#its way longer than i thought it would be

[gdinthehouseee]

Valentine's: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: a steamy valentine's date with ji-yong in his penthouse

word count: 6397

tags: fluff, mature (for spice? steam? there's no actual smut)

ao3 link

It was finally Valentine’s day. You had spent the night back at your own place, something you haven’t done in probably months ever since you started dating Ji-yong—practically already moved in together at his place instead. Last night, he told you he wanted this day to be special, so you figured you would go home for the night in order to put some real effort into your look tonight. Naturally, this morning, you spent hours making sure everything was perfect: everything from your outfit to the gift you bought him. At least it was easier to hide that. 

Finally, the sun had set and it was time for the real fun to begin.

The scent of something rich and savory fills the air as you step into Ji-yong’s penthouse, the warm lighting casting soft shadows across the sleek interior. Your eyes immediately land on him—standing by the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, a soft smile playing on his lips as he stirs a pot on the stove.

“You’re just in time, aein.” He says smoothly, glancing over his shoulder to give you a once-over. His gaze lingers a little longer than necessary. “Did you dress up just for me?”

You scoff, setting your bag down. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who looks like you’re about to seduce someone.”

“Maybe I am.”

Before you can fire back, he closes the distance between you and reaches for your hand, guiding it to his chest dramatically. “Feel that? My heart’s racing already. You really do have that effect on me.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You roll your eyes, but your expression betrays you as you keep your hand over his heart.

“You know you love it,” he teases, tugging you closer until you’re nearly flush against him. “Now, if you’ll behave and keep me company, I might even let you taste what I’m cooking.”

He tilts his head, eyes sparkling with mischief and flickering towards your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Or, you could just taste me instead. Your choice.”

“Ji,” you whined. “What’s gotten into you?”

Thankfully, your bashful smile let him know that you were both enjoying his boldness. No matter how much you rolled your eyes or tried to act unaffected, the soft curve of your lips gave you away every time. Ji-yong lived for that—watching the way your defenses crumbled under his charm, the way your gaze flickered between playful defiance and quiet surrender. It was a game he loved playing, pushing just enough to make you flustered, but never too much to overwhelm you. And judging by the warmth creeping up your cheeks, he was winning.

“Am I not allowed to flirt with my girl?” He jokingly pouted, one hand remained over your hand on his chest while his other hand found its home at your waist. 

“Of course you are.” 

“That’s what I thought,” he said before pressing a quick peck to your lips. “C’mon, let my cooking impress you instead.” 

The countertop is lined with ingredients, a simmering pot sending out a rich, mouthwatering aroma. You watch as he moves effortlessly around the kitchen, confident in every step. He grabs a spoon, dips it into the sauce, and turns to you with that signature smirk still plastered on his face. “Here. Taste.”

You lean in slightly, expecting him to hold out the spoon properly, but instead, he lifts it higher—forcing you to tilt your head back as he guides it between your lips. The warmth of the sauce spreads across your tongue, but all you can focus on is the way Ji-yong’s gaze drops to your lips, his smirk deepening.

“Good?” He asks, his voice lower now.

You swallow, trying not to show how flustered you suddenly feel. “Yeah. It’s really good.”

He hums in satisfaction, but instead of stepping back, he raises a finger and swipes it across the corner of your lips. “You had a little something…” He brings his finger to his own lips and licks it off, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time. “Can’t waste it.”

You scoff, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he muses, tilting his head, “you’re still here.” He leans in just a fraction closer, his voice dropping. “Does that mean you like it when I tease you, jagiya?”

You roll your eyes and turn toward the counter, forcing yourself to focus on something—anything—other than the way he’s looking at you. “You clearly need supervision, so I’m helping.”

“Helping? That’s cute.”

“I know how to cook, you know.”

“Sure you do,” he teases, stepping behind you so close that you can feel his breath on your neck. Before you can respond, his hands slide over yours, effortlessly guiding them to the knife on the counter. “Let me see, then.”

Your fingers tighten slightly on the handle, heat radiating from his body behind you. “Ji-yong.”

“Hm?” He rests his chin on your shoulder, completely unfazed. “I’m just helping, right?”

You exhale sharply, trying to ignore the way his voice drips with amusement. “I don’t need you hovering over me.”

He hums as if considering your words, then suddenly reaches around you, grabbing an ingredient from the counter—brushing against you just enough to send a jolt up your spine. “Ah, my bad,” he murmurs, lips dangerously close to your ear. “Didn’t mean to get in your way.”

You whip around, intending to glare at him properly, but the moment you do, he lifts a small piece of fruit to your lips. “Open up, aein.”

“What—”

“Shh.” He taps the fruit against your bottom lip, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Be good and try it.”

Despite your attempt to act like you were annoyed with him, you open your mouth, and he places it on your tongue, his fingers lingering a little too long. His eyes flicker down, watching the way your lips close around it.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he murmurs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You chew slowly, refusing to let him see just how much he’s getting to you. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He grins. “Of course I am.” He picks up another piece, twirling it between his fingers. “The question is… are you?”

You swallow, willing yourself not to fall into his trap. Instead, you decide to turn the tables. Two can play this game. With a slow, deliberate movement, you step closer, reaching past him to grab a piece of fruit for yourself. He watches, amused, as you bring it to your lips—but instead of eating it right away, you pause. You roll the fruit lightly between your fingers, letting your lips hover just above it, pretending to inspect it. “Hmm,” you hum thoughtfully, glancing at him through your lashes. “I don’t know… do you think I should try it, Ji-yong?”

His smirk falters just slightly—his eyes flicker to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. You don’t give him a chance to recover. Slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, you bring the fruit to your mouth and take a bite, your lips just barely brushing your fingers. Your tongue flicks out to catch the sweetness, and you swear you hear Jiyong’s breath hitch.

You let out a small, pleased hum as you chew, tilting your head. “Mmm. You were right. It’s good.”

His smirk is still there, but his jaw tenses slightly. “Glad you approve.”

You take another bite, even slower this time, then reach up with your thumb to wipe the juice lingering at the corner of your lips. His eyes track the movement immediately. For the final blow, you bring your thumb to your lips—just like he did earlier—and suck the sweetness away, holding eye contact the entire time.

Ji-yong stills. You see it—the exact moment the teasing backfires on him. His smirk wavers, his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, you even heard the way his breath hitched. For once, he doesn’t have a witty comeback.

Satisfied, you tilt your head. “Something wrong?”

Jiyong exhales, slow and measured, before abruptly closing the distance between you.

“Oh, aein,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up with just two fingers. His gaze is dangerously dark now, heated in a way that makes your stomach flip. “You really wanna play this game with me?”

You blink innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He chuckles, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. His hand doesn’t drop from your chin—instead, his thumb brushes along your jawline, slow and teasing.

“You’re cute,” he murmurs, his lips so close you can feel his breath. “But you should know better than to tease me, princess.”

Before you can react, his other hand suddenly slides down, gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your breath catches, and he grins, fully aware of what he’s doing to you.

“Now,” he says, voice nothing but smooth velvet, “let’s see how long you can keep up, hmm?”

Oh. You’re in trouble.

His grip on your waist tightens, holding you exactly where he wants you. His smirk is still there, but there’s something darker behind it now—something that makes your pulse skyrocket. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t finish this game he started. Not that either of you want to stop playing.

“You’ve been getting bold,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your hip. “Teasing me like that. Acting all innocent when we both know you’re not.”

You refuse to back down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, keeping your voice steady despite the way your heart is slamming against your ribs.

Ji-yong lets out a low, knowing hum. “No?”

Before you can react, he shifts, caging you in completely—his arm sliding around your lower back, his other hand pressing flat against the counter beside you. He leans in, his lips dangerously close to your ear.

“Then why,” he murmurs, voice rich with amusement, “do you look like you’re about to melt?”

You inhale sharply, trying to keep your composure. But it’s impossible when his presence is so overwhelming—the scent of him, the heat of his body, the way his lips are hovering over your skin, never quite touching, but making you ache for it anyway.

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze, challenging him right back. “If anyone’s about to melt, it’s you,” you whisper.

Ji-yong exhales sharply through his nose—a laugh, but barely. His grip tightens, his body pressing into yours just enough to make you shiver.

“Oh?” He muses, tilting his head. “That so?”

His hand on your waist slides lower, fingers grazing over the curve of your hip—slow, deliberate, teasing. He’s watching you, studying the way your breath catches, how your fingers clutch at the counter behind you.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you is gone.

His lips brush against your jaw, featherlight, before ghosting down your neck. It’s barely a touch, but it’s enough to make your stomach tighten. However, he can’t help himself as he begins to kiss your jawline. Slow and soft pecks trailing down your jaw and your neck, until he reaches your collarbone.

“Still think I’m the one melting?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice so dangerously low it sends a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers instinctively grip his shirt, as if holding onto something solid will keep you from completely losing yourself in him. Of course, he notices, and he grins against your neck.

“You’re already falling apart for me.”

Your head is spinning, your breath uneven, but how could it not be? Ji-yong is right there, pressing against you like he has no intention of letting go—and God, he looks unfairly good doing it.

The dim lighting casts soft shadows over his sharp features, highlighting the mischief in his eyes, the slight smirk tugging at his lips, the way his hair falls messily over his forehead like he was made to look this effortlessly perfect. His jaw is so sharp it could cut, his skin so frustratingly smooth it’s unfair, and then—those lips. Lips that are so close to yours now, parted just slightly, so warm against your skin as he teases you without even trying. His scent—clean, expensive, intoxicating—wraps around you like a slow-burning haze, making it impossible to think of anything but him. And then there’s his hands—warm, and so damn sure of themselves, holding you in place, fingers pressing just hard enough to make your stomach tighten. His confidence, the way he looks at you like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, has you completely undone before he even touches you properly. How is it fair that someone can look this good and know exactly how to use it? And worse—how are you supposed to survive it?

And then—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP!

A loud, obnoxious timer shatters the moment.

For a second, neither of you react—both frozen, caught in the tension that had been building like a slow-burning fire.

Then, he exhales sharply, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he lets out a deep, frustrated groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, his grip on your waist flexing like he’s resisting the urge to just ignore it altogether.

You, on the other hand, are biting back a grin. “Ji-yong,” you say, feigning innocence, “I think something’s burning.”

His fingers tighten just slightly before he finally pulls back, shooting a glare toward the kitchen timer like it personally offended him.

“I hate that thing,” he deadpans, jaw clenching as he forces himself to step away from you.

You laugh, still breathless, but can’t help the way your lips curve in satisfaction. “You were the one who insisted on cooking.”

His eyes darken again instantly, and suddenly, you realize teasing him right now might be dangerous. He lets out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders back like he’s trying to shake off the tension that had just settled so thickly between you. His jaw is still tight, and you don’t miss the way his fingers flex before he finally forces himself to step away.

“You’re lucky I care about feeding you,” he mutters, tossing a glance your way as he checks on the food.

You cross your arms, watching the way his back muscles shift under his shirt as he moves around the kitchen. It’s almost unfair—even when he’s frustrated, he looks good enough to ruin you.

“I don’t know,” you muse, leaning against the counter. “Seemed like you cared about something else a lot more just now.”

Ji-yong pauses. For a moment, he just stands there, hands braced against the counter, before he slowly—so slowly—turns to face you again.

“Oh?” His voice is deceptively light, but his gaze? Dangerous. “Are you saying you’d rather skip dinner?”

“Didn’t say that.”

He hums, his eyes still too intense as he starts plating the food. “Good,” he murmurs, sliding a plate in front of you before leaning in just slightly. “Because you’re gonna need the energy later.”

Your stomach flips, and you hate how easily he turns the tables back on you. He grins, knowing exactly what he’s doing, before grabbing his own plate and nodding toward the dining table. “C’mon, aein. Let’s eat.”

You exhale, trying to calm the warmth in your cheeks, before following him.

He lights a few candles, their soft glow casting warm flickers of light across the sleek tabletop. The ambient dimness makes the setting feel far too intimate, like something straight out of a private five-star restaurant. He places the plates down with precision, adjusting them like an artist perfecting his masterpiece. A bottle of expensive wine appears next, because of course he has that on hand, followed by two glasses that catch the light just right. He even adds a small vase with a single rose—a dramatic touch, but so undeniably him. When he finally steps back, admiring his work, he catches you staring and smirks. “What?” he teases, tilting his head. “Didn’t think I’d put in the effort?”

Your gaze flickers back to Ji-yong, who’s watching you with that infuriatingly smug expression, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“I just…” You trail off, lips parting slightly as you glance at the setup again. “I wasn’t expecting all this.”

He leans casually against the chair, his smirk only growing. “You wound me, aein,” he sighs dramatically. “Do you really think I’d invite you over for dinner and not make it perfect?”

“Perfect, huh?”

He shrugs, stepping closer—too close. “Well,” he murmurs, eyes glinting as he reaches for the wine, “it’ll be perfect once you sit down and let me pour you a drink.”

You finally sink into your chair, still feeling a little dazed from how effortlessly Jiyong managed to make this dinner feel so special. He pours you a glass of wine first, his fingers steady and graceful, before taking his own seat across from you. For a moment, there’s a comfortable silence. The soft glow of the candles flickers between you, casting shadows over his sharp features. He watches you as you take the first bite, eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

“Well?” He asks, resting his chin on his palm, waiting for your reaction.

You pretend to consider, chewing slowly as if deep in thought.

His eyes narrow. “Don’t even—”

Before he can finish, you let out a dramatic sigh, setting your fork down. “I guess it’s okay…”

Ji-yong scoffs, rolling his eyes, but there’s amusement flickering behind them. “You’re such a brat,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Give me that.”

Before you can stop him, he reaches across the table with his own fork, stealing a bite from your plate. His expression shifts almost immediately—satisfaction mixed with pure smugness.

“Yeah,” he hums, chewing slowly. “Tastes like perfection. Just like I thought.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small, genuine smile tugging at your lips. “You really know how to fish for compliments, huh?”

He tilts his head, a lazy grin forming. “I don’t need to fish for them. I already know I’m amazing.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

But as you glance around the table—the candles flickering, the way he watches you between bites, the small, intimate details he put into everything—you realize something: he didn’t have to do all this. When it comes to showing his love for you, Ji-yong loves extravagance, sure, but this dinner? This was different. This wasn’t for show. This wasn’t for anyone else. This was for you.

Your heart softens, and without thinking, you murmur, “Thank you, Ji.”

He pauses mid-bite, blinking at you like he wasn’t expecting that. “For what?”

You shrug, nudging a piece of food around your plate. “For this. For making it special.”

His smirk falters for just a second before something warmer takes its place. He leans back in his chair, watching you closely, his teasing tone now laced with something softer.

“Of course, aein,” he murmurs, lips quivering. “You deserve it.”

And just like that, your heart is completely gone.

Dinner continues at a slow, unhurried pace, both of you enjoying the food and each other’s company. The teasing ebbs into easy conversation, laughter spilling effortlessly between bites, and for a while, it’s just… nice. Comfortable. Like the world outside doesn’t exist. He watches you fondly as you take another bite, his elbow resting on the table, chin propped up on his hand. He’s been staring at you like that for a while now—like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“What?” you ask, lips twitching as you meet his gaze.

“Nothing,” he says, swirling his wine glass lazily. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How cute you look when you’re enjoying your food.”

A flush creeps up your neck before you can stop it. “Oh my god, Jiyong—”

He grins, setting his glass down. “What? It’s true.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table as his voice drops just slightly, just enough to make your stomach flip. “You make the smallest happy noises when you like something. It’s adorable.”

Your mouth opens—ready to argue, ready to defend yourself—but then you realize you can’t even deny it. He must’ve been paying such close attention to notice that. And that realization? It makes your heart ache in the best way.

You clear your throat, playing with the stem of your glass just to avoid looking directly at him. “You notice too much.”

Jiyong exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I just notice you.”

The words settle between you, gentle but weighted, sinking in like warmth spreading through your chest. There’s no teasing in his voice this time. Just honesty. That’s more dangerous than any flirtation. For a moment, you just look at him—this man who could have anyone, who could be anywhere, but right now, he’s here. With you. Watching you like you’re the only thing worth paying attention to.

“…You’re not so bad yourself, you know,” you finally murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He starts grinning as if he had just won something. “Oh, I know.”

“Unbelievable.” You groan, tossing a napkin at him.

But even as you shake your head, you can’t stop the softness creeping into your smile. By the time dinner winds down, you feel light, warm, and completely at ease. The teasing has softened into something quieter, something closer, as you sit across from Jiyong in the glow of candlelight, your empty plates long forgotten.

Ji-yong finishes the last sip of his wine, then sets his glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Not bad for a home-cooked meal, right?”

You tilt your head, pretending to consider. “Mmm… I guess you can keep your title as a decent chef.”

He scoffs, clearly unimpressed by your lack of enthusiasm. “Decent?” He stands, making his way over to you, his smirk lazy but his eyes holding something softer. “Jagiya, you practically moaned over that food.”

Your jaw drops. “I did not—”

He laughs, reaching out to take your hand. “Come on,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, quieter. “I have something else planned.”

Before you can ask what, he tugs you up from your seat, guiding you toward the spacious living area. The city skyline stretches out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a breathtaking backdrop to the moment. But it’s not what captures your attention. It’s the way he holds your hand so naturally, like he was always meant to.

“What are we doing?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Dancing.”

He reaches for a remote and clicks a button. Within seconds, soft, slow music fills the space, blending seamlessly into the ambience of the night.

Your breath catches slightly. “You planned this?”

Ji-yong’s fingers thread through yours, his other hand settling lightly at your waist. His touch is warm, steady—so sure of itself, like he’s been waiting for this.

“I told you,” he murmurs, leading you into an easy sway. “I wanted tonight to be perfect.”

Your heart stumbles, warmth spreading through your chest like honey. How does he do this? How does he make you melt with just a few words?

“You’re so dramatic,” you tease, but your voice is softer now, barely above a whisper.

He grins, pulling you just a little closer. “And you love it.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t deny it because right now, wrapped up in his arms, your bodies moving in slow rhythm beneath the dim glow of the penthouse lights, you can’t remember a time when you felt this safe. And when Jiyong’s hand slides up your back, his touch gentle but grounding, you know—you don’t want this night to end.

His grip on your hand tightens just slightly before he lifts it, guiding you into a slow, effortless twirl. You let yourself spin under his touch, the motion making the hem of your outfit shift slightly, your hair catching the light just right. For that brief moment, everything feels weightless—dreamlike. But when you turn back to face him, you catch the way he’s looking at you. His gaze roams over you slowly, deliberately, like he has every intention of memorizing you. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips, his dark eyes drinking in every single detail as if seeing you for the first time.

Warmth rushes to your face as you clear your throat, shifting slightly under his stare. “What?” you ask, trying—and failing—to sound unaffected.

He tilts his head, amusement flickering in his expression as he tugs you closer again, resuming your slow sway. His voice drops, low and utterly sincere.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches. Not cute. Not pretty. Beautiful. And the way he says it—so effortlessly, like it’s just a fact—makes your heart stumble.

“Getting shy, are we?”

You groan, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “You are so—”

“Charming? Handsome? Completely smitten with you?”

You huff, looking away, but that only makes him grin wider. And then, in a move that’s entirely unfair, he leans in, his lips brushing just beneath your ear as he murmurs, “Don’t look away. I meant it.”

Your stomach flips.

Oh, he’s serious. So serious.

He pulls back just enough to look at you again, his expression warm, unreadable, and maybe even a little too tender. His hand lifts, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a touch so gentle it nearly undoes you.

"You should hear it more often," he muses, voice low and honeyed.

Your lips part, but no words come out—because how are you supposed to respond when he says things like that?

He watches your reaction, his teasing smile softening. His arms tighten around you as he spins you playfully again, stealing another lingering glance before pulling you back into him. His gaze is nothing short of adoring.

The soft melody still lingers in the air, but you stop moving first.

Ji-yong’s brow lifts as you take a step back, though his grip on your waist tightens, like he’s not ready to let you go. His lips curl. “What, done with me already?”

You grin, tilting your head. “Maybe.”

His smirk falters. Just slightly. You take advantage of the moment, slipping from his hold to retrieve something from where you’d hidden it earlier. You don’t miss the way his eyes follow you.

“Relax, I’m not leaving,” you tease, casting him a glance over your shoulder. “I just have something for you.”

When you turn back, holding a small, neatly wrapped box, Jiyong looks genuinely surprised. His gaze flickers between the gift and your face, and for once, he seems… speechless.

“You got me something?” He finally asks, like the idea never occurred to him.

You smirk, stepping closer. Close enough that he has no choice but to focus on you.

“Of course,” you murmur, trailing a finger down the front of his shirt, just to see his reaction. “What kind of partner would I be if I didn’t?”

Jiyong inhales, but his smirk returns—a little slower this time. “That’s what I normally say.”

“Not anymore.” You grin, pressing the box into his hands. “Now, open it.”

He watches you for a second longer, like he’s trying to figure out what game you’re playing. Then, finally, he pulls at the ribbon and lifts the lid.

The moment he sees what’s inside, his smirk fades.

The bracelet inside is sleek, but there’s a personal touch—a custom engraving on the inside. Jiyong’s thumb drags over it, his eyes lingering.

“You really know me, huh?” His voice is softer now.

“Obviously.”

His gaze snaps back to yours immediately. This time, there’s something different—an intensity that wasn’t there a second ago. For the first time tonight, you feel like you have him cornered. Slowly, you reach for his wrist, lifting it between both of yours. “Here,” you murmur. “Let me put it on for you.”

His fingers twitch slightly when your fingertips brush against his skin. You don’t rush. Instead, you take your time. He exhales slowly as you fasten the clasp, his usual teasing nowhere to be found. His gaze stays locked on your face, but there’s a flicker of something else. Something like anticipation. Restraint.

“You’re quiet.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Am I?”

“Mmhmm.” You run your fingers over his wrist deliberately, letting your touch linger. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

His jaw tenses. Oh, this is fun.

You let your fingers trace the bracelet just a little longer than necessary, then glance up at him through your lashes. You can see it now—the tiniest hint of pink dusting his ears. He knows what you’re doing. And he can’t stop it. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his voice coming out a little rougher than before. “You’re playing with fire, aein.”

You smile innocently. “I have no idea what you mean.”

His gaze darkens—and just like that, the shift happens. His fingers catch your wrist mid-movement, grip firm but careful. His smirk is back, a little lazier now, a little more dangerous. “You think you can tease me?” he murmurs, tilting his head. His thumb brushes against your pulse point, slow and deliberate. “That’s cute.”

Your breath hitches—not because of his words, but because of the way he says them. He steps closer.

“I should give you something too,” he muses. His grip doesn’t loosen. “Something to match.”

Your brows furrow, but before you can even question it, he releases you and disappears into the other room.

And when he returns, dangling from his fingertips, is a delicate necklace.

The necklace swings in Jiyong’s hand, glinting with the soft lighting as he holds it just out of reach. There’s a predatory look in his eyes, the glimmer of amusement dancing across his features as he teases you.

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, your voice playful but filled with challenge. “You really think I’m just going to beg for this?”

His smile widens, his gaze darkening slightly. “I don’t think you will. I know you will.” His voice drops an octave, dripping with confidence as he steps closer.

You refuse to back down, crossing your arms, determination flooding your veins. “I’m not begging.”

“Oh, but you will,” he murmurs, stepping closer. There’s a dangerous edge to his voice now, though the smile never fades. “You’ll ask. In your own way.”

You scoff, but there’s a flutter in your chest, excitement mixing with the heat he’s radiating. “You’re not getting ‘nice’ from me.”

The corner of his mouth tilts upward, a silent challenge flickering in his gaze. “We’ll see about that.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into his chest in one swift motion, your back hitting him hard as he spins you around. You gasp, slightly disoriented, but you’re quickly steadied by his hands on your waist. You try to steady yourself, trying to resist the pull of his magnetic presence. “I’m not begging.”

Ji-yong’s lips brush against your ear, his voice low. “You don’t have to beg, but you do need to ask. Nicely.”

He’s testing you, pushing your limits with every word. The coolness of the necklace rests in his hand, so close you can practically taste it. But he doesn’t make a move to put it on you just yet. Instead, he slides the necklace slowly between his fingers, watching you with that quiet intensity. His lips graze your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You’re fighting to maintain control, to keep your composure, but it’s hard with the way he’s acting.

“You know, princess,” he whispers softly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “you’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

You try to focus, but his hands slide down your arms, slow, deliberate, every touch purposeful. He leans in, his lips just barely grazing the back of your neck as he savors the moment, lingering for far longer than necessary.

“I’m not begging,” you murmur, but the words are shaky now, losing their strength.

He laughs, soft and rich, a sound full of dark amusement. He moves back slightly, and for a moment, there’s nothing but silence between you two. You try to take a deep breath, but he takes his time, the necklace still dangling loosely from his fingers. Every second feels like an eternity as he looks you over—taking you in, analyzing you.

“Say please,” he demands suddenly, his voice cool and commanding, forcing you to look at him. You try to hold your ground, but the way he’s looking at you—like he’s already won—makes it impossible. His eyes flash darkly as he leans in again, his lips grazing your skin with a lingering kiss along your neck. The warmth of his breath makes your pulse quicken. The tension between you two only grows thicker, more suffocating, until you can’t keep your composure anymore. You shiver slightly, trying to breathe through the moment.

Finally, unable to stand the pressure any longer, you whisper it: “Please, Ji-yong.”

The second the word leaves your lips, his hand moves, quick and sure, as he slides the necklace around your neck. The cool metal is the only thing that cools the fire spreading through your veins. But even after he places the necklace carefully around your throat, his fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary. He adjusts the chain slowly, his fingertips grazing your skin with each touch, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

The way he looks at you now—the satisfaction in his gaze—is almost enough to make you forget everything else.

“Good.” He looks down at you, eyes dark with desire, lips curling just enough to show the power he’s taken from you. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

As he waits for your response, his eyes still locked on yours, you can’t help but smile, your fingers gently brushing over the delicate chain of the necklace he just put on you. The way the soft sparkle catches the light makes you pause, admiring how it fits perfectly around your neck, just like it was made for you.

You tilt your head slightly, your fingers lightly grazing the pendant as you gaze up at him. "You know," you start, your voice soft and filled with admiration, "I can’t stop looking at it."

He watches you, clearly intrigued. "Yeah? You like it?" His voice carries a hint of pride, but there’s something vulnerable in his eyes, too. It’s like he’s hoping you truly appreciate it.

You smile, your fingers gently tracing the necklace, and your eyes lift to meet his. "I love it," you say, your voice warm, sincere. "You really know how to pick the perfect gift."

Ji-yong's gaze softens, his earlier teasing gone as he watches you with a fond expression. "I’m glad," he murmurs, stepping a little closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. "It’s all for you, princess."

For a moment, you both just stand there, the sweet sincerity of the moment filling the space between you. The tension from before fades away, replaced by something softer, more intimate. You catch his eyes again, a small smile on your lips, feeling the weight of the gift and the gesture behind it settle in. You then continue to gaze at the necklace, your fingers tracing its smooth, delicate pendant as you let out a soft sigh. The way it catches the light only seems to make it more beautiful, but it’s not just the gift that’s leaving you speechless—it’s the gesture, the care behind it, and the way Ji-yong’s eyes are locked onto you, full of affection.

"It’s perfect," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as you lift your gaze to meet his. You’re so focused on the warmth in his eyes, the way he’s watching you, that it’s almost like everything else disappears for a moment.

He steps closer, his hand gently brushing against your cheek as he leans in to kiss you softly. It’s tender, almost too gentle for the electric tension building between you. You can feel the heat of his body pressing into yours, and when he pulls back, his voice is low, almost growling with desire.

"You’re perfect," he murmurs, his lips hovering just above yours. "But I need you now."

Ji-yong doesn’t give you a moment to breathe. As soon as his words sink in, he’s on you again, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that sets your skin ablaze. His hands move with purpose, gripping your waist, pulling you against him until there’s nothing left between you but heat. His kiss is demanding, his tongue sweeping past your lips as he takes everything you’re willing to give—and more.

A soft gasp escapes you as he presses you back against the nearest wall, his body molding to yours, his hands roaming your curves like he can’t stand a single inch of space between you. One hand cups your jaw, angling your face so he can deepen the kiss, while the other slides down, gripping your hip before tugging your thigh up against his. The sheer need in the way he holds you, in the way his fingers dig in just enough to make you gasp, sets your pulse racing.

His kisses grow more urgent, more desperate, as though he’s trying to drown himself in you. He pulls away for just a second, his breath warm against your lips, his eyes dark and full of heat as they flicker over your face. Then he’s back again, kissing you harder, deeper, as if he never wants to stop. His fingers tangle into your hair, tugging just enough to send a sharp thrill down your spine, and the sound you make has him groaning against your mouth.

"You're driving me crazy," he murmurs between kisses, his voice low and rough. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

“I could say the same about you,” you whisper back, no longer being able to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. You try to squeeze your thighs together for some sort of friction, and he notices. Of course he does.

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah—”

“Good. Because I’m craving something much sweeter.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @petersasteri

[captivating-flavors]

enough | sylus

pairing: sylus x non mc reader

prompt: -

summary: you wanted your love to be enough.

words: 1,399

warning(s): angst, mentions of death

a/n: inspired by rereading the limerence/carpe noctem series by @comatosebunny09 but i havent written anything in like 4-5 years so sorry if its bad :3

“Boss ran out hours ago and has been awol since.”

You knew exactly where he was the moment Luke called you almost an hour ago. You immediately grabbed your keys and sped over. The trip usually took you forty-five minutes but it was taking you longer today, since it was raining and the roads were slippery.

This was the second time this week and this was what he usually does around this time of the year anyway. Her birthday was coming up and this is what he always does within the weeks leading up to her birthday and after. It’s been two years since her death and you knew that he still blames himself for it.

“It’s my fault she’s gone. I couldn’t save her.”

You’d heard that line countless of times and every time you did the pain cuts through you just the same, but as time went on it became a different kind pain. At first, it was the pain of losing one of your close friends. But as your relationship with him progressed, it became the pain of knowing that you could never even come close to her in his eyes.

You first met Sylus when you were working as a bartender in one of the largest bars in the N109 Zone. You were being harassed and he was about to step in when he thought it was going to get out of hand, but you practically broke the guy’s arm in two places. He saw potential in you as a fighter and wanted to take you under his wing, as somewhat of a partner, someone who could act as a backup and accompany him to the dangerous meetings he frequents. So, he tried to recruit you.

“Sorry, but I’m perfectly content with my current job.” And that was the truth, it was the most well-paying job you had and the benefits were quite generous.

“I’m not asking you to quit your day job, sweetie. I’m simply offering you a… freelance gig, if you will. And don’t worry, I’ll train you and reward you handsomely for your assistance.”

That was how you first got entangled with him, five years ago. You thought that there was no harm in having a side gig, so you agreed to have him train you in his private gym three times a week until he deemed you ready for the missions, as he would often call them.

Somewhere along the way, between the missions, the training sessions and the banters, you found yourself slowly falling for him. The smiles, the flirting, the gifts and the heartwarming words he’d say to you every time you made an improvement during training or when you managed to finish the mission well, the attentiveness, who could ever not fall for that. You never said a word, of course, too scared to ruin the seemingly perfect partner dynamic you’ve got going on.

Two years into being his mission partner, you found yourself slowly getting replaced by her. She was better than you as a mission partner, even you had to admit that. She’s had her hunter training and her evol, there was nothing you could do to ever match up to that.

You’d still hung around the base a lot, and he’d still have you help with menial things here and there, but every time there was a mission he would always take her instead. Every time you went to the base, she was always there. Due to that, you got to know her. She was so bright, bubbly and smart that you instantly felt drawn to her. The two of you became even closer upon knowing that both of your families had been lost to unsolved explosive accidents.

But being around the base a lot also made you aware of other things, like the way he would stare at her with those eyes every time she talks animatedly about something that happened during work. The way he would gently smile and kiss her head every time she falls asleep on the couch, before carrying her to his bedroom.

Even though you knew him first, it hurt to see that she was the one able to evoke such gentle, tender, loving side out of him. But he seemed happier with her, and there was nothing you could do about it. You knew your place, so you backed out, created space, found other things to work on to keep yourself busy. You’d still come over and hung out with them and the twins, but just not as often.

A year into it, the two of them walked into an ambush. It was never supposed to be an easy one, but it wasn’t supposed to be hard either. The people of the N109 Zone were never above playing dirty and so they had a sniper five buildings away. The shot was meant for Sylus, but something went wrong on both parties’ calculations, and it ended up hitting her instead.

At first you only wanted to be there for him, comfort him. Do anything to make him feel better. You honestly never intended to get into bed with him, but you did. It hurt you to have him call you by her name as you did it but you’d do anything to help him. You stupidly thought that it could be a win-win solution, as you could make him feel better and also have him closer to you.

But deep down you knew. You knew you were only a placeholder for her. The both of you had similar hair, eye color and build. You knew the reason why he entangled himself with you was because you reminded him of her. Even though you knew, you still fell for it, digging the hole deeper for yourself. Like an idiot. You knew he couldn’t–wouldn’t–ever reciprocate your feelings, but you still genuinely cared for him. Hence, why you have been putting up with this for a year and a half.

You got out of the car and ran past the cemetery gates. You’ve traversed through these grounds countless of times, so the rain and darkness of the night was not an issue. You soon found him in the exact spot you knew he would be at. You stood in front of his sitting form, holding out the umbrella over him, looking down at him and it just breaks your heart knowing that he’s still in agony even after all these times and that there’s nothing you can do to help him ease his pain.

“Sylus.”

He had his back to the side of her tombstone, unmoving. He barely glanced at you.

“…”

“It’s raining. We should head back.”

“…”

“Come on, let’s get you in the car.” You said as you grabbed his arm, in an effort to pull him up and towards the car.

Surprisingly, today he silently complied, unlike when you also had to do this two days ago. The moment he was up and leaning over to you, you could clearly smell the alcohol on him.

‘No wonder he’s being compliant this time,’ You thought to yourself.

You walked the both of you towards the car and put him in the passenger’s seat before closing the door and moving over to the other side of the car, taking the driver’s seat. The both of you were drenched, so you grabbed the towels you’ve stashed on your backseat and handed one over to him with one hand, as you were drying your hair with the other.

“Here. You’ll catch a cold.” Seeing as he still wasn’t responding, you draped it over his head. He weakly raises his hand and starts to rub the towel over his wet head of hair.

“… I miss her.”

“I know. Me too, Sylus. Me too.”

You started the engine and drove straight to base. The drive went on without him saying anything else and the moment you guys arrived, you realized Sylus had fallen asleep, so you had Luke and Kieran help you get him to his room, where you changed him out of his wet clothes before tucking him in. You brushed a stray strand of hair away from his sleeping face and took a seat on the side of his bed, still caressing his soft head of hair.

“I love you, Sylus. I wish that was enough to help you.”

[lila-dalilah]

SPECIAL I

S2!sevika x chubby!reader

3.2k words

Contents: Masturbating (short), Sevika being a horny fuck, mentions of drinking and smoking weed, mentions of age gap, reader as body hair (?), kind of slow burn.

Summary: Sevika meets you at a dingy bar and can’t get your body out of her mind.

A.N: I wrote this because I’m at the motherland (🇩🇴) and my partner isn’t, so i’m horny and touch starved as fuck. This is the first time I put this much time and effort into writing fanfiction. Originally it was wayyy longer but I wanted to split it up and see how this performs first. Honestly not much happens, just Sevika being down bad. Also, I’m trying something new with the way I make my posts but idk if it’s prettier this way. Anyways, enjoy!

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MINORS AND MEN DNI

Rock Bottom was a dingy, hole-in-the-wall type of place that had once been the hot spot in Zaun. Now, it was filled by empty stools and wobbly tables. The lights would flicker from time to time, some bulbs giving out before the end of the night.

Sevika and Miguel sat in their usual spot, just as they had done for years. Their families had always been very close, and they had known each other since childhood. When Rock Bottom was in its prime, they would drink themselves stupid on the cheapest booze they could get their hands on. Now, instead of dancing and trying to pick up one night stands, they sat and reminisced about their youngest years. The loud music and chatter were gone, substituted by an almost heavy silence only interrupted by the occasional clanking of glasses or muffled conversations.

Sevika had already downed a drink before Miguel arrived. She had been desperate to meet up with him. Miguel seemed to be the only constant in her life. The new weight on her shoulders was suffocating. Sevika felt responsible for continuing Silco’s legacy while also taking care of Jinx, who had taken in a kid herself somehow. Neither of those tasks were easy to accomplish.

Those who had once been partners seemed to be turning on her one by one, and she felt the need to always keep an eye on the girls. Jinx seemed to be dealing with things fairly well, but after so many years Sevika knew better. There was always calm before the storm. She was always in high alert, waiting for something to go wrong, which happened more often than she’d liked.

On top of that, Sevika had just started getting used to the new mechanical arm that Jinx had built for her. Some everyday tasks, like holding a glass or opening a door, proved to be very difficult now. She had broken at least half a dozen of glasses in the past two weeks either from squezimg them to hard or not gripping them tightly enough. Sevika had been forcing herself to use her right hand, which felt clumsy after not being used for so long. Still, it was the safer option.

Sevika grabbed the half full glass of whiskey with her non-dominant hand and downed it all at once. She could feel the alcohol burning its way down, hoping that it would drown out everything else, at least for a bit.

“If these walls could talk…”said Miguel, recalling all the anecdotes that had taken place there.

Sevika barely heard him, her eyes fixated on you. You were wearing a short, form fitting dress that hugged every curve. When you walked, your whole body jiggled.

In Zaun, being big was almost a sign of wealth. It meant you had enough to eat well. Sevika took pride in her body, for her it showed how far she had come. She could afford to eat well enough to maintain her muscles.

Sevika also loved the contrast of being with someone softer, the feeling of their plush curves against her angular and solid body. Sevika could almost imagine how you would feel on top of her, your soft thighs pressing her sides, your belly and breasts on full display. She wanted to run her hands through every inch of your body, using your rolls to pull you closer and closer.

Sevika almost startled herself has those thoughts ran through her mind. She had too many things on her mind, sex or arousal hadn’t been a priority for a while. Her libido had always been high, but her schedule had been too tight as of late to accommodate it.

Sevika spent her days at work and her nights with Jinx and Isha, who, after much insistence, had practically moved into Sevika’s place, staying over at least three times a week. In an effort to keep Isha away from danger, Sevika took it upon herself to look after her while Jinx worked on new projects. Most nights, she was exhausted, her back aching more often than not. If she had any energy left in her, Sevika would try to catch up with friends or go for a drink with other associates, not because she enjoyed it, but because she wanted to stay informed.

She hadn’t visited the brothel in about a month. Now that everything had settled a bit, Sevika had started to feel the effects of her unintentional abstinence. The sight of you reawakened a hunger that had been missing for a while.

You approached Miguel from the side, wide smile across your face. You placed a hand on the table, leaning slightly forward, towards Miguel. Sevika started at your cleavage, noticing any subtle movement of your breast while you greeted Miguel.

“Damn, didn’t expect to see you here”Miguel said cheerfully ”come, have a drink with us”

“I’d love to, but I’m all out of cash for the night”you said”Just wanted to say hi”

“Come on”insisted Miguel”One more round won’t ruin you!”

“Seriously, I can’t”you said, shaking your head from side to side.

Sevika couldn’t pull her eyes away from your body. It just had something special, magnetic. It was almost like an instinct. She wanted to have you. No reason or hesitation. You hadn’t noticed her yet, too caught up giggling as Miguel tried to convince you to stay.

“Next round’s on me”said Sevika, her voice directed at you for the first time.

Her voice caught you off guard. You knew who she was, who wouldn’t? She was Silco’s right hand back when he was running things. Now, with him gone, she had taken over, hand in hand with his daughter. Miguel had talked to you about her, mostly when telling you stories about his youth. She seemed to be in all of them. You had heard how she could take down multiple men as if it was nothing, or break chairs in half as if they were made of twigs. You thought she was probably the coolest woman of all of Zaun.

“Have a seat”said Sevika.

And with that, you moved to sit down at Miguel’s other side, just in front of her. She followed the movement of your hips as you took a seat. Sevika tried to get a peek at your thighs discreetly, barely resisting the urge to stare . The way your dress rode up slightly while your thighs covered the whole chair made her heart go slightly faster. Further up, she noticed the soft curve of your belly, round and inviting, the kind of place Sevika would love to rest her head on. She imagined having her hands around your belly, her nails almost digging into your flesh while you were on top of her. Sevika forced her gaze towards your face, pushing those thoughts away. You smiled softly when she made eye contact, making her heart stutter.

Sevika tried to play it cool, stealing glances at you from time to time. Beneath her poker face, Sevika was almost jittery. The way your body shook with laughter, how your lips wrapped around the rim of the glass every time you took a sip, the sweetness of your voice. All of it was messing with her head, the lust your body created overcoming most of her brainpower. She was silent for most of the conversation, adding some comments here and there. Sevika hated how easily her mind slipped into desire around your body. You weren’t doing anything special, yet her imagination was spinning out of control.

“You know, JJ told me he has some good new stuff. He’s coming over later”you mentioned, then turned to Sevika”y’all can come by if you want”

“That sounds good”added Sevika, earning a strange look from Miguel.

“I heard it’s pretty strong, mixed with something exotic”commented Miguel.

Sevika knew that JJ’s “good new stuff” would be some kind of genetically modified strain of weed. He would try to manipulate the plant to get stronger, better weed as a hobby, chasing the perfect high. Sevika didn’t smoke weed anymore, hadn’t for more than a decade. She just consumed shimmer now, and Miguel knew it. Still, she was intrigued by you, not the weed. Something about you made her want to linger, even if your presence made her feel like a fool for staring. Sevika wanted more time with you.

It didn’t take long for you to leave. You thanked Sevika for the drinks and said goodbye before getting up, showing her your smile one last time. Sevika’s eyes were fixated on your has you walked away. The way your wide hips moved from side to side with every step and how you ass moved were just the last nail in the coffin. Sevika knew she needed you as she tightened her grip on the glass.

You were a bit flirty around Sevika because she was undeniably attractive, but you doubted she saw you the same way. You didn’t hate your looks, but you felt like you were nothing to write home about, just average. Sevika probably had multiple women throwing themselves at her already. You didn’t think you would stand out. Still, Sevika seemed interesting and a good friend from what Miguel had told you, albeit a bit more reserved than you had expected.

“So… how do you know her?”asked Sevika once you had exited the building.

“We used to be coworkers”Miguel answered.

“Coworkers, uh…”Sevika repeated absent minded.

“You fancy her, don’t you?”

That question caught Sevika off guard, pausing mid sip. Had she been that obvious?

“I mean, she’s just your type”added Miguel, watching her reaction.

“I don’t have a type”Sevika scoffed.

Sevika had been with a lot of women before. Tall, short, big, small, light skinned, dark skinned, long hair, short hair, hybrid. She had been with all kinds of woman, but her preference remained. Bigger women always caught her eye first. Sevika wouldn’t brush off the smaller women that hit on her, but she wouldn’t go up to them either. Still, Miguel didn’t need to know that.

“Whatever”Miguel said, taking a sip” you haven’t smoked weed in, what, 15 years? but she brings it up and all of a sudden it sounds good?”

Miguel had a sly grin across his face. He enjoyed teasing Sevika. She stayed silent for a bit because Miguel was right. She didn’t have a good comeback. Sevika exhaled sharply, irritated.

“She and JJ are nice, that’s all”Sevika said.

“Sure thing”said Miguel, shiteating grin still imprinted on his face.

On the way to your place, Sevika was unusually restless, thoughts and heart racing. She wasn’t used to feeling that way, nor did she like it.

When Sevika and Miguel arrived, the room was filled with smoke, all windows closed. The scent was trapped, pungent, yet pleasant, slightly sweeter than usual. With the celling light off, the living room was illuminated by a few candles and a lamp. JJ lounged on the armchair while you were sat on a tiny couch in front of him, passing the joint back and forth. The coffee table between you was cluttered. A few lighters, a pack of filters, a pack of rolling papers, a grinder. And in the center a big, round bowl full of dried, pinkish leaves, JJ’s new project.

You smiled as Sevika sat by your side, your eyes redder than before.

“Here, glad you could make it” you said handing Sevika the blunt.

During the night, Sevika watched you with no caution. You figured she was zoning out, after all, JJ’s batch had turned out to be very strong. She had complimented your necklace and earrings earlier, so you didn’t think anything of her looking in that general direction.

But really, Sevika was taking in every detail of your lips and your neck, taking full advantage of her closeness. Her eyes fixated on your lips while you took a drag, the tip of the joint glowing, a faint stain of lipstick left around the filter. Then you would exhale, shaping your lips into an “O” that made them look plumper as the smoke dissipated around you.

Further down, your neck was adorned with a necklace that once shone, but had since adopted a dull, spotty pinkish color. Real silver or gold was expensive, so you just settled for what you could get. Sevika felt the urge to change that. Someone as beautiful as you deserved jewelry that wouldn’t tarnish, something that would last.

You weren’t the most discreet either. You knew she was older, around Miguel’s age, but that didn’t deter you that night. Alcohol and weed made you frisky on their own, together they made you downright horny. Having a woman like Sevika near you wasn’t helping the situation.

For all you knew, Sevika was the type to be bold, going after what she wanted. If she found you attractive, she probably would have made a move by now, right?. Still, you leaned on her more than you would with others, your legs touching hers and your hand going on her bicep every time you laughed. With each touch, Sevika would almost stop breathing, tensing up a bit under your hand. She wasn’t fond of physical affection for the most part, but yours was different. Nobody had really touched her like that in a long time. Sevika was surprised to find that she didn’t mind it, even liked it.

Your eyes kept drifting to her metallic arm . It was a big, probably heavy, metal structure covered in doodles. Sevika didn’t seem like the type to decorate things in that way, but Jinx and Isha were. Isha had taken to doodling in Sevika’s arm when she took it off or was distracted. Sevika would act grumpy when she caught the little girl in the act, but her heart melted looking at every little thing drawn on it and she wore it with pride. And, when Jinx repaired or updated Sevika’s arm, it would come back with at least one new drawing around it.

As you adjusted your position to get more comfortable, Sevika couldn’t help but look at your thighs. By that point you were fairly intoxicated, your moves a bit messy. She just kept staring as your dress rode up, showing a few centimeters of your plain grey underwear, dark, short hairs peeking through the sides. It was barely anything, but she felt the heat raising up. Sdvika clenched her jaw, forcing her eyes away from you. She felt worse than a fucking perv, getting riled up over just that. But she couldn’t help herself. She wondered how soft your pussy would be, probably as soft as the rest of you. Her eyes went back for a second peek. The thought of burying her head in between your thighs made her clear her throat.

Then you leaned into her, resting your head on her shoulder as if it were natural. Sevika hesitated for a few seconds before wrapping her flesh arm around your shoulders. She knew nothing smart would come out of her mouth that far into the night, so she let the gesture speak for itself. Miguel flashed her a slight, knowing smile. Sevika ignored him, instead running her fingers up and down your soft upper arm, waiting to see your reaction.

You weren’t really paying attention, your eyes closing every couple of minutes because it felt just right, as if you were meant to do it. It was just so pleasant that you drifted off to sleep without even noticing. Sevika only noticed when Miguel and JJ started talking in a softer voice. She had been too busy thinking about what she would say or do to you based on your reaction to notice that your breathing got heavier, faint snores coming out of your mouth. Soon enough, Miguel made up some flimsy excuse for him and JJ to leave. It was just the two of you now.

Sevika tried to stay as still as possible, not wanting to wake you up. Her heart was going way too fast for no good reason. She just had someone sleeping on her shoulder, no big deal. Except, it was you. Sevika just stared at your face. Eyes closed, mouth half open, chest raising and lowering rhythmically. You looked at peace, probably having a very deep sleep fueled by the drugs consumed. Sevika still didn’t know what her next move would be. Ultimately she just sat there, enjoying your warmth against her.

Eventually, Sevika had to go to the bathroom. She shifted slowly, trying to slip from under you without waking you. Sevika moved around you as if you were some kind of bomb that could detonate at any moment. As she finally got on her feet, a slight grin appeared on her face, almost proud for not waking you up. That dissipated the second Sevika came back into the living room to find you sitting up on the couch, groggy but awake. Sevika sighed softly, then explained where JJ and Miguel had gone. You only hummed, reaching towards the table.

“Guess I’ll roll another one for us, then”you said, matter or factly.

Sevika watched your hands while you rolled the joint slowly. Neither of you seemed to be in a hurry.

Sevika had been quiet for most of the night. You figured she was the type to listen rather than talk. You decided to take matters into your hands and just started asking her questions. She humored you, sharing stories about her childhood antics. In turn, you launched into your own memories. You would always ramble on and on when you were intoxicated, jumping between slightly related topics. After a while, you decided to call it a night. Sevika was exhausted by then, ready to crash into bed for a couple of hours before heading to work. Still, she didn’t mind staying over for a bit more. You weren’t just easy on the eyes, you were easy to be around.

Before Sevika walked out of your home, you hugged her, thanking her for coming over. Sevika almost blushed, caught off guard by your body pressing into hers. You squished her tightly, while she hesitated before just lightly patting your back and awkwardly wrapping her arms around you, stiff as a stick. On her way home, all she could think about was your touch. You, on the other hand, thought you had made her uncomfortable, maybe gotten too close for her comfort. After all, you had only known each other for a couple hours.

That night, your hug kept replaying on Sevika’s mind. She wished she could go back in time and tighten her arms around you, explore every inch of your body with her hands while kissing along your face and neck. Sevika needed to touch somebody and be touched again. It had been just way too long for her and your body was calling to her.

When her hand made its way down in between her legs, she was already wet. With a sigh, Sevika’s fingers pressed against her clit and rubbed it with urgency while she closed her eyes, trying to remember every detail of your body. She imagined you on top of her face, feeling the pressure of your whole body weight in her while your thighs caged her in, heath and softness overwhelming her. Sevika whimpered, bitting her lower lip until she was finally relieved.

While she changed her sheets, an uncomfortable feeling washed over her. She felt ridiculous, like a horny teenager, getting off just thinking about your thighs and cleavage. As the embarrassment started to settle in, Sevika knew one thing for sure: you had something special.

[faiszt]

⠀⠀⭑⠀𝆬⠀⠀CLOSE ENOUGH:⠀✴⠀ r. cameron.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ minors do not interact.

PAIRING:⠀s2!rafe x stalker!reader.

†⠀⠀LISTEN TO:⠀close enough by ava morse.

wordcount: 3.7k⠀⠀|⠀⠀CONTAINS: ⠀ smut content. violent behavior. obsessive behavior. hard / strong language. drug mentions. kidnapping. face sitting. rough sex. slightly size kink. p in v. unprotected sex. dirty talk. face fucking & tits sucking.⠀ minors who interact with this will be blocked.

꒰ SILLY NOTES:⠀hi, sweets! i still don’t have a masterlist and stuff, i know, but i just really needed to write this. also, this is my first time writing a smut in my life, so... forgive me for any mistakes, i swear i'm trying and i’d be so happy if you could tell me what you think of it.⠀⠀⠀⠀(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) 💬 ♡

there were two perfect words to describe you from what rafe thought: kind and sweet. so sweet, the kind that made him stop and think ‘what hole did you crawl out of?’ well, in a honest answer, the hole you crawled out of was hell. this isn't a silly little joke, it's reality, your sweetness was the perfect counterpart to the kind of obsessive and insane devil you've become since the day you laid eyes on him.

it took rafe longer to figure this out than you had anticipated before starting this freak game between you.

if he needed someone lovely, you'd be her. if he needed someone gentle, you'd be her. but, if he needs someone as crazy and fucked up as he is? his lucky day, you were all of that without even having to hide it with cute clothes and a damsel in distress demeanor.

150 days that you knew him, 150 photos of him kept in the last drawer of your dresser, right under your panties like a stupid plan not very calculated, but existing. a photo a day that you wisely chose every time you followed him around like an abandoned puppy, finding out things about him and his life was part of the shameless fun.

and each time he accidentally noticed you, you acted as he expected you to act. a confused expression and a gentle smile, pretending you were doing anything that a weirdo would, acting like it was purely fate putting you in the same place as him. what kind of shitty fate was this? god could only be punishing you for putting you in each other's lives.

but, no siege was impossible to close, and eventually, the pieces fell right into place in his mind. too late, he was the little mouse that bit the cheese in the mousetrap.

not that his insanity had reached its limit—you were never any different from that—it was just something you wanted to do and felt he needed, given how much stress you'd watched him go through lately. it wasn't wrong, was it? it was just love, no matter how strange, violent, and intense.

just a little help, you wouldn't hurt him... you'd just show that you can take care of him as well as anyone else since no one would take care of him if not you. plus, in the meantime, he could taste his own medicine with someone just like him, or worse.

“what the...” his eyes opened with difficulty, a throbbing pain in his head and his body limp, tingling, almost struggling to move. a dimly lit room, definitely not his room, unless he had been drugged enough to forget how he got there—which was what it looked like. “that’s all i needed now.” rafe thought he was talking to himself.

until he notices you there, sitting in front of your desk, swinging your feet with only one side of the earphone in your left ear, scribbling something. how cute, he thought, not thinking really much about it and when he did, well, he knew he was so fucked.

hands tied to the headboard, he wouldn't even question how you managed to drag him there, but there he was, gagged on a girl's bed. he could kick you if you came near, if it weren't for the clear fact that you both knew he wouldn't do it, first 'cause he wasn't afraid of you, second 'cause he wanted to know how far you'd go.

honestly, if you didn't go all the way, he'd make you go all the way with him since you were the one who brought him here, you had to do something about it now.

“are you plannin’ to make me die here or just playin’ some insane weirdo game, princess?” he shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position—even though nothing felt comfortable when his wrists were gagged. he was just trying to get your attention. was it strange that he was finding this too interesting and appealing to simply want to run away?

you turned in your chair, taking the earphone out as you left your pencil on the table. his eyebrows slowly rose when he noticed you was you, the acting was good, he had to admit, not every girl who was into him would simply gag him in her bed like he was her own doll. it was confusing, arousing, a lot of things his mind was trying to think about.

“you looked stressed, i just wanted to make you relax.” you mumbled with a sweet, albeit fake, smile, still swinging your feet in the air. so handsome, you thought, watching him with his disheveled hair and looking so vulnerable to you. “are you relaxed, rafe? or you need me to help you again?” 'cause there wasn't a single thing you wouldn't do for him at this point.

your smile only made him let out a nasal laugh, looking away for a brief moment as he stared at the ceiling. “nice way to relax someone, huh?” he scoffed. “but, since you’re offering... i think i’d be more relaxed if you let my wrists go from that rope.” he tried to suggest, blue eyes looking at you again with a disguised pleading, as if he could actually convince you like that.

“you look better this way.” you grumbled, standing up and walking over to sit on the edge of your bed, his knee lightly brushing against you for a moment. “but, if you wanna leave, i’m not really stopping you. just say the word and we both pretend it never happened.”

“but, i don’t wanna pretend it didn't happen... and i don’t wanna leave either.” he wouldn't say it out loud, but secretly he thought you were kinda wimp. what? you just do all of it and brought him here to... well, nothing? no, no, he knew you could do better than that. “i want you to do what you wanna do, or have you bitten off more than you can chew? don’t tell me you’re that stupid, princess.”

for a man gagged in your bed, he sounded very confident and intimidating in every word. he wanted you to do it so badly, whatever the fuck you had in mind, 'cause it was turning him on to see you do this to him. “come on, you know you didn’t gagged me in your bed to let me leave.”

and, as expected, what he said had exactly the effect he wanted. in less than a minute, your legs were on either side of his hips, straddling him as he looked up at you with a smug little smirk, not caring about the darkness in your eyes. you looked hot like that, he didn't really care about the implications of fucking you without using his hands.

“you talk too much, cameron.”

“then, you should shut my mouth.”

the implication of his words had almost immediate consequences. you bent over him, hands on both sides of his head, pinning him even further into the mattress as you pressed your lips hard against his. there wasn't one percent of delicacy in that messy kiss, just hunger and desire and rafe noticed it, feeling his blood rush to his lower half.

he moaned softly against your lips as he returned the not-so-loving affection, letting your tongue invade his mouth as if he was completely at your mercy—and he, actually, was. not that rafe had ever agreed to be on the bottom very often, but if it ended with you riding him, then it was for a good cause.

when you had the urge to separate your lips from his, it was like being woken up from a trance, he didn't say anything and if his wrists weren't gagged, his hands would be saying something for him. he ran his tongue over his reddened lips, slightly swollen from the inner contact, as if he wanted to know if the remnants of your taste were still there.

“y’know,” rafe started talking after a few seconds, noticing how breathless you looked from just one kiss. it was kinda cute, he'd give you credit for that. “if i wasn’t gagged here, you’d already be face down in that pillow.” he said with such conviction that you had to roll your eyes, thrusting your hips down only to see his facade tremble at the small contact over your clothes.

“yeah, yeah, but you’re gagged and i’m on top.” you gave him a mocking smile, gently patting his cheek before grabbing his chin, making him look straight into your eyes. “and that’s a lose-lose, for you, not for me.”

“lose-lose? i don’t see it that way, sweetheart,” his blue eyes dropped downwards, indirectly giving you the message that it wasn't bad for him when you were the one straddling him in your bed on any given day. “i’m just wonderin’ when you’re actually gonna act beyond these boring little kisses and put that pussy to sit on somethin’.”

“you’re talking too much again, cameron.” you shook your head in disapproval, sighing deeply as you pretended to think about what you were going to do to him. “but, since you want me to do something and i want you to shut up...”

you let the words hang in the air as you got off his lap, standing in the corner taking off your shorts and panties quickly, but to rafe it looked more like you were doing it in slow motion. every second counted and he was already missing your weight against his lap.

kinda ironic... that he was so comfortable being gagged in the bed of a girl he must have seen less than five times in his life. but, rafe never thought straight and he wouldn't start doing that now. it was even pleasurable for him to know that you were obsessed with him to that point. you might have been in physical control, but you both knew better than that.

despite the tension, you were on top of him again. knees on the mattress, your hands holding onto the headboard, the best way to shut him up and he wasn't really complaining about it, in fact, this was exactly what he wanted from the moment he thought of the possibility. a devious smile formed on his lips, his tongue moistening them for a brief moment as you graced him with that sight. shit, he wanted to touch you so badly, but he'd have to do it only with his tongue for now.

his tongue slowly passed through your wet folds like a tease of power, you might be on top, but he had his share of power too and he'd make sure to remind you of that. “you taste so good, princess...” he smirked against your cunt, giving it a brief suck before running his tongue over it again, only to see your expression falter and a shiver run through your body. “like a fuckin’ lollipop, so sweet.”

you placed more of your weight on his face, closing your eyes gently as you rubbed your clit against the tip of his nose, feeling his tongue suck hungrily between your wet folds. “mmhm...” you allowed yourself to let out a moan, looking down as your hips rocked over his face, his blue eyes fixed on you, attentively wanting to see you break under the touch of his tongue. he didn't want to miss a single detail of it.

rafe's pants were tightening around his crotch, his thoughts were hazy and he could only think of one thing: you and the dirty little noises that escaped your throat. he wanted to hear each of those and he wanted to be the reason for them. no one else, just him and he hoped you had used your weird obsessive behavior to understand that he was possessive as hell.

but, you were going far, he could feel it, pressing yourself harder and harder against his face and suddenly, the sound of the rope coming loose. your eyes opened in confusion, still numb from the brief pleasure he gave you, only for you to notice his hands loose from the rope, his wrists not even red. “what...? how?” you whispered, looking between his wrists and his face between your legs.

then, he pushed you back, not too hard, just enough to make you fall back onto the mattress and get off of him. “y’know... you’re bad at tying ropes, really bad,” he grumbled, sitting down on the bed before using one of his hands to pull you closer, climbing on top of you with an even more sinister smirk than before. “but, that’s good, it means i can touch that pretty little body of yours now.”

rafe didn't want to wait for you to have any reaction to that, he already waited for too long pretending to really be gagged in your bed, he didn't give a damn if he should've waited a little longer, he got what he wanted.

he pinned you against him and the mattress, crashing his lips against yours as he kissed you violently, as if he was trying to mark you or, maybe, he just really wanted to mark you. his tongue didn't ask for entry, it just invaded your mouth, making you feel your own taste, exactly as he wanted.

“did you like to taste your own sweetness, baby?” he whispered against your lips, sucking your bottom lip before kissing you again. “guess i have to take care of you now, don’t i? you’ve been following me around like a good puppy... i think you deserve a reward.” he pulled away from your face a little, only for his hands to go towards your shirt, pulling it over your head.

on a normal day, he'd take more of his time with you, but not today. today he was a little too eager for this, today you wouldn't go unnoticed by him.

“so sweet...” his fingers caressed your belly before he moved his lips down your neck, making sure to press wet kisses against it before moving down a little further and lightly biting your collarbone. you heard the sound of one of his hands going down to his pants, undoing his belt without any difficulty, as if he had done it many times before, and he did.

pants and boxers on the floor, he was hovering over you with an expression of hunger and desire, one of his fingers running over your cunt, he wanted to feel with his fingers how wet and ready for him you were. he patted your thigh, a warning for you to open it wider for him. you looked so pretty like that that he even felt like sucking you again. but, no, this time he wanted to make you feel everything.

rafe bent over you again, lips against yours, a cheap deception only for him to thrust his fully hard cock inside you. you opened your legs wider in shock, but you didn't push him away, you just moaned painfully against the sudden impact and he liked it, he really liked the way you lost your composure when he had no mercy on your tight little pussy.

no niceties or "just the tip", you were a weirdo who stalked him and he'd give you exactly what you wanted when you drugged him and took him to your bed. the kind of fuck that would leave you sore for days, and when you forgot about the pain, then he'd fuck you again... and again... and again.

he lifted your body a little, holding your legs as he slammed relentlessly inside your tight cunt, his cock was having trouble getting all the way inside you, but he didn't really care, he'd make it fit. “what happened to all that attitude, pretty girl? where did that "lose-lose" go?” he went deeper, making you sink into the mattress as you tried to contain the loud moans that wanted to escape your mouth.

“no, no holdin’ back your little noises, i wanna hear ‘em all.” he roared, his hand letting go of one of your legs as he held your chin firmly. “and eyes on me. if you close them or hold back your moans, i’ll stop and you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

you couldn't say a single word, you just nodded, agreeing with what he was saying, even though you didn't know how long you could keep your eyes open. “good girl.” he released your chin, his hand trailing down your neck and collarbone until he reached your bra.

just fucking you could be enough, but it wasn't, not for a greedy man like him. he wanted more and your tits looked so inviting to his eyes, he wanted everything he could get of you. everyone knew, if he wanted it, he could get it. so, he didn't ask, he just pulled one of your tits out of the bra. his fingers pinching your swollen nipple and circling it as he stared at you, wondering if this would make you go further over the edge or not.

him being too big for you was already something, but rafe knew perfectly where to push your buttons and he'd make you tremble without needing much, he wanted to break you so you'd know better before you thought you could leave him in a position like that. your legs locked around his waist, just so he could go balls deep, feeling you squeezing him tighter and tighter as your tight walls clenched in pleasure.

“mmgmh, rafe, fuck...” you whimpered, biting your bottom lip hard as you looked down to see his rhythm. thrusts so rough that the bed began to creak and he had no intention of being discreet about how good and hard he was fucking that sweet pussy of yours. “rafe... i need to... i need to come...”

a mocking laugh came out of him as he slowly thrust inside you again, really much slower than before, making you feel every inch of him stretching you out. “yeah, princess? you wanna come that fast? this pretty little cunt can’t handle such a big cock, can it?” he continued with the slow thrusts, like a tease that he was really enjoying doing.

“but, it’s okay... i said i’d take care of you.” rafe whispered, leaning over you again, his tongue flicking over your nipple that he had been pinching moments before. “then, come for me, princess, come while i suck your tit.”

his thrusts gradually increased again, making you see stars as he sucked on your nipple hungrily, his eyes flicking up to see your expression of pleasure. your loud moans and whimpers were music to his ears, like fuel that only motivated him to go deeper.

and when you got to the edge, by god, you squeezed him so hard and moaned like you were in heaven; and he enjoyed every second of it, pressing himself against you as he felt your legs tremble for him. “you did so well for me...” he licked your nipple once more before moving kisses up to your neck. “but, we still have one thing before we finish... and you’re gonna be a good girl and do it.”

“what? what’s left?” you mumbled, tired and breathless, your legs still shaking as he grabbed your body and made you sit on the bed. not understanding what he meant when you noticed him standing up, right next to you.

“come here ’n open your mouth, i’ll show you.” it wasn't a request, it almost sounded like an order, if you didn't do it he’d make you do it anyway. “open wide.” he said again as you sat on the edge of the bed, right in front of him. one of his hands gripped the back of your head, while the other gripped his still hardened length, positioning it in front of your lips.

your eyes widened a little, but you looked up to meet rafe's gaze and he looked very confident about what he was doing. “no hands, i just need your little mouth, pretty girl.” he definitely wasn't expecting you to nod, he just shoved his cock into your mouth and waited for you to do what he wanted. “mmh, yeah, just like that...” he smirked, satisfied with your work, moving his hips back and forth, not caring if you could handle everything he put inside that sweet mouth.

he, in turn, didn't need much either, you had already given enough of a show for him to feel his balls full, he just needed a little more, your lips around his cock would solve the problem. “that got you so far, didn’t it? this stalker thing, you’re exactly where you wanna be, aren’t you? with my cock hitting your throat, so pretty.” he moaned, using his dirty words to motivate you to swallow him all the way down.

his moans started to become more frequent, he stopped moving his hips, using your head as if you were a doll, back and forth quickly, choking you, he was slowly reaching his limit and the sight really helped with that.

rafe knew he wouldn't last longer than that, he was exhausted, panting, letting out long gasps every time he sank the tip of his cock into your throat. he needed to come. so, he did it. “stay there... that’s it... stop.” he gasped once more, thrusting himself deep into the wet heat of your mouth, his length twitching as he began to spurt hot streams into the back of your throat. “fuck... fuck... mhmm.”

he didn't move his head, not until he was one hundred percent satisfied, not until you had swallowed every little drop of him.

and when it was over, you were a complete mess, falling back on your bed, dealing with the intense aftermath of what rafe gave you. he joined you at your side, as breathless as you were, not regretting a single microsecond of what had happened between you. “next time you wanna do this, remember to tie me tightly to the headboard, princess,” he suggested, lying on his back to face the ceiling like you. “just call me and i’ll bring the rope.”

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you'll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don't use my work without my consent.

[tkwrites]

regarding your reblog about quinn sitting out for four nations….. i’m sure sarah would also be very relieved that he’s prioritizing his health, but i’m now also so curious how you think sarah would have dealt with the whole situation leading up to now….. i.e., quinn playing with his injured hand for weeks, the fact that they kept sending him back out in that one game when he was clearly in so much pain and couldn’t even make it through a shift (the game was basically over anyway!), and even just the process of him making the decision to skip four nations. how do you imagine sarah was feeling about all of it and how outspoken do you think she would have been about her concerns? do you think quinn was asking for her opinion? do you think the topic caused any sorta tension at all? (rambly as hell as per usual mb)

Well, this took on a life of its own (rambly as hell in my own way).

We're going from injuries and Sarah's worry that Quinn is putting himself at risk for the team, all the way to her keeping to her Valentines Day plans despite the fact that they're spending the lead up to the day together.

I had this idea for Sarah gifting Quinn lingerie to get him hyped for her arrival in Montreal on Valentines Day, and I just couldn't let it go, so you get everything together.

Warnings for lots of angst, and then lots of teasing and longing at the end. Also, some praise kink stroking.

Hope you enjoy even though it's a little chaotic!

Though they live together, and they’re fully committed, she’s still not quite sure what her place is in this situation and how much she should say. All Sarah wants is for Quinn to not push himself too hard. To not injure himself any further. 

They first talked about it when he decided to join the team mid-way through the road trip after his hand injury. This caused a minor argument. She thought he shouldn’t go. He felt like the team needed him, and, as the trainers told him, he couldn’t injure his hand any more than it already was if he took the proper precautions. To him, it was a no-brainer.

“You’re not the only person on that team, Quinn,” she said as he was packing. 

“Yep, that’s the definition of a team.” 

“I just…” She bit her lip, trying to figure out how to make herself heard. “I know you’re the best player on the team, but —” 

He stiffened, “no, I’m not.” 

“Statistics don’t lie, Quinn.” 

He turned from his suitcase then, “but what?” 

The way he was looking at her, all hard edges and determination made her pause. 

“But what?” he demanded again. 

There was no good way to say this. “But, if they can’t figure out how to play without you, I’m worried you’re going to run yourself into the ground trying to keep them afloat.” 

Anger flashed in his face before he turned back to his packing, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe not,” she acquiesced, “but I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself even more. Isn’t it worth taking time off to heal?” 

“I have to help them,” he said, voice sounding like it was cut from glass. 

“Quinn, I know you want to win, but…” she trailed off, leaving out the at what cost? 

“We need to win these games, or we miss the playoffs.” 

“I know, but —” 

He slammed his suitcase closed. “I’m going, okay. I can’t hurt my hand any more.”

She winced, mind racing with images of someone targeting his injury, slashing him, or slamming him into the boards to guarantee it would get worse — keeping him out of the game even longer. 

The way she was looking at him, resigned and… almost frightened, made Quinn pause for half a second. His shoulders dropped, “I have to go, Sarah.” 

“Have to?”

“Yes. I have to help however I can.” 

Even though she’d thought this would be the outcome of this argument, she had to fight for him, even if he wasn’t going to fight for himself. 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Her soft voice was like a punch to the gut. 

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, pulling a half smile onto his mouth. 

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but she still drove him to the airport and kissed him goodbye, hating the scratchy feel of the brace straps when his hands cupped her face. 

“I’ll call you when I get there,” he promised. 

She nodded, “Please be careful.”

“I will,” he promised. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” she said, giving him a sad smile goodbye.  

He finally understood the guilt Mysey talked about when he came back from injury as soon as possible last season. 

The night he injured his oblique, she was watching from home (of course), wincing through the whole game. Everything felt off with JT suddenly gone. Then, near the end, when they announced Quinn was off the bench, her heart started to race, and she grabbed her phone, hoping he’s sent her some kind of update. He didn’t until after the game, and after she’d watched him try, and fail to skate the way he usually did more than once, knowing it wasn’t Tocc throwing him out there, but Quinn throwing himself out on the ice. 

When he came home, wincing at every movement, she watched him with big, worried eyes. 

She didn’t talk to him when he went to the rink for the following game, angry that he was so blatantly ignoring his own welfare. She even thought about not going to the game at all but ultimately decided that would cause more damage than she wanted to repair. It was a nice surprise when he appeared next to her to watch the game. Relief flooded through her, knowing that the trainers and coaches wouldn’t let him play, despite his insistence he could push through. 

As the tournament loomed closer and closer, and his injury was getting better, but not healed, she felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

Quinn is competitive and intense, and hockey is something that brings him an enormous amount of joy. She didn’t want him to miss this opportunity to play for his country and with his brother and best friend, but she knew he just couldn’t. Hearing his grunt of pain when he sat up in bed each morning was enough to tell her he couldn’t feasibly play. His hand injury, though persistent, didn’t affect much of their everyday life, other than she’d been on top most of the time, which neither of them minded all that much. But this was different. And both of them knew it. 

When he finally announced he wasn’t playing, relief swept through her life like a wave. She’d even contemplated calling Jack to beg him to make Quinn see sense. The fact she didn’t have to made her feel almost giddy. If he hadn’t been so sad, she would have danced around the house in celebration.

The only thing she was a little sad about was the change to their Valentines Day plans. With school, she’d been planning to fly out to him on Friday night, and had care packages packed to sneak into his suit case, something to open on the 12th, 13th and 14th to get him excited for her arrival. 

She stuck to the plan, even though they were home, leaving a gift out for him to find each morning. 

When Quinn got up to go to PT on Wednesday, he had a text from Sarah. Don’t forget to open your gift! 

He had no idea what she was talking about. 

The gift she was referencing turned out to be a black silk drawstring bag, no bigger than a sheet of notebook paper, left on the dining room table. The tag tied to it read, This time, you get to choose. Package 1 of 3, which will it be? 

When he opened it, he pulled out a swath of meshy lace. Blue, to match his jersey. It took him a while to figure out which way was up, but once he did, he couldn’t help the noise that crawled up his throat. It was a lace body suit. Sheer and stretchy. Just imagining Sarah in it gave him an instant boner. 

He brought it up after she got home that evening, but she just patted his knee with a coy smile, “you have to wait to see all three options before you can make a choice.” 

“There was only one thing in that bag!” 

“I know,” she said, pressing a teasing kiss to his mouth, “they were supposed to go in your suitcase, so you’d be excited to see me on Valentine’s Day.” 

“They?” he demanded. 

“There are more,” she said simply, sauntering out of the room and leaving him feeling breathless. 

“You’ll get the second tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder. 

He groaned despite the excitement that reared in his stomach. 

The next morning, after a restless night of wanting, another black bag appeared. This one on the bar counter. Two is the middle, but will it win of the three?

His fingers brushed something soft when he reached inside, and for a moment, he thought it might be empty before he realized the thing he was touching was made of the same material as the bag. He pulled out a pair of little silk shorts, trimmed in lace, then a matching black camisole. Compared to her gift from the day before, this seemed incredibly tame. All the same, he had to admit, he wanted to see it on her. He knew it would be her perfect brand of comfortably sexy. 

The thought of her in the little silk set popped into his mind even more than the blue number had. The blue lace was a fantasy — one he definitely wanted to see come to life — but the silk was real, something he could see her wearing often. He could imagine sliding it off her when they settled into bed on a normal Tuesday night. 

The image of her curvy thighs swathed in the slippery material assaulted his thoughts so often, he practically jumped on her when she got home from work, cornering her against that same bar counter where she’d left the gift that morning. 

“Hi,” she said, giggling against his mouth. 

“You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” 

“Am I?” she asked, innocently batting her eyelashes. 

“Why don’t you put this on?” he asked, fingering the lace where it lay on the counter behind her.

“You have to see all three,” she said, easing away from him. “Pick which one’s your favorite.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I want you to wait. And the whole point of this was to get you so excited to see me, you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me once I was there.” 

“But you’re here now.” 

“Patience is a virtue, Quinn.”

“This isn't patience. This is torture.”

“Torture?” she repeated, arching a brow. 

“You don't get it! I've had a hard on for two days now, and I’m going crazy. It’d be different if I was gone, but you’re right here.” 

She smiled a satisfied smile and walked to the kitchen. 

He was so desperate for her the next morning, he followed her to the bathroom, crowding her against the sink, hips pressed to her ass as she brushed her teeth. 

“Please?” he groaned in her ear. 

She shook her head before leaning over the sink to spit out the toothpaste. The move caused her to press back against him, and he grunted. 

“Just because you’re home doesn’t mean we should skip out on the amazing Valentines Day sex I had planned.” 

“It is Valentines Day,” he reminded. “We can have amazing sex right now.” 

Shooting him a look in the mirror as she swished mouthwash, Sarah shook her head. 

Letting out a groan of frustration, Quinn let his head fall on her shoulder. 

“You just have to make it until I’m done with class,” she said, turning in his arms. “I was planning on making you wait until I would have arrived in Boston, but then I decided that was too mean.” 

“Why don’t you skip class,” he asked, nosing her jaw as his mouth dipped to her neck. 

She let out a pleasured hum. 

“Come on,” he whispered into her skin, “I’ll get you off as much as you want.” 

Swallowing her desire and clinging to the knowledge that the anticipation would make everything better, she broke away from him, “I have to go to class. I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

He was gripping the sink, breathing deeply when she left the final present on the bed, and slipped out the door. 

Barely glancing at the tag, Package 3 of 3. Are you getting excited to see me?, he tore into the silk bag, nearly ripping it in the process. Too impatient to wait, he turned it over. Several pieces of red fabric spilled onto the duvet. 

He swore as he pulled the pieces apart. The largest was a robe, satin and short. There was a bra with a bunch of straps he couldn’t figure out, but he knew would look dead sexy once Sarah had it on. Then, a pair of panties made from the same lace as the bra. Only, it seemed as though the whole back of them was missing. Like a thong in reverse. 

How was he supposed to decide which of these to pick? He wondered if he could convince her to try them all on for him so he could make an informed decision. 

In the end, after laying each piece of lingerie side by side on the bed, he decided it had to be the blue. He’d never seen her in anything like it before, and at this point, he wasn’t sure if he could wait for her to change. 

He left it out on the bed and left the apartment. He needed to clear his head and had to pick up her gifts. 

When he got back home, he called for her, hoping he hadn’t beat her home. 

“I’m up here.” 

He raced up the stairs, nearly dropping the roses and chocolates in his haste. 

“Holy fucking shit,” he said once his eyes landed on her where she was leaning against the lucky couch, wrapped in tight blue lace. 

“You like?” she asked, skimming a hand down her side.

He made a nonsensical noise that nevertheless served as an affirmative answer. She looked incredible, all lace and curves, and yet, still his loving Sarah. She was a fantasy come to life.

“You’ve been so patient for me,” she said, padding toward him and taking the gifts from him. 

She made a show of leaning over to set them on the coffee table. 

His tongue felt too big for his mouth, and he made a sort of guttural sound of longing. 

Her hand trailed up his arm when she came back to him, “you’ve been such a good boy for me, Quinn.” 

“Fuck.” 

“You know what good boys get?” 

“Rewarded?” he ventured, his voice cracking over the word. 

“That’s right. Are you ready for your reward?”

Knees wobbling, he nodded frantically. 

Giving him a sexy smile, she led him to the bedroom. 

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist 

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[maream-zaream]

I think that Ink and Error are far more interesting and well suited as being friends (or a qpr at most) than as romantic partners. No hate to errorink (heck, I’ll even read errorink if I find the premise interesting/funny enough), but I just can’t see the two ever working out romantically, canon sexualities aside. Like, Error is way too immature and reactive to ever properly handle a romantic relationship, and Ink is (again, putting aside sexuality) too locked into their “everyone else is a character” philosophy to ever take a romantic relationship serious enough for it to work. Like, I feel like at some point he’d just forget or lose interest of the romantic partner and just… dip for lack of a better word (though, granted this might be my own aromantic perspective(TM) shining through lol).

Also, like, one of Ink’s things is mischief-making and Error is literally the most easiest to provoke Sans around. Like, I get the trope, but I think Error would just start attacking Ink on sight at some point honestly if they interacted for too long lol.

Idk, maybe I’d feel better with the ship if there were more openly aroace Ink fics/fanworks around to balance it out, but alas, there is not.

(Honestly though, I feel like fandoms in general don’t take to aro- and/or ace-spec characters well. Not for a lack of liking these characters, no, but more so due to the love of shipping and a fixation on romance. But now that’s its own can of worms and this is already getting longer than I thought it would)

yall should tell me your unpopular ship opinions

[darinawrites]

♧|Aib characters protecting you in lights out|♧

Characters: Kuina, Arisu, Chishiya, Ann, Niragi

A/n: Since the Aib fandom on tt is only talking about how they would be in squid game, I thought this would be interesting. Also, I lost the longer version of this and cried at the loss of the 1.7k words I wrote 💔 I'm too sleep deprived for all of this, I just want my sleep man I also can't tag Ann without my post glitching out for some reason. Had to sit here 40 minutes trying to decipher what I did wrong with the tags.

┆彡Chishiya

He would be prepared, immediately figuring out what the game is trying to provoke and would make a plan

He knows physical strength is something he lacks in, so he'll try and make weapons out of everything. Give him toilet paper and he'll somehow make it explosive. Don't test this mans concerning knowledge of weapons.

While telling you his plan, he'd try and convince himself it's for his own greed. That you fight well and could even be a potential sacrifice, but he knows it isn't true. He knows there's a sincere affection beneath his actions. He's confident in his plans, he doesn't need you as backup. Especially since it would hold him back, your scrupulous personality picking fights with ever other person, making you a target. Yet the words still flew out of his mouth

Oh, love. How much he loathed how it made him act against what he believes. How your wellbeing is in his thoughts much more than he'd like

But he won't ever tell you his worry, not at all. He'd hide it behind the apathetic personality he built up.

Overall, he would protect you in a way you wouldn't notice, but put his thoughts at peace

"Chishiya, how the fuck..." you were astonished at what he could make with such little resources. A makeshift knife shining on his hand.

"For what do you need that anyways? I thought your confident in your plans, not the genius you thought you were?" you teased, earning yourself a small, barely noticeable grin on his face.

"It's good to have a weapon, regardless of the fight happening today. Besides, with all the enemies you have it wouldn't be so bad to have a little help." his words made you gasp loudly and dramatically. Staring at him with an over exaggerated shock on your face.

"You really think I can't beat their asses, Chishiya? You think so low of me." clutching your heart as if its broken, your words flowing out with fake emotion.

"Oh, I would never." he said with as much emotion he could muster to imitate your disappointed voice. Quickly hiding his weapon as he saw the guards come with breakfast.

"You better! Or else I'll kick your ass too." you giggled, standing up to get food that will only last for a few hours before hunger rumbles in your stomach again. But you'll take everything you can.

┆彡Kuina

While she wouldn't notice immediately what the game is trying to do, she surely will notice what the O players plan to do. She isn't stupid and it wouldn't surprise her once she realizes. Noticing how petulant people around her are.

She wouldn't worry lots though and not put much thought in what she'd do when it happens. She can easily beat all the inexperienced players around her, she's strong and has nothing to worry about.

Kuina wouldn't be an outstanding target either. She's amiable, but also reckless. Earning respect of some and being looked down by others. But you? You aren't a target, you're a victim. Your closed in personality earning yourself to be pushed around by others. Kuina is always there to protect you though, whether that be with words or her fist.

And did I mention what an absolute sweetheart she is? She would always want you to be near her, near enough to protect you. You can count on her to make you feel safe

The flashing of the lights made you panic, losing sight of Kuina as screams emerged around you. You remember her warning you of this, of the bloodlust. The sight around making you want to throw up.

You know you were weak, a target to many. Your breaths were irregular as you frantically looked around for Kuina, her presence seemingly nowhere to be seen around you.

Yet as you tried to call out for her, your weight was suddenly dropped as you made a thud sound. Looking up, you noticed the person who pushed you. A brute who also partook in 'bullying' you.

The smirk he gave you made you nauseous, a smirk that held power over you. You didn't even fight back, no, you gave up. Knowing what as about to come, you closed your eyes and simply waited for the impact.

But instead of pain ringing trough your body, a loud smack and groan could be heard. As you opened your eyes, you were shocked to see Kuina skillfully beat up the man before pulling you up and to a corner.

It happened so fast, your brain barely processing what was going on as you were pulled away from the fight. It's only once you had a moment to take a breath did you speak.

"Wow, I didn't know you could fight so well." you said. She didn't fight just to fight like the others, her moves were thought out. It was impressive and you were immensely grateful for her.

"Well, I'm not just all looks. Even if I am hot." she replied sarcastically, a trait you've always admired and loved about her. The screams in the background nearly forgotten as you laughed together.

┆彡Niragi

Niragi would know a fight will be starting because he's the one to initiate it. Planning to do so with his side, not to win the vote tomorrow but simply for fun. It gives him a sense of pride and superiority when hurting others, he loves it.

What he wouldn't love though is people hurting you. He'll make sure to make it clear to anyone what will happen if they dare to do so. And they definitely did see it. His tracksuit all bloodied up after starting a fight in the bathroom with a guy who got closs to you.

Safe to say no one will be near you

Niragi is also the type to worry, but hide it. He couldn't let anyone see such a side of him, who knows what they'll think. He will be denial, trust me. Denying his care for you

Well, sure. Maybe he'll beat up any guy that comes near you. Maybe he told you to hide tonight, even if he knows no one will come near you. Maybe he'd give you weapons, but that definitely doesn't mean he cares. Not at all.

The delicious flavours of kimbap filled your mouth, a small yet filling meal. Something proper to eat after they basically starved you for days.

The satiating of your stomach, the rumbling quieting down. It felt so good, enjoying yourself in the little blissful moment you had.

That was until a familiar voice called out for you, bringing your focus away from the food. You silently groaned at the voice. The figure now entering the corner of your eyesight.

"What do you want now, Niragi" you asked him, now standing in front of you. Does the universe really hate you that much to ruin every small nice thing you have?

He gave you a small smirk at your frustration before handing you a fork. "Take this and keep it with you" he said with no explanation.

"The hell, you don't need a fork to eat kimbap. Where did you even get this??"

"It's to attack others, dumbass." he rolled his eyes. And it pleasantly surprised you that he cared over something like that.

"Gee, since when did you care about something like safety?" you giggled as you teased, but instead of a smirk or a returning choice of words he was reacted unusual.

"Don't push it and don't fuck with me. Just keep it with you." he said much too loud for your liking, a few heads turning to look at you both.

"Alright, goodness." you murmured more of so to yourself, but a tinge of happiness rang trough your body at his gesture. And when he finally left you alone, you let a smile slip. If only you could see him more often like this.

┆彡Ann

She immediately noticed the games intent. It's simply in her nature, she's observant and watches everything with meticulous care to the details. It's stupid to think he wouldn't notice. She'd tell you her observations and set out a plan together

And it is the most detailed yet somehow simplest plan.

Ann wouldn't be an outstanding target. She only surrounds herself with people who are trustworthy, not letting other players have a chance to know her much. She sees everything, she watches everytime she can so she knows a lot about other people and who to trust.

In that area she protects you, from bad influence. Your bubbly personality loves to socialize, so she'll always keep eyes on who you're being friendly with.

It felt like an eternity before the flickering of the lights stopped and the guards came back to shoot the ceiling. You flinched just as much as your body allowed you to before the pain came back in.

You should have paid more attention. You should have taken the warnings of Ann seriously. Maybe then you wouldn't be leaning against a wall with a big gash on your arm, a mark of betrayal. You felt so stupid to have trusted them, resulting in you loosing Ann and being attacked.

The thoughts clouding your mind got stopped for a moment as you heard your name being called, looking up to meet her gaze. Hand clutching your other arm as it bleed trough.

She didn't let a word out, calmly grabbing her green jacket to properly care for your wounds, her limited medical experience being able to do so.

"It'll hurt, be ready." she hummed, tying the tracksuit around the wound securely, staying very calm while doing so as you groaned out at the sharp tug of the pain.

"I'm sorry, Ann.." you hushed out once she was finished, a guilty look plastered on your face.

"Mhh. Don't be so reckless next time, alright?" she answered, making you nod in agreement as you gave her a small smile. Clinging onto her as the wound still stung, and she allowed you to. Even with not being fond of affection so publicly, she simply stayed silent with a small tug of a smile on her face.

How glad you were to have her in such a place.

┆彡Arisu

Arisu is smart and can see trough the hearts of others, of course he'd notice the voting splitting the people. He's quick witted and would come up with a sensible plan immediately

But you'd have to constantly tell him to not worry so much. He can only suppress his anxiety when it tense situations, but knowing that the fight will break out days before it actually did simply gives him time to overthink. He wouldn't dare to think what would happen if he did something wrong and the cause would be your death. You're practically his will to live, he can't continue without him.

So, he'll try to keep you close to him. He'd be awkward about it and, of course, tries to know you're comfortable with. But he'd prefer for you to stay close

He'd protect you with his greatest strength, his intelligence. That man is lanky and wouldn't be the best fighter to protect you physical, but if he had to he would.

"Can you believe she said that. You just had to be there, it was such a cool fight." you rambled on and on about something you saw today, ranting to skip the time in this boring and ruthless place. It always felt nice to use your voice heavily, and you were grateful that Arisu always let you.

But as you looked up, you saw him paying you almost no attention. His eyes staring into the abyss, his thoughts occupying every sense in his body. And you immediately knew what was going on.

"Hey, Arisu. Is everything alright, something worrying you?" you asked, shifting his attention over to you as his face morphs into an apologetic one.

He ignored your question and started to incessantly apologize for not hearing you out, frustration pulling on your furrowed eyebrows as you tried to stop him.

"Arisu!" you managed stop him "Let me reword my sentence. Stop worrying so much about the plan." the words lingered in the air as you let it sink in, Arisu softening his features as he looked at you. Worry still there, but not as immense before your words.

"10 minutes until the lights go off!" the familiar yet mysterious voice rang again trough the speaker.

You smiled, softly locking your hands together as you held his tightly. Red slightly tainted his cheeks, something so small that you missed it as you simply enjoyed it while Arisu was nervous with this much contact.

"It's almost time, come on, let's go. We'll be fine" you tugged on his hand. You couldn't even deny your own anxiety now bubbling inside, standing upt to get ready. But as you saw Arisu beside you, alive and well, you knew everything will be alright. You trust him, even if he doesn't trust himself.

[lyn31]

Zayne Immediate Disorder (Extended)

Summary:

After the Prison Warden, Zayne, of Linkon City help you get away from the prison, yes indeed, what a mess. You thought he'll do the same not long after you get out, oh but how wrong you are... He has different plans in mind.

Ao3 link

Extra/Part 2

CW: Drug use (Frenzy Enhancer), Light dom/sub.

Notes:

Disclaimer: The first half on this fics are mainly from Zayne's new card, Immediate Disorder, which another reason why it's so long.... and I also use some of the line here and there to match the "canon" a bit more but the rest are all mine :) So if you don't want to get spoiler, even when it's not all here, better read his story first, but if you don't mind, go ahead and enjoy! And I would like to thank all my friend for helping me with feedback, I appreciate it very much! :D Shout out to @ccelestara You help me a lot girl!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your flight is delayed until this evening. Thanks to the delay, you receive a call from your ex-subordinate. It’s about the Warden.

All of Linkon is in an uproar because of it.

The Warden, Zayne, is the SSS-Class Praedator, Galen—the serial killer authorities have been pursuing for years.

As the perpetrator was responsible for multiple deaths, Zayne’s trial will take place with all of Linkon watching. A new era is on the horizon, and his execution will mark its beginning.

Why would a serial killer, whom they couldn’t catch for five years, only be exposed now? Unless… You pause, lost in thought.

You take a sharp breath, suddenly struck by a realization you don’t like. Inhaling deeply, you leave your home, slamming the door behind you with more force than intended. Your pace quickens until you break into a run.

You need to see Zayne one last time. You need to hear the truth from him. You need to know—can he truly end everything without regret?

And then without you realizing it, you arrive.

Though no longer an enforcer, flashing your old badge is enough to get you past the unsuspecting guards. You navigate the prison’s corridors along a path you’ve walked countless times before. You make your way to the second floor.

Zayne has shut himself away in the interrogation room—the very same room where the two of you once said your goodbyes.

You push the door open, and there he is—the familiar figure you haven’t seen in a long time.

Hearing you enter, he turns around. His hazel eyes widen for a brief second before settling back into their usual calm gaze.

“I recall you saying you’d be on a plane this morning.”

Holding back a snort, you say, “So you deliberately waited until this evening to release the news. That way, I wouldn’t find out?”

“Your presence here means my plan has failed.”

“Your plan?” Your throat tightens. Your fists clench so tightly that they start to hurt.

“You never intended to survive this. You’ve been planning to end it all… including yourself.”

Looking at you quietly, he says. “Every TV channel, newspaper, and radio station are announcing it. A new era will arrive with the next dawn. Linkon is finally on the right path. The murders and crimes of the past must be erased.”

Zayne shifts his gaze to the side before looking back at you.

“I thought you, as an enforcer, would understand that criminals must be punished for their past deeds.”

Your chest tightens for a brief moment before you speak, your voice steady but weighed down. “The criminal has been punished. The Praedators and ordinary people get to live in peace. Linkon City will enter a new era. But what about you?”

Without waiting for his answer, you take a step closer.

“Zayne, have you gained anything from this?”

Another step. Your fists clench tighter, your breathing grows unsteady. The faint space between you disappears, and your shadow bleeds into his.

“Don’t you want anything in this life? Stop talking about Linkon, the virus, and the solution. I want to know about you, Zayne. Have you ever wanted anything for yourself?”

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Zayne watches you for a moment. His voice lowers. “Are you here just to ask me that question?”

You take another step. Now, you’re so close you can practically feel his breath on your skin.

“What if I said yes? Would you answer me then?”

Just as you reach for him, he flinches. A groan escapes him, and his brows furrow.

“You should go,” he says breathlessly, avoiding your gaze.

“No, I won’t leave until you answer me. But Zayne… are you?”

You reach out again, this time feeling the heat of his skin before he pulls away.

He’s  about to go into a frenzy.

“I told you, you should go.” Zayne’s breathing grows ragged. His chest rises and falls rapidly, rattling the chains around his clothes.

“No. I refuse.” You turn toward the door and lock it.

Walking back to him, you scan the room. The interrogation tools from your last visit are still here—including the muzzles and chains.

“They say that when a Praedator goes into a frenzy, the desire to have what they truly want overwhelms them.”

Stepping closer, you ask, “Zayne, have you ever gone into a frenzy before?”

“No.”

He starts to take a step back but stops, steadying his breath. He looks at you. “I know how to control myself.”

“You implanted an activator in yourself, didn’t you?”

At this, his brows furrow slightly—his frustration breaking through his usual stoic expression.

“But that doesn’t mean a Praedator like me won’t harm the person standing in front of them.”

“I won’t become a Praedator.”

“You’ll die.”

“You already ‘killed’ me once before.” The corner of your mouth curls up. “You accused me of trying to assassinate the Warden. I never got the chance to see if I actually could.”

As you speak, you grab a chain from the wall.

"Do you always have to restrain yourself?" You wrap the chain around his wrist.

He scoffs. "Is that what you want me to do?"

"No. At least, that's not what I want right now."

Zayne point out with his gaze at the muzzle on the wall. You take the muzzle and carefully secure it around Zayne’s head. He doesn’t resist.

You hesitate for a moment, watching him. He allows you to restrain him without a fight. A strange feeling settles in your chest—confusion, concern. Why is he letting this happen? That’s what you instinctively think, but you know the answer already.

Then without a word, Zayne grabs another chain and hands it to you. His gaze sharpens, and his breathing grows ragged.

Fastening the chain around his wrist, you hear his low, breathless voice. "If you’re trying to break someone’s chains… don’t be afraid of the danger they’ll bring." Even in this situation, you can still hear his teasing tone.

Trailing your finger from his wrist to his chest, you push him back toward the interrogation chair.

"Wasn’t I supposed to die here anyway?" You smirk hearing your own question.

Near the chair, on a small table, something shiny catches your eye, reflecting the faint light that manages to seep into the closed-off interrogation room. You head toward the table and just miss when Zayne tries to grab you. You push him back down before continuing toward the table.

"You should leave while you still can," He warns, his voice low and more breathless than before.

You pick up the syringe filled with orange liquid from the table—the Frenzy Enhancer and you walk back toward the chair. Zayne’s intense gaze follows your every move.

"You’re only going to hurt yourself more by fighting to stay in control, you know."

Slowly, you place a hand on his shoulder. He shudders under your touch as you trace your fingers from the leather strap on his shoulder to the choker around his neck. Then, with a swift motion, you grab his jaw, forcing his head back to expose more of his neck.

He groans, his eyes flicking to the syringe in your hand.

"…Frenzy Enhancer? You’re going to use that on me?" He scoffs, but you can hear the amusement in his voice, laced with something unreadable.

"Yes. The Warden should be well aware of how it affects the Praedators."

The corner of his lips curls up. He doesn’t even bother hiding his amusement now. His gaze dares you, challenges you.

Without hesitation, you sink the needle into his heated skin, injecting the drug. He groans, and his breathing quickens even more than before. His skin burns even hotter beneath your fingers.

As you step back to give him some breathing room, you say, "Stop holding yourself back. You need to confront your true self."

His breathing grows heavier, each inhale pressing harder against the leather strap bound across his chest. The belt creaks under the pressure, groaning, straining to contain something unstoppable.

His muscles flex, his body straining against the restraint. His breath turns into low, guttural sounds, his entire frame trembling with suppressed force.

Then—a sharp snap.

The leather gives way, splitting apart as his chest heaves forward. The torn strap dangles uselessly at his sides, his breath ragged and uneven. His gaze lifts to you—dark, unrestrained, filled with something dangerous.

Involuntarily, you swallow hard. Slowly, you walk to his other side. His eyes follow your every move, scanning you like a predator sizing up his prey. His gaze sweeps over you—sharp, deliberate, assessing every detail. You meet his eyes, and in that moment, you know.

Taking a bold step directly in front of him, you place your hand on his thigh and kneel right in front of him, your fingers tightening just slightly as you quickly spread his legs apart. His breath hitches, a low gasp slipping past his lips, his chest heaving harder.

"Don’t worry…" you say, your voice calm yet full of intent, "I’ll take good care of you."

His eyes darken, his smirk widening, full of danger and amusement.

"You want me to submit…"

Before you can move, you hear the chains rattle; the sound growing louder as his hand shoots out, gripping your waist and pulling you onto his lap. The sudden shift in position takes you by surprise, and you gasp, your breath hitching in your throat. His lips brush against your ear, his voice low and dangerous. "Let me take what I desire first."

The air shifts—sudden, electric. Then his lips crash into yours with fierce urgency, stealing any coherent thought you might’ve had. You freeze for a split second, your heart hammering in your chest as his breath mingles with yours. The heat from his body sears through the thin fabric between you, making you shiver. His fingers dig into your sides, possessive and firm, as he deepens the kiss, pressing you against him with a force that leaves no space between you.

A soft moan escapes you before you can stop it, and it seems to only spur him on. His teeth graze your bottom lip, the sting making your body react before your mind has time to process. The pull of his kiss shifts from desperate to coaxing, urging you to match his intensity. You reach up, your hand slipping into his hair, fingers tangling in the strands, pulling him closer, desperate for more. The urgency inside you flares, a sharp need that only grows as he deepens the kiss. You’re not sure where he ends and you begin—every nerve in your body is alive, and it's all him.

His other hand tangles in your hair, tugging lightly, sending a different bolt of electricity straight down your spine, and you can feel your whole body arch into him, your chest tight with anticipation. Every touch, every pull seems to unlock something inside you, the heat pooling in your stomach, burning, aching for more. You don’t want to stop, don’t want to pull away.

The kiss is messy and consuming, like he’s starved for it, and you feel that hunger mirroring your own. His tongue sweeps past your lips, claiming everything he wants, but it's not just him—you're just as lost, just as hungry for him. Every breath you take is laced with desire, every beat of your heart screaming for more, and yet, you’re caught in a whirlwind of want, unable to think, unable to pull away.

When he pulls back, his lips hover close, and you can see a wildness in his eyes, filled with raw desire. His voice is barely a whisper, but carries an edge that sends a shiver down your spine. "You should’ve known... submission can be dangerous."

Your pulse is still racing, your breath uneven, and your body tingles with the lingering heat of his touch. You place your hand on his bare chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall beneath your palm, matching the frantic beat of your heart. The raw intensity of his gaze makes your insides tighten with anticipation, a strange mix of fear and longing that twists deep inside you. Then, instinctively, your hand slides up his forearm, fingers grazing the firm muscle, needing to ground yourself.

“Where’s your Activator?” you ask, your voice a little breathless. You try to steady yourself, but it betrays the rush of desire coursing through you.

The moment the words leave your mouth, you catch the glimmer of a smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips, a knowing, teasing expression that sends a jolt through your chest. With a ragged breath, he leans in closer, and before you can react, he grabs your wrist, guiding your hand back to his chest, pressing it against him with an urgency that makes your heart race even faster.

“Why don’t you… touch me and find out?” he murmurs, the words carrying an invitation—and a challenge—that makes everything inside you tighten in hunger. The electricity between you crackles yet again as if he knows just how much you’re aching for him, how much you want to feel him under your fingertips.

Without missing a beat, you move your hand, slowly at first, tracing the curve of his collarbone, your fingers grazing his skin as you feel him tense under your touch. The air between you thickens with the tension. You follow the path down his chest, lingering on his abs as a soft groan escapes him, the sound igniting a pulse of heat between your legs. You catch his gaze, locking onto it, and the rawness of his desire fuels the embers of your own. Your pulse races, your body aching to feel more of him, but you hold the moment—enjoying the power of teasing him just as much as he teases you.

He breathes out in frustration, his voice a low rasp. “You’re teasing me… It’s still not enough…”

So you don’t stop. Your hand keeps moving, creeping below his waistband, your fingers brushing ever so lightly against the growing heat beneath his pants. His breath catches, and your lips curl into a soft, teasing smile. As you raise an eyebrow, you sense the tension shift in him, but he doesn’t back down. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, a silent challenge in his eyes, before leaning in, his lips brushing your ear as his breath sends a shiver through you.

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as his kisses trail down your jaw, down your neck—his lips warm against your skin. Every touch, every kiss from him yet again sends that jolts of electricity that you start to familiar with yet still very exhilarating, making you want him even more. And yet, when your hand continues its descent, feeling the evidence of his desire, growing more demanding beneath your touch, you know he feels the same way as you.

A low groan escapes him when his lips move to your earlobe, nipping it just enough to make your body tremble. You almost lose your focus, distracted by the sensation, but your hand keeps moving. Your fingers graze lower, slowly, but with purpose, pressing against him just enough to make him gasp.

His hand grabs your chin, tilting it upward, and his lips hover over yours for a brief, teasing moment before he nibbles your bottom lip. He pulls back slightly, and his gaze darkens with amusement. “What will you do next?”

Oh you know what you'll do next. With a quick, decisive motion, you push him back, watching the way he almost falls against the chair's backrest. The glint in his eyes tells you he enjoys the challenge just as much as you do, and you feel a surge of excitement at the thought of making him wait.

Your hand moves swiftly from his chest to his waist, fingers finding the firmness of him between his legs. The sudden contact makes him shudder, and you smile as his eyes glaze over, fixating on your chest. Before he can lean in, you push him back again, your other hand placed firmly on his chest, eyes locking with his, silently telling him to wait for his turn.

The moment you break eye contact, a rush of heat floods through your body. No matter how hard you try to play it cool, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that you’re perched on his lap. The heat between your legs only grows hotter, and you have to fight the urge to grind against him. You try to regain control—at least to mask your reaction—locking your gaze with his once more. His want is undeniable, simmering in the charged air between you, and the thrill of holding onto even a sliver of control sends a surge of adrenaline through your veins.

You keep your hand on his chest, fingers brushing over his skin, sending small shocks of electricity through him. You don’t break eye contact. Every small movement, every slight press of your hand on his chest makes the tension grow thick and suffocating, but you relish in it—holding him at bay just a little longer. You feel the control shift, your power growing with each moment you keep him waiting.

Focusing back on the task at hand, you press your palm against him, feeling the heat radiating through his clothes. Slowly, you begin to move your hand, applying enough pressure to tease, but not enough to satisfy. His breathing sharpens, chest rising and falling beneath your touch as he tries to keep his composure.

“Do you like that, Zayne?” you whisper, glancing up at him. His response is a ragged exhale, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the armrest.

You keep the slow rhythm, dragging your hand up and down, making him twitch under your touch with every stroke. Each pass, each movement makes him shudder, even so, you hold back, savoring the power of the moment.

You pull your hand back, the sudden absence making Zayne’s gaze snap to you, his eyes burning with need. You feel the tension in the air shift yet again, but you don’t give him the release he craves. Instead, you grab his choker, tugging him closer. His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. For a brief moment, your gazes lock, tension crackling between you like a live wire. His jaw tightens, and his fingers flex as he tilts his head, silently inviting you to continue.

“You want to break it, don’t you?” Zayne’s voice is breathless, a dare in every word. The challenge hangs between you, a crackling tension that sets every nerve in your body alight with excitement.

You push him back with deliberate force, watching as he leans fully into the chair. The satisfaction of making him wait, of holding the control, sends a rush of heat through you. The choker snaps free in your hand, and you stare at it for a beat, your heart pounding as the moment stretches out. Without a word, you toss it aside. The silence between you deepens, thick and charged with raw tension.

“Patience,” you murmur, your voice low and commanding, each syllable deliberate. Your fingers work the muzzle loose, and as it falls away, he just stares at you—breath ragged, eyes wild with hunger. A mix of nerves and excitement coils in your stomach, sharper than you expected. Even though it’s an open muzzle, seeing him without it now sends a thrill through you.

A slow smirk curves your lips. “Much better.”

He exhales a shaky breath, a grin tugging at his lips. “Impressive,” he says, his voice rough with both admiration and something darker.

“But it’s my turn,” he grunts, the words thick with intent. His grip tightens as he surges forward, claiming the moment with a desperate intensity that steals the air from your lungs.

Before you can react, Zayne’s lips are on yours again, urgent, but this kiss is slower, deliberate—a demand as much as a plea. His lips trail down your jaw, your neck, the curve of your collarbone, every touch igniting a new wave of heat inside you. His tongue flicks against your skin, teasing and tasting, before his teeth follow, nipping just hard enough to make you gasp, your body instinctively arching into him as your hips grind against his thigh in reflex, finally. A low grunt rumbles in his chest, his grip tightening on your waist, urging you to do it again. Heat floods through you, a shuddering breath escaping as the friction sends a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you.

His hand finds your wrists, yanking them behind your back with swift ease, and you gasp at the sudden restraint. The vulnerability of it, the way he controls you without hesitation, sends a sharp thrill racing down your spine. His grip tightens, holding both your wrists effortlessly with one hand, while his other settles firmly on your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he keeps you locked in place.

His eyes lock onto yours, dark and commanding, as he urges your hips to move again, guiding you with slow, deliberate pressure. "Just like that," he breathes, his voice thick with desire. A shiver courses through you, each roll of your hips sending a rush of heat that leaves you breathless, your body tightening in response to his touch.

Zayne’s mouth is relentless, teasing you with soft, lingering kisses just above your exposed skin, his tongue flicking over the fabric of your shirt, tracing slow, deliberate circles. You shudder, your body reacting, but he refuses to give you what you want. His grip on your wrist behind your back remains firm, the restraint heightening every sensation, making your pulse race even faster. Every near-miss, every brush against your skin makes your body ache with want—his refusal only fuels your desire, making you want to push back against him, to make him feel the same urgency you do.

Then, at last, his lips close around your hardened peak, sucking gently at first, then harder. His teeth graze you, sending a sharp pulse of pleasure straight to your core. You cry out softly, your body trembling in his lap, your wrists straining against his grip, the rawness of the moment pushing you closer to the edge.

Your soft cry draws a ragged groan from Zayne, his breath unsteady, his grip tightening as he struggles to maintain control. But it’s slipping—you feel it in the tremble of his hand on your wrist, in the roughness of his kisses, in the ferocity of his desire.

And then, as if he can’t hold back any longer, Zayne snaps. The hand on your waist jerks away, his fingers wrapping around the chain on his wrist with a brutal tug. The metal gives way with a harsh, violent snap, fragments scattering beside you, the sound almost deafening. His hand is back on you instantly, roaming over your waist with an urgent, almost frantic need that sends a shiver through your entire body. Everything shifts. His control is shattered, his restraint gone, and in that instant, all that’s left is the hunger that burns between you.

His gaze burns into you, intense and untamed, his breath uneven as he draws you between his legs. One hand tangles in your hair, yanking you closer, while the other seizes your waist, guiding you down to the floor with a force that leaves no room for resistance. The raw urgency in his movements, the primal need that drives him now, sends a thrill of excitement coursing through you. Even in the moment's chaos, there’s a flicker of control—just enough to ensure you’re steady beneath him, but it’s the kind of control that makes your pulse race, knowing he’s ready to push you past any limits.

His voice drops, low and thick with heat, as his eyes lock onto yours. “Now, there’s only one thing left to do.” His voice is ragged, barely restrained, each word tumbling out like a need he can no longer contain, sending a shiver straight through you. His gaze never wavers, his intensity pressing down on you like a weight, leaving you breathless and craving what comes next.

For a moment, you do nothing but stare back at him, breath catching in your throat as you feel the weight of his gaze. It’s a challenge, a silent command—and you can feel your body respond to it, every nerve alive with anticipation.

You swallow hard, your eyes dropping to his waist. “So that’s where the Activator is…” you murmur, the words are soft but thick with meaning. Zayne follows your gaze, then drags his eyes back up to your face, to your body, his gaze darkening as he notices the hardened peak beneath your shirt.

Without hesitation, he leans down, capturing it with his mouth. His tongue twirls around you, his lips warm and demanding, making you gasp at the sensation. Your body writhes beneath him, your heart pounding in time with the pulse of need that rises in you.

But you don’t forget what you’re about to do. Your pulse quickens as you shift your knee, pressing just above his waist, feeling the twitch of his body against yours. His breath hitches, muscles flexing beneath your touch, and despite the flutter of nerves in your chest, you smile at his reaction, fully aware of the effect you’re having on him. The tension thickens, the unspoken challenge between you both only growing stronger.

You let your foot graze lower, brushing against his arousal in a teasing move that has him groaning, his grip on you tightening just a fraction as he fights to keep control. The moment his eyes snap open, wild and raw, you know it’s only a matter of time before both of you lose yourselves completely in the overwhelming tension between you.

His breath catches, a deep grunt rumbling from his chest, and his eyes flash with an intensity that makes your body ache with need. “Become my prisoner… or my master,” he says, voice low and deliberate. Each word tastes of a challenge, an invitation—and you feel every ounce of it.

The wicked smile that curls on your lips matches his as you reach up, wrapping your hand around his neck, and pulling him closer. The heat of his breath against your skin sends a shiver through you, and the connection between you becomes even more undeniable, more electric.

“You can never… leave me,” he murmurs, his voice rough and unsteady as his lips brush over yours.

The kiss starts slow, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. The pressure between you—too much, too overwhelming after everything that’s led to this moment—pushes you both into something more. The kiss deepens, urgent and desperate, a clash of lips and tongues as you both crave the release that’s been building.

His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, his body molding to yours as your mouths crash together again and again, hungry for more. Your hips instinctively grind against him, a steady rhythm driven by raw need, and the weight of his body above you only fuels the urgency. The heat, the tension, the desire—every inch of him presses you against the floor, every movement igniting a fire that spreads through your body.

Zayne’s fingers trail down your spine, gripping your hips harder, holding you in place as he pushes you into him with more force, guiding your grinding motion with growing urgency. You can feel the heat radiating between you, the pulse of desire making every second more intense than the last, every touch heightening the ache that has taken over you both.

Breathless, Zayne breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. His chest rises and falls heavily, his eyes dark with hunger. His hands move lower, gripping your thighs, guiding you—slow but sure—as his lips find yours again in a kiss that’s fierce and insistent.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Winter returns once more.

As you watch the light snow falling outside your window, it dawns on you: another year has passed since you and Zayne last parted ways in that interrogation room.

In the aftermath of that day, you walked away alone. The bitter truth that you couldn’t take him with you… You’d known that all along.

Even when he confessed that you were what he wanted, it wouldn’t have stopped him. Zayne has always been this way. Deep down, you’ve known it from the start.

After moving to this small town, you severed almost all ties with Linkon City. You made a conscious effort to avoid any news about him. You convinced yourself that if you didn’t see anything about him, you wouldn’t think about him anymore.

Then this morning, someone mentioned that a new doctor had opened a small clinic called Akso just a few blocks away. The moment you hear the clinic's name, your thoughts immediately go to a certain vet clinic with the same name—and a familiar doctor who became the prison’s warden. The person you’ve been trying to forget for a year. Zayne.

So, of course, you rush home, snatch your pet turtle from its cozy sunbathing spot, and dash off to Akso.

Arriving at the clinic, you push open the door, breathless from your frantic run. After a year apart, the silhouette you’ve yearned for stands right before you.

He turns to you with his usual calm demeanor. “What is it?” he asks, though the corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly.

Without a second thought, you place your pet turtle on the nearest table and rush toward him, wrapping your arms around him in a crushing hug. Then you pull back just enough to crash your lips against his. Before he can even react, you pull away again, eyes wide, your cheeks burning.

He chuckles softly, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Avoiding his gaze, you scoop up your pet turtle and cough lightly. “Dr. Zayne, I think my pet turtle might be sick. It’s been really lethargic. It doesn’t even want to sunbathe anymore. Can you take a look at it?”

Trying to hide your embarrassment—and your excitement—you straighten your posture and meet his eyes. His amusement is obvious. He’s trying not to laugh.

“Miss, this clinic only treats human patients,” he says, his smirk growing wider.

Your face burns up again. You bite your lower lip and close your eyes, mortified...

That’s when you hear his footsteps approach. You open your eyes to find him standing right in front of you, gently taking your hand in his.

Then, something rare—a smile curves on his lips, soft and unguarded. It’s fleeting but real, and you can’t help but mirror it. Your heart skips, and for a second, the tension feels lighter, almost electric. You suppose he’s just as excited as you.

You clear your throat, trying to regain a bit of control. “...I see” His smile grows, contagious and impossible to ignore.

“Well,” you say, this time with more confidence, “I think I’m coming down with something. Would you mind giving me a check-up?”

He holds your gaze, bringing your hand to his lips. “I don’t think this is how I’m supposed to treat my patients.” His voice drops slightly, warm and low, the flicker of desire in his eyes unmistakable.

He steps closer, his breath warm against your ear. “But for you… I might make an exception.”

Your heart races as he pulls back, his smirk sharp and teasing. He releases your hand, turning toward the hallway.

“Follow me, Miss,” he says, the slightest smirk playing at his lips.

As you follow him, your pulse quickening, you realize this is the treatment you’ve been waiting for—especially with Dr. Zayne.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

Pstttt there's another extended of the extended version! here

[muxshwriting]

compelling

Feud-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

summary: Feyd can no longer live with only a portion of his wife and strives to find who she truly is || word count: 948 || masterlist

once again, I have been peer pressured (someone very politely requested) and I am being forced (I wrote this in a peak of artistic inspiration) to publish a third part to voiceless and articulate. Enjoy!

REQUESTED: I've read all your Feyd stories and I love them! Would you please consider doing a continuation of "Articulate" where Feyd is so desperate to win over his wife that he asks her new friends for advice? Thank you.

Ever since you’d postponed your day with him, Feyd had been unable to think of anything else. He couldn’t imagine what else you spent your days doing, what was more important to you than him. As he began craving your presence, he noticed just how much time you spent out of your chambers, elsewhere.

He approached you one evening when you were getting ready for bed. “Y/N?” He stopped calling you ‘Wife’ when he noticed the subtle flinch that accompanied its use. “Where do you spend your days? You always return with such happiness.” He meant nothing by it, a simple observation that you always glowed a little brighter afterwards.

You hesitated before answering, hearing horror stories of what Feyd has done to servants. “I- My handmaiden and some of the other maids, they spend their days teaching me things about our house, about Geidi Prime. I enjoy their company.” You admitted.

Feyd frowned. “Your handmaiden? You’ve been hiding away with your handmaiden all this time?”

“Do not speak of her with such disdain! She is my friend. You will do her no harm or I will never forgive you.”

“What?”

You mistook his confusion for insult. “You heard me-“

“You misunderstand, my love.” That title was a new one. “I am simply surprised. I worried you had filled your time with another lover. That I would not be so kind towards.”

The endearment that slipped from his lips did not escape unnoticed by you and you felt your heart fluttering slightly within your chest. The careless and childish hopes from the beginning on your marriage had the nerve to peek their heads towards daylight and it took all your might to push them back down. He was just a possessive man, claiming what was already his. He could not love you, not the way you wanted him to.

“Oh. No! I would never- I would never take a lover Feyd. I am not a traitor.”

“I- I was not trying to imply-“ It was the first time you had ever heard Feyd be uncertain in anything, stumbling over his words.

He reached out to you and you let him slip your hand into his. His body was mere inches from yours as he stood silently, staring down at you.

“I’m sorry.” It was a murmur of an apology you never thought he was even capable of. “Please tell your handmaiden… thank you from me, for taking care of you.”

Your eyes soften as you take a small step so you’re truly in each other’s space. “I shall pass along your message. Goodnight husband.” There’s a softness behind your words that Feyd hasn’t heard in a while and he’s very grateful for its return.

In the days following your discussion, you and Feyd had minimised some of the distance between you, but not all. There was space Feyd couldn’t cross alone, no matter how much he wanted to. He needed help, aid from someone who knew you far better than he did.

Reluctantly, Feyd made his way down to the servants quarters. He stops silently outside the door, suddenly nervous to enter.

He knocked and your handmaiden opened the door, paling at the sight of the Na-Baron. “My Lord Feyd.” She bowed before him, slipping out into the hallway. “How can I assist you?” Despite your assurance that your husband would never hurt her, your handmaiden still had fear when stood in front of Feyd.

Feyd seemed unsure of himself now that he was stood in front of someone about to ask for their help. “I wish to help my wife.”

“Is the Na-Baroness unwell?”

“She is fine.” Feyd said shortly. “But our marriage…” He does not wish to continue and your handmaiden knows it.

Slyly, she looks him up and down with a knowing look. “It’s called love. She feels it too.”

“She-“ Feyd stopped himself. “She loves me?”

“And you love her. She’s just hesitant to give you all of herself.”

He took a moment to breathe, his head spinning from the realisation that his wife loved him. “I love her…”

“Then tell her that.” Your handmaiden pressed. “Tell her she is loved.”

Heeding your handmaiden’s words, Feyd approached the evening much differently than he normally would. He greeted you as he entered your chambers, a small smile across his face as he offered to help you change and you, surprised, allowed him to.

He couldn’t stop the giddy feeling his heart had when you leant into him as he pulled the pins from your hair. You let yourself lean in, praying that life had finally dealt you the perfect hand.

Beyond either os your notices, you handmaiden had slipped into your chambers, aiming to help you get ready for the evening. But upon seeing your gentle embrace with Feyd, a knowing smile spread across her lips and she turned on her heel to slip back out again. Her shoe brushed against the floor for just a second and you glanced up at her.

Silently, a conversation passes. A frown, a smile, a nod. A look towards Feyd, a glance you made in his direction. He’s aware of all that is going but blissfully choosing to ignore it, his eyes almost slipping shut as he runs his hand down your back and letting it settle at your waist.

No words are exchanged as the evening progresses, but the light touches continue and you never find yourself out of Feyd’s space for more than a second. It isn’t until you’re in bed and wrapped in his arms that you speak.

“Goodnight my love.”

Feyd smiles against you and murmurs the same sentiment back, finally slipping into sleep.

[gnohomotho]

Hello there,

Valentines day tomorrow, and ofc i am a lonely gorl, so i thought about husband!junho making the day special for his wife? Fluff, fluff, fluff bc i am sensetive lol

Keep up the good work btw

You are doing amazing on here ❤️❤️😚

Aww, Anon, sending a big virtual hug your way. ♥ I'm sorry you're a lonely gorl. :c I am too, so please, I really hope this eases the loneliness just a little bit!

I have one slightly longer, but hopefully fluffy and very loving piece specially for Valentine's Day.

Thank you so, so very much, it truly means a lot to me. ♥♥♥ c':

(And if you like it, I really appreciate the reblogs, you're all so very lovely!)

Enjoy! .

.

.

Even If You Had Walked Away

Pairing: husband!Jun-ho x wife!f!reader Summary: Valentine's Day hides more than just a loving date for you, and Jun-ho knows this very well. It is a reminder of a day he almost lost you - and he has a surprise for you, for all those years, in one single evening. Warnings: Fluff! So much fluff. A tiny bit of angst, but I promise it ends in fluff. Please pack your insulin. Word count: 3.2k A/N: I hope you feel lovely on this day and all the next. ♥ Love your requests and your messages! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶𐭩 ♡

Oh.

This day.

Valentine’s Day.

Somehow, each year, you managed to find a way to plan over it, and Jun-ho just as meticulously managed to pull you back in.

Last year, it was notes left around the house, your car suspiciously warm before you got in, and your favourite breakfast cooked before you left. He knew you would be worried about big gestures – he knew, but not quite, what the day signified for you. So when you saw him in the kitchen, after a sleepy kiss on his neck as he slowly turned around to greet you, you expected nothing more.

“Darling?” You looked at him softly, a little quizzically, as you always do when you’re a bit worried things aren’t as fine as they seem. You did so as you pulled away from the cuddle and felt his body pull with yours, not wanting to leave your embrace or your warmth.

One strong arm was still holding yours – lightly, but with deep affection. Jun-ho did not wish to sever the connection between you by letting go even for a second. Slowly he slid his arm around you, letting it rest against your back, should he need to pull you close again.

You waited for your answer but could not resist the peaceful warmth of the moment, and lifted a hand – tenderly brushing the hair from his forehead and sliding down to cup his cheek. Instinctively, Jun-ho closes his eyes and leans into your palm, caressing you as he does so.

Even as your touch leaves, he remains quiet, and you look at your husband with new eyes. Still in casual clothing, still just your Jun-ho, swaying with you in his favourite black v-neck shirt that you associate with only him and his sleepy form.

How many nights have you woken up to this shape, this broad chest, inches from yours...or suddenly lifting and falling peacefully against your own heart.

How many times have those strong arms unabashedly stolen your much contested blanket only to wrap you up thoroughly in its place.

How many times did those legs lovingly intertwine with yours the moment your alarm clock rang, his sleepy voice murmuring sweet nothings of discontent and forcing you to set your alarms ten minutes before their actual time because his legs and fervour at keeping you close were strong.

And somehow, with your thigh firmly against his, aided by his own, your calves wrapped in his warmth and so very close, your tummy tucked so comfortably and perfectly to your sleeping love you could feel him breathe, well, you learned to set your alarm a full half hour before its actual time.

And now, though his form looms over you, you feel entirely safe; though it is snowing fluffy snowflakes outside, you are brimming with fluttering, affectionate warmth that could keep a fireplace alight for days. Though the day isn’t your happiest, you might as well have forgotten the number on the calendar.

And Jun-ho, with his gentle smile reaching his eyes, was only swaying with you ever se so slightly as he held your hips, thumbs tucked up against your waist; the smile was cheeky, but incredibly sweet.

You melt in his touch and almost let a little laugh carry the mood – he couldn’t look cunning or devilish if he tried. Not to you. But he was trying, and you did not wish to ruin his sincere attempts.

“Hmm?” He humms with a little inflection, nonchalantly, still smiling. As if saying “nothing to see here, officer,” though he was obviously not used to being on the other side of the law. And it showed. Before you answer, Jun-ho almost unnoticeably shifts you with a gentle tug where his arms and fingers rest against your skin – you notice nothing but a little dig into each of your hips – and kisses your forehead the moment gravity trips you into him. Clever, you grin into the crane of Jun-ho’s neck and kiss his chin in retaliation.

“I don’t think all is going according to schedule, sweetheart.” He pulls away and smiles the sentence into existence, a hint of genuine care for your wellbeing crossing his visage. Jun-ho’s eyes move towards the window, then to your phone resting on the table. You follow his gaze and your heart momentarily sinks.

“Are we seriously getting snowed in? How will I get to…”

“I’m pretty sure that phone lit up with messages regarding not coming to work, darling…and,” Jun-ho looks upwards as if thinking, truly acting his way into the Oscars here, playfully ponders around, “if I know anything about the wiring and the outlay of that building, I am highly inclined to assume you’d be sitting by candlelight, using folded paper in place of a computer if you really wanted to try and keep up appearances.”

After a small moment, he added, “and I don’t want my Y/N alone by candlelight with anyone else, thank you very much.”

He kisses your forehead again without warning, but you feel him smile into the kiss. As he pulls away, you almost regret brushing his hair away from his forehead, because that single eyebrow lift abetted by that absolutely cheeky smile should be illegal.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You did your best trying to work from home, finding it very hard to focus. The nicer and more wistful your thoughts were towards Jun-ho, the more a slight pang of guilt tore its way into your chest.

A few years ago, you almost broke up.

And the thought cementing it, the thought where you couldn’t keep it up anymore...came on Valentine’s Day.

You did not wish to do it then (as mean as it was clichéd) and Jun-ho laid it all out on the table – a beautiful dinner date and absolute honesty. You fell in love with him, then, all over again, when you truly thought it would be a sad end to a broken coupling.

Many things played their part back then – his secrecy, his constant disappearing, his excuses for being gone for so long.

His face was so very troubled back then, deepened with new stress lines and new worries each time you saw him – each time, the moments you spent apart seemed to use a sharper knife on his face whenever they returned him back to you.

Sometimes you worried they would keep him.

You were suffocating and so incredibly distraught. When he left. You worried. When he was with you. He wasn’t. Not truly. And you worried more.

The weight that he refused to share with you was dragging you both down into the depths of the ocean and no matter how much you tried, how strong your grip, how intricate your angle – you could not unravel him from whatever was at the end of the rope.

Somehow, you even tried to suspect cheating, though you knew he would never do that – simply for the fact that whatever he was doing was far more dangerous than another woman. And through all, you truly, deeply cared about Jun-ho. And Jun-ho knew that what you had between you, the love he held for you and the love held in your tender chest for him – held the sharpest blade of all.

What was it, back then? Your love extended past simple ownership or relationship status – if he were to be with someone else or alone, but safe and content, sleeping through the night, you would very bitterly but gladly swallow that pill. And he knew it. He knew it and sensed you pulling away.

Jun-ho wasn’t content with distance from you, never. One day, he came back, close to this particular date. His hair was dishevelled, his clothes smelling of salt and seawater, his eyes dim and tired, and his hands covered in scrapes and scratches.

But his eyes, his eyes stared into yours with resolute burning depth, speaking with no words necessary. Jun-ho loved you, and did not wish to lose you, nor endanger you, and he was as lost in the cruelty of the situation as you were. But above it all was a silent promise. Your mind wanders away, for its own safety, as your eyes begin to sparkle – your skin suddenly enveloped in frost.

Doubts. Worries.

Is he happy? Is he regretting the choice? Did I mess up a loving date forever and remind him each year? Does he ever wish to…go back and reverse it all? All of it? Go back to a time he never met me, go back and erase the wedding, the proposal, was there ever any doubt in that lovely smile?

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

A little knock on the door to your make-shift office alerts you from tables and notes. You look up, and realise the soft orange light reflecting the snowy cape on your window is the streetlamp, and it is dark outside.

“Yes?”

Jun-ho slowly opens the door, dressed in a comfortable, but elegant sweater, long dark trousers, and sensible socks.

You blink.

You blink again.

“Jun-ho? Is…what’s going on?”

He can’t be going anywhere, the snow outside is as beautiful and tranquil as it is all-enveloping.

Jun-ho says nothing, a knowing smile dancing on his lips as he stands in the door; he makes a small leaning motion with his neck, closing his eyes as he points out of your door without using a single word. He had the air of someone who knows all there is to know, and what he doesn’t does not matter.

And in this moment, you were all he wished to know.

“I’ll just…I’ll just put on something nice, you look too lovely.”

You manage to stutter, but he has already covered half your distance and is extending a hand to you.

“You look beautiful, my love. You always look beautiful. I have never seen you in a piece of clothing that could even begin to rival your features, Y/N. Come.”

You take his hand and he leads you to the living room. You adjust your eyes to the reassuring darkness that is softly illuminated by guttering candlelight of many, many little flames.

They hop as you disturb the air – dancing and fluttering in seemingly the same anticipation you are feeling in your chest. Cushions are arranged into a cute, comfy, fort-like bed. A little makeshift table sits in the middle, your favourite flower resting upon it next to a meal you…you shared on the day a few years ago.

He…he remembers.

Your hand grips Jun-ho’s, both to steady itself and to convey your utter adoration for your husband.

In this moment. In the next. In all moments to come.

You are lost for words, heart beating out of your chest, you wish to thank him, to hold him, to jump into his arms and push him into the pillows he so lovingly arranged – you want to whisper sweet ‘I love yous’ into his neck and chest and hear his heart jump at each touch, you want to melt in his arms and his tenderness and lose your train of thought.

“Jun-ho…this is…this is so beautiful, I don’t know what to say…”

But Jun-ho pulls away from you, still holding both your hands, now standing far enough to leave both your arms extended. His eyes rest upon you with affectionate tranquility – his fingers are softly circling yours as he holds you. Slowly he lets go of your hand and lifts a single finger to his mouth, in a small hushing motion. You say nothing more, but your melted heart doesn’t do well with surprises. Not on this day.

Jun-ho turns and leaves your other hand empty, taking the flower from the table and resting it in his place.

It’s beautiful, gentle, elegant. Your very favourite. You close your eyes and inhale its smell.

Jun-ho watches you intently. Eyes filled with the same knowing adoration he watched you with all those years ago. He wonders how he managed to get so very lucky. How foreign the thought of you seemed back then.

You, standing in your shared living room, smelling a flower and blissfully, beautifully, utterly his to love and cherish.

His wife – with her hair cascading down like a beautiful river, the lines of worry gone from her face, her tender eyes that could spark a fire in a lake now peaceful, loving, resting upon a flower as beautiful as her.

You notice the slow fall of his eyelids as he watches you, eyes closing in adoration and joining a subtle, guarded smile. Jun-ho clears his throat and leans back to the makeshift table, pulling a note from behind the candle in its centre.

Was it your imagination or did his hands shiver in the flame’s warm light?

“Y/N…my Y/N…” he begins, and no, that wasn’t your imagination. The paper contracted a wave from his grip as he steadied his breath.

“I…know what today represents. To you. To us.”

He looks up, looks at you, steadies his breath, and the smile nervously spreads – but you see the fervour in his expression to keep matters serious.

Jun-ho continues, eyes firmly buried in the letter.

“But I don’t think you know what it represents to me.”

Oh.

A twinge of worry. Ice prickles the small of your back. Those doubts threaten to break the warm atmosphere, yet he continues.

“It’s the day I almost lost what was most dear to me.”

Your eyebrows stiffen as your gaze fills with both concern for him and a need to hold him tight.

“I felt you slipping away each day, and with that, I felt as if I was losing parts of myself. As if each heartbeat in your presence catalysed by your warmth, by your presence alone, wasn’t mine to keep anymore."

"Each touch we shared, each breath I exhaled – it was as if all the warmth in me, all the good things that were growing so few and far between within me back then, all of them wished to remain with you."

"And I am sorry, my sweet, my darling Y/N…I am sorry that I, for even a moment, almost let them leave with you."

"I knew you would keep them safe, I knew you would hold them, protect them, care for them with the tenderness and love you hold in your heart for each being you encounter – and you would expect nothing in return."

"I watched sorrow, worry, frustration and finally, the most painful of all…acceptance caress your beautiful face and shine through your eyes. Dimming those unconditionally accepting eyes I did not deserve."

"Offering a pale reflection of what was left of me without you.”

Your hands were trembling. His large yet gentle form in front of you was losing its sharp lines; the scene began to blur into a soft orange hue as you realised your eyes failed to hold onto their tears. Though it was Jun-ho, he seemed…so very delicate in this moment. Laying himself utterly bare before you. Your heart was sending ripples through your body. You wished to hold him, kiss him, reassure him. But remained still. Your husband continued.

“Each year, I wrote down what was following me every time I thought of that night. I wrote of what I love about you – but managed to run out of paper.”

He let out a small, self-soothing chuckle, failing to meet your eyes, and you noticed the candles reflecting a few errant sparkles in their corner. Oh, Jun-ho…

He blinked his eyes quite harshly and continued.

“So I wrote down all the reasons…you should be happy without me.”

He breathed out a faintly shaking breath and let the silence speak for him. Exhaling once more, he now sounded like the weight was beginning to leave his chest and grip his shoulders with less strength.

“Which proved incredibly fruitless.” Jun-ho straightened, narrowing his eyes towards the paper, still avoiding yours.

“Not that you did not deserve to be happy, not that the reasons weren’t both valid and sound – but I refused to let you go without a fight. To lose something I breathe for, someone I keep safe in a place inside of my heart no one else may enter, come hell or high water, someone whose voice alone brings nothing but joy and serenity to all it touches…losing that…by doing nothing but letting her go?”

Jun-ho finally looked up at you, eyes sparkling, and that smile – that beautiful, wide smile you loved so much, underlining his words:

“Well, we couldn’t have that.”

You let out a quiet, incredibly nervous yet sweet noise that was intended to be laughter before it got caught in your throat. Tears fall once again, the motion and exhale alleviating the built tension in your heart and chest.

Tension and strain caught wrestling with a wave of all-encompassing love aimed straight for Jun-ho.

It was already flooding you from tip to toe, and you had no words. No words at all. Your hand slowly lifts up to your lips, shielding your mouth as you try to hide your expression, your tears, your smile – and still, Jun-ho continues.

“So each year, I wrote something else. Something concerning every reason I would fight for you again.”

He lowered the paper now, arms at his sides, looking directly at you.

“And again, and again, and again if needed.”

You let your hand leave your mouth, slowly letting it fall to your side too, caught in the waves starting to pool in the soles of your feet, you were sure he had to feel them too.

“Unfortunately,” he half-laughed, half smiled, getting rid of the last of the tension in his body as he rested the letter back on the table, “the weight of that almanac threatened to break our bookshelf.”

Jun-ho stepped closer to you, beckoning your hand with his slowly extending, up-turned palm. You laid yours upon it immediately, relishing the familiar safety, the beautiful warmth, the love emanating from each brush of his fingertips.

“And although the physical copy exists, safely stored away, I thought it better to translate every word for my wife into a language she might prefer.”

Jun-ho closes the distance between you and softly places his other arm around your waist, resting his hand in the small of your back.

With a small pull, he softly, leans into you and kisses your forehead.

“A language which I would most certainly love to express.”

He kisses the bridge of your nose right between your brows, slowly planting kisses down to the tip of your nose, then finally, finally ending upon your mouth. Jun-ho’s soft lips caress yours without kissing just yet, brushing, enjoying, cherishing…a tender whisper circles your ear:

“Would that be alright, miss Y/N? I hear your husband is terrible with words.”

You both start giggling at the same exact second, momentarily leaving each other’s lips to bask in the intimacy and bliss of the moment.

“Of course, Jun-ho, I mean, Mr. Officer and Official Translator, I would be delighted to learn.”

Jun-ho needed no further signal to scoop you up into his arms as if it were nothing to him, momentarily holding and enjoying your warmth, your laughter, your body against his. With a little circling motion he holds you closer, squeezing you tight and softly, gently, without letting even an inch of skin go without his touch, lays you into the pillows below.

And follows straight after with that beautiful, mischievous grin you fell in love with all those years ago.

[astarioffsimpmain]

Song Love Confession with GALE

I love this and I love you, I love this and I love you, I love this and I love you-

I'm not gonna lie. That poem took me ages. 😂

Gale x f!Bard Reader

Time was not on his side. He knew this, and yet he couldn't quell the ache that bloomed when he thought of her. It was a flurry of excitement, ardor, and hope; hope so powerful it hurt. The words had come easily, like water cascading over his body in waves of release. But the melody was harder.

The song could not be joyful. He would not be around much longer to partake in its jubilance, and if she loved him - gods, if she loved him - he could not bear to part from her with some illusion of happiness cloaked in a veil of loss. The song could not be entirely somber, either, however. She had given him peace, contentment, belonging; after so long chasing them straight into oblivion. She gave freely. He was happier than he had been since he was a carefree child, grasping his very first threads of Weave.

He settled on quiet and gentle; fragile, just as he was. He had enough grand gestures planned for one evening. This one would be a simple song sheet displaying the music of his heart. He desperately hoped she would know its theme already and harmonize with him.

---

Gale was nervous as he walked to the clearing. He knew his plan, he knew his intention, and he knew his heart. But there was no way to plan your response; there was no way of predicting you. It was part of what he loved about you. You were free of chains and unbound from rigidity. You, like your music, flowed from emotion to emotion; thought to thought. But on a night like tonight, it made his tension worsen. He had good reason to believe you felt the same way he did, but what if he were to be wrong? Would his first, last, only song go unheard by its very inspiration?

He had no more time to think as you approached, a soft smile on your lips and trepidation in your eyes. His heart raced. You looked so beautiful in the light of the aurora - as if you didn't always. He patted the space beside himself on the blanket and you obliged him, sitting down close enough so that he could feel your heat. It gave him courage. Gathering the Weave between his fingertips, he played the tune he had written as his voice carried gently into the night.

Isolation gripped an icy hand,

Across my now forsaken shoulder;

And creeping closer then, it spanned.

For each night, my flesh turned colder.

Lost amidst my grief and greatest shame,

I awaited the hour of my fate;

Succumbing to this darkest flame,

A ghost of me in this foul state.

But blinding light wielding care and hope

Streaked across the expanse of my sky.

It rested here within my scope,

And forbade me, therein, to die.

My chains, though still bound, no longer creak,

And my heart does not hide but speaks true.

Whilst my soul to yours is now weak,

You must know of my love for you.

As the music faded, his voice with it, he braved a glance in your direction and gasped softly. Tears streaked your face, and you sniffled into your hand. Panic rose in his chest; he had not meant to upset you. In fact, it was very the last thing he wanted. But before he had the chance to backtrack, you closed the distance between you and launched yourself into his arms.

He caught you, his thoughts screeching to a halt as he pulled you closer. "I love you too, Gale," you whispered into his neck, and his heart stuttered. His palm found the back of your head, and he tangled his fingers in your hair.

"Thank the gods."

~

fin

Tagging, Darlings: @knightofmight01 @micropoe10 @fanon-and-canon @just-a-refrigerator @senualothbrok @worfs-glorious-hair @nerissa-dekarios

[laurellerual]

do you think there’s a particular reason as to why arya xiii in asos feels much darker than all her other chapters? she casually thinks of murdering innocent people and she kills an innocent squire, before and after this chapter she only kills out of necessity or survival, except for daeron. it feels so weird to me bc she doesn’t even feel like the young girl she is. just the popular badass assassin we got on the show lmao. what do you think?

Why Arya XIII in ASoS feels much darker than all her other chapters?

Of course this is one of the darkest points of Arya's story. I remind you that only a chapter ago she woke up after the Red Wedding and recovered her mother's body from a river, so it's no surprise that she's not at her best, mentally.

Plus: Sandor has just decided that taking her to the Vale to her aunt is too risky. And now, at the Crossroads Inn, she discovers that Riverrun is no longer an option either since it has been taken by the Lannisters. And that Winterfell is also not an option because the Boltons have established themselves as the new lords of the North and are using Arya Stark's name to legitimize themselves. She has nowhere to go.

She casually thinks of murdering innocent people.

I don’t know how much weight to give to this because it’s not a new thing. Much much earlier we have stuff like Arya considering killing Gendry because he found out she’s a girl, for example. I don’t think it’s that strange because she’s been living in a war zone full of “kill or be killed” situations for months now, so it’s clearly a defense mechanism she’s developed from the trauma.

But she decides to trust him, and on several occasions she steps in to save his life. I think her actions matter more than a thought thrown out in a moment of fear or anger.

She kills an innocent squire.

Which innocent squire? The Mountain's squire? The one who laughs and jokes around with Polly and the Tickler? I don't believe for a moment he's innocent.

And even if he was just a poor little meow meow forced to serve his evil master, he's still not innocent in this situation -> The reason he gets stabbed by Arya is because he grabbed her, she just reacts instinctively to get out of his grip.

The heavy stone flagon was still on the table. Arya grabbed it with two hands, but as she lifted it someone grabbed her arm. The flagon slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor. Wrenched around, she found herself nose to nose with the squire. You stupid, you forgot all about him. His big white pimple had burst, she saw. "Are you the puppy's puppy?" He had his sword in his right hand and her arm in his left, but her own hands were free, so she jerked his knife from its sheath and sheathed it again in his belly, twisting. He wasn't wearing mail or even boiled leather, so it went right in, the same way Needle had when she killed the stableboy at King's Landing. The squire's eyes got big and he let go of her arm.

Let's remember that Arya didn't start this fight, she's just trying to help a drunk Sandor to prevail over Polliver and the Tickler.

They're killing him. [...] As he stabbed, Clegane twisted violently aside, winning himself half a heartbeat's respite. Blood ran down his face and from the gash in his neck. Both of the Mountain's men came after him hard, Polliver hacking at his head and shoulders while the Tickler darted in to stab at back and belly.

The Mountain's men have made it clear that they intended to take him to Harrenhal and now they are killing him… and what do you think would happen to Arya if they won? She'd find herself back in the hands of her tormentors, back to Arya VI - ACoK. 

It feels so weird to me bc she doesn’t even feel like the young girl she is.

Nha, I think helping the Hound in this fight is very Arya-like. The only other thing she could realistically do is hide under a table and cross her fingers hoping the Mountain's men don't win, despite having the numerical advantage. But Arya is not the type of person to leave her fate entirely up to luck.

The fact that she was able to cross two names off her list and get Needle back is just an extra incentive to join the fight.

I also think it's pretty realistic that being just a little girl her first move was to go for the youngest of the three, by throwing the cup at him. And that she manages to overpower the Tickler only because she attacks him by surprise while he's focused on Sandor.

Just the popular badass assassin we got on the show.

In conclusion, it is clear that we have very different opinions on this, but if you want I leave you the link to a post I made in which I compare this scene between the books and the show.

[merlinmylove]

Don’t misunderstand me, I adore a good Morgana Redemption fic; but i feel like it only works because the other characters don’t know about all the things she did to them/camelot

I mean did they ever find out just how long she’s been acting against them?

(obviously most fics aren’t entirely canon compliant and tend to ignore some of the horrifics of the later seasons but still? could they or would they forgive her if they knew?)

Did Gwen ever find out it was Morgana who orchestrated Elyans and hers kidnapping? That poor girl was subdued, bound, kidnapped and threatened by a foreign king, and Morgana just pretended to be her friend as she cried about it

Did she ever find out it was Morgana who placed the “love poultice” in her house and framed her for enchanting the prince? She was about to burn at the stake and Morgana smiled as she was dragged away

(In most fics Gwen finds it in her to love and forgive Morgana, and clearly she has a bigger heart than me because i would've been pissed lol)

Did Arthur ever find out about the phoenix eye bracelet that sucked his life force out of him? I know that Gwen realised Morgana has magic and had turned on Camelot in that episode, but does Arthur ever find out about it? Would he forgive her?

Did he ever discover Morgana was working behind the original siege with Morgause and Cenred?

Did he ever find out Queen Annis cheated in their duel and Morgana enchanted his sword so it would guarantee his death? Would he be able to look at Queen Annis the same way if he knew?

(Obviously merlin couldn’t tell him about the sword, because it would mean explaining how he stopped it in the first place)

Only Merlin knew how long Morgana has been trying to kill them all, but he could never reveal the truth because no one would believe him; its treason and Uther would execute him for making such an allegation against his daughter ward

Gwen might actually belive him because she’d been starting to feel suspicious about Morgana for a while: But I don’t remember if she ever found out about the kidnapping and the poultice?

Did Merlin ever tell them he knew Morgana has turned on Camelot as early as season 2? If you watch the episodes from an outsiders pov it’s no wonder her betrayal came as a huge shock to everyone — and it hurts!!

I have no problem with them loving and remembering the woman they once knew, but it hurts to think they believed she was good for longer than she was (and as i said, i do want a redemption for morgana) i’m just deep in my thoughts and a rambling

There is so much tragedy in this show and especially with how much guilt and grief Merlin is forced to bear on his own

I want Arthur and Gwen to know the things Merlin knows

[moeitsu]

The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 8 - A Storm Is Born In Still Water Summary: Spending the evening with the Marstons, laughter and warmth filling the space, you couldn’t ignore the looming presence of the hurricane on the horizon. A quiet unease has settled in your chest—this night felt like the calm before the storm. The last taste of normalcy before everything was about to change. wc: 11k tw: none! Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

AN: This ended up being longer than I intended, but I really enjoyed it. Reader spends some quality time with the Marstons in this chapter. With a juicy little surprise from Arthur at the end :)

tag list: @photo1030 @v3lv3tf0x @ireallyhonestlydontcare @shygamergirl01 @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @sevikaspuertoricanwife @abducted-cowz @ilovethatforyousworld @gatodebiquini @onyxlune @bomdada

Standing in front of the bathroom sink, I rolled the small pearl between my fingers, its smooth surface cool against my damp skin. Steam curled around the room in ghostly wisps, clinging to the mirror in a thick, hazy veil. The humid air pressed against my bare skin, making me sweat all over again, as if the shower had done nothing to wash away the night.

Since I’d arrived home, I couldn’t stop replaying everything.

I could still feel him everywhere—Arthur’s strong hands gripping my waist, his slick tongue dancing with mine, his warm breath filling my lungs. No amount of scrubbing could erase the phantom sensation of his touch, the way my skin still tingled as if he had left an invisible mark on me.

Maybe it wasn’t just his touch that had me so undone. Maybe it was the trust, the raw vulnerability of it all. Arthur had a way of making me feel safe, seen—like I was something treasured. He unraveled me with the sound of his deep, melodic voice, lured me in with the ethereal glow of his body, pulsing like a heartbeat in the water.

A shiver rolled through me, despite the heat lingering in the air. If he hadn’t been the one to pull away, how far would I have gone?

At that moment, I had been ready to strip my wetsuit from my body, to give myself to him completely, to discover what lay beneath those shimmering scales. It was insane. I had only known him for a week. I barely understood his biology. And yet…to Arthur, I was the first to show him kindness. To explore him with gentleness and admiration.

And standing here, miles away from him, I still felt his pull. That strange, invisible tether binding us together. This feeling inside me was foreign yet familiar, and it felt wonderful. Damn it, some part of me truly did love him.

My gaze dropped to his gift, its pearly-white surface reflecting the golden glow of the bathroom light. My stomach twisted as I finally let the weight of this tiny treasure settle over me.

I had sealed my fate. Not that I could or even wanted to refuse him. But the future… whatever awaited us… terrified me. I had accepted his courtship. I had expressed a mutual desire to mate. The thought of sex with him sent heat rushing up my neck, my body reacting before my mind could catch up. My thighs pressed together instinctively, aching with an anticipation I barely understood.

Part of me knew I shouldn’t want this. And yet every time I was near him my body betrayed me. 

But this was bigger than just desire. Charles’ warning rang in my ears. This was bigger than my feelings. It could be dangerous. Hell, it could even be deadly.

I placed the pearl down on the cool porcelain sink, its milky surface gleaming under the dim light. My fingers lingered on it for a moment before I turned away, grabbing my night creams and smoothing them over my skin with slow, absentminded strokes. And yet, as I went through the motions, my thoughts wandered.

What do his cocks look like?

The question struck like a bolt of lightning, sending a flush creeping up my neck. I don’t think I’ll ever truly grasp the fact that he has two. My hands faltered for a moment before I forced myself to keep going, spreading the thick cream over my cheeks with shaking fingers.

What would they feel like?

Would they be like the rest of him—silken, slick, and impossibly warm? Would they have the same ridges as his tongue, designed to pleasure and devour? A whimper nearly slipped from my lips at the thought.

I snatched my toothbrush, clicking it on with a little too much force before shoving the humming bristles into my mouth.

Would he even fit inside me?

Arthur was big. Not just in size but in presence, in the way his chest and shoulders dwarfed me, the way his powerful frame moved through the water with effortless grace. He was far bigger than any human I’d ever met. His tail alone nearly weighed 300 lbs. Would it hurt? Would his body even be compatible with mine? Surely there was some way we could make it work.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to conjure up the brief glimpse I’d caught when I was stroking his gills—the way he had pressed them into my soft stomach, the heat of him unmistakable even beneath the water. Slipping past his scales in a moment of raw hunger and pure arousal. Part of me loved that I had that effect on him, that my touch alone brought out a primal side that he tried to keep locked away. That instinctual need to—

My eyes flew open.

Did he want to impregnate me?

My breath caught in my throat, the electric hum of my toothbrush suddenly deafening in the small bathroom.

Could he?

His father was human, which meant there was some possibility for offspring. And sirens—at least from what little I knew from Lenny’s lesson—didn’t just mate for pleasure. Mating season wasn’t about getting off from the heat of arousal. It was a biological imperative, an instinctual drive to breed, to create strong, healthy offspring so the species could endure for generations. Arthur’s body was driven by its biological processes, much like my own. My body still followed its natural reproductive cycle, ovulation and menses occurred whether I wanted it to or not. And I was certain, there was no birth control for sirens. 

I spit out the foamy toothpaste, watching the milky swirl spin down the drain as I gripped the edge of the sink, my thoughts following it into the abyss. There was only one way to answer these questions, and standing here spiraling like my minty spit wasn’t going to help.

I needed to take this one day at a time.

Arthur had been open with me about nearly everything. He would understand my hesitation, my concerns, my fears and my fantasies. If he was going to be my mate, and I his, there were things we needed to discuss. Things I had to know first.

But for now, this pearl—this sacred vow—would remain between us. Like our own little secret.

Grabbing my hairbrush, I wrung the excess water from my hair over the sink, watching droplets slide down the porcelain before wiping the mirror with my palm. The fog smeared under my touch, revealing my reflection in hazy fragments. I pulled my tangled hair back from my face, only to freeze as the light caught something shimmering on my ear.

My breath hitched.

Leaning closer, my pulse pounded in my throat as the blood drained from my face.

Iridescent lines, thin as spider silk, wrapped delicately around my earlobe, tracing up the helix in intricate, swirling patterns. The faint shimmer was unmistakable. Evidence of Arthur’s hunger, where he had nipped at my flesh and then soothed the ache with his traitorous tongue.

Shit.

A rush of heat crawled up my neck, an unrelenting mix of embarrassment and something far more dangerous—desire.

With a sharp grunt, I tossed my hairbrush into the sink, the clatter echoing in the small space. Yanking my bathrobe off the door, I threw it around my shoulders and stormed out of the bathroom.

So much for keeping this a secret.

At this rate, I might as well walk into work on Monday with a brand-new fucking piercing.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

The microwave let out a shrill beep, its sound slicing through my quiet apartment like a judge’s gavel, sentencing me to another regrettable meal. With a sigh, I trudged to the kitchen, grabbing the steaming plastic tray and peeling back the film. A wave of artificial cheese and processed nostalgia wafted up, clinging to the air like an unavoidable truth.

Flopping onto my bed, I sank into the pillows, the mattress dipping beneath me. Eating in bed was typically reserved for the days I truly felt pathetic—but after tonight’s adrenaline-fueled chaos, I figured I’d earned it. The glow of the bedside lamp cast long, soft shadows across the walls, wrapping the room in a cozy, almost melancholic warmth.

Ah, gourmet.

Just as I reached for the remote, my phone buzzed against the nightstand, the vibration rattling the wood, its soft white light cutting through the dimly lit room like a whisper demanding to be heard.

Hey. ~JM

A small smile tugged at my lips. Placing my dinner down on my lap as I swiped the notification open and typed back.

Hi.

You alive? ~JM

No, you’re talking to a ghost right now.

Grinning, I stabbed at the sad excuse for macaroni with my fork as I waited for his reply.

Very funny. Just wanted to make sure you got home safe. ~JM

Home by 11 PM sharp, Mr. Marston. Don’t worry, I didn’t break my curfew ;)

Taking a streaming bite, I instantly regretted it, and reached for my drink to wash away the taste of disappointment. My phone vibrated again.

You’re impossible. How’d your swim with Arthur go? ~JM

I smirked, stretching out across the mattress, my legs tangled in the blankets.

Wouldn’t you like to know? You tryna get lessons to be a lifeguard or something?

Three little dots danced on the screen. Disappearing for a moment then coming back. Then—

Forget it. ~JM

I laughed softly, and he was calling me impossible? Perhaps I was playing too much. Despite our antics John was a sincere friend. He was only looking out for me after all.  

I’m teasing, you idiot. It was nice. Arthur showed me around the tank. Discovered some new abilities of his too. He really is something incredible.

I couldn’t help but think back to the way his bioluminescence had flickered like a living constellation beneath the water, the way his voice had wrapped around me like a song meant just for me. The way his warm breath curled in my chest. It crossed my mind whether or not I should share that piece of information with the others. Charles asked me to keep him updated on everything. But how much did I really need to share? 

Yeah, incredibly weird. You both are. Guess that’s why you get along so well. ~JM

Rolling my eyes, I bit back another laugh.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I got to swim with the magic fish and you didn’t :P

Oh shut up. Are we still on for tomorrow? Abby and Jack are coming too. ~JM

That made me sit up, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

It was tradition—an unspoken ritual between John and me. Every time a big hurricane loomed on the horizon, we’d go out for drinks, raising our glasses to the storm before it had the chance to take anything away from us. One last hoorah, just in case we woke up to find the world outside our doors washed away.

It was a morbid tradition, sure, but necessary. The hurricanes had been growing stronger, more relentless. Sometimes it felt like Mother Earth was being sinister, toying with its humans. Though who could blame her. Each summer, we lost more land to the sea, watched the shoreline creep further inland, watched the cost of repairs climb higher than we could keep up with.

But this tradition—this small act of defiance—was our way of saying we wouldn’t break. That no matter what was coming, we’d face it together, with laughter in our throats and whiskey in our veins.

This time, though, Abigail and Jack would be joining us. It meant fewer drinks, fewer reckless choices, but I didn’t mind. If anything, I was proud of John for bringing them along, for letting them be part of something that had always just been ours. It meant he wasn’t just bracing for the storm anymore—he was facing it with the people he loved most in the world.

Absolutely, I’ll be there. I miss those two!

They miss you too. Was thinking either Shady Belle or Bronte’s. ~JM

I nearly choked on my drink.

This little island off the coast wasn’t exactly known for its fine dining. There were only a handful of places to eat, and even fewer that were appropriate for the whole family. Neither John nor I were rolling in cash, which meant our options were limited. But Shady Belle? Really?

To put it kindly, Shady Belle was a dump. A dive bar tucked into the shadiest part of town—hence the name. The kind of place where the floors were perpetually sticky, the jukebox was always playing something just off-key, and you were guaranteed to see at least one fight break out before closing time. It attracted the worst kind of crowd—drifters, troublemakers, men who smelled like cheap beer and regret. But it was cheap. Greasy burgers, stale fries, watered-down whiskey. You got what you paid for, and in our case, that wasn’t much.

Bronte’s, on the other hand, was a different world entirely. A cozy little beachside Italian restaurant, nestled right by the harbor where the scent of salt and grilled seafood filled the air. The place had charm—worn wooden tables, twinkling string lights, and the soft hum of waves crashing just beyond the deck. Their seafood was as fresh as it got, pulled straight from the harbor each morning and served up in buttery pastas and rich, fragrant risottos. It wasn’t fancy, not exactly, but it was a place you took your family, where you lingered over good food and even better conversation.

And somehow, John thought these two were interchangeable.

John Marston, you are not bringing your lovely family to a dump like Shady Belle. I forbid it, shame on you. >:(

I’m just messing with you, boss. We’ll see you tomorrow at Bronte’s. ~JM

I set my phone down with a contented sigh, sinking deeper into the pillows. My food had gone cold, my show remained unwatched, and yet my mind was still tangled in thoughts of Arthur—his touch, his voice, the pull of something I didn’t fully understand.

And yet, despite it all, a weight had lifted from my chest.

That small conversation with John had grounded me, brought back a sense of normalcy, like an anchor in the middle of a storm. The calm in the eye of a hurricane. For tonight, I let myself believe that the little pearl gleaming on my nightstand was just that—a simple pearl. A treasure from the abyss. Nothing more, nothing less. Whatever future awaited me with Arthur could wait.

With that thought, I let my eyes slip closed, drifting off to sleep with a small smile on my lips.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

The hum of my truck’s engine faded into silence as I shifted in my seat, giving myself one last once-over in the rearview mirror. It wasn’t vanity that kept me checking my reflection—it was the damn iridescent marks that shimmered no matter how I tried to conceal them. The fading sunlight caught the delicate lines, making them glint like pearls against my skin.

Covering the scars on my wrist was easy enough with a well placed watch or bracelet. But my ear was a different challenge. I had tried earrings, but they only drew more attention. A beanie had crossed my mind, but late summer in the Outer Banks was no time for extra layers. With a sigh and a silent prayer that no one would notice, I raked my fingers through my hair one last time, letting it fall over my ear before stepping out of the truck.

The scent of salt air and freshly baked bread welcomed me as I stepped into the restaurant. It didn’t take long to find the Marstons—the hostess barely had time to point me in their direction before the sound of Jack’s high-pitched giggles rang through the patio. His little voice carried over the murmur of dinner conversations as he eagerly scribbled across his kids’ menu, tongue poking out in deep concentration.

“Aunty!” he shrieked the moment I leaned over his chair, wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug.

“Hey, nugget,” I grinned, ruffling his blond hair as he giggled into my shoulder. I slid into my seat, warmth settling in my chest as I turned to Abigail. “It’s so nice to see you. You’re looking great! How’s the baby?”

Her tired but radiant smile said it all before she even answered.

A few months ago, I had been jolted awake by a drunken call from John, slurring his way through the news that he was going to be a father of two. I had given him an earful—not just for drowning himself in whiskey instead of being there for Abigail, but for calling me instead of facing his own emotions head-on. Still, beneath my frustration, I understood.

John wasn’t in the best place, mentally or physically, when Jack was born. That was before I came around, but Abigail had told me how much he struggled with fatherhood in the beginning. His own father had been a hard, unloving man, and John had spent his youth running wild, just another orphaned street kid scraping by however he could. It wasn’t until Hosea took him under his wing that he found something like guidance—like family.

By the time I entered the picture, John was already trying to be better, to be more present. And then he found out Abigail was pregnant again. The drinking didn’t stop overnight, but I helped him reel it in, reminded him that this time, he didn’t have to figure it out alone. He didn’t have many friends outside the facility, and I had quickly become the person he called on those nights when doubt crept in, when he mumbled about being a failure and a sorry excuse for a father. I listened. I talked him down. I reminded him that he wasn’t his old man—that he had a choice in the kind of father he wanted to be.

And looking at him now, his hand resting protectively on Abigail’s, his eyes soft as he watched Jack chatter away, it warmed my heart to see how far he’d come. To see him not just accepting fatherhood, but embracing it.

Abigail beamed, her whole face lighting up. “She’s wonderful. Been kickin’ around in there like she’s training for the Olympics, though,” she laughed, resting a hand on her belly as if to calm the tiny storm within.

I gasped, nearly dropping my napkin. “She?!” My voice came out more like a squeak. Last time I saw her, the baby’s gender had still been a mystery.

With a proud nod, she confirmed it, and I looked between her and John, my excitement bubbling over. “Well, congratulations, you two! A baby girl—what wonderful news!” I turned to Jack, who was still absorbed in his coloring. “What about you, Nugget? Are you excited?”

Jack didn’t miss a beat. He threw a crayon triumphantly into the air and declared, “I’m gonna be the best big sister!”

Laughter erupted around the table. John chuckled, shaking his head as he gave his son’s shoulder a light nudge. “Big brother, kid. You’re gonna be the best big brother to your little sister.”

The minutes melted away as we talked about everything and nothing, Abigail filling me in on all the baby know-how while Jack chartered between this topic and the next. When the waitress arrived to take our orders, I raised a knowing eyebrow at John as he casually ordered a Blue Moon. He caught my expression and mouthed just one before returning his attention to Jack’s latest tic-tac-toe match.

When my turn came, I ordered an Irish coffee.

John shot me a look. “Little late for coffee, isn’t it? You tryna pull an all-nighter?”

I nodded, stirring my straw absently in my water. “Gonna stay up to track the storm. It’s not supposed to hit land until after midnight. They’re saying it’ll weaken to a Cat 3, but I’m not sure I believe that.”

Abigail’s smile faltered slightly as she twisted her hands in her lap. “I heard they already evacuated some parts of the island. Are you sure you’re safe in your apartment?”

Before I could answer, our drinks arrived, and John lifted his beer in salute. “I’ll drink to that,” he said with a grin before taking a long sip. Jack, wanting to be just like his old man, eagerly lifted his sippy cup of milk and took a dramatic gulp, his little brows furrowed in exaggerated seriousness.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “I’ll be fine, Abby,” I reassured her, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m on the fourth floor, anyway. Only thing I really gotta worry about is the wind.” I threw in a wink for good measure.

Abigail didn’t look entirely convinced. She reached over the table and took my hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Alright,” she said, her voice softer now. “But if you lose power, water—or even if you just need some company—you’re more than welcome to stay at Hosea’s with us.”

Her warmth settled over me like a blanket, and for a moment, the looming storm didn’t seem quite so daunting.

Dinner carried on in a comfortable rhythm, the conversation flowing as easily as the drinks. Abigail shared stories of Jack’s latest antics—his newfound fascination with bugs, his insistence that he could build a boat out of sticks, his stubborn refusal to accept that the moon wasn’t actually following him home at night. John chimed in with the occasional quip, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation whenever his son interrupted him to “correct” the details of the stories.

Plates were passed, forks scraped against ceramic, and the scent of garlic and butter mingled with the salty ocean breeze. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in deep hues of indigo and violet. The colors reminded me of a certain someone, but I pushed those thoughts aside. As if on cue, the string lights flickered to life above the patio, bathing the space in a warm, golden glow. The soft hum of conversation from other tables drifted around us, but beneath it all, there was something else. 

A shift in the air.

The wind carried a different weight now, cooler, charged with something powerful and untamed. The storm loomed just beyond the horizon, invisible but present, pressing against the edges of our peaceful evening. The distant rumble of waves against the shore sounded rougher than before, like an unspoken warning. I glanced toward the darkened sky, the edges of heavy clouds rolling in, and felt it deep in my bones. The tension, the waiting.

But here, on this little patio strung with golden lights, everything still felt normal. Safe.

Jack, having polished off his dinner with the determined enthusiasm only a child could manage, rocked back and forth in his chair, barely containing his excitement. “Dad, can we go inside and see the fish? Please? Please, please, please?”

John sighed, already pushing back his chair. “Alright, alright. But you gotta actually look this time, not just tap on the glass and scare ‘em off.”

Jack beamed, leaping up from his seat and practically dragging his father toward the restaurant’s entrance. “You know Papa Hosea owns an aquarium right? You can come see the fish whenever you like.” 

“But I wanna see those fish!” He pointed a small finger towards the tank inside the restaurant. 

Abigail and I watched them go, their figures illuminated briefly by the warm glow of the doorway before disappearing inside.

A gust of wind sent a shiver through the patio, rattling the string lights overhead. Abigail pulled her cardigan a little tighter around her shoulders and shot me a look. “You sure you don’t want to take that offer?” she teased, but there was something genuine in her eyes.

I smirked, but the thought lingered. The storm was coming, and even with a full belly and good company, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this might be the last normal night for a while.

Abigail studied me for a moment, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her water glass. The playful glint in her eyes softened into something quieter, something knowing. “And how are you doing?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “I feel like a terrible friend. We’ve spent the whole night talking about me and the baby, and I haven’t even asked about you.”

“You are the farthest thing from a terrible friend Abby. Hell, you’re practically like family.” I hesitated before my next words, swirling the last of my Irish coffee in my mug. “But, I’m fine. Nothing exciting to report,” I said, but even I wasn’t convinced.

Abigail arched her brow. “Oh, fine, huh? That’s convincing.”

I huffed a laugh and shook my head. “I mean it. I’m just… busy. Work’s been a lot.”

“So I’ve heard,” Abigail said, swirling the last of her drink before setting it down. “John told me all about that monster you guys found on the beach. He still won’t let me come see it, though—said he doesn’t want me to get wrapped up in it. Whatever that means.” She waved a dismissive hand, her tone light, but the word monster lodged itself like a thorn in my chest.

I forced a small smile, but my throat tightened. I couldn’t blame her—how could I? She had never met Arthur, never seen him beyond whatever crude image John had painted for her. Knowing him, he had probably fed her just enough details to keep her curiosity in check, just enough to make sure she didn’t go snooping around for more. But I doubted he spared the more unsettling details—the sharpness of Arthur’s features, the unearthly glow in his eyes, the sheer, overwhelming presence of him.

To her, he was just a story. A strange, terrifying thing washed up from the deep, something not quite human. And maybe that was easier. Easier to believe in a monster than to acknowledge the gentle yet broken man beneath.

I shifted in my seat, holding my drink just to have something to do with my hands. “John just worries,” I said carefully. “You know how he gets.”

Abigail scoffed. “That’s one way to put it. He acts like I can’t handle myself.” She shook her head, then gave me a pointed look. “But you have seen it, haven’t you?”

My fingers curled around the ceramic mug. Him, I almost corrected. But instead, I just nodded. “Yeah. I have.”

Abigail tilted her head, watching me closely. “And? Is it really as bad as John says?”

I hesitated, feeling the weight of the truth pressing against my ribs. Worse, I wanted to say. And yet... not at all. Instead, I just swallowed and gave her the safest answer I could.

“We’re taking it one day at a time.”

She wasn’t buying it. She never did. “You sound just like Hosea. Anyways, are you seeing anyone?” she pressed, her voice light but her gaze sharp. “Or still working yourself into the grave?”

I exhaled slowly, tapping my fingers against the side of my cup. “I don’t know if I’d call it seeing someone,” I admitted, choosing my words carefully. “It’s… complicated.”

That caught her interest. Abigail leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand. “Complicated how?”

I let out a breathy chuckle, running a hand through my hair. Where did I even begin? “He’s… different.”

Abigail’s brows lifted. “Different good or different bad?”

“I don’t really know yet,” I admitted honestly. “He’s just—he doesn’t fit into any category. Not someone I ever expected to know, let alone…”

“Let alone what?” she prompted, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

I sighed, shaking my head. “He’s not like anyone else, Abigail. He’s got this way about him—like he’s seen and done things most people couldn’t even begin to understand. And it’s not just that he’s been through a lot, it’s that he wears it, you know? Like it’s stitched into him, into the way he moves, the way he talks.”

Abigail’s expression softened. “Sounds like someone with a rough past,” she said gently.

I swallowed, staring down at the swirls in my coffee. A rough past. That was one way to put it. “Yeah,” I murmured. “And sometimes I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something I can’t fully see. Like if I step too close, I might lose my footing entirely.”

For a long moment, Abigail didn’t say anything. Then, she reached across the table, squeezing my hand. “You’re not scared of him, are you?”

The question caught me off guard, but the answer was easy. “No. Never.” That much I knew for certain.

“Then maybe that’s what matters,” she said simply. “Different doesn’t always mean bad. And complicated doesn’t always mean impossible.”

I looked up at her, at the quiet reassurance in her eyes, and for a moment, I let myself believe her. But deep down, I knew that Arthur wasn’t just different. He was something else entirely. And that was what made this so damn complicated. 

The conversation lulled into a comfortable silence. The clinking of silverware and the hum of distant conversation dimming in the space between us as patrons left to take shelter from the oncoming hurricane. The air was thick now, charged with the quiet presence of the storm rolling in from the sea. The string lights overhead flickered slightly as the wind picked up, rustling the palm trees and sending the scent of salt and rain through the open patio.

Abigail glanced at the sky, then at Jack, who was starting to rub at his eyes between half-hearted scribbles on his kids’ menu. “We should get going before it really starts coming down,” she said, pushing back from the table.

We settled the bill, and as we stepped into the parking lot, the restaurant’s warm glow spilling onto the pavement, the wind had gained strength. It whipped at Abigail’s cardigan and sent Jack giggling as he tried to fight against it.

“Be safe, alright?” she said, pulling me into a tight hug. She smelled like vanilla and the faintest trace of baby powder. “And if you change your mind about staying with us—”

“I know where to find you,” I finished with a small smile.

She gave me one last squeeze before turning to buckle Jack into his car seat, her voice soft and affectionate as she reassured him they’d be home soon. That left me alone with John for a moment, the space between us filled with the howling wind and the rustling of palm fronds overhead.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. “Storm’s rolling in fast,” he muttered.

Before I could respond, a sudden gust swept through the parking lot, catching my hair and blowing it back from my face. I barely noticed it—until I saw the way John’s expression shifted.

His eyes flickered, just for a second, to the iridescent glint of the thread like jewels on my ear, catching the restaurant’s light like tiny embers against my skin. It was only a second. A brief, unreadable look before he schooled his expression into something neutral.

I froze, unsure if I should say something—unsure if he would. But John just exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head before stepping forward and pulling me into a quick, tight, one-armed hug.

“Stay dry,” he mumbled against my hair, his voice low and rough.

“You too.” 

And just like that, he let go, turning away without another word. I watched as he climbed into the driver’s seat, the glow of the dashboard briefly illuminating his face before he started the car. Abigail waved at me through the window, and then they were gone, disappearing down the darkened road toward Hosea’s home.

I stood there for a moment longer, the wind tugging at my clothes, the scent of rain heavy in the air. Then, with a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, I turned and headed for my truck. It was going to be a long night, and I had a date with the storm radar.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

Sometime after midnight, exhaustion must have won—I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. The coffee I’d downed earlier had lost its fight against the weight of my eyelids. The last thing I remembered was watching the storm churn on my computer screen, the swirling eye of the hurricane swallowing our little island whole. Reds and yellows slashed across the radar like open wounds, fading into greens and blues on the outskirts. I had been listening to the radio, tracking power outages, storm surges, trees crashing onto roads, and the eerie mention of debris washing up on the shore.

Now, I woke to a sharp crick in my neck, my laptop dimly glowing where it had slipped between the folds of my blankets. The storm still raged outside—wind shrieking against the windows, rattling the glass in their frames. But something was… off. It was too quiet.

The low hum of the radio had been reduced to static, its garbled voice flickering in and out, whispering in fragmented syllables. I reached up, tugging the string of my bedside lamp. Nothing. No power. That explains the silence, the hum of my AC is typically a comforting white noise.

Rubbing the sleep from my face, I sat up, disoriented. My watch read 3:17 AM. Outside, the wind howled like a living thing, its ghostly wails slipping through the cracks in the building. But beneath it—beneath the storm’s fury—I heard something else.

A faint, rhythmic buzzing. My phone.

It must have slipped from my bed while I slept, and now it was vibrating somewhere on the floor, lost in the darkness. I strained to listen, feeling blindly across the wooden boards until my fingers brushed the smooth glass.

I flipped it over, squinting at the screen. John.

A cold weight settled in my stomach. My thumb hovered over the answer button for only a second before I swiped to pick up.

“John?” My voice was hoarse, the word barely audible over the static hum in the air.

For a moment, there was nothing but the howl of the storm.

Panic began to coil in my gut, tightening with each second of silence. “John, is everything alright?” I was praying this was some kind of butt dial, or that he was simply calling to check in on me.

A sharp burst of static crackled through the line, followed by a distorted mess of noise—wind shrieking, the distant clang of something metal slamming against concrete.

“—out. Power’s out—damn generators—”

I sat up straighter, gripping the phone a little tighter. Did Hosea lose power too? But why would he be calling me about it? “John, I can barely hear you. Where are you?”

The wind battered against my windows, rattling them in their frames. My heart pounded against my ribs, its rhythm matching the erratic pulse of the storm.

“—at the facility—” His voice wavered, distant, then returned in a frantic rush. “It’s bad. Real bad.”

I threw the blankets off and shot up from the bed, already reaching for my boots. So he’s not at Hosea’s, got it. Leave it to John to be at work during a damn hurricane. “What’s happening?”

More static. A low, shuddering creak echoed through the speaker, like steel under pressure.

“—system’s down—” His voice cut in and out, growing more frantic. “Aerators failed—oxygen levels—” Another sharp cut of silence. “Pumps not working.”

I cursed under my breath, fumbling in the darkness as I yanked my jacket on and scrambled for my keys. My hands shook, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a vice. If the generators were down, that meant the entire facility was in darkness—no lights, no air circulation, no cooling systems. And John… John was there alone, trying to handle it himself.

He’d be working himself into the grave, pushing through exhaustion, sweat soaking his clothes in the humid, stifling air. And if the tanks were failing—if the aeration system was down—he wasn’t just fighting to keep the lights on. He was fighting to keep everything inside that building alive.

“Hang on, John, I’m on my way. Don’t do anything stupid, wait—”

His voice broke through again, this time with a single, chilling sentence:

“They’re suffocating.”

I froze. My breath hitched. The wildlife was suffocating.

My mind raced, connecting the dots at a sickening speed. No generators meant no power. No power meant no saltwater pumps. No filtration. No oxygen cycling through the water.

In a normal aquarium tank, that would be bad. In an enclosed system as massive as the facility’s main exhibit—housing fish, sharks, rays, and other massive marine life—it would be a death sentence. Oxygen depletion would happen fast.

Too fast.

Hypoxia. It could happen within hours. A slow, suffocating death. The fish would panic first, gills flaring, their bodies slamming against the glass in erratic distress. Then tissue damage. Starved organs. Their movements slowing as their bodies failed them. Then—

I swallowed hard, forcing my spiraling thoughts to a stop.

A sharp inhale hissed through my teeth as realization slammed into me like a tidal wave.

John wasn’t just talking about the fish.

The static flared again, his voice cutting through—urgent. Desperate.

“Arthur—”

The line crackled, breaking apart into nothingness.

I clutched the phone tighter, pulse hammering in my ears. “John?” I pressed, voice rising. “John, what about Arthur?!”

But the call had already gone dead.

My mind raced as I bounded down the staircase, taking two steps at a time, barely feeling the impact beneath my feet. The last step was a blur—I half-jumped, half-stumbled, but I didn’t stop moving. I tried to remind myself—Arthur can breathe air. He’ll be okay. If things got bad, he could pull himself to a shallower part of the tank, find a pocket of safety.

But that wasn’t enough to quell the gnawing fear twisting in my gut.

Without oxygen circulation, the water would turn against him. CO₂ and ammonia would build rapidly, poisoning the very environment he called home. And Arthur—his entire life had been spent in a controlled aquatic space, monitored, maintained. What if his body needed those precise conditions? What if we had overlooked something critical?

And even if he survived physically, the psychological toll would be its own kind of torment. He would be trapped in that space, forced to witness the creatures he shared his world with convulsing, gasping, dying. The thrashing, the desperation—he wouldn’t just see it; he would feel it.

I shoved through the front doors, and the storm nearly knocked me off my feet.

Wind roared around me, a force so strong it stole the breath from my lungs. Rain pelted my skin like a relentless volley of tiny bullets, cold and stinging. I had to squint against the downpour, barely able to make out anything beyond a few feet ahead. The street was an endless expanse of blackness, the power outage swallowing every familiar landmark into a shapeless void.

My hands shook as I fumbled with the truck keys, the metal slick from the rain. I yanked the door open, using the full force of my body to fight against the wind, and threw myself inside. The moment I slammed the door shut, the world outside became muffled, but the storm still howled, rattling the windows, making the vehicle feel like a fragile bubble against something vast and furious.

I gripped the wheel, my knuckles white. I was terrified.

Of the storm. Of what I might find when I got to the facility. Of what Arthur might be enduring right now.

This was reckless. I knew that. But John was alone. Arthur could be suffering. And I couldn’t sit here, waiting, hoping, while the worst unfolded in the dark.

I had to get to them. I shoved the keys into the ignition, took a deep breath, and turned the engine over.

The roads were a nightmare.

Water pooled in deep, deceptive pockets along the asphalt, and my tires skidded more than once as I navigated the flooded streets. The rain pounded relentlessly, turning the windshield into a smeared, shifting blur, my wipers barely keeping up. Streetlights were dead, leaving only the erratic flashes of lightning to illuminate my path in harsh, fleeting bursts. Each time the sky cracked open, it revealed a scene more unsettling than the last—fallen palm trees, submerged sidewalks, waves crashing violently over the breakwater.

As I neared the facility, the ocean raged against the shore, its swollen tides rising higher than I’d ever seen, swallowing chunks of sand and hurling salt spray across the road. My chest tightened. If the storm surge got worse, the flooding would only accelerate.

Then, through the sheets of rain, I spotted John’s truck parked near the back entrance. Relief and urgency tangled in my chest. I swerved into the lot, barely throwing the gear into park before yanking the door open.

The second I stepped out, the storm slammed into me with full force. Wind tore at my clothes, rain slashed at my skin, and the ground beneath my boots felt slick with rushing water. I forced myself forward, head down, arms wrapped around myself as I fought against the gale.

By the time I reached the door and shoved my way inside, I was drenched to the bone, my breath coming in gasps. The moment I was safe from the storm, another realization hit me like a brick.

I should have brought a flashlight.

The facility was pitch black.

The only sounds were the muffled roar of the wind outside and the frequent claps of thunder that seemed to shake the whole earth. Accompanied by the slow, eerie drip of water somewhere deeper in the dark.

The beam of my phone’s flashlight cut through the suffocating darkness, barely illuminating more than a few feet ahead. The air inside the facility was thick and damp, carrying the scent of saltwater and something faintly metallic. Every step I took echoed down the empty corridors, swallowed by the creaks and moans of the building as it strained against the wind and rain hammering from outside.

“John?” My voice wavered, lost in the vast, suffocating silence.

Nothing.

The emergency lights weren’t working. That meant the backup battery system had failed too, leaving the entire place cloaked in a darkness so absolute it felt unnatural. My pulse pounded in my ears as I moved forward, the walls pressing in closer with every passing second. Shadows stretched and twisted with each flicker of my light, my own breath sounding too loud in the stillness.

A sudden groan reverberated through the ceiling, the metal framework shifting under the storm’s relentless force. I flinched, sucking in a sharp breath as a distant crash echoed somewhere deeper in the facility.

“John!” I called again, louder this time, urgency creeping into my voice. I pushed open the nearest door—a supply closet. Empty.

I turned down another hallway, checking every room I could think of—his office, the staff lounge, even the breakroom. Each one was abandoned, cold, and eerily still. The farther I went without seeing him, the more the panic gnawed at me.

A door down the hall rattled violently, the wind slamming against it from the other side. I spun toward the sound, my breath hitching as the phone’s flashlight beam trembled in my grasp.

“John, where the hell are you?” My voice cracked, frustration and fear tangling in my throat.

I was running out of places to look. If he wasn’t in the generator room or one of the main labs, then that only left one place—the tanks.

My grip tightened around my phone as I turned toward the large double doors leading to the main exhibit hall—the heart of the facility. The water filtration tanks, the viewing platforms, and, of course, Arthur’s enclosure loomed ahead.

Dread coiled in my stomach, the weight of it pressing against my chest as I stepped forward. There was no possible way he was outside. He couldn’t be. My mind began to spiral into dark places, and I fought to pull myself back.

A new fear gripped me, chilling my bones. What if he’d gone outside? What if he’d tried to check the outdoor power lines? The floodwaters had already crept dangerously close to the shoreline. If he got swept away, carried out to sea—no.

Stop.

I couldn’t afford to let my mind race ahead. There was still a whole aquarium to search. Panicking would only slow me down and it certainly wouldn’t help Arthur.

I forced myself to focus, squaring my shoulders as my heart hammered in my chest. A faint sound caught my attention—something that almost felt like instinct pulling me up the stairs. The dive locker. The very top of the facility, where divers prepared for routine cleanings, repairs, and underwater shows. The thought of him up there made my skin crawl, but it was the only place left to check.

I pushed myself faster, my legs burning as I took the steps two at a time. Sweat slicked my face, dripping down my neck, but I didn’t slow down. I needed to find him. And I needed to find him now.

I called his name again, the sound of my voice small and hoarse in the oppressive silence.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I threw open the door without hesitation. The weak beam of my phone’s flashlight sliced through the dark, illuminating the expansive space ahead. The water glimmered, reflecting the dim light in small, rippling waves. It looked strange, like a portal to something deep and unknown—an abyss that threatened to swallow everything in its path.

I moved deeper into the room, my breath shallow, chest tight. Every shadow seemed to shift, each movement amplified in the silence of the storm’s fury outside.

Then, I saw it.

A figure.

Cloaked in shadow, their silhouette outlined faintly against the water’s surface. They were frantic, their hands moving quickly, pulling on something heavy. An oxygen tank. The sound of metal scraping against metal cut through the stillness, a sharp contrast to the storm’s distant wail.

But even in the darkness, I knew who it was.

A flash of pale skin, the faint glow of scars, pink and familiar, unmistakable.

John.

My breath caught in my throat, a mix of relief and dread flooding me all at once. I took a cautious step forward, my heartbeat echoing in my ears, I had no time to waste. 

"John!" My voice came out hoarse, louder now, trembling with an urgency that made my hands shake. “What the fuck are you doing?!” 

The wind howled through the building, its voice blending with the roar of the storm outside. John didn’t hear me. His back was to me, his focus entirely on the task in front of him—strapping the oxygen tank to his back. Securing the mouth piece for him to breathe and then—

Without warning, he jumped into the water.

I froze, my heart slamming in my chest as the splash echoed across the room. The sound felt too loud, too sudden, like it had split the air. Panic ripped through me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move.

"John!" I screamed again, but the storm drowned my words, swallowing them whole. He couldn’t hear me. My phone slipped from my trembling hand, hitting the metal floor with a harsh clatter before sliding across the platform into the murky water below.

I didn’t hesitate. I bolted toward the diving stage, my legs shaky and my mind racing. What the hell was he thinking? John couldn’t swim—he’d never learned. And he certainly wasn’t certified to dive. He was throwing himself into a dark, cold ocean of uncertainty with no experience, no knowledge of how to survive down there. Taking a deadly risk on everything.

I reached the edge, my hands gripping the railing so tightly my knuckles ached. My chest was tight, panic clawing its way up my throat. I looked out at the rippling water, scanning the dark expanse, my pulse pounding. It was too dark to see him, let alone see anything in the tank. Did he have a light with him? He could bump into something, or something could bump into him.

What the fuck was he thinking?!

More importantly, what should I do? What could I do? Standing here I felt as useless as a blobfish out of water. 

I wanted to dive in after him, to drag him back to safety, but I was no diver either. I couldn’t risk both of us. And besides—if I couldn’t find him in this black water, what would I do? If he was unconscious, if he was already struggling… I’d be no better off. We would both end up dead.

Should I try to get the generator up and running? Was that even possible with the storm raging? I had no knowledge of electrical currents and power supply. But I’d seen it done before, you just pull a ripcord. How hard could it be? The air inside the building was becoming thick with heat, the lack of oxygen starting to settle into my lungs. Time was running out. It was like everything was moving in slow motion—every second stretching into eternity.

I paced back and forth, my hands shaking violently. The cold sweat on my skin clung to me, sticky and nauseating. There were so many things I needed to do, so many choices—and all of them felt like life-or-death decisions.

The air was getting heavier with each passing second, but it was hard to focus, hard to stay calm when my thoughts kept circling back to John, to his reckless jump into the water. I couldn’t lose him, not like this.

Minutes stretched into an endless haze. It was like I was trapped inside a nightmare. No light, no air, no way to call for help. I could hear my own heartbeat, feel the seconds dragging by as I stared into the murky water below, waiting for any sign of movement. Waiting for anything—anything at all—to show me that John was still alive.

And then, suddenly, I heard a sound—a faint, distant thump followed by the familiar hum of the filters. My heart leapt in my chest, but it was swallowed by the howling winds. Was that him? 

I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to do something. I turned toward the diving equipment, my hands fumbling as I tried to get the gear on. My fingers were slick with sweat, slipping against the straps and valves. It felt like everything was moving too fast and not fast enough all at once.

But what if I made it worse? What if I was too late?

I barely registered the eerie glow steadily growing beneath the water, my mind too tangled in panic, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts. It wasn’t until a sudden, violent splash shattered the silence that my head snapped up, my fingers still clumsy against the buckles of the oxygen tank.

Bodies hit the platform with a sickening thud, the wet slap of limbs against the slick metal ringing through the storm-rattled air. My heart seized in my chest.

Arthur.

And beneath him, heaving, coughing, a goddamn mess—John fucking Marston.

Relief hit me first, a bone-deep rush that nearly took my knees out from under me, but it was quickly drowned by something hotter, something furious. The adrenaline that had been running through my veins since I first bolted out into the storm boiled over. I stormed toward them, my pulse still hammering from the sheer terror of thinking I was going to have to drag John’s lifeless body out of that water.

As if sensing my rage, Arthur backed away, slipping silently beneath the surface, his dark eyes lingering on me as he floated in the murky depths. I was glad to see he was okay—grateful—but right now, my fury had a singular target.

“Do you have a goddamn death wish, Marston?” I shouted over the thunder’s deafening growl, my voice shaking with the weight of all the things I wasn’t saying—I thought you were dead, you idiot. I thought I was too late.

John, of course, wasn’t the least bit fazed by my anger. He rolled onto his knees, hacking up water, and cleared his throat like he hadn’t just jumped into a pitch-black tank during a hurricane with no diving experience.

“Pumps are running,” he rasped, still catching his breath. “I can redirect the generators to keep ‘em on so they don’t fail again.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. He was shaking, his body trembling with cold, adrenaline, maybe even fear—though he’d never admit it. His lips had a bluish tint, his hands clumsy as they tried to push against the slick platform.

“Enough about the goddamn generators!” I snapped, my voice cracking from the force of it. “You could have died, John! Why the hell didn’t you wait for me?”

He let out a breath, slow and heavy, shifting onto his knees. In the dim light, I could see it clearly now—the raw exhaustion in his expression, the way his fingers curled against the platform as if steadying himself.

“We were running out of time,” he murmured, his voice rough with strain. “Without the pumps filtering the water… everything would have—”

He trailed off, his breath still uneven, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of what he wasn’t saying. I swallowed hard, my anger warring with something else. Something dangerously close to fear. Because he wasn’t wrong.

Defeated, I yanked a towel from the nearest locker and wrapped it around him as he shrugged the heavy oxygen tank from his back. John coughed again, spitting out a mouthful of saltwater before dragging a trembling hand down his face. 

"One of the main pumps was clogged," he finally said, voice raw. "I tried clearing it from the control panel, but nothing was working. The pressure was building, and if it backed up any further, the whole damn system would’ve started dumping toxins back into the tank." He looked up at me then, eyes glassy but sharp with determination. "Everything would’ve died."

I exhaled sharply, my hands tightening around the damp towel I’d just wrapped around him. I knew he was right, knew how delicate the balance in Arthur’s enclosure was. But knowing didn’t make it easier to swallow the fact that he’d risked his life to fix it.

Before I could say anything, a soft ripple caught my attention, and Arthur moved to the edge of the platform, watching us with an intensity that made my skin prickle. His dark hair clung to his face, water glistening on his skin under the glow of his veins. "He nearly drowned," Arthur said bluntly, his voice calm but edged with something deeper. "By the time he realized the tank wasn’t secured properly, he was already sinking."

My stomach twisted violently. I turned back to John, my breath catching in my throat. "Jesus Christ, John—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he cut me off, his lips pressing into a tight line. "By the time I figured out the straps were loose, I was already flailing. Damn near sucked in half the tank trying to stay afloat." He let out a humorless chuckle, but it fell flat against the weight of what had just happened.

Arthur shifted, the water lapping softly as he leaned on the edge of the platform. "I got to him just in time," he continued, eyes locked on mine. "Dragged him up ‘fore he could panic and make it worse."

A shudder ran down my spine. I wasn’t sure what terrified me more—the fact that John had nearly drowned in the dark, or the thought of what might have happened if Arthur hadn’t been there to pull him out.

I sighed, leaning back on my heels. “You got lucky, John. Abigail would’ve killed us all if something happened to you. Go home. Be with your family before this storm tries to take away what really matters.”

John let out a slow breath, his head hanging low as he nodded. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right.” He turned to Arthur, shifting the towel around his shoulders. “Thank you, Arthur….I don’t know how to—”

Arthur waved a dismissive, webbed hand. “No need. I understand, just do as the lady says. Go be with your family.”

A quiet chuckle escaped John as he pushed himself to his feet, tightening the towel around him. “You two are my family. This place… it’s my home. I’d be lost without it.”

My chest ached at the words, he had always been like family to me. But to acknowledge Arthur like that, it made my heart grow warm. He’d come such a long way. Before I could stop myself, I pulled him into a tight hug. “And we’d be lost without you. Just promise me you’ll be careful getting home. The roads are hell.”

John nodded against my shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Just gonna check the generator room one last time and grab some dry clothes from my office.” He pulled back slightly, studying me with a look of concern. “You sure you don’t wanna come back to Hosea’s with me? I don’t like the idea of you driving out there alone.”

I smiled, touched by his worry—especially after what he’d just been through. But as I glanced at Arthur, something in my gut told me I needed to stay. That I’d be safer here with him. “I’ll be alright. I think I should stay with Arthur, make sure no more pumps get clogged.” I shot him a wink, trying to keep it light.

John huffed out a laugh and pulled me in for one last hug. “Not exactly the swimming lesson I was hoping for.” He gave my shoulder a firm squeeze before stepping back. “You be safe, ya hear?”

I nodded, watching as John disappeared into the darkened corridor, his wet footsteps fading into the storm’s relentless roar. A deep sigh left my lips as I finally let myself sink onto the platform, crossing my legs beneath me. The adrenaline that had kept me moving, kept me focused, was finally wearing off. In its place came exhaustion, creeping in like the tide, mingling with the lingering relief that John was—at least for now—safe.

But even with Arthur’s presence, unease curled around my ribs. The storm was still raging outside, the building groaning under the relentless wind and rain. It was so dark in here, the only source of light coming from the gentle glow of Arthur’s bioluminescent veins, pulsing with his heartbeat beneath the skin. The water around him shimmered with the soft glow, casting strange, shifting shadows along the walls. They twisted and danced with each ripple, almost alive, taunting in the periphery of my vision.

My gaze remained fixed on the door where John had left. Would he be okay? Should I have gone with him? The roads were treacherous, barely visible even with headlights. And the thought of him driving alone in this storm, half-drowned and exhausted—

A violent crack of thunder shook the facility, so loud it felt like the sky itself was splitting open. My whole body jolted, a sharp gasp escaping before I could stop it.

I didn’t even notice Arthur moving until I felt him behind me. The platform barely creaked under his weight as he pulled himself up, his broad chest pressing against my back. Before I could say anything, two strong arms wrapped around my waist, his warmth chasing away the cold that had settled in my bones. His chin found my shoulder, his breath fanning across my neck, a steady and grounding presence against the chaos outside.

“You are afraid,” he murmured, his deep voice cutting through the storm, resonating right next to my ear. 

There was no mistaking his meaning, no way the wind could steal his words away. He was close enough that I knew, without a doubt, he was inhaling my scent. Taking in the subtle shifts in my emotions the way he always did.

I swallowed, my fingers absentmindedly grazing over the tops of his hands, feeling the slight texture of his silky skin, the way his thumbs traced slow, soothing circles against my abdomen. “Not afraid,” I whispered, though my voice wavered. “Just… worried. What’s going to be left of this place tomorrow? What if… what if John doesn’t make it home?”

Arthur exhaled a slow, steady breath, then pressed a lingering kiss just beneath my ear. The warmth of it sent a shiver down my spine, but gods, it was a welcome distraction.

“Shhh,” he rumbled against my skin, his lips brushing so softly it made my heart stutter. “You make my hearts bleed when you worry like that.” His embrace tightened, pulling me impossibly closer, as if he could shield me from the weight of my thoughts. “We cannot control the storm, only focus on what’s in front of us.”

Or behind us, I thought, exhaling as I leaned back against him, letting my head rest on his shoulder. He was such a massive presence, his body swallowing mine completely, a wall of solid strength against the uncertainty surrounding us.

Arthur let out a quiet, contented sound, something between a sigh and a low, pleased hum, his arms flexing as he drew me in. His hold was protective, steady, unshakable. And for the first time since I’d raced through the storm to get here, I let myself close my eyes, just for a moment, letting his warmth anchor me.

“Try to relax,” his voice was low, almost strained, like he was holding back something deep and primal. “You’re safe here. Safe with me.”

His hand moved agonizingly slow up my side, fingers tracing along the curve of my ribs, his palm so big that the tips ghosted over my breast. The barely-there touch sent a shiver down my spine, and I sucked in a breath, trying—and failing—to quell the growing heat pooling between my thighs.

I wanted more. Gods, I needed more of him.

Everywhere. 

I wanted him to touch me everywhere. I wanted him to slide that hand fully over my chest, to feel the way his rough but gentle thumb would tease over my hardened nipple. To know what it was like to be touched, claimed by something as wild and untamed as Arthur. I wanted his claws to tear through the thin barrier of my clothing, to leave nothing between us. These were dangerous thoughts; terrible, sinful thoughts.

There must be a special place in hell for women who looked at a creature like Arthur and imagined how he would feel between her thighs.

But fuck. These are where my thoughts are. 

I was drowning in them, so lost in the heat of my own fantasy that I barely noticed when his hand shifted, cupping my cheek with careful reverence. It wasn’t until I heard the deep, rolling timbre of his voice that reality snapped into focus.

“Does it feel good, sweetheart? What I’m doing to you in your thoughts?”

My breath caught. My body tensed, a mixture of shock and shame flickering through me like a live wire. Startled, I started to pull away, but before I could—

“No,” he whispered against my neck, his voice firm yet impossibly soft. “Don’t stop, I’m certain that whatever it is you’re imagining is something I’m enjoying immensely.”

A large, webbed hand slid down, fingers splaying wide over my belly, holding me in place. If only his hand would move a little lower…claws grazing the line of my waistband. Almost like he was teasing. The pressure of his touch grounded me, kept me from slipping away. I could feel his hearts beating against my back, steady and strong.

My pulse pounded in my ears as I swallowed hard. “S-so you can read my thoughts now too?” My voice was barely a whisper, breathless and unsteady.

Arthur chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his body, reverberating through me like a melody I never wanted to stop hearing. The fondness for him that stretched through my chest was almost painful at this point. 

“No, my love,” he murmured, his lips brushing just beneath my ear, sending a delicious shiver racing down my spine. “But when I touch you, your soul is so familiar to me. It’s as if I have known you in a hundred lifetimes before this.”

His grip on my waist tightened, fingers curling possessively, but not to restrain—to anchor.

“I feel your need calling to me, and my own… my own wishes to bury itself inside you.” His voice darkened, rich with longing, heavy with promise. “It tells me to cling to the curve of your waist, to clutch at the feeling in my chest that lingers when you’re near. My soul wishes to keep you—” his lips pressed lightly against my temple, sealing his words into my skin “—and never let you go.”

Something between us shifted then, something that had been dancing on the edge of certainty, now falling into place with an undeniable finality. And it wasn’t just the slickness between my thighs or the fire licking up my spine.

Arthur had just placed the leash to his heart in my hands.

And I knew—he would never ask for it back.

AN: I promise the next chapter is pure smut. The title is "The Point of No Return" and I think we can all guess what that implies. I have sooo many steamy ideas I just need to figure out how to put them all together. But it's gonna be fun ;) I know this was a long chapter, so I hope you don't feel too deprived of our favorite seaboy. I love John/Abigail/Jack so dearly, they deserved some one-on-one time with the reader <3

[foodiegoogie]

𝐎𝟏: 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐧 | 𝟏.𝟖𝐤

in which james is a menace about borrowing your mini fan but you let him anyway

note: hii so this turned out to be longer than intended,, but ive been thinking abt doing a james potter x reader blurb series set in high school for sooo many months now ! hopefully this will be the first of many :3 enjoy <33

series masterlist | main masterlist

There's been a festive buzz surrounding the entire campus and student body since you arrived this morning. As soon as you’d stepped inside your classroom, your classmates ran amok, fussing over different things all at once. Typical sportsfest fever, you thought as you put your bag down in your chair. In one corner, a couple girls in your class were putting face paint on themselves for the parade around school. In another corner, the artsy clique made a few more touches on the banners they started making just two days ago. It was chaos at its finest, but it was energetic, and so happy. How could you ever complain about being surrounded by it?

As you went on to put your makeshift headband on, a strip of pink ribbon (pink, because that was the color assigned to the senior batch. Ironic how the oldest of the students will be donning such a… vibrant color during a competitive time), a pair of hands suddenly grab your shoulders, giving you a little shake, and a fright.

“Ah—!”

You turn your head in time just to see Lily Evans doubling over in laughter at your reaction, fiery red hair pulled up into a high ponytail with thin strips of pink ribbon. On her face sits a sign that she’s gone to the girls who were doing face paint—two hollow hearts drawn on her cheeks. 

“Sorry,” She says, but the way she’s still chuckling makes you think otherwise. “but the opportunity was there!” 

“A ‘good morning’ would’ve been just fine,” You grumble under your breath, securing your headband by tying it beneath your hair.

But then Lily slaps your hands away and tuts, “Here, let me,” just like how a fussing mother would do, and a scoff escapes your lips. You raise your hands up in surrender and let her do the honor.

You take a look around the classroom, and realize that there are fewer people inside than when you just came, “Where’s the rest of us at?”

“Probably down at the quad or with the other classes,” Lily answers, pushing your hair aside to work on tying the ribbon. “Even though we’re technically supposed to stick with each other. But you know, rules are overrated, I guess.” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, though she can’t see your face. “Aren’t you supposed to round them up since you’re vice president and all?”

“No, I think you’re forgetting that I’m assistant president, as per President Potter.” She remarks, her tone heavy with sarcasm.

Ah, yes. Of course. President Potter, how could I forget?

Now that you think about it, you hadn’t seen him in the classroom when you came in. That must explain why the chaos didn’t seem too chaotic. The primary instigator of it all was absent. 

“Speaking of which, where is the tosser?” You ask.

“Also probably at the quad, hyping up our class and being the loudest of the bunch.” 

You chuckle, already forming an image in your mind of James Potter, probably standing on top of something so that everyone could literally look up at him, spewing words of encouragement as if he were a general leading an army to war, or Gru when he told the Minions that they were going to steal the moon. 

“Probably,” You agree, turning around to face Lily once she put your hair back in place and combed it slightly with her fingers. “I wouldn’t put it past him if he did a battle cry right now.”

As if on cue, you heard a resounding cheer coming from outside. It seems like the parade was about to start, and the students were all revved up and ready to go.

“Well, that’s our cue,” Lily beams at you, moving to stand beside you and link your arms together. “You ready to go?”

“One sec…” You rummage around your bag with your free hand, spotting your phone and tucking it inside your pocket. Finally, you grabbed your mini fan from the side pocket and turned to Lily with a smile.

“Ready.” 

( ♡ )

“GO! GO, GRYFFINDOR! GO! GO, GRYFFINDOR!”

You tried to keep up with the cheering, but two minutes in or so of initially running, and then walking out onto the streets around your school, surrounded by your fellow sweaty students with the heat of the morning sun shining down on you—well, it was a lot harder to do it now, to say the least.

Lily had long since removed her arm from how it was linked with yours a while ago, now trudging along beside you with the crowd, fanning herself with a banner she folded up. 

“I forgot how dreadful this is,” She heaved, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. Miraculously, despite the layer of sweat on her face, the painted hearts stayed intact. But they did nothing to hide her exhaustion. “Why do we even need to do this? Can’t the athletes do this alone?” 

“Well, God knows they’d be better at it,” You panted, bringing your mini fan closer to your face. “They’ve probably got the legs for it.”

Lily huffs a breathless chuckle at that. “Yeah, no kidding—“ 

“Coming through!” 

You hear the voice sound from a megaphone, wincing at the high-pitched feedback that came after, and then the string of apologies that were uttered as whoever it was that spoke weaved their way through the crowd.

From beside you, Lily visibly deflates like a popped balloon, rolling her eyes as she leaned in closer to you. “Uh oh, here he comes.” 

The he in question came in the form of James Potter, wearing a bright pink shirt that said ‘ALPHA MALE’ in big bold letters outlined in blue, surrounded by rainbow sparkles with a unicorn above it, which posed in front of an actual rainbow. He had two streaks of pink paint drawn across both of his cheeks, and wore a pink bandana which held his hair back from his forehead. 

It truly was a ridiculous sight to see your big, burly classmate all dressed up in pastel pink colors. But the horror truly began when he spotted both you and Lily.

“My officers!” He cried out, pushing through the crowd to get to where you were. If anything, it was too late to avoid him, and it didn’t seem like you had anywhere else to go. Even if you did, you doubt that you’d get there in time with how your legs feel like jelly right now.

You and Lily chorus with a disgruntled groan of protest as James finally catches up to the both of you, slinging his arms across your shoulders. 

“Oh, how lovely it is to see you guys,” He sighed deeply in exaggerated relief. It certainly didn’t help that he was also sweating buckets of water, but you couldn’t do much against it with his tight grip on you both.

James turned to Lily with a lopsided grin, “Assistant president,” he greeted her.

She responded with a grunt, wriggling out of his grip and successfully escaping his company. Not without an apologetic glance sent your way, Lily went deeper into the crowd to find her other friends.

James scoffed, clearly affronted. “Rude.” 

Then, he turned to you, smirking as his eyes looked you up and down. You did not feel your prettiest at the moment, but honestly, you couldn’t care less about your appearance right now, given the circumstances.

“Secretary,” He finally greeted you, his voice taking on a lower octave.

You didn’t like how your heart thumped a little louder in your chest by it.

“Yeah, that’s me. Now, do you mind?” You gestured to his arms around your shoulders, still tight and terribly warm. Under different circumstances, maybe you wouldn’t complain. But you’re already taking on your own sweat on your body, and having more of it was simply unacceptable.

But James, of course, ignored your question and gestured to your mini fan. “Can I borrow that for a bit? It’s so hot out here.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, taken aback by his audacity—

“No. Go borrow someone else’s.” 

You received a groan from James, throwing his head back and giving you a brief glance of his neck, glistening with bullets of sweat. You turned away before you looked for longer than necessary.

“But no one else is as nice as you!” He reasoned, tilting his head to the side to meet your eyes. “Please let me borrow?” 

You sighed, and James victoriously beams at you because he knows you’ve given in now. “Fine, fine. Here.”

He stares down at the fan in your hand, stretched out in front of him. You’re waiting for him to take it from you, he realizes.

“Well?” You bring it up closer to him. “Aren’t you gonna take it?”

“Um…” James purses his lips, looking sheepish, or at least seemed like he did. ‘Sheepish’ and ’James’ hardly ever belonged in the same sentence.

“Could you hold it for me? I’ve been holding the banner all morning, and my hand’s all sore and splintered.”

His hand looks fine where he held it up to your face to show you.

But, as much as James was starting to get on your nerves, you’d rather save the breath to complain and instead, complied and held the fan up to his face, effectively (and begrudgingly) cooling him down.

James lets out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes as the air blows against his face. “That’s the stuff. Thanks, Y/N.” 

You shake your head, sighing at your unfortunate fate as James Potter’s personal mini fan holder for the time being. 

Honestly speaking, you were sort of glad that Lily wasn’t around to witness such a spectacle. Knowing her, she’d tease the hell out of you and then James would probably play along, and milk in the attention. 

Another reason, however, was that you wouldn’t be able to deny that she was right. 

Outwardly, you may be indifferent and irritated by James’ utterly bizarre behavior. But internally? Well, you were afraid to admit that you found him endearing at times, and charming. So charming. It also didn’t help that he had a nice face to look at, and a body built like a god, shaped from years of sports and the occasional trip to the gym. 

But you’d rather die than admit all that aloud. 

“You know, you should really get one of your own since you need it so badly.” You suggest, gesturing to the fan in your hand.

“Ah, but if I did have my own fan, I wouldn’t be around to borrow yours. Then you’ll miss me.” James pouts, bottom lip jutting out to make himself look pitiful.

Well, let’s just say that he wasn’t totally wrong about that. So, you said nothing and rolled your eyes, while James just chuckled and finally, finally took the mini fan from your hand, and made it face you instead. 

thanks for reading! \(￣︶￣*\)) likes, replies, and reblogs are very much appreciated ~

[only-luce-the-goose]

First

A/N: thought I’d try something a little different, my requests are open!

Arthur Leclerc x virgin!reader

Synopsis: First time sex with arthur leclerc

You and Arthur were going on 3 months when you started thinking about him in less than innocent ways. You had boyfriends before, but not many, they broke up with you after about a month, after they had finished using you. Whether to get closer to your bff or use you as a rebound, you didn't care anymore. Arthur made you really happy, and you wanted to take it further. He had already been hinting at wanted to me intimate with you.

His lingering touches, hands sneaking under your tops, his hand resting higher up on your thigh than usual. He was becoming touchy, and you loved it. Make outs were lasting longer, Arthur pulling you onto his lap while his hands rested on your ass. He didn't want to push you; he would never make you do something you didn't want to do.

It was Sunday afternoon when Arthur walked into your apartment after spending a week at the Monaco race, watching his brother take home a win. You could tell he had stopped by his own apartment first, due to the lack of luggage and the fresh shirt and jeans he had on. You both settled into the couch and put on a background show while he told you about Monaco and the race.

At some point, Arthur's hand had made its way under your shirt, slowly drawing circles in your skin. You started planting little kisses at the junction of his neck, sucking on a few to leave some hickey. "Come here, amor" Arthur mumbled, pulling you on top of him. His hand wound up to the back of your neck, bringing you in to kiss. His lips felt lush against yours. He gently bit your bottom lip, causing you gasp, giving hm the perfect way to slide his tongue into your mouth, exploring.

He pulled away, pecking your nose. You kept kissing him, trailing across his jaw and down his chest, gently grinding your hips against his. He let out a groan, running his hands up and down your side when he warned "Baby, if you keep doing that, I'm not gonna be able to stop." you looked up at him through your lashes "I don't want you to stop". He connected your lips in a hungry kiss, wrapping your legs around his as he stood up.

He pressed you into the wall, leaving hickeys across your jaw as he worked his shirt off.

Arthur’s breath was warm against your skin as he kissed a path down your neck, his fingers tracing your sides, sending shivers through your body. Pressed between him and the cool wall, you felt the heat radiating off him, his body firm against yours. His hands slid under your shirt, fingertips ghosting over your bare skin before gripping your waist.

“Arthur,” you sighed, rolling your hips against him, feeling the evidence of his arousal pressing against your core. His breath hitched, and his grip on your waist tightened.

“You have no idea what you do to me, amor,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint.

His lips found yours again, hungrier this time, his tongue teasing yours as his hands moved higher, pushing your shirt up until he tugged it over your head. His gaze darkened as he took in the sight of you, his fingers trailing over the strap of your bra before he leaned in, his lips pressing just above your heart.

“Beautiful,” he whispered against your skin.

Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging slightly as he kissed his way lower, his hands mapping your curves. The way he touched you, worshipped you, sent heat pooling between your thighs. He took his time, savoring every reaction he pulled from you.

“Bed,” you breathed, barely able to form words between the kisses.

Arthur chuckled, scooping you into his arms effortlessly. “As you wish, baby.”

He carried you across the room, his lips never straying far from yours as he laid you down. The weight of his body pressed into you, grounding you, making you feel safe yet electrified all at once. His hands roamed lower, fingers playing with the waistband of your shorts, waiting for your permission.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear.

Your heart pounded, desire coursing through your veins as you met his gaze. “You, Arthur. I want you.”

His restraint snapped, and in that moment, nothing else existed but the two of you, tangled in each other, lost in the way your bodies fit together so perfectly.