows — hard. He clenches his fists at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach out and wipe it away.

It seems like so, so long that he stares at you. So long that he seems to be fighting something internally.

So long that a small glimmer of hope ignites in you that perhaps he cares enough to listen.

But then his eyes are shuttering, and he’s looking away. He says, stiffly, “We all have to make sacrifices in war.”

“Fin—”

“Rhysand will go to Camp Theriel. Cassian will stay here.” His eyes open again. He looks from you, to Azriel, back to you. “You and the shadowsinger are coming to Velaris with me.”

“What?!”

“You’d better say your goodbyes.” He squares his shoulders, not looking at you at all, now. “It’ll be a very, very long time before you all see each other again. If you see each other again.”

You open your mouth — to say what, you don’t know.

But Fin disappears before your eyes, leaving you — your family — alone.

What sounds far, far away is Cassian’s outraged ranting. Rhysand cursing his father. Zakai trying to talk to him, calm him down.

You and Azriel are the only two who don’t say a thing. Just stand there in silence.

Because you know you can curse all you like. You can shout and throw things and damn Fin to a miserable existence. It may bring you some temporary reprieve.

But it will not change a thing.

Fin is your High Lord. His mind is made up. This is just the next round in his game.

Your family is being cleaved apart. You stand in that cottage where you all slept in each other’s company — not realising it might be the last time, ever.

Your head roars and your tears keep on coming. But you can do nothing but stare at Azriel. He stares at you, too.

You and the shadowsinger are coming to Velaris with me.

It makes you sick to your stomach. Probably makes Azriel sick to his stomach, also.

But your locked, silent, crestfallen gazes communicate one sacred promise to each other.

Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.

Authors note: Oooooof how are we all feeling? Good? Bad? Sad? Mad? Tempted to commit arson?

I just wanted to say thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. What started out as a fun little smut piece turned into a whole story I didn’t even know I had in me, but I’ve enjoyed every bit of it — especially hearing from all of you. Your likes, reblogs, comments and asks have meant the world to me through this. Thank you so much for the wonderful responses 🫶🏻

For anyone who didn’t see my answer to an ask regarding this last part — I understand it might not be the ending everyone wanted or expected, but I felt there was still so much potential in the story that I wanted to leave it open to — perhaps — write a sequel at some point. I have so many ideas, and I’m totally willing to talk about it and answer any questions about it you have any!

Thank you, again, for all the support, darlings. And I truly hope you enjoyed Practice On Me. 💕

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

[madhels-enby-boyfriend]

Play stupid games

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Joanne x reader (company, f!Bobbie)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI!!!, smutty thoughts but no actual smut, that’s it I think??

Tags: longing, established friendship between reader, Joanne and the others, smidge of angst if you squint, flirting, reader being down bad

Summary: Joanne and you have always been flirty with one another but what happens when it no longer is just a silly game for you??

Notes: English isn’t my first language so I apologise for any mistakes. I have never written ‘x reader’ fics before so please don’t judge this too harshly. This is going to be a multichapter fic but life is busy so I can’t promise regular updates. I suck at summaries…so I hope all of this makes sense 😅

Words: 3.3k

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

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Chapter 1: Bobbie’s Birthday

Joanne being flirty with you was nothing new, ever since you had been introduced to Bobbie’s other friends Joanne had found a way to turn any comment into something filthy. And you, never being one to back down, always managed to shoot a flirty remark back. This back and forth had become your established dynamic, the remarks getting more outrageous as time went on. It was just playful banter really, the teasing touches being part of the game you two had started to play. The aim was to try and get the other person to blush first, most of the time you ended up losing, but that only made those few times where you did manage to fluster Joanne even better.

Your innocent little game was a great way to pass the time when the others were too engrossed in talking about their recent marriage troubles or about how the kids were doing. Joanne, having recently gone through her third divorce, had claimed she was done trying to find a husband that would stick around and wasn’t really interested in talking about marriage or kids with the others and you… well… you weren’t exactly lucky in love either, so you preferred to keep your escapades to yourself. And so you two had found the perfect person to get through these evenings with in one another.

There was only one.. small..tiny.. little.. insignificant… problem. Somewhere along the way your brain had forgotten that Joanne’s flirting was just that, a little game and that she wasn’t actually interested… and now you had developed feelings for her. You really were unlucky when it came to relationships and romance.

You couldn’t pinpoint precisely when this had stopped just being a way to pass the time for you, but you could remember exactly when you had realised that you caught feelings for the brunette.

Joanne and you had started hanging out together, outside of a group setting, for over a year now. It had started when she had invited you back to her place after a particularly intense hang out with the others, claiming that you and her both needed to unwind after the tumultuous conversations. Later, after getting to know her better, you’d come to find out that the real reason she had invited you, was that she really disliked coming home to an empty apartment after spending such a long time surrounded by others.

You had to admit that you preferred hanging out one-on-one with her over spending time with everyone in your friend group all together. Not because you disliked the others but because Joanne was different when it was just the two of you. Of course she still teased and jokingly flirted with you but the teasing lost its sharper edges and the flirting was softer and less dirty.

She seemed more at ease this way and slowly yet surely she had shown you bits and pieces of herself. She wasn’t vulnerable often but every now and then you could see through the little cracks that had appeared in her walls when it was just the two of you.

This had been one of those moments. You were lounging around her giant apartment, soft music was playing in the background and Joanne was rambling on about one of her latest annoyances. And every once in a while you could see them, right through the cracks, the real emotions behind what seemed to be superficial complaints. When you looked into her eyes you could see parts of the real Joanne and you wished time would stand still, just for a little while, so you could bask in the moment of being privileged enough to be able to share these little moments with her.

You were nodding along, agreeing to whatever seemingly unimportant thing she was complaining about while expertly reading between the lines, figuring out what this was really about. Some people, like her ex-husbands, might complain that the brunette needed to come with a manual but not you, you found that once you looked past the armour she wore to protect herself, she was rather easy to understand. You just needed to know what to look and listen for, all you had to do was look past the annoyed words she spewed and look for the real message she was trying to convey.

A small smile appeared on your lips as you realised just how well you knew her. You were aware that you only got to know her this well because she allowed you to see this side of her and that knowledge left you with a warm and fuzzy feeling inside your chest. You secretly longed to be the only one she showed this side to, to be special to her. The thought of someone else knowing her this well, getting to see her like this, left a vile aftertaste in your mouth… wait- was that a normal way to feel about a friend? Surely you should want her to have more friends she could be more open with.

But you wanted to be special to her…different from her other friends. Suddenly you became very aware of her hand on your thigh, it had been there a while, still left from earlier when she had tried to fluster you. Usually such a simple touch wouldn’t do the trick, she had to pull out the big guns to win your little game… but then why did you suddenly feel a familiar heat creep up your cheeks.

You tried to shake yourself out of it, focusing on what she was trying to tell you and those beautiful brown eyes.. god you could get lost in those, stare at them for hours and never grow tired of looking at them. A familiar feeling wove its way into your chest, the warmth that had settled there earlier spreading even further. And then you glanced at her lips, to better listen you told yourself at first. But then, out of nowhere, you had to fight the urge to reach out, cup her cheek and pull her into a kiss.

And all of a sudden, like a bucket of ice cold water being thrown over you, it hit you… it was plain as day… you had feelings for the woman in front of you. How long had you been feeling this way? You couldn’t remember anything really changing in how you felt towards her. Except lately she seemed to win the game more often and you seemed to fluster rather easily, and the compliments you threw at her held more sincerity and warmth and were less about trying to get her to falter and more about telling her how beautiful you thought she was… you couldn’t remember when it had started but her touch was driving you insane, even more than it did before, and now that you thought about it you found yourself often daydreaming about the brunette.

You had internally cursed yourself and had pushed those feelings down, they would be dealt with when the reason for your internal turmoil wasn’t sitting right in front of you. So you continued to listen to Joanne and decided you’d deal with this mess later.

“Are you still with me, doll? Or have you gotten lost in that pretty little head of yours again?” Joanne’s teasing voice cut through your thoughts.

How long had you been spiraling? You mentally cursed yourself, ever since finding out you had feelings for the woman, you couldn’t stop yourself from overthinking every moment and ruminating on the moment you had found out.

You shot her an apologetic smile, your cheeks threatening to flush at the use of the pet name and the slight teasing. You hoped she wouldn’t notice, it was Bobbie’s birthday party after all and a lot of stuff was happening around you two.. the perfect excuse, you realised as you quietly spoke, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Sorry, there’s just a lot going on… it’s a bit overwhelming.”

You hoped she wouldn’t see through you. It wasn’t entirely a lie, everything going on around you might have overwhelmed you in other circumstances… if you hadn’t been too busy thinking about her.

Joanne seemed to buy it… for now… and her normal teasing tone was exchanged for a more serious, caring one as she asked you the following.

“Do you want to go somewhere a little more quiet?” Usually she would have added something to make the sentence as suggestive as possible but when you looked into her eyes you could see the slightest sliver of worry in them.

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through you at the thought that she cared this much about you and your comfort, it was soon followed by a tinge of guilt for making her worry about you.

The rational part of you knew that you shouldn’t go somewhere more quiet, alone with Joanne, it would only make things worse. Her entire focus would be on you and you wouldn’t be able to distract yourself or use the ongoing party as an excuse. And yet part of you wanted to spend some more time alone with Joanne.. you couldn’t help it. Having the other woman’s attention solely focused on you was something intoxicating and you’d become addicted to it.

“No, I’m okay. I wouldn’t want to drag you away from a good party.” You sent her a reassuring smile as you both silently cursed and thanked the rational part of your brain for taking over.

Joanne chuckled dryly before teasingly replying. “Darling, if you think this is a good party then I need to take you out more.”

Before you even properly realised what she was doing, the brunette grabbed your hand and dragged you into Bobbie’s bedroom before closing the door. You knew she was only doing it because this was the only quiet spot in the apartment at the moment, but the second you registered where you were, your mind flooded with images.

You pushing Joanne against the door and kissing her till she was a moaning, whimpering mess. Joanne pushing you down on the bed as her hands quickly got rid of your clothes, those captivating brown eyes filling with hunger and desire. Your hand finding its way into her pants and-

“There, isn’t this much better?” Joanne’s voice cut through your racing thoughts and brought you back down to Earth, the images fading to the back of your mind.

The lack of any crude comments about you both being in Bobbie’s bedroom confirmed that she had been truly worried about you and it enhanced both the guilt and spreading warmth that you had felt earlier.

You hummed in confirmation then thanked her softly, sending her an appreciative smile while mentally cursing yourself for not being able to control your thoughts. You knew you had been acting strange around her lately, zoning out more often and getting way too flustered, too quickly. Joanne was a perceptive woman, she was bound to catch on at some point and you did not want to risk losing her entirely just because you couldn’t keep your feelings at bay.

“You know this wasn’t the reason I imagined you dragging me into a bedroom for the first time.” You teased, hoping to settle back into your established dynamic, fearing that any amount of silence stretching between you would result in you getting lost in your thoughts once again.

But then you began overthinking everything you were saying. Was this too much? Would this give you away? Could she see right through your façade and catch the truth behind your words? You internally groaned and hoped you’d get over this crush soon so you’d finally be able to act normal around her again, without overthinking every single thing.

The sudden change in mood seemed to catch Joanne off guard a little but it seemed to have convinced her that moving to a quieter place was all you needed and that you were now feeling better. Despite appearing a little surprised by your sudden teasing, she managed to quickly shoot back a rebuttal.

“Oh darling, the night is still young, you never know what might happen.” She sent a wink your way before sitting down on the bed and quickly adding. “Although I will have to take you back to mine because my bed is far more comfortable.” She added with a smirk.

“I don’t think I could wait to go all the way back to yours first, we might just have to make do with what we’ve been given.”

You said dramatically and jokingly as you leaned against the wall, making sure to keep your tone light and teasing as you tried your best to not imagine what Joanne’s bed would feel like… or what it would be like to have her moan your name in it.

Joanne gasped loudly and placed her hand on her chest, acting offended. “You think I won't last more than one round? We don’t have to finish where we started, you know.” Her eyes raked over your body with that playful glint so clearly present in them.

You willed yourself to not start blushing and to come up with a witty and even bolder remark but failed on both accounts so instead just playfully rolled your eyes and held your hands up in defeat.

Her smirk only grew when a pink hue coloured your cheeks. “You’re becoming too easy.. I’m going to start suspecting you of letting me win on purpose.” Joanne teased.

“Or maybe you just keep getting more vulgar.” You raised your eyebrow, shooting her an exaggerated questioning look.

“You love it.”

She shot back with a knowing smile and you felt the familiar ache of longing in your chest. If only she knew just how much you loved it… how your brain had forgotten this was all just some silly game you two had started to pass the time.

“I do.”

You chuckled softly, a full smile slowly returning to your lips, no matter how tumultuous the feelings inside you were, you couldn’t help but enjoy this little moment. The banter, Joanne caring about you and knowing you better than you had previously thought, and her smile that never failed to make your heart skip a beat, overshadowed the fear and worry that was ever present in the back of your mind.

“It’s good to see you feeling better.” The teasing and joking tone from earlier had completely disappeared and made way for a rare serious and genuine intonation and expression.

You were certain that your blush only deepened at the blatant display of care but, luckily for you, Joanne had decided not to comment on it.

“Spending time with you like this always makes me feel better.” You answered honestly, matching her serious and genuine tone.

Before Joanne could answer and before you could overthink the little confession and start spiralling once again, Bobbie burst into the room, clearly drunk. She sent a knowing smirk your way and you immediately regretted ever telling your best friend about your crush on Joanne. For a moment you feared she might say something that would give you away but instead she turned to the other woman, her face displayed a mock disgust, her voice was light and playful while her speech was slurred.

“Come on you guys, no getting it on in my bedroom! You’re missed at the party.”

Bobbie held the door open and waved her arm around, motioning for you both to get out of her bedroom.

Joanne shot you a worried look, that told you she was ready to tell the birthday girl to fuck off if you needed a couple more moments here alone with her. You smiled at her reassuringly, telling her without words that you were okay and that you didn’t mind returning back to the main event.

The brunette got up from Bobbie’s bed and walked up to you, gently squeezing your hand before walking past you and out of the room. You were about to follow her when Bobbie placed a hand on your shoulder and stopped you, whispering in your ear.

“You better tell me allll the details later.”

You groaned and whispered back. “Nothing happened, there is nothing to tell.”

Bobbie gave you a once over, as if to check if you were lying or not, when she was satisfied that you hadn’t lied to her, she disapprovingly shook her head, poking your shoulder after every word.

“Take. Action. You. Need. To. Get. Laid."

Her voice was louder than before and the blush that had finally started to disappear threatened to make its way back to your cheeks so you decided to simply roll your eyes and walk away, ending the conversation there.

There was no reasoning with a drunk Bobbie anyway and trying to tell her that it wasn’t like that, that you didn’t just want to screw Joanne but that it was deeper than that, was a futile task. And trying to convince her that you were almost certain that Joanne did not feel the same way and that you were quite sure you weren’t her type was already impossible when she was sober, so was completely hopeless now.

As you walked out of the room and made your way to the hall, so you could rejoin the others, you realised that Joanne had been waiting for you in the hall, meaning she most definitely heard the last part of your conversation with Bobbie. She looked at you, raising a brow, silently questioning you what that was all about.

You just shook your head and waved your hand, quietly telling her it was nothing for her to worry about, hoping that she wouldn’t question you about it. And it seemed like you were in luck because after studying your face for a bit, she simply walked back into the living room and joined the party again.

You quickly followed suit, silently thanking whatever was up there for not putting you through the pain of trying to come up with a convincing lie or a truth vague enough to tell Joanne. That woman knew you far too well and she did not hold back when it came to telling you that she knew you were bullshitting her.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur, you spent time talking to your friends, celebrating Bobbie, and complaining about life. You and Joanne didn’t manage to get any alone time again, you’d sometimes end up talking to the same people together or sometimes you’d shoot each other looks across the room but someone always seemed to be needing one of you just when you were about to head to the other.

The last time you saw her was when you were saying your goodbyes. She was talking to Bobbie about something, you had tried waiting till they finished their conversation but by the looks of it that wouldn’t be any time soon. Joanne was wildly flailing her arms around, gesticulating and punctuating her words with the movements of her hands. Bobbie was rolling her eyes even more than usual and was trying to act all laid back and nonchalant while sipping her drink every 5 seconds. These were clear signs that they were having a heated discussion and with those two, those discussions could last till the early morning hours..

So you had quickly and apologetically interrupted, told them both goodbye before kissing each of them on the cheek and abruptly leaving Bobbie’s apartment.

And now you found yourself laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, overthinking every single interaction you had had with a certain older woman. Your mind replaying every moment, trying to find some indication that you had fucked up and that Joanne was now aware of your feelings towards her. You groaned and tried any and everything to get that woman off your mind, to no avail.

Sleep did not come easy that night and when it did finally envelop you in its sweet embrace, you still couldn’t escape the woman that had been plaguing your mind. Your dreams were filled with her red lips, rich French perfume and sweet words, that had burrowed their way into your brain. There was no denying it, this woman had wormed her way into your heart and it didn’t seem like she would be leaving any time soon.

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Chapter 9

Anything?

Numbers Game Masterlist

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.5k+

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: These dangerous men give you what you asked for. So you ask for a little more.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Swearing, Smut, Established Relationship, Manipulation, Humiliation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Dom Dracule Mihawk, Cuckolding, Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, Hair-Pulling, Degradation, Threesome - F/M/M, Threats of Violence, Choking, Masturbation, PIV Sex, Unprotected Sex (Be safe out there!), Orgasm Control, Multiple Orgasms, Spit, Sex Toys, Anal Play, Large Cock, Blowjobs, Shameless Smut, Anal, Double Penetration, Knifeplay, (hook play?), Aftercare

A/N: Heeyyy, so this was meant to be the conclusion of this "one shot." I really hope you enjoy this filthy chapter! I will be pausing this series to catch up on my other projects, so I hope this is a satisfying place for a little break, but I do plan on playing around with these little fiends some more! (Let's be real though, I might just write the next part tomorrow because I have zero control over my feral brain 😅)

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

“Wait.”

You were still frozen after Mihawk’s filthy command, so Crocodile’s deep voice just gave you a reason to be still. 

“What are we waiting for, sandman? You told me to stretch–”

“You’ve been hogging all the fun, swordsman,” Crocodile huffed as he stood from the couch.

The massive room narrowed down until all you could see was his veiny, overwhelming cock.

The large man looked down at you with knowing eyes as your mouth went dry. That impressive length bobbed above your head as he moved toward the edge of the coffee table. He went to his knees, and your breath hitched as he started to cage you in.

“I just want a little taste,” Crocodile teased, his deep voice sending chills through you. 

He dug his fingers into your hip until you cried out, but he kept his eyes on Mihawk.

“You’ll still have plenty of work to do. I just wanna fuck my pretty girl’s ass with my tongue before you get it all stretched out.”

The moan that left your lips was almost frightening. It didn’t help that Mihawk was laughing while Crocodile’s one hand flipped you over. That hand was so strong, so big, and suddenly you were flat on your stomach on that coffee table, Crocodile’s fur coat surely wrecked at this point. 

You weren’t sure what you were expecting next, but the heavy smack of his huge cock hitting your ass was not it. Another desperate moan escaped you, and you subconsciously tried to crawl away from that threat. 

Your struggle brought a very different threat to your throat.

Sharp. 

A sharp prick of metal made you gasp, all of your forward movement halted. Any struggle away from that heavy, veiny weapon he wielded would have you skewered on the hook curled around your throat. 

“Baby girl,” Crocodile growled, leaning over to brush the hair from your face while his hook stayed in its lethal position. 

“Didn’t you promise Daddy that you could take it?”

A pathetic whimper started, but got trapped in your throat as the movement pressed against that piercing hook.

He stroked that big hand down your back and the meat of your ass a few times while he let out a soothing hum. As soothing as a sound could be with a deadly weapon at your weakest point.

He started to thrust across your skin slowly, and that thick, warm flesh rubbing between your cheeks to your lower back had you clenching with fear and anticipation. And through it all, your body reacted, dripping with need.

Crocodile thrust a little harder until the heavy slap of his balls met your wet cunt. He moved his hook just in time before you speared yourself on that cold metal while you cried out for him. 

“Shh, sweetheart. Don’t you trust me,” he asked as he peppered kisses down your back, removing that heavy threat of him from your skin.

All you could manage was a weak moan that almost sounded like, ‘yeah.’

“Don’t be scared,” he breathed over you, his vicious fingers reaching under your hips as he forced your ass into the air. 

“How about you hold onto this, huh? Hold it tight while I make my sweet girl feel so good.”

With your upper body still pressed into his coat, Crocodile stretched his long arm forward until you could wrap your left hand around that golden hook. 

He left kisses on your lower back, and smoothed his hand over your ass, lifted up toward him, like an offering for its new owner. 

That’s what this is. They’ll take care of me. Because they own me.

Again, your mind tried to fight. It tried to fight to be terrified, disgusted, angry.

But your body had its own plan. The thought of this frightening man owning every fucking inch of you had your body sighing, going limp and loose, pushing your ass up higher for him. 

“Mm, there’s my sweet girl.”

His long, warm tongue licked a stripe from your clit to your ass before he pulled one of your cheeks aside, and started circling that tight ring of muscle with that large tongue. 

The noises leaving your throat were unrecognizable, animalistic, as he wasted no time in shoving that thick tongue into your tight ass. 

It was too much, and it was too fucking good.

Especially when he brought one of those damn fingers to circle your clit.

“Fuuuckk, Daddy…” 

“Mm, what is it babydoll,” he teased, removing that intrusive, delicious tongue. 

“Does my little girl like Daddy’s tongue in her ass?”

“Mmhm,” you begged, writhing your body to make him keep going.

His laughter vibrated through you as he kept going. His fingers teased your clit expertly, while that tongue invaded you, twisting, shoving, curling around until you came. 

You cried out as you fell apart again, as he shoved his tongue so fucking deep while your body convulsed. Every insane orgasm they ripped from you kept pulling you under.

You hadn’t realized you’d been moaning the word ‘daddy’ until your breathing started to calm, his lips leaving warm kisses along your lower back. 

“Told you she was a good girl,” Crocodile teased as he pulled away from you. “Our sweet girl’s ass just milked my tongue like her life depended on it.”

“Really,” Mihawk drawled, his voice moving closer, “because that sounds like something a slut would do.”

The insult from his filthy mouth sounded like the highest of praise, and it brought another moan from you. 

Crocodile huffed as Mihawk traced his hands along your face and back. 

“Our little rabbit is only a slut for us though, right? Our pretty, precious slut that comes just for us?”

“Mmhm,” you breathed out, trying to push yourself up.

“Such a good girl,” he teased as he pressed down on your upper back to keep you in position. “Time to get you ready. I know how much you’ve been waiting, darling.”

He was behind you now, trailing fingers up your thighs before teasing your folds with his swollen length, bringing his breathy name to your lips.

He chuckled as he entered you slowly, your fingers clutching at the coat beneath you. He started a slow pace, tracing his fingers around the meat of your ass until you were twitching. 

The cool drip of liquid onto your asshole made you clench, and the press of the plug that followed had you shaking, groaning with pleasure. He teased and played with you slowly, stretching you out bit by bit as he pushed it further into you. The tight, almost stinging feeling had your eyes rolling back as it filled you more and more.

Mihawk kept that slow rhythm with his cock and the toy, making you lost in sensation until his taunting voice brought you back.

“I've got some questions, little rabbit, and I expect honest answers. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good. I’ve just been curious about something. Since you were so desperate for us to fuck you the day we arrived, I had to wonder if your needs weren’t being met.”

It wasn’t a question, so you didn’t answer. But if you opened your eyes, you knew you’d see Buggy on that green chair. 

“Did you enjoy letting that clown fuck you?”

When you paused, he pushed the plug in just a little more, making you cry out your ‘yes.’

“Interesting. Did you ever let him into this lovely, tight ass of yours?”

“Yes.” 

“Let’s see,” he teased, bringing more wild noises from you as he stretched you further. “What else would I like to know… How about, did he ever let our sweet rabbit fuck anything into his ass?”

Your eyes fluttered open to see Buggy watching you, his mouth hanging wide.

“Yes.”

“Mm, what a giving lover you are. Such a shame he didn’t treat you right.”

He pressed the plug fully into you now, and didn’t give you time to stop thrashing before his lube covered fingers teased around his cock.

“What are–”

“Stretching you out, darling. You saw Sir Crocodile’s cock, didn’t you? Just take a deep breath…”

Mihawk’s fingers pressed into you, stretching your pussy next to his already impressive cock. It was overwhelming, the fullness you felt left you panting. 

“I think I have one more question for now,” he mused, fucking you slowly open.

“Does the clown’s cock detach, and fly around like all his other bits? Does it function like that?”

You didn’t think it was possible for your skin to flush even more, but you felt your face burning.

The pause you took elicited a deep thrust that had you whimpering.

“Yes, it does. It works.”

His deep laughter hummed through you, before he removed himself, and the plug, leaving you empty. 

Strong hands lifted you gently, and you relaxed against him.

A contented sigh left you as he kissed you from your temple down to the crook of your neck, his facial hair tickling as you failed to push him away. 

Mihawk nipped playfully at your neck, leaving you giggling. As terrifying as this man was, he could be fucking cute when he wasn’t trying scare you.

“Here we go, rabbit,” he rasped in your ear, nibbling on it before he went on. “I can’t wait to watch you break on our cocks, pretty thing.”

Your shaky hands tried to cling to his shoulders as he sat you on the couch, your feet resting on Crocodiles lap.

Right next to his glistening cock, covered in lube, and waiting for you.

“Come on, sweet girl,” his deep voice beckoned, “come sit on Daddy’s lap.”

Mihawk chuckled at you again from his spot on the table while you were frozen. You didn’t even mean to stay still, you were just overwhelmed. 

“We’ll start nice and slow, sweetheart. I know you can take it.”

How can his voice seem so sweet, even with the thread of danger riding just underneath?

Crocodile’s voice helped you move, and you reached for his offered hand and hook. Sitting on his thighs with his pulsing need between you, you basked under his gaze. 

Again, there was still that feeling of being an object, a prized possession. But the way his eyes roamed over every inch of you had you shivering. Like you were stunning, precious.

The cool metal of his hook stroked your cheek, and your eyes fluttered closed at the no longer unwanted sensation. 

“Put your hands on my shoulders, babydoll. I’ll help you.”

You obeyed, your hands still trembling as he guided you to hover slightly above him.

“Let me feel ya just a little, sugar.”

His husky voice gave you chills as you lowered just enough.

He rubbed his tip through your folds, pressing against your sensitive clit, until you had to fight to stay steady.

“So pretty when you dance for me.”

Your eyes had closed as his words rolled over you, but they snapped back to him as he lined himself up. 

“Be a good girl, and breathe for me, alright?”

Now that he was pressed at your entrance, already feeling huge before he was even inside you, he brought his large hand to your waist. It didn’t hurt, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to escape that firm grip unless he let you. 

He kept stroking the back of that hook along your skin as he told you to relax.

Your eyes went wide as you started to take him in, your fingers clawing into his shoulders. You’d never been with anyone this big before and it felt intense, the tip of him invading you as you tried to pull away.

That firm grip of his kept your hips in place while he watched you squirm, digging his fingers in hard until you looked at him.

“Quit fighting. You said you could take it, sweet girl. I don’t like liars.”

His soothing smile would have had more effect if he hadn’t coupled it with those words, and his hook around your neck. Another chain to hold you in place.

“If you don’t breathe, it’s gonna hurt worse. You don’t want Daddy to hurt you, huh?”

You tried to focus on breathing, but a smirk touched his lips that stopped your breath again.

“Mm, but you liked pain, didn’t you,” he taunted, still holding your body at the very tip of him. “Would that help you out, sugar?”

The point of his hook scraped lightly across your lower back, your eyes rolling as you gasped in pleasure from the teasing pain.

That brought out a desperate cry as your body shoved itself further down his shaft from your writhing movement. 

Mihawk was chuckling behind you again while Crocodile showered you with praise.

“Look how well you’re doing for me, baby. That was so good, your pussy feels like heaven, sweetheart.”

Your fingers were digging into his arms as you tried to get used to the stretch. Then his fingers dug into your waist again, and his dark eyes burned into you.

“That’s enough waiting. You know you can take it now, pretty girl. Either you do it, or I’ll do it for you.”

Frozen again, you gasped as he wrapped the hook back around your neck.

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

His growl rolled through your skin, and you started to slide yourself onto him. Your legs had gotten wobbly from sitting above him like that, and he was kind enough to hold you up by the waist when you shook, almost falling down his length. 

The tight, burning stretch of him stole your thoughts. He filled you up more and more, until you took in almost all of him, whimpering in his lap with tears in your eyes. 

“Such a good girl,” he moaned softly as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “You feel me filling you up so good, huh, sweetheart?”

All you managed were whimpers, pathetic fingers grasping at the muscles of his massive chest.

Pleased laughter rumbled through him as he gripped your waist again.

“Just relax, babydoll. I’ll do the rest.”

Your body clenched and tightened around his as he started to move you up and down. Even one handed, he had no trouble lifting and sliding your body while you broke apart, shaking and moaning for him. 

Your grasping hands reached up to hang onto his hook, holding it in place around your neck, and clawing uselessly into the metal.

More praise left his lips as he started slow, but soon you were screaming as he bounced you on his cock, finally forcing your body all the way down until you were filled to the brim. 

“Fuck yes, my perfect fucking girl,” Crocodile moaned between that brutal bouncing. “Knew you could take it all, baby. So proud of you.”

You whimpered when he took his hook away, reaching for something else to cling to. 

Instead, you felt lips and teeth along your neck, sending a pulse of heat right to your core.

The painful stretch of the man beneath you was still overwhelming, but it was also incredible. You were already so close, and Mihawk’s teasing touches had you throwing your head back.

“I thought I might have missed it, but it doesn’t look like you’ve broken her just yet,” Mihawk spoke over you as his hands played along your breasts, lightly pinching your nipples to make you thrash again.

“She’s almost there. Our sweet girl can handle a lot, can’t you, baby.”

“Mmhm,” you managed, trying and failing to help him move you as he fucked you like a doll.

“Alright, little rabbit,” Mihawk breathed along your ear, “I’m going to take you now, just like you wanted. Remember, darling?”

His hands roamed your body, before trapping your hands in one of his. The press of his chest against your back was like fire, heating every part of you. Crocodile slowed, a deep hum moving through him as Mihawk's attention made your body squeeze onto his even more.

“Remember these sweet little fingers trying to please you? When what you really wanted was to be our little treasure? To let us fuck you dumb?”

His words alone would have made you cry out, but he chased those words by stuffing his wicked fingers into your ass, lube letting him slide in easily. 

“Do you still want that? Does our pretty pet want us to fuck her full until she’s dripping with come?”

So much. It was all so much. You could hardly think. 

“Please.”

These two dangerous men both let out deep, satisfied laughs, and you ate it up. 

You wanted them. You wanted it all.

This feels so fucking good.

Mihawk pressed the tip of that thick cock into your ass, reaching his skilled fingers around to your clit.

You came before he’d pushed halfway in, and he used your spasming body as an excuse to sheathe himself fully, ripping screams from your throat. 

Mihawk pushed you forward until you were panting on Crocodile’s chest, while he set one foot on the couch beside the larger man’s thighs to get better leverage. 

You hardly heard their praise through your orgasm as your entire body was focused on the sensation of being full.

“Pretty girl,” Crocodile rasped, helping Mihawk move your body over theirs with his hand on your hip. “Taking us so well. Gonna take care of you, baby.”

Your nod against his chest was probably lost in the heavy thrusts taking you over, making you theirs. 

“He’s right, little darling,” Mihawk purred, wrapping his free hand around your chest to pull you toward him again, arching your back. “I’ve never met such a magnificently filthy rabbit like you. I’m going to make sure you get every sick thing this delicious body craves.”

He kissed your cheek, the sounds of his promise, and his rough breathing, bringing you close to the edge again.

“Pl–”

He took away the fingers at your clit, needy whimpers bringing fresh tears to your eyes. 

“Don’t fret, love. Just answer my questions.”

You nodded desperately, the pressure of their cocks even more intense without his skilled fingers against that needy bundle of nerves. 

“Would you like all three of your pretty holes stuffed full of come?”

A whine left your lips, not understanding.

“What are you doing, swordsman,” Crocodile questioned, his growl almost breathy as he kept shoving into you. 

“Just giving our pet everything she wants,” he taunted, nipping your ear again. “Would you like that clown's cock down your throat while we fuck our come into you?”

A stifled moan floated from behind you, but you couldn’t try to look as Crocodile’s hook touched your cheek. 

That beautiful, frightening man looked down at you, and fear ripped through you again. 

What do they want me to say?

“I don’t like liars, sweet girl. Answer his question.”

They both slowed and paused inside you, your body aching with the need for them to just move. 

“Come on, vixen,” Mihawk coaxed, “it’s a simple–”

“Yes,” you gasped, hoping they wouldn’t punish either of you. 

“You heard her, clown. You should be grateful our little rabbit is so generous.”

The breath you’d been holding came out in a filthy moan as they both started fucking you again, Mihawk’s fingers going back to where you needed them. 

“Hurry up, clown,” Crocodile threatened, his breathing getting ragged again as he bounced you up and down. Your body felt the slide of every thick vein along your clenching walls. 

“If you don’t put your pathetic dick in our sweet girl's mouth right now you won’t be getting it ba–”

If you weren’t almost completely fucked out, you might have giggled at the sight of Buggy’s heavy cock flying in the air above your head, circling for a moment as if afraid to get too close. 

You opened your mouth, letting out a moan that was all the invitation he needed. 

Buggy shoved in harder than he normally does at first, and you felt him pause, as if he hadn’t meant to be that rough. He let you adjust, and you noticed the salty taste of cum along his length. It was more than precum, and it seemed like he’d failed to wipe off all the come he must have spilled in his clothes while he watched you getting fucked.

That thought, that taste, and that force of him down your throat did you in. 

No more thoughts. No more worries or fears. Nothing but these three cocks throbbing inside you, taking you, molding your body to fit theirs. 

A vague awareness you still had on reality noticed your muffled, choked screams, your body thrashing until firm hands held you in place, a hook around your neck, fingers pulling at your hair. 

Sweet praise, vulgar grunts, and the wet, slapping and squelching sounds of your body being used filled the air.

“My sweet girl…”

“My little rabbit…”

“My pretty star…”

You almost didn’t hear that last soft voice before his come spilled down your throat, your hands grasping at someone’s skin while your eyes fluttered.

He left your mouth, floating away while you licked your lips. 

“You ready to fill our girl, Crocodile? I think she’s waited long enough.”

Mihawk’s fingers danced on your clit even faster, and the feeling of their cocks rubbing against each other through the thin, sensitive flesh inside you brought drool to your lips.

“Let’s take care of her,” Crocodile’s voice seemed to threaten, the jolting of his hook around your neck bringing your heavy lidded eyes to his. 

You couldn’t keep your eyes on his for long. 

Not as you felt both of them throbbing, their thrusts slowing and staggering, and their deep moans vibrating through you.

“Such a good girl, taking my come. Fuck, baby…”

“My greedy little pet, you like us fucking you dumb? Get used to it, darling. You feel him filling you, unf, filling you up? Take mine too, rabbit. Fuck, milk our cocks just like that…”

One more orgasm tore through you, like your body was made to suck them up, to devour them. 

Feeling their achingly hot ropes of come pouring into you was one more sensation on a pile of others tonight that you never knew you needed. But now you needed to have it again. 

After all your thrashing and screaming had ceased, gentle hands laid you onto that warm expanse of chest. 

The emptiness was abrupt and painful, and Crocodile gave you soothing noises and praise while Mihawk trailed fingers down your skin.

“Crocodile, you really should get a look at how beautiful she is. Forget jewelry, our little treasure deserves to be dripping with come everyday.”

His pleased voice was close to you, and you twitched as he left soft kisses along your lower back. 

“I’ll have plenty of chances to see her like that. Let’s take our pretty girl to get cleaned up. Clown, go make sure there’s enough towels in my room.”

“Why your room,” Mihawk questioned, as you heard the door to the lounge open and close. 

“I had my own bed brought in,” Crocodile said, his deep voice making you sleepy as you felt it through his chest. “It’s got more than enough room for the three of us. Unless you’d prefer to sleep alone?”

“Not at all. I doubt the bath will be large enough, although I suppose you prefer showers,” Mihawk mused as you heard the distinctive sound of wine filling his glass. 

Soft whimpers left your throat as your wrecked body tried to knock you out. Crocodile just ran that huge hand down your back, shushing and soothing you until the door opened again. 

“Darling, is there anything else you need besides a shower,” Mihawk asked, sitting beside Crocodile to stroke his fingers through your hair. “We’re bringing water, and wine, but let us know if you’re hungry. Our little rabbit put in a lot of work tonight.”

“You need anything, sweetheart?”

Both of their voices offering to care for you sent chills over your skin, and you moaned softly as your body twitched. 

“Please, just…”

Mihawk brought your fingers to his lips, another soft kiss making you sigh.

“Please, keep touching me.”

“Mm, my pleasure,” he purred, leaving another gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Let’s get you cleaned up. 

Mihawk wrapped you in that ruined coat before carrying you down the long hallway, bringing you into Crocodile’s suite as you heard the large man’s voice echoing in the hall. 

“Sit by the door, clown. I want you here in case our girl needs anything.”

A small noise escaped your throat, but Mihawk just kissed your forehead, carrying you away.

“Can you stand for a moment, love? You can hang onto the counter.”

This cruel, terrifying swordsman set you gently onto the bathroom floor, took that heavy coat from your shoulders, and knelt at your feet. He brought a damp washcloth to your skin, handling you with so much gentleness that it made your head swim.

Until he looked up at you with a wicked smirk, and opened that mouth of his.

“Look at my slutty little rabbit, dripping come all the way down to the floor.”

Your body tightened, and your knees went weak as you tried to catch yourself on the counter. 

Mihawk just laughed, carrying you to the large shower.

“I’ll hold her,” Crocodile demanded, removing his hook to set on the counter. “You wash her.”

You couldn't be sure, but it seemed like Crocodile didn’t take off that hook in front of many people. 

Mihawk set you in his arms before starting the shower, bringing his dangerous fingers back to you as he washed you with care.

“Don't push our girl anymore tonight,” Crocodile growled as Mihawk’s fingers trailed lower.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he purred.

You might have fallen asleep as they took turns holding you to wash themselves, hardly noticing them dry your skin as you yawned, their deep voices holding a conversation that you couldn’t understand. 

What you could understand was their touch that never left you. The smooth, soothing motions of hands along your back. The warm press of lips against your temple, your shoulder. Those strong arms and hands carrying you to the huge bed. Warm bodies sliding in next to yours, surrounding you.

“Need anything else, sweetheart?”

���Hm,” you perked up, feeling so good, so relaxed.

Your eyes opened just enough for you to see the door, and the clown that sat on a chair beside it. 

“Anything,” you whined, writhing as the warmth of their skin made you shiver with pleasure. 

“She was very good, Crocodile,” Mihawk teased, nuzzling against your ear until you squirmed.

“Alright. What does my sweet girl want?”

There was just enough energy in your body to feel fear, but you were too tired to care. You probably should have asked for something else. 

Tilting your head back and forth to see their frightening faces, you hoped they wouldn’t be angry. Almost had hope that they might even listen. 

“I want you to be nicer to Buggy.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Thank you so much for joining me on this wild ride! That was the longest sex scene of all time 😅 This has been a blast to write with all of you screaming at me in the comments. Please don't murder me for the break, lol

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @caniseethefourthsword | @hey-august | @chaoticqueen33 | @destinationmars | @novakitten0901 | @h0n3y-l3m0n05 | @dorky-birdie | @szired | @pinejayy | @laws-wife-things

Chapter 10

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

[doe-eyed-fool]

Hey, I'm back with another idea Wich I hope will spark ur interest

Would be an alastor x reader

(can be fluff or smutt)

Imagine the reader was out with angel and cherry in a club and in a moment of not paying attention a guy buts a love potion in there drink. After a while reader starts to feel a little funny and tells angel who calles her boyfriend /husband (whatever u like better) to pick her up. After getting reader home alastor takes care of the reader and notices that she is getting more touchy and he realises it could only be a love potion(cause it's out of character for reader) . After reader is asleep the radio demon gets to the club and wrecked the whole place apart till he finds the guy and kills him slowly and gruesomely.

Hope u like it.

Love Potions Are No Fun

Alastor x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): Drinking, Reader Gets Drugged(nothing happens), Murder, Dismemberment, Gore, Torture, Basically Alastor Does His Thing, Spicy But No Smut(sorry😅)

It was suppose to be a fun night. Angel and Cherri had invited you out to the club, and you were excited to go. However, your husband, Alastor, was not too thrilled with the idea. You tried over and over telling him that you would be fine, and you wouldn’t drink too much, considering the two you were going out with weren’t too wise when it came to limiting their alcohol intake.

But Alastor was still hesitant, and even suggested going with you. Though, you knew he wouldn’t enjoy himself or be too comfortable. Unfortunately, he could not doubt you.

So, reluctantly he decided to let you go and he stay home. But only if you promised to be very careful. And you were. You were wise cautious of the people around you, and sipped slowly on a few drinks.

Although, you could not keep track of everyone in the club. And while you were distracted, some guy had slipped something into your drink. He had been eyeing you the moment you walked into the club.

And luckily for him, he had a love potion tucked away on his person. He took the chance you were paying attention, to pour a few drops in your drink before easing his way back into the crowd. And waited…

You were chatting with Angel and Cherri as you sipped on your drink. And everything was fine for a while, until suddenly you felt an odd sensation wash over you. Your face became heated, and your heart was pounding in your chest.

Maybe you drank too much after all. With what little consciousness you had left, you informed Angel of how you were feeling. Suspicious, Angel looked at your drink and felt his heart sink.

Angel quickly grabbed you and excused himself from Cherri as he rushed you out of the club. He knew he’d get his ass shredded for this, but he needed to let Alastor know what happened.

Because Alastor didn’t own a modern phone, Angel called up Charlie and let her know what was going on. It didn’t take long for Alastor to show up as soon as he was told.

“It seems my worry was warranted.”

Angel flinches before turning to face Alastor, who materialized from the shadows. “Uh, h-hey Al!” Angel mutters. “Don’t worry! I uh, kept Y/n out of trouble!”

You blinked a few times, letting your vision adjust. “Alastor?” Your voice slurred. “I feel…weird.”

Alastor approached Angel and carefully takes you from his arms. “I’ll take it from here. But you and I will have words later.” Alastor’s smile was stretched to its limits, a slight growl in his tone as he spoke. “But not before I devour the filth that dared to pull such a stunt on my wife.”

With that, you and Alastor faded into the shadows, leaving Angel alone and shaken up.

Alastor teleports to his room and lays you down on the bed. You let out a breathy sigh as you felt your body become light as a feather. Every nerve in your body fluttered, the slightest touch from Alastor sent a new shiver down your spine.

“My love, how are you feeling?” Alastor asks you. You give him a lazy smile. “Good…” You laugh lightly. “Al…come here. Please…”

Your face felt hot, your stomach fluttered and your heart still pumping fast in your chest.

When Alastor didn’t make a move, you sat up and crawled towards him. “Al?” You place your hands on his chest. “My whole body feels like it’s on fire…” You whisper, making his ear twitch.

“I’m sure.” Alastor says simply. “But I’m afraid there is little I can do for you in this condition.”

Alastor was never interested in sexual intimacy. He would show his love for you in other ways. He would kiss you, hold your hand, hug and cuddle you. Though, most physical acts like that were mainly done in private.

With this all said, on your wedding night, he did give into pleasure. The two of you took things slow, made sure each of your were comfortable.

Alastor was a gentlemen, he knew better than to take advantage of someone when they weren’t in their right mind. It didn’t matter if you were his wife or not. He would not touch you like this. Not unless you were fully aware of what was happening.

“Alastor, please…” You begged, voice slurring. You plant small, albeit sloppy, kisses along his neck and jaw. “Please…”

Alastor takes hold of your hands gently and pulls back. “My dear, I believe it would be best if you get some sleep. You’ll feel much better, I assure you.”

He carefully lays you down on the bed. You wrap your arms around his neck. “Join me?” You smirk. Alastor brushes your hair out of your face, before planting a kiss on your temple.

“I wish I could. But I’m afraid I have some business to take care of. I will be here when you wake up, I promise, love.” Alastor’s hand glows a dim green, he places it on your forehead.

And just like that, exhaustion takes over your mind and body. And you gave into slumber.

Alastor’s soft smile turned twisted as he makes his way back to the club.

Alastor wasted no time finding the scumbag who drugged you. And made quite the scene as he dragged him out of the club by the neck with his inky tendrils.

The broadcast sent out that day was one of his favorites. Alastor took his time as he tore that bastard limb from limb, slowly remove each non-vital organ, making sure he felt every moment of it as his life slowly slipped away.

Before death could claim him, Alastor slowly ripped his heart out and made that man watch as he ate it. Alastor was sure not to waste any of him after he died. He’d have to find an amazing new recipe to make his putrid body taste somewhat decent.

Alastor, after cleaning himself up, made his way back to his room. Just in time for you to wake up. You yawned and rubbed at your eyes. “Alastor? How’d I get here? Aw man, did I get wasted?” You sighed.

Alastor chuckled as he approached you. “Don’t worry my dear. I made sure everything was taken care of.” He sat next to you. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug. “Exhausted.” Alastor wraps an arm around you. “Well, you’re more than welcome to relax with me. I just had quite the meal, and I could use some rest.”

“Find another deer?” You question as you snuggle up to him. Alastor grins. “I wish. Might have been more pleasant.”

“Another unfortunate soul then?” You ask. “That’s it.” Alastor nods. “But enough of that.” He lays back, taking you with him. “Let’s just get some well deserved sleep.”

Alastor strokes your head gently, holding you protectively in his arms. That will be the last time anyone tries to use those horrid potions on you again. Not unless they want their souls ripped to shreds.

[meanbossart]

So I’ve just completed ANE and I have so many questions! First of all, I love these characters and you’ve written them so well, thank you for sharing your talents with the world. I’m so excited for the next installment!!

Now for the questions, spoilers ahead!

1. Will there be more horror/violence in the upcoming chapters? The fight scene where Astarion’s arm falls out of its socket made my skin tingle. It was so well written, and I’m looking forward to more fight scenes if possible.

2. Any ideas/plans for our favorite disaster couple to get more alone time?? *wink wink*

3. I’m a little confused why there’s existing art between Izz and Grodderick? Will they meet in ANE? Have they met already?

OH BOY, I LOVE ANE QUESTIONS!

Absolutely, you can look forward to more fights/violence coming up, as well as some medical grossness that strikes a similar chord. These are all bound to ramp up as the story progresses and I'm very glad you enjoy those portions of the writing, they are my favorites to get into!

To be frank, sex so far in this story has been more of a tool to characterize DU drow's and Astarion's relationship as it progresses than anything else - not that I have anything against completely gratuitous pornography (I mean, have you seen my NSFW art) that's just not what this particular story is for. They will have more ✨love-making✨ scenes, but they will be in line with the ones we had so far both in nature and distribution. Hopefully that's okay! (Addendum: anyone is free to write some smut of their own with these two, if they would like to - just please let me know about it so I can read it LOL)

Izzy's and Grodderick's relationship is more a background thing rather than significant for the story - but yes, they do eventually become a canonical couple. It will make more sense later, I promise 😅

Thank you so much for your questions and for your kindness! Have a lovely night.

[iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning]

so i think this might have been top three, if not top one, worst years of my life; and while i still don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel, as i’m still concerningly depressed and consistently declining (my therapist just quit her job so now i have to start all over w someone new AND my psychiatrist wants me to take 6 wks off work to do iop dbt so that’s fun), i’ve managed to conjure up some teeny tiny shreds of hope that next year will be even slightly better

i don’t drink much bc i really hate the taste of alcohol lmao so i probably won’t be drinking tonight and i’ll probably be in bed asleep when the ball drops

but i wanted to say thank you to all of you, who have been so so kind to me since i decided to join our little tumblr community. you guys have provided comfort to me in some really really dark times (and i literally suck so much at responding to people so i apologize for that and rest assured, its one of my resolutions lolol), and even in the not so dark times when i get one of those cute ask trends (the ones where its a cute message and then you send it to your favorite blogs too, y’all know what i’m talking abt) in my inbox bc truly i love them sm 🥺. they make my day every single time i see one, even if i don’t respond to it right away

happy new years everyone🍾🎊 hopefully this next year is better for all of us, even if this year wasn’t all that bad for you

(also even though i quite literally just admitted to being terrible at responding ((again so sorry)), send me messages bc i love this little community and i want to talk to more of you guys and be lil friends bc y’all seem so fucking sick and cool as shit and i promise i’ll try so hard to respond better stg but also pls have some grace if i don’t sometimes bc sometimes i don’t have the mental capacity to formulate any kind of sentence or response in any way but stg i’ll try my best😭)

(also also thank you to every single person who puts any kind of time and effort into writing any and all of the fics that are out there ((check out my fic recs for all of my favs (((i’m a smut whore if no one could tell😅))) )). genuinely and sincerely those get me through every day of my life ((esp when i reread my absolute favs in the entire world)) and i love to see all of your different writing styles. i’m so looking forward to whatever different directions you all go in with your writing and ideas. cheers to y’all for making my life a whole lot more bearable lmao🥂)

edit: i’ve decided i’m forcing myself to stay up until midnight so that i can ring in the new year listening to miracle (specifically the “i wanted to dress a blade up in red w both of our necks…” part🥹) yk to drum up good vibes for the new year. upward and onwards everyone🤝🏻

[m-jelly]

I don't know if you've done this. 😅

Can I ask for a reader x Levi x reader? Not a twin situation just some spells practice by reader and this happen. And yes reader is a witch. It can be smut and not. I just love at how you Levi. And I'd imagine with the way you write him Levi would be super flustered having two of his y/n.

I don't think I have done this before, but I'll give it a go.

Kenko Panda <3

Magic love

Levi x fem!reader

Fantasy, magic, married, two readers (one is made of magic and you feel what it feels) comfort, being a couple, romance, spoiling Levi.

While practising some of your magic, you accidentally make a version of yourself made of light. The light you is just an extension of you, so you feel everything she feels. Levi sees both you and the light you, so you decide to spoil him a little.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a

@youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn

@bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @levistealeaf @pelicanpizza

@hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously

Light sparkled around your hands as you pushed all your energy into your spell. The sacred words you spoke sounded like a song that drifted so beautifully from you. Wind rushed around you as your magic intensified. It felt like something was being pulled out of you like you were making an extension of yourself.

When everything settled you blinked a few times and saw a shimmering light version of yourself before you. She glowed nicely and reminded you of the sun shining on a lake. When you moved, she moved also.

You reached towards her and touched her, it was warm and tingly but you could also feel your own touch. It was clear that she wasn't another you, but really an extension of you. So, it was close to astral projection, but you were awake.

You grinned brightly. "This is wonderful. You're me. It means I can be in two places at once and experience everything."

"Woah." Levi interrupted you and the light version of you. He moved closer and inspected you both. "You made her?"

You nodded. "She's an extension of me. I can feel everything she feels. Two bodies but one consciousness and feeling."

Levi caressed its cheek making you hum. "Did you feel that?"

You shivered. "Yes, it's like a tingle."

He smiled. "It's cute."

You tackled Levi into a hug causing light you to hug him also. "Thank you."

He stiffened up at being held by two of you. "A-Ah." He felt his head swimming at feeling two lots of breasts firmly pressed against him, so plump, so warm, so soft. "F-Fuck."

You looked up at Levi. "What's wrong?"

He looked down to see both you and the light you pressing your breasts against him and looking up. "I am having very naughty thoughts."

You giggled and kissed his cheek as light you kissed his other cheek. "You're cute."

He wrapped his arms around both of you and squeezed. "You're incredible."

You squeaked in delight. "This...this feels...wow."

He released you. "Nice?"

"Mm." You gasped. "I have an idea." You sat down and patted your lap. "Pillow."

Levi lay on the grass and rested his head on your lap. "Lovely pillow."

Light you sat on the grass next to Levi and began soothingly rubbing his chest. You tangled your fingers in Levi's hair and began massaging. The two of you harmonised in a song sending a magical vibration through your husband's body allowing him to relax and heal both his body and mind.

Levi released a long sigh. "This...this is...thank you."

You smiled. "You're welcome. We can both give you a massage too when you're ready though, don't want to rush this." You released a long sigh. "Plus, I don't know how long I can keep her projected. This is a first for me."

Levi reached up and lightly touched your cheek. "Don't push yourself."

"I won't. I promise."

"Good girl."

[saiyanwitcher]

Hi so, first of all I want to say thank you dearest author for gifting humanity such a great fic like The Prince of Death. Because as someone who has read over 3000 fics, I can assure you that this fic is my top 3 . Like THE TOP 3. Because like, Oh.My.God I opened the link and was like , hmm lets see what this is. SO many words and everything. First chapter? Boom , I was hooked 10th chapter? I cant sleep now!! I have to finish this. 15th chapter? Ok sleep but tomorrow after school gotta read this.

Even today in school I was thinking og the next plotlines, storylines and uncovering the plot twists you left all over and the moment i reached home, I opened my PC and binged read the rest. And my words now? This . is . the . GOAT . fic

LIKE OH MY GOD.HOW CAN FIC BE SO PERFECT.

This fic made me curious, cry, overwhelmed, anxious, happy, fall in love with a couple's relationship, disgusted on certain people, made me feel fear for fictional characters, made me hate people, urged me to kill some, and then hug the characters. All these.. Al these in just 52 chapters and some 300K + words. In the end , dearest author, I dont think my words can sum up on how much in love i am with this and the plotlines and just everything. Its now living in my head. Genuinely again, Thank you Regards Shreejita

Hello there!

I saw your comment under ch 52 about reading the whole thing in one go and I commend you. There is so much going on between a year ago and now, with all the twists and turns in the story to date. 😅

Getting to Chapter 10 and not wanting to sleep is so real tbh. 10 is pretty special to me since it was one of the really early smut chapters I've ever done, and I still think about it a lot. Charles and his sensitive tail scar. 🥺 Then Charles' desperate moment in the shower in 15😅

Thank so much for reading, ❤️ and I make no promises that there won't be a few more tears shed or rage inducing moments yet to come before this is wrapped up!

[unanswered-stars]

Thank you so much for tagging me @jules-writes-stories @highlordofkrypton @achaotichuman

1. How many works do you have on AO3? I'm a but a wee babe in the ao3 world so just 7 but I have several WIP's that are on pause currently. I had originally had a fic planned for each day of Eris week but haven't been able to write in awhile so might be some time before those are published but once I start posting again you can expect Eris chaos to reign.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 36,487 I struggle to write long chapters and most of my works end up being around 2,500.

3. What fandoms do you write for? A Court of Thorns and Roses

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Shadows of Regret and Redemption| Azris - My first published work. A oneshot that grew legs and started to run. I am not completely happy with it thus far but I have the end plotted and I'm excited to eventually bring that to life.

Daughter of Autumn | Azris - Now this one absolutely shocked me with its popularity. Started as a fun little drabble for Gwyn Week 2024 and of course turned into Azris central.

The Beginning and End of Friendship | Azris - So many people screaming in the comments at me on this one. More screaming to come when I post part two I’m sure.

Two Souls Entangled| Azris - A tiny part of my soul via a short poem for Azris Week 2024.

Heaven Help the Fool Who Falls In Love: The End | Azris - This is the first piece I wrote for fanfiction and it is my precious baby. Only one chapter posted but I have several in need of editing before I publish the remainder. It's very heavy and I haven't had the mental space to read through it again.

5. Do you respond to comments? Every single one! They bring me so much joy. I have currently stayed away from my comment section for my own mental health but when I start posting again I will get back to everyone's comments, promise.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? All of my works are fairly heavy on the angst. TBaEoF comes to mind but I think for published works I’ll go with The Ending of Darkness which is a short little piece about @jules-writes-stories OC Mithras x Sylvan which I have a part 2 almost completed which is equally as angsty (sorry). Unpublished works definitely The Burning of Leaves and The Death of Shadows which are two fics I had planned for Eris week but are currently on pause (poor Eris I was really putting him through the wringer for Eris Week).

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Daughter of Autumn. Mostly because Cassian has the closing line and he just always says the darndest things.

8. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I have not, nor do I plan on it. Please don’t hate me 😅 Just not my writing jam. I love finding unique ways to explore a relationship and conveying those same emotions and feelings without the smut. That being said some of my favourite stories and authors use smut as such a wonderful exploratory storytelling device and it is delightful. I love reading others contributions to the smutsphere. So so many talented writers out there giving us all our smuttiest dreams. I truly do not think that my smut contribution is even necessary when you have things like To Become a Vanssera by @acourtofladydeath and Why Not Me by @thomasisaslut both absolutely rife with smut and use it beautifully to convey their story (albiet in very different ways).

9. Do you write crossovers? Not yet, and probably not ever because I can hardly keep up with writing ideas I have for one fandom.

10. Have you ever had a fic translated? No.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but it sounds delightful.

12. What is your all-time favorite ship? Azris most definitely for writing. I definitely have a big soft spot for Samwise and Rosie from LOTR (my husband is Samwise reincarnated and I am irrevocably in love with him). I have a WIP for Thesan and his lover and that dynamic and storyline has been so incredibly fun to explore as well.

13. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I started writing a Tarquin UTM oneshot that is incomplete and while I am still in love with the story I really struggled with writing the voice of Tarquin. This one will only ever get finished if I can finally figure out the right tone for this man’s internal dialogues.

14. What are your writing strengths? I have been told my writing reads like poetry which is one of the biggest compliments you could ever give me. I also love writing parallels but there’s definitely a lot of room for improvement there.

15. What are your writing weaknesses?  Editing haha. But actually, I find that my characters voices don’t feel very distinct and that there is a lot of overlap in the way they speak and think and it can be hard to distinguish who’s talking/thinking. I feel like my characters resemble a cookie cutter suburban neighborhood where the walls and trim might be a different colour but they’re all built exactly the same. If anyone has some tips please feel free to comment or message me!

16. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I absolutely love reading it but unfortunately the only other language I know isn’t really a language at all. Pidgin, which is basically just native slang. I was playing around with it in my Tarquin fic a bit but seemed a tad too niche.

17. First fandom you wrote for? LOTR in middle school. I have a printed multi chapter booklet that is a rewrite of Sam and Frodo’s journey through Mordor that I made for my English class one year.

18. Favorite fic you’ve written? My favourite multi chapter by another author is undoubtedly A Court of Shadows and Ashes by @futurehunt Mother Save Us From Your Twisted fate by @chunkypossum which got a stunning part 2 for Eris Week this year! My favorite of my own published works is either HHtFWFiL:TE or The Ending of Darkness. Of my unpublished works honesty The Burning of Leave or The Death of Shadows are both strong contenders. For non Azris I have a Beron fic WIP for @sjmvillainweek day 1 that will probably get prioritized over the other two.

No pressure tags (and sorry if you've already been tagged): @the-darkestminds @born-to-riot @chairofchaos @thomasisaslut @chunkypossum @acourtofladydeath @shadowsandlint

[kpopsexstories]

Coming Next Week: Spanking NCT Jeno (gay) and a really steamy scene with SKZ Bang Chan (straight)! 🥵

Both stories this week are just so hot, but for different reasons.

So the gay NCT 127 Dating Ban series saw its third and final promised story this past week and will now go on a break while I write the next few stories. This is the perfect time to reach out and tell me what you think so far, what you imagine will happen next, and where you hope the series will go from here. I'll hopefully release 2-3 more stories later this spring 😊

You can read the first three stories right now:

Haechan

Jungwoo

Doyoung Pt. 1

This week, however, to take over from the Dating Ban every Thursday, Quick Fix Gay Season 2 begins!

🏳️‍🌈 Quick Fix Gay Season 2 Begins!

The Dating Ban, which was posted weekly every Thursday, will now be replaced by Quick Fix Gay Season 2. This is my series with very short stand-alone smut scenes and x male reader stories.

For this season I've focused on two general requests: more top male reader stories (the idol is the bottom), and re-writes of some straight Quick Fix stories as gay versions. I'm also responding to a few more specific requests – including a short but long awaited story about The Boys' Eric Sohn!

You can look forward to the following hot smut over the next two months:

April 3, 2025 – NCT Jeno spanked by top male reader.

April 10, 2025 – NCT Mark fucks you silly missionary style.

April 17, 2025 – WayV Kun romance and body worship.

April 24, 2025 – TBZ Eric missionary style.

May 1, 2025 – NCT Chenle begging to be fucked.

May 8, 2025 – TXT Yeonjun 'Boyfriend' (gay version).

May 15, 2025 – NCT Haechan wake-up sex #2.

May 22, 2025 – NCT Jaemin x Top Male Reader.

⚡ Straight Quick Fix: SKZ Bang Chan in the Lotus Position

The original straight version of Quick Fix is in the middle of Season 5. This week's story is about Stray Kid's Bang Chan x female reader in the Lotus position – very hot and steamy, not unlike the older story NCT Haechan in the Lotus Position. I really like this position because it's intimate and so hot, and Chan in my opinion has the perfect muscular body for it 😍

Psst! Stray Kids are fairly new on this blog. The only two past stories are Changbin in the Captain Position (straight) and the recent and slightly longer Stray Kids the Morning After a Crazy Party (all members, straight but also a little gay). Check those out if you came here for the Stray Kids tags!

[violetsiren90]

All I Haven't Said | Namjoon/Reader

💜 Chapter 3: Part 1 💜

Table of Contents: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 (part 1), Chapter 3 (part 2)

Pairing: idol!Namjoon/f!Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU; idol AU; chapter fic; strangers to lovers; a bit of idiots to lovers, tbh; slow burn; eventual romance; eventual smut; angst (life is messy & hearts are complex); OT7 featured

Summary: You found your soulmate - or rather, he found you. Turns out he's an idol of much acclaim who needs you for very real and unglamorous reasons. What could become of two hearts so used to giving of themselves when they are confronted with needing each other?

Chapter Word Count: ~6k

Chapter Warnings: This fic is 18+, as is all my work and my page as a whole; Talk and depictions of cancer, its treatment, and the symptoms of both; implication of some disregard for personal agency by entertainment industry; character experience and description of disassociation; flashbacks of a distressing situation; soulmate skinship; cursing; conversations surrounding soulmates and sex; character experiences an emotional breakdown; light embarrassment; CONFLICT (you knew it was coming, right?), there is plenty of fluffy stuff too I PROMISE 😂😅

Author's Note: Wow. It's been a minute. If you're still reading this story, thank you for sticking with me, and I apologize for the stretch of time between updates. For the longest time, I just couldn't get this part right...and then it was far too long, so I split it up, and I'm still editing the second, and (potentially) third parts. I got several messages from readers who were worried I might have abandoned this fic, and let me assure you, far from it! I am not a speedy writer, and struggle with doubting if what I'm putting on the page is good enough, so sometimes it takes me a minute to update, but let me assure you, these characters are so special to me and so alive in me, and I ask thank you for your patience as I work to tell their story! Thank you for your lovely words of encouragement and feedback on the story - I appreciate each and every one of them!!

P.S. If you want to join the tag list, drop me a comment or ask!

P.P.S. If no one has told you yet today, you're loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

"I needed the light of your energy, I looked around, devouring hope."

~Pablo Neruda

Chapter 3: My Windows Ache

  "FUCKING FINALLY."

    "Hey, Di."

    "How dare you ghost me for the forty-eight most interesting hours of your life?!"

    "Well, I was low-key occupied..."

    "TELL ME EVERYTHING." 

     You sighed, settling down on a shaded bench in the garden grounds of the hospital to which you had escaped for a little privacy and an important phone call or two.

    "Uh oh. That was your 'things are complicated' sigh," Diana prodded.

    Your eyes tracked a swallowtail as it flitted from azalea to azalea.

    "Well, things certainly aren't conventional or straight-forward, that's for sure. But where's the fun in understanding the basic parameters of what you're getting yourself into on a life-altering scale, right?"

    "Ummmm...what does that mean? You met him, right?"

You could barely hear your sister's question over the crinkle of plastic in the background.

    "Yeah, I did. We bonded too."

    "Oh mah gah!!" Diana choked out amidst sounds of crunchy chewing. "So what's he like?"

    You thought for a moment.

    "He's kind and intelligent. Obviously extremely resilient. His presence is impressive, but he has something about him that's very disarming. He's kind of clumsy and at moments almost...shy? Like, I don't know what I expected, but there's this sweetness to him that you wouldn't anticipate from someone in his position."

    "As a cancer patient?"

    "As an idol."

    You sighed again.

    "I don't know...he's..."

    Diana let out a strangled sound and uttered an enthusiastic string of words you couldn't make out.

    "I have no idea what you just said. Could you please decide whether you want to talk to me or consume an entire bag of Doritos?" 

    "Hey, it's dinner time here!" she whined, "And I said," her voice quickly changed to take on a smug sing-song tone, "That last sigh was your smitten-kitten one..."

    "It was not!" you cut her off sharply. "And get every single idea of Namjoon and I as a couple out of that scheming head of yours because he's very much taken. I'm meeting his fiancée for lunch today."

    "What? He's engaged?"

Diana let out an exasperated huff.

"Why didn't they tell you about this right off the bat? You're going to be the soulmate of a married man? What does that even mean? This is bullshit."

    You had a hard time disagreeing with her there. It was, in fact, bullshit that Namjoon's team had kept his relationship status a secret. Would it have changed your decision? Probably not. This had been about saving Namjoon's life, not some bizarre attempt at matchmaking. But having a third person to consider, and so intimately, as part of the equation for the rest of your earthly life felt like something you should have been made more immediately aware of. Navigating your boundaries with your soulmate had already been complex enough without introducing the prospect of being a fixture in his married life. When Namjoon had breached the prospect of meeting her, he had been taken aback at your surprise - he, like you, had assumed that Hybe's representation had disclosed everything of significance.

    "So it's a good thing I came here as a lifeline, not a mail-order bride," you reminded your sister, "And that seems to be working, by the way. His vitals are already stable. They stabilized overnight, in fact. And his white blood cell count was way up this morning, which is good because I guess he was experiencing immunosuppression from the chemo."

    "Oh, nice," Diana murmured.

You had to remind yourself that she was young and excitable, and not to be annoyed at the disappointment that he crept into her tone. However, never one to be down for long, her voice brought its usual bright mischief through the speaker as she posed her following question.

    "By the way...how was bonding?"

    She had said it with an inescapably salacious undertone, which is why, you told yourself, heat had begun to creep up the base of your neck. You stammered, switching the phone from one ear to the other as you bought yourself time to reassemble your decorum. 

    "Ah...I mean...it was...intense?"

    "Ooooohhhh," Diana trilled, only making you more uncomfortable as the heat spread from your neck to your cheeks, "Intense, huh? Like in a good way?"

     You squirmed uncomfortably where you sat, thoughts of Namjoon's pleasure-stricken face and the strength of his hand and how his skin felt against your own hitting your hippocampus like a flash flood.

    "Y/n?"

    "It was fine, okay? And it worked - so that's what's important."

    "....Okaaay..." Diana drawled skeptically.

You scrambled for another talking point.

    "That kid visited. The one who came to the States - Jungkook. And another one of the members too - Jim...Jimin? I'm still trying to get their names straight. Some of them don't go by their actual names on stage - Namjoon is RM...but you knew that. Anyway, I digress. Both the boys were really sweet. Seems like they're all very close. I'm supposed to meet the rest of the members at some point next week at dinner. They wanted to have a sort of 'last supper' for us since we're probably going to start rejecting food soon."

    "That's cool, you get to meet the whole team! Oh my gosh, you're just going to casually have dinner with BTS...this is still so unreal!"

    "Yep," you affirmed, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Namjoon had hit you with a couple of whoppers last night, but this was one you were actually looking forward to. You told Diana all about your first two days in Seoul - about the impressive hospital and its kind staff. About meeting Namjoon, and his condition. About how everything was still so fresh and new. About how so many things were still unsettled, so many questions unanswered.

    "So are you nervous?"

    "About what?"

    "Meeting his girlfriend."

    You had been so wrapped up in filling Diana in on it all that you had actually forgotten about the impending lunch date. As you pulled the phone away from your ear to check the time, your stomach lurched. 

    "Shit, I better get going. It's almost eleven-thirty." You sprang up and started quickly back toward the building.

    "That wasn't an answer," Diana scoffed, "But, hey, sis?"

    "Yeah?" You pressed the "up" button on the elevator.

    "Don't be."

    You smiled.

    "Love you, Di."

    "Love you too. And so does anyone worth a damn."

    After deciding that you smelled like outside, you showered quickly then slipped into caramel-colored corduroys and an off-white tee. You rummaged around the small suitcase Matt had brought from the hotel for you in search of a sweater. After several exasperating minutes of unsuccessful digging, you heaved the bag of laundered clothes that had been returned to you by the hospital staff this morning, having gone through much of the what the Hybe staff had initially pilfered from your luggage in the last two days.

You grumbled in relief as you pulled out your dark green cardigan and slipped it over your shoulders, wondering what the hell the hospital laundry services had done to stretch it out so badly. But, you didn't have time to fuss - so you bunched up the sleeves and headed to the opposite end of the hospital's outdoor grounds where you suspected Namjoon and his guest were already waiting. 

    The hospital grounds were extensive and beautiful, sporting a garden that extended from the western wing, and a lawn punctuated by traditional pavilions to the east. He had pointed out the one he had reserved to you last night - tucked away in the shade of the large gingko trees flanking the little man-made stream that delineated the border of the grounds.

As you made your way toward the shady spot you chided yourself for being so uneasy - everyone surrounding your soulmate had been as lovely and warm and welcoming as he had been, and the woman he loved would likely be no exception. After Namjoon had disclosed that she was a musician like he was, you had done a bit of online recon before going to bed that night.

Her given name was Kim Hyung-seo, but her stage name, by which she was well-known, was Bibi. She was four years Namjoon's junior, but seemed nearly as ambitious. From what you could tell, she seemed to share a similar drive for artistry and honesty in her musical process as her future husband, and though her tendency for loose-canon candidness had landed her in hot water more than once, her earnest sincerity had engendered her to the hearts of her peers and fans alike. In an industry that seemed to often censor and restrict women, Hyung-seo didn't seem to give much credence to the rules. You liked that. You were actually kind of excited to get to know her a bit and ask her about her art - you had always been a woman's woman, and being in the company of strong feminine energy was something you found deeply empowering and grounding. You anticipated that your soulmate's girlfriend was someone you could respect, and you allowed yourself to venture to hope that feeling would be mutual.

    You trotted up the steps of the pavilion and took in its contents. The center had been fitted with a low, round table bearing a colorful and mouthwatering spread of gogi, bibim guksu, gimbap, and banchan. Cushions had been placed on the floor for seating, but none bore the lunch companions you had been anxious not to keep waiting. You were about to take your place at the table when a figure moving near the creek caught your eye.

You moved to the far side of the structure, to see your soulmate deeply engaged in conversation...with a duck.

He was standing near the edge of the water, his tall figure clad in silky modern navy blue hanbok. The top was untied and hung loosely over a white tee - the only contrast to the deep muted tone apart from his cognac loafers. He wore a dark beanie pulled low on his head, which was bowed in affectionate greeting to a juvenile Gadwall who had paddled away from his family to sample the little bits of starchy fluff that the stranger had sprinkled onto the water.

You pressed your palms against the painted wood, taking him in with a smile as he crouched down, extending a bit of bread between his fingers slowly toward the curious little water foul.

This man, you were learning - this erstwhile underground rapper, this leader of men, this brilliant intellectual and genius artist - this great, powerful, impressive man could be called out of his poise in an instant by the sweet and tiny things of the world.

You watched as he waited patiently, the little duck swimming in to-and-fro circuits and drawing closer and closer to Namjoon with each pass, until finally it was close enough to snatch its prize from him and scuttle off quickly to rejoin its mother and siblings. Namjoon chuckled, smiling fondly as he watched the duck make his way back down the creek.

This man, you thought to yourself, could not possibly be real.

    "So you're a Kpop idol and a Disney princess, huh?" you called, causing Namjoon to startle and rock back on his heels, landing on his posterior in the damp grass.

    You slapped a hand over your mouth to repress the laughter that threatened to bubble up at the site of his large well-dressed figure tipped back haphazardly on the creekside. He huffed a sheepish laugh as he stood, swiping at the back of his pants.

    "Give a person a little warning?" he chided lightly, approaching you where you leaned on the railing.

    "Sorry," you chuckled, "I didn't want to scare your little friend."

    "So you settled for scaring your soulmate? I see how it is." 

    You smiled and ducked your head.

    "Sorry," you murmured, flicking your gaze back to his.

He looked up at you, fixing you with his warm brown eyes and bringing his hands to grip the railing on either side of yours. Suddenly, you felt shy. You shook yourself.

    "Hey, hang out with the ducks and you'll end up with a wet tail," you teased.

Namjoon's eyebrows drew together in mock disgust.

    "Yikes, you're almost as bad as Seokjin hyung," he remarked disparagingly.

    You shrugged, smirking.

    "I have no idea what that means, but whoever Seokjin is, he must have a superior sense of humor."

Namjoon was opening his mouth to respond, but was cut short, as the tiny motion of your shoulders had slid one of your hands just a centimeter down the railing and barely flush with his own. The slight contact was enough to send sudden little tingles of comfort shooting up your arm and across your chest. In a millisecond you felt yourself relax where you hadn't realized you were tense. You could have imagined it, but you thought you felt Namjoon press his hand just a fraction more into yours as he swallowed and heaved a deep sigh.

You reminded yourself for the hundredth time since you arrived that this was biological. Clinical. The means to an end. Damn, he felt good though.

You found yourself snatching your hands away to push up your cardigan sleeves and then stuff them into your pants pockets where they would stop confusing you. You distracted yourself from Namjoon's subtle look of disappointment with an apology.

    "Sorry about your pants," you rocked back on your heels as you looked out over the little ribbon of water rippling over its stony bed behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder and brushed himself off again before waving a hand in dismissal. Your eyes focused back on the blue silk.

"I didn't realize this was a fancy lunch. I feel under-dressed."

    "You look nice," Namjoon rebutted, as he glanced over your attire. Then his brow pinched as his eyes halted on your torso, flitting over your arms and shoulders. "But isn't that -"

    "Joon?"

A voice behind you caused you to turn.

Standing at the top of the steps was the woman it belonged to. She was tall and beautifully slender - her svelte figure draped in a slinky chrome dress with a triangular cutout that displayed the smooth skin of her upper abdomen. Her glossy raven tresses were styled away from her face in a high ponytail, drawing sharp attention to her sultry features. Her smoky eyes glanced over your form with a lazy intensity, lids half-raised over dark irises, and her pouted lips pursed in appraisal. You wondered just exactly how many ridiculously beautiful people traveled in Namjoon's circle.

She stepped toward you, her chunky pink heels marking her confident strides on the floorboards, before bowing and extending a small hand with sharp white acrylics and icy sliver rings.

    "I'm the girlfriend!" she hummed, her deep, velvety voice matching her features.

    You bowed in return before shaking her hand politely.

    "So nice to meet you," you smiled, "I'm -

    "The soulmate," she cut you off, glancing over your shoulder at Namjoon, who still stood outside the pavilion, "of that weirdo." '

Namjoon circled around to the entrance of the pavilion before joining you with a wry smile. He introduced the two of you formally, before being the first to take a seat at the table. Hyung-seo joined him, shimmying her cushion closer to Namjoon's as she used a pair of chopsticks to load her plate with selections from the spread. 

    "Oh my god, I'm STARVING," she gushed, staring at Namjoon impatiently as he took a bit of kimchi fried rice and a few slices of samgyeobsal.

    "My stomach feels like it could take some real food for the first time in a while," he said with eager enthusiasm, glancing up at you with a smile of gratitude. 

    Hyung-seo tapped her chopsticks against her plate as she watched you survey the dishes before you. You took some kimchi fried rice and carefully ladled out a small bowl of doenjang-jjigae. You pulled your hands into your lap and watched the steam rise from the fragrant broth.

    "Ah, unnie..." Hyung-seo began before Namjoon shushed her and lightly tapped her knee.

You glanced between them in confusion. Namjoon merely smiled at you, and you smiled back, glancing down from his warm gaze to your plate.

    "Oh for the love of god, would you take a bite?"

    You looked up rather startled at Hyung-seo, who was leaned forward, her desperate eyes tracking your movements, and the chopsticks clutched in her right hand hovering over a plump, sweating mandu.

You blinked, fumbling for your chopsticks as your soulmate admonished the woman next to him. You took a heap of fried rice onto your chopsticks and brought it to your lips, looking questioningly between the two across from you. Hyung-seo groaned in impatience, her head lolling back.   

    "In Korea, the eldest eats first," Namjoon offered in soft explanation, his features trained in apology.

    As realization washed over you, you all but shoved the rice into your mouth, hoping to swallow your embarrassment with it, followed quickly by Hyung-seo, who popped two mandu into her mouth consecutively. Her eyes rolled back as she let out a groan of appreciation. You watched Namjoon carefully savor a piece of samgyeobsal. He smiled a dimpled smile. You smiled to yourself as you tucked into your fried rice. Namjoon's fiancée watched you both. Her cheeks were full, but she wasn't smiling.

Your little trio ate in contented silence until your visitor, having satisfied her belly, fixed her eyes on you with a different sort of eagerness. The time for questions had come, you realized. You set down your chopsticks, taking a drink of water.

    "I'm sure there is so much we'd like to know about each other," you offered with a smile.

    She pulled her lips into a brief grin, sipping from her own glass as her eyes trailed over you. You cleared your throat.

    "So, I read that y-"

    "How does it feel?" she interrupted, starring at you raptly. You blinked.

    "I'm sorry?"

    "When he touches you." She licked her lips. "I heard it's like cumming. I heard it's better."

Namjoon slid a large hand over her thigh. You saw it squeeze.

    "Jagiya..." he murmured.

    You glanced at him and gave him a reassuring grin which he returned, though not as readily as before. Not the start to the conversation you had hoped for, but she was living up to her brusque reputation. You let yourself laugh a little at the question, and saw Hyung-seo's mouth curl up a bit at the corners, though it didn't reach her eyes.

    "It's nothing like sex, actually," you mused, trying to be as forthcoming as possible without abandoning politeness. "Strange, I guess, because it is all about physical exchange and contact. But...it's more like...nourishment? I don't know...I haven't had long enough to think about it."

You had had quite long enough to know that it was ineffable, but in the most intoxicating, magnificent way - and a hell of a lot better than most of the sex you'd had. This, however, wasn't the time and place for descriptions of the bond that could be ripped from the pages of drugstore romance novels.

    You found yourself turning to Namjoon with a questioning gaze, as if to ask if he had anything to add. He nodded in response, not meeting your eyes.

    "Yeah, it's different," he murmured succinctly.  

    Hyung-seo hummed in assent, chewing on her lip, her gaze still roving over you. You decided to try again.

    "So how did you m-"

    "How do you do it?"

    You stifled a small sigh that threatened to escape your lips.

    "Do what?"

    "Use the bond. Like, do you hold hands, or...or what?"

    You looked to Namjoon who murmured something in Korean that sounded like a warning. This wasn't going as you'd hoped. Her questions were natural ones, but not the first you thought you'd be asked, and not so pointedly. In fact, they were ones she should probably have put to her partner. Had they not spoken since you arrived?

    "The bond works with any physical contact. When I first got here, I had so many questions myself. The hospital personnel were very informative while helping us navigate our questions. I still know very little, but as someone whose partner is bonded, I'm sure they would have someone who could better answer these types of questions than I can," you offered.

It was the opposite of forthcoming, but you were absolutely not prepared to launch into a conversation about you and her fiancé spooning in your undergarments. The trajectory of the exchange had to go elsewhere, so you resolved to take the wheel.

    "Is there anything you'd like to know about me? Maybe I could tell you a little about myself. My job in the states wasn't glamorous, but I loved it. I was -"

    "A social worker, I know," she murmured with a sigh, and Namjoon's head snapped toward her.     

You could feel your confusion pulling into a frown. In your beat of silence, the woman in front of you gave into another impulse as she placidly launched into an answer of your unasked question.

    "You're a social worker from the West coast, oldest of three kids. Your father died when you were ten. You graduated summa cum laude, and chose a career in women's services. You support your mother's living - you have been, long-term. Your brother is an engineer and your sister is in nursing school. You've never committed any crimes, but you were arrested once in college at some political protest about immigrant rights. Your blood type is O positive. You don't seem very good with your money, but you've never asked for financial assistance. You've never been married." 

    Silence.

    Your ears were ringing.

    You blinked as you tried to focus, grappling for something on which to stabilize your composure. This isn't how this was supposed to go. You felt your control slipping as the words pierced you in echoes that knocked you back down each time you reached out to steady your mind. 

    "Your father died when you were young..."

    "...You support your mother's living..."

    "...You don't seem very good with your money"

    Your mind whirred as the silence closed in, and for a moment you were suspended.

        Diana and Henry weren't pillars, you thought - they were tiny little babies as your mother clutched them on either side of her prone, shaking form as shovels of dirt were shifted back into the gaping hole that held a pine box covered in flowers. You looked down at the flag in your hands, and then up at the white flowers, still fresh and blooming, being caked and sodden with damp soil. You felt something rising up in your chest - something that never reached the surface. You turned from the wound in the earth as Dianna reached out and tugged at your arm. The babies looked afraid. You couldn't see your mother's face from where it was buried in her skirts. You tucked the flag reverently under your arm and took the little hands.

    Somewhere outside the amniotic sack of your mind, you saw Namjoon's figure stand. You heard his garbled voice speak to the woman beside him. He was angry, his voice pitched low. Hers in response was sharp and high.

    You took a deep breath and exhaled. Your chest was beginning to labor and your inhaler was on the fifth floor of a building on the other side of the property.

You willed yourself back into this world you had chosen. This place which, like the others you had inhabited, would discover its new tenant didn't take long to adapt. She was built to withstand.

    "Namjoon," you called softly, as you looked up at your soulmate. His eyes snapped to yours, his face showing subtle but unmistakable signs of distress - eyes reflecting remorsefully and jaw flexing.

You smiled at him gently, reassuringly.

    "It's alright," you insisted, your eyes not leaving his.

You saw his shoulders sag, and his head bow. His hand came up to scrub over his face. You realized then that she was looking at you. Hyung-seo's expression was apprehensive, her eyes scouring your face.

    "This must be an extremely difficult thing for you, whatever the reason," you offered earnestly.

    She regarded you in silence, her eyes flickering like the flame of a candle.

    "I would say, 'I understand', but I don't. I have no idea how hard it must be to fall in love with someone only to watch them suffer at the hands of disease, and to suffer so greatly and to come so close to losing them that you turn to finding a person who can save them, and who - if they are saved by - they will need and desire for the rest of their natural life. A person who isn't you." 

    Her eyes quivered as they held you in their gaze.

    "I know I'm supposed to be a saving grace," you continued, having gained your ground, "But I know I could also look a lot like a threat. Trust me when I say that you can be open and honest with me about how you feel. This is a difficult situation where we're going to feel burdened by things we shouldn't. Namjoon and I discussed this."

    You smiled again at your soulmate, who was watching you with relief and something else in his features. You wanted to call it admiration, but you had only known him for two whole days.

    "Whatever fears you're carrying that make you feel like a burden in this moment, could I ask you to set them aside? For a chance to get to know me in the real way that you deserve? This isn't a trap. Or a cage. We've all chosen to be here."

    You regarded Hyung-seo in the silence that followed. Her eyes had fallen from your face - they glanced over toward where Namjoon stood, barely raising toward his figure, when she suddenly dropped her face into her hands and began shaking with sobs.

    You let out a sigh of relief too soft to be heard by the others.

    "Fuck...." Hyung-seo choked out against her palms, "I'm such a piece of shit..."

    Namjoon moved to place a hand over her back and assure her she wasn't. You wondered what she felt when he touched her. Your heart ached with pity for her. Namjoon drew her into his chest and held her as she cried her makeup off. He stroked her hair as her regarded her with weary, worried eyes. You couldn't help but feel that you were encroaching on a private moment...expect that you were a part of this as much as they were. Was there a lifetime of this feeling to be endured? You sighed again.

    "I'm gonna give you guys a minute," you whispered as you clambered to your feet.

    Namjoon nodded silently over the woman in his arms. 

    You watched scattered leaves from the boughs overhanging the far side of the stream spin as the were swept away. Your eyes tracked one in particular, twirling as it sailed around a protruding rock and under an arching root, only to be stopped as it was doubled at the middle by a thin, swaying reed. You found your feet moving to where the water rushed around it as it billowed helplessly on both sides of its obstruction like a flag of surrender. You slipped off your shoes and rolled up your pants. You waded into the cool, clear water and, reaching out, tugged the little leaf free. You watched as it sailed on, disappearing around a bend in the waterway. You glanced back up at the pavilion. If you could have been sure it was the right move, you would have left altogether, but you wouldn't want your sudden departure to be taken the wrong way.

    You sighed. You pulled your phone out of your back pocket as you waded back out of the stream. Dead. You were bad about keeping it charged, and your conversation with Diana had drained its aged battery. You wished you had a book. Glancing about, your eyes caught a fairly large patch of clover flowers a few yards down the bank, and crossing the soft grass, you sank down in its center.

You smiled weakly to yourself as you plucked one of the little white buds near the base of its stem. You and your siblings would spend hours at the park under the shade turning sprawling patches of the puffy blooms into garlands, crowns, bracelets, and rings. You picked another flower and tied its supple stem into a knot just under the other flower's head. 

    By the time Namjoon came to join you, sinking down across from you in little clover patch you had fashioned yourself a crown and a necklace, and were working on a garland to send to Diana. You set down your handiwork to look up at him. He was regarding you with soft, somber eyes and a little smile that looked like one he didn't have the energy for but couldn't help besides. He picked a flower and twirled it between his fingers.

    "I'm so sorry," he murmured, "If I would have thought that things would go that way, I wouldn't have insisted on her meeting you before she left. She's going on tour and I thought...well, I thought if she just met you her anxieties would be eased."

    You nodded thoughtfully.

    "Thank you for your patience and kindness. She was out of line saying those things to you like that...you were...that was everything she needed to hear, I think."

    You cast your eyes down as you tied off another knot in the garland.

    "Is she okay?" you asked quietly.

    Namjoon sighed.

    "She's...embarrassed. Ashamed of herself. She wasn't in any condition to finish that conversation, so I suggested she go home."

    "Understandable," you assented, nodding again.

    Silence hung between you for a moment before you raised your eyes to his again.

    "Namjoon...there are some things I think we should discuss."

    He nodded earnestly, his eyes falling, brow creasing and tongue pressing into his cheek.

    "I know we haven't had much time," you continued, "And we have literally the rest of our lives...but, I think we should be on the same page about what we've been told about each other. I think it will make this whole process easier? I don't know. There are some things you assume you'll have to tell someone at a certain point in knowing them - some things that are...deeply personal..."

    "Aren't things between us already that way? Deeply personal?"

    You looked up and those half-lidded brown eyes were looking right at you in a way you weren't prepared for, in a way that flooded your veins. Soulmate. You wanted to touch him. You wanted to feel him and what he brought to you. You wanted him to feel it too. But you didn't know him, and he didn't know you, and he needed healing, which is why you were here. He loved someone who loved him whose lives you were disrupting. This feeling was basal, you knew - came with the territory...but you were going to need some strong boundaries if this was going to function. You were going to need honesty, for a start.

   "They are," you relented slowly, "But I have questions that I need answers to. Your trust in me is clear, and I appreciate that...but...I need time to get my footing here."

    Namjoon nodded in assent.

    "I get that. So, what do you want to know, specifically? I'll answer any question you have."

    You nodded gratefully.

    "Thank you. Do you think I could take a little time to think about what I want to ask? I'm kind of still processing everything that just happened."

    "Of course," he was quick to answer, "Whenever you want to talk, just let me know. Did I say how sorry I am?" he asked smiling weakly as he looked up from where he struggled to knot the stem of one flower around another, suddenly looking down again when its stem snapped between his fingers.

    You huffed out a little laugh.

    "Yes, you did," you did, you answered, offering him a rueful grin.

    He picked another flower only to realize he had cut its stem too short for his purposes. He tossed the little blossoms back into the grass.

    "Can you make me one?" he asked pathetically, pouting at the garland in your hands.

    You chuckled as you tied off the one in your lap and leaned forward to slip it over his head. He adjusted it around his neck, looking down at it with a pleased expression.

    "You know...if you can believe it, we actually got lucky in there," he smirked, his forehead creasing as he raised his brow.

    You gave him a look of confusion. His eyes trailed over your torso again before flitting back up to yours.

    "She didn't notice that you're wearing my sweater."

    You froze. Then you blinked down at the giant green cardigan that had, in fact, slipped down off of one shoulder. Then you gaped at him.

    He snickered.

    You scrambled to yank the sweater over your head, even as he laughed and protested, you blustered apology after expletive after apology.

    "Shit, it was in my laundry bag!" You whined in explanation as you shook it out and began to fold it in your lap.

    "Stop, just keep it on," Namjoon insisted, still clearly amused at your state of panic.

    "I have one just like this. Like, identical but obviously smaller. I just assumed it had stretched out in the wash..." You extended the sweater toward him.

    He shook his head.

    "Just give it back later, you'll be cold." He looked up at your exasperated expression and started laughing again.

    "Stooop..." you whined in embarrassment, and when he only laughed harder, you tossed the sweater in his face. As he balled it up with a smile where it fell down into his lap, his smart watch trilled. He glanced down at it.

    "I've got labs scheduled now," he sighed.

    "Hopefully they'll bring more good news," you offered, at which he nodded. "I seem to be getting the job done, if I do say so myself," you teased, leaning back on your hands and offering him a smug look.

He nodded, tongue in his cheek, then pushed to stand - with effort, you noticed - and extended a hand down to you. You didn't realize what the little smile on his mouth was for until you accepted his hand with your own, by habit, and were nearly knocked back off your feet as the bond surged through you like a wave of mind-numbing euphoria that left you unable to process information outside of what was sent coursing through your every cell from where he touched you.

    You blinked up at him as you got your wits about you, and he was looking down at you through little slits in his barely-open eyes, head tilted back and mouth hanging open - little smirk still tugging at its corner. You pursed your lips, trying not to grin back.

    "You did that on purpose," you chided, trying and failing to train your features in a scowl.

    His smirk deepened.

    "What? I was just being courteous..."

    You rolled your eyes.

    "I'm feeling a little weak, I think it would be best if you helped me back to the room," he muttered slyly, turning to head back toward the building.

The smile that was dimpling his cheek and creasing the corners of his eyes did something to your stomach that had you yanking your hand out of his grasp.

    "Yeah, right," you huffed, forging a few steps ahead of him, "You're putting a lot by your poorly reputed coordination to think you could walk while I was touching you." 

    He let out a laugh behind you. It was loud and bright and had you biting back a smile to match it.

    "What happened to getting the job done, sweater thief?" he called after you teasingly.

    Shit. Yeah. Boundaries. You were going to need them.

_________________________________________________

Well, they met! Next part to follow soon.

Thank you for sticking with me here!

Tag list: @butterymin @little-dark-empress @aretha170 @kamilamb @jlee97 @thephotoend @callmenoona25 @felicityroth @softforyoongles @berlianv @honneypies @deadrose287 @n0pesir

[kingofbodyrolls]

Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chapter 6

*this is a re-upload since I deleted my old account 🫣

The ripple effects of Jimin’s heartfelt announcement at his May concert weren’t something you saw coming, but you’ll face them head-on—because love demands courage, doesn’t it? Yet, just as the dust begins to settle, Yoongi steps in, questions flying like arrows, treating Jimin as if love itself were a crime, and he’s the accused standing trial—for the audacity of choosing you.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 8.3k → Warnings + triggers: mention of past illness and death (still Jiwoo, nothing new here), detective big brother Yoongi, fluff, small scandals and tiny angst. → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: time for another chapter drop—chapter 6, can you believe it? How did we get here so fast? Like, blink and suddenly we’re down to only three chapters left—how are we feeling about that? Nervous? Excited? Emotionally unprepared? (Because same, honestly). This chapter dips its toes into the angst pool 🥲, but don’t worry, I won’t leave you drowning in feels for too long—it all gets resolved pretty quickly. Then we dive into a whole lot of dialogue toward the end, which I guess is a nice little breather from my usual let-me-describe-everything-in-excruciating-detail writing style 😅 Let me know how you’re holding up, and as always, grab snacks and tissues just in case! 💜 This whole story is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

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It’s been two months since Jimin’s concert, and the warm, honeyed July air caresses your skin, wrapping you in its gentle embrace. The world around you is alive, vibrant—flowers in full bloom, their colors as radiant as the love that has blossomed between you. Today, you find yourself at an amusement park, surrounded by the joy of laughter and the soft hum of summer. With Jimin by your side and Hwa-Young, his daughter, laughing and playing in your arms, the day feels like a beautiful dream you never want to wake from.

Hwa-Young is a blur of energy, her tiny feet darting between rides, while Jimin chases her, laughing like he hasn’t a care in the world. The sight is pure, untainted by time or worry, and it’s one that will forever remain etched in your heart. There’s something about the way Jimin adores his daughter—a devotion so deep, so complete—that it stirs something powerful inside you, making your heart swell with affection, with a love so boundless it could fill every corner of the universe.

The amusement park stretches out before you, sprawling with carousels and ferris wheels, each one a promise of joy. Hwa-Young, her eyes wide with wonder, insists on trying every ride she’s tall enough to reach, and you and Jimin are there to support her, to guide her with gentle hands and warm laughter. You can’t help but smile as you watch her excitement, her little voice ringing with delight, as you both wrap your arms around her, a protective cocoon against the thrill of the unknown.

The day passes in a blur of colors and sounds, but nothing compares to the sight of Hwa-Young, her face lit up like the sun, holding out her hand for cotton candy, her cheeks pink with joy. She takes a bite, then giggles as the sticky sugar gets all over her hands. The next moment, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she presses the candy-floss into Jimin’s face, making bits of the sweet, fluffy pink cloud stick to his nose and lips.

You can’t hold back the laughter that bursts from you, seeing Jimin’s face, now adorned with sugary fluff, his expression a mix of amusement and mock exasperation. He looks so endearing in that moment—so wonderfully human, so wonderfully him. Without thinking, you lean in, reaching up to pluck a piece of the candy from his face, and as your lips meet his in a soft, spontaneous kiss, Hwa-Young squeals in pure joy, her giggles filling the air.

It’s a small moment, yet it feels like everything. In the warmth of the summer sun, surrounded by the love of the two people who mean the most to you, you realize that this—this simple, beautiful life—is the magic you’ve always dreamed of.

Though the day is alive with laughter and summer’s golden light, a shadow lingers just out of reach. You can feel it—a prickling awareness that you’re being watched. Your eyes dart around, scanning the bustling park, and your suspicion proves true when you catch sight of cameras, their lenses glinting like predatory eyes in the crowd.

“Have you noticed the cameras?” you lean closer to Jimin, your voice hushed.

He nods, a soft sigh escaping him as he shifts Hwa-Young in his arms. “I have. But it’s never been this bad before.” His expression darkens, the light in his eyes dimming momentarily. “The paparazzi have always left me alone… maybe it’s because of what I announced at the concert?” His arms tighten around both you and Hwa-Young, a protective gesture that speaks louder than words.

“I’ll talk to Jin,” he murmurs after a beat, his tone resolute, though you can sense the weight he carries. Not wanting to let it ruin your day, he flashes you a reassuring smile and gently pulls you along. Together, you let the joy of the park envelop you again, riding the coasters, indulging in sugary treats, and laughing until your cheeks ache and your bellies feel impossibly full. For a while, the world outside fades, leaving only the warmth of Jimin’s presence and the sound of Hwa-Young’s carefree giggles.

As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of amber and rose, the three of you head home. Jimin drives with one hand on the wheel, his other resting lightly on your knee, while Hwa-Young dozes peacefully in the backseat. You, meanwhile, pull out your phone, scrolling through the chatter of your notifications. A message from Namjoon catches your eye, the playful tone of his words sending a jolt through your chest.

[17:23] Joon the poet: Did you see what twt is saying about your man? 👀

Your breath catches, a knot of unease forming in your stomach as your fingers tremble over the screen. Heart pounding, you switch to Twitter, the app opening to a storm of gossip and wild speculation. It’s relentless, a sea of strangers dissecting the private corners of Jimin’s life.

They’re talking about her. About Hwa-Young. About you. The comments are a blur at first, but certain phrases stab like needles: “Who’s her real mother?” “Why keep her a secret for so long?” “Is he even the father?”

Your chest tightens, but it’s nothing compared to the next blow. Your eyes fall on a post dredging up Jimin’s past, old wounds that the world has no right to touch. Then another about you—slander wrapped in bold headlines:

“Jimin’s Sad Past: How He Lost the Love of His Life”“Y/N’s Ex Speaks Out: ‘She Was Abusive’”

The bile rises in your throat as anger ignites hot and sharp in your veins. Lies. A tapestry of lies, spun to entertain and provoke. Your grip tightens on your phone, your knuckles whitening as if the device itself is to blame for the venom it contains.

You scoff, the sound brittle, breaking the fragile quiet in the car. Jimin glances at you briefly, concern flickering across his face.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low, steady, a quiet anchor against the storm swirling in your mind.

You sigh, the weight of the day pressing down on your chest. “It’s just the media,” you murmur, your voice tinged with exhaustion. You try to brush it off, but the thoughts claw at you—how strangers on the internet have turned your life into a spectacle, how they’re digging through your past like scavengers. The absurdity of it burns. Interviews with ex-boyfriends? The very thought makes your stomach churn. What the hell are people even thinking? You look up at him, his profile glowing softly in the dim dashboard light. Hwa-Young murmurs something in her sleep, and Jimin’s hand on the wheel flexes instinctively, protective. The sight of him—of his quiet strength, his love for his daughter, his unwavering presence—grounds you for a moment. But the fire inside you still burns.

Jimin’s brow furrows, his eyes briefly searching yours before returning to the road. “You know we’ll get through this, right?” he says softly, his voice like a balm to your frayed nerves.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” you whisper, though the tightness in your chest remains. As the car hums along the quiet road, you glance out the window, the lights of the city twinkling in the distance. The world can be cruel, you think, but as Jimin’s hand gently squeezes your knee, you remind yourself: love is stronger.

When you finally step through the door of Jimin’s home, the familiar warmth wraps around you like a balm. He makes dinner for all of you, his quiet love showing in the simple act of cooking. The three of you share a peaceful meal, putting Hwa-Young to bed after her sleepy protests and bedtime giggles. It’s a tranquil moment, but the tension brewing beneath the surface lingers.

Later, you join Jimin on the sofa, his laptop balanced on his knees, the glow of the screen reflecting off his furrowed brow. Tabs are open—Twitter, Reddit, and articles filled with the chaotic chatter of strangers. His fingers hover over the trackpad, scrolling through comments that seem to cut deeper with every passing second.

“What are you doing?” you ask softly, settling beside him and resting your head on his shoulder. The scent of him—warm and familiar—grounds you, even as you brace for his reply.

“Seeing what the fans are saying…” he admits with a sigh, his voice heavy with frustration. “I hate it—how they’re digging into everything. Making up wild theories that aren’t even close to the truth.” He turns to you then, his dark eyes filled with a mix of guilt and sadness. “And I’m so sorry… for dragging you into this media mess. That was never my intention.”

Your hand instinctively moves to his, your thumb brushing against his knuckles in a soothing motion. “Oh, Jimin,” you whisper, your tone soft but resolute. “I know. It’s not your fault. None of this is.”

He exhales slowly, his breath mingling with yours as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tender hug. His heartbeat drums steadily against your chest, a quiet rhythm of reassurance.

“I texted Jin,” he says after a moment, his voice muffled against your hair. “But he told me to just let it be. To wait it out.” His tone sharpens, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But I can’t. I can’t just sit here while they tear everything apart.”

“It’s going to be okay,” you tell him, though your own heart aches seeing him like this. You wish your words could reach deeper, could untangle the storm brewing within him.

Jimin pulls back slightly, his gaze distant as he pulls his phone from his pocket. His fingers hover over the screen, the tension in his posture unmistakable.

“What are you thinking?” you ask, concern creeping into your voice as you watch him, unsure where his mind is heading.

“What if I… went live?” he mumbles, the words almost hesitant, as if testing how they sound aloud. “To explain everything. Set the record straight.”

You blink, caught off guard by his suggestion. “Does Jin think that’s a good idea?” you ask, your brow arching. You don’t want him to act impulsively, to make things harder for himself—or for you.

He doesn’t answer right away. The silence hangs heavy between you, broken only by the faint buzz of his phone as notifications roll in. And in that silence, you know. You don’t need him to say it. His silence is the answer.

“Do you really think it would help?” you ask softly, your voice laced with both concern and hope. If he truly believes this could make a difference, perhaps it’s worth the risk. Perhaps he needs to do this, for himself. For both of you.

“I think so,” he says, his tone steady, his resolve clear. “Because I’m tired of this. All of it. This shit has been going on for years, and I’ve kept quiet for so long, but after the concert…” He pauses, exhaling sharply, the frustration bleeding through. “It’s worse now. I need it to stop—I need to take back control.”

He turns to you then, his gaze softening, his eyes searching yours. “Do you want to do the live with me?” he asks, his voice quieter now, tinged with vulnerability. There’s hope in his expression, but also a flicker of fear.

He takes your hands in his, squeezing them gently, grounding himself in your presence. And as you look at him—the man you’d follow anywhere, through any storm—you nod. “Yeah,” you say with a quiet smile, the word carrying the weight of your trust, your love, your partnership.

Jimin exhales a small breath of relief, his shoulders relaxing just enough for you to notice. He reaches for his phone, setting it carefully on his laptop perched on the coffee table. His fingers move deliberately, opening Instagram, navigating to the live button. You watch as he pauses for the briefest moment, taking one last breath before tapping it.

Here goes nothing.

The screen lights up, and almost immediately, notifications flood in. Even though it’s nighttime, the response is overwhelming—20,000 viewers in mere moments. The small counter in the corner of the screen climbs rapidly, and it’s surreal, like watching an entire crowd assemble before your very eyes.

Jimin runs a hand through his blonde hair, the small gesture both endearing and grounding. He inhales deeply, steadying himself, and then offers a warm smile, his wave casual but heartfelt. “Hi, everyone,” he begins, his voice smooth but carrying a trace of nerves. “Thank you for joining this very unplanned live. I have something personal I want to share with you all.”

His words hang in the air, and you move closer, sliding your arms around him from the side, offering quiet support. The camera captures the way you smile softly into his shoulder, and though you’re not as used to the spotlight as he is, you’re doing your best—for him, for both of you.

Jimin glances at you briefly, his lips curving into a gentle smile before he turns his attention back to the camera. The intimacy of the moment, shared with thousands yet profoundly personal, feels electric. His vulnerability, your quiet strength, the weight of everything unspoken—it all builds in the silence that follows, ready to unfold like a story finally breaking free.

“So, recently, since my concert…” Jimin begins, his voice steady but tinged with a quiet vulnerability, “many people have been digging into my past, spinning wild theories about my life, my family, my choices. And I want to ask—please, stop.” His words hang in the air, the weight of his plea palpable.

He leans slightly forward, his eyes earnest, gazing into the camera as if trying to reach every single soul watching. “I understand that you’re curious—I do. But I’m only human, just like you. When I chose to become an artist, when my work found an audience, I never sought this… this invasion. All I ever wanted was to write, to pour out my feelings. To take the chaos in my heart and transform it into something beautiful, something that could move people. My family, my friends—they never signed up for any of this.”

Jimin pauses, the weight of his next words pressing heavily on him. “So I ask you,” he continues, his voice soft but firm, “how would you feel if this happened to you? To your loved ones? If your private joys, your losses, your life were picked apart by strangers?”

You can feel the rawness in his words, the subtle tremble of frustration masked by his calm demeanor. And in this moment, you’re struck by how eloquent, how utterly human, he is. He’s not just an artist, not just a public figure—he’s a man fighting to protect what matters most to him.

Taking a breath, Jimin steadies himself again. “I want to clear a few things up—not because I owe it to anyone. I don’t have to share this, and truthfully, I never wanted to. But I’ve come to understand that sometimes, silence only fuels speculation. So I’ll say this—this one time—and then I ask that you respect my wishes and never bring it up again unless I choose to.”

The live chat explodes—hearts float in rivers across the screen, crying emojis mix with messages of support, and some fans seem braced for what’s to come.

Jimin lets his shoulders fall, running a hand through his hair. His gaze softens, though there’s a flicker of exhaustion in his expression. “Yes,” he begins, voice quieter now, “I do have a daughter. And no, Y/N isn’t her biological mother.”

He pauses, exhaling deeply, as if releasing the tension that’s been building for years. “I didn’t lose the love of my life,” he says, his tone carrying both clarity and sorrow. “My daughter’s mother wasn’t someone I loved romantically. She was my best friend—someone I cared for deeply, but in a different way. She’s no longer with us. And I’m asking—begging—you all to let her rest. Let her family grieve in peace.”

His words hang in the air, heavy yet liberating, like a long-buried truth finally unearthed. The live chat slows for a moment, as if everyone watching collectively holds their breath, absorbing the weight of what’s just been shared. Then the hearts begin to flood back in—a cascade of red and pink, a silent reassurance. Messages pour in: “We support you, Jimin,” “You’re so strong,” “Thank you for trusting us.”

Beside him, you feel a swell of pride and protectiveness. He spoke his truth with grace and strength, and as the hearts and messages continue to fill the screen, you know he’s touched thousands of people—not just as an artist, but as a person.

“And yes,” Jimin says, his voice unwavering yet tender, “Y/N is my girlfriend. And I’m asking you—pleading with you—don’t dig into her past. Don’t harass her exes, don’t piece together fragments of her life as if you’re entitled to them. What she’s been through is not for you to dissect. It doesn’t concern you—it only matters to me.” His tone carries a finality, a quiet storm of conviction that leaves no room for argument.

You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his waist, as if trying to shield him from the vulnerability he’s exposing to the world.

Jimin takes a deep breath, his gaze hardening with resolve. “If you can’t do this—if you can’t give us this one shred of humanity—I will resign. It’s that simple.” The words land like thunder, and even you feel the weight of them settle in your chest. His voice doesn’t waver; it’s steady and sure, and it sends a chill down your spine. You never knew he was prepared to draw such a hard line, and yet, it feels so utterly, devastatingly Jimin—protective, selfless, unshakably loyal.

“My heart will always be in my music,” he continues, softer now, but no less resolute, “and I have so much I still want to share with you. But if my privacy, if her privacy, isn’t respected, then I can’t do this. I won’t. You should know that I’m happy. That I have everything I need. That’s all you need to know.”

He pulls you closer, his arms encircling you like a sanctuary, and kisses your temple. The gesture feels private, sacred, yet the world has just witnessed it—a glimpse into the love you share, real and unfiltered. Your cheeks flush, but you don’t pull away.

“That’s all I wanted to say,” he finishes, his gaze softening as he waves at the camera. “I wish you all a good night. And please—this message, you’re welcome to spread it like wildfire.”

With that, he ends the livestream, the silence in the room stretching out like an exhale after a storm. He turns to you, searching your face. “Was that okay?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of worry now, as if he fears he might’ve said too much.

You bite your lip, shaking your head in disbelief at the sheer courage of him. “It was perfect, Minie. I just hope they understand—really listen this time.” And you do hope, with every fiber of your being, that his words have reached them. Because this spotlight, this circus of attention, was never meant for you. It’s a weight you don’t want, and one Jimin doesn’t deserve.

Jimin smiles faintly, the tension in his body finally starting to ease. “We’ll see,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair before shutting his laptop and setting it aside. He pulls out his phone, swipes to put it on Do Not Disturb, and sets it face down on the table. You both know Jin is likely trying to call him already, but tonight, Jimin has chosen peace.

When you crawl into bed together, the room feels like a cocoon, warm and safe. Neither of you checks your phones, not even once. Instead, Jimin’s arms find you in the dark, his voice a quiet whisper against your hair. “I just want a normal life,” he says, and you can hear the ache in his words.

“You deserve that,” you whisper back, your fingers brushing against his. “We both do.”

And though the world outside may still be spinning in chaos, here in this moment, with his steady heartbeat beneath your ear and his love wrapped around you, everything feels perfectly still.

Jimin groans, the sharp sound of knocking breaking through the quiet stillness of dawn. It’s persistent, relentless, dragging him from the cocoon of warmth he’s sharing with you. You don’t stir, lost in sleep’s embrace, but Jimin knows he can’t ignore it—not with Hwa-Young sleeping soundly in the next room. The last thing he wants is for her to be woken by this rude intrusion.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he moves through the house, the wooden floors cool beneath his bare feet. His body stretches involuntarily, his limbs still heavy with the remnants of sleep as he unlocks the door. When he pulls it open, his manager’s face greets him, taut with worry, his brows knitted in a way that immediately sets Jimin on edge.

Fuck.

Regret crashes over him in a wave, a bitter taste rising in his throat. Maybe the live really was a bad idea, he thinks, recalling your gentle protests and the hesitation you tried to instill in him.

“Jin,” he begins, but the older man doesn’t wait for pleasantries. He steps inside with the authority of someone who’s walked this tightrope for far too long. Jimin stumbles aside, wide-eyed, closing the door before trailing Jin to the sofa.

The silence is unnerving, heavy like a brewing storm, as Jimin sits down, unsure if he even dares to. Jin doesn’t speak at first, his sharp gaze enough to keep Jimin rooted in place, anxiety building like a drumbeat in his chest.

“Have you looked at your phone at all since yesterday?” Jin finally asks, his tone unreadable, calm yet laced with something that feels dangerously close to anger—or perhaps worry.

Jimin shakes his head, swallowing hard. He’s been avoiding his phone like a curse, afraid of what he might find. Afraid of the fallout.

“Well,” Jin says simply, pulling out his own phone and holding it out to Jimin, his face unreadable but his sigh heavy with meaning.

With trembling hands, Jimin takes the phone, his breath hitching as he stares at Jin’s Twitter feed. His eyes widen as he scrolls through an ocean of responses, waves of words crashing over him. But they aren’t the venomous kind he’s been dreading. Instead, they’re filled with something else entirely.

Support.

There are countless messages—fans pleading with others to respect his privacy, demanding that the press leave him and his family alone, rejecting the gossip and the lies outright. Strangers, some from corners of the world he’s never been to, standing as a shield against the malice he feared would consume him.

His heart swells, impossibly full, and his hands begin to shake as the tears come unbidden. It’s overwhelming—a tidal wave of love and loyalty he doesn’t feel worthy of, but that he’s undeniably grateful for. He presses his lips together, his throat too tight to form words, and hands Jin’s phone back with trembling fingers.

“This…” he starts, his voice cracking, “I can’t believe they actually listened.”

Jin exhales deeply, his features softening slightly now that his point seems to have landed. “This might’ve gone over better than anyone could’ve hoped. But,” he says firmly, pointing a finger at Jimin, “never—and I mean never—do anything like this again without running it by me first. Got it?”

Jimin nods, his damp lashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he whispers, “I promise.”

He knows Jin is right—the live was reckless, a risk that could’ve easily tipped the other way. Yet, somehow, against all odds, it hadn’t. Instead, it feels like a crack in the wall that’s been closing in on him for years, letting in a glimmer of light. For the first time in what feels like forever, he breathes a little easier.

He leans back against the sofa, relief washing over him, softening the tension in his muscles. Maybe now—finally now—he’ll get the privacy he’s been craving. Maybe now, he can simply exist without the weight of relentless scrutiny pressing down on him and the people he loves.

A smile breaks across his face, unbidden and genuine, as he stands, running a hand through his messy hair. He can’t wait to tell you. To share the good news—that his fans have rallied behind him, that the world isn’t as unforgiving as he’d feared.

The thought of your smile, of the peace this will bring you both, propels him toward the bedroom, where you’re still sleeping soundly. For the first time in weeks, hope feels tangible. Maybe, just maybe, he thinks, things are finally starting to change.

“I can’t wait to have your brother and his wife over,” Jimin says, his voice gentle as he stirs the pan, the rich aroma of dinner filling the cozy space. A soft smile graces his lips, the kind that makes your chest feel warm.

You scoff lightly, setting down the plates with a playful shake of your head. “You say that now, but just wait. The second Yoongi starts grilling you with those detective-level questions, you might think differently.” You let out a laugh, already imagining the scene.

Jimin chuckles, his eyes crinkling as he flips the food with ease. “He means well,” he says, his tone carrying that quiet understanding. He’s still haunted, just a little, by the protective glare Yoongi gave him the last time they met—a look that said, Hurt her, and you’ll answer to me.

“I guess so,” you murmur, your hands moving to fold napkins as you glance toward the living room. Hwa-Young is sprawled out on the couch, utterly captivated by the anime playing on the TV, her little giggles occasionally filling the air.

But then, the thought of Amy crosses your mind, and your mood shifts. Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “I just hope Amy keeps her hands to herself this time.”

Jimin pauses, turning to you with a teasing glint in his eye, the wooden spoon in his hand still. “Jealous?” he asks, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “I didn’t peg you as the possessive type.”

You whip around, mock offense painted across your face. “I’m not possessive,” you say, feigning indignation. “But her behavior is weird. And excuse me for not liking other people pawing at you like you’re public property.” Your voice dips into something more serious now, laced with frustration. “It’s just… disrespectful. Like she thinks she can ignore your boundaries just because you’re famous. I don’t care how much she adores you—it doesn’t give her the right.”

Jimin tilts his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he leans casually against the counter. “So, what are you going to do if she doesn’t stop? Give her one of your signature lectures?” he teases, his voice warm and light.

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. “If she keeps it up, I’ll say something to Yoongi. Or better yet, I’ll put her in her place myself.”

Jimin laughs, a melodic sound that makes your irritation falter just a bit. “Put her in her place? That sounds dramatic.”

“Not dramatic,” you counter, planting your hands on your hips. “Just a firm reminder to act like a decent human being. You know, the kind of respect normal people give each other without having to be asked?” You gesture dramatically, earning another laugh from him.

He shakes his head, still chuckling as he turns back to the stove. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Darn right, I am,” you reply with a grin, placing the last fork on the table and stepping back to admire your work. The clatter of utensils gives way to a comfortable silence, the hum of the TV and the gentle simmering from the kitchen blending into the rhythm of your shared life.

And though the thought of Amy still lingers at the edges of your mind, you can’t help but feel a little lighter. Jimin’s laughter and the steady ease of his presence always have a way of grounding you, reminding you that, no matter the noise of the outside world, the two of you are a team—unshakable, even in the face of unwanted hands and overly curious stares.

The doorbell chimes, a bright note cutting through the gentle hum of domesticity. You move toward it, anticipation and a trace of unease coiling in your chest. As you swing the door open, Yoongi’s familiar silhouette greets you, solid and steady as always. Without a word, he pulls you into a warm, grounding hug—his gruff demeanor melting for just a moment in the embrace. Behind him, Amy stands, her eyes wide and sparkling like a magpie spotting something shiny. Her gaze darts around Jimin’s home, a little too eager, a little too curious. And just like that, it’s already beginning, you think with a quiet sigh.

“Come in,” you say with a welcoming smile, gesturing them inside. “Jimin’s finishing up dinner.”

Hwa-Young’s tiny footsteps patter across the floor, and she appears beside you, peeking up at the new arrivals with her shy, curious eyes. “Hi,” she says softly, her little voice tugging smiles from even Yoongi’s stoic features.

Yoongi crouches slightly to meet her gaze, a warmth softening his expression that few outside the family ever see. His affection for kids, so pure and unguarded, has always warmed your heart. “Hey there,” he says, ruffling her hair. She beams at him, then asks, “Do you wanna play with me?” And of course, Yoongi, never one to refuse a child, agrees with a small, amused nod. He lets her tug him away, leaving you alone with Amy.

You glance toward her, suddenly aware of how the air shifts. She’s smiling—no, gazing—at Jimin, who’s still in the kitchen putting the final touches on dinner. Her eyes sparkle, the kind of shine you’d expect from someone meeting a movie star for the first time. You sigh internally. Why does she have to look at him like he’s carved out of marble?

“This way,” you say politely, gesturing her toward the table. “Come and take a seat.”

Jimin emerges from the kitchen, carrying the last dish. The rich aroma of his cooking fills the room, and Amy’s breath catches audibly. “Wooow,” she gushes, clasping her hands as if he’s just performed a miracle. “You’re such a good cook!”

Jimin smiles politely, nodding. “Thank you,” he says simply, his tone cordial but distant. You know that kind of flattery doesn’t sit well with him; he’s always preferred sincerity over fawning admiration.

“Dinner’s ready,” he announces, and like a gust of wind, Hwa-Young comes bounding into the dining room, her laughter trailing behind her like music. Yoongi follows, a rare fond smile lingering on his lips.

The table fills with chatter and the clinking of cutlery as you all dig in. But even as conversation flows, you can’t help but notice Amy stealing glances at Jimin every chance she gets, her attention so fixed it borders on embarrassing. Yoongi, ever perceptive, catches on quickly. “Amy,” he says under his breath, his voice low but firm, “stop staring and eat.”

She flushes, muttering a half-hearted excuse, but the damage is done. You press your lips together to stifle a smile.

The meal is otherwise peaceful, though there’s an undercurrent of anticipation in the air. Yoongi is unusually quiet, his questions withheld for now, but you can tell he’s saving them—every one of them—for later. Probably for when Hwa-Young is tucked into bed and can’t overhear.

The evening slips by faster than you expected, and soon it’s time to get Hwa-Young ready for bed. As always, she tugs at your sleeve and asks for you to be the one to tuck her in. You don’t mind at all—in fact, these quiet moments with her before sleep are some of your favorites.

In her room, the world feels smaller, softer. You sit with her, gently combing out her hair, the strands catching the dim lamplight like threads of spun gold. She hums contentedly as you braid it, her voice soft and melodic, a lullaby all its own. Afterward, you settle beside her with a book, reading in a low, soothing voice as her eyelids grow heavier with each page.

When the story ends, she asks you questions, her little mind wandering to all the curiosities of the day. You answer them patiently, your words weaving a comforting cocoon around her thoughts. You’ve always believed that a child should drift into sleep with nothing but good feelings and safe imaginings.

Finally, you kiss her forehead, your lips brushing against her soft skin. “Goodnight, my little munchkin,” you whisper, tucking the blanket snugly around her tiny frame. She giggles at the nickname before yawning, her eyes fluttering shut as she drifts into the world of dreams.

As you step quietly out of the room, closing the door behind you, a sense of peace washes over you. Whatever tensions linger in the dining room, here, in Hwa-Young’s sanctuary, all is calm, all is well.

When you step back into the living room, the remnants of dinner have vanished as if whisked away by unseen hands. The dining table stands bare, the dishes tidied into containers, and everyone has settled into the soft cushions of the couch. Yet, the air feels tense, charged with unspoken words.

Yoongi sits directly across from Jimin, his posture straight, arms crossed, the subtle weight of a protector in his stance. Amy, ever the opportunist, is perched a little too close to Jimin for your liking, her presence like a thorn pressing into your side. You sigh, sliding into the narrow space between her and Jimin, asserting your place with quiet conviction.

Jimin visibly relaxes the moment you’re by his side. He leans into your touch instinctively, as if the tension he’s been holding onto dissipates in your presence. You squeeze his hand gently, and he answers with a small, grateful smile.

Across the room, Yoongi’s sharp gaze flicks between the two of you, his thoughts written plainly on his face. Then, without warning, he dives in, voice calm but edged with authority. “So,” he begins, his eyes locking on Jimin, “what are your intentions with my sister?”

You stifle a sigh, biting back a smile. This was bound to happen sooner or later; Yoongi never got his chance to grill Jimin when you first started dating. And now? Now he seems determined to play catch-up.

You rest your hand atop Jimin’s, a quiet signal of reassurance. You know your brother means well, but his intensity can be overwhelming at times. Jimin clears his throat, sitting up straighter, ready to face the onslaught of questions.

“Well,” Jimin begins, his voice steady and sincere, “I just want to make her happy. To make sure she feels safe and loved, and to give her everything that’s within my power.”

Yoongi nods, a small hum escaping him as he considers Jimin’s words. But he isn’t finished. Of course not. “Do you know about her other boyfriends?” he asks, his tone measured but pointed. “Other than Mark?”

The mention of Mark’s name sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. Not because Jimin doesn’t know—he does—but because the name alone dredges up memories you’d rather leave buried. Mark had been a storm in your life, his presence violent and destructive. Even now, the thought of him leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Jimin’s fingers lace through yours, grounding you. “I know,” he replies simply, his voice firm, unshaken.

You turn to Yoongi, your voice soft but resolute. “There are no secrets between us, Yoongi.”

Your brother leans back slightly, the weight of your words softening his posture, though his next words are laced with a quiet anger you know he’s been holding back. “Oh, I know. He told me that Mark hit you.”

The room stills. The air feels heavy now, laden with unspoken emotions. Your heart sinks into your chest, the memory resurfacing despite your best efforts to keep it buried. You’d never told Yoongi; you’d been too afraid of how he’d react. But of course, Jimin had told him—out of love, out of honesty.

“It’s in the past,” you say softly, your voice a sigh carried on the weight of old wounds. Then, with a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, you add, “And just so you know, I kicked him in the dick for that.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen in surprise, his stern mask cracking for just a moment. And then, he bursts into laughter, the sound warm and unexpected, filling the room like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

“Guess you don’t need my help after all,” he chuckles, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement.

You laugh with him, confidence blooming in your chest. “I’m a big girl, Yoongi. I can take care of myself.”

Yoongi nods, his laughter fading into a fond smile. “That’s great,” he says, his voice softer now, the love he holds for you shining through. “But I still have to make sure Jimin isn’t like your previous boyfriends. So, excuse me if my questions get a little too personal. I’m just looking out for you.”

You sigh, though it’s filled with affection, not exasperation. “I know,” you say, your tone lighter now. “So go ahead. Ask him whatever you want.”

Yoongi’s eyes shift back to Jimin, his expression steady but not unkind. The tension in the room eases, a silent understanding passing between you all. You squeeze Jimin’s hand once more, silently thanking him for standing beside you, for holding the truth of your past without letting it define you. And as Yoongi leans forward, ready to probe deeper, you feel a quiet strength settle in your chest. Whatever questions come, whatever words are exchanged, you know you’ll face them together.

Jimin nods, steady yet vulnerable, bracing himself for more of Yoongi’s questions while Amy sits quietly, her presence an afterthought, observing the unspooling of truths between the two men.

“Alright,” Yoongi begins, his voice low, his fingers raking through his dark hair. His gaze sharpens as he leans forward, as though peeling back layers of Jimin’s soul. “Have you ever been in a serious relationship before? I don’t know much about you from the media—I’ve only heard... rumors.”

Jimin exhales, the question digging into something tender. “I haven’t,” he admits, his voice tinged with quiet honesty. “I’ve never been in a serious relationship before. I never had the time—or, maybe, I never found the right person.” His eyes soften as he turns to you, his hand warm in yours. “That is, until I met your sister.”

His words settle over you like a balm, and you feel your heart skip in its rhythm, a flutter so gentle and profound it roots you in the moment.

Yoongi hums thoughtfully, his expression unreadable as he shifts to another question. “If my sister had a bad day—like, a really bad day—how would you cheer her up?”

This question catches your attention too, your curiosity piqued despite yourself.

Jimin doesn’t hesitate. “That’s easy,” he says with a small smile, as if the answer is second nature to him. “I’d hug her—tight. I’d tell her it’s okay, that everything will get better. Then I’d play her a song to make her feel understood. After that, I’d put on her favorite movie, and I’d make her favorite dish. Whatever it takes to remind her she’s loved and safe.”

The simplicity and thoughtfulness of his response send warmth through your chest. Your heart feels like it’s tumbling, summersaulting, caught in the gentleness of his words. Unable to resist, you lean into him, wrapping your arms around him in a soft embrace. He responds in kind, pressing a tender kiss to your temple, the gesture grounding and sweet.

Yoongi observes this exchange, his eyes narrowing slightly as he absorbs the scene. He nods slowly, seemingly satisfied, though his voice remains cautious. “Alright. Next question: What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done to someone you cared about?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with expectation. You feel the faintest stiffening in Jimin’s frame, the subtle tension that tells you he already knows what he must say. Your heart tightens preemptively, because you, too, know where this will lead—he’s told you this story before, one filled with rawness and regret.

Jimin takes a deep breath, his voice quiet and deliberate, each word carrying the weight of a memory that has never left him. “When my best friend got sick with cancer… at first, I tried to ignore it. I told her everything would be fine, even when I didn’t really believe it. I think I was in denial. Maybe I didn’t know how to deal with it.” He pauses, as if gathering courage to press on. “But when her diagnosis turned terminal…” His voice falters for a moment before he continues, steadier now. “The worst thing I did was not listening—truly listening—to how she felt or what she wanted. She dreamed of having a child, and I tried to help with that, but beyond that?” He swallows hard. “I wasn’t there for her in the way she needed. I focused on distracting her with happy things because I couldn’t face the idea of her dying. I thought I was helping, but all I did was make it worse.”

The room feels charged with his confession, the kind of silence that hums with unspoken emotion. “If I could,” he adds, his voice breaking just slightly, “I’d go back and do it all differently. I’d give her the care she deserved in her last days. That’s a regret I’ll carry with me forever.”

Your arms tighten around him instinctively, trying to hold him together in the cracks of his pain. You’ve heard this story before, you know the guilt he carries, and it breaks your heart all over again to see him relive it now.

Yoongi leans back in his chair, his expression no longer probing but solemn, softened. It’s clear he hadn’t anticipated a response so raw, so open. For a moment, he simply looks at Jimin, then offers a quiet, sincere, “I’m so sorry.”

Jimin shakes his head, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s part of my past now. Something I carry with me, something that shaped me.” He shrugs, but you can see the lingering pain in his eyes, the shadow that remains even after the words have been spoken.

Amy, sitting to the side, lets out a soft, sympathetic murmur. “That’s... so sad,” she whispers, her voice breaking the quiet.

You roll your eyes inwardly but say nothing. Instead, you lace your fingers with Jimin’s, squeezing his hand tightly to remind him he isn’t alone.

Jimin straightens a little, as if shedding the weight of the moment. Turning his attention back to Yoongi, he lifts his chin slightly, his gaze steady. “Is there anything else you want to know?” he asks, his voice calm but resolute.

Yoongi’s eyes flicker downward, as though the weight of the evening’s emotions pulls at his thoughts. His fingers drum softly against his knee, debating whether to continue. The tension in the air feels fragile, like glass teetering on the edge of shattering. “I do have more questions, but…”

“You can ask me anything,” Jimin says softly, leaning back into the sofa with you tucked beside him, his presence as steady as the anchor you’ve always needed.

Yoongi tilts his head, considering, then nods. “Alright. What are your views on marriage and commitment?”

A smile curves on Jimin’s lips, his expression open and sincere. “Even though I’ve only had short-term relationships in the past, I’ve always wanted something long-term. Marriage? I’d love that someday, sure. But if that’s not what your sister wants, that’s okay too. I just want to grow alongside her, however she dreams.” His hand shifts to your thigh, the warmth of his touch grounding you, yet sparking a quiet fire in your chest.

Yoongi hums, his sharp gaze softening slightly. “What’s the most important quality in a partner, in your opinion?”

Without hesitation, Jimin squeezes your thigh gently, a subtle reassurance. “Honesty and communication,” he answers, his voice calm but firm, like the foundations of a house built to last.

You can’t help but smile, feeling heat bloom in your cheeks. Jimin’s gaze flicks to you, a slight grin tugging at his lips as though he knows the effect his words have on you.

Yoongi nods again, leaning forward. “Alright, then. How do you handle arguments or disagreements?”

“With communication,” Jimin replies easily, the conviction in his tone undeniable. “I’ve always believed most arguments can be solved by just talking things through—sharing how we feel instead of bottling everything up. That’s actually one of the reasons I write so much. It helps me untangle my thoughts and express what’s in my heart.” His smile is soft, almost wistful, and you find yourself falling for him all over again.

“Yeah,” Yoongi murmurs, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “That makes sense. Glad to hear it.”

The weight of his questions lightens a fraction, and the corners of Yoongi’s mouth lift into a rare smirk. “What’s your favorite thing about my sister, then?”

Jimin doesn’t even pause to consider. “Her soul,” he says simply, the words so sincere they feel like they belong to the air itself, as though he’s just stated an undeniable truth of the universe. “She’s bright, kind, and loving. She makes everything feel... lighter.”

Your heart flutters, your cheeks flushing under the weight of his words. You don’t hide the grin stretching your lips, leaning into him with a soft laugh as you nuzzle his shoulder. Yoongi clears his throat, but you don’t miss the way his hand rises to his face to hide what is likely a loving smile.

Still, Yoongi presses on. “I need to know—what would you do if someone hurt her?” His voice lowers, the edge of protectiveness unmistakable as he leans forward in his seat.

Jimin’s expression hardens slightly, his arm wrapping around you instinctively. “I’d kick their ass,” he says with quiet determination, pulling you closer into his embrace. You rest your head on his shoulder, finding comfort in the steel beneath his words. “I won’t let anything bad happen to her, ever.”

Yoongi exhales through his nose, leaning back in his chair. “Good,” he says simply, though the glint in his eye hints at approval.

“Alright, then. What’s something you’ve learned about her that surprised you?”

A quiet chuckle escapes Jimin, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as he answers. “It might sound strange, but it’s her curiosity. She doesn’t just skim the surface; she digs deep. She doesn’t care about appearances or superficial stuff. She asked me questions about my lyrics—not because I’m famous, but because she wanted to understand me as a person. She made me feel seen in a way I’ve never felt before.”

Your heart swells, the sincerity in his words making your chest ache in the best way. “Aww, Minie,” you murmur, turning to press a kiss to his cheek.

Amy groans dramatically beside you, breaking the moment with a loud sigh, while Yoongi’s lips twitch as though suppressing another smile.

“Alright,” Yoongi says after a beat, his tone lightening just slightly. “If I weren’t here asking you all these questions, how would you prove to me you care about my sister?”

Jimin doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d hope you’d see it in my actions—and in her happiness. That’s proof enough, isn’t it?” He smiles, his confidence quiet but unshakable.

Yoongi nods, but his next question comes with a deeper weight. “How do you think you’ll help her heal from her past?”

Jimin’s grip on you tightens briefly, his answer slow and deliberate. “First, I’d never behave like her exes did. And I’d give her all the time and space she needs to feel safe, to feel loved. I just want to build something where she knows she’s cherished every single day. If I can, I want to give her the whole universe—because that’s what she deserves.” He presses a kiss to your temple, the gesture so tender it brings a lump to your throat.

Yoongi tilts his head, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “Well, I guess that answers what you think she deserves.” He pauses, then chuckles. “Okay, last question: Do you think I’m being too hard on you?”

Jimin’s grin widens. “Not at all. With her history, I completely understand why you’d be protective. You’re her brother, and I admire you for having her best interest at heart.”

Yoongi leans back, his laughter low and warm. “You almost seem too good to be true,” he teases lightly. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you, though—even if I do think you’re perfect for her.”

You roll your eyes, leaning forward to give your brother a mock glare. “Are you done playing detective now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yoongi chuckles, his guard finally lowering.

The rest of the evening shifts into lighter territory, with easy laughter and playful banter. The conversation meanders to Jimin’s career until he grows tired of it and flips the tables, asking Yoongi about his own life—his hobbies, his work, your childhood.

Time slips by unnoticed, the clock ticking past midnight before you realize it. When Yoongi and Amy finally leave, the house feels still and warm, as though peace itself has settled into the walls. You and Jimin climb into bed together, the softness of his sheets and the strength of his arms wrapping you in a cocoon of comfort. Snuggled close, you drift into sleep, his steady heartbeat lulling you into dreams of love that feels like home.

→ Requested series taglist: @13-manggaetteok, @mima795, @hnnnjm, @flaneuseonthestreets,  @miniesjams32, @graydolan12, @rinkud, @allie-in-the-moon, @pjmxxjmdipity,

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @fancypeacepersona, @ktownshizzle, @pjmxxjm, @ajoonniice, @kookiewithluv, @mikrokookiex, @rapmonjoon94, @parkitrighthere,

→ Author’s endnote: phew, this chapter was basically a talkathon! So much dialogue, I felt like I was writing a drama script 😅 But seriously, what did you think about all of Yoongi’s detective-level interrogations? 🕵️‍♂️ That man was not holding back with Jimin—like, calm down, sir, you’re not auditioning for CSI: Seoul! I really hope you’re still loving the series because I’m having an absolute blast with it 💜 Tell me all your thoughts, theories, or even just your favorite Yoongi moment from this chapter—I’m dying to hear it!

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2025 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[pandoradoesotherstuff]

Joel Miller x (fem) reader

--------------------------------------

A/N: Oh boy, here it is! My very first "The Last of Us" fic and of course it is smut. 😂😂😂 Blame @astrandofgold I told them to pick a blorbo and here we are. 😅 (edited to tag @savage-rhi because I feel like you asked me too but now I'm doubting myself. 🤦‍♀️apologies!)

Full disclosure: I've only ever played TLOU 1 and even that was a while ago so if it's kinda OOC then I'm sorry, I tried. 🙈

So uh, yeah...Enjoy! ❤️

The tension was practically palpable as you sat next to each other on the scavenged lumpy couch. His thigh was almost touching yours, his sheer body heat driving you crazy as Ellie sat on the mismatched equally lumpy armchair, excitedly explaining everything she’d seen outside the walls of Jackson while Tommy had been showing her the perimeter.  

“Looks like you’re settling in great kiddo”. You grin, subtly elbowing Joel in the ribs to add something. 

“Just be careful out there, don’t let your guard down”. 

Ellie rolls her eyes in response but you both know from the way his lips curl in a subtle smile that he’s secretly pleased that she’s doing well. You squeeze his thigh just above the knee, his eyes darkening ever so slightly as his eyes meet yours. 

“Are you guys gonna kiss or something?!” Ellie asks with a note of teenage disgust in her voice as she looks at both of you. 

“Ellie…” Joel grumbles in warning, quickly looking away from you as you feel your cheeks start to heat up. 

“Gross”. She stands up with a stretch and grabs her backpack she’d thrown haphazardly on the floor when she’d entered earlier unannounced. “I better go, promised Tommy I’d help him with the horses. See you at home for dinner?” She leaves without waiting for an answer, the door closing loudly behind her. You were alone at last. 

Joel’s demeanour changes as soon as you are alone. He stands up without a word and walks to the door, swiftly locking it. You can’t help but watch the way he moves, all solid muscle and sinew from years of surviving the outbreak. Heat prickles along your skin as he stalks back into the living room, dark eyes raking over you like a predator cornering its prey. 

“Joel, I-” 

“-upstairs, now”. His words are quiet but firm, holding out a large hand for you to take. You don’t hesitate to put your hand in his, heat already beginning to creep through your veins as he leads you quickly up the stairs to the small bedroom that was his. 

The door is barely shut before Joel has you pressed against it, lips working feverishly against yours as his hands grip your waist tightly. Your arms fly up to wrap around his neck, unable to get physically close enough to him as you kiss him back with the same passion. A small whine leaves your lips as his tongue snakes its way in, fighting for dominance with yours. All too soon, he breaks away to leave a trail of blazing kisses down your neck, fingers tearing open your shirt, scattering buttons across the room. 

“Jesus Joel, that’s my on-”

You cut yourself off with a yelp as he grabs your breasts, kneading them in his strong hands before pushing the shirt fully off your shoulders and unclips your bra swiftly. His knee slots between your parted thighs snuggly as he rolls your hardened buds between his calloused fingertips.

“Gonna make you mine, sweet heart. Gonna fill you up so good you won’t remember anything except my name, would you like that?”

You can only pant and whimper and nod as you grind your hips down onto his thick strong thigh, already feeling yourself dripping wet against your now ruined underwear.  

“Use. Your. Words”. 

“Y-yes…oh god! Please, p-please…fuck me Joel!”

You’re not sure if you imagined it or not but you could have sworn you heard a slight growl as he leads you roughly by the hips onto the double bed crammed into the corner of the small room. The old springs and boards creak and groan under the sudden impact of your weight as Joel unceremoniously pushes you back. You loved seeing this rougher side to him, the side that was wild and untamed, passionate and dominating. It didn’t make an appearance often but when it did, he didn’t hold back. 

He wastes no time crawling over your body, lips back on yours as he makes short work of undoing your pants and yanking them down. You kick them off a little clumsily as his hand is splayed over your sternum before sliding down to push your underwear aside. A loud gasp tears itself from your mouth as one of his fingers finds your already swollen and needy clit, rubbing infuriatingly gentle circles on it before making its way to your soaked core. 

“That’s it”, he breathes heavily. “So fucking ready for me already, huh? That how bad you want this, sweetheart?” Joel’s belt hits the floor with a loud clunk, quickly freeing his painfully hard erection as his jeans also hit the floor next to yours somewhere. Your thighs are already quivering slightly with need, whimpers pouring forth unable to be stopped as his engorged tip nudges at your dripping entrance before sliding in ever so agonisingly slowly. His forehead presses against yours once fully seated inside you, giving you a moment's respite to adjust to his sheer girth and length.

Joel’s kisses trail down your neck again before he starts moving his hips, ever so slowly at first. You wrap your legs instinctively around him, playfully squeezing him with your thighs to let him know it was okay to speed up. 

The older man affectionately kisses the tip of your nose before once again burying his face in your neck, teeth biting into the delicate flesh of your shoulder as he gives you a few slow powerful thrusts, drawing himself right out to the tip each time before slamming back in. Your nails rake at his back hard enough to leave bright red scratch marks as he finally stops his teasing ways and fucks you properly. The bed creaks dangerously, headboard repeatedly banging against the wall so loud that you couldn’t be sure all of Jackson hadn’t heard it. 

“I’m going to -fuck- breed you so fucking good, g-gonna fill you up so every one knows who you belong -jesus christ- …belong too. A-and you’re gonna lie there and…ugh…gonna lie there and take it!” 

You moan loudly in agreement, every nerve in your body on fire as he repeatedly fills you to the hilt over and over again, clinging to him for dear life as he fucks the very soul out of you, your walls fluttering and clenching around him so perfectly. 

“P-please…please…” You barely manage to stutter out in between continuous moans, not even sure what you were asking for. 

“I got you, sweet heart”, he mumbles before just managing to slide a hand between your bodies to roughly stroke over your clit. It was rough and sloppy but it was more than enough to tip you over the edge. Your mouth hangs wide open in a silent scream, nails digging into his shoulders sharply as you cum hard, Joel’s name now echoing around the room. His hips stutter and lose their rhythm as his own release starts getting closer. 

“Cum for me Joel, need to feel you filling me up”. You whisper encouragingly in his ear as your body trembles with delicious overstimulation. With a deep groan of your name you feel him spill inside you, your walls clenching him tight to milk every drop of his seed you could. Joel collapses next to you with a grunt, pulling you into his arms as you both try to catch your breath. He nuzzles into your hair, kissing the top of your head softly as you bask in your post orgasm glow. 

“Are you hurt?” His gruff voice is low and almost soft as he gazes down at you with an affectionate look that was saved for when you were both completely alone. 

“No more than I wanted to be”, you tease. 

“Yeah yeah yeah, tease the old man. Sure”. 

You can’t help but laugh as you snuggle into his chest. 

“That’s what I’m here for”. 

Joel kisses the top of your head again as his breathing starts to even out slow and deep. 

“Ellie will be back later”, you whispering some sort of warning.

“Why do you think I locked the door?” 

You can’t help but laugh quietly to yourself as you allow your eyes to slip close and drift off into the most comfortable sleep you’d had in a long time.