#race through the maze

[realitybitesyouknowit]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Potter/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott Characters: Harry Potter, Blaise Zabini Additional Tags: Flufftober2021, Kissing in the Rain, Traditions, Marriage Proposal, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Romantic Fluff Series: Part 33 of Noxy's Flufftober 2021 Summary:

During a summer party at Malfoy Manor, Harry learns about an old tradition Blaise’s circle of friends started while they were kids. A tradition that might give him more than just a hint of the direction their relationship is heading.

Flufftober2021 Day 24: Caught in the rain

[luvsupa]

“WHATT? NEVER SEEN A GHOSTT..”

summary: next time be respectful for gojo’s memorial. . .

tags: ghost!gojo x fem!reader, smut, threesome (ig ..?), use of clone techniques, jjk spoilers, mean gojo, ōral sex (f!recieving), size difference,belly bulging, full nelson, degrading, dumbification, etc, mdni.

w.c: 4k . . .

a/n: GUYSSS WE GOIN UPPP ☝🏽 TYY FOR 1,7K MWAAAAA

+ sorry for the errors

kinktober masterlist

the halloween theme park buzzes with screams from rollercoasters and actors in horror costumes that look almost too real. you walk arm in arm with your friends, all of you decked out in matching monster high costumes. at first, you weren’t into it, but after enough pestering, you caved and ordered clawdeen’s full outfit.

the crowd can’t stop complimenting the four of you. from the boots to the hair, everything is spot-on. but gosh these platform boots are killing you. you can already feel tomorrow’s regret setting in.

“ooo, let’s try this ride before we leave,” one of your friends says through the fake fangs she’s wearing as draculaura. you all turn your heads to see what she’s pointing at. a sign reads infinity maze, with eerie, glowing blue eyes blinking on and off. it’s famous, mostly because the guy who designed it—gojo satoru—died a few years ago, turning it into some kind of attraction with ghost stories attached.

you scoff. people are suchwimps.

as you approach, you’re grateful for your speed passes because the line is insane. “okay, how about we make a bet?” your cleo-dressed friend suggests. “slowest time pays for dinner.”

you grin at the challenge, nodding along with everyone else.

as you wait, something catches your eye—a giant memorial statue of gojo satoru, standing tall near the maze entrance. his cocky grin is frozen in stone, and beneath it, the descriptiom reads,

in loving memory of satoru gojo. forever lovable and the strongest.

you roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “who gives a fuck about him?” you say, loud enough for your friends to hear. they giggle, and you continue, “seriously, they’re doing the most with this memorial. it’s not that deep.”

one of your friends shakes her head, trying not to laugh too hard. “it’s haunted, remember?” she says mockingly, to which you just snicker.

“haunted, my ass.”

your first friend goes into the maze, and you start timing her on your phone. almost three minutes later, she comes out breathless, claiming the only scary part was a worker grabbing her ankle at the end.

next up are the others, who all manage to escape in under two minutes. the pressure’s on now, but you refuse to be the one paying for dinner. with a quick glance at your friends, you flash your speed pass to the coordinator, ready to sprint through this lame maze and leave them all in the dust.

your platform boots thud heavily against the creaking wooden floor, each step echoing in the suffocating silence. the door slams shut behind you with a sharp clack, sealing you inside. a deep breath fills your lungs, but the air feels heavy, thick. the faint glow of flickering lights ahead barely cuts through the darkness, revealing the first room—a classroom?

it’s an old, japanese-style classroom, but something feels off. chairs are scattered across the floor like a struggle took place, and bloody handprints—too real for comfort—smear the walls. your heart races as a sudden crack of thunder rips through the air, making the weak lights above you flicker wildly. it feels like you’ve been transported, as if this isn’t a theme park anymore... like you’re somewhere else, somewhere you shouldn’t be.

you inch forward, boots sinking into the floorboards with each loud creakk. you can’t shake the feeling that the room is watching you. the chalkboard looms at the front, with jagged, uneven writing smeared across it

look behind you

your stomach twists. your mind fights to stay rational—it’s just part of the maze, it’s not real. but your hands are trembling as you slowly turn. nothing. just scattered desks and the harsh, stuttering light overhead. thunder crashes again, timed too perfectly. 

your heart rate slows a bit, but you mutter under your breath, stupid maze, trying to shake off the unease as you head toward the next door. the sign above it reads, hall of mirrors,

the knob feels cold in your hand as you twist it, stepping into the next room. pitch-black darkness swallows you whole, except for the mirrors that tower from floor to ceiling. hundreds of them, endless reflections stretching out in every direction. your eyes adjust to the faint, flickering light—just enough to see yourself, but not much else.

“fuck,” you whisper, hating mirror mazes with a passion. you move cautiously, knowing you’ll bump into a dead end at some point. your reflection multiplies with every turn, making it feel like you’re being watched from all angles. you stop in front of one mirror, catching your breath, and take a moment to adjust your costume.

you smooth down the sheer purple mini skirt, making sure your wolf ears are straight on your head. you shift slightly, checking out your ass in the reflection, appreciating how well the outfit hugs your body. you’re about to laugh at yourself when your eyes catch something—a shadow

a figure. behind you. 

your breath stops cold. your friends hadn’t mentioned anyone being in here with you. you freeze, heart pounding as you stare into the reflection, too terrified to turn around.

“o-oh um, did I come in the room too early?” you stammer, your voice barely steady, assuming he’s the worker who grabbed your friend’s foot earlier. you swallow hard, trying to make sense of the tension creeping up your spine. the lights flicker again, casting shadows that stretch too long. your eyes twitch as you stare into the mirror—he’s still there, standing so still it sends a chill down your spine.

the lights flicker again, plunging the room into darkness. your pulse races. you can feel his presence behind you, closer now, even though you haven’t turned around. every hair on your body stands on end, anticipation mingling with fear. when the lights finally come back, your breath catches in your throat.

gojo satoru.

he stands right behind you, towering over your smaller frame, his eyes glowing like cold fire through the mirror. his presence is overwhelming, suffocating, andelectrifying. his ocean-blue gaze locks onto yours through the reflection, freezing you in place. you can’t move, can’t breathe, as his lips curl into a slow, dark smile.

“nahhh, you came at a good time,” he drags out, voice low, rough, as it echoes through the room. the sound of it, mixed with the flickering lights, makes your knees weak. he steps closer, his icy fingers brushing the hem of your skirt, sending a shiver down your spine. your breath hitches as you feel his touch, subtle yet possessive.

“and who are you supposed to be?” his voice is condescending, almost mocking, as his hand continues to toy with the fabric, lifting it just slightly. the way he says it makes your heart race faster, your skin prickling with a mixture of fear and something else—something darker.

you glance up, meeting his gaze in the mirror, tears forming in your eyes. this can’t be real. his white hair falls messily around his face, his long lashes shadowing those dangerously beautiful eyes.

“h-how? y-you’re dead,” you blurt out, ignoring his question as panic takes over. but his chuckle—low, dark—vibrates against the back of your neck, making you shudder. you’re trapped between the mirror and him, his breath warm and taunting against your skin.

“that i am,” he murmurs, his lips so close to your ear, “but you know what they say… energy never dies. you brought me here.” his words wrap around you, suffocating, intoxicating. your mind spins, trying to comprehend. you brought him here? how could you possibly—?

“h-how?” your voice is barely a whisper, trembling as you try to make sense of his words. it feels like the room is shrinking, like the walls are closing in, the air too thick to breathe.

“don’t play dumb now,” he chides, his hand sliding higher up your thigh. the heat of his palm sends sparks through your body. you shouldn’t want this, but the way his fingers tease your skin, the slow drag of his hand, has you clenching your thighs together.

suddenly, it hits you. images of you mocking his memorial, laughing at his statue, flashing through your mind. his low chuckle tells you he knows exactly what you’re remembering.

“i-i didn’t mean-”

“didn’t mean it? nahh, pretty, you fuckin’ meant it.” his plush lips press against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that make your knees weak. fuck, you shouldn’t be getting turned on by this, by a ghost. yet, your body betrays you, burning up under his touch.

he leans into you, his teeth grazing your exposed skin, making you flinch. fangs? you tremble as he brushes his fingers under your chin, lifting your face so your wide, glossy eyes meet his through the mirror.

“all that nasty energy you have within you… mmm, that’s why.” his voice drops as he nibbles on your earlobe, tugging lightly on your hoop earrings, making you wince.

“‘m sorry, j-just don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything,” you stammer, your voice shaky as his grip on your chin tightens. his movements still, and the way he smirks behind you makes your heart sink. you’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable—like you just handed him your dignity on a silver platter.

without a word, he pushes your back down, forcing you to brace yourself against the mirror, your fingertips smudging the glass as you struggle to keep steady. glancing to another mirror, you see him crouching down, eyeing your clothed cunt with dangerous curiosity.

“anything, she says”, gojo quietly says, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you arch your back just right for him. his eyes darken when he notices how soaked your panties are, the fabric clinging to your folds, sucked in by the wet heat between your thighs. of course, the lights choose now not to flicker—how fucking embarrassing.

with a quick, rough tug, gojo hooks his finger into your panties, pulling them side to side, watching how your chubby folds swallow the fabric before yanking them aside, fully exposing your dripping cunt. you clench hard at the sudden cool breeze against your exposed skin, and he pauses, mesmerized.

“you like this, huh? getting off to a dead man… ohh, you’re disgusting,” he mocks, his voice low and sinister.

“��m going to make sure you live your dirty fantasies,” he growls, his tone laced with intent.

and he really is.

gojo has been diving into your cunt for what felt like hours, his impossibly slimy tongue lapping up your juices as your gummy walls snugly embrace him. your hands grip the sides of the mirror for dear life, feeling him reach the deepest parts of you. you’re moaning like a bitch in heat, your desperation rising as his spare hand mercilessly toys with your clit, not in cute circles, but pinching and pulling on your sensitive nub with no mercy whatsoever.

your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably as he pushes you to your third orgasm, broken moans escaping your glossed lips. your pussy slowly feels numb, overwhelmed by how hungrily he’s eating you out. do they not feed him in his world?

“ngh—‘toru, it’s too m-much,” you hiccup, and he growls behind you, the sound vibrating through your body. at this point, you’ve completely forgotten about your friends, about the stupid bet—you’re lost in the most toe-curling head of your life.

your stomach churns unexpectedly as you cum again, your brain so fuzzy that you can’t even comprehend it. he loudly slurps up your mess, not wasting a single drop as he licks you clean, your cunt twitching around his tongue. when he pulls his tongue from your gaping hole, your swollen folds throb in response as he grins at your state.

“heh, look at you—just a slut for a ghost!” he taunts, now standing behind you, grinding his achy bulge against your exposed cunt. his eyes never leave your face in the mirror.

“let’s see how much dick she can take,” he mutters to himself, cupping your pussy, clearly addressing her rather than you. as you catch onto his words, a wave of confusion and excitement hits you. how much? there’s more than one?

before you can process anything, you blink once and find yourself in the most insane position you’ve ever been in—full nelson. gojo has you completely at his mercy, holding your legs high above your head with a firm grip, locking you in place like a ragdoll. your tall platform boots dangle helplessly in the air, the sensation thrilling and humiliating as you stare at your reflection in the endless mirrors surrounding you. your stomach twists at the sheer size difference between your body and his, your eyes widening as you see your slick, swollen cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

your miniskirt is now so short that it’s bunched up around your waist, exposing more skin than you’d ever intended. your eyes drop lower, and you gulp as you take in the sight of his cock, standing proudly upright. the base is a tan colour, thick and powerful, with mean veins decorating the sides that pulse with each heartbeat. the bulbous tip is a deep pink, glistening with droplets of cum that catch the dim light.

with one hand firmly securing your legs, gojo uses his other to tease you, rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds, the sensation sending electric jolts through your body. you bite your lip at the girth of his shaft, feeling a mix of excitement and horror. he’s definitely bigger than all your previous exes, and with every second you spend in this position, he brings undeniable shame onto them.

“can you handle it, baby?” he taunts, his voice dripping with condescension as he revels in your predicament.

“yes, I can-”

without lettint you finish, he thrusts into you, burying himself deep within your slick warmth. the suddenness takes your breath away, and you let out a gasp as he fills you completely. his girth stretches you in a way you’ve never experienced before, almost burning as your gummy walls clench around him, trying to accommodate his size. each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, a delicious blend of pain and ecstasy as you realize you can only take it.

gojo holds you firmly in place, using this ruthless position to keep you utterly at his mercy, revelling in your helplessness. with each powerful thrust, he drives deeper, hitting spots inside you that make your vision blur and your legs tremble. you can’t escape, all you can do is take what he gives you, your body completely surrendered to the pleasure.

“look at you, taking it so well,” he growls, a wicked grin stretching across his face as he watches your reflection in the mirror. your moans fill the room, echoing off the glass, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. the sweat glistens on his body, making his white hair stick to his forehead, adding to the rawness of the moment. “you’re nothing but a greedy little slut, aren’t you?”

you can only whimper in response, your head spinning as his relentless rhythm pushes you closer to the edge. your thighs shake uncontrollably as he hits that sweet spot, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust. you’ve completely forgotten everything but the way he stretches you out, your body fitting around him perfectly as if you were made for him.

as gojo thrusts into you relentlessly, your collar jingles with every powerful movement, a stark reminder of your current position. each chime echoes in the room, amplifying your vulnerability as he drinks in the sight of your pretty, disheveled form. he watches how your eyes flutter in bliss, how your lips part with each thrust, and how your reflection reflects the pure ecstasy etched across your face.

“what happened to all that toughness?” he sneers, his breath hot against your ear as he quickens his pace. “wanna tell me how stupid this is?” his laughter reverberates through the air, as he reminds you of your sly comment.

the humiliation of his words ignites a flame deep within you, and despite the embarrassment, your body craves more. your jewelry clinks and jingles as he pounds up into you, each sound mingling with the echoes of your moans. the sensation is overwhelming, and you find yourself teetering on the edge of submission, your mind hazy as pleasure clouds your thoughts.

as you struggle to keep your eyes open, the world around you blurs and spins. you can’t tell if it’s the overwhelming pleasure or the way he’s wrecking you, but you swear you see multiple gojos swarming around the two of you in the mirrors. they grin wickedly, each one reflecting the same smug confidence, but you’re too lost in ecstasy to process it completely.

am I seeing things? you wonder,

your mind foggy from the pleasure coursing through your body. each thrust sends you spiral deeper into submission, heat pooling in your core, ready to explode.

then, without warning, you feel another hand, another gojo, playing with your pussy. your eyes shoot open, panic flooding your senses as you choke back a gasp.

he can clone himself!

your body responds eagerly to the dual sensations, the original gojo still jack hammerinh relentlessly inside you while his clone teasingly rubs your clit, heightening your pleasure to unimaginable heights. as if sensing your need, the clone moves closer, rubbing his chubby tip along your widened folds. you scream internally, panic flashing through your mind as he presses against you, the overwhelming stretch igniting both fear and pleasure.

there’s no fucking way.

the clone pushes in slowly, stretching you beyond your limits, sending shockwaves through your body. you cry out, your voice a mix of pleasure and pain, tears brimming in your eyes. he’s moulding himself deep within your walls as you feel every inch of your velvety walls being re-designed for him.

the original gojo leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “c’mon, big baaaad wolf, can you handle both of us?” he taunts the nickname referring to your costume, as his thrusts becoming more forceful as the clone fills you. “i thought you were a big girl.”

you can only moan in response, the sound mingling with the jingle of your jewelry as they continue to drive you wild. the mirrors reflect your state—multiple gojos swarming around you, each one more enticing than the last. their mocking smiles deepen your humiliation, but the pleasure they bring you makes it impossible to care. both their cock heads rushing as if it were a race to reach your cervix as you squeak at the brutal thrusts.

“look at you, a pathetic mess,” the original gojo mocks, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as you squirm between them. your gaze lazily drifts to the your tummy where a large bulge forming beneath your costume, moans escaping your lips at the sight. “you love being filled up like this, don’t you? who’s the stupid one now?”

your body betrays you, your pussy clenching around both of them as they thrust in sync, stretching you to your limits. the lewd squelches and sloshes of your dripping cunt fill the air, drowning out all coherent thoughts. each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, the overwhelming sensations causing your mind to spiral into oblivion.

the clone suddenly flicks your head, thr pain forcing you to look at him, and you feel a rush of clarity amidst the haze. “stay with us, pretty,” he demands, his tone both condescending and sultry. 

“we- hgnn -want to see that face you make when you fall apart.” you shudder at the sound of his voice, the way it sends waves of heat coursing through your body.

“mmf—i can’t. . . ’s too much,” you babble, your voice rising higher as the clone continues to push into you, the overwhelming sensation of fullness sending shockwaves through your body. pleasure and pain blur together, and you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

“ohhh, but you can,” the original gojo growls, thrusting harder, your body shaking as you sob loudly, the sounds echoing off the mirrors as your achy walls clenching around his thick shafts.

every angle captures your struggle—your skin glistening with sweat, your costume soaked and clinging to your curves, and the way you’re trapped between two versions of the man you crave. the reflections amplify the chaos, a never-ending loop of desire and degradation as you’re thrust deeper into submission.

“what about your friends?” the clone taunts, a wicked smirk plastered across his face. “what will they think when they find you like this?” the thought sends a wave of humiliation crashing over you, but the pleasure is relentless, drowning out any semblance of reality.

“anddd what about that bet you had?” the original gojo continues from behind, his voice dripping with mockery. “i bet they wouldn’t believe how much you enjoy being filled up by us.” you nod at his words, sniffles escaping your nostrils as fat globs of tears streak down your cheeks, your makeup a ruined mess.

they’re so deep inside you that it feels like they’re going to split you in half. each thrust stretches you to your limits, their relentless rhythm pushing you closer to the brink.

you swear you feel him in your chest.

“please… i need to—” you gasp, your body trembling as the clone toys with your clit, electric jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your senses blur, and all you can feel is the overwhelming fullness and the pleasure spirall out of control.

“let go, pretty,” the clone whispers, fingers dancing over your sensitive bud. “show us how much you want it.”

with one final thrust from the original gojo, the heat builds to an explosive climax. you feel your body tighten around them, walls pulsing as a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you.

“fuckk!” you scream, body convulsing as you squirt, release gushing out of you and mixing with his cum. gojo’s thick cum shoots deep inside as he paints your gummy walls a pretty milky white, creating an intense mess that ends up coats your inner thighs. the overwhelming sensation sends you spiraling into a realm of ecstasy, every nerve ending igniting as you succumb to the bliss.

“what a sight,” the original gojo grunts, breath heavy with satisfaction. you’re lost in the aftermath, body shaking as you ride the waves of pleasure, mind fogged with overwhelming satisfaction and disbelief at the chaos that has consumed you.

as you try to come back from your intense orgasm, the clone pulls back and disappears. when gojo finally slides out of your cunt, a waterfall of cum oozes from you, thick globs spilling forth—it’s utterly inhumane. gojo carefully places your wobbly legs, which had been in the air for what felt like hours, back on the ground as you collapse, the numbness too much to bear.

the mess cascades down your gaping hole, sticky and warm, creating a thick pool beneath you. you can’t help but feel utterly exposed, the evidence of their domination staining your costume and making you acutely aware of how thoroughly you’ve been filled.

the sight is almost too much to bear, the way your body quakes with the remnants of pleasure while the glistening fluid slowly drips, accentuating the chaos you’ve just experienced. you feel humiliated yet impossibly aroused, the reflections in the mirrors surrounding you amplifying your vulnerability as he stands, watching you tremble.

“c’mon, baby, your friends have been waiting,” he coos, picking you up bridal style as you mumble nonsense, your brain so fucked that you can barely string a thought together. he strides through the mirror maze and into the last room, steadying you onto the ground for you to exit on your own.

he fixes your hair and outfit, quickly pecking your lips before opening the door and giving you a final push. you stumble out, the cool breeze hitting you like a splash of cold water, bringing you back to reality.

“girl, what the hell took you so long?” your friends shout as you try to steady your wobbly legs. one of them shoves her phone in your face, and your jaw drops.

50 fucking minutes.

“t-the worker was—”

“t-the worker- shut up. now you’re buying us food.” one of them mocks, handing you your belongings while they stare you up and down, taking in how badly you’re shaking and your frizzy hair.

“jeez did a demon fuck you? you look like you got meannn dick in there,” she jokes, and everyone bursts into laughter, including you. they have no idea what you’ve just been through, but you can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

[gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun]

My favorite memory in a corn maze was when I was with some friends and we turned a corner and found these guys a couple years older than us

And one of the strangers just looked at my friend and said “hey cousin, wanna suck my dick?”

And my friend didn’t miss a single beat before grabbing a handful of dried corn in his pocket, saying “not today, Satan!” and launching the corn in the dude’s face

Then they chased us through the corn maze. It was a time. Definitely an experience for sure.

[ahqkas]

Could you do one with the batboys having a S/O that gets lost easily and finds them at the most random places? Like they get lost in the mansion one day trying to find the kitchen and they somehow end up outside, que the batboys "mildly" panicking because their S/O has been gone for an hour. Please and thank you 🙏

♯LOST AND FOUND

— gn!reader, mention of reader’s hair in bruce’s & dick’s

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE WAYNE MANOR WAS A LABYRINTH—an elegant, sprawling maze of hallways, grand staircases, and secret rooms. it didn’t matter how many times you visited; no amount of “turn left at the portrait” or “take the second right after the library” advice ever stuck with you. you had been in this house dozens of times, and yet, somehow, you still managed to find yourself in the strangest, most unexpected places.

today was no different. you’d innocently set out in search of the kitchen, craving a snack while your boyfriend was busy with his family in the batcave. alfred had mentioned fresh-baked cookies earlier ( your favorite kind ) , and the thought had been enough to motivate you and set you off on your own. armed with directions you thought you’d memorized, you’d confidently strode off down the hall.

and then . . . nothing looked familiar.

at first, you thought you’d missed a turn. then you became certain the house had grown a new wing overnight because the rooms and corridors you passed were entirely unfamiliar. determined not to call your boyfriend for help—again—you kept walking, convinced the kitchen had to be just around the next corner.

somehow, “just around the next corner” turned into a venture outside, where you found yourself on a cobblestone path surrounded by perfectly trimmed hedges. the late afternoon sun painted the sprawling grounds in hues of gold, but the idyllic scene did little to soothe your rising exasperation.

“this isn’t the kitchen,” you muttered to yourself, looking around in disbelief.

. . . BRUCE WAYNE !

meanwhile, bruce was beginning to notice your absence. he’d glanced at the clock more than once, each glance sending a ripple of unease through him. you’d left nearly an hour ago, and the mansion, while vast, wasn’t that confusing—well, not to him, at least.

setting down his pen, he leaned back in his chair, a faint crease forming between his brows. he told himself not to worry. you were probably fine. maybe you’d gotten distracted by something or decided to take a walk. but after another five minutes of no sign of you, his patience wore thin. where were you?

he stood abruptly, striding out of the study and calling your name as he began his search for you. his footsteps echoed through the hallways, and as each empty room passed, his worry grew.

“couldn’t have gone far,” the batman muttered to himself, though his mind raced with increasingly unpleasant scenarios. what if you’d fallen somewhere? what if you were stuck in one of the secret passages? scared, alone, with no way to return to him? yeahhh, that frightened him just right.

his search eventually led him outside, where he spotted you—utterly unharmed, but clearly annoyed as you stood in the middle of the garden, hands on your hips, muttering something he couldn’t hear.

“there you are,” bruce called, his voice a mix of relief and exasperation as he hurried toward you.

you turned, startled, but your expression softened when you saw him. “oh, hey. what’s up?”

“what’s up?” he repeated, stopping in front of you with a look that was both amused and incredulous. “you’ve been gone for an hour. i thought something happened to you.”

“oh,” you said sheepishly, glancing around. the time didn’t mean anything out here. “i got . . . a little lost.”

“a little?” his lips twitched, fighting a smile as he took in your surroundings. “you’re in the gardens. weren’t you looking for the kitchen?”

“i was!” you insisted, throwing your hands up in defeat. “but somewhere between the portrait gallery and the second staircase, i made a wrong turn, and well, here we are.”

bruce shook his head, his expression softening as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “you could’ve called me, you know.”

“i didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted. “besides, i thought i could figure it out on my own.”

he sighed, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple in an affectionate gesture. “you’re never a bother. next time, call me. or alfred. i don’t like the idea of you wandering around this house like it’s a corn maze.”

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

you had zero sense of direction.

inside the manor, dick was finishing up his workout when he realized something was off. you weren’t in the gym with him. you weren’t in the living room, the library, or even his old room you two used whenever you decided to spend the night in the manor.

initially, he wasn’t too worried about your well-being. it wasn’t uncommon for you to explore the manor and its grounds when he was busy. but after twenty minutes of calling your name and finding no sign of you, his easygoing demeanor shifted into mild panic. it was like you’ve been swallowed by the ground, no traces or proof that you were here.

“maybe the kitchen,” he muttered to himself, retracing the path he thought you’d take. but the kitchen was empty, the dining room too.

“alfred?” dick called out, jogging into the study. “have you seen [name]?”

alfred, ever calm and composed, shook his head. “not recently, master grayson. though if [name] was attempting to navigate the manor alone . . .”

“don’t remind me,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. he knew you had a tendency to get lost—easily—but this was next level. his mind raced through the possibilities. were you stuck somewhere? had you wandered into one of the less-used wings? where could he find you?

finally, on a hunch, he headed outside, his heart skipping a beat when he spotted you standing near the fountain, arms crossed, glaring at the house like it had personally offended you ( and let’s be real, it kinda did ).

“there you are!” his loud voice carried across the lawn as he jogged over.

you turned at the sound of his voice, relief washing over your face. “dick! thank god. i thought i’d end up living out here.”

he stopped in front of you, hands on his hips, catching his breath. “do you have any idea how long i’ve been looking for you? you’ve been gone for an hour.”

“it hasn’t been an hour,” you countered, though you glanced at your phone and winced. “. . . ‘kay, maybe close to an hour.”

“what happened?” he asked, his exasperation softened by the amused smile creeping onto his face. as much as he was worried sick about you for the past half an hour, he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to tease you relentlessly after he made sure you’re more than okay.

“i was trying to find the kitchen, and then one wrong turn led to another, and somehow . . . you gestured at the sprawling green around you. “ . . . here i am.”

he pinched the bridge of his nose, torn between laughing and pulling you into a hug. “you do realize you could’ve called me, right?”

“i didn’t want to interrupt your workout,” you said sheepishly. “plus, i thought I could figure it out on my own.”

dick shook his head, stepping closer and resting his hands on your shoulders. “you’re something else, you know that?”

“hey, at least i didn’t wander into the batcave this time.”

“don’t remind me.” he chuckled, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “next time, just call me, okay? you’re too important to go missing for an hour without me knowing where you are.”

as you walked back together, you couldn’t help but feel a little grateful for your terrible sense of direction. after all, it gave dick another excuse to keep you close—and he wasn’t about to complain.

. . . JASON TODD !

it should have been simple—just follow the directions your boyfriend had given you: down the hall, past the grandfather clock, first left. there’s the kitchen.

easy, right?

wrong.

somewhere after the grandfather clock, you’d gotten distracted by a painting. then a turn you thought was the right one deposited you into a hallway filled with suits of armor, which definitely didn’t lead to the kitchen.

“okay,” you muttered to yourself, looking around for any sign of familiarity. “i can figure this out.”

spoiler: you couldn’t.

what started as a confident stride through the manor became a journey through increasingly unfamiliar territory. at one point, you ended up in a library you were pretty sure wasn’t the main one, and at another, you swore you saw the same suit of armor twice.

then, somehow, you found a door leading outside.

now standing in the middle of the garden, you let out an exasperated sigh. “this is fine. completely fine. i’ll just . . . enjoy the fresh air until i figure out where i am.”

back in the manor, jason was starting to get worried.

you’d been gone for nearly an hour. the kitchen wasn’t that far, and he’d walked you through the directions at least three times. at first, he figured you’d gotten distracted by something, but after calling your name a few times and not getting a response, a knot of unease formed in his chest.

“babe?” he called, heading toward the kitchen himself. it was empty.

a quick search of the living room and study turned up nothing, and his patience wore thinner with each passing minute. “you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he checked another hallway.

by the time he reached the garden door and spotted you standing near a hedge, staring at a rosebush like it held all the answers to the universe, he was caught somewhere between relief and exasperation.

“there you are,” he called out, striding toward you.

you turned, startled by his voice, before breaking into a sheepish grin. “oh, hey, jay. what’s up?”

“what’s up?” he echoed, stopping in front of you with a look of disbelief on his face. “you’ve been gone for an hour. i thought you fell into one of bruce’s secret tunnels or something.”

“i didn’t mean to!” you protested, gesturing at the manor. “i got lost. again.” not an unfamiliar situation for you.

he pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long sigh. “how do you even manage to get lost this badly? the kitchen is literally the easiest room to find.”

“well, not for me,” you replied, crossing your arms and letting your eyes set into a light glare. “this place is like a maze. and in my defense, your directions weren’t super clear, either.”

he raised an eyebrow. “not super clear? i told you to turn left after the grandfather clock.”

“okay, but what about the painting next to it? was i supposed to pass that too?”

“you don’t take directions like suggestions,” he said, a teasing smirk creeping onto his lips despite his earlier frustration.

you huffed, but before you could respond, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close.

“seriously, though,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “i was starting to think something happened to you.”

your expression softened as you wrapped your arms around him. “i didn’t mean to worry you. i just . . . have the worst sense of direction.”

“yeah, no kidding,�� he teased, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “but next time, just call me, okay? you’ve got my number, and i’ve got a built-in gps for this place.”

. . . TIM DRAKE !

TIM HAD GIVEN YOU DIRECTIONS to the kitchen before he went to work in the cave, but between the hallways that seemed to stretch forever and the identical-looking doors, you were hopelessly lost within five minutes.

“okay, past the piano room, and then . . . left? or was it right?” you muttered to yourself, trying to backtrack.

your stomach grumbled in protest. the kitchen wasn’t supposed to be far, but every turn you made seemed to lead to another unfamiliar wing of the manor. you wandered through a corridor lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the expansive grounds. one window was cracked open, and a soft breeze tugged at your curiosity.

“maybe the kitchen has a garden entrance?” you reasoned aloud, stepping through the side door.

before you knew it, you were outside, standing near a hedge maze that seemed like a metaphor for your situation at that moment. “great,” you muttered. “lost inside and outside. perfect.”

you plopped down on a bench near the maze entrance, deciding to take a breather before figuring out how to get back. the breeze was nice, the gardens were peaceful . . . maybe this wasn’t so bad.

meanwhile, in the batcave, tim was focused on a particularly stubborn piece of tech when he glanced at the clock and realized you’d been gone for an hour.

an hour. to get to the kitchen.

at first, he brushed it off, assuming you’d gotten distracted by something—probably a painting or one of the endless wayne family heirlooms like you always did.

but when you didn’t answer his texts and a quick check of the kitchen proved empty, he started to worry.

“alfred?” he called, jogging up the stairs. “have you seen [name]?”

“not since they went looking for the kitchen,” the old butler replied, though there was a faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

tim sighed, running a hand through his hair. “they’re lost again, aren’t they?”

“quite possibly.”

your boyfriend set off to search, his worry growing as he checked room after room. the library, the sitting room, even the game room—all empty. “where are you?” he muttered, glancing out a window just in time to spot a familiar figure sitting outside near the hedge maze. relief washed over him, quickly followed by exasperation.

he made his way outside, his footsteps crunching on the gravel path as he approached. “there you are,” he said, his voice a mix of relief and incredulity.

you looked up, startled, and then gave him a sheepish smile. “hey, tim. uh, fancy seeing you here?”

“you’ve been gone for an hour. the kitchen is inside the house.”

“i know,” you said quickly, standing up. “but i got a little turned around, and then j thought maybe there was an outside entrance, and—”

“and you ended up here,” he finished for you, gesturing to the hedge maze. “why didn’t you call me?”

“i didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted, your voice small.

he sighed, stepping closer and resting his hands on your shoulders. “you’re never bothering me. especially not when you’re wandering around like a lost puppy.”

“hey!” you protested, though you couldn’t help but smile at the affectionate teasing in his tone.

tim shook his head, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “come on, let’s get you back inside before you decide to explore the maze and I have to send out a search party.”

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON ⟢ you're perfect

x FEM!reader ⟢ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request

WORD COUNT: 4473

GENRE: angst

CONTENT WARNING: talks of insecurity, if this is too triggering please do not read, my dms are always open

the bass of the music thudded through the house, reverberating in your chest as you stepped through the packed crowd. you had come with your friends—kie, jj, john b, sarah, and pope—but it didn’t take long for everyone to scatter. parties were always like that, a chaotic mess of faces and fleeting conversations.

you weren’t here for the party, though. you were here for rafe.

he’d mentioned he’d be around tonight, and despite your better judgment, you couldn’t help but want to see him. you hadn’t texted him yet—part of you wanted the thrill of stumbling upon him, a magnetic pull drawing you closer until you found him.

jj was somewhere near the beer pong table, obnoxiously yelling about sinking a cup. sarah and john b had disappeared upstairs, and you’d last seen kie and pope heading toward the kitchen. so now, it was just you, weaving through the maze of bodies.

as you made your way toward the back of the house, you heard a voice from around the corner.

“she’s so desperate, though,” one girl said, laughing.

your footsteps faltered.

“i mean, come on. you’d think she’d have some self-respect,” another chimed in. “following rafe cameron around like a lost puppy? it’s pathetic.”

“rafe doesn’t even like y/n. he’s just playing with her. you know how he is.”

“did you even see her? as if anyone would go for a girl like that,” one of them spoke up, causing a few girls to snicker.

your stomach twisted, an icy rush spilling down your spine. you stayed behind the wall, frozen, unable to move. they couldn’t see you, but you could see them—three girls in skimpy dresses, plastic cups in hand, giggling like their words weren’t slicing through you.

your first instinct was to roll your eyes. they didn’t know you, didn’t know anything about you and rafe. you were sure of that. but their words stuck, digging deeper than you’d like to admit.

you blamed the alcohol. that’s what it was. you’d had a couple of drinks, and now everything felt amplified. it wasn’t like their petty gossip meant anything. right?

shaking off the unease, you turned away and kept moving. you weren’t going to let them ruin your night.

the heat from the bonfire stung your skin as you went outside , the flickering orange light casting long shadows on the backyard. rafe was still standing there with topper and kelce, laughing over something that was probably way less funny than they thought it was. a few other people were hanging around the fire, drinking and chatting in their own little world.

as you neared them, you caught sight of two girls standing just a little too close to rafe. one of them was leaning in, a flirtatious laugh escaping her lips as her hand brushed against his arm. she was dressed in a tiny, skin-tight dress, her hair styled to perfection, her eyes fixed on rafe as though the entire world was invisible to her.

you didn’t mean to stare. really, you didn’t. but your feet felt like lead, and your heart began to race in your chest.

rafe was looking at the girl, but it wasn’t the way she was looking at him. his face was a mask of indifference, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes didn’t linger on her. He didn’t flirt back. he didn’t lean in. he was just there, as if waiting for the interaction to pass.

still, the moment felt suffocating. your chest tightened, a sick feeling spreading through your stomach. you tried to breathe through it, but every breath felt shallow. the alcohol in your veins wasn’t helping, either. it was supposed to loosen you up, to keep you confident, but right now, it just felt like a weight pressing down on you.

you couldn’t tear your eyes away from them—the girl, smiling too wide, touching his arm as if she had some claim on him, and rafe, standing still like a piece of furniture, polite but distant.

what am i doing here?

you swallowed, the bile rising in your throat. yout hands clenched at your sides as you willed yourself not to cry. not now, not in front of everyone, especially not in front of him.

the girl laughed again, leaning in a little closer, and the world around you started to blur. you blinked hard, trying to steady your thoughts. focus. you’re fine. you’re okay.

but you didn’t feel okay. you didn’t feel fine at all. the girl’s flirtation, the way she was trying so hard to get rafe’s attention, felt like a punch to the gut. it wasn’t the way he was looking at her—it was the way it made you feel. like you didn’t belong here, like maybe you weren’t the one he cared about at all.

as much as you hated yourself for it, you felt small. invisible. disposable.

you could hear laughter in the distance, people shouting across the yard, music thumping from inside the house. but all you could hear was the rapid beating of your own heart in your ears. the world around you felt too big, too loud, and you didn’t want to be part of it anymore.

you turned away without even realizing you’d made the decision, your mind already made up.

it wasn’t like you wanted to leave, but you didn’t want to be here. not anymore. not while that girl was touching him. not while you felt like a stranger in your own skin.

you didn’t want to cry. you couldn’t let anyone see you break.

so you walked away, quick, almost a blur of movement, dodging between bodies, weaving through groups of people. you kept your head down, ignored the music that pounded in your chest, and just focused on getting to the front door.

when you pushed through it and stepped into the cool night air, the tears you were holding back finally spilled over. you didn’t let out a sob or anything loud. you just blinked quickly, wiping your face as the tears soaked your cheeks.

you just needed to get home.

you don’t know exactly how you managed to make it to your car. you just did, a mixture of emotion, alcohol, and numbness driving your every step.

the keys felt slippery in your hand as you fumbled to unlock the door. you wanted to tell yourself you were being ridiculous, that none of this mattered, that rafe wasn’t even interested in those girls—but the truth was, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t enough.

you slid into the front seat and slammed the door behind you, sinking into the leather. you stared at the steering wheel for a long moment, the soft thrum of your heartbeat the only sound you could hear.

no matter how hard you tried to push it away, the sick feeling in your stomach wouldn’t fade.

the drive home was a blur. you gripped the steering wheel. the streetlights flickered by in a haze of orange and yellow, but you hardly noticed. every thought in your head felt like a tangled mess, too many voices fighting for attention, none of them kind.

what did you think was going to happen? he doesn’t care about you like that. they’re everything you’re not.

you swallowed hard, trying to push the thoughts away. the cool night air through the cracked window was supposed to help, but it didn’t. nothing helped. the pit in your stomach only seemed to grow deeper with each passing mile.

you pulled into the driveway, the headlights casting long shadows across the yard, the house looming in front of you. it was too quiet, too still. your parents were never home on nights like this. always out, always too busy with their own lives.

you didn’t mind the silence. usually, it was your refuge, a place where you could think, breathe. but tonight, it felt suffocating.

you grabbed your bag from the passenger seat and stepped out of the car, your legs feeling like they were made of lead. your feet moved automatically, leading you toward the front door. the house was dark, silent. no comforting voices, no footsteps echoing through the halls. it was just you.

you dragged yourself up the stairs, the house creaking underfoot as you made your way to your room. you closed the door softly behind you, locking it for good measure, just in case.

the room felt cold, sterile, as though the four walls were closing in around you. you let your bag fall to the floor, kicking off your shoes as you went straight to the bed, sinking into the plush mattress. you needed a moment, just to breathe, to think.

but thinking made everything worse.

you squeezed your eyes shut, clutching the blankets tight in your fists. you’re fine. you’re okay. you repeated the mantra to yourself, trying to remind yourself of the strength you had built over the past few years.

you weren’t that girl anymore. the one who let herself get trampled on. the one who let someone crush her confidence, making her feel small, insignificant. that was the girl your ex had torn apart—leaving you with nothing but self-doubt and confusion. but you had rebuilt yourself. you’d found your strength again, slowly and painfully.

but now? now, it felt like it had all come undone in a single night.

the thoughts kept spiraling, gaining speed. the image of rafe with that girl, her hand brushing his arm, her laugh like nails on a chalkboard. it wasn’t just her, though. it was the way rafe didn’t seem to care about her at all, but it made you wonder—does he care about me like that?

you took a deep breath, but it only made things worse. the tightness in your chest returned, squeezing harder this time. your breathing became shallow.

no, no, no… don’t do this now.

but it was too late. the panic had already begun to set in. the tightness in your chest, the dizziness in your head—it all collided in a wave of panic that left you gasping for air.

you gasped again, but it didn’t feel like enough. you couldn’t breathe. you couldn’t get a single breath deep enough to steady the wild pounding of your heart. it was like your whole body was rebelling against you, refusing to let you be calm.

you slid further down into the bed, curling into yourself, your knees pulled to your chest as you pressed your hands against your face, trying to hold it all in. you could feel your heartbeat in your throat, your chest, your fingertips. every pulse felt louder, faster, as though the world was closing in, and you couldn’t escape it.

it felt like you were suffocating. like everything you had worked so hard for had been ripped away in an instant. the confidence you’d spent the last three years building up—piece by piece—after your ex had destroyed it… it felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

the anger, the hurt—it wasn’t just about rafe. it was everything. you had fought so hard to be strong, to never feel the way you did back then, but here you were again. vulnerable. weak.

your chest heaved as you tried to calm yourself down, your body trembling with the effort. you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, trying to force the tears away, but they came anyway, hot and fast, stinging your skin.

why does it hurt so much?

you buried your face in the pillow, muffling the soft sobs that shook your body. you didn’t want to be seen. you didn’t want anyone to know how badly you were falling apart inside. you couldn’t even understand why it hurt so much, but it did.

the clock on the nightstand ticked steadily, but you couldn’t stop the overwhelming weight in your chest. your panic attack felt like a slow-motion car crash, like there was nothing you could do to stop the destruction. you were losing yourself again, losing the strength that had been so hard-won.

it’s just a party. it doesn’t mean anything. he’s not like that.

but even as you told yourself those things, the tears kept coming.

the next few days felt like a blur. each morning, you woke up with that same pit in your stomach, the same weight pressing on your chest. everything felt heavy, even your thoughts. you couldn’t stop replaying that night in your head—the words from the girls at the party, the sight of rafe talking to that other girl. it felt like the world was closing in on you, like you were drowning in things you couldn’t control.

each class was a blur of noise and movement that barely registered. you kept your head down, focused on the words in front of you, even though they didn’t make sense. every now and then, your mind wandered back to the party—the way you’d left without a word, the way your thoughts had spiraled into something ugly and self-doubting.

and now, rafe was everywhere.

at school, you kept your distance from him. you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him, not without that feeling creeping up again, making your heart race. every time rafe tried to talk to you, you found an excuse to slip away.

one morning, you were heading to your locker, trying to focus on getting through the day. and then you felt his presence behind you, just a little too close. you could tell he was about to say something, his voice barely above a whisper, but before he could even open his mouth, you cut him off.

“i can’t right now,” you muttered, barely glancing back at him. you didn’t give him a chance to respond, walking quickly down the hallway, your heart hammering in your chest.

the next time, it was in the cafeteria. you were sitting with kie, jj, pope, and sarah, trying to pretend everything was fine, trying to ignore the emptiness that followed you everywhere. rafe slid into the seat next to you, his hand almost brushing against yours as he leaned in.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice filled with that warmth you once loved, the one that made everything feel okay. “can we talk for a sec?”

you couldn’t breathe. it felt like the walls were closing in on you. you forced a smile, a fake one, and gave a quick glance to kiara. “i need to go to kie,” you said, standing up abruptly. you didn’t even wait for him to respond as you walked away, not sparing him another glance.

it wasn’t that you didn’t care. you did, more than you’d like to admit. but it was easier to keep him at arm's length. easier to shut him out before you had to face the things you were feeling—the doubts, the insecurities that had risen to the surface after that night.

you couldn’t handle being vulnerable right now. not with him.

but rafe wasn’t backing down. every time he saw you, his expression shifted from casual indifference to something else—something you couldn’t quite place. he’d give you a small smile, almost like he was trying to reassure you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to respond in kind. you weren’t ready to talk.

and then came today. the tension was unbearable. rafe’s presence was suffocating, and you were so, so tired of pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.

you were walking down the hallway after fifth period, deep in thought, trying to figure out how to survive the rest of the day when you felt someone grab your arm. you froze, spinning to face him.

“hey,” rafe said, his voice steady but with an edge of concern you couldn’t ignore. “can we talk, again?”

you pulled your arm back, forcing a smile that felt unnatural on your face. “i really can’t right now, rafe,” you said quickly, looking anywhere but at him. “i need to go meet kie for lunch.”

you could hear the frustration in his voice, even though he tried to hide it. “come on, stop avoiding me. what’s going on?”

you swallowed hard, your chest tight. the last thing you wanted was to unravel in front of him. the last thing you needed was to let the tears you’d been holding back slip out.

“i’m fine,” you said, voice clipped, stepping back. “really. i just… i need some space.”

rafe’s brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. he wanted to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. you turned on your heel and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest.

the rest of the day passed in a blur, but somehow, you knew this moment was inevitable. rafe wasn’t going to let you keep shutting him out forever. he couldn’t. and you couldn’t keep avoiding the truth.

when the final bell rang and you were making your way to the parking lot, you saw him again. this time, there was no dodging him. he was standing in front of your car, waiting. his arms were crossed, and the look on his face was more serious than you’d ever seen it.

you stopped, heart racing. your stomach flipped. there was no escaping this now.

“rafe,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, “please, not now.”

he shook his head. “no, this is getting ridiculous. you’ve been pushing me away all week. what’s going on? what did i do?”

you took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. just say it. your mouth was dry, but you forced the words out.

“i think we need to break up.”

rafe’s eyes widened, confusion flashing across his face. “what? what do you mean? why? is it something i—”

you cut him off before he could finish. “it’s not you, rafe. it’s me.” the words were like a punch to your own gut as they left your mouth. you could see his jaw tighten, his brows furrowing as he tried to understand.

his face fell, his expression unreadable as he stepped closer, almost like he was trying to reach you. “what? no, we don’t—”

“i just… can’t. i’m sorry,” you interrupted, forcing the words out.

before he could say anything else, before he could try to fix it or ask why, you turned away. the door to the hallway was just a few steps away, and you didn’t look back. you couldn’t.

“don’t do this,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “i don’t get it. just… tell me what’s going on. we can talk through this, we—”

you left him standing there, his voice calling after you, but you didn’t stop. you just kept walking.

your hands were shaking at your sides. you couldn’t stand there and explain it. you couldn’t tell him how the doubts, the insecurities, and the hurt from that night, and many more, had eaten away at you. you couldn’t admit how broken you felt.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered

you slammed the door behind you as you walked out of the school building, your chest tight with emotion. you hadn’t wanted to hurt him. you hadn’t wanted any of this. but it was easier to push him away than face what was really happening inside of you.

as you drove home, the silence in the car felt louder than ever. you wiped your eyes, feeling the tears burn, but you didn’t let them fall. you couldn’t. not now. not when you’d just made the hardest decision of your life.

the weekend felt like a stom. a quiet, lonely and depressing storm that dragged on and on, leaving you completely drained. you stayed in your room, avoiding anyone and everything. you couldn’t stop the thoughts that kept eating away at you—about rafe, about yourself, about everything you had tried to ignore. the silence between you two felt suffocating, and every time you thought about him, your chest tightened, your stomach twisted into knots.

you hated how you felt. it felt like the pieces of you that had been so carefully put together over the past few years were slowly falling apart. the self-doubt, the insecurity, the overwhelming sense of not being good enough—it all came rushing back, drowning out everything else.

you hated the way your skin seemed too tight, like you were trapped in a body that didn’t feel like your own. you couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror. every inch of you felt like a disappointment. your hair, limp and lifeless. your skin, pale and dull. your eyes, tired and red from crying too much.

you hadn’t realized how much of your worth had been tied to him until now. all those times you’d spent together, feeling special, feeling like you mattered… now it just felt like you were invisible again, like nothing about you was enough.

sitting in your room, you stared at the mirror, barely recognizing the person looking back at you. your hair was messy, your eyes tired and swollen from crying. you just felt... ugly. it wasn’t just the way you looked, but the way you felt in your own skin. everything felt off, like you were a shadow of who you used to be.

why did i do this? you thought, running your hands over your face, wiping away the last traces of tears. he deserves better than this... than me.

the thoughts wouldn’t stop, and the heavier your heart felt, the more you wanted to retreat from the world. i should’ve never broken up with him. he’s probably better off without me.

just as you were about to bury yourself under the covers, you heard a knock on your door.

“hey, it’s me.”

his voice floated in, barely above a whisper. “can i come in?”

your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to open the door. you had no idea what to say to him, no idea how to explain what was going on in your head. but when the door creaked open a little, rafe stepped inside, looking hesitant but determined. his eyes softened when he saw you sitting on your bed, your posture slumped, your gaze avoiding his.

his eyes searched you with a mix of concern and something else you couldn’t quite place.

you didn’t move. you just sat there, feeling small and fragile. you didn’t want to talk. you didn’t want to explain. but rafe wasn’t going to leave without answers.

he walked over to the bed, sitting at the edge, but not too close. he was careful, like he didn’t want to invade your space.

“why’d you do it?” his voice was quiet, but there was no hiding the hurt in it. “why’d you break up with me?”

you couldn’t meet his eyes. you couldn’t find the words, not without feeling like you’d fall apart. instead, you just shook your head, staring at your hands in your lap.

his voice was soft, but there was a hurt in it that made your chest tighten. “i don’t understand, y/n. we were… we were good, weren’t we?”

you squeezed your eyes shut, a wave of guilt crashing over you. you wanted to tell him everything—everything that was going on in your head, all the reasons you felt like you weren’t enough. but the words felt stuck in your throat.

“i… i just…” you started, but the words failed you. you didn’t even know how to explain. you were a mess, lost and confused.

rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated but still patient. “hey, look at me. please.”

you didn’t want to, but you did. you couldn’t stand the hurt in his eyes, couldn’t stand the fact that you were the one causing it.

when you finally met his gaze, his expression softened. “i don’t know what’s happening, y/n, but i can’t help if you won’t tell me.”

you opened your mouth, but the words just wouldn’t come. everything felt so overwhelming. the pressure in your chest, the weight of everything you were feeling, and the fear that rafe would see you for what you really were.

“i just… i wasn’t..." you took a deep breath, you felt like you needed to throw up. your stomach was turning, “i’m not okay,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “i thought i could fix myself, but i can’t. i feel like... like i’m not good enough, rafe. for you. for anyone.”

rafe didn’t say anything at first. you could hear him breathing, steady and slow. then, his hand reached out, gently touching yours. you flinched at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. instead, he gave you a reassuring squeeze.

“you’re wrong,” he said quietly. “you’re more than enough. more than anyone could ever ask for.”

“you are good enough,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “you are everything to me. don’t you see that?”

you felt the lump in your throat grow, your eyes welling up again. you wanted to believe him, so badly, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you weren’t.

you shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes again. “you don’t get it,” you muttered. “you deserve someone better than me. someone who isn’t a mess, someone who actually has their shit together.”

“stop.” rafe’s voice was firm, but not harsh. “you’re not a mess. you’re human, y/n, and that’s okay. i don’t need you to be perfect. i just need you to be you.”

you closed your eyes, his words sinking into you like a balm to a wound. why did it hurt so much? you thought, still shaking with emotion.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, barely able to speak through the tears. “i’m so sorry for pushing you away. i don’t know how to fix this.”

rafe didn’t say anything at first. he just pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his warmth surrounding you in the darkness of your room. he didn’t ask for explanations, didn’t try to make you feel better with empty words. he just held you.

“i don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” you shook your head, tears running down your face. “i feel so, so disgusted, by myself. and i don't even know why.”

“you don’t have to fix it,” rafe said gently. “you don’t have to be anything other than yourself. i’m not going anywhere, okay? i just want to help you through this.”

you looked at him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw the softness in his eyes. the care. the concern.

you still felt too broken to believe it, but for the first time in days, you let yourself feel like maybe, just maybe, it could be okay.

[sinner-as-saint]

i'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre

Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader 

Run-through: In dire need of counsel and guidance, you find yourself in Father Charlie’s office each evening working hard to be the perfect daughter your rich and eccentric family wishes you to be. And Father Charlie has a very… hands on approach when it comes to leading one of his astray little lambs back onto the right path. 

Themes: dom!charlie mayhew, smut, impact play (spanking), degrading kink, slight age gap, aftercare, some fluff?

“Did those thoughts bother you again, sweet girl?” 

You tensed up at the sound of his voice, fingers nervously playing with one of the pink flowers on your sweater. You stood right next to his desk, with your back to him. And you heard his steady footsteps getting closer and closer until he stopped right behind you. 

Father Charlie always made your heart race a little faster. Not out of fear, no. It was just that… he was so handsome. And slightly older. And kind. And gentle. And sweet. 

He was stern, and passionate about things. He was like a burning flame. Warm, mildly unpredictable, and it could hurt if you weren’t careful. That’s where the nervousness came from. That unpredictability, that possibility of hurt. That not knowing. 

But most of all, he was crucial in guiding you back onto the right path. You hadn’t committed any major sins, but your thoughts had been troubling you lately. Dark, sinful thoughts. It doesn’t suit a nice girl like you to think like that, he’d said once when you first came to see him, but that’s why I’m here. I’ll help you. 

And so it was decided that a couple of times a week, you’d be in his office in the evenings, waiting for him to be done with his duties so he could give you his undivided attention and get you out of this mess. 

So for the past weeks, his office was where you spent most of your evenings. 

“Um,” Your voice trembled, “A little.” 

“Hmm,” A deep rumble sounded like it came from his chest. “We’ll have to work on that, as we always do.” He spoke, calmly. Priestly. Then his large hands came to rest upon your shoulders. Large, warm, and comforting hands. 

You felt him lean in, nuzzling the shell of your ear. You felt him inhale your scent. 

He exhaled, his hands giving your shoulders a firm but gentle rub. “Is that a new perfume?” 

You nodded and answered sheepishly, “My daddy got it for me from Paris when he went on a work trip.” 

“Ah,” He let out a soft chuckle, his hands massaging your shoulders in a way that had you wanting to let out a soft moan. “You are your daddy’s little girl, aren’t you? Hmm?” He teased, then suddenly switched to sounding stern again when he asked, “But does your father know? Does he know why you come here so often?” 

You sucked in a breath when he pulled you back into his chest. His body pressing into your back, and this time you couldn’t help the moan that escaped, not when you felt his bulge pressing into your lower back. “Father,” You gasped. “Please, you can’t tell him. You promised.” 

Father Charlie had been safekeeping your little secret from your family for weeks. When your parents asked him about your sessions, he told them that you were doing so well. That you were so obedient. So perfect. 

But it was all a lie. Truth was, you were still stuck inside that metaphorical maze – the one that was filled with sinful things, and the way out was not easy. 

His hands moved downward, from your shoulders, down your back, down your sides, and came to rest at your waist. He pressed you even more against him. “But do you see how bad you’re becoming? Sneaky, liar,” He began listing all your wrongdoings, “Deviant.” He scoffed. “Now you see why I’m obliged to punish you each time? Hmm, sweet girl?” He whispered right into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your back. “Do you?” 

“Yes, Father.” 

He sighed, shoving his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent again before he said, “You know what to do, little lamb.” 

Then he let you go, giving you space to prepare for your ‘punishment’. You had done this many times before, it was necessary for you to learn, he’d said. So you knew the steps to take. You kept your shoes on and got out of your skirt, leggings, and sweater. Then removed your underwear and dropped all your clothes into a little pile at your feet. 

You then turned to face him, to look at him. He looked… tortured. Pouty mouth, lips parted as he breathed heavily. Sleeves of his black shirt rolled up till his elbows after a day’s work, and a hunger in his eyes as he walked over to you. You couldn’t look away from him. 

He stood in front of you and reached out to grab you at the back of your neck, tugging just a little to tilt your head back. He leaned in to rub the tip of his nose along your throat, lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, “Now tell me, what was it this time? Huh? What sinful thoughts did your brain conjure up?” 

You were completely as his mercy. And you had no choice but to be honest with him, “I’ve been having dreams. Last night was…,” You trailed off, your sentence ending in a breathless moan the moment he began nibbling and biting on your skin. “There was… there was a man, Father.” 

“Ah.” He pulled away and stared deep into your eyes with his fiery ones. “And? Did this man try to touch you again? Did you let him?” He asked in a lowered, stern voice, “Did you like it?” 

You blinked then did your best to nod. “I… I woke up, but–,” You cut yourself off. Breathing deeply when you felt his other hand sliding easily in between your legs, teasing your clit. 

“But what?” He demanded. “What happened? What did you do?” He sounded disappointed, but also like he couldn’t wait to hear what you had to say. 

You struggled to even form a coherent thought as you felt him touch you, his fingers sliding along your slit slowly. “I… I touched myself after I woke up from the dream.” You confessed. 

He clicked his tongue, clearly disappointed. “We talked about this, didn’t we? Good girls don’t do that.” He chided. “How did you do it? Hmm? Like this?” He looked down, loosening his grip on your neck so you could follow his movement, both of you now looking down at how his fingers touched and teased you until they were nice and wet. “Is this how you touched yourself?” 

It was downright dirty to just watch his fingers leisurely gliding in and out, stroking your sensitive parts. His fingers weren’t even inside you yet, but you were close to the edge already, feeling warm and tingly all over. You closed your eyes tightly and held back a moan as you answered, “Yes, Father. I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t supposed to.” 

“No,” He said, “You weren’t supposed to do that.” He sounded like he was whispering precious secrets to you. He held your stare, leaning in just so he was all you could see. The rest of the world didn’t exist here. “Because that’s my job. Isn’t it?” He pulled his fingers away and brought them up to your lips, sliding his wet fingers into your open mouth like he owned it. Your lips wrapped around his fingers, gently sucking on them as he spoke, “This little cunt belongs to me. And only I get to touch it. Wasn’t that the deal we made? Hmm?” He brushed his lips across your cheek, still sliding his fingers in and out of your wet mouth, “I keep your filthy little secrets from your family, and in return, you let me touch it, taste it, fuck it, whenever I please.” He added, “To punish you, of course. Wasn’t that our deal?” 

You nodded. 

He sighed, “You see? I try to instill discipline and obedience in you, but you defy me again and again.” He scoffed, “I don’t like having to punish you all the time. But you leave me no choice,” He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pointed at his desk, “Bend over.” 

You turned around immediately and bent over the edge of his large desk. Your cheek pressing against the cold surface of the polished wood as your hands laid palm down on each side of your head. Your ass pressed against the front of his pants and you whimpered, feeling his thick, hard cock beneath the fabric, rubbing against your soft folds. 

You felt his hands on your body. “Look how pretty you are.” He placed his hands on each side of your waist and caressed your body, rubbing up and down along your sides, touching your ass but not touching you right where you needed him to yet. “It’s a shame you’re such a dirty, needy slut.” 

You gasped at his crude words, and bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning too loud as his touch made you feel all tingly and floaty. 

He scoffed before pinching your skin to make you gasp again, “Such an obedient little slut, aren’t you?” He finally trailed his fingers down in between your legs and lazily traced along your slit. “So wet and ready for me.” He chuckled, “Tell me, how many times do you fantasize about me while you touch yourself, hmm?” 

You closed your eyes and frowned in pleasure as he lazily finger-fucked you. “A lot… too many times,” You whined as he touched a sensitive spot inside you, “Please Father. You sounded just as desperate as you were.

“Oh.” He scoffed, as if that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “You filthy little slut.” 

You braced for the painful impact which you were certain was coming. You heard how he lifted his hand up in the air and brought it down to spank your ass. You yelped as his spank left behind pleasant tingles on your skin.

“Count.” He ordered impatiently. 

“One.” 

He did it again, allowing his hand to linger on your skin a little longer this time, caressing your skin where his hand landed. 

“Two.”

Again. 

“Three.” You said, almost moaning at how good it felt, and heard him chuckle.

“This never gets old.” He muttered and slid his hand further down, stroking your folds for a moment. “You’re so fucking wet. This gets you off, huh? Pain, being degraded, being treated like a whore,” He listed, “You like this, don’t you?” He chuckled. “Of course you do, you’re fucking dripping.” He lifted his hand and spanked you again.

“Four.” You sighed, in pleasure and pain. 

Again. “When will you learn, hmm?” 

“Five.” You whimpered as he struck your butt again. 

“See,” He spoke in that deep voice again, “Good girls don’t enjoy being spanked. But you’re far, far from being a good girl, aren’t you?” 

“Six.” It stung a little, but the kind that you wanted more of. “Please, Father,” You barely knew what you were begging for. 

He chuckled, sounding smug. “I know, I know.” 

“Seven.” 

Again. 

“Eight.” You gasped. 

He smacked your dripping core instead of your butt. Your whole body tingled. You were breathless. 

“Nine.” 

He grunted as he spanked you one last time. “There we go.” 

“Ten.” You moaned shamelessly this time. He had you all worked up, hot and bothered with just spanks. 

“What do we say?” 

You whined breathlessly, “Thank you, Father.” 

He let out a satisfied hum, his hands rubbing you all over as you waited again, since you couldn’t see him. You relied on your sense of hearing to determine where he was. “Don’t move.” His deep, steady voice ordered. 

You heard him undoing his pants, the sound of him lowering his zipper made you whimper as you pushed your ass against him even more. You felt his hands on your body again, he grabbed you on either side of your hips before spreading your legs apart and pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance. 

But he didn’t slide his cock inside of you yet. 

You waited, your heart racing as he spoke. “Remember, I’m doing this for you.” He sounded wild, his voice strained and raspy. “You know that, don’t you?” 

You tried to push back into him but he moved away, chuckling while you whined in desperation. “Yes, Father.” 

Pleased with your answer, he moaned under his breath as he pushed himself slowly inside of you, feeling your walls tight around him. You whimpered as he filled you up, stretching you as he went. 

“You see? This is how you will always be treated if you don’t mend your ways.” He struggled to talk just a little, gasping as he felt your walls clench around him. “This isn’t how good girls get treated. Bent over a desk like this,” He scoffed, “No, this is how little sluts like you get fucked.” 

He pulled out and thrust deep into you again, making you moan and gasp under him. He reached out and grabbed your wrists, pinning them down at your lower back as he started rocking into you. Using you like a toy. Slowly at first, then gradually building up his pace. 

“But you love this, don’t you? You love it so much you dream about it.” 

You whined as he fucked deep into you, your front bumping against the edge of the desk each time. “Yes,” You admitted, “Yes, Father.” You whimpered as he pounded harder into you at the sound of that confession. His pelvic bone smacking against your ass each time he thrust into you.

“Yeah? This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You sick, twisted girl. All you want is for a man to fuck you like the little slut you are,” He growled, tightening his grip on your wrists as he fucked you harder, feeling your walls getting tighter around him. He hissed again, “Like you’re just pussy to be used, huh?” 

You whined, “Please…” 

He slammed his cock harder into you, making your eyes water and your heart race so fast you felt like it might just escape your ribcage. He thrust so deep into you just then that it felt like you would simply come apart right there but then he pulled out and pulled you off the desk, turning you around so you faced him. He grabbed your chin roughly in his grip as he stared into your eyes. 

“Don’t you dare fucking come yet.” He threatened. 

Your lips parted as you gasped for air. He looked like he was trying very hard to maintain his composure. He cupped your face and kissed you savagely. Hard. Lips, teeth, tongue – all of it. And for a moment it felt like you might just come undone from his kiss alone. 

But then he pulled away from your swollen lip and spat into your mouth before he said, “Get on your knees. Now.” 

Your brain was still processing it all but your body obeyed immediately, falling perfectly on your knees in front of him. You watched him with a hunger in your teary eyes. 

You watched how he grabbed his cock at the base and guided his tip over to your already open, wet, warm mouth and said, “Suck.” 

You did. You opened your mouth wider as he slowly pushed himself deeper into your mouth. You took him in slowly until he hit the back of your throat. 

“That’s it, worship this fucking cock like you’ve always dreamt of doing, like the filthy little slut you are,” He hissed in pleasure, “And make it good for me.” 

You looked up and met his piercing eyes. He looked like a god as he looked down at you like you were in your rightful place, kneeling before him with his cock in your mouth. Pink lips parted as he hissed in pleasure. 

You gripped his thighs and worked extra hard on him, feeling his smooth skin along your tongue, tasting yourself and his precum as he groaned. You whimpered when he let out an unrestrained growl as you circle his tip with your tongue before sucking on it gently. 

He let out a carefree chuckle as he looked down at you, “I wonder where you learnt that from?” He asked, knowing damn well you couldn’t respond with his cock filling your mouth. Then he said, “Up.” 

You listened, even though you were a little disappointed you didn’t get to make him come in your mouth but you’d take whatever he’d give you, as usual. So you followed his instructions as he had you sit on the edge of the table this time before he stepped in between your legs, still staring into your eyes. 

Your arms wrapped around his neck as he leaned in to whisper against your mouth, “Still want more, don’t you? Hmm? You don’t care who gives it to you, you’re a happy girl as long as you’ve got some cock in you, huh?” He aligned his cock to your core again. He slipped inside you with ease, making you gasp at how good he felt as he began fucking you again. “We talked about this, didn’t we?” His calm words didn’t match the way he fucked you like an animal. He grabbed your thighs and pushed them further apart so he could fuck you deeper. “Good girls don’t think about cock and fucking all the time. But that’s all your filthy brain is filled with, isn’t it?” 

“Please…” You whimpered. 

He fucked deeper into you, pounding into you relentlessly as he moaned into the crook of your neck. “Your little cunt feels so good… so fucking tight for me,” He whispered against your skin and you barely heard him over the sound of sex echoing in his spacious office. “Only for me though, right? You don’t spread these legs for other men, do you?” He couldn’t help but laugh, “Of course you don’t. This is mine. You are mine.” He growled. 

“Yes, Father…” You whined as you felt yourself getting so close to the edge again as he pounded into you aggressively. You felt a tear slip out of the corner of your eye as you felt the pressure in between your legs getting too much to contain. 

He felt it too, as your walls clenched violently around him. “Fuck,” He growled into your ear, “Come for me, slut. Come all over this cock…” 

You didn’t hear the rest of what he said because you were long gone, well fucked and lust drunk, you came with a loud cry. He followed shortly after, coming undone while he was buried deep inside you, gripping your thighs so tightly that his fingers would surely leave a bruise behind as memory. 

As always. A little something for you to remember him by until you see him next. 

—

Father Charlie had some paperwork to oversee and some mails to reply to. But he didn’t want you gone just yet, so he helped you clean up, put your clothes back on, then he pulled you onto his lap as he sat on one of the couches in his office to get some work done. 

He did his thing, signed some papers, sorted them into files, replied to some emails, checked his socials, while you straddle his lap, resting your head on his shoulder and sighing each time he petted you or caressed your back, occasionally leaving kisses on your forehead. 

You mindlessly played with the buttons on his shirt, tracing imaginary shapes on his exposed forearm, breathing in his scent, finding comfort in his body heat. After the first ‘session’, he noted that you liked being held, at least until you came down from that high. 

And you were, gradually. Soon he’d drop you home and have a word with your family, and he’d tell them that you did good. He’d also tell them that you’d need some more sessions. And they would happily agree. 

Soon. Not now. 

“What is it?” He asked, after noticing that you’d been whining and rubbing your face against his warm neck like a kitten. “Want me to drop you home?” 

You shook your head quickly, “No.” You mumbled quietly. 

“Don’t just whine like a brat then,” He said, “Make yourself useful.” He pointed down at his crotch. “Keep it warm for me.”

You knew exactly what he wanted you to do. So you reached down and into his pants to pull out his cock. You lifted up just until you had room to align his cock to your entrance, and once done you sank down until he was buried deep inside you again. 

You whimpered as you shoved your face into the crook of his neck again, keeping his cock warm just like how he wanted you to. 

“That’s it,” He said. “Now stay still and do a good job, and maybe I’ll fuck you one more time before I drop you home. Yeah?” 

You whined in response, wanting nothing more than to move and make it feel good again. But you knew he’d reward you later if you behaved. 

He went back to his work, paying little attention to you. Only caressing you here and there, maybe a kiss on your shoulder, or a whispered word about how good you were doing, or he’d hiss and tell you to stop moving your hips. 

And you knew.

There was no getting better. There was no way you’d get back on the right path or whatever he’d promised your family. If there was hell to pay after this, you didn’t care. 

Because you knew. 

You knew you’d keep coming right back to him. Each day. Each time he’d want you to. Over and over again. 

Like a helpless moth to an all-consuming flame. 

—

a/n: yeah I have a problem, save me father charlie– 

[vroomvro0mferrari]

LN4 | Win & Woo

Summary: Congratulating Lando after his first race win is a lot more difficult than you expected. When you finally get the chance to, he reacts differently than you anticipated.

Lando Norris x best friend!Reader

WC: 3.1K

Warnings: Cursing, making out

Masterlist

You’re watching from the garage as Lando drives around the track. You keep your eyes on the screen in front of you as you bite your nails. You don’t think you’ve ever been this nervous before. Lando has been leading the race for over twenty laps now, and it’s only a few more until he wins – his first win. Your heart is beating out of your chest as your eyes are locked on Max’s gap to Lando, not even paying attention to everything else that’s happening on track. You’re grinning widely, barely keeping in your excitement, when you see the number get larger at every glance. You’re trying to calm yourself down, to not get too excited too early because you know from earlier experiences that everything can go wrong in one split second, even on the last laps, but there’s no rain today.

You hear the commentators speaking in the background as you stare at the TV. Every time they say something about how this might be Lando’s first win, your heart skips a beat, mentally scolding them not to jinx this wonderful opportunity. Your focused gaze on the screen doesn’t falter as Lando starts his last lap. No matter what happens around you, your eyes are pointed that way. You’re fumbling with your fingers and nibbling on your lip anxiously as you watch Lando turn through the last corners, a smile slowly making its way on your face.

Next thing you know, you’re screaming, jumping and cheering as Lando crosses the checkered flag first. You’re smiling so big that your cheeks hurt as you hug Max and cheer with the team. You quickly congratulate the team before rushing to the parc fermé, hoping to congratulate Lando before he’s whisked away for the podium. 

It’s busy – what else did you expect? You can barely work your way through the crowd, but you try anyway, pushing people aside to see your best friend. You can’t see him yet, but you hear the cheers of people as he appears on the big screens nearby. You watch how he’s congratulated by his competitors, as Fernando and Carlos come over to hug him and how Lando takes a sprint to the team awaiting him. He’s got a big smile on his face, a blissed-out look, when he jumps over the fence into the team who’s ready to catch him. 

You’re close enough to see him on top of the crowd of orange, but he can’t see you. That doesn’t mean he’s not trying to, tough. The second he got out of the car, he was searching for you, and that’s what he does as soon as he’s got both his feet on the ground again. But before he can properly look around, Zak has found him, and then Andrea, and in no time he’s led away from where you’re standing. It’s useless for you to fight your way to the front when he’s already gone. So you change your course, quickly move back, and rush to the podium.

You search your way through the seemingly maze-like paddock as you hurry to make it to the podium in time. You can hear the drivers talk about their race over the speakers that are everywhere while you walk and you can hear Lando laughing in the background, but you don’t let it distract you; you’re on a mission. 

When you get to the podium, you’re once again pushing through the crowd in search of a place in front, somewhere Lando can see you. Thankfully, Zak spots you and helps you out, pulling you to stand in front of him where Lando’ll be able to find you. Although Lando hasn’t told him, Zak has caught wind of his secret crush and knows that he’ll probably be searching for you in the crowd of orange.

You cheer and clap politely when Charles and Max walk to their respective podium steps, but you watch with tears in your eyes and pride welling up inside you when Lando runs onto the stage. You clap and cheer as loudly as you can, staring up at him on the highest step. You can see his eyes flitting around in search of you while he pumps his fist through the air. His face lights up with happiness as soon as he finally spots you in the crowd. He winks with a big grin, and your smile grows even more in response. You can’t feel anything but delight at his achievement – the goal he’d been trying to reach ever since he stepped foot into his first kart, his life-long dream. The tears of joy are rolling down your face; you’ve never been so proud. 

He smiles at you from his spot that’s much too far away and sticks up his thumb as if he’s asking you if you’re okay. You laugh at the motion and nod your head. Of course, you’re okay, you’re more than okay, you’re elated.

You admire Lando in his essence. He looks so pretty up there, face turned towards the sun with his eyes closed, soaking in his victory. He wipes under his eyes, and while some might question whether it's sweat or tears he’s wiping away, you know it’s the latter.

You cheer when the anthem ends, and then again when he throws the trophy up, nearly gasping in shock when you see it flying through the air. It would be such a Lando thing to break his first P1 trophy, but he catches it in time and places it securely on the ground, although it’s not necessarily safe there either.

You can’t seem to take your eyes off him, not when Andrea’s handed his trophy, or when Max gets his. And when Charles receives his prize, your gaze is still focused on Lando. But then again, he’s staring at you too. Your eye contact is so intense that Lando doesn’t see the champagne coming. Absolutely shocked at the cold beverage that’s sprayed on his face. And even if he had seen it coming, he would’ve had no time to react to how fast Max and Charles were targeting him.

He’s wiping his face, this time not because of tears (or sweat), but to get the slightly burning alcohol out of his eyes. His hands are slippery when he shakes the big bottle of champagne before slamming it. He can’t see that well right now, but that doesn’t mean he can’t aim well. He grins when he hears you squeak at the cold fluid, even though he doesn’t see your reaction with his head turned away.

Your eyes follow Lando’s every move as he wipes the champagne from his face and takes a sip before spraying the bottle again. You can’t help but admire him like this. He looks so happy up there, smiling in joy while he and his colleagues cover each other in champagne. His beaming smile and damp hair, which is curling more than ever, make him look so beautiful, too. You know you shouldn’t be thinking like this – he’s your best friend, but you can’t help it when he looks so pretty up there.

After he has his picture taken, he makes eye contact with you again. He nods his face towards the side, eyebrows raised, silently asking you to meet up with him and you nod in response. Quickly leaving the podium and making your way to the motorhome, you feel Lando’s eyes pricking your back. He feels so lucky, so incredibly lucky, to have you here with him. He can’t believe that you chose to fly out here for him, that you care about him so much that you’d fly around the world just to watch him work. He’s overjoyed to have you here with him to celebrate his first Formula 1 win; to have his best friends here, although he secretly wishes you were more than that.

Lando finishes his duties as quickly as possible, rushing through all the polite talks with the team members, celebrities and competitors so he can go to you. He gets antsier every time someone stops him on his way to his driver’s room, and when Zak stops him to have an extensive talk about his amazing performance, and how much he deserved it, he’s had enough.

“Sorry, Zak, but can we do this later? Y/N’s waiting in my driver’s room and I really want to celebrate with her right now. I haven’t been able to talk to her yet, and-”

Zak grins while Lando rants. He knows there’s more than friendship between you and Lando, and Lando’s current behaviour is only proving him right. 

“Of course, Lan. Enjoy the moment!” He says grinning, patting Lando on the back before pushing him in the right direction.

Lando thanks him before rushing off. Now that he’s finally out of the grasp of the needy people at the podium, he’s basically running through the paddock to get to you as quickly as possible. Completely overheating from the Miami sun, he unzips his race suit before entering the garage. He shakes hands with the team members he comes across, accepting their congratulations with a hasty smile, and hugs Oscar when he runs into him but doesn’t pay them much attention otherwise.

Lando doesn’t even take a moment to calm his mind before rushing into his driver’s room. You squeal in surprise when the door smashes into the wall, and Lando lifts you up into the air before you can catch a look at him. He squeezes you tightly to him as he twirls the both of you, your arms wrapped around his neck so you don’t fall.

You giggle at the feeling of his face pressed into your neck as he slowly settles you onto the floor. Not wanting to let go of Lando yet, you slide one hand over his back as the other combs through his hair while you stay close. The champagne covering his curls makes your hand sticky, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You can smell the sweet alcohol on him as he leans his head on your shoulder and sighs.

The big smile on your face refuses to fade as you whisper, “You won”. You can feel Lando’s cheeks pressing against your shoulder as a smile takes place on his face. Running a hand through his hair once more, you feel the happy tears rolling down your face again. You move your hands away from Lando so you can wipe your face as you sniffle. Lando’s head lifts as soon as he feels the weight of your hands disappear. Holding your waist and gazing into your eyes, he asks, “Are you crying?” with a teasing smile on his face.

You punch his shoulder and roll your eyes, “Shut up!” 

You wipe under your eyes again before sighing, “I’m just so proud of you,” you say, arms hanging limply at your sides.

Lando stares at you intensely, his silly smile still on his face. His gaze is so penetrating that you nearly feel the need to look away. Lando is oblivious to how piercing his eye contact is, only focused on the thoughts that are racing through his mind. No person would cry at the achievements of their best friend, right? Max wouldn’t be crying right now, that’s for sure. Does that mean that maybe you see him as more than a friend? He certainly hopes so. Lando can feel the adrenaline running through his body as he looks at you, it’s pushing him to do things he’s not sure will work out well. He doesn’t want to ruin your friendship, but he wants to kiss you more.

Lando smiles at you, wiping your cheeks clean while he watches you. His hand rests on the side of your face while the other slides down to your hip, where he pulls you in close. He banishes all the thoughts from his head and kisses you with full conviction, with no hesitation (or thoughts) in his brain as he lets his body take over.

His lips move against yours aggressively while his hands grapple to pull you closer. He grips your hip tightly and uses it as leverage to press your body against his while his other hand moves from your cheek to the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair. The feeling is heavenly, something he has wanted to feel for so long. It feels so right to kiss you, and to feel your body against his.

He’s completely lost in his passion and adoration for you as he kisses you. Meanwhile, you’re in shock. You didn’t expect Lando to kiss you, especially not as fervently as he did. Your surprise left you frozen, completely unmoving, apart from Lando’s hands pulling you nearer. The firmness of your body doesn’t mean the kiss is unwanted, though. In fact, you’re just about to pull Lando closer when he realises your unresponsiveness. His mind switches back on and races faster than his car a moment ago. Fuck – you don’t want this. You’re too polite to stop him, but you don’t want this. He just screwed everything up. Once it dawns on him, he pushes you away so fast you think you’ll have a whiplash.

Your hands are still up in the air where they were about to touch Lando’s chest as you stare at him in shock. He runs his hands across his face in frustration at his fuck-up as he avoids your gaze. He turns away from you, so you can only see his back, his very muscled back, as he sighs and mumbles to himself.

He turns around to face you. You can see the guilt in his eyes when he tries to explain, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that” 

You stay quiet as you process Lando’s confession. Why is he apologising? 

He sighs once more at your silence, running his hand over his face, again. He looks up at you through his lashes but doesn’t say anything. You’re about to respond when he continues, “No, fuck it. I’m not sorry. I love you.”

“Lando,” you tell him, breathlessly. You step closer to him and smooth your hands over his shoulders and towards his chest, “kiss me?”

You don’t have to say that twice. Lando grabs your waist as his lips meet yours in another rough kiss while your hands shoot up to hold his face. He pushes you up against the door as he nibbles on your lip. You moan softly at the feeling of Lando’s body against you, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You can taste the champagne on his tongue when you kiss him back just as passionately.

Your hands find their respective place in Lando’s hair again and you pull on the curls softly, earning a quiet groan in reward. The sound gets you hot, and it doesn’t help when Lando lets his hands wander over your body. He squeezes your ass gently before hoisting you up and you immediately wrap your legs around him in reflex.

Lando leaves you panting when he moves his kisses from your mouth to your jaw. He manages to pull another moan from you when he sucks on the skin behind your ear. Softly biting before soothingly licking the soft skin, most definitely leaving a mark behind. But that’s exactly his goal, his plan even, as he sucks love bites along your neck. And as much as you love the feeling and don’t want to think about anything but Lando in this moment, the thoughts of leaving the paddock later with the race winner, and the amount of paparazzi that’ll want a picture of him, penetrate your mind. So, you push Lando away from your skin.

“Lan,” you gasp, “we should stop.”

It takes a few seconds for Lando to get his mind back into the right headspace, a headspace in which not every thought is obsessed with you. He stares at you with hazy eyes, and you stare back. Dear God, it’s hard not to kiss him again when he looks like this, with his hair wet from the champagne and messy from your hands and his lips swollen and red from your heated kiss. You nearly let out another moan at the sight, but bite your lip to prevent it.

“Baby, don’t bite your lip if you don’t want me to kiss you,” Lando says hoarsely.

“Sorry.”

You’re both panting while you stare at each other. Neither of you is sure how to continue now. Lando admitted he loves you, should you say it back now? You do love him, but maybe you should wait until he says something. Does this mean you’re dating now? Is he your boyfriend, or do you have to ask first? It’s so unnecessarily confusing and complicated.

“I love you,” you finally admit.

Lando smiles at the confession, “You do, huh?” He says cockily. 

You punch his shoulder again, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know. You’re all smug about it, but you said you loved me first, so I win.”

He laughs at your response, “Sure baby, you win.”

You smile at him, “So, does this mean you’re my boyfriend now?”

Lando has a big grin on his face now while he stares at you adoringly, “Yes, if you want me to be,” he says sweetly.

“I want you to be,” you murmur, fiddling with the strands of hair that are falling into his face.

“Good, because I want you to be my girlfriend,” he responds, pulling your chin up.

You smile a big grin at his admission. 

“So, now that that’s settled, can I kiss my girlfriend?” Lando asks with a cheeky smile, to which you merely nod in response.

Lando pulls you closer by your chin, gently placing his lips back on yours. This time, you can feel him smile against your lips while he kisses you softly and lovingly. Nevertheless, the kiss is passionate and lustful. How could it be anything other than that when this was the best day of his life. He just won his first Formula 1 race and got the girl. There's absolutely nothing that could ruin this perfect day, he's sure of it.

[fadedncity]

(blood)thirst

wc: 11.2k

pairing: jeno x fem!reader

cw: smut, supernatural!au, lycan!jeno, vampire!reader, natural enemies to lovers, a tad bit of a slowburn (i swear i ain’t mean for it to be this long 😫), injuries, blood, angst, mention of death and family loss, reader is technically older (physically the same age) so..age gap(?), flirting, sexual tension, teasing, pet names, oral sex, multiple orgasms, slight blood play (very minor), unprotected sex, pretty sure that’s it

song inspo: closer by nine inch nails | acquainted by the weeknd

a/n: i’m sorry for the wait, edits took longer than expected but ty for the patience 🙏🏽

TUESDAY [3:31 AM]

Rain pours in sheets, pelting against your skin. Your footsteps are silent as you sprint through the underbrush, hot on the heels of the Lycan ahead of you.

Even with his head start, it took you no time to catch up to him. Your pace matched his as you zeroed in on his steady breathing and rhythmic drum of his footfalls. Lycans are fast, and he hadn't even shifted forms yet. But still, you had no trouble keeping up with him.

All the while you closely trail the Lycan, you're cautious of your surroundings, keeping your ears peeled for any sign of a presence accompanying you both in these woods.

Just as you were about to fall in line with him, an unexpected sound sliced through the night—a whistle, followed by the unmistakable twang of a bowstring.

An arrow whizzed past your head, embedding itself in a tree trunk to your left. Stopping in your tracks, you tilt your head, seeing sparks and smoke emitting from the arrowhead now embedded into the old pine tree. But you aren't given any more time to investigate as you're tackled to the ground by the Lycan.

Before you could push him off, his body shields you from the explosion of blinding light so bright you could've sworn it was day for a split second.

He just saved you.

"Are you okay?" Jeno asks, rain dripping from the ends of his hair as he stands from the dirt.

"Yeah," you nod, hesitantly taking the hand he offers. "Thanks," you say, looking at the tree bark melting off the trunk.

The humans have UV explosives. Great.

Both you and Jeno hear the sound of cars approaching from the nearby road and take off running again. Without a word, you plunge deeper into the forest, your movements synchronized with Jeno's by necessity.

"How did they even find us?" Jeno asks, looking over his shoulder, his voice barely audible over the rain.

"I was just going to ask you the same thing."

The hunters were relentless, their shouts echoing in the distance, along with the pounding of their boots. You moved swiftly, navigating the maze of branches and roots with an ease born from decades of practice. The forest seemed to close in around you, the trees pressing in like silent sentinels bearing witness to your flight.

Then shots start firing off, the sharp cracks of bullets cutting through the air. It sounds like they were coming from every direction, the rain making it harder for both you and Jeno to locate where the hunters are.

A bullet soars past you and stops whistling in your ears when it hits flesh, tearing through skin and muscle. Jeno beside you roars out in pain and begins to slow down as the metallic taste of blood enters the air around you. You shoot him a look of concern over your shoulder.

"I'll be fine," he says. But when you see his hand pressed to his shoulder, blood seeping from an injury that should've already started healing, you know he's far from okay. "We need to get out of these woods," Jeno winces as he applies pressure to the gunshot wound.

"I know a place not too far from here," you tell him.

[6:37 AM]

The moon's silver glow was waning, giving way to the first light of dawn. The storm had passed, leaving the forest dank and muddy. Urgency rose as you were closing in on daybreak. You and Jeno raced through the forest, the scent of his blood and sweat mingling in the damp morning air.

Jeno's breath was labored, each step accompanied by a pained grunt as he pushed himself forward. The wound on his shoulder, though not fatal, was slowing him down.

"The sun's gonna be up soon," Jeno pants, his voice weary.

"I know," you raise your eyes to the sky, "But we're almost there."

As you ascend the mountain, you spot the entrance behind a thick curtain of ivy and moss. The camouflaged door was almost invisible against the rocky face.

The two of you approach the fortified door. But not before you start to feel the uncomfortable sensation of pins and needles all over your body, a warning of the daylight's deadly approach.

The air grows warmer with the first rays of sunlight piercing through the treetops, casting long shadows stretching like skeletal fingers across the ground, leaving you exposed. You scream out in pain just before you can reach the door, feeling the severe burns blistering across your body under the sun's relentless gaze.

Without hesitation, Jeno quickly removes his jacket and throws it around you, shielding you as best as possible from the searing sunlight.

You reach the door with trembling hands and enter the security code to unlock it. You hear the mechanism click and attempt to push the door open, but it remains stubbornly shut. The hinges, unused for so long, now rusted, obstruct your entry.

"It's stuck," panic edges your voice.

Using his good shoulder, Jeno presses his weight into the door, helping you push it open. The thick metal gives way with a heavy creak, welcoming you inside. The moment you both are through, Jeno slams the door shut behind him, enveloping you in the safety of darkness.

The flickering emergency lights cast long shadows across the walls, the only illumination source along the steps down to the bunker. As you descend further down, you can hear the sounds of the forest growing distant, muted, and distorted through the layers of earth and stone.

With the adrenaline from the chase already simmered down, the reality of your situation sets in. Here you are, a vampire, with Jeno, a lycan, forced into hiding together by humans hunting you both. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words only filled by the sounds of Jeno's steps behind you.

Your burns are already beginning to heal now that you're out of the sunlight. The cool, dim interior of the bunker feels like a sanctuary, the pain in your skin subsiding by the time you lead Jeno into a high-ceiling room.

"Thanks, again," you break the silence, returning his jacket. Even in the shadows, you can see Jeno's eyes examining your burns. "I'll heal," you assure him. "You, on the other hand, aren't for some reason."

"I'm fine," Jeno lies.

"You're not. You're still bleeding out. I can smell it."

Jeno stays silent, knowing there's no use in arguing with you.

"I'll go see if I can find the generator and a med kit or something," you say.

The underground facility is large enough to house an entire clan and well-equipped for emergencies—or at least it was once. The thick and impenetrable walls provide a sense of security, but the darkness within is oppressive, the silence deafening.

You move through the narrow corridors, blindly navigating yourself through the place. The emergency lights give off a faint glow, barely enough to see by. The bunker has an air of abandonment from years of sitting unused here. Cobwebs clung to the corners, and dust motes danced in the faint light.

Jeno isn't sure how long you're gone, as all he can focus on is the agonizing pain in his shoulder, further slumping against the wall to support his weight.

The lights finally flicker on, and you return with a med kit in hand, finding Jeno right where you left him. His breathing was shallow, face pale and drawn, sweat glistening on his brow. From where he stands, the light casts deep shadows across his face, highlighting the strain etched into his features.

"Sit," you say, opening the case of medical supplies on the table.

"I can do it myself," Jeno mutters, though his voice lacks conviction as he weakly pushes himself away from the wall.

"You look like you can barely stand on your own. You lose anymore blood and you won't be doing anything yourself anymore," your words are punctuated by the snap of latex gloves you slip on.

Jeno has no energy to protest. He drops his jacket onto a chair and peels off his shirt, sitting on the table before you.

You don't have much time to ogle over the Lycan's chiseled physique as your eyes are drawn to the discolored skin around the bullet's entry point. In all your years of existence, you've seen some pretty bad shit. But even this sight—Jeno's bloodied and seemingly infected shoulder, is enough to make even you wince.

"There's no exit, which is probably why you're not healing. Whatever specialized bullet hit you is still in there," you observe, examining the injury closely.

"Great," Jeno groans, throwing his head back. "Think you can get it out?"

"Sure, but it's not gonna be fun," you tell him.

"Let's just get it over with."

Using saline solution from the kit, you clean enough blood off his shoulder to be able to clearly see the entry point before you grab the forceps and carefully search for the bullet. Jeno clenches his jaw, deeply breathing through his nose with flared nostrils.

"I've almost got it," you tell him. You pick up the pituitary rongeur once you locate the bullet. Jeno grips the table's edge so hard you hear the slightest splintering of wood in his grasp. You pull the bullet out of Jeno's shoulder, his skin sizzling until you've got it out completely.

"Pure silver," you study the small piece of metal, holding it up to the light. "A few more hours and this thing surely would've killed you." You toss the bullet into a stainless steel tray with a clatter.

"Now it's my turn to thank you," Jeno grimaces, holding the piece of gauze against his shoulder as you silently asked. "Would've had second thoughts if I knew getting shot would be like this." he jokes.

"I don't have to tell you silver's poison to you guys but since it was lodged in there pretty good for so long your healing won't immediately kick in. But you should be good in a few hours," You wrap bandages around Jeno's arm, securing it with medical tape.

He gently grabs your hand, getting you to stop working and meet his eyes, "Seriously, thank you," Jeno says.

"You're welcome," you quietly reply, unable to pull yourself away or at least break eye contact.

A shrill sound echoing off the stone walls breaks the fragile truce. You glance at your phone and see Draven's name flashing across the screen.

You put some space between you and Jeno as you step away to answer the call, trying to keep your voice steady. "Draven."

"Are you alright?" Draven's voice is sharp, filled with concern and authority.

"I'm fine. It was the hunters. They knew about the meeting and ambushed us. Only Jeno and I got out." you reply.

"Where are you now?"

"We're at the old Valor safe house."

"We? You're still with the Lycan now?" Draven asks.

"Yes," your eyes flicking over to Jeno, who's having a similar conversation with his father, "I trust him. He saved my life."

"You're mother's daughter you are," Draven mutters on the other line.

"And what about it?" you ask, an undertone of malice in your voice at the mention of your mother. "How the fuck did they find us, Draven?"

"This is no time for that conversation," Draven lowers his voice, "I will say you might be better off where you are right now."

"What happened? Is everyone alright?"

"Seems the humans had planned a coordinated attack. We've been taking in vampires all night from all over the city. People are shaken up, scared, angry," Draven says. "It might take us a while to come out there and get you. Are you sure you'll be okay until then?"

"Haven't really had a chance to settle. Don't know what's left around here, not sure if there'll be much left to find."

"We'll try to get out there as soon as things calm down. It's getting late and after the night we've all had we ought to all get rest. Take care of yourself."

"Take care of yourself too, Draven."

You turn to find Jeno already having ended his call with his father.

"Everything okay?" you ask.

"My father said we should stay put," he says, clenching his phone so tightly in his hand that you worried he might break it.

"Draven said the same thing," you can practically feel Jeno's anger broiling from across the room, "But something else happened?"

"A few members of the pack got attacked last night. They're okay but they barely made it out."

"A few of our nests got raided too."

"And we're just supposed to stay here? They attack us unprovoked and we're just supposed to take it? Do nothing?? How can you be so calm about this right now? I mean aren't you angry?" Jeno asks.

You furrow your brows, "Of course I am. But there's nothing that we can do about it right now. We are miles away from the city, our people, reinforcements. And everything that happened last night was proof enough that we are severely out of league here on our own, okay. And let's also not forget to mention that it is daytime and I quite literally can't do a fucking thing right now," you say, "So we take a minute. We recuperate here. Heal," you nod toward his arm, "Rest," you tiredly sigh, rubbing your temples.

At this moment, Jeno was envious of how you seemed to keep a level head, now slightly ashamed of his outburst.

Jeno's resolve softens. "You're right, I just-" his words abruptly stop once he looks at you, "Shit, are you okay?" he asks, concern etched into his features.

Your brows furrow at his question before you feel the blood dripping from your nose. Somewhat embarrassed, you curse under your breath as you wipe the blood from your face.

"Yeah, it's just my body telling me I'm overdue for sleep." With not enough time to explain much else to Jeno, you say, "Doesn't matter which room you choose. Showers should still work and clothes should still be in the closets. Take what you want" before rushing out of the room.

He nods, "Thanks—" Jeno can barely get a word out before you've already disappeared down the hallway, locking yourself away in your own room, "…Goodnight, I guess."

[6:42 PM]

Lukewarm water sputters out of the showerhead, and you take note of the poor water pressure, silently cursing the antiquated plumbing. The water drips down your body in an inconsistent stream, making it a less-than-satisfying experience. You scrub away the remnants of the previous day, feeling the grime of dread and tension wash away.

In a new change of clothes, before you did anything else, you knew you needed to scour this place for a charger since you woke up to find your phone dead.

On your way toward the kitchen you find yourself stopping in front of a half-open door, peeking inside to find Jeno still asleep. He's sprawled on the bed, his brow furrowed even in his sleep, a testament to the strain of last night and this morning's events. The sight of him stirs a mixture of emotions as you watch his chest slowly rise and fall—relief that he's safe and a flicker of something deeper that you quickly suppress.

With your luck, you were able to find a charger as well as additional supplies to help sustain you and Jeno while you're staying here. It's not much but you'll take it over nothing.

You open the fridge door and to your disappointment, only find one bag of o-negative in there. You didn't even get a chance to feed yesterday as you were planning to after your meeting with Jeno. And we all know how that ended.

You don't dwell for too long, your attention immediately going to your buzzing phone on the kitchen counter.

"Hey," you answer.

"What the fuck?? Draven told us what happened, are you okay?" Tyra asks.

"Could be better. All I have access to right now is O, and there's barely any of that but the hunters are off our trail, so hopefully Jeno and I won't be stuck inside this ancient tomb much longer."

"You're with Jeno? Like Jeno Lee?"

"Do you know any other Jenos?" you ask.

"Draven didn't say you were cooped up with a Lycan. And him? He's like the hottest Lycan to ever grace this earth. Maybe he can help you break this dry spell after two centuries." Tyra lighthearted jokes.

"First of all, fuck you. Second, I wouldn't say all that."

"Are you telling me he's not hot?" she questions.

"He's…" you trail off, "Alright."

Tyra scoffs on the other line, "Why do things like this never happen to me? If I were you, we'd be settling more than just a peace agreement."

You laugh, "Yeah, I need a break from you. Maybe being stuck here ain't too bad."

"You sure ain't wrong about that. It's a fucking shit show here—just a second!" Tyra yelled to someone in the background, "I gotta go, I'll talk to you later though."

"Talk to you later, Ty."

Just as you hang up the phone, you hear the faint creak of a door opening. You look up to see Jeno emerging from his room. Now adorning loose dark grey sweatpants and a white button-up with about only two buttons fastened.

"Evening," he greets you, his voice husky from sleep.

"Good evening," you clear your throat, "How're you feeling?"

He shrugs with only one shoulder, "Like I've been shot. Took damn near half the morphine in the med kit for me to sleep a wink."

"You definitely slept more than a wink," you mumble, beckoning him over to you, "Do you mind if I....?"

"Be my guest," he effortlessly undoes the couple of buttons with one hand, letting the shirt fall off his shoulders.

You carefully unwrap the gauze, allowing the bloodied bandages to fall to the floor. Jeno watches you examine his wound.

"What is it?" he asks, seeing your brows stitch together.

"You should've started healing by now," you frown, seeing as his shoulder doesn't look any better than before. Instead, it seems as if the infection is spreading. And in your predicament, your options are pretty limited. "Do you trust me?" you ask.

"Do I really have much of a choice?"

"Not really, no," you say, grabbing his forearm with both hands, "I'm sorry about this."

"What are you-" But before Jeno can finish, you snap his radius in a clean break. Jeno's angry howl bounces off the aged stone walls.

"Jen-"

He growls, pushing you away, "Get the fuck back," Jeno glares at you with black beady eyes.

You keep your distance and watch as his shoulders heave and the muscles in his back ripple under his skin. Claws start to grow from his nail beds, and his ears stretch until they're pointed. You can hear the fabric of his clothes tearing as Jeno grows twice in size before your eyes. Roars of pain continue to rip from Jeno's throat with his transformation completely overcoming him.

Standing across from you is no longer the man you had gotten yourself acquainted with over the past 24 hours. Instead, this half-man, half-beast towers before you, baring sharp canines and a senseless predatory hunger behind his eyes, absent of his humanity.

You glance at the dining table, spotting your desert eagle where you left it this morning, and try not to make any sudden movements that could possibly aggravate the Lycan.

"Now, you know I was just trying to help," you say, your voice steady but soft as you slowly inch closer to the table.

Jeno's growl reverberates through the confined space, a guttural warning before he lunges at you with alarming speed. Instinct took over. You dodge Jeno, vaulting yourself into the air, flipping over him, and landing on the table gracefully.

Your fingers curl around the grip of your pistol, aiming your gun at Jeno before he can even think about charging at you again. Your finger hovers over the trigger, the metallic click of the safety being disengaged echoing loudly in the tense silence.

"Jeno, you've saved my life and now I'm just trying to save yours. Do not make me shoot you," you warn, your voice a low, deadly calm. You aim at his leg, sure to temporarily debilitate him instead of shooting to kill.

A beat of silence passes before Jeno's breathing begins to normalize. The wildness in his eyes gradually softens as his shoulders drop and his posture straightens. His transformation recedes, muscles shrinking and claws retracting until he is once again in his human form. You watch his eyes change from feral black to their original deep chestnut brown, now filled with exhaustion.

"Sorry," Jeno apologizes, his voice rough with lingering regret.

You wave off his apology, "Don't sweat it," With a click, you reengage the safety and lower your gun as you hop off the table, "It worked," you grin triumphantly, noting the lack of any wound or scar on his shoulder.

Jeno looks down at his shoulder and arm, flexing both experimentally. "That was extremely stupid of you, you know," he says, shaking his head,

"The moon isn't the only thing that influences your transformation," you shrug, "If you transform, your healing factor kicks in and it did. Besides, it's not like you'd be the first Lycan to try and attack me," you say with a faint, wry smile.

WEDNESDAY [9:18 PM]

"They wouldn't be able to find this place, right?" Jeno asks in a hushed tone like he was afraid to break the silence.

"I highly doubt it. Many vampires don't know about this place, I only do because I was brought here when I was younger," your eyes are still trained on the monitors in front of you, "However considering they shouldn't have been able to find out about our meeting, I wouldn't put anything past them," you tear your attention away from live surveillance footage to give it to Jeno.

"How do you think they found out?" The light of the computer monitors cast an artificial glow across Jeno's features.

"That's what I've been wondering since," you say, with a suggestive glance.

"What are you insinuating?" Jeno turns his chair toward you.

"I'm insinuating nothing. It's just interesting. Your father and Draven were supposed to meet but something happened last minute and neither of them could attend so they send you and me instead? And then we get ambushed. It's just not a coincidence is all I'm saying."

A beat of silence passes as Jeno thinks over your theory, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights from the halls filling the space.

"Are you saying that they knew?"

"I don't know your father much so I can't speak for him. But Draven..." you wince, "It wouldn't surprise me."

"Why would Draven risk your life if he thought it was a setup anyway?" Jeno furrows his brows.

You shrug, "He knows I'd be able to handle myself, and I did." you pursed your lips. "I'm not saying he knew what exactly was going to go down but Draven is pretty paranoid. He doesn't trust many people. So if he got a feeling he was being betrayed, especially by one of his own, he'd hold his card pretty close to his chest."

"He didn't tell you he was thinking any of this?"

"Draven doesn't necessarily have to tell me anything. I just know. He was suspicious of a mole within the coven, which is why I didn't ask any questions when he requested I go in his place."

"You're making it seem like this isn't the first time something like this has happened."

"Well not this particular situation, but close enough. I mean, you've met Draven. This ain't the first time someone would've tried to take him out," you smile, "Why do you think there are so many security cameras around this side of the mountain?" You leave Jeno to keep monitoring the cameras if he wishes as you go to take a shower.

. . .

Stepping into the library, your eyes adjust to the dim lighting as you find Jeno seated at a table. His expression is one of deep concentration and fascination, absorbed in the pages and pictures laid out before him.

"Keeping yourself entertained?" you ask, your muted footsteps shuffling into the room.

The glow of the old chandelier shines a warm, golden light from overhead, casting a soft halo around Jeno, "Yeah, actually," he chuckles, "Is this you?" Jeno asks, holding up a photograph. The sepia tones capture you and Draven in a snapshot of joy, the two of you laughing amidst a gathering of friends, your clothes reflecting the exuberance of the roaring 20s.

"Yeah," you murmur. Taking the photograph gently, a wave of nostalgia washes over you, "That was a long time ago."

It was almost adorable, the curiosity that glimmered in Jeno's eyes, thousands of questions swimming behind them. You roll your eyes, pulling the chair next to him out.

It was unexpected of Jeno to be able to draw you out of your usual reserve. It doesn't even register to either of you that minutes turned into hours stretching into the early morning.

"How long have you known Draven?"

"Too long," you laugh, "He knew me when back when I was still human. He's been around longer than almost anyone."

Too enamored in the pages before him, your eyes steal a few glances at the man next to you. You study Jeno silently as he carefully picks up each photo. He is handsome, and undeniably so, it's evident he's been blessed by Aphrodite. The way the light plays across his features only accentuates his striking looks, and you can't resist your admiration.

Trailing your eyes up his neck, your mouth waters, watching the beat of his pulse throb beneath his skin—Damn, I'm gonna need to feed again soon. You snap out of it.

Jeno's voice pulls you back to reality, "I recognize this picture. Who is this?" Jeno asks, sliding another photograph across the table toward you.

Your eyes flicker from the photograph to Jeno, "Where have you seen this before?" you ask, your voice tinged with surprise.

"In my house," Jeno replies, pulling out his phone, "My mother has the full picture." He shows you a family picture taken in the living room of his house. "She's standing right next to her," he says, zooming in on a framed photo behind his sister's head.

Surely, it's the full photograph. Your mothers, standing side by side, their smiles as radiant as ever.

Jeno watches the sadness fill your eyes as you give a small smile, "It's my mom," you say.

Sensing the shift in your mood, Jeno quickly apologizes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"It's okay," you stop him, "I just...don't talk about her much." The room feels heavy with unspoken emotions.

Jeno nods, not wanting to push further. "I understand, I'm sorry. I didn't know, I wouldn't have-"

You stop him firmly, yet gently, "No, Jen, it's fine, seriously," you rest your hand atop his, "It's not that I don't want to talk about her. It's just I have a hard time doing it sometimes."

Despite the somber turn in conversation, Jeno's presence is a comfort as he closes his fingers around yours. You weren't expecting to feel the warmth of his hand in yours, but it offers you solace. The silence returns, but this time, it feels more like a shared moment of understanding rather than discomfort.

"What was she like?" he asks quietly.

Flipping through the weathered photo album you thought had been lost all these years, a warm smile takes over your face. "She was beautiful. And funny, and smart, and full of love," you say, your voice tinged with pride and sorrow. "She was raised by witches, so she was no stranger to any of this," you wave your hand, indicating the room filled with arcane books and artifacts, "That's how she met Draven and probably how she knew your mom."

"I can't believe my mother never said anything about her."

"I'd understand why. Her death hit a lot more than just me pretty hard."

You knew it was coming sooner or later and waited for the question to fall from his lips. "What happened?"

"We were attacked by Lycans," you say, and Jeno's face is immediately taken over by guilt mixed with empathy. "They were infected with vampire venom." You begin to explain, "Usually it's harmless. The humans even have found ways to use it as another means to get high. But in large enough doses, our venom for you guys-"

"Turns us into rabid animals. I know, my father has told us the stories," sorrow and compassion are etched into Jeno's features, "I'm so sorry, y/n."

You continue, "My mom didn't care about surviving herself. She used her last breath to make Draven promise to save me at all costs. Next thing I knew, I woke up completely healed with a fatal allergy to sunlight and an insatiable bloodlust."

A heavy silence settles between you two as Jeno carefully chooses his next words.

"Do you know what happened to the Lycans?"

You shook your head, "Draven and a few others had tracked the pack across a few states but by the time he caught up with them they were dead."

"I'm sorry-"

"Please, Jeno, once was enough," you squeeze his hand, still unable to look him in the eyes, "I don't blame you or any Lycan for that fact. All that anger and pain," you let out a shaky breath, "I'm holding it for the right person."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"Lycans know the risk of vampire venom so they couldn't have willingly taken it. And I mean a whole pack?" your brows furrow, "Someone purposely infected them. We just don't know who or why."

"You know I could ask around see if anyone in the pack knows anything."

"Draven would've already thought to do that years ago already. Every trail went cold. A part of me has come to terms with the fact that we'll probably never get those answers."

Jeno nods, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "I'll still keep an ear out. Maybe something new will come up."

You nod, a small but genuine smile touching your lips despite the heaviness in your heart. "Thank you, Jeno."

Jeno nods in understanding, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb, a shared understanding passing between you. The library feels smaller now, filled not just with books and memories.

THURSDAY [8:19 PM]

This is gonna be a problem.

Each moment without feeding stretches into an eternity as you stare at the empty shelves of the fridge.

"What was that?" Jeno's voice echoes across the room from his spot on the couch.

Fuck, he heard me? "Nothing," you reply, closing the fridge quickly.

Your stomach growls insistently, hunger gnawing at your insides, and you begin to reminisce about that last bag of O-neg you had.

The thought of descending from the safety of the mountain to seek sustenance in the nearest town flitted through your mind, but the ever-present risk of hunters finding you keeps you rooted in place. You decide against burdening Jeno with your dilemma, as there was little he could do to remedy the situation without endangering both your lives anyway.

When you turn around, you nearly collide with Jeno's chest as he had moved across the room faster than you anticipated. He's standing close enough you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You keep your shoulders square even as Jeno's intoxicating scent invades your space once again.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his brow furrowing with concern.

"Nothing," you repeat, attempting to sidestep him, but he blocks your path, his expression unwavering.

"You're lying," He narrows his eyes, scanning your face as he takes a step forward.

"No, I'm not," you counter, backing up until you feel the refrigerator door against your back.

"Then move," Jeno presses, his voice firm but not unkind.

"Why must I?" you challenge, crossing your arms defensively.

"You always this stubborn?"

"Since the day I was born," you grin proudly.

"Must I demonstrate how easily I can move you, sweetheart?" Amusement tinges Jeno's tone.

Sweetheart? Oh, we're going there?

You smirk involuntarily, unfolding your arms. "That's cute but you're just a pup, Jen. Let's not get too ahead of ourselves now," you teasingly pout.

Jeno pokes his cheek with his tongue at your comment and accepts your challenge. He starts by attempting to move you aside, but you catch his wrist in your hand before he can lay a finger on you. He tries to grab you with his other hand, but you're still faster, blocking his arm before you hit him directly in the middle of his chest, making the Lycan stumble back.

Jeno laughs.

You haven't moved from your spot, waiting for his next move before he launches himself into a series of swift strikes aimed at testing your defenses. You retaliate by throwing your fists almost faster than he can block, aiming for his midsection, and landing a hit. Jeno's knocked back a few steps, putting enough space between you both to give him time to catch his breath.

"Draven's right, you really do know how to handle yourself."

"Of course I can, that's how I saved your ass remember? Now we gonna keep talking or are you gonna show me something worth my while?"

The rhythm of this spontaneous spar intensifies as you both circle each other.

The kitchen area echoes with the sound of your footsteps, grunts of exertion, and the occasional light laughter as your movements adapt to one another's.

But it all comes to a stop in a silent blink of an eye, your back lands on a flat surface as you're pinned to the dining room table. You underestimated his speed, unable to leg sweep him as you planned, now your faces only inches apart.

Jeno gives you a lopsided grin as he looks down at you, his chest heaving, his eyes dark as they peer through silky curtains of hair. The tension between you crackles in the air as you have him trapped between your legs. The room's atmosphere seems palpable and charged with you both unexpectedly in this vulnerable position, but you neither move as the seconds stretch on.

Jeno seemingly snaps out of the trance first, letting go of your wrists and weaseling his way from between your legs. When he swings open the fridge door, the triumphant smile on Jeno's face drops as he stares at the empty shelves. "There's nothing in here."

"Exactly," you sit up, swinging your legs over the table's edge, "There're no more blood reserves," you say.

"And you weren't going to say anything?" Jeno's concern turned to incredulity.

"What's the point? The closest blood bank is 50 miles that way," you gesture vaguely, "And in case you forgot, we're down here hiding from humans who want to kill us."

"And what's going to happen to you if you go too long without feeding?" Jeno presses, his voice softening with worry.

"I'll start decomposing from the inside out," you reply bluntly, "But it'd be a while before that happens."

"So what, you were going to hide this and just suffer in silence for god knows how long we're stuck here?"

You shrug, "It could be worse," you murmur as if it would lighten the mood, "But what exactly could you do to help me in this situation?" you retort, a note of resignation in your voice.

"You could feed from me," Jeno suggests quietly.

"Jeno, I'm not drinking your blood," you shake your head.

"Why? Because you're above drinking Lycan blood, princess?" Jeno's tone is gentle but insistent.

You narrow your eyes at the use of the pet name, "I never said that. Blood from banks is processed and centrifuged, so it's essentially watered down compared to drinking from a live...donor," you explain, your words measured. "When vampires directly feed from someone, we get some of their memories, feelings, and thoughts. It can get pretty intense and somewhat very intimate. Something similar would happen if you were to consume my blood as well. Which is why I wasn't sure whether to give you any when you weren't healing, so—"

"So you broke my arm to trigger my transformation to heal me instead," Jeno interjects, his voice tinged with understanding.

"Yeah. I am sorry about that, but like I said, I had faith it'd work," you admit, your tone apologetic yet resolute.

"Do you not trust me?" Jeno's question hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications.

"If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't be refusing," you reply softly, "My bad I consider you a friend rather than food," your tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Friends, huh," Jeno muses, a hint of a smile touching his lips.

"Don't push it," you warn with a small smirk.

"When was the last time you fed?" he asks.

"Two days ago. It'll be enough to hold me over for another few days. So let's just hope we're saved by then," you say.

FRIDAY [7:50 PM]

"Jeno?" you call out, stepping into the common area.

Still no answer. You woke up to find the bunker suspiciously quiet. You already checked his room, and the lights in the library were still off. No TV was on, no shower being run, not even a creak of a floorboard. The usual draw of breath Jeno's lungs take could no longer be heard by your ears that had grown finely tuned to the Lycan.

If he's still here there's no way you wouldn't be able to detect him.

You reach the security room, your eyes bouncing around the screens, searching for any sign of Jeno. Your worry is quickly replaced with fury when you spot a shadowy figure approaching through the trees.

Jeno calmly strolls along the path that leads up to the main entrance with no sense of urgency in his stride. With his hands in his pockets—it even looks like he's whistling. He can't be serious right now.

When Jeno returns to the bunker, he finds you waiting for him at the bottom of the steps, your arms crossed over your chest.

Jeno flashes you the sweetest smile when he sees you, "Hey-"

"What the fuck?" you ask, brows stitched together.

He looks around, confused, "What?"

"What? Where were you?"

"In town," Jeno answers simply.

"You went into town?" you narrowed your eyes.

"Yeah," he mocks your tone as he drops his bag onto the counter with a heavy thud, beginning to unload its contents, "You needed blood. And since you weren't going to drink mine, I just got some more for you," Jeno opens a mini cooler, placing a blood bag in your hand, "Plus I was really starting to get tired of beef jerky and crackers, and decided to grab a few things for myself since I was already out."

You sigh, feeling a surge of conflicting emotions, as you hold the bag of AB blood in your hands. He got your favorite type without even asking. "That was extremely stupid of you, you know," you say, fighting a smile threatening to spread across your face.

"It was worth the risk. I'd rather have another run in with those hunters than let you die of starvation on the hope that our families will come get us in time."

"Seriously, Jeno, if anything had happened-"

"And as you can see, nothing did. I made it back home safe and sound, making sure I didn't leave a trail that could compromise us. You do know I am capable of handling myself right?" he says, "But if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were worried about me, sweetheart," he tilts his head at you.

"You're young, of course you don't know any better," you scoff, teasingly rolling your eyes, "What I'm saying is, I hope whatever else you got was worth it."

"It definitely was," he grins, pulling out a bottle of red wine. "Join me?"

"I don't drink ," you tell him.

"I know. I still like your company," You don't know why you feel fluttering in your chest, your heart doesn't even beat. "I mean with all this, I really don't wanna dine alone."

The corners of the lips curl upward, "You're asking me to have dinner with you?"

"Yes," he answers without missing a beat, "I mean it's Friday night, neither of us is going anywhere. What's the harm in a little normalcy role play?"

"Role play? We haven't even made it to dinner yet," you joke. You lean closer, "On one condition."

Jeno leans in as well, a curious smirk playing on his lips "And what might that be, princess?"

. .

The kitchen was filled with a mouthwatering aroma of sizzling meat, rich herbs, and melted butter. It was dimly lit, the only light from the soft under-cabinet lights casting a warm glow over the countertops. One of Draven's old jazz records you found plays softly in the background, its sultry notes weaving through the air.

You sit perched on a barstool by the island, wine glass in hand, watching Jeno concentrate intently on the stovetop. His hair's slightly tousled, a few loose strands falling over his forehead as he focuses on the skillet before him.

"Make sure you sear it evenly on each side," you call out, "You want that perfect crust to lock in the flavor, otherwise, you'll end up with a dry, sad piece of meat."

Jeno turns his head slightly, giving you a sideways look. "Yes, chef," he drawls sarcastically, but there's a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Anything else, or are you gonna go back to sitting there looking pretty, silently criticizing my every move?"

"I'm also simply admiring the view," you reply, meeting his eyes and holding them for a beat longer than usual. Jeno's smirk widens, and for a moment, the sizzling of the steak seems louder in the charged silence that follows.

"Where'd you learn all this stuff by the way?" Jeno asks.

"When you've been around as long as I have, you're bound to pick up a few things."

"Wouldn't have taken you for such a food connoisseur."

"Why, because I don't eat?"

"I mean, yeah."

"Well I don't eat anymore. I used to love cooking, when I did though. I loved the satisfaction of a good meal, good wine. It's almost better than sex." you reminisce.

"Almost?"

You laugh, "Let it rest for a few minutes when it's done. Don't rush it. The juices need time to settle."

Jeno nods, stepping away from the stove impatiently hovering, however.

The corner of your mouth lifted. "Patience not one of your strong suits, Lee?"

He scoffs, "I have plenty of patience," he counters, turning off the burner and setting the pan aside. He wipes his hands on a towel, moving closer until he's standing directly in front of you, a playful glint in his eye. "Especially when properly motivated."

You raise an eyebrow, "And what exactly motivates you, Jen?"

"A lot."

"Like?"

Jeno leans in slightly on his elbows, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of the wine on his breath mixed with the aroma of herbs and spices wafting in the air. "Proving you wrong is one thing," he murmurs, gaze locking with yours. "But maybe it's just the way you look at me when I do something right."

You somehow manage to keep your composure, "Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you're doing all this to impress me."

"Is it working?" he asks, eyes hopeful.

"And if it is?"

Jeno steps back, giving you a wicked smile as he turns to plate the steak.

.

Jeno had finished eating nearly two hours ago, but you two had still not moved from your seats. His empty plate sitting between his second glass of wine and your fourth of AB.

The low hum of the jazz record is now barely noticeable beneath the sounds of your laughter mixed with Jeno's.

You notice his gaze lingering just a little too long every time you meet his eyes, and the way his lips curve into a subtle smirk when you catch him.

Every time his knee brushes against yours under the table, a subtle but deliberate touch, your skin prickles with awareness. You felt the weight of his presence adjacent to you, the air between you simmering like the heat still rising from the abandoned stove.

Jeno's leaning back comfortably in his chair. His eyes study your lips as you take a sip from your glass, watching as you catch a drop of blood from the corner of your mouth with your thumb before licking your finger clean. Jeno holds onto every word that comes out of your lips, and his wavering eyes give him away.

You shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, but each movement brought you closer to him, your leg brushing against his, and that simple contact sent a jolt of heat through your body.

"Sorry," you softly apologize, already pulling away. You don't get too far before he's bringing you back.

"Don't be," He gently tugs your leg into his lap. His eyes never leave yours as his hand circles your calf, his touch soft yet confident as he begins to massage your flesh. "Continue," Jeno tells you.

You couldn't even remember what you were talking about. Jeno's eyes bore into yours like he was gazing into your soul, leaving you breathless, your nerves seemingly burning beneath his palm.

Suddenly feeling suffocated by the mounting tension, you stand. You think about clearing the dishes from the table so you can distract yourself from Jeno's eyes quietly undressing you or ignore how good it felt to have his hands on you and how you desperately yearned for more. But just as you're on your feet, Jeno takes your hand, and you let his fingers close around yours.

"You know what you're doing," you murmur accusatorially.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks.

"No," you sheepishly answer unable to look at him.

"Then why are you running, princess?" he asks, getting you to meet his eyes.

"I'm not," you protest.

"You are," he retorts, "Cause you only think it's fair for me to be the flustered one here, huh?"

You roll your eyes, all but verbally confirming his verdict, "You're enjoying this way too much."

"You have no idea," Jeno grins.

You hike up your dress with your free hand and straddle his lap. The space closing between you feels electric, charged with unspoken desire.

You cup his cheek as he snakes an arm around your waist. His skin is warm compared to yours, your fingertips feeling like an icy cold kiss on his cheek. You catch his eyes darting down to your lips once again.

"Do you want something, Jen?"

"Yes," his hand inches up your thigh.

"Then why haven't you asked?"

"Can I ki-" you don't let him finish, crashing your lips into his.

The kiss starts soft and exploratory but quickly deepens as the tension that's been building between you both finally finds release.

His hand travels up your back, sending shivers through you while your own hands take hold of his face, deepening the kiss. The world beyond the two of you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this moment.

You taste the sweet bitterness of the red wine on Jeno's tongue as it pushes past your lips, dancing with your own. His hands on your thighs set your skin aflame as they inch up higher and higher. You hum into Jeno's mouth when his hands cup your ass, softly squeezing.

Your hands travel down his chest, and you feel the contours of his muscles beneath his shirt, now wanting it so desperately out of the way. Your hips move on their own accord, dragging against Jeno's, allowing you to feel the outline of his cock through layers of clothes. Jeno comes up for air, heavily panting with swollen lips, staring up at you with lust-drowned eyes.

You barely process the time you spend in the air as Jeno lifts you by your thighs from his lap onto the dining table.

"Has your appetite not been satiated enough Mr. Lee?" you lightheartedly ask, hooking your finger in the belt loop of his jeans, pulling him close, and locking your legs around his hips.

"Not if you think I'm skipping out on dessert," he softly grips your thigh, hungrily attacking your lips once more.

Jeno's lips leave yours, traveling lower. His teeth graze your neck before latching onto the sensitive spot just below your ear. "Jeno," You moan, craning your neck to give him better access while your hands thread through his hair.

Jeno continues his journey south, his tongue flicking out to taste the delicate skin of your collarbone. You shiver, the sensation both ticklish and tantalizing. His hands familiarize themselves with your body, roaming every inch. Cupping your breasts in his large hands, Jeno litters kisses across your chest, gently tugging the neckline of the dress down.

Jeno's eyes darken as he takes in the sight, kneading your flesh, thumbs circling your nipples until they tighten further.

"I want to make you feel good," he whispers into your hair.

"You are," you mewl, your head lulling back.

"You know there's more I could give you."

"What else do you want, Jen?"

"To taste you."

Your words are cut off by a gasp, feeling his warm wet mouth enclose around your areola. The sudden suction sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body. He alternates between sucking and nipping, his teeth sharp enough to elicit cries from you, not of pain but pleasure.

You squirm on the surface of the table, wanting desperately to close your legs and relieve the pressure built between your thighs. Jeno seems to sense this. A plea falls past your lips when Jeno's fingers press into your throbbing clit through your panties.

"I can already smell how wet you are, sweetness." his voice grounds you back to reality, "I need to hear you say you want it."

"I want it," you say breathlessly.

"What?" Jeno questions with a smirk.

"You—god, Jeno, I want you," you roll your hips into his hand, "Please," you couldn't care less about how pathetic of a whine your voice comes out as.

The sounds of dishes and silverware clattering and crashing to the floor don't phase you as you lay down on the table, Jeno silencing your impatient whines with his lips on yours. Jeno then lowers himself between your legs, slowly kissing his way up your inner thighs.

He wastes no more time, not even bothering to properly remove your underwear, only pulling them to the side before kitten-licking your clit. You practically melt, feeling his warm tongue on your pussy. Jeno weakly groans as you entirely overwhelm his senses. He pushes your knees to your chest, his hands on the back of your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.

"God, I can sit here and eat you all night," Jeno darkly chuckles, savoring your essence covering his lips.

Spit dribbles from Jeno's mouth onto your pussy, his saliva mixing with your arousal before he parts your folds with his tongue. He tugs your clit between his lips, making you loudly moan. The sound was music to Jeno's ears, and he'd give anything to hear it again. He buries his face into your cunt, lapping up all the sweet juices flowing into his tongue.

"Fuck—don't fucking stop," Your eyes roll back into your head, every nerve in your body sparking with ecstasy.

Your hand finds its way into Jeno's hair again, curling around the dark locks, gently tugging. He flattens his tongue, vigorously moving his head side to side. You already feel the knot in your lower stomach tightening, too enamored in the pleasure you're getting from Jeno's mouth alone.

His skilled tongue slivers down to your slit, weaseling inside of you. The wet muscle explores you intimately, curling against your soft walls. Jeno hums approvingly, feeling the way your pussy pulses around his tongue. The vibrations from his mouth reverberate through your entire body, ascending you higher to your climax.

Jeno pulls you closer to the edge of the table, laying his arms flat across the backs of your thighs to keep you from writhing any more than you already have been. He gently pulls the hood of your clit back, swirling and flicking his tongue against the bundle of nerves. You cry out, your legs attempting to push back against Jeno's arms. But his strength doesn't allow for it, and he continues to eat you out like you'd be the last meal the man ever has.

"God, you're too good at this."

"What makes you say that?" he chuckles between shallow breaths.

"You're gonna make me cum."

"Duh, that's the point," a drunken grin stretches across his face, "Come on, I can take it, baby," he tells you before going back to tonguing your clit.

"I don't know, can you?" you tease.

A half-smirk stretches Jeno's face when he finally decides to add his fingers to the mix. Your back arches away from the table, two of his digits stroking your sweet spot in a come hither motion while he tongues your clit.

You cum with a loud curse of Jeno's name. You whimper and writhe atop the dining table, your legs closing around Jeno's ears as he's too concerned with lapping up your juices.

With a whine, you tap Jeno's shoulder, getting him to let up before overstimulation overcomes you. Jeno sat back, licking his lips of remains of your slick, wiping the rest of his face with the back of his hand. He gently rubs your thighs, helping you sit up, one hand holding your waist, the other cupping your face. Jeno's lips reach yours with the taste of you still staining them.

The high of your orgasm simmers down, the euphoric fog lifting. You slip your hand under Jeno's shirt, sliding your hands up his torso until he pulls it off, mindlessly discarding it. Your eyes fall from his face to his defined muscles, subconsciously tugging your lip between your teeth.

You palm Jeno over his jeans, grinning when you feel his semi-hard length in your hand even through the various barriers of clothes.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful," he groans, slowly rocking his hips into your hand.

Jeno shivers, feeling your tongue run along the side of his neck before you nip his earlobe, "You're one to talk," you say.

"Oh? So has your opinion of me being the hottest Lycan to grace this earth changed now?" he teases.

Of course he heard that.

You poked your cheek with your tongue. "Eavesdropping, were we?" you tilt your head.

"Technically, no. I can just hear everything," Jeno says, "Was kinda hurt though, when you said I was alright."

You laugh, "I'm sorry, babe," you kiss the put on his lips, "But I only said that cause I knew you were listening," you pull him closer, your hands roaming the contours of his body, "I couldn't let you know then how badly I wanted you to fuck my brains out the second we met."

"That makes two of us," Jeno darkly laughs.

Jeno picks you up, barely giving you time to process how fast he moves over to the couch. His hands snake up your thighs, reaching beneath your dress to tear your underwear off your hips. All the while, your fingers swiftly undo Jeno's jeans, pushing them along with his underwear down far enough to let his cock spring free.

"I've barely even touched you. All this just from eating me out?"

A growl deeply reverberates in Jeno's throat when you pump his cock in your hand. You swirl your thumb around the head, smearing his precum around the pink tip.

"Fuck, yeah. You have no idea what you're doing to me."

"And what exactly am I doing, baby?" You tighten your fist around his dick, and a broken whine falls from his lips as you swivel your wrist.

"Fucking killing me," Jeno throws his head back against the couch, "I need you," he desperately claws at your dress.

"I'm right here."

"I need to feel you. Be inside you—for fuck's sake, please." you silence Jeno's pleas with a kiss.

You lift your hips, Jeno assisting you as you guide his cock to your entrance. Your head falls back as you fully sink down onto his cock, filling you to the hilt. Your pussy hugs his length in a vice grip, gently pulsing, slowly sucking him further in.

"Holy shit," Jeno says, his eyes fluttering shut. "you feel fucking amazing,"

You don't even realize that you've moved from the couch until you feel the hard surface of the refrigerator against your back. Your head lands against the door with a soft thud, feeling Jeno deeper inside you in this position. He sets a steady pace, each stroke hitting deeper than the last. You cling to him, your nails digging into his skin, leaving angry red streaks in their wake.

Your face twists into a flustered scowl, "Faster," you demand.

Jeno dryly laughs, "Uh ah, I want you to feel it all, feel what you're doing to me," he slowly draws his hips back before sinking back into your heat even slower, "S'all for you, princess," he rasps.

Jeno takes time to revel in the feeling of your warm wet walls snuggly hugging his cock like a perfect sleeve. You feel every inch of him leave you empty before filling you back up to the hilt. It's torturous how agonizingly slow he's fucking you, and your patience is wearing thin.

"Jeno, please," you cry.

Jeno complied, the corners of his lips turning upward as he drew his hips back before slamming back into you, making your toes curl. The room becomes blurs of motion in your peripheral. The world fades away, leaving only the two of you locked in this primal dance.

You don't notice Jeno's brought you to one of the bedrooms until you're placed on top of a vanity. The sound of the mirror banging against the wall is drowned out by your sensual moans.

Jeno then stops, slipping out of your heat. You shudder now feeling empty, biting your lip to silence a whine.

Jeno takes a step back, never taking his eyes off you. He pushes his jeans down his legs the rest of the way letting them pool at his feet along with his underwear.

The tension is stifling. You let your eyes fall from his face, drinking him in in his entirety. You watch Jeno take his cock into his hand and begin stroking his length.

"Get on the bed," he instructs.

Your lips curl into a mischievous smirk. You slip your dress over your head, throwing it to the floor along with Jeno's clothes.

Jeno already heard the words before they came out of your mouth, "Make me."

He rolls his eyes before throwing you over his shoulder and tossing you onto the bed. You land on the mattress with a soft bounce, pushing yourself up on your elbows. You teasingly turn away from Jeno to crawl your way up to the pillows but before you can get too far, Jeno grabs your ankle pulling you back to the edge of the bed.

You arch your hips into the air as Jeno trail his hand down your spine. Jeno runs his fingers between your folds, coating his fingers in your arousal. "God, look at how wet you are just for me, princess," Your jaw drops, feeling one, then two of Jeno's fingers curl against your walls. You push your hips back against his hand, your head falling to the sheets, muffling your low groans.

He parts your folds with the tip of his cock, teasing your clit. You see stars behind your lids, feeling the delicious stretch of your pussy accommodating his size. Jeno's fingernails leave crescent shape impressions on your ass as he spears into your drooling cunt.

Jeno cages you in beneath him with his arms. You feel his chest against your back every time your hips meet. Jeno grabs onto the headboard for leverage. His hips snapping back and forth with a speed and power that leaves you gasping for breath.

Each thrust is deeper than the last, filling you completely and making you feel utterly possessed.

Jeno snakes his arm around your waist, reaching between your thighs. His fingers quickly find your clit, pinching and rolling your bundle of nerves between them. You squirm in Jeno's arms, your body involuntarily twisting and jerking as you feel heat blooming in your abdomen.

Mindless blubber stumbles out of your lips as Jeno kisses the side of your neck.

"What was that, beautiful?"

"Good. So good—god, Jeno," your head falls back into his shoulder.

His arms flex, keeping you flush against his chest. Jeno lowly moans in your ear, feeling your walls flutter around his cock.

"You close, baby?"

"Yes m'so fucking close," you pant.

"Cum for me. Let me feel your pretty pussy cream my cock, sweetheart" he smiles, feeling the way your body reacts to his words.

Your body tenses, preparing for release, and Jeno senses it. With a deep grunt, he doubles down on his efforts, his thrusts growing nearly ferocious in their fervor.

Your fangs grows on the their own volition, triggered by the euphoria coursing through your veins.

"Jeno—fuck!"

Your hips rock along with Jeno's chasing the high of your orgasm. Your nails lightly scrape Jeno's scalp as he sinks his teeth into the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

Your nails dig into Jeno's forearms, just breaking the skin barely drawing blood. The wounds close just as fast as they appear. Jeno deeply grunts, his hips stuttering against yours as his cock twitches from the pain of your nails in his skin. He releases his load inside of you, pumping you full.

"Fuck," Jeno gently pants into your ear.

Jeno's damp skin clings to yours, regardless of the discomfort, you keep holding him close. The steady drum of his heart beating in his chest against your back soothes you out of your post orgasmic stupor.

Your pussy continues to gently flutter around his cock. Jeno pulls out before he's too overstimulated but he's quick to replace his cock with his hand as you slump against his chest. He swallows your moans, your thighs clenching around his hand.

"I'm gonna need a minute," he tells slowly circling your clit, "But my god, you're insatiable. I'd do anything to see those cute fangs again," he teases.

Your lips meet again, and Jeno sucks your bottom lips into his mouth, sinking his teeth in and drawing blood. He smears the blood on your lips before grabbing your jaw and initiating a passionate kiss, the taste of copper staining both of your lips.

"Don't start something you can't finish." You lick the few drops from Jeno's lip, quickly healing the wound before pulling away.

"Oh you know I'll do more than finish it."

SATURDAY [7:29 PM]

You and Jeno both hadn't gone to sleep until the sun had risen, so it's no surprise you find him still sound asleep beside you when your eyes first flutter open. You snuggle closer to Jeno, stealing his body heat as you find it comforting enough to put you back to sleep.

But the sound of a blaring alarm jolted you both out of bed. Jeno had no time to ask any questions as you had exited the room already, without a word. He follows your silent, hastened steps down the hall to the surveillance room.

"What is it?" Jeno asks, eyes bouncing around the screens as you search for what tripped the alarm.

Then, you see four escalades ascending the dirt road. Oh fuck.

[8:39 PM]

The words exchanged between the three men you're watching from afar fall on deaf ears even though you can hear them from this distance. Jeno glances over his father's shoulder at you before reverting his attention back to whatever words coming out of Draven's mouth.

"You two fucked, didn't you?" Tyra asks in a whisper.

"What makes you think that?" you snap your head toward her.

"You almost let your disappointment show when we pulled up," she answers, "Plus, I can smell him all over you."

"I'm not disappointed," you scoff, "I'm just thinking."

"About?"

"Not many other people knew about the meeting Draven set up with the Lees. Four of them are dead. The rest are all standing right here."

Tyra's eyes scan the vampires and lycans standing in the underbrush. "Are you saying it's someone here who's working with the humans?"

"It's only a theory. But how else could the humans have known when and where Jeno and I were meeting?"

"Have you shared this theory with your lycan lover?"

"No," you glare at her, "And he's not my lover."

"You don't think he's..."

You shake your head, "No, I don-"

"Think I'm what?" Jeno asks.

You know he was listening to the conversation, "Old enough to be in grown folks business," you tease.

"Haha," he deadpans.

You shoot Tyra a look, and she pretends to find something else to occupy herself with, leaving you and Jeno alone.

"I guess this is it," he sighs.

"No need to shed tears. You'll see me again," you say.

"If that's the case," Jeno slips a piece of paper into your hand, "Call when you start missing me," he smiles.

"As if," you laugh.

You watch Jeno retreat back to his father's car. He looks back at you one last time, shooting you a wink before ducking his head to climb into the vehicle.

"You seem to be extremely fond of the lycan," Draven says.

"He's not bad company," you reply.

"And an even better fu-" A cough interrupts Tyra as you elbow her in the ribs.

"Shall we go home?"

tagged <33: @peachesmilk @doyotint @jaehyunpeachyy @hyuckiegirlfriend @mrsjohnnysuh @binniesbabe @imwutim @marsoverthestars @everything-fine-n-peachy @yukisroom97 @stqrgr7

a/n: i’m so sorry this took so long i really thought it would be ready early october but life and shit yk. ty for reading. feedback is appreciated!!

[pucksandpower]

On Display

Day 10 → Exhibitionism 💋 Kimi Räikkönen

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

Kimi Räikkönen doesn’t care about most things. It’s not apathy exactly, it’s more like everything just slips right past him. He does his job, keeps his head down, says what’s necessary — and even then, not much more than that. It’s enough to keep him going, to keep the world at arm’s length, until you came along.

You're different. That’s what unsettles him.

You’re new, fresh out of university, assigned to be his Press Officer for Alfa Romeo Racing. The team was proud of themselves for hiring you. Young, capable, smart. You’ve been around Kimi for a few months now, and it didn’t take long for something to shift inside him.

He’s not sure when it happened, or how, but it did. And now he can’t stop thinking about you.

Today, the garage is bustling — mechanics clinking tools, engineers hunched over laptops. Kimi stands near his car, keeping himself at a distance like he always does. But then he hears it, a conversation drifting over the noise.

"She's way too young for him," one mechanic says, voice low but not low enough. "Kimi's over forty. She should be with someone … closer to her age."

Kimi doesn't flinch, but he narrows his eyes slightly. The other mechanic laughs, “Like who, you? Come on, man, you’d never have a chance.”

“I’m serious,” the first one continues, “She deserves someone who can keep up with her, you know? Someone who’s not … past his prime.”

Kimi's grip on his helmet tightens.

He knows how it looks — he’s been around long enough to understand how people see him. Quiet, cold, detached. The guy who doesn’t care about anything. But this? This stings more than he expected. He stands there, frozen, until he sees you at the edge of the garage, talking to another team member, completely unaware of the conversation happening just a few feet away.

Kimi makes up his mind instantly.

Without a word, he strides across the garage, brushing past people with a determined look in his eyes. You don’t notice him until he’s right in front of you, blocking your path.

“Kimi?” You ask, blinking up at him. “What’s-”

“Come,” he says, his voice low and commanding. It’s not a request. Before you can ask another question, he’s taken your hand, pulling you along with him. You don’t resist, but confusion paints your face as he leads you through the maze of the garage.

“Kimi, what’s going on?” You ask, struggling to keep up with his long strides. “Did something happen?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He’s too focused on getting to his driver’s room, away from everyone else, away from the noise and the looks. He doesn’t slow down until he reaches the door, pushing it open with one hand and ushering you inside with the other.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he shuts the door behind him, the soft click of the lock echoing in the small space. The room is quiet, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy outside, and you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

“Kimi,” you say again, softer this time. “What is it?”

He takes a moment, staring at you with that intense, unreadable expression he always wears. But there’s something else behind it now — something sharper, more vulnerable.

“I heard them,” he finally says, voice rougher than usual.

Your brow furrows. “Heard who?”

“The mechanics.” His jaw tightens. “Talking about you. About us.”

You blink, taken aback. “What did they say?”

Kimi steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “That I’m too old for you. That you should be with someone else. Someone younger.”

You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off, his frustration spilling over. “They think I can’t keep up with you. That I’m not good enough.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and raw, and for the first time since you met him, Kimi looks … uncertain. It’s jarring, seeing him like this — the man who’s always in control, always so sure of himself, now questioning everything.

“Kimi,” you say softly, stepping closer until you’re just inches away from him. “That’s ridiculous.”

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Is it?”

“Yes,” you insist, your voice firm. “Why are you even listening to them? They don’t know anything about us.”

His gaze flickers, something close to doubt flashing in his eyes. “But maybe they’re right.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you, though there’s no humor in it. “Right about what? That you’re too old for me?”

He doesn’t answer, but the look on his face says enough.

You take a deep breath, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “Kimi, listen to me. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’re the one I’m with, not them. And I’m with you because I want to be. Not because of your age, or your career, or whatever else they think.”

He stares at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “But you could have someone else,” he murmurs. “Someone … younger.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s affection in the gesture. “I don’t want someone else. I want you.”

Kimi stays silent for a moment, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure out if you really mean it. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, almost hesitant. “Why?”

You laugh, the sound light and teasing. “Do you really need me to list all the reasons?”

His lips twitch, the ghost of a smile threatening to break through, but he doesn’t let it.

“Fine,” you say, stepping even closer until you’re practically toe-to-toe. “You want to know why? Because you’re kind. Because you care, even if you don’t show it the way most people do. Because you make me laugh, even when you’re not trying to. And because when I’m with you, everything feels … right.”

His eyes soften, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. “You really think that?”

“I do,” you say, your voice sincere. “And I don’t care what anyone else says. They don’t get to decide what’s right for us. Only we do.”

Kimi watches you for a long moment, the weight of your words sinking in. Slowly, he reaches up, his fingers brushing your cheek in the gentlest of touches. It’s such a small, simple gesture, but it feels like everything in that moment.

“I’m not letting you go,” he says quietly, but there’s a fierceness behind his words that makes your heart race. “Not for them. Not for anyone.”

You smile, leaning into his touch. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

For a while, neither of you say anything. The silence isn’t uncomfortable; it’s warm, filled with everything unspoken between you. Kimi’s thumb traces slow circles on your cheek, his gaze locked on yours, and for the first time in a long time, he lets himself feel something. Something more than just the numb routine of racing, more than just the motions of his life.

It’s you.

You’re the difference. The one thing he never expected to care about, but now can’t imagine being without.

“They’ll keep talking,” he says after a while, his voice quieter now, almost resigned.

“Let them,” you reply, your tone defiant. “We know the truth. That’s all that matters.”

He doesn’t respond, but you can see it in his eyes — the way they soften, the way the lines of tension in his face smooth out. You’ve managed to calm him, to ease the storm raging in his mind. And that’s something no one else has ever been able to do.

Kimi exhales slowly, like he’s letting go of something heavy. He takes your hand again, this time more gently, pulling you toward him until your bodies are pressed together. His hand lingers on your waist as he pulls away slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. There’s a certain darkness there now, a fire that wasn’t present before. He’s calm, but there’s something electric beneath the surface. You can feel it.

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches behind him, and with a swift, almost careless movement, pulls the door to the driver’s room open. The quiet hiss of the hinges echoes in the small space, but it’s the sudden rush of noise from the garage outside that jolts you.

“Kimi,” you whisper, glancing toward the open door, “What are you doing?”

His gaze stays locked on yours, unwavering, and he says it, voice low and dangerous, “I want everyone to hear you cry my name.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“And I want them to see,” he continues, his fingers brushing along your jawline before tilting your chin up slightly, forcing you to meet his eyes, “to know what I can do to you. That you’re mine.”

There’s no question in his voice, no hesitation. He’s daring you, challenging you in a way that only Kimi Räikkönen can. The kind of challenge that pulls you in, that makes it impossible to say no, even if every part of you is screaming at how reckless, how exposed this could be.

“Kimi,” you start, but the words get lost as he steps even closer, the warmth of his body brushing against yours, overwhelming every other thought.

“You don't want them to know?” He asks, the faintest smirk pulling at his lips, though his voice remains steady. “You don’t want them to hear how you scream for me?”

Your breath hitches, and Kimi notices. He always notices. There’s that rare smile again, the one that barely shows but tells you everything. You’re his, and he’s about to make sure everyone knows it.

You glance again at the open door, the sounds of the team moving about just a few feet away — tools clanking, mechanics talking, engineers calling out data. They’re all out there. They could hear everything.

And Kimi doesn’t care.

His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, grazing the skin just above your hips, slow and deliberate. “I want them to know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the side of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “I want them to hear.”

The possessiveness in his voice is unmistakable. He’s not asking; he’s telling you, declaring it like an unshakable truth.

You’re his.

He guides you backward with a gentle but firm push until your back hits the wall. The sudden pressure makes you gasp, and before you can say anything, Kimi’s mouth is on yours. It’s not soft — it’s demanding, consuming. Every kiss, every touch is a statement. You belong to him, and now, he’s going to make sure the world knows it.

“Kimi, the door-” you manage to murmur against his lips, but he just kisses you harder, silencing any protest.

“I want it open,” he growls into your mouth, his voice rough with need. “I want them to see.”

His hands are all over you now, possessive, as if he can’t touch you enough, can’t get enough of you. He doesn’t care who hears, who sees. In fact, that’s exactly what he wants. He’s always been reserved, controlled — until it comes to you. With you, all of that falls away.

Kimi pulls back just enough to look at you, his breath hot against your lips. “Say my name.”

You hesitate for a moment, your eyes darting again to the open door. You can hear footsteps passing by, voices just outside, oblivious to what’s happening inside this room. But the way Kimi looks at you, the intensity in his eyes, the sheer force of his presence — it makes it impossible to resist.

“Kimi,” you breathe, soft at first.

He smiles, that dark, dangerous smile that sends your pulse racing. “Louder.”

“Kimi,” you say again, louder this time, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and need.

“Good,” he mutters, his hands tightening on your waist as he presses his body against yours. “They’ll hear you soon enough.”

And then he’s kissing you again, hard and fierce, his hands moving to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he presses you against the wall. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and you can feel the heat of him through the fabric of his racing suit.

The door is still open.

The thought lingers in the back of your mind, but it’s quickly drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of Kimi’s hands on you, his mouth devouring yours like he can’t get enough. You can hear the faint hum of voices outside, the occasional burst of laughter or the sound of tools clanging against metal, but it all fades away, drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the feel of Kimi’s body against yours.

He pulls away just long enough to look at you again, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough, filled with a kind of raw intensity that makes your stomach flip. “Only mine.”

“Yes,” you manage to breathe, your heart racing in your chest. “Only yours.”

And that’s all it takes. Kimi’s mouth crashes against yours again, and this time, there’s no holding back. Every touch, every kiss, every movement is possessive, claiming. He’s making sure that when you leave this room, there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind who you belong to.

But then, just as you’re about to fall over the edge, just as you feel like you might break apart from the intensity of it all, the door creaks. A shadow falls across the room.

“Kimi-” a voice starts, but it cuts off abruptly.

Your heart skips a beat, your eyes flying open as you realize someone’s standing in the doorway. Kimi’s race engineer, frozen in place, eyes wide in shock.

For a split second, the room is deathly silent.

“Kimi?” The engineer stammers, his voice filled with awkward confusion. “Uh … sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

But Kimi doesn’t move. He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he turns his head slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder at the stunned engineer, his expression as calm and collected as ever.

“What?” Kimi asks, his voice steady, almost bored, as if nothing unusual is happening.

The engineer’s eyes dart between the two of you, clearly flustered. “I, uh, I was just going to — there’s a … a data issue, but, uh … I’ll come back later.”

Kimi doesn’t respond right away. He just stares at the engineer for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nods, almost dismissively. “Do that.”

The engineer doesn’t need to be told twice. He practically stumbles over his own feet as he backs out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him with a hurried click.

The second the door is closed, Kimi’s attention is back on you, his hands tightening their grip on your hips. His eyes darken again, the fire from before rekindling as if nothing had happened.

“They’ll all know now,” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. There’s a possessive edge to his tone, something primal that sends a thrill through you.

“Kimi,” you breathe, your heart still pounding from the shock of being caught.

He smirks, leaning in to press a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Let them talk.”

And just like that, he’s kissing you again, his hands roaming your body with a kind of controlled urgency. There’s no hesitation, no pause to think about what just happened. It’s like the interruption never even fazed him.

He’s still in control, still completely focused on you.

“You’re mine,” he growls against your lips, and this time, there’s no room for doubt.

You are his.

And he’s going to make sure everyone knows it.

***

It’s late when the mechanic finally sits down on his worn-out couch, still in his travel clothes. The day had been long, filled with the usual chaos of a flying back home after a race weekend, and all he wants is to shut off his mind, sink into the cushions, and forget about everything for a while.

His phone buzzes on the coffee table, but he ignores it at first, figuring it’s just another group message from the guys. He’ll deal with that later.

But the phone buzzes again. And again. Three notifications in quick succession, and finally, he picks it up.

The screen lights up with a message from an unknown number.

New message: Open this. You’ll want to see.

His brow furrows as he reads it, curiosity piqued. He glances around his quiet apartment, feeling a strange sense of anticipation. He taps the message, and immediately, a video starts downloading. It’s taking its time — bad signal, probably. His thumb hovers over the screen, debating whether or not this is a good idea. Could be spam, or worse.

But something about the message, the cryptic tone of it, makes him wait.

The video finally finishes, and before he knows it, he presses play.

The screen flickers to life, and at first, it’s just a shot of a luxurious bedroom — modern, sleek, with low lighting and dark, rich colors. The kind of place he could only imagine staying in.

And then he sees you.

You’re there, on the bed, your body moving in a way that makes his breath catch in his throat. You’re wearing nothing but a thin, silk robe, and before he can process what he’s seeing, Kimi comes into view, shirtless, standing behind you. His hands are on your shoulders, sliding down your arms with a possessive, deliberate slowness.

“Holy shit,” the mechanic mutters under his breath, his pulse quickening.

In the video, Kimi’s voice is low and commanding as he leans in, whispering something in your ear that the mechanic can’t quite hear. But it doesn’t matter. The way you respond — the way your body reacts, arching slightly into Kimi’s touch — tells him everything he needs to know.

You belong to Kimi.

The mechanic’s hands tighten around his phone, his knuckles going white. He should stop watching, turn it off, but he can’t. It’s like he’s been pulled into something forbidden, something he knows he shouldn’t be seeing, but now that he has, he’s trapped.

Kimi moves around to the front of you in the video, tilting your chin up so you’re looking directly into his eyes. “Tell me,” Kimi’s voice rumbles through the speakers, clear and dominant, “who do you belong to?”

Your answer is immediate, breathless. “You.”

Kimi smiles, a dark, satisfied smile. “That’s right.”

The mechanic watches as Kimi pushes you gently back onto the bed, his movements fluid and controlled, like he’s done this a hundred times before. Kimi climbs over you, his body pressing down against yours, and the camera zooms in, catching every intimate detail — the way your hands slide up Kimi’s back, the way your lips part as you whisper his name, the soft moan that escapes when Kimi kisses your neck.

“Fuck,” the mechanic breathes, his heart pounding in his chest. He shouldn’t be watching this. It’s too personal, too raw. But he can’t look away. There’s something magnetic about the way Kimi moves, the way he commands your attention, your body, your everything.

In the video, Kimi’s voice breaks the silence again. “You’re mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whisper, your voice shaking, filled with a need that makes the mechanic’s stomach twist.

The mechanic shifts uncomfortably on the couch, feeling a mix of emotions he can’t quite pin down. Jealousy. Guilt. And something darker.

He hadn’t thought much of Kimi before — he’d respected him as a driver, sure, but as a man? He always thought Kimi was cold, detached. He hadn’t imagined that this version of Kimi existed — the one who could make you look at him like you were ready to fall apart, like nothing in the world mattered except him.

In the video, Kimi’s hands are everywhere now — your waist, your hips, your thighs. He’s slow, methodical, taking his time like he has all the control in the world. And maybe he does. The mechanic watches as Kimi’s lips trail down your neck, across your collarbone, lower still, until you’re gasping his name, your body arching off the bed in desperate, silent pleas.

“Kimi,” you breathe, and the mechanic feels it, the way you say his name like it’s a prayer, like it’s the only thing grounding you in the moment.

Kimi doesn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead, he pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his gaze dark and possessive. His hand moves between your legs, and the mechanic can’t help but shift again, the tension in his body building as he watches. Kimi’s fingers are slow, deliberate, as he touches you, making you moan softly into the dimly lit room.

“Do you like this?” Kimi asks, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down the mechanic’s spine, even through the phone screen.

“Yes,” you gasp, your hands clutching the sheets.

“Louder,” Kimi demands, his tone firm but not unkind.

“Yes,” you cry out this time, your body trembling beneath him.

The mechanic’s chest tightens. He knows he shouldn’t be watching this. It’s too intimate, too raw, but there’s something captivating about the way Kimi has you — completely and utterly under his control. The way he commands your body, your voice, your everything.

In the video, Kimi leans down, his mouth capturing yours in a deep, possessive kiss, and the mechanic watches as you melt into it, your body relaxing into the bed as if Kimi is the only thing tethering you to the world.

It’s then that the camera angle shifts slightly, giving the mechanic a perfect view of your face — flushed, eyes half-lidded with pleasure, lips parted as you gasp for breath. Kimi’s fingers move faster now, more insistent, and the mechanic can see the way your body reacts, the way you tremble and arch under his touch.

“Kimi,” you cry out again, your voice breaking with need, with desperation.

Kimi’s response is immediate, his voice rough with satisfaction. “That’s it. Let them hear you.”

The mechanic’s heart pounds in his chest as he watches you unravel, your body shaking, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. He can’t tear his eyes away, even though he knows he should. There’s something intoxicating about watching you fall apart like this, knowing that it’s Kimi who’s doing this to you, who has you completely under his control.

The video continues, showing every intimate detail — Kimi’s hand tightening on your waist, the way your legs wrap around him, the way you moan his name over and over, completely lost in him. The mechanic’s throat feels tight, his skin prickling with a mix of emotions he can’t quite define.

In the video, you’re close — he can see it, the way your body trembles, the way your breaths come in short, desperate gasps. Kimi knows it too. His pace quickens, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers something the mechanic can’t make out, but it doesn’t matter. The effect is immediate. You cry out, your body arching off the bed as you fall apart beneath him, your voice breaking with pleasure.

The camera lingers for a moment, capturing the way you collapse back against the pillows, completely spent, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Kimi doesn’t move for a moment, just watches you, his hand still resting on your waist, his touch gentle now, almost reverent.

Slowly, he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and the mechanic watches as you melt into him, your body relaxing completely. Kimi shifts, pulling you into his arms, your head resting on his chest as you come down from the high, your breaths evening out.

The video ends with that image — Kimi lying back against the headboard, his arms wrapped around you protectively as you rest your head on his chest, eyes closed, completely exhausted. His fingers move through your hair, a soft, almost tender gesture that the mechanic never would’ve expected from him.

For a long moment, the mechanic just sits there, staring at the blank screen of his phone. His heart is still racing, his skin prickling with the intensity of what he just witnessed. He feels … unsettled. He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected Kimi to be so possessive, so dominant, and definitely hadn’t expected you to be so completely his.

He swallows hard, trying to push down the mix of jealousy, confusion, and something else that swirls in his chest. He feels like he’s seen something he was never meant to see — something private, something intimate. And yet, whoever sent this video wanted him to see it. Wanted him to know exactly what Kimi is capable of, exactly how well he can take care of you.

The mechanic leans back on the couch, letting out a long breath as he stares up at the ceiling. He knows one thing for sure: Kimi Räikkönen isn’t someone to underestimate.

And you — well, you’re his, in every possible way, and now the mechanic knows it too.

[leona-hawthorne]

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S KINKTOBER

october 10th. lorenzo berkshire — chasing, mirror sex.

lorenzo berkshire x fem reader

summary ; a night of tension and innocent fun turns into a challenge between you and lorenzo at the carnival. if when he catches you in the mirror maze, he fucks you. words ; 4.1k warnings ; unprotected piv, fingering, semi-public sex, predator/prey dynamic, both lorenzo and reader are both a little high, oral (m!receiving), throat fucking, 18+ content

navigation kinktober masterlist

The carnival lights flickered like distant stars, casting multicolored hues that danced over the sprawling grounds, their glow stretching into long, dreamy shadows. The sounds of laughter, distant screams from the rides, and the hum of a lively tune blended together, as if submerged underwater.

Everything moved in sync with your heartbeat, your limbs loose and your skin tingling with a strange, buzzing warmth.

God, how many blunts had you and Enzo smoked?

Lorenzo walked beside you, his hand brushing yours occasionally, each fleeting touch sending sparks through your veins. You wiped the sweat from your brow, the sights around you blurring and blending together. “I think you’ve officially dragged me to every ride here,” you muttered.

Lorenzo laughed, the sound low and lazy, his grin stretching wide as he slung an arm over your shoulders. “Tapping out already?” He leaned in closer, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Oh, come on, love. We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”

You rolled your eyes, though the grin tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. “The good part? We’ve done the rollercoaster twice, and you threw up on the ferris wheel.”

“Details,” he shrugged, his hazy eyes sparkling with amusement. “Besides, I had to— too much sugar.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Your voice was drenched in playful disbelief. Stepping away from him, you scanned the carnival, the cool air against your flushed skin a welcome reprieve. Closing your eyes for a brief moment, you let the breeze settle your racing pulse.

When you opened them, Lorenzo was watching you, his grin more dangerous now, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ve got an idea.”

You raised a brow. “That’s never a good sign.”

He pointed toward a towering, twisting structure in the distance, neon letters glowing above it: ‘Mirror Maze.’ The distorted reflections within flickered like ghosts, the sight sending a thrill through you. Equal parts excitement and dread.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Scared?” he teased, his voice laced with challenge.

“Of a maze?” you scoffed, lifting your chin. “Don’t think so little of me, Berkshire.”

“Then I’ll make it interesting.” Lorenzo stepped in front of you, his smirk deepening as he blocked your view. “I’ll give you a head start. Five minutes. Then I’ll come find you.”

Your heart skipped, and for a fleeting moment, your mind spun in a thousand directions.

“And what happens when you find me?” Your voice was softer than you intended.

His eyes darkened, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “You’ll see.”

The way he said it, the way his gaze locked onto yours, sent a delicious shiver down your spine. You bit your lip, trying to steady the weakness in your knees. “You think you can actually catch me?”

“Oh, I know I will.”

The challenge hung in the air, and you never could resist one.

Squaring your shoulders, you lifted your chin defiantly. “Alright, you’re on.”

Before you could take a step, Lorenzo’s hand shot out, catching your wrist and pulling you back to him. He leaned in close, his nose brushing the curve of your cheek as he whispered, voice thick with anticipation, “You should know… when I catch you, I don’t play fair.”

Your breath hitched, pulse spiking at the weight of his words. They lingered between you, heavy and full of promises you weren’t sure you were ready to unwrap.

“One minute, love,” he repeated, releasing your wrist, though his touch still burned on your skin. He nodded toward the maze. “You better run.”

Your eyes locked on his, the playful danger in them egging you on. Without another word, you turned, your heart pounding in your chest as you sprinted toward the maze, weaving through the crowd.

The neon lights grew brighter as you approached the maze, and with every step, the world seemed to spin just a little faster, the edges of your vision warping. You didn't look back. You couldn't. You weren’t sure what you'd feel if you saw him behind you, closing in already.

As you vanished into the twisting labyrinth of glass, Lorenzo watched until you were swallowed whole by the kaleidoscope of reflections. Then, a slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

This is gonna be fun.

He counted down under his breath—three, two, one—and set off after you, weaving between the crowds of screaming carnival-goers. The acrid scent of cotton candy and grease clung to the air, mixing with the haze of smoke still lingering on his tongue.

Each step felt heavier than the last, the ground tilting beneath his feet like a ship in rough seas. But he pressed on, driven by the thrill of the chase, the intoxicating promise of catching you in the endless hall of mirrors.

As he approached the entrance, the pulsing neon signs seemed to blur and distort, mirroring the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat.

Fuck, he was really stoned.

He stumbled slightly, catching himself on the cold door frame as he peered into the swirling vortex of reflections. A distorted version of himself grinned back, his own eyes glazed over with a hazy sheen.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed past the initial disorientation and stepped inside, immediately losing sight of the entrance behind him. The air inside the maze was heavy, almost suffocating, and the constant echo of footsteps reverberated off the mirrored walls.

Lorenzo squinted, trying to pierce the veil of reflections, searching for any glimpse of you. The longer he stood there, the more his senses began to warp, colors bleeding into each other, sounds morphing into strange, discordant melodies.

His patience wore thin, the competitive fire within him igniting once more.

The maze seemed to shift and change with every step, the mirrors twisting reality into an endless labyrinth of confusion. Your heart raced, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you navigated the dizzying array of reflections.

The tantalizing image of your figure kept showing between mirrors, only for a second or two each time, and it was driving him insane.

“I can see you, baby. You can’t hide,” he echoed, the crazed smile in his voice audible.

You heard the thudding of his footsteps somewhere in the maze, and you didn’t know whether to speed up or slow down your pace. You both knew you wanted him to catch you, but should you have given in so quickly?

You shook your head, trying to clear the cobwebs from your mind. The music from the carnival outside seemed to fade away, replaced by a dull roar that echoed through the corridors of glass.

Suddenly, a flash of movement caught your eye, a flicker of color amidst the sea of reflections. You whirled around, your heart leaping into your throat as you caught a glimpse of his silhouette darting between two mirrors.

"There you are," he growled under his breath, a predatory grin spreading across his face.

Without hesitation, he moved forward, his footsteps echoing loudly in the confined space. The mirrors seemed to blur around him as he ran, his blood pounding in his ears, fueled by a potent mix of adrenaline and desire.

He could hear your footsteps ahead, always just out of reach. The game was far from over, and he wasn't about to let you slip away so easily. With each passing second, the anticipation built within him, a primal hunger gnawing at his insides.

“You know what the deal is, pretty girl. Do us both a favor and stop running.” He gave a dark chuckle, his amusement palpable.

Up ahead, he spotted you again, a tantalizing glimpse of your curves as you weaved between the mirrors. His gaze lingered on the swell of your ass, the way your dress clung to your thighs as you moved.

With a final burst of energy, Lorenzo launched himself forward, arms outstretched to grab hold of you. The mirrors seemed to close in around him, distorting everything until he was surrounded by a dizzying array of reflections.

He collided with you in a tangle of limbs, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you hard against his body. The impact sent a jolt of pleasure through him, his cock twitching eagerly in response to the feel of your soft skin against his.

"You little tease," he panted, his lips brushing against your ear as he spun you around to face him. "Thought you could outrun me, huh?"

His fingers dug into your hips, kneading the flesh as he ground his erection against your belly. The mirror's cool surface pressed against your back, a contrast to the heat of his touch.

"I've got you now," he murmured, his hot breath fanning over your neck. "And I'm going to take my reward for catching you."

His hands roamed your body possessively, mapping out every curve and dip with greedy fingers. He leaned in closer, his lips grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear as he whispered huskily, “Such a naughty little girl. Of course this shit turns you on.”

One hand slid down to cup your ass, squeezing roughly as he pulled your hips flush against his own. The heat of his arousal was evident even through the layers of clothing separating you.

He captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim you thoroughly. His other hand tangled in your hair, tugging lightly as he angled your head to grant him better access.

Breaking away, he fixed you with a smoldering look, his eyes dark with lust.

The intoxicating mix of lust and power coursing through him took hold completely as he gazed down at your upturned face. Your flushed cheeks, parted lips, and the pleading expression in your eyes were enough to send him spiraling into a frenzy of desire.

"On your knees," he commanded gruffly, his voice low and rough with need. “Wrap those pretty lips around me.”

As if entranced, you sank to the floor without protest, your dress riding up your thighs as you went. Lorenzo watched intently, his cock straining painfully against his jeans, aching to be freed.

You giggled softly, a mischievous glint in your hazy eyes as you pressed a kiss to the bulge in his jeans. “Oh, so now you're punishing me for playing along too well?”

You looked up at him coyly, tracing a finger along the zipper of his jeans before slowly pulling it down. “Not much of a punishment to make me taste you, but I’ll take it.”

A groan escaped his lips as you freed his straining cock, the sight of it springing free almost too much to bear in its erect glory. He couldn't help but thrust slightly into your touch, already craving more of your attention.

"Fucking brat," he muttered, a smirk playing on his lips despite the intensity of his arousal. "You think teasing me is cute, huh?"

Reaching down, he gripped the base of his dick, guiding it towards your open mouth. "Open wide then. We both know good and fucking well you were waiting for me to catch you."

The commanding tone left no room for argument, and you obediently parted your lips, letting him slide the thick length past them. Lorenzo closed his eyes briefly, savoring the sensation of your warm mouth enveloping him, before looking back down at you with a satisfied grin.

He tangled his fingers in your hair, holding you steady as he began to rock his hips, pushing deeper into your mouth. Your wet heat engulfed him perfectly, the velvety walls of your throat massaging his sensitive tip with each thrust.

"That's it, baby," he praised, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take it all like a good girl."

The obscene sounds of your sucking filled the air, mingling with his grunts and groans of ecstasy. He could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, his balls tightening as you worked him expertly with your tongue.

"Fuck, just like that," he gasped, his grip on your hair tightening. "Don't stop, keep going just like that..."

Your muffled moans vibrated deliciously around his shaft, spurring him on further.

As he continued to piston his cock in and out of your mouth, he reveled in the feeling of control, of owning your body so completely. The sound of your muffled whimpers only served to heighten his pleasure, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

Suddenly, he slammed into the back of your throat, hitting that sweet spot that made stars explode behind his eyelids. Your gag reflex kicked in, and you struggled to breathe around him, but he didn't relent, driving forward relentlessly.

"Aww, looks like my little brat needs air," he taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Too bad, so sad. Funny thing, isn't it? You said this wasn't really a punishment," he taunted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "But here you are, face-fucked and drooling all over my dick. Looks like you were wrong, baby."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as Lorenzo pounded mercilessly into your throat, but you refused to tap out, determined to prove yourself worthy of his brutal affections. Your jaw ached from being stretched wide around his girth, saliva pooling in your mouth and dripping down your chin and onto your thighs.

You looked up at him with watery eyes, silently begging for mercy even as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder. Your hands came up to grip his muscular thighs, nails digging into the taut flesh as you steadied yourself against his relentless thrusts.

A particularly harsh snap of his hips had you choking violently, your throat constricting around him as you fought the urge to gag.

He reveled in your struggle, the way your throat spasmed around his cock, trying desperately to accommodate his punishing rhythm. The tears streaking down your face only fueled his dominant side, urging him to take you harder, to claim you utterly.

"That's it, baby," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "Take it all like the good little slut you are."

He held your head still, buried deep in your throat, relishing the flutter of your muscles as they tried futilely to expel him. Your nails raked across his thighs, leaving angry red welts in their wake, but the sting only heightened his pleasure.

After long moments, he finally withdrew, allowing you a gasping breath before plunging back in. He set a brutal pace, using your mouth like a personal cock sleeve, chasing his rapidly approaching climax.

The slick sounds of your gagging echoed obscenely off the mirrored walls surrounding you, a lewd symphony of depravity that only served to drive him wilder. He could feel his release barreling towards him like a freight train, body tensing up as he neared the edge, a hand tangling in your hair.

With a final moan, he buried himself to the hilt in your convulsing throat, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself directly into your stomach. Thick ropes of cum painted your insides, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

"Fuck yes, swallow it all," he demanded, grinding against your face as he rode out the aftershocks of his intense orgasm. "You like it when I put that smart ass mouth of yours to work?”

He pulled out of your abused throat with a wet pop, watching with satisfaction as you gasped for air, coughing and sputtering. Strings of saliva connected your swollen lips to his softening cock, and he swiped a thumb across your cheek, collecting some of the mess there.

"So pretty," he murmured, bringing his thumb to your mouth and pressing it between your lips. “Stand.”

You managed a weak smile as he helped you stand, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Despite the lingering soreness in your throat, a sense of pride swelled within you.

"You're such an asshole," you joked hoarsely, rubbing your tender jaw.

His chuckle sent a shiver through you, and you couldn't help but notice the unmistakable bulge reappearing in his pants. You bit your lip, a wicked grin spreading across your face.

"You're insatiable. Can't get enough of me, hm?"

He smirked at your words, his eyes darkening with renewed desire as he pulled you flush against him. "Guilty as charged."

To punctuate his statement, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving past your teeth to tangle with yours. He swallowed your gasp, one hand sliding down to palm your ass possessively.

Breaking away, he nipped at your bottom lip before trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. "And trust me, baby," he purred, his voice low and gravelly. "We're far from done here."

He turned you both around, pinning you chest-first against a gleaming mirror. Your reflection stared back, tits flattened against the cool glass, cheeks rosy. A deliciously perverse image that he savored for a moment before attacking the slender column of your neck.

His lips and teeth left a blazing trail, nipping and sucking at your tender skin. "You look so hot like this," he growled against your ear, one hand slipping under your dress to hike up the fabric and expose your soaked panties. "Want to feel you come undone in my arms."

His fingers deftly hooked into the waistband of your panties, pushing them down your thighs before dipping into your slick folds. Two thick digits plunged inside you, curling to stroke that sensitive spot deep within your core. "Mmm, always so ready for me, aren't you?"

A sharp intake of breath escaped you as his fingers delved into your heat, your back arching instinctively to press your center more firmly against his probing digits. Your knees nearly buckled at the intensity of sensation, and your hands pressed against the mirror for support.

"Yes," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. "Fucking clearly.”

You could feel yourself teetering on the brink of climax already, his skilled touch stoking the flames of your desire to new heights.

He continued his sensual assault, alternating between slow, deep strokes and quick, shallow thrusts. His free hand slid up your body to cup your breast through the fabric of your dress, kneading the supple mound roughly.

All the while, his lips never ceased their worship of your neck, painting your skin with open-mouthed kisses and teasing flicks of his tongue. He lapped at your pulse point before grazing it with his teeth, sending electric sparks of pleasure-pain racing through you.

"I want to feel you fall apart," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "Come for me, baby. Let go."

A keening cry tore from your throat as his words and actions pushed you over the edge. Your inner walls clamped down around his pumping fingers, quivering and rippling in a violent climax.

"Yes, fuck! Oh god!" you wailed, your hips jerking erratically against his hand as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of your release.

As the tremors slowly subsided, you slumped against the mirror, panting heavily. Your legs felt like jelly, barely able to hold you upright.

He gentled his touch as your orgasm subsided, slowly withdrawing his fingers from your twitching channel. A smear of your arousal glistened on his digits, and he brought them to his lips, licking them clean with a satisfied hum.

Turning you around, he claimed your mouth in a deep, languid kiss, tasting the salt of your tears and the sweetness of your spent passion. His hands roamed your curves, soothing and caressing, until you were limp and pliant in his embrace.

"You're incredible," he whispered against your lips, brushing a stray lock of hair from your flushed face. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm never letting you go."

With a low growl of possessiveness, he swept you up into his arms, hoisting you effortlessly by the waist to press your back against the mirrored wall. His strong hands gripped your thighs, parting your legs to accommodate his growing erection. He ground his hard length against your slick heat, the friction deliciously torturous.

Your head lolled back against the cool glass as he pinned you there, a moan escaping your parted lips at the exquisite pressure of his cock rubbing against your aching core. The heat of his body enveloped you, making you feel small and delicate in his grasp.

"Yours," you agreed breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him closer. "Just fuck me."

Your hand fisted in his hair, guiding his face to capture your mouth in another searing kiss. You lost yourself in the taste and scent of him, your other hand reaching down to guide his tip to your entrance.

With a primal grunt, he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in your welcoming heat. Your wetness enveloped him like a velvet vice, and he paused for a moment, savoring the perfect fit.

Then, with a snap of his hips, he began to move, driving into you with powerful, relentless strokes. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the air, punctuated by your wanton cries and his guttural groans.

He angled his thrusts to hit that sweet spot deep inside you, determined to push you over the edge again, his hands moving down to your ass to support you.

"You take me so well," he panted, his breath hot against your ear. "Such a good girl."

Your nails dug into Lorenzo's shoulders as he pistoned into you, each forceful thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The way he filled you, stretched you, made you feel owned and desired in the most primal way possible.

"Oh fuck, yes!" you sobbed, your hips rising to meet his, eager for more of that delicious friction. "Harder, baby, fuck me harder!"

The filthy words spilled from your lips unbidden, your inhibitions shattered by the intense sensations coursing through you. You were completely lost in the rhythm of your joining, driven by nothing but the all-consuming need for release.

Your reflections danced across the labyrinthine mirrors as he pounded into you, creating an endless array of perverse images, all while your combined moans echoed through the narrow space. Perks of being in the house of mirrors.

His pace became brutal, almost punishing, as he chased his own release. Sweat beaded on his brow, trickling down to mingle with the dusting of stubble on his jawline. The lewd slap of skin against skin reverberated through the confined space, interspersed with your fevered pleas and his ragged breathing.

"That's it, Y/N, let go," he urged, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Come for me again, now."

With a final, savage thrust, he sent you hurtling over the precipice once more. Your sex clenched around him, milking his cock as your orgasm crashed through you in devastating waves. The feeling of your pussy spasming wildly around him was enough to send him careening after you, his own climax ripping through him with a deep groan.

He collapsed against you, his forehead resting against yours as you both struggled to catch your breath. His softening cock slipped out of you, a rush of mingled fluids following in its wake.

For a long moment, he simply held you, his heart pounding against your chest, his arms wrapped securely around your trembling form. Slowly, the haze of lust began to clear, replaced by a warm, sated glow.

"You okay?" he murmured, pulling back just far enough to search your face with concerned eyes.

You leaned into his embrace, relishing the comforting weight of his body pressed against yours. Despite the lingering ache between your thighs and the sticky evidence of your actions dripping down your leg, you'd never felt more content.

"I’m okay," you purred, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

Gently, he set you down on shaky legs, keeping a steadying arm around your waist. He took a moment to admire the disheveled state you were in - hair mussed, dress askew, lipstick smudged, and skin flushed with exertion and satisfaction.

"You look insane," he teased, brushing a stray curl from your cheek. "But also ridiculously beautiful."

His thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, pulling you in for one last kiss, this one softer than before.

Your lips moved lazily against his, savoring the gentle affection. As the kiss broke, you smiled up at him, still basking in the afterglow.

“Next time, you won’t catch me. I guarantee it.”

kinktober taglist: @mattheoriddles-slutt @theeslutintheroom @esmerai-artemis @gigival @cloudyyydayzzz @sn000py @abeoavita @yesiamthatwierd @shaquilles-0atmeal @roseofsharron438 @iouinotes @romantasyreader28 @c3liaaaaa @sleepiibunniiii @chemtrailsoverhogwarts @daenerystorgaryen @catching-fire-in-the-wind @emma-grace0 @tori-303 @ilovehpb0ys

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[chososcamgirl]

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER CHAPTER TWELVE: sweet dreams, tn

masterlist

“So where’s your lover boy?” Panda asks, his voice cutting through the cacophony of laughter and music as he trails you through the crowded corridors, dodging the sea of bodies like a seasoned sailor.

Pit pit pit pit—the sound of eight pairs of feet creates a chaotic rhythm that echoes off the walls, blending with the chatter, screams from fangirls, and the distant sound of music. The air is thick with anticipation, a pre-show buzz that somehow amplifies your frustration.

You stop suddenly, squinting against the bright lights overhead, still disoriented in this maze of unfamiliar hallways. You were reread Megumi’s text for the hundredth time.

“It’s simple, just walk straight, take the second left, and then the first right.”

“Simple my ass,” you mutter, irritation creeping into your voice. You can feel the fabric of your outfit constricting slightly as your heart races—not just from the crowd, but from the thought of him, wherever he might be.

“Yn, do you even know where you’re going?” Nobara interjects, arms crossed and feet tapping impatiently. “I didn’t put on my red bottoms just to wander around like a lost kid in target.”

Her tone is playful, but there’s an edge of seriousness. You can picture her frustration—she's here to make an impression, and you can’t let her down. She mumbles something under her breath, probably a jab about you and megumi, which she blames on you ovulating. You roll your eyes, mentally flipping her off.

“Yn, maybe you should use your third eye to find him,” Panda suggests, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Third eye?” you ask, bewildered.

“Your vagina” he raises an eyebrow, teasingly dragging out the moment.

Maki snickers.

“Maki, why are you laughing? Shouldn’t you be helping?” Panda shoots back, exasperated, though his tone is more playful than annoyed.

Maki rolls her eyes but doesn’t miss a beat. She raises her fist, mock-threatening to punch Panda, but they both stumble back, narrowly avoiding a group of crew members wrestling with a mountain of band equipment. One of them shoots you a bemused glance, clearly accustomed to the chaotic energy that follows your group.

“Shit, sorry, everyone,” you murmur, barely looking up from your phone. Your thumbs fly over the screen, sending a heated text to that infuriatingly charming guitarist.

Your frustration simmers just below the surface, not just from his latest blunder but from the way your emotions twist like a tangled cord—half excitement, half anxiety.

You can’t help but think of how he always manages to distract you, his grin igniting a flutter in your chest. The irony of searching for him while being completely consumed by thoughts of him doesn’t escape you.

“Yn?” A voice echoes through the dimly lit corridor, pulling you from your thoughts.

You look up to find Megumi standing there, his expression softening as he meets your gaze.

“Hey,” you reply, your voice a gentle murmur, but he hears you easily.

The surrounding group begins to disperse, each member pairing off into their conversations—Maki and Yuta engaged about their next date, Panda and Toge animatedly debriefing about the latest talk gush episode, and Nobara mocking Yuji about his latest blunder on Twitter, laughter spilling out like a warm embrace.

“Sooo, how’s it going?” you ask slyly, trying to mask the sudden flutter of nerves that stir within you.

Why does this feel different tonight? You’ve shared countless moments, yet there’s an undeniable weight in the air that makes your heart race.

A smirk curls at the corners of Megumi’s lips, amusement dancing in his eyes. He finds your nervousness both cute and entertaining.

“You know my fans would kill you if they found out the mystery girl I’ve been seeing is at the show tonight.”

You arch an eyebrow, a playful glint in your gaze. Your fingers find their way to his chest, lightly tracing the fabric of his shirt before hovering near his lips, an invitation and a tease. His breath hitches, hanging in the air like an unspoken promise, thick with unacknowledged tension.

“Guess we’ll just have to keep it a secret then, huh?” you reply, leaning in slightly, enjoying the way his pulse quickens under your touch.

“Oi, come on, lovebirds! We perform in twenty!” a voice calls from behind you, interrupting the moment. It’s the white-haired boy, his tone both teasing and urgent.

You glance back at him, rolling your eyes playfully as you stick out your tongue.

“Can’t a girl have a moment?” you shoot back, a lightness in your voice that contrasts with the intensity of the moment you just shared.

“Seems like you have to go,” you say, brushing imaginary nerves off his shoulders with a teasing gesture, your fingertips lingering a moment too long.

Megumi gazes at you in silence, as if he’s trying to memorise every detail—the way your hair falls around your shoulders, the sparkle in your eyes that seems to illuminate the dim corridor.

Were you always this beautiful, or is it just the shoddy lighting casting a warm glow around you?

“Good luck,” you say, rising onto your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek. The warmth of your lips against his skin sends a thrill through you, a jolt of something unspoken.

With that, you turn and dash off to catch up with your friends, laughter bubbling up as you leave him behind, your heart still racing.

You glance back to find Megumi standing there, visibly starstruck, watching you with a mix of admiration and disbelief. There’s a new softness in his gaze, one that makes your chest tighten with something you can’t quite name.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree, as you turn away.

God, he was down bad.

extras!

• COME BACK SEUNGHAN 🙏🙏

• yn lowkey gafs about megumi now chat…

• is this the enemjes to lovers we were all longing for? lol just wait until next chapter

• yn was ON that ledge like fully over the barricade SOMEONE HELP THE POOR GIRL

• ynmegumi interaction again hiiiii

• are they… falling in love with eachother???

• oh there’s sukuna hi boyfie

• he got another number… just for us? awww😍😍

• if he wanted to he would

a/n: FINALLY UP TO DATE WITH THE CHAPTERS EVERYBODY CHEER!!! this was lowkey a filler chapter but next chapter is going to be so GOOD. like i said we’re just getting started? you thought this was going to be a fluffy fic? LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER

taglist: @shokosbunny @luvvmae @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @aozui @noodles-icetea @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @renbittt @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @oroborosttheiii @ichcocat @laughingfcx @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @starantulas @1l-ynn @pastriepuppy @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho @sukunaspillow @evry1luvssm

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

[tteotlma]

Panic and Proximity

-- Trapped with Logan in a safe room, your biggest weakness reveals itself.

(Wolverine/Reader) 1.7kw

a/n: it's been like six years since i posted a fic.. smth short and sweet

TW: anxiety, panic attack, mentions of vomit, close spaces, forced proximity(?), CLAUSTROPHOBIA, tight spaces

"Bobby!" you yell over the deafening roar. You dig your heels into the dirt, pivoting to run towards your friend. A Sentinel has Bobby pinned, ice against ice. Suddenly, the ground opens beneath him, swallowing him whole. Your heart leaps into your throat, but in the next instant, the sky above the massive monster splits open. Bobby drops out, ready to swing full throttle.

You glance back to see Kitty sprinting towards you, Logan not far behind.

"No, run!" she screams, grabbing your arm as you both dash into the building.

"But Bobby—" you start, turning to look back at your friend. He seems to be holding his own, but for how long?

"It's okay, he's coming," Kitty pants as she phases you through industrial shelving.

Logan's gruff voice surprises you. "How do you know?"

"Because I'm gonna get him," Kitty replies, pulling you deeper into the building. "I just need to make sure you guys are safe first."

"And how are you gonna do that?" you ask, breathless. Your feet pound the floor in rhythm with theirs, legs aching. Only the adrenaline coursing through your veins keeps you going. 

"This way," Kitty hisses, yanking you towards a narrow corridor. The building's layout becomes a maze of twisting hallways and locked doors. Alarms blare, red emergency lights casting eerie shadows.

Logan sniffs the air. "We've got company. Multiple hostiles, closing in fast."

"There's a safe room," Kitty says, her voice strained. "It's small, but it'll have to do."

Your stomach tightens at the word 'small'. "How small are we talking?"

She doesn't answer, instead phasing through another wall, pulling you along. You emerge into a dim, cluttered storage area. At the far end, a heavy metal door stands ajar.

"In there. Now!" Logan growls, glancing behind you.

The thundering footsteps of your pursuers grow louder. Your heart races as you approach the door, catching a glimpse of the cramped space beyond. It's barely larger than a closet.

Kitty pushes you forward. "You don't have a choice. Get in!"

You hesitate, your breath catching in your throat. The walls seem to close in already, even from outside. But the sound of gunfire erupting behind you slowly convinces you to enter, but not fast enough. Kitty grabs both you and Logan and before you can protest, she phases you through the thick steel door. 

“Don’t go anywhere.” Kitty demands before she walks through the other side of the closet just as quickly as she put you in here. 

A small “no” escapes your lips as you reach out to touch the walls. You try to find any crevice to show your not completely shut off from everything but its no use, it’s too dark and from what your fingers can feel there’s nothing. The steel is stainless, and smooth. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, suddenly becoming too aware of your heart beating in your chest, and you suddenly feel lightheaded. You try and catch your breath but you can’t, you try and breathe but your lungs cant open enough as it hits you, your world shrinks to the size of a coffin. You try to take a deep breath, but you keep coming short.

"You okay?" Kitty whispers, her voice too close in the blackness.

You want to answer, to say you're fine, but the words stick in your throat. The walls are too close, the air too thin. You're trapped, and panic begins to claw its way up from your chest.

You try to soothe yourself, eyes squeezed shut, desperately imagining a vast field. Hoping to enhance the illusion, you peel your hands from the walls. Suddenly, a loud boom shakes the room, steel groaning around you. Logan tenses beside you, a stark reminder that danger still lurks beyond your confined space.

Your breathing becomes more erratic. Sweat beads on your forehead as the small space seems to shrink even further. Your fingers tingle, and a wave of nausea hits you.

"It's okay, it's okay," you mutter, but the words sound hollow even to your own ears. You take a step back, trying to escape the wall, only to collide with Logan's chest. He finally notices your distress.

"Hey, you alright?" He shifts, touching you lightly. You flinch away instinctively.

"Sorry," you pant. "Would now be a bad time to tell you I'm claustrophobic?" You attempt a chuckle, hands fumbling to steady yourself. Eyes clenched shut, you feel saliva pooling in your mouth. "I think I'm gonna barf," you whisper.

"Hey, hey!" Logan turns you around to face him. "Look at me." You briefly open your eyes, making out only his shadowy form, hunched over. You quickly shut them again.

"Are you hunching over because the ceiling's too short?" you ask, still dizzy. Your fingertips find his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his solid torso. He shifts, followed by a soft thud.

"No," he says.

"You're lying." You clench your hand, pressing your fist against his stomach. The rhythm of his breathing slowly anchors you, pulling you back to reality.

"Maybe, but that's not important," he says, his voice closer than before. You feel him shift, moving nearer.

Your fist sinks deeper into the muscle of his stomach as his heavy hands rest on your shoulders, grounding you.

"Why are you just saying something now?" he asks, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"I-it never seemed to matter," your voice shakes, your other hand wrapping around his forearm for support. "Until now." You feel tears forming in your eyes. "I-I'm sorry."

"Oh," you hear him breathe out softly. "Oh, Y/N." He sighs, a mix of concern and understanding in his tone.

Suddenly, his arms envelop you, cradling your head against his chest. The gesture, though meant to comfort, unfortunately intensifies your panic. Your breath hitches as the feeling of being trapped increases, despite the warmth of his embrace. You try to pull away but his arms don’t budge. 

Your breathing becomes more rapid against Logan's chest. The warmth of his embrace, meant to comfort, instead fuels your panic. "I can't—" you gasp, your fingers clawing at his shirt. "It's too tight, too close."

He cuts you off, shushing you. 

“Yes, you can.” He reassures you, his hand stroking your head.

"Listen to me," Logan says firmly, his gruff voice softening with an unexpected gentleness. "We're gonna try something. Focus on my voice and breathe with me. Can you do that?"

You manage a small nod against his chest, your forehead pressed against the rough fabric of his shirt. Logan must feel the slight movement because he shifts, adjusting his stance to better support you.

"Good," he murmurs, the word rumbling through his chest. "Now, feel my breathing. Try to match it."

Logan takes a deep, deliberate breath. You feel his chest expand against you, the steady rise and fall a stark contrast to your own erratic gasps. He holds you close, one hand splayed across your back, the other cradling the nape of your neck. His calloused fingers are surprisingly gentle, grounding you in the moment.

"In through your nose," he instructs, his voice low and measured. You struggle to comply, your breath hitching. "That's it," he encourages. "Now hold it for a moment."

You feel the pause in his chest's movement, a moment of stillness in the chaotic swirl of your thoughts. 

"Now out through your mouth," Logan continues, his own exhale warm against the top of your head. "Slow and steady."

As you attempt to follow his lead, you become acutely aware of other sensations: the faint scent of cigar smoke clinging to Logan's shirt, the steady thud of his heartbeat against your ear, the warmth of his body contrasting with the cool metal walls surrounding you.

"Again," Logan says softly. "In... hold... and out. You're doing great, kid."

Gradually, your breathing begins to sync with his. The vice-like grip of panic on your chest starts to loosen, ever so slightly. In this small, dark space, Logan's presence becomes an anchor, a point of focus beyond the suffocating walls.

"That's it," he murmurs, a note of approval in his voice. "Just keep breathing with me. We'll get through this together."

You nod, one hundred percent sure that if you were to talk right now, it wouldn't be heard. Closing your eyes, you lean more of your weight against Logan. You take in his scent—a mix of cigar smoke, leather, and something uniquely him—his warmth seeping into you, his solid presence anchoring you in the moment. You melt into him, relishing the feel of his muscular body against yours.

In this intimate moment, your mind drifts to all the times you've admired Logan from afar. He's always been the ruggedly handsome mentor, the forbidden fruit that made your heart race during training sessions. You've caught his lingering glances, felt the electricity when his hand corrected your stance, noticed how his eyes seemed to soften when they landed on you.

There's always been something there, simmering beneath the surface. An unspoken connection, a tension that neither of you dared to acknowledge. You've told yourself it was just a silly crush, that Logan saw you as nothing more than a student. But the gentleness in his touch now, the care in his voice—it speaks of something deeper.

This moment, trapped in this tiny space, feels like a test of your limits. The boundaries between mentor and student, between longing and reality, seem to blur. Your racing heart isn't just from claustrophobia anymore, and you're certain Logan can feel it.

But now isn't the time for these thoughts. The danger lurking outside this safe room, the mission at hand—it all comes rushing back. You know you should pull away, regain your composure, focus on the task at hand. Yet, for just a few more seconds, you allow yourself to stay in Logan's embrace, drawing strength from him in more ways than one.

As your breathing finally steadies, you reluctantly begin to pull back, ready to face whatever comes next. But not before you catch a glimpse of something in Logan's eyes—concern, certainly, but also a flicker of something else. Something that makes your breath catch for an entirely different reason, you realize you're still pressed against Logan's chest. You step back slightly, looking up at him in the dim light.

"I... Thank you, Logan. I don't know what I would've done if..."

He cuts you off with a gentle squeeze of your shoulder. "We all have our demons, kid. The trick is not letting them win." His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. "You did good."

The moment is interrupted by another distant explosion, reminding you both of the pressing danger.

[bahrtofane]

Jude misses his spanish class, and that somehow ends with the both of you stuck in a dark elevator, legs tangled and annoying each other till help comes

Word count - 3.5K+ 

Watch it - ur trapped in an elevator with jude, lights go out, you accidentally sock him, fluff tho hehehe

a/n - shout out to my bff best plooki for sending me the last jude pic, its what inspired this whole thing. nmout 3lik kho

—--

Jude is late to spanish class (again) so he's forced to sit for the staff ones instead. his mom will kill him if he misses any more, and his teammates will only tease him more. With the amount of promotional content and youtube videos he has to film soon, he literally doesn’t have the time to skip another class. 

The only open seat is by you in the far corner, so he slides in as discreetly as he can. Which turns out isn’t all that discrete when all eyes are on him from the moment he steps into the room but it’s whatever. He'll live. 

He pulls out his ipad and takes notes like the good student he is and pretends not to notice your gaze on him. He sits like such a teenage boy, legs spread and arms dangling over the table. 

You haven’t been with Madrid all that long, you came along as an intern, eager to find your footing. Having one of the players all up next to you during class was not something you saw coming, you’ve met maybe one or two of them, after you got lost and ended up in the training facilities and they so graciously led the way out of the maze. 

You’ve honestly been so busy with just getting settled you completely forgot the players existed. And here Jude is.

You stick your head back to your notes and hunker down for the hour left of spanish.  You don't miss his stray gazes that land on you. 

-----

Jude is a quiet guy you learn. He chews his bottom lip and blinks a little harshly at times. He's a pretty standard run of the mill guy and you try to treat him as such. He leaves you be, letting you have your space and pays attention to whatever the professor is saying in favor of talking to anyone. 

When class is over you gather your things, slipping out from behind him and head to the elevator. Why the class is on the top floor you have yet to figure out. You like this elevator anyway, it's down the hall from the main big one that everyone crowds into, usually empty. Even though it lacks the big windows that overlook the pitches.

You see Jude jog to the elevator, you slide your hand out ,holding the doors open for him and he smiles at you in thanks, you smile back. It's silent save the hum of the elevator moving down.

Until it screeches to a halt, jolting the both of you so fast you land on the floor, legs tangled, things strewn all over the floor. Jude looks away while he picks himself up, helping track down your pens that roll across the floor. When you smooth your clothes down and find your footing, another jolt rocks the small metal box you're in. 

Jude instinctively reaches out to steady himself, his hand landing on the railing beside you. You lurch forward and almost land right on him again. But you manage to keep your composure, and footing. Thank god. 

"What in the world?" Jude asks, brows furrowing. 

"I... I'm not sure," you reply, your heart still racing from the amusement park ride you never signed up for. Does Madrid not keep their elevators up to date on what is going on. 

You both glance around the elevator, trying to assess the situation, and half waiting for another lurch. It's eerily quiet, and you notice the emergency button panel is dimly lit.

"Should we... press the emergency button?" you suggest tentatively, eyeing the panel.

"Probably our best bet" Jude agrees, reaching out to press the button. After a moment, a crackly voice comes through the intercom, 

"Hello? Is someone in need of assistance?" a nasally voice comes to life. She sounds like your aunt kinda.

"Yeah, the elevator stopped suddenly, and we're not sure what's going on," Jude explains.

“Ah okay, which elevator? There should be a number and letter over the doors.”

“2C.” you real aloud.

"Perfect thank you. We’ll have people get to you as soon as we can. Please remain calm and stay where you are," the voice responds before the intercom falls silent again.

You exchange a look with Jude, both of you silently hoping that help arrives soon. The minutes tick by slowly, and the silence in the elevator becomes almost suffocating.

"So... Do you have any plans for after this?" Jude asks, breaking the silence. Even if its a little awkward.

You shake your head, grateful for the distraction. "Not really. Just some studying, I guess. What about you?"

Jude shrugs. "Probably just head back to my place if they don't need me. Training was pretty intense this morning."

You nod, "Sounds hectic."

"Yeah, it can be," Jude admits, scratching the back of his neck. "But it comes with the territory, I guess.

You fall into a silence again, playing with the hem of your shirt. Jude tucks his ipad under his arm and sighs deeply. Now that you take a good look at him, it looks like he booked it right from training. Slides and socks on, madrid shirt and shorts. Interesting. 

You move to push the button again after what feels like ages, but this time the voice doesn't answer. 

“What the..” you mumble. You reach for your phone but as luck would have it there is no connection. 

Jude slides to the floor, sitting criss-cross applesauce and trying his luck on his phone. 

“No signal either huh.” he grumbles.

“Nope, we really just have to wait on them then.” 

“I hope they hurry it up, no offense.”

You shrug, ”none taken.” sliding to take a seat on the floor opposite to him. 

Little do you know you're about to spend the next 4 hours in this elevator together. 

—-

It turns out there is only so much small talk you can make in an hour with a total stranger. Trust, you know. 

After telling your life story, and him his, you’ve both run out of things to say. So you sit, drumming against the metal walls, taking turns pressing the help button and being greeted with the sweet sound of silence each time.

“What the actual hell are they doing.” Jude groans.

“Ignoring us.” 

You just might lose your mind. Your legs are starting to go numb, and you watch Jude  grow more agitated as time presses on. Thankfully there's been no more lurches downward, a win is a win. You get up periodically to stretch your legs out, checking your phone, reorganizing your bag, playing rock paper scissors, telling each other stories.

Jude is a silly guy, very competitive even after your 10th round of tic tac toe. 

“I win again.” He cackles. 

You wave him off, “Yeah yeah it’s just luck.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he smiles. 

He goes back to the red button, and once again there’s no answer. You’re half way to losing your mind. How do they just forget about you here? You try texting people, and nothing goes through. Jude walks around the little space, arm raised and pointing his phone up in hopes of catching a signal. 

“Oh wait I think- never mind. Not even one bar will hold in here.” He slumps back down against the wall. 

“I actually can’t believe they’re not answering.” You groan, head in your hands. 

“Me neither. “

You resort to looking through your phone for any games to pass the time. But you need a signal for just about all of them. Might as well clear out your photos right? Jude joins, scooting next to you.

“Don't mind if I watch?”

You shake you head, “nah, just getting rid of old pictures.”

He nods.

Now you just have to be triple careful of not accidentally swiping through any embarrassing pictures. You don't thankfully, instead your room back home pops up, after you redecorated it. Zidane jersey hanging off your wall.

Jude perks up at this, “Zidane fan?” 

“Very big one.”

He smiles, “me too.”

“I've heard. What's he like?”

“Zidane? Hm, he's well, elegant. Classy. He's a calm guy.”

You nod, tucking your phone back inside your pocket, turning to face him, “have you seen him play in a charity match with ronaldo?”

He laughs ,”yeah the one with that insane title, fat old ronaldo does hat trick.”

You giggle, “that's the one.”

He hums, leaning his head back on the wall and you fall into silence again. 

More time passes and you don’t think you have it in you to reorganize your bag for another time. 

“I have an idea.” you declare as you move into the second hour.

Jude raises a brow.

“Might as well do our Spanish homework right?”

“I might die.” he dead pans.

You roll your eyes, “its better than doing nothing.”

“Nu uh, no way. I choose nothing.”

“Suit yourself,” you shrug.

10 minutes later Jude sits down next to, pulling his ipad out and getting to work. You smile, “see, I told you.”

“Yeah yeah,” he grumbles, “can you help me on number 4?”

You do, leaning against him and walking him through the conjugation of each word, your fingers brush against the iPad screen and you hope he doesn't notice how you blush. 

Hours in an elevator with Jude bellingham what is this a bad fanfic plot?

You end up finish the pages of homework side by side and Jude smiles

“That wasn't half bad actually, thanks for the help.”

“No problem. We make a pretty good team huh?” you tease.

He snorts, “I guess so.”

It turns out Jude is really bad at staying in once place, he does anything but keep still, throwing his slides at the buttons periodically, and one even hits the help button, this time the voice answers. 

“Hello?” it's a completely different voice his time, male. 

“Thank god hello.” Jude scrambles to get up properly, and you follow suit, leaning closer to the little speaker. 

“I'm sorry?”

“We've been in this elevator for what, 2 hours now and no ones been answering the call button? Fucking ridiculous.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience, we've been short staffed and I clocked in a few minutes ago.”

“For fucks sake, thats great and all but can you get us out?”

There's a pause, and for a second you think they're going to hang up and there will be no hope. You will die in this elevator. 

Luckily for you the voice comes to life again, “would you like us to call the fire department?”

“What do you think?” Jude dead pans.

“We will keep you updated, but for now it's looking like a wait time of 45 minutes to an hour. “

Both of you groan, dramatically falling to the floor.

“You'd think Madrid would have better staffing,” he rubs his eyes.

“You think.” you agree. 

“Im so gonna complain about this.” he squints his eyes at the buttons, almost like he's threatening them.

“Hey it could be worse, you could have missed a game.”

“Very true.”

He chews his lip before turning to you, a glint in his eyes, “Wanna play hot hands?” he tries.

“Sure why not.”

You shuffle so you're facing him once again, You're up first, palms up while Jude hovers his hands palm down over yours, and wow are his hands huge, completely covering your own. The name of the game is to manage to slap his hands faster than he can move them away. 

And so it begins. 

Unsurprisingly, Jude has keen reflexes, and you only shake your head at him. 

“I'm at an unfair disadvantage, whereas VAR.”

He giggles, “VAR or no var, you're losing,” he shrugs.

It's just enough of a distraction to get you your first win.

“Lets gooo.” you celebrate. 

“VAR immediately, time wasting, yellow card, red card, extra time.”

You smile, “you're just mad I won.”

“Yeah you won unfairly. “He sulks.

“Yeah yeah, your turn.”

He sighs dramatically, but puts his palms up regardless. 

You're too focused on his hands, skittering at any movement, so much so you end up jumping and throwing your hands out so fast you slap him. Uh oh.

“Oh my god i'm so sorry, are you okay.” you reach out and cradle his face, a little red but nothing too bad thank god. You almost took out Madrid's star boy, you're just an intern, you do NOT have the money to fund any legal cases. 

You don't even notice he's laughing, giggles bursting from his lips while you watch on. His eyes are big, oh my god, he's got those big brown beautiful eyes. People weren't kidding. He's even more handsome in person. You want to kiss him. Oh yeah you're holding his face, you drop your hands away and roll your eyes, trying to play off the blush that's spanning your face. 

“I'm fine, don't worry. You got a mean arm, ever think of being a goalie?” he teases. 

“I'm going to be Barcas goalie. How about that.” you shoot back, though there's no real bite to your words. 

He only laughs harder, “hot hands really makes you competitive huh.”

“It wasn't my fault okay, you moved too fast.” 

He only shakes his head, “I think you're the sore loser.”

“No but seriously, are you good?” 

He waves you off, “nah i'm good seriously, you're fine.”

You sigh in relief. 

He snorts, “no more hot hands for you.”

You squint at him, “I'm going to sleep.”

You make a pillow out of your bag and try to nap. Might as well at this point. Jude seems to share a similar idea as he lays down opposite to you, tucking his arms under him and screwing his eyes shut.

It turns out sleeping on the floor on an elevator is extremely uncomfortable, and you get about 5 minutes of shut eye before Jude somehow has his legs rolled into yours.

“ ‘M Sorry,” he mumbles. But you don't say anything, wiggling your feet back under his and trying to get some shut eye. 

—--

At the turning of the third hour you get woken up by the crackle of the magic voice in the wall, “the wait is up about an hour to an hour and a half.”

“What's taking so long,” you huff, eyes still blurry from your sleep.

“We apologize for the delay but there's a back up in call logs and-”

“Yeah we get it you're understaffed whatever. Just please hurry up.” Jude bites back, nearing closer and closer to you. 

The voice fizzles away and the sleep has worn off you, enough so to realize he's almost spooning you. You sit up, but Jude remains as he is, breathing soundly as he uses his hands to cover the harsh elevator lights that beat down on him. You're surprised the lights haven't- 

You spoke too soon. Way way too soon. The lights go out within an instant and you almost scream, jolting against Jude.

This stirs him awake again, and he's oh so confused at the lack of lights. The secondary elevators are great, but there are no windows. Just solid metal on all ends. Leaving the two of you in complete darkness. 

“Jude?’ 

You hear shuffling, “Yeah, I'm right here don't worry. “

“This is kinda freaky now.” you trail off.

“Hey, we'll be fine. Look on the bright side, it's easier to sleep.”

You snort, “Yeah guess so,” But the ease doesn't wear off of you. 

“Here,” you feel Jude’s hands reach for yours. Feeling for them in the darkness till they're laced together. “Now it's not so bad right?”

You can feel your face heat up,“Not bad at all.”

“How sick would hot hands in the dark be? Just think-”

“Absolutely not.” you sigh.

He giggles again, teasing you is surprisingly very very fun for him. This is the most fun he's had all day. Every time you turn away while you blush only fuels him to tease you more. Out of all the people to be stuck in here with, he thinks he got pretty lucky with it being you. 

But as sweet as you are, the situation only seems to get worse. He uses his free hand to feel for the button again, and the voice comes back.

“The lights just went off. I hope they're on their way.“ Jude speaks.

“The wait is about an hour.” the speaker says.

“My fucking god.” he sighs. 

“Were supposed to wait in the dark, for an hour?” you can't believe it.

The voice mumbles another apology and Jude only tells them to go away if they’re going to be completely and utterly useless. And alone you two go. 

—-

You start singing by the fourth hour. You're completely tangled in Jude’s legs, unable to even see what's in front of you in the pitch black darkness, but you can feel him. And it keeps you grounded, keeps away the panic. He pats your back while he sings stupid songs, trying to cheer you up and mind off of the situation as much as he can. The teasing doesn't stop, and you're starting to like it. (You liked it from the beginning).

If someone told you you'd be cuddling Jude Bellingham on the floor of an elevator in the darkness after class, you're pretty sure you'd call the nearest psych ward. But here you are. You think you’re sitting sideways on his lap, while he sits back to the wall, your arms tangled. You've started to trace shapes on his arms.

Who knew an elevator would be the perfect place to bond.

“You smell nice.” Jude mumbles into the crook of your neck.

You hum,” thank you.”

“You know, this is pretty nice. You're a good cuddler.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. my rooms a better spot though.”

You try not to freeze up too much, but you're sure he can feel you go rigid next to him.

“I bet it is,” you mumble into his shoulder 

He laughs, easy and light, “You’re pretty cute too.”

“You cant even see me it's literally pitch black in here.”

“So?” 

“You're silly Jude.”

“So i've been told”

You get comfy again, sliding a hand to his back and scratching lightly. 

He melts within an instant, “that actually feels really nice…” he trails off, leaning against your shoulder. 

“You’re like an overgrown puppy, “ you laugh. 

He only snorts, leaning forward to allow you better access to his back.

—--

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the voice comes to life, and Jude is not in the mood. 

“What is it?” 

“The wait is now 10 to 15 minutes, please step back from the doors and do not be alarmed when the fire department needs to possibly force the doors open.”

“Finally.” You sigh, squishing your face into his neck. 

“Finally.” He confirms. 

After a few minutes. You hear the sound of footsteps outside the elevator and voices chattering. 

“Alright guys, sit tight, should be a few minutes and you’ll be outta here.” A voice says on the other end. 

“Alright.” Jude replies, gently getting up and separating from you. 

“We’re gonna need you guys to step back.”

You do as much, trying to feel for your bag to kick it away from the door. 

Jude rests a hand on your hip and you smile, even if you can't see it you bet he's doing the same. 

The doors are manually pried open, and you're greeted by the sweet sweet faces of firemen and security. 

"Are you two okay?" the fireman asks, helping you both out of the elevator.

"Yeah, we're fine. Just glad to be out of there," you say with a sigh of relief.

As you step out into the hallway, you and Jude exchange grateful smiles. Unsurprisingly people crowd to him and make sure he's all good. He waves them off instead pointing them in your direction. You insist you're all good, no injuries. After thanking everyone you slip away and begin walking down the hall. After all, you don't expect him to actually mean anything there. You just got stuck together for a while, and got comfortable. That's all.

You think this is the 4th floor? Down the stairs you go. 

The man is full of surprises. He catches up to you, shouting your name and closing the door to the stairs behind him.

“Had enough of me?” 

“Eh four hours seems like enough.” you shrug. 

He rolls his eyes, “so you don't give me your number then if i ask?”

“Only if you ask nicely. And I don't even have a Spanish number yet, I'll have to get yours.” 

(you want his number sooo bad you might explode, this can't be real.)

“Would you like to get my number then?” he scratches the back of his neck, suddenly shy, ‘only if you want you know you don't have to just because the whole elevator thing i mean-”

You cut him off with a kiss to the check, “I'd love to get your number Jude. And thanks for being so nice in there.” 

He looks to the ground, playing with his hands, “yeah anytime.” 

You hand him your phone and he takes a contact picture right there, with the most obnoxious contact name to match. 

‘the best elevator buddy Jude <3’

You smile, “I'll text you when I can, yeah?”

He hums, waving you off, slipping the door open with his foot and setting off in the opposite direction. What a day huh?

[kira-dofc]

Mafia boss! Sukuna x Male reader

Notes- This was supposed to be a Gojo fic but Sukuna fitted this shit better its too dark for Gojo :(

Wc- 3055

Warnings: SMUT! NSFW, unprotected sex, dub-con, breeding, omegaverse, top/bottom, sub/dom, bottom male reader, overstimulation

Flashes of orange and yellow flames streaked past you, casting a fierce glow that punctuated the night with a hellish light. The deafening crack of gunshots shattered the eerie silence, bullets whizzing through the air like deadly fireflies. It was 10:00 p.m., and the city that never slept was now cloaked in an ominous stillness, save for the chaos erupting around you. Frantically, you ran, heart pounding like a war drum in your chest, fleeing from the world's most notorious mafia. For years, they had hunted down omegas with unrelenting ferocity, and tonight, you had become their latest target. As the last of your kind, you had been hiding from them for a long time. Unluckily, tonight marked the end of your concealment. You were unique, hailing from a wealthy lineage.

Your family had perished before your eyes, leaving you to carry on the bloodline. It was them. It had always been them. They murdered your family, your only family. And you had been too naive to do anything but hide, bearing all the responsibilities alone. But that was six years ago. Now, you needed to devise a way to throw them off your trail.

Bloodstains smeared almost your entire body. Your legs were limp, and one of your bones was broken. You fled toward the heart of the city, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sprinted away from the terrifying sounds of pursuit. The once-bustling metropolis had turned into a ghost town, its inhabitants cowering indoors, unwilling to risk becoming the mafia's next victim. The streets were deserted, the silence broken only by your ragged breathing and the distant echoes of violence.

Each step felt like an eternity as adrenaline surged through your veins. You could almost sense their presence behind you, a shadow of death closing in. It seemed they were tracking you by your scent. The sweet, floral fragrance that emanated from your body had made this escape even more challenging. Your sweet blood flowed through your veins, each drop hitting the ground and leaving a trail. You pressed your hands against your wounds, trying to stop the bleeding and prevent them from following your scent. Your mind raced, replaying the events that led to this desperate escape. It had begun with whispers, rumors of the mafia targeting omegas, and then the brutal reality struck as friends and acquaintances began to disappear, leaving only bloodstains and unanswered questions. Their actions were inexplicable: Why would they target people like you? You had witnessed countless deaths at their hands, many shot, others thrown into pits of fire. They burned all the bodies of their victims.

The neon lights of the city, once symbols of vibrancy and life, now cast eerie, elongated shadows that seemed to grasp at you. You rounded a corner, your feet slipping on the rain-slicked pavement. The distant wail of sirens was a cruel reminder that help would not come in time. You had to rely on your instincts and sheer will to survive.

Suddenly, a narrow alleyway caught your eye. Without thinking, you darted into it, hoping to lose your pursuers in the labyrinth of backstreets. But as you ran deeper, the walls seemed to close in, and the alley twisted into a nightmarish maze. The sound of footsteps grew louder, echoing off the brick walls, a relentless reminder that they were drawing closer.

Your frantic flight led you to a dead end, a towering brick wall blocking your path. Panic surged through you as you desperately tried to find a way over it, your fingers scrabbling at the rough surface. The wall loomed high above you, an insurmountable barrier that seemed to mock your desperation. You could hear their voices now, low and menacing, carried on the wind.

You turned to face them, your breath coming in short, terrified gasps. Shadows danced at the entrance of the alley, and then they emerged, dark silhouettes against the dim light. There was no escape. Your eyes darted around, seeking any possible way out, but there was none. The realization hit you like a tidal wave – you were trapped.

One of the men stepped forward, his face obscured by shadows, but the cold glint in his eyes was unmistakable. He raised his weapon, and in that split second, time seemed to slow. You braced yourself for the impact, expecting the searing pain of a bullet. Instead, there was a sharp sting, more like a needle prick than a gunshot.

Confusion mingled with the adrenaline, and a wave of dizziness washed over you. Your vision blurred, and your legs wobbled beneath you. You staggered, trying to stay upright, but your strength was failing. The world around you began to spin, the alleyway becoming a distorted swirl of colors and shadows.

With a final, desperate effort, you reached out to the wall, hoping to steady yourself, but it was too late. Your fingers brushed against the cold bricks before your legs gave way completely. You collapsed to the ground, the impact jarring but distant, as if it were happening to someone else. The cold, unforgiving pavement pressed against your cheek, and darkness crept in at the edges of your vision.

The last thing you saw before everything went black was the triumphant, merciless faces of your captors as they closed in around you. Their voices were muffled, distorted by the haze of unconsciousness, but the satisfaction in their tones was unmistakable. As the world faded away, one thought lingered in your mind – this was only the beginning of a nightmare that had no end in sight.

As the cold seeped into your bones, memories of happier times flickered in your mind like a fading film reel. You remembered your family's laughter, the warmth of your mother's embrace, and the security you felt in your father's presence. Those moments seemed like a lifetime ago, swallowed by the darkness of the present. The mafia had taken everything from you, and now they were about to take your freedom, perhaps even your life.

The darkness enveloped you completely, a void that swallowed all light and sound. Time lost its meaning as you drifted in and out of consciousness, your mind a whirlpool of fear and despair. When you finally awoke, you found yourself in a dimly lit room, the air thick with the smell of damp and decay. Your hands were bound, the rough ropes cutting into your wrists, and your body ached from the rough handling and the injuries sustained during your escape.

-

A single, flickering light bulb cast eerie shadows on the walls, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed in the background. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and something metallic—probably blood. You struggled to sit up, wincing at the pain that shot through your limbs with every small movement. Your captors had taken no chances, securing you tightly to a chair with heavy, rusted chains. The room was bare, save for a small table covered in ominous stains and a single door, which you guessed led to more horrors beyond.

The door creaked open, its sound amplified in the silence, and a figure stepped inside. It was the man who had shot you, his cold eyes glinting with cruel amusement. He approached slowly, savoring your fear, and knelt down to meet your gaze. His smile was a twisted parody of kindness, and his voice was soft, almost gentle, as he spoke.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he said, his tone mocking. "You gave us quite the chase, but it seems the game is over now."

You glared at him, refusing to let him see the terror that gripped your heart. "What do you want from me?" you demanded, your voice hoarse from disuse and dry from lack of water.

The man chuckled, a low, chilling sound that echoed in the small room. "Oh, it's not me who wants something from you," he replied. He turned his head slightly towards the door, and with a simple, "Boss," he summoned another figure into the room.

A tall, hooded figure stepped in front of you. His eyes were as red as fire, and his hair was a lush cascade of pink, shimmering even in the dim light. His eyes furrowed as he looked down upon you, scrutinizing your scarred figure. His face etched into a grin that sent shivers down your spine. This was Sukuna, the infamous leader of the most feared mafia syndicate in the world.

Sukuna bowed down to your height, his intense gaze never leaving yours. He tilted his head slightly, scanning you as if you were a specimen in a lab. "Let me clear things up for you," he chuckled as he stood back up. "It's not about what we want. It's about what we need. You see, you are the last of your kind, and that makes you very valuable to us. And very valuable to me. Your blood, your lineage, your body."

You squinted your eyes, trying to understand what he was saying. It was hard to focus through the haze of pain and fear, but his words were starting to piece together a horrifying picture. They didn't just want to torture you; they wanted to exploit you, to use you for some nefarious purpose. The thought filled you with a renewed sense of defiance, and you vowed to fight them with every ounce of strength you had left.

Sukuna's voice dropped to a soft, almost affectionate tone. "I want you to be my mate," he said, his words causing a cold shiver to run down your spine. "Consider it a sacrifice; you'll be saving your race, your population. You can save them."

The words hit you like a physical blow. You struggled against your restraints, your mind racing. "Then why did you kill all of them?" you spat out, your voice trembling with rage and sorrow. "Why? Why do it if you just wanted someone? You could have just taken one and left the rest of us be."

Sukuna's grin widened, and there was a maddening glint in his eyes. "Why are you doing this?" you demanded, your voice breaking.

He leaned in close, so close you could feel his breath on your skin. "Oh, I only did this so I could finally get you," he said with a chilling calmness. "I wanted you, and you only. You managed to get away when we slaughtered your whole family. I only did this so I could be with you, my prince."

His words were a twisted declaration, and you could feel the bile rising in your throat. He chuckled as he whispered those words close to your ears, his breath hot and foul. He grazed his hand along your chin, lifting it to force you to look into his eyes.

"Clean him up, then bring him to my room," he ordered the man who had shot you. "I want him clean when I see him again." With a final smirk, Sukuna turned away from you and walked out of the room, leaving you with the chilling promise of what was to come.

The man who had shot you moved to obey Sukuna's orders. He released the chains that held you to the chair, though he left your hands bound behind your back. You were too weak to resist, too weak to do anything but stumble as he dragged you out of the room and down a long, dimly lit corridor.

The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, each step echoing off the cold, stone walls. The faint sound of dripping water followed you, a constant reminder of the dank, underground prison you found yourself in. You were led into another room, this one slightly less decrepit than the last. It had a small basin of water, a towel, and a change of clothes laid out on a table.

The man pushed you towards the basin. "Clean yourself up," he said gruffly. You stared at the water, the reflection of your battered face staring back at you. Every movement was painful, but you forced yourself to comply, knowing that any defiance now would only result in more pain.

You washed as best as you could with your hands still bound, the cold water stinging your wounds. When you were done, the man handed you the change of clothes—a simple, clean shirt and pants. He watched you closely as you struggled to dress yourself, his eyes never leaving you.

Once you were dressed, he grabbed your arm and led you out of the room again. You were taken to yet another corridor, this one even darker and more foreboding than the last. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the sound of your footsteps and the occasional distant echo of voices.

Finally, you were brought to a large, imposing door. The man knocked once, then pushed it open, revealing a lavishly decorated room. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, and expensive-looking furniture filled the space. It was a stark contrast to the squalor of the rest of the compound.

Sukuna was waiting for you inside, seated in an ornate chair. He looked up as you entered, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "Ah, there you are," he said, his voice dripping with mock warmth. "You look much better now."

You stood there, your body tense and your mind racing. What was he planning? What did he want from you? The uncertainty was almost worse than the pain. Sukuna rose from his chair and approached you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Come, sit with me," he said, gesturing to a chair opposite his. "We have much to discuss."

You hesitated, but the man behind you gave you a sharp shove, forcing you to comply. You sat down, your hands still bound, and glared at Sukuna. "What do you want from me?" you repeated, your voice filled with defiance.

Sukuna's smile widened. "I told you, didn't I? I want you to be my mate. Together, we can rebuild your race, your people. You are the key to everything."

His words were like a knife to your heart. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "Why would I ever agree to that?" you demanded.

"Because you have no choice," Sukuna said simply. "Either you cooperate, or you watch as I destroy everything you hold dear. The choice is yours."

His words hung in the air, a chilling ultimatum that left you feeling more trapped than ever. You knew you had to find a way out, to escape this nightmare. But for now, all you could do was sit and listen, and wait for the right moment to strike.

-

"Leave," He ordered, "I want some privacy." The men in front of the door nodded and leaved in order. 

Sukuna walked around the table, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned down, his face inches from yours. "I can see the defiance in your eyes," he murmured. "It's...exciting."

You turned your head away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But Sukuna grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His grip was strong, almost painfully so. "Don't look away from me," he said softly. 

He pressed his lips to yours, the kiss rough and demanding. You tried to pull away, but his hand on your chin held you in place. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, claiming you in a way that left no room for doubt—he was in control.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, a mixture of anger and confusion swirling inside you. Sukuna's eyes glittered with satisfaction. "See? That wasn't so hard," he said, his voice mocking.

He reached down and began to unbutton your shirt, his fingers moving with a practiced ease. You tensed, every muscle in your body screaming at you to fight, to resist. But the man behind you had a firm grip on your shoulders, holding you in place.

Sukuna's hands roamed over your chest, his touch both gentle and possessive. "You're beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. "So perfect."

You shuddered, a mixture of fear and unwanted arousal coursing through you. Sukuna's hands moved lower, unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs. He knelt in front of you, his eyes dark with desire. "I want to taste you," he said softly, his breath hot against your skin.

A sudden tug was felt on your shirt, Sukuna lifted you up. Everything went by so fast, your were now on his bed. Your shirt and your pants was tossed to the ends of the bed leaving you bare with your underwear wet as your cock begging to spring out. Your face was flushed between your hands as Sukuna chuckled "You're too cute to handle, boy" He soon unbuttoned his polo, leaving his body bare for you to see. 

His body was toned, veins aching from every muscle. His jawline defined, his hands were scarred, veins and bones revealing themselves under the skin of his hands. He moved down to you as he whispered to your ears, "You're mine." 

Sukuna groaned as he held your hips with harsh and fast thrusts. Every thrust he makes make you squeal and let out moans. Your body now aching with love bites and hickeys as you left scratches on Sukuna's back. His fast thrusts soon slowed as he leaned on you, "Take all of my pups for me, yeah?" He groaned as he came, knotting your insides as you came on his stomach. Your moans shifted into breathless sighs.

One round turned into 20. Its been 1 hour and a half before his dick throbbed your insides. His shape now taking form of your hole, "Ugh...! N-no Ah..., more....." You moaned as you whispered in his ears. "You don't get to order me," He groaned as he whispered back to you, "Just one more darling. Raise all my pups inside you..." He leaned closer to your face as he planted a kiss on your forehead as he thrusts in and out of you. You hugged him tightly as you felt your climax. One final thrust, his cock spurted out his pups in you for the twentieth time. 

You breathed heavily, as your rested your head on the mattress. His hands trailed to your neck to your jaw, moving your head to face him. "I'm not done with you," He says as he kissed you on your neck, through your chin and on your lips. He groaned as he laid next to you. Your head facing his chest as his hands covered your waist. 

[rafecameronssl4t]

Omg Pt 2 of unfinished lap??? Reader makes him eat his heart out looking super hot and he grovels??? PUHLEASE

Unfinished lap pt.2 || F1 driver!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭😭😭

Warnings: angst!!!!

Word count: 1,396

MASTERLIST (F1 driver!Rafe x reader au masterlist)

PART ONE HERE

The Monaco Grand Prix was undoubtedly one of the most highly anticipated races of the year, and it was clear why. The energy was electric from the moment you stepped into the paddock. Journalists swarmed, eager to capture every headline-worthy moment, while paparazzi darted about, snapping photos of drivers and their glamorous entourages.

Team crew members hustled through the maze of garages, their focused expressions a stark contrast to the spectacle of it all. It was a world that thrived on chaos, glitz, and precision—a breathtaking display of Formula 1’s allure. Austin had accompanied you this time, his calm presence a stark contrast to the whirlwind around you.

It had been a week since you last spoke to Rafe, your communication routed exclusively through Austin. The distance had been intentional. After the heated fallout at the Miami Grand Prix, you had felt the need to step away, to find a moment to breathe. So, you flew back home for a few days, seeking solace in the familiar before making your way to France just 24 hours ago.

Of course, your arrival had been made seamless, courtesy of Rafe's private jet. It was his unspoken way of showing care, even in the midst of a strained silence. He had respected your desire for space, understanding the weight of what had transpired between you. Yet, the air still felt charged, the unresolved tension from Miami lingering like an invisible thread pulling at both of you.

Now, standing in the heart of Monaco’s bustling paddock, you couldn’t help but wonder how this weekend would unfold. The aftermath of Miami still clung to you like a stubborn shadow. Your abrupt departure before the race had even ended—and without Rafe by your side—had set social media ablaze. Fans were quick to notice, flooding timelines with speculation.

Did you and Rafe have a falling out? Was this the beginning of cracks in what many saw as a perfect relationship? The whispers of gossip added another layer to the weight you already carried. As you stepped into the paddock, the flashing cameras were almost blinding. Paparazzi immediately swarmed, their voices rising as they called your name. You offered them a small, polite smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes but was enough to quell the barrage of questions—for now.

The murmurs and shutter clicks followed you like a persistent hum, a reminder that every move you made here was under scrutiny. Austin, always the reliable mediator, had informed you that Rafe was already at the paddock. His presence was palpable even without seeing him, a tension that hung in the air. But finding him wasn’t your priority at the moment. The thought of facing him so soon felt daunting, not when your emotions were still tangled from the events in Miami.

Instead, you sought comfort in familiar company, meeting up with some friends at Ferrari’s hospitality complex. The atmosphere was lively but far more relaxed than the frenzy outside. You eased into the plush seating, a chilled glass of champagne in hand, while plates of gourmet food were passed around. The warm laughter and light conversation helped loosen the knot in your chest, even if only temporarily.

Yet, even as you tried to immerse yourself in the moment, you couldn’t ignore the faint buzz of your phone in your bag.

Rafe

Austin says you're here, where are you?

Y/n

Hospitality.

Without waiting for Rafe's response, you silenced your phone, flipping it face down on the table with a snap. You didn’t want to be distracted, not when there were conversations to be had with friends who actually cared—or at least, that’s what you told yourself as you leaned back into the easy rhythm of small talk with Sofia and the others. Your smile was polite, but hollow, just like the words coming out of your mouth.

Inside, you were still seething, and nothing about the pre-race buzz seemed to settle the storm inside you. As the race approached, the paddock swelled with even more energy. "Y/n! Over here!" You hear paparazzi call out as you turn your head to see them all flashing their camera as you give them a wave. "They grow more obsessive over you every day, I swear," Sofia chuckles, as you let out a soft snort, knowing this dress was your petty version of a revenge dress.

The air crackled with excitement, but you were numb to it, your thoughts wrapped tightly around everything that had been left unsaid between you and Rafe. Sofia nudged you, a knowing glint in her eyes, breaking your daze. You frowned, her questioning look making you snap out of your thoughts. "What?" you asked.

She nodded subtly, gesturing with her chin, and you followed her gaze. Your heart clenched. Rafe was approaching, his racing suit snug against his toned frame, the helmet in his hand an afterthought. His eyes, however, were locked onto you with an intensity that made you want to look away. He walked through the chaos of the grid like he was moving in slow motion, cutting through the noise, determined.

The sea of people, the flashes of cameras, none of it seemed to matter. It was like he was trying to pull you back in, but you weren’t sure you wanted to be pulled anymore. Sofia gave you a small, almost sympathetic smile before slipping away toward her boyfriend. You stayed rooted to the spot, knowing full well what was coming. Your eyes met his when he finally reached you, and the force of his gaze nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

There was something there—something unreadable. You hated how it made you feel. You offered him a smile, but you knew it didn’t reach your eyes. It was stiff, polite, barely enough to hide the way you felt. He saw it, of course, because he always did. He could read you better than anyone else. “Good luck,” you said, the words coming out more as a formality than genuine well-wishing. Your voice was even, but it didn’t carry the warmth it usually did when you said it to him.

You stepped closer, placing your hands lightly on his shoulders, doing it out of habit rather than any lingering affection. It was an automatic move, like you’d done it a thousand times before. Rising onto your toes, you kissed his cheek. The kiss was longer than it should have been, the seconds stretching into an eternity as your lips lingered. But it didn’t feel like affection. It felt like something you didn’t want to face.

“Wait.” His voice sliced through the noise, barely audible over the rising hum of the grid as his hand grips your forearm. Your body froze at the sound of it, tension building in your chest. You hated how much it affected you. You hadn’t wanted to see him, hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near him after the things he’d said, yet here he was, pulling you back into his orbit with just two words. You looked over your shoulder, meeting his gaze.

The vulnerability there was almost too much. You turned, your gaze cold. "What?" you snapped, not hiding the edge of frustration in your voice. “Can we talk, please?” he asked, the words soft, almost pleading. His face was a mix of urgency and something you didn’t want to acknowledge. You wanted to scream at him. To tell him you weren’t some emotional ragdoll he could throw aside whenever it suited him. But all that came out was silence.

You glanced around at the sea of people—team members huddled together, journalists with cameras in hand, all capturing this moment. Everything about this was wrong. You could already feel the eyes on you both, the pressure mounting. This was the last place you wanted to have this conversation. "Right now?" you asked, your voice biting. "But—"

Before you could finish, Austin materialized at Rafe’s side, his timing as impeccable as always. You almost resented him for it. “Rafe, the anthem is happening soon,” he said, his voice carrying a firm but unspoken reminder that the world didn’t stop for personal drama. He looked at you briefly, offering a polite smile, but it felt more like an apology for the situation than anything else.

“Go,” you said, your voice colder than you meant it to be. You gently moved his hand from your forearm, the briefest contact of your fingers almost too much. His touch lingered even after he let go, the warmth of it burning into you. His shoulders sagged slightly, a deep exhale leaving his lips. He nodded, but it was a hollow gesture, a promise that didn’t carry weight. “After the race,” he muttered, his voice low, as if he were speaking more to himself than to you.

~

Rafe’s victory, though impressive, only seemed to amplify the tension between you both. As you stood near the podium, clapping along with the others, you felt the anger simmering beneath your skin. The sound of Ferrari’s team celebrating—their cheers, the clapping—was a distant noise, something that barely registered to you. Rafe stood there, triumphant, raising his trophy high as the crowd cheered around him.

But despite his success, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything other than the sharp ache that had settled in your chest. Your smile, if you could even call it that, was a thin mask you wore out of habit, an automatic response to the situation. You tried to focus on the celebrations, but every part of you was focused on him. You could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze intense and unyielding.

You stared at the big screen, watching his expression shift as he looked directly down at you, a brief flicker of something—regret, maybe—flashing across his face. You hated it. You hated how that tiny moment made you question everything. You refused to acknowledge it, refused to let yourself feel anything beyond the cold distance you had wrapped around your emotions.

Instead, you kept your focus on the screen, acting like you didn’t care. You could almost hear his voice in your mind, calling out to you, asking for forgiveness, but you shut it out. The ache from his words—those careless, hurtful things he’d said—was still so raw, and you were not ready to let it go. The second the podium ceremony ended, you wasted no time in leaving the crowd behind.

You moved quickly through the cluster of team members, your steps deliberate as you walked away, trying to escape the noise and the energy that had once felt like home.

~

You hesitated outside the door to Rafe’s private room, your hand hovering over the handle. The paddock’s noise was a faint hum in the distance now, replaced by the deafening sound of your own thoughts. You didn’t want to be here—every fibre of your being told you to turn around, to walk away, to protect yourself. But you also couldn’t leave things like this. Not after everything.

With a deep breath, you pushed the door open. The room was dimly lit, quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Rafe sat on the small couch, his racing suit unzipped and hanging around his waist, his head resting in his hands. The sight of him—so unguarded, so unlike the Rafe everyone else knew—sent a pang through your chest.

His head snapped up when he heard the door close behind you. His blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension was thick, suffocating, as he straightened up, his gaze flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “You didn’t stay,” he said finally, his voice low, almost accusing.

You crossed your arms over your chest, the anger bubbling up again. “What did you expect, Rafe? A standing ovation for the way you spoke to me in Miami?” His jaw tightened, and he stood, his movements stiff and deliberate as he closed some of the space between you. “I wasn’t thinking straight,” he admitted, his voice strained. “I said things I shouldn’t have.”

“You think an apology fixes everything?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. “Do you even understand how much you hurt me? I was trying to help you, Rafe. To be there for you. And you acted like I was just… in your way. Like I didn’t matter.” His shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand through his messy hair, his frustration evident. “You don’t think I know that?” he shot back, his voice rising slightly.

“I know I messed up, okay? I know I was out of line. But I didn’t mean any of it.” “Then why say it?” you countered, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to stay composed. “Why do you always push me away when all I’m trying to do is be there for you?” Rafe let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Because I don’t know how to deal with this!” he admitted, his voice raw.

“I don’t know how to let people in without feeling like they’re gonna see how much of a failure I feel like sometimes. It’s easier to shut you out than to risk you seeing that.” Your heart clenched at his admission, but the sting of his earlier words still lingered. “You don’t get to make that choice for me, Rafe,” you said softly, your tone firm. “You don’t get to decide how much of you I can handle. That’s not fair. Not to me, and not to us.”

He stepped closer, his hands twitching at his sides as if he wanted to reach for you but didn’t quite dare. “You’re right,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s not fair. And I’m sorry. I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to. I need to.”You searched his face, looking for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was regret. And fear. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Rafe,” you said, your voice softening slightly. “I just need you to let me in. To stop shutting me out every time things get hard.”

He nodded, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “I’ll try,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how yet, but I’ll try. Because losing you… I can’t do that. I won’t.” Your resolve wavered, the walls you’d built around yourself beginning to crack. “I’m holding you to that,” you said quietly, letting him close the remaining distance between you.

Rafe’s hand hovered near yours for a moment before he finally took it, his grip tentative but steady. “You deserve better,” he said, his voice laced with a sincerity that made your chest ache. “And I’m going to do better. I promise.”The anger and hurt didn’t disappear completely, but for the first time that day, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, things could change.

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Until I Found You [2]

Pairing: prince!Yeosang x princess!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 13.5k 🤡

Trigger Warnings: emotional abuse, manipulation, mistreatment

Summary: It had been a while since Lady Park's firm rejection, and the fourth prince was beginning to believe he would never get over her. Though the heartbreak had made him more mature, one thing remained unchanged: his stubborn reluctance to marry. Convinced he would never find someone who could understand his pain as deeply as the general's wife, he was unprepared for the surprise life had in store for him—one that came in the form of a foreign princess.

Part 1 | Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist

"It's late. We should likely retire for the night. May I escort you back to your chambers, my princess?" Yeosang's deep yet gentle voice sent a ripple through your heart—one that had been starved of warmth ever since you set foot in this foreign land. His genuine kindness touched you deeply, far more than he could ever know. For once, it was not a gesture for the sake of appearances, but something sincere.

"N-no, thank you, Your Highness," you replied, rising from your seat beside him. "I remember the way back and can manage on my own just fine."

A flicker of what seemed like admiration crossed his face as he stood to meet your gaze. "On your own? Are you sure? The palace can be like a maze at night. I don't mind walking with you—"

"I'm sure, truly," you said, cutting him off with a small, shy smile. "I was planning to explore a little more anyway. You should rest. I'll… see you soon, my prince." You bowed slightly, your reluctance was evident as you quietly exited, leaving him behind before he could press the matter further.

As much as you longed to accept his offer, you couldn't bear the thought of him seeing the reality of your living conditions or the disdainful treatment you received from the palace servants. You were far too ashamed to let him witness such things—you didn't want him to see how lowly you were regarded. You wanted to keep things as they were; for him to see you as a person with dignity, not merely as an object or a tool of duty.

It's better this way, Prince Yeosang.

Making your way back to your quarters, you realised the fourth prince had been right—it was indeed like a maze, and you found yourself stumbling through the winding paths. After a few wrong turns and frustrating detours, you eventually caught sight of the familiar building you were staying in for the time being. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. No one was waiting for you anyway, or so you thought. Yet, something was off.

Your eyes widened in surprise as you noticed the lanterns in your chambers were already lit. Who could be there? Panic surged through you—could it be your father?

Your heart raced as you noticed a line of palace maids standing in the courtyard, leading up to your room. The servants were unfamiliar to you; not the ones assigned to your service. These belonged to someone else. Clearing your throat to steady yourself, you entered cautiously, nodding in acknowledgement as the maids bowed low and greeted you as you passed.

With a shaky breath, you finally stepped into your room, your nerves still rattled by the unknown. But then you saw a figure, his back turned to you. A small breath of relief escaped when you realised it wasn't your father—just your… fiancé. But perhaps you had been too quick to let your guard down.

Your heart stopped when he slowly turned to face you, his expression dark and menacing. "Where the hell have you been?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

A chill ran down your spine at his words. Why did he care? What did it matter to him? You weren't supposed to be seen together until the morning anyway, so what could he possibly want?

"I… I was just taking a walk around the palace, Your Highness," you stammered, your voice shaking. "I thought I'd familiarise myself—"

He cut you off with a scoff, stepping toward you. That was when you noticed the slight sway in his step. He was drunk.

"Taking a walk around by yourself?" he sneered, his tone dripping with contempt. "Have you not listened to anything I've said? We are to play the perfect couple, and how do you think it would look to others if you were seen wandering around without me by your side? What kind of husband would they think I am? From now on, you are not to leave this building without me. Do you understand me, woman?"

The harshness of his words stung, your heart sinking as his command set in. This wasn't just about appearances—this was control. You opened your mouth to protest, the thought of your newfound friendship with Yeosang flickering in your mind.

"But, my prince—" you gasped as his hand suddenly gripped your jaw tightly, forcing you to look up into his cold, narrowed eyes.

"I said, am I understood?" he repeated, the menace in his voice unmistakable.

You trembled under his grasp, nodding tearfully. He loosened his grip, his hand trailing down your face and lingering at your neck. "Now, that's a good girl." A wave of fear swept over you as his hand continued to drift lower, sending a shudder through your body. Desperate, you forced yourself to speak.

"Y-you should rest, Your Highness," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady. "I fear it wouldn't be appropriate for others to see you here so late. We're not officially married yet."

His eyes flickered with understanding, and his lips twisted into a sly grin. The stench of alcohol on his breath was overpowering.

"Finally," he said with a slurred chuckle. "You say something smart. I'll see you tomorrow then, princess."

With a mocking smile, he turned on his heel and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as you stood frozen in place, your heart pounding in your chest. You waited until you could no longer hear him before collapsing onto the floor, trembling as the tears you'd held back began to fall.

As you remained in the same spot for what felt like an eternity, your mind raced, torn between relief and dread. A small, bitter smile tugged at your lips—thank the heavens you hadn't let the fourth prince walk you back tonight. The thought of what could have transpired had Yeochan found him with you sent a shudder through your entire being. What if he had seen? What if no amount of convincing could have diffused his anger? The memory of his disgusting hands on you sent another shiver down your spine.

God help me, please...

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe steadily, but the reality of your situation weighed heavily on your chest, pressing down with an unbearable force. This was your future, this man—this cold, vicious prince—was to be your husband.

The thought filled you with despair. You had heard rumours about royal marriages, about how they were rarely based on love or affection, but to face it in such a brutal, personal way… it was more than you could have imagined. Tears continued to stream down your face, soaking the sleeves of your garment as you hugged yourself, wondering how you would survive this life bound to him.

Loneliness had been your greatest fear, but now, as you stared into the empty darkness of your chambers, it seemed that loneliness would have been kinder than the fate that awaited you at the ninth prince's side.

You weren't sure how long you had been sitting there, but you knew that rest was essential if you were to face breakfast the next morning. The thought of maintaining your composure—looking at least somewhat decent for the final shared meal before your father's departure, as he was finally returning to Ruhon—loomed large in your mind. It wasn't just a matter of appearance; the King and Queen of Joseon would also be present, and you needed all your strength to uphold your act around your father and your soon-to-be husband.

Like a weary spectre, you dragged yourself to your bed, the weight of the evening's events still pressing heavily on your shoulders. With a sigh of resignation, you removed the outer layer of your hanbok, letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap before climbing into the bed, the comforter feeling like a fragile barrier against the cold reality of your situation.

You pulled the covers close, seeking solace in their warmth, as a fresh tear slipped down your cheek. "It'll be okay," you whispered to yourself, the words barely audible. As exhaustion finally overcame you, you closed your eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace amid the turmoil.

The following morning, the air in the grand dining hall was thick with formality and unspoken tension. As you sat at the breakfast table, trying to compose yourself, the King of Joseon turned to your father, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Are you truly certain it is acceptable to proceed with the ceremony without your presence, or that of the Queen of Ruhon, or even Royal Concubine Sarisu to witness the princess wed, Your Majesty?"

Your father, seated across from you, stifled a smirk, his eyes gleaming with a wicked satisfaction. He shook his head lightly before turning to you with a smug grin that made your stomach churn.

"No need," he responded, his voice laced with mockery, clearly intended for you to hear. "Princess Sarisu is my most independent daughter. She'll do fine without us. I'm sure her mother would love to see her off, but the lady is too weary to travel the distance. We'll leave our princess in your good hands, Your Majesty."

His words sent a cold shiver down your spine. You could feel the blood boiling beneath your skin, your fists trembling as you clutched the fabric of your hanbok, desperately trying to maintain your composure. Because that was a goddamned lie. Your mother was fine, perfectly capable of making the journey. This was his revenge, his way of punishing you for defying him.

While you were more than fine with the fact that you might never see him again, the realisation that you would miss the chance to see your mother one last time before your marriage struck you like a blow. She had only one daughter, and now she wouldn't even be there to witness your wedding—an event that, though not of your choosing, still held immense significance. The cruelty of your father was overwhelming, and a deep bitterness settled in your heart.

How could this man, the one who was supposed to protect and cherish you, be so heartless? The thought of him returning home to your mother, likely to mistreat her out of spite, filled you with both dread and simmering rage. But there was nothing you could do. You were trapped in this gilded cage, your future bound to a man you did not love, and your past severed by the very person who should have loved you most.

The ruler of Joseon, perceptive as ever, was quick to notice the tension simmering beneath the surface between you and your father. In an attempt to ease the heavy atmosphere, he let out a light chuckle. "I understand. Fear not, we will do well to take care of the princess. Right, Ninth Prince Yeochan?" His Majesty asked, his gaze shifting to his son seated beside you.

At the mention of his name, you stiffened, feeling your fiancé's arm snake around your shoulder. The contact was anything but comforting. Your fists clenched tightly around the skirt of your hanbok, desperately trying to stop your hands from trembling. Yeochan smiled, a smile that looked convincing enough to anyone who wasn't aware of the truth, and nodded, pulling you uncomfortably closer to him.

"Of course, Father," he replied, his tone dripping with false sincerity. "I will cherish her like the blessing she was bestowed upon me." His sweet words drew a coo from both his father and Her Majesty, their expressions softening with approval.

But your heart only hammered in dread.

Couldn't they hear the subtle sarcasm lacing his words? The forced affection in his actions? You felt as though you were the only one who could see through the facade, the only one who understood that those words, far from being a promise, were a warning. The weight of your fate pressed down on you even more heavily as you realised that no one would come to your aid. To everyone else, this was a union to be celebrated—but for you, it was the beginning of a nightmare.

"Is that right? I do hope you mean what you're saying, as this is what keeps the ties between Joseon and Ruhon strong."

The unexpected deep voice reverberated through the hall, catching everyone off guard. But for you, it was like a sudden gust of wind calming the storm within. Almost afraid that his presence was a mere figment of your imagination, you slowly lifted your head. When your eyes met the familiar figure standing at the entrance, you breathed a small sigh of relief. It really was the fourth prince in the flesh.

Oh, thank god.

Before your fiancé could react, the Queen cleared her throat, her voice laced with surprise. "Prince Yeosang, what a surprise. What brings you here, my son?"

He stepped forward, bowing respectfully to his parents. "I heard a send-off event was being held for the King of Ruhon this morning and thought I'd join," he responded, his tone calm and composed. He then turned to your father, his expression respectful. "I've come to make up for my short presence at the banquet last night, Your Majesty. I apologise for not being very social."

Your father, ever the opportunist, bit his lip to suppress a smirk, clearly amused by the situation. "Why, of course, Fourth Prince Yeosang. Please do join us."

You could almost feel the anticipation radiating from your father, eager for the drama he expected the once-rebellious prince to stir. But you knew better. The fourth prince was far too mature, too composed, to indulge in such pettiness. His presence served as a silent reminder of what true nobility looked like, a stark contrast to the cruel games your father played.

As he took a seat, his calm demeanour brought you a small measure of peace. "Good morning, my princess," he greeted you with a kind smile, acknowledging his younger brother with only a brief nod. For a fleeting moment, the weight of your situation seemed to lift.

"Good morning, my prince," you replied softly, subtly shrugging your soon-to-be husband's hand from your shoulder.

Amid the turmoil surrounding you, at least there was someone who saw through the facade, someone who, though he may not openly challenge it, was a beacon of quiet strength and reassurance.

"Careful, princess. Stare at my brother any longer, and people might mistake him for your fiancé instead," Yeochan whispered threateningly into your ear, his voice laced with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl. "Remember who you belong to."

You swallowed hard, a shiver running down your spine as you quickly averted your gaze from Yeosang. "Y-yes, Your Highness," you murmured obediently, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to suppress the fear gnawing at you.

Unbeknownst to you, none of this escaped the watchful eye of the fourth prince. He had always been perceptive, and though he knew that no arranged marriage could be perfect from the start, especially in a place as politically charged as the palace, what he saw didn't sit right with him. You were the first person within the palace he had ever considered a friend and he would hate to see you trapped in a marriage too unhappy.

Yeosang's gaze softened as he watched you, his heart heavy with unspoken concern. He knew he couldn't intervene openly, not without causing a scandal, but he would find a way to help you. For now, all he could offer was the comfort of his presence, a silent promise that he would be there if you ever needed him.

After a tension-filled meal, it was finally time to send the ruler of Ruhon off. The air was thick with formalities and forced smiles as everyone gathered in the courtyard. Your father, ever the performer, approached you with a sneer hidden beneath a mask of fatherly affection. He leaned in close, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

"Goodbye, my daughter. Have a good life here," he whispered with venom, pulling you into a brief, cold embrace. The act was flawless, his expression one of tender care, but the words he spoke cut deep.

As he began to pull away, you instinctively reached out, gripping his sleeve in a desperate attempt to appeal to whatever shred of humanity he might have left. "Father, please… I've done what you asked. Just let Mother be."

He scoffed, his eyes flicking down at you with a mix of disdain and amusement. "You think too highly of yourselves. I have more important things to do than to toy with her." His voice was icy, his words dripping with indifference. "I'd worry more about myself if I were you," he added, his tone dismissive.

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, heading toward his carriage without so much as a backward glance. You stood there, the sting of his final words echoing in your mind as he disappeared from view. The realisation that you were truly alone in this foreign land, with no family to support you, settled in your chest like a heavy stone.

As the crowd began to disperse, your fiancé approached with his usual display of false affection, speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Come, love. Let me escort you back," he said, maintaining his flawless act. To those unaware of the truth, his performance was convincing, hiding the darkness beneath his smile.

Before he could take your arm, however, Yeosang stepped forward, his presence both unexpected and reassuring. "Wait, my princess!" he called out, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. "Didn't we agree to exchange more literary knowledge?" His words caught everyone off guard, especially his parents and brother. With infectious enthusiasm, he turned to the King. "Father, you won't believe it! Her Highness is incredibly well-versed in poetry and a great admirer of Shin Sukju's works. Would it be alright if I borrowed her for a bit? We'll just be in the library, and it would be a wonderful opportunity for me to bond with my future sister-in-law."

Before the ninth prince could protest, His Majesty clapped his hands in delight. "Oh, really? That's impressive! Yes, yes, like-minded young people like yourselves should definitely spend time together and learn from each other. Please, go ahead."

The Queen nodded eagerly in agreement, her eyes lighting up with genuine joy. Both she and the King seemed pleased to see Yeosang stepping out of his usual isolation and making an effort to connect with someone, even if it was the foreign princess.

"Thank you, Your Majesties," you said respectfully, bowing to your soon-to-be in-laws, not forgetting to offer a slight bow to Yeochan as well. "I shall see you soon, Your Highness."

With a gentle smile, Yeosang gestured for you to follow him. "Come, my princess." Feeling your fiancé's gaze burning into your back, you hesitated only briefly before walking away, finding solace in the fourth prince's calm and composed presence. Together, you left the courtyard, leaving your betrothed behind with a frustrated scowl hidden behind his practised facade.

Lost in your thoughts about how Yeochan would likely react once you returned from this meeting with the fourth prince, you barely noticed you had arrived at your destination.

"We're here, princess."

His voice snapped you out of your trance, and you looked around with wide eyes, startled by the unfamiliar surroundings. "Wh-what—I thought we were heading to the library, Your Highness?" you stammered, taking in the serene view of the cherry blossom garden, the very place where you had first met him. The pavilion stood before you, just as it had that day.

Yeosang smirked, gesturing for you to take a seat. "That was clearly a lie. We wouldn't be able to converse freely if we were in the library. Now, come sit with me."

With a soft chuckle, you complied, both of you settling down opposite each other. His mischievous grin hinted at the rebellious side everyone had whispered about, and you found yourself amused by it.

"Besides," he added, his tone more serious now, "I had a feeling you could use some fresh air. I hope this is alright with you. We can always leave if you prefer."

Your heart fluttered at his thoughtfulness. There was something disarming about his considerate nature, something that made the weight on your chest feel a little lighter. You shook your head with a small smile.

"Not at all. This is more than okay."

As your gaze drifted toward the barren cherry blossom trees, the fourth prince couldn't help but notice the sorrow and quiet despair reflected in your eyes. The weight of your situation was not lost on him. To be sent away to a foreign land, bound in marriage to a man you hardly knew, and expected to act as though all was well—it was a fate he could scarcely imagine. Though he couldn't change your circumstances, he hoped, as a friend, to ease your burden somehow.

"Is... everything alright, princess?" Yeosang ventured cautiously, recalling how the ninth prince had whispered something that seemed to shatter your composure in mere seconds. The change in your demeanour had not escaped his notice, and it unsettled him. What could Yeochan have said to unnerve you so thoroughly? The thought troubled him, especially seeing how uncomfortable you appeared around the man you were meant to wed.

You gulped, offering a polite nod without fully meeting his eyes. "Yes, of course. It will take some time for me to adjust to my new life here, but I will be fine, my prince. Your concern is most kind."

His smile was faint, knowing full well your words were more for courtesy than truth. He was aware that despite the bond of friendship forming between you, there was still much distance between your hearts. He had no right to press further, not yet.

"I see," he replied, his tone thoughtful. "I hope Prince Yeochan is treating you well. My brother is known for his ambition and his... bluntness, but he should make a suitable husband... wouldn't you say?"

You struggled to maintain the smile that barely clung to your lips, biting down hard enough on your lower lip that you feared it might bleed. "I suppose... I cannot truly say. We aren't married yet, after all. He's been kind to me thus far."

In public, at least.

Determined not to dwell on your unhappy thoughts and wanting to make the most of the time spent with your first and only friend, you straightened up, beaming at him. "So, tell me, Your Highness, what are some things you think Joseon does better than Ruhon?"

Yeosang narrowed his eyes playfully at your cheeky question, a spark of mischief dancing in them. "Ah, yes, always up for a good debate, are we? I shall prove to you that this nation is indeed worth leaving Ruhon for," he quipped, his tone light-hearted and playful.

His jest made you chuckle, the weight on your shoulders lifting just a little. You knew, of course, that no argument could ever make you truly feel at ease about your forced departure from your homeland, but his attempt to lift your spirits was enough to make you feel lighter at the moment.

With that, the conversation shifted into a lively exchange. He launched into stories of Joseon's cultural achievements, its rich history of scholarship, and the honour of its warriors. He spoke of the grand palaces, the festivals that brought the people together, and the scholars who shaped the nation's identity. You found yourself engrossed in his tales, the passion in his voice making even the smallest details feel important.

In return, you shared stories of Ruhon, the traditions that bound your people, and the unique customs that defined your homeland. You spoke of the festivals under the moon, where dancers twirled to the beat of drums, and how the scent of spices lingered in the air long after the market stalls closed. You told him about your childhood, the way your mother would braid your hair by the hearth, and the songs the village elders would sing when the harvest season came to an end.

The conversation flowed easily, each of you learning more about the other's world. For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt like you could simply be yourself. Yeosang's genuine interest in your stories and his willingness to share his own made you feel seen, something you hadn't experienced since your arrival.

Through this exchange, you felt the bond between you deepen. It was as though, amidst all the uncertainty, you had found a friend—a true companion who saw you not as a foreign princess, but as someone with a rich life of her own. It gave you comfort to know that in this unfamiliar world, there was someone who shared your love for learning, who appreciated the differences between your homelands, and who, in his own quiet way, made you feel less alone.

After listening to you gush about missing the sweets of Ruhon, his eyes lit up. "Oh, we have this snack called Yakgwa! It's heavenly, you must try it! I'll have the kitchen servants prepare some for us," he said enthusiastically, already rising to get things arranged.

Before he could move further, a sigh escaped his lips as he spotted his eunuch rushing over, looking frazzled. "Your Highness! We were told you were in the library, but you were nowhere to be found. The royal tutor is waiting, and it would not do to keep him any longer!"

The prince's expression immediately darkened, irritation flickering in his eyes. It seemed as though he was about to protest when, unexpectedly, he said something you hadn't anticipated. "I understand, Eunuch Hwang. But shouldn't you first acknowledge the princess and show her the respect due before all else?"

Your jaw dropped slightly at his words. That was the last thing you had expected him to say. He really was different. Gratefulness flooded through you as the eunuch, now flustered, hastily bowed. "M-my apologies, Your Highness! This servant greets Princess Sarisu, the future Ninth Princess of Joseon."

The reminder of your impending title made you shift uncomfortably, but you nodded in acknowledgement, trying to keep your composure. The fourth prince huffed in mild annoyance, then turned back to you with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, princess, it seems I have lessons to attend. But don't worry, we'll get you those sweets tomorrow."

Your breath caught in your throat. "T-tomorrow?" The idea of seeing him again was comforting, but the thought of how your fiancé would react twisted your insides with dread.

Yeosang, oblivious to the turmoil swirling inside you, smiled warmly. "Yes, tomorrow. I'll escort you myself."

Your eyes widened in panic. You shook your head vigorously. "N-no! I'll come meet you myself!" Something flickered in his gaze, a quiet realisation, but he didn't press you. His understanding smile remained, though you could sense that he was beginning to notice something wasn't quite right. "Of course, princess. I'll see you tomorrow, then. Same place, same time."

You nodded, your voice soft as you repeated his words. "Same place, same time. See you, Your Highness."

With one last smile, he bowed his head slightly before turning to follow his eunuch, leaving you standing there, heart racing at the thought of tomorrow—and the inevitable confrontation you might have to face.

That evening, you returned to your chambers with a heart heavy with dread, expecting the ninth prince to be waiting, but to your surprise, the room was empty. Not a single soul lingered—not even the group of servants assigned to you. It seemed they hadn't bothered to wait for you to return and dismiss them.

With a tired shrug, you went about your routine, refreshing yourself and settling down with one of the few books available in your quarters. But as you read, a furrow creased your brow. The sky outside had grown dark, and no one had come to light the lanterns. You waited for a while longer, hoping someone would arrive, but it became clear no one was coming.

Sighing, you rose from your seat and made your way to the storeroom to fetch the necessary items. It was a menial task, but with your own hands, you lit the lanterns one by one, the soft glow slowly filling your chambers. Dusting off your hands, you gazed around at the lit room with a small sense of pride, but that brief satisfaction was quickly overshadowed by the rumbling of your stomach.

Crap, I'm starving...

The usual time for your meal had long passed, and still, no one had come to bring you food. You stood by the entrance of your cold, lonely chamber, waiting, your stomach growling louder with each passing minute. The chill in the air began to creep into your bones, but still, there was no sign of anyone.

After what felt like an hour, the cold became unbearable, and you retreated back inside, pulling the covers of your bed over yourself. Laying there somberly, you couldn't help but wonder if this was Yeochan's punishment. His way of showing you the consequences of spending time with his brother.

You hadn't eaten much that morning. If only you'd known that would be your only meal of the day, you might have had more. But now, all you could do was hug your empty stomach and curl into your side, trying desperately to fall asleep on an empty belly.

As you curled up beneath the covers, the ache in your stomach gnawing at you, a small smile crept onto your face. Despite the discomfort and the coldness of your empty chambers, the thought of tomorrow brought you a glimmer of warmth. You were going to see Yeosang again, and that simple fact made everything feel a little more bearable.

Tomorrow, there would be no pretence, no masks to wear. Just you and your friend, sharing stories, and learning more about each other's worlds. That hope was enough to chase away the shadows of the evening, if only for a while. You sighed softly, your mind finally quiet, and with that thought, you allowed sleep to take you, clinging to the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

The next morning, your chambers remained eerily quiet, a clear sign that no one had any intention of attending to you. You rubbed your growling stomach, frowning as the realisation sank in that you'd be left to fend for yourself again. Sighing softly, you went about getting dressed, thankful that the task wasn't overly difficult. Back home, you and your mother had grown accustomed to doing things on your own, so you managed just fine. The hanbok, with its simpler design compared to Ruhon's attire, was much easier to slip into, and while your hair wasn't as neatly styled as the palace servants would have done it, it was at least presentable.

The gnawing ache in your stomach remained, reminding you that no meal had been provided. You bit your lip, trying to push the discomfort aside. But then, a glimmer of hope sparked within you as you remembered Prince Yeosang's promise from the day before. He had mentioned getting the kitchen to prepare some sweets—perhaps that would be your salvation today.

Enduring the hunger, you bided your time until noon, your anticipation slowly building with each passing minute. By the time you made your way toward the cherry blossom garden, your heart was fluttering with excitement. The thought of seeing Yeosang again brought a warmth that softened the cold indifference of the palace. Even if everything else seemed uncertain, you found solace in the one friendship that was blossoming amid the darkness.

As you approached the garden, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, the sight of the familiar pavilion and the thought of spending time with the fourth prince making everything feel, at least for now, a little more bearable.

"Good afternoon, princess," the familiar deep voice called out, filling you with a sense of warmth and relief. It was all you needed to feel better. As you turned toward the table, your eyes sparkled at the sight of the colorful array of snacks displayed before you. The vivid hues of the treats beckoned, a stark contrast to the dullness of your morning.

"Good afternoon, Your Highness," you greeted Yeosang, your voice lighter than it had been all day. As you moved to settle down, a loud growl erupted from your stomach, the sound echoing embarrassingly between you both. You quickly bit your lip, cheeks heating up in mortification.

His eyes widened in surprise. "Haven't you had your breakfast yet?" he asked, concern replacing his usual teasing tone.

You cleared your throat, scrambling for an excuse. "I-I… I was just too excited to try these," you gestured to the snacks on the table, forcing a smile. "You know, had to make space for them."

His brow furrowed as he shook his head, clearly unconvinced. "Absolutely not," he chided gently. "You know better than to skip such an important meal for some sweets." His voice was stern yet filled with genuine care, a tone you hadn't heard directed toward you in so long. "Stay here. I'll get you some proper food."

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest as you watched his reliable figure move away, leaving your side to fulfill his promise. You blinked back the sudden tears that welled up in your eyes.

God, why couldn't he be the one you were meant to marry? You hugged yourself tighter, the thought slipping into your mind unbidden, making the situation even harder to bear. The fourth prince's kindness, his gentle presence—it was all you wanted. Yet, your fate was bound to another. Still, in this fleeting moment, you allowed yourself the indulgence of wondering what it would have been like if things were different.

Yeosang returned swiftly, carrying a tray of steaming food with a determined look in his eyes. "Here you go," he said as he set the meal before you. The warm, savoury aroma made your stomach ache even more with hunger, and despite the embarrassment that still lingered, you couldn't deny how much you needed this.

"Eat," he instructed softly, his tone leaving no room for protest. You nodded, grateful beyond words, and dug into the meal. The warmth of the food instantly soothed the emptiness gnawing at your insides, and you couldn't help the small hum of satisfaction that escaped your lips. He smiled, watching you with silent approval.

"You shouldn't go without food, princess. How else will you have the energy to put me in my place when we debate Joseon versus Ruhon?" he teased lightly, the tension lifting between you.

You chuckled, swallowing a bite. "You have a point, Your Highness. Can't have you winning all the arguments, now, can I?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "I wouldn't want that either." His voice was rich with amusement, the sound easing the tightness that had settled in your chest earlier.

Once you had your fill of the warm meal, he pushed the tray of sweets toward you. "Now you can enjoy these without starving yourself."

Your eyes brightened as you looked at the colourful treats. "Thank you," you murmured, popping a piece of Yakgwa into your mouth. The honeyed flavour melted on your tongue, every bite as delightful as he had described. As you enjoyed the sweets, the conversation between the two of you flowed like a river, smooth and endless.

You began with light topics—favourite poems, childhood stories—before moving on to deeper discussions. Yeosang shared captivating tales of Joseon's history, recounting stories of ancient kings and battles long past, while you spoke of Ruhon's traditions, the bright stars in its night skies, and... your mother.

"You must be close to her," he observed with a gentle smile.

You nodded, your chest tightening at the thought of your mother. "Very. She's the one thing I truly couldn't bear leaving behind."

He glanced down, his hand twitching as though he wanted to reach out to you but stopped himself. "Perhaps you'll see her again someday."

"Perhaps..." you whispered, though the doubt in your voice was unmistakable. You quickly steered the conversation elsewhere, eager to escape the painful thought, diving back into the differences between Ruhon and Joseon.

Yeosang listened closely, his curiosity evident in the way he soaked in every detail you shared. In turn, he painted vivid pictures of life in Joseon, filled with colour and history. The two of you became engrossed in friendly debates, passionately defending your homelands' best qualities.

As the conversation wore on, it became lighter, drifting toward more personal topics—his love for archery, your fondness for dancing, and even the odd rumours that floated around the palace. Laughter came easily between you, the weight of your circumstances momentarily forgotten.

"I think you'd be excellent at archery," he remarked thoughtfully.

You raised an eyebrow, laughing. "Me? With a bow and arrow? I'd probably end up shooting myself in the foot."

"I seriously doubt that," he teased. "But if you ever want to give it a try, I'd be more than happy to teach you."

"Perhaps one day," you replied with a soft smile, savouring the thought of a future where you might be free enough to take him up on the offer.

The hours passed unnoticed as you shared stories, thoughts, and dreams. The afternoon sun cast golden rays over the pavilion, and in his presence, you felt lighter—like you weren't just a pawn in a political marriage, but a person with your own desires.

You returned to your empty quarters that evening, but the silence and cold no longer bothered you. After the warmth and joy of the day spent with Yeosang, the loneliness felt distant, almost irrelevant. You were more than full, not just from the food but from the conversation and laughter shared under the cherry blossoms. The routine of solitude upon your return had become something you could bear, as long as your afternoons were filled with his presence.

The same pattern unfolded the next day and the entire week after that. Each morning, you would wake to the empty quarters, handle your own needs, and then make your way to the pavilion where he would be waiting. Together, you found comfort in each other's company. He was your first and only friend here, someone who understood your situation without having to ask too many questions. Over time, a mutual understanding and respect blossomed between you, both of you finding solace in these stolen moments.

You learned more about him each day, his quirks and passions, while he listened to your stories of Ruhon with genuine interest. The hours flew by in those afternoons, filled with the easy flow of conversation, laughter, and sometimes, comfortable silence. At this point, you had grown content with the way things were. If nothing changed, you thought you could be fine living like this forever. The thought of it made your heart flutter—an afternoon with the fourth prince, a quiet return to your quarters at night, and no pressure from the palace or your impending marriage to Prince Yeochan.

As the sun dipped low on the horizon one evening, casting golden light over the pavilion, Yeosang broke the comfortable quiet. "Are you sure you don't want me to walk you back?" His voice held a note of longing, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what you truly wanted.

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart stir in a way you weren't ready to admit. "I'll be fine," you assured him, trying to steady your voice and the fluttering in your chest. "I'll see you tomorrow. Same place, same time."

He nodded, though his gaze lingered on you a moment longer. "Same place, same time," he repeated softly, his voice betraying the unspoken emotions that hung between you.

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you until you disappeared from view, your heart both aching and content at once. These moments with him had become your escape, a reprieve from the storm looming over your future.

For now, that was enough.

Your steps slowed to a crawl as you neared your quarters, a stark contrast to the usual emptiness. Tonight, the windows were brightly lit, and the servants were suddenly lined up like soldiers, just as they had been that fateful night. The last time this had happened, Prince Yeochan had come, drunk and unpredictable.

Dread twisted in your gut as you took in the scene, your heart pounding so hard you could hear the frantic rhythm in your ears. What was he going to do this time? Memories of that night came flooding back—his sharp words, his cold grip, the way he loomed over you as if daring you to resist. But you knew there was no escape. This was your fate. Whatever he wanted, you had no choice but to obey. It was your duty. The thought of it made your heart sink, heavy with the weight of powerlessness.

As you neared the entrance, your eyes landed on the palace maids standing by, their smug smiles and knowing looks making your stomach churn. They had seen this before and even enjoyed it. They were eager for your downfall, eagerly awaiting the moment you'd be humiliated, just like last time. Their bows were mocking, insincere, dripping with scorn.

"Welcome back, Your Highness. Oh dear, perhaps we should've given you a heads up," one of them sneered, her voice laced with false sweetness. "The ninth prince has come to visit."

Your throat tightened as the words registered. Yeochan was inside, waiting. You could already feel the walls closing in around you, suffocating you before you even stepped foot inside. The fear of what awaited you on the other side of that door made your legs feel like lead. But you forced yourself to move, to step forward, to face whatever punishment he had in store. Because you had no choice.

This was your life now.

And as you crossed the threshold, you wished—just for a fleeting moment—that you were back in the cherry blossom garden with Yeosang, where everything felt safe and warm. But that dream was far away now, and reality was waiting for you behind that door, cruel and unrelenting.

"There you are, princess," Yeochan's voice slithered through the room, low and deliberate, as you entered the chamber. Your eyes immediately dropped to the floor, your body instinctively bowing deeply before him.

"G-good evening, Your Highness," you whispered, your voice betraying the trembling fear coursing through you.

He eyed you up and down, his silence stretching uncomfortably before a smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't one of amusement but of something darker. "You seem well. A little too well for my liking. A week with no one to serve you, and yet here you are—more content than anything, out gallivanting every single day." He took a step forward, his words laced with accusation. "Care to tell me where you've been all day?"

You felt your hands clutch the fabric of your skirt, squeezing it so tightly you feared it might tear. Your heart raced, the walls closing in around you. "I-I…" The words caught in your throat, terror and shame making it impossible to answer. How could you possibly tell him the truth?

His smirk deepened, his gaze sharp as a blade. "The fourth prince must've been very good to you, hm?" His voice was dripping with venom. "What do you think would happen if word got out? That it wasn't enough he once tried to steal General Park's wife, but now he's after his younger brother's betrothed too?"

His words hit you like a cold slap, your blood running ice-cold as your knees gave way beneath you, sinking to the floor before him. You felt weak and powerless under his cruel, threatening gaze.

A dangerous laugh echoed through the chamber as he watched you crumble. "Perhaps then Father would finally take proper measures against him," he mused darkly, the amusement in his tone quickly vanishing. He turned, his expression hardening into a cold glare. "I've honestly had it with you. But then again, it's no surprise. Your kind would go out and whore around the first chance they get. And of all people, you had to embarrass me by choosing that degenerate?"

Tears welled in your eyes, fear gripping you tightly. While you might've anticipated his wrath, you couldn't allow him to drag the fourth prince into this, to ruin the only thing that had brought you solace in this foreign, suffocating life.

Not Yeosang—he didn't deserve that.

"I… We didn't do anything, Your Highness. We're just friends," you pleaded, the tears now spilling down your cheeks. "If you wish, I promise not to see him again. Just... leave His Highness alone."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Yeochan's smirk returned, more sinister than before. He knelt before you, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Really? Is that what you want?"

You nodded frantically, swallowing hard. "Yes... please."

His smirk widened. "That depends on your performance then, doesn't it? Don't let me down, princess."

The weight of his threat hung heavy in the air, suffocating you as he rose and walked past you, leaving you kneeling in the cold chamber, your tears staining the floor beneath you.

I'm so sorry, Prince Yeosang...

"Where is she?" the fourth prince murmured to himself, his gaze fixed on the steaming bowls of food slowly losing their warmth. The servants had prepared everything right on time, just as they had done every day for the past week. And every time, without fail, you arrived promptly, your face lighting up the moment you stepped into the garden. But today, there was no sign of you.

He tried to brush off his unease, telling himself there must be a simple explanation. Maybe you were running into trouble with your quarters, or maybe your attire or hair was taking longer than usual. Yeosang's mind flickered to the oversized shoes you'd been given, his brow furrowing. He'd reminded you to ask for better-fitted ones, hadn't he? What if you'd tripped because of them? The thought made him chuckle lightly, trying to dispel the growing knot of concern in his chest. No need to overthink it, he thought.

Maybe she overslept.

The image of you with tousled hair and sleepy eyes brought a smile to his face, one that lingered a little too long. Slowly, realisation dawned on him. Do friends think of each other this way...? he wondered. Since the day you two had become close, he found that thoughts of you followed him everywhere. Even when he wasn't with you, his mind strayed back to your laughter, the way you spoke about Ruhon with such fondness, the light in your eyes when you teased him about Joseon. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about you.

But now, as he stared at the empty seat across from him and the bowl of stew cooling in front of it, his thoughts shifted from fondness to worry. You'd never been late before. Where were you?

The prince's fingers drummed anxiously against the wooden table. As the minutes stretched on, the gnawing feeling in his stomach grew worse. What if something had happened to you?

No, don't overthink it, he told himself again, trying to keep calm. But with each passing moment, his composure faltered, his mind conjuring all sorts of possibilities. You were alone in this unfamiliar palace, with no allies but him. He knew what kind of dangers lurked in the shadows, especially for someone as isolated as you.

He stood up abruptly, unable to shake the dread that was slowly taking hold of him. He had to find you. Whatever had delayed you, he couldn't just sit there, waiting.

"Please be okay, princess..." he muttered under his breath, his heart clenching at the thought of something being wrong. He grabbed his cloak, striding purposefully out of the pavilion. He wouldn't rest until he knew you were safe.

His feet led him instinctively to your quarters, a place he'd never seen but had always pictured to be grand and befitting of your status. Yet, as he slowed his steps and approached the area, his brows furrowed in disbelief. The quarters before him were anything but grand. They were one of the more neglected chambers in the palace, the kind usually reserved for lesser guests, not for someone soon to become the Ninth Princess of Joseon.

This... can't be right, he thought, his gaze hardening as he took in the sight. The King and Queen never would have agreed to this if they knew. Who had placed you here? His mind immediately turned to the only person capable of such pettiness—his brother.

His jaw clenched at the thought, but before he could mull over it further, the palace maids stationed at the entrance of your chambers bowed deeply.

"These servants greet Your Highness," they said in unison.

He nodded in acknowledgement, but when he tried to take a step forward, they subtly moved to block his path.

"Deepest apologies, Prince Yeosang," one of them said, her tone laced with formality, "but Her Highness the princess wishes not to see anyone today."

His status as your future brother-in-law, rather than a direct family member or fiancé, dawned on him. It would be inappropriate for him to insist on seeing you, no matter how much he wanted to make sure you were alright. Still, concern gnawed at him, and he couldn't help but ask, "Is she okay?"

The maid closest to him bit down on a smirk, as if sharing an inside joke with herself. "Yes, Your Highness. Why do you ask? The ninth prince was just here last night. He left after ensuring she was fine."

His heart sank. Yeochan was here? His mind raced. Did he find out about our meetings? Knowing his brother's volatile pride, it wouldn't have been surprising if he had lashed out. The thought of Yeochan taking his anger out on you made his chest tighten.

He cleared his throat, trying to mask his unease. "O-oh, I see... I was just uhh... hoping to meet the princess for another study session," he said, forcing a smile.

The maid bowed again, her gesture more dismissive this time. "Perhaps another time, Prince Yeosang."

He blinked, feeling the sting of rejection but knowing there was little he could do at this moment. He took a step back, his heart heavy. "Perhaps..." he echoed softly.

With a final nod, the fourth prince turned and walked away, his mind filled with worry. His thoughts circled back to you—your absence today, the state of your quarters, and the lingering fear that something was terribly wrong. He had to find a way to see you, to make sure you were safe.

Wait for me, princess.

"Congratulations, Your Highness. Since you've been good, Prince Yeochan is rewarding you with dinner tonight. Enjoy," one of the maids said, her tone dripping with insincerity as she and the others stepped into your room. They carried trays with the same paltry rice and side dishes they had served you since your first day here. But despite the meagre meal, your empty stomach didn't care. After being starved all day, anything edible seemed like a feast.

Scrambling over to the dining table, you thanked them softly, even though they didn't deserve it. You sat down quickly, hands trembling as you began to eat, the food filling the gnawing ache inside you. But the relief was short-lived. You paused mid-bite when you noticed the smug expressions plastered on the maids' faces. Something was coming, and you dreaded it.

You wiped your mouth with shaky fingers and whispered, "Y-you may go."

One of the maids let out a sarcastic coo. "Oh, but princess, don't you want to hear all about the fourth prince's surprise appearance today? He came all this way to see you."

Your body froze, the warmth of the food in your stomach doing nothing to quell the sudden chill that overtook you. Yeosang was here...? The realisation hit you like a blow, and your heart clenched. You tightened your grip on the utensils, willing your hands to stop shaking.

"If we didn't know any better, we'd think he was your lover... but you wouldn't do that to your betrothed now, would you?" another maid added with a wicked smirk. Her words cut through you like a knife, but you dared not look up, staring at your food with tears welling in your eyes. You blinked rapidly, trying to force them away.

"N-no..." you choked out, barely above a whisper. "I wouldn't."

"That's what I thought," the leader of the group sneered. "After all, what would people say if they knew? The ninth prince would be furious, don't you think?"

You kept your gaze locked on the table, your chest tightening as they circled around you like vultures, feeding off your discomfort.

Finally, with a mocking bow, they left the room, closing the door behind them with a soft click. The moment they were gone, your head dropped into your hands, the weight of their words pressing down on you. The food sat heavy in your stomach now, each bite you had taken feeling like a betrayal.

Yeosang had come to see you, and you weren't there. You could only imagine how worried he must have been, wondering why you hadn't shown up today. And now, all you could think about was the thinly veiled threat in the maids' words.

Tears finally escaped, sliding down your cheeks as you sat in the silence of your room. You hadn't done anything wrong, but somehow, everything felt wrong—like you were trapped in a cage with no way out.

Lying in bed, Yeosang couldn't sleep. His thoughts kept drifting back to you—how you'd smile, your voice when you spoke about the things you loved, the way your eyes lit up over the simplest things, like a plate of sweets. He thought he understood love when he'd pined for Lady Park, but this... this was different. The weight in his chest was heavier, the ache more painful. With the general's wife, there was always distance, a barrier he could never cross. But with you, everything felt natural—like the world aligned whenever you were near.

He tossed and turned, trying to push the thoughts away, but they wouldn't leave him. His heart was breaking all over again, only this time it felt worse, deeper than before. He had waited for you at the pavilion every day, hoping that maybe you'd just been delayed the first time. But as the days passed and you never showed up again, the hope he clung to slowly withered. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

Each day, he'd pass by your quarters, but the doors remained tightly shut, without a single sign of life behind them. He thought of knocking, but the way the palace maids had treated him before made it clear he wasn't welcome. His mind raced with questions: What happened to you? Were you okay? Were you eating? Were you sleeping soundly, or were you struggling, just like him?

The thoughts gnawed at him, and finally, he couldn't take it anymore. Throwing off the blankets, he pushed himself out of bed. He needed air, something to clear his mind from the torture of endless questions. He slipped on his outer robe and quietly made his way out of his chambers, the palace eerily silent in the late hours of the night.

His feet led him on a path of their own, and before he realised it, he found himself in the garden that faced the small pond where the two of you had sat together on the night of the banquet. The memories hit him with such force that he had to stop and catch his breath. You had looked so beautiful that night, the soft glow of the lanterns reflecting in your eyes. It had been a fleeting moment, but it had meant so much to him. He was sure it had meant something to you too.

To his surprise, the lanterns were still there, hanging gently in the night breeze. They were the same ones from that night. Perhaps they'd been left up because of the upcoming royal wedding, a reminder of what was supposed to be a grand celebration.

The fourth prince stood there, staring at the pond, the reflections of the lanterns dancing across the water. He remembered how you'd sat beside him, how close you'd been, how easily the conversation had flowed between you. And now, you were gone. Not physically, but... gone from his life in a way that made him feel lost, like a part of himself had disappeared too.

A sharp pain gripped his chest. Was this love? If it was, it felt like too much to bear. He had thought losing Lady Park was painful, but this was different. The weight of it felt unbearable, like he was being crushed under the possibility that he might never see you again.

His thoughts were interrupted when his ears caught the faint sound of someone crying. He froze, his breath hitching as the soft sobs pierced the quiet night. For a moment, he dismissed it as nothing more than the echoes of sorrow often heard within the palace walls. The palace staff loved to whisper of haunted spirits—the restless souls of those who had taken their own lives, trapped within the suffocating confines of court life. Such tales were frequent, and he knew better than to believe them.

Still, the sound unnerved him, not because of any fear of ghosts, but because it reminded him of the very real torment experienced by so many who lived under the weight of the royal family's rules. Perhaps it was just another of the King's properties—a concubine or a servant—mourning their fate. With a sigh, he prepared to leave, thinking it would be better to search for peace elsewhere. But something caught his eye.

A flash of lavender fabric peeked from behind a nearby tree, illuminated faintly by the lanterns. Yeosang's heart skipped a beat, his pulse quickening. Lavender... the exact colour you'd worn the first time he met you. It could be a coincidence—anyone could wear such a colour—but the hope blooming in his chest was undeniable.

What if it was you?

He couldn't just walk away. Not now.

With careful, deliberate steps, the fourth prince approached the trembling figure behind the tree. His breath was shallow, his nerves on edge, as the soft weeping grew clearer with every step. The closer he got, the more his heart ached. The sight before him was enough to tear him apart.

It was you.

You were curled up against the rough bark of the tree, your knees drawn to your chest, hands clutching the edges of the lavender hanbok tightly. Your body shook with silent sobs, the sound so fragile that it made Yeosang's chest tighten painfully. He could barely stand seeing you like this—so vulnerable, so broken.

For a moment, he hesitated. He wasn't sure if you'd want to see him right now, especially in this state. But he couldn't just leave you like this. Not after days of wondering if you were alright, not after the constant worry that something had happened to you. Seeing you now, alone in the dark, crying as if the world had crushed you... it was unbearable.

"Princess..." he whispered softly, his voice gentle as if speaking too loudly might shatter you completely.

You flinched at the sound of his familiar deep voice, your head snapping up in surprise. When your tear-streaked eyes met his, a flood of emotions passed between you. Shock, fear, relief... and something else. Something deeper that neither of you dared to voice aloud.

"Yeosang..." you breathed, your voice weak and trembling, barely above a whisper.

Without thinking, he knelt down beside you, his eyes full of concern. "What happened? Why are you out here like this? I've been so worried... Where have you been?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words got stuck in your throat. Tears streamed down your face again as you struggled to find the strength to answer. You were supposed to be stronger than this, to hold everything together, but the weight of it all—the pressure, the fear, the loneliness—was too much.

His heart broke all over again, seeing you like this. He reached out hesitantly, placing a hand on your shoulder, his touch soft and comforting. "It's okay," he whispered. "You don't have to say anything. Just... let me stay with you, alright?"

For a long moment, you simply stared at him, the warmth of his presence slowly easing the tight grip of despair around your heart. Then, as if you couldn't hold it in any longer, you nodded, and he gently pulled you into his arms. You collapsed against him, your sobs muffled against his chest. He held you tightly, cradling you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn't feel so alone.

As your sobs began to fade and your breathing steadied, a heavy silence settled between the two of you. But even as the tears stopped, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away from him. The warmth of his embrace was comforting, grounding you in a way you hadn't felt in so long. You kept your eyes closed, pressing closer to him, feeling his steady heartbeat against your cheek. His scent—earthy and soothing—wrapped around you like a protective barrier from the world outside. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you felt safe.

You didn't want to move. You didn't want to leave his arms, leave the calm that came with being next to someone who actually cared. The reality of your life—your engagement to the ninth prince, the cruelty of the palace, the loneliness—seemed so far away when you were here, in this quiet moment with Yeosang.

Letting out a shaky breath, your fingers tightened around the fabric of his robe, clutching onto him like he was your lifeline. And in a way, he was. You whispered, your voice raw and barely audible, "I-I can't do this anymore... wh-why couldn't it have been you, Yeo?"

For a moment, he stilled. Your words hung in the air between you, and he wondered if he had imagined them, if they were just the desperate hope of his own heart. But when you pressed closer to him, trembling slightly as if you'd just revealed your deepest secret, he knew it was real.

He closed his eyes, tightening his hold on you, his arms wrapping more securely around your body. Gently, he pressed your head into the crook of his neck, holding you as though he could shield you from all the pain, all the heartache you had endured. He didn't say anything at first—he was too overwhelmed by the surge of emotions in his chest. Relief, sorrow, love... it all mingled together in a way that left him breathless.

And then, softly, he whispered into your hair, his voice hoarse with emotion, "I... I wish it could have been me too."

His confession was quiet, but it carried the weight of all the feelings he'd been holding back. For the first time, he allowed himself to admit it—to say aloud what he'd only been able to think. He had fallen in love with you. It wasn't just a passing infatuation or the admiration of a friend. It was love, deep and consuming, the kind that made it impossible to imagine his life without you in it.

"I... I'll make it better," his voice wavered, his grip tightening around you as if he was afraid to let go. "I'll take you away from all of this. I hate seeing you like this... suffering. You deserve so much more."

His words lingered in your mind, and fresh tears welled in your eyes—this time not from fear or sadness, but from a deep longing for a life that seemed impossible. "But how?" you whispered, your voice cracking. "The ninth prince... h-he's—"

At the mention of his brother, the fourth prince tensed, barely holding back the surge of anger that threatened to overwhelm him. He continued stroking your hair gently, his touch grounding you both. "Tell me," he said, his tone firm but soft, "everything he's done to you."

Fear flickered in your eyes, and you shook your head slightly. "B-but—"

"It's okay," he reassured you, his voice steady and full of conviction. "I'll protect you. You have my word, princess."

"Father, I have come to report wrongdoing," the fourth prince's voice rang out clearly across the throne room. His heart pounded in his chest, but his resolve never faltered. He had waited too long for this moment, and he wouldn't waste it. The King, seated on his grand throne, raised a surprised brow. His fourth son had never shown much interest in palace affairs before.

"Yes, my son. What is it?" he asked, his voice weary with expectation.

Yeosang took a deep breath, steeling himself. "It's Ninth Prince Yeochan. He has been mistreating his fiancée."

The elderly man sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as if this were a minor inconvenience. "Prince Yeosang, you know there are far more pressing matters in this kingdom than marital squabbles."

The prince's nostrils flared, his temper threatening to boil over. "Listen to me, Father! For once in your life, listen to me. You haven't heard a word I've said for the past 25 years, and I've had enough of it!"

The sharpness of his words silenced the king. He straightened in his seat, eyes narrowing as he studied his son.

Yeosang pressed on, desperation clinging to every syllable. "The princess... she's living in misery. Do you even know where your 'beloved' ninth son has placed her? She's not in some luxurious chamber—he's hidden her away in a miserable room like she's less than a servant! Did you know he's been denying her basic needs to manipulate her into submission? Have you any idea what he's—"

The King closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Marriages aren't all sunshine and rainbows. Especially not arranged ones. You're young, and I understand you're friends with the princess, but you also know how girls can exaggerate things. She'll be fine. They will work it out in time. You must see that this is all for the greater good of our nation."

His Highness clenched his fists tightly, the urge to shout rising within him. He had expected resistance, but this blatant dismissal enraged him. "Don't invalidate her feelings like that, Your Majesty... you just don't get it, do you?"

The ruler's gaze hardened. "What don't I get, Fourth Prince?"

Yeosang let out a bitter laugh, his voice dripping with frustration and scorn. "That you are part of the problem. How can you expect this kingdom to flourish when you don't even care about what happens within your own palace walls? What kind of king turns a blind eye to the suffering of his own people? To a foreign princess, no less, one who was supposed to be under our protection?" His eyes blazed with fury. "You always talk about the greater good, but it's never been about the people, has it? It's about your power. You think the end justifies the means, no matter who gets crushed along the way. What kind of noble king does that make you? Or should I say... what kind of useless king?"

The air in the throne room grew thick with tension, his words hanging heavy between them like an unsheathed blade.

Despite his initial irritation at the prince's boldness, His Majesty felt a surge of pride. Yeosang's passionate defence of the foreign princess was a clear sign of his growth and potential as a future ruler. His newfound affection and protectiveness toward you were a stark contrast to his past obsession with Lady Park. It was clear that he had finally moved on from the general's wife and was now focused on something—someone he truly loved.

Yet, the King also felt a pang of disappointment. Entrusting you to Prince Yeochan had been a grave mistake, and the realisation that you had suffered under his treatment made the ruler question his past decisions. He clasped his hands together, mulling over his son's words.

"Fair enough. What do you suggest I do then, Fourth Prince?" The elderly man's voice held a rare note of invitation, allowing Yeosang to propose a solution.

His Highness straightened, his resolve clear. "I understand how vital it is to maintain our relations with Ruhon. I'm not suggesting we break the peace treaty over the ninth prince's actions. Instead, I propose we reconsider the current arrangements."

The King almost smiled, entertained by his son's careful diplomacy. "Alright, so what then? Who else would the princess marry?"

The fourth prince's gaze didn't waver as he replied, "I put myself forward as a candidate. I'm confident I can give her the respect and care she deserves."

His Majesty chuckled, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Really? And does she agree with this arrangement?"

"Yes, she—" Yeosang froze for a moment, realising he'd revealed more than intended. But after a brief hesitation, he nodded.

The King's expression softened, his earlier irritation dissolving. "You're right, my son. If the princess' happiness is important for the stability of our nations, we must ensure she is well cared for."

Yeosang nodded, gratitude flooding through him as relief settled in. The King sighed, a glimmer of satisfaction lightening his burden.

"As for the ninth prince... I'll make sure he understands the consequences of his actions," the elderly man said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

The fourth prince's heart swelled with hope and determination. This was more than he had dared to wish for, and he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead—with you by his side.

His Majesty's smile slightly faltered as he watched the visible relief wash over his son. A heaviness settled in his chest. "But my son," he began, his voice quieter, more measured, "you have to prepare yourself for the potential talk that will spread about you... and the princess. This isn't going to be an easy or smooth process."

Yeosang met his father's gaze, his expression unwavering. "I understand, Father."

The ruler sighed, the weight of what was to come settling on him. He knew the whispers in the court would be brutal, the rumours relentless. The nobility had a way of twisting any situation, and there would undoubtedly be those who questioned the sudden change in marriage arrangements. There might be talk of favouritism or worse—of scandal.

But before he could voice more concerns, Yeosang's calm words broke the silence, further tugging at his father's heart. "Don’t worry, Father. It's nothing I'm not already used to. I've endured rumours and whispers all my life..." He paused, his expression hardening with determination. "But I won't let them touch her. I'll protect her, and I won't let anyone disrespect her again."

The King felt a surge of pride and sadness all at once. His son had indeed grown beyond what he'd expected, but the fact that he had carried so much weight for so long without ever seeking his father's help broke his heart. The King realised how much he had missed over the years, how distant he had allowed their relationship to become.

"You're a good man, Yeosang," the King said softly, his voice laced with both admiration and regret. "I wish I'd seen it sooner."

His Highness gave a small nod, his resolve as strong as ever, though the lingering pain in his eyes was unmistakable. "I'll do right by her, Father. That's all that matters now."

The King intertwined his fingers, watching his son with a mixture of pride and sorrow. The future of their kingdom—and the princess' happiness—now rested on this new path. He only hoped it would lead to a brighter future for both his son and the Ruhon princess.

"Wh-what are you doing here, Yeo? The ninth prince, he'll—" Your voice trembled with panic as you glanced nervously toward the door. But Yeosang only shook his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he pulled you into his embrace.

"Shh, it's okay," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. His touch was warm and steady, a silent reassurance. "He won't be able to come near you again. I promise."

As if on cue, the door creaked open, and a group of palace staff entered. Their uniforms were pristine, and their faces composed, unfamiliar to you. Bowing deeply, they addressed both of you.

"These servants greet Fourth Prince Yeosang and Princess Sarisu. We have come to move the princess to her new chambers."

Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked up at Yeosang. "N-new chambers?"

One of the court ladies, an older woman with a warm smile, nodded eagerly. "Yes, Your Highness. Congratulations on your engagement! May the future Fourth Princess of Joseon live a thousand years!"

"F-fourth Princess...?" You stared in shock, barely able to process the words. Engagement? New chambers? The past few weeks of torment and isolation suddenly felt like a distant memory, replaced by this surreal moment of freedom. Yeosang grinned softly down at you, the light in his eyes unmistakable.

He nodded to the servants, giving them permission to start packing your belongings. Then, leaning down, he whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "I told you I'd take care of it, my soon-to-be wife."

The words sent a shiver through you, but this time it wasn't from fear or anxiety. It was a mix of disbelief and relief. Your heart raced as the palace staff began gathering your things, their movements efficient and respectful—a stark contrast to the way you had been treated before.

The rest of the day felt like a dream, as if the heavy weight that had been suffocating you for so long had finally lifted. You followed your new fiancé out of the quarters you had been forced to call home, stepping into the sunlight for the first time in what felt like forever.

Your gaze drifted, and that's when you saw him—Prince Yeochan. He stood several paces away, his face pale with disbelief as royal guards surrounded him and his servants. Officer Song led the group with his characteristic sternness, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

You overheard snippets of conversation, catching the words "interrogation" and "treatment of the princess." Your heart quickened. In Joseon, interrogations weren't handled lightly, especially when they involved royalty. You knew for a fact that the ninth prince and his servants were in for a rough time.

Yeosang's hand slid into yours, grounding you in the moment. His touch was steady, his presence comforting. He glanced at you with a soft smile, his eyes filled with quiet determination. "You’re safe now," he whispered.

As you walked away from the quarters, leaving the past behind, you couldn't help but feel a rush of gratitude for the man beside you—the man who had promised to protect you and had kept that promise.

Thank you, my prince.

The following week felt like a fantasy you had never imagined could come true. Every moment with the fourth prince was filled with joy, love, and a sense of belonging you had never experienced before. He moved you to a chamber near his, ensuring you were never far from him. Every morning, he would come over, smiling warmly as he shared meals with you, and afterwards, he'd whisk you away to different spots in the palace, if you were not bonding with the Queen. There was always something new to show you, some hidden garden or scenic view you had never seen before.

On one of those magical days, Yeosang had even summoned a renowned dressmaker from outside the palace. Dressmaker Kim, known for his exquisite designs, came to you with endless fabrics and ideas, eager to create a new batch of hanboks that reflected your personal taste and style. Your fiancé had insisted that you not be restricted to the simple garments the palace provided. You deserved something beautiful, something uniquely you.

One sunny afternoon, as you stood together in the palace gardens, gazing at the cherry blossoms in full bloom, his arms wrapped around you from behind. His embrace was gentle but firm, the warmth of his body making you feel safe and loved.

"Our wedding's in a week, can you believe it?" he whispered softly against your ear.

You smiled, your heart fluttering at the thought. "I know, it feels like a dream."

He pressed his lips softly to your cheek, and you leaned into him, basking in the tenderness of the moment. "Is there anything else you want, my princess?" he asked, his voice low and full of affection.

Turning to face him, you cupped his face in your hands, your heart swelling with gratitude. "Enough, Yeo. You've given me more than enough for the past week."

But he shook his head, his gaze softening as he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against yours. "Not nearly enough," he murmured. "I do have one final surprise for you before the big day."

You frowned slightly, about to protest, but before you could speak, he silenced you with a kiss. It was tender, loving, and left you completely dazed. When he pulled away, his lips brushed lightly against yours, leaving you breathless.

"Don't reject me just yet," he whispered, his voice teasing but full of affection. "Go have a look and tell me how you like it. The surprise is waiting for you in your room."

Curiosity sparked within you, and though you tried to suppress it, excitement bloomed in your chest. What could he possibly have prepared now? You smiled up at him, already feeling that whatever it was, it would be another unforgettable moment.

And unforgettable it was.

He trailed behind your excited steps, heart swelling with anticipation as he followed you to your chambers. He stopped just outside, giving you enough privacy while still keeping the doors open. His eyes never left you as you entered the room, eager to see your reaction.

The moment you stepped inside, you froze in place. Your breath caught, and your vision blurred with tears before a sob escaped your lips. You couldn't believe what—no, who—was waiting for you.

"M-mother…" you choked, your voice thick with emotion.

Without hesitation, you rushed forward, falling into her arms. The warmth and familiarity of her embrace washed over you, the scent of home bringing back memories of a time when you felt safe. She held you tightly, her hand stroking your hair as you trembled in her embrace.

"I'm here now, my dear," your mother whispered, her own voice shaking with emotion. She sniffled, pressing her nose into your hair, her tears mingling with yours. "All thanks to my good son-in-law."

Her words broke through the haze of your emotions, and you glanced back toward the door. Your soon-to-be husband stood there, watching you from outside with a soft, tearful smile. He didn't step inside, allowing you this moment with your mother, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. He had made this reunion possible. He had brought your family back to you.

Your mother's tearful smile reached Yeosang, and he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. The silent gratitude exchanged between them warmed your heart even more.

A year ago, if anyone had told Yeosang he would find love, happiness, and purpose, he would've laughed bitterly, dismissing it as nothing more than a foolish dream. For so long, he had drifted through life, lost in the cold shadows of the palace, burdened by duty and the emptiness it brought. He had watched others find joy and love, believing it was something forever beyond his reach. But now, standing there, watching you fall into your mother's arms, he felt a wave of clarity wash over him. He's been wandering this earth alone, feeling lost for what seemed like an eternity...

Until I found you, my princess.

Aaaand, it's a wrap! God, I sincerely hope this was decent HAHA this ended up so much longer and darker than initially planned but oh well, it is what it is. I might consider doing one last bonus chapter for TWTHH, but we'll see~ you know what they say, there will only be supply if there's a demand🌚

If you've made it this far, thank you so very much for reading and staying with me throughout this entire journey! I look forward to hearing all your thoughts on the spinoff and this series! Which member's spinoff was your favourite and why? Let me know! <3

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