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dilf-docs · 1 month ago

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Atta Girl

old jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel miller discovers the world, yes, the same world that has gone (been for a while) to shit, can still have surprises. like you, his sweet naive unexperienced girlfriend, being everything but that.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (old joel miller my GILF!), smut, sighs this is pwp who am i lying to, inexperienced!reader (yet for some reason she's a pro sucker lmao i'm a virgin don't come at me besides this is a fanfic who gives af if it's realistic or not), dirty talk, fingering, breast play, pussy pronouns, oral (m. receiving) (need that geriartric cock inside my mouth), some fluff bc we gotta balance this thing or i'm going to hell (okay he's not mean i baited y'all. mean jackson joel miller piece is still in draft dungeon)

word count: 4,722 words

side note: hell-fucking-o????? 2K CITIZENSHIPS APPROVED!?! ,, ok gonna be honest when i started writing in here and my first fic (an old man logan one, do u guys see a pattern?) flopped, i never thought i'd make it this far and it's all thanks to you my lovely citizens :,) you may think this is silly but your support means a lot to me (especially comments n' rb I'M A WHORE FOR THEM). now, yapping aside, as promised, this won the poll for the celebratory piece, so here you go !!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Joel Miller is a man hard to surprise.

Years of weariness, trust and spirit broken by things that would kill anyone else, and overall, just surviving, you'd think that a man that was hardened by a rough past and of his age had seen it all.

Joel liked to think he was prepared for whatever life threw at him. Enter Ellie: how she had managed to break his shell, from cargo to soothing balm to heal old open wounds he refused to even speak of. But he was ready to burn the world for her, picking guns and taking lives to bring her to a home. His home. He settled, filial terms silent but felt, ready to take the second chance life had given him. Until the bond that united them turned fragile, loose ends tensing the silver string of found family.

He fell down the path of a familiar ache he hadn't felt in a long time, dormant, waiting for him to fuck up to show again with it's dull and hollow torment. He always did. So now he's spending too much time at the Tipsy Bison nursing a glass that could have his name by now, all to avoid going to a eerily quiet home where the room at the end of the hallway lies empty.

And then life decides to startle his track, albeit destructive, with a third chance: you.

Just thinking about you brings a certain tingle that an old rugged man like him should be embarrased about. One he shouldn't even feel.

But Joel loves you, he thinks. From the moment you showed up on his front door, rambling about some reparations at the school, were you volunteered.

"They were all scared of you" your sweet voice had said, some of that unreasonable fear laced within it, "so I came"

He scoffed at Jackson's ridiculous antics. Rumors spread fast in the small town, and suddenly, the hanging threat of who he was followed him everywhere like a shadow, which, given the dark nature of his now put to rest violence, seemed a proper description.

"They sent 'cha?"

You were clearly intimidated, given your shaky frame despite spring and the light tremble in your tone. But you were still here, gaze set on him as a determined child who wants to win the best prize.

"No. I chose to come"

His stomach does a flip at the stillness of your words, security etched in the statement as if you hadn't been in the verge of stuttering seconds ago.

Like you wanted to show him this is what it is, and whatever that was, you weren't running. But he testes the water, skin prickling intensely.

"And you ain't scared, kid?"

He laughed, the type of laugh that shakes your body with unease, but the one that shot across you didn't come from a place of distress, rather a more hidden one, between a pulsing press between your ribs, like it'd swallow you whole if you kept thinking about it too much.

"I am" you answered truthfully.

Something about your quiet admission made him falter the tiniest bit. Maybe it was how you had no problem voicing out loud any of your thoughts, or how you weren't afraid to be seen for what you were, the quiet of your answer out of a gentle place and not dread.

"Then why are ya' still here?"

Brows furrowed, like he, for some reason, expected you to yell at him for all the sins that colored his calloused hands red. Instead, you had looked at him as if he had all the answers in the world, big sparkling eyes staring deep into his tainted soul.

"Because I need you"

Yet, when you said it, Joel felt you weren't talking about the creaky drawers and old stairs anymore, but of the anchor you just found for yourself in the shape of Jackson's most respected and troubled resident, unknowing that, in that moment, he had chosen you too.

So, Joel may have forgotten about what feelings that feel too before world-ly feel like, but the quiet steady beat of his heart, mingling into a peaceful symphony with each soft breath past your rosy lips, head laying over his rising and falling chest, warm, feels exactly like love is.

He knew from the very first time you were his. Yeah, he loves you.

Joel just wants to give you the world, his world: the quiet afternoons, his rough limbs and aching joints, his face covered by spots and sun kisses that compliment his wrinkles, hair that gets curlier and softer and greyer, every figure he makes in his little shop and, of course, his bed.

Your Joel isn't exactly a pleaser, used of doing what he deems best without asking, yet, the moment you uttered those three words, he knew it was because he hadn't met you.

"Be my first"

He remembers the surprise on his face, how it grew red as the silence stretched on. The door bursting open, bed creaking under combined weight and your giggles. He too remembers the sweet cries past your lips, your taut muscles, the little strained breath you let out when he slipped inside of you. It all belonged to him because you let him, and that day, Joel Miller became the luckiest man in the world.

And yet, he still hadn't been as surprised as he was today.

The routine was the same from the past year: pick you up from the school after he was done at the office, taking some minutes to watch you with the toddlers, making voices as the same tender hands you used to jerk him off booped noses and carried children who made him think of getting one of your own, one with your grace and beauty, getting him painfully hard at images of filling you silly and your body changing to carry his seed. Fuck. He was a psychopath for such lewd thoughts on a place destined for education and infancy innocence, and here he was, cock uncomfortable inside his pants.

But then your mouth gets too greedy when your sickenly honeyed voice whispers his name, robbing him of air and only pulling away when his lips get swollen and his face a little flustered.

"Need help down there?"

There's always that problem and you're always the solution.

"Let's go home, sugar. Then ya' can help 'tis ol' man fix it"

Walking back home is always a hassle, hands intertwined, Jackson seeing a cute couple. But you're both aware of the throb that settles in between you like the tension, nobody noticing how hard you're trying to not just fuck on the middle of the street like two eager bunnies.

It's his fault, he thinks as you push the door of his house open, for making you like this.

The truth is, after taking your virginity, Joel's taught you things your unexperienced mind couldn't even imagine, and this past six months, you've complied with that sweet disposition that clung to you like the floral of the soap you used. And Joel loved that: how, despite having his dick stretching your tight pussy, you looked at him with those big eyes from the very first night, still round and innocent, like a doe and not a siren.

Which was surprising, because Joel, in a way, had corrupted you. Tainted the naive angel. And still, it was like he couldn't get rid of quiet shy you. Worst of it all was, instead of filling him with shame from robbing pieces and pieces of your integrity everyday, the older man felt some wicked sense of satisfaction and pride, to see how, despite his age and your soft nature, he was yours as you were his, and that he had taught you exactly how to enjoy that.

He knows you like the palm of his hand and the littered scars across his chest. The pattern you call stars, holding into a beauty only you see in the ugly marks, yet make him feel with each delicate trace, making such blunt and rough marks a galaxy; exorbitant. The same ones he thinks hide behind your adoring warm eyes. Joel just knows you, so even when things go the same way they have for a while, he's aware something is different when your fingers fiddle with his belt, trembling hands now struggling to free his aching cock.

He knows better than to think it's your arousal and impatience. No, this is something else.

"Sweetheart..." he warns. "Somethin' wrong?"

You shake your head, hands ready to take his underwear down.

"I'm fine"

He won't take that clipped sentence for an answer. Instead, his hands slowly remove yours from his hips before going to grab you by your chin, fingers pressing not enough to bruise but to make a point. His thumb presses lightly over your mouth, your bottom lip tugged down, parting your lips. You let out a little sigh, closing your eyes, eyelashes kissing your cheekbones. What a damn sight, he thinks.

"Talk to me"

"I want to suck your cock"

He almost chokes on nothing. Joel coughs a little, red painting his cheeks as a surge of lust and desire crashes through him. His eyes go wide at your bold and eager request, because one: it wasn't like you to talk like this, and two, you had never done it before.

Sure, you had jerked him off so many times he's lost count, but your lips wrapped around his length, mouth swallowing his aching cock? Just the image of it going past your pretty lips, the sensation of your spit mixed with his liquids... He already has a special place in hell, the blood rushing to his already hard member.

"Fuck, sugar. You wanna have this dick 'nside y'r mouth so bad? That eager and needy y'are?" he asked, voice reduced to a low rumble.

You nod, a little too excited as he sits in the edge of your shared bed, letting out a huff of effort. Old man sounds, you would tease. But not today, it seems, when your eyes are too busy looking at the pulsating silhouette under the grey cloth. He smirks, removing the layer, and he swears you begin to salivate like a starving dog.

"Y' think y' can take it?" his hand wrapped around his sensitive cock, giving it a few slow pumps as he watches you with a drowsy gaze. "Ain't it too much for a pretty lil' thing like y'rself?"

Wordlessly, you fall to your knees, looking up to him with those eyes of yours that drove him crazy. You caress his thigh, and despite being the one in control, Joel's eyelids feel heavy, fluttering at your soft and tender touches on his thick muscle, every hair rising at the reverence of your every move. You leave a little kiss in his inner thigh, making his heart skip a beat, breath a little ragged.

"I can" sounding so sure. Oh, his little angel.

"You gon' be a good girl then?" he whispers, voice hoarse and thick, looking down at you.

You nod, slowly.

"Let me taste it" you murmur, voice soft and breathy.

Your tongue darts out, licking a slow stripe up his shaft. You savor the salty taste of his arousal, moaning softly at the flavor. Joel's brown eyes darken in seconds.

"Quit 'da teasin'. 'M too damn old for that"

You smile a bit. "Impatient"

"Minx" he replies, voice thick.

It is indeed big, especially now that it was hard, and you do wonder for a second if you're biting more than you can chew.

"Y'asked for 'tis" like he can read your mind, "don't grow shy on me, doll"

He groans when your hand wraps around his length, stroking him slowly, teasingly as you always do. He feels the heat building in his gut as you work him over, letting out a little groan.

"F-feels so good, sugar" he voices out, strained. "But I need'a know if y'r made fo' 'tis. C'mon, princess. Show me what'a good lil' cock slut y'are"

You lean in, warm breath ghosting over the sensitive head of his big cock, making him shudder.

"Let's see what y'r pretty mouth can do" while tracing your lips, idly.

For the first time ever, the warmth of your mouth takes him. He can see it dissapear past your lips, stretching around his girth. Joel can only watch with a breath he forgets to take how every inch of his thick cock is gone past your lips. Entranced, like this was a magic trick of some sorts.

"S' that all?" he lets out a tense chuckle. You narrow your eyes, feeling a bit of a gag and spit drool past your lips. "Don't worry, princess. I can be of help on that"

He moves a bit, groin almost on your face as he's dangerously close to fucking your face. Instead, you feel how it reaches the back of your throat, making you pause at the feeling of your eyes watering slightly as you adjust to the intrusion.

"S'okay, sweet girl. I know ya' can take it deeper" he encourages, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair. "Relax, baby. You're doing so good-" his voice cuts off with a strained grunt. Then, he voices out in a more huskier tone. "Use y'r throat and take my cock like'a good girl"

You push forward, taking him deeper until Joel feels the head of his cock bump the back of your throat. He throws his head back, curls combed slicked now starting to dampen and fall disheveled, drops of sweat sliding down his forehead, muscles of his thighs taut with trepidation.

You gag slightly yet quickly recover as if to prove something.

"That's right. Why did we wait s' long to do 'tis? Fuck, baby, ya' were born for 'tis. Keep goin'. Y' mouth's drivin' me crazy"

Joel groans as you take him deep, nose pressing against his groin, his fingers tightening in your hair. Your throat constricts around him all while you fight your gag reflex. Then slowly, you pull back, lips sliding along his shaft until just the tip remained in your warm mouth.

"Don't be such'a tease" his voice reduced to a hoarse rasp. You just give him what appears to be a shrug and an apologetic smile, right before diving back in, taking him to the hilt once more. His hips rock involuntarily at the feel, your head bobbing. A guttural moan cuts through his throat, the only other sound in the room aside the wet sounds of your suckling. "S' real bad girl, hun. Wouldn't think a docile lil' doll like ya' would be s' mean"

But he watches you with such adoration in his eyes, completely captivated as you work him over, that you know his words carry no malice behind them. Without a word, he takes your hands, guiding them to pump what you couldn't fit in your mouth.

"Let's give 'em somethin' to do, don't 'cha think?"

Suddenly, the pressure ties his stomach in knots, his belly strained under his flannel shirt, slightly protruding in the middle, buttons as tense as his muscles. Joel feels his legs become shaky, chest heaving as he catches his breath. He looks down at you, taking in the sight of your sweet disposition. If he wasn't one lucky man.

"Y/n" he gasps your name in a choked breath, followed by a strangled grunt, his release building fast as he doesn't dare to . "I'm gonna..."

Joel tries to pull off, thinking having you wrapped around his shaft is enough sin for the day, but then your hands find their way to his legs, keeping him grounded. His eyes widen slightly at the insistent glaze in your determined eyes.

"God damn, doll. What're ya'-"

He doesn't get to finish, his words dissolving into a low, animalistic growl as his orgasm crashes over him. His cock jerks and pulses in your waiting mouth, spilling thick ropes of hot, salty cum down your eager throat, painting its back white.

"Baby, don't" Joel says through a worn down rasp, trying to pull out, but you, his sweet little girlfriend, grips his thighs with an unknown force, keeping him buried deep as you greedily work to milk every last bit of his cum.

"'S 'tis what ya' want, huh? You dirty dirty girl" his voice grows lower, a filthy snarl as his eyes darken a bit more. "Swallow it, then. Take all ma' fucken seed"

He holds your head in place, fingers tangled in your damp hair as he rides out the intense waves of his release. Joel's so inside of you, he can feel your throat working, gulping down every drop he had to give.

Finally, as the last spurts of his climax taper off, he releases you, his chest heaving with exertion. You pull back, a strand of saliva and cum connecting your bottom lip to the tip of his spent cock.

"Like that, dirty girl?" he grabs you by your chin, thumb wiping some of your saliva and his cum off. "Did ya' like the taste f' ma' cum?"

You lick your lips, savoring the taste of him. "I did"

"'S that right? What happened to my angel?"

You laugh, the sound tired and hoarse. "I'm still here"

He pats his thigh, so you sit in there, wrapping your arms around his neck. With a free hand, you remove some curls that have fallen over his worn face.

"Hard'a believe"

You click your tongue. "You were never a believer, Miller"

He lets out an exhausted chuckle. "I believe in you"

Joel revels in the delicate pink hues coating your cheeks. He's so weak for you.

"Now, doll. Be honest with y'r ol' man" he brushes a stray strand off your face, tucking it behind your ear with a delicacy so contrary to the roughness of his hands. "I know when ma' girl's goin' through somethin'"

You seem to grow shy all of the sudden. "You'd be right"

Needless to say, he's intrigued now.

"Care to tell?"

You hide your face on his shoulder, inhaling his sweat and natural odor, even the faint traces of soap. He combs through your hair, lazily.

"Promise you won't laugh" you say as you pull back, to face him.

He raises a hand, expression curious.

"I'd never make fun of 'cha, doll"

"I want you to cum inside me"

The room grows quiet for a minute, an by each second of silence that stretches so is the red across your face. Joel blinks slowly. Once and twice. By the third time, the crease between his brows has become prominent.

"What?"

Your face grows hot as you try to run away, but he stops you.

"Woah, hey. Where ya' goin'?"

"I told you you'd laugh" you pout your lips, flustered.

"I ain't even let out a goddam laugh" he defends himself. "'M just tryna process in here"

You huff. "What's so hard to understand?"

Joel looks at you like you've grown a second head. "Y' really gon' ask me that?"

"Maybe I want to try different things" you play with your fingers, avoiding his gaze.

He obligues you to look by taking you by your chin, gently. A small warm smile adorns his face.

"Different's good"

You reciprocate his smile. Maybe it's that or the fact he can still see his cum glistening your lips, or the thrill of his seed seeping out of your tight walls. Either way, Joel surrenders.

"Ya' know I'll give 'cha anythin' you want" he says, voice low. "Just say da' word"

You gulp. "Yes"

Joel lets out a low, animalistic growl at your breathy acceptance. It was all the permission he needed. He crashes his lips against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss, pouring every ounce of his pent-up desire as he grabs you by your hair, right at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer and tighter. His other hand roams your body greedily, slipping under your shirt to caress the smooth, warm skin beneath.

"We gotta take 'tis out"

He shoves the fabric up and off, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head and toss it aside.

"It's my shirt"

"It's a nuissance"

He pauses for a moment, drinking in the sight of your naked torso, the swell of your breasts rising and falling with each anticipating breath.

"Told ya'" he murmurs, voice rough with desire. "'S fuckin' perfect to be hidin' all that"

Joel leans down, capturing one rosy peak in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud, suckling and teasing until it pebbles under his touch. You let out a breathy choked moan, loving the wet of his tongue against your warm skin. Then, his hot breath ghosts over as he utters a simple word that has your core clenching at nothing.

"Mine"

His hand slide down your stomach, slipping under the waistband of your jeans. Joel can feel the heat of you, the damp patch that had formed on the fabric of your panties. He groans against your breast, his fingers sliding lower, brushing against your clothed sex.

"Can tell she missed me. That ya' weren't lyin', baby. She's fucken wet" he rasps, his voice muffled against your skin.

Joel's fingers slip under the fabric of your panties, feeling the slick heat of your arousal coating his fingertips. He groans, his cock hard again, throbbing almost painfully against the confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, sugar" he mutte4red, his voice rough and low. "S' ready for me already"

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, feeling it swell under his touch.

"Ain't she know me s' goddam well..."

Then, he dips a finger inside your tight, clutching heat, groaning at the way your walls flutter around the intrusion.

"God, you feel s' good" Joel says, voice strained. "S' fucking tight and perfect. I can't wait to feel ya' wrapped 'round my cock, doll. Can't wait any damn longer fo' y'r sweet lil' cunt"

He pumps his finger in and out, thumb still circling your clit. He can feel you getting closer, your hips starting to buck against his hand.

"That's it, baby" he encourages, his voice a low, filthy rumble. "Fuck yourself on ma' fingers. Show me how much ya' want it"

He adds a second finger, then a third, making you yelp as he stretches you open.

"Relax, doll. We've done 'tis before. 'M just preparing her to take ma' dick. You gon' be a good girl and stop fucken squirmin'?"

You nod, pliant, your body starting to tense.

"'Tis ya' reward. Come on ma' fingers like a good girl, and then I'll give 'cha what ya' really want. I'm gon' fill 'tis greedy cunt with my cum an' pump 'cha s' full of it 'til 's drippin' outta ya'"

Joel curls his fingers inside you, rubbing that all too well spot that brings you to tears. He feels you clench down hard, crying out as you come undone. Your orgasm crashes over, body convulsing as your pussy clenches rhythmically around his fingers. When he pulls his fingers out, he's bringing them to his lips, sucking off your essence from the digits, groaning at the taste of you.

"'S sweet as always"

After that, Joel is quick to shed what's left of his clothing, nearly tearing the old flannel in his haste. He lays you down on the bed, covering your body with his own, his tummy pressing lightly over your abdomen, his weight sinking you down on the mattress.

He then looks down at you, taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks, glistening parted kiss-swollen lips, and heaving chest.

"I love ya', sweet girl" Joel blurts out, eyes are dark and intense.

He settles between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance.

"Say y'are mine" voice a low, demanding growl. "Say ya' belong to me, y/n, baby. Say it"

He pushes forward slightly, just the tip of him slipping inside your tight heat. He groans at the feel of you, at how your walls stretch to accommodate him. You let out a small whimper, yet still unable to form coherent sentences.

"I want to hear you say it, angel" Joel presses nonetheless, his voice strained.

He rocks his hips slowly, pushing a little more of his thick length inside you with each thrust. He can feel you getting wetter, core glistening as if your body yielded to his.

"Please, y/n" he begs, voice rough and desperate. "Please, baby... say it. That 'am your first an' last. The only man who ever fucks 'tis sweet cunt"

"I'm yours, Joel" you choke out. "Only yours"

With a final, hard thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head at the feel of you, letting out a long low groan.

"Fuck, doll" he gasps, hips starting to move, pistoning in and out of you. "She's just made f'me, ain't she? Gon' make ya' feel good. Give ya' what y'asked for. Lemme take care of it. I like to take care of's mine"

He hooks your legs over his shoulders, nearly bending you in half as he pounds into you. The bed creaks under you, headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust.

"Take it, sugar. Just like ya' wanted. 'Tis dirty mouth n' greedy pussy" Joel growls. "Take ma' cock like a good little girl. Fuck, y' were made f'r 'tis. Made't be fucked hard and deep and full of my cum"

He feels the tight coil of heat in his gut winding tighter and tighter; knows he won't last long.

"Please, Joel" you mewl, desperately clinging to him.

Joel lets out a feral growl at your plea, hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. He can feel you clenching down around him, body trembling as another orgasm builds deep inside you.

"Ya' want my cum, baby?" he snarls. "Want me t' fill her 'til it's drippin' down y'r legs?"

You nod, too eager.

"Look at that" he chuckles, pounding harder into you, forgetting for a moment he's sixty one. "Such a slut, beggin' for me to flood 'tis sweet pussy with ma' load. 'M gon' give ya' s' much you'll be leakin' for days. Gon' fill her up nicely. I know you gon' make sure not'a single drop goes to waste"

Joel reaches down, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles.

"Come with me, doll" he demands, growling. "Come on my cock like a good girl n' milk every last drop 'f cum. Show me just how much ya' want it"

With a final, brutal thrust, Joel buries himself balls deep inside you. He throws his head back, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as his orgasm rips through him.

"Take it, baby. Let me make ya' mine" His cock jerks and pulses inside you, spurt after spurt of hot, thick cum painting your insides. "Atta girl"

He collapses against you, hips still rocking slightly as the aftershocks of his release roll through him. He can feel you coming around him, pussy clenching and milking his spent cock, trying to pull every last drop of his seed deep inside you, just like you asked for.

Joel's chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, heart pounding against yours as he cradles you close.

"Not so bad for an old man"

He snickers, rolling onto his side, pulling you with him until you're tucked against his chest, head pillowed on his arm.

"Brat"

He wraps his other arm around your waist, holding you close as he nuzzles into your hair, traces of lavender up his nose.

"But you love me"

Joel sighs softly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, then temple and finally shell of your ear. In that moment, he knows he'll never let you go.

"That I do"

You softly comb his hair, his eyelids fluttering.

"I love you too, Joel"

A beat of silence goes by.

"So..."

"So?"

Joel offers a tired smile, glint of mischief laced somewhere.

"Any other ideas ya' wanna say outloud?"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @iamasaddie

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pucksandpower · 7 months ago

Text

Shouldn’t Have Done That

Mafia boss!Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader

Summary: trying to get one of the most dangerous men in the world to put a hit out on the love of his own life probably isn’t the brightest idea (or in which, for someone with a PhD, your professor is shockingly stupid)

Warnings: 18+ content, sexual harassment, imbalanced power dynamics, graphic violence, and descriptions of bodily harm

The door to your apartment swings open, and the chatter from the hallway stops. Four of your classmates shuffle inside, their footsteps faltering as they take in the sight before them. They’re silent for a moment too long.

“Wait,” Katie says, her eyes wide as she looks up at the vaulted ceiling and back down to the gleaming hardwood floors. “Is this your place?”

You shrug, tossing your keys into the bowl by the door. “Yeah.”

“You live here?” Carla echoes, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“I mean,” you chuckle lightly, “obviously.”

The apartment, with its high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Mediterranean, feels miles away from the cramped student housing they’re all used to. It's not just the space. The sleek furniture, the abstract art pieces on the walls, the elegant touches — none of it exactly screams student budget. They’re trying not to stare, but they’re doing a bad job of hiding it.

“I thought we were coming over to, like … study,” Peter finally says, breaking the silence, a nervous chuckle following.

You give him a playful nudge with your elbow. “We are.”

“But here?” Katie crosses her arms, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow. “Come on, what’s the deal? This place has to cost a fortune.”

There’s a beat, then a couple of them laugh, but it’s a little strained. They’re not joking. They’re genuinely trying to piece it together. You could brush it off, let them make their own assumptions, but something about their wide-eyed curiosity feels harmless.

“My brother,” you say, almost casually. “He’s … well, he’s doing okay. He helps me out.”

They’re all staring, but it’s Carla who finally speaks up. “What does your brother do?”

You hesitate for just a second before answering. “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure.”

Katie’s eyes narrow. “You’re not sure?”

“I mean, I know it’s something with negotiations. Like, high-level stuff. It’s complicated.” You wave it off like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t really matter. Because it doesn’t, right? You’ve never been the type to get too involved in his work. You just trust that he knows what he’s doing.

Carla tilts her head, curious but not pushing further. Peter, on the other hand, leans against the kitchen island, his lips curving into a smirk. “Something with negotiations? So, what? Is he, like, a spy or something?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that.”

“Are you sure?” Peter presses, his tone teasing but with just enough edge that he’s probably half-serious.

“Not everything is out of a Bond movie, Peter,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“But the view!” Katie says, pulling everyone’s attention back to the massive windows overlooking the water. “I can’t believe you get to wake up to this every day.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Carla adds. “I’d never get any work done.”

“I manage,” you say, grinning. The truth is, it’s still surreal to you too. This place is everything you didn’t know you wanted, and sometimes you catch yourself staring out those windows, trying to remind yourself that it’s real.

“Man, I bet you never want to leave,” Katie says, still wandering around like she’s in a museum.

“Not when she has everything she needs right here,” Peter quips. “Look at this kitchen. You could probably host a Michelin chef here.”

You open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water. “I wouldn’t know. I mostly use it for reheating leftovers.”

“You’re telling me this place has a kitchen like this, and you’re eating takeout?” Carla gasps dramatically, as if this is the most offensive thing she’s heard all day.

You shrug, uncapping the bottle. “Priorities.”

There’s a pause as everyone takes another lap of the apartment, taking in the minimalist, yet undeniably luxurious decor. The vibe is light, but you can feel the unspoken curiosity still lingering in the air.

“So … how well off are we talking, exactly?” Katie asks, not looking at you directly but instead at the marble countertops.

You shrug again, like it’s not that big of a deal. “Comfortable. Let’s just say he’s good at what he does.”

“I’ll say,” Peter mutters under his breath, and you can’t help but smirk.

For a moment, there’s silence again, but then Carla’s eyes light up like she’s had the best idea in the world. “Wait. Hold on. You know what I need to see?”

You raise an eyebrow, curious but already a little wary of where this is headed. “What?”

“Your closet.”

You blink, caught off guard by the request. “My closet?”

Katie jumps in, clapping her hands together. “Oh my god, yes. I didn’t even think of that. You have to show us.”

“I-” You hesitate, glancing towards the hallway. You hadn’t planned on giving them a tour of your personal space. “It’s not-”

“Come on!” Carla insists, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the hallway with an eager grin. “We won’t judge. We just want to see.”

“Please?” Katie adds, pouting slightly for emphasis.

You laugh, giving in. “Fine, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

As you lead them down the hallway, you can feel the anticipation in the air. When you stop in front of the large double doors, their excitement is palpable. You twist the knob, pushing the doors open with a small sigh.

“Okay, here it is.”

The collective gasp that follows is almost comical. You step aside, letting them wander into the massive walk-in closet, which feels more like a high-end boutique than anything else. The walls are lined with shelves and racks overflowing with designer labels. Chanel, Dior, Balmain, Gucci. Every label under the sun is here, all neatly arranged and organized in a way that’s both overwhelming and aesthetically pleasing.

Carla immediately rushes to a rack, her fingers brushing over the fabric of a Givenchy gown. “Are you kidding me?”

“This is unreal,” Katie whispers, her voice filled with awe as she runs her hand over a pair of Louboutin heels. “It’s like a dream.”

Peter whistles low, leaning against the doorframe, trying to play it cool, but even he looks impressed. “I’ve never seen this much designer stuff in one place.”

“I’ve only worn, like, half of it,” you admit sheepishly.

Carla spins around, her mouth hanging open. “Half? You could dress an army in here.”

You laugh, leaning against the doorframe, watching them fawn over the collection like kids in a candy store. It’s surreal, seeing your life through their eyes. To you, it’s just your brother’s way of making sure you’re taken care of, but to them, it’s something out of a movie.

Katie pulls out a vintage Valentino dress, holding it up in front of her. “I would die for this.”

“Please don’t,” you tease. “It’s just clothes.”

“Just clothes?” Carla repeats, incredulous. “This is practically a museum of couture.”

They spend the next several minutes pulling out pieces, laughing and gasping at everything from limited-edition handbags to extravagant gowns, and you can’t help but smile. It’s kind of fun, seeing them so excited, even if you still feel a little weird about the whole thing.

Finally, Carla turns to you, eyes wide. “Okay, you have to let us borrow something for the next event. Like, you have to.”

You shake your head, laughing. “We’ll see.”

But as they continue to gush over your closet, you realize that maybe it’s not such a big deal after all. Maybe sharing a little piece of this life with them doesn’t have to feel strange. Maybe it can just be fun.

***

Class is over before you realize it. Professor Turnier’s lecture on the intricacies of international negotiations had been more droning than usual, and the faint buzz of students gathering their things fills the hall. You shove your notebook into your bag, barely listening to the idle chatter around you. There’s a slight tension in the air that you can’t quite place, a sharpness that feels out of sync with the mundane end to the lecture.

You stand up to leave when you hear the professor’s voice, smooth and calculated.

“Could you stay behind for a moment?”

You freeze, glancing over your shoulder. His words aren’t unusual. He often asks students to hang back to discuss assignments or offer advice on projects. But something about his tone feels different. Off.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and nod, offering a polite, if tight, smile. “Sure.”

The last few students file out of the room, their footsteps echoing in the now-empty lecture hall. You hesitate before walking down toward his desk, feeling his gaze tracking your movements. His office is just off the hall, an enclosed glass-walled space where you can already see stacks of papers cluttering his desk.

“Come in,” he says, gesturing towards the open door, his voice too casual.

You step inside, noting the heavy scent of tobacco clinging to the air, and the way the blinds are partially drawn, casting strange shadows across the room. You stand near the door, feeling a sudden urge to stay as close to an exit as possible.

“Have a seat,” Turnier offers, motioning toward the chair across from his desk.

“I’m okay standing,” you say, trying to keep your tone light, even though your instincts are kicking into overdrive.

The professor doesn’t push it. He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers together, watching you with a strange smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve been doing quite well in this course,” he starts, his voice calm and slow. “Very well, actually.”

You nod, unsure where this is going. “Thanks. I’ve been putting in a lot of work.”

“I can tell,” he replies. “You’re … very impressive.”

There’s a flicker of something unsettling in his words, and your stomach tightens.

He clears his throat, standing from his chair and walking around the desk to lean casually against the front of it, much closer now. “You know, I’ve been thinking. Someone like you, with your intelligence, your connections, could really go far in this world.”

You glance toward the door, wondering how much longer you’ll have to listen to him before you can politely excuse yourself. “I’m just focusing on the coursework right now. Trying to stay on top of things.”

“Of course,” he says, nodding, but his eyes are still on you. There’s a slowness to his movements, a deliberate lack of urgency that feels like he’s setting up for something. “But you could be doing so much more. I could help you.”

You take a step back instinctively. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

His smile widens, though there’s nothing friendly about it now. “You know exactly what I mean.”

You stare at him, the air in the room thick with a sudden, unmistakable tension. The distance between you feels far too small. He’s watching you with a kind of predatory stillness, like he’s waiting for a reaction, like he wants you to feel trapped.

“I should probably go,” you say, your voice steady but your heart pounding in your chest. “I have another class soon.”

Before you can move, his hand darts out, grabbing your wrist with a firm grip. The shift from casual to threatening is immediate, and panic flares in your chest. “You’re not going anywhere yet.”

You try to pull your hand free, but he tightens his grip, pulling you closer. His other hand moves to your waist, fingers curling possessively as his breath catches in a disgusting, anticipatory way.

“I could do a lot for you,” he murmurs, his face too close to yours now. “You’re smart enough to know that. I could make your career. Or ruin it.”

His hand slides lower, and you freeze, caught in the horror of the moment, disbelief mixing with disgust. But then something in you snaps.

“Get off me,” you say through gritted teeth, your voice trembling but fierce.

He laughs, a low, condescending sound that makes your skin crawl. “You don’t want to make this difficult.”

Your body moves before your mind fully catches up. With all the force you can muster, you slam your knee upward into his groin. His breath catches in his throat as he doubles over, releasing you instantly, his face twisting in pain. He stumbles back, clutching himself, groaning in agony.

You don’t wait for him to recover. You turn toward the door, ready to sprint out of his office and never look back. But just as your hand grips the doorknob, you hear his voice, raw and venomous behind you.

“You’ll regret this.”

You stop, your pulse pounding in your ears, but you don’t turn around.

“I’ll make sure you regret this,” he spits, still hunched over but his voice sharp and filled with fury. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

You swallow hard, every muscle in your body tensing.

“You think your money can protect you?” He sneers, his words like poison. “I have friends — powerful friends. You think you can humiliate me like this and just walk away? You’ll never have a career. I’ll make sure of it.”

You stare at the door in front of you, every instinct screaming at you to leave, but his words hang in the air, twisting into something darker, something more sinister.

“I know people. People who could make your life hell. Mafia connections, sweetheart,” he says with a sickening smirk, though his voice is still ragged from the pain. “You have no idea how easily I could ruin you.”

Your breath catches, your fingers gripping the doorknob so tightly your knuckles turn white. His threat lingers, the weight of it pressing down on you. You’ve heard stories — whispers of people who move in dangerous circles, people who have connections that go far beyond what you’d ever imagined dealing with.

You know he could be bluffing. He probably is. But what if he’s not?

You force yourself to open the door, stepping out into the hallway, your legs trembling. You don’t look back. You can’t. The hallway is empty, the echoes of your footsteps the only sound as you walk, faster and faster, away from his office, away from the suffocating tension of what just happened.

But his voice, that horrible promise, follows you like a shadow.

“I’m going to ruin you.”

You step out of the building, the cool Mediterranean air hitting your face, but it doesn’t calm the storm inside you. You feel the bile rise in your throat as you stop just outside the doors, leaning against the wall and trying to steady your breathing.

Your mind races, replaying everything that just happened. The feel of his hands on you, the way he looked at you, the way he thought he could get away with it. And then his threat — the weight of it hanging over you, heavy and suffocating.

What now?

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you don’t look at it. You can’t focus on anything but the gnawing sense of fear and anger churning inside you. For a second, you consider going back. Reporting him. But then you remember the look in his eyes, the cold certainty in his voice when he made that threat.

Mafia connections.

It sounds ridiculous, like something out of a movie. But here, in Monaco, where money and power intermingle in ways that blur the lines between the law and something far darker, it doesn’t feel so far-fetched.

You push yourself away from the wall and start walking, needing to move, needing to get away from the university, from the weight of what just happened. But as you walk, your mind keeps circling back to the same thought.

He’s not going to get away with this.

You refuse to let him.

***

You don’t remember driving to Charles’ apartment. The world outside had blurred into a haze of flashing lights and slick streets, your breath ragged in your chest as you fought to hold back the tears. By the time you park the car, your hands are shaking, white-knuckled on the steering wheel. You sit there for a second, trying to gather yourself, but the weight of what happened presses down, heavy and relentless.

Finally, you stumble out of the car, slamming the door shut, your footsteps hurried as you rush toward the entrance of the building. Your vision swims, the tears threatening to spill over, but you force yourself to keep moving, to get to Charles.

You don’t even knock when you reach his door. You punch in the code he gave you a long time ago and push the door open, not caring about anything but the need to see him, to feel safe for even a second.

Charles is in the living room, standing by the kitchen counter, his head turning the moment you step inside. His face instantly shifts from casual surprise to deep concern when he sees you — your tear-streaked face, your trembling body. He moves toward you without hesitation, his arms reaching out before you can even say a word.

“What happened?” He asks, his voice low and urgent as he pulls you into his chest. His strong arms wrap around you, holding you close, his warmth grounding you in a way you didn’t even know you needed.

You try to speak, but the words are stuck in your throat, tangled with sobs. You collapse into him, your legs giving way as the tears finally break free. His grip tightens as he catches you, lowering you gently onto the couch, cradling you like a child. You bury your face in his chest, gasping for air between sobs.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, rocking you gently, his hand running through your hair in soothing strokes. “You’re safe now. You’re with me. Just breathe, okay?”

You try to follow his instructions, but your breaths come out jagged, choking on the tears. It feels like the whole day is crashing down on you at once, and the more you try to hold it together, the more everything falls apart.

He keeps murmuring reassurances, his hand never leaving your hair, his other arm a firm anchor around your shoulders. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. Just take your time.”

It takes a few minutes before you can even manage to form a coherent sentence. The sobs slow, but your whole body still trembles in his arms. You pull back just enough to look up at him, your face wet, eyes puffy, but the words still feel thick on your tongue.

“Charles …” Your voice breaks, and another hiccup escapes before you can stop it. “It’s … it’s my professor. H-He …”

His face hardens instantly, the warmth in his expression replaced by something darker, colder. “What did he do?”

You swallow, trying to steady your breathing, but the panic rises again as the memory of that office, the way his hands grabbed you, floods back. You squeeze your eyes shut, your words coming out in a rush. “H-He tried to touch me. He wouldn’t let me leave. I-I had to push him off me, and he said … he said he’s going to ruin me, Charles.”

Your voice cracks, and fresh tears spill over as you cling to him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

Charles doesn’t say anything at first, but you feel the tension radiating through his body. His grip on you tightens, and when you finally open your eyes, you see the fury etched into his face, his jaw clenched so hard it looks like it might snap.

“He what?” His voice is low, almost too calm, but there’s a dangerous edge beneath it.

You nod, your words barely a whisper. “He grabbed me, and I pushed him, but he … he said he’s going to fail me now. He said he has mafia connections, and he’s going to ruin my life.”

For a second, Charles just stares at you, his eyes dark with something unnameable. Then, suddenly, he pulls you even closer, wrapping his arms around you so tightly it feels like he’s trying to shield you from the entire world.

“He’s not going to do a goddamn thing,” Charles says, his voice rough but steady. “I won’t let him. I promise you, he won’t get away with this.”

You hiccup, shaking your head against his chest. “But he … he said-”

“I don’t care what he said,” Charles cuts in, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, pressing your face into his shoulder. “He’s not going to touch your career. He’s not going to touch you. I’ll make sure of that.”

Your whole body shakes, the weight of his words sinking in, but the fear doesn’t leave. It clings to you, tight and suffocating, like a shadow you can’t shake. “He said he knows people, Charles. Dangerous people.”

“I know people too,” he says, his voice hard, cold in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “You’re my sister. He’ll wish he’d never crossed you.”

You pull back slightly, blinking up at him, your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He lets out a slow breath, his hand brushing a tear from your cheek. “You don’t need to worry about that. Just trust me, okay? I’ll handle it.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. “I’ll take care of everything. You just need to focus on staying safe. I won’t let him come near you again.”

Your lip trembles, and you lean into him, letting yourself be comforted by his certainty, by the strength of his promise. But the words the professor had said — his sneering, his threats — they linger in your mind, gnawing at you.

“What if he really can do it?” You whisper, the fear creeping back in. “What if he ruins me, Charles? What if-”

“He won’t,” Charles says firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You press your face into his chest again, trying to breathe through the panic. He holds you, rocking you gently, his voice a steady anchor in the storm.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he murmurs, his voice softening. “You’re my little sister. No one messes with you and gets away with it. Do you understand?”

You nod against his chest, your tears slowly subsiding as his words wrap around you like a protective shield.

“I’ll make him pay for what he did,” Charles says, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “He’s not going to hurt you again. And he sure as hell isn’t going to ruin your career. I’ll make sure of it.”

For the first time since you walked into his apartment, you feel a small flicker of relief. Charles has always been the one to make things right, the one who takes care of things when you can’t. If anyone can fix this, it’s him.

“But how?” You whisper, looking up at him, your voice fragile.

He meets your gaze, his expression softening just a bit, though the fire still burns in his eyes. “I have my ways.”

The cryptic answer doesn’t do much to soothe you, but there’s something in his voice, in the way he holds you, that makes you trust him. You know he means what he says. He always has.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into him again, your body exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Charles says, his voice gentle now. “I’ve got this. You just need to rest. Take a breath. You’ve been through enough.”

His words wash over you, and you feel yourself relaxing slightly, the weight lifting just enough for you to breathe again.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand still cradling you like you’re something precious. “You don’t need to thank me. You’re family. I’ll always protect you.”

***

Max sits at the head of a long, polished mahogany table, a glass of whiskey resting in front of him. The dim lighting casts sharp shadows across the room, reflecting the power and wealth that permeates everything around him. He’s calm, calculating, the very image of control, his blue eyes scanning the room as his men discuss the details of the night’s business. There’s an unspoken respect, an awareness that every word spoken in his presence is weighted, measured, as if any misstep could have consequences.

Charles is beside him, his right-hand man and oldest friend, the only one who can match Max’s intensity. Charles leans back in his chair, but there’s a tension in his posture tonight — something Max doesn’t miss.

Max notices everything.

It’s been that way since the day he took over the family business, since he became the Max Verstappen, the name that inspires both reverence and fear in equal measure.

His phone buzzes on the table, breaking the momentary silence. He reaches for it, raising an eyebrow when he sees the number. Unknown, but local.

“Hold that thought,” Max says to the room, lifting a finger as he stands up and steps away from the table, phone in hand. He walks toward the tall windows overlooking the city. Monaco spreads out beneath him, glittering under the night sky. With a flick of his thumb, he answers the call.

“Yeah?” His voice is deep, smooth, but edged with impatience. He doesn’t do pleasantries with strangers.

There’s a pause on the other end, and then a voice, hesitant but smug, seeps through. “Mr. Verstappen. I wasn’t sure if you’d answer.”

Max frowns slightly, recognizing that tone — someone who thinks they’ve called in a favor, someone who believes they have power. He hates those kinds of people.

“Who is this?” He asks, cutting to the point.

“This is Alan Turnier. I was told you’re a man who gets things done … discreetly.” There’s an oily confidence to his words, and Max’s frown deepens.

He’s heard the name before. Some professor at the university, an arrogant prick by all accounts. Charles had mentioned him in passing a few times, and now the man is calling him, of all people.

“And what exactly do you want from me, Professor?” Max’s voice is low, his tone dangerously calm. He already doesn’t like where this is going.

“Well,” the professor begins, “I’ve got a problem. A student. A rather difficult one, actually. She’s been causing some �� trouble, and I need her to be taken down a peg or two. You know, rough her up a bit, teach her a lesson.”

Max’s grip on the phone tightens, but his face remains impassive. He’s handled scumbags like this before. He’s used to people thinking they can use him to solve their petty problems.

“Who’s the student?” Max asks, keeping his voice steady, though there’s a hard edge beneath it now.

The professor chuckles like he’s sharing a secret. “Her name’s Y/N Leclerc. She’s been a real pain. Thought she could get away with disrespecting me, so I figured I’d call in a favor. Make sure she learns her place.”

Max stops breathing for a moment.

The name hits him like a sledgehammer, slamming into his chest with a force he didn’t expect. His mind races, his body going rigid as every instinct flares up. Charles’ sister. Your name. The girl he’s known for years. The one he’s always been protective of, even if he’s kept his distance. The one who’s always had that soft, unaffected smile that somehow disarmed him, even when nothing else could.

His free hand curls into a fist.

“What did you say?” Max’s voice drops dangerously low, quieter now, but the threat in it is unmistakable.

“I said she needs to be put in her place,” the professor repeats, not realizing the fatal mistake he’s just made. “A little lesson in respect. Maybe scare her a bit — she’s been thinking she’s untouchable.”

Max’s vision narrows. The world outside the window blurs as a violent rage surges through him. He’s usually calm, calculated, but this? The idea of anyone laying a hand on you? His jaw tightens, his pulse quickening with the force of the anger boiling inside him.

Without another word, Max pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it for a second. He doesn’t think — he acts. His grip tightens, and with a sharp motion, he hurls the phone across the room, sending it crashing against the wall. The sound of it shattering echoes through the room as shards of glass and metal fall to the floor.

“Max?” Charles’ voice cuts through the haze, concerned and alert. He’s already on his feet, moving toward Max. “What the hell was that about?”

Max doesn’t answer immediately. His chest heaves with barely restrained fury, his hands still balled into fists at his sides. He breathes deeply, trying to steady himself, but the rage won’t let go. It claws at him, consuming him.

“Max.” Charles is in front of him now, eyes searching his face for an answer, his own tension rising. He’s seen Max angry before, but this? This is different. Personal. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Max finally meets his gaze, his voice like gravel as he speaks. “That was Turnier. The professor.”

Charles’ eyes narrow at the mention of the name. “What did he want?”

Max clenches his teeth, trying to control the storm inside him. “He wanted me to rough up a student for him. Said she was causing trouble.”

Charles’ face darkens, his own anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Who?”

Max’s eyes burn with intensity as he holds Charles’ gaze. “Y/N.”

The moment her name leaves his lips, Charles freezes. The color drains from his face, and his jaw tightens. “What?”

Max doesn’t repeat himself. He doesn’t need to. The weight of what the professor asked for hangs heavy between them, the unspoken understanding thickening the air.

“He didn’t know she’s your sister,” Max says, his voice low but lethal. “Didn’t know she’s my family.”

Charles exhales sharply, his fists clenched. “What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Max growls, his voice hardening. “I hung up. Smashed the phone.”

There’s a long pause as the two of them stand there, the weight of the situation settling in. Charles looks like he’s ready to explode, his hands twitching as if he wants to hit something, anything, to release the rage coursing through him.

Max, however, remains deadly calm on the outside, even though the fury inside him is almost unbearable. His mind races with possibilities, with thoughts of what he’s going to do next. He has power, more than Turnier could ever imagine, and he’s going to use every ounce of it to make sure that man never comes near you again.

“We’ll handle this,” Max says finally, his voice cold, determined. “He’s going to regret even thinking about touching her.”

Charles nods, but his eyes are still filled with a kind of wild, protective fury. “I want to be there when you do.”

Max meets his gaze, and for the first time since the call, a grim smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You will be.”

For a moment, they stand in silence, the only sound the faint hum of the city below. Then Max turns back toward the table, his movements deliberate as he grabs the decanter of whiskey and pours himself another glass, the liquid sloshing into the crystal tumbler.

“Call Nico,” Max says to Charles, his tone businesslike but laced with an edge of menace. “We’re going to need a cleanup crew. And tell him to bring the big car.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, already pulling out his phone, his expression steely. Max takes a long sip of the whiskey, the burn of it doing nothing to dull the fire inside him. He knows what needs to be done, and he knows exactly how to make Turnier pay.

The professor had no idea who he was messing with.

Max sets the glass down with a sharp click, his mind already working through the logistics, the steps he’ll take to destroy the man who dared to threaten you. Because this isn’t just about revenge. It’s about protecting what’s his. And as far as Max is concerned, you’ve always been part of that.

“I’ll take care of it,” Max says, more to himself than to anyone else, his voice low and final.

And he will.

No one touches you. Not ever.

***

Max moves through the dimly lit warehouse with the kind of purpose that turns heads and commands silence. Every step is deliberate, every movement calculated. His men line the walls, standing in the shadows like sentinels, but none of them speak. Not when Max is like this. Not when the air is thick with the unspoken threat that something bad is about to happen.

Charles walks beside him, his face set in hard lines, his shoulders tight with barely restrained fury. The kind of fury only family could ignite. The kind that burns hotter and longer than anything else.

At the center of the room, tied to a steel chair, is Professor Turnier.

He’s already bruised, his face swollen from the initial “conversation” Max’s men had with him. But this? This is different. Max and Charles didn’t come here to chat. They came to finish this.

Turnier’s eyes dart nervously between the two men as they approach. His arrogance, his smug self-assurance — it’s gone now, replaced by something desperate and fearful.

“Please … I didn’t know!” Turnier’s voice trembles as he speaks, his words tumbling out too quickly, as if speed could save him. “I didn’t know she was your sister. If I’d known-”

Charles steps forward before Max can, grabbing Turnier by the front of his shirt and yanking him forward, close enough that the professor’s breath hitches in fear. “You think that matters?” Charles hisses, his voice low, lethal. “You think it makes a difference who she is to me?”

Turnier’s lips quiver, his face pale. “I-I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean?” Max’s voice cuts in, smooth but ice-cold, his hands sliding into the pockets of his tailored suit as he steps up beside Charles. “You didn’t mean to assault her? Didn’t mean to threaten her future? Didn’t mean to call me, of all people, to finish your dirty work?”

Turnier’s mouth opens, but no words come out. Max watches him with a look of disdain, his lip curling slightly. It’s pathetic, really — this man, who had so much confidence, so much entitlement when he thought he had control, now reduced to a trembling, sniveling mess.

Max tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he studies Turnier. “Do you know what I do to people who ask me to hurt someone I care about?”

Turnier shakes his head frantically, tears already beginning to spill from his eyes. “Please … I didn’t know. I didn’t know who she was. I was wrong, I see that now. Just — just let me go. I’ll leave. I’ll disappear. I won’t come near her ever again. I swear!”

Charles lets out a low, bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. He releases his grip on Turnier’s shirt, only to backhand him across the face with such force that the chair tilts. The professor yelps, blood spraying from his split lip as he teeters before slamming back down onto the floor.

“You think it’s that easy?” Charles growls, his hands flexing at his sides, itching for more. “You think you can just walk away after what you did?”

Turnier groans, his head lolling to the side. “I-I made a mistake. I can fix it. I can-”

“No.” Max’s voice is sharp, final. “There’s no fixing this.”

He steps closer, crouching down so he’s at eye level with Turnier, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes boring into the professor’s. Turnier tries to look away, but Max grabs his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “You thought you were untouchable, didn’t you? That no one would question you. That you could do whatever you wanted and get away with it.”

Turnier’s breath comes out in shaky gasps, his eyes wild with fear. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just let me go.”

Max shakes his head slowly, as if he’s disappointed. “You don’t understand. This isn’t about what you can do. It’s about what I’m going to do to you.”

Turnier whimpers, his whole body shaking now, the weight of his impending fate finally settling in.

Max stands, his movements graceful, effortless. He turns to Charles, who is vibrating with rage, his fists clenched, every muscle in his body taut like a coiled spring.

“Charles,” Max says calmly, “what do you think we should take first?”

Turnier’s eyes widen in terror as he realizes what’s coming. He jerks in the chair, trying to free himself from the ropes that bind him, but it’s no use. His voice cracks as he screams, “No, please — no! Don’t!”

Charles steps forward, his eyes gleaming with a cold, focused hatred. “The tongue,” he says, his voice low, almost detached. “He won’t need that anymore.”

Max nods, as if that was exactly the right answer. He moves to the side, and one of his men steps forward, placing a gleaming pair of pliers on the table in front of them. Turnier’s screams grow louder, more desperate, but Max simply gestures to one of the guards.

“Gag him,” he orders.

The guard nods, shoving a rag into Turnier’s mouth to stifle his cries. The professor writhes in his chair, his face contorting with panic, but there’s nowhere to go, no one coming to save him.

Max picks up the pliers, turning them over in his hand, his eyes cold and detached as he tests their weight. He looks at Charles. “Do you want the honors, or should I?”

Charles’ lips twist into a grim smile, and he steps forward, taking the pliers from Max without hesitation. “I’ve got it.”

Turnier’s muffled screams are nothing more than background noise now, a pathetic, meaningless sound that neither man pays much attention to. Charles leans down, grabbing Turnier by the jaw and forcing his mouth open, the gag now drenched with the professor’s tears and saliva. He positions the pliers inside the professor’s mouth, gripping his tongue with merciless precision.

Turnier’s eyes roll back in his head, his body jerking violently against the ropes. Charles pauses, glancing over at Max, who watches with a cool, detached expression.

“Do it,” Max says, his voice calm.

And Charles does. The sound of the tongue being ripped from Turnier’s mouth is wet, violent, and final. Blood gushes from the professor’s mouth as he slumps forward, his body sagging in the chair as he groans in pain, the gag doing little to mask the wet, gurgling sounds of his suffering.

Charles tosses the bloodied piece of flesh to the floor, wiping his hands on a handkerchief one of Max’s men offers him. He looks down at the professor, disgust evident in his eyes.

“Not so smug now, are you?” Charles mutters, stepping back as Max approaches again.

Max crouches down, staring at Turnier, who can barely keep his head up. “We’re not done,” Max says softly, his voice chilling in its softness. “You hurt her. You wanted to destroy her life, her future. Now we’re going to make sure you never hurt anyone again.”

He motions to the guard once more. “Strip him.”

The men don’t hesitate. They move quickly, cutting away Turnier’s clothes until he’s bare, his body trembling in the cold air of the warehouse. Max nods to Charles, who steps forward, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He picks up a blade this time — small, sharp, efficient.

Without a word, Charles steps forward and swings the knife with brutal precision. The scream that comes from Turnier’s throat — guttural, primal, filled with the pain of someone who knows they will never be whole again — echoes through the empty warehouse.

Max watches impassively as the professor collapses in on himself, blood pooling beneath the chair, his sobs now nothing more than broken gasps. He kneels again, leaning in close, his face calm, his voice quiet.

“If you ever thought you were untouchable, I hope tonight has taught you otherwise. You will never speak again. You will never harm another woman again. You will spend the rest of your life as a reminder of what happens when you cross someone who’s mine.”

Max stands up, looking at Charles. “Make sure he’s cleaned up. Dump him where someone will find him. Let him explain to the world what happened without his tongue.”

Charles nods, his chest still heaving with anger, but he knows it’s over. Turnier’s life is ruined. He’ll live, but barely. And the fear will stay with him forever.

Max takes one last look at the professor, broken and bleeding, before turning to leave. His voice, cold and resolute, echoes in the warehouse as he walks away.

“No one touches her. Ever.”

***

The next day, you walk into the lecture hall with your usual sense of dread. Every step feels heavier than the last, the weight of what happened with Professor Turnier pressing down on you like a lead blanket. Even though Charles assured you everything was handled, you can’t stop the anxious thrum of nerves coursing through you. What if Turnier follows through with his threat? What if he finds some way to make your life hell without you even knowing it? The thoughts circle in your mind like vultures as you make your way to your seat.

The room is already buzzing with the usual chatter of students. You sit down next to Camille, who shoots you a quick smile before returning to scrolling through her phone.

"Are you okay?” She asks absently, still distracted by whatever is on her screen.

You nod, forcing a tight smile. "Yeah, just tired.”

Camille glances at you, her brow furrowing slightly, but she doesn't press it. "Same. This class is killing me. I swear if I have to sit through another one of Turnier’s mind-numbing lectures, I might actually pass out.”

The mention of his name sends a jolt through you, but you manage to keep your expression neutral. The thought of seeing him, of facing him after what happened, makes your stomach twist. You wonder if he’ll look at you, if he’ll acknowledge anything at all — or if he’ll act like nothing happened. The idea makes your skin crawl.

More students trickle in, filling the room, the noise level rising with laughter and chatter. You find yourself scanning the doorway, bracing yourself for the moment when Turnier walks in with that smug expression, as if he still holds all the power. Your heart hammers in your chest, fingers gripping the edge of your notebook a little too tightly.

But the door swings open, and instead of Turnier, someone else walks in.

There’s an immediate hush that falls over the room, the shift so sudden it feels like the air has been sucked out of the space. The new professor strides in confidently, carrying a few books under one arm and glancing briefly at the rows of students. He looks like he belongs in an entirely different world — a man in his mid-40s, tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and sharp, intelligent eyes. He wears a tailored suit, but his demeanor is far more relaxed than Turnier’s ever was.

He sets his things down on the desk at the front of the room, and for a moment, no one says a word. Everyone seems to be waiting for some kind of explanation, the tension palpable as the professor faces the class.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says, his voice calm, clear, and authoritative. “I’m Professor Mathieu, and I’ll be taking over for the remainder of the semester.”

You feel the shift in the room as everyone processes what he’s just said. Whispers immediately break out among the students, confused murmurs of “What happened to Turnier?” and “Did anyone know about this?” ripple through the lecture hall. Your heart skips a beat, and you sit up straighter, shock momentarily pushing the anxiety aside.

Camille leans in toward you, her voice a hushed whisper. “Did you hear that? What do you think happened to Turnier?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. “No idea,” you say quietly, hoping the tremor in your voice isn’t noticeable.

At the front of the room, Professor Mathieu doesn’t seem fazed by the murmurings. He taps his hand on the desk lightly, drawing everyone’s attention back to him.

“I understand you all have questions,” he says, his tone not unkind, “but I’ve been asked to inform you that Professor Turnier is no longer available. As far as the specifics of his departure, that’s not something I can discuss. What I can tell you is that I’ll be taking over for the rest of the semester, and I expect we’ll all be able to adjust without any issues.”

You can feel the tension in the room crackle like static. Some students exchange glances, but no one dares ask any more questions. You, on the other hand, are frozen in your seat. No longer available. The words echo in your head like a distant bell, sending a surge of relief and confusion through you.

Camille nudges you, leaning in closer. “Do you think he got fired?” She whispers.

You shrug, keeping your voice low. “Maybe. I mean, it’s weird that we didn’t hear anything about it.”

“Super weird,” she agrees, still watching the new professor with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “I wonder what he did.”

The same question nags at you, but for an entirely different reason. You think of Charles, his words from last night still fresh in your mind: I’ll take care of it. He won’t hurt you ever again. You wonder what exactly he meant by that. Clearly, Turnier isn’t coming back, but what happened to him?

Professor Mathieu opens a folder on the desk and begins to speak, pulling your attention back to the front of the room. “Now, as I said, we’ll be continuing with the curriculum as planned, but I’ll be implementing some changes to the structure of the course. We’ll focus less on rigid theory and more on practical application, which I believe will be more engaging for all of you.”

The shift in focus seems to settle the room slightly. The murmurs die down as he moves into his lecture, his voice smooth and confident. But even as the class starts, you can’t shake the feeling of something monumental having shifted.

You’re barely paying attention as Professor Mathieu drones on about diplomatic history and the complexities of statecraft. Your mind is somewhere else, replaying the events of last night, the relief you felt when Charles held you close and promised to make things right. You glance at the students around you. They have no idea, no inkling of what almost happened. What could have happened.

Suddenly, you feel Camille nudge your arm. You blink and realize you’ve zoned out completely.

“Are you okay?” Camille whispers, her voice laced with concern. “You look … spaced out.”

You offer her a small smile, though you know it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah, just tired, I guess.”

Camille studies you for a second, clearly not convinced, but she drops it. “Well, this is going to be an interesting semester,” she says, her voice light, but there’s an edge to it. “I mean, Turnier just disappearing like that? Something’s gotta be up.”

You glance over at her, trying to play it cool. “Maybe he retired early or something.”

“Yeah, but no one knew? No announcement, nothing? Feels sketchy.”

You don’t respond, just nodding along as you turn your attention back to the new professor, who’s already deep into his lecture. But as the minutes tick by, you can’t help the growing sense of unease in your chest. There’s relief, sure — Turnier’s gone. But the fact that it happened so suddenly, so completely, leaves you with more questions than answers. What did Charles and Max do?

Camille shifts beside you, flipping through her notes and scribbling things down. “At least the new guy seems decent,” she mutters. “Way better than Turnier.”

You nod, though your mind is elsewhere. You can barely focus on the lecture, your thoughts spinning like a whirlpool. Is Turnier really gone for good? Did Charles and Max … do something more than just get him fired? You remember Max’s cold eyes, the way he’d told you once, in passing, that he’d do anything for family. That no one crossed him or those he cared about without consequences.

What kind of consequences?

Your phone buzzes in your lap, pulling you from your thoughts. You glance down discreetly and see a message from Charles.

Everything’s taken care of. You’re safe.

You stare at the words for a long moment, a chill running down your spine. Safe. The word should make you feel better, but somehow, it only deepens the mystery.

You glance around the lecture hall again. Everyone else is oblivious, focused on their notes, their laptops, their whispering conversations about the sudden change in professors. But you know something they don’t. You know that the world you live in is a lot more dangerous than they realize.

***

When you step out of the building, the afternoon sun blinding for a second, you blink to adjust. Students mill around the campus courtyard, some gathered in groups, others rushing to their next class. You fish your car keys out of your bag, already mentally going over what you’ll make for dinner tonight, but as you approach the edge of the steps, you stop dead in your tracks.

Max is there.

Leaning casually against the sleek, charcoal body of his Aston Martin Valkyrie, arms crossed, aviators shielding his eyes. The car is a thing of beauty — sleek lines and aggressive angles, a car that demands attention. And it’s getting it. You can feel the stares from all around. Students have slowed their pace, eyes darting between Max and you. Whispers start spreading through the crowd like wildfire, curious and speculative.

You swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your pulse picks up. It’s not unusual for Max to turn heads, but seeing him here, on campus, waiting for you, feels like something else entirely. He’s never been the type to drop by unannounced — especially not in a setting like this.

You step down from the stairs, feeling like every pair of eyes is following you, but your focus is on Max. His casual confidence is unnerving, but then again, it always has been. There’s something about the way he carries himself, like he’s always in control, that makes it hard to breathe around him sometimes.

“Max?” You call out, a mix of confusion and concern in your voice. “What are you doing here?”

He pushes off the car and takes off his sunglasses, revealing those sharp, blue eyes of his, which are locked entirely on you. He walks toward you with a swagger that’s impossible to miss, as if he owns every inch of space he moves through.

“I’m here to pick you up,” he says smoothly, voice low but with a hint of amusement.

You look over your shoulder, towards the student parking lot. “But I drove here,” you protest, feeling a little ridiculous saying it aloud. You motion vaguely in the direction of your car. “I’m fine. I can-”

Max cuts you off with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll have someone pick it up and drive it back to your place. You’re coming with me.”

You hesitate, feeling the weight of the dozens of gazes on you. Max doesn’t seem to care about the attention at all, which isn’t surprising. He’s used to it. But the thought of climbing into his car, with what feels like half the campus watching, sends a jolt of nervous energy through you.

“Max, I-” you start, but he opens the passenger door with a casual, almost commanding gesture.

“Get in,” he says, his tone leaving little room for argument.

You glance around, noticing some of your classmates openly gawking at the scene. You feel a flush creep up your neck, but there’s no way out of this without causing even more of a spectacle. With a sigh, you lower your head slightly and step forward, sliding into the seat of the Valkyrie. The leather is cool against your skin, the interior smelling of something clean and faintly masculine. Max shuts the door behind you and walks around to the driver’s side, slipping in with fluid grace.

As soon as the door closes, the low hum of the engine fills the air, and Max glances over at you. “Seatbelt,” he says quietly, waiting until you click it in place before pulling away from the curb.

You can’t bring yourself to look out the window as the car glides through campus. You know everyone’s watching. You can almost feel the collective curiosity, the questions that will follow this moment — why is Max picking you up? What’s your relationship? The ride is smooth, the low rumble of the engine making it feel like you’re floating. Max doesn’t speak, and neither do you, but the silence is charged with something unsaid, heavy in the space between you.

It’s not until you’re out of campus, away from the prying eyes, that you risk a glance at him. His jaw is set, eyes focused on the road ahead, his hands relaxed on the wheel. There’s something about the way he drives — calm, controlled, like he’s in command of everything around him.

You chew on your bottom lip, unsure of how to ask the question that’s been gnawing at you since this morning. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you break the silence, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Did you … did you and Charles have anything to do with Turnier being replaced?”

Max doesn’t answer right away. His fingers flex on the steering wheel, his gaze still straight ahead, but there’s a flicker of something dark in his eyes, something cold and calculating. For a moment, you think he might brush off the question, but then he exhales through his nose, a short, humorless sound.

“We took care of it,” he says, his voice firm, unflinching. There’s a note of pride in it, too, a quiet sort of satisfaction.

You feel a shiver run down your spine. “What … what did you do?” You ask, even though you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

Max glances at you, his gaze steady, unyielding. “Turnier won’t be taking advantage of anyone else. Ever again.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with implication. You stare at him, trying to process what he’s just said. There’s something final in his tone, something that makes your chest tighten with a mixture of relief and dread.

You swallow hard, turning your gaze back to the road. The tension in the car is palpable now, thick and unspoken. You know better than to push for more details. Max and Charles operate in a world where consequences are swift and absolute. You don’t need to ask what they did to Turnier. The important thing is that he’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.

But the weight of that realization — of what Max and Charles might have done — sits heavily in your stomach. You glance at Max again, trying to find something in his expression that might offer more reassurance, but his face is unreadable.

“So that’s it?” You ask, your voice small. “It’s over?”

Max nods, a slight tilt of his head. “It’s over.”

You should feel relieved. You should feel grateful. But there’s something unsettling about how easily they made Turnier disappear. About how calmly Max talks about it, like it’s just another business transaction.

The car continues to glide down the road, and for a while, neither of you speaks. You’re lost in your thoughts, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt. The reality of it all is sinking in now — Turnier’s gone. He’s not coming back. But at what cost?

You steal another glance at Max, wondering how much he’s willing to do for you. For Charles. For family.

“Thank you,” you say softly, the words barely audible.

Max doesn’t respond immediately. He keeps his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. But then, after a moment, he nods once, almost imperceptibly.

“Anything for you,” he says, his voice low and quiet. But there’s a weight to his words, a promise that hangs between you like a silent vow.

You don’t know how to respond, so you just sit there, the sound of the engine filling the silence. Part of you wants to ask more questions, to understand what exactly Max did. But the other part of you — the part that knows how dangerous his world is — tells you to leave it alone.

So you do. You sit back in your seat, watching the city blur by outside the window, and try to focus on the fact that, for now, you’re safe.

***

Max pulls the Valkyrie into the underground garage of his building, and the moment you step out, the cool air hits your skin, grounding you again. The weight of the day, of everything that’s happened, still presses on your chest. You follow Max through the private elevator, feeling the tension rise the higher you go. When the elevator doors slide open, revealing Max’s penthouse, the warm glow of the lights and the familiar scent of home greet you.

Charles is waiting.

He stands by the window, a drink in hand, but the moment he sees you and Max step in, his expression softens. He strides over, his eyes searching your face, concern etched in every line of his posture.

"How’re you holding up?” Charles asks gently, wrapping you in a brief but firm hug.

You exhale into his embrace, grateful for the comfort. "I’m … better,” you admit, your voice steadier than you expect. But the presence of both men, these two constants in your life, makes everything feel a little less overwhelming.

Charles glances between you and Max as he steps back, something flickering in his eyes. “Good. You’re in safe hands.” The way he says it, like there’s something more behind the words, makes your heart skip a beat.

Max doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, tall and imposing, his gaze fixed on you. You feel the weight of it, the intensity, and it’s making you too aware of everything — the closeness of him, the way his arm brushes against yours as you move toward the dining table, the way your pulse quickens every time he looks at you.

The table is already set — simple but elegant. You all sit, and Charles takes the head of the table, a casual smirk tugging at his lips as Max takes the seat opposite you. The food is rich and fragrant, the kind of meal that should make your mouth water, but you’re finding it hard to focus on anything other than the electricity buzzing in the air between you and Max.

The dinner conversation starts out light. Charles talks about work, a new deal he’s working on, and you try to engage, but your mind keeps drifting back to Max. His presence is impossible to ignore, especially when you feel his eyes on you. Every time you steal a glance at him, he’s already looking at you, like he’s been watching you the whole time.

And he has been watching you.

It’s not subtle, the way Max’s eyes linger on you, the way his gaze softens whenever you speak, like he’s memorizing every word. You try not to read too much into it — this is just Max being Max, right? He’s always been protective, always looked out for you. But tonight … there’s something else in the way he looks at you, something deeper, more intense.

You take a bite of your food, trying to focus on anything other than the heat creeping up your neck. But every time you dare to look back at Max, you catch his gaze, and your heart stutters in your chest. There’s a softness in his eyes, something that makes your breath hitch, and you have to look away before it overwhelms you.

Charles, ever the observer, doesn’t miss a thing. He watches the silent exchange between the two of you for a good part of the meal, his eyes flicking between you and Max like he’s piecing together a puzzle. His lips quirk up in a knowing smile, but he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

It’s halfway through the meal when the silence stretches a little too long, the weight of the unspoken tension thick in the air. You keep your eyes on your plate, your hand trembling slightly as you reach for your water glass. Max hasn’t said a word in what feels like forever, but his gaze — God, you can feel it like a physical touch.

And then, just when the tension feels unbearable, Charles leans back in his chair, placing his utensils down with an exaggerated clatter, and clears his throat dramatically.

"Alright,” he says, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "This has been fun and all, but I’ve had enough of watching you two make heart eyes at each other across the table.”

Your fork freezes midway to your mouth. You glance up, eyes wide, and catch Max’s expression — a mix of surprise and amusement flickering across his face.

Charles grins, entirely too pleased with himself. "Seriously,” he continues, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "I mean, it’s cute, don’t get me wrong. But how long are you two gonna keep pretending there’s nothing going on here?”

Your face burns, and you open your mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. You don’t even know what you’d say if you could. Deny it? Laugh it off? You’re not even sure what this is, let alone how to explain it.

Max doesn’t flinch. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, and raises an eyebrow at Charles. "Heart eyes?” He repeats, his tone casual but with a hint of a challenge.

Charles smirks, not backing down. "You heard me. I’ve been sitting here watching you two eye each other like you’re the only people in the room. I swear, it’s exhausting.” He looks at you then, his eyes softening slightly. "And for the record, there’s no one in this world I’d trust more with my sister than you, Max.”

Your heart skips a beat. The weight of Charles’ words sinks in, heavy and full of meaning. Max doesn’t react immediately, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch.

Charles leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his grin widening. "So, why don’t you two put us all out of our misery and just kiss already?”

The room goes still. You can’t breathe. You glance at Max, your heart racing, and for a split second, you think maybe he’ll laugh it off, that this is just Charles being Charles, stirring the pot for his own amusement.

But Max doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t hesitate. His eyes lock onto yours, intense and unwavering, and before you can even process what’s happening, he stands up, his chair scraping against the floor as he moves.

The next thing you know, Max is in front of you, and without a word, without a second of doubt, he reaches across the table, his hands sliding under your arms. He pulls you out of your seat with such ease, like you weigh nothing, and before you can even register it, you’re being tugged across the table toward him.

Your breath hitches, and your hands instinctively find his shoulders as he pulls you closer. His grip is firm but gentle, and his face is just inches from yours now, his eyes dark with something you’ve never quite seen before.

And then, with a slight tilt of his head, Max closes the distance.

His lips press against yours, warm and soft, and the world around you melts away. Everything goes quiet, every sound, every thought, drowned out by the feel of his mouth on yours. It’s a slow, deliberate kiss, like he’s savoring every second, and your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can feel it through your chest.

You can feel his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, and you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his shirt as you kiss him back. The taste of him, the warmth of his skin — it’s all consuming, overwhelming in the best possible way.

Charles lets out a low whistle from across the room, but you barely register it. All you can think about is Max, the way he’s holding you, the way his lips move against yours like he’s wanted this for a long time.

“Well,” Charles says, breaking the moment with a grin, “about damn time.”

Max’s breath lingers warm against your lips, and for a moment, the world feels suspended — just you and him, the faint hum of the city outside, the quiet flicker of candlelight on the table. His hands tighten slightly on your waist, pulling you even closer, and the electricity between you ignites into something undeniable.

You kiss him again, harder this time, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his hand slides up your back. Your fingers tangle in his hair, and there’s an intensity in the way he’s holding you, as though he’s been waiting for this moment for years. It’s a slow burn at first, but then something shifts, the heat between you building until you feel like you might explode if you’re not closer, if you can’t feel more of him.

Max responds in kind, his grip on you firm, and his lips more insistent. You forget where you are, lost in the sensation of him — the taste of his mouth, the feel of his body pressed against yours. It’s like nothing else exists, nothing else matters.

But then, from across the table, Charles clears his throat loudly.

You pull back slightly, breathless, and Max’s eyes flash with frustration, as if he’s annoyed at being interrupted. You glance over at Charles, who’s sitting with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in amusement, but his expression is serious.

“Alright, alright,” Charles says, his voice calm but firm, like he’s trying to keep the situation from spiraling. “That’s enough for now.”

Max shoots him a look, clearly not on the same page, but Charles just shakes his head.

“Nope, not happening,” Charles continues, pointing between the two of you. “Nothing — and I mean nothing — gets any further without a ring.”

A heavy silence falls over the room. You blink, trying to process what Charles just said. You and Max are both frozen, still tangled together, and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You expect Max to say something — to push back, to laugh it off — but instead, he lets go of your waist and steps back, his jaw tight.

Without a word, Max turns on his heel and walks out of the dining room.

You’re left standing there, stunned, your heart racing for a whole new reason. “What … just happened?” You murmur, looking at Charles for some kind of explanation.

Charles looks just as confused as you feel, his eyes following Max as he leaves the room. “I don’t know,” he admits, his brow furrowed. “I didn’t think he’d-”

Before he can finish his sentence, Max strides back into the room, something small and familiar in his hand. Your eyes widen when you realize it’s a jewelry box. The dark velvet catches the low light, and it’s clear from the way Max holds it that this isn’t a last-minute idea.

He stops in front of you, his expression steady, but there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes — something raw and vulnerable. He meets your gaze, and his voice is low, serious when he speaks.

"Good thing,” Max says, flipping open the box with a flick of his thumb, revealing a dazzling diamond nestled in the center, "I’ve had this since the first time I saw you. Years ago.”

Your heart stops. Literally, you can feel it stutter in your chest as the words sink in.

“What?” The word escapes your lips in a whisper, your gaze darting from the ring to Max’s face, trying to understand if this is real, if you’re not imagining the whole thing.

Max holds your gaze, his eyes unwavering. “I knew,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I knew from the first moment I met you, there was no one else. You were it for me.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t think. You can’t speak. The room feels smaller, quieter, like the entire world has narrowed down to just this — the man standing in front of you, the ring in his hand, the weight of what he’s saying.

Charles, who had been watching the whole scene with a mixture of amusement and curiosity, now leans back in his chair, crossing his arms with a satisfied smirk. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Max doesn’t take his eyes off you. “I’ve been waiting,” he admits, his voice soft but certain. “Waiting for the right time. But Charles is right. There’s no point in pretending anymore.”

Your chest tightens. You’ve always known there was something between you and Max, something unspoken, something simmering beneath the surface. But you never expected this — never expected him to have felt it for so long, to have been carrying this weight of certainty with him all this time.

The ring sparkles in the dim light, beautiful and overwhelming, and your mind races, trying to catch up with your heart.

“You’ve had that … since we met?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max nods once, his gaze unwavering. “Since the day Charles introduced us,” he says, his voice low, gravelly. “I knew then. And I’ve kept it, waiting for you to feel the same. I didn’t want to rush you, didn’t want to push you into something you weren’t ready for.”

There’s a pause, the silence between you both filled with a thousand unsaid things.

Charles clears his throat, the amusement in his voice more pronounced now. “So, are we going to do this properly, or what? You’ve got the ring. She’s standing right there.”

You shoot Charles a look, but you can’t help the small, nervous laugh that escapes your lips. “You’re really ruining the moment, you know that?”

Charles shrugs. “Just trying to help.”

Max smirks, and for a brief second, you see the playful edge return to his expression. But then his eyes are back on you, serious, and the weight of what’s happening comes crashing down again.

He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, his presence filling up the space around you. “I’ve loved you for a long time,” Max murmurs, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “And I’ll keep loving you for the rest of my life. If you’ll have me.”

You blink back the sudden wave of emotion that threatens to spill over. You never imagined that this moment — this moment — would feel so natural, so right.

“I don’t-” you start, your voice catching, but then you take a deep breath and try again. “I don’t know what to say.”

Max’s smile softens, and he takes your hand, pressing the small jewelry box into your palm. “Say yes,” he whispers.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and for a moment, you just stand there, staring up at him, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions racing through you. But then you look into his eyes — those dark, steady eyes that have always been there for you, always protective, always his — and the answer is clear.

“Yes,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out past the lump in your throat. “Yes, Max.”

Max’s face breaks into a smile, something soft and relieved, and before you can say another word, he’s pulling you into his arms, kissing you with a fervor that leaves you breathless all over again.

Charles lets out a low whistle from the other side of the table, his voice laced with humor. “Well, it’s about damn time.”

Max doesn’t pull away this time. He just kisses you deeper, one hand cupping your face, the other pressing the ring box into your hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world. And to him, you know it is.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, he grins. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

You laugh, your heart soaring, and whisper back, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

***

Max pulls the car up to the curb in front of the university, his sleek Valkyrie drawing curious stares from students lingering outside the building. You’re still adjusting to the events of the night before — the suddenness of it all, the weight of the engagement ring now resting on your finger. It feels unreal, like you’re caught in some strange but thrilling dream.

He gets out of the car first, walking around to open the door for you. His hand extends toward you, a protective gesture, and you take it without hesitation. The moment you’re standing, Max pulls you into his arms and kisses you, slow and deliberate, as if he’s making sure the entire campus knows that you’re his.

There’s a pause when he pulls away, his hand still resting on your lower back. “You sure you don’t want me to stick around? Make sure no one bothers you?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Max gives you one last look, his brow furrowed slightly with concern, but then he steps back and nods. “Alright. Call me if you need anything.”

With that, you turn toward the building, the weight of his gaze on your back as you walk away. Your heart is still racing from the kiss, and you know you’re about to walk into a storm of questions — your friends haven’t even had time to process everything that happened yesterday.

Sure enough, the second you’re inside the courtyard, you hear voices calling your name. You look up to see a group of your classmates, their eyes wide, jaws practically on the floor. They surround you like a pack of excited reporters, eager to get the scoop.

“Who was that?” Katie asks, her eyes still fixed on the spot where Max’s car had been. “And please don’t tell me that’s the same guy who picked you up yesterday. Because holy shit, girl.”

Peter, arms crossed, steps closer, squinting at you with a mix of amusement and suspicion. “Is that why you’ve been acting weird lately? You’re seeing someone?”

You can’t help but smile, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “Uh, yeah,” you say, holding up your left hand to show the ring. “That’s Max … my fiancé.”

The group collectively gasps, the air around you suddenly filled with a flurry of shocked exclamations.

“Fiancé?” Carla nearly shrieks, grabbing your hand to inspect the ring up close. “Excuse me? Fiancé? How the hell did we not know about this?”

Katie, clearly still processing, stares at you with wide eyes. “You mean to tell us you’ve been engaged this whole time and didn’t even mention it?”

You laugh nervously, knowing what’s coming. “No, no, it’s not like that. It’s … it just happened. Yesterday.”

The shocked silence that follows your words is almost comical. They all exchange glances, trying to make sense of what you’ve just said.

“Yesterday?” Peter echoes, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You mean you got engaged yesterday?”

You nod, feeling the pressure of their disbelief. “Yeah. Yesterday.”

“And you’ve been seeing this Max guy for how long exactly?” Carla, her arms crossed, eyes skeptical.

You hesitate, knowing the answer is going to send them into another round of questioning. “Uh … officially? One day.”

The shock hits them all at once. They’re staring at you like you’ve just announced that you’re moving to Mars. The disbelief is palpable, and you can practically hear their minds racing.

“One day?” Katie finally blurts out, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You got engaged after one day of being together? Are you serious right now?”

Carla, clearly concerned, steps forward and lowers her voice, like she’s trying to be gentle. “Y/N, I love you, but … are you sure about this? One day? That’s … I mean, that’s crazy.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of their judgment, but you stand your ground. “Look,” you say firmly, meeting each of their gazes in turn. “I know it sounds insane. But we’ve known each other for years. Max is Charles’ best friend. We’ve been in each other’s lives for so long, and … we’ve loved each other for a long time. We just didn’t make it official until now.”

Your friends exchange glances again, clearly unsure of how to react. They’re still in shock, still processing, but you can tell they’re trying to understand.

“Okay, but …” Peter starts, struggling to find the right words. “How did you go from ‘just friends’ to engaged overnight?”

You laugh, the memory of last night flooding back, and you shrug. “It wasn’t exactly overnight. It’s been building for a while. We’ve both known how we felt, but neither of us acted on it. And then … well, things happened, and we just decided to stop pretending.”

There’s a long pause as your friends take that in, their faces softening a little. You can see the concern in their eyes, but also a flicker of understanding.

“So … you’ve loved him for years,” Katie finally says, slowly nodding. “And he’s loved you for years. But you just made it official now?”

You nod, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “Exactly. It might seem fast, but we’ve known this was coming for a long time. We just didn’t realize it until now.”

Your friends are quiet for a moment, and then Carla sighs, throwing her hands up in the air. “Okay, fine. I still think it’s crazy, but … if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”

Peter chimes in, smiling a little. “I mean, the ring is gorgeous. And that car? Damn.”

There’s a ripple of laughter through the group, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you. They’re not completely on board yet, but they’re starting to come around.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Katie teases, nudging you playfully. “If you’re moving this fast, I’m assuming it’s next week?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “We haven’t even talked about that yet. It’s still sinking in for both of us.”

Carla grins. “Well, I guess we’ll have to start dress shopping soon. It’s probably going to be some extravagant, over-the-top wedding.”

You can’t help but smile at the thought, your heart fluttering. “I don’t know about that. But … yeah, maybe.”

They laugh again, and you can feel the tension easing. The questions aren’t completely gone, but they’re starting to trust that you know what you’re doing. They’re your friends, after all — they want you to be happy, even if they don’t fully understand how this all happened so fast.

As you start walking toward the lecture hall together, Peter loops his arm through yours. “Alright, tell us everything. How did he propose? And how did we not know you were in love with him this whole time?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s a long story …”

“Well, we’ve got time,” Katie says with a grin. “You can fill us in after class. We need details.”

As you all head inside, you glance down at the ring on your finger, the weight of it feeling more natural with every passing minute. It’s strange how quickly everything has changed, but it also feels like it’s been a long time coming. Like this was always where you were meant to end up — with Max, with the man who’s loved you from the start.

And no matter what anyone else thinks, you know in your heart that this is right. You and Max may have only made things official yesterday, but the love between you has been there all along, quietly waiting for the right moment to bloom.

Now, it’s finally your time.

***

Class lets out early today. You’re grateful for the extra time, but it’s a bit inconvenient — Max isn’t supposed to pick you up for another half hour. Standing outside the lecture hall, you scan the sea of students milling around, watching them scatter toward their cars or the nearby café.

You check your phone. No messages. It’s still too early for Max to be on his way, so you settle on waiting near the steps, trying to enjoy the sun and the slight breeze. You absentmindedly twist the engagement ring around your finger, the cool metal grounding you. The past few days have been a whirlwind, and every time you look at that ring, it still feels surreal. But it also feels like everything is finally falling into place. You belong with Max. You always have.

"Hey.”

The voice cuts through your thoughts. You glance up, blinking in surprise as you see a guy from your class approaching. You recognize him vaguely — one of those people who sits in the back, never really participating in the discussions. You’re pretty sure you’ve never spoken to him before, but now here he is, leaning against the wall near you with a smirk that makes your skin crawl.

“Hi,” you say politely, not wanting to be rude but also not particularly interested in starting a conversation.

He doesn’t take the hint. “I’ve seen you around,” he says, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “You don’t usually hang out here after class. Waiting for someone?”

Your instincts tell you to keep this short. “Yeah, my fiancé. He’s picking me up soon.”

The word fiancé doesn’t seem to deter him. In fact, it seems to spur him on. His eyes flick down to your hand, where the ring gleams in the sunlight, and then back up to your face with a cocky smirk.

“Fiancé, huh?” He steps a little closer, his voice lowering as if trying to be conspiratorial. “That sounds serious. But, I mean, you don’t really seem the settling down type. You sure you wanna tie yourself down so soon?”

You stiffen. “I’m sure,” you reply firmly, shifting your weight and turning your body slightly away from him, hoping he’ll get the message and leave you alone.

But he doesn’t. “Come on, we’ve never really talked, but I’ve seen you around. You’re smart, cool … definitely too interesting to be someone’s fiancée already.” He flashes you what he probably thinks is a charming smile. “What’s the rush?”

You swallow, trying to keep your cool. “There’s no rush. I’m happy. I’m with someone I love, and we’ve been together for a long time.” That’s not entirely true, but it’s not a lie either. It’s not something this guy needs to know, anyway.

Instead of backing off, he leans in closer, a predatory gleam in his eye. “Maybe you don’t know what you’re missing. Just saying, you and I could have some fun.”

You take a step back, feeling your pulse quicken. “I said, I’m in a relationship.”

He shrugs, as if your words are meaningless. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time. What’s the harm in a little flirtation? It’s not like he’d know.”

Your patience snaps. “I’m not interested,” you say more forcefully, taking another step back. “Please leave me alone.”

The guy laughs softly, shaking his head. “Wow, playing hard to get, huh? I get it. You’re probably bored with this fiancé of yours, right? Guys like that, they don’t know how to keep things interesting.”

Before you can respond, you hear the familiar roar of an engine. Relief floods through you as you spot Max’s Valkyrie pulling up to the curb. The second the car comes to a stop, the door swings open, and Max steps out, his eyes immediately locking on you — and the guy standing too close for comfort.

Max takes in the scene in an instant. His entire demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, shifting from calm to deadly. His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he stalks toward the two of you with purpose.

The guy is oblivious at first, too caught up in his own attempt at charm to notice the approaching storm. “Come on, sweetheart,” he’s saying, his hand moving slightly toward your arm. “Just give me a chance.”

That’s when Max arrives.

Before the guy’s hand can even brush your sleeve, Max grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him backward with enough force to make him stumble. The guy lets out a startled yelp, spinning around to face Max, his expression morphing from confusion to fear the moment he realizes who he’s dealing with.

“Hey, man, I was just-” the guy starts, but Max cuts him off with a low, menacing growl.

“She’s not interested,” Max says, his voice deadly calm. His hand is still gripping the guy’s shoulder, but it looks like he could crush him with that one hand alone. “And you’re going to walk away. Now.”

The guy’s eyes dart between you and Max, clearly weighing his options. He starts to stammer, trying to salvage his bravado. “I-I didn’t mean anything by it, man. Just talking …”

Max’s grip tightens, his knuckles turning white. “You think you can talk to her like that? Disrespect her?” He leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper that’s somehow even more terrifying. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

The guy’s bravado crumbles completely. His face pales, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! I’ll go. Jesus …”

Max releases him with a shove, sending the guy stumbling backward. He doesn’t wait around to see what happens next — he turns and practically sprints away, disappearing into the crowd of students.

For a moment, there’s silence. Max watches the guy retreat, his chest heaving with barely restrained fury. Then he turns to you, his expression softening immediately.

“You okay?” His voice is gentle now, a stark contrast to the cold fury he’d just displayed.

You nod, still a little shaken but grateful. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Max steps closer, cupping your face in his hands and scanning your expression for any sign of distress. “If he touched you — if he so much as breathed on you wrong-”

“He didn’t,” you assure him, placing your hands over his. “You got here just in time.”

Max’s eyes flicker with something dark, a protective fire that hasn’t fully extinguished. “Good,” he mutters, pulling you into his arms. He holds you tightly for a moment, as if he needs to reassure himself that you’re safe. “I don’t like anyone looking at you like that.”

You smile softly, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I don’t like it either. But it’s okay now. You’re here.”

Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I’m always here. And I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

You nod, leaning into his touch. “I know.”

He kisses you then, right there in front of the university, his lips capturing yours in a slow, possessive kiss that tells everyone watching exactly who you belong to. When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’ll make sure no one ever bothers you again,” Max murmurs, his voice low but fierce.

You smile up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

With one last glance around to make sure the guy is well and truly gone, Max leads you to the car. He opens the door for you, and as you slide into the passenger seat, you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of security. Max is always in control, always one step ahead. And you trust him completely.

As Max pulls away from the curb, his hand finds yours, resting between the two of you. You don’t need to say anything — the silence between you is comfortable, filled with the unspoken promise that no matter what happens, you’ll face it together.

***

After dinner, the soft clatter of cutlery fades into the background as you start clearing the plates. The dim light from the chandelier casts a golden glow over the dining room, making the atmosphere feel intimate, heavy with something unspoken. Max leans back in his chair, watching you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

You stack the plates, trying to focus on the mundane task, but you can feel his eyes on you, tracking every movement. Your breath hitches slightly as you turn toward him, plates in hand, and smile nervously.

"Do you want dessert?” You ask, your voice light, though your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

Max’s gaze darkens, his lips curling into a slow, wicked smile that sends shivers down your spine. “The only dessert I want,” he says, voice low and gravelly, “is right in front of me.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as his meaning sinks in. You freeze, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is, the way his eyes travel down your body like he’s already undressing you in his mind. Your hands tremble as you put the plates back down on the table, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.

He doesn’t move from his seat, but there’s a tension in the air, pulling you toward him as if he’s some magnetic force you can’t resist. “Come here,” he says softly, but it’s not a request. It’s a command.

You hesitate for a second, unsure if you can even make your legs move, but then your feet carry you around the table, closer to him. By the time you’re standing in front of Max, your knees feel weak. His eyes stay locked on yours, full of heat and possession.

When you’re within reach, Max takes your hand, pulling you gently toward him. You end up standing between his legs, feeling the heat of his body seep through his clothes, and all at once, your breath catches. His hand slides up the back of your thigh, slow and deliberate, sending a thrill of anticipation shooting through you.

Max’s other hand rests on your waist, tugging you closer until you’re pressed against him. “You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your stomach through your dress, “I’ve been patient with you. So, so patient.”

Your hands find his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt to steady yourself. “Max …”

He looks up at you, his eyes half-lidded but full of that same intensity. "Tell me something,” he says, his tone suddenly shifting, darker, more dangerous. “Has anyone else ever touched you?”

You blink, taken aback by the question. You feel your face heat up again, your pulse racing as his words sink in. “What?” You stammer, barely able to string two words together under the weight of his gaze.

Max’s hand tightens slightly on your thigh, his thumb tracing small circles that send jolts of electricity through you. “I asked,” he says softly but firmly, “if another man has ever touched you.”

The meaning of his question slams into you, and your throat goes dry. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of your chest. You try to find your voice, but it comes out barely above a whisper. “No … no one.”

A satisfied smile spreads across Max’s face as he tugs you even closer, his hands sliding up your waist. His voice is a low, rumbling growl. “Good. Because if they had, I would’ve tracked down every single one of them.” He pauses, eyes gleaming with dark intent. “And made sure they didn’t have hands to touch anyone with again.”

Your breath catches at the promise in his voice, a possessive edge that sends a delicious shiver down your spine. You know Max means every word. There’s no doubt in your mind that if anyone had dared to cross that line, he would’ve hunted them down, one by one. His protection is absolute, as is his desire.

You shake your head, barely able to focus on anything but the way his hands feel on your skin, the way his words wrap around you like a cocoon. “No one’s ever touched me like that,” you whisper again, more firmly this time. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Max’s eyes darken further, his grip tightening on your hips. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on his lap, straddling him, your dress bunching up around your thighs. His hands settle on your waist, holding you in place. “That’s right,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. “Because you’re mine.”

The words send a thrill straight through you, and you can feel the heat pooling low in your belly. Your body reacts to his touch, to the way his hands move with deliberate slowness, like he’s savoring every second. His lips trail up your throat, pressing kisses that make your head spin.

You close your eyes, your breathing ragged as you let yourself sink into the moment, into him. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groans softly in response, his grip on you tightening.

“Max …” you whisper, barely able to form coherent thoughts with the way he’s touching you, the way he’s making you feel.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes blazing with desire and something deeper — something that makes your heart pound harder in your chest. “You’re mine,” he says again, his voice low and commanding. “And no one else will ever touch you. No one else will ever have you.”

You nod, breathless, and he smirks, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

Before you can react, Max leans in and captures your mouth in a searing kiss, his hands roaming over your body as if he can’t get enough. The kiss is heated, intense, filled with all the pent-up emotion that’s been building between the two of you since that first moment you laid eyes on each other.

His hands slide down your back, pulling you impossibly closer as his mouth moves against yours with urgency. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, and you can’t help but respond to him, your hands gripping his shirt tightly as if you’re afraid to let go.

The world outside fades away. There’s only Max — his touch, his kiss, his possessiveness, and the way he makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe.

He pulls back, breathless but grinning like he’s won a prize, “No one will ever doubt that again.”

Max’s lips hover over yours, his breath warm and steady, igniting something deep within. He shifts you slightly in his lap, adjusting his hold, and then, with deliberate slowness, his mouth trails down, leaving a scorching path along your jawline and down your neck. His movements are unhurried, savoring every inch of skin like he has all the time in the world.

You can feel your pulse pounding under his lips as he kisses lower, the anticipation building with every second. Max pauses, his mouth just inches from the neckline of your dress, his hands firm on your waist. His eyes flick up to meet yours, a dark, hungry glint in them.

“Mine,” he murmurs softly, the single word vibrating against your skin. Then, without warning, his teeth graze lightly over the delicate fabric of your dress, right where your hardened nipple is pressing through. The sensation is startling, electric — enough to make you gasp and arch involuntarily.

A low, approving sound rumbles from Max’s chest as he lightly takes the hardened bud between his teeth, through the fabric, teasing and testing. His gaze stays locked on yours, watching every reaction, every twitch of your body. He’s not just touching you — he’s learning you, reading you, knowing exactly what makes you shiver and tremble beneath his hands.

You bite your lip, a soft moan slipping out despite your best efforts to hold it back. Your fingers clutch the back of his neck, tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Max hums in satisfaction, his tongue flicking out briefly to wet the fabric, making it cling to your skin. The sensation is maddening, a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you breathless.

“Tell me,” he murmurs against you, his voice rough and low, “how long have you wanted this?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, his mouth closing over your covered nipple once more, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. “Tell me how long you’ve been dreaming of me doing this to you, touching you like this.”

You swallow hard, trying to think past the haze of desire clouding your thoughts. “Max, I-” Words are impossible when he’s touching you like this, when his lips are doing things to your body that make your thoughts scatter in every direction.

He growls softly, releasing your nipple with a final, gentle tug of his teeth that makes your whole body jolt. “Answer me,” he demands, his hands slipping under your dress, pushing it higher until the cool air of the room brushes against your bare thighs. “How long?”

The urgency in his voice, the possessiveness — it’s overwhelming. Your breathing comes in shallow pants as you try to form a coherent thought, try to answer him. “Since … since the first day we met,” you finally manage to whisper, your voice trembling with need.

Max’s hands pause on your thighs, his grip tightening. His eyes blaze with something fierce, something primal. “The first day?” He repeats, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, as if he’s savoring the admission. “You mean to tell me you’ve wanted me like this-” his hands slide up, pushing the hem of your dress higher, exposing more of your skin “-for years?”

You nod, helpless under his gaze, under his touch. “Yes … always …”

A dark, satisfied smile curls his lips. “And I’ve waited,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his fingers tracing the curve of your inner thigh, “all this time. Waiting for the right moment to make you mine. To claim you.” He leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “No more waiting.”

You shiver at the intensity of his words, the promise in them. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty — only the overwhelming certainty that he’s going to take you, claim you, in every way he’s ever dreamed.

Max’s hand slides higher, skimming the edge of your underwear. His touch is featherlight, teasing, and you can’t help the way your hips tilt toward him, seeking more. He lets out a low chuckle, his fingers dancing along the lace edge but never quite dipping beneath it.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “So perfect.” His thumb presses down lightly, just enough to make you gasp. “All mine.”

You bite your lip, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. “Max, please-”

He pulls back, just enough to look at you, his expression serious, almost reverent. “No one else gets to touch you like this,” he says, his voice firm and steady, as if making a vow. “No one else ever will.”

You nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “No one else, Max. Only you.”

His eyes darken further, and then he’s moving, shifting your position on his lap until you’re leaning back against the table, his body hovering over yours. He leans down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s fierce, almost punishing, as if he’s pouring all the years of pent-up desire and frustration into that one kiss.

His hands move with a single-minded determination, sliding your dress up and over your hips, exposing the thin scrap of lace beneath. Max pauses, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, laid out before him like some offering, and something feral flashes in his gaze.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, his hand sliding up your thigh, fingers brushing against the lace. “All mine.”

You whimper softly, your body arching toward his touch, and he growls softly in response, his fingers pressing more firmly against you.

“And no one else has ever touched here,” he says softly, almost like a question, his fingers teasing along the edge of your underwear.

You shake your head frantically, your eyes locked on his. “No, Max. Only you.”

The satisfaction in his expression is almost palpable, his chest heaving with barely restrained control. “Good,” he murmurs, his hand slipping under the lace, fingers finding your slick heat. He groans softly, his head dropping to your shoulder. “So wet for me. Just for me.”

You moan softly, your hands tangling in his hair as his fingers slide deeper, finding that sensitive spot that makes your whole body shudder. He watches you, his eyes never leaving your face, as if memorizing every reaction, every gasp, every moan.

Max stills, and he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. His chest heaves with every labored breath, and his pupils are blown wide with desire. But underneath all that raw hunger, there’s something deeper, something softer. A question. A pause.

“Are you sure?” He whispers, his voice rough and low, almost strained. His fingers brush lightly over your cheek, a gentle contrast to the way his body is pressed against yours. “Tell me now if you want me to stop.”

You meet his gaze, seeing the war within him — the need to take what’s his battling against the desire to protect you, to make sure this is what you want too. The vulnerability in his eyes, the way his thumb caresses your cheek, makes your heart ache in the best possible way.

“I want this,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the trembling of your body. “I want you.”

Something shifts in his gaze — any lingering uncertainty melts away, replaced by pure, unadulterated determination. He swallows hard, his jaw clenching. “I need you to understand,” he says softly, his voice almost guttural, “that once I have you — once I’m inside you — there’s no going back. You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go.”

Your breath catches, your heart beating wildly at the weight of his words. “I know,” you murmur, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath. “I want to be yours, Max. Forever.”

That’s all it takes.

Max’s mouth crashes against yours, the kiss bruising and desperate, as if he’s trying to pour every ounce of his need, his love, into it. His hands move quickly, tugging the lace of your underwear down your legs and tossing it aside. Then, he’s standing, pulling you up with him.

With a single motion, he sweeps the table clear, dishes and glasses clattering to the floor, forgotten. He lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the table, your legs spread wide around him. The cool surface of the wood contrasts sharply with the heat of your skin, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Look at me,” Max commands, his voice low and husky. His hands cup your face, holding you still as his eyes bore into yours. “I need to see your eyes when I make you mine.”

Your breath hitches as he steps between your legs, his hand sliding down to grasp his length. He’s hard and heavy in his palm, the sight of him — so big, so ready — making your heart race even faster. He strokes himself slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, and your body clenches with anticipation.

“Max,” you breathe, your hands reaching out to clutch his shoulders. “Please …”

He lets out a low growl, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady. The broad head of his cock brushes against your entrance, and you can’t help the way your body arches toward him, seeking more.

“Easy,” he murmurs, his voice a strained whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You shake your head, your nails digging into his skin. “You won’t. I want-”

The words die on your lips as he begins to push inside, the stretch of him almost unbearable. Your breath catches, and Max’s grip tightens, his jaw clenched so hard it looks like it might crack.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. He’s barely inside, just the tip, but it feels like too much and not enough all at once. “Tell me if I’m hurting you, liefje.”

You bite your lip, shaking your head. “No … no, it’s — it’s so good. Keep going, Max, please-”

He exhales sharply, his breath hot against your neck, and then he’s pushing in further, inch by inch, until he’s seated deep inside you. The fullness is overwhelming, the sensation of him stretching you, filling you, sending sparks of pleasure and pain shooting through your body.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but cling to him as he stills, giving you time to adjust. His hands are trembling against your skin, and you realize with a start that he’s holding himself back, fighting to keep control.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, his voice tight with strain. “So fucking perfect. And you’re mine, do you understand? No one else will ever have you like this.”

You nod frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Yes, Max. I’m yours — only yours.”

His eyes blaze with something dark and fierce, and then he’s moving, his hips pulling back before thrusting forward again, burying himself deep inside you. The movement is slow, measured, but you can feel the barely restrained power behind it, the way his body is trembling with the effort to go slow.

“Fuck, schatje,” he groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. “You’re so tight, squeezing me like that. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You gasp softly, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your body trembling with every thrust. “Max … please … I-”

He growls softly, his pace quickening, his grip on your hips tightening. “What do you need?” He murmurs, his voice a low, rough whisper. “Tell me what you need.”

“More,” you breathe, your body arching into his, seeking more of the pleasure only he can give you. “I need … more …”

Max’s breath catches, and then he’s moving faster, his hips driving into you with a force that sends shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. The table creaks beneath you, but you barely register it, too lost in the feeling of him inside you, filling you completely.

“Is this what you wanted?” He growls, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. “To have me fuck you like this, to take you hard and deep?”

You can’t form words, can only moan and nod, your body trembling with every thrust. Max’s hands slide up your back, holding you closer, his pace relentless.

“God, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice thick with pleasure. “So fucking good. I want to keep you like this forever, keep you under me twenty-four-seven. Fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go.”

His words send a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, your body tightening around him. “Max-”

He’s panting now, his movements becoming erratic, his control slipping. “I hope you know,” he murmurs, his voice rough and desperate, “that I’m never letting you go now. You’re mine — forever.”

You can’t do anything but cling to him as he takes you, his body driving into yours with a force that leaves you breathless. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter until —

“Max!” You cry out, your body convulsing around him as the orgasm rips through you, shattering you into a thousand pieces.

Max groans, his hips slamming into yours one final time before he stills, his body shuddering with his release. His head drops to your shoulder, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the harsh panting of your breaths, the steady thud of your racing hearts. Max’s hands are still trembling as they slide up to cup your face, his lips brushing softly against yours.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice rough and raw. “I love you so much, schatje.”

You smile softly, your hands tangling in his hair. “I love you too, Max. Forever.”

And as he kisses you, slow and tender, you know that forever with Max is exactly what you want.

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08luvmailz · 8 months ago

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𓇼 ME MISS YOU . . ਏਓ !

summary 𓍯 which he followed you because he missed you ꒰ 🧾 ꒱ fluffy life with husband

The eerie silence and the harsh wind whispers weaving through the cool night air, though it's only 5:30 in the afternoon. Crouching low, I fisted my hands through my victim's hair and chopped his head off as my breath steadied, eyes locked on the faint rustle of the bushes—a promising sign of tonight's catch.

It's been almost a year of this endless cycle, by day cuddling and having a blissful life with Mr. Crawling as you give him endless affection, or he will whine to death, and by night- killing humans to feed him. As your eyes wandered through your vision toward the unmoving dead body, your mind wavered toward your husband even though you weren't married officially.

You two are together and bonded by our souls, obeying you and listening to you even though there is a gap in speaking, never ceases to stun you every day. He waits at home, is always patient, and is always trusting. The thought of his joy warms you as you tighten your grip on your crowbar and knife.

Back at the apartment, it feels unbearable still. Mr. Crawling gazes through the door—waiting for your return. His fingers relentlessly tapped the tatami board as it echoed through the room. It's been almost an hour since she left him, she always does every day for him.

He still remembered her voice firming when she told him to stay.

He watches her moving to gather her things, his legs tucked close to his body. He knows her too well—the same command she gives every time. Stay. He doesn't think about it but wants more of her touch, only about the moment before her absence, and he clung to her as his large frame wrapped around her waist. He chirped in a low tone, full of worry and protest. His grip tightened slightly, enough to make his point without holding her back.

He pressed his face into your legs, his arms curling towards your leg, "stay" he told her as he snuggled to her, not wanting to let go, “ you’re so stubborn” she murmured, stroking his head. The gesture was a silent reassurance for him to stop worrying though she knew it wouldn't stop him from worrying.

She turns to face him as his face is still smothered to her thighs, his cold lips puckering into her skin. He doesn’t need words to tell her how he feels; the way he clings to her, his body trembles faintly, caught between his instinct to obey and his need to protect her.

As her warm fingers tangled into his hair, brushing it calmly, she told him, " Me back soon; I find food. " she promised, her voice softer now. “You don’t have to worry.”

With a final sigh, she gently pries him off, his cold finger reluctant to let go. “Stay here,” she says, her tone firmer now, though her heart aches at the look he gives her. He didn't move and obeyed her, as she smiled one last time and crouched to his level to kiss his forehead, " I'll be back soon. I Promise," She said one last time to open and lock the door, leaving him in a trance with determination to follow her.

He was hesitant to disobey her requests and always did, lowering his head in submission. But now, in the suffocating silence, he feels the weight of her absence like a stone in his chest. He tried to wait, his attempts to distract himself with television, watching shows that helped him understand her language more, but as soon as his face glimmered when he saw the heroine with her lover cuddling in a scene. It was no use. missing her so dearly that his pull to follow her was too strong, an instinct older than obedience.

She is his world, his reason, and the thought of her out there alone, facing whatever dangers the night might bring, fills him with unease. Even though he knew she was capable of handling herself well, killing those people for him joyed him. He knew she loved him as much as he loved her.

Making his decision wasn't easy for him, he knew he would face the consequences of her ignoring him though he shook his head, he wanted to see her, he needed her now.

He moves swiftly to the door. His movements are precise and quiet, the art of going unnoticed. He knows where she has gone—he’s watched her enough times at the window to remember the path she takes. He follows her scent, a trail as familiar to him as the rhythm of his footsteps. With every step, he feels her grace like a taut thread, pulling him closer to her.

Its darkness yawned wide like the mouth of a beast. He hesitates for a moment, hearing her voice in his mind, Stay. Wait for me. But he presses on.

He moved carefully, his body blending into the dark foliage as his fingers gripped the pole lamp. He saw her gripping tightly to her crowbar and massively hitting her victim, he watched in awe as pride swelled in his chest at the sight of her—strong, capable, everything he admires.

Though he knows the facade she's been growing through back there in his world, he saw her unreality in a tick of time, and by the hanging thread of webs-he had been with her, and he knew she was close to insanity. Was she close? Or she's already been insane nevertheless, he will always be there with her.

She didn't notice him at first, focused on the task ahead. But then a chitter of a familiar voice captivates your attention as you whip your head, your coat shadowing your expression of bloodlust to confusion. There he is, his head tilted with his adoring smile. She shook her head with a giggle, he never listened to her as she pointed him to get closer to him.

He lowered his body as his smile creeped out to his ear, he skitters toward her, his movements quick but careful as he came faster to her and clung to her lower body as his face smothered to her bloodied coat "I miss you, I love you. " he said with a chitter as his cold hands hold her bloodied ones and directly placed into his head.

You sighed in intent and ruffled his hair as you looked down and cupped his face with our bloodied hands "You didn't listen to me, But I forgive you. " You crouched to his level as his hands wandered to your body and cupped your face and smothered a messy kiss on your lips, his cold lips puckering your bottom lip leaving a chitter from him. "Me love you, " he told you as he came closer to your body, his large frame almost hugging your smaller ones. You giggled to him as you corrected his grammar, always forgetting the "I", " I love you, too. "

He chirps, leaning into her touch, his body vibrating with relief, he clung to her like a baby as his face looked at the bloodied streets. "Food?" He questioned her, as his hands never left hers. "Yeah, food for you. " As she pointed to the dead body beside them.

As she stands up to place the chopped meat in a plastic bag with blood, "Let's go home." her hands directing him to hold her, he stands up, his towering silhouette blending with the shadows of the city. His mind is clear, his resolve unshakable. He is with her, the love of his life, and with every consequence they will face, he knows she will be there with him as she is with him.

#homicipher headcanons #homicipher fanfiction #homicipher x reader #homicipher mr crawling #mr crawling #mr crawling x reader #homicipher mr crawling x reader #homicipher #文字化化 #homicipher x you #homicipher imagines #homicipher drabbles #imagines #drabble

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ivyues · 7 months ago

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Stray Kids Masterlist

Reactions:

Surprise Visits and Silent Tears: finding their S/O crying (hurt/comfort, fluff)

Animal Fears: their S/O's SKZOO phobia (fluff, humor)

Rejected Embraces and Heavy Hearts: their S/O refusing a hug (angst) -> pt.2: Reconciling Comfort (hurt/comfort, fluff)

Unfiltered Beauty: their S/O not wearing makeup often (fluff, humor)

Unlocked Trust: the sharing of a phone PIN (humor)

Passionate Attacks: their S/O suddenly kissing them (suggestive, fluff)

First-Night-Nerves and Quite Moments: First sleepovers (fluff)

Scars of the Past: Finding out their S/O was cheated on in the past (hurt/comfort, fluff)

Anxious Introductions: their S/O being nervous to meet the members (fluff)

Friendly Fire: Accidently causing their S/O a minor injury (fluff, hurt/comfort, angst-isch)

Sleeves Pulled Back: their S/O's s/h scars (hurt/comfort, fluff)

Echos of Home: their S/O not being close with their parents (hurt/comfort, angst-isch fluff)

Reunited Moments: Seeing their S/O after a long time (comfort, fluff)

Sibling Bonds: Skz x Member's sister Scenarios (humor, fluff)

Cold Hands, Warm Hearts: their S/O always having cold hands (fluff)

Love Bites: their S/O scolding them for having left a hickey (humor)

Warmth between us: their S/O having warm hands (fluff, humor, hurt/comfort)

Fashion Betrayal: their S/O asked their gay BFF for spicy fashion advice (humor)

Silly Love: their S/O's playful affection (fluff)

Stolen Breaths: kissing their S/O passionately (fluff)

Imagines:

– Bang Chan –

One-time special edition: You not being cuddly changed one morning (fluff)

Ruined for anyone else: "If we ever broke up, I think you ruined me for anyone else" (fluff)

Studio Interruptions: Changbin didn't expect to walk in on an passionate encounter (fluff, humor)

Dreaming of Peaches: He has a dream of little curls and your eyes (fluff)

Laptop Delivery: Practice got a little more eventful thanks to an forgotten laptop (humor, fluff)

A Lap to Nap: He finds peace in your lap, but duty calls him back to the studio (fluff, humor)

Boyfriend Taxi: He thought he was just dropping you off but now he's meeting your friends (fluff, humor)

Beneath the midnight stars: "I didn't want to date but now you're the one thing holding everything together" (fluff)

Chasing Yesterday: Years after splitting paths, he didn't expect a text to bring an old friend – and old feelings – back into his life pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5 (fluff)

Hotter than expected: How you found out your boyfriend can't handle spicy food (humor, fluff)

Someday: Under the Australian sunset, he stands in front of his first and current love, one he wants forever (fluff)

– Lee Know –

Aishitemasu: His motivation to study Japanese might not just be due to the fans (humor, fluff)

Early Bird: While you're still tangled in the sheets, he fills the kitchen with quite affection (fluff)

Feline Approval: How Soonie and he agreed you were the one (fluff)

A Promise: With his enlistment approaching, he contemplates building a deeper commitment with you (fluff)

Quite Rhythms: As the neighbour's music seeps through the walls, he pulls you close (fluff)

Room 143: Behind closed hotel doors, the word's quiter and time slows (fluff)

– Hyunjin –

Camera-Shy: It drove him crazy that you wouldn't let him capture you on camera (fluff)

– Han –

Borrowed Warmth: Han didn’t realize the hoodie he grabbed wasn’t his (fluff, humor)

Lyric stolen, heart taken: During your date night, you stumble upon lyrics that feel a little too familiar (fluff)

Soft Nuzzles: Lately, you couldn’t shake the urge to nuzzle into Han’s neck (fuff)

Mornings with you (and low ceilings): Your boyfriend and your studio apartment ceiling don't quite get along (fluff)

Just One More: Goodbyes always take a little longer thanks to your lovely boyfriend (fluff)

In their World: It was silly, the way your heart always aches ever so slightly whenever you see their bond (hurt/comfort)

– Felix –

Bronze ♡ Diamond: He challenged you to a Smash match, but he wasn't ready for your skill (humor)

– Seungmin –

Sm x Lee Know's sister (fluff, humor)

pt.1: Tangled Lines

pt.2: Caught in the Middle

pt.3: Future Hyung-in-Law

pt.4: Chauffeur Duties

pt.5: Puppy in Love

Paws off my Human: Meeting your dog was more difficult than he thought (fluff, humor)

1 Month, 1.000 Jokes: To him, you being slightly older was never a big deal (humor, fluff)

June Rain: You didn't expect the soft summer rain to complement your first vacation as a couple (fluff)

#stray kids masterlist #skz masterlist #stray kids #skz #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids reactions #stray kids fanfic #masterlist #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han jisung #felix #seungmin #i.n

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nereidprinc3ss · 9 months ago

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do you believe me now? | 9

in which we find out how the morning after went for fem!reader. you finally share with spencer after unanticipated anxieties come up. you're continually shocked by his affection for you.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ (angst, fluff) warnings/tags: (preface none of the bad stuff is done by spencer) sexual harassment, slut shaming, non consensual voyeurism of sorts, blood + pain from losing virginity, talk of rape (nothing like that actually happens), implied nonspecific age gap (someone says he looks slightly older than you) non sexual nudity, showering together, intimacy, ewww being in love is embarrassing a/n: I honestly was not gonna post this today but I decided to bc it's just Tumblr its not that deep also you can probably tell I am just creating problems bc I don't wanna let go of them...... ik this is supposed to be a smutty series btw and trust good things come to those who wait!!!but anyways idk what I'm doing and I kinda hate this!! lolol!!!

Friday morning

The air is thick when you wake up—the angle of the sun through the window is lower than usual, and the binding weight of your limbs as you struggle to stretch in place all suggest that you’ve slept in.

But you don’t check the time quite yet—for a moment, you simply lie there, studying the pattern on your ceiling, downloading the events of the previous night.

Flashes of skin on skin, lips, breaths, whispers, promises. Phantom sensations.

Was it even real?

Your apartment is deafeningly silent, you realize. And you have that sinking sense, which you can’t quite explain but know to be true—that you are alone. Spencer is gone. You can’t feel him like you’d be able to if he were simply on the couch or in the kitchen. He’s definitely not in bed with you, and the sheets have long gone cold.

The truth of it renders about as slowly as your sluggish consciousness does, and you frown, not quite sure what to do with that information. Should you be angry? Should you cry?

Mostly you’re confused.

As soon as you sit up, sore thighs and abs and a strange ache between your legs confirm that last night was not a dream nor a figment of your imagination. You’ll figure out what to do about your twinging body in a moment—for now you rub your eyes and blindly reach for the bedside table, knocking several things to the ground in your quest for your phone.

It’s not there, you realize, once you actually try to use your eyes. It’s not in bed with you either as you pat the sheets, and it doesn’t materialize as you sit on your knees and shake out the comforter.

From this venture, however, you learn two things. First, Spencer must’ve taken it upon himself to get you dressed last night, which you have no recollection of, but you doubt you sleepwalked your way into underwear and a big t-shirt; and second—you bled.

It wasn’t something you were thinking about in the moment, but now, faced with all the evidence and none of the pleasure of last night’s activities, it’s jarring. A stark, unforgiving archipelago of red on a pristine sea of white.

People say, at its best, sex brings couples closer. Spencer once told you it could facilitate feelings of deeper connection. But here you are, no longer a virgin, and what do you have to show for it? A stronger bond with your boyfriend? He’s not even here.

All you have is this glaring red stain marring perfectly good sheets. It mocks you, like something you’ve dropped and can’t pick back up. You can’t think looking at it, and you need to think, and so in a fit of frustration you’re pulling the comforter onto the floor, leaning over your mattress and yanking the fitted sheet free. You ball it up in your hands, breathing heavily—and realize you bled through to the mattress.

Wonderful.

Spencer’s just at work, you tell yourself, grabbing the first pair of shorts you see and pulling them on before gathering the ruined sheet once more and stomping on aching legs through your apartment to the hallway, not even bothering with shoes. He can’t just play hooky because his clingy girlfriend lost her virginity and needs to be comforted like some previously celibate high school cheerleader.

But you miss him so much it’s making you angry, so much your eyes are stinging and welling with tears of frustration as you shove your bed linens down the trash chute at the end of your floor’s hallway. You’re supposed to be independent. That’s how you’ve always been. Since when does it bother you to wake up alone? It’s just sex. It’s not as big a deal for him as it is for you. Or for anyone. You’re the one overreacting, you’re the one who expects too much. He works for the FBI, for god’s sake. There are people dying, and here you are—

“What’chya got there?”

The gruff voice makes you jump, and you turn around just as the bundle is disappearing down into the hole in the wall. It’s your neighbor, Jerry—the one in the unit right next to you. You’re not happy to see him, especially like this. He’s got a blue 5 o’clock shadow despite the hour, and is clad in ill-fitting gray sweats and a pair of ratty slippers. His distended belly strains at the confines of an oil-stained white shirt, tied with a dingy checkered robe. You barely meet his drooping eyes before looking longingly back at your cracked door down the hall.

“Just… garbage.” You shift your weight, hiding a wince as you try to find a comfortable position to stand in. Jerry notices this, and you wish his eyes wouldn’t linger on your bare legs like that.

“Huh. Looks like someone had a late night.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s just noon and you’re still in your PJ’s.”

Disgusting. And who the fuck is he to judge? At least your pajamas are clean.

You shrug. “Yeah.”

He scratches his bald head.

“So that boy tired you out pretty good, huh?”

Your stomach drops. Your brain freezes.

When you don’t reply, he takes the liberty of continuing on.

“Saw him sneaking out of your apartment in the middle of the night. He looked a little older ’n you. You like ’em older?” His laugh is a cruel bark. “Yeah… He’s a lucky man. You know, it’s natural for a man to like a younger girl. Fresh meat, ’n all.” You try to speak and can only swallow a gag. Jerry adjusts his stance, hands in pockets like he’s telling you a local news story. “Heard some of it. Sounded like you were putting on quite the show. And sure, a young pretty thing like you? Hell, I would if I could. But I’ll tell you right now, you don’t wanna end up like my daughter. She wasn’t as pretty as you, but still—three kids with three men by the time she was 24. She should'a kept her damn legs closed. You know, she loved to cry rape, but you gotta ask yourself, if your legs are open all the damn time, what do you expect? Back in the day we all knew girls like that—” he bats the air dismissively. “Guess you can’t call ’em sluts anymore—they get what they’re asking for one way or another. See, I think everyone still knows it and they’re just too afraid to say it. So my advice: don’t let yourself get used up, you hear me? Not by men who are gonna ride you hard and put you away wet. So to speak. Men can smell a girl like that from a mile away, and they’ll take it as an open invitation. It’s just human nature.”

When he finally stops talking, the hallway fills with a vacuous silence. It makes your ears ring. Several moments pass, but you’re frozen. Your whole body feels intolerably hot but your blood is freezing. How are you supposed to react?

“Hello?” He says, voice loud enough to hurt your ears as it echoes.

Get out of here, your more rational self says to the rest of you, and you mumble something, you don’t even know what, excusing yourself to hurry on stiff legs back down the hall to your door.

Once inside, you do up every lock on your door, and face your apartment, shoulders tensed practically to your ears and fists clenched so tight your arms are trembling. On autopilot you look around for something to do, but there’s nothing. More importantly, nobody.

I’ll call Spencer. He’ll know what to do.

No, you won’t, your higher self reminds you. You lost your phone. And besides, it’s clearly not like he wanted to stick around last night. Maybe he doesn’t even like you anymore.

So you’re stuck here. Stranded. Sharks can smell blood.

Processing that information, you walk back to your bedroom and close the door behind you—before promptly sinking to the ground and burying your face in the duvet with a deep, silent sob.

That goes on for a few minutes until you realize you’re too achy and you can’t breathe and you’re forced onto your side, curling up in your blanket on the floor like it’s a nest and not a burial plot.

You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself. A relationship can’t implode twice in 24 hours. You don’t have your phone. Maybe he’s texted you.

But is that really all you’re worth? A text sent after the fact? He couldn’t sacrifice a few hours to sleep by your side? Couldn’t even wake you up to say goodbye? You think about the sweet things he’d said afterward—the way he held you, fingers dancing down your spine. Promises he made when you were half asleep in his arms, so sure he’d be there when you woke up.

Even fucking Jerry the neighbor—who you think might have just sexually harassed you in the hallway—said Spencer should’ve stuck around.

Fuck.

No, don’t think about that. It doesn’t even matter. They were just words.

Heard some of it. Sounded like you put on quite the show.

Your skin crawls and your stomach turns as you hold yourself tighter. Something that was supposed to be private and special—and some random man not only had a front row seat to your deflowering but felt comfortable talking about it with you. It feels like a violation. Like he crashed a really important party. If you had known you had an audience last night, you never would’ve done it.

The way he looked at you, tracing your legs with his eyes like he was touching you—

You scramble up from the floor and walk heavily on your knees to the dresser, digging up a pair of pajama pants and a hoodie. You should be showering, but you don’t want to deal with your body right now. You just want to hide.

Friday evening—present

After your conversation, Spencer seems eager to make sure the car ride to his apartment is not reminiscent of the car ride to yours last night—he holds your hand, resting in your lap, bringing your knuckles to his lips at a red light. Every few moments he glances over at you, maybe to appreciate the view (though you doubt it’s especially scenic at the moment) or perhaps to gauge your mood. The further away you get from your apartment building the better you feel, and you try to focus on that. Sure—maybe you had a shit day, but Spencer’s here now, and he didn’t leave you after all. In fact, since finding your phone, you’ve seen the series of very sweet and highly concerned messages he sent over the course of a few hours. They almost make your stomach hurt. It would’ve been really nice to have those earlier.

He doesn’t ask you any more of the hard questions, but you sense an inquisition in the works and getting closer with every curious glance he gives you. It’s like he’s unwrapping you, layer by layer, using his impressive cognitive faculties to drill through your skull into your brain and deeper still into your soul.

Back in his apartment you sit awkwardly on the bed. Last time you’d been here, things hadn’t gone so well for you.

The shower starts in the adjoined bathroom, and Spencer comes out a moment later, warm light seeping into the darkened bedroom. Purple and dark blue mixing with yellow, like a bruise.

“Hey. Water’s warm.”

You hum, smoothing the material of his neatly made bed with your palm and watching the way it flattens. That had been your doing. You may have thought he was on the verge of breaking up with you last time you slept here, but you didn’t want to leave his home a mess. Didn’t want to leave any evidence of your having been here.

A moment passes. You thumb at a thread and don’t look up.

Spencer crosses the space without a word and crouches in front of you, hands coming up to cup the back of your legs, running knee to ankle and up again.

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Please?” He asks softly. His voice wrings your heart out. Now that you’re in a completely different space, and you’re not so alone anymore, you’re struggling to sort out your feelings. It should be fine. You’re with Spencer. Presumably he still loves you.

And you still feel terrible.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, just as quietly.

Spencer doesn’t say anything else. I know you don’t want to—and yet. Your lips twist to the side. He’s persistent. Even in his kindness. It’s not the kind of care that falters or buckles when you try turning it away.

“My neighbor said he c—”

You’re forced to stop, frowning by how overcome you are. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. Worse things have happened to you.

“He said he could hear us. Last night.”

Spencer’s hands stop on your legs. You can’t meet his eyes. You’re afraid whatever you find there won’t be the right thing.

“He’s in the unit next to you?”

You nod. “We share a wall.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation and your stomach sinks. He doesn’t understand.

“What did he say?”

“Just… dumb shit,” you scoff, fiercely wiping away a stray tear. “He said he listened and it sounded like I was putting on quite the show. And then he—and then he told me not to let you… use me up, whatever that means. He called me fresh meat, and said I shouldn’t let you ride me hard and put me away wet, and bad things happen to sluts who can’t keep their legs closed.”

You finish with a sharp inhale, briefly leaning down and covering your face with your hands when you realize how upset you really are. You want to hide it.

A fraught moment passes. Spencer reaches for your hands, no doubt to try and pull them away from your face. You spare him the trouble, sitting up with a cavalier sniff before he can touch you and brushing your hair behind your ears.

His voice is uncomfortably quiet. You can’t look at him. “Baby…”

“Don’t. It’s fine. I only told you because you asked.”

It’s not his fault, but you’re mad at him anyway, and so you avoid eye-contact like it’s the plague. Maybe it’s just safe to be mad at him. Maybe he knows that.

Regardless, you’re not in the mood for coddling. It’s borderline repulsive—like trying to mix oil and water. Anything good slides right off of you because maybe you’re not designed to be able to absorb good things.

Nothing changes for a minute—and then he’s standing, offering you a moment alone as he goes to crank the shower off.

As soon as he’s gone all the air is vacuumed from your lungs and you crumple, heaving it back in silently as your head spins and your heart races. It’s like your mind is split in two—half is primal, overwhelming panic, and the other a cold observatory eye, full of disdain and scorn for what it deems a severe overreaction to a few nasty comments made hours ago. You’re so tangled up as you curl in on yourself on your side that you can’t even cry. You’re just trying to remember how to breathe, ignoring the crawling feeling up your spine and the tingling heat at the back of your neck. The shower stops on the downbeat of your staggered breath, and then it’s silent. He’ll come back at any minute and see what a mess you’ve become.

You’ve ruined everything. If only you could’ve kept it to yourself.

When Spencer reappears in the doorway, and sees you collapsed and curling like paper burnt at the edges, he’s quick to return to you.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, trying and failing to brush away hair from your cheek, which is wet—so you were crying—and Spencer shushes you, pushing it away for you as he kneels.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m being dramatic, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Of course, at the end of that declaration, a sob wrenches its way from the depths of you, so bright and cleaving you half expect the smell of ozone to follow. You follow it with a blisteringly self-deprecating laugh.

“Don’t—don’t do that. Don’t minimize it.”

His hand is warm where it rests over your cheek, affectionate, but he sounds frustrated. You frown and sniffle.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Tell me his name.”

It’s a quiet request, made as gently as his hand cards through the hair at your temple like it’s woven with fragile threads of gold.

“No, Spencer,” you beg, anxiety pooling in your gut and rising in your throat, “please, I don’t want to make it a thing, I don’t want you to talk to him. You’ll just make it worse, it’s fine.”

You look at him imploringly, eyes wide and still welling, hoping to god the gravity of your plead will sink in. His are a bed of coals—somewhere between furious and sympathetic, and you try to appeal to the sympathy.

“It is not fine. Saying sluts get what’s coming to them is not fine, that is a threat, and I’m not going to talk to him. I’m going to have him fucking arrested.”

You scoff.

“For talking to me? Yeah, good luck with that. Cops are really known for being helpful when it comes to sexual harassment.”

“Baby. Men who are comfortable violating your boundaries like that are exponentially more likely to commit an actual violent crime. That is not a safe person for you to be around.”

“He’s not gonna rape me, Spencer! He’s just a gross old man! This is why I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew you’d make it a bigger deal than it is! You did it last night and you’re doing it now—you think everyone is out to get me!”

To his credit, he doesn’t so much as raise his voice.

“Of course it’s a big deal. You’re upset.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my own fault.”

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to say. Spencer goes silent for a moment.

“It’s your fault?”

“Yes. It’s my fault because… because now everyone knows that I’m…”

His voice goes impossibly soft again. “Knows that you’re what?”

“I mean, what did I expect?” You sniffle. “It’s an apartment. If I didn’t want to deal with the consequences, I shouldn’t’ve done it.”

He says your name like it’s a ring he twists around his finger as he tries to think—to gather the right words.

“The consequences for having sex do not involve punishment or sexual harassment.”

“It’s the result of my actions, so—”

“No, it’s the result of your neighbor being disgusting. I don’t care what he heard, he doesn’t get to talk to you like that.”

“He—”

“If you heard something you weren’t supposed to hear would you bring it up to the person the next day?”

“Stop interrupting me,” you plead. Spencer looks like he has something to say to that, too, but he swallows it. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I… understand that he shouldn’t have said those things to me. But that doesn’t change the fact that he did, and it was really, really uncomfortable and I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna go back now. Maybe that’s dramatic, but…”

You trail off, studying the ceiling as a fresh wash of tears dampen your cheeks. Spencer’s hand slides down your waist as you wipe your face. “I don’t regret the fact that we slept together. I just regret everything that’s happened since, and if I didn’t do it last night, none of this would’ve happened. I feel like he ruined everything.”

The words end on another cry and you put your hand over your eyes like you could stop it all from coming out. You sniffle. Spencer is quiet for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually whispers, his own voice threaded with emotion. “I…”

He sighs. You push your hair back and look at him.

“What?”

He studies you, chewing on his lip like a nervous tick you’ve never seen before. You sit up again, feet balanced on the edge of the bed frame. Spencer’s eyes remain stuck on you. Again, you ask, “What?”

“I didn’t think about it until you brought it up earlier, but—I did see someone. Him, I think, when I went out to my car to get my bag. He was smoking when I came out, and when I got back into the lobby he was waiting for the elevator. We took it up together, he—he said something to me, so I know he saw me going back to you. I don’t know why he made it sound like I left.”

You frown. “What did he say?”

Spencer hesitates.

“He asked if I had a long night. He was obviously commenting on the fact that I was basically half-dressed and getting an overnight bag from my car at one in the morning, so he could probably gather from context what was going on, but… my point is, he knew I came back and it seems like he was almost trying to make you think I didn’t. So for whatever reason, maybe he was lying about being able to hear you, too. Maybe he just wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

“That’s a long shot, Spencer.”

“I know, but… it’s not that long. He obviously gets off on it—and besides, he said you were putting on a show, but you weren’t… you weren’t loud, last night.”

Heats blossoms in your cheeks and you look down at your lap. “Thin walls.”

“Have you ever heard your neighbors before?”

You have to seriously think about it.

“I’ve heard them yelling…”

“Nothing else?”

Again, you consider it. The answer comes as a surprise.

“No.”

“Okay, so… does that maybe help a little bit? I really, really don’t want you to feel like last night was a mistake in any way, or let anyone ruin it for you.”

You breathe deeply. “I know. It… it kinda helps, yeah.”

His hands come to the top of your legs. There’s so much genuine care and concern in his eyes. “Yeah?”

Only when you nod does he relax some. His hands skim your thighs, and you set yours on top of his own. For a few breaths, it’s quiet. And then you laugh.

“What?” Spencer asks, a tentative smile curling his own lips like he doesn’t know if he should be concerned or participate in your mirth.

“I—I don’t know how to say it without being cheesy,” you admit, sniffling the last of your tears away and smiling softly down at him.

“I think you should say it.”

You link your fingers with his on your lap, watching the way they twine like it’s what they were meant to do.

“I was just thinking about how I had, like, the worst day ever. And how much worse it would’ve gotten if you didn’t show up when you did—I would’ve completely spiraled. But you did show up. And how easy it is to kind of compartmentalize, because I have you, and when I’m with you… nothing feels as hard. You make the bad things feel smaller, I guess.”

By the end, it got a lot more real than you’d intended, and your face feels warm, and your stomach is sort of floaty—but you don’t look away from Spencer. You hold his gaze, though it makes you a little nervous, because you want him to know you mean it.

He inhales, like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t—only looks at you, like you’re beautiful and impossible and a defiance of everything he thought he knew, which was almost everything. To him, you’re expansive. A gorgeous anomaly.

And then he stands, holding his hands out for you. Without question you take them, and he pulls you to your feet, absorbing the momentum that threatens to topple you, and he wraps his arms around you tightly. So tight you have to laugh.

“I love you,” he says against your shoulder, one hand coming to cradle the back of your head.

Your humor softens, but doesn’t become inflexible—still tinges your words with the perfect amount of euphoria and relief. “I love you.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and your laughter flares again.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I’m grateful. I… I feel lucky.”

Always so earnest, so vulnerable, when you’re least expecting it—which should be always, you’re learning. You pull back to look up at him. You don’t want that concession to go unrewarded.

“Me too,” you say softly. He’s doing that fond thing with his eyes, where they’re all soft and it’s like he’s trying to take in every millimeter of your face. This time when he goes to touch your hair, you have the wherewithal to dodge it.

“You’re really brave for trying to touch my hair right now.”

“Why?” He asks, utterly bewildered, and the softness of the moment falls away easily, but not without leaving everything smudged and fuzzy around the edges. Everything is still okay. It’s still good.

“Because it’s dirty,” you laugh, dodging him again and eventually ducking from the circle of his arms entirely.

“Oh, your hair is dirty? Should we breakup?”

“Hm. I don’t really like when you take on that tone with me.” You’re still half-laughing, dipping and weaving past him toward the bathroom as he tries to get you in his arms again. And then you stop, toes just short of the tile.

“What is it?” He asks after another moment. You blink, looking at the shower head as it drips.

“Um—would it be okay if I had a five minute headstart in the shower?”

“Sure. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. I just… I need a minute.”

His hand skims your waist as he passes by you through the open door. “Okay. Why don’t you grab your stuff and I’ll get the water going again?”

Soon enough, you’re remembering how much better his water pressure is than yours as you stand under the torrent, eyes closed as if in prayer. You definitely could’ve stood to shower earlier in the day. But you had other concerns, earlier, and besides—you were afraid of what you might find.

And you were right to be. The sex was nice. The aftermath isn’t quite as pretty.

When Spencer taps on the bathroom door, you’re nervous.

“You can come in,” you call.

“You sure? If you want it all to yourself, that’s okay too.”

“No, no. It’s fine.”

The door creaks open, and gently clicks into place again, and fabric rustles as he undresses, and soon the shower curtain is sliding aside and he’s stepping in. Unsurprisingly, the space feels smaller with him in it—but not small in a bad way. It feels warmer. Again you’re awash in that safe feeling, which you didn’t realize you’d been missing so much today.

“Hi,” he smiles, a teasing sliver of what you know to be the most brilliant light in the world, and stunning like the rest of him as you watch the water begin to darken his hair.

“Hello.”

His smile flickers briefly wider like you’re his favorite thing and he just can’t contain his joy, and then it’s easing again, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

In this alien context the idea has your heart pounding—you don’t really understand the concept of casual nudity yet, but you know he’ll respect your earlier wishes to keep it chaste and so you nod.

Spencer doesn’t take you immediately in his arms like you’d expected—instead his hands find a rest at your collarbones and carefully push your wet hair back over your shoulders—but his eyes aren’t cast quite low enough to be indecent. They connect dots over your chest and neck, and he thumbs at one just over your pulse point.

“Oh, man,” he laughs, and you think you detect a hint of self-deprecation. “That’s… wow, I didn’t realize I… sorry. They don’t hurt, do they?”

It’s your turn to smile as he’s suddenly over-concerned.

“No, they don’t hurt.”

“Good.” He looks relieved, but it doesn’t last as his eyes trace lower—though you don’t sense any hunger in it. He’s just taking you in. “How about everywhere else?”

“Um… it’s not bad. Kind of, like… I don’t know. Sore. But it’s not bad.”

“Still?” He frowns, clearly unfazed by your evident embarrassment on the subject. You shrug and avert your eyes.

“It’s fine. it was worse earlier, so.”

That does not have the calming effect you’d intended.

“Worse? 1-10, how—”

“Spencer, it’s fine, I promise. It’s only when I—when I move certain ways, I notice. Honestly the… blood… was way more disconcerting to me.”

“Yeah, I saw your bed… sorry for ruining your sheets. I’ll buy you new ones.”

You shrug, watching the water run in rivulets down your arm and branch off into tributaries and waterfalls from your fingers. “You don’t have to do that. It was a collaborative effort.”

Normally this conversation would have you melting into an embarrassed puddle, but something about the tile cocoon of the shower, the humid fog, the proximity, feels safe. The white noise of water on porcelain, the warmth. You go to him at the same time as he comes to you—his arms around your waist, yours slung over his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. Falling asleep standing up has never seemed so plausible until now.

He presses a kiss to your head. You sigh.

“Ugh. I don’t want to deal with washing my hair.”

“I can do it,” Spencer immediately offers. You frown.

“I was—you don’t have to. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was asking.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“It’s a process.”

“I understand.”

“You would have to do it exactly how I say.”

“I am willing to learn. I like taking care of you.”

You’re glad for the hot water, then, and as he washes your hair. You’re not sure if you’re crying at the tenderness of his touch, or the way he loves you like you’re easy to love. You’re too tired to explain it.

He doesn’t push you, because he never pushes you.

He just washes your hair.

part ten

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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sevsevteen · 1 month ago

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introducing ..

𝑺𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏'𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒉

sevsevteen's original works // main masterlist

sevsev's requested fics

sevsev's hit the road series

🎈 - fluff //⚡️- angst // 🧸 - hurt/comfort // 💫 - personal favs

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

What began as petty bickering during practice turns into a raw confrontation, forcing buried insecurities into the open - and reminders that sometimes being seen means letting someone in

> read it here 🧸

After a draining day of harsh criticism and silent guilt, you find quiet comfort in the presence of Jeonghan and Seungcheol

> read it here 🧸

Being the only girl in Seventeen meant you saw the quiet cracks the others missed - and when the teasing went too far, it was up to you to draw the line no one else dared to

> read it here ⚡️

When a sentimental vase mysteriously shatters, the members brace for Jeonghan’s fury - only to watch in disbelief as he lets you off the hook in a split second, exposing his shameless favouritism

> read it here 🎈

After a sudden role switch and mistreatment on set leave you flustered and overwhelmed, the members firmly step in, proving you’re not just part of the group, but also protected like family

> read it here 🧸

When you share a lighthearted moment with rookie juniors TWS, the members accidentally catch you laughing a little too brightly

> read it here 🎈

When a misunderstanding sparks tension between you and Dino, a surprising turn of defense and compassion reminds everyone what it truly means to be a team

> read it here 🧸

After being overlooked backstage during a collaboration stage, you swallow your disappointment and perform flawlessly - only wanting to unravel in the quiet safety of the dorm The heavy thoughts of the performance gets interrupted by Wonwoo, reminding you that you don’t need to fight for space where you already belong

> read it here ⚡️// pt. 2 🧸

An argument between you and Seungkwan spirals into chaos - only to be defused by leader Seungcheol who hoists you into air "time-out," breaking the tension and leaving the members in stitches

> read it here 🎈🧸

During a live stage mishap of an outfit malfunction, a graceful slide, precise choreo and Jeonghan’s quick moves, things played off so seamlessly that fans think it was part of the performance

> read it here 🎈

When a fanmeet takes a chilling turn, you doesn’t hesitate to confront a hidden predator in the crowd - proving that even under the brightest lights, courage sometimes comes with sore butts and a shaking voice

> read it here 🎈💫 // have a bite 🎈

A late-night practice fueled by exhaustion and fraying tempers, a sharp exchange between you and Vernon escalates, leaving the entire group shaken - and painfully aware of how fragile even the closest bonds can feel under pressure

> read it here ⚡️

When an off-camera insult during an interview shoot belittles Seventeen's achievements, their unity is put to the test - until you stand up for everyone with a quiet strength that makes every member rise behind you

> read it here 🧸

When you finds yourself nearly erased from a video you had poured your heart into filming, it quietly shatters you - until you're reminded, in a loud and loving way, that you were never invisible

> read it here 🧸

When a trusted producer crosses a line during a private recording session, you return to the dorm shaken and unsure - until the members proves you never have to face your fear alone

> read it here 🧸

When you suddenly show signs of heat exhaustion during a long outdoor shoot, the members to immediately pause everything - reminding you that your health comes before any camera

> read it here 🧸

When your own family fails to show up for your biggest milestones, it’s the members and their families who show up in their place, reminding you that home isn’t where you come from, but who comes for you

> read it here ⚡️🧸

Before the dependable member of Seventeen, you were just a reckless teen with a defiant streak, and one mistake that nearly cost everything - until love and unwavering belief turned your rebellion into growth

> read it here 🎈

~ coming soon ~

want more? check out my requested fics for more work

Credits - uploads on pinterest, where pictures are from / creators i take inspiration from (ily thank you!)

#seventeen 14th member #seventeen imagines #seventeen drabbles #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #svt 14th member #svt imagines #seventeen #svt scenarios

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steveslevis · 1 year ago

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i love you, it’s ruining my life

azriel x cassian’s sister!reader - part 1 of 3

summary: it wasn’t supposed to be like this. you weren’t supposed to be your brother’s best friend’s mate, especially when that best friend is the same male who’s acted like you don’t exist for the last two centuries.

warnings: angst, very brief mentions of violence and abuse, azriel is oblivious and reader is angry, not much pining in this part mainly just angsty

A single band of golden thread, stretched from your soul, reaching out into an abyss. There was seemingly no end to the thread, no definite stop, just a shadowy mess that sent the thread into a disarray as it reached for your mate.

Your mate. The male who had spoken maybe a full sentence to you a handful of times in the last few centuries. The male who was best friends with your brother, and acted as if you didn’t even exist.

Even in your younger years in Windhaven, it seemed Azriel didn’t even know you were there. Like you were a ghost, invisible to him in every sense of the word.

Azriel didn’t ever really speak to anyone, though, so it wasn’t like you were an exception, he treated you like most everyone else. But you never had been able to shake the fact that he would nearly sprint out of a room if you were the only one in it, or that he would refuse to look you in the eyes when you spoke at dinner. It was like he couldn’t even stand the thought of being in the same vicinity of you, like he couldn’t stomach talking to you.

And you were now bound to him, for the rest of eternity.

The bond had snapped for you immediately upon seeing the state of Azriel when they returned from Hybern without Feyre, when the entirety of their plan had gone up in flames, with Azriel in the main path of destruction.

Seeing him in so much pain tugged at your heart, nearly ripping it out of your chest when you saw how ruined his wings were. It affected you so much that you ran out of the room when they first arrived, partially because of how much it hurt you to see him like that, and partially because of how distraught the bond snapping into place had immediately made you feel. You couldn’t bear to see your mate in so much pain, and you knew you didn’t trust yourself to be around when they inevitably put him into more pain while healing him.

You kept to yourself for weeks after their arrival, only speaking to Rhysand and your brother when need be.

Rhys was the first one to find out about your dilemma.

He called you into his study weeks later to talk about a mission, one he needed you specifically on for your daemati skills. While he explained the details, he could tell your mind was elsewhere, so much so that you couldn’t even stop him from getting past the pure obsidian wall you’d built up in your mind, the wall you never let anyone break down until that moment.

Rhysand had given you a hesitant look when he stopped explaining the tasks in order to peer into your mind and capture your attention. He didn’t want to pry, only to get your mind focused by scaling his talon down the obsidian wall, which to his surprise collapsed before he could even attempt to breach it. But you nodded when he silently asked to see what had been keeping you so on edge, what had stopped you from helping Madja out with taking care of Azriel when they returned from Hybern, what had stopped you from engaging in conversation at dinner as of late.

A vision of a golden thread shrouded in black and gray shadows was sent to Rhys’ mind, along with a memory of exactly the moment you had been struck with the bond.

“Have you told him?” he implored, though he seemed to already know the answer.

You couldn’t even speak at that point, only shaking your head in response as tears brimmed your eyes when you thought of how fucked up it was to be bonded to someone who’d barely acknowledged you in the hundreds of years you’d known him.

Rhys gave you a sympathetic look then, knowing the feeling of an unrequited bond all too well.

You promised him about a thousand times that you wouldn’t let him find out, that you wouldn’t let the agony and sadness get in the way of the mission. You could prove yourself worthy and able to go on without thinking about how you might never get an accepted bond, you assured him that you could. He was still unsure when he agreed to let you go on the mission, but it was miniscule enough that any lapses in judgment wouldn’t be detrimental, so he agreed.

And you proved yourself, just like you said you would. You proved yourself over and over again with Rhysand’s missions, building up your mental shields stronger than they ever had been before. So strong, that the High Lord himself had a hard time cracking through them.

You became a shell of what you were before seeing your mate in that near-death state, but you didn’t care. You needed to distract yourself in any way, shape or form that you could in order to forget about him, to forget that he’d never even taken a second glance in your direction.

It got to the point where you became so shut off from reality that even Cassian, your brother known for paying no mind to female emotions, started to notice.

You caught Cassian giving you inquisitive stares a handful of times during training and at dinners when your attitude was exceptionally reserved and demure, but never thought he would actually say anything to you.

That was until he finally snapped, on the first dinner with Feyre back in Velaris, which just so happened to be the first dinner that Azriel joined in the weeks after Hybern.

You nearly fell out of your seat when you saw him in all his glory. There he was, standing at the end of the table, as beautiful as ever. He was almost fully healed, aside from a few scars littered over the membrane of his wings.

Excited chatter filled the room as he entered, everyone falling into their rightful place in the Inner Circle, along with the newest members, Nesta and Elain. Though you were one of the longest standing members of Rhysand’s Inner Circle, you felt the most out of place in that moment.

The wine you’d been sipping churned in your stomach as you eyed the shadowsinger, who was sitting quietly across the table from you. You couldn’t handle it, knowing that he was your mate and he had no clue. You couldn’t stomach the thought of him finding out, of him potentially rejecting the bond.

After a moment of silently wallowing in your self pity, you felt that familiar talon scrape along your mental shield. Rhys was requesting access to your mind, likely to give you some insight about this unrequited feeling based on his own experience.

You rejected his request instead of letting him in, shooting him a quick glance before standing up abruptly, quietly excusing yourself with the reasoning that you weren’t feeling well.

You rushed up the stairs, toward your bedroom all the while feeling like you were drowning. You needed air, fresh air, now. It was in that moment that you thanked the Cauldron for Rhysand putting you in the bedroom with a large balcony, one perfect for moments like this.

Little did you know, your brother had stalked up the stairs behind you, worried after seeing the panic-stricken look on your face before bolting from the room.

You didn’t bother to close your bedroom door behind you, leaving Cassian the perfect opportunity to come in to check on you. You were out on the balcony in an instant, nearly gasping for air as the cool night breeze hit your face.

“Hey,” Cassian called behind you, standing awkwardly in the middle of your bedroom. “You alright?”

“I don’t want to talk right now, Cass.” you retort quickly, shooting a glare in his direction before leaning over the metal railing as he furrows his brow. “I obviously don’t feel great at the moment.”

“Yeah, no shit. But that doesn’t warrant you snapping at me when all I’m doing is coming to check on you,” he presses, taking a step onto the balcony to stand by you. “It doesn’t warrant you ignoring me for fucking weeks now.”

“What do you want me to say, Cassian?” you snap, throwing your hands up in defeat. “I—I don’t really know what kind of explanation you need from me, I just haven’t been in a talking mood these last few weeks.”

“Oh, bullshit.” he says, shaking his head at you. “I see you chatting with Rhys and Mor all the fucking time. You’re only shutting me out. What the fuck did I do?”

You take a moment to look up at your brother, finally seeing the hurt sketched across his features as he pleads with you, trying desperately to get through to you.

“You didn’t do anything.” you sigh, letting your guard down as you realize how much you’d hurt your twin in the last few weeks. “I—I just am going through some shit right now.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” he says, nudging your arm with his elbow as a relieved but hesitant smile passes over his face. “I’m always here to lend an ear.”

“Are you sure?” you say, voice cracking as you internally accept that you’re about to change everything in Cassian’s life with four simple words.

“Positive.” Cassian says, smile still on his face as he grips your shoulder to reassure you.

“Azriel is my mate.” you say bluntly, watching in silent terror as your brother’s face falls and so does his hand from your shoulder. “And he has no idea.”

——————————————————————

That was almost two years ago.

Cassian took the news quite well, and became your biggest supporter when it came to dealing with the hardships of an unrequited mating bond. Even as he dealt with his own unrequited bond for a short amount of time, he still made sure to make it known that he still cared for and understood the pain you were going through.

And now that the war against Hybern had been won, you could focus all your energy into training and missions Rhys would send you on.

Rhysand knew you preferred to be sent on solo missions, that you worked better alone without anyone disrupting your focus. But, there were some missions that couldn’t be done alone.

“You–This is a joke, right?” you say with a laugh, narrowing your eyes at the High Lord who sat across the desk in his office, raising his eyebrow at you as you laugh. “I work alone, Rhys.”

“I know you work best alone, but sometimes I can’t send you alone,” Rhys starts, giving you a sharp glare as you start to stand from your chair, “I can’t send you alone, not on this one.”

“Why?” you pressed, pushing off the arms of your chair to move closer to the desk. “You haven’t even told me what I’m doing or where I’ll be going yet, so why should I even agree to it without knowing?”

The look the High Lord was giving you made you uneasy, turning your stomach in knots, but you persisted. You needed him to stop treating you like you were made of glass, like you would break, like you hadn’t been training with Cassian since you could stand.

“I’m not a child anymore, Rhys.” you snapped, hands balling into fists as they pressed against the oak of his large desk. “I can handle whatever it is, without Azriel babysitting me.”

“I really don’t know–”

“Are you trying to torture me?” you interject, a pained expression crossing over your face, one of betrayal at the feeling of one of your longest friends trying to put you in such an uncomfortable position when he knows exactly what you’ve been dealing with over the last two years. “Are you trying to make me suffer, do you want me to –”

“I need you to go to Windhaven.” Rhys finally commanded, voice wavering slightly as he brought up the place you once called home, the place he knew would send you regressing into a lesser version of yourself. “I need you to go there, with Azriel.”

The mention of Windhaven sent a shiver down your spine, wings twitching in fear as you thought about the horrors you endured in your final years at the camp. Your sharp gaze flickered for a split second, mind running back to that cabin, to the flash of wings and clawing hands, to the male who did irreparable damage to your soul, to the moment you swore you’d never let a male hurt you again. With a shake of your head, you block the thoughts out, pressing that black obsidian wall back up to prevent yourself from breaking.

“I’ll be fine on my own.” you say, putting your stern persona back into place, trying to make it seem as though you’re unbothered.

“I need to send him with you, someone needs to watch your back.” he insists while shaking his head as his gaze softens, trying to get you to break from your hardened facade.

“What about Cass?” you retort, shaking your head.

“He’ll be in Spring, he’s got business with Tamlin and Eris to attend to for me.” he quickly replies, shaking his own head. “Please, I need you to do this.”

“I–I can’t.”

“Is the thought of being alone with me for two days that bad?” a voice comes from behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

Your mate, just the person you didn’t want to see right now.

You whip around quickly at the sound of his voice, brow furrowed as you see him standing in the doorway. It takes everything in you not to sigh at the sight of him, at how damn good he looked, just standing there. You cursed yourself internally, wishing you could think about anything else besides how much you pined for him. Still, you had an image to uphold, an image of distaste for the beautiful shadowsinger standing in front of you.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, shadowsinger.” you snap, shooting a glare in his direction that sends a pang of guilt running down the one-sided bond.

“I’m sorry?” he questions, raising an eyebrow at you, his face the poster child for cool composure as your rage boils in front of him.

“You can barely stand to be in the same room for me for more than five minutes,” you state, crossing your arms matter-of-factly. “You quite literally leave any space in the house when I’m the only other person around.”

The thought of your mate, the one who was supposed to be at your side for all of eternity, leaving the room any time you entered made your blood boil and chest ache. You ached for him, you ached to feel his touch, to be loved by him. But he didn’t care about you, didn’t care if you lived or died.

Seeing the anger in your eyes made Azriel stop in his tracks, something unfamiliar tugging at his heart as you seethed. There was a gnawing feeling in his chest as he thought about the last five hundred years, how he never paid you any mind.

The truth was, he avoided you with every bit of willpower he had in order to restrain himself. He couldn’t be around you for more than a few moments without your overpowering scent filling his nose feeding his desire to tear you apart. Every time he was with you alone, he wanted to tear down any walls that he had and just have at you, to have you as his. He wanted you carnally, he wanted all of you, all of the time.

But that wasn’t the kind of male he was. He would never do such a thing to Cassian, his best friend. He couldn’t let himself have you just to fulfill his deepest desires, you deserved so much more than to be some one night fling. You deserved to be loved and cared for, to be protected at all costs.

So he had ignored you, for almost five fucking centuries, because he thought he couldn’t give you what you deserved. He pushed out any thought he had about you, pushed away the urge to pursue you in any way, and pushed you away in the process. He knew you well from watching from afar, but to you it seemed as though you were the last thought in his mind, when in reality, you were the only thought in his mind at all times.

“That’s not–” Azriel started, but the words fell on his lips as he watched your own pull into a frown, an expression that was much more broken than the anger that had crossed over your face when he snuck in.

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought, you prick.” you said weakly, finally letting your emotions get the better of you. As tears pricked your eyes, you turned to Rhys once more. “I will not be going anywhere with him. I will be going by myself, or not at all. I am strong enough to do this on my own and I’m tired of being treated like a child in this court.”

Rhys only stared at you as you stalked towards the desk once again, watching as your hands shook with pain. He showed no change in emotion as you spoke, fully in High Lord mode instead of the Rhysand you knew and loved.

“I will be in my room, packing. When you’re done being a stubborn male and realize that I can do whatever the hell it is you need me to do, I’ll be waiting for further instructions.” you state, trying to choke back the tears that are threatening to flow onto the wood in front of your hands.

The High Lord nods firmly in response, and you turn on your heels. Azriel is still standing in the doorway, but you don’t dare to look at him. You push past the shadowsinger, swiping your cheeks hastily as tears fall down them. As you pass, your wing brushes his in the lightest of touches. You swallow a gasp as they touch, a shockwave flowing through your wing and going straight to your heart.

Azriel turns to gaze at you with wide eyes and you immediately know he felt it too. He felt the shock, the electricity between your wings, but not in the way you did. Not down the one-sided, golden bond that stretched toward him.

Confusion spread over his face as he looked at you, but you turned away and rushed towards your room before he could fully process what happened.

The rest of your afternoon was spent alone in your room, laying on your bed for most of the night as you stared up at the ceiling. You cursed yourself internally over and over again, wishing there were some way to change everything, some way to make you forget that you even had a mate.

Over and over again, you told yourself how you weren’t worthy of the immeasurable love that came with a mate, how you would never be good enough for Azriel.

It had always been like that for you, though. The feeling of inadequacy was a daily occurrence for you, it wasn’t a secret. Cassian knew it, and so did Rhysand, so you’re sure Azriel did too. You worked day in and day out trying to prove that you were worthy to your brother and the High Lord and everyone around you, regardless of the pain you put yourself in.

Rhysand knew you too well, and knew that you were all too serious about going on the mission by yourself, or at least without Azriel. After you left his office, he’d tried to speak to Cassian about accompanying you, but it was of no use, he was preoccupied. He didn’t want you to go by yourself, he knew you’d be scared just by being in Windhaven again, but he also knew that you being the one to go on this mission was the only hope.

Your untraceable daemati skills were an impeccable weapon that couldn’t be replaced by Azriel’s shadows or Cassian’s brute force. Even the High Lord himself didn’t have daemati powers as stealthful as yours, so you were the best option when it came to figuring out who was trying to rebel.

After much contemplation, Rhys eventually sent a concise and firm message to your mind.

I need you in Windhaven by dinner tonight, Devlon will be expecting you to be there. There are a few Illyrians that I need you to check in on while you’re there, Cass told me there are talks of rebellion led by Cormac and Bavlard. he explained, you should only need to be there for tonight to gather enough information, but plan to stay until tomorrow evening in case we need more intel. You’ll stay in the cabin as usual, I’ll be in contact regularly to check on you, since you’ll be on your own this time.

The last sentence had a smile flickering on your lips, happy that Rhysand was finally taking you seriously as a member of his Inner Circle and trusting you enough to send you on missions by yourself. Luckily, you were already packed so it didn’t take much for you to get ready to go.

In less than an hour, you were dressed in your fighting leathers and on the balcony of your room. You waste no time in flying from the house, large wings spreading for the first time in what feels like forever as you make for the sky.

The breeze against your skin makes you sigh with joy, trying to enjoy the twinge of happiness that flying gives you as you make your way towards the place you once called home, the place you now call hell.

taglist: @paleidiot @tothestarsandwhateverend @impossibelle

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #azriel angst #azriel x you

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flux1563 · 3 months ago

Text

Something New ft tzuyu

Tags : NTR, first time squirting, creampie, male reader

Words : 8K

On a quiet morning, Tzuyu could be found in her garden, tending to her blossoming flowers with meticulous care. The warmth of the sun and the gentle hum of bees painted a serene picture of suburban tranquility. The scent of lavender and roses filled the air, creating a soothing melody that seemed to resonate with her soul. As she plucked a stray weed, a sudden rustle in the bushes by the fence snapped her out of her reverie.

Her neighbor, y/n, emerged, looking slightly flustered. Tzuyu offered a friendly smile, but his eyes lingered on her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. She had noticed his glances before, but had always brushed them off as harmless admiration for her gardening skills. However, today there was something different about his gaze, something more intense, almost hungry.

Tzuyu's husband was often away for work, leaving her alone in the house during the week. Their marriage was a bastion of love and trust, a bond that had only grown stronger with the passing of time. Whenever she felt lonely, she would take solace in the company of her plants, the only confidants that truly understood the silent poetry of her heart.

He cleared his throat, interrupting the symphony of her thoughts. "Your flowers are looking beautiful, as always," he said, his voice thick with unspoken intentions. Tzuyu felt a knot form in her stomach, her smile stiffening as she replied, "Thank you, y/n. I enjoy taking care of them." She tried to keep her tone light, hoping that her unease wasn't too apparent.

"Where is your husband?" he asked, his eyes never leaving hers. The question was simple, yet it hung in the air, loaded with a meaning that made her heart race. Tzuyu swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his gaze. "Oh, he's at work," she replied, her voice a little too high-pitched. "He won't be back until this night."

The invitation came suddenly, as unexpected as the first drops of rain in a storm. "Would you want to have breakfast with me inside my house?" His smile was charming, but it didn't reach his eyes, which remained focused on her with an intensity that made her feel like a butterfly pinned to a board. "Thank you, y/n," she began, her mind racing to find the right words. "But I've already had my breakfast. Maybe another time?"

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But it's just a simple meal, I promise. Nothing too heavy. I just baked some cookies. They're your favorite, aren't they?" His words were sweet, but they left a bitter taste in her mouth. Tzuyu felt a bead of sweat form on her forehead as she tried to find a polite way to decline. "That's very kind of you," she said, her voice steady despite her racing thoughts.

After a moment of tension, she relented. "Alright, I'll have a quick bite." She hoped that by accepting, she could put an end to the persistent tension that had been building between them. As she followed him into his house, the air grew heavier, the scent of his cologne suffocating the floral notes she had carried with her from the garden. The walls of his kitchen were lined with pictures of his family, and she felt a pang of guilt for even considering his offer. Yet, she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had wrapped around her like a tightening noose.

The kitchen was meticulously clean, but it was the sight of the cookies on the table that made her pause. They were indeed her favorite, a recipe she had shared with him during one of their casual chats over the fence. The buttery aroma filled the room, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to be swayed by the gesture. They sat across from each other, the silence thick enough to cut with a knife. She picked one up, its warmth seeping into her fingertips, and took a bite. The sweetness exploded on her tongue, a stark contrast to the bitter taste that still lingered from their interaction.

"Where is your family?" she asked, her eyes lingering on the smiling faces in the photos. She needed to remind herself that she was just being neighborly, that she had nothing to fear from a man who was, after all, just lonely.

"I haven't married, Tzuyu," he replied with a sad smile, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's just me here, alone."

The simple statement sent a chill down her spine. She had always assumed that his flirtatiousness was harmless, a way to pass the time, but now she wasn't so sure. He leaned back in his chair, watching her intently as she nibbled on the cookie. The click of the lock echoed through the house like a gunshot in the stillness of the night, and she looked up to see him close the kitchen door, a smug expression on his face.

Tzuyu felt the room close in around her. She had made a mistake coming here, she realized with a sinking feeling. The walls of his house suddenly seemed like the bars of a cage, and she was the unsuspecting animal trapped within. The photos of happy families now seemed like taunts, a stark contrast to the reality she found herself in.

With the cookie still in her hand, she tried to keep her voice calm. "What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes flicking to the locked door.

He's smile grew wider, revealing a hint of something darker. "I just wanted some privacy, Tzuyu," he said, his tone casual.

Before she could react, y/n leaned across the table, his hand snaking around her waist. His lips met hers, and she felt his desperation in the way he kissed her, a desperation that made her stomach churn. She pushed against him with all her might, but his grip was like steel, his mouth unyielding. Panic flooded her, and she fought back with all the strength she could muster.

"U can't escape from here, Tzuyu," he murmured against her lips, his breath hot and heavy. "My house is soundproof." His voice was low, a dark promise that sent a cold shiver down her spine. She could hear the triumph in his tone, and it fueled her struggle. Tzuyu's hands flew to his face, her nails digging into his skin as she tried to push him away. His eyes narrowed at the resistance, but his smile remained, twisted and sinister.

"Just accept what I'm going to give you, so you'll feel good instead of hurt," he said, his voice a slick whisper that made her skin crawl. Tzuyu's mind raced, her heart hammering in her chest. "I can't," she said firmly, pushing against him again. "I'm married, y/n."

He pulled back slightly, his grip loosening. "But you're so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes tracing the contours of her face. "I've watched you for so long, and I can't help but want to be close to you." His words were a seduction, but they held no charm for Tzuyu. She felt the weight of his desire like a leaden cloak, suffocating her.

"I promise, only this time," he said, his voice a sweet lie that made her stomach clench. "Let me show you how much I care for you." His hand slid up to cup her cheek, and she flinched at his touch.

She took a deep breath and nodded, playing along for the moment. "Okay," she whispered, her voice shaking. "After this, I can come back to my home, and we will keep it as a secret."

Y/n's eyes lit up at her submission, his smile widening. He leaned back in his chair, releasing her waist. "Of course," he said, his voice dripping with sweetness. "It will be our little secret."

He was speaking to himself "When I start using Tzuyu, she will crave for my 10 inches BWC. Then she'll come back to me willingly.".

He leaned in for another kiss, and this time, Tzuyu didn't resist. Instead, she wrapped her hand around his neck, drawing him closer. His eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of hesitation, but all he saw was a quiet determination. He took her acceptance as a victory and deepened the kiss, his hands moving to encircle her waist.

"Ahh," she gasped, when he start to kiss her neck.

Her heart was racing, but not with fear anymore. An unexpected warmth spread through her body, and she found herself leaning into his touch. His kisses grew more insistent, and she felt a strange thrill at his passion. His hands roamed over her, igniting a fire within her that she had not felt in a long time. She closed her eyes, letting the moment wash over her, trying to drown out the voice of doubt that whispered in the back of her mind.

The sound of fabric ripping brought her back to reality with a jolt. She opened her eyes to find y/n tearing her clothes off, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that was both terrifying and exhilarating. He had her pinned against the kitchen counter, his hands moving with a surprising gentleness that belied the desperation of his actions.

Tzuyu's shirt lay in shreds at her feet, and she felt the cool air kiss her bare skin as he revealed her lacy bra. He traced the outline of her breasts with his thumbs, his eyes never leaving hers. With a flick of his wrists, he unclipped the clasp, and her breasts spilled out, her hard pink nipples standing at attention.

Y/n leaned in, his breath hot against her chest as he took in the sight before him. His mouth watered, and without any further preamble, he captured one of her nipples between his teeth, giving it a gentle tug before flicking his tongue across it. Tzuyu couldn't help but let out a soft moan, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. His hands were everywhere, cupping and squeezing, his touch both firm and tender.

Her own hands found his belt, fumbling with the buckle as she felt the pressure building inside her. His eyes grew darker, and she could feel his arousal pressing against her thigh. He groaned, the sound deep and primal, and she knew that he was as lost in the moment as she was. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her pants, and with a swift movement, pulled them down along with her underwear. She stepped out of them, leaving a pool of fabric at her feet.

Tzuyu was now fully exposed to y/n's gaze, her shaved pink pussy glistening with arousal. He stood before her, his eyes feasting on every inch of her body as if it were the most exquisite work of art he had ever seen.

"Don't stare at me like that," she murmured, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red.

But y/n couldn't help it. He had never seen a woman more beautiful than Tzuyu, especially not when she was naked and trembling with desire. He stood up from the chair, his eyes never leaving hers, and began to strip away his own clothes. His shirt came off first, revealing the taut muscles of his chest and abs, each one sculpted from years of hard work and discipline. Tzuyu's eyes widened as she took in the sight, her breath hitching in her throat. He knew she liked what she saw. His pants followed, revealing the bulge that had been straining against the fabric for what felt like an eternity. He stepped out of them, his boxers the last barrier to fall. His cock sprang free, long and thick, standing proud and erect.

"I didn't know you have a very big white dick," Tzuyu murmured, her voice a mix of awe and trepidation. The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. But y/n didn't seem to mind. If anything, the admission only made him more aroused.

He stepped closer to her, his cock swaying with each step. "It's 10 inches long," he said with a smug smile. "And the girth is 3 inches." His hand wrapped around it, giving it a slow stroke. "Even your husband's doesn't come close, does it?"

Tzuyu nodded, unable to take her eyes off the monstrous cock before her. It was true, her husband was not this big. But she had never felt the need for anything more than what they shared. Until now. The thought of his thick member sliding into her made her pussy throb with need. She nodded again, more to herself than to him. "You are right," she murmured, her voice a mere whisper.

Without another word, y/n scooped her into his arms, her naked body fitting against his like they were two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he carried her through the hallway, her bare skin brushing against his, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. She could feel his heart beating against her chest, the rhythm matching the tempo of her own.

The couch in the living room beckoned, and he laid her down upon it with surprising care. The plush cushions molded to her body, the cool fabric a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from within her. His hands remained on her hips, holding her in place as he stepped back to admire her. Tzuyu felt vulnerable, exposed under his gaze, but she couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through her veins.

"Now," his voice low and commanding. "Take me inside your mouth."

Tzuyu stared at the massive cock standing before her, the tip glistening with precum. She felt a mix of fear and excitement, the thought of his size making her mouth water and her pussy clench. "I don't know if I can take it," she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation.

"Don't worry," y/n said with a smirk, his grip on her hips tightening. "You'll get used to it. Just open your mouth and let me guide you."

Tzuyu swallowed hard and leaned forward, her eyes locked on the tip of his cock. She parted her lips and felt the heat of his erection against her skin. He leaned in closer, his hand guiding her head to take him in. His cock slid into her mouth, and she tasted the saltiness of his precum. It was strange, but not entirely unpleasant. He began to move, pushing deeper with each stroke, and she had to fight the urge to gag.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through her entire body. "Take it all."

Her cheeks hollowed as she took more and more of him, his hand gently pressing the back of her head. He was so thick that she could feel herself stretching around him, and the sensation was both terrifying and thrilling. She had never been with a man this size before, and she had no idea how she would handle it when the time came for him to enter her.

"Just relax, Tzuyu," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to her nerves. "Breath through your nose, baby."

Tzuyu did as he said, her eyes watering slightly as she took him deeper. Her tongue danced around his shaft, tasting every inch of his manhood.

Suddenly, y/n's gentle guidance turned to a firm grip, and he started to thrust his hips, his dick sliding in and out of her mouth with increasing roughness. She gagged, but he didn't stop, his eyes locked on hers, the pleasure etched on his face unmistakable. She could feel her throat stretching, the sensation of being filled so completely both overwhelming and exhilarating.

"Fuck, you're so tight and warm," he grunted, his grip on her hair tightening. The words sent a jolt of pleasure through Tzuyu's body, and she felt her pussy clench around the emptiness. Despite the fear and the guilt, she found herself getting wetter, her body responding to the raw power and dominance he exuded.

Tzuyu's eyes watered as he pushed himself further into her mouth, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat. She gagged, but he didn't relent. His eyes were closed, his face a mask of pure ecstasy as he fucked her mouth.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he groaned, his hips jerking erratically. "Your throat is so fucking good."

Tzuyu braced herself, her eyes wide as he pulled out of her mouth, the tip of his cock pulsing with the promise of release. He didn't give her time to react as he painted her face with ropes of white hot cum, the thick liquid spurting over her cheeks and nose, landing in her eyes and mouth. She squealed in surprise and pleasure, the sensation of his warm seed on her skin sending a shiver down her spine.

He stared down at her, his eyes dark with desire as she sat there, panting and covered in his cum. His chest heaved with the effort of his orgasm, his cock still twitching in his hand. The sight of her like this, vulnerable and debased, made him feel more powerful than he had ever felt before.

Tzuyu's eyes fluttered closed as she felt the warmth spread over her face, the sticky liquid clinging to her lashes and trickling down her neck. She licked her lips, tasting the saltiness of his seed, and felt an unexpected surge of arousal. She had never been treated this way before, never been so thoroughly claimed, and it was intoxicating.

"Open your eyes," he said, his voice a low growl. "I want you to see what you do to me."

Tzuyu's eyes snapped open, her vision blurred by the cum that had spattered across her face. She watched as y/n's gaze fell to her chest, his eyes lingering on her breasts, which were heaving with every shallow breath she took. His hand moved down to her stomach, tracing the soft curves before coming to rest between her thighs.

"Now it's my time to make you feel good," he murmured, his voice a dark promise that sent a shiver down her spine. Without waiting for a response, he knelt before her, his mouth descending to her shaved pink pussy. The first touch of his tongue was like a bolt of lightning, sending a shock of pleasure through her core. He licked her slowly, savoring the taste of her arousal, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Ahhh... So good," Tzuyu gasped, her body arching off the couch. She had never felt anything quite like this before. His tongue was a masterful tool, tracing her folds and teasing her clit in a way that had her toes curling. Her hands found his hair, tangling in the soft strands as she held him to her, urging him on. She could feel the tension building, the coil of desire tightening with each flick and suck.

"Fuck," she moaned, the word slipping from her lips without thought. Her eyes rolled back in her head as he added a finger, pushing into her wetness with ease. "Keep it going," she begged, the need for release a physical ache. His pace didn't falter, the steady rhythm of his tongue and finger driving her closer and closer to the edge.

The world around them disappeared, leaving only the sound of their ragged breaths and the slick wetness of their intimate dance. Tzuyu's hips began to buck, her body moving of its own accord to meet his touch. The pressure grew, a delicious agony that made her nails dig into the couch cushions.

"Fuck, y/n, I'm gonna cum," she panted, her voice a desperate plea. His eyes never left hers as he increased his pace, his two fingers curling inside her, hitting a spot that had her back bowing off the couch. His tongue danced around her clit, the sensation so intense she could feel her orgasm building like a wave ready to crest.

Her leg shot up, trembling in the air as her toes curled. The muscles in her thigh quivered with the effort of holding herself in place, her whole body tightening with each pulse of pleasure that shot through her. Her breathing grew heavier, her chest heaving as she chased the release that was just out of reach.

Then, it hit her. Like a tidal wave, her orgasm crashed over her, sending her body into spasms of pleasure. "Fuck, y/n, I'm cumming so hard!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the quiet house. Her back arched off the couch, her nails digging into the fabric as she rode the wave of ecstasy. Her pussy clamped down on his fingers, her walls pulsing as she came, her juices spilling onto his hand.

Y/n watched with a smug smile, his own arousal reaching new heights as he felt her tighten around his digits. He didn't stop, his tongue flicking and licking, eager to taste every drop of her sweetness. He knew she couldn't squirt, but the way her body responded to him, the way she writhed and screamed, was more than enough. It was power, pure and simple, and he reveled in it.

Her climax seemed to go on forever, her body shaking and quivering as the pleasure consumed her. Tzuyu had never felt anything so intense before, and she was both scared and exhilarated by it. Her eyes squeezed shut, she focused on the feeling of his mouth on her, the pressure of his fingers inside her.

Y/n was relentless, his tongue swirling and flicking against her sensitive clit, even as she bucked and thrashed beneath him. He could feel her pussy tighten around his digits, her juices flowing more freely with each wave of pleasure that crashed over her. Despite her protests, he didn't stop, eager to test her limits and push her further than she had ever been before.

"I want to know if you can squirt," he murmured against her clit, his voice muffled by her flesh. His words were a challenge, a declaration of his intent to claim her in every way possible. His fingers curled inside her, hitting that special spot that made her eyes roll back in her head.

"I'm not a squirter," she gasped, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Y/n paused, his fingers still buried inside her, his tongue lingering against her sensitive bud. He studied her flushed face, the sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breaths coming in pants. He knew she was telling the truth, but that didn't deter him. If he couldn't make her squirt, he would settle for something else. He wanted to hear her scream his name in pleasure, to see the look of utter abandon on her face when she climaxed again.

"If you say so, Tzuyu," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. He withdrew his fingers, watching the way she shivered with the loss of his touch.

Tzuyu's voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke. "Is okay, y/n," she said, her voice trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. "You've already given me the best orgasms I've ever had." Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotion.

Y/n's eyes darkened, his pupils dilating at the admission. He knew he had her now, and he was eager to show her just how much more he could give her. He stood, his cock still rock hard from her mouth and her tight pussy. "You're so sweet, Tzuyu," he murmured, his voice a caress. "But we're not done yet."

With surprising agility, he turned her over, her ass in the air, her breasts pressed against the couch. He positioned himself behind her, his cock nudging against her wetness. She tensed, feeling the sheer size of him, but she didn't protest. She wanted this, she wanted him to fill her completely, to stretch her in ways she had never been stretched before.

"Now," she whispered, her voice shaking with anticipation. "Fuck me, y/n. I want to feel your 10 inches inside me."

His eyes glinted with excitement as he positioned himself at her entrance. He knew she was ready for him, her pussy slick and inviting, begging to be filled. But instead of pushing into her, he decided to tease her a little more. He rubbed the tip of his cock up and down her slit, watching as she squirmed and gasped beneath him.

"Beg for it, Tzuyu," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through her entire body. "Tell me you need more."

"Please," she whispered, the word barely audible. "Fuck me already." "Fuck me like a dirty whore who craving for big dick, just wrecked my little pussy"

He's grin grew wider as he listened to her desperate pleas. He could feel his cock throb at the sound of her voice, the way she begged for it. He positioned himself at her entrance, the tip of his cock nudging against her swollen folds. She was so wet, so ready for him, and he could feel her pussy quivering with anticipation.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushed forward, watching as her eyes went wide with shock and pleasure. Her tight walls stretched around his girth, the feeling of her warmth enveloping him almost too much to bear. He groaned as he sank deeper, feeling every inch of her, the heat of her body surrounding him like a velvet vice.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, his voice strained with the effort of not giving in to his own desires. He held still for a moment, letting her adjust to his size. He could feel her muscles tense around him, and he knew that she was fighting the urge to push him out. But she didn't. Instead, she took a deep breath and pushed back, taking him in even further.

Tzuyu's eyes squeezed shut as he began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm that had her panting and gripping the couch. She could feel the pressure of his cock against her stomach with each deep stroke, and she knew that he was holding back. He was too big for her to handle all at once.

"Fuckk," she screamed, the sound echoing through the room. "I can feel it, it's bulging under my stomach."

He didn't respond with words, instead, his hips picked up the pace, driving into her with a ferocity that made her toes curl. She was so tight, so warm, and the way she was taking him, inch by inch, was driving him wild. He gripped her hips, his knuckles white with the effort of holding back. He knew he could take her harder, faster, but he didn't want to hurt her.

"Just fuck me as hard as you can," Tzuyu begged again, her voice raw with need.

He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, his cock still buried deep inside her. "Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Once I start, I won't be able to stop."

"Yes," she panted, her voice urgent. "Fuck me, y/n. Make me scream."

With a low growl, y/n gave in to her pleas. His grip on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he began to pound into her with everything he had. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body, her pussy stretching to accommodate his massive girth. Her cries filled the room, a mix of pain and pleasure as he claimed her completely. She could feel her walls stretching around him, the sensation so intense it was almost too much to bear.

"Yes, yes, yes," she chanted, her voice growing louder with each thrust. The couch beneath her creaked with the force of their lovemaking, the fabric scratching at her bare skin. Her hands clutched at the cushions, her nails leaving little half-moons in the fabric. The world around her narrowed to the feeling of his cock filling her, the sound of their bodies slapping together.

Y/n's grip on her hips grew bruising, his breath hot and ragged against her neck. "Fuck, Tzuyu," he groaned, his hips pumping harder. "You're so tight. So wet." His words only served to spur her on, her pussy clenching around him like a vice. She could feel the orgasm building, the pressure growing with each stroke.

"Yeah, don't you dare to stop," she gasped, her voice a desperate whine. "I'm gonna cum, y/n. Make me cum with your big white cock." The words sent him over the edge, and he picked up the pace, driving into her with a ferocity that had her seeing stars. She was so close, so close to that sweet release. Her nails dug into the couch, the fabric tearing under the force of her grip.

"Fuck, yes," she screamed as her orgasm hit her like a freight train, her body convulsing around his cock. Her pussy clamped down on him, pulsing with the intensity of her climax. Y/n felt her tighten around him and knew she was close, so close to the edge.

He gripped her hips harder, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he felt his own release approaching. "Come for me, Tzuyu," he grunted, his voice thick with lust. "I want to feel you come all over my cock."

Her walls tightened around him, the sensation like nothing he had ever felt before. "I'm cumming," she screamed, her voice raw and unbridled. "I'm cumming so much!" Her orgasm washed over her, her entire body shaking with the intensity of it. Her pussy clamped down on him, her juices flooding out and soaking the couch beneath her.

For a moment, he stilled, his cock buried deep inside her as he watched her come apart. He could feel the tremors of her release, the way her body spasmed around him. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he felt a strange mix of pride and possessiveness. She was his, now and forever.

"U have a stamina of a monster, y/n," Tzuyu panted, her voice filled with amazement and a hint of challenge.

Y/n chuckled, his strokes never faltering as he continued to pound into her. "I've had plenty of practice," he said, his voice filled with a dark amusement that sent shivers down her spine. "But you, my dear, are something special."

Tzuyu's body was a maelstrom of sensation, each of her nerve endings singing with pleasure. She had never felt so alive, so consumed by the need for another's touch. Each time he filled her completely, she felt herself shattering into a million little pieces, only to be reassembled by the next stroke.

The couch groaned beneath them, a testament to their frenzied passion. She could feel the fabric of the couch cushions digging into her knees as she was pushed further and further into the furniture, her body taking all of him with surprising ease. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, and she bit her bottom lip to muffle the cries that kept escaping her mouth.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, a rhythmic crescendo that seemed to crescendo with each pulse of her heart. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she could feel her body tighten around him once more. He was relentless, his hips never stopping as he fucked her with a passion that seemed to be fueled by an endless well of desire.

Y/n's grunts grew louder, his breaths ragged in her ear as he whispered dark promises of never-ending pleasure. His hand snaked around her waist to play with her clit, the added sensation making her toes curl. "I'm going to fill you up, Tzuyu," he groaned, his voice a mix of pleasure and possessiveness. "You're going to feel me deep inside you, my seed claiming you."

Tzuyu's eyes snapped open, the reality of his words hitting her like a sledgehammer. But instead of fear, she felt a strange thrill, a yearning to be claimed by this man who had so thoroughly taken her over. "Do it,"

she whispered, her voice hoarse with need. "Make a baby to me."

Y/n's eyes widened with shock at her words, but the desire in her voice was unmistakable. He didn't need any more encouragement. He slammed into her one last time, his cock reaching depths she never knew existed. With a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house, he came deep inside her, filling her womb with his hot, thick seed.

Tzuyu's body tensed around him, her own orgasm hitting her like a tsunami. Her pussy clenched and spasmed, milking him for every last drop. She felt the warmth of his cum filling her up, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. But she didn't care. She wanted this, needed this, to feel alive in a way she never had before.

As their bodies stilled, he collapsed on top of her, his weight a comforting warmth against her back. He could feel her heart racing beneath his chest, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. He kissed the back of her neck, his tongue tracing a slow, lazy pattern along her skin.

"Are you sure?" he whispered in her ear, his voice filled with a hint of doubt. "Just this one time?"

Tzuyu turned her head to look at him, her eyes glazed over with lust. "I think I can't get enough of you," she said, her voice a seductive purr that sent a shiver down his spine. Her hand reached back to cup his cheek, pulling his face closer to hers. "I want you to fuck me every day, y/n. Make me scream your name until I can't even remember my own."

He's cock twitched at her words, his desire for her still raging like a wildfire. He pulled out slowly, watching as her pussy clung to him, desperate to keep him inside. Her juices coated his shaft, making it slick and shiny with need. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, but he wasn't about to argue with a goddess in the throes of passion. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

As he pulled away, she gasped, the sudden emptiness making her pussy spasm. He watched with fascination as a geyser of squirt shot out, drenching the floor beneath them. Her body trembled with the force of it, her legs shaking as she tried to remain upright. Tzuyu's eyes were wide with shock, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

"Fuck," she whimpered, her voice a mix of amazement and need. "I've never done that before."

Y/n's eyes widened, his cock jumping in response to the sight. "You're a natural," he said, his voice filled with awe. "Now, let's see how much more you can take."

Without warning, he slammed back into her, his cock hitting her G-spot with precision. Tzuyu screamed, her body bucking against his. She could feel the pressure building again, a pressure that was unlike anything she had ever felt before. It was as if her pussy had a mind of its own, demanding more of him, more of his thick cock filling her to the brim.

His strokes grew shorter, faster, his hips snapping against her ass as he pounded into her. The sound of their skin slapping together filled the room, a symphony of passion that seemed to crescendo with each thrust. She could feel herself tightening around him, her body preparing for another explosive release.

"I'm going to make you squirt again," he growled, his hands gripping her hips with a bruising force. "You're going to soak this couch with your cum, and I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight."

Tzuyu's eyes rolled back in her head, the pleasure overwhelming her senses. She had never felt so alive, so consumed by desire. Her pussy clenched around him, her walls spasming as another orgasm built. She could feel the warmth spreading through her, the pressure growing more intense with each stroke.

"Oh, god," she moaned, her voice a desperate plea. "I'm gonna cum again."

Y/n's eyes blazed with triumph as he watched her come undone before him. He increased his pace, his cock plunging in and out of her with a ferocity that seemed to defy human endurance. He knew she was close, could feel her pussy fluttering around him like a trapped bird.

Her climax hit her like a freight train, her pussy spurting out a torrent of cum that soaked the couch and the floor. She screamed his name, her body shaking with the force of it. Her nails dug into the cushions, leaving deep gouges in the fabric as she tried to hold on to something, anything, to ground herself in the face of such intense pleasure.

Y/n didn't let up, his hips moving faster, his cock hitting deeper with each thrust. He could feel his own orgasm approaching, the pressure in his balls becoming unbearable. He reached around her, his thumb circling her clit, and she screamed, her body tightening around him. He watched in amazement as another gush of squirt spurted from her pussy, soaking the couch and pooling on the floor.

"You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "So wet, so tight." He could feel himself growing even harder, the sight and feel of her squirting pushing him closer to the edge. His hand moved to her hip, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he held her in place.

The sensation was indescribable, the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of her, the sound of her wetness filling the room. He knew she was close again, could see it in the way her back arched, her breasts jiggling with each thrust. He leaned down, his mouth claiming hers in a bruising kiss as he pushed into her one last time.

Her body convulsed around him, her pussy clenching down so tight he could feel the head of his cock pulsing inside her. With a final grunt, he pulled out, watching as her pussy spasmed, desperately trying to keep him inside. He stroked himself, his cock a blur as he watched the last of her squirt spurt out, painting the floor with her desire.

Tzuyu's eyes rolled back in her head, her body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. She had never felt so alive, so wanted, so...used. And she loved every second of it. She could feel the sticky wetness on her thighs, her pussy still pulsing with need. She opened her legs wider, inviting him back in, her voice a desperate plea.

"More," she begged, her voice a whimper. "I need more."

He didn't need any further encouragement. He plunged back into her, his cock sinking into her warm depths with ease. He could feel her tightening around him once more, her pussy greedy for his cum. His strokes grew more urgent, his hips slapping against her ass with a wet sound that seemed to echo through the room.

"I'm gonna fill you up, Tzuyu," he groaned, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're going to feel me deep inside you once more."

The pressure grew, the room spinning as she felt herself climbing towards another peak. Her walls tightened around him, her body begging for release. "Do it," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I want to feel it again."

With a roar that seemed to shake the house, y/n erupted, his cock pumping ropes of hot cum into her waiting pussy. Tzuyu's body tightened around him, her own orgasm hitting like a tidal wave. She could feel him filling her, his warmth spreading through her body as she came one final time.

Their bodies remained connected for a moment, both panting and trembling with the aftermath of their passion. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as he pulled out. She whimpered at the loss, but the feeling of his cum spilling out of her was almost as delicious as the sensation of him being inside her.

"How many times did I make you cum?" he asked, his voice a smug whisper against her ear.

"Countless," Tzuyu murmured, her body still trembling from the intensity of their encounter. She felt both satisfied and insatiable, her pussy still throbbing from the pounding he had given her.

"How many times did your husband make you orgasm?" y/n questioned, his tone playful yet possessive. He knew he had taken her to heights she had never experienced before, and it filled him with a dark sense of pride.

Tzuyu's voice was a breathless whisper as she replied, "Around five, usually." Her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal as she admitted it. Despite the bliss she felt in the aftermath of her recent orgasms, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Her husband had always been attentive and loving in bed, but there was something primal and overwhelming about the way y/n had claimed her body.

"So I win," He said proudly, his chest puffing out with triumph. His eyes gleamed with victory as he looked down at her, his cock still semi-erect and glistening with their combined juices. He knew he had taken her to heights she had never experienced before, and it filled him with a dark, possessive satisfaction.

Tzuyu could only nod, her body still quivering with the aftershocks of her last orgasm. The guilt was there, but it was overshadowed by the intensity of the pleasure he had given her. She had never felt so alive, so desired. His words echoed in her mind: "How many squirt is your husband's gift? Zero." The truth of it stung, but in that moment, she didn't care. She had never been able to achieve a squirting orgasm with her husband, and the fact that y/n had brought it out of her so easily was intoxicating.

Her pussy was still quivering when she felt a new sensation, a wetness that seemed to come from within. She looked down, eyes widening in amazement as another gush of squirt spurted from her, soaking the already drenched couch cushion beneath her. "What's happening?" she gasped, her voice filled with a mix of shock and arousal.

Y/n chuckled darkly, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He reached down, his fingers tracing the line of her soaking slit. "Looks like you enjoyed that," he said, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction. "Your body can't get enough of me."

Tzuyu's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she couldn't deny the truth in his words. She had squirted again, a sensation that was both foreign and incredibly arousing. Her pussy was still quivering, her walls clenching and unclenching around the emptiness left by his departure. "What... what did you do to me?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Ask your pussy, not me," he said with a smirk, watching as she squirmed on the couch. He knew he had pushed her to new limits, and the power rush was intoxicating. Her hair was a tangled mess, her makeup smeared from their earlier kisses, and her body was covered in a sheen of sweat. She had never looked more beautiful.

"I need to go to my house before my husband comes," Tzuyu said again, her voice stronger this time.

Y/n chuckled and stood up, his cock still hard and covered in their mixed fluids. He walked to the door and unlocked it, swinging it open with a flourish. "Fine," he said with a wicked smirk. "But do it naked."

Tzuyu's eyes went wide with horror, but she knew arguing would be futile. She slowly rose from the couch, her legs wobbly from the intensity of her orgasms. Her body was covered in sweat, her breasts heaving with each breath she took. She felt more exposed than she ever had before, but there was also a strange sense of liberation in her nakedness.

Her first attempt to stand was a failure, her legs giving out beneath her. She stumbled, catching herself on the arm of the couch. Y/n chuckled, watching her with a predatory gaze. "Looks like my little slut can't even walk straight," he teased, his cock twitching with renewed interest.

With a grimace of determination, Tzuyu pushed herself off the couch, her legs trembling as she took one step and then another. She felt like she was walking on jelly, each step sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She was a mess, her hair in disarray and her makeup smeared, but she walked with a strange sense of pride. Each step was a declaration of the power she had found in her own sexuality.

As she approached the door, she felt the cool breeze from outside caress her sweat-drenched body, sending goosebumps across her skin. The stark contrast from the heat of their passion made her even more aware of her nakedness, her nipples tightening with every gust of wind. The reality of her situation slammed into her, but instead of fear, she felt excitement. The thrill of the forbidden was like a drug, and she was utterly addicted.

"Just walk slowly," he said with a laugh, his eyes never leaving her. She knew he enjoyed her vulnerability, the way she was forced to move with careful steps to avoid stumbling. Each movement was a testament to his dominance over her, and she found it oddly thrilling. Her legs felt like jelly, but she managed to make it to the door, her hand shaking as she gripped the handle.

The moment she stepped out into the sunlight, the reality of what had just happened hit her like a slap in the face. She was naked, her body a canvas of sweat and sperm, and her pussy was still pulsing with the aftermath of her intense orgasms. The breeze outside was cool against her skin, making her nipples tighten even further. She looked around nervously, hoping that no one would see her in this state of utter exposure.

Her house was indeed close, a mere few steps away, but it felt like an eternity as she forced her trembling legs to carry her across the short expanse of lawn that separated them. Her pussy was still flooding with a mix of his cum and her squirt, leaving a trail of wetness behind her. She felt like a slut, used and discarded, but the feeling only served to excite her further. Her mind was racing with thoughts of what her husband would say if he knew, but she pushed them aside. For now, all that mattered was getting back to the safety of her own home.

As she reached her doorstep, she fumbled with the lock, her hands slippery with their combined fluids. The key slipped from her grasp, and she had to bend over to retrieve it, giving him a clear view of her dripping pussy, which was still red from his relentless pounding. She could feel his eyes on her, and the knowledge that he was watching made her even wetter. She managed to get the key in the lock and stumbled inside, her legs giving way beneath her.

Her heart was racing as she collapsed onto the floor, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. She looked down at herself, at the mess that was her body, and couldn't believe what she had just done. But even as the guilt began to set in, she couldn't deny the thrill of it all. The way he had made her feel, the power he had over her, it was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

With shaking hands, she made her way to the shower, the warm water washing away the evidence of her infidelity. She stood there for what felt like hours, her mind racing with thoughts of y/n, his touch, his cock, his dominance. She knew she shouldn't want him, that it was wrong, but she couldn't help the way her body responded to the memory of their encounter. Her pussy clenched around the emptiness, and she found herself reaching down to touch herself, the water mixing with her arousal.

As she cleaned herself off, she felt a strange mix of emotions: guilt, fear, excitement, and desire. She knew she had to keep this a secret, that she couldn't let anyone know about her neighbor's dark gift. But as she stepped out of the shower, the scent of him still lingering on her skin, she couldn't help but wonder if she would ever be able to resist the temptation to feel his cock inside her again, to let him claim her in the most primal way possible. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she realized with a start that she was already planning their next rendezvous.

The sound of the door opening snapped her out of her reverie, and she rushed to dry off and put on her robe. Her husband's footsteps grew louder as he made his way to the living room, where she was hastily trying to clean up the evidence of her tryst. "Tzuyu, why is the floor wet?" he called out, his voice filled with confusion.

"I'm so sorry," she replied, her voice a mix of embarrassment and arousal as she stepped into the room. "I spilled some water from the garden hose when I was watering the plants." She hoped her lie was convincing enough to cover the reality of the situation.

Her husband looked at her with concern, noticing the flustered state she was in. "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes scanning her from head to toe.

Tzuyu forced a smile, her heart racing. "Yes, I'm fine," she lied, her voice quivering slightly. She bent down to wipe the floor, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. The wetness she had hoped was just water was unmistakable. It was y/n's cum, mixed with her squirt, a glaring reminder of the passionate encounter she had just experienced. She had to think quickly.

Ready for part 2? Just share ur ideas to me

#tzuyu smut #kpop smut #male reader #twice smut #gg smut #girl group smut

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brookghaib-blog · 1 month ago

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Masterlist

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

The ghost I left behind: I, II, III, IV, V, VI

Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

The ghost I left behind : One-shot

Summary: It’s Bob’s turn to watch baby Georgie without his mother for the afternoon while Y/N gets a rare, much-needed break—a hair appointment and solo coffee date she's been putting off for a year. She leaves Bob at the Watchtower with an overly detailed list, and a kiss on the cheek. Bob is confident to do it alone. He’s ready. He is not ready.

Silence between hearts: I, II, III, IV, V (discontinued)

Summary: After Project SENTRY fails, Robert Reynolds is declared dead and sealed in a glass coffin to be hidden by O.X.E. Y/N, a doctor who secretly fell in love with him after a complicated path between them, refuses to believe he’s gone—fighting to save what’s left of him while grief and denial consume her, the path to look for him would ruin her, but to what extreme.

The quiet things that remain: I, II

Summary: Bob and Y/N used to be the best of friends, he went to Malaysia to be better, only yo leave her just with a ghost in the past and unresponded messages and calls. And return, but never ti her. Never to the love she didn't had the courage to announce.

The Weight of Familiar Things

Summary: After breaking up in hig school, Y/N had never really moved on from the best relationship of her life with Bob after he disappear out of thin air. While working on her shift, Bob reappears the same away he went away.

The Dying Love of a Super-Soldier

Summary: After moving to Florida to live a normal life, Y/N had managed to achieve everything she wanted. Even after Bob and her being a complete failure that made her rot from the inside, leaving her heartbroken and unable to fully recover. Only a new, unexpected event would make her snap.

Loose Ends

Summary: Y/N and Bob meet at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting, both struggling with addiction. They form a deep bond that slowly grows into love. When Bob suddenly disappears, Y/N relapses and falls apart. Months later, Bob returns, determined to help her heal. Together, they face their pasts and find hope and love in each other’s arms.

It's Quiet Between the Stars

Summary: After surviving a lifetime of pain, addiction, and betrayal, Y/N begins the long road to healing with Bob—her anchor in the dark. Hidden away in the Watchtower, love grows between two broken souls as they learn that peace isn’t found—it’s built, moment by fragile moment.

Almost Loved: I, II, III, IV

Summary: Four months of dates, gave Y/N hope that she found the one after hopeless years, Bob looks in love, treats beautiful. There's one step that looks like it's coming. Until Bob breaks it off with her. Encountering each other a year and an half later. What happened ?

Silent arms

Summary: After a harrowing traumatic past and struggling to control her recently discovered powers, Y/N finds an unexpected refuge in Bob. Through patient care, quiet moments, and gentle love, Bob helps her rediscover trust and hope, and together they begin to heal from their broken pasts.

We Live in Venus: I, II ( on going )

Summary: Y/N has a sharp edge and a soft spot for her childhood best friend, Bob Reynolds, finds herself caught in a toxic rhythm of late nights, blurred lines, and broken promises. As Bob battles addiction and and his path in life, both loving each other way too much. Have you ever fell in love without knowing what love is?

Pairing: James 'Bucky' Barnes x reader

I Wish Tou Knew: I (on going)

Summary: After losing her husband under mysterious circumstances, Y/N builds a quiet life in Brooklyn, finding unexpected comfort in two neighbors: Yori and his friend Bucky Barnes. As her bond with Bucky deepens, she begins to heal—unaware that he’s hiding a dark secret: he was the one who killed her husband.

#robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes x reader #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts #marvel

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chrollohearttags · 5 months ago

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hard to breathe • portgas d. ace

seeing your ‘ex’ boyfriend ace one last time for closure..or so you thought. (based off of this song I’ve been obsessed with for months. It’s ‘old’ but I felt like it fit him and the vibe of this fic)

📝: black fem!reader, lots of relationship angst, modern au, heavy kissing, arguing + lots of dialogue, they’re slightly toxic ( y’all both ain’t shit I’m sorry 😭), riding, car sex, dirty talk, breeding, baby trapping (kinda), infidelity, hair pulling, pet names and daddy used, crying

wc: 4.1K

🎙️: I love writing my faves in a bunch of different scenarios, including ones that aren’t typical for their personality. This is in no way condoning toxicity, infidelity or anything of the sort. I just thought it would be a lil fun to experiment.

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“Where are you right now?”

“I should be with you..”

“You know that’s not a good idea..”

“Yeah, but it’s what we both want..who cares if it’s wrong or not?”

3:30am

the deep drawl on the other end of the line luring you in with each word..it always had a tendency to do so, even when you wished you could just ignore it.

“Ace, what the hell do you want from me? Stop this.”

“C’mon, babe. It’s the truth. Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty..what did I tell you? You’ve got to stop giving so much a damn about what other people think.”

“Go to hell. Not everyone can just mistreat people like it’s nothing.”

it was a shame honestly..this type of behavior was so unbecoming of both of you. A sweet girl who didn’t like to make much of a fuss for anyone or over anything. And him, the shining example of a stand up guy. Charming, kind, helpful, a little rough around the edges but what every man should strive to be. Yet here you were..whispering into the speaker of your phone as to not wake the one in the room next to you. A mere replacement to dull the ache in your heart caused by him and his stupidity. Meanwhile, he was chuckling in your ear. Seemingly teasing you because he could sense the tension in your shaky voice. He knew you’d bolt the second you heard a ruffle from the other room…but he also knew you’d never hang up. Knew you couldn’t resist answering in the first place and for damn sure, that you couldn’t resist his offer…

“I want to see you. I can be at your place in ten..”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? It’s late, Ace..and—“

“And what? Afraid your little boyfriend might wake up? I know it’s not because you don’t want to see me either.”

“You’re a piece of work, you know that? How dare you? You ended things, Ace. Not me. So why the fuck do you keep hitting me up?”

the line would fall silent for a moment..only the shallow echoes of your breath captured on the opposite end. That was until you’d hear a sigh and his voice once more. This time with a much less arrogant tone.

“Listen, (y/n)..I get it. I fucked up..it’s my fault things turned out this way and I’m sorry. I know I can’t go back or change anything that happened between us but I can try to make it right. Even if it means someone else gets to do what I couldn’t…I just wanted a chance to apologize. In person…which I should’ve been man enough to do from the jump.”

the things in question? Your relationship..a bond of three years to be exact and a union everyone was certain would end in the two of you walking down the aisle. However, life has a funny way of throwing even the biggest of curveballs. This man had all but swept you off your feet one night a few summers ago..both out with friends and enjoying the night life as young singles should. Drinking, laughing and having a blast. Even though you were a bit more on the reserved side, he still managed to spot you out of all the beautiful women in that club that night. And trust, a fair share of them had been vying for his attention. Even so, he couldn’t focus on anyone but you. That was one of Ace’s many wonderful qualities. In a room full of people, he managed to make you feel special..as if you were the only one there. Which wasn’t exactly intentional..his biggest issue was that he tried to be friendly, trying his hardest not to hurt anyone’s feelings anymore. He struggled with his anger quite a bit when he was younger, taking next to nothing to set him off and if he was in the midst of conversation with one person, it was best that no one else tried to interrupt. However, he realized that only caused trouble so he always tried to greet someone regardless. It just didn’t fare very well when it came to women. No girl wants someone that it seems everyone can access to!

But alas, you sat in that section next to him; nursing your drinks and exchanging pleasantries. He was so easy to talk to. He had this awkward yet charming charisma about him. Almost as if despite his good looks, he wasn’t the ‘ladies man’ you’d peg him to be off first glance. Somehow though, he managed to get your number and the rest was history. You began hanging out, going on a couple dates..even spending a weekend together after a bad storm trapped the two of you inside of his apartment. You really enjoyed being around him and as time passed, the bond grew stronger. Six months later, you came over to visit and found yourself greeted by smoke and an obviously frustrated Ace covered in soot..a result of him attempting to cook a dinner to formally ask you to be his girlfriend! It was those goofy yet sweet gestures that made you adore him.

perfectly flawed was the best way to describe him in your book…maybe he made mistakes and maybe he didn’t come from this picturesque family but he was a damn good guy doing his best to be better than what he was used to. He was a hard worker and willing to fight for what he wanted.

You cherished every moment you guys got to spend together and at one point, you even got matching tattoos of half hearts on each of your hands..however, things began to crumble in the once ideal world you had curated together.

going from laughing all the time to petty arguments that seemed intentional. From spending late nights together..making love until the sun shines over your bodies..now you were blowing up his phone to see where he was. You began to suspect that he was cheating. Perhaps somewhere with another woman. But you were wrong..truth be told, he was running.

running away from a healthy home and relationship because he didn’t know how to handle it. Didn’t know how to process being loved unconditionally without expecting the worst to happen…he never figured himself to be good enough for you to begin with but here you were..constantly showering him with affection; buying him gifts, making his favorite meals and even surprising him with massages after long, stressful days at work. You were everything he didn’t deserve! Hence why..he felt the need to blow it up before it could escalate. He couldn’t let you continue treating someone like him as if he were special. Three weeks later, he texted you asking to break up and to say you were devastated? Was an understatement. You loved this man so damned much, you had already begun looking at wedding dresses and contemplating baby names, figuring you guys were in this for the long run. But fairy tales don’t exist and you weren’t getting the story book ending. Instead, you were left heartbroken..trying to piece yourself back together and figure out what went wrong.

“Just one last time, that’s all I’m asking. I want to say I’m sorry and then I’m out of your hair for good, I promise. I won’t bother you ever again..”

a solid compromise, you supposed. Besides, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to look him in his eye and tell him to go fuck himself for how he fumbled you. He’d plead, calling your name until he got a response and finally:

“I’ll be in the lobby, call me when you get here.” Before disconnecting the line and releasing a heavy sigh. You fought back tears but in order for the next chapter of your life to begin, you had to finish this one. But the funny thing about some books…

is that they refused to remain closed!

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page break bc I don’t do filler

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“..it’s nice to see you again. You look beautiful as always—“

“Enough of the small talk. State your business and make it quick.”

the two of you sat parked outside of your luxury apartment complex, downstairs in the desolate parking garage. Your arms folded across your chest in a defensive manner and his stretched across the steering wheel..that goofy snark on his face as he kissed his teeth. He knew you were fighting so hard to stand firm in your boundaries, something you struggled with in the past. And truthfully, he hated to disrupt that peace…but he was selfish, gluttonous even. He wasn’t always this nice guy everyone saw him as. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too and if that meant he’d leave your head a mess once again then so be it. A fucked up sentiment but the truth nonetheless..

“…damn. It's like that then? Fair enough..”

turning in his seat, Ace shifted and focused his attention directly on you. It was hard to maintain eye contact because how could he face you after such a betrayal? Even so, this was his bed he made and it was time to lie in it.

“The truth is...I was afraid. One day, you’d wake up and realize that I wasn’t what you thought I was. That I was broken and I didn’t have my shit together. It’s like no matter what I did in my life, I found a way to fuck it up. Make a mess of things..I’m not like you, (y/n). Honestly, what could you possibly see in me? Don’t you want someone who’s your equal?”

by this time, tears were beginning to swell in his eyes as well. The more he spoke, he realized that these feelings of insecurity were always within him. You promised yourself that you were just going to give him a piece of your mind, storm out and never have to see him again. But it was never that easy with this man.

you knew he was genuine and not just trying to victimize himself. He honestly felt like you could do so much better. But he also knew by the look in your eyes that you were not going to let him get away so easily.. You didn’t hate him, hell, you couldn’t even bring yourself to fully get angry with him for what he did. Looking down, Ace would begin to chuckle; a weird coping mechanism for him in times of stress and uttered the last words you wanted to hear.

“And after all this time, all the bullshit I put you through..you still love me, don’t you? That’s the only reason you’re still sitting here..the only reason you didn’t hang up. When you’re done with something, you never give it a second thought.” sitting cross armed, you’d begin to laugh. Not at his hurt but at the fact that for the first time in almost five years of knowing him, you saw him show genuine, raw emotion. You saw him finally let down his guard and be himself…as sad as it was, it was a bit cathartic.

“Wow…so you are capable of communicating your feelings and there isn’t a ten foot wall of bullshit in that head of yours.” Poking the side of his temple playfully..

“Of course I love you. I never stopped, you inconsiderate jackass. What did I ever do to you? That’s all I could ask myself. You keep talking about me deserving better and all of this bullshit..who gave you the right to decide what I wanted and what I deserve? Shouldn’t I have a say too? You left because it was easy, Ace. Instead of working through it with me, you ran because you don’t want anyone thinking you’re weak. That’s not how relationships work..we’re supposed to see each other at our worst, our best..good and bad days. If you feel insecure about anything, you did it to yourself because you were perfect to me and you know damn well I never made you feel anything less than.”

those words stung like none other. And honestly, no matter what he said, there wasn’t a good enough excuse for any of his behavior. You said it best..he was selfish, immature and didn’t think clearly. Ace had a knack for marching to the beat of his own drum and damn the consequences.

“..you’re right, (y/n). It’s my fault..and I can’t take any of it back…” suddenly, you’d feel his hand clutch the top of your own, intertwining your fingers as he stared you in the eye.

“..but I can try to fix it. Fix us..let me make this right. Please…if you’re happier with someone else, then there’s nothing I can do. But—“ In that moment, (y/n) had finally heard all that you could take. Reaching over the console, you’d clutch his face in your palm and shove your lips together. The sensation of that warm kiss sent a surge throughout your body..a spark you hadn’t felt since the day he left.

“Are you done? God, I swear you talk too damn much.” Prompting him to laugh as you held the side of his face. He was a little taken aback by your sudden dominance. Not knowing you to ever take control like this but he wasn’t mad about it one bit..

“..why’d you kiss me? What about your boyfriend?” A question as disrespectful as it was rhetorical.

“You’re as dumb as you are cute sometimes. You think I came all the way out here at three am to chit chat? Nut uh, you owe me..also, you’re a greedy bastard. No way you’re letting me go back in that apartment unless it’s with you." By this time, your hands were roaming his chest and your faces were only inches apart. His lips would curl into a sheepish grin before his palm snaked to the back of your neck, tugging your head towards him.

“..what can I say, babe? I’m just too damn stubborn..I always have to get my way.” And with that, you’d find your tongues joined together again. Twirling around one another with heavy whimpers mixed in. Suddenly, you’d find yourself crawling into the driver's seat and onto his lap. Just as you’d suspected, he’d worn those gray sweats you’d always loved to see him in and a black tank top to display his muscles, along with a newly acquired tattoo.

This man was not slick at all! Even so, his little tactic worked because all those memories of late nights and early mornings with him came rushing back. When you’d find yourself sneaking out on lunch breaks at work just to come eat his dick up or when he’d show up at your apartment around midnight because he’d work the closing shift again. With a bottle of wine and the intention of putting you through the mattress in every position after two glasses got you turned on. It was always exciting and spontaneous with Ace, something your ‘new man’ lacked. Slowly winding in his lap as you continued to make out, (y/n) caressed his torso..missing the familiar touch of his skin, taking in the scent of his cologne and immersing yourself in him. He’d run his thumbs across your throat, gently squeezing as you took his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You’re so beautiful..I missed you.” “Yeah? You missed me, baby?” Teasing him as you bounced your ass against his crotch, subtly twerking on his visible bulge. Caressing your gentle fingertips across his freshly shaven jawline. You could feel him growing harder underneath him and knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. Even kissing on his neck and licking on his jugular. “Mmmm..fuck. Pull that dress up and I’ll show you just how much.” Without a single bit of hesitation, you lifted the hem and allowed your bare cheeks and slit to graze him. Shuffling around underneath you, Ace slid his thumbs into the sides of those sweats, letting them pool around his waist. Meanwhile, he couldn’t stop marking your neck and lips with tender kisses..or apologizing for how stupid he was! Being here with you again brought back a flood of memories and emotions..ones that he never wanted to lose again. He needed this to be real once more. However, you weren’t much for talking right now..if he wanted to win his girl back, all you needed were actions.

“Why are you still talking? Just fuck the shit out of me before I grow a conscience and change my mind.” Your command being heard loud and clear; forcing him to grip your waist and balance you above that aching tip. Swollen red and seeping with precum, he was eager for you and that warm cunt was welcoming him in.

“Yes ma’am..whatever you say.” Following up his remark with a toothy smirk so you knew he was going to deliver and give you exactly what you were looking for. (Y/N) reclined against the steering wheel for a moment as he slowly infiltrated that entrance. That core drooling as he made home inside of you. Both of your heads fell backwards in a haze of pleasure…enjoying the all too familiar feeling of being one!

“Shiiit..why are so fucking tight? Oh my gosh..” those breathy moans and whines escaped his mouth the second he began thrusting. Not even two pumps in and he was trying to maintain his composure. With you though, he failed pretty quick. Reacclimating to the warmth that was your insides was going to be a challenge. Even so, he’d continue to guide you up and down on his shaft, letting that thick cock stretch open those wet folds.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Take this dick…just like that..” Meanwhile, (y/n)’s mouth fell ajar, overstimulated by the sensation already. You’d paw at his chest, holding onto him as he maneuvered you to his liking. Using your body like that of a flesh light. “’s so good. Missed this big fucking dick.” Hearing those words elicited another chuckle from Ace, prompting him to cradle the back of your neck in a dominant manner, pulling you close. “Yeah? Your little boyfriend ever fuck you like this?” Questioning through clenched teeth as he continued guiding your lower half..

those soft insides wrapping around him with each stroke. You’d then feel the tight clutch of his hand on the back of your head, tugging at those freshly styled wefts coursing down your back..he was aware of the minute fortune you spent each month to upkeep your beauty. From the thousand dollar hair appointments, nail salon visits and waxes..even so, he didn’t give a damn! Turning his gorgeous girl into a sloppy slut was his favorite pastime. A toothy grin on his face, watching your swollen tits bounce and drool seep from the corners of your mouth, along with the loud moans following suit.

“..I’ll take that as a no. You’re squeezing me like you haven’t come in ages, babe.” Those taunts harbored more truth than you’d care to admit. As shameful as it was to be cheating, you’d never be happy with someone who couldn’t give you a nut! Hypocritical as it was abhorrent, you too would never be satisfied until you got what you desired. And that desire was the guy slamming balls deep up inside of you at the moment. Pounding that sensitive little core..letting that fat mushroom tip split you open and begging for that sweet cunt to siphon him for every last drop of cum he had. “You’re fucking dripping..you must’ve needed this bad. Goddamn..” referring to the creamy release you had drizzling his cock. Making a mess of his lap. “Y—yeah..you’re the only one who can make me cream like this.” Cock drunk and giggling as he catapulted you up and down. The vehicle began to sway due to the heavy activity taking place and the windows also began to fog up as a result. That’s when you’d feel his palms colliding with your asscheeks, egging on your bouncing. It was in the midst of those heavy handed smacks that he’d begin pleading his remorse. Telling you how sorry he was for how he mistreated you. As cute as it was, you weren’t interested in any half assed apologies, but rather….

”…if you’re really sorry, you’ll nut in me. This is your pussy so act like it..” Uttering those words with a wide smile on your face whilst meeting his strokes with heavy bounces..nearly made Ace convulse. He loved when you spoke to him in such a domineering manner. You’d feel a sudden twitch inside of you and his hands guiding you as you slammed down on that cock. Your cheeks grazing the outer rim of the steering wheel..both of you so close to your peak that you’d claw into one another’s skin.

Covered in a sheen of sweat and saliva..begging the other to get you there and revealing all of your deepest confessions for one another..including the fact that he wanted you to be his forever and that you weren’t leaving this parking lot without him. You’d clearly chosen who you wanted to be with.

“…damn right it’s my pussy, princess. I don’t care who you bring home. You belong to me and I belong to you..no one else can come between that. Ever again.”

not to mention..you were begging for his cum yet again. You’d often divulge in the throes of pre-climatic bliss that you wanted to have his kid..be so full of his seed that there was no way you weren’t pregnant and Ace certainly had no objections to it. Maybe it was the sensation of being cream pied or the fact that you really wanted a family with him. Either way, he constantly fantasized about seeing you full with his seed; how adorable you’d look with a bump and he just couldn’t maintain his composure.

“Yes..please come in me. Want your baby—“ having to laugh again at how cute and pathetic you were becoming. But alas, there was no room for shame right now. You’d plead with your last breath to feel that womb stuffed again.

“That right, gorgeous? Does my pretty girl want me to get her pregnant?..” “Yes, nut in this fucking pussy, daddy. Please!” certainly a far cry from the headstrong woman who was yelling at him before. Now, you were reduced to a desperate little cumslut, pleading to be bred. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long. After experiencing your second orgasm in close succession, Ace would pin you down and force his cock up into you, going as fast as he could muster. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna take every drop. You’re going to have my baby and I’m going to take such good care of you both. Gonna marry you—be a better man this time around..” That soft flesh ricocheting as a result..loud grunts and curse words filling the car as he prepared to do the same to you.

“M fucking coming, babe! Hold still—shit!—“ in that moment, that orgasm would rip through his body and just as you requested, all of his warm seed coursed through your insides and didn’t stop for a solid two minutes..having not had a proper orgasm since you guys split up. He was still twitching inside of you, holding you to his chest as you both cried from how amazing it felt. Tears on both of your faces as a result of ecstasy.

“Damn, I guess I wasn’t the only one who needed that.” Teasing him amidst your cute giggles. Leaning up, (y/n) kissed the tip of his nose and caressed his cheek..unable to believe that you were here with him again. He’d gently stroke the side of your face as well..glaring at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you, (y/n)..so much. I never thought I’d get the chance to tell you that again. Feels so good.” And you shared his sentiment. He was the only one it ever felt genuine from and damn sure, the only guy you meant it to. Any guilt or shame had long since absolved and you knew this was exactly where you should’ve been. ”I love you too, Ace. I’m so glad you showed up.” It was going to be a long day, as you had some explaining to do. But for now..

“Shit..he’s calling me.”

“Ignore it..let me hold you a little bit longer, okay?”

you wanted to remain in this moment for as long as possible. After all, this is where you were happiest and there was no one who’d give you the high that he could.

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catiroll · 6 months ago

Text

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ

Ambessa Medarda x Personal Assistant Reader

Synopsis: Her protective and possessive side shows when you want to leave her side. A/N: Contains possessive behavior, Manipulation, Power dynamic, Alittle sexual tension. also hint of yandere behavoir. Reader is younger than her

You had always been more than just a tailor to Ambessa. From the very first time you entered her life, you had become something irreplaceable—not only to her but to her daughter Mel as well.

You weren’t as young as Mel, but you were closer to her age than Ambessa’s, a few years older, just enough to serve as a bridge between the ferocity of bessa and the fragility of Mel’s youthful spirit. Your bond with Mel had always been gentle—nurturing, protective, and maternal in a way that Ambessa was never able to provide. While Ambessa’s presence in Mel’s life was powerful, intimidating, and sometimes suffocating, you had quietly stood in the background, a safe haven when Mel needed someone to lean on.

You were the one who had whispered to her when she was struggling with a design, the one who had reassured her when her dreams seemed too big for this world. You were there on the days when Mel couldn’t approach her mother, when Ambessa’s fierce nature pushed her too far away, leaving Mel to retreat into herself.

Your relationship with Ambessa, however, was a different matter entirely. You were more than just a confidante, more than someone who crafted her most beautiful and lethal designs—you were her family, her trusted ally. You’d stood by her side for years, helping to shape her image and her empire, and over time, you’d become as indispensable to her as she was to you.

But it was your role as a mother figure to Mel that set you apart, the one thing that had always been a subtle thorn in Ambessa’s side. She had never let anyone get too close to her daughter, never trusted anyone with Mel in quite the same way. Yet, somehow, you had slipped through the cracks. You had earned that trust—not with grand gestures or fiery speeches, but with quiet devotion and years of loyalty.

For years, you had been a constant in both their lives, a silent protector for Mel and a quiet but irreplaceable ally for bessa. It was a delicate balance, one that you had always maintained without truly questioning it. But lately, something had shifted. You could feel it—a slow burn building under the surface, a need to break free and see what else the world had to offer.

It was a late afternoon when bessa arrived for a fitting. She walked into your studio with the same imposing presence she always carried, her steps measured, her eyes sharp. Yet today, something about her demeanor was different, more tense, as if the usual calm confidence she exuded was laced with something unspoken.

she reached for the fabric you were smoothing over her body. She didn’t speak immediately but instead let the moment stretch, her eyes watching your hands. Ambessa’s gaze softened, and a faint smile tugged at her lips.

You were adjusting the hem of one of her gowns when she spoke, her voice breaking the silence in a way that caught your attention.

"You have such gentle hands," she said, her voice unexpectedly tender. "I love how your smaller hands mold the fabric to me... it’s like you’re shaping not just the gown, but something deeper. Your touch is... different. It’s like you hold the power, even in these delicate movements."

You froze, momentarily caught off guard by the praise. It felt heavier than usual, as though her words weren’t just about your skill with fabric, but something more personal. The sensation of her words lingered in the air, and you felt the weight of the trust she placed in you.

"…although, You’ve been distant lately," she said, her tone casual, but there was an edge there. "What’s going on with you?"

Ambessa stepped a little closer as you continued to adjust the gown. Her muscles shifted beneath the fabric, and you couldn’t help but notice how the strength in her body contrasted with your own gentleness. Your fingers brushed lightly over her skin as you continued your work, but this time, the touch felt charged. You tried to block out the growing sense of desire, but her presence, her body, made it hard to focus. She was right—there was power in these small movements, in the way you shaped her, the way she allowed you to.

You straightened up, meeting her eyes. "Nothing," you replied easily, but your voice betrayed you. The exhaustion in your tone was unmistakable, something Ambessa always noticed. "Just... thinking."

She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Thinking?" she repeated, as if the word itself didn’t quite fit. "About what?"

You set the fabric aside, your fingers brushing against the soft silk as you turned to face her fully. "About the future," you said, your voice steady despite the undercurrent of uncertainty within you. "I’ve been doing this for years, Ambessa. It’s not that I’m tired of it—it’s just... I’m starting to wonder if there’s more out there for me."

Ambessa tilted her head slightly, her gaze never leaving you. She was sharp, perceptive, and you knew the moment she realized what you were getting at. "More?" she echoed, her voice quiet but laced with something darker. "Are you saying you want to leave?"

You shook your head, trying to ease the tension. "No. I’m not saying that. I just..." You paused, trying to find the right words. "I want a new challenge. Something else to work toward. Something different."

"you sound like mel" she said faintly, more like she was saying it to herself. understanding this you ignore the comment.

Meeting the older women’s gaze you notice how she’s studying you with that sharp, calculating gaze. You could feel her eyes tracing the lines of your body, picking up every detail, every nuance in your behavior.

“What could you possibly need that I don’t already provide?" she asked, her tone suddenly sharp, like a blade hidden beneath velvet. Her eyes flickered with something that resembled anger—then something else, something harder, darker.

You met her gaze, unfazed by her sudden shift in attitude. "Nothing," you said, your voice even. "But I’m not just a tailor. I want to push myself further. Explore what else is out there."

Ambessa’s silence was thick, and you could feel her studying you, her calculating gaze boring into you as though trying to dissect the very essence of your words. "You’ve been with me for so long," she said slowly, each word heavy with meaning. "I’ve trusted you, depended on you. And now, you’re telling me you want more? What does that mean for us?"

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you turned back to the gown, letting the silence hang between you. The air felt thick now, the quiet oppressive, like the calm before a storm.

"You’re not going anywhere," Ambessa finally said, her voice a low growl, her presence more forceful now, as though trying to anchor you in place. "You belong here. You belong with me."

Her words rang out with an undeniable authority, and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of them—the possessiveness in her voice, the unspoken claim she laid on you. It was a truth you had known for years: Ambessa didn’t take kindly to anyone she considered hers stepping away. You had become too entwined in her life, in her world, to simply walk away without consequence.

You tried to ease the tension, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I’m not leaving, Ambessa. I’m just... considering my options. It’s not about you. It’s about me."

Her gaze softened ever so slightly, but the tightness in her jaw remained. "I won’t let you go," she murmured, her words almost a promise. "You’ve been with me for too long. You’ve helped me build this. You are mine, and I won’t let anyone take you from me."

You knew then, in that moment, that she wasn’t just talking about the work. She wasn’t just talking about the gowns you created for her. Ambessa was speaking of something deeper—something far more dangerous. She was speaking about possession.

You tried to ease the tension, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I’m not leaving, Ambessa. I’m just... considering my options. It’s not about you. It’s about me."

Ambessa’s gaze softened ever so slightly, but the tightness in her jaw remained. "I won’t let you go," she murmured, her words almost a promise. "You’ve been with me for too long. You’ve helped me build this. You are mine, and I won’t let anyone take you from me."

Every glance, every word, felt weighted with something unspoken, a quiet understanding that things were changing. She could feel it, and so could you.

And so, when she invited you over for dinner that evening—an offer that had once been casual, familiar—you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. There was an unspoken challenge in the air, a game being played without either of you fully acknowledging it.

As you arrived at her estate, the familiar scents of cooking wafted through the air, but there was an unusual stillness to the house. Ambessa had already set the table, the atmosphere quieter than usual, and you could tell she was waiting for something—waiting for you to make a move, to finally say the words that had been hanging between you for days.

Dinner passed in relative silence, save for the occasional clink of silverware against porcelain. The food was delicious, as always, but there was something off about the whole evening, an underlying tension that neither of you could ignore. You felt it in the way Ambessa’s gaze lingered on you, how her eyes followed every movement you made. It was as though she was waiting for you to finally let the mask slip and reveal your true thoughts. But you weren’t ready to speak the words yet.

The silence stretched on, filling the space between you both, until the last plate was cleared. Ambessa’s voice broke the stillness again, her words carefully measured, but the sharpness in them was unmistakable.

"You still haven’t told me what this... new challenge of yours is," she said, her voice soft but edged with a possessiveness that sent a ripple of unease down your spine. She wasn’t asking out of curiosity anymore. She was testing you, trying to push you into revealing what had been hanging over you like a shadow.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers lightly tapping on the edge of your glass as you weighed your words. "I’ve been thinking of working with someone else. Maybe... someone who needs a new direction. Someone who needs my skills, my creativity. Something different."

Ambessa’s hand froze on her glass, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around the stem. The subtle shift in her demeanor was enough to make your heart race. Her eyes, once warm and steady, were now colder, sharper, calculating. There was a moment where the world seemed to stop, where you could feel the pressure in the air growing heavier, as though she was waiting for something more, something she knew she might not like.

"What do you mean? Who is this ‘someone’?" she asked, her voice cold now, laced with a possessive edge. "Who else could possibly need you more than I do?"

You knew that the question wasn’t as much about the "someone" as it was about your answer. She wanted to know where your loyalty truly lay. The words hung in the air, and you found yourself considering just how much you were willing to reveal.

"I’m not sure yet," you said, your voice steady, but there was a subtle edge of defiance in it. "But I have to find out. For myself."

Ambessa’s gaze didn’t waver. Her eyes narrowed, and the familiar storm cloud you had been anticipating began to form behind her composed exterior. She leaned forward just a fraction, her gaze darkening. The silence between you now was thick and suffocating, and you could feel her struggle to maintain control.

A thought flitted through your mind—a fleeting image of someone who had been in touch with you recently, Cassandra Kirriman. You hadn’t spoken about it aloud, but the idea of working with her, moving to Piltover, was starting to seem more appealing. The prospect of a new challenge, a fresh environment, of doing something entirely different was becoming increasingly tempting. You hadn’t voiced it, but it had been there—something in the back of your mind. You didn’t have a specific person or place in mind, but Piltover… it felt like it could be the place where you could carve out a new path.

Ambessa’s sharp eyes caught the fleeting thought in your gaze, the shift in your posture. Her lips pressed together into a thin line. The quiet understanding between you felt like it was cracking.

She was aware of your connection with Cassandra, of course. You had kept it brief, but Ambessa, ever observant, had picked up on the mentions, the small exchanges between you and the Kirriman family. Piltover. The city that had lured her daughter away. The city that had taken what Ambessa had treasured most. That realization was the turning point, the unspoken truth that hit her like a wave.

But Ambessa didn’t say it aloud. She couldn’t bring herself to. Not in front of you. Not yet. The connection was too raw, too personal. Her daughter had left for Piltover, leaving Ambessa to wrestle with the hollow ache of abandonment, a feeling she hadn’t been able to name until now. And now, here you were, talking about leaving—not for another person or nation, but for Piltover. The idea twisted in her chest. She didn’t want to admit how it stung, how it felt like a betrayal of the same kind she had experienced years ago.

Her voice, though still soft, became more insistent. "If you leave me," she whispered, her words almost a warning, a final threat laced with the kind of sorrow that could only be felt by someone who had already been left behind once before, "I won’t let you go. I will make sure of it."

" we will see"

Masterlist

#ambessa x reader #arcane season two #arcane #sevika #sevika x reader #ambessa medarda #arcane medarda #jinx arcane #greyson arcane #caitlyn kiramman #cassandra kiramman #arcane ambessa #ambessa league of legends #mel and ambessa #yandere x reader #yandere arcane

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2b4st4r · 8 days ago

Note

i've been loving the stories you put out and just saw you opened your requests, so i'd be super excited to see you write this!

Reader is a female marine and asked to join the strawhats undercover so she could win their trust and bring them to the government.

she fits right in and feels actually accepted for the first time in her life, and struggles more and more with the fact that she‘s supposed to betray them.

She falls in love with zoro along the way and the night she realizes that, she leaves, leaving only a note to tell them the truth about who she is and how she’s sorry for lying to them. she wants to face her punishment from the marines and ends up in prison for treason.

they show up to rescue her, luffy asks her if she wants to joyn the crew and her and zoro end up together. (maybe some smut where he makes her apologize for leaving)

Hope you like it and have fun writing!

⋆✴︎Oath of the Sea ✴︎˚

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Strawhat Pirates x Reader

MINORS DNI

˙⋆✮ Words: 17,167

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Warnings: Graphic violance, injury, torture(interrogation), emotional manipulation, control, past of child solider, trauma, eventual smut, praise, male and female, female reader, use of y/n.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! i know i wrote a lot.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The relentless sun beat down on Marineford, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. "Undercover," the Vice Admiral had stated, his voice a low rumble. "You'll embed yourself with the Straw Hat Pirates. Gain their trust, learn their weaknesses, and when the time is right, deliver them to us." The words were a cold, calculated strike, each one echoing the years you'd dedicated to the Marines. You were Y/N, a prodigy in infiltration and espionage, a ghost in the shadows who could charm a pirate king and dismantle an empire with a whisper. This was your life, your purpose. You weren't supposed to care.

But it didn't go that way.

The Straw Hats. They had welcomed you, a stranger, with open arms and boisterous laughter. As their quartermaster, your days became a whirlwind of balancing supplies, managing inventory, and ensuring the Going Merry – and later, the Thousand Sunny – was always shipshape. It was a role you excelled at, bringing a meticulous order to their charming chaos.

Luffy, their captain, a force of nature wrapped in a rubber body, saw only the good in you, his unwavering trust a constant, disarming warmth. Zoro, the taciturn swordsman, grunted his approval during training sessions, a silent respect forging a bond between two formidable fighters. Nami, the navigator with a quick wit and an even quicker temper, taught you the intricacies of the Grand Line's unpredictable weather, her sharp mind a match for your own. Usopp, the cowardly sniper, confided in you his wildest dreams and deepest fears, his vulnerability pulling at a thread you didn't know existed. Sanji, the lovesick chef, cooked you meals that were more works of art than sustenance, his devotion to the crew evident in every dish. Chopper, the adorable doctor, would often snuggle up to you during night watches, his innocent trust a painful reminder of your deception. Robin, the quiet archaeologist, shared ancient tales and thoughtful insights, her calm wisdom a soothing presence. Franky, the eccentric shipwright, reveled in showing you his latest "super" inventions, his boundless enthusiasm infectious. Brook, the musical skeleton, entertained you with his bizarre jokes and soulful tunes, his appreciation for life infectious even in undeath. And Jinbe, the newest addition, extended a paternal warmth, his wise counsel a steady anchor in the unpredictable seas.

They were your crew. Your family. And you, the marine agent, the one sent to betray them, had fallen irrevocably in love. Every shared laugh, every desperate battle, every quiet moment under the vast, star-strewn sky had chipped away at your resolve, replacing it with a loyalty you never anticipated. The mission, once your sole focus, now felt like a lead weight in your stomach, a ticking time bomb threatening to shatter the most precious thing you’d ever known.

The weight of your deception pressed down on you, a physical ache in your chest that no amount of sea air could alleviate. Guilt, a bitter, unfamiliar taste, coated your tongue with every shared laugh, every late-night watch, every moment of genuine connection. You were a phantom limb, an integral part of their crew, yet entirely separate, living a lie that threatened to unravel everything. How could you, the consummate professional, the one who prided herself on emotional detachment, have allowed this to happen? How could you have fallen for the very people you were tasked to destroy?

A Heavy Heart Among Friends

Luffy was the most dangerous, not because of his power, but because of his boundless, unwavering trust. He’d often throw an arm around your shoulders, a wide, infectious grin on his face as he declared, "Y/N, you're the best quartermaster! We're so lucky to have you!" Each declaration was a fresh wound, twisting the knife of your betrayal. You remembered one sweltering afternoon, he’d insisted on helping you reorganize the storage room, humming off-key sea shanties and joyfully tossing crates around. You’d laughed, a genuine, unforced sound, as he nearly toppled a stack of barrels. In that moment, you weren't an undercover agent; you were simply Y/N, part of his absurd, wonderful crew. The thought of delivering him to a cage, of extinguishing that vibrant spark, made your stomach clench.

Zoro. With him, the guilt was a different beast entirely, tinged with a confusing, exhilarating warmth. Your initial interactions had been terse, a mutual respect forged in shared training sessions. But as the days bled into weeks, those grunts turned into low murmurs, and the silent understanding morphed into something undeniably deeper. You’d often find yourselves on the deck late at night, the only sounds the creak of the ship and the gentle lapping of waves. One night, after a particularly grueling session where you’d both pushed each other to your limits, he’d simply leaned against the mast beside you, his presence a comforting weight. "You're strong, Y/N," he’d mumbled, his voice rough. Your heart had done a strange flip, and you’d found yourself leaning slightly into his space, the unspoken current between you almost palpable. He was a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes – the way he’d subtly position himself between you and potential threats, the almost imperceptible softening of his gaze when he looked at you. You knew, with a terrifying certainty, that you were falling for him, and the idea of shattering that nascent trust, of seeing the betrayal in his eyes, was a torment you weren't sure you could bear. Your duty demanded you deliver him, but every fiber of your being screamed to protect him.

Nami, sharp and perceptive, occasionally gave you a look that made your blood run cold, as if she could see right through your carefully constructed facade. Yet, she also shared her dreams of mapping the world, her vulnerabilities, and her fierce protectiveness of the crew. You remembered her meticulously drawing a new section of their map, her brow furrowed in concentration. "It's a big world, Y/N," she'd said, "and we're going to see all of it." The sheer joy and ambition in her voice made you wince, thinking of the maps she'd never finish if you succeeded in your mission.

Usopp, despite his dramatics, had an earnest heart. He’d often come to you with his latest invention ideas, eyes wide with excitement. You’d patiently listen, offering practical advice and genuine encouragement, something he seemed to genuinely appreciate. He saw you as a friend, a steady presence, and the thought of destroying that innocent belief was a cruel twist of the knife.

Sanji, ever the gentleman, treated you with an almost deferential respect, always ensuring your plate was full and your glass never empty. He’d frequently offer you special desserts, a silent offering of his care. You knew his loyalty to his friends was absolute, and the idea of being the one to tear his world apart, to break his trust in such a fundamental way, was horrifying.

Chopper, with his innocent, trusting nature, burrowed deep into your heart. He often came to you for comfort after a particularly scary encounter, burying his face in your side. You'd gently stroke his fur, the warmth of his small body a stark contrast to the icy dread in your own. How could you hurt something so pure, so utterly vulnerable?

Robin, with her quiet wisdom and discerning eyes, seemed to possess an almost supernatural ability to see beyond facades. Yet, she always treated you with a serene acceptance, sharing tales of history and offering insightful observations. There were moments when her gaze lingered on you, a knowing glint in her eye, and you’d brace yourself, certain she’d uncovered your secret. But she never spoke of it, and her continued kindness only deepened your internal conflict.

Franky, boisterous and unapologetically eccentric, brought a surge of energy to the ship. He’d often show off his latest “SUPER!” upgrades to the Sunny, his enthusiasm infectious. You found yourself genuinely admiring his passion and dedication to the ship, the very vessel you were supposed to lead to its capture.

Brook, with his gags and his music, was a constant source of amusement. He’d often play a song just for you, his skeletal fingers dancing across the strings. You’d find yourself swaying to the rhythm, momentarily forgetting the grim reality of your situation. He was so full of life, despite being undead, and the thought of silencing his music forever was a bitter pill to swallow.

Jinbe, the stoic yet profoundly kind fish-man, offered a quiet strength and wisdom. He treated you with the same deep respect he showed to all his nakama. You remembered him offering you advice during a particularly difficult storm, his calm voice a steadying presence amidst the chaos. He saw you as a valuable member of the crew, and betraying that earned trust felt like a moral failing of monumental proportions.

It was during a routine supply run on a bustling island port, the vibrant sounds and smells assaulting your senses, that the full weight of your duty crashed down. Luffy, Zoro, and Usopp were off exploring a local market, their laughter echoing in the distance. Nami was haggling over prices with a merchant, her voice carrying across the square. You were meticulously checking a manifest, ensuring all the ordered provisions were accounted for, when a familiar marine uniform caught your eye. A low-ranking officer, one you vaguely recognized from your time at Marineford, walked past, completely oblivious to your presence.

In that moment, the two worlds you inhabited collided with sickening force. Here, you were Y/N, the Straw Hats’ quartermaster, surrounded by the lively chaos of your crew, a warmth spreading through you that you never knew you craved. But that marine, that uniform, was a stark reminder of who you truly were, of the mission that had brought you here, of the life you had carefully constructed and were now poised to shatter. The laughter of your friends, once a joyous sound, now felt like a taunt, each peal a reminder of the impending destruction you would unleash.

Your hand instinctively went to the small, discreet transponder hidden beneath your sleeve. It was charged, ready. You could send the signal, right now. Alert the fleet. The Straw Hats were scattered, unsuspecting, vulnerable. This was your chance. This was what you had trained for, what you were.

But your fingers trembled, hovering over the activation button. The faces of your crew flashed before your eyes: Luffy’s unshakeable grin, Zoro’s intense gaze, Nami’s knowing smile, Usopp’s wide-eyed wonder, Sanji’s devoted service, Chopper’s innocent trust, Robin’s serene wisdom, Franky’s exuberant "SUPER!", Brook’s soulful music, and Jinbe’s quiet strength. And Zoro… the way his hand had brushed yours earlier that day, the silent acknowledgment in his eyes.

The choice, once so clear, was now a agonizing torment. You were Y/N, the marine, the infiltrator, bound by duty and years of loyalty to the government. But you were also Y/N, the quartermaster, the friend, the person who had grown to love these pirates, this chaotic, beautiful family. One path led to success, promotion, and the fulfillment of your mission. The other… the other led to a betrayal of everything you had unexpectedly come to cherish. The salt tang of the sea air suddenly tasted like ash. You had to choose. And you knew, with a sickening certainty, that no matter what you did, you would never be whole again.

Your breath hitched. The marine officer, engrossed in a conversation with a local vendor, was closer than you liked, his back to you, but his presence was an electric jolt of danger. Your blood ran cold, then roared through your veins. This was it. The moment of truth. You could act now. Deliver them. Fulfill your mission.

But your feet remained rooted to the spot. The manifest in your hand felt impossibly heavy. The vibrant market, moments ago a symphony of life, now seemed to press in on you, every sound amplified, every scent an assault. Your eyes darted around, searching for an escape, a way to disappear. This wasn't how you wanted it to happen, not like this, not with their laughter still ringing in your ears.

Suddenly, a playful shout cut through the tension. "Y/N! Look at this!"

It was Luffy, barreling towards you, a ridiculous, oversized straw hat perched precariously on his head, followed by a chuckling Zoro and an exasperated Usopp. They were oblivious, utterly unaware of the razor's edge you stood on. Panic flared, sharp and immediate. The marine officer might turn. He might see you. He might recognize you.

Without a second thought, you spun on your heel, dragging a bewildered Luffy behind you and ducking behind a towering stack of fish barrels. The stench was overwhelming, but you barely registered it. You pressed yourself against the rough wood, pulling Luffy down with you, his confused "Huh?" muffled against your side. Zoro and Usopp, seeing your sudden movement, quickly followed suit, their faces a mixture of surprise and concern.

"Y/N? What's wrong?" Usopp whispered, peering over the barrels.

"Shh!" you hissed, your voice barely audible, your heart hammering against your ribs. You risked a glance around the barrel. The marine officer was still there, now gesturing animatedly at something the vendor was holding. He was so close you could almost feel his presence. Too close. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, the frantic rhythm of your pulse deafening in your ears.

"Did you see something?" Zoro murmured, his hand already on the hilt of Wado Ichimonji, his senses always on high alert.

You shook your head, unable to trust your voice. "Just... thought I saw someone I knew," you managed, the lie tasting like ash. You could feel Luffy's curious gaze on you, and for a terrifying second, you thought he might pipe up, blowing your cover. But he remained quiet, sensing the sudden shift in your demeanor.

The minutes stretched into an eternity. Each second was a slow, agonizing drip of dread. You heard the marine officer's footsteps, then his voice, fading as he moved further down the street. You waited, counting to twenty, then thirty, before finally daring to peek out again. He was gone.

A wave of dizzying relief washed over you, so potent it almost buckled your knees. You sagged against the barrels, letting out a shaky breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

"You okay, Y/N?" Luffy asked, his innocent face etched with concern.

You forced a weak smile. "Yeah, Luffy. Just... a little jumpy today, I guess." You pushed yourself up, trying to compose your features, but your hands were still trembling. The close call had rattled you to your core. It was a stark, terrifying reminder of the tightrope you walked, of the constant threat of exposure, and of the irreversible choice that loomed over you. The government was always closer than you thought, and your time was running out.

The near miss in the market didn’t just leave you rattled; it ignited a simmering anxiety that tightened its grip with each passing day. Every unexpected shadow, every distant marine vessel, every new island they anchored at sent a jolt of ice through your veins. The world, once a vibrant tapestry, now felt like a minefield. You found yourself constantly scanning horizons, your senses on high alert, the casual ease you once displayed replaced by a subtle, almost imperceptible tension.

The guilt, a constant, gnawing presence, had morphed from a dull ache into a sharp, relentless pain. It was a suffocating blanket that wrapped around you in the quiet moments, during your solitary watches under the vast, uncaring sky, or when you finally retreated to your small, private corner of the ship. Alone in the dim light, the faces of your unsuspecting crew would swim before your eyes. Luffy’s boundless optimism felt like a mirror reflecting your own cynicism. Nami’s fierce protectiveness of their freedom echoed the chains you were meant to forge for them. Chopper’s innocent trust was a dagger to your heart. You’d clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms, desperate for a physical pain to distract from the emotional torment.

You tried to rationalize it. This is for the greater good. They're pirates, after all. Criminals. But the words rang hollow, thin excuses against the vibrant reality of their laughter, their loyalty, their unwavering belief in each other. You were an elite operative, trained to compartmentalize, to execute without hesitation. Yet, here you were, unraveling, torn between a lifetime of duty and a burgeoning, terrifying love for the very people you were sworn to capture. Sleep offered little respite, haunted by fragmented dreams of Marineford, of chains, and of the accusing eyes of your nakama.

The Kiss Under the Stars

What didn't help, what utterly shattered your carefully constructed walls, were your increasingly undeniable feelings for Zoro. It had started subtly, a shared glance, a comfortable silence, a mutual respect that transcended words. But it had deepened, blossomed into something warm and intoxicating, a dangerous current pulling you further away from your mission.

One particularly serene night, you found yourself on deck, the only sounds the gentle creak of the ship and the rhythmic lapping of the waves. The moon, a silver disc, cast a shimmering path across the water. You were leaning against the railing, lost in thought, the familiar weight of your guilt a heavy presence.

A soft thud of footsteps behind you announced his presence. Zoro. He stopped beside you, mirroring your stance, his broad shoulders a comforting bulwark against the vastness of the sea. The silence stretched between you, not awkward, but companionable, a testament to the unspoken bond you shared.

"Can't sleep?" he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly comfort that sent a shiver down your spine.

You shook your head, gazing out at the endless expanse. "Too much on my mind." You almost confessed, the words teetering on your tongue, the desperate urge to unburden yourself overwhelming. But the habit of secrecy, years ingrained, held them captive.

He didn't press. Instead, he simply stood there, his presence a quiet anchor. After a long moment, he shifted, turning to face you. His hand reached out, gently, almost hesitantly, and cupped your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, sending an electric jolt through you. His eyes, usually so sharp and stoic, were softened by the moonlight, reflecting a depth of understanding that stole your breath.

"You carry a lot, Y/N," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "I can see it."

His words, simple and direct, pierced through your defenses. He saw you, truly saw the burden you carried, even if he didn't know its true nature. A tremor ran through you, and your own hand instinctively reached up, covering his on your cheek. His gaze dropped to your lips, and the air between you thickened, charged with an undeniable pull.

Then, slowly, he leaned in. His lips, surprisingly soft, met yours. It was a tentative kiss at first, a brush, a question. But then it deepened, a surge of raw emotion, of longing, of a connection that felt both inevitable and impossibly fragile. You responded with a desperation you hadn't known you possessed, pouring all the unspoken words, all the hidden emotions, all the aching loneliness of your deception into that single, profound moment. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his strong body, and you tangled your fingers in his moss-green hair, clinging to him as if he were your only lifeline in a storm.

When he finally pulled away, breathless, his forehead rested against yours. His eyes, dark and intense, searched yours. "Good night, Y/N," he whispered, a promise in his voice, before pressing one last soft kiss to your forehead and retreating.

You stumbled back to your room, your legs wobbly, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. The kiss, the warmth of his hand, the searing intensity of his gaze – it all replayed in your mind, a dizzying, beautiful whirlwind. You sank onto your bunk, clutching your chest, the ghost of his lips still tingling on yours.

And then, with a terrifying clarity that felt like a punch to the gut, the realization hit you. It wasn't just physical attraction. It wasn't just respect or admiration. It was something far deeper, far more dangerous.

You were in love with Roronoa Zoro.

The confession, silent and shocking, echoed in the confines of your small room. You, the marine, the infiltrator, the one who prided herself on detachment, had fallen irrevocably in love with a pirate. Not just any pirate, but one of the Straw Hats, one of the very targets you were meant to bring down.

The guilt, already a monstrous weight, became a crushing, suffocating force. How could you do this to him? How could you betray someone you loved, someone who looked at you with such depth and understanding? The mission, once your entire world, now felt like a monstrous, soul-destroying act. You lay there, staring into the darkness, the image of Zoro's face superimposed on the cold, unforgiving command of your superiors. The choice that loomed before you was no longer just about duty; it was about destroying your own heart.

The decision solidified in the quiet desperation of your bunk, the moonlight casting long, accusing shadows across your face. You couldn't do it. You couldn't betray him. You couldn't betray them. The thought of seeing Zoro's face, etched with the pain of your deception, was a torment worse than any punishment the Marines could inflict. Your heart, once a meticulously guarded vault, had been irrevocably breached. The love you felt for Zoro, for the entire Straw Hat crew, was too profound, too real to sacrifice for a mission that now felt utterly meaningless.

The only way to protect them, to spare them the agonizing truth of your betrayal at your own hands, was to remove yourself from the equation entirely. You would disappear. Face the music alone.

With trembling hands, you found a scrap of paper and a pen. The words wouldn’t come easily, each one a fresh stab of pain. How do you apologize for a lie that had become your entire existence among them? How do you explain a love born from deceit?

My dearest Straw Hats,

If you're reading this, it means I'm gone. I know this will hurt, and for that, I am truly, deeply sorry. There's no easy way to say this, so I will be direct: I am a Marine. I was sent to infiltrate your crew, to gain your trust, and to ultimately deliver you to the government

But it didn't go as planned. You took me in, you loved me, you made me a part of your family. And somewhere along the way, I… I fell in love with you all. With your boundless spirit, your unwavering loyalty, your dreams.

Especially you, Zoro. You saw something in me I didn't even know was there. I'm so sorry. I couldn't betray you. I just couldn't.

i know this doesn't excuse my actions, or the lies I told. I don't expect forgiveness. I only hope, one day, you might understand why I had to leave this way. I choose to face my own consequences, whatever they may be. Please, live freely. Chase your dreams. And know that despite everything, I will always cherish the time I had with you.

Goodbye,

Y/N

You folded the note carefully, your vision blurred by unshed tears. With a heavy heart, you placed it on the dining table, securing it with a small, smooth stone you’d picked up on an earlier island – a meaningless trinket, now imbued with the unbearable weight of your goodbye.

Slipping silently from the ship, the chill of the predawn air a stark contrast to the burning pain in your chest, you rowed a small dinghy towards the distant lights of a Marine port. Each stroke of the oars was a final, agonizing severing of the ties that bound you to the Straw Hats. You were choosing your own chains, a self-imposed sentence to protect those you loved.

The Morning After: A Note and A Broken Crew

The morning light, usually a herald of adventure and laughter on the Thousand Sunny, felt muted, almost mournful. Sanji was the first awake, heading to the galley to prepare breakfast, the rhythmic clatter of pots and pans usually filling the air. But today, a strange quiet hung over the ship.

He noticed it first: a small, folded piece of paper on the dining table, held down by a stone. A frown creased his brow. It wasn't like Y/N to leave things out of place. He picked it up, his eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. As he read, his expression slowly shifted, a look of disbelief giving way to a horrified understanding. The plate he was holding slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor with a deafening crash.

The noise drew the others. Nami, rubbing sleep from her eyes, entered first, followed by Usopp, then Chopper. Luffy burst in, cheerful as ever. "Sanji! What's for breakfast? I'm starving!"

Sanji stood frozen, the note clutched in his trembling hand, his face pale as death. "Y/N… she's gone." His voice was a raw whisper.

Nami rushed forward, snatching the note from his grasp. Her eyes widened with each line, her usual fiery spirit replaced by a growing horror. "No… no way…" she whispered, her hand rising to cover her mouth.

Usopp peered over her shoulder, his eyes darting between the words. "A Marine… undercover?" His voice was a thin thread of disbelief.

Luffy, his cheerful demeanor evaporating, looked from face to face, sensing the shift in the air. "What's wrong? Where's Y/N?"

It was Zoro who walked in then, a strange, heavy feeling settling in his gut. He saw the note, saw the shattered plate, saw the devastated faces of his crew. His gaze fell on Nami, who was now openly trembling, tears welling in her eyes. "What's going on?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Nami slowly held out the note, her hand shaking so violently that it almost fell. Zoro took it, his eyes narrowing as he read. With each word, the blood drained from his face, leaving it ashen. "A Marine…" His voice was barely a whisper, the last word a choked sound of disbelief and pain. He reached the part about him, his name, his eyes widening. I couldn't betray you. I just couldn't. The words hit him like a physical blow, twisting the knife that was already buried deep. The memory of the kiss, warm and real, now felt like a cruel, deceptive dream.

Luffy, finally able to read the last few lines over Zoro's shoulder, felt the air leave his lungs. "Y/N… left?" He stood there, unmoving, his usual boundless energy replaced by a stark, desolate silence. The ship, once filled with their vibrant life, now felt hollow, echoing with an unbearable emptiness. The truth, written in a hand they had come to cherish, ripped through the heart of the Straw Hat Pirates, leaving behind only shock, confusion, and a profound, aching sense of betrayal.

The marine port was exactly as you remembered it, cold and unforgiving. Walking up to the gates, your head held high despite the churning in your stomach, you announced yourself. "I am Y/N. I'm reporting for duty… and to face charges of treason."

The initial confusion of the guards quickly turned to grim satisfaction as your name was confirmed. You were immediately escorted, not to a debriefing room, but directly to a holding cell. Word of your defection, or rather, your failure, traveled fast.

Your former superior, Vice Admiral Ryker, was waiting for you. His office, typically austere, felt even colder now. He was a man with eyes like chipped ice, and a cruel, unyielding reputation. He surveyed you from across his desk, a sneer twisting his thin lips.

"So, the great Y/N returns," he stated, his voice a low, venomous hiss. "And empty-handed, I see. You failed, Agent. Miserably."

"I did not fail to bring them in, sir," you said, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. "I chose not to."

A harsh, humorless laugh escaped him. "A choice? You, an operative of the World Government, made a 'choice'? That's not how this works, Y/N. You defied direct orders. You consorted with criminals. You betrayed your oath." He leaned forward, his eyes boring into yours. "And for that, the consequences will be… severe. Especially considering your unparalleled skills. We can't have our top assets turning rogue, can we?"

You met his gaze, unflinching. "I'm prepared to face my punishment, sir."

"Oh, I assure you, you are not," he purred, a chilling glint in his eye. "Treason. Consorting with pirates. Such a waste of talent. You'll spend a very, very long time in a place where your 'feelings' won't matter. Where every moment will be a stark reminder of your foolish choices. Impel Down is far too good for you, Agent. No, we have a special place for those who betray the trust of the World Government. A place where you'll have plenty of time to reflect on your misplaced affections."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, but you showed no outward reaction. You had chosen this. This was your atonement. The doors of the marine prison slammed shut behind you, the echoing clang a stark finality, sealing your fate in a world of stone, iron, and unimaginable regret. Your freedom was gone, but perhaps, in this cold, dark place, you had at least saved the freedom of those you loved.

The cold, sterile room became your world. Days blurred into a relentless cycle of blinding lights, rough hands, and the ceaseless drone of voices demanding answers you wouldn't give. Vice Admiral Ryker, true to his word, ensured your punishment began long before any official sentencing. He believed in breaking wills, not just bodies.

"Tell us what you learned! Their routes! Their weaknesses! Their connections!" Ryker's voice, sharp as a whip, cut through the haze of pain. You sat strapped to a metal chair, your jaw clenched. Your fingers, a throbbing agony, were already a testament to their persistence. They had systematically bent them back, snapping bones with sickening precision, hoping to force a scream, a confession, any sign of weakness. But you bit down on your tongue, tasting blood instead of tears. Each fracture, each searing wave of pain, was a perverse confirmation that your secret, your love for the Straw Hats, remained safe.

"Nothing," you rasped, your voice hoarse, your throat dry. "I told you everything in the note."

A fist slammed into the table, making the metal vibrate. "Lies! You expect us to believe you simply fell in love with pirates, Agent Y/N? You, the most disciplined operative we had?"

You met Ryker's furious gaze, your eyes shadowed but resolute. "I did." The simplicity of the truth was its strongest shield. They tore into you, verbally and physically. Blows rained down, dull aches blooming into blossoming bruises across your ribs and face. Your body screamed, but your mind held firm. You were a vault, and the key was lost somewhere in the warmth of a pirate ship, in the laughter of your friends, in the touch of a certain swordsman. They could shatter every bone in your body, but they couldn't touch the loyalty you now held for the Straw Hats. You had chosen your path, and this pain was merely the cost of that choice.

The Thousand Sunny, usually a vibrant hub of activity, was shrouded in a heavy silence. The breakfast Sanji had been preparing remained untouched, growing cold on the table next to Y/N's note. Hours had passed, yet the shock and confusion had not receded. Each Straw Hat processed the betrayal in their own way, but a common thread of disbelief wove through them all.

Sanji paced the galley, running a hand through his hair, a cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers. "A Marine… all this time?" he muttered, his voice laced with a raw hurt. "And to think… I cooked her every meal… like she was one of us." He slammed a fist onto the counter, his usual chivalry now curdled into a bitter sense of violation.

Nami sat huddled on the deck, clutching the note, her face stained with tears. "She planned to turn us in," she whispered, her voice cracking. "All our maps, our treasures, our dreams… she was going to hand them over." The weight of the deception, the calculated closeness, felt like a personal affront to her trusting nature.

Usopp fiddled nervously with a tool, avoiding eye contact. "It makes sense, in a way," he mumbled, though his voice betrayed his discomfort. "She was always so… capable. Too capable, maybe. But… but she was our friend, right?" The conflict in his voice was clear – the fear of betrayal warring with the memories of shared laughter.

Chopper whimpered, burying his face into Robin's side. "She's not bad, is she, Robin? She wouldn't really hurt us!" His innocent faith was a poignant contrast to the harsh reality of the note.

Franky stood by the ship's helm, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a brooding quiet. "She was super at her job," he said, his voice unusually subdued. "But to lie to us… to the family…" He trailed off, the concept of such a deep betrayal alien to his straightforward nature.

Brook strummed a melancholic chord on his violin. "Even skeletons feel the chill of betrayal, yohoho," he sighed, the forced lightness gone from his tone. "To think she laughed at my jokes, knowing all along..."

Jinbe sat cross-legged, his gaze distant. "The World Government is cunning. To send such an agent…" He closed his eyes. "Her words in the letter… they speak of a true conflict within her. This was not an easy choice for her."

Luffy was unnervingly silent, sitting cross-legged in his usual spot, his straw hat pulled low. His eyes, usually bright with life, were dark, unfocused. The raw, open wound of betrayal was too fresh, too unexpected. He didn't understand deceit. He understood loyalty, nakama, dreams. Y/N had been all of those things. And now…

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken questions, pain, and confusion. Finally, Zoro stood up, his voice cutting through the tension like a sharpened blade. He had re-read the note countless times, his eyes lingering on the words I couldn't betray you. I just couldn't. The pain was a physical ache in his chest, a betrayal so deep it stole his breath. But beneath the hurt, a different emotion simmered – a fierce, protective anger. Not at Y/N, but at the system that had forced her into this impossible position, and at himself for not seeing it sooner.

"She's a Marine," he stated, his voice low and gravelly, "but she didn't turn us in. She chose to face them instead." His eyes swept over the crew. "She put herself in a cage to protect us."

Nami looked up, tears still tracking paths on her cheeks. "But… she lied to us, Zoro. All of it was a lie."

"Was it?" Zoro challenged, his gaze hardening. "Did she act like a liar? Did she fight like a liar? Did she care like a liar? She told us in that letter what she felt. She left because she couldn't go through with it."

Luffy slowly raised his head, his dark eyes meeting Zoro's. A flicker of his usual determination began to rekindle in their depths. "She's in trouble," he said, his voice quiet, but firm. "She's a Marine, but she's our Quartermaster."

"They won't go easy on her," Jinbe added, his voice grim. "Especially not after defying a direct order from someone like Ryker. Her punishment will be severe."

A fierce spark ignited in Luffy's eyes, dispelling the last vestiges of his earlier despair. He stood up, slowly, purposefully. "Then we go get her."

Nami gasped. "Luffy, are you crazy?! She's a Marine! And she's in a Marine prison! It's suicide!"

"She's our Y/N!" Luffy declared, his voice rising, imbued with his characteristic conviction. "She chose us! She chose not to betray us! That makes her nakama! And we don't leave nakama behind!" He looked at each of them, his gaze unwavering. "She faced them alone because she thought it was the only way to protect us. But we protect our own."

Zoro's lips curled into a rare, determined grin. "He's right," he said, drawing his swords, the familiar weight in his hands a comfort. "She made her choice. Now we make ours. We're going to break into a Marine prison and get our Quartermaster back."

A wave of understanding, followed by renewed determination, washed over the faces of the Straw Hats. The initial shock and hurt began to recede, replaced by their fierce, unwavering loyalty to one another. The plan was reckless, dangerous, and utterly insane. Which meant, for the Straw Hat Pirates, it was perfectly achievable. Their Quartermaster was in trouble, and they would move heaven and earth to bring her home.

The journey to the Marine stronghold was a blur of determination for the Straw Hats. The Thousand Sunny sliced through the waves, a silent testament to their resolve. Each member was focused, their usual antics replaced by a grim purpose. Luffy, usually bouncing with energy, stood at the helm, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Zoro sharpened his swords with a quiet intensity, Nami meticulously plotted their course, and the rest of the crew prepared for the inevitable confrontation. Their Quartermaster, their friend, was in trouble, and they would not rest until she was free.

Meanwhile, you were confined to a cage within the deepest, most secure levels of the Marine prison. It wasn’t Impel Down, but it was a specialized, high-security facility reserved for high-value Marine defectors and those who posed a unique threat due to their knowledge or skills. Your cell was a stark box of reinforced Seastone bars, designed to nullify any Devil Fruit abilities and restrict even the most formidable of physical strengths. The air was cold, damp, and tasted of stale concrete and despair.

You sat on the hard, narrow cot, your injured hand throbbing, a dull ache in your ribs from the interrogations. Your uniform, once crisp, was now torn and stained, a stark visual representation of your fall from grace. Yet, despite the pain, despite the confinement, a strange sense of peace had settled over you.

You looked at your battered hands, then up at the unforgiving Seastone bars, and felt no regret. Not a single tremor of doubt. When Ryker's furious face, contorted in disgust and rage, flashed in your mind, you simply closed your eyes. He saw you as a failure, a traitor. But in your heart, you knew you had made the only choice you could live with.

The image of Zoro’s face, etched with concern and then tenderness, swam before your eyes. The warmth of his kiss, the brief, stolen moment of connection under the moonlight, was a beacon in the oppressive darkness of your cell. You remembered Luffy’s booming laughter, Nami’s exasperated sighs, Usopp’s frantic boasts, Sanji’s unwavering chivalry, Chopper’s innocent snuggles, Robin’s quiet wisdom, Franky’s "SUPER!" enthusiasm, Brook’s timeless melodies, and Jinbe’s calming presence.

You had sacrificed your career, your freedom, perhaps even your life, for them. And in doing so, you had found a truth more profound than any mission, any duty. You had found a family. And you wouldn’t trade that for anything. The bars of your cage were cold, but your heart felt warm. You had chosen love over loyalty to a system that demanded unquestioning obedience, and for the first time in your life, you felt truly free.

The alarm blared, a jarring cacophony that ripped through the stale prison air. Sirens wailed, and the hurried shouts of Marine officers echoed through the corridors above. You lifted your head, a faint flicker of recognition in your swollen eye. That sound… it could only mean one thing. They had come.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. Dread warred with a fierce, protective love. You had turned yourself in, endured the beatings, the broken bones, the endless interrogations, precisely so they wouldn't have to deal with this. So they could be free, unburdened by your past. And now, here they were, throwing themselves into the lion's den for you. Fools, you thought, a pang of exasperated affection squeezing your battered heart. Stubborn, wonderful fools.

Footsteps pounded closer, heavy and purposeful. The sounds of fighting erupted, the familiar clang of metal on metal, the explosive force of Devil Fruit powers, and the unmistakable, joyous roar of a certain rubbery captain. Your breath caught. They were real. They were here.

The Seastone door to your cell exploded inward with a deafening crash, showering the antechamber with dust and debris. Standing amidst the chaos, framed by the smoky light of the breached facility, were the Straw Hats.

Luffy stood at the front, his expression a rare mix of fierce determination and shock. Behind him, Zoro gripped his swords, his eyes wide with a terrifying fury. Nami clutched her climatact, her face pale, while Sanji stood poised to strike, a barely contained rage simmering within him. Usopp had his slingshot drawn, though his usual cowardice was momentarily forgotten, replaced by a grim resolve. Chopper hovered anxiously, his tiny paws clenched. Even Robin, usually so composed, looked visibly shaken, and Franky’s "SUPER!" stance was laced with a chilling seriousness. Brook lowered his violin, his hollow eyes fixed on you, and Jinbe's powerful frame seemed to shudder.

Their gazes swept the cell, searching, and then they landed on you.

The air in the chamber seemed to thicken, heavy with unspoken horror. You saw their reactions, saw the immediate, visceral punch to their gut. You were worse than you'd thought.

Your face was a canvas of purple and black, one eye swollen shut, the other barely open, a raw slit in the discolored skin. Your nose was undeniably broken, a crooked, swollen mess. A trickle of dried blood crusted your upper lip, and fresh blood still oozed from a gash above your eyebrow. Your clothes were ragged, and a dark stain bloomed over your left side, testament to a particularly nasty blow to your ribs. You tried to force a reassuring smile, but it felt more like a grimace, and the effort sent a jolt of pain through your split lip.

Luffy's determined expression crumbled. "Y/N…?" he breathed, his voice a choked whisper, disbelief battling with a raw, agonizing pain. He took a hesitant step forward, his eyes fixed on your battered face, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Zoro froze. His eyes, usually so sharp and unwavering, widened in unadulterated shock and a horrifying, incandescent rage. The sight of you, broken and bleeding, snapped something inside him. His grip tightened on his swords until his knuckles were white. The image of the woman he had kissed under the moonlight, strong and vibrant, was brutally replaced by this brutalized figure in the cage. A low, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, a primal sound of fury.

Nami gasped, a hand flying to her mouth, tears instantly springing to her eyes. "Oh, Y/N…!" she sobbed, the image of your bruised and swollen face tearing at her heart.

Sanji let out a furious roar. "Those bastards! How dare they!" His chivalrous rage, always potent, now boiled over into a murderous intent.

Chopper screamed, his tiny body trembling. "Y/N! Are you okay?! Your face! Your hand!" He started to sob, his innocent heart unable to process such cruelty inflicted on his friend.

You met their gazes, one by one, your heart swelling with a bittersweet ache. This was why you'd tried to spare them. This raw, open pain on their faces was infinitely worse than any physical torment you had endured.

"Don't look at me like that," you rasped, your voice barely a whisper, a faint attempt at defiance. "I'm fine. Just… a little bruised." You tried to sound casual, but the words were a flimsy veil over the extent of your injuries.

But they weren't listening. Their eyes, filled with a mixture of heartbreak and a terrifying fury, were already calculating. There would be no retreat. They had seen what the Marines had done to you, and the Straw Hats would make them pay. The fight for your freedom had just begun.

The immediate shock on their faces began to give way to action. Zoro was the first to move, his previous frozen fury morphing into a raw, desperate urgency. He strode towards your cage, his swords still clutched, but his eyes fixed on you, a whirlwind of concern and a barely contained rage swirling within their depths. Right behind him, Chopper, his tiny hooves pounding, transformed into his Brain Point, his medical instincts overriding all else.

"Y/N!" Chopper cried, scrambling through the broken cell door. "Your injuries! Are you okay?!" He reached for your hand, his brow furrowed with professional alarm.

Just as Chopper’s small paw closed around your fingers, trying to gently assess the damage, a collective gasp ripped through the Straw Hats. Your hand, which you had instinctively tried to clench into a fist, refused. Your fingers, a grotesque parody of their natural shape, were bent at sickening angles, disgustingly curled inwards, a testament to the Marines' brutal methods. The bones were clearly shattered, some protruding at odd, unnatural points beneath the skin.

Chopper let out a high-pitched shriek, pulling his hand back as if burned. "W-w-what?! Her fingers! They're… they're all… bendy in the wrong places! This is beyond fractured! This is… this is disgusting!" His medical professionalism momentarily gave way to pure, unadulterated horror, and he started to twitch, looking as though he might faint himself.

Usopp, who had been steeling himself, took one look at your hand and dramatically clutched his chest. "GAH! My delicate sensibilities! I'm too weak for such horrors! I think I'm going to faint!" He promptly collapsed backward, his eyes rolling into his head, though one eye twitched open to peek at the unfolding chaos.

Nami, who had already been on the verge of tears, clamped a hand over her mouth, her face turning green. A distinct gagging sound escaped her. "Oh, god! That's just… gnarly! Are they trying to turn her into a pretzel?!"

Even Sanji, usually composed, flinched violently. "My poor Y/N-chan! Her beautiful hands! Those barbarian Marines! I'll cook them until they're charcoal!"

You barely registered their exaggerated reactions, the shock of seeing them momentarily eclipsing the constant throb in your hand. The pain was just… there, a part of you now, like a constant companion. Your one good eye, though heavy-lidded, focused on Luffy and Zoro.

"What are you doing here?" you rasped, your voice rough, a mixture of exasperation and a profound, aching relief. "I turned myself in so you wouldn't have to deal with this."

Before anyone could fully respond, the distant wail of sirens grew louder, closer. The echoes of running feet and shouting voices reverberated through the damaged corridor, signaling the inevitable marine reinforcement.

"They're coming!" Nami shrieked, snapping back to reality, her navigation instincts kicking in.

Without a moment's hesitation, Zoro was by your side. His earlier rage had settled into a terrifyingly calm resolve. Gently, but with practiced ease, he scooped you up. You let out a small, involuntary gasp as your injured hand brushed against him, but he adjusted, cradling your battered form securely on his back. You wrapped your good arm around his neck, leaning into the warmth of his familiar strength, a warmth you hadn't realized how much you'd missed.

"We don't have time!" Zoro barked, turning to face the direction of the approaching Marines. His posture was defensive, protective, a shield against the coming storm.

Sanji, however, couldn't resist a dig. "Oi, Marimo! Be careful with the delicate, hurt lady! She's not a sack of potatoes, you brute!" His words were sharp, but the underlying concern for you was unmistakable.

Zoro merely grunted in response, his eyes narrowed, already calculating their escape route. The Straw Hats were a whirlwind of motion now, preparing for the onslaught. You felt the surge of their combined power, their unwavering loyalty. And despite the pain, despite the fear, a small, genuine smile touched your lips. They were here. And that was all that mattered.

The Straw Hats surged forward, a whirlwind of coordinated chaos. Luffy, extending his arms, became a human slingshot, propelling himself through a cluster of bewildered Marine guards. Sanji's legs blurred, delivering precise, devastating kicks that sent soldiers sprawling. Nami unleashed a small, localized thunderbolt, electrifying a path for them, while Usopp, despite his earlier theatrics, proved surprisingly effective with a rapid-fire volley of pop greens, creating thorny barricades and disorienting bursts of smoke. Brook zipped past, his soul-solid attacks leaving Marines clutching at phantom pains, and Franky's powerful "Strong Right" punched clean holes in the reinforced walls. Jinbe, with his Fish-Man Karate, effortlessly dispatched larger groups, his powerful blows sending shockwaves through the very foundation of the prison.

You clung to Zoro's back, your good arm wrapped tightly around his neck, the rhythm of his powerful strides a strange comfort. He moved with a deadly grace, his three swords a blur of steel, cutting down any Marine foolish enough to step in their path. The world spun, a dizzying mix of pain and the exhilarating rush of freedom.

"Are you okay back there?" Zoro grunted, his voice tight with exertion and concern.

"Just keep moving," you managed, the words a raw whisper against his ear.

They sliced through the lower levels with alarming speed, a force of nature tearing through the supposedly impenetrable prison. Just as they reached the main corridor leading to the exterior, a figure stepped out from the shadows, blocking their path.

It was Vice Admiral Ryker.

His chilling smile stretched across his face, his eyes like chips of ice, reflecting the harsh prison lights. "Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice carrying an unnerving calm amidst the chaos. "Look what the tide dragged in. The infamous Straw Hat Pirates. And to think, you've come for my little pet project."

His right arm, clad in a pristine white glove, suddenly began to shimmer, the very air around it distorting. Ryker possessed the Phase-Phase Fruit, a terrifying Logia-type Devil Fruit that allowed him to make any part of his body intangible and capable of phasing through matter, or conversely, make parts of matter intangible around his body, creating localized voids that could tear through flesh or armor. He could pass through solid objects, or make objects pass through others with devastating effect.

"Don't flatter yourselves," Ryker continued, his eyes lingering on you, a cruel satisfaction in their depths. "This isn't a rescue. It's a capture. And Y/N here? She's the bait." He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "You're all walking right into my trap. And she knows it."

Luffy, his face hardening, stepped forward. "Let her go, old man!"

"Oh, but why would I?" Ryker mused, a taunting glint in his eye. He waved his phased hand dismissively, and a section of the steel floor behind him vanished, creating a sudden, gaping hole. "She's been quite… illuminating. You know, you Straw Hats only know the pretty facade. You have no idea what she truly is. Her loyalty to the government was absolute. She was a child soldier, a weapon forged in the crucible of war, deployed before she even reached double digits. A ruthless little phantom, trained to execute without question. Do you really think she's capable of 'love'?" His gaze raked over you, contempt heavy in his tone. "She helped us crush rebellions, extinguish uprisings, leave no survivors. All before she was even considered an adult. Her hands are just as bloody as any Marine's, if not more so."

Your breath hitched, the sudden revelation of your concealed past hitting the Straw Hats like a physical blow. Their eyes widened, turning to you, a mixture of shock and renewed confusion. You pressed your face into Zoro's shoulder, unable to meet their gaze, the shame and the forced memories burning.

Ryker savored their stunned silence. "She was a master of infiltration, a ghost, a perfect weapon. And you believed her pretty little act? That she simply 'fell in love' with you? Please. It's a testament to her skill, not her heart."

A low growl rumbled from Zoro. His body, carrying your battered form, tensed. His grip on his swords tightened. The words about your past hit him hard, but the cold, dismissive way Ryker spoke about you, about your feelings, ignited a furious protectiveness.

"Shut your damn mouth!" Sanji roared, preparing a kick.

"He's playing with us!" Nami yelled, realizing the psychological warfare Ryker was employing.

But it was Luffy who moved. The taunts about your past, about your supposed inability to love, had pushed him past his breaking point. His eyes, usually innocent, flared with a deep, uncharacteristic anger. He didn't care about your past as a child soldier; he cared about the Y/N who was their quartermaster, the Y/N who chose them, the Y/N bleeding on Zoro's back. Ryker had dared to question your heart, dared to cheapen your sacrifice.

"Gomu Gomu no… RED HAWK!" Luffy roared, his arm stretching back, igniting in a fiery, Gear Second-powered punch. The air around him shimmered with heat as he launched himself directly at Ryker, a blazing meteor of pure, unadulterated fury.

Ryker, confident in his Devil Fruit, phased his body, preparing to let Luffy's attack pass harmlessly through him. But Luffy's Haki-infused punch, coated in flames, wasn't just about physical impact. It was about pure will, a burning inferno of determination.

The Red Hawk slammed into Ryker, not passing through him as he expected, but connecting with a sickening crunch. The Vice Admiral let out a strangled cry, his phased body momentarily solidified by the sheer force of Luffy's Haki. The fiery impact sent him hurtling backward, slamming into the reinforced wall with enough force to crack the steel. He slumped to the ground, unconscious, a smoking crater where he'd landed.

A moment of stunned silence fell over the corridor, broken only by Ryker's pained groans. Luffy stood panting, his arm smoking faintly.

"Let's go!" Zoro barked, already moving, his voice a tight command. "We've got company!" More Marines were pouring into the corridor, drawn by the commotion.

The Straw Hats rallied, a renewed sense of purpose driving them. Luffy had dealt with the mastermind, and now their only goal was to get you out. You felt Ryker's words about your past echoing in your mind, but as you clung to Zoro's back, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your own, you knew. Their actions, their very presence, spoke louder than any words, any painful past. They didn't care about the soldier you were; they cared about the person you became.

The frantic scramble continued. With Ryker down, the Marine resistance, though still formidable, lacked its cruel, strategic leader. The Straw Hats, fueled by a renewed surge of protective fury, moved as a unified, unstoppable force. Sanji and Jinbe cleared the path ahead, their powerful kicks and punches sending Marines flying. Nami conjured a thick fog, disorienting their pursuers, while Usopp set off a barrage of explosive projectiles, creating diversions and bottlenecks. Franky provided heavy cover fire, his beam weapons blasting through obstacles, and Brook’s haunting melodies confused and incapacitated their foes.

You clung to Zoro’s back, your head swimming. The pain was still there, a constant companion, but it was overshadowed by the sheer, overwhelming reality of their presence. They were truly here, risking everything for you. Ryker’s cruel words about your past, about the child soldier you had been, still stung. You felt Zoro’s muscles tense beneath you, his focus unwavering. He didn't ask about Ryker's claims, didn’t demand explanations. He simply moved, his protective embrace a silent reassurance that, no matter your past, you were here, with them.

Luffy, bursting with renewed energy after his decisive blow, led the charge, his infectious grin back in place, though it held a sharper edge now. "Almost there! Just a little further!" he yelled, stretching his arms to grab a distant railing, pulling himself and the nearest Marines forward in a chaotic tangle.

Suddenly, a thick, metallic door slammed shut behind them, sealed by a newly arrived squad of heavily armed Marines. "Dead end!" Nami cried, her voice strained.

"Not for us!" Franky roared, his arms glowing. "Coup de Boo!" With a mighty blast, the Sunny's signature escape maneuver, he blew a colossal hole through the exterior wall of the prison, revealing the vast expanse of the ocean outside.

The roar of the cannon reverberated through the prison, sending tremors through the entire structure. Through the gaping hole, you could see the Thousand Sunny, bobbing expectantly on the waves, a beacon of home.

"To the ship!" Luffy bellowed, already leaping towards the opening.

Zoro followed, a powerful jump carrying him and your weight across the chasm. The rush of salty air against your bruised face was intoxicating, a taste of freedom you hadn't dared to dream of. As he landed agilely on the deck, the rest of the crew quickly followed, each one bringing down any remaining Marine resistance with practiced ease.

Chopper immediately rushed to your side, his small face contorted with professional distress. "Let me see, Y/N! We need to fix those hands and your face! This is an emergency!"

Zoro carefully lowered you to the deck, allowing Chopper to begin his frantic assessment. You looked up at him, your good eye meeting his. His intense gaze was filled with a complex mixture of relief, anger, and something deeper, something akin to reverence. He reached out, his hand hovering over your battered face, as if afraid to touch you.

"You… you came," you whispered, your voice hoarse with emotion, the words catching in your throat.

"Of course, we did, Y/N," Luffy said, already scrambling up the mast, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "You're our nakama!"

Nami, tears still glistening in her eyes, put a gentle hand on your shoulder. "You're an idiot, Y/N," she said, but her voice was soft, laced with undeniable affection. "Turning yourself in like that. What were you thinking?"

You managed a weak, painful smile. "I was thinking… I didn't want you to have to deal with this."

Sanji, carefully stepping over the shattered bits of Marine uniform, lit a fresh cigarette, his face still grim. "Well, you failed at that, Quartermaster-chan. Now we're dealing with it." His words were sharp, but the underlying warmth was unmistakable.

As the Thousand Sunny turned, leaving the now-battered Marine prison behind, you looked back at the receding, imposing structure. The pain in your body was immense, but the ache in your heart had eased considerably. You were battered, broken, and a wanted fugitive in the eyes of the world. But you were free, surrounded by the only family you had ever truly chosen. And for the first time in a long time, you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were exactly where you belonged.

The infirmary of the Thousand Sunny was a haven of sterile efficiency, a stark contrast to the chaos they had just escaped. You lay on the crisp white sheets of the medical bed, the gentle rocking of the ship a soothing rhythm beneath you. Chopper, his brow furrowed in intense concentration, bustled around, preparing his instruments. He had already given you something for the pain, but you knew, from the way he was looking at your hand, that it wouldn't be enough.

Zoro sat in the chair pulled close to your bedside, his swords leaning against the wall beside him. He hadn't left your side since you were brought in. His presence was a solid, comforting anchor in the room, his gaze fixed on you with an unwavering intensity that spoke volumes. He didn't speak, but his hand, resting lightly on the edge of your bed, was a silent promise.

"Alright, Y/N," Chopper said, his voice unusually grave, his small hooves meticulously cleaning the dried blood from your face. "This is going to hurt. A lot. Your nose is definitely broken, and those fingers… they're pretty badly displaced. I need to set them back in place before they swell too much." He looked up at you, his large, innocent eyes filled with concern. "Are you ready?"

You took a deep, shaky breath, bracing yourself. "As I'll ever be, Chopper." You glanced at Zoro, and he met your gaze, a silent strength passing between you.

Chopper began with your nose. With a quick, practiced movement, he reset the bone. A sharp, blinding pain shot through your face, and you gasped, a choked cry escaping your lips. Your good eye squeezed shut, tears pricking at the corner.

"Good, good, you're doing great!" Chopper encouraged, his voice surprisingly firm for such a small creature. He moved to your hand, gently, almost reverently, taking your mangled fingers in his. He cleaned the wounds around the breaks, the antiseptic stinging.

"Okay," he said, his voice dropping slightly, "these are going to be loud. Just… try to breathe."

You nodded, clenching your jaw. You felt his small, strong grip on your first finger. There was a sickening crack, a sound that echoed unnervingly in the quiet infirmary, followed by an explosion of white-hot pain that made you arch your back against the bed. You bit down on your lip, a muffled groan escaping.

Zoro's hand, which had been resting on the bed, clenched into a fist. His jaw was tight, a muscle twitching in his cheek. He watched, his eyes narrowed, every flinch of your body mirrored by a subtle tension in his own. He looked like he wanted to rip the world apart, to take the pain away from you.

Another finger. Another crack. Another wave of excruciating agony. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the searing pain. You could feel the bones shifting, grinding, then snapping into place. It was a primal, visceral pain that bypassed all your training, all your discipline.

Crack. Crack. Crack. Each sound was a hammer blow, each movement of Chopper's hooves precise and agonizing. By the time he had finished with the last finger, you were trembling, drenched in a cold sweat, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Your hand, though still throbbing, felt strangely lighter, the grotesque angles gone.

"There," Chopper said, his voice tired but relieved, as he began to meticulously splint and bandage your hand. "All set. It'll take time to heal, but you'll be able to use them again. And your nose will heal straight, too." He looked at you, his eyes filled with a deep, professional pride, and then a profound sadness. "They really… they really hurt you, Y/N."

You could only nod, too exhausted to speak. You slowly opened your good eye, meeting Zoro's gaze. His face was grim, his eyes burning with an unspoken promise of vengeance. He reached out, his large hand gently covering your bandaged one, his touch a comforting warmth that slowly, steadily, began to soothe the lingering echoes of pain. In that moment, surrounded by the quiet hum of the ship and the unwavering presence of the man beside you, you knew you were truly safe.

Chopper, his brow still furrowed with concern, moved with gentle precision. He applied a soothing salve to the raw scrapes on your cheek and jaw, his small hooves surprisingly deft. For your swollen eye, he produced a small, chilled compress, carefully placing it over the puffed skin. The cool relief was instantaneous, a welcome balm to the burning pain.

"Keep this on," he instructed, his voice serious. "It'll help with the swelling. I'll be back to check on you every few hours, okay?" He gave your good hand a gentle squeeze, then turned to Zoro. "Make sure she rests. And don't let her move that hand too much!" With a final, worried glance, the little doctor padded out of the infirmary, leaving the two of you in a soft, expectant silence.

The only sounds were the creak of the ship and the gentle lapping of waves against the hull. You lay there, the coolness of the compress a blessed relief, acutely aware of Zoro’s presence beside you. He remained in the chair, unmoving, his gaze fixed on some unseen point across the room. The air was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of everything that had transpired.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice still a little raspy. "You… you didn't have to do this."

Zoro’s head slowly turned, his dark eyes meeting your one visible one. A muscle worked in his jaw. "Yes, we did," he stated, his voice low, firm, leaving no room for argument. "You're nakama. We don't abandon nakama."

"I lied to you all," you countered, your voice laced with the old guilt, the shame of your deception rising again. "I was a Marine. I came to betray you."

He scoffed, a short, sharp sound. "You were a Marine. And you could've betrayed us. You didn't. You faced them alone. You saved us the trouble of dealing with them in the first place." His gaze intensified. "Ryker said a lot of things. About your past. About… everything." His voice softened almost imperceptibly. "Doesn't matter."

"It does," you whispered, the pain of his words about your past child soldier life suddenly more acute than any physical injury. "My hands… they’re not clean, Zoro. I’ve done terrible things for them."

He reached out, his large, calloused hand gently covering your bandaged one again. His thumb brushed lightly over the splints. "Everyone has a past, Y/N," he said, his voice unusually gentle, cutting through your self-recrimination. "What matters is what you do now. You chose us. You chose not to betray us." His grip tightened slightly. "That’s all that counts."

You searched his eyes, surprised by the depth of his understanding, the unwavering acceptance. He wasn't judging you; he was simply stating a fact. The weight on your chest, a constant pressure for so long, seemed to lift, just a fraction.

"And you…" you began, your voice softer now, your gaze lingering on his face, "You came for me."

His lips quirked into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. "Someone had to drag your stubborn ass out of there." He paused, his expression growing serious again. "You left a note, you idiot. You think we'd just… read it and wave goodbye?" His thumb brushed against your knuckles. "After that… that night… what did you expect?"

Your cheeks, despite your injuries, flushed. He was referring to the kiss, to the moment everything had irrevocably changed for you. You expected him to be angry, confused, maybe even disgusted by your deception. But instead, there was only this quiet, profound acceptance.

"I didn't think…" you started, then trailed off, realizing the futility of explanation. You hadn’t thought; you had simply reacted, driven by the overwhelming need to protect them, and him, from the truth of your mission at your own hand.

He shifted in his chair, leaning closer. His gaze, usually so intense, was now soft, warm, filled with an emotion that mirrored your own. "You're ours now, Y/N," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "For better or worse. And we don't let go of what's ours."

The simple, unyielding declaration, delivered with such quiet conviction, was more potent than any painkiller. It was a promise, a binding vow, echoing the very essence of the Straw Hats' bond. In that moment, lying battered and broken on the infirmary bed, you felt more whole than you ever had in your life.

The words hung in the air, a silent, powerful affirmation of belonging. Zoro's hand, still resting on your bandaged one, conveyed a warmth that seeped into your bones, chasing away the lingering chill of the prison. The pain in your body, though still present, seemed to recede into a distant hum, eclipsed by the profound sense of peace settling over you.

His gaze, dark and steady, searched yours for another long moment, as if ensuring you truly understood, truly accepted, his unspoken vow. Then, with a sudden, fluid motion, he shifted. The chair scraped softly against the floor as he pushed it back, and then, to your surprise, he gently moved onto the bed beside you.

He settled in, carefully avoiding your injured side and battered face, but close enough that his warmth enveloped you. His arm, strong and comforting, slipped around your waist, pulling you gently against his side. The rhythmic beat of his heart resonated against your back, a steady drum of life and presence.

You didn’t resist. You simply melted into his embrace, your good arm instinctively wrapping around his chest, resting over his own steady heartbeat. The faint scent of salt and steel, uniquely his, filled your senses, a familiar and grounding aroma. You nestled your head against his shoulder, feeling the solid comfort of his presence, the protective aura he exuded.

The infirmary, once a place of pain and cold, was suddenly transformed into a sanctuary. All the torment, all the fear, all the guilt that had plagued you for so long, began to dissipate, replaced by a profound, comforting calm. You felt safe, truly safe, for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

Under the gentle rocking of the Thousand Sunny, with the familiar sounds of the sea outside and the steady rhythm of Zoro’s breathing beside you, your bruised and aching body found solace. Your eyes, heavy with exhaustion and emotion, slowly drifted closed. In the comforting embrace of the man who had risked everything to bring you home, you both drifted off to sleep, finding a shared, peaceful slumber amidst the stormy seas of your new, uncertain, but undeniably real, life.

The morning sun, filtered through the infirmary's porthole, cast a warm glow on your sleeping forms. You stirred first, the lingering aches in your body a familiar throb, but beneath them, a new, comforting warmth. Zoro's arm was still around you, his breath soft against your hair. You gently disentangled yourself, careful not to wake him, and managed to sit up, a soft groan escaping as your ribs protested.

As if sensing your movement, Zoro shifted, his eyes fluttering open. He looked at you, a soft, sleepy awareness in their depths, before a faint, genuine smile touched his lips. He sat up, stretching, his powerful muscles rippling.

"Feeling better?" he rumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

"A little," you admitted, a small smile touching your own bruised lips. "Thanks to Chopper." And to him, though you left that unspoken for now.

Breakfast on the Sunny

The scent of Sanji's cooking wafted into the infirmary, a tantalizing aroma that pulled you towards the galley. When you walked in, arm linked through Zoro's for support, a hush fell over the crew. Their eyes, filled with a mix of concern and relief, immediately landed on you. Chopper, who was already at the table, let out a relieved squeak.

"Y/N! You're up!" he chirped, hopping down from his chair to trot over to you.

"Morning, Quartermaster-chan!" Sanji greeted, his voice unusually gentle, a plate of perfectly cooked eggs and bacon already being placed before you. "I made your favorite."

You offered a weak smile. "Thanks, Sanji."

As you carefully sat down, the crew began to pepper you with questions and comments, their usual boisterous energy returning, albeit with a softer edge.

"How are your hands, Y/N?" Nami asked, leaning forward, her earlier tears replaced by genuine concern.

"Chopper worked his magic," you replied, holding up your heavily bandaged hand. "It'll be a while, but they'll heal."

"That Vice Admiral got what he deserved!" Usopp declared, puffing out his chest. "No one hurts our nakama!"

"Yohoho! Indeed!" Brook added, tipping his non-existent hat. "It was quite the performance, Y/N-san, making them think you were still with them!"

Franky gave a thumbs-up. "Super tough, Quartermaster! You took a beating and still didn't spill the beans!"

Jinbe nodded sagely. "Your resolve is admirable, Y/N. A testament to true loyalty."

You looked at their faces, at the genuine warmth and acceptance in their eyes, and a profound sense of gratitude washed over you. They weren’t judging you for your past, only celebrating your present choice.

Then, Luffy, who had been quietly stuffing his face, swallowed a huge bite of meat and looked at you, his eyes serious. "Y/N," he began, "we know you said you don't expect forgiveness, and that you're sorry for lying."

Your heart clenched, bracing for a lecture, or perhaps, a difficult conversation about trust.

But Luffy simply grinned, a wide, infectious grin that reached his eyes. "But we decided something. You chose us. You chose to be our friend, our nakama. So we're not mad."

A wave of relief so powerful it almost buckled your knees washed over you.

"We're glad you're here, Y/N," Nami added, her voice soft. "Even if you were a Marine. You're our Quartermaster now."

Zoro, from beside you, simply grunted in agreement, a silent affirmation.

Luffy then leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly, though still clear for everyone to hear. "And since you decided to be with us," he said, "we want to make sure you're really with us. No more running. No more turning yourself in." He paused, looking around at his crew, then back at you. "So, Y/N, we want to ask you something properly."

He took another deep breath, then, with that characteristic Luffy straightforwardness, he declared, "Will you officially join our crew? For real this time. Not as an undercover agent, but as our friend, our nakama, our Quartermaster of the Straw Hat Pirates?"

The question hung in the air, simple yet profound. It wasn't just an invitation; it was an absolution, a complete and utter acceptance of you, past, present, and future. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring the faces of the extraordinary people who had become your everything. You looked at each of them, their expectant smiles, their unwavering support. You looked at Zoro, who met your gaze with a silent strength, a subtle encouragement in his eyes.

"Yes," you whispered, the word thick with emotion, but growing stronger with each breath. "Yes, I will. Thank you. Thank you all."

A cheer erupted around the table, genuine and heartfelt. Luffy laughed, his characteristic joy filling the galley. The Thousand Sunny, now truly your home, sailed on, carrying its newly confirmed Quartermaster towards an unpredictable, but incredibly real, future.

The weeks that followed your official joining of the Straw Hat Pirates were a period of intense healing, both physical and emotional. The initial euphoria of your rescue settled into a comfortable, undeniable reality. You were no longer living a lie, and that freedom, despite the lingering aches, was intoxicating.

True to your nature, you threw yourself into your duties as quartermaster with an almost feverish dedication, often pushing yourself beyond what Chopper advised. Your fractured fingers, though splinted and bandaged, didn't stop you. You learned to adapt, using your good hand and even your teeth when necessary, much to Chopper's exasperation.

You were everywhere, touching every aspect of the ship's well-being.

* You meticulously reorganized the ship's inventory, ensuring every barrel of water, every bag of flour, and every spare part was accounted for and stored efficiently. Even with one hand, you devised a color-coded system for easy identification, earning a grumbling appreciation from Zoro who could finally find things without getting lost.

* You spent hours with Nami, poring over charts and logbooks, sharing your extensive knowledge of Marine supply routes and intelligence gathering, providing invaluable insights into potential dangers and safe harbors. You helped her refine the Sunny's provisioning protocols, making them even more efficient.

* You assisted Franky in the engine room, observing his repairs and maintenance routines, learning the intricacies of the Sunny's magnificent machinery. Even if you couldn't wield a wrench yet, you were there, offering a keen eye and your uncanny ability to spot inefficiencies, often suggesting practical, "super" improvements that Franky eagerly embraced.

* You spent time with Usopp, helping him brainstorm new projectile designs and organizing his workshop, providing a methodical approach to his chaotic creativity. You even managed to sketch out a few technical diagrams for him, holding the pen awkwardly in your good hand.

* You helped Sanji manage the galley's stock, ensuring he never ran out of key ingredients, even anticipating future needs based on upcoming voyages. You found yourself genuinely enjoying his passionate discussions about cuisine, offering surprisingly insightful suggestions for ingredient pairings.

* Even with Brook, you helped organize his sheet music and instruments, ensuring everything was protected from the sea air, taking genuine interest in his vast musical repertoire.

Chopper, though constantly reminding you to rest, found himself increasingly impressed by your resilience and dedication. He'd scold you for overdoing it, but a proud glint was always in his eye. Your devotion to the crew and the ship was undeniable, proving your commitment far more eloquently than any words could.

Your relationship with Zoro deepened with a quiet intensity that bypassed grand gestures. It was forged in shared silences, in stolen glances, and in the unspoken understanding that had bloomed amidst the chaos of your rescue.

He remained a constant, grounding presence. He was often found sitting near you while you worked, sometimes sharpening his swords, sometimes simply watching the horizon, but always within reach. He never pressed you to talk about your past, respecting the boundaries you silently held, but his unwavering acceptance was a constant balm to your still-healing emotional wounds.

One evening, as you sat on the deck, watching the sunset paint the sky in fiery hues, he silently moved to sit beside you, offering you a cup of warm tea that Sanji had specially brewed. You took it with your good hand, the warmth a comforting contrast to the cool evening air.

"How are the hands?" he asked, his voice low.

"Better," you replied, flexing your fingers slightly, wincing imperceptibly. "Still stiff."

He reached out, his calloused thumb gently tracing the edge of your splinted hand. "Don't push yourself too hard," he murmured, his gaze serious. "Chopper's got enough to worry about."

You met his eyes, a soft smile touching your lips. "I just… I want to prove I belong here. That I'm worth it."

His thumb stopped, pressing lightly against your skin. "You don't need to prove anything, Y/N," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. "You chose us. That's all the proof we need."

Later that night, as you lay in the infirmary, Chopper having given you a stronger painkiller, Zoro quietly slipped in. He didn't get into the bed this time, but pulled his chair close, settling in for what you thought would be another silent vigil. But instead, he reached out, and gently, carefully, he took your good hand in his, linking your fingers.

"Sleep," he rumbled, his voice a soft command. "I'll be here."

And as you drifted off, the warmth of his hand, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the quiet comfort of his presence were a lullaby more effective than any medicine. His steadfast loyalty, his quiet understanding, and his unwavering acceptance were a constant source of healing, slowly mending the deepest wounds, affirming that in his eyes, and in the heart of the Straw Hat Pirates, you were undeniably home.

The first rays of dawn, filtered through the infirmary's porthole, found you nestled against Zoro's side, your head tucked under his chin. The faint scent of salt and his unique, almost earthy aroma filled your senses. You stretched, a small, contented sigh escaping your lips as the familiar aches in your body seemed less sharp, softened by the warmth of his presence. He stirred, his arm tightening around your waist for a moment before he slowly opened his eyes, a soft, sleepy awareness in their depths. A faint, genuine smile, rare for the swordsman, touched his lips as he looked down at you.

"Morning," he rumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," you whispered back, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the rising sun.

You carefully untangled yourselves from each other, moving with the practiced ease that had developed over the past weeks. Your injured hand, though still bandaged, felt considerably better, and your bruises had faded to an array of faint yellows and purples.

Your relationship with Zoro had, indeed, become an open secret among the crew. There was no grand announcement, no dramatic declaration. It had simply become. Their knowing glances, Nami's subtle smirks, Sanji's exaggerated groans of disgust whenever Zoro was near you, and Luffy's innocent observations ("You two are always together!") had made it abundantly clear. It was a comfortable, quiet understanding that settled over the Sunny like a warm blanket.

The day unfolded, woven with small, intimate moments that spoke volumes of your burgeoning connection.

After breakfast, while the others were scattered about the ship, you found yourself on the deck with Zoro, overseeing the rigging. Your mending hand still limited your ability to do heavy work, but you pointed out fraying ropes and loose knots, explaining the quartermaster's meticulous checks. Zoro, instead of grunting and walking off as he might have with anyone else, actually listened, his eyes following your gestures. When you struggled to reach a particular line, he simply stepped behind you, his large hand gently guiding yours, reaching to secure it with a practiced knot. His warmth pressed against your back, a silent comfort that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Later, when Nami was poring over her maps, trying to decipher a particularly tricky current, you joined her, offering insights from old Marine navigational charts you'd memorized. Zoro, instead of heading to his usual napping spot, leaned against the mast nearby, seemingly just resting, but his gaze occasionally flickered to you, a quiet presence that made you feel effortlessly supported. When Sanji brought out snacks, he made sure to place a small plate of your favorites directly within your reach, a silent acknowledgment of the new dynamic.

In the afternoon, while Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper engaged in a chaotic fishing competition, you found yourself sitting on the grassy deck, sketching designs for improved storage containers. Zoro, as usual, had found a spot nearby to nap, his swords resting beside him. You glanced at him, a soft smile on your face. He looked peaceful, his breathing deep and even. Without thinking, you reached out your good hand and gently brushed a stray strand of moss-green hair from his forehead. His eyes didn't open, but a small, almost imperceptible murmur escaped him, and he shifted slightly, leaning into your touch.

Even during Franky's "SUPER" performance of a new upgrade to the Sunny's cola system, while the rest of the crew cheered and groaned in equal measure, Zoro remained by your side. You leaned against his arm, your laughter bubbling freely as Franky struck a dramatic pose. Zoro's arm subtly shifted to hold you a little closer, his own rare, soft chuckle rumbling in his chest.

As evening approached, and the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples, you found yourselves, once again, on the deck. The day had been filled with the ordinary rhythm of life on the Sunny, yet every moment had been subtly underscored by the quiet, comforting presence of your intertwined lives. Zoro, ever the man of few words, simply reached out and took your good hand in his, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. The silence between you was no longer just comfortable; it was profound, filled with unspoken promises and a love that had found its unexpected, undeniable home.

The last vestiges of daylight bled from the sky, leaving behind a canvas of deep indigo scattered with the first hesitant stars. The gentle rocking of the Sunny and the distant murmur of the sea set a tranquil scene, but the air between you and Zoro crackled with a different kind of energy. His thumb continued its slow, hypnotic circles on your hand, a quiet intimacy that sent shivers down your arm.

His gaze, which had been fixed on the horizon, slowly drifted to meet yours. A familiar, almost predatory glint entered his dark eyes, and a slow, teasing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"You know," he rumbled, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive tone, "I was still pretty pissed off when I found your note."

You raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile playing on your own lips. "Oh really, Swordsman? Pissed off about what, exactly?" You knew perfectly well what he was referring to, the unspoken connection between you electric.

"After we finally..." he paused, his gaze dropping to your lips, then back to your eyes, "had our moment." His thumb moved, tracing the line of your wrist, then slowly, deliberately, up your arm, sending a trail of heat in its wake. "And then you just left. Without a word. That's a pretty low move, Quartermaster." His voice was a playful growl, laced with a warmth that contradicted his mock-indignation.

Your heart quickened its pace. He was no longer just talking about your deception; he was talking about you, about them, about the burgeoning passion that had been cut short. "You're just saying that because you missed me," you teased back, your voice breathy.

His smirk widened, and he leaned in closer, the scent of him – salt, steel, and something uniquely masculine – filling your senses. His other hand came up, gently cupping your uninjured cheek, his thumb brushing over the fading bruise beneath your eye. "Maybe," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. "Or maybe I just don't like unfinished business."

His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed solely on yours, promising a different kind of completion. The distance between your faces was negligible, the air charged with unspoken desire. You didn't need words. You leaned in, meeting him halfway.

Your lips met, soft at first, a question, a rediscovery. Then, as his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against his solid frame, the kiss deepened, becoming hungry, urgent. All the pent-up tension, the fear, the relief, the raw emotion of the past weeks, poured into that embrace. Your good hand tangled in his moss-green hair, pulling him closer, while his hand cupped your face, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your jaw.

The world outside the two of you faded. The gentle rocking of the Sunny, the distant sounds of the crew, all became a muted backdrop to the roaring in your ears. His lips moved with a possessive tenderness, tasting of salt and promise. His body, warm and solid against yours, was a haven, and you pressed into him, desperate for more, desperate for the solace and passion he offered. It was a kiss of healing, of forgiveness, and of a future that, for the first time in a long time, felt undeniably, exhilaratingly real.

The kiss deepened, a fervent exploration that devoured the last vestiges of unspoken words. His lips were a demanding warmth, and yours answered with an equal, desperate hunger. His hands, no longer merely cupping your face, began to roam, large and sure, tracing the curves of your back, pulling you closer still. They slid lower, settling on your hips, exerting a gentle pressure that urged your body even tighter against his.

A soft gasp escaped your throat, swallowed by his kiss, as you instinctively responded. Your good hand tightened its grip on the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer still, while your bandaged hand, with surprising determination, found its way to rest against the firm line of his jaw.

With a fluid, almost unconscious movement, you shifted, sliding effortlessly into his lap. Your legs parted, straddling his thighs, and you pressed your core firmly against his, a silent, undeniable declaration of desire. The intimate contact sent a jolt of pure sensation through you, igniting a fire that had long been banked, now roaring to life.

His groan was a low rumble against your lips, a primal sound of raw pleasure and deepening passion. His hands tightened on your hips, holding you firmly in place, sealing the exquisite friction between you. The kiss became more fervent, more demanding, a desperate dance of desire that spoke of weeks of unspoken longing, of a bond forged in peril and cemented by choice. In that moment, there was only the two of you, the rhythm of your breaths, the beating of your hearts, and the intoxicating promise of a love finally given room to burn.

His hands, warm and strong, ventured further, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingers traced the sensitive skin of your back before curving around your sides, his thumbs brushing lightly against the undersides of your breasts. A shiver ran through you, and you arched into his touch. With practiced ease, his fingers found the clasp of your bra, a soft click signalling its release.

As his touch continued to ignite a fire within you, your lips left his, trailing a path of fervent kisses down his jawline, along the strong column of his neck. You left small, burning marks in your wake, claiming him, just as he was claiming you. A low moan escaped him as your lips pressed against the sensitive skin just above his collarbone.

Finally, pulling back slightly, your gaze still locked with his, you slid off his lap, gracefully kneeling before him on the soft deck. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your eyes dark with desire. His own eyes, equally heavy-lidded, watched your every move. Without breaking eye contact, your good hand moved, deliberate and slow, to the front of his pants. Your fingers found the fly, and with a suggestive smile, you began to unzip it.

His breath hitched as your fingers worked the zipper, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Your gaze remained locked with his, a silent challenge, a promise. The denim parted, revealing the dark fabric of his boxers beneath. With a slow, deliberate movement, your hand dipped inside, finding the elastic band. You pulled them down, peeling them away, revealing the thick, rigid length that sprang free.

He watched you, his eyes dark with a raw hunger, his body tensing in anticipation. Your fingers brushed against him, an electric current passing between your touch and his skin. You leaned in, letting your lips ghost over his throbbing tip, a feather-light tease that made him gasp. Your tongue flicked out, a quick, hot dart, tasting him, eliciting another groan that vibrated through his core.

Then, slowly, sensually, you opened your mouth, taking him in. The warmth was immediate, overwhelming, a perfect sheath around his thick length. You took him deeper, the exquisite pressure and the slow, deliberate suction drawing another ragged breath from him. Your good hand moved to cup him, stroking him with a gentle rhythm, while your eyes, still fixed on his, watched the pleasure bloom across his face.

You continued to take him in, your mouth working him with a practiced rhythm, each movement a deliberate act of adoration. His hips began to buck instinctively, a low, guttural moan rumbling in his chest as his hands came to rest on your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. The pressure grew, the sensation all-consuming, as you focused solely on his pleasure, drawing him deeper, teasing him with languid movements of your tongue.

The raw intensity of the moment was palpable, a testament to the weeks of unspoken tension and the profound bond that had formed between you. You felt the subtle tremors beginning to rack his powerful frame, his breathing growing shallow and ragged. His fingers tightened in your hair, urging you on, a silent plea for release. You held him there, drawing out the exquisite agony, until finally, with a powerful thrust, he spilled into your mouth, a hot, urgent release that made him gasp your name.

You held him there, savoring the aftermath, until the tremors subsided. Slowly, you pulled away, your lips glistening, a satisfied smile playing on your face. You looked up at him, his eyes heavy-lidded, his chest heaving. He was utterly, deliciously spent.

"Missed me, did you?" you murmured, a playful glint in your eyes, echoing his earlier words.

He let out a soft groan, a mix of exhaustion and profound contentment. His hand reached out, gently pulling you back into his lap, and he rested his forehead against yours. "More than you know, Y/N," he rasped, his voice rough with emotion. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in his world. And in that moment, for both of you, you were.

He pulled you closer, the warmth of his embrace a soothing comfort after the recent intensity. His lips found yours again, a softer, lingering kiss this time, filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache in the most exquisite way. Slowly, his hands began to move, no longer urgent, but deliberate, tracing the curve of your spine before finding the hem of your shirt. With a gentle tug, he began to pull it up, his gaze never leaving yours.

You helped him, raising your arms as he peeled the fabric from your body, revealing your still-bruised skin to the cool evening air. He discarded it to the side, his eyes lingering on the faint discoloration across your ribs, a silent testament to what you had endured. Then, his fingers moved to the waistband of your shorts, slowly, carefully, pushing them down over your hips.

You lifted yourself slightly, allowing him to pull them free. You were left in nothing but your underwear, sitting a few inches from his still-exposed, thick length. The intimacy of the moment was palpable, the air thick with unspoken anticipation.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face, that familiar glint returning to his eyes. He reached out, his thumb gently tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "You know," he rumbled, his voice a low, teasing growl, "after you left me hanging like that, and then disappearing without a trace, I think it's only fair you make it up to me." His thumb brushed closer, nearing the sensitive skin of your inner core. "And I think...I know exactly how." His rough hands went to his thick thighs, drumming his fingers on them. “Come on sweetheart, hop on.”

A flush spread across your cheeks, a deep blush staining your face despite the dim light. The sheer audacity, the raw possessiveness in his words, sent a shiver of excitement through you. "Oh, really?" you managed, your voice breathy, your eyes wide with a mix of surprise and undeniable arousal.

You leaned forward, your muscles coiling. With a soft groan, you lifted yourself, just a few inches, positioning yourself over him. Slowly, deliberately, you began to lower, pressing his thick, engorged tip against your warm, waiting entrance. A gasp escaped you both, a shared breath of anticipation as your bodies, finally, met again.

You began to move, a slow, deliberate ascent, your body trembling slightly with a mixture of anticipation and the lingering aches of your recent ordeal. The first inch of his thick length slid inside you, a breathtaking stretch that made you gasp softly. You rose, then descended, a hesitant, shaking rhythm, learning the new landscape of pleasure. Each downward press brought a fresh wave of sensation, a deeper connection that stole your breath.

"That's it, love," Zoro rumbled, his voice a low, husky encouragement in the dim light. His hands, still on your hips, guided your movements, a firm, reassuring pressure. "Just like that, Quartermaster."

His words, simple yet potent, sent a flush through you. To be called "love" by him, after everything, after believing yourself undeserving, was a profound comfort. And "Quartermaster," spoken with such possessive warmth, acknowledged not just your role on the ship, but your place by his side.

You continued to move, slowly at first, then gaining a more confident cadence as your body remembered the rhythm. His hips began to match yours, a subtle thrust upwards meeting your descent, deepening the delicious friction. You leaned forward, resting your head on his shoulder, the gentle rocking of the ship mirroring the sway of your bodies. With every slow, deliberate rise and fall, the last vestiges of fear and doubt seemed to dissipate, replaced by the overwhelming, undeniable truth of your connection.

You picked up the pace, your movements growing bolder, faster, as the pleasure coiled tighter within you. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, mingling with his. With each accelerating thrust, a delicious burn started to spread through your thighs, a welcome ache that intensified the exquisite friction. Your legs began to tremble uncontrollably, a joyful shake that threatened to buckle beneath you.

A deep, guttural groan ripped from Zoro's throat, a raw sound of pure animalistic pleasure that electrified the air. His hands, which had been guiding your hips, suddenly tightened their grip, becoming possessive anchors. With a powerful surge, he began to thrust upwards, meeting your every descent with an eager, demanding force.

The rhythm shifted instantly, becoming fast and rough, a primal dance of bodies colliding with urgent need. Your moans mingled, a desperate symphony of shared pleasure. He drove into you, again and again, pushing you to the edge, the force of his thrusts nearly lifting you from the bed. You arched your back, clinging to his shoulders, your head thrown back as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable crescendo. Every muscle in your body screamed, but it was a glorious agony, a testament to the raw, unbridled passion consuming you both.

The rhythm intensified, a furious, driving beat that consumed them both. Each powerful thrust from Zoro was met by your desperate clench, your combined momentum building into a singular, all-encompassing force. Your breath came in ragged gasps, mingled with his deep groans, as the edges of your vision began to blur. Pleasure, sharp and overwhelming, surged through every nerve ending, making your body hum with an almost unbearable tension.

You cried out, his name a ragged whisper torn from your throat, as the first waves of climax washed over you, powerful and shattering. Your muscles seized, your back arching, as an exquisite release rippled through your core. Zoro roared, a primal sound of pure ecstasy, his body tensing, driving into you with one final, deep thrust as he, too, met his high.

The tremors racked through him, his head falling back against the pillow as he spilled into you, a hot, urgent release. You collapsed onto him, breathless and shaking, your bodies slick with sweat, the last echoes of pleasure vibrating between you. The world spun, then slowly settled, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing and the gentle creak of the ship. You lay together, limbs entangled, hearts pounding a furious rhythm against each other, utterly spent and profoundly connected.

He shifted beneath you, pulling you impossibly closer until your ear rested against his chest, listening to the frantic tattoo of his heart slowly begin to steady. His hand, still firm on your hip, gave a gentle squeeze. Then, with a tenderness that still had the power to surprise you, he lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, right over the fading bruise.

"You did good, Y/N," he rasped, his voice still thick with spent passion but imbued with a profound sincerity. His words weren't about the act itself, but about everything that had led to this moment: your strength, your choice, your fight.

You let out a shaky sigh, a wave of profound contentment washing over you. Every ache in your body, every lingering bruise, every ghost of your past, seemed to fade into insignificance. All that mattered was the warmth of his skin against yours, the scent of him filling your lungs, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

You simply lay there, nestled in the powerful circle of his arms, your own bandaged hand resting against his bare chest. Your breaths, still heavy and uneven, mingled in the quiet intimacy of the infirmary. The gentle rocking of the Thousand Sunny was a lullaby, a silent promise of endless voyages to come. In that small, shared space, surrounded by the man who had ripped through a prison for you, and by the love that had defied all expectations, you found your true home. The journey had been long, fraught with lies and pain, but here, in his arms, under the quiet hum of the ship, you finally, completely, belonged.

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