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abysswalkerastraea1 · 16 days ago

Text

Concurrent Resurgence

A staggering impossibility had occurred on the night of your death. And now, reborn and unhinged; bound to that creature they call the Miles County Clown, you'd witness first-hand just how far your depravity could go.

17k words

Size kink

Art is so dominant I needed an outlet to express this

A staggering impossibility had occurred on the night of your death. Just like any regular woman, you screamed and cried and ran from the miles county killer, in a state of frenzy and terror up until the very end.

Your life hung on the precipice as you lay upon the ground, torn open from the midsection and gasping on wet breaths, watching that demonic clown hunker down low, leaning over your friend Vicky as he devoured her face.

You remembered the world becoming dimmer and dimmer, wondering when you'd be devoured next, hoping to God you'd die first so that you didn't have to feel the excruciating pain Vicky had.

Your wish had been granted mercifully, the sound of police sirens and shouting fading out as you heard the final cacophony of a gunshot, and then your world turned black.

Lying as a bloodied corpse in the morgue, you didn't expect to open yours eyes ever again, life beating steadily throughout you even as something dark and heavy like lead anchored you boundlessly to miles county.

You came to the conclusion that you and Art miraculously died at the same time, yours from your injuries while his was from a gunshot to the head. You both breathed your last breath, and now you were both alive.

It was as though his dying soul had latched onto your corpse, a shard of it replenishing what should have been dead and burdening you with rot, decay and evil.

Art had tried to kill you on many occasions since then. He was pleasantly surprised at seeing you whole again, grinning and waving jovially, eager to murder you all over again, only..

You couldn't die, it was as though you were both the oxygen and the blood that keeps one another alive; if one dies, so does the other.

It took some back and forth, cat and mouse antics to learn this. He'd try and catch you, gripping you by the hair with a mallet in the other hand, bringing it down in a devastating blow. You think he realised something had changed when you caught his wrist with an incredible strength you never used to possess and forced his head through a break wall.

Art had given you something, and he cursed you because he knew he could never get it back.

You were two halves of the same coin, polar opposites and yet vastly similar now. Humanity remained within you, somewhere, but your emotions became dim, your morals deathly low, and evil began festering.

You became violent. Explosive, uncharacteristically wrathful. It didn't feel wrong, either. It felt good, and the effort it took not to absolutely maim someone was immeasurable.

Still, humanity lingered in certain things you did, and especially the way you processed emotions, even if they were as muddled as dirty water.

You and Arts lives were intertwined now, and although he had eventually gotten over the fact that he couldn't kill you, you saw him more often than you liked, your meetings often tedious and full of hate.

For the most part, him seeing you often resulted in the biggest, most dramatic eye roll you had ever witnessed, his middle finger sticking right up at you. He didn't find you fun anymore; you were as immortal as him, and that meant you were untouchable, as was he.

You don't know if it was coincidence or some sort of fucked up connection that made you cross paths so often. It made sense, considering a part of him lived within you.

And just like always, Art was there to make everything worse.

For the longest time you tried avidly to enter civilisation again, whether that be from trying to get a decent job, to going to parties and attempting to make friends, or even just simple things like getting your hair done and a manicure.

Half of you wanted your humanity to be in complete control again, enjoying the freedom of joy and life. The other half began condemning regular humans, wanting to be forcefully ostracised from society and it's confinement.

Parties didn't help. On your list of things that did help, partying was the absolute rock bottom. Your alcohol tolerance was still horrifically low, and your ire and hate for the people around you jumped tenfold.

So, all that would really happen is you'd try as politely as possible to make friends at a party, get rejected, and savagely smash their heads into nearby picture frames. Or whatever happened to decorate the wall.

You'd then drink, alone, and become devastatingly drunk. And of course each and every time, Art would find a spare minute or two to observe you once you made your horrible walk of shame home, appearing from the darkness just to point and laugh at you and buckle over.

With your newfound strength and wrath, this often led to fights with you being the instigator.

Bottle in hand, you smashed it into the clowns face viciously, watching his expression turn to one of dramatic shock as he fell backwards from the force, your drunk self falling with him.

You were so intoxicated that once you hit his body you could hardly stand back up. Head laid against his shoulder awkwardly, you groaned and tried to ground yourself with a hand against his chest, collapsing with your feeble attempts.

You winced as your face made contact with the floor all of a sudden, Art having pushed you off roughly with a grimace.

Art knew he couldn't kill you, but he could break your ribs for good measure, grinning at the sickening crack of his boot ramming into your side. It caused you to vomit and go unconscious.

You woke up the next day in broad daylight, laying in the piss stained alleyway littered with rats. Chunks of your vomit and dirt spelling out 'Whore' across your forehead.

Since then, you and Art had toned down your rivalry somewhat, no longer fighting like cat and dog every other night, viciously finding ways to carve each other up.

You avoided each other for the most part. On occasion Art would seek you out just to be an asshole, slicing your cheek with a scalpel just after you'd finished doing your makeup, which infuriated you. Or after having your hair freshly done, he'd smear questionable substances all over it.

You had gotten so angry at that, that you'd went to his rotten workplace and tore half of it down before he managed to stop you.

Art - having realised the repercussions of having an enemy that he could not kill, that would be around with him forever and that would ruin his artisan-level work - certainly toned down his pestering.

You didn't see sight of him for a month after that. Let the asshole cry and lick his wounds, you had thought joyfully.

And now, he breaks into your home like it was his own, eating from your fridge and using your shower. You detested it at the beginning, throwing fully fledged tantrums at the fact that no matter what, you could not kill him. And hurting him too badly would in turn hurt you.

It was something you came to accept. After almost a year of fighting and stubbornness, you both began to yield, realising a stalemate when you saw one.

Art no longer smeared literal shit in your hair and you no longer broke his weapons. Seemed fair.

On the two year mark, Art frequented your home even more. Probably because it had everything he needed, and it had gotten to the point that you didn't even bat an eye at him. You'd still fight, where he'd end up laughing and mocking you and you'd end up furiously screaming at him, but it never really escalated from there.

Physical confrontation did happen rarely, but nothing..drastic. That shard of him within you had made you struggle to control your anger even after two years.

And then other times you sat silently on your settee, blanket drawn up to your chin as you watched a horror film alone. Just like every night, Art would come in and ignore you, but sometimes he'd be curious as to what you were doing, and flop down beside you far too casually.

You'd spare him a neutral glance, carelessly throwing the end of your large blanket at him. He'd excitedly accept it. He viewed it as one of your ritualistic customs when watching something you deemed as scary. Him accepting the blanket meant he was curious to know just what this 'terrifying' movie was about.

"Okay so, they can't find the key to unchain themselves to escape, so that guy has to saw his leg off.", you elaborated quickly, watching the scene unfold.

It wasn't your favourite film but it was on TV at the moment. Art folded his arms, watching patiently as the story proceeded. Your attention eventually faltered as a text message came through.

You responded promptly before putting your phone down. Then, another came through, and another, and you'd giggle to yourself quietly, typing. Art lolled his head back and to the side, watchful. You never really used that device anymore, he wondered what it was that gripped you so much.

He didn't have to wonder much longer as he ripped your phone from your hands and darted up, standing to his full height as he swiftly perused the text messages.

You jumped up after him, reaching a hand up to grab at him only for him to lift the phone above his head, gaze staring up to read them.

"Give me my phone now! I swear to God Art I'll fucking--", the rest of your complaining fell on deaf ears. Art rolled his eyes, all you ever did was pull tantrums and shout. And you never shut up, prattling on about one thing or another, screaming profanities and empty threats that Art didn't even deign to laugh at anymore, that's how common they were.

Eyes scanning the messages, a grin began to grow on his face, until full fledged laughter erupted silently. You seethed at him, clawing at his hands to try and grab it. Art eventually gave in, rolling his eyes at your continued threats, putting a hand against your shoulder and roughly shoving you away, phone thrown into your lap as you fell against the settee.

Before he left, Art turned back with his horn held between his legs obscenely, stroking it with a surprised face, eyebrows high and lips forming an 'o' shape.

You glared at him, but couldn't deny the way your cheeks reddened as his stroking got faster and his eyes rolled back in mock euphoria. You folded your arms and shrugged; you had nothing to say to that. Yes you were sexting some random guy and yes you wanted some dick.

Art tipped his hat with a dead expression, his mimicry representing a gentlemanly 'farewell and adieu', and his expression reading 'desperate whore'.

Before he finally departed, Art held up a scissors in one hand and a pliers in the other. He snipped them sassily, threateningly, grinning all the while.

"Yeah, well, if he's shit you're more than welcome to use them on him." You assured, and you meant it too. This guy seemed a little odd anyway, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Art seemed pleasantly happy with that, giving you a thumbs up with his back turned as he left the house in his Santa getup.

It was probably because you were overly horny, but...

No, you shook your head. Now is not the time to think of him like that. Honestly, you were getting more depraved every week.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You don't know what you were expecting, but it was.. anticlimactic.

You had become so sinful since your rebirth, average sex no longer doing it for you. The first guy was okay, an asshole, but okay. You tried so hard to be pleasant and normal but frustration and an unhinged desire coursed through you desperately.

It wasn't as though his dick wasn't to your liking, he was just so average and fucking human that you didn't even manage to get to the part that you desperately craved, your disgust evident.

Anyway, he seemed to think you had a bad attitude - you did - which led to arguing. You were not backing down and neither was he.

Raised voices turned into insults, both of you storming out of your bedroom and down the stairs as you reigned your anger in and told him to get out.

You could see Art from the front door, he must've came home at some point, focus taken from the TV as he watched you both scream at each other, boots propped up on your fucking coffee table which you told him not to do so many times-

And then your cheek was turning as this assholes hand met the side of your face.

You could feel your teeth clenching. Your face remained stoic, eyes burning with fury. You could see Art chuckling cruelly in the background, shoulders moving silently, incredibly invested in how this is going to play out.

It was only then did the asshole seem to notice a flash of black and white in the background, turning with an ugly scowl to the clown who now suddenly stood with a large smile, hands clenching and unclenching in anticipation.

He faltered, mild confusion and anger still evident in his scowl. An angry finger pointed in the clowns direction. "Who the fuck is that? You got a queue lining up after me, honey?" He spat the vile words at you, acidic and full of disgust.

You didn't have a chance to respond, lips quirking in mild amusement and eyes smouldered like a fiery, dark pit. The man scoffed, rolling his eyes at the demonic clown, before gazing back down at you with his lips snarling enough to bare his teeth.

"I knew there was something off about you, you fucking slut. Too proud to put out and, let's be honest," the man gave you a slow, disgusting once over, "not much to look at."

Something in you snapped, but all that came out was a gentle, breathy laugh, your eyes shining and dancing with a peculiar emotion. You wonder what it reflected. Judging by the way Art tilted his head from afar, assessing, before beginning to chuckle to himself even more, it must've been something ominous.

"What the fuck are you laughing at, asshole? Want me to come over there and give you something to really laugh at?!" The man roared at Art from across the room, utterly furious, fists clenched until the knuckles turned white.

Art began pointing and laughing now, wide eyed and crazed as he nodded vigorously as though to say 'please do!'

Before he could, you gripped his arm gently; your expression depicted a mocking sense of disappointment. "I've ruined your night, and wasted all of your precious time." You huffed, throwing your hands up in the air in defeat for him, indignant at yourself. "And like you said, I'm really not looking my best, am I? I apologize.", you smiled sweetly up at him, eyes squinted almost cutely.

The man paused at your admittance, evidently not used to any woman ever agreeing with him. He relaxed somewhat, nodding to himself as though to say yes, you are the problem, not him.

Arts dark eyes bored into your form, entranced, unsmiling, deadly.

"I'll make it up to you."

Your smile spread eerily wide, slow and deliberate and full of glee, frozen on your face. There was something ominous about you, mouth spread so far it looked as though you were doing a poor imitation of how a human should smile. It was too wide, too happy, unnatural. Slowly, you made your way to the kitchen.

The man appeared shocked and faltered, squinting at you as though to decipher what's going on. It felt like his eyes deceived him, searching desperately. Did he hear wrong? Did he miss something? Turning back towards the clown for some semblance of an answer, he seemed to have vanished. There was no trace of him ever being there, and there was no sound.

All was too silent, too calm, and it made his nerves stand on end, unsure, horrifically uncertain about everything he had just witnessed. He needed to leave.

The man tensed, back stepping at the sudden eeriness. It was so quiet, in fact, that part of his mind doubted that he had ever spoken to someone in the first place. Shaking his head, he turned to leave. There had to be a logical explanation for all of this. Without another thought, he turned and made his way to the front door.

If not that, then the knife embedded in his back surely did.

His keys suddenly dropped to the floor from his hand. The sound was loud, and would probably shock anyone out of a daydream.

Though, a second later, the horrific cry that surely tore his vocal chords was loud enough to make it evidently clear that this was all very real.

The life that had been temporarily drained from the house now sprung to life viciously, all at once.

Gripping a fistful of his hair, you dragged him roughly through your living room, kicking him so hard in the chest he convulsed, air struggling to enter his wheezing lungs. Blood covered his chin, eyes wide and unable to comprehend these sudden events; Questions swirled in his horrified orbs.

Lips curling in disgust, you jumped on top of him and began violently beating him. The man struggled hard, trying to buck you off of him and attack you back but to no avail. You were as immovable as a wall, face stoic and nonchalant as the man flailed back and forth, desperate to escape.

His eyes were wide, terrified, blood pouring down his face. In a flash, you held his fist tightly, catching it before it could make contact with you. You began to chuckle, mirth dancing in your irises, squeezing so hard you could feel the bone snapping.

It wasn't normal, this level of power, but it felt so beautifully natural to you, something dark and radiantly evil crying out in glory at your actions, delightfully satisfied.

He roared in pain, tears involuntarily streaming down his face, hand mangled and deranged looking as he cradled it to his chest. He shuddered violently, eyes wild in horror. "What the fuck are you?!"

"Me?", you thought aloud softly, bloody hand to your chin contemplatively as you stared up at Art, who was so suddenly by your side that it made the man flinch and choke on his breath in fright.

"I'm a..slut, right? That's the word you used?" You looked at the man for confirmation, who shook his head swiftly in regret, face contorting miserably as he realized his grave error. He began to sob.

You gazed up at Art, who was clenching his hands rhythmically again, laughter shaking his shoulders. There was more than satisfaction at watching this asshole get beaten; almost a hidden connection of evil sparking between you both. He was corrupting you, but you yourself made these choices. You, avidly, enjoyed this outcome.

"Is that right, Art? He said slut, didn't he?", you hummed in thought, scratching your head for an answer. Your crimson hands dyed your hair a terrifying red as you curled a lock thoughtfully between your fingers.

Art nodded slowly, unable to take his eyes off the way your blue orbs became corrupted, like sediment contaminating a clear pool. They shined as black as his now.

"It's funny," you began with a dreamy sigh, eyelashes fluttering back down at the miserable sight below you. The whites of your eyes appeared disturbingly bloodshot. "For being such a slut, I haven't managed to get a good look at you yet. We didn't get too far earlier, did we?"

The man below you was hyper ventilating now, shaking his head furiously, knowing and fearing where this was going. His mangled hand joined the other in what looked like to be a feeble prayer, chest rising and falling rapidly. "I-Im sorry! Youre not a slut, you're--youre stunning and I'm so, so fucking sorry--"

Your act dropped then, eyes dead and void. A sense of dread hung heavy in the air for this man; There was no way out, and no amount of pleading would change that. You lifted your knife carelessly in the air, twirling the weapon hauntingly. The look the man gave you would stay in your memory for a while, it was full of pure, unadulterated terror.

You brought the knife down, slicing in his groin. The man screamed so loud you thought his vocal chords had torn. Blood pooled around you, soaked you, bathed you in a pretty crimson to match your nails.

Art was a hysterical mess, hunched over and pointing and laughing, miming a condescending, fake sobbing at the pathetic man. He held a sinister mirth in his eyes, absolutely buckled.

Grotesquely, you dug your hands into the gaping wound you had made in the man's genitals, rummaging around with the sounds of squelching blood permeating the air. Finding what you were looking for, you held it up high between your finger and thumb, expression holding that all too familiar disappointment.

Your lips quirked, "Not such a big man now, are you?"

Art was rife with laughter and joyfulness, and before you knew it, your giggling turned into cackling, blood smeared all over yourself as you held your stomach, tears falling down your cheeks in sick, dark satisfaction.

You hadn't laughed this hard in years, hadn't felt this liberated and happy in a while. Everytime you calmed down, giggles becoming quiet, Art would hold up the castrated organ absurdly, wiggling it like an ugly worm with a look of surprise on his face, eyebrows high and mouth open, and you'd be on the floor cackling madly once again.

It must've been a grotesque sight, you on your knees upon the floor, blood sinking so deeply into your clothes you wondered if it would come out, wiping tears of laughter away only to smudge deep streaks of red across your cheeks. You looked like an animal, rabid and violent.

Art gazed down at your crazed form with a smirk of satisfaction, chaos swirling in his eyes. It was as though he had been waiting for that part of him to corrupt you, for your anger to explode, for your unhinged desires to manifest.

After some time, everything fell peacefully quiet. It was comfortable, and dare you say amicable. Your breathing was the only sound in the room, slowing down as you gazed down at the way your feet were absolutely soaked red.

Leaning back on your hands, you caught sight of the demonic clown with his arms folded, leaning against the wall. He seemed serene, no longer smiling but definitely not frowning either. His black eyes perused the coating of blood on the floor, making their way up to study you deliberately.

His stare was intense, and you couldn't stop your cheeks from lifting upwards into a smile. Pushing yourself to a stand, you grimaced at the mutilated body on the floor and shivered in disgust.

You nudged at the corpse with your foot, cringing. "Maybe mortal men just aren't for me, anymore. "Though," you began as an afterthought, "even if I had a boyfriend, you'd probably kill him anyway." You sighed, fully acknowledging this.

You weren't even aggravated by that fact anymore. It would've really angered you once, but what's the point? You and Art seemed bound together forever, by the looks of it. You couldn't imagine him sitting idly with another person in the house. But then again, neither would you.

Art deliberated, gazing upwards in brief thought, before shrugging too. Yeah, probably. Just to get under your skin, mostly. And maybe an inkling of something else. He finally nodded, eyes staring down at you from his nose, like an old librarian with their glasses on the end of their nose. Snobbish. He had a reputation to up hold, you know. His nonchalant expression read 'well, you're not wrong.'

You scoffed, though offered a small smile nonetheless. He was amusing. For a silent clown, he was awfully verbal with his theatrical ways.

But now you began to think solemnly; What you just did - the killing, the maiming, the castrating - was vile. It was unforgivable, sickening. Your human half knows this, and something is conflicted within you. It felt like two halves of yourself were at war.

Even still, you felt joy. And you know that's wrong, and it's absolutely maniacal. But what's even more astounding is right here, on a late Saturday evening, you and that stupid clown stood with an air of tranquillity and comfort, together. If this was two years ago, you'd be within inches of maiming each other.

Like a domesticated couple, Art got to work on disposing of the body, dragging it with ease to your back door, before disappearing. It left a streak of smudged red on your tiles. You got to work cleaning, rolling your sleeves up as you hunted for something to make your floor shine again. It took a while, but he was gone for some time anyway.

By the time everything was relatively tidy, it was past midnight. The stain on the floor had disappeared thankfully, and you felt refreshed after a hot bath, changing into comfortable pyjamas and fluffy socks.

You sat in your bed, blankets pulled comfortingly up to your stomach. Your bedroom was filled with dim lights, and they had their necessary effect of making you feel content.

You had chosen a random film to watch on tv. It didn't really matter which one because your thoughts were otherwise occupied. It played serenely in the background, but something was bothering you.

A part of you felt slightly deflated. You were still undeniably frustrated and borderline desperate to have this desire quelled within you, and now that you had a moment to yourself, it barrelled to the forefront of your mind.

It was a ridiculous feeling, but you couldn't help that you were so pent up. Maybe you were ovulating. That did tend to make your hormones go haywire.

Even still, you hadn't long killed a man. It would be wrong to..indulge after that, wouldn't it? You pursed your lips in thought, two sides of yourself fighting menacingly. You couldn't tell if your good was being corrupted, or if Arts evil that had tainted you had brought out repressed, dark feelings that most humans surely kept hidden.

You didn't feel guilty, which was peculiar. Your nature before meeting Art often held a lot of empathy. You could feel yourself shifting, but you could never pinpoint the change until it had already been demonstrated. From the way Art pierced his black eyes into you, you bet he could see the transformation easily.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the background noise of the TV suddenly became incredibly interesting to your brain. You paused, peering at the TV as the sounds of quiet gasps and sloppy kissing filled your room.

It wasn't even particularly erotic, but..

Even just the sounds had your pulse increasing ever so slightly. In your desperate state of mind, it was easy to imagine how that messy kissing felt, tangled up in somebody else, remembering the feel of bolts of arousal shooting down your body in tingles as it became more passionate, more eager.

You were in a trance, frozen as you watched and drank up every detail. Male hands gliding down a womanly figure, cupping her heavy breasts and listening to the shaky inhales and exhales she made, back arching into his hands needily.

You felt a hot warmth bloom in your abdomen, a pulse beating steadily between your thighs. How were you so affected by this? You weren't even just mildly turned on, you were in a state of full blown arousal, a stickiness oozing between your legs. You felt like some of that was from earlier, mostly from the anticipation of sex rather than the futile attempts that asshole made on you.

The image now depicted the man positioning the woman on her hands and knees, readying her. You gripped your blanket, wanting so badly to be touched like that again and actually enjoy it.

Your eyes were fixated on the screen, hyper analysing every detail you could take in. The world around you faded.

The actor on screen gripped the woman's hips roughly, situating himself behind her. He gave her no time to prepare before sinking in slowly, and you watched the way her lips spread open in a quiet moan, brows furrowed and chest rising and falling rapidly.

A wave of heat flashed through you, making you warm enough that you had to kick the blanket off your person. What film was this? It was incredibly pornographic, not that you were complaining..

Your bottoms were next to go, tossed haphazardly to the floor; you were sweltering. Granted, the room was far too warm anyway, but what you were witnessing on screen had you in a completely different state of over heating.

All you had on now was a pair of black, silky underwear and an oversized top. You felt dishevelled, and sighed as the scene ended far too quickly for your liking and the TV adverts started to play.

You watched on in boredom as Christmas adverts began popping up colourfully with the sound of bells ringing. You felt mildly irritated, your arousal fizzling considerably, but still prominent. You were left with the sticky reminder between your thighs, head lolling back against your bedframe.

Your head rolled to the left, eyes staring down your nose at the sight of your bedside drawer. Specifically, the one that held a lot of intimate objects. You felt a little cautious using the vibrator because knowing Art, he'd curiously come up to see what the noise was; he seemed to have acute hearing.

But if you went under the blankets, vibrator hidden between your thighs, there's no way he'd hear that. Your door was firmly shut and the buzzing was incredibly muffled under your duvet. You'd be quiet and keep it on the first setting.

You were astounded once again at just how wound up and sensitive you are, vibrator delicately touching your clit as your phone displayed a pornographic video.

The cock on the screen was a good size, and as you watched it's girth spread the woman's puffy labia, a sudden desperation gnawed through you. You pressed the vibrator onto your clit more directly, the bottom of your t shirt caught between your lips as your tits jutted out prettily on display, nipples pert.

You bit down on the fabric to quell your whines of delight, breathing sharp and fast through your nose as the vibrating against your clit became over whelming, body alight with a white hot fire that spanned from your abdomen down to your toes.

Your sodden hole clenched needily, you wanted to be filled but you needed a man to do that. You wanted to receive a worthy dick that would split you in half just like the woman on your small screen.

The scene changed abruptly, and what was shown next had your hips bucking desperately into the vibrator, teeth now clenching the fabric hard as your breathing became heavy through your nose, pleasure intensifying.

The man had the woman on her knees, his member shoved ruthlessly into her mouth as he gripped a fistful of her hair and used her like a toy. Saliva decorated her mouth, and you watched with rapt attention as the mans heavy balls slapped her chin; it all seemed degrading, but..

A moan escaped you, muffled, and your back arched as you moved a hand between your thighs and touched the outside of your entrance; you were absurdly wet, sinking straight through your underwear and smearing your inner thighs.

You so desperately wanted to grab the dildo from your draw and push it deep within yourself, hard, but you refrained. Your climax was approaching anyway, and you could hardly stop yourself from whining at the thought of being the woman on the screen, sucking a hard dick as you made a messy pool of wetness below you, begging to be split apart.

From there, it was a hasty descent into blinding pleasure, your wariness dimming as low moans escaped your lips. Your eyes were shut now, permanent soft frown creasing your eyebrows as you were so close to your peak, cresting at the very precipice--

A loud bang resounded in your room, loud enough to drag you out of your delirious stupor. Your eyes shot open in annoyance, wondering if you had kicked your remote control off of the bed, but then your blood turned to ice in your veins.

In fact, you sat so absurdly shocked that all movements ceased, eyes wide and unblinking at the now ajar door of your bedroom which you definitely, without doubt, unequivocally, had shut earlier.

You blinked rapidly, vibrator dropping from your hand. It buzzed obscenely on the bed with a sheen of lubrication covering the tip, but you hardly registered it.

The door was less than halfway ajar, your dark hallway the only thing you could see, and..

A hand flew to your mouth in utter mortification, cheeks flaming crimson. You felt dizzy with a multitude of emotions.

A messy, hand written note was celotaped to your door. In jagged, capital letters spelled 'Art was here'. With a crude, childish winky face drawn beside it.

Your breathing increased suddenly, limbs shaking with not only the almost-orgasm you were about to receive, but also the unusual fluttering of your stomach in nervous humiliation and something else.

You felt severely perplexed, biting your nails as you tried to reminisce, tried to pinpoint when and how he had opened the door without you knowing and celotaped that preposterous note to your door. How was that even possible?

Clearly, Art wanted to grab your attention just as you were about to orgasm, most likely banging your wall from the hallway, hard. It sounded like a picture frame had fallen.

That made sense. At the very least, one thing did. But what about the rest, how was he able to furtively open your door, noiselessly, undoubtedly watching you?

You bolted up straighter, eyes darting around anxiously. Oh my God, he hadn't just intuitively known you were touching yourself, he must've heard something. Were you loud? You couldn't remember, you were so dazed.

Your mind created pictures of your thoughts, envisioning him opening your door just a crack and--

Your hands covered your face. You were so embarrassed. Had he been watching you? He surely had. And alongside this humiliation, why did you feel a flutter of nervous excitement roll through you? Were you so depraved?

Your hands kneaded your blanket, gripping handfuls and releasing rhythmically. Holy God, Art had made you feel many things over the years.

Hatred, annoyance, recent joy and laughter, fear, anxiety, you could go on and on, but this?

This was something new. And yeah, maybe he only did it to get under your skin. What better way to mortify a woman than catching her red handed, touching herself, and calling her out on it?

But..

Your thoughts took it a step further.

Was there..any other reason?

You bit your lip in contemplation, arms wrapped around yourself comfortingly. At some point over the past two years, brief thoughts of the demonic clown had entered your mind, fleeting sexual thoughts that left as quickly as they came.

Because, well, you were evidently desperate at this point. And he had a certain charm about him, once you got passed the ire you once held for him. And he was a man, or in a man's body, anyway.

Your mind swirled with questions, dirty thoughts, and unending embarrassment each time you realised he probably saw everything that you did.

And he probably saw the way your teeth gnawed into your shirt to silence yourself, heavy breasts poking out beneath, fully exposed, expression one of unbridled, desperate pleasure.

Your heart beat felt like it was in your ears, anxiety high. The door remained open for a reason. He wanted you to come out, and then wanted to absolutely humiliate you.

You got along a lot better now, as evidenced earlier, but that didn't mean that he'd stop messing with you.

Begrudgingly, you knew that even with your enhanced abilities and strength, you were no match for him. If he wanted to truly be hidden, he would. If he wanted to truly be swift and unseen in his movements, he would be.

You often found your bizarre abilities only worked when you were angry, or felt some sort of negative emotion.

Otherwise, you were just a regular human, having no control over that shard of terror that lingered within you from your rebirth.

Steeling your nerves, you took slow steps towards the door. You were still clad in your long t shirt and fluffy socks, and schooled your expression into one of stern stoicism.

You couldn't avoid that asshole forever.

Gripping the door handle, you stepped fully into the darkness of the hallway, enveloped. Standing still for a few moments, you realised he obviously wasn't outside your door, waiting to terrify you.

Swallowing nervously, you made your way downstairs. The stairs groaned and creaked like they always did, but it sounded absolutely deafening to you as it signalled your descent.

Out of everything that he had ever done to you - from killing you, to breaking your bones, stabbing you and everything else - this made you feel the most vulnerable.

Your living room was pitch black, not a single light illuminating the area. You held your breath, listening as intently as you could.

Silence.

Your throat felt too dry to call out to him. You knew your voice would shake, your words would stammer. It would make the situation even more shameful, so you remained quiet.

Your eyes surveyed the living room in darkness, honing in on any unnatural shadow that seemed a little too eerie; he wasn't here. That frightened you more than if he had taken this moment to jump out at you.

Uneasy frustration welled up within you. Not only had your pleasure been ripped away from you, your legs uncomfortably sticky, but now you felt incredibly exposed.

Inhaling deeply, you glared holes into your kitchen door. Two things could happen here: Either he was in there waiting to scare the hell out of you, or he wasn't in there at all, making you more on edge.

You pushed the door open, trailing inside with faux confidence, switching the lights on.

Nobody was here.

If anything, the kitchen was still surprisingly how you left it earlier - clean. Eyebrows drawing together into a scowl, you grabbed a glass of water, chair screeching as you took a seat.

Art must've pulled that trick on you and then promptly left, entering the night to no doubt destroy another victims life.

Brushing your dishevelled hair out of your face, you sat back against the chair defeatedly. Well, your emotions aren't going to change what's already happened, and you'd have to face that asshole at some point.

Evidently, tonight was not the night.

Glancing at the clock, you couldn't believe that it was already 3am. Your eyes felt heavy, your limbs felt weary and you were burnt out.

Peering around the kitchen, you realised that you must've left your phone upstairs.

That's fine, you needed to sleep anyway. Pushing yourself to a stand, you trudged sleepily up the shadowed stairs, rubbing at your burning eyes with the back of your hand.

You felt content at the moment to sleep off the crazy events of the day and worry about them tomorrow. Your door was open, just as you had left it, and the comforting glow of your warm lights that emitted from inside welcomed you with open arms.

Stepping into the safety of your room felt relieving, and as you turned back to close the bedroom door firmly, you came face to terrifying face with a chest.

You froze, mind pausing in fright at the sudden, tall body that blocked your doorway. You blinked rapidly, face displaying astonishment, and snapped your head up at the perpetrator, wide eyed.

What stared back down at you made caution well up inside you. Art stood tall, appearing out of thin air clad in his absurd Santa costume. It suited him, and the bulky material only served to make his structure appear even bigger, more menacing.

Your eyes fluttered up at him with uncertainty, darting rapidly between his face and his chest as you struggled to maintain his intense eye contact.

The clowns face was all sharp contours, edged smile of amusement plastered to his face as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed languidly across his chest, widening his overall structure considerably. Has he always been this big?

He watched you with a wide, salacious grin, eyes alight and unwavering, and from the glint in his eye you knew what was about to come.

You swallowed, feeling your mask of neutrality betraying you as your body heated up, displaying a pink hue to your complexion. You didn't know what to say, how to act. Art could see this, the way you'd open your mouth only to close it, eyes darting around nervously.

You were usually so full of complaints, insults and incredibly argumentative when he had 'crossed the line', as you so often called it. As he so often did. Since your rebirth, you were all fire and wrath, near enough ripping his head off for something as simple as leaving a bloody mess on your floors or your door handles, if he didn't clean it anyway.

Of course, Art had begrudgingly agreed with you long ago to cease the truly harsh fighting, but that didn't mean that you didn't bicker, in a sense. He liked your ire, the way your teeth would grind together in anger, the way you'd go into an absolute fit if he threatened to childishly mess with your makeup and clothes, or anything you held valuable, really.

It was funny, and he knew you secretly got a kick out of it. Once the cat and dog game was over, you'd snap back to being a sweet, little human. It was interesting, and so amusing.

But this? Art peered down at you deliberately, perusing your flushed exterior with a smug, self satisfied grin.

He had been looking for new ways to get you to crack. So far, everything annoying he did was met with your aggressive screeches, and that was fine. But he needed something juicy, needed something that would really bother you, rile you up.

For a while, he struggled to find anything. He couldn't go too far with his schemes - you were both bound together, after all, so that would be met with futility.

He truly enjoyed bothering you, that was true, but his methods got boring. What could he possibly do that would make you think twice, or go silent? What would really shock you, make you revert back into your humanity, so full of emotion?

As a point of reiteration, he could have done many crude, evil and horrific things, but he couldn't because of your peculiar connection. So, he had to settle for something that was..bearable to you, but also astounding.

He came across this opportunity by pure chance. He knew what you got up to behind closed doors, you were a needy thing, but he didn't really think twice about it. He kept the knowledge of it quiet, however, just in case he ever needed to utilise it for fun.

It didn't interest him, initially. He enjoyed inflicting pain, mentally and physically, so the fact that you would so often touch yourself to induce pleasure wasn't particularly within his territory of fixations. He had other things that kept him occupied.

However, hearing your laboured breathing and quiet little moans had piqued his interest on this particular day. He had no reason for that, other than the simple fact that he wanted to spy on you. It was an urge that came by on a whim; it meant nothing, it is nothing, but Art often acted spontaneously on how he felt in the moment.

Mortal flesh did so often have its urges.

And a light bulb certainly lit up within his mind - this was the perfect way to humiliate you.

He had watched the way you gnawed at your t-shirt to keep quiet, pretty pert tits on display as you brought yourself closer and closer to completion. Art had grinned wickedly at the scene, hands fisting and shaking in excitement at the thought of never letting you live this down.

But, upon watching further, witnessing the way your head lolled back pleasurably, back arching and legs splayed wide in pure need, he couldn't deny the barely restrained desire to storm in and tease you until you were wracked with sobs.

Art had frowned in puzzlement at that feeling - it was incredibly rare for him - but his smile soon returned, shrugging as he accepted his feelings. If anything, this would only serve to embarrass you even more, he thought.

And now, dark eyes trained on your rapidly warming face, Art was enraptured by the amount of emotion that seemed to demonstrate itself. Your expressions changed quickly, and the details were minuscule, but he could see you entering a vicious cycle of bewilderment, embarrassment, anger and self consciousness.

It was as though your brain didn't know whether to lash out or guard itself. It was entertaining.

The silence hung heavily. Arts position remained the same, leaned casually against the doorframe, and yours remained as rigid and tense as ever. Your mind felt muddled. With a slow breath, your expression fell flat. Even still, you couldn't look him in the eye, and instead glared heavily at his chest.

"Stop it.", you began with a quiet, indignant scowl, chastising him. Your eyebrows drew together, so incredibly uncertain. His eyes bored holes into you and it was making you squirm. You were too stubborn to turn away.

Even still, you'd admit defeat temporarily. You didn't have the energy to battle him right now. With a huff, you turned on your heel and made your way to the bed, exasperatedly throwing your arms up into the air.

"Fine, stay there and stare all night for all I care; I'm tired." But you did care, didn't you? It gnawed at you.

Barely making it to the bed, you stopped abruptly at the sound of fingers snapping at you once, twice, seeking your attention. With a roll of your eyes, you slowly turned to look at him, expression thunderous. "Art, I'm not in the mood for this, and-- is that my phone?"

You barely breathed the question in masked panic, eyes wide once more as your phone dangled teasingly from his fingertips, wide grin stretching impossibly further.

The clown shrugged softly as though to say 'maybe', shoulders beginning to move rapidly, rising and falling in laughter as he held a hand to his mouth in faux astonishment at whatever was showing on your phone.

He feigned a look of bashfulness, fanning his face for a moment, eyes fluttering, before pointing and laughing at you some more. Your face twitched in it's attempt to remain calm and neutral, but Art could see right through you.

Covering his eyes obscenely at whatever was on the screen, but still very clearly peeking through the gaps in his fingers, Art swiftly turned the phone around so you could have a look.

That's when your mouth went dry and heat began to pinken your face even more. On the screen displayed the porn you were looking at earlier. You must've forgotten to close the tab, leaving the video running.

The volume had been turned up far too loud, the sounds of slurping and moaning vibrating through your skull deafeningly. A woman on screen had her hair gripped hard in a fistful, the man above her sliding his thick length between her lips. The sounds were filthy, and so so loud. You gripped the sides of your face loosely in devastation.

This time, you stormed up to him furiously, lunging and making a grab for your phone. "Stop it!", you repeated, shrieking this time.

You missed the phone entirely as he lifted it higher. You seethed, teeth clenched in frustration as the sounds continued, except now they had increased exponentially. From the way the screen turned down at you, you could see the man lifting the woman's thighs over his shoulders before he--

You shook your head furiously, shame blooming deep within your chest as you roughly slapped a hand against his chest for leverage, trodding onto his boots on your tiptoes to try and make another grab for your phone.

The attempt was futile, art was so tall and his arms were so long that you could never reach it. Your body was pressed up against his own, stretching high to make even minor progress in retrieving your phone. You could feel your anger boiling, scowling as you reared an arm back and aimed a punch for his sternum.

Everything happened incredibly fast after that. Before you could make contact, your forearm was gripped hard, your body was spun and your arm was wrenched behind your back.

You yelped, back pressed firmly to his front. You jerked side to side rapidly, releasing a cry of frustration in your attempt to get out of his iron grip, but to no avail.

"Let me go right now!" You attempted to sound demanding and aggressive, but it came out whiny, your voice shaking. You could feel the clowns body vibrating with laughter behind you, hand so tight around your arm you couldn't move at all.

On any other day, when you and Art would undoubtedly get into situations like this due to his pestering, you had a far better chance of escaping because you were often angry.

But today, you felt..more vulnerable than anything. You felt so puny, so small and human and fragile. It was a dirty trick on his part, and it prevented your usual unnatural strength from bursting forth.

Well, even with that strength, you don't think you could truly win against Art anyway.

Tossing back and forth regardless, you huffed and cursed at him repeatedly, knees slightly bent from the way he held you tightly and put pressure on you.

"You're a fucking asshole!", you seethed, practically feeling the mirth roll off of him in waves at your predicament.

A strong hand wrapped it's way around your delicate jaw, holding firmly but not painfully. Your head was pushed upwards almost playfully, fingertips tickling the underside of your face.

You met your own scowling expression in the body length mirror that decorated your wardrobe doors. It was as long as the doors and just as wide, giving you a clear view of Arts smirking face hovering above you.

You took in your dishevelled complexion, hair a wild mess, face lightly perspiring and your long pyjama t shirt barely reaching just above your knee.

You were hunched slightly due to being immobilised, and the hand that cradled your jaw looked absolutely massive. It was big enough to crush your skull if he wanted to, big enough to easily smother your mouth and nose without actively trying to.

Your scowl had lessened considerably at this point, that vulnerable expression returning once more. From this view, you hadn't realised just how tall he was compared to you. He was lithe, but wearing that Santa costume made him fill out a little, appear wider.

On a normal day his size would swallow your stature whole, casting a shadow over you, but in that costume?

He looked huge.

The stark realisation of this, paired with the absurdly intimate way he had your back flush to his chest and his calloused hand wrapped around your jaw with a salacious smirk, forcing you to stare at him in the mirror - you couldn't help but flush.

You found that you couldn't look away, your head attempting to move only to have his grip tighten, his grin sharpening. He loomed above you like an evil blight, eyes dark and calculating.

The sounds of the video continued in the background, a particularly loud cry having drawn you out of your thoughts, and it caused you to flutter your eyes to the floor and away from his charcoal irises.

You couldn't deny the heat that began to flourish within you.

It only increased tenfold at the feeling of a firm hand slowly gliding it's way from your jaw, descending directly to your waist, then further to your hip, squeezing.

Your eyes widened, head snapping back up at the mirror in bewilderment. You were met with the sight of his rough hand caressing you, smiling all the while.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You spat rapidly in disbelief, words shaken and sounding far weaker than you would've liked.

He had never done this to you before. Art liked to cause pain, not..

Not this. Not any semblance of pleasure, of intimacy. Your lips opened in a quiet gasp, body tingling as the heat of his hand drew circles along your hipbone before delving lower.

You jerked in his grasp, flushing heavily at the sight of his hand gliding lower and lower until his fingers played with the hem of your t shirt.

"D-dont you dare!", you squeezed your thighs together, body squirming against him with struggle. He had long since released your numb arm, and instead opted for wrapping a long arm around your waist, your head resting against his chest as his daring hand gripped the fabric of your t shirt and teasingly went to lift it, only to stop, awaiting your reaction.

His shoulders began to move with glee, chest vibrating. Your reactions were priceless as you squirmed and attempted to back away from his hand, only to back further into his body.

This infuriated you, your flushed complexion displaying panic and bashfulness.

Those mischievous fingers danced along your thigh, lifting the fabric once again, higher this time, before dropping it. His expression held one of mock surprise, lips downturned neutrally and eyes wide, eyebrows lifted.

"Don't-- don't do that! I mean it!", you whined miserably, heat encompassing your body. It caused him to pause, eyes snapping from your almost exposed thighs to your pleading gaze.

That sharp, predatory grin returned. The heat of his hand squeezed your thigh and slipped under the fabric, tickling the edge of your underwear, fingers playing with the intricate, laced detail.

Your breath shuddered, eyes wide, and you unconsciously moved a hand to grip at his wrist. Whether to push him away or pull him in, you didn't know anymore; you felt overwhelmed, and the way your chest rose and fell rapidly portrayed that.

Art snickered, unwrapping himself from your body and taking a step back, his boots thumping. With a playful roll of his eyes, he held his hands up in mock surrender, as though to reassure you that it was all a harmless joke, and attempted to smile softly, innocently. It made him appear all the more sinister.

You spun around on your heel, taking a step back yourself as you scrutinised his display of surrender. It was uncharacteristic. Despite that, Art shook his hands exasperatedly in the air, sighing as though to say 'it was a joke, don't you believe me?'

You shook your head slowly, lost for words. You couldn't speak, throat dry and mind racing. You wanted to run away.

Art rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, before rolling them back to you dramatically, grin plastered on his face. At your retreat, he experimentally took a step forward, rather comical if not for the situation, and chuckled at your jittery self.

You furrowed your brows, not falling victim to this act anymore. You were going to kick his ass tomorrow, but for now you needed to retreat into the safety of your blanket, tail between your legs. "Get out.", you pointed towards the door sternly.

Arts eyes followed your finger to the door, before blinking over to you once more. His gaze swept over your form, head tilting in thought. He began to smirk.

Before you could react, Art leapt forward three steps, making you yelp and scramble backwards, narrowly missing falling over the edge of your bed as you backed your way towards the wall.

The clown snickered again, standing up tall and no longer doing that comical hunched appearance when he lunged at you. Now, he stood to his full height, back straight and stature big, before his boots thudded along your floor as he slowly advanced in a predatory fashion.

"I swear to God if you come near me--", you pressed yourself against the wall, watching his looming figure get taller and taller.

Your neck craned upwards, stare defiant as he hovered above. Heavy hands suddenly planted themselves violently either side of your head, crowding you in.

You flinched, blinking rapidly at the way he leaned down to become eye level with you. Your cheeks were pink again, eyes darting across his face for an answer to his weird behavior. What the hell was going on?

He was alluring, you thought, and it made thoughts race in your mind. Was he going to suddenly hurt you? Was he truly just playing? Was he actively flirting with you in his sick type of way? You had never fell this silent in front of him before. You needed to gain equal ground against this asshole.

"That's enough. What, are you interested in me now?", you scoffed, daring to lean forward into his space, face so close to his you could feel his silent breath; it was a front, you felt jittery even now, but you wouldn't allow him to mess with you any longer.

Art grinned, not at all reacting to your faux bout of confidence. He shrugged half-heartedly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. It left you dumbstruck. What he did next made heat spread so unbelievably throughout your body.

You were so flustered your head felt heavy, and it only increased tenfold as your wrist was gripped in his big hand, fingers limp and relaxed, before he brought the digits you had touched yourself with to his lips and slid them in slow.

You shuddered, inhaling sharply at this display of intimacy. His grip was slack on your wrist, seeming to omit to the fact that you could escape if you really wanted to.

But you didn't want to. The thought didn't even cross your mind, and his eyes narrowed in a knowing sense of smugness at that.

Arousal swelled in your lower belly, pooling between your thighs as Arts tongue danced between the seam of your fingers, the ticklish feeling sending tingles through your nerves.

Art peered down at you, mouth full of your fingers, his grin turning nasty as he bit them lightly. Despite the clear threat that he could rip them out of the socket, your eyes remained lidded, pupils blown wide and hand lax as you let him caress you with his tongue and teeth. Crowded so close together against the wall, he could hear your heart beat thumping.

Dropping your wrist from his grip, Art reached down, bending at the knees to hook two hands below your thighs. You cried out as you were lifted high, legs resting in his grip.

He did this with ease, as though you were weightless. Sitting down on the bed, he adjusted you so you could sit on his lap, facing away from him. You could see yourselves in the mirror.

Art hooked his legs between your knees and spread them open. You wiggled against his hold, embarrassed at your exposure. Your black, lacy underwear was displayed, t shirt bunching up at your hips. You couldn't bring yourself to snap at him to stop fucking with you because..

Well, you were eager, far more eager than you thought. Had you always harboured this feeling towards the clown?

You were crimson faced, lips quivering as you tried to make your expression as neutral as possible; He had you on his lap like he was actually Santa, and you were the one telling him what you wanted for Christmas.

The thought had you lowering your head in bashfulness. No innocent Santa would have you spread and bared like this one.

The expression Art made in the mirror was one of mock surprise, eyebrows high and mouth forming like a circle. Before you could even ponder about it, a large hand was brought down to your inner thigh, fingers inching their way further in, caressing the sensitive area before cupping your clothed sex.

You held your breath, staring stubbornly back at him in the mirror. His hand was warm, and you couldn't help but shudder at the feel of his hand trailing upwards slowly, dancing over your clitoris briefly, then your mound, and up to the waistband of your underwear.

His fingers dipped below the waistband, gauging your reaction, but you refused to give one. Cocking an eyebrow in curiosity, you felt his hand descend, lower and lower, fingers gliding over your silken lips before delicately resting over your hole.

You flushed darkly, gritting your teeth as Art made an even more astounded expression, shaking his head slowly as though to admonish you for the mess between your legs. His fingertips rubbed circles in the lubrication oozing out of you, dipping in slightly but never far enough.

A small sound escaped your throat, barely audible, but loud enough for him. A slow, smug smirk stretched his face wide, and you could only huff defiantly. "I-- That's not because of you! I was like this before you rudely interrupted, remember?" You pouted.

Art rolled his eyes, nodding his head in quick succession with a look of mock belief at your words. He knew you were lying and so did you. Then, with a sly grin, two fingers glided upwards towards your slippery clit.

You gasped that time, quiet but still embarrassingly deafening to yourself, gripping the fabric of his forearm tightly.

A tingling sensation flooded your system, your body shifting and legs widening. He continued to massage the area, direct and blissful. You bit your lip, unwilling to let him see how much you enjoyed this.

Art chuckled, shaking his head at you with a nasty grin, eyebrows low and cynical. His dark eyes swirled chaotically, full of challenge and amusement and something else.

Hand descending further into your soaked underwear, two fingers dipped into your slit, thoroughly lubricating his calloused fingers.

Art paused, winking at you in the mirror. You attempted to glare back at him in the reflection, but you lacked the effort, and instead your eyebrows were drawn together softly, lips parting as two fingers slid into you to the knuckles, delving deep and curling sinfully against your greedy walls.

"Oh!", you moaned, hips lifting instinctively. Art began to thrust his fingers into you deep and hard, listening to the lewd squelching and how it seemed to fluster you terribly.

The feeling was intense; you hadn't been properly touched in so long, so to feel his thick, rough fingers curling rhythmically within your hot core, it made your nerve endings sing and your hips buck.

You gripped his arm hard, gasping, body fully resting against his own, head lolled back against his shoulder. Arts shoulders shook with laughter, terribly amused by the sight of you falling apart, but he wanted more from you. He wanted to break you, he wanted to make an unintelligible mess of you.

You were so prideful, you'd never live this down.

A fist gripped your hair roughly, tangling the locks before his fingers began to pummel into you expeditiously. It was too much, too fast, and you couldn't help but kick your legs uselessly, crying out.

"Ah, ahh-- Stop it, too much--", you whined, panting as the sounds of your wetness became loud, thighs drenched. You could see in the mirror the way his hand moved ferociously, molding the fabric of your underwear.

Your pleas made him speed up, thrusting so hard and so fast you wailed, thrashing upon his lap and dampening the fabric of his costume.

This was what you wanted, you thought heatedly. You wanted someone to render you immobile, shatter your mind. The view of his sinister smirk boring holes into you was alluring, head forced backwards with the grip in your hair. It made heat prickle along your spine.

Your hips began to move with his fingers, desperately seeking more, any semblance of pride vanishing as you chased your high. Your constant grinding made you feel the thick, long length pressing up against your ass, and you couldn't help but moan wantonly, pushing yourself into it with need.

His hand was drenched in your fluids, and it made him snicker. If this was you now, imagine you later when he forced you to take his cock.

Suddenly, your underwear was torn off of you, exposing the image of his large hand going in and out, curling, and thrusting deeply. The visual was arousing, your eyes half mast and dilated.

His palm lifted suddenly and jerked back down with a quick, firm slap. You jolted, wincing at the sting it caused, but before you had a chance to return back to contentedness, it struck again.

Those sinful digits eased their way out of you, smoothing up the length of your puffy labia, cupping it soothingly. You sighed, panting lightly, body relaxed and pliant.

His hand was hot and it made you feel content.

This time, it was sharper, and you gasped, scrambling to sit up but being forced to remain where you were as an iron grip wrapped it's way around your midsection.

Again, that firm hand slapped your sensitive folds, and you whined miserably at the pain and pleasure it caused.

Your lips were beginning to darken red from his assault, and yet you were still undeniably wet from his ministrations.

Your legs began quivering from the overstimulation, and you drew them together, trapping his hand. He seemed to let you, tilting his head with a quirk of his lips.

"S-stop tormenting me. Can't take it, not today. Please, just..", you paused, gnawing at your lip; you didn't want to admit to him what you really needed.

Art blinked rapidly, almost innocently down at you. He held a cupped hand to his ear, his other hand waving for you to continue, as though to usher you to speak the words he knows you're going to struggle to admit.

You pouted petulantly, eyes sparkling with unshed tears from frustration and the light stinging of your folds. Your peak had been building, only to be abruptly halted.

"No," you groaned weakly, "don't make me say it, you asshole." Your words lacked any real ire, and instead sounded exhausted. You were so pent up, so desperate at this point. As soon as the offence left your lips, two fingers began circling around your clit, refusing to touch directly. Art all but smiled at you patiently, face splitting with glee.

You sighed softly at the soothing pleasure, head lolling back against his shoulder. It felt so good, and you tried to buck your hips to make his fingers slip over your clit, but to no avail.

This caused you to release a frustrated whimper, feebly bucking your hips again, but this time Art stopped his stroking altogether, fingers hovering above the area you needed them most.

"No, I-I'm sorry!", you rushed out insincerely, desperate for his touch. You could feel tears dancing along your lash line, threatening to spill pathetically.

"Don't stop. I.. I need this so badly. Please.", you relented, biting your lip nervously, eyes fluttering to the floor in shame. You felt that familiar vibration; he was laughing at you.

Even still, the clown did deliberate. On one hand, he could continue tormenting you. That would be fun, and it was the initial plan, but even he couldn't deny his mortal desires. He had a strong threshold for such matters; he wasn't often interested enough.

If anything, he never paid enough attention to whether it was a man or a woman that he was maiming. That only goes to prove how disinterested he was in the whole affair of carnality.

This situation was unique, however. He was bound to a human he had once killed, who had just as miraculously as him managed to rise from the dead, and was stuck with you for ever. And, you are a woman. He couldn't damage you terribly, and he couldn't kill you. What better way to make you submit to him than by fucking your prideful, spiteful, hot-headed little self into the bed?

You were so easy to aggravate, spitting venomous insults and screeching in anger at him. That was all well and good, but he wanted to see the look on your face when he pummelled you dumb.

If death was out of the question, then immobilising you with his own body would have to do.

Gripping your waist tightly, Art maneuvered your body with ease, spinning you in his lap until both your thighs sat either side of him. A hand held your lower back firmly against his body, standing up halfway to tug down the bottoms of his Santa costume. They fell to his knees, and he promptly sat back down, grinning.

You hovered over his thick length, flushing red in anticipation. Hands finding leverage upon his shoulders, you let your wet lips rest against the tip, shivering as you did.

He felt big. You hadn't really managed to look at it, but from the feeling you knew he was going to split you open.

He seemed to be barely touching you, grinning cheekily as he awaited your next move. His cooperation made you uneasy, you wondered what he had planned.

The thought disappeared swiftly as you bared your hips down onto him, letting the tip nudge past your swollen lips, sinking in an inch or two.

You inhaled sharply, feeling the beginning of his girth and pausing in your descent. "I-I haven't done this in a while and you feel--mmm-," you bit your lip, sinking down a further inch, your insides pulsating and stinging.

You squeezed him tightly, walls rippling and attempting to mold to his shape. You gasped again, lips parting in surprise as you lowered slowly, delicately, his size stretching you.

You gripped his shoulders, fabric bunching up in your hands. Your thighs were shaking from the effort it took to descend patiently. Even with how wet you were, his hot length dragged against your insides, another inch being enveloped in your tight heat.

"Nng, its--so big", you breathed shakily, eyes glistening again. Art observed your pained expression in awe, smirking and winking at your compliment.

Two hands held your hips tightly, fingers digging in to the delicate flesh. You sighed delightedly at the contact, not at all preparing yourself for the sinister spark in the clowns eyes, before he slammed your hips down into his forcefully, tearing through you and settling within you to the hilt.

You cried out woefully, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as a pained sob was wrought from you. He could feel you shaking against him, panting against his ear, and couldn't help but chuckle nastily at your pain.

"W-wait, I need to adjust--", you began softly, voice quivering, but was given no time as Art lifted you up to the tip then dropped you back down. Your soft ass slapped against his lap, a horrible pain mixing with pleasure inside of you.

"It hurts! You're too big--!", you whined pitifully, tears dripping from your eyelashes. You gripped around his neck hard, body contorting in pain, shallow breaths hitting his ear.

Art knew this. You were so tight he had to grit his teeth, but he revelled in the concoction of pleasure and pain that wracked your body. You were too weak to fight him, trying to lift yourself off of him only to collapse back down, crying out as he filled you again. He could feel your tears soaking into his costume, and it made his cock fill with blood.

You were so full, the stinging sensation unbearable, and as he lifted you again, dragging your sodden hole off of him, he thrust up into you, letting your hips drop as he met you halfway and slid in.

A surprised moan was torn from your lips, a boiling heat enveloping your body as pleasure tingled and spread throughout your nerves. Art enjoyed your pitiful, pained cries, but he knew that the pain began to melt away as your breathing went from shallow, pained pants to breathy exhales.

The stinging became a dull sensation in the background, your insides igniting blissfully as those strong hands lifted you up once more, sliding all the way out before filling you up rhythmically.

"Mmm, Oh-", you moaned breathily, lips permanently parted. You no longer contorted your body awkwardly and instead began to melt against him, curling about his form needily.

Your hips began to take control, moving up and down his rock hard length, eyes closed against his shoulder as he emptied you and filled you over and over, thrusting up to meet your downward motions hard, filling you deep.

"Yes--Oh--", you couldn't stop the noises tumbling out. He wasn't even doing much, merely meeting your thrusts, but he was so big and long and thick and mouthwatering-

"Need more", you whined weakly, nuzzling your face against his neck, the fur of his Santa costume tickling your nose. "Please.", you added softly, thighs shaking so badly you didn't have the energy to lift yourself up fully.

Instead, you lifted your hips half heartedly, attempting to at least try, feeling that over whelming pleasure every time he thrusted upwards into you.

Each downward pull made you needy, and each thrust had you seeing stars. You could feel the grin on his face beside your cheek, body moving with silent chuckles. You were so responsive, feeling those big hands trail from your hips and down to your soft globes, pulling the cheeks apart.

You could feel your hole opening, feel his rigid length sinking in even deeper. You realised that he could probably see himself driving into you from the mirror reflection, your sopping core on full display as it sucked him in greedily.

You peered over your shoulder curiously, lidded eyes honing in on the mirror. The erotic visual had you writhing in his grasp, gnawing at your lip as he stared right back at you, lifting a hand to wiggle his fingers at you.

It was weirdly humiliating, but before you could turn away to nuzzle back into his neck and hide, his hand was brought down sharply in a loud slap upon one of your round cheeks.

You gasped, lips parting as your gaze remained frozen on his slowly retreating hand, waiting with bated breath, before it bared down upon your jiggling flesh again, and again, and again.

Your body jerked each time, a gasp escaping upon each impact, but your eyes couldn't leave the sight behind you, infinitely aroused at how displayed you were, at how massive he looked below you.

Art soothed the red handprints on your cheek with a gentle rub, looking at you in the mirror with mock concern, lips pouting out at you as though you were the cutest little thing.

You couldn't handle the embarrassment any longer, and turned back around to wrap your arms around his neck, thighs giving out below you. Two hands returned to your ass again, before gliding up into you faster this time, one thrust after another, drawing longer moans out of you.

The increase in pace made you writhe upon his lap, mewling in delight. You let yourself be manhandled, swiftly reaching down to grip two hands at the bottom of your t shirt and rip it over your head.

Your breasts bounced free, nipples teased against his body with each thrust, igniting a white hot sensation directly to your clitoris. You moaned a lot deeper this time, mouth below his ear, gasping and mumbling pleas.

Art reached a fist into your locks and wrenched your head back, hearing you wince and watching the sultry way you bit your lip at his rough actions.

You finally made eye contact with him, face to face, your complexion a dark pink. You put up no fight against his hold, even as he wrapped his fist tighter and pulled your head back hard. Your neck was bared, and you watched those charcoal eyes drop smoulderingly to your jiggling breasts.

His teeth attached themselves to your neck, biting and caressing the column of your throat, before finding an appropriate area and sinking his teeth in hard.

You cried out noisily, the sound pleasurable but stunted by pain, sounding more like a yelp. The harder he bit, the faster he fucked you, and you were soon delirious on the pain and pleasure, feeling his teeth latch on harder and harder until warm liquid oozed from the puncture of your skin.

Tears dripped from your eyes, cascading down your cheeks as you hiccupped and sobbed, your neck pulsating painfully. You didn't fight him, so caught up in the way he split you open.

The demonic clown paused, drawing back from your bruised and swollen neck, eyes flickering from the blood trickling down to your collar bone, and all the way up to your sparkling eyes, tears streaking your cheeks.

You winced, hair still wrenched back, moaning weakly at the pain, your breathing turning shallow again.

A hand cradled your jaw, thumb wiping a stray tear, and you couldn't help but nuzzle into the warm palm, comforting and big. It wasn't often he got to see your tears. The sight made him want to make you cry more, spill those fat droplets from your eyes.

Art tilted his head a fraction, inquisitive at your display of affection. You seemed to latch onto him, needing to be touched, gripping at him and melting against him. It was a far cry from your usual self.

His fingers moved down to the puncture wounds on your neck, pressing onto the tender flesh and making more tears spring from your eyes. It felt bruised and the skin was beginning to rise.

Blood dripped down your neck, and he used two fingers to swipe a clean line up your neck, coating his fingertips in the red substance.

Your eyes honed in on his crimson fingers, alight with need. Art tilted his head the other way, deciphering, and burned his gaze through your intimate display as you gripped at his hand and brought his fingers to your lips.

You suckled the tips, cleaning the crimson off of him, before taking his fingers into the back of your mouth, lathering them slowly.

Your own fingers dipped into the wound, wetting the digits red, before you hesitantly brought them towards his lips. His thrusting slowed, eyebrows lifting minimally, a shard of surprise running through him at your carnality. Your blood was alluring enough to halt his ministrations.

Finally, that dangerous mouth opened, slowly enveloping your smaller digits, tongue curling around them sinfully.

Your stare was unwavering, blinking from his mouth to his eyes before settling on those wretched depths. They swallowed you whole, scrutinizing your own visage. His smiling had long since ceased, a stern neutrality overcoming him even as you drew your fingers back and wrapped your arms around his neck to press your bloodied lips onto his.

The urge overcame you, tongues battling against one another messily. The remnants of your blood mixed between your lips, a soft moan of delight escaping you.

You never thought you'd be kissing this maniac. It sent heat coursing through you, borderline delirious from the feel of being so wrapped up in a being that was so dangerous.

Your passion resumed, hips lifting enough to feel the drag of his dick in your tight heat, before gliding back down with a light slap of your ass against his lap.

You were so wet it began to lather your inner thighs, dripping down your legs and coating his balls.

Your desire began to reignite, no longer a simmering heat and instead increasing to a boiling wave that overcame you. You grinded your hips, breaking your lips apart to gasp at his depth.

Art became watchful of your eager display, letting you pleasure yourself with his body. You leaned back, arms around his neck and extended straight so that you still had some leverage, and moaned wantonly as your position changed and his cock began to stimulate that lovable spot deep within you.

"Oh fuck--mmm--", your head lolled back, tits bouncing rhythmically as you increased your pace. You could barely hold your moans in now, overwhelmed by the pleasure of his length hitting you just right.

Art recognized the increase in your pitch and the way your body moved desperately upon his, and grinned. He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, gripping handfuls of your jiggling ass and beginning to meet your movements with his own, fucking up into you hard.

"Yes, right there, oh my god-", your legs were no longer folded below you, resting back on your knees. You had swiftly moved them, sitting fully into his lap now with your legs extended either side of his waist. This added even more depth to his movements. You could no longer grind your body against his, simply taking whatever he gave you.

"It's so deep, oh-" you began to quiver, needing so much more, but all he could do was smirk down at you amicably, as calm as ever, watching you fall apart as each thrust directly pummelled into that spot.

You felt like ripping your hair out in frustration, body squirming upon his own in distress. Each thrust was like a shot of an addictive drug, filing you up and making you feel so high, but you needed that unrepressed carnality that you craved.

Shaking your head with a pinched expression of dismay, you leaned forward to wrap your arms fully around his neck once again, head resting on his shoulder as you whimpered.

His rigid length bruised against your cervix, hands on your hips and holding you down just to get that inch deeper. You were shaking, exhaling little 'ohh's into his neck, eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't care anymore; Need it harder", you whined pathetically, warming his neck with your hot breath; you were starting to crack. "Please fuck me. Need you so bad. Making me feel so fucking good-Oh--"

Your waist was gripped in a bruising force, lifting your body up and down like a pliant doll, fucking you vigorously. Your sweet admittance sent a thrill through his body, so he supposed out of the kindness of his heart, he could cease his teasing. For now.

Art gave you a lascivious smirk, eyes twinkling mysteriously. With a slight shrug and a nod, he seemed to silently agree with himself that it was time to get serious.

The world around you blurred as you were thrown onto the bed, hips forced into position. Your body bared itself on hands and knees and you tentatively peered upwards towards the mirror, fists clenching into the quilt in anticipation.

You watched the large, looming clown settle behind you, swallowing your body whole. With a playful wave at your watchful gaze, Art thrust forward and buried himself within you.

Your breath escaped your lungs in a silent gasp, body lurching forward from the force as he held you in place and began fucking you deep and fast.

He didn't tease you this time. Everything that had happened previously had been leading up to this moment, and it was mind shattering.

Repetitive 'uh's and 'ohh's sprung from you at each thrust, his cock splitting you open well and good just like you've craved for so long. He felt massive in this position, your velvety insides hot and tighter.

Gliding out until the tip, he'd push back in smoothly, coated in your arousal. It drove you wild, the lewd smacking of skin and wet squelching that increased more and more as he drove in faster, harder.

Your knuckles were white from how hard you gripped the bedding, unintelligible praises falling from your lips at the way he made you feel.

" 'm so full, oh my god-", you cried almost lovingly at the sublime feeling of him tearing through your snug heat, near enough bruising your cervix.

With a cynical pout down at you, mockingly awed by your kind praises of his ample size, Art reached forward to grab a fistful of your hair, wrenching your body backwards so your back bowed enticingly. It made your ass look rounder, made it jiggle and ripple more against his unrelenting thrusts. It hypnotized him, his cock rock hard.

Your upper body was suspended by the hand in your hair, and you could now clearly see how ravaged you looked in the mirror. The looming Santa behind you dwarfed your figure, all jagged smile and wiggling eyebrows at your pleasured expression.

Your tits bounced prettily in the reflection, witnessing the way his normally piercing gaze faltered and darted down to the erotic scene, before darting back up to your face. His smirk appeared lascivious at being caught, and he gave a comical, light shrug.

For some reason, an infernal fire roared within you at that; This creature was evidently attracted to your feminine form. It made you moan louder, reaching forward to play with your round globes teasingly, jiggling them with your incessant fondling, biting your lip at him in the mirror.

You were becoming feral for him.

Art cocked an eyebrow, head tilted in rampant interest at your display. That same jagged smile returned, and almost as a reward, he leaned forward and circled two calloused fingers over your sensitive clit.

Your reaction was instantaneous, legs shaking and body jerking at the intense pleasure. It made you nearly collapse forward if not for the grip in your hair, his cock still relentlessly spearing you.

"Fuck, just like that, ohh--", you cried blissfully, shuddering. Arts expression appeared sternly concentrated on your exclamations and the way your body sucked him in greedily. His thunderous expression was terrifying, but it only served to increase the heat within you tenfold, your body pliant and melting into his ministrations.

He shattered your equanimity, your mind turning to mush and only thinking of his thick hands and his fat cock-

Your thighs were violently quivering, struggling to not collapse. Your moans increased in pitch, high and breathless and weak.

" 'M so close, your cock feels so fucking good and I'm going to cum, im--ohh!"

Your body was roughly dropped, a violent hand forcing you into the bed. Your ass remained high while your cheek laid itself upon the blankets, face contorting in mindless, pleasurable relief as those murderous hands gripped at your hips and began fucking into you so expeditiously you wailed.

His heavy balls slapped your clit with each filling thrust, teasing the bundle of nerves to the point your knees began to quake, on the brink of collapse.

"Fuck, fuck!", you shrieked in repetitive succession, breathing erratically as his thick, long, veiny cock fucked you so good that you just burst-

Your knees did collapse this time, but firm hands kept your hips situated perfectly to receive his godly pistoning. With a high, keening noise you didn't know you could ever make, so desperate and whorish, your pussy contracted and gushed.

Your thighs were soaked and dripping, your bedding ruined. You could feel the way his grip tightened bruisingly on your hips at the feeling of your insides pulsating steadily, milking him, demanding he fill you up like you craved.

Your self consciousness and any semblance of pride were shattered into a million pieces at the mind numbing euphoria you felt. It enveloped your entire body in a blanket and made you feel like you were floating. Your insides fluttered intensely making your breathing erratic and short.

Your face was forced even further into the bed as you reached two arms back, planting a hand on either side of your round cheeks.

With a flushed, fucked out visage staring back at Art from the way your face was turned on its side, you spread your enticing cheeks apart, moaning. "Need you to fucking fill me, need you to fuck me so full please please-"

Art couldn't deny the intense arousal that shot through his body and engorged his cock unnaturally further. Your dainty fingers spread your cheeks so far apart he could see the way your hole split around his length, the muscles parting forcefully at his intrusion. Your virgin, tight puckered hole caught his attention the most, and he moved a thumb to rub the area tenderly, a promise that he'd make you scream yourself hoarse the day he managed to fit his cock into that narrow passage.

You'd cry, he'd make sure of it, and the thought and the visual in front of him was enough to have him seizing your hips so strongly that they would bruise, fucking you brutally and hearing your sobs of pain and pleasure, before his hips stuttered once, twice against your cervix and a flood of hot, ropey squirts painted your insides.

He filled you so deeply it made your body think it needed to pee, if only to expel the amount of cum within you. It was unnatural, but he wasn't a mortal. If anything, the absurd amount made you melt dreamily into the bed, thoroughly fucked and bred and satiated for the time being.

You felt the clown retrieve himself, sliding out with a lewd squelch. Your hole gaped and quivered, his cum oozing out of you messily and coating your thighs. You moaned pleasantly at the feeling of two fingers scooping out the sloppy mess, coating his fingers with it before pushing them into your mouth. You accepted the gift, a noise of delight escaping you.

It made you want to suck his cock and have him fill your mouth until you choked. The thought was arousing, clitoris pulsating lightly as you reached down and rubbed it in lazy circles.

His body moved behind you, two hands gripping your ass cheeks before a hot, long tongue nudged your fingers aside and lapped at your clit. You moaned wantonly, pushing your hips back into his ministrations, feeling that heat invade your abdomen again, signalling another orgasm.

"Oh God, fuck, your tongue feels so-feels so--", you cried out as two fingers sunk into you to the knuckles, pushing the sloppy cum back into your hole dirtily, all the while his tongue lapped at and lathered your clitoris, licking broad, rough stripes up the bundle of nerves until you were a whining mess.

"Fuck, fuuuck, don't know if I want your tongue or your cock more, mmm-"

Art chuckled into your sodden pussy, eyebrows low and sinister. You were shameless, your pleasure ridden brain void of anything else other than the need to be fucked dumb.

A high pitched cry of pleasure tore him out of his condescending thoughts about you, his mouth drenched in your splattering orgasm. His fingers curled within you, brutally fondling that area that had you outright weeping into the pillows.

Little 'too much!'s and 'stop!'s were cried out to him desperately, your body convulsing as though you were possessed. Wiping his mouth, Art sat back and admired his work.

You were panting, pleading in a high pitched, pathetic tone. Your body was overwhelmed, tired and bruised, and Art sat back on his knees and thought for a moment, hand to his chin.

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling in brief contemplation, and then he shrugged, situating himself behind you again.

You whimpered at the feeling of him forcing his sturdy cock into your puffy walls once more. The sound you made was strangled and weak, drool dripping down your chin shamelessly, body losing function of itself. You were crying openly, brought deeper and deeper into a submissive sort of headspace.

He grinned sharply, his cock hardening at the sight of your pathetic state. He bet he could make your body lose all inhibition and piss itself. You'd be so ashamed, and he'd make you lick the liquid off of his cock; a good girl for Santa.

He began to fuck you, patting your messy hair adoringly. You whimpered and wailed, pleading for more, pleading for less. But he found that he wasn't finished with you just yet. You wanted this, didn't you? You told him so yourself.

With a comforting stroke of your hair, Art smiled mockingly down at you, pouting his lips out at your cuteness. He couldn't go back on his word; he was going to fuck you until you couldn't walk.

Thrusting into you, your mouth opened in unbridled pleasure.

The comforting stroke of your hair turned sinister, gripping a fistful up to the root.

Your pretty, wet eyes stared back at him over your shoulder, lips quivering.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Epilogue

You had fallen unconscious. He had drawn orgasm after orgasm out of you to the point that you begged him to stop, crying so much that you couldn't breathe. Art adored your tears, awed and fascinated by them. The only reprieve you were given was your exhausted, slumped body falling soundly asleep. It was exquisitely blissful, but too much to bear.

You awoke with a weak groan, pushing yourself up to a seated position. You were naked in the blankets, but Art seemed to have the decency to clean you up slightly, your inner thighs dry and not at all the mess that they were a few hours prior. That was oddly sweet of him. And unexpected.

You wrapped a dressing gown around your body, wincing as you stood on shaky legs. Your insides felt battered and bruised, your hips dark with fingerprints. Making your way downstairs, your eyes were sleepy and lidded as you switched the kettle on to make yourself a coffee.

You had a moment of peace to yourself, or so you thought.

In came strolling that demonic clown, looking as fresh as a daisy and wide awake as he bounced preppily over to you, plonking his cup down beside yours in a silent request that he, too, wanted something hot to drink. Preferably hot chocolate.

He no longer adorned his Santa costume, instead dressed as he usually was in that monochromatic suit, face paint as immaculate as ever. He smiled down at you dazzlingly, or as brightly as a demonic entity could, patting your head like you were a golden retriever before grabbing the hot chocolate that you had barely stirred with your spoon and taking a seat at the table, newspaper in hand.

You eyed him warily, exhausted, and felt a small amount of embarrassment flourish within you at how normal he was acting and how drained you felt and looked and..

Not to mention the memories of last night either. You promptly locked them away in a box and threw away the key for now.

You reached up to grab a box of cereal from the shelf and sighed. You couldn't be bothered to eat right now, even though your stomach was grumbling noisily.

What you didn't expect was for a white hand to flash in your peripheral, grabbing it for you, before gripping your hips and spinning you to face him.

The pressure on your hips made you visibly wince, and Arts expression turned to one of shock, mouth an 'o' and eyebrows high. You frowned weakly at him before pushing his hands off of you with barely any effort behind it.

"Hurts." You pouted up at him, shaking your head lightly. You felt so weak, you really needed to replenish yourself and eat something.

Art cooed down at you, pinching your cheek lightly. You scowled now and moved away from him, thoroughly drained. He could sense that your usual fire had been doused at the moment, and held a finger up to represent a lightbulb moment.

Before you could contemplate it, you were picked up bridally and sped into the living room, making you squeal and giggle breathily. Art dumped you onto the settee, turning the TV on and putting on a horror film.

He jumped beside you, blanket covering both yours and his legs, and you couldn't help but smile dreamily at him.

He fucked you good and hard last night, and now wants to watch one of your favourite horror movies? What a gentleman. Art deadpanned at your bizarre expression, clicking his fingers in front of your eyes to snap you out of it. You only smiled wider, eyes crinkling.

"You know, you're sooo sweet when you want to be."

Art comically guffawed at your admittance, shaking his head swiftly to deny such a thing, lifting a finger to the side of his head and twirling it in a clockwise motion to signify you were crazy for ever thinking something like that.

The overly dramatic, rare expression had you giggling again, soft and sweet. Art rolled his eyes at you, waving you off as though to say 'yeah, okay, don't get used to it'.

Seeing this as a prime opportunity to tease, you were swiftly silenced as a slice of cake was shoved into your mouth. You don't know..where he got that, but he was a clown, after all, and it tasted edible.

Sighing contentedly, you chewed the sweet treat slowly, watching as the scene on TV displayed a possessed woman in the shower, scorching water melting her skin as she carved her mouth apart with glass.

You loved this movie, and Art seemed intrigued, cackling silently beside you. Wrapped up in the blanket, you leaned against him comfortably, and he seemed unperturbed by it, eyes honed in on the screen.

You don't know why he was being so gentle with you. Art never did things unless he wanted to, and that was enough of an answer for you; he simply wanted to act this way right now. Even still, it made you feel warm, and you supposed living eternally together wouldn't be so bad.

Well, that was until you fell asleep, awoken by the chill of having your thighs spread apart and cake smeared all over your puffy, abused folds.

"Art! What the hell are you doing?! I told you I'm in pain--"

Art chuckled evilly, leaning down to lick a gentle stripe up your icing covered lips, savouring the sweet taste.

Your breath hitched, but you still held your hands against his shoulders, faced etched with nervousness. "P-please don't. Can't..can't handle it right now."

Art tilted his head a fraction, staring up at you in awe. You had retracted to that submissive headspace again, and he found that he relished it. Repressing a cheeky grin, Art held his hands up placatingly, schooling his expression to one of neutrality, or rather barely masked amusement, and used his finger to draw an imaginary X over his heart.

"You mean you won't..be too much? Really? I'm having a hard time trusting you, you're literally grinning at me right now..." You huffed, expression incredibly wary.

Art covered his mouth with the back of his hand, teeth clenched as he grinned and laughed. Even still, he coughed once, face falling flat to prove he was.. moderately serious about being gentle with you.

In truth, he just wanted to eat your juicy pussy and hear you moan his name again. He bet he could get you to ask him nicely to fuck you.

For added effect, Art splayed his wide hands on your thighs and tickled the skin with either thumb, rubbing soothing circles into the flesh. Again, you had that dopey, dreamy expression on your face, and he began to think he really did damage your mind last night.

"Fine, just..be gentle, okay? I'm in no mood to quarrel today."

Art shrugged lightly. He kind of felt the same. It was refreshing hearing your soft voice instead of your screeching one of anger, or seeing your fluttering eyes at him rather than your stone cold ones.

Who knew that fucking you silly would make you so tame, so pliant. It was rather funny. Guess it proves that all you needed was a bit of dick to calm you down.

And Art was feeling surprisingly generous today. With a quirk of his lips, he settled between your thighs and placed them onto his shoulders.

Tongue darting out to lick up from your hole to your clitoris, he lathered the nub gently, lowering his lips to suckle it.

You gasped softly, widening your legs for him and biting your lip. The pleasure was instant, a heat boiling in your abdomen and fluttering down to your toes.

He was good at playing the part of devoted and gentle, and gripped at your hand delicately, lacing his fingers with your own in an intimate display. He watched you blush a pretty pink, mouth parting in awe at his uncharacteristic tenderness.

As you stared into his smouldering eyes, he smothered your clit beautifully, making you moan and buck your hips up into him.

He knew the moment your moans turned deep and sultry as he prodded a finger at your entrance, that you'd soon be backtracing your words and pleading with pouty lips that he fuck you gently.

There was an undeniable connection between you both; you were bound, after all, and even he wasn't immune to the effects of it. He'd still aggravate you, and absolutely wreak havoc on your wanting body, but he also rather enjoyed the peaceful tenderness of these moments, save for your breathy moans and the sounds of someone dying on the TV.

It made him feel peculiarly content. With a smirk into your sodden folds, Art thrust a finger into you deeply, standing between borderline pleasurable and 'too much', as you had said.

You had yet to berate him, he noted.

Within a few minutes, you were a mess down there, soaked and sticky with cake. He remained true to his word, not at all being rough, and instead holding you delicately in warm hands as he sucked and licked at your glistening folds.

"Art, it's the best part of the movie- Ah--"

He rolled his eyes at you, though did spare a single glance at the screen when he heard the sound of a chainsaw.

In no time, you were panting and reaching your peak, soft cry breathed into the air as his fingers curled and pumped into you, tongue massaging your clit. You gushed down his wrist, quivering.

Art smiled innocently up at your flustered self, imitating dabbing his mouth clean with a napkin. He jumped up and sprung beside you once more, pulling you into his sturdy lap and leaning back comfortably.

His eyes didn't leave the screen, fully focused.

You shifted, wiggling to get comfortable and felt his hard dick pressing against you. You bit your lip and glanced at him guiltily - you had just proclaimed that you were in pain today, and now you were having thoughts of him fucking you?

You settled back against him, flushed and buzzing with arousal. The film was almost over. Art grinned behind you, eyes ablaze with mischief. He knew what you wanted, but like you said, he was missing the best part of the movie.

Maybe if you're lucky, he'll fuck you later. But for now, you'd sit tiredly spent against his chest, chuckling at the brutal massacres on screen. More cake miraculously appeared, which always helped. It was pressed against your lips forcefully and you were more than happy to take it, humming in delight.

"Who'd have thought that you killing me all those years ago would evolve into this.", you smirked at him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "You're actually really cute. No idea how I never noticed it before." Your girlish expression lit up your face, eyes sparkling.

Art looked exasperated at your comment and shrugged. He smiled cheekily, pointing at himself as if to bashfully say "who, me?"

Your giggles rung throughout your home, his silent laughter making your body move. You felt a sense of contentment - a partner in crime to maim people with and to fuck you dumb.

Your eyes swirled black, corrupt and tainted, and promptly shut sleepily.

What could be better than this?

i need him so bad. this is pure smut. i made an epilogue to add fluffy things but it turned into smut 💀

also this isn't related to sporadic contingency at all, its just a standalone fic x

#art the clown #art the clown smut #terrifier #terrifier smut #art the clown x reader #art the clown x you #terrifer 3 #terrifer #terrifer x you #terrifier x reader

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gentlemanjuniper · 1 month ago

Text

If I could inject just a little positivity to the news...

Season 2 has a lot of filler and stretches out a pretty simple mystery to six episodes. That's the appeal to some, I get it. But tightness and focus was not its strong suit. I remember feeling like it wasted a ton of time on side characters and it's possible shaving the story down to 90 minutes will skim things down to its most essential beats and be stronger for it. Basically, S2 got a lot of time given to it, and this is obviously my personal opinion but I don't think it used all of it well. I think S2 itself could have been half the length simply by employing more efficient storytelling and we'd not mourn too much.

A lot of S2's weaker plotlines feel built around people that Neil wanted to work with again, with so many recurring actors (I'm thinking of the zombies specifically, when that minisode could have easily been tighter without them). A lot of s2 to me feels like Neil just making work for the people he likes and wants to work with and a movie has to be more accountable to things like that.

Lots of entire fandoms exist around single movies. 90 minutes is not nothing. It's enough for many, many films to tell a complete story with cute character interactions and satisfying emotional arcs, especially when A&C are the only real significant connecting threads between both seasons thus far.

I don't think there are as many loose threads that absolutely need resolving as people may be thinking. Would I like to know why Aziraphale did the '40s apology dance? Would I like to see his bookshop gun? Sure. Are either of those necessarily essential to closing out the story? I don't think so. Really, what needs resolving is the second coming and, directly connected to that, Aziraphale and Crowley's rift. To me, not knowing the story obviously, that seems super reasonable to do in 90 minutes?

I don't think anyone involved in the final season can possibly be blind to the appeal of the show being Aziraphale and Crowley over anything else. That's certainly the reason why their roles were expanded to begin with from the book and why the second season was, nominally, all about them. They also now have to pay MS and DT for appearing in a movie rather than an ensemble show, there's no way they won't be front and center. Amazon wants a show that will make money and market itself; there's a reason why all the promo material for S2 was of Crowley and Aziraphale, because people engage with that stuff, reblog it, make art that promotes the show, etc. It makes no artistic or financial sense to make a movie that sidelines them.

GO is at its best when it has Terry's voice most strongly in it. That's why to me, S2 was a weaker, more meandering season overall (that, and I think the minisodes, while fun, just make the season feel comprised of different voices not always working in tandem towards a common goal). If I was a writer hired to condense a season into a film, and one of the authors had been rightfully disgraced, I would go out of my way to ensure the clearly Terry stuff is most significantly emphasized. It's telling to me that the Pratchett estate is producing and it's possible that the end result will result in more Terry, less Neil.

Think of it this way: everything we've gotten after S1 has always been extra. Imagine telling a fan of the book in the 90s that not only will you get a six episode adaptation, you also get a totally new second season, AND a movie?

Basically: I know this is disappointing but I think a lot of the pleasure of the Good Omens fandom was ALWAYS people picking up on and expanding on details, and y'all managed to do that just fine when A&C were only ensemble members in S1. You can and will do that with a movie too. And this solution both a) ensures first and foremost that Neil won't be involved or the allegations swept under the rug, and b) gives an opportunity for the heart of the story to be emphasized with greater focus, clarity and less filler.

Will we lose good stuff? Probably. But it's also possible we will get a tighter, more condensed, focused version of the best bits, the Terry Pratchett-est bits. I can easily see a 90 minute movie that, knowing they HAVE to focus on the important stuff now, is more Crowley and Aziraphale centric than ever.

#good omens #don't despair guys #i'm not quite as 'in' this fandom as others but perhaps that helps me see the hope in this outcome #of course it makes sense to be sad #but don't despair--it may even end up better for being scrubbed of neil's influence #or at least satisfying #my point is that more isn't always necessarily better

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joemama-2 · 2 months ago

Text

somethin' sweet

synopsis: you own a five-star renowned restaurant that is extremely hard to get into. business is great, the customers love it. everything is as perfect as can be. that is until a harsh food critic leaves you a bad review. you're stuck with a dilemma, let this one review overcome you. or.....fuck him so he can change it. tags: smut, sort of public sex, vaginal penetration, oral, gojo is kind of mean and annoying, praise, degradation, doggy, missionary, cunnilingus, dividers by @cafekitsune word count: 6370

The one time you’re not here, the one time you actually listen to everyone’s complaints about taking time to yourself because you overwork way too much. The one time you use your PTO to vacation to Bali for a week,

A distinguished critic visits your restaurant.

You stare down at the screen in your hands, having not at all prepared for this news to be brought on you as soon as you enter. Its words stare back at you, taunting you almost. You’re half tempted to throw it across the kitchen, but that would be another expense added to your list of supplies you needed to buy for the upcoming month.

“What day did he come?” you ask as your pointer finger scrolls the screen, reading more of the nasty review that was left.

“A Saturday. None of us even knew he was coming.” Mayra, your head sous chef, replies. The rest of the staff stands around. Some in nervousness, anticipation, and even anger at the predicament. “We sat him on the top. Even made sure he had the whole floor to himself.”

The top floor, strictly reserved for distinguished guests who waited on your month long reservation list, or for those who would simply buy it out for the night. Your top floor is constantly raved about in the media, sometimes for its lavishness and other times in jealousy. Long story short, the top floor is for the best of the best.

And they gave him that.

But it seems he didn’t care for that at all.

“If you’re in the mood for a culinary adventure that feels more like a misadventure, look no further than Lovely Haven, the so-called “fusion” restaurant that blends American comfort food with Italian classics. Unfortunately, the only thing they seem to have fused successfully is disappointment and confusion. The result is a dismal failure that feels like a cruel joke on the palate, this is what happens when culinary confusion collides with utter mediocrity.

Let’s start with the decor—an odd mix of rustic Italian charm and the kind of neon signs you'd find in a questionable diner. It’s as if someone couldn’t decide whether to create a romantic trattoria or a roadside burger joint. The atmosphere is confusing, much like the menu.”

You scoff as you read this part to yourself. The decor? The decor was one of the things almost every customer raved about. Its bright lights mixed with sleek and stainless furniture was the epitome of success. Going as far as bugging your interior designer for days, even weeks on end, to get it down to the T.

Secondly, mediocre? How dare he? You’ve been in the culinary arts for over two decades now, and so has your staff. You were very nitpicky and quite a perfectionist when assembling your employees for your place of solace. Your 5-star Michelin restaurant, yes, 5-star. It only took two years to achieve that goal, which placed you as the quickest growing restaurant in your area. And he’s treating it like you’re nothing but a simple Applebee’s or Chili’s.

The balls on this man.

“Now, onto the menu—a dizzying array of choices that reads like a desperate attempt at creativity gone horribly awry. The lasagna burger is a prime example of this misguided ambition. It arrives as a soggy monstrosity, with layers of pasta and a sad, overcooked beef patty that would make even the most forgiving diner weep. It’s a culinary abomination, devoid of flavor and entirely forgettable.

Then there are the “famous” Alfredo fries, which manage to be both an insult to fries and Alfredo sauce. The dish is an affront to all things Italian and American, featuring limp, greasy fries drowning in a thick, tasteless goo that resembles some sort of industrial paste. It’s a disgrace, and I genuinely questioned whether anyone in the kitchen had ever tasted actual food before.”

By this point, your grip has tightened on the Ipad, jaw clenching and brows furrowing. This man, he really, really was an asshole. Disrespecting your hard-working kitchen staff was a low blow that you took personally. “How long did it take to get his food out to him?”

“Twenty minutes, Y/N.” Luke, one of the managers, replies. “I timed it and made sure it was prepared before the other guests who were dining.”

So not only was he being treated like a princess, but the other customers, who probably got there before him, received their food after he was served. All for the sake of him not reviewing your restaurant’s “unkempt timeliness”.

You continue to read the last few paragraphs while your stomach twists and turns.

“Service, predictably, matched the culinary catastrophe. Our server was inattentive and seemed more interested in their phone than in providing any semblance of hospitality. Drinks took an eternity to arrive—warm, naturally, because why would you expect cold beverages at a restaurant?

Dessert? Oh, you mean the “Tiramisu Sundae”? It’s a ghastly creation that defies logic, featuring layers of sad, mushy sponge cake drowned in what could only be described as a failed attempt at chocolate syrup. The entire dish is an insult to the beloved Italian classic, tasting more like a punishment than a treat.

In conclusion, Lovely Haven is not just a failure; it’s a disgrace to the culinary arts. If you value your taste buds and your sanity, steer clear of this pitiful excuse for a restaurant. Save your money and your appetite for a place that actually understands food. You deserve better.”

The silence that follows is harsh, awaiting a potential outburst from you. You lift your head and swivel around to glare at the group around you. “Who served him?”

Hesitance replies back, some of your staff looking down as though the ground seems more interesting than your death glare. It isn’t until you ask the question again, in a firmer tone, does Mayra respond. “Susan.”

Jesus christ.

As if things couldn’t be worse, who’s bright idea was it to decide that the slacking employee serves your distinguished guest. The one person who has been trying your presence since she was hired. “Where is—”

You’re disrupted by the kitchen door opening, the problem herself walking through with earbuds in and of course, scrolling on her phone. As she looks up and sees the numerous amount of eyes on her, her steps falter. Confusion sparks through her expression, but as soon as you step forward, it begins to click.

“You’re thirty minutes late, I put you on opening because you said you couldn’t close anymore.” You don’t even have it in you to lighten your tone, eyes narrowed and voice clipped in annoyance, frustration. “Your performance has been lacking for months now, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Ever the brat she is, her arms cross. “I’m a busy college student, I have other priorities and things on my mind unlike the rest of you.”

“And I understand that,” you snap back.”But there is a difference between having other priorities and simply not caring. You don’t listen, you show up late, and you’re using your phone while you’re on the floor. Do you understand how extremely disrespectful that is?”

A moment of silence passes as she seems to formulate what to say in her mind. “I jus—”

“You’re fired.” you cut her off. “Your last check will be deposited within 24 hours, do not come back and if you do, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

Luke and Mayra, along with your other manager, Ren, sit next to you in your office. Computer screen displayed in front of you four while your fingers type away. Mayra glances at your focused expression before back at the screen. “Do you really think he’ll reply back? Critics don’t usually come to review a place for a second time, especially one they strongly advised against.”

“I don’t care,” you murmur, eyes not straying from the email you’re drafting out. “Out of the seven years we’ve been operating, we haven’t had a single bad review. And now, this entitled ass thinks just because he gets paid to eat and critic, he can ruin our reputation.”

Ren sighs, hand lifted to his forehead. “Y/N, it’s okay. One bad review doesn’t and won’t define us.”

“Besides, he’s known for being harsh, he does this to everyone,” Luke adds on.

“Even more of a reason for me to do this. I will not allow him to openly disrespect our hard work and dedication like this.”

The three around you give one another a knowing look, right before you click send on the email.

“Hello, Mr. Gojo.

My name is Y/N L/N, I’m the owner of Lovely Haven, a place you recently reviewed. After reading your honest review, I am extremely upset and apologetic for the food and service you received that day. That is not at all what we strive for, and again, I sincerely apologize.

If you would accept, I would like to set up a second visit for you. We are closed on this coming Friday, due to the holiday, but I’d love to personally serve you myself and answer any and all questions you may have regarding Lovely Haven and its history.

Please respond back as soon as you have a moment. Thank you again.

Kindly,

Y/N L/N”

“Hello, Ms. LN,

I appreciate you reaching out to me. I’ll come around 8am on Friday. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Gojo Satoru”

You;ve spent the better half of the past two hours setting up and making sure everything is perfect. You’ll be damned if you have a rerun of last time, especially on your watch. Your staff insisted you don’t handle this alone, urging for at least two cooks to be present. But you refused.

Lovely Haven is your business and creation, your heart. So in a way, you feel as if it’s your job as the owner to make this all right. If anyone can serve this man, it’s you.

You’re dressed formally, hair up (in case he tries to complain about hair in his food). Wearing a simple black dress, modest enough as it reaches your knees. It’s tight, but not too tight. You’re wearing small black heels to match, gold jewelry complimenting the attire.

The clock inches towards 8 and you, for some reason, find yourself feeling oddly nervous. Maybe it’s the anticipation or anxiousness for a second try. Your stomach curls, almost like you’re a lovestruck high schooler seeing her crush in the hallways. Sweaty handles fiddle together in front of you while your eyes dart from the watch on your wrist and the glass front doors.

Either this man had a penchant for being late, or you somehow mixed your days up and he’s not coming today. Dramatically, you check your phone and let out a sigh of relief when you see it’s Friday. Okay, good. Then he’s really just late.

Well, not exactly late. But he said he’d get here at 8, it’s 7:57. Usually people don’t get to places at the time they said, because if he came at 8 exactly, that is late. You should always show up at least five minutes before your estimated arrival time, at least that’s how you thought.

No, that’s how most normal, responsible adults thought.

Maybe he’s not normal. Can’t be if he gave you a one star and brutal review. He’s probably just trying to be different from the rest. And you hate people like that. Shitting on something that is actually good, whether it be a show or movie, simply because everyone else says it's good. And the fact that he’s known for his low reviews is even more infuriating.

There’s no way every place he visits is below three stars. It has to be his taste buds, they’re probably—

“Good morning.”

You snap your head up, completely lost in thought that you didn’t even notice, let alone hear the dreadful man walk in. Already not off to a good start. A smile finds its way on your face, hand held out, to which he shakes. “Good morning, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gojo. I’m Y/N.”

He nods, a small smile reciprocated back. “I figured.”

Is it just you or did he tone sound almost condescending? And that smile on his face seems like he’s the type to think he knows it all.

Nope, don’t do that.

Pulling your hand away after what seems like a longer than usual handshake, you step aside and motion towards the array of tables. “Well, why don’t I show you to your table?”

“Yeah, why don’t you?” he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks, raising a thin, white eyebrow as if to silently urge you to start walking. You hold back an eye twitch, turning around and walking to the area you set up specifically for him.

He’s following behind you as you walk, the heels of your shoes softy clanking against the ceramic tile. As you glance back, you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes quickly raise up to meet yours. Like he was—

“I apologize for not being around last time, I was on vacation.” you say, cutting off your own train of thought that you won’t entertain.

“Ah, no worries. Where did you go?” His pace matches your own now, walking side by side as his arm barely brushes against your bare skin. “Somewhere nice?”

You chuckle lightly and nod. “Yes, I went to Bali. It was quite lovely. The people were very welcoming and the food was absolutely delicious.”

A hum. “Better than this place, I hope.”

That comment. God, that comment. And the fact that he’s hiding it behind his sickeningly sweet smile, a tilt to his voice like he’s joking but not actually joking. You’ll pray for the former. “I can assure you, Mr. Gojo, both residences of food are exquisite.”

You two get to the square table prepared for him. A crisp, white linen tablecloth across the surface, that creates a clean and elegant contrast that elevated the rustic charm. At the center, a simple yet striking centerpiece emerged—a small terracotta pot filled with fresh basil and rosemary, their vibrant green leaves offering a delightful aroma that whispered of Italian kitchens.

Polished silverware gleamed in the soft light, laid out neatly on either side, ready for the culinary delights to come. An elegant, crystal wine glass on the side. Cloth napkins, folded into intricate designs, rested atop his plate. The dual flickering candles in small glass holders cast a warm glow over the table, creating an intimate atmosphere that you hoped would help catch his eye.

Finally, a menu card that displayed the special dishes you had prepared just for him. You took the time out of your day to make this specifically for today, crafting your menu for a man who probably didn’t think twice about it was not on your 2024 bingo card.

He takes his seat as you stand in front of him, placing the menu closer to his reach. “Here we have a variety of our best sellers and limited editions. Just for you, Mr. Gojo.” Your smile gets a little harder to keep up as he lazily sits back in his seat, scanning the menu with his sharp, blue eyes.

“Interesting,” he observes, even flipping it over. He glances back up at you. “The stuffed arancini, is that good?”

“Delicious, sir.”

“Okay,” he looks back down at the menu. “Then I’ll get the Buffalo Cauliflower Bites for an appetizer, plus the Bruschetta Trio. Oh, and to drink, I want one of your craft mocktails.”

So he asks for your opinion, and doesn’t even order it. “Of course, Mr. Gojo.” You don’t write it down, having already committed his order to memory, due to years in the food industry. “I’ll get started on that right now.”

With one more smile, you turn around and head to the kitchen. As soon as the doors close, your face hardens with irritation. Walking around to grab the appropriate ingredients, grumbling to yourself curses. Sure you’ll make his food and smile at him, doesn't mean you won’t be a brat about it behind closed doors.

The minutes Gojo spends alone, he’s meticulously counting them down. Eyebrow raised as he eyes the kitchen doors and the arms of the small clock. Leg crossed over the other with his arm resting on top of the back of his chair that he;s currently tipping back and forth with the stability of his foot.

After about three minutes, you greet him with his mocktail, setting it down. “Here you go, sir.”

“Finally, I almost died of thirst, you know?” He huffs a small chuckle and he sips from the straw. You want to grimace as he swishes the liquid around his mouth, head tilting in dramatics. He’s acting like it’s mouthwash or something. As he swallows, you do your best not to focus on the bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

What do you think you’re doing? Checking him out right now, seriously?

“How is it?” Your voice raises a tad, either in nervousness or a way to calm your suddenly rapid beating heart.

“Not too bad, a little sour for me.” He comments, tongue coming out to lick across his bottom lip. “What’s in it?”

“Basil lemonade and berry spritz, Mr. Gojo.”

“Satoru,” he corrects you, eyes rolling while his hand waves around dismissively. “Stop calling me ‘sir’ and all that, makes me feel old. Besides, this is supposed to feel comfortable isn’t it? Don’t force yourself with the formalities.”

Well, that’s a small breath of relief. You simply nod. “Of course, Satoru. Then you may call me Y/N.”

“Was already gonna do that.”

“Right.”

A small pause follows, hands awkwardly fiddling behind his back. You didn’t even realize it before, but the way he stares feels really invading. Especially with how bright his eyes are, you’re starting to feel naked under his gaze. Like he can sense it, he grins boyishly. “The appetizers?”

You nod again, quicker this time, clearing your throat. “Yes, coming right up.”

And once more, you leave him be while you finish up his food. The bruschetta trio, a classic tomato and basil, roasted red pepper and feta, with wild mushroom and truffle oil topping, served on toasted artisan bread. This dish is loved among your regulars.

And the buffalo cauliflower bites which are spicy, crispy cauliflower tossed in buffalo sauce, served with a side of creamy blue cheese dressing. Perfect for customers with a higher spice tolerance, craving that explosive taste in their mouths.

Holding the two white, glass plates with ease, the doors push open by your back as you walk back over to him. “Bruschetta and the cauliflower, Satoru.”

He doesn’t waste time in taking small, careful bites of each platter. Humming in thought as he does this. It takes a couple minutes before he speaks, using the cloth to wipe at the corner of his mouth. “The mushroom is quite bland, the bread is too hard. And the blue cheese doesn’t go well with the bites.”

Each word is like a punch to your gut. He’s really just finding every little thing to pick at, isn’t he? Lips pursing, your eyebrows raise in faux consideration. “I see, I can remove the dressing for you, and I’ll serve you a softer piece of bread.”

Your hands reach out to take them away, just as his moves into frame. Your fingertips brush against the back of his hand. “No need to take them away, just stating facts.” His smile never seems to leave and each growing second, you feel more and more tempted to wipe it off his face. He gently pushes your hands away, interlacing his fingers together. “Do you expect replacements to suddenly wipe my memory clean? Why should I have to rely on you giving me a replica of what I ordered, when the original piece should’ve met my expectations?”

A little caught off guard by his sudden questioning, you gulp and clear your throat. “Well, if something is not up to par for my guests, it is my duty to replace that with something that is.”

“Sure, but I’m asking why it wasn’t perfect the first time.” He leisurely sips from his mocktail.

A small, but forced laugh leaves your lips. “We do try our best every single time, Satoru. Being perfect has proved hard when everyone has different tastes.”

“So you just give out generic food and hope for the best?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

Your brows begin to furrow at his nonchalance, lip barely quirking down into a frown. “I’m sorry, but our food is not generic. We serve with love and dedication.”

“Love,” he repeats in a mocking tone, picking at the bites with his fork. “This was made with love?”

He’s really getting on your nerves now. “Yes, it was. If you do not like it then I can remake—”

“I’ll take the balsamic glazed chicken,” he cuts you off. “With the alfredo fries. You’re talking about remakes, right? Then make those fries good this time. Thanks.”

You can’t help but stare down at him, the nerve he has is beyond rude. His demanding nature contrasts with your helping one. But, you stay resolute in your politeness, mumbling a small ‘of course’ before disappearing back into the kitchen.

It’s a disaster, truly.

A hard, long, infuriatingly annoying disaster.

Every platter crafted with delicacy and carefulness, he sets aside with calmness. Claiming how the littlest of little things was wrong or how it tasted bad. He even makes a couple snide comments about where you learned to cook from and they should be ashamed.

No matter what, however, he conceals his comments with those stupid laughs you’ve started to despise.

Like it’s funny to him how much you’re failing to please him.

Sweat threatens to trickle down your forehead, using a spare towel to dab at your face. Your hair has started to become a tad unkempt, having to constantly push stray pieces of hair out your face and even grabbing at your hair in frustration. This is probably your own fault for setting this all up, but never did you imagine it would turn out like this.

His table is filled with a variety of plates and dishes stacked unceremoniously on top of each other to make room for the next one.

Throughout it all, he watches your struggle in silent amusement. Everytime you turn around to stomp back into the kitchen, he gets a clear, nice view of the way the fabric of your dress tugs around your ass, legs sleek with whatever lotion you decided to put on.

Your perfume fills his nostrils as you come back to him, to which he feels more and more motivated to bring you down and just stuff his face into the crook of your neck. Or the middle of your plump thighs that have just been calling out to him like a siren.

Satoru would like to think he’s a man of self control, but you’re really pushing him, and you’re not even trying.

He’s being purposeful with his actions just to keep this entire visit long. Just so he can keep checking you out and biting his lip as he inhales your scent. Just so he can have the ample amount of time to force down the boner he has from under the table.

And well, because he’s really, really looking forward to dessert.

You breathe out a heavy breath, one of exhaustion as you present him with yet another platter. He laughs to himself as he takes a bite.

“Meh, too soggy.”

That’s it. “I’ve given you everything on the menu.”

“Oh, have you?” His head tilts innocently.

Your teeth grit. “Yes, I have.”

“Well, that’s a bummer. You really shouldn’t have had such a limited variation.”

“It’s not lim–”

“Dessert, right? That usually comes after the main course.”

“......yes. What would you like?” You’re forcing your words out by now, hands twitching as they threaten to grip his pretty throat.

Wait, pretty?

Jesus christ, can you stop thinking that right now?

“Hmmmm, let’s see here.” As his eyes scan over the desserts listed on the menu, a frown, or a pout, makes way onto his lips. You close your eyes for a second, counting from one to ten and back. “Is this it?”

“Yes.”

“I have to say,” he lowly whistles. “none of this looks very….appealing.” As he looks back up at you, there’s a small glint in his expression. One that almost causes you to shiver, for some reason.

Is he playing with you now?

“Nothing?” You ask, arms crossing over your chest. “All of that is what guests order the most.”

“Well, I’m not some regular schmegular guest, now am I?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s standing, one hand stuffed into his pocket while the other meekly points to you. “So, what do you say? You gonna give me something I actually want?”

A small huff escapes from your lips, now longer having the strength to hold back your irritation. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh cmon, don’t give me that.”

“Give you what?”

“That.” He juts his chin in the direction of your scowl. “Do you usually frown at your customers?”

“I frown at men who take my kindness for granted,” is your response, eyes narrowing. “Also, you have been nitpicking every single thing I’ve given you. You’ve been extremely rude about it.”

“Rude? Is honesty rude now? I thought you wanted my honesty.”

“There’s a stark difference between the two.”

“Really?” He leans closer, face teetering on the line of too close as his point finger just barely skims across your forearm. “Mind enlightening me?”

Your breath almost hitches, skin feeling all too warm. You peek down at his finger before back to his face, heart beating faster than normal. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What’s it look like?” He counters.

“Like you’re trying to flirt with me.”

He barks out a laugh. “Trying? No honey, I am. Why, do you like it?”

“No, I don’t like being flirted with by rude and random men.” You reply, tilting your chin up. “Especially you, sir.”

His grin widens. “Cute. But you know what I don’t like?” As he steps closer, you’re forced to step back. “No dessert.”

His finger travels up your arm, your shoulder, then stops at your jawline, head tilting as his breath fans your cheek. “So, what else can I eat?”

This is stupid. So stupid. Dangerous. Idiotic. Out of character. Anything that means bad.

Is this really all for a good review by some asshat who takes joy out of making people's lives harder? Or are you actually enjoying it?

You feel disgusted at the situation, angered and infuriated that you’ve fallen into his trap. You want to curse out to whatever gods that may be watching and demand why you couldn’t hold back.

Either way, you’re not the only one who couldn’t hold back.

Your breath hitches, a broken string of whines leaving you as the flat of his tongue runs through your slippery folds. His hands on your thighs keep you grounded in place atop the table, because your hips keep twitching up in need of more friction.

You can’t even see his face as it’s so far buried into your wet pussy, practically stuffing his face with it. But god do you feel him. The tips of his hair tickle your inner thighs. His low moan reverberates through you, making you shiver and tingle with excitement.

“A—ahh….!” Your hand finds a place on his hair, pulling as your head tilts back with another moan. “F—fuck…”

His lips smile against your skin, pulling away for a second to look up at your blissed out expression. His face is coated in your juices and you haven’t even came yet. “Pretty good, might be the best thing I’ve had today.”

As he goes back to ravishing you, his tongue slips into your aching hole. Which causes your back to arch up, a higher pitched whine leaving you. “Tad salty, very sweet.”

His comments feel degrading almost. But with the way your thighs threaten to close around his head, pushing his face closer to your cunt, he has a feeling you like it.

It’s electrifying and confusing at the same time. You’ve never been one with hookup culture, you’re not a virgin either but this is on a totally different level. Here you are, letting him tongue fuck you in the middle of the empty restaurant in which you were supposed to be serving him.

Technically you are still serving him.

He urges your hips closer to the edge of the table, spitting harshly against you as he delves back into giving you the best eat of your life.

His tongue alternates between your hole and clit, giving both equal attention while his fingers knead the plush skin of your smooth thighs. Your toes curl in your heels and you feel so close.

You can practically taste it on your tongue, not even mindful anymore of the noises that you’re making. Too engrossed in the utter bliss of the way his mouth sucks and licks at your folds.

You don’t even know you’ve finished until he’s come back up, licking away your release that’s plastered to his pale skin. Left panting and staring up at the dangling lights that feel blinding.

What brings you back down to Earth is the soft clanking of metal. Your head whips down just as he’s unbuckling his pants, eyes blown wide. “W-what are you doing?”

He simply looks at you, shrugging with nonchalance as his belt comes undone, button and zipper next. “Gonna fuck your pussy, what else?”

You scramble to sit up, but he’s faster. Holding your legs open, leaning his face closer. “What? Don’t wanna?”

“I—I shouldn’t. I mean, we shouldn’t.”

“Pfft, why not?”

“Because this wasn’t supposed to happen!”

“But it has,” he tugs his slacks down, giving you full view of the raging boner nestled under his black boxers. His hand reaches to give himself a few strokes. “Haven’t been this hard in a long time.”

You feel your release ooze down onto the tablecloth, hole feeling empty as it clenches around air. All you can do is watch him jerk himself, gulping as you lick your lips. “This is….really wrong.”

Yet it feels so right.

His lips touch the side of your neck, kissing and sucking a small mark into your skin. You tilt your head for him, arm coming up to hold around his neck. Chest heaving up and down. “I’ll fuck you good, I promise.”

Your eyes are instantly drawn down to his leaking cock as he pulls it out. Long and thin veins decorating the length with pre-cum leaking out the head. Trimmed with a small white bush of pubic hair at his base. It looks pretty.

He huffs out a breathy laugh, titling your face up to him, lips meeting. His lips are soft and plush, melting into it. He keeps his hand on your nape so he can deepen the kiss, tongue invading your mouth like a snake.

Spit dribbles down the corners of your mouths. All the while he’s teasing your entrance with his cock.

“Ngh!” You pull away, face scrunching and mouth agape.

“Mm, like that?” His tip runs up and down your slit, smearing his pre into your folds and around them. The sight is lewd. “So wet, just from my tongue too. How many guys make you finish from just eating you out?”

Out of all the times he tries for a conversation, does right now have to be one? “N-none…”

He hums. “So I’m the only one? I like that.”

He finds your hole, just barely pushing in. Your nails claw at his shoulders, whimpering into his ear. “S-shit, just wait a second…”

“For what?” His voice is husky, brows pinched together. The warmth from your cunt practically enveloping him whole.

You croak out something unintelligible. For a few seconds, you two stay frozen like this. But that’s cut short as he slowly begins to slide deeper. “Shit, stop squeezin’ me.” He grunts.

All you can offer is a weak “I’m not” before being cut off by a breathy moan, one he replicates with you. He moves in deeper and deeper, until he’s finally buried to the hilt in your warm pussy. It’s big, bigger than you’ve ever taken. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

His fingers dig into your hips while your nails into his shoulders.

Practically feeling his cock twitch within you, you have to hold back squeezing around him even more. But it just feels too good not to. It makes you feel full.

As he begins to move, he’s whispering dirty praises into your ear.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Who knew you had such good pussy.”

“Look at you, sucking me in like a good little whore, huh?”

“Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had.”

Each word he emphasizes with a quicker thrust. The silverware clanks around you, some even falling to the ground. The table creaks and the cloth crumples up. “W-wait….slow…ngh!”

“No slow,’ he patronizingly laughs, his gaze darkened as he looks at you. “Going fast, you’re gonna take it too. ‘Cause you’re a desperate little thing, aren't you?”

You whine out, biting down hard on your lip you’re surprised you’re not drawing blood yet. He takes this as an invitation to devour your mouth once more. The kiss is harder this time, more sloppy. Seems sloppy is his thing.

Before you know it, he manhandles you to flip over, ass high in the air while his hand forces your back down into an arch. “Just like that. Stay still and I’ll let you cum again.”

With this new position, he’s able to hit spots you didn’t even know were there. All you have to hold on is the cloth of the table, balling them into your fists while he mercilessly pounds into your pussy from the back. His balls hit your clit in a repetitive motion that damn near causes you to see stars.

Noises and mumble words fall out your mouth like water, the side of your face being pushed down into the hard surface. His hand twirls and tangles in your hair before giving it a hard tug back.

“Mngh!”

With one hand on your hip and the other in your hair, it gives him all the reigns to perfectly fuck your squelching hole, pace unforgiving. And what’s he doing the whole time? Laughing. That asshole is laughing.

Either at your state or the fact that you fit so perfectly snug around his cock like a ring.

It’s like he’s moving on autopilot, just one thing on his mind. Fucking you like your his fleshlight he keeps in his room. “Maybe I should’ve come here sooner—fuck—could’ve had this pussy all to myself even sooner.”

He groans, head tilting back as a familiar sensation bubbles in his stomach. “Ah, god…fuck.”

“D-dont cum!” You half-heartedly shout, body trembling in preparation for your second release of the day.

“Hah?” he huffs out. “You tell a guy who’s fucking a pretty pussy he can’t come? You’re crazy.”

“Ah….hah…!” You mewl out, squeezing around him.

He curses under his breath, hips stuttering. A warm feeling erupts deep within your cunt, causing you to whine. It makes your whole body feel as if it’s on fire, thighs shaking. Your cum mixes with his own, dripping down the backs of your thighs in a disgusting manner. You’re left panting for air

He spends a good time watching it all happen, and as he pulls out, seeing your hole twitch and tremor around air almost starts to make him hard again. He leans over, hot air hitting the shell of your ear, his voice low and husky. “Up for more?”

Monday, 9am.

Incoming message from

Mayra:

Check your email, forwarded you something.

You groan tiredly, fingers fiddling with the bright screen of your phone. Clicking on the wrong app a couple times before opening your Gmail. You press on the email from Mayra, an attached link.

The link leads you to a familiar site, embarrassment painting your features as you read.

“After a rather lackluster first experience at 'Lovely Haven,' I was pleasantly surprised by my second visit. Walking into the restaurant felt like stepping into a cozy embrace, with the ambiance perfectly set to spark a little magic. The soft music and intimate lighting created an atmosphere that made everything feel just a little more exciting.

Let’s talk about the food. I started with the savory starter, which was a perfect balance of flavors. Each bite was a tantalizing tease that had me eagerly anticipating what was to come. Then came the main course, which was cooked to perfection and bursting with flavor. It had just the right amount of kick, leaving me wanting more and more.

I decided to try their special dessert this time, and let me tell you, it was absolutely divine. Each bite was a burst of flavors, rich and decadent, just how I like it. The way it melted on my tongue was nothing short of a culinary revelation. I might have lingered a little too long over that dish—can you blame me? It was like savoring a sweet secret that just kept getting better.

But let’s not forget about the service. The owner was not only charming but also incredibly attentive. There was a delightful chemistry between us that made the evening even more enjoyable. She made sure I was well taken care of, adding that special touch that turned a simple meal into something unforgettable.

If you’re looking for a place that offers more than just food—something that tantalizes the senses and leaves you feeling revitalized—I highly recommend giving 'Lovely Haven' a try. Just be prepared for some delicious surprises that might have you coming back for seconds (or thirds!). I certainly will!"

a/n: first smut piece kind of. if there's typos, pls overlook them, i was very tired and in heat. sorry if it's not very slhow burn :( but i hope you all enjoyed. thank you smmm <3

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #jjk #gojo satoru #jjk gojo

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novaursa · 3 months ago

Text

The Last Dragonslayer (1/2)

- Summary: When young Luke came to Storm’s End as his mother’s emissary, Aemond wasn't the only one there to greet the young Prince.

- Paring: female!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: Reader is a Dragonslayer (a warrior) that saves Rhaeyra's child and fights for her. This is based on the request below, with my own twist in it, and it's the result of the votes that ended yesterday:

- Rating: Mature 16+ (last part will be rated higher)

- Word count: 8 000+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen is currently under construction. It will be posted once the second part of this work is out. Also, for more of my works visit my blog.

The storm rages fiercely over Storm's End, the winds howling through the stone walls of the castle like a restless beast. You stand in the shadowed alcove, your eyes tracking the young prince as he dismounts from his dragon, Arrax. The creature’s scales gleam wet in the flickering torchlight, its eyes wide with agitation. The beast feels it, the looming presence of something much older and much deadlier. You know without looking that it is Vhagar, the monstrous she-dragon that casts her shadow over the stormy skies.

Lucerys Velaryon, the boy prince, has the look of a cornered deer as he glances around the courtyard, his gaze inevitably drawn to the dark silhouette of Vhagar looming ominously in the distance. His heart beats wildly in his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The dragon he rides is no match for the ancient beast that waits, almost as if it hungers for the boy’s fear.

But it is not Vhagar that makes Arrax twitch nervously, shifting its massive claws on the slick stone ground. No, there is something else—another presence that unnerves both dragons. A primal fear ripples through the air, a fear that runs deeper than any rivalry between dragonriders.

You know what they feel. It is the Banshee, your mount, your companion. She lies in the caves beneath the castle, her leathery wings folded, her shriek an unspoken warning to all dragons that a Dragonslayer is near. You’ve ridden her across the skies of Essos, and now you have brought her to this cold, storm-battered land, a place so different from the sunlit shores of your origin.

As Lucerys is escorted into the great hall, you follow silently, a shadow among the guards, your steps barely a whisper against the stone. The hall is dimly lit, the flames flickering in their sconces as the storm rumbles outside. Lord Borros Baratheon sits upon his chair, his face a thundercloud of displeasure, while Aemond Targaryen stands off to the side, his single eye gleaming with malicious intent.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon,” Borros announces with a voice as heavy as the storm, “sent by your mother, the Queen.”

Lucerys takes a breath, standing tall as he faces the Lord of Storm's End. His voice is steady as he presents his mother’s terms, but you can see the tremor in his hands, the boy struggling to maintain his composure under the weight of the situation.

Aemond steps forward, his presence dark and threatening, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “You’re a brave boy to come here alone, nephew,” he sneers, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword. “But bravery only goes so far. You owe me an eye.”

The demand hangs in the air like the threat of lightning. Lucerys’ eyes widen, his breath catching as the terror grips him. He steps back, his hand instinctively moving to his sword, though you can see he knows it is futile.

Aemond’s voice drips with venom as he draws closer, reaching for the sapphire in his empty eye socket. “Don’t be afraid, boy. It’s a simple thing, really. Just a payment for what was stolen from me.”

Your movement is like a shadow across the floor as you step out from your place against the wall, your boots making soft, deliberate sounds against the stone. Aemond’s attention snaps to you, curiosity flashing in his eye as he sees a figure unlike any other in this hall.

“Who are you?” Aemond demands, his voice tinged with both suspicion and interest. The hall seems to quiet, even the storm outside pausing as if to hear your reply.

Lord Borros rises from his chair, turning his gaze to you, and his expression is a mixture of awe and unease. “This is the emissary from the Free Cities,” he says, his voice uncertain. “She arrived a few days ago, from across the Narrow Sea. An emissary, she claimed, from an ancient order.”

You tilt your head slightly, regarding Aemond with those eyes of yours, eyes that many have said carry the weight of ancient knowledge, of secrets lost to time. When you speak, your accent is thick, your voice smooth, yet carrying a hardness beneath it, like a blade wrapped in silk. “The boy will return to his mother,” you state, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Aemond’s eye narrows, his curiosity turning to annoyance. “You think to order me around in my own land? I am a Targaryen, the blood of the dragon. And you—what are you?”

“I am Y/N,” you say simply, letting the name hang in the air, as though it should explain everything. And to those who know, it does. “And I have no interest in your games, dragonrider. The boy leaves. Now.”

Lucerys looks at you with wide eyes, relief and confusion mixing on his young face. He knows not who you are, nor why you would intercede on his behalf, but he knows better than to question the chance at survival you offer.

Aemond, however, is less easily swayed. “You do not command me, woman,” he snarls, his hand finally gripping his sword hilt.

Your eyes lock onto his, and there is a cold, ancient fury in your gaze that makes Aemond pause, just for a moment. “Do you hear that?” you ask softly, almost a whisper.

He frowns, confusion crossing his features. But then he does hear it—a low, keening wail, barely audible over the storm, but there nonetheless. It is a sound that twists something deep in his chest, a primal fear that is older than his bloodline, older than even the dragons themselves.

“That,” you continue, your voice never rising, yet commanding all attention, “is a Banshee’s call. Do you know what it means, dragonrider?”

Aemond doesn’t answer, his grip tightening on his sword. But you see it, the flicker of doubt in his eye, the instinctive fear that his ancestors would have known all too well.

“It means,” you say, taking a step closer to the prince, “that the Dragonslayers are near.”

Silence falls heavy in the hall, the only sound the storm raging outside and that distant, eerie wail of your mount. Aemond’s confidence wavers, just for a heartbeat, and you seize the moment.

“Return to your mother, boy,” you say to Lucerys, your tone softening slightly as you address the prince. “And tell her the Dragonslayers have not forgotten.”

Lucerys doesn’t hesitate. He turns and strides from the hall, the guards parting before him. Aemond watches him go, his eye flicking between you and the retreating prince, torn between pride and the icy fear that grips his heart.

As the doors close behind Lucerys, Aemond turns back to you, but you are already gone, melted back into the shadows of the storm. The Banshee’s wail echoes in his ears, a sound that will haunt him long after this night has passed.

And in the distance, through the storm and the dark, Lucerys Velaryon rides his dragon into the night, the words of a stranger echoing in his mind as he returns to his mother—a warning, a promise, and a name that will not be easily forgotten.

The storm's fury is unrelenting as Vhagar takes to the skies, her wings cutting through the tempest with the power of a creature that has lived through centuries. Beneath her, the world is a blur of rain and lightning, the roar of the wind nearly drowning out the beat of her wings. Aemond’s eye is fixed on the smaller silhouette ahead, the young prince Lucerys and his dragon, Arrax. His pride, his rage, they drive him forward with a singular, furious intent.

"Do you think you can escape me, boy?" Aemond mutters to himself, the thrill of the hunt coursing through his veins. His grip on the reins tightens as he urges Vhagar onward, the ancient beast responding to his will, her massive form gaining on the fleeing dragon.

But then, something shifts.

It begins with Vhagar. The she-dragon, who has known no fear in over a century, falters mid-flight. Her great head swivels, nostrils flaring as if sensing something that doesn’t belong in this world. A deep, rumbling growl escapes her throat, a sound of unease that Aemond has never heard from her before.

"What is it, girl?" Aemond calls out, his voice straining against the storm, frustration creeping in as Vhagar slows her pursuit. He yanks at the reins, but the dragon resists, her great body twisting in the air as if trying to turn away from something unseen.

Then it comes—a sound like no other. Piercing, shrill, it cuts through the storm with an unnatural clarity. A cry that chills the blood, a scream not of any living thing, but of something that should never have existed. Aemond feels it like a knife in his gut, a primal fear that shakes the core of even a Targaryen prince. Vhagar responds with a bellow of her own, but this is not a sound of defiance—it is one of terror.

Through the torrential rain and flashes of lightning, Aemond sees it. Emerging from the swirling clouds above, the Banshee appears, its form massive and menacing, a creature out of nightmares and ancient legends. It is larger than any dragon, its wings long and leathery, resembling those of some dark, twisted bat. Its body is sinewy and powerful, covered in scales as dark as midnight, its maw filled with razor-sharp teeth that seem made to tear through dragon flesh. Eyes that glow with a sickly green light fixate on Vhagar, and in that gaze, there is nothing but hunger.

A hunger that could swallow the world.

The Banshee shrieks again, and this time, the sound is closer, more intense, reverberating through the storm as if the very heavens themselves are crying out in fear. Vhagar roars back, but her voice wavers, no longer the dominant force of the skies. She tries to pull away, her vast wings beating furiously as she begins to ascend, desperate to escape the horror that has locked its gaze upon her.

And there, atop the Banshee, you sit. The storm whips around you, yet you are steady, your body moving fluidly with the creature’s every motion. Your eyes are fixed on Aemond, a cold determination set in your features as you close in. The distance between the two monstrous creatures shrinks with every heartbeat, the Banshee’s speed unnatural, as if it is not bound by the same laws of the world as other beings.

"Vhagar, no!" Aemond shouts, desperation creeping into his voice as he feels his mount’s fear, her once obedient nature slipping through his control. He pulls harder on the reins, but the ancient dragon does not heed him. She banks sharply to the side, attempting to flee, the instinct to survive overpowering all else.

"Stay and fight, damn you!" Aemond roars, but his voice is lost to the storm and to Vhagar’s terror. For the first time, Aemond realizes that he has lost control. Vhagar, the greatest of all dragons, is fleeing like a hunted beast.

From behind, Lucerys and Arrax, seeing their chance, dart downwards toward the safety of the clouds below. The boy doesn’t look back, but his heart pounds with both fear and gratitude, his only thought now of returning to Dragonstone and the safety of his mother’s arms. The storm swallows them, the smaller dragon vanishing into the darkness, seizing the slim opportunity for escape that has been granted by the terror you’ve unleashed.

You see this, the boy’s escape, and though you could chase, though you could end him as well, your focus remains on Aemond. This is a message, a warning, and it is Vhagar who must carry it back.

Aemond’s face twists with a mix of rage and helplessness as he feels Vhagar’s massive body turning, wings beating harder now, not in pursuit, but in retreat. You let out a command, your voice carried by the storm, not in words that Aemond understands, but the Banshee does. She dives, a predatory speed that belies her size, closing the distance between them in seconds.

Another scream from the Banshee, and this time, Vhagar shudders violently, nearly throwing Aemond from her back. The ancient dragon, who has seen countless battles and burned entire cities to ash, is utterly broken by the presence of this creature from a bygone era. She dives desperately, fleeing into the clouds, seeking any refuge from the horror that chases her.

For a brief moment, as you pull back, allowing Vhagar to escape into the storm’s embrace, your eyes meet Aemond’s. In that gaze, he sees something that shakes him more than the sight of the Banshee or the fear in Vhagar’s eyes. He sees the cold, unyielding power of an order thought extinct, a legacy that has returned from the shadows of history.

And then you and the Banshee vanish into the storm, your form melding with the darkness as if you were never there. Only the lingering echoes of that terrifying scream remain, fading into the storm, a sound that will haunt Aemond for the rest of his days.

Vhagar continues her frantic flight, the once-proud dragon now reduced to a fleeing beast, her rider clinging to her, his pride shattered, his mind reeling. Aemond’s thoughts are a whirlwind of anger, fear, and humiliation. He came to these skies with the intent to prove his dominance, to assert his strength, but now he returns with the bitter taste of defeat and the knowledge that there are forces in this world even dragons fear.

And far below, Lucerys and Arrax race through the storm towards the safety of Dragonstone, the boy’s heart pounding with relief and terror. He will make it home, but the memory of this night will stay with him—the night he was spared not by his own hand, but by a mysterious stranger on a creature of nightmares.

The Dragonslayers have returned. And the dragons of Westeros will never be the same.

The skies over Dragonstone are dark, heavy with the remnants of the storm that raged over Storm's End. The air is filled with unease as the guards and retainers of the castle stand vigilantly on the battlements, their eyes scanning the horizon. They know who they are waiting for, though they dare not speak of the dread that gnaws at them.

Suddenly, through the mists and rain, a shape emerges. A dragon, smaller than most, with wet and weary wings straining to keep it aloft. Arrax lands heavily in the courtyard, his scales slick with rain and his breath labored from the flight. The beast's eyes are wide, pupils darting in a way that betrays its fear.

Atop him, Lucerys Velaryon sits slumped in the saddle, his small form trembling, soaked to the bone. He barely has the strength to dismount, nearly collapsing as his boots touch the ground. His hands are shaking uncontrollably, and his eyes—those eyes that should be bright with the fire of youth—are wide and haunted, filled with the terror of what he has just endured.

From across the courtyard, Queen Rhaenyra breaks from her retinue of Queensguard, her heart seizing as she sees the state of her son. “Luke!” she cries, her voice cracking with fear and relief as she rushes to him, her skirts billowing as she nearly stumbles in her haste.

“Mother,” Lucerys gasps, his voice a whisper against the wind. He’s shivering violently, his teeth chattering as the cold and fear clutch at him.

Rhaenyra reaches him, wrapping him in her arms, her grip firm and protective as she pulls him close, heedless of the rain that soaks through her own clothing. Her heart pounds in her chest as she feels the tremors racking his small frame. “Gods, what happened?” she whispers, her hand cupping his face as she tries to meet his eyes, searching for any sign of injury, any indication of what has terrified her son so deeply.

Lucerys buries his face against her shoulder, his breath hitching as he tries to find the words. “I—I saw him, Mother,” he begins, his voice shaking as badly as his body. “Aemond was there… at Storm’s End. Vhagar was with him.”

Rhaenyra stiffens, her blood turning to ice at the mention of Aemond and his dragon. “Did he harm you?” Her voice is fierce, though a mother’s terror lies just beneath it. “What did he do to you?”

Lucerys shakes his head frantically, clutching at her arms as if grounding himself in her presence. “He… he wanted to take my eye, Mother. He said… he said it was a debt. But…” His words trail off, his breath catching as he struggles to explain the horror he witnessed.

Rhaenyra’s grip tightens, her eyes narrowing with a mixture of rage and fear. “But what, Luke? What happened?”

Luke pulls back slightly, his wide eyes meeting hers, filled with a confusion that mirrors his terror. “She… she saved me, Mother. A woman… a stranger. She stopped Aemond.”

Rhaenyra blinks, her mind racing. “A woman? Who was she? What did she look like?”

Luke swallows hard, his voice trembling as he continues, “She… she wasn’t from here. She looked… different. Like no one I’ve ever seen before. She had an accent I didn’t recognize. Lord Borros called her an emissary from the Free Cities.” His voice drops to a whisper, as if saying the next words might summon the creature back. “And she had a… a beast with her. Not a dragon, but something else. It was… it was terrifying, Mother. The dragons, even Vhagar… they were afraid of it.”

Rhaenyra’s heart pounds faster as she listens, trying to make sense of her son’s words. “A beast? What did it look like?”

Luke’s eyes glaze over slightly as he recalls the image burned into his mind. “It was… huge, bigger than any dragon I’ve seen, with wings like… like a bat’s. And its scream, Mother… it was like nothing I’ve ever heard. It made the storm itself seem quiet. And she was riding it… commanding it.”

Rhaenyra’s blood runs cold, her mind racing through the possibilities, but nothing matches the description her son gives. A creature that could frighten Vhagar, the largest and oldest of the Targaryen dragons? It sounds like a nightmare given form, a horror from ancient times.

“Are you sure of what you saw, Luke?” she asks gently, her tone softening as she brushes his wet hair from his face. “Could it have been… something else? A trick of the storm?”

Luke shakes his head vehemently. “No, Mother. I saw it. I heard it. She told me to go, to return to you. And when I left… Aemond was chasing me, but then the creature came after him instead. Vhagar fled, Mother. She was terrified.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen, a shiver running down her spine at the thought. If Vhagar, the mightiest of all dragons, could be driven to flee… what manner of beast had her son encountered? And who was this woman, this stranger who had saved her child from a fate worse than death?

A feeling of unease settles over her, a realization that something far greater and more dangerous than she had anticipated is at play. The knowledge that ancient powers, long thought to be myths, might have returned to the world shakes her to her core.

But for now, all that matters is her son. She pulls him close again, holding him tightly as if to shield him from whatever darkness lies out there, whatever force has set its sights on the Targaryen bloodline. “You’re safe now,” she whispers, trying to convince herself as much as him. “You’re home, and you’re safe.”

But even as she says the words, her mind is already racing ahead, planning, fearing, wondering what this new player on the board means for the future of her house, for her claim, and for the survival of her children.

The night is still and heavy with the remnants of the storm, the winds howling softly through the dark corridors of Dragonstone. Rhaenyra is deep in a restless sleep, her mind troubled by the events of the day, her dreams haunted by the image of her son, drenched and trembling, speaking of a beast that defied all she knew of the world.

But suddenly, her sleep is shattered by a sound so primal, so raw, that it feels like the earth itself is tearing apart. The roar of dragons, rising in a cacophony of fear and fury, echoes through the stone walls of the castle. It’s not just any dragon’s roar—it’s the sound of dragons in terror. Rhaenyra bolts upright in her bed, her heart pounding in her chest as the walls seem to tremble around her.

She hears another roar, louder this time, unmistakable in its ferocity—the Cannibal. The ancient, wild dragon’s scream is so powerful that it seems to shake the very foundations of Dragonstone. The deep, guttural sound reverberates through the castle, making the torches flicker as if the flame itself is afraid.

And then, cutting through the night like a blade, comes another sound—a wail, high-pitched and unnatural, unlike anything she’s ever heard. It’s the cry of the Banshee, echoing through the skies above the island, a sound so filled with dread that it makes her blood run cold.

Rhaenyra leaps from her bed, pulling on a robe as she rushes toward the door. Her heart races, a mix of fear and adrenaline driving her forward. She flings open the door, her voice breaking the silence of the corridor. “Daemon!”

As if summoned by her cry, Daemon Targaryen appears, already dressed and armed, his face set in a grim expression. He doesn’t need to ask what’s happening—the screams of the dragons and the wail from the skies tell him all he needs to know.

“They’re afraid,” Daemon says, his voice rough with tension as he strides toward her, his eyes blazing. “The dragons are terrified, Rhaenyra. Whatever it is, it’s here.”

Rhaenyra nods, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she hurries to follow him. The two of them rush through the castle, Daemon’s men falling in around them, their faces pale as they hear the screams that fill the night. The ground beneath their feet seems to tremble as if the very earth is trying to recoil from the presence that has arrived on its shores.

They reach the courtyard just as another roar shakes the air, but this time it’s different. This time, it’s a sound of submission, of retreat. In the distance, high atop Dragonmont, the dragons that make their home in the ancient volcano are pulling back, their massive forms retreating into the dark, smoke-filled caves, away from the open sky. Even the Cannibal, the most feared and untamed of all the dragons, has gone silent, its defiance turned to fear.

Rhaenyra’s eyes follow the direction of the retreating dragons, and there, near the rocky coastline, she sees it—the Banshee. It stands on the blackened sand, its vast wings partially spread, casting an ominous shadow that stretches out over the churning waves. The creature is even more terrifying than she had imagined from Lucerys’ description, a monstrous form that seems to absorb the darkness around it, its eyes glowing with that sickly green light that cuts through the night.

And before the Banshee, standing with an air of calm command, is the woman—Y/N. She stands tall, her presence as formidable as the beast behind her, her eyes fixed on the castle. Even from this distance, Rhaenyra can see the confidence in her stance, the ease with which she controls the horror at her side.

Daemon’s hand moves to the hilt of his sword as he stares at the woman and her beast, his eyes narrowing in a mix of fury and awe. “Is this the creature the boy spoke of?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

Rhaenyra nods, unable to tear her gaze from the sight. “It is,” she whispers, her voice tinged with fear and a growing sense of foreboding. “And that… that is the woman who saved him.”

Daemon takes a step forward, his gaze shifting to Caraxes, who is visible in the distance, his great head peeking out from the entrance of his cave. The Blood Wyrm, who has faced down dragons and men alike, recoils, his body pressed low to the ground as if trying to melt into the rock itself. He refuses to come forward, his instincts telling him that this is not a foe he wishes to face.

Rhaenyra watches as Daemon's knuckles turn white around the hilt of his sword. “Even Caraxes is afraid,” he mutters, almost to himself. “What manner of beast is this? And who is this woman?”

Before Rhaenyra can respond, Y/N takes a step forward, moving with a grace that belies the danger she embodies. Her voice carries across the distance, strong and clear despite the howling wind. “I come not as an enemy, but as an emissary.”

Rhaenyra feels a shiver run down her spine at the sound of the woman’s voice. There is something in it, an authority, a power that feels ancient, something that commands respect and fear in equal measure. She steps forward, placing a hand on Daemon’s arm to still him, her eyes never leaving Y/N.

“You saved my son,” Rhaenyra calls out, her voice steady, though her heart is pounding in her chest. “Why?”

Y/N’s gaze meets hers, and for a moment, Rhaenyra feels as though she’s being weighed, measured by a force that sees far beyond the physical. “Because the time has come for old debts to be paid, and old alliances to be rekindled,” Y/N replies, her accent unfamiliar, each word carrying an air of inevitability.

Daemon steps forward, his posture rigid, every muscle coiled with tension. “What are you?” he demands, his tone edged with suspicion. “And what do you want from us?”

Y/N regards him calmly, her eyes as unreadable as the stormy sea behind her. “I am the last of the Dragonslayers,” she says, her words cutting through the air like a blade. “And I seek what was lost to time—an alliance, forged in blood and fire, that will reshape the fate of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Rhaenyra’s breath catches at the mention of the Dragonslayers. The name is one of legend, spoken of only in whispers, a myth more than a reality. Yet here stands proof, undeniable and terrifying. “An alliance?” she echoes, her voice a mix of intrigue and caution. “With whom?”

Y/N’s gaze sharpens, and a ghost of a smile touches her lips. “With House Targaryen,” she says, the name carrying weight as if it alone could alter the course of history. “If you will accept it.”

The words hang in the air, filled with promise and threat alike. Rhaenyra and Daemon exchange a look, the gravity of what is being offered sinking in. The roar of the dragons has died away, leaving only the sound of the wind and the waves crashing against the rocks.

The Banshee shifts behind Y/N, its wings rustling like the ominous whisper of death itself. Rhaenyra takes a deep breath, stepping forward, her voice firm as she speaks. “Come inside,” she says, a queen’s command, but also an invitation. “We will speak more.”

Y/N inclines her head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment, before turning to her beast. With a simple, fluid motion, she mounts the Banshee, the creature responding to her touch with a soft, almost affectionate growl. “I will come,” she says, her voice carrying across the distance. “But know this, Queen Rhaenyra—what I bring is not just an alliance, but the power to change the very destiny of your house.”

With that, the Banshee lets out one last, bone-chilling wail that echoes across the island. The creature takes to the skies, its massive wings beating against the wind as it rises into the air, carrying its rider away from the shore and into the stormy night.

Rhaenyra watches as the dark silhouette disappears into the clouds, her mind racing with a thousand questions, her heart heavy with the knowledge that whatever comes next, it will be like nothing Westeros has ever seen.

Daemon stands beside her, his eyes still fixed on the sky where the Banshee vanished. “We must be ready,” he says quietly, his voice laced with both determination and unease. “Whatever she brings, it will not be easily controlled.”

Rhaenyra nods, her gaze steely as she turns back toward the castle, already thinking of the steps she must take, the alliances she must forge, and the preparations she must make. “Then we shall be ready,” she replies, her voice firm with resolve. “For House Targaryen will not be brought low, not by dragons, and not by beasts.”

Together, they walk back into the heart of Dragonstone, the weight of their decisions pressing heavily upon them, the storm outside now a mere whisper compared to the storm that is yet to come.

The great hall of Dragonstone is eerily quiet, the only sound the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth, its flames dancing in the dim light. The storm outside has settled into a steady, rhythmic beat against the stone walls, as if the very island holds its breath, waiting for what comes next.

Daemon Targaryen stands by the fire, his eyes fixed on the flames, deep in thought. The warmth of the fire does little to chase away the cold unease that has settled in his bones since the arrival of the stranger and her beast. Rhaenyra sits at the head of the table, her posture regal and composed, though her gaze is sharp and searching as it rests on the woman before them—Y/N, the self-proclaimed last of the Dragonslayers.

You stand before them, calm and composed, the flickering firelight casting shadows across your face. Your expression is inscrutable, your eyes reflecting a depth of experience and knowledge that stretches far beyond the walls of this ancient castle.

Daemon finally speaks, his voice low, but filled with the weight of old memories. “When I was a boy, I used to sit at my wet nurse’s feet as she told me the tales of old Valyria. Stories of dragons soaring above the world, of their might and majesty… and of the terror that once threatened them.” He turns his gaze from the fire to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “She spoke of the Dragonslayers, warriors from an ancient order, born from the fear and hatred of those who had no other means to fight back against the dragons. It was said their beasts were as fearsome as the dragons themselves—monstrous creatures that could strike terror into the heart of even the most battle-hardened Targaryen.”

He pauses, his lips curving into a wry smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “But those were just stories. Tales meant to frighten children and remind us of our place in the world. When the Doom of Valyria came, the Dragonslayers were said to have perished along with the dragons. Swallowed by the same flames that consumed the Freehold.”

Daemon’s smile fades, replaced by a hard, calculating look. “So you must excuse me, Lady Y/N, if I find it difficult to believe that I now stand face to face with a ghost from those old tales. A Dragonslayer, here to negotiate with the very people her kind once hunted. It seems… unlikely, doesn’t it? Like a dragon holding court with a woman who eats dragons.”

Rhaenyra watches you intently, her fingers lightly drumming against the arm of her chair as she waits for your response. The tension in the room is felt, the air thick with unspoken questions and unvoiced fears.

You meet Daemon’s gaze without flinching, your expression unreadable as you consider his words. When you finally speak, your voice is steady, carrying an authority that demands attention. “You are right to be cautious, Prince Daemon. The tales of the Dragonslayers are shrouded in myth, and much has been lost to time. But make no mistake—those tales were born from truth. My order existed long before Valyria rose to power, and our purpose was never simply to destroy dragons.”

You pause, your eyes flicking between Daemon and Rhaenyra, measuring their reactions. “Our purpose was—and still is—balance. The world must be in balance, or it risks falling into chaos. The dragons of Valyria were a force of nature, powerful and wild. But when they were allowed to spread unchecked, to conquer and dominate, the balance was threatened.”

Rhaenyra leans forward slightly, her brow furrowed in thought. “And now? What is your purpose here, in Westeros? You say you seek balance, but what does that mean for my house? For my children?”

You turn your gaze to her, your expression softening slightly as you consider your words carefully. “The balance is delicate, Queen Rhaenyra. It is not my intention to see the dragons of Westeros wiped out. That would tip the scales too far in the other direction. The dragons are a part of this world, just as you are, just as I am. But if they are allowed to overwhelm this continent, to destroy all in their path, or if they are allowed to die out entirely, the balance will be lost. And when the balance is lost, it is not just the dragons that suffer—it is the entire world.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow as he considers your words, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though he makes no move to draw it. “So you would see yourself as some kind of guardian, then? A protector of the balance? And what if that means turning against the very dragons you claim to protect?”

You meet his challenge with a steady gaze. “If it comes to that, Prince Daemon, then so be it. But understand this—my purpose is not to hunt dragons for sport or to seek vengeance for old wrongs. My purpose is to ensure that the world does not fall into chaos. If that means working with the dragons and their riders to maintain the balance, then that is what I will do.”

Rhaenyra exchanges a glance with Daemon, her expression one of deep contemplation. “And what would you ask of us, then?” she inquires, her tone thoughtful, though there is a note of steel beneath it. “What role do you see House Targaryen playing in this balance you speak of?”

You take a deep breath, your gaze steady as you address both of them. “House Targaryen is at the center of the storm that is coming. The dragons you command are both a weapon and a symbol, and their power must be wielded wisely. I offer you an alliance, a way to ensure that power is used to preserve the balance, rather than disrupt it.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, his skepticism still evident. “And if we refuse?”

You smile faintly, a hint of something ancient and knowing in your expression. “Then the balance will be lost. And I will do what must be done to restore it, with or without your cooperation.”

Silence falls over the room, the weight of your words sinking in. Rhaenyra’s eyes flicker with a mix of emotions—fear, determination, and something akin to respect. She finally rises from her chair, stepping toward you, her gaze unwavering.

“You speak of balance, but know this—we are not easily swayed, and we do not take threats lightly,” she says, her voice strong and clear. “But if you are truly here to preserve this balance, then we will consider your offer. For the sake of our children, and for the future of this realm.”

You incline your head slightly, acknowledging her words. “That is all I ask, Queen Rhaenyra. Consider my offer, and know that I am not your enemy. Not unless you make me one.”

Daemon watches you closely, his hand still resting on his sword, but for now, he remains silent, his thoughts unreadable.

Rhaenyra turns to him, her expression one of quiet resolve. “We will speak more of this, Daemon. But for now, we must be cautious. This alliance may be what we need to ensure the survival of our house.”

Daemon nods slowly, his gaze still locked on you. “Very well,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “But know this, Lady Y/N—if you betray us, if you threaten what is ours, you will find that dragons are not so easily tamed.”

You smile slightly, a knowing glint in your eyes. “Nor are Dragonslayers, Prince Daemon. But I hope it does not come to that.”

With that, the tension in the room begins to ease, though the underlying unease remains. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, and the storm outside continues to rage, a reminder that the true storm has only just begun.

The night has settled over Dragonstone with a profound stillness, the earlier storm having finally exhausted itself. The air is cool and crisp, carrying the scent of the sea, and above, the sky is a vast canvas of stars, twinkling like distant, forgotten fires. The castle itself is quiet, the flames of the torches flickering softly in their sconces, casting long shadows across the ancient stone.

Rhaenyra finds herself drawn to the open balcony, her steps light as she moves through the corridors, her thoughts still heavy with the weight of the day’s revelations. As she approaches, she sees you standing there, your back to her, gazing up at the night sky with a stillness that almost seems inhuman. The soft light of the stars bathes you in an ethereal glow, and for a moment, Rhaenyra is struck by your presence. There is something otherworldly about you, a beauty that is both mesmerizing and unsettling, even to one of Targaryen blood, who is no stranger to the idea of beings who are not entirely of this world.

Your figure is tall and graceful, your hair catching the faint light as it moves gently in the breeze. Your clothes, simple yet elegant, seem almost to blend with the shadows, as if you are a part of the night itself. There is an air of timelessness about you, something ancient and enduring, and it stirs a deep curiosity within Rhaenyra, a need to understand the enigma that is Y/N.

You speak before she can announce her presence, your voice soft but clear, carrying the weight of knowledge and memory. “It is said that my people came from those stars,” you begin, still gazing upward, your eyes tracing the patterns in the sky. “Long ago, when the world was young, their ship crumbled down in fire, crashing into what would become the Valyrian Freehold. Can you imagine it, Rhaenyra? A ship that sails among the stars, crossing the vast emptiness between worlds?”

Rhaenyra pauses at your words, her breath catching as she considers the image you’ve painted. The idea is both wondrous and terrifying, something beyond the scope of anything she has ever known. She steps closer, her eyes moving from your figure to the sky above, trying to see what you see.

“It’s a beautiful thought,” she says softly, “but also a frightening one. The idea that something so vast, so unknowable, could exist out there. Or worse, that there might be nothing at all. We would be so small… so insignificant.”

You finally turn to face her, your eyes meeting hers with a look that is both kind and ancient, as if you hold secrets that span the ages. “That is the truth of it, isn’t it? The vastness of the universe, the endless expanse of stars… it can make one feel so very small. All the battles we fight, all the kingdoms we build… in the end, they are but whispers in the wind compared to the forces that drive this world and all the others.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softens as she looks at you, the intensity of your words resonating deep within her. She takes another step closer, her voice tinged with gratitude as she speaks. “I wanted to thank you… for what you did for Lucerys. You saved my son’s life. For that, I am in your debt.”

You incline your head slightly, acknowledging her thanks with a faint smile. “What I did was just,” you reply simply, as if there could be no other course of action. “The boy’s life was not meant to end that day.”

Rhaenyra studies you, her curiosity growing, fueled by the mysteriousness that surrounds you. She has faced dragons and men alike, but there is something about you that captivates her in a way she does not fully understand. “You said you were the last of your kind,” she begins, her voice gentle but probing. “Does that mean you have no family left?”

You turn back to the sky, your expression unreadable as you consider her question. “There are a few others of my order,” you say after a moment, your voice touched with a hint of melancholy. “They are scattered across the world, trying to survive as best they can. But they are not of my blood. My true family… they are gone.”

Rhaenyra feels a pang of sympathy at your words, a sudden connection to the pain you carry. She knows the weight of loss, the emptiness it leaves behind. “I am sorry,” she says quietly, her voice filled with genuine compassion. “To be the last of your kind… it must be a heavy burden.”

You nod slightly, your gaze distant as you continue to stare at the stars. “It is,” you admit, your voice softening with the weight of memory. “But it is the burden I was born to bear. The last of my bloodline, the last of those who once stood against the might of dragons. My family was everything to me… and now, they are nothing but memories and dust.”

Rhaenyra steps closer, standing beside you now, her gaze also turning upward to the stars. She feels a strange sense of kinship with you, this woman who has seen so much, who carries so much pain within her. “I understand what it is to lose those you love,” she says quietly, her voice filled with a sadness that mirrors your own. “I have lost many, and I fear I may lose more before this is over.”

You turn to her, your eyes searching hers, seeing the strength and sorrow within her. “That is the way of the world, Rhaenyra,” you say softly, your tone both comforting and resigned. “We are all bound by the same fate—loss, pain, and eventually, death. But it is what we do with the time we have, the choices we make, that define us. We must find the strength to carry on, even when all seems lost.”

Rhaenyra nods, her heart heavy with the truth of your words. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, to find the resolve she needs to face the challenges ahead. “I will do what I must,” she says, her voice filled with quiet determination. “For my family, for my children… for the future of this realm.”

You give her a small, understanding smile, a flicker of something almost like pride in your eyes. “You have the strength within you, Rhaenyra Targaryen,” you say, your voice firm with conviction. “I see it, just as I see the stars above. You are meant to be more than a queen—you are meant to be a force that shapes the world.”

Rhaenyra feels a surge of emotion at your words, a mix of fear, hope, and a deep, unspoken bond with this woman who seems to understand her better than anyone. She looks back at you, her gaze filled with both gratitude and a growing respect. “And what of you, Y/N?” she asks softly. “What is your place in this world, now that you are the last of your kind?”

You turn away from the stars to meet her gaze once more, your expression resolute. “My place is wherever I am needed,” you say simply. “I will do what must be done to preserve the balance, to ensure that this world does not fall into chaos. Whether that means standing beside you, or against you, remains to be seen.”

Rhaenyra nods slowly, understanding the gravity of your words. She feels a deep respect for you, for the strength and resolve you carry, and she knows that your path and hers are now intertwined, whether by fate or by choice.

For a moment, the two of you stand together in silence, gazing up at the stars, each lost in your own thoughts, yet connected by the shared understanding of the burdens you bear. The night is a vast and heavy dread of what lies ahead, but in this moment, there is a sense of calm, of quiet resolution, as if the stars themselves have blessed this fragile alliance.

The morning sun has risen over Dragonstone, casting a warm, golden glow across the ancient stone walls and the restless sea beyond. The storm of the previous night has left the air fresh and crisp, with only a few lingering clouds on the horizon. The castle is stirring with life, as servants go about their duties and the guards stand watchful at their posts.

You are standing in the courtyard, the early light catching in your hair, giving it a strange, almost ethereal sheen. You are calm, composed, your posture relaxed as you watch the sea, seemingly lost in thought. The events of the previous night, the tension, and the conversations have left their mark, but you show no outward sign of it. You stand there, a figure of quiet strength, almost as if you belong to another time, another world.

Luke approaches you cautiously, his small feet making soft sounds against the stone. He is dressed in simple, practical clothing, appropriate for the heir of a noble house, but his expression is one of nervousness and gratitude. His young face is still pale from the fear of his encounter at Storm's End, but there is also determination in his eyes, a resolve to confront what haunts him.

He stops a few paces away from you, hesitant at first. “Lady Y/N,” he begins, his voice small but earnest. “I… I wanted to thank you. For what you did at Storm’s End. You saved my life.”

You turn to him, a gentle smile curving your lips as you look down at the boy. There is a kindness in your eyes that seems to ease his nerves, though the depth of your gaze still holds a mystery that he cannot quite grasp. “You owe me no thanks, young prince,” you say softly, your voice steady and warm. “I did what was just.”

Luke swallows, glancing down at the ground for a moment before looking back up at you. “But… Aemond,” he continues, his voice trembling slightly at the name. “He won’t forget what you did. He’ll come after you. He won’t stop until… until he gets what he wants.”

You regard him with calm assurance, unbothered by the warning. There is a quiet power in the way you stand, as if the threats of men and dragons alike hold no sway over you. “Let him come,” you reply, your tone even, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. “Aemond Targaryen is not the first to seek revenge against me, nor will he be the last. I have faced dragons before, and I have survived them. If he wishes to challenge me, then he will learn that some battles are not so easily won.”

Luke looks at you with a mixture of awe and confusion, struggling to understand the depth of your confidence. He is young, and the world is still a place of fear and uncertainty to him, but your words carry a weight that he cannot ignore. “But… aren’t you afraid?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tilt your head slightly, considering the question with a faint smile. “Fear is a natural thing, young prince,” you say gently. “But I have learned that there are things far greater and more terrifying than a man or his dragon. We are all small in the grand scheme of things, and what we fear today may be forgotten tomorrow. What matters is how we face that fear—whether we let it control us, or whether we rise above it.”

Luke nods slowly, taking in your words. There is a wisdom in them that speaks to him, even if he doesn’t fully understand it yet. He looks up at you with a newfound respect, feeling a little braver, a little stronger in your presence. “I’ll remember that,” he says softly, his voice filled with a quiet determination.

As you and Luke speak, Rhaenyra watches from a distance, her eyes flicking toward you every so often. She stands near one of the arches that lead out to the courtyard, her gaze following the interaction between you and her son. There is something in the way she observes you—a mixture of curiosity, admiration, and perhaps a touch of something more that she doesn’t fully acknowledge, even to herself.

Rhaenyra notices the ease with which you speak to Luke, the way your presence seems to calm him, to give him strength. There is a grace in your movements, a calm assurance that draws her attention, almost as if you are a beacon of light in the chaos that surrounds them all. She sees the way Luke looks up at you, his young face filled with awe, and she cannot help but feel the same pull, the same captivation.

She remembers the conversation from the night before, the way you spoke of balance, of the vastness of the universe and the insignificance of their struggles in the grand scheme of things. It had left her feeling both humbled and intrigued, as if she were standing on the edge of some great revelation, something that could change everything she thought she knew.

But now, as she watches you with her son, she sees another side of you—a protector, a guide, someone who understands the fears of a boy and can ease them with nothing more than a few well-chosen words. It is a quality that Rhaenyra cannot help but admire, and it deepens the connection she feels toward you, a bond that is growing stronger with each passing moment.

Luke takes a deep breath, standing a little taller now as he looks up at you. “Thank you, Lady Y/N,” he says, his voice more confident this time. “For everything.”

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “You are a brave young man, Luke. Never forget that. The world is a dangerous place, but you have the strength within you to face whatever comes. Trust in that.”

Luke smiles, a small, genuine smile that lights up his face, and then he turns to go, feeling a little more at peace with the world. As he walks away, he glances back at you one last time, as if to hold onto the strength you have given him.

Rhaenyra steps forward as Luke leaves, approaching you with a mixture of caution and curiosity. “He admires you,” she says softly, her voice carrying a note of gratitude and something more, something she does not name.

You turn to her, your expression thoughtful as you meet her gaze. “He is a good boy,” you reply. “He will grow into a strong man, one who will carry the weight of his name with honor. But he is still young, and the world is full of challenges he has yet to face.”

Rhaenyra nods, her eyes lingering on your face, taking in the details of your features, the way the light plays across your skin. There is something almost hypnotic about you, something that draws her in, and she finds herself feeling a connection that she cannot fully explain. “I can see why he admires you,” she says softly, her voice tinged with both respect and something deeper, something that stirs within her like the rising tide.

You hold her gaze, your expression unreadable, but there is a softness in your eyes, a recognition of the connection that is forming between the two of you. “And I can see why you care for him so deeply,” you reply, your voice gentle, almost tender. “He is your son, your legacy. You have given him strength, Rhaenyra, just as you will need to give him guidance in the days to come.”

Rhaenyra nods again, feeling a surge of emotion at your words. There is a bond forming between you, something that goes beyond mere friendship or alliance. It is a connection born of shared understanding, of mutual respect, and perhaps even of something more, something that neither of you is ready to name just yet.

For a moment, the two of you stand there in the courtyard, the world around you falling away as you share a quiet, unspoken understanding. The sun continues to rise, casting its golden light across the castle, and in that light, the bond between you and Rhaenyra grows stronger, deepening with every passing moment.

And in the distance, the sea continues to churn, its waves crashing against the shore, a reminder that the world is vast and full of challenges. But in this moment, on this morning, there is peace, and there is a connection.

#hotd rhaenyra #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x female reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra x you #rhaenyra x female reader #rhaenyra targaryen

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dev1lm4n · 16 days ago

Text

favors

pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader

summary: ghost is curious on how far he could push around the pliant private; the kinds of things he could ask for and all the perverted favors he could earn, including stuffing you full of your silly little pen.

warnings: nsfw! sorta power imbalance (ghost is a l.t and you're a private), ghost is mean :(, uses of whore, unprotected piv, inappropriate use of a pen, semi-public, doing it in an evidence room lol, terrible accent, getting caught

notes: reblogs n comments appreciated! i also do commissions for $10 / 1k words on cod/tlou/aot/haikyuu n many more. msg me :)

“So yer telling me,” Johnny paused, vulgar gargles of cheap booze echoed around the buzzing pub. He had to take a minute or two to relinquish the revolting burn that’s paving a path right down his trachea and into his junk of a stomach.

Ghost shouldn’t even be having booze, more so the kind they serve in the dirtiest street of London (the one that’s definitely infested with rat droppings and a random fella’s piss), but here he was, advocating for his friend’s ideas.

The masked man shrunk back against the booth’s shiny red seat. His hips jutted forward, beer comfortably propped up on his thigh.

“This lass will literally do anything you ask for?"

Ghost sighed.

It took him a beat too long to answer Johnny’s inquiry.

He’s getting impatient, rightfully so. Unless it’s playful jeering or stern commanding procedure, Ghost hasn’t exactly spoken a word that he’d deem interesting after the last mission.

He’s just been quiet underneath the skull-face attire. Tired, perhaps. But Johnny truly feared that he’d finally end up as a shell of a person. A suit of skin, muscle, and bones. The lights are on but no one’s home kind of thing.

Ghost shifted in his seat. He leaned forward tentatively, deep in thought Johnny suspected. His hulking mass of muscles further emphasized by the tacky shine of multicolored lights.

“Yeah.”

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s amazing!”

“Yeah?”

His eyebrows knitted underneath his balaclava.

“‘course. You got yourself a fan, L.T.”

A fan. A fan. A fan?

Ghost could laugh at the premise.

At the thought that someone had the audacity to think of him as someone worth that kind of attention. He had never thought of it in that manner, couldn’t bring himself to at least, but it’s still as far-fetched now than it was the first time he considered it. It’s absurd.

Ghost propped his elbows up on the bar’s table. A sticky substance - most likely some sort of spilled milkshake or a very sweet Cosmopolitan - instantly pooled his sleeves, but he had more important things to dwell on. The idea that you, a simple girl-next-door private that he met by accident, adores and devotes yourself to him to the point of no return. What kind of fuckery is that?

“‘m not someone to fan over, Johnny. You know that fair and square.”

“You have a point there, L.T.”

Johnny huffed out a pained chuckle. His stomach must’ve been sending neon red blaring signs to quit drinking and hurry back to his woman back home, but he’s a persistent man, even stubborn some might say.

Ghost was still deep in thought. He even managed to abandon the cold beer he'd ordered a couple minutes back, the condensation making a very clear point as it dribbled down his gloved palm.

He’s trying to acquire every last bit of information he has of you. Every detail, every moment that might help him deduce this extremely serious problem.

What did your hair look like? When’s the first time he noticed the repeating tendencies? It might not result in his ultimate death, sure, but it’d surely wound him insane. Why would someone even be a fan of a socially-resigned man?

Johnny cleared his throat. Ghost’s taking too long and he’s made that clear.

“Where d’you even meet the lass?”

“’m not sure…” he trailed off.

Johnny offered him an odd look, before another laugh erupted from his booze-scented cavern.

Ghost looked away, but was pulled back in by the comfortable arm (way too comfortable if he had a say in it) slung across his shoulder. His caramel eyes came around to his partner’s, as if waiting for him to spare him a piece of his mind.

“You’re one cruel man, sir.”

“‘m not. Just never thought of it,” he tried. “Didn’t have the time to.”

“Come on. Bet you could get something outta that thick skull of yours,” Johnny jeered.

“I think, well, ..think she’s part of that task force. Y’know, the one that was an extension of ours, in case things go to shite?”

Johnny hummed. There was that one time, too long ago that he couldn’t even picture the faces clearly. They're more similar to blobs of beige and brown now, but he’d remember a lady if he came across one. “Oh yeah, yer right, there was one.”

“Had trouble mapping out the terrains so I asked the Captain,” Ghost continued on lightly, hoping Johnny could somehow connect the statement to where and how he’d meet the mysterious lady.

“And so she came in handy,” Johnny cleverly added.

Ghost took a deep breath, the shape of his lips made a brief appearance through the thin fabric, frustration knitted in every inch of his appearance. “She’s smart, Johnny. Well, even that drunk man coulda been smarter than you,” he argued teasingly, but was quickly met with a brute hand down the back of his neck.

“That’s fuckin’ mean, man,” Johnny cocked his head to the side defeatedly. “’m here tryna solve your love problems, but yer making fun of me.”

“Not ‘love’,” Ghost corrected. “But she’s so pliant, John. So.. obedient.”

“And smart people aren’t obedient. Moreover, smart lasses.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Johnny took another swing of his foamy beer. A light trace of cheap booze made an appearance in the shape of a mustache right above his real bush. He looked like he’s truly using his head for a minute and it’s truly entertaining. Ghost would’ve chuckled, sneered, and made entertaining comments if it’s not for the fact that he’s equally as burdened.

Come to think of it, you weren’t anything extraordinary. You weren’t a spectacular tank-shaped-human that’s won the recognition of every military general, neither were you superbly drop-dead gorgeous. You’re just this girl.

This girl who didn’t have a blind adherence to his authority as a higher commanding officer; rather, you made it seem as if it was a conscious choice, a demonstration of your commitment to him. Your unassuming demeanor and lack of vanity blended right into the black-and-white nature of the military, but there was just something.

Something particular that bothered him.

“What’d she do?”

“Asked her to gather intel from the last ten years,” he started. “Did it in two days.”

“That was well.. technically her job. Maybe she’s just terribly invested in it?” he offered.

“Asked her to get my boots washed-”

“Wait, what?”

“Boots. Washed. I had a sling on so I..”

“Don’t tell me she did it,” Johnny shrieked. “Your boots smell like horse shite.”

“She did.” Johnny looked at him in terror. His fucking jaw almost went unscrewed from the statement. “She’d switch schedules with me if things got out of hand. Oh, and she patched me up awhile back.”

“And you don’t know the lass’ name?”

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny,” he grunted uneasily. “No.”

“Jesus Christ. What’dya even say when she finished patching you up?” he threw his hand up. “Thank you, random gal who I vaguely remember for cleaning up my boots and doing a shit load of things for me.”

“Well…”

“She’s in love with you. Christ’s sake. The wedding bells are ringing in my ears.”

“Too much, Johnny.”

“No, no, hear me out,” he tugged on the male’s collar, for dramatic purposes only of course, a classic of Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish. “I bet she’d do anything for you.”

“You’re fuckin drunk.”

“Maybe. But she fuckin adores you,” he continued on. “Bet she’d suck your lil willy if you asked.”

“Now you’re outta line, Johnny,” he scoffed, deciding his pal’s spitting all but the truth, maybe the piss-colored concoction finally fried his brain cells off. “And it’s definitely not little.”

Amidst all the naturally occurring hellish nature of the military (including and not limited to bitter black coffees, deafening morning roll-calls, and pungent blood), there existed an unconventional sanctuary for you. A safe haven-- special and reserved only for you.

It’s not nearly as lovely as what home felt, but it was still something.

The old evidence room, filled with bricks on bricks of aged papers along with neatly labeled boxes cluttered with God knows what. Classified artifacts, flickering lights; nobody wants anything to do with such a room and if they did, it’d probably be a direct order from their cigarette-smoking ripped captain. Or so you’d imagine.

You’re not even close to being that level of importance. You’re closer to being a coffee-bearing, mess of an intern, instead of those in the laps of the General.

You didn’t mind. Not one bit.

The admin work is far more aligned with your goals than holding a hand grenade could ever be.

After quite some time, drowning in your own mind, earning paper cuts with every flip, and sipping that God awful black coffee, you’ve managed to turn every inch of the four by six room into your own twisted version of a highschool data wall.

You’d argue that it’s a lot more effective than trying to do it in your team’s pristine glass wall, but truly it’s just a silly reason. A silly reason not to be humiliated and undermined by fellow colleagues who think that they’re above and beyond.

You stood up. Observed. Crouched (in hopes that there’d simply be a miracle, but alas, futile). Then repeated the regime like clock work for what seems like forever.

That was until an interruption came along.

A glitch in your picture-perfect routine, and it terrified you like hell.

You stood in full attention. A forty-five degree angle between your toes, hips and shoulders level, chest puffed, and limbs stiff. Between the moment in which the heavy metal door swung open with ease and when it finally came to your attention who the intruder was, you thought of all the ways you could rationalize the mess you’ve corrected. You’d imagine having a thirty second period - or less - where you’d have the chance to save your ass from running toilet duty all week.

But what came was far worse.

It’s that man. That Lieutenant, if we’re being prissy.

The one you had a crazy, borderline psychotic crush on.

The one you did back flips and handstands for. And you didn’t know if it’s the thick helmet that's strapped to his head, the heavy eye black he rocked daily, or the skull-patterned balaclava, but he’s utterly indifferent to the treatment.

Enough of that, you decided.

“At ease.”

Your shoulder slouched back to its acquired form and like always, you’d allow him to stare you down like you’re some sort of farm animal.

“Apologies, Lieutenant,” you drew back a breath. “For the mess that is. I.. wasn’t expecting anyone to come by.”

You attempted to meet his gaze. Keyword, attempted.

His stern gaze, brown eyes framed by a fading ghost of eye black, made it hard to breathe. The air seemed to thicken - wine into blood - as if acknowledging the unspoken, blurry lines of tension.

You, acutely aware of the rising tautness, attempted to challenge him ferociously, but the weight of his stare proved almost tangible. And despite it being heavily inappropriate, your clit pulsed in a foreign rhythm and your nipples pebbled with desire underneath the pure wrap of your uniform.

“Not my business,” his response fell flat. It’s like he’s trying to have you embarrass yourself.

“What’s your business then?”

It sounded a little rude, so you managed to add on a slurred line of ifyoudon’tmindmeaskingthatis to sweeten the deal.

He looked stunned for a bit, but then his gait laxed and you took the bait. You took a sharp intake of air through the gaps of your top and bottom row of teeth. Cold air seeped through, as hostile as the rumbling storm outside.

The single bulb flickered ominously - was the Lieutenant powerful enough to control electricity with his terribly distant gaze?

‘Ghost’ was his callname. That’s the only thing you know of him, aside from the fact that he’s a prominent member of TF 141 and that he has a god awful habit of tossing his duties to you. The kind of duties that won’t earn him a star or two.

“Do you need me to deep soak your boots again?”

His lithe lashes swept over his eyes, but once more, no response. It’s like you’re speaking to a wall. A damn persistent one.

“Or run names?”

Something. Anything would be better than nothing.

“Nothing like that.”

“No?”

He shook his head.

He stuffed his hand down the pocket of his tactical trousers, shoulder hunched forward, before he took a step forward. His boots, lathered in mud from a far away land, crushed the papers you’ve laid neatly.

Your eyebrows - disobeying each and every one of your neurons - twisted in disdain.

That was your work. Your hard work.

The Lieutenant inched closer, an estimate of a full foot ahead of you, towering with such an incredulous look. You challenged him with a similar gaze. Emotions naked, unveiling beneath a thin line of shameless and daring. A line of sweat began to form on top of your upper lip, a betrayal to the T.

“You think you’d let me fuck you?”

“What?”

“You think you’d-”

“I.. I heard you the first time, L.T. Just a little bewildered I s’pose.”

Not even the wildest beast of Manchester’s pub would query such an upfront question.

You swore that your physical state had forgotten that there’s an entire raging snowstorm outside base, because all you could feel was warmth.

Warmth pumped through every inch of skin under the neat fold of your collar and the tight cuff around your forearm. Warmth made your palms pool with dubious desire. It enveloped you whole, suffocated you in a headlock.

At his approach, you staggered back. It was as if your knees gave out thoroughly. You are clearly not an easy slag, but he’s making you look like one.

“Would you?”

He questioned with such.. reverence?

The Lieutenant’s large pointer finger, equal to the size of a French baguette, swept beneath your chin. A tease. Not a threat. Perhaps more of an invite.

“You could say no,” he offered. “Nothing’s gonna happen if you say no, ‘course.”

The question ‘why’ was on the tip of your tongue, before you retracted it entirely. It didn’t matter why, at least, not to him. You’ve heard about the practice. The military is cruel. Brutal. Stinky men, blood and puss, tasteless MREs; people need a getaway car, even for just a bit.

The real question was if you’d let him.

Would you let him fuck you?

You nodded.

You’re not even sure if that’s your good conscience speaking. It’s just.. you gravitate towards him like a love-blind teenage groupie.

The ghost of a smile, barely there but obvious enough it protruded out the smooth surface of his balaclava, momentarily diverted you.

He looked so good. Even with every inch of his skin covered in some sort of cloth, he looked devilishly good.

Before you could react, his strong arms were quick to wrap around your waist, swiftly turning you around. Surprised, you found yourself pushed gently against the edge of the table. It rattled side to side from the sudden impact, a rhythm that coddled you back into reality.

His cold fingertips held your wrist together. A makeshift cuff of some sort. You glanced over your shoulder, met instantaneously by the Lieutenant’s icy expression, tinged with a hint of deviance.

“Would you truly let me?” he asked once more.

You nodded.

He looked displeased. Something’s missing, but you couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was bothering him.

Ghost took another step forward. The faint presence of him crowded your backside. The tips of his fingers told a whole ‘nother story as it smoothed over your arm, mistakes and trauma from a faraway land. His warm breath flooded across the nape of your neck, controlled, yet imposing. You made an embarrassing noise when he tugged at your wrist, pulling you flush against his frontside.

Way to go.

“Say it out loud, soldier,” he grunted. “Needa be sure.”

“Fuck me.”

Exasperation and determination, he consumed you whole like wildfire.

You tried to weasel your way out of his grip, thinking it’d be smart to arch your back like a cat in heat to meet his crotch, but it’s no use. He’s as thick as concrete, not keen on meeting your demands.

You whined. Desperate this time.

He's tinkering on the edge of something big, something you know is going to be the best thing you agreed to. Ghost shushed you. A short click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth as his hands traveled along the circumference of your stomach.

He made it an easy task to tick off those pesky, bothersome buttons. One by one. Every time making you wince in anticipation.

“Lieutenant!” you squealed aloud when he buried his head down the crook of your neck. The texture of his balaclava made your nerves jitter, rough yet the warmth his skin emitted set your own alight.

You gasped when he finally cupped your breasts. He kneaded the soft skin gently, the cold tips of his fingers twisting to pebble your nipples. From the back, you might've looked prim and proper. But from the front, your nipples stood out like the slanted tips of Everest.

A stinging pleasure was quick to spread, especially down South, where your needy cunt gaped and squeezed tight around nothing. He's kind enough to leave the remnants of your uniform attached to your body. It's cold out and he was bright enough to know that this room was equipped with not even one heater. It's the higher-ups cutting costs like always.

“Why'd you let me fuck you, eh?” he whispered tauntingly. “You a whore?”

You shook your head no. Mind too frazzled to even get offended.

“Looks like a whore to me,” he chuckled slowly, only to bend you straight at the waist.

The side of your face came in contact with the cold surface in a loud thud. A protest tore out of your throat.

He pawed at the belt buckle you're sporting, so impatient he might’ve torn the material in one go if it didn't unclasp right away. With a single pull, he had your tactical military-issued pants pooled pathetically around your ankle.

It was quiet for a moment or two. You would've guessed that he was standing there, admiring your backside like some twisted connoisseur of some sort, or setting aside a list of what he would've liked to do. It's unbelievable that the five-minutes-ago-you agreed to something this bizarre. His large palms spread across the entirety of your ass, feeling up the smooth surface before a slap landed loud and clear.

“Ah!”

Something came into view on your right side, so you turned your head ever so slightly. And there it was.

His thick fingers were wrapped around an item, the same one your mouth has been wrapped around so many times at frustrating moments.

Your red pen, the same one that's ink has stained every inch of your fingers, was now offered in front of you. He wanted you to suck, you figured. You could've said no, sure, but there was a desire to fulfill his every wish, to be the good whore he's asking you to be.

With much hesitation, you took the pen cautiously. It's not long before a good portion of it was lathered lewdly. And when he pulled the object away, a bead of saliva came attached with the warm end of your tongue.

“Look at you,” he cooed. “Couldn't even stand up for yourself, can you?”

“No.. puh- please.”

Ghost pulled you flush against his chest, so close that you felt the ridges of his uniform against your arched back.

A possessive arm wrapped itself around your soft stomach. Your head was spinning-- his scent, musky and woody, had your mind twisting and bending in every manner possible.

Finally, he spared you of all your suffering. The first nudge felt experimental. He rubbed the pen down your throbbing clit, running it up and down the sensitive bud. Then he slowly made his way further down in a voyage for your cunt.

His calloused fingers paved the way down the slippery road. You found yourself bucking your hips against his warm hands, craving for just a touch. For more. Anything will do from that hulking figure of a man.

“God, just put it in already,” you grumbled, a notch above a whisper. Ghost didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t like your bratty tone and so, decided to punish you against it.

The cold pen slipped into your wet cunt in one go. It might be thin, barely the size of a finger, but when you haven’t been fucked for ages, it felt incredibly intrusive. You’re almost sure your cunt had sealed itself back up after the long dry spell.

Like a virgin, you let out a squeal. One that received a low, dry chuckle from the Lieutenant.

He pulled it all out, pulling it up to your eye level, as if taunting you with how dripping wet the pen had become. It was lathered in your juices, thick and globby as it dripped down. You sucked on the end once more. This time unprompted, simply to show off how dirty you can also become.

This earned another one of his low grunts. Approval, you thought.

“You want it so bad, don’t you?” he whispered against your ear. Ghost guided the pen back to your entrance, letting it get sucked back by your needy cunt. He couldn’t watch, not with this position. But God did he want to. “Being all bratty won’t help, love.”

The squelching noise your cunt had made every time he thrust the pen back in was so.. dirty. Enough to also get him hot and bothered.

You could feel him grow beneath you, feel it bulge against your lower half, though he didn’t seem to be making certain arrangements due to it. Ghost’s index finger and thumb moved rhythmically as it worked in tandem to touch all those sweet spots of yours. Undoubtedly, it’s working like a charm.

Sweet nectars of his hard work started spilling out your cunt in thick translucent globs. It dribbled down your inner thigh, creating such a lewd display for Ghost to marvel. Teasingly, he thrusted upwards, hitting against those ridges deep in your cunt and making you lurch forward. Your nipples rippled in reaction, a twitching pleasure made you let out a needy moan.

“S-shit,” you cursed. Ghost continued to thrust the pen deeper, as deep as it could reach at least, and took it upon himself to twist and withdraw it every time you’ve gotten too loud with it. “Don’t-” you were interrupted once more. This time with the presence of his rough fingers, creating tight circles above your engorged clit. “Fuck!”

“You’ve got a dirty mouth on you, eh?” he whispered teasingly as he pressed clothed kisses against the nape of your neck.

He was persistent in rubbing your clit, not changing the speed one bit even without you asking for it. It felt so nice. The way his textured fingers felt against your sensitive nub, the way he dragged your juices up your clit-- oh he’s driving you insane.

Ghost angled his thrusts once more and with such expertise, he found that one cushy spot that made you tremble. Your knees felt weak and all you want is for him to fill you up properly. The cold pen rummaged against your insides and before you knew it, your walls had already started to flutter against the smooth plastic. “Small little cunt so desperate for me.”

“I- I can’t-” you gasped in between soft moans. “A-ah, ooh, I-”

Ghost barked out a laugh at the way you can’t seem to finish any of your sentences. He was a sadist it seemed as he had no intentions of hearing you out.

He drove the pen in harder, faster, determined to have you react more. To have you, the pretty little thing who’d run stupid errands for him, slather his fingers with your wetness. “Gonna cum on a pen, huh?” he teased, his voice tipping you over the edge.

You guided your thighs forward, eager to have your clit caressed more. To have it stimulated by a masked Lieutenant you barely even know.

“Sweet little thing..” he cooed as he watched you reach your high. “Drippin’ over a pen..”

“Cumming, I’m cumming!” you announced and he found it rather.. heart-warming in a way.

You sounded so pliant, so dumb, and it’s what made blood rush instantly to his throbbing cock. You could feel him watching.

His gleeful eyes ran over your convulsing body, the way your cunt clenched rhythmically against the office tool that’s lodged up into you. Ghost didn’t even get to pull out the pen before your cunt began spewing out what it’s been holding back. He’d just reprimand it with a few encouraging slap to your clit.

The thin substance dribbled down the pen and onto his fingers, leaving a mess behind. A much-needed mess that is.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he cursed, holding your body upright as it seemed you had zero control over it.

The room felt warmer, much warmer that you couldn’t even feel a tinge of the cold air anymore; that everything else sounded like a ringing buzz and the only thing you could focus on was his rugged breath.

It felt cathartic-- the moment, that is. Though, Ghost wasn’t one with plenty of time.

Everything is timed when it comes to him, so he allowed you just a minute to breathe before he manhandled you back onto the table. He perched you up on top of crumpled papers, admiring the way your cunt pushed out the pen messily. Your favorite red pen clunked against the cold floor, leaving your aching cunt gaping with need.

How truly pathetic it looked.

You looked at him with a stupid smile, as if he’s truly fucked your brains out. As if all you can think of was how his cock would force its way in, of how much thicker it’d be compared to the shabby pen.

“Ghost?” a timber voice crawled from the door. Before you could make your case, the door swung open confrontationally.

Though it terrified you, that you weren't upset by the fact that you’re caught. More so that you didn’t get to have your favorite Lieutenant’s seed drip from within you. Maybe.. maybe you were a whore like he’d suggested.

#cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost smut #simon riley #simon riley fanfic #ghost fanfiction #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #call of duty

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multifandom-pleasures · 5 months ago

Note

Hii i absolutely love how you write all the characters! Could I request sonic, shadow, and knuckles, and how they would react to reader trying to hide a chao they brought home from them? 🩷

A/N: I loved this request so much!! I love the little chaos. I do apologize for how long it took!! 4 am shifts are not for the weak. but I hope this is good enough!!

sonic

you couldn’t help it. you couldn’t help that you brought the little thing home. you were simply enjoying a nice day out while sonic was doing his duty around town, helping people and defeating robotnik’s robots. sat out in the park, under the shade of a nice tree with a book in hand, listening to the sound of chattering and squealing children. and then a little chao wormed itself onto your lap, making itself comfortable.

you thought it was someone’s pet, but as you looked up and waited for a moment, you didn’t see any distressed owners scrambling to retrieve it. you didn’t remove it, you simply scratched it’s little head as you continued reading, enjoying the new company as you wasted a couple of hours there. but then it was time to go home, and when you slid the chao off your lap and moved to stand; it quickly clung onto your leg, it’s eyes dropped sadly and sad little sounds leaving its mouth.

and how could you leave it alone after that? you folded up your blanket and tucked it under your arm before scooping up the chao in your other arm. it quickly snuggled into your neck and let out contented little ‘chao’ sounds, and it only made you melt further. you booked it back home before your rational side could tell you otherwise to keeping it.

that is what has led you to now, with the chao curled in a nest of blankets you put underneath your desk to hide her; a her, you had determined after some time on the internet as you also searched for chao care. it seemed simple enough, and she already seemed to like you, so it would only make it easier on your end. she was very pliant when you had cleaned her and gave her something to nibble on. the only issue was now she was very clingy. which, fair.

but when you had tried to walk off to try and make yourself seem normal for when sonic came home, it let out little distressed noises and scrambled from its spot under your desk to cling to your leg. you tried once more to leave her and it only resulted in the same thing. you tried to soothe her, stroke her little head and it only seemed to make her more fussy.

“ I’ll be back soon, I promise. “ you spoke softly, wrapping your hands around her and lifting her to eye level, “ you’re just.. a sudden thing, that’s all - but I promise, you’re not staying in here forever. now be a good girl, and stay, okay? “ she listened intently, as if processing your words, and reluctantly she shuffled back to her little nest when you set her down. you let out a huff of relief before stepping out of the room.

sonic returned only moments after, where you had yourself seated on your couch. he greeted you with his usual bright grin and a kiss to your head, which you leaned into. you stood to trail after him into the kitchen, as he moved to grab himself a snack.

“ so - what’d you do today, babe? “ he asked as he pulled pulled out of the fridge with an apple in hand, biting into it. you have a small shrug.

“ nothing much.. just went to the park to read for a little while. “ you replied, sounding as nonchalant as you could muster, “ it was nice out and I didn’t want to waste it inside. I actually managed to get far in the book - “ he hummed as he nodded, listening intently. he knew most of the things you did weren’t as daring and exciting as his own; but he always listened.

you rambled away about the current events in your book. you were so focused on explaining the details to him, recounting what you had told him about it before along with the new unfolded events, you didn’t even notice his focus had trailed away from you and to a the little creature scurrying it’s way towards you. a smile tugged at his lips at the sight, his head craning in curiosity at the little chao. you were about to scold him for not paying attention when you felt a grasp at your leg.

“ brought a friend home? “ you jumped and looked down, the chao looking up at you with wide eyes and a pout. clearly, she was displeased for being left along for more than 5 minutes. you couldn’t bother to be upset with her. she had just found a home, of course you should have known she would be clingy!

“ yes. “ you sighed defeatedly, lifting her into your arms and cradling her to your chest, soft sounds coming from her as she made herself comfy, “ she kinda.. joined me while I was reading today. and I tried to leave, but she wouldn’t let me go, and you should’ve seen her face I couldn’t leave her! and she’s been so sweet and cuddly and - “ he cut you off with a laugh, making his way over.

“ hey, hey! calm down, (y/n) I was only teasing. “ he looked down at the chao, taking a closer look at her. with the hand not holding his snack, he gently brushed the backs of has fingers against her head, and she cooed as she leaned into it, “ she is a cutie, isn’t she? “

“ I know I should’ve asked first but I couldn’t leave her behind.. “ sonic gave a small shake of his head.

“ nah, I always expected this sorta thing from you. surprised it didn’t happen sooner! “ he snickered, kissing your cheek, “ I’m not gonna make you take her back or something. we’ll take good care of her. “ his arm snaked around you and tugged you into his side, and you let out a sigh as you leaned into him. you should’ve expected him to be understanding.

“ we’ll be like parents! “ he exclaimed suddenly in revelation, and you elbowed him with a snort, “ c’mon, isn’t that a fun thought? she’s our little baby! “

“ sonic, shut up. “

shadow

you were much too easily persuaded, and one day it would be the death of you. you were having a little shopping day out in town, enjoying the sunlight and a day off of work; drink in hand and sunglasses over your it eyes. and then a quaint little pet shop caught your eye. it stopped you in your tracks and you peered inside to see little domesticated chaos in little pens, walking about and playing with one another. you would have simply cooed and continued on had it not been for the fact one certain one had caught your eye.

a black and red chao, sat on its lonesome in a corner. it had its little arms crossed over it’s chest and a grumpy look on it’s face; and by chaos it reminded you of shadow. you were walking into the shop before you could think twice. you asked if you could carry the chao, and after warning you he wasn’t kind to many; you insisted. they relented.

they scooped up the chao, who immediately squirmed around in an attempt to be released before handing him towards you. you gently soothed him and stroked your hand over his head, and he continued to squirm before slowing down at your movements. he seemed to want to hate it, but was quickly melting before he could convince himself otherwise.

you stayed for a good hour with the little guy, holding him close and murmuring little compliments and praises on how cute he was and how sweet he was being. you were sure he had dozed off but you didn’t want to check. the employees began to convince you to take him home since he seemed to like you, and it was rare for him to ever come across someone he liked. you tried to object, you couldn’t! not so suddenly, and not without shadow knowing!

then you were walking out with your wallet emptier than when you came in and the chao in one arm and a bag of necessities in your other. even when he was sleeping he looked grumpy, and you could cry with how cute he was.

but now you were stuck on how to tell shadow. you hadn’t been living together for too long; and now suddenly you were springing up a pet for you to care for together. what if he made you return him? what if they didn’t get along? you couldn’t bear to part with the chao now that you bonded with him!

you set the bag down by the couch and sat yourself down, holding the chao in your lap. he glared up at you; now that you think about it, it might’ve just been his resting face; and you looked down at him. his little hands were grasping onto your thumbs and you had to bite your lip to keep the grin off your face. both your heads jerked to the door as you heard the doorknob jingling as the lock turned.

you quickly moved to set the chao down on the other side of the couch, hidden out of you. you pressed your finger to your lip in a ‘hush’ motion, whispering to him, “ stay here, okay? don’t move. “ and you attempted to appear nonchalant as you turned on the tv, pretending to be intrigued by whatever was playing. you had barely made it as shadow stepped inside.

he stared at you for a moment as he took in your appearance, and his eyes flitted to the tv. he rose a brow.

“ I thought you didn’t like this show. “ you cursed yourself mentally as it was indeed a show you could care less for. you just shrugged and replied.

“ I’m giving it one more shot. how was work? “ you twisted to look his way, focusing on him now.

“ same as usual. “ he replied as monotone as ever, eyes trailing slowly around the living room, “ how was your day? “

“ more or less the same. I went out window shopping, mostly; bought a drink and a sweet from some new shop. we should go together sometime, I think you’d like it. “ you hummed, distracted by your own recollection of today’s events.

“ and nothing else? “ he responded, his arms crossing over his chest. you blinked as you looked up at him.

“ what do you mean? “ shadow sighed and his eyes drifted to the bag you’d forgotten by the couch, and as you peered over you could see the ‘how to care for a chao’ pamphlet peeking out. you cursed and slumped over, “ listen - it was a sporadic thing. when you see him you’ll understand. “

you shifted to the end of the couch and peeked over, only to see he was gone. you jumped up and looked around. shadow watched as you frantically looked behind the couch and under the coffee table.

“ you’ve already lost him? “ he scoffed, but joined you in looking around the living room. no way he already disappeared like that! you groaned and stood, taking another look around before pausing as shadow had bent down to peek into the cabinets of the your tv stand. there was the little chao, grasping onto shadow’s quills and looking rather proud of himself. you snorted and covered your mouth, gaining your boyfriend’s attention.

“ what? “ he huffed, “ what are you laughing at. “

“ don’t move. “ you laughed as you made your way over, and carefully worked the chao’s hands from his quills in order to not pluck any out of his head. shadow looked over as you held the chao in your hands, an amused smile on your lips and a mischievous one on the chao’s, “ looks like someone snuck up on you! “

he stared down at the chao, and you couldn’t determine his expression; it was slowly making you worried. did the little stunt upset him? oh surely he’d make you send him back now. you instinctively held the chao closer as you waited for his reaction.

he then let out a huff through his nose, a small smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

“ not bad. “ he nodded, and with a finger he gently scratched the head of the chao, who leaned into it with a little wiggle, “ don’t try and keep secrets from me next time, (y/n). we both know it’s futile. “ you huffed and smiled, shrugging.

“ I was gonna tell you eventually. “

“ sure. “ he hummed, turning away to make his way to your shared room.

“ but don’t let him do that again. if he manages to sneak up behind me around company, I’ll never hear the end of it. “

knuckles

it truly was an accident. for the past week, you had a chao in your basement. not in a neglectful way, of course! but more so in a ‘at first it was a wild chao who accidentally wormed its way through your basement window and when you gave it a snack to eat it refused to leave’ sort of way. and so now, it was your pet that wasn’t your pet. you went down now and then to feed it and give it water and it would even let you pet it.

it really was warming up to you more than when it first arrived! at first it refused to get near you, but as you continued to give it food and spoke to it from several feet away, it would nudge closer and closer, until it finally allowed you to stroke it’s head, and only for a few minutes. then it would scurry away again.

knuckles certainly didn’t know. he didn’t care much for the basement. the garage was his area, where he would work out and do whatever it is he entertained himself with, and he never questioned how often you would visit the basement. he always gave you your freedom and space in the things you did. sometimes too much.

you had spent the day out getting more things for the chao, having did research and getting an understanding of what they needed. you returned with multiple bags in hand, and after peeking around to see if knuckles was around to see - he wasn’t - you crept over to the basement door and pulled it open. you made your way down almost too excitedly as you called for the chao, cooing to it.

and it quickly stopped as you saw knuckles seated in the middle of the basement, the chao curled in it’s lap and snoozing away. you gaped at the sight and knuckles looked up at you with a grin, waving.

“ (y/n)! “ he cheered, “ you’ve arrived! did you see the little chao? I assumed he was wild, though he is very well fed. and he is very affectionate! “ you set the bags down, slowly making your way over. the chao was woken up by knuckles’ shout, and squirmed out of his lap to make his way to you.

“ oh - he seems to enjoy your presence as well! “ you sat down as you cradled the chao close, stroking his head, “ much more than mine. what do you plan to do with him? “

“ keep him. “ you responded, shifting slightly, “ I um.. already kinda knew he was down here. for a week already. “ you admitted as you averted your eyes.

“ you did not tell me? “

“ I was going to! I just didn’t know how, yknow? and you care a lot about the nature of things so, I didn’t think you would let me keep him - but I really wanted to keep him, and he wanted to stay.. “ you sighed, motioning to the bags you set down with your head, “ I was out buying things for him, to take care of him properly. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. “

knuckles shifted closer to you until he was at your side, and he set his hand on your shoulder.

“ you should not have feared telling me. in fact, I’m very proud of you. “ you looked up and tilted your head.

“ you are? “

“ yes! you are correct, i do care for the way that nature already is, but it seems this chao has chosen you. and you did the proper research to take care of him! you put thought and care into this idea, even if it was unintended in the beginning. I’m proud of you. “ you blushed lightly and smiled, looking down.

“ you’re too sweet, knucks.. “ you mumbled, and leaned into his side, “ thanks.. I don’t know what I’d do without your support. “

“ you are a very intelligent person, (y/n). I have faith in the decisions you make. you always figure it out in the end. “ knuckles rose to his feet to fetch the bags, and began to make his way upstairs.

“ where are you going? “ you called out to him, still holding the chao as you stood at the foot of the steps

“ well, we are not keeping the chao down there! he will be sharing the room with us! come on! “

#sonic characters #sonic fandom #sonic fic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic x reader #sonic the hedgehog x reader #shadow the hedgehog #shadow the ultimate lifeform #shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog x reader #knuckles the echidna #knuckles x reader

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matthewtkachuk · 5 months ago

Text

last night (blame it on the vodka)

They say drunk words are sober thoughts, so what are drunken confessions of love?

pairing: matthew tkachuk x reader

warnings: a pinch of angst, swearing, alcohol (and its after effects - aka a fat hangover and a twinge of regret)

word count: 3k

a/n: matthew tkachuk is a stanley cup champion!!!! you know i had to do it to ya. ps this idea was formed a million years ago (pre trade) therefore I have simply plucked Cowboys from downtown Calgary to downtown Miami deal with it. big ups to @wyattjohnston for the edit and for outsourcing my geography queries. title and inspo from the song by the same name by lucy spraggan. enjoy my loves and let me know what you think <3

You’re never drinking again.

It’s a mantra you repeat all morning, from the minute you’re dragged back into consciousness by the sound of construction down on the street, to when you finally pull from bed to dramatically slam the window shut, to the one-two-three-four times you end up with your knees on the bathroom mat and your head in the toilet.

You’re far too old to be drinking like that on a nearly empty stomach, far too old to be drinking like that regardless. Okay, maybe that’s a tad dramatic, being a mostly single twenty something year old in downtown Miami. Mostly single in that every time you drank, your painfully unrequited crush on probably the one guy in all of Florida you couldn’t pull came out with a vengeance.

Looking at your phone and all the unread texts you groan, realizing that the little girl who used to write ‘Mrs. Matty Tkachuk’ in all of her diaries came out in full force last night.

Hyping yourself up, you type out and forward the message ‘What the hell did I do last night?’ to everyone you remember being out with you. Everyone, that is, except Matty himself.

Brielle: Last night you told him you loved him

It’s not atypical for you to be out on a Friday night, a group of your closest girlfriends at your side. Neither is it uncommon for the night to begin with the three of you taking thirst traps for the ‘gram before taking shots as the Uber pulls up.

Cowboys is a favorite place, certainly not for the high class atmosphere or clientele—of which you’ll find neither. But who doesn’t love to let loose in an environment where the city boys of Miami don Stetsons and large belt buckles? And okay, maybe you’re a bit of a gambler—though, with money or love as the currency depends on the night.

Tonight you’re pressing your luck, drinking enough to dull the edge and to keep you from overreacting to Matt’s response to the aforementioned Insta story. It’s a simple message, a string of fire emojis, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t refresh the app until his username appeared as ‘Seen’ under the story.

You don’t want to think it means anything when he shows up with a couple of his boys an hour into dancing with the girls. Cowboys is a popular place, evidenced by the crowded dance floor and the complete lack of personal space. So what Brielle was wearing a cowboy hat in one of the pictures and so what everyone and their mother knew this bar was your favorite place to spend Friday nights and so what you’d even tagged the place in a boomerang of your shot glasses five minutes after arriving.

It didn’t mean anything—doesn’t mean anything.

That thought doesn’t stop you from abandoning your friends the second you see the all too familiar head of curls.

“Hi Matty,” you greet, stumbling into him and sliding your hand around his waist. He feels solid beneath your fingertips, warm and secure and everything you’ve ever wanted. His resulting grin could build and topple empires, you think.

But then reality all comes crashing down again as he slides his arm around your shoulders in turn, squeezing gently as he replies, “Hey, Kid.”

It’s the gentle reminder you’ll never be anything more than the annoying girl next door who used to follow him and Brady around like they were the greatest thing in the world.

If he notices the way you deflate, he doesn’t say a word, though his hand rubs comfortingly at your shoulder for a moment until you can’t stand it anymore and go back to your friends and their sympathetic faces.

The thing about you when you drink is the filter comes off. Normally you play your cards close to your chest, making it very hard for others to know your emotions. But a little vodka and you’re suddenly ready to face your feelings head on.

It starts off innocently enough, an over exaggerated ‘I love you!’ when he brings you a drink without you having to ask. But then Georgia is all but holding you down to prevent you from running after him and professing your love. She doesn’t succeed, what with you running into his arms midway through the night anyway.

He has that same grin on his face as you tell him how much you love him, and though he doesn’t mean it the way you do, he tells you that he loves you too just the same.

Though you haven’t eaten in at least twelve hours, the thought of food makes your already upset stomach turn some more, and so you settle for making a cup of tea to get some fluids back in you.

Not quite ready to face the music in terms of what your alcohol fueled self did last night, you ignore the unread messages to flip through some Insta stories. There’s cute pics and videos of you and your girls, you screen shot your favorites and tap away until you pause on a boomerang of Georgia and Brielle. It’s cute enough if you ignore the small stain by Bri’s collar where she’d lost some of the second tequila shot. Oh, and you looking up at Matthew with the most pathetic lovesick look on your face in the background.

It unsettles your stomach further, and so you abandon all plans of tea—turning off your kettle and grabbing the water bottle you’d prepped for yourself before you left last night and taking up residence on the couch.

Putting on a random movie from your childhood on Disney+, you lay back and cover yourself with your favorite quilt. Another wave of nausea washes over you, and so you prop yourself up with a few extra pillows and fall asleep sitting up.

It mustn’t be more than half an hour of uninterrupted sleep before you’re pulled out of it by the incessant buzzing of your phone. It’s a set of four pictures of you on Matt’s lap and another incriminating tidbit from the night before.

Georgia: Last night you told him you need him

“Shut up Sammy,” you glare, angrily poking his chest with your index finger. You’re grateful for the uncharacteristic change in nail shape at your last manicure, the stiletto tip serving as a makeshift weapon that actually makes him wince before laughing in your face.

Truthfully, you’re not sure how the night got to this point—you and your girls hanging around a table with Matty and his boys. You’re not complaining though, not with how your bare legs pressed to Matty’s jeans or how his arm rests above your shoulders, fingertips brushing your skin now and then.

Matt can spot a fight coming from a mile away, well versed in the language that is your rage from the countless years he was the source of it, pulling on your pigtails and breaking your barbies.

“That’s not my name,” Sam rolls his eyes, rubbing his chest and stealing a swig of your beer. “Lightweight.”

He’s referring to your drunken state and the fact that Matt himself had to drag you to the table with the promise of a Bud Light if, and only if, you drank an entire glass of water. Narrowing your eyes, you begin to lunge at him again, stopped only by the force of Matt pulling you onto his lap and wrapping an arm around your waist, one hand resting on your stomach and the other on your bare knee.

The effects of being wrapped up in him are almost instantaneous. Your rage quickly simmers, your body relaxes and you all but sink into the embrace. You quiet then, content to let the rest of the table do the talking for the moment while you memorize the feel of his arms.

It’s a nervous habit to fiddle with the small charm around your neck, something you do unconsciously, not even noticing until it’s somehow come undone in your grasp.

“Matty, I need you,” you whisper against the side of his face, watching his eyes darken and the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He opens his mouth to speak but you interrupt with your fist coming at his face with your necklace clenched tightly within.

He visibly relaxes, motioning for you to lean forward and swiping your hair to the side.You grab the strands of your hair after he takes the necklace from you, shivering as his cold hands drag across your skin.

Georgia is shaking her head at you from across the table, having clearly read your lips and witnessed the little moment. You just smile and shrug at her before pressing a chaste kiss to the skin of Matt’s jaw. “Thank you.”

You’re pretty sure you’re dying. By the grace of some higher power, you haven’t seen the inside of your bathroom in a hot minute. Yes, you’ve finally moved past stage one of your hangover, however you’re not out of the woods yet. You’re dying a slow death on the couch—feeling yourself dip more and more into dangerous dehydration levels despite the giant water bottle on your coffee table that had been a gag gift from Matt last Christmas.

Truthfully, the room is still a little spinny and your stomach still a little unsettled, but perhaps the worst of it all is the splitting headache and the sore throat. Both ailments make sense, you’re a yeller when you drink and you’re certain last night was no exception—even if the memories are slow to return to you.

It’s not aggression, not really. It’s more that your body can’t contain all the emotions that you so carefully hide in your day to day life, and without the control that sobriety brings, you’re wont to let them all spill out.

And really, you can’t linger on the what ifs too long, so you settle back in for another nap as an attempt to sleep off the symptoms of your poorly thought out night out with another movie playing as background noise.

Elizabeth has just rejected Darcy when your phone lights up three times.

sam: let’s just say you’re screwed if you ever wake up in vegas

you: fuck off sammy

sam: still not my name, lightweight

sam: at least I didn’t propose last night

“You know, Sammy,” you slur, no longer angry but keeping up the nickname in hopes that the table will think you are and Matty will let you stay in his arms. “You’re very lucky Liz agreed to marry you because other than the hockey thing you really have no redeeming qualities.”

“At least someone wanted to marry me,” he retorts not unkindly.

“Matty would marry me,” you state confidently, tilting your head back to look up at the man beneath you. “Wouldn’t you, Matty?”

“Gonna have to get down on one knee, Kid,” Matty laughs, shaking your body slightly from where it leans against him. The dopiest smile crosses your face at the sound and you know you’re being far too obvious but you can’t help it. Matty laughing is your favorite sound, and happiness looks so good on him. There’s nothing you hate more than seeing him sad or upset. Nothing except dirty, sticky bar floors, which makes your next actions even more comical.

Pulling from his arms for the first time in what feels like an eternity—not that you were complaining—you jump from the table and dramatically flop down to one knee.

“Matthew—M-Matty,” you hiccup, keenly aware of the dozens of eyes on you and yet utterly uncaring of any of them except the icy blue you stare into now. “You’re my b-best friend. Marry me?”

The look he gives you is fond if frigid, not at all the passionate love declaration you were hoping for. Pouting deeply, you don’t move to pull up from the floor. “Is that a no?”

“It’s a ‘not right now’,” he answers, getting up himself and pulling you up by your armpits. You wrap around him like a vine, not even protesting as he leads you to the bar to grab another glass of water and some appetizers for the table.

God, you really regret asking about last night. Maybe it was better to live in beautiful, blissful ignorance — if you never remembered all the embarrassing behavior did it really happen?

Unfortunately your vibrating phone simply refuses to let that happen.

brielle: and you totally ate shit on the pavement leaving the bar last night

That certainly explains the dull ache of your biceps, having caught the weight of you alongside breaking your fall. Luckily that appears to be the extent of the damage, given you can wiggle all of your fingers and toes and no other part of your body stings.

Just your ego is bruised.

“Why would we go home?” you ask, gesturing wildly at the emptying bar around you as though it were still the hopping venue of an hour ago.

“Cause the bar staff would like to go home too,” Brielle explains kindly.

“So we go to the next bar? I’m sure there’s somewhere still open, it’s only midnight!”

Matty’s arm is heavy and warm and secure as it wraps around your shoulder to guide you to the exit. “I’ve already called us an Uber.”

You preen at the mention of an ‘us’ between you and Matt, suddenly docile and calm, allowing him to guide you outside.

Far too preoccupied with the weight of him, you miss the broken piece of sidewalk and subsequently toe pick the crack, ending up face down on the pavement.

Matt is quick, pulling you to your feet with ease and examining your face and upper body for damage. “You alright?”

“If I say no, will you kiss it better?” you crack back, only half joking.

Shaking his head at your antics, he guides you into the waiting car before sliding in beside you.

You’re quite content to lean your head on his shoulder the whole drive home, arm curled around his before letting him lead you to your bed.

A joke about inviting him into your bed doesn’t leave your lips, momentarily mesmerized by the gentle way he tucks you in, the soft press of his lips to your forehead.

Could it possibly get worse, you wonder.

Matty: let me up?

He’s got a key for emergencies, and although you usually appreciate that he doesn’t misuse it, in this case you almost wish he would let himself in.

It would give you some extra time to compose yourself and—to be quite honest—you do yet harbor a little fear that getting vertical might have you running for the bathroom once again.

Neither of those things happen—he doesn’t let himself in and you don’t throw up on your way to the door. You make quick work of the lock before opening the door to reveal Matthew looking as well rested as you’ve ever seen him.

The contrast between the two of you is likely a stark difference, but his face doesn’t give anything away if he’s thinking it too.

His first words to you are simple, full of care and compassion. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a bus that then backed right over me again,” you answer truthfully.

His responding giggle makes your insides feel warm and you can only hope you don’t have the tell tale lovesick look on your face. There’s a moment of quiet contemplation—his chest visibly puffs up and then deflates as he takes a steeling breath.

“You said some things last night,” he says and you feel your blood run ice cold in your veins.

You attempt to deflect. “I say a lot of things, Matty. Especially when I’ve gotten into the Tito’s.”

He shakes his head and takes a step towards you. “Last night you said you loved me.”

“Of course I love you, you’re my best friend.” It’s not a lie, not completely anyway. You love him. He’s your best friend. So what if that love you have for him is something a little bit more than friendship?

He shakes his head again, little ringlets of curls shaking with the motion. “Didn’t sound friendly. You said you needed me.” His voice is rough, tone something heavy.

“To fix my necklace, Matty. What are you doing?” Your voice in response is a little wild—short clipped sentences spoken in quick succession.

He appears frustrated. Not necessarily at you, you don’t think, but it’s clear on his face. “That’s not—You said you wanted to marry me, got down on one knee even.

“I was drunk, it’s not that deep.”

He takes the remaining steps toward you, crowding your space and boxing you in with his arms. Yet you know with one word he would back off if you asked.

You don’t ask.

“But what if it is? What if I said that I love you too, that I need you too? That the only person who I’ve ever thought about marrying was you?”

“Matty, what are you doing?” you ask lowly, heart pounding so loud you fear he might hear it.

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” he murmurs and leans in until your lips barely touch.

It's the invitation you feel you’ve waited a lifetime for. No amount of doubt or hesitation or uncertainty is going to stop you from wrapping yourself around him and deepening the kiss.

It’s soft and sweet—two decades of buildup, of a beautiful friendship turned something more. It’s you and Matty the way it was always supposed to be—the way it was always going to end up.

#nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl x reader #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #matthew tkachuk x reader #shelb writes

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bi-writes · 6 months ago

Text

the lies we tell

how far would you go for the person you love?

type: part one of the time rot collection pairing: simon "ghost" riley x tf141!fem!reader (x johnny "soap" mactavish) word count: 5k

cw: dark!simon, dark!reader, curvy!fem!reader, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence + extortion, mw3 spoilers, unprotected piv, oral (fem!receiving), cumplay (18+)

you don't believe in fate. you don't believe in god. you don't believe in anything at all, maybe, because luck disguises coincidences, and no good deed goes unpunished. everything you are and all that you have are products of a world that never stops spinning--and nothing about what has ended up in your way has ever been the selfish result of some higher power or some kind of entity that holds a grudge against you.

it's simple. in your world, if you don't think, you get your comrades hurt. if you hesitate for a second too long or take a step in the wrong direction, you compromise ops and let targets get away.

and if you're stupid, you die.

it only takes a second. one moment, your hands are steady, following careful instructions by a familiar lilt how to disable the ticking timer that counts dangerously low towards zero. the next, your vision blurs, and your head pounds, and you can feel the trickle of your own blood coming down the side of your face. you try and sit up, and when your eyes are able to focus just a little, you're staring down the barrel of a handgun.

you have never needed a knight in shining armor. the idea offends you, disgusts you, and it rips your heart out when you see johnny coming up behind him and pushing the gun out of your face just in time for the shot to hit the floor beside you.

and it takes only one more second for the next bullet to go through the side of his head.

you scream. it rattles the room, a horrifying sound, but you're too late. it happens so fast, it's ringing in your ears, but there's nothing you can do. you've never felt more incapable, more useless, and you crawl on your hands and knees to get to him. it hurts, your head pounds, but you will yourself to keep moving until you fall over his chest, gripping the edges of his vest, shaking him.

no. no, no, no, no.

"get up!" you cry. "get up, get up, get up!"

he's still warm when you bury your face into his neck. when you feel the scratch of his stubble, the softness of his neck, the dark skin that shows where you kissed him the night before and the scratches along his arms that are from your own blunt fingernails.

"get up!" you hiccup. "you can't--you--you're not..." you drag him into your arms, picking up his head, and your hands shake as you cradle him into your body. you press your lips to the hole in his head, and you will it to disappear, to go away, to close up and spit out the bullet that was meant for you. "johnny--johnny, you have to get up--" your vision goes hazy again. "you...y-you have to get up."

when it's quiet is when you notice the shadows that hover over you. you don't move--you clutch johnny close, your arms tight around him, and when a warm hand touches your shoulder, you cry out, shoving them off.

no. no. no.

"no! no--" they're firm now, kyle gripping one of your arms, your captain taking the other. they drag you off, getting you onto your feet, and you thrash. you kick your legs, scream, anything to get them off of you, so you can pick up johnny's head and show them his eyes, because he has to be alive, he isn't gone--"no! no! get off of me! johnny! johnny!"

reality only sinks when you see him. ghost shifts, until he stands between you and what had been, and when you meet his eyes, you stop moving, shaking your head.

"simon--" your voice breaks. "simon--tell them--" you gasp. "we need a medevac, we need--he needs--"

you fall into his chest, and he catches you. one big arm wraps around your waist, and he grunts, tossing his rifle over his shoulder and cradling the back of your head with his other hand.

"simon--" you sob. "simon, it's not--it's--" you shut your eyes when you feel his gloved hand tangle into your hair. "it's not true, he's still warm, please tell them--!"

he says your name, low and gentle, and you shake your head. you won't say it. you won't believe it. it isn't true, because if it's true, it's all your fault, and you won't accept that, you can't.

you only laughed with him hours ago. shared his bed. woke up tangled between his sheets, pressed skin to skin against his burly chest, whispering against his lips about all the hours you would spend being lazy and unproductive when you finally got home to the bed that was actually big enough to hold the both of you, not the cot in the barracks with no locks on the doors--

you jump when the door shuts behind you. time passes without notice when you are this alone. you look around the flat; it's cold, and it doesn't look lived in, not like before. he always liked to leave it neat and proper, because it felt nice to come home to a clean home, but this isn't home anymore.

you pick up your bag and leave. you weren't even able to make it a few steps inside. you don't have it in you to get your things, to pack your clothes or your shoes or anything that still is in there because it won't feel the same to wear them again if he isn't here to see you.

price's name graces your phone all too often. he calls mornings, he calls evenings, he calls from unknown phone numbers. he says he's worried about you, that you didn't show to an important briefing, that you are welcome to take your leave but you need to tell him that you're alright, but you don't answer. when the call comes, an official one, asking you to gear up because wheels are up in an hour, you don't show up, and there is nothing he can do except scratch your name off his list and declare you dishonorably discharged.

but the world still turns. it doesn't stop just because your own did. you find yourself in need of the things that people use to survive, superficial papers and coins that rattle in everyone's pockets that keep them satiated with roofs over their heads.

at first, you start small. a friend of a friend is crying, hiding her bruised face, and she confesses to you that everything would just be easier if her boyfriend was gone. you're not there to see her face when he never comes back from his gambling night.

it starts as something good. johns threatening their girls disappearing when they take a smoke break. following drunk girls home only to drag their stalkers into dark alleyways. until one day it's a suit sliding you an envelope thick with notes, and you don't even bat an eye when you slip it into your jacket.

this is all you are now. you don't have anything inside. you aren't happy, you aren't good, and despite covering your crimes in the veil of defending those who can't, you know that it is just an excuse to wet your hands in the blood of someone else so you can forget what his own feels like.

because you can't forget. everywhere you turn, you see him. in the blue of someone else's eyes. in the dark curls of someone else's hair. in the shadow of another man's beard, the sound of a scottish accent, the plaid of a kilt that looks like the one he had shown you once that he said would be yours when you married him, because ye will marry me, bonnie, ye will--he always said you would even though you protested that you won't be a military wife, you won't sit at home and cook his dinner and grow his fat babies. and maybe you wouldn't, but he was good at showing you that he would fuck you dumb like a good wife should be, and you never had a problem with that.

he lives in the dark weather. the bricks of the buildings you pass by, the scratch of them almost mimicking the callous of his big palms. when rain touches your lips, you think about the way he would kiss you breathless, the feel of his spit on your tongue and the way he seemed to bare your soul with nothing but his smile.

the silence, it chokes you. you liked arguing; it meant he was alive, it meant he cared. he was charming. outgoing. he exuded fun, and he never ran out of energy, and maybe that's why you hated your superior so much. because johnny's eyes wandered, and you hadn't been around as long, and sometimes you would catch him staring at the back of a big, broad lieutenant only for you to rear him back and stuff his face between your thighs to distract him.

ghost always kept you on your toes. you knew he was a problem as soon as you joined their team. johnny was not subtle; from the first moment you met his eyes, you knew you would end up naked and underneath him in a short while, but it wasn't until weeks later that you noticed how stiff your superior was with you. how short. how mean. how angry. you didn't realize you had stolen something from him, but it was hard to feel guilty because johnny never behaved as if he belonged--he sought you out, he chased after you, he fell to his knees and begged for your attention, a hungry, starved dog that pawed at your pants for just a lick of the sweetness that pooled between your legs.

but that was why. johnny was starved. he wanted to love, he wanted touch and reciprocation and for the person he loved to tell him they loved him back, and that wasn't ghost. ghost held up a wall, even to johnny, and it wasn't enough. you would give what he would not, and maybe that angered ghost to some degree, because you could do what he couldn't, you could give what he didn't possess, and maybe he was jealous of that. jealous of how easy it was for you, and how impossible it seemed for him.

but the world keeps spinning. because it doesn't care about what you can and can't do. it won't stop, and neither would you, and he couldn't prevent what happened to you. he couldn't save the heart he didn't have.

and he couldn't save johnny from the bullet he would take for you.

and you think you hate him for that. you hate yourself for it, but you hate ghost, too. johnny couldn't see what you could see. his attention span was too short, he never looked long enough, but you did, and you noticed, and you saw the way ghost behaved. the subtly, the quiet longing, the eyes that never left him and the way he closed his fists. the twitch of his arm as he fought reaching for him, the way the masked moved as he contemplated saying something to him.

it was pathetic. it was pitiful. but you loved johnny, and you weren't going to try and coddle a traumatized man into taking what you really wanted. he loved johnny, you think, but he didn't love him enough.

not enough to fight for him. and not enough to save his life.

you haven't been paid for this. no one told you to look for him. no one told you that he was your mark, no one told you that he was the next on your list, that he deserved to find the end of the line at the killing side of your chosen weapon.

but he does deserve it. because you hate him. because he loved him, and he hadn't done anything to stop what never should've happened.

when he flicks on the light in his kitchen, he doesn't even react when he sees you standing there.

he's wearing civilian clothes, but you know better than to underestimate him. a hoodie under his rain jacket with the hood pulled up over his head, dark jeans over heavy boots, fading eye-black around the dark of his eyes, the only part of him visible under the balaclava. he could never quite cover up how striking his eyes truly are, or the blonde of his lashes. and he could never hide how big of a man he really is underneath it all.

"knew ya'd come eventually," he says finally. you try not to show any emotion, keeping your face neutral as you stare at him. he takes a step further into the flat, and the click of your handgun sounds as you hold it up. he still doesn't react, making his way towards the fridge and pulling a bottle out. he uses the edge of the counter to pop the cap off, and he grunts as he takes a seat at his table, relaxing into it.

you pull the chamber back, loading a round into the gun, and ghost narrows his eyes. he is still calm, very unbothered for someone about to eat the bullet he should've swallowed all those months ago, and it angers you more, unnerves you.

why isn't he afraid of me?

"wot's the price?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. "how much t'rid y'of me?"

when you don't respond, he laughs, humorlessly. this angers you, too.

"oh, i see..." he sucks on his teeth. "doin' this all on y'r own, eh?"

your lip twitches, and his eyes flicker, as if he's happy to get some sort of reaction out of you.

"i hate you," you whisper finally, and all he does is shrug his shoulders. "don't deserve to be here. to lead that team. to still call yourself a fucking lieutenant when you don't have anyone's back except your own."

he stares, not moving, and you envy how still he can be.

"and i know you're not going to wherever he is," you laugh bitterly. "not you, not someone as fucked up as you. you'll never have him again."

but neither will i.

"tha' wot y'think?" ghost asks. "tha' i don't have y'r back?"

"he's dead, isn't he?"

he leans forward, pushing his mask up slightly, and you watch with a shaky hand as he takes a long sip of his beer. his adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and you follow the pale lines you see that litter his lower face and neck. drags left behind from dull blades, the pieces of his skin that have been carved out and haphazardly put back together.

he looks like what you imagine you would, if someone looked on the inside of you. if someone pulled back the softness you wear and peeked underneath--they'd see you just like this. carved up, mutilated, picked apart. the anger wanes, just a little. you hate it, because it feels so true, the reflection of yourself that you see in him.

"why didn't you save him?" your voice breaks. your hand is shaking violently, your eyes are blurry with tears, and your legs feel weak. you look at him accusingly, and he stares right back. you can see more of his face, just his lips, but it's enough that you can see the way he snarls slightly. "why weren't you there? why--"

"y' 'ave no fuckin' idea--"

"you didn't love him enough!" you snap. you use two hands now, trying to hold the gun steady. "you didn't love him enough! y-you gave up on him, you fucking--"

"y' 'ave no idea wot i felt," he says, and you quiet, because his voice is dark and deep and a warning for you because he won't be so calm for long. "'ave no idea wot he was t'me."

"he was mine," you whisper, and you taste the tears that are falling down your face.

"wasn't always yours," he growls, and your hand shakes too much for your own good, and when he stands, he's too quick. he knocks the gun out of your hand, and it skids across the floor, and you cry out when he has you up against the wall, one big forearm trapping you there as he presses it firmly against your throat. he towers over you, glaring down at you, and when you try and use your legs, he forces you flat against him as he puts one thigh between your legs and holds you easily.

he's too strong. too big. too much of everything you aren't, and all you can do is gasp for air and thrash as much as he lets you.

"listen 'ere," he mutters, pressing down harder against your throat, and your breath hitches as you stare up at him through your tears. "the fuck y'wanna fight about? want t'kill me? want t'hurt me? wot the fuck are y'gonna do t'me that someone else hasn't, huh?" he spits at you now, angry and unhinged. "been buried alive. gnawed at m'own fuckin' hands t'break free. split apart from the inside-out, so wot the fuck can y'do t'me tha' i'll be afraid of, eh? y'r just a sorry fuckin' git tha' can't fuckin' admit y'weren't lookin'--and he's dead, and tha's a fact, and the sooner y'wrap y'r head around tha', the sooner y'can stop right fuckin' feelin' sorry for y'rself. y'think i don't play it in m'head everyday? thinkin' about wot i could've done t'get t'him?"

you break, crack, the tears spilling free. ghost isn't capable of feeling what you feel. of loving the way you love, of holding onto something so tight that he can't let it go, it isn't in him. he's fucking dead on the inside, you know that much. he wears that skull because he wants everyone to know that death is his friend, not his enemy, and that when he finally succumbs to his mortality, he'll just fucking go home.

"thinkin' about wot i could've done t'get t'you?" he breathes, and you blink up at him, your lips parting, trembling, and you take in the deep breath that he allows, and you aren't angry anymore. you don't understand. it doesn't make sense. "he had ya--" ghost wraps a hand into your hair, tugging on it, bringing you closer. "he almost had ya..."

what?

your eyes flutter shut when he presses his forehead to yours. his grip is firm, he isn't letting you go.

oh.

"almost had ya," he echoes, in a deep whisper, and you nuzzle your face to his, subconsciously.

oh...

maybe you were just naïve. so egotistical, so selfish, that you misinterpreted everything that you saw. was it anger, or was it longing? was it jealousy, or was it lust? was it the shame of the way he felt, or the timidness of revealing the truth of it?

wherever johnny was, there was ghost. right behind him, in the dark, purposefully watching.

or was he just waiting?

you want to feel guilty. you want to feel angry, you want to fight for the gun that escaped you and press it to his chest and pull the trigger, but you don't have it in you. you spent so long hating him, you didn't realize it could've been someone else.

vying for the attention of someone unattainable, someone unavailable, untouchable. someone that can understand the way you feel unlike anyone else in the entire, unforgiving world that keeps fucking spinning--

"b-but--"

"was never jealous," he admits, and you swallow hard. you almost stop breathing when you feel the faint brush of his lips against yours. "y'were out of m'reach." he loosens his grip on your neck, but you don't move. "couldn't 'ave ya, couldn't--"

the kiss is messy. you lean forward just enough to swallow his words. your heart squeezes in your chest, it bursts, and you cradle the back of his head as you slide your tongue between his teeth and taste him hurriedly. you want to know him, you want to understand him, you want to crawl inside the warmth he emanates and pretend the world stopped moving right before it took away the thing you loved more than anything.

you hate him, don't you? you hate all that he is, you hate the man he isn't, you hate him because he loved what you loved, and he didn't do anything to save him, you hate him because he had what you had, and he wasn't selfish enough to not let him go.

you hate him because even though it is all your fault, he doesn't hate you, and you think that's what you hate most of all.

because i am not worthy of anything anymore.

you want him to hate you. you want him to kill you, you want him to blame you for everything you've done. you want him to remind you that you aren't worthy of any kind of affection, of love, because you were stupid, and so was johnny, but he won't do it--he won't. he slides his hands down your sides, he puts them around you, picks you up from under your thighs and carries you until you fall underneath him onto the cushions of his couch that you don't deserve to feel.

he feels too good. he bares his layers. he takes his jacket off, slips the hoodie over his head, and you stare speechless as he kicks his jeans low and strips the mask off of his face.

your hands shake as you cup his cheeks. he's so pretty, unfathomably so, and you think you're crying because you recognize him even though you've never seen his face before. there's something so familiar about the shape of his nose, the way his brow bone feels under your fingertips, and you cry because you loved johnny, but you might love ghost more.

fuck.

you don't know him, and you think you love him more, and it isn't because you love johnny less, it isn't, but while johnny loved unconditionally, ghost loves you because he isn't capable of not loving you. you love him more, and it hurts to love him more, because he sounds grateful that bullet took everything from him except for you.

when you look into his eyes, you wonder if he let it happen. if he saw johnny step in front, if he knew where the bullet would land, and let it happen so that it wouldn't happen to you.

fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck.

it's selfish. it's disgusting. it's cruel, he is so cruel, it's frightening to think about him hesitating just to keep you, but it's even more frightening that you are looking up at him, all this time later, and you're letting him have what he abandoned everything to take.

you're letting him slip the shirt over your head. the pants from your legs, steal the lace from between your thighs so he can settle himself there and bury his head in the warmth of all that he wants.

he's cruel about this, too. he eats like he has never eaten before, like he tastes what he has been searching for his whole life and will lose it if he doesn't consume it all. he barely breathes, arms hooked around your thighs as he yanks you close, tongue buried inside as he coats his mouth in everything that you are and swallows it just to take more. you arch your back, bow it tight as he devours. and devour he does, squeezing the thick of your thighs hard as he bobs his head and fucks you with the warm muscle of his mouth. it drags along your insides, slips between the puffy folds, swirls around your clit until he suckles on it viciously, until you are crying for a different reason and letting the terrifying thoughts spill out of your ears until there is nothing to think about but the man between your legs and the love you have for him more than another.

"simon--"

it spurs him on. his name, the one he doesn't use anymore. it clouds his own head, and he groans as he opens his mouth wide and tries to eat you whole, eat you wet, eat you entirely like he will die if he doesn't.

and it isn't enough. never enough. he snarls when you cum, using two fingers to slip inside of you and feel the clench of your walls, and then he slips them out and feeds those fingers to you. you choke on his hand slightly, the girth unfamiliar, and when he smiles, wickedly, you shiver, afraid.

his love is so visceral, he let johnny die. his love is so broken, so jagged-edged and terrible, that he let go of what was his to have it. he smiles because he knows what he wants is now his.

did he know? did he know what would happen to johnny all that time ago and let what we were manifest because he knew how it all would fucking end?

ghost is a sickness. ghost is poison. ghost is what lives under children's beds, he is the black hole that sucks in the glow of anything nearby, that swallows anything in its path because anything other than what he wants is in his fucking way.

was johnny in his way? he must've loved him, he must've. they were lovers, friends, comrades, they stood back to back and faced their makers with nothing but each other--he must've loved him, but now you are so afraid, because if he did love johnny, what do i call what he feels for me?

did he know that johnny's love would kill him? did he know, and he let him love me anyways, because he's so patiently twisted inside?

he grips your jaw tight, and your eyes sparkle, diamonds in the wasteland you must be drowning in, and he shakes his head. it's so dark, night blackening the room, but you can see his own eyes bright as day. there is nowhere else to look. this is the man you have resigned yourself to. this is the thing that feeds on what you have left, and you should run away, he has killed what you truly are, but you won't.

i can't. i'm not capable of it. i'm not strong enough to leave, he has me, he fucking has me--

and he does. he won't even have to tie you up, he knows you won't leave, you can tell that he knows. he kisses you, still holding onto your face, and you just sink more into the cushions as he uses his free hand to find your entrance and sink himself deep.

it takes one smooth grind of his hips to press himself against you. his hips meet yours, and you whine when he lets go of you, gripping you around the thighs and hoisting you underneath him so you're nestled right under him, knees up and pussy fluttering. he seals it, he's infected you, and you should tell him to go away, you should tell him to stop, but it feels so good, it feels so nice, he's so big, he's mine, mine, mine--

"all y'needed," he murmurs, staring down at you. "'s all y'needed, luv. somethin' to shut y'up."

your body betrays what you feel inside. it grips him tight; every time he drags his cock out, it fights to pull him back inside, and the grunt he lets out as he sinks deep again tells him he knows this, too. no matter what atrocities the two of you commit, this is where you will end up. staring each other in the eyes, knowing you are black inside, and fucking each other anyway because that is my reward, this is where i'm meant to be, this is where i'll end up in whatever fucking universe we end up in.

"y'feel me, swee'eart?" he asks, pressing his palm to your stomach. you rock with him as he grinds slow, hitting you deep and powerful every time, and you nod frantically, your lips parting as you rattle every time he hits his hips to yours. "feel me right 'ere...yeah..." he smooths his thumb over the stop his tip hits, and you whimper, sliding your own hand down and over his, keeping his touch there. he fucks so well, every move he makes draws the blood from your head and makes you feel stupidly wonderful, and he knows just when to angle his hips to touch the sensitive little clit that pulses in rhythm with his thrusts.

this is what you are. this is what you always were going to be, even if you fought it, and you want it to hurt that johnny was collateral damage, but it doesn't.

it doesn't.

your eyes meet his, and he has your face in a strong grip now, leaning down as he picks up the pace. he hits a gooey spot inside of you now, a wet squelch sounding out as you drip, as you wet his cock because he is every desire you didn't know you had, and he bares his teeth, smiles down at you, he has me, he fucking has me, he'll never let me go.

"all mine," he slurs, and you aren't coherent enough to read between the lines. you aren't lucid enough to understand what he means, that now that you don't belong to anyone, not even yourself, there is no logical place for you to be except for underneath him. for him to own you, from the light in your eyes to the very breaths that you share with him.

connected, one being, and if i do not obey, i don't know who he will take next from me.

but there isn't anyone left to take. not even yourself, because you think it has already been given.

you cry when he holds you by the throat and fucks you stupid. hips snapping, breathes short and heavy, the spill of your arousal and the need of the very oxygen to breathe. you claw at him, wanting more, your stomach clenching and a feeling catching in your chest because you are climbing a mountain so fucking tall, and please get me there--i'm so close--yes-yes-yes!

your eyes roll back into your head when he cums. he groans into your ear, fucking you through it, gripping your hips tight as he keeps his hips pressed to yours. you feel so full, a kind of euphoria that is beyond you, a hazy place of pleasure that you've never been to before. it clouds your vision and the thoughts you know you should have.

the thoughts that would make you run. the ones that would reach for the knife you see taped under the coffee table and use it to slit his pretty neck.

you blink up at ghost, trying to think, but he bends low to kiss you again. you whine as he settles down between your thighs, his weight heavy and solid above you, and you relax with both of your hands on his face.

he smiles, and it should scare you, but it doesn't. you want it to hurt, but it doesn't. you want him to kill you, but he won't, you want to kill him, but you can't. his eyes all but confess what he's really done. the secret he hides inside but reveals in what he holds in his very hands. the world keeps spinning. it doesn't care. and, you suppose, neither do you.

because all you do is smile back at him.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #ghoap x reader

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byeoltoyuki · 6 months ago

Text

Criminal Love

↳ Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader

❧ Genre : romance , smut, forced proximity, morally grey reader

❧ Words: +25k

❧ Warnings: violence, mention of knives, guns, smut

❧ Summary: Hyunjin was a good agent. At least, he thought he was. The moment he is ordered to work with a very unpredictable, dangerous you (who also happens to be his little crush), things change. At every step you test his patience, push his limits only to see how far he’s ready to go.

❧ A/N : Aaaaaand it's finally out! It took me longer than I expected to finish this piece. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did while writing it! Like and reblogs are appreciated, comments too ♥

❧ Taglist: @lostgirlinthewoodss , @rylea08 , @minimin1993 , @avokralaim , @cheekycountesschoi , @rockyhedgehog , @skzfelixlove , @hyundai432 , @hyunlvrs , @naoristerling

“Did you hear? She got suspended. Again.”

Hyunjin was not eavesdropping. Not really. Not completely. It wasn’t even his fault in the first place if people weren’t being discrete and he just happened to be having his coffee right here. It wasn’t also his fault that the simple mention of suspension and again meant only one thing: you.

And that did get his attention. Without even realizing it, Hyunjin leant a little closer while sipping his coffee, wanting to hear more about their complaints.

“Again?” The second woman sighed and shook her head in disapproval. “It’s the second time this month alone! I really don’t understand how they allow her to work here.”

To that Hyunjin actually had an answer. Or at least half of it. The bosses could disagree with your behavior, your rudeness, your methods all they wanted – you were the only one who didn’t hesitate to dirty your hands, to infiltrate the darkest places and succeed. The results were staggering. No other agents managed to accomplish as much as you did in only two years. They hated you and admired you at the same time. And those women were no different. They could complain about you all they wanted, but they were simply jealous.

Yes, you were an incredible agent. Yes, your methods were questionable and a little bit bloody for Hyunjin’s liking (he shivered at the memory of you throwing a knife at another agent, grazing his ear, because he had offended you). But you were also a dangerous, cold beauty that they envied.

Jisung plopped beside Hyunjin with his own coffee in one hand. He observed his friend for a moment before smirking. “Why the long face? It’s only nine in the morning.”

Hyunjin ignored his comment, his attention was still on the women, straining to hear more about you. Unfortunately for him, they were done complaining. Or maybe they stopped because of the two men’s presence.

He sighed. “They’re talking about Y/N.”

Jisung snickers. “Of course they are.” He took a sip of his coffee, smiling knowingly into the cup. “And you’ve been eavesdropping because?”

Hyunjin shrugged, pretending that it was nothing. As if Jisung wasn’t already aware of why he was so interested. He took a sip of his own coffee, only to wince and realize that while he had been so concentrated on the conversation, his coffee got cold. What a lovely day, it couldn’t get worse.

“Because I thrive on gossips.” Hyunjin tried to make it sound like it was not a big deal. He wasn’t lying, not completely at least. He did enjoy office gossips; sometimes because the gossips were so ridiculous, he couldn’t understand how people could believe their words. Sometimes, because he would catch info he could use later.

“Yeah. It has nothing to do with our sweet and lovely Y/N.” Jisung mocked.

Hyunjin sighed in defeat. There was no use pretending with Jisung, despite his looks and his nonchalant attitude, he was incredibly observant and Hyunjin’s little (fat) crush on you didn’t go unnoticed. “Fine. I couldn’t help myself.”

Jisung’s grin stretched and he leaned closer, ready to either tease him till he would cry or be a good friend and end his misery. “See, not so hard! And since I’m an amazing friend, I will even help you. I know why they’re talking about Y/N.”

Hyunjin cocked a brow, taken off guard. But it made sense. The two of you were friends, Hyunjin just never guessed you would talk about your cases with him.

“Our little Y/N was hunting a criminal for the past week. Can’t remember his name even if I helped her to track him. He took a hostage, threatened the man’s life. What a bad idea, but he couldn’t know that, could he? She shot the victim in the leg to shock the dude. Worked marvelously. She got him.”

Was it anyone else, Hyunjin would have been surprised. But he wasn’t. The only thing that still surprised him was your creative ways at getting things done. Apparently, nothing could stop you. Not even someone’s else life was on the line.

“How did she even explain herself?” Hyunjin wondered out loud.

“That’s a good question.” Jisung admitted and shrugged, “She has her ways, I guess. She doesn’t tell me everything.”

“Sure about that?”

Jisung gave him a lazy smile. “By the way, boss wants to see you. Right now.”

Hyunjin groaned and quickly got back on his feet. “And you couldn’t tell me sooner?”

“Nope.” Jisung laughed, “Was enjoying the moment, you know.”

***

Hyunjin was not excited to see the boss. Not because he didn’t do his work and risked to get scolded, but more like every time he went to his office he could be sure to leave with some bad news. And that, he wished to avoid. He was tired and frustrated with his case. He had been working on the same case for the past few weeks and unfortunately, even with Jisung’s help, he couldn’t track the hacker that had been attacking big companies. The man or the woman was a ghost, leaving little clues to his or hers identity and it was slowly driving him crazy.

Before he could even knock at the door, he heard voices. Especially one voice. Yours. And by the sound of it, he could easily guess that you were not pleased. Not to say pissed. He hesitated, hand frozen mid-air. Should he knock? Should he wait? But then, Namjoon wanted to see him and if you were already inside, he wondered if whatever the news was, you were supposed to hear it too. Curious, really. And unheard of.

Hyunjin took a deep breath and then pushed the door, deciding that with all the yelling, his knock would go unnoticed. Barely one foot in the office and Hyunjin halted, flinching as a vase flew straight to the wall beside him, shattering in pieces.

Well, you were in a mood.

Hyunjin was highly aware of your temper, heard stories about it, witnessed a few times too. It amazed him how you didn’t try to hide it. Some agents were just like you, anger eating them from inside, but they would do their best to hide their feelings just to avoid the troubles.

You didn’t and he had to admit that he found it a little hot. Maybe there was something wrong with him too.

He had been working for Namjoon for a little over five years and it was definitely a first for him to see someone show so much anger before him. Or was it directed at him? Which would be even odder.

He cleared his throat and before he could utter a single word, your eyes found his. He froze, forgetting how to breathe for a second. There was so much fire, so much rage in your eyes, it was unsettling. Hyunjin wasn’t a coward, in fact, because of his pretty face people often underestimated him, when really, he was a great manipulator when needed and could fight for his life if required. But facing your fiery character and the anger in your eyes made his skin crawl and wish for the floor to swallow him whole.

What a lovely creature.

One last angry glare from you and then you huffed, crossed your arms over your chest and took a seat, ignoring his existence.

Namjoon shook his head and sighed. Apparently, Hyunjin wasn’t the only tired one, the man looked like a ghost himself with dark circles under his eyes. “Come in, Hyunjin. Take a seat.” And then he looked at you again, pinning you with his stare, a silent communication going on.

Whatever Namjoon had to say, you were part of it, now he was sure about it. He didn’t know how he felt about it.

Hyunjin sat in the empty chair beside you, having a hard time not to look at you. He didn’t have many opportunities to be in your presence or even talk to you. No, you weren’t a kind of person who appreciated getting involved with others. Quite the opposite. Less you saw them and happier you were. And yet, despite this coldness, you were Jisung’s friend and Hyunjin couldn’t stop but wonder how Jisung managed to convince you that he was worth a shot. He was the opposite of you; lively, always friendly, spending half of his time cracking jokes. And yet, it worked. Unfortunately, Hyunjin never managed to get close to you which left him with no choice but admire you from afar.

“I’ll make it short.” Namjoon started, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of you, looking stern and at the same time, preparing for another storm to blow up his office. Namjoon was indeed very tired and wasn’t paid enough to deal with this shit. “I need both of you to work together on a case. And before you protest,” He pointed at you, his scowl deepening as he noticed you clenching your fists, ready to jump and protest, “It’s not negotiable.”

“You got to be kidding me!” You groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “You know I can’t work with him.” You pointed an accusing finger at Hyunjin as if he had personally offended you. Which he didn’t. Or at least, Hyunjin wasn’t aware.

“I’m not leaving you a choice, Y/N. Not this time.” Namjoon didn’t budge, his mind set. “Moreover, there’s no way you can succeed without his help.”

Hyunjin observed you in silence, his mind still trying to come to terms with the idea of working with you. He didn’t dislike the idea as much as you did, for obvious reasons. It was his chance to find out more about you, to solve a mystery he was so curious about. But it was obvious you didn’t share the sentiment; you were gritting your teeth, ready to snap.

“Is it a challenge?” You tried, hoping to avoid to work with Hyunjin.

Namjoon leaned on his elbows and looked straight into your eyes. “You can scream and kick all you want; I’m not changing my mind.” Then, he averted his gaze on Hyunjin. “I promise, she’ll come around.”

Hyunjin wasn’t so sure and you proved him right by mumbling a ‘like hell I will’. This was going to be an interesting experience.

“What’s the case?” Hyunjin asked, ignoring the thick tension in the room. He fought the urge to glance at you and instead gave his full attention to Namjoon.

“The two of you are going to fly to Hong Kong. I got you an invitation to a gallery opening party. You must attend it as a newly married.” Hyunjin blinked in confusion. When he was called into Namjoon’s office, he did not expect this turn of events.

“What do you know about Park Minjun?” Namjoon asked and eyed the two of you, his eyes lingering a little longer on you.

Hyunjin had a feeling he had heard the name before but couldn’t pinpoint from where. You, on the other hand, knew. You straightened up on your chair, all business. “He’s the CEO of PM Security. Worth billions if I remember correctly.”

Namjoon nodded. “We got a tip. Apparently he’s been selling weapons to dangerous people. Another deal is about to happen. I need you to find out what’s the deal about and find the names.” Namjoon finished, then with one final look at the two of you. “Any questions?”

“Yeah, “ You started and, without even looking at you, Hyunjin felt your murderous aura. “Can I punch you for this brilliant idea?”

Yeah. It’s gonna work out just fine.

***

You were still fuming at the idea of working with Hyunjin as the two of you stepped out of Namjoon’s office. Just because you couldn’t actually punch Namjoon as you desperately wished, you slammed the door behind you to make your point.

“Asshole.” You cursed under your breath, forgetting for a second that you were not alone in the hall and Hyunjin was still observing you. But for safety reason, he put some space between the two of you. He could tell you were craving violence and someone to blame for the outcome. He wasn’t particularly in the mood to get into a fight with his supposed partner for the next case.

Hyunjin watched you with crossed arms over his chest as you took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching your fists in hope to cool down. Impressive temper indeed. He wasn’t a violent person and wasn’t really attracted to violence but as he stared at you, from head to toe, he couldn’t deny that it suited you. You’re in deep shit, Hyunjin.

He thought about the mission, thought about pretending to be a couple and playing his part. Could he really play pretend? He did it a few times, of course. But with you? He wasn’t sure he would come out unscathed.

“We can make it work.” Hyunjin tried to convince you. Or maybe he was trying to convince himself with those words.

It didn’t convince you. You snapped your head towards him and assessed him. You knew who he was, not only because you had memorized every faces and names of people working here, but also because Jisung couldn’t shut up about him and about how amazing he was. He was a handsome man, that you could admit, as for being amazing, you weren’t convinced. The men working for Namjoon tended to be all the same; some with pretty faces and arrogant attitude. Not your cup of tea. And yet, even if it pained you to admit, Hyunjin looked different from them. Just by the way he was watching you, you could tell he wasn’t underestimating you just because you were a woman. No, he was also assessing you and wondering how it could work.

“It can’t be that bad.” He tried again, sounding a little bit more enthusiastic.

You finally moved from your spot and slowly approached him, watching him like a predator that you were. Hyunjin tensed. You grabbed him by his tie and pulled him closer to you. “You better watch out, Hwang or I might kill you in your sleep and make it look like an accident.”

Such a lovely creature, working with you surely would be fun.

***

Jisung was laughing so hard at the news, he fell from his chair. It didn’t stop him from laughing, quite the opposite. He held his stomach, unable to calm down. He had expected Namjoon to give Hyunjin shit for not having any break in his case. But it was so much better. Oh how he wished he could have witnessed the whole mess. Knowing you, Jisung had no problem imagining how delighted you were with the mission.

“Are you done?” Hyunjin groaned, palming his face.

It had been two hours since he found out about the mission. Two hours since your threat. Two hours since he couldn’t shake off the image of you pulling at his tie, threatening him so close to his lips. Yes, he wanted to find out more about you. Yes, he wanted to get close to you. But maybe he got more than he bargained for.

“Oh hell man, I’m having a blast.” Jisung cackled and wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes. “You and Y/N? Working together? Pretending to be married?” Just from saying it again, he laughed and Hyunjin couldn’t stop himself; he kicked his shin. “Ouch!”

“You deserved it.” Hyunjin responded unapologetic.

“Can you blame me? You two are so different. I don’t know how Namjoon came up with this idea.” He shook his head, chuckling to himself. “I know you’re going to try and make it work but Y/N…”

Hyunjin could only hope that your wish to succeed would be stronger than your aversion to working with him.

“She’s going to eat you alive.”

***

Hyunjin didn’t get even have a wink of sleep last night. Not this close to the departure for the mission. One week was what Namjoon gave the two of you to get your shit together and prepare.

Easy to say.

Hyunjin tried to reach out to you in hope to talk and prepare your story in case you had to share it with people, especially about your marriage. You ignored all his attempts. He had tried. He tried to talk to you, to get to you through Jisung, tried to corner you. And failed. You were slowly driving him nuts and even his optimism was slowly fading.

He was waiting for you at the airport, nervous. After ignoring him for a week, you finally texted him last night, giving the time and spot to meet at the airport. A message that frustrated him to no end.

He checked his watch and frowned. You were running late. Maybe the traffic or maybe you were toying with him. Probably the latter. But then, as he raised his head, he saw you. He spotted you among the parting crowd, walking confidently and looking too good to be real. You wore white jeans, a black tank top with a leather jacket. Your hairs were tied up in a messy bun with few strands framing your flawless face.

Hyunjin forgot how to breath as you drew nearer.

“Hello, Hwang.” You smiled wickedly, your smile promising torture.

“You’re late.” Hyunjin wanted to slap himself. He wasn’t planning to pick a fight with you, but somehow his brain refused to cooperate.

You arched a brow, amused. “Am I?” And took another step towards him. “Or were you just too eager to see me?”

Yes, you were definitely toying with him. He refused to play your game and instead he kept his face as neutral as possible. “You know I’m not happy about this mission either.” What a big liar he was.

“Sure about that?” You asked, unfazed with his attempt. “Because a little birdie told me you were delighted to find out we were paired for the mission.”

Hyunjin gawked at you, not believing his ears. “What? Who?”

Hyunjin knew way before you answered, who was behind those words but he needed to hear it.

“Your favorite hacker.”

Little shit. Han Jisung was a dead man. If he survives first.

You laughed at his pained face. Not a mocking laugh but a genuine one that made him blink and stare blankly at you. Hyunjin realized that he had never heard you laugh before and it was a nice melody to his ears. Playful, cheerful, warm.

“Come on, hubby.” You looped your arm through his, “Let’s do this.”

***

Surprisingly enough, the flight to Hong Kong was eventless.

Except for the part where you didn’t shut him out like he thought you would. No, after a whole week of trying to talk to you and plan, it was during the flight that you chose to talk. You took him completely off guard by admitting that he was right and you needed a story in case someone ask. The two of you established that you had been married for three months and had been together for two years.

Hyunjin was bewildered how easy it was to talk to you when you weren’t threatening to kill him in his sleep. The moment you got your mind set on the mission, your feelings and opinions didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was to succeed and if for that you had to deal with him, you would do your best.

A very nice surprise.

Namjoon had thought about every little details that even Hyunjin hadn’t thought about. For instance, not even for a second Hyunjin had imagined that the two of you would have to share a room. It made sense, in a way, but it still shocked him. He was not ready for it.

Hyunjin glanced at you, palms sweaty. He thought you would start a riot and curse Namjoon and his whole family. You did none of that. In fact, you looked completely relaxed. You pushed your suitcase toward the middle of the room and then stopped to observe the place. The room was big, huge windows that led to a small private balcony. A king size bed covered with petals of red roses and a couch that looked rather uncomfortable.

You scoffed at the flowers, finding this little detail ridiculous. And so did Hyunjin. “He didn’t need to go to this extent.” But you didn’t seem surprised too which made him wonder how many times Namjoon had arranged things for you.

Hyunjin followed you with his own suitcase. If there was only one bed and one couch, he would choose the couch, even if it didn’t look comfortable. He didn’t think you would accept to share a bed and he wasn’t sure he could sleep beside you at all. Not that he was scared for his life but sleeping with his crush did make him nervous.

“Dibs on the right side of the bed.” You interrupted his trail of thoughts and threw yourself on your side of bed. You propped yourself up on your elbows and watched Hyunjin with a smirk.

Hyunjin gasped loudly and looked at you as if you had grown a second head. “Wait what?”

You watched him from the bed, looking too smug for his liking. “What? Were you about to offer to sleep on the couch?”

Hyunjin wondered if he was that predictable or if you were just that good at reading people. For a second, he considered lying to avoid embarrassment but one look at you and he knew it was pointless. He shrugged. “Yes.”

“Don’t bother. I don’t care.”

“Sure about that?”

“Unless you’re a hugger, no, I don’t care.”

***

While you were taking a long, deserved shower, Hyunjin went through the few information Namjoon gave you about Park Minjun. Nothing really impressive; his family, about his wife, his kids, about his involvement with many powerful men in the society. Nothing really indicated that he had any involvement with the underground world. But then again, Hyunjin guessed that it wouldn’t be something obvious and they had to dig deeper.

Hyunjin threw his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes for a moment. The party, the CEO, pretend to be a married, happy man, you. It kept replaying in his mind. There were few hours left before the party and he couldn’t stop wondering how it would work out. How should they get close to the man and gather the needed proofs?

Before Hyunjin could delve more on the matter, you came out of the shower with just a towel wrapped around your body, water still dripping from your hair. Hyunjin opened his eyes only to gulp nervously at the sight of you. No make-up, amazing, toned body – he was both in hell and heaven. His pants grew tighter.

Instead of hiding from his intense gaze, you stopped by the bed, staring back. “Need a moment, Hwang?”

Yes. He cleared his throat and tried not to look at your legs. He knew, he shouldn’t be staring so much, but you looked just so flawless, he couldn’t tear his eyes from you.

“Still staring, darling.” You teased

Hyunjin squirmed under your amused stare. “I’m-“ sorry he wanted to say. But you didn’t want to hear his apology. No. Instead, you winked at him and then turned your back, letting him admire the view. You knew you looked good. You dropped your towel on the floor.

Hyunjin shrieked and quickly covered his eyes with his hands. You were toying with him, enjoying your moment judging by your sweet laugh.

“Cute.” He heard you whisper.

For a second, he peaked through his fingers, hoping you put some clothes on. But no. Still perfectly naked and with a glorious ass.

Shit.

“You’re enjoying this.” Hyunjin complained through gritted teeth.

You hummed, not disagreeing. You drew closer to the bed, enjoying how tensed Hyunjin got. How he desperately was trying to hide his eyes with his hands. Sadly for him, his body betrayed him. You smiled sweetly at him. “Just as much as you’re enjoying the view.” And you pointed at his pants, cackling at his pained face.

I need a shower. And a cold one.

***

Unsurprisingly, Hyunjin was ready for the party way before you. Instead of waiting for you in the room, he chose to wait in the main hall of the hotel, taking a moment to compose himself and repeat the made-up story in his head. Everything to distract him from the thought of you, naked with water dripping from your hair. He tried to shake off the image, but his mind refused to cooperate and replayed the moment over and over again like a broken record. This was torture and there was nothing he could do to escape.

“There you are, darling.” Your sweet voice echoed from behind him.

Hyunjin, very slowly, turned to face you. He sucked in his breath, taking in the sight of you. Obviously and objectively speaking, he knew you were a gorgeous woman, but tonight you had outdone yourself. The red silky dress hugged all your curves perfectly, the deep split on the left side exposed your thigh. Everything was flawless; from your dress to your hair, to your makeup – he was bewitched.

Hyunjin stared and stared, his eyes shining brightly. “You look dashing.”

You flipped your hair to make a point. “I know.”

He laughed and shook his head in fondness. Of course, you would say something like that. But then, your lips stretched into a big, genuine smile. “You look good too, hubby.” You stepped closer to him and grabbed his hand. “Let’s do it.”

***

The venue was huge and smelled of money. Impressive paintings, tables spread all around the place with food and drinks. Waiter and waitress walking around with drinks, trying not to disturb the important people. Everything was shining and glittering. A place, Hyunjin didn’t feel like he belonged to. Celebrities, politicians, the whole society had gathered at the same place. He wasn’t used to it, and he felt out of place.

You noticed it too. You nudged him playfully with your hips, grabbed his hand and squeeze it lightly. “Relax. Pretend you have loads of money and you will be just fine.”

Hyunjin glanced at you. It amazed him how natural you were. Nothing surprised you, nothing impressed you. No, you looked at the crowd, unimpressed, assessing them in silence. He bet, slowly a plan was forming in your mind. You grabbed two glasses of champagne from the closest waiter, thanking him with a smile before giving one glass to Hyunjin.

“Look,” you pointed at a person talking vividly with a man. “Park Minjun is already here. The man he’s talking to? He’s in charge of research for the army. Heard the army is developing a new weapon.”

Impressive. Hyunjin eyed the man; he looked to him like any other middle aged man in this room. Rich, wearing an expensive suit, arrogant, trying to make any more alliances.

“How do you know all that?” Hyunjin asked, admiring your knowledge.

You shrugged, your eyes still on the CEO. “I’ve been spying on them for so long. It helps.”

“Do you think Park Minjun is interested in what the army is developing?”

“Who knows.”

Hyunjin was tempted to ask more, to see what else you were hiding from him. He did none of that as he noticed some men staring at you. He recognized the look in their eyes: lust. He couldn’t blame them for lusting after his fake wife, you looked gorgeous and your dress was attracting attention. His body, as if having a mind of its own, moved; he put a hand on your hip, marking his territory. They could stare all they wanted, you were his for at least the upcoming days.

You didn’t shy away from his touch, quite the opposite. You leaned into his touch, feeling completely comfortable with his presence and his touch.

“Well, what’s a lovely surprise.” A man around Hyunjin’s age, or maybe a little older now that he looked at him, interrupted the two of you. He smiled widely, his eyes on you and then slowly his gaze slid to Hyunjin.

Hyunjin had to admit, the man before him was probably the only decent one in the place. Or at least, the vibe around him made Hyunjin believe that. He was terribly handsome and looked just as rich as any other person in this gallery and yet, where others looked arrogant and judgy, he looked genuinely friendly and apparently delighted to see you.

And yet, your whole body tensed at his presence. You leaned even closer to Hyunjin as if he could protect you from the man or help you to disappear. It made Hyunjin only curious. Where was the confident woman? The one ready to snap some necks and kick some asses? Odd.

“Hello Chris.” You finally found your voice and straightened your back, a sly smile on your face.

There she is.

If Chris noticed your uneasiness, he made no comment. Instead, he grabbed your hand and pulled it to his lips, kissing your knuckles, eyes on you. “It has been a while.”

“I’m a busy woman.” You chuckled.

“Don’t I know that.”

Hyunjin knew he wasn’t supposed to feel possessive over you but he couldn’t ignore the little, angry voice inside his head, telling him to yank you from this Chris’s hold. Fake husband or not, he wanted to keep you for himself while he could.

“This is Hyunjin, my husband.” You finished.

And just like that he relaxed. He eyed you discretely, feeling proud, even if it was fake.

Chris arched a brow at the presentation. “Oh? Since when?” He eyed Hyunjin, assessing him. Despite his intense staring, Hyunjin kept his composure and stared back with as much intensity and still wondering who the hell this man was.

“I’m offended I wasn’t invited to the wedding. Or did my invitation got lost?”

You laughed heartily at his pained expression. “Don’t be sad. It was a small wedding.”

Chris put his hand over his heart feigning pain; you only slapped his arm playfully, leaving Hyunjin’s warmth for a moment.

“Fine, fine.” Chris conceded. “Knowing you, I expected a big fancy venue with at least hundred people.”

You only glanced at Hyunjin, your eyes softening at the sight of his face. Hyunjin almost dropped his glass, completely taken off guard with how sincere, how convincing you looked. He could read love on your face when he knew there was none.

“I had everything I needed.” You said softly.

Chris gasped. “Who are you and what did you do to my snarky, little Y/N?”

You took a sip of your champagne and looked at him. “Don’t worry, she’s still here.” You leaned closer to him, your smile turning from gentle to wicked. “Ready to bite your head off for last time.”

Chris raised his hands in defeat and took a step back for good measure. Whoever he was to you, he knew about your character and tendencies. Hyunjin watched your interaction with even more curiosity.

“I apologized at least three times already. You can’t hold a grudge for so long, can you?” Chris complained.

You eyed him with a knowing look on your face, a silent message passing between you and him. “Fine, I forgive you. For good this time.”

“Thank you, love.” He joked, “Call me. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Chris left the two of you and yet you kept your eyes on his back as he began talking with a group of people.

“Who was that?” Hyunjin finally asked.

“A friend.” You simply said without elaborating.

Hyunjin wanted to know more but from the corner of his eyes he saw the CEO moving. “He’s moving. Let’s go?”

***

The two of you followed Park Minjun and three other men as discretely as you could manage. If the CEO seemed completely oblivious of his surrounding, the two men seemed more anxious; they kept glancing behind them, almost as if they were expecting someone to follow them or maybe even feared that they would get ambushed. Hyunjin supposed, in a way, they were right to be so wary since the two of you were indeed spying on them.

The noise from the main hall of the gallery was getting scarce until Hyunjin heard nothing except for their light steps.

“I think Namjoon was right. Minjun is involved with some questionable people.” You whispered as you watched the men get inside a room, closing the door behind them and locking it for good measure. “I recognize two of men with him. The third must be his bodyguard.”

Hyunjin looked at you with raised brows, surprised once more how it seemed you knew everything and everybody. He wondered again; what kind of missions Namjoon entrusted you with. “Who are they?”

Without looking at him, you neared the door. “They belong to the crows.”

Hyunjin’s whole body froze at the name. He had heard about them. The name had popped in many cases, but they never could find anything to dismantle the gang and arrest the leaders. It was frustrating how they always seemed to be few steps ahead of them.

“What are we doing now?” Hyunjin asked.

You looked at him, a wicked smile plastered on your face. “We eavesdrop of course!” You didn’t hesitate; body pressed against the closed door you strained your ears to hear their conversation.

Hyunjin followed your lead. He stood close to you, his arm brushing yours. A good agent would keep his mind clear and concentrate on the mission. Hyunjin was not a good agent. He couldn’t help but notice how smooth your skin was. Your sweet scent. And the smile that never left your lips. Get a grip, Hyunjin!

“I expected your boss to show up.” Minjun’s rough voice could be heard from behind the door. He sounded displeased and annoyed.

“I’m his right hand and tonight I represent the crows.” The other man didn’t sound fazed with Minjun’s annoyance and yet Hyunjin could detect a hint of threat in his voice. “I’m sure it’s acceptable to you. Or maybe you should find another willing party. After all, we’re not the one in need, are we?” Now he was taunting the man.

You glanced at Hyunjin, exchanging a knowing look. Just few words but enough to prove that they didn’t come here for nothing. Few words to incriminate the man.

Minjun grumbled, displeased with the man’s attitude. “Fine. Where is it?”

Whatever the ‘it’ was, you couldn’t hear the rest of it. Steps echoed in the hall, alerting the two of you that you were no longer safe and had little time to no time at all to hide. Hyunjin’s heart leapt in his throat as he tried to find a solution, a way out. But you. You didn’t panic, you barely looked at him. Instead, you straightened your back and slid your hand under your dress and took a knife out.

“What the hell.” Hyunjin muttered to himself, eyes bulging at the sight of the knife. “We’re not fighting.”

You scoffed and stepped before him, ignoring his remark. Hyunjin wasn’t a fighter, but you were and right now you were itching to fight the intruder.

At the sound of steps growing louder, closer; his body moved on its own accord. He pushed you against the closest wall, trapping you with his body. He cupped the side of your face, his thumb rubbing a spot on your cheek.

Your sweet scent hit him like a truck. All he wanted in the first place was just to pretend, to make it look like the two of you were making out in the hall, to make the intruder feel out of place. But your fucking addicting scent drove him absolutely crazy. His eyes kept darting back and forth between your eyes, another kind of fire glowing in them, and your plump, red lips that were slightly parted in surprise. God, how much he wanted to kiss you. To smear your perfect lipstick.

Pretend. Mission. Fake. He repeated those words in his head, trying to persuade himself that this was more than enough.

It wasn’t.

“Do it, hubby.” You encouraged him after seeing him struggle to keep his control.

And Hyunjin did. His mouth crashed against yours. The kiss was bruising, needy, he had absolutely no control over his body, over his mouth. He wanted to taste every inch of you, to memorize how good you felt against him, how nice your lips felt against his.

His grip on your face tightened as you parted your pretty lips, inviting him in. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, pushing his face even closer to you.

Hyunjin’s free hand slid slowly from your chest, to your stomach, to your left, exposed, thigh. He grabbed your leg with strength and wrap it around him, giving him more access to your body, to feel more of you. To let you feel just how affected he was. How hard he was with just one kiss. You moaned into the kiss as his fingers dug into your skin.

So. Damn. Addicting. Hyunjin forgot all about their problem, all about the steps that grew only louder. He heard nothing. Saw nothing. There was only you and your gentle moans, urging him to ravish you right on the spot.

“Hey!” A loud, croaky voice interrupted them. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re not allowed in there!”

Hyunjin’s deep growl made your grip on him only tighten. You didn’t care about the intruder, but you cared about those stupidly addictive lips.

“What the-“ The man halted not far from you.

Hyunjin, unwillingly, slowly dropped your leg and parted from you. He wiped the corner of his lips and winked playfully at you before facing the man. “Sorry. I wanted a moment with my wife. She’s just so beautiful, I can’t have enough. Can you blame me?”

The man contemplated the idea of telling Hyunjin once more that you weren’t supposed to be there but one look at you and your disheveled self and swollen lips – he hesitated.

He ruffled his hair in frustration. “Just leave.”

***

“What do you think is his business with the crows?” Hyunjin asked as you stepped inside your room.

“No clue. They’re dangerous and powerful. It can’t be good.” You commented.

Barely inside and you were already undressing, with still no consideration for Hyunjin. He froze right on the spot as he watched you unzip your dress and let it pool at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your high heels and panties. He gulped, unable to avert his eyes even if a little voice was screaming at him not to look. He couldn’t. Not when you looked absolutely breath taking with your smooth skin, legs to die for and your long hair falling over your exposed breasts.

Another time, Hyunjin would have managed to keep his head cool and look away. Now? Now he knew how your lips tasted and how your skin felt under his touch. He couldn’t think straight.

“You can’t keep doing that.” Hyunjin managed to complain, his trousers grew tighter.

“Doing what?” You batted your eyelashes, trying to look innocent but your proud smile betrayed your intentions.

“That!” He pointed at your body. “I’m a man and I’m trying to be respectful.”

“I see that. You’re staring. Respectfully.” You laughed and slowly approached him, your smile turning into a smirk, knowing you were playing with fire and testing his patience.

Hyunjin should have known from the beginning that you were a menace. Jisung was right, you would eat him alive and he would say thank you.

“Must be hard watching and not being able to touch.” You cooed at him and poked his chest.

“You’re a terrible human being.” He complained without meaning his words.

“Am I?”

Hyunjin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Bad idea. Your sweet scent hit his nose, making him slowly lose his self-control. He couldn’t think about anything else, only you and your body too close to his. All he needed to do was take the last step towards you, grab your neck and kiss you.

Think about the mission, Hyunjin. You can’t do that. But did he listen to the little voice? Hell no.

“Play with me, hubby.” You whispered, pushing his last limit.

Hyunjin snapped.

Or more like his self-control snapped. He grabbed the back of your neck and claimed your mouth. He devoured your mouth, showing you no mercy. He bit on your lips and pulled your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss.

“You’re driving me nuts.” He groaned against your lips. “And I do not appreciate that.” He gave your hair a harsher tug, exposing the tender flesh of your neck. A perfect canvas for him. His lips slid from your mouth to your jaw, to your neck, leaving pretty marks on his way, claiming you just the way he wanted.

“I’m glad.” You moaned as your hands found their way to his head, pushing him closer to you, wanting to feel more of him. “It won’t be fun otherwise.”

Hyunjin bit on your collarbone in response. He wanted to make you pay for testing his patience, for making him yield so easily. He wanted to hear you plead for more, to hear your scream his name and ask for more. It was his mission for the night and he refused to stop. He scooped you in his arms, taking you off guard – you yelped in surprise. He carried you to the bed and dropped you on the mattress.

The sight before him was his personal hell. Your pretty lips swollen, your hair spread around you, your nipples hard and begging for attention. A goddess waiting for someone to worship her and he was more than willing. But slowly. Despite his own needs and wish to jump on you, he took his time to memorize your body; every little scar, and you had many of them, every mole.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer.” You teased, resting on your elbows as you watched him, biting your lips.

Hyunjin chuckled at your attempt at provoking him. He unbuttoned his shirt, button by button, watching as your eyes followed his every move, watching as you licked your lips at the sight of his bare skin.

“Might do it later.” He admitted. After all, he wouldn’t mind to immortalize the moment.

Hyunjin threw his shirt somewhere on the floor before his hands found their way to your ankles. Gently, he stroked your ankles that were probably tired after a long night wearing heels. Without a warning, he pulled you to the edge of the bed, closer to him, a wicked smile on his face.

Slowly and without breaking the eye-contact, he dropped to his knees. He grabbed your panties and tugged down, exposing your pretty and already wet pussy. Whenever you had planned to get him on his knees or not, you were ready for him and he had to admit he enjoyed the sight before him.

“Tell me what you want, Y/N.” Hyunjin asked. His soft lips leaving a trail of kisses across your thigh, setting your skin on fire.

“Don’t be a tease.” You ordered and nudged him with your knee but Hyunjin was having none of that.

“Come on. Tell me. Is it my tongue you want?” And to make his point he licked your skin, from your knee to your thigh, getting dangerously close to the place you really wanted him. “Or is it my fingers?” Still teasing, he barely brushed his fingers against your pussy, making you hiss in frustration.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” You threatened him, refusing to give him the power over you.

Hyunjin only laughed against your skin and bit your thigh playfully, your threat doing nothing except turning him on.

“Come on, Y/N. it’s not that hard.”

Your ego demanded that you kept your mouth shut, but your body was on fire and on edge and growing impatient. You needed him to touch you.

Your body won the war. “Please, Hyunjin. I really, really need you.” You begged as prettily as you could.

And how could he refuse when asked so nicely? Hyunjin delved in, eagerly, letting the taste of you consume him. There was no stopping, not when you sweet taste invaded all his senses and turned him into an addict.

“Fuck.” You cried out and arched your back.

Hyunjin devoured you, licking, sucking, knowing exactly what you needed. It was as if he already knew how your body worked, what made you curl your toes, what brought out your sweet cries.

One particular strong suck had you reach out for his head, tugging at his locks. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to bring him closer to your pussy or put some space – it didn’t stop him. Hyunjin’s gaze met yours, eyes shining with mischief.

He kept his mouth on you and slid two fingers inside you, stretching you. Your every little cries made him suck only harder, pump his fingers faster until you were nothing but a mess, writhing and begging to come.

And you came hard in a silent scream, body trembling.

If you thought, Hyunjin would give you a minute to recover, you were wrong. He flipped you on your stomach, his hands slid from your shoulders, to your back, to your ass. Such a nice and beautiful ass. Hyunjin couldn’t stop himself from giving it a strong slap.

He hurried to unzip his pants, the urge to sink inside you getting unbearable. He nudged your pussy with his cock and you pushed back, whimpering, needing to feel him inside. Hyunjin, despite his own needs, still had some control left. Seeing you so wet, so desperate and lost to your own pleasure because of him pleased him.

“Hwang, I swear to god-“ You started but all words died on your tongue the moment Hyunjin buried himself deep inside you with one strong push. “Fuck!” You cried out.

The pain, the stretch, followed by pure bliss made you grab the sheets, holding for your dear life. You expected Hyunjin to take his sweet time, to make his thrusts slow and controlled.

You were wrong.

Maybe it was because of your pleas, maybe because of how nice and perfect your walls felt around him. Or maybe the little control left had finally snapped. He set a brutal rhythm. His grip on your hips strong, almost painful and that would leave, without a single doubt, marks. And you didn’t care.

“So. Damn. Perfect.” Hyunjin managed to say in between strong, deep thrusts.

Hyunjin leaned over you, slowing his thrusts for a moment, only to fist your hair and yank your head back. His warm breath caressed your neck. “This is payback for all the teasing, Y/N.” His voice sounded rough and ominous.

It should have been a warning and you would have given a damn any other time. But Hyunjin was good. Felt too good. Your mind was blank. You could barely remember your own name.

As Hyunjin forced you to arch against him, his fucking increased, reaching deeper, making you see stars. Mouth opened, tears in the corner of your eyes, there was no stopping. With one particularly strong push, he tipped you over the edge. Your orgasm tore through you, violent, powerful, toe-curling. For a second you couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. And Hyunjin kept going, seeking his own release.

Fingers digging into your skin, Hyunjin came with a loud groan, spilling himself inside you.

With his release came a realization. I’m fucked.

***

Hyunjin woke up with a feeling that something was off. He looked for his phone on the bedside table, only to see that it was three in the morning. He yawned and rolled on the other side, wanting to get closer to you and to your warmth. Only to find your side of the bed empty and cold. He straightened up on the bed, staring blankly at the empty spot. Slowly, he touched it, confirming that his mind hadn’t imagined it being cold. No, you had left the bed and apparently the room a long time ago.

Hyunjin didn’t know how he felt about it. Should he worry? Did you need space after what happened between the two of you? Or worse, did you regret it? Hyunjin refused to imagine the worst scenario, but he struggled. He considered, for a short moment, to get out of bed and start looking for you. What if something bad happened?

He heard the bip from the door and quickly lay down on the bed. He squinted, forcing his eyes to adapt to the darkness.

You walked inside the room on your tiptoes, trying not to make any noise, trying not to wake Hyunjin up. Too late for that, but he did his best pretending to be asleep. Hyunjin hoped you couldn’t see how he was peeking at you or how fast his breathing got.

You paid no attention to him as you got closer to the bed. You untied your hair and ruffled them in frustration. Whatever you were doing at this hour of the night, you didn’t look too happy about it. Slowly you took off your leather jacket and threw it on the chair and then, and it made Hyunjin fight a gasp, you pulled out your gun.

Where the hell were you? What were you doing? He wished he could just ask you these questions, but he wasn’t sure you would take it well. Not yet at least.

Hyunjin tried to calm his heart, to steady his breathing; you got closer to the bed and watched his sleeping form.

“Such a pretty boy.” You hummed, face relaxing at his sight. You gently brushed some strands of hair from his face and Hyunjin fought a shiver.

***

He woke up a second time but much later. He expected to see you sleeping beside him, after all, weren’t you supposed to be tired after going out in the middle of the night? Yet, he found once more your side of the bed empty. He groaned and quickly crawled out of bed. He had questions and for that he needed to find you.

Turns out, finding you wasn’t as hard as he expected. Maybe for a moment, he had forgotten that you were also human and needed to eat. Hyunjin found you at the restaurant, dressed in a pretty white dress that gave you an almost innocent look which unsettled him. But not only that; you were talking vividly, laughing and smiling with Park Minjun.

Hyunjin paused, staring blankly at you and the man. It amazed him how easily you talked with the man, how genuinely interested you looked. If he didn’t know about the mission, he would have believed you were long lost friends. It impressed him how easily you adapted to different situations, different people, letting them see and hear what they needed, what they wanted.

When you spotted Hyunjin, your whole face lit up. Hyunjin gulped, not liking how his heart reacted, not liking how your smile cheered his soul. He couldn’t stop his mind from replaying the images of your kisses, of your touches, of your smooth skin against his, of your lovely voice. He didn’t regret his choice, but he was also aware that he was in deep shit.

Hyunjin took a deep breath and started walking toward your table, confident. A small smile crept across his face as your own widened.

“Oh, babe!” You called for him, pretending so well to be completely smitten with your husband. You welcomed him with a sweet smile and a kiss on his cheek (he swore his heart missed a beat). “Sorry, I was too hungry and you looked so sweet. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Voice sweet like honey, Hyunjin found himself at the loss of words. There was no way you left him without a word just because he looked sweet, but you were so damn convincing. He shook his head before chuckling. Two could play this game. He took a strand of your hair, curled it around his finger before bringing it to his lips. You sucked in a breath, your eyes locked on him.

“It’s fine.” Hyunjin leaned and pressed his lips against yours. As much as he wanted the moment to last, he couldn’t ignore any longer the man’s presence. “Hello, sir.”

The CEO eyed him from head to toe, nodded as if he liked what he saw. If only he knew. “You must be Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin pulled the chair and sat beside you. “The one and only.” He smiled at the man while his hand slipped to your thigh and rested there comfortably, loving the warmth of your skin under the palm of his hand.

Park Minjun smiled as he brought his cup to his mouth. “You have a fabulous wife. So passionate.”

Hyunjin looked at you, eyes softening. “I know. I’m a lucky man.”

Slowly, he rubbed circles on your thigh and you had to fight back a shiver. You could have stopped him, quite easily, but his touch was too addictive.

Minjun cleared his throat. “Y/N, it was lovely meeting you. But I believe I should leave the two of you alone. Enjoy your stay.”

The moment he was out of sight, you dropped your act. A long and tired sigh escaped your lips and you sank further into your seat. And yet, you still didn’t try to pry his hand off your thigh.

“Learnt anything?” Hyunjin asked, resting his head in the palm of his free hand.

“Nothing important. I thought charming him would serve me. Maybe not now, but later.”

Hyunjin hummed. You were right, it could be useful. “He looked charmed.”

You chuckled and poked his side playfully. “Why? Are you jealous, Hwang?”

Hyunjin could have stopped the little game, could have dropped his own act – he didn’t. He leaned closer, looking at you with a smirk. “Why should I be? I was the one making you scream my name. Not this old man.”

You gasped and feigned outrage. “My, my. Scandalous.”

“I know.”

“Now, that being said,” Your smile turned wicked. “I put a tracker on him.”

***

Jisung took his sweet time to answer the phone. It almost comforted Hyunjin to know that even with you, he acted this way. Except for the fact that you weren’t as patient as him. You groaned and threw your arms in the air, growing annoyed with every attempt at reaching for your friend.

“Hello my lovely, favorite couple ever!” Jisung’s cheerfulness brought a tiny smile to Hyunjin’s face, until he remembered that he wanted and needed to kick his ass. “How’s your honeymoon?”

“A lot of fucking. Something you can’t relate to because you’re forever bitchless.” You didn’t hesitate to humble him.

Hyunjin tried to stifle his laugh, only for you to glance at him with a frown, silently warning him.

Jisung gasped through the phone, offended. “Rude.” And for good measure, added, “Bitch.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Well,” Jisung began, “I know for sure that there is no way you fucked Hyunjin.” Jisung sounded so confident and yet none of you tried to correct him.

Hyunjin glanced at you but you ignored him, staring at your phone instead and looking tired. Finally, the consequences of your late night activities were showing. You needed to rest but something told him that a comment from him would earn him an even deeper frown.

At the silence, Jisung squealed. “Right?”

“I put a tracker on Minjun. I need you to tell me what he’s doing.” You said instead, refusing to satisfy his curiosity.

Hyunjin heard Jisung tapping on his computer, guessing he was already on it.

“I’m not done with you.” He warned the two of you. “He’s coming back home.”

Only then, you finally looked at Hyunjin, nodding. “Then so do we.”

***

Namjoon was in a bad mood. Hyunjin guessed it the moment he stepped inside his office. He kept tugging at his hair and muttering under his nose. Whatever was bothering him, meant probably no good to him too.

Hyunjin had been back for only few days which left him little time to check on his other cases, make a report about Park Minjun, meet with Jisung to know about the man’s whereabouts.

And you. You simply vanished. He should have known it would happen. He should have guessed that whatever happened between the two of you during your mission would end the moment you stepped out of the plane. It still left a bitter taste.

“I read you report.” Namjoon finally said.

“Did Y/N make her own report too?” Hyunjin wondered.

Namjoon quirked a brow at him. “She did.” He sighed. “The crows are bad news. I hoped you would be able to gather more information.”

“Y/N made contact with Park Minjun.. Maybe if we meet him again, she could gather more.”

Speaking of the devil, you barged into the office as if you owned the place. Namjoon barely reacted at your rudeness, obviously too used to your behavior. You dropped on the chair beside Hyunjin, refusing to acknowledge his presence which pissed him off more than he was willing to admit to himself.

“Weapons.” You announced, “Your tip was right. Minjun does sell weapons to dangerous people and now he’s going to sell them to the crows which sucks. They’re already powerful enough.”

Hyunjin almost jumped out of his seat and grabbed you to question you. He held back. Barely. “How did you find out?”

Instead of looking at him, you checked your nails, looking disinterested if not bored. “I don’t think you want to know.”

Hyunjin took a deep breath, counting till ten to calm himself down. If there was one thing, he disliked about you it was how easily you switched from being nice to the bitchy-old-self. It made him wonder if the side you showed him was real.

“What did you do?” Namjoon asked instead, sensing the tension in the room.

You sighed and slid your gaze to him. “Let’s just say that some men are eager to talk in promise of a blowjob.”

Hyunjin winced, unable to stop himself.

Namjoon nodded, unfazed with your explanation. “We need tangible proof. I’m counting on the two of you.”

Great. Just great.

***

Despite Namjoon’s words, Hyunjin doubted you would agree to partner with him. It was one thing when it was expected of you to pretend and be seen, but looking for information was different. You obviously had your ways and Hyunjin would be a nuisance.

Before you could leave him, Hyunjin grabbed your wrist and forced you to stop and look at him. There was so many things he wished to say but one look at you and only one question remained in his brain.

“You didn’t really give him a blowjob in exchange for information, did you?” He asked, his voice rough.

You scoffed at his question and pulled away from his grasp. “Why? Jealous?”

“Y/N.”

You pushed him away from you by poking his chest angrily. “I have my ways to get the job done, Hwang. Just because we fucked, doesn’t mean I owe you shit.”

Of course, you would go back to being the cold, unpredictable and distant self. He wanted to yell at you, to shake you and remind you that you didn’t always have to work alone, that you could rely on him.

“Namjoon needs proof.” You added, “I’m going to give him that.”

“And I’m going to help you.” Hyunjin insisted.

“No fucking way.

You had been staring at your computer’s screen for the past twenty minutes as if the solution to your problems would magically pop up on the screen. Obviously, it didn’t which turned your mood even sourer.

The deal with the crows and Park Minjun bothered you. Despite knowing that the man was selling weapons, you had to find a way to get close and get a real proof. But how? You couldn’t really show at his doorstep and ask him about the details. And getting closer to the crows would be too troublesome. With a long and tired sigh, you threw your head back and closed your eyes to think. Sadly, your brain didn’t want to think about work and possible solutions. No, it chose to think about a very cute, yet annoying man.

“Fuck it.” You groaned and tried to erase his image from your mind. You didn’t want to think about him. You didn’t want to remember the night you spent together. You didn’t want to remember how easily your body craved his touches. And you certainly didn’t want to admit how much you still wanted more.

Your doorbell rang and brought you back to reality. You glanced at the door, tempted to ignore whoever dared to disturb you at your place. Not many knew where you lived, it was better this way for your safety.

It rang a second time followed by a loud knock.

“Open the damn door, Y/N!” Jisung’s loud voice reached your ear.

“Of-fucking-course.” The temptation to ignore him was strong but you also knew that Jisung was a stubborn one; he would alert the whole neighborhood if it meant you would open the damn door.

Unwillingly, you forced yourself out of the couch to open the door. “What the fuck do you want?!”

Jisung lifted his bag and wiggled it playfully before you as if it would change your mind about his presence. “Let’s get drunk.”

Tempting, you had to admit it. You stared at the bag before sliding your gaze to him. Jisung was smiling so widely, knowingly, it annoyed you. He didn’t come here just to get drunk; he wanted information and the best way was through alcohol.

“Fine.” You stepped out of his way. “Come in.”

Jisung didn’t need to be told twice. He hurried inside before you could change your mind. He eyed the room, gasping at the mess. Folders were spread all around your table along with your clothes. Despite being back for few days now, instead of properly unpacking, you left your clothes all around the living room.

“Are you going to tell me?” Jisung asked and glanced at you over his shoulder, “Or should I make you talk?”

You eyed him, incredulous. Jisung tried to sound intimidating as if he could actually make you talk but with his boyish looks it just didn’t work. You drew nearer, a dangerous glint in your eyes. You were the predator in the room and you didn’t mind reminding him. You stopped, barely any space left between your bodies.

“And how are you going to make me talk, Ji?” You flicked his nose playfully.

Jisung gulped, not so confident anymore. You laughed and pulled back to give him space. You pulled out a bottle of bear from his bag and walked to the couch. “What exactly do you want to know?”

You plopped on the couch and relaxed.

“How’s work with Hyunjin?” He asked as he grabbed his own bottle and sat on the chair, watching you.

His question didn’t surprise you but it still annoyed you. “He’s a pain in my ass.”

Jisung wiggled his brows playfully. “I’m sure you’re the perfect partner too.”

You already regretted letting him in. You didn’t want to talk about Hyunjin with him. You didn’t want to talk about him at all in fact. But one look at Jisung and you knew he wouldn’t leave until he got his answers. God help me.

“You know I prefer working alone. It’s easier. I don’t want his life to depend on me.” You explained.

Jisung hummed, knowing how your brain worked. “But sometimes it’s nice to know someone has your back. Hyunjin is loyal and will do anything to help you.”

You knew. Your last interaction showed just how much he was willing to help even if you were a cold bitch to him. You wanted to keep him away from you, from the danger that you loved to surround yourself with. He didn’t need this drama in his life. Hyunjin was a nice guy. Even before working with him, you had heard stories about him and you had witnessed on many occasions how wiling he was to help people. Even those who didn’t deserve his help.

“You know I’ll put him in danger.” You sighed in defeat.

Jisung pointed at you with his bottle. “Pretty sure it’s not your call to make.”

***

You didn’t know how you felt about visiting Hyunjin’s office out of the blue. On one hand you knew the reasonable thing to do would be to apologize for your behavior and have a truce with him. But on the other hand, you weren’t particularly fond of the idea of working with him again. You feared that more time you spent with him and more likely you would put him in danger. And maybe grow fond of him too. It was dangerous for your plans and so out of your character. You didn’t have time for men or the patience. You could deal with one night stands; you had your needs to fulfill after all. But more? No. Not your thing.

But Hyunjin was testing your boundaries, your willpower without even knowing it, therefore it made him dangerous.

You stared at his half-opened door, hesitating. All you had to do was to walk in, offer him a coffee and apologize. And then ask for his help. Not so hard, was it? It was. You took a deep breath, composed your face and walked inside his office confidently.

“Hello, Hwang.” You hummed, sounding as friendly as you could manage.

If you had thought it would go easy, you were terribly wrong. Hyunjin barely acknowledged your presence, the only sign that told you he had perfectly heard you, was the way his body tensed at the sound of your voice and how he stopped taping on his computer. Yeah, easy peasy.

His reaction didn’t deter you. You got to his desk and put the cup of coffee you got him beside his computer, pretending that everything was alright.

And yet still no reaction.

You observed him in silence for a moment, taking your time to memorize every part of his face. You smiled when he crunched his nose, his resolution to ignore you slowly crumbling. The corner of your lips quirked up. You sat on the edge of his desk and gently grabbed his chin, tilting his head. “I didn’t give him a blowjob. But I beat the shit out of him when I got the information.”

Here was the truth of what really happened. Of course, you were ready to do a lot to succeed but you still had your own limits. And you had other effective means to make someone talk. You let go of his chin and tried not to smile at his reaction.

Hyunjin tried to keep his face straight, to hide his emotions but you saw a glimpse of surprise on his face anyway. You noticed how his body relaxed instantly at your confession. Slowly, he outstretched his arm and grabbed your peace offering. You watched him, eyes never leaving him as he brought the cup of coffee to his damn tempting lips and took a sip. If from outside you were smiling at the little win, inside you were slapping yourself for admiring him a little too much.

“Thank you for the coffee.” Hyunjin held the cup with one hand and leaned back against his chair. “Why are you here, Y/N?”

‘Because I was an ass to you and I’m sorry. And I need your help.’ You wanted to say. Instead, you eyed him, captivated with his lips and some creams in the corner of his lips.

“According to Namjoon and also you, we are partners. Can’t I visit my partner?” You tried to play coy, when really, all you had to do was be sincere with him. But it went against your nature and your damn ego.

Hyunjin wasn’t impressed, judging by the way he quirked a brow and didn’t comment.

Yeah. It wasn’t so easy after all. You were too hopeful. Who would have guessed that the sweet and gentle Hyunjin could actually hold a (totally justified) grudge. You underestimated him and that was your mistake.

You sighed in defeat. “Fine. I need your help.”

Hyunjin whistled, impressed with how long it took you to admit the reason behind your visit. “And here I thought you didn’t need a partner.”

You chewed on your lips, so tempted to make a snarky comment but you couldn’t. You did need his help. “You won’t make it easy, will you?”

Hyunjin shrugged as if it was nothing and took another sip, waiting for your explanation, not agreeing right away. You had to admit that you were impressed how easily he managed to keep a straight face, not giving in right away. You knew better than to underestimate an opponent but somehow you did.

“Fine.” You raised your hands in defeat. “Do you remember Chris? There’s a party and I know Minjun will also attend it. The two of them know that I’m married, it would be weird if I show up without my handsome husband.”

You waited for him to show any sign, but Hyunjin only stared at you, making you feel uneasy for the first time. He wouldn’t refuse, would he? Not that you couldn’t make it work without him. You were pretty sure you could convince anyone. But deep inside, you wanted him to be by your side. Even if it was a very dangerous game. But then, he stood up and took a step towards you. He put his hands on the desk, on every side of you, trapping you between the desk and him.

“And how badly do you need my presence, wifey?” He asked, face a little too close to your liking. You could see every little mark, his pretty mole and those damn lips. You could barely remember his question, your attention on his lips only. Someone talked about a mission? A plan? Who cared when you could just tilt your face and claim those lips for yourself.

Seeing how unresponsive you were and with your eyes locked on his lips, Hyunjin couldn’t stop himself from leaning even closer. His lips brushed the shell of your ear; your body reacted on its own, shivering in both excitement and need. “Are you even listening, wifey?”

“I am.” A big fat liar, yes.

He clicked his tongue at your blatant lie and pulled completely away, freeing your body and also your damn brain from his spell. You blinked in confusion and had to fight back the urge to pull him back.

“I’ll help you.”

***

It had been ages since the last time you attended one of Chris’s parties. You avoided those kind of parties if you could. You hated the people that attended it, always the same one: arrogant, rich, who still managed to complain about every little thing when they had everything they needed. You loathed them and hated their conversation. But at least with Chris it was different. Maybe it was because of him and how genuine he was about what he did or maybe he just always managed to ground you.

Tonight was no exception. The venue was huge, classy and smelled of money. Fortunately for you, this time around you didn’t need Chris’s presence to help you to go through the night. You had someone better and definitely more distracting than your friend.

Hyunjin looked insanely good in his red suit and with his hair pushed back. A model. If he ever got tired of his current job, you had no doubt that he could revert to modeling and he would succeed. Apparently, you weren’t the only one who noticed how good he looked tonight; many women had their eyes on him. Too bad, he wasn’t there for them. To mark your claim, you looped your arms with his and gave him a sweet smile. Take that bitches, he’s mine. Very adult of you.

“I know what you’re doing.” Hyunjin whispered and brushed his lips against your forehead.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You feigned innocence and took a sip of your drink, nevertheless a smug smile spread on your lips.

Hyunjin chuckled and shook his head, fond with your attempt at hiding your intentions. “I don’t care about those women. But do you know what bothers me?” His fingers slid slowly from your shoulder to your arm to your hand – you shivered in response and looked at him expectantly. “Those men eye-fucking you.”

Oh dear, where was the sweet Hyunjin? He looked anything but gentle right now. In fact, the murder in his eyes reminded you a lot of you. Maybe, he wasn’t that different from you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, making sure not to spill your drink over him, you pressed your body against him. “Maybe fuck me in the middle of the room and they’ll get the hint.”

Despite the display of affection that clearly attracted more attention on the two of you, Hyunjin played the game perfectly. He put his hands on your hips, his grip strong and delicious. “Is it a challenge?”

This time, you were the one to shake your head, amused with the outcome. Here you thought, you could make him blush and change the subject. But no, Hyunjin still managed to surprise you. “When did you get so bold, Hwang?”

“I believe you’re rubbing on me.”

“Namjoon is going to have a heart attack if you start behaving like me.”

Hyunjin could actually imagine Namjoon’s reaction and shivered. “I’m sure it would please you.”

You didn’t comment but your silence spoke louder. So did your smirk.

Reluctantly, Hyunjin let go of you. “He’s here.” Hyunjin commented as he finally spotted Minjun. And as much as you wanted to enjoy your time with your fake husband, you had a job to do. “He’s with his wife.”

You groaned at the mention of the wife. “I can deal with him but her-“ While investigating about Minjun you found plenty of interesting and disturbing information on his wife. From outside she looked like the typical rich wife. Inside? She was an ugly, manipulative bitch. She had no problem with using her power to bully the weak, to use her influence to get what she wanted. Whoever she wanted. The kind of person you just wished you could shoot and never look at again. Sadly, if you wanted to find out more about the CEO you also needed to face her.

“I can’t promise I won’t snap.” You finished.

“Well, my lovely wife,” Hyunjin took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m more than willing to hold you back.”

Park Minjun spotted the two of you before you could even reach them. His whole face lit up like a Christmas tree, genuinely delighted seeing you again. Maybe not Hyunjin, but you for sure.

“What a lovely surprise!” He took you completely off guard by reaching for you and giving you a hug. You didn’t peg him for a hugger, but apparently he was. “Such a delight! You look lovely, Y/N.” And then he shook Hyunjin’s hand, surprisingly with enthusiasm.

“Thank you M. Park.” You gave him your prettiest smile, trying to look as genuine as possible which with Hyunjin’s presence influencing you, wasn’t that hard. At least, until your gaze found the old hag’s face. The urge to slap her was strong; she was ogling Hyunjin as if he was a piece of meat and not a human being.

“Darling, this is Y/N and Hyunjin.” He introduced you.

Lazily her gaze slid to you, looking at you as if you were nothing but dirt under her feet. Such a lovely piece of shit, you thought.

“He’s way too pretty to be your husband.” She commented with a huff of disdain.

You are going to die. Slowly and painfully.

“He’s way too pretty to be tied to a woman like her.” She completely disregarded you, her attention fully back on Hyunjin.

“Come on darling.” Minjun tried, sensing that her comment brought a tension that wasn’t there a moment ago. “Don’t be rude. Y/N is a lovely and charming woman.”

“For a whore maybe.”

Mission, mission, mission. You repeated the word in your head, trying to calm the fire spreading through your veins. Trying to keep your temper in check and not give in to your urge to slice her open with your knife and see if she bled the same color as you.

Fuck the mission. Discretely, you pushed back the sleeve of your left arm, ready to grab your knife. Before you could get it, Chris appeared right beside you, grabbing your hand and bringing it to his lips. He kissed your knuckles as a greeting, his smile charming but his eyes were burning with fire and a threat. A fire that would usually appease you and remind you your place. Not tonight. You were too gone.

“And she is family to me.” Chris announced as he let go of your hand and turned to face the couple. Despite now the polite smile on his face, the threat was obvious. “Please refrain from insulting her or I’ll take it personally.”

Minjun’s face paled at the threat. It would have amused you to see him squirm if it wasn’t for your wish to fight. He cleared his throat and hurried to take his wife’s hand. “We’re going to grab another drink, let’s talk later.”

The moment they left, Hyunjin let out a long sigh and looked at you with a knowing look. Someone wanted to scold you but you didn’t give two shits.

“Piece of shit.” The two of you said at the same time.

Hyunjin surprised you with his words and reaction, but oddly, it soothed your nerves and the fire burning inside your veins. Yeah, he was right, you were rubbing on him.

Chris palmed his face. He barely avoided a massacre right in the middle of the party; just thinking about what could have happened tired him.

“As much as I hate the woman, you can’t hurt her.” Chris’s hard gaze fell on you and you would have winced at it if not for Hyunjin’s comforting presence.

“She’s a bitch!” You protested.

“And you have dozens of witnesses.” He gestured at the people surrounding you. “Don’t get sloppy.”

Fine. Chris was right, but you still felt the need to get rid the world of another ugly human-being. Hyunjin sensed that; he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against him.

“It’s not like she was going to kill her.” Hyunjin told him, confident.

Oh Hyunjin, if only you knew.

You wished he hadn’t said that. Not only because he was wrong, but also because it would alert Chris.

“Sure about that? Y/N was ready to pull out her knife and end her right on the spot.” He looked at your covered arm, knowing a small knife was hiding under it. “She craves violence but I’m sure,” his gaze slid to Hyunjin, “you already knew that.”

Your palms were sweaty. Chris made you squirm under his mocking gaze. He knew this whole couple thing was fake, he felt it from the first time he had seen Hyunjin and Hyunjin’s faith in you only proved it.

“Have fun.” Chris said with one good look at the two of you. “But don’t cause trouble.”

So tempting to tell him to fuck off but you resisted only for the sake of pretense.

“You weren’t really planning to hurt her?” Hyunjin asked.

“She insulted you. This old damn hag-“

“Simp.”

“Take that back, Hwang!”

****

It was only much later that you managed to have a second chance with Minjun, without his wife scowling at you. You didn’t even have much to do to attract his attention; the moment you found yourself alone with your drink, he didn’t hesitate to approach you. Obviously, Hyunjin’s presence never bothered him, but Chris? He clearly didn’t want to attract his attention a second time.

“I’m so sorry for my wife’s behavior.” He apologized, standing close to you.

You smiled sweetly at him, batting your eyelashes at him. “It’s fine. No harm done.” But what you really wanted to say was that his wife would not live another day if she ever made another comment about Hyunjin or even dared to look his way.

He smiled, grateful for your gentleness.

Another man, in black suit, joined the two of you. He nodded his head at Minjun and stood closely to the two of you. You remembered him. The same man that went with Minjun to meet the crows. You listened to the man, looking invested in whatever he was saying while your mind was going through different ways you could get information out of him. Instead, you spotted something else on the bodyguard as he moved: a gun.

“Nice gun.” You commented, taking the two men off guard. Of course, they judged you for your looks and underestimated you. As if a woman who looked like a doll could know anything about guns. You stared at the gun for a moment before averting your eyes. “I don’t recognize the model.”

Minjun whistled, impressed. “You are full of surprises, Y/N.”

That you were. You smiled into your drink, trying not to look too smug. “My uncle is an avid collector.” You glanced once more at the gun. “He taught me how to shoot.”

Minjun made a sign with his hand and the bodyguard took few steps towards you before pulling his gun and handing it to you. You glanced at the man, making sure he didn’t mind you touching it; he nodded his head and smiled.

“Oh. I expected it to be heavier.” You commented as you admired the gun. You moved it around, weighing it.

“It’s a new design. I wanted to make life easier for my men.” Minjun admitted, proudly.

You handed the gun back to the bodyguard, your gaze on the older man. “Guess you’re full of surprises too, M. Park.”

“It’s a hobby of mine.” He confessed.

“That reminds me of my uncle.”

“I bet I’d get along with your uncle.”

He wouldn’t.

***

Of course the crows would want the best guns on the market and if Park Minjun was the one making them, it was no surprise they agreed to work with him. But still, you needed more to be able to stop them. Maybe talking with Hyunjin would clear your mind and help you to find a solution to your problem. But before you could do any of that, Chris grabbed your arm and pulled you to the balcony where nobody could hear you.

Chris did not look amused when he met your eyes. In fact, you were pretty sure he was upset and was trying really bad to keep his own temper in check.

“What’s wrong Chris?”

“The fuck you’re doing, Y/N?” He scowled.

It wouldn’t be very wise of you to play pretend with him; Chris could read people easily, even you which annoyed you half of the time. Tonight was no exception. He could tell you were up to something and probably something bad. He wasn’t wrong.

“Nothing.” You raised your arms in defense. “Yet.”

Chris took a deep breath to calm himself. “What’s your business with Park Minjun?”

Nothing went unnoticed, how sad. Unfortunately, you couldn’t share your mission with him, no matter how close the two of you were. “None. We met not long ago while I was enjoying a nice weekend with Hyunjin.”

Chris scoffed at the mention of your fake husband. “Who clearly knows shit about you.”

In a blink of an eye you stood before him, your knife no longer hidden under your sleeve and pressed against his throat. “And you better keep it that way.”

Chris didn’t even blink, he stared at you, unimpressed. Wouldn’t be the first time you threatened him. Nor the last. “You and your love for knives is terrifying.”

“Don’t see why.” You shrugged and pulled away. It would do you no good to fight him and you weren’t that confident either. Behind his calmness, Chris was a sleeping storm; a storm you would rather avoid.

“Did you know Minjun sells weapons?” You asked instead.

Chris raised his brow at the change of subject. “Yes. He’s been a little paranoid recently. Some people want him dead, I heard. Beomseok offered him a deal: he will protect him but in exchange he will decide to who he sells the weapons.”

What a shitty deal, you thought. From outside, it looked nice; Minjun kept his business and his life, but really, he lost everything. “Basically, the crows are taking control over his business in exchange for his life.”

“Yes, nothing good will come out of this deal.” Chris admitted as he kept his eyes on you. You could tell there was more he wanted to say but chose to hold back.

“What?”

“You’re asking questions but you already know the answers.” He noted, expecting you to spill all your secrets.

Your only reaction came in the form of a lazy, knowing smile.

***

Hyunjin was going to be pissed. Rightfully so. And you would probably need to find another peace offering quite soon. You knew leaving him behind wasn’t the nicest thing to do, especially not since you were the one who requested his presence at the party. But you couldn’t involve him in your plans. Not only he wouldn’t approve of your ideas but you bet he would try to stop you. Therefore, you left the party without looking back.

Just in case, you had left your car in the parking lot with clothes and weapons. You hurried to change, ditching your dress for a more comfortable outfit: black pants, grey t-shirt, a jacket and a cap to hide your identity if needed. You hid your favorite gun under your t-shirt, reveling in the feeling of it against your skin. You hid another knife in your boots, tucking it safely.

Once ready, you slumped in your seat, you waited and watched people coming in and out of the venue. Your plan wasn’t the best one and you weren’t fully sure it would lead you anywhere but you were tired of waiting and trying to find other ways to get proofs.

You didn’t need to wait long for Minjun to leave the party along with his wife and the bodyguard. Perfect. You waited for the car to start, gave them a moment to leave the parking lot and then you followed.

Obviously, you couldn’t invite yourself at his house and search the place, too dangerous. But the bodyguard? He was there the night the deal happened which meant he had valuable information and stalking him would be a piece of cake. And it was exactly what you did.

The bodyguard dropped the Parks at their house, stayed barely five minutes inside before leaving again. You hoped he would drive to his place – it would be easier to slip inside and get to him. But no, you supposed like many men he needed to unwind after a long day of work and the best place for many happened to be a bar.

You followed him inside and observed him from a corner, watching as he talked to some other men. You weren’t a very patient person, half of the time, but when it came to work and your preys, you didn’t mind waiting as long as it helped you to get what you needed.

And you were rewarded. He left through the backdoor to smoke. And it was your chance. The place was perfect; barely any light and nobody outside. And no security cameras. He shouldn’t have used the backdoor.

Satisfied, you moved closer to him without making any noise and pointed your gun at his head. “Let’s play a game.”

He froze at the sound of your voice and the feel of the gun pressed against his head. He was sloppy and it was his mistake. He should have known that working for Park Minjun would bring him trouble; he should have watched his back. Too bad for him, but good for you.

You got around to face him. The moment his eyes fell on you; you knew he recognized you. His arm twitched, wanting probably to reach for his own gun but you shook your gun and pressed it a little harder against his head.

“Now come on, play nice.”

“What the fuck do you want?” He spat angrily, fuming that a woman managed to ambush him so easily. You bet, he was even angrier with himself for underestimating you, for being deceived with your sweet looks.

“Told you, let’s play a game. I ask you questions and if you play nice you stay alive. Easy right?” You would be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the little game. You enjoyed making the strong men squirm.

He scoffed. “You won’t kill me.” And here he was underestimating you again.

You sighed, disappointed. Fine, if he wanted to play the tough guy. With a blink of an eye, you grabbed his arm and kicked his right knee making him fall on his knees. “Ah, men on their knees, always such a nice sight.” You smiled sweetly at him. “Now. I heard that your boss is working with the crows. Where can I find the contract?”

He looked at you. Really looked at you. You were a different person and he had finally realized it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You hovered over him and shook your head. “I really want to play nice but you’re making things unnecessary complicated.”

He spat at your feet in response.

“Rude. Sure you don’t want to answer?” You tried to give him another chance. “No?”

Because he was so concentrated on your gun, he didn’t notice you pulling out your knife, you stuck it right into his left thigh. He screamed and grabbed his thigh, cursing loudly.

“Now, let’s try again. Where can I find the contract?” You asked again, your voice much colder.

“I don’t know!” He wailed.

You applauded his attempt at lying to your face. He should have understood by now that you were ready to get your hands dirty to get your answers, but he still tried to resist.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket which made you pause. You took it out of your pocket to see Hyunjin’s name on the screen. As tempting as it was to ignore his call, you couldn’t, not after leaving him without a word at the party.

You sighed and looked down at the man. “Be a good boy and keep your mouth shut.” And then you answered your phone. “Hi darling!”

“Where the fuck are you, Y/N?” Hyunjin almost growled on the phone.

Yeah, he was pissed. “Somewhere. Busy.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m sorry. I should have texted you but I got carried away.” Which wasn’t far from the truth. The moment the plan formed in your head, you couldn’t really think about anything else. “And I didn’t warn you because I knew you wouldn’t agree.”

The man at your feet opened his mouth, wanting probably to scream and hope to get some help. You were faster; you put the gun into his mouth. He whimpered, eyes wide.

“Y/N.” Hyunjin’s voice sounded darker.

“I’m fine. Stop worrying.”

There was a silence on the other end and then he exhaled loudly. “And is the other person with you fine?”

Busted. You glared angrily at the man. “For at least another ten minutes, yes.”

You imagined Hyunjin ruffling his hair in frustration, torn between the wish to tell you to stop and something else.

“Be careful.” Was what he chose to say.

“Aw darling, you almost sound like you really care for me.” You grinned, delighted with his words.

Hyunjin hung up first. Satisfied, you turned your attention back on the bleeding man. “So? How about you end your misery? I was there when he signed the contract.”

“You’re not going to spare my life.” He managed to say. It wasn’t a question; he had realized by now that you weren’t a nice person.

“No. But if you play along I’ll make it painless.” You admitted.

He considered it for a moment. There was only the two of you, the gun still pointed at him and his thigh was bleeding. He could try to overpower you but the way you looked at him made him pause. There was no trace of the gentle woman he had seen before. No, your smile was cruel and eyes cold. The eyes of a killer.

He was fucked.

“They kept the contract. Boss was furious that they didn’t even get him a copy.”

You crouched down to his level, watching him closely. You needed to know if he wasn’t trying to lie to you. He wasn’t. He looked tired and paler. “They never play nice.”

He nodded, agreeing. “There’s something else. When he signed the contract, they showed him the list of clients he could sell to.”

“Let me guess,” You hummed, “Bunch of assholes he didn’t want to sell to?”

“Yes. They kept it too.”

“I see.” You straightened up and pointed your gun at his head once more. “Thank you for your help.” And shot.

***

You came straight home after dealing with the bodyguard, desperately needing a good shower to get rid of some blood on your hands and get rid of your bloodied t-shirt. But more importantly, you needed to plan now that you knew who had the contract. All your plans for the rest of the night vanished the moment you spotted Hyunjin, sitting on the floor against your door.

What the hell. You were going to kill Han Jisung for not minding his god-damn-business. There was no way Hyunjin found your address without his help. You didn’t want him to know where you lived. You didn’t want him to get even closer to you; it was too risky for both you and him.

You stared at him, forgetting how to breath. You didn’t expect to see him so soon and definitely not after you had killed someone. You didn’t want him to witness you in this state but there was no way you could hide now. So you stared, thinking about what you could do, what you would say. What you could say.

Hyunjin looked tired and worried. His hair a mess, you bet he kept ruffling his hair in frustration, wondering what exactly you were doing. Or maybe he was messing his hair because he knew exactly what you were up to and it scared him. But even like this, he looked insanely good. You’re insane, Y/N.

You exhaled and chuckled. “I’m surprise my neighbor didn’t call the cops.”

Easily, Hyunjin got back on his feet and waited for you to join him. “Oh don’t worry. The old lady did threaten to call them. But I charmed her.”

Of course, he did. Nobody could possibly resist him. And yet, you wondered how he managed this miracle. You knew Mrs. Kim; she was an old, cold lady, who loved her peace and didn’t appreciate strangers. In fact, she didn’t like many people, you included. Not that you minded.

“And how exactly did you charm her?”

“I told her that we fought and I was willing to stay at your door the whole night if it means you will forgive me. Turns out she’s a romantic. She wished me good luck.” Hyunjin admitted, a faint blush on his face.

You would have never guessed. But then again, you avoided the old woman as much as you could.

Hyunjin’s eyes roamed your face and then your body, silently checking for any injuries. You winced because he couldn’t miss the blood on your clothes. He closed the distance between the two of you and cupped your face, worry written all over his face. “Are you hurt?”

You should be annoyed. Annoyed that Jisung told him where you lived. Annoyed that he came here. Annoyed that he cared so much for you when you were half of the time a bitch to him. Annoyed how your heartbeat quickened at his touch. Annoyed how your insides melted. But you didn’t feel annoyance. No, you felt the butterflies in your stomach and the need to wrap yourself around him and let his warmth consume you.

“I’m fine.” You assured him, your throat suddenly dry.

Despite your answer, Hyunjin didn’t look fully convinced. You held your breath as his hands slowly slid from your face to your neck and then to your unzipped jacket. His frown only deepened at the sight of blood. Sensing what he was about to do, you grabbed his hands and forced him to stop, remembering too late that your hands weren’t very clean either. “It’s not my blood.”

“Are you sure?”

It appeased your heart to know that he wasn’t worried about what you did, only about you. A small smile crept across your face. “Yes. I was too fast for him.”

Hyunjin took you off guard; he pressed his forehead against yours, exhaling in relief. “Good.”

The reasonable thing to do would be to tell him to go home. The reasonable thing would be to put some distance between the two of you, but your body refused to move and your words got stuck in your throat. The little voice inside your head screamed at you to escape his warmth – you didn’t even try. No, you closed your eyes and reveled in the moment. It felt too nice. Too good. Girl, you’re fucked.

“Want to come in?”

***

You didn’t want to get used to the feeling of waking up beside a still sleeping Hyunjin. It went against your rules and compromised everything you worked for. And yet, as you watched him sleeping, a few strands of hair hiding his eyes, you barely cared. You hadn’t felt this calm, this peaceful in years. It disturbed you but it was also nice.

You reached out to touch his face, but Hyunjin grabbed your wrist and instead pulled you right in his arms, his grip strong around you. You squealed, surprised. And here you thought he was still sleeping. He tricked you.

“Were you pretending, Hwang?” You tried to sound annoyed to hide your own embarrassment.

Hyunjin held you a little tighter as he planted a kiss to the crown of your head. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

You huffed against his chest and pressed yourself a little more against him, wrapping a leg over him. Yeah, it was a nice change.

Hyunjin chuckled at your unusual behavior. “And here I thought you didn’t mind sharing a bed with me as long as I wasn’t a hugger.” He threw back your own words at you.

And he was damn right. You never liked huggers and yet you couldn’t deny that you were enjoying it with Hyunjin. To save your face, you tried to extract yourself from the safety of his arms. You barely made it before he pulled you back with even more strength and wrapped his limbs around you.

“No, no. Don’t even try. You’re stuck with me.” He warned you.

“Let me go, Hwang.” You tried again. But he didn’t let go. “Hyunjin.”

He hummed against you and brushed his lips against your skin, shutting you up pretty quickly. “Try calling me Hyunjin again and you won’t leave this bed at all.”

You were glad your face was hidden from his eyes, preventing him from seeing the light blush that formed on your face. He was a menace and was getting better at it with every moment he spent with you. You were in trouble.

***

By some kind of miracle, the two of you managed to get ready and leave on time. Hyunjin thought the two of you would get to the office together, but sadly for him you had other plans in mind and you couldn’t let him come with you.

“Wait, you’re not coming with me?” Hyunjin realized when you were finally ready to part from him.

“Yeah. I have few things to do.” You admitted, feeling a little nervous under his knowing gaze. Of course, he knew you were up to something again.

Hyunjin stayed close to you, watching you, thinking about what he should do. The reasonable thing to do, and especially because he was your partner, would to push you to tell him your plan. But Hyunjin knew better. He could try to force you but he wanted you to willingly include him in your plans, to show him that you trusted him.

“Does it involve you ending up with blood on your clothes?” He asked instead.

“No.” You said.

“And you won’t get hurt either right?”

Did your heart miss a beat at his genuine concern for your wellbeing? Absolutely. You cleared your throat and avoided his eyes; you didn’t need him to see the different emotions in your eyes.

“No. I’ll be fine.”

Hyunjin gently grabbed your face and brushed his lips against yours. “No more killing, Y/N.” He insisted.

You opened your mouth to protest but he hurried to add. “For the week.”

You shook your head, chuckling to yourself. “Careful, Hwang. You’re becoming like me.”

***

You arrived at the restaurant shortly after. Despite your intentions, you hesitated at the entrance. You easily spotted the person you were looking for through the window; your cousin looked just the same. Still cheerful, still loud and just like every time you saw him, he was surrounded by his friends. You felt a pang in your heart. You used to love spending time with him, he was the only family that still mattered to you, the only you cared about. You didn’t want to involve him in your plan, but he was the safest choice.

You took a deep breath and pushed the door. You walked in as if you owned the place. A small smile towards the waiter and then, you walked straight to your cousin’s table. He was too busy telling a story, he didn’t notice you until it was too late. The moment his eyes locked with yours, a huge grin spread on your lips.

“Hi, sweet boy.” You plopped on the empty chair beside him. “Hello boys.”

A hush fell over the table; all they did was stare at you.

“Well look at that. Isn’t it your sweet little cousin?” One of his friend beamed in delight and mischief. Beomgyu was still this mischievous kid that followed your cousin. You could scowl at him all you wanted, he never cared which you couldn’t help but appreciate.

“It has been a while kiddo.” You leaned closer to him and nudged his arm playfully. “Still a troublemaker?”

“Look who’s talking.” He teased back. “Hey, Yeonjun, when was the last time you saw your cousin?”

You rolled your eyes in response. It wasn’t even that long. Maybe two or three months ago. At best.

“Six months ago.” Yeonjun answered, tapping his fingers on the table, unamused.

Oops. So maybe you got carried away with your work and forgot to visit him. You didn’t look so smug anymore. “It can’t be that long!” But it probably was. “I’m sorry.” You raised your hands in defense. “I’m a bad cousin but you already knew that.”

You weren’t really bad cousin. You knew that. And so did Yeonjun. When he needed you the most, you were there. When he finally found the courage to put his past behind him, you were delighted to help him to have a fresh start.

Yeonjun sighed and just when you thought he would make it harder than it had to be, he threw a fry right at you, an devilish grin on his face.

You gasped loudly. “Asshole!”

“Love you too, pumpkin.” He blew you a kiss.

“Ugh not this nickname.” You groaned but even if you didn’t like it, your inside warmed at his words. You shouldn’t have stayed away for so long.

“Are we about to start a food fight?” Beomgyu asked, already grabbing a tomato, ready to aim.

“No!” You both answered. Yeonjun probably because he didn’t want to be banned from this restaurant and you because you didn’t want to dirty your clothes.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” Yeonjun leaned a little closer.

“What do you mean?” You feigned innocence. “I miss my cousin.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes at your bad acting. “As if.”

You did miss him, but he was right, you weren’t here because of that. “Fine. I need your help.”

He cocked a brow, a little intrigued. Usually, it was the other way around and it made him curious. “I’m listening.”

“I need you to steal a very important contract from your old daddy.”

He wasn’t supposed to follow you. He should have headed straight to work and forget about the different plans that were probably forming in your head. But could someone blame him for worrying? He knew how reckless you were and no matter how good you were at your work, one day it could fireback. So instead of doing his own job, he followed you as discretely as possible, knowing that if you ever caught him, you would be pissed.

Out of all the places he expected you to go, a restaurant wasn’t one of them. He waited and watched from across the street. You looked comfortable with the group of men, smiling and laughing. A sight he still wasn’t used to see but couldn’t deny worked against him. Your smile warmed him and his heart beat a little faster, imagining it was for him. It dawned on him that your smile meant a lot to him and if he could, he would keep it only for himself. If he could, he would keep you for himself.

Seeing you safe and sound should have been enough for him to leave and go back to his business. But did he? No. He stood rooted to the spot, staring at you.

Hyunjin was not a jealous person. Or insecure. At least, he thought he wasn’t. But apparently, when it came to you, everything changed. The moment he saw one of the men lean into you and wrap his arms around you, Hyunjin couldn’t ignore the green monster inside him. He wanted to talk to the two of you and yank you away from the man. He wanted to ask you the difficult questions. But he did none of that. Because there was one thing he didn’t want: fight with you.

Or maybe he was just a coward.

***

Hyunjin came back to his office feeling suddenly tired but also needing a distraction. He thought working on his other case would distract him from thoughts of you, from the image of another man holding you. It was a useless attempt when you lived rent free in his head.

“Fuck.” He cursed and gripped his pen so tightly he broke it in two.

“Someone is in a mood.” Jisung’s cheerful voice interrupted his trail of thoughts.

Hyunjin blinked in confusion, his eyes on his broken pen. He was a mess and he bet it was written all over his face. He tried to compose himself as Jisung approached, but failed.

“Dude, you look miserable.” Jisung commented and plopped on a chair, making himself comfortable.

For once, Hyunjin didn’t feel like talking to his friend, knowing damn well he would seek information out of him, knowing he would read right through him. “What are you doing here, Ji?”

“I was bored.” Jisung shrugged as if it was nothing which earnt him a scowl from Hyunjin, ready to fight him. Jisung raised his hands in defense. “Fine. Stop looking at me like that. You’re becoming like her.”

But his scowl only deepened at the mention of you.

Jisung sighed in defeat. “Fine. I saw you earlier, you looked pissed as hell. I tried calling for you a few times – you either didn’t hear me or ignored me on purpose.”

“And you don’t like being ignored.” Hyunjin commented.

“That,” Jisung agreed with a nod, “And I was worried too.”

Hyunjin considered not telling him what was bothering him but he quickly figured that if he couldn’t openly tell you that he was jealous, he could at least share it with Jisung. Hyunjin ruffled his hair in frustration and groaned. “I followed her this morning and saw her with a bunch of men.”

Jisung leaned closer, his attention fully on him, a tiny smirk on his face that irked Hyunjin. “Nothing unusual for the moment.”

“She looked really close with one of them. I-“

“Damn man, you’re so whipped.” Jisung couldn’t hold back.

“Am not.” Hyunjin protested in vain. He stared at Jisung for a moment, sensing that he had lied not only to his friend but also to himself. Hyunjin buried his face in his hands to stifle another groan. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Jisung chuckled at his misery. “Well, a piece of advice; you should talk to her and clear the air.”

“You know her better than me.” Hyunjin reminded him. “Do you really think she will take it well?”

Jisung considered his question for a moment. “Probably not.”

***

9pm.

On a normal day, Hyunjin would have been already back at his place, relaxing with some food and a TV show. Tonight, however, he dreaded the moment he would have to go back home and found himself stuck with thoughts he wanted to avoid. But if Hyunjin thought staying at work would save him from you, he was wrong.

The door to his office was pushed, the sound making him realize that he wasn’t alone on the floor as he initially thought. His eyes widened in shock to see you standing by the door. He gulped nervously as he eyed you from head to toe. Hyunjin didn’t think you could look any better but you proved him wrong again. You wore different clothes from this morning; a leather skirt along with a white blouse. Hair tied in a ponytail, red lips. Sexy, confident and delighted with his reaction. He quickly averted his eyes, refusing to let you see how affected he was with just your presence.

Foolish of him to think it would stop you.

Hyunjin heard your light steps getting closer to him. He tried to pretend you weren’t here but as you got closer, so did your sweet, intoxicating scent. He watched from the corner of his eyes as you sat on his desk, your skirt hiking in the process. He shouldn’t be staring at your lovely legs but the temptation was too strong and he was just too weak when it came to you. Hyunjin closed his eyes and took a deep breath to compose himself.

“What’s wrong, Hwang?” You asked and gently grabbed his chin, forcing him to face you.

Such a simple touch and yet it sent shivers down his spine. A simple touch that set his body on fire. “Nothing.” But maybe, Hyunjin was a little stubborn too. “I’m just tired.”

You scoffed at his blatant lie. “You’re a terrible liar. Try again.”

Hyunjin resisted. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

“Why not?” You asked instead. “You’re my partner.”

‘Am I only that?’ he wanted to ask instead but no words left his mouth. He simply stared back at you, watching as a frown formed on your face at his silence and refusal to cooperate. It only proved you that there was something wrong with him.

Hyunjin easily freed himself from your grip and slumped further into his chair. “I’m sure you have better things to do, Y/N.” Maybe pushing you away wasn’t his brightest idea, but Hyunjin wasn’t sure he would be able to control himself and to hide his emotions. He didn’t want you to see just how affected he was.

“You’re right.” You said and jumped from his desk. For once, you didn’t want to push his limits. You didn’t want to fight. “I should probably go back to people who actually miss me.”

The moment you turned your back to leave, Hyunjin saw again the image of you, happy, with a man other than him and he didn’t like it. Before you could take another step, Hyunjin bolted from his chair and grabbed your arm. He spun you in his arms and claimed your mouth, any protests swallowed by his mouth.

There was absolutely no way, he could let you leave.

Contrary to what he thought you would do; you didn’t try to push him away. No, he felt you smiling against his lips, knowing you had win this game so damn easily. It should alarm him, but he didn’t find it in him to care. Not when you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to your body. Not when you fought him just as hardly for dominance.

Hyunjin lifted you from the floor, bringing you back on top of his desk. He stood between your legs, grinding against you. His whole body was begging him to do something, to taste you, to devour you. You were his drug and he was more than eager to indulge in his addiction.

“And here I thought you wanted me to leave, Hwang.” You managed to say, wanting to sound smug, but instead your voice came out breathy.

Hyunjin refused to answer to your provocation. Instead, he hiked your skirt and slid his hand between your legs, humming in satisfaction. You were soaked and he barely touched you. “How come you’re already this wet, darling?”

Hyunjin slipped two fingers inside you with ease, teasing. So wet. So warm. So perfect. And only for him.

You bit on your lips to prevent a moan from escaping. Futile attempt. “Mmmh, maybe because I was thinking about you.”

Hyunjin smiled lazily. “Is that so?” He pulled out his fingers and brought them to his lips, to have a taste. His drug. “Are you hoping to get fucked tonight, Y/N?”

Judging by the glint in his eyes, you guessed that trying to play coy would get you nowhere. “Yes.” You admitted. Because truth was, you couldn’t get enough of him too.

Hyunjin’s smile stretched wider. His hands left your body to unzip his pants, showing you your prize. His pretty cock. Hard and needy. “And who am I to deny you?”

You licked your lips in hunger and anticipation, your body remembering how nice he felt. How nice his cock could stretch you.

Hyunjin pushed your legs further apart and filled you to the hilt with one strong push. You threw your head back as a loud and needy moan escaped your lips. Hyunjin groaned as you clenched without thinking around him.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He growled and slowly pulled out until just the tip of his cock was inside of you.

“Don’t hold back.” You pleaded. You wanted him to show you no mercy. To ruin you completely. To leave you begging, drooling, unable to do anything except beg for his cock.

Hyunjin hovered over you and planted a sweet kiss. The last one before he let go. He thrust back in. Strong. Deep. Every thrust harder than the last.

You thrashed under him, trying to grab at anything to keep you grounded.

Pointless.

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head at the intensity. But his hand closed around your neck, forcing you to keep your eyes open. Forcing you to look him in the eyes as he fucked you with intensity, bringing you closer to your sweet release. So close you could taste it. You could feel it.

“Please, Hyunjin,” You begged, tears pricking your eyes. Your whole body was burning, shaking, begging for release. “I’m so close.”

Hyunjin smirked, “I love when you beg, Y/N.”

Just when you thought you would explode, Hyunjin slowed down. He did once. Twice. By the third time you writhed and cried. You grabbed his arms, scratching him in retribution but it only made him grin.

“Say what you need.”

“Hyunjin, I can’t. Please.” You pleaded, too desperate for relief.

And he complied. He fucked you with force, hitting the sweet spot inside you that made your toes curl. You tried to keep your eyes open, but you couldn’t. Not when your orgasm hit you, waves of pleasures. Your body shook, unable to stop as Hyunjin kept fucking you.

Hyunjin came with a shudder before collapsing on top of you, his head pressed to your breasts. You stayed in silence. The only sound in the room were your pants and the loud beating of your hearts.

“Come to my place?” You found your voice and yet you didn’t sound like yourself. Too vulnerable.

Hyunjin peeked at you, his hair sticking to his face. “Round two?”

***

You were full of surprises.

Hyunjin realized as he stood in the middle of your living room that he should definitely stop making assumptions about you. He came to terms that despite the time the two of you had spent together there were still so many layers of your personality, many things about your life that he didn’t know but was more than eager to find out.

Who would have guessed that you enjoyed cooking? It seemed so out of character. He thought your hobbies would definitely revolve around knives and different kind of weapons. And maybe a shopping addict because your outfits always looked on point. And yet when he glanced over his shoulder and saw you cooking and humming to yourself, it seemed so natural. You had tied your hair in a messy bun and had changed into more comfortable clothes; grey sweatpants and an oversized white t-shirt. You looked so homey, so comfortable, Hyunjin had to fight the urge to join you and backhug you.

He shook off the image of you and him for the sake of his sanity and instead took his time to observe your place. Last night, his attention was fully on you, he barely noticed the details. Hyunjin expected to see a place cold, without personality and with only few furniture because you seemed like someone who just didn’t have time to linger for long in one place.

Boy wrong he was. Warm colors, fluffy blankets and pillows spread all over the couch and on a single chair. Dozens of shelves with books occupied two walls. Pictures all over the main wall in the living room. So many pictures. Hyunjin walked to the wall, his hands in his pockets. Pictures that showed you at different stages of your life. On some you looked like a high-schooler, on some a little older, and always surrounded by people. You looked happy, a big smile plastered on your face on every pictures and sometimes you were making silly faces. On one picture he recognized Chris; he had one arm around your shoulders, dimples on full display and another girl with the two of you. But what got his full attention was the picture of you and the man he recognized from earlier. You were on his back, laughing.

“Ah. You found my wall of memories.” You joined him and looked fondly at the pictures.

“You look different.” Hyunjin admitted without looking at you. You looked free, happy and so warm. A side of you he saw glimpses from time to time but he wondered what it would be like if you were always like this.

You hummed in response.

“Who are they?” Hyunjin asked when really all he wanted to ask was: who is this guy?

“Friends. Some I met years ago and some during my missions.”

“And him?” Hyunjin ended up pointing at the mysterious guy. Was he another of your friends? He looked too comfortable with you, too touchy, too close.

Your face softened at the picture. “My cousin and the only family left. He’s a pain in my ass but I love him.”

Did Hyunjin feel a little dumb for believing he was something more? Yeah. But was he also relieved? Hell yes. He almost wept in relief. He didn’t dare to look at you, scared you would see the emotions written all over his face. But if he thought he could hide from you, he was once more wrong. You saw how tensed he was before he found out the identity of the guy and you didn’t forget his behaviour in his office.

You drew nearer, watching him. “Tell me, Hwang,” You wrapped your arms around his neck and gently tug at his hair. “Did you think he was my man?” You brushed your lips against his, smiling against him. “You’re a terrible spy by the way.”

Fuck my life. Hyunjin should have known that his spying skill weren’t on par with yours but he still thought he was being discrete. Or maybe he was too caught up in his head when he saw you with your cousin and simply didn’t hide well enough.

You bit on his lower lip making him growl. “Were you jealous?”

Hyunjin opened his mouth to protest but closed it as quickly. Who was he kidding? He was jealous and you both knew it.

You laughed fondly and pecked his lips once more before going back to the kitchen without a word.

Jisung was right. He was completely and utterly whipped for you.

***

When Namjoon asked to see him, Hyunjin almost expected another meeting with you. Yet, this time around he was the only one to come. Was it an ominous sign? Maybe but Hyunjin refused to think about it. The past week was incredible. It seemed that the universe was finally smiling at him. Or maybe he got lucky. Either way, he was thriving.

A lead in his case. Many nights tangled up in your sheets. Many stolen kisses. Many giggles. Everything to be happy.

“Should I worry?” Namjoon asked as he eyed him. “You look too happy.” He added seeing his confused face.

Hyunjin bit the inside of his cheek to hold back his smile and shook his head.

Namjoon quirked a brow but didn’t comment. He pushed some papers instead towards him. Hyunjin leaned closer and took a look. He stiffened as he saw the names mentioned on the papers.

“What the,” Hyunjin stopped himself on time. His eyes darted back and forth between what clearly was the contract between the crows and Park Minjun. “How?” But Hyunjin had a feeling, he already knew how. The image of you and blood on your clothes popped in his mind. It had to be you.

“Y/N brought it yesterday. Along with the list of people the crows wanted to sell the weapons too.” Namjoon explained and relaxed in his seat. “I have everything I need for the next step. Which also means the two of you don’t need to work together anymore.”

Hyunjin’s stomach sank at his words. Of course, it was bound to happen sooner or later and it shouldn’t worry him so much now that he was spending more time with you without even talking about work. But then, he was with you last night, you could have told him. But you didn’t. Why?

Namjoon observed him in silence. He expected Hyunjin to be happy to finally be free of you and your temper, but he guessed easily he was wrong. “You seem disappointed.”

“I-“ Hyunjin began and stopped himself. Disappointed was an understatement but he couldn’t tell him that. Instead, he cleared his throat and straightened his back. “No, I’m good.”

“Is that so?” Namjoon wasn’t convinced but didn’t insist, it wasn’t his business. “But in case you’re wondering, Y/N asked for few days off. You won’t see her around.”

***

Hyunjin had a bad feeling that had everything to do with the damn contract you had brought to Namjoon. You kept doing things on your own, things that clearly were dangerous if not impossible to accomplish. And yet, you somehow managed to pull it off. Did you get help? Did you somehow manage to infiltrate the crows? Or maybe you had someone inside who was willing to take a huge risk for you. There were so many possible theories in his mind. One thing was sure, he needed to make sure you weren’t in trouble.

Like any normal person, Hyunjin tried calling you. Once, twice. Ten times and with no result. It was his first clue that something he didn’t know about was going on. Then, he called Jisung. He didn’t want to overstep some boundaries but he couldn’t ignore how his worries were consuming him from inside.

Thankfully, Jisung didn’t send him straight to his voicemail. “Whatever it is, I can’t help you.” As if Jisung knew from the start why he was calling.

Hyunjin’s nostrils flared at his words. “Where is she?”

“Who?”

“My mother.” Hyunjin snapped. It wasn’t in his character to snap at people and especially not at his friends but his patience was running thin. “Y/N. Who else?”

“No clue, why?”

Hyunjin took a deep breath, clenched his fist and counted to ten. Why did it need to be so damn complicated? “Jisung. You’re a terrible liar. You have tabs on everyone. Even Namjoon. So tell me, where is she?”

Jisung gasped loudly, offended that he would use his little secret against him. “I do-“

“Please.” Hyunjin cut him. “I just need to make sure she’s okay.”

“I promise you she’s more than okay.” Jisung tried to appease him.

“Jisung.”

“You can’t call me every time you need help with her! I’m also her friend and it sucks to be stuck between you two.”

Hyunjin winced at his words that felt like a slap. Jisung was right. And Hyunjin did feel bad about it. Except, when it came to you, he became a selfish bastard. “And I’m sorry for that. But please, help me out.”

“She’s going to have my head.” Jisung grumbled more to himself than to Hyunjin, but despite his words, Hyunjin heard him doing his little magic trick on his computer.

***

Getting inside a bar, unnoticed, in the middle of the day was harder than Hyunjin had imagined. And just maybe he had overestimated his spying skills. Again. The first person to notice him was the barman; he stared at him with a quirked brow, clearly curious with Hyunjin’s little game. Hyunjin expected him to say something and maybe call the security– he didn’t. He shrugged as if he didn’t care, as if it wasn’t his business.

Hyunjin was not complaining with his little luck.

“I’m not having this conversation with you.” Hyunjin recognized your voice instantly. He found you at the other side of the room, heading to the hall along with two other men. And boy you looked pissed. He didn’t know what these men did to offend you, but he bet they were about to spend a very bad time with you.

Any other day, Hyunjin would have felt sympathy for these poor men, but then, Hyunjin really looked at them. One face, he was familiar with. A man he recognized from an old case; he had been a suspect but because of lack of proof he was still a free man. Why are you with him, Y/N?

Curiosity got the best of him; Hyunjin followed you, trying not to make any sound.

“He’s furious.” The second man commented, sounding nervous as he spoke.

“I don’t see how it’s my problem.” You completely disregarded his worries.

“Y/N, you don’t understand. He’s ready to shoot us all if we don’t confess-“ He tried again but you raised your hand, without even looking at him, and it was enough to shut him up.

Hyunjin had to admit it; he was impressed with how your whole body radiated with authority and power. They obeyed you as if they were scared of what you could possibly do to them if they utter one more wrong word.

“And I think,” A voice echoed right from behind Hyunjin. He realized too late that while he thought he was being discrete, someone else had spotted him and had a gun pointed right at his head. Shit.

“You should have this conversation somewhere else.” The man behind him finished.

You glanced over your shoulder. Instead of freezing on the spot or calling for him, you simply stared blankly at them. For once, Hyunjin couldn’t read you, couldn’t tell how you felt about seeing him here. And maybe it worried him a little. Whatever you were doing, he wondered if it was on Namjoon’s behalf. Would you compromise your mission to help him out?

“Walk.” The man behind him gave him a nudge, forcing Hyunjin to get closer to you.

Hyunjin tried to keep his cool, tried not to show how he truly felt but his heart was beating fast and loud inside his chest.

Hyunjin was shoved inside a room. He barely had time to react and to steady himself that a man punched him in the stomach. He stumbled and cursed under his breath. Maybe following you wasn’t his brightest idea after all. Despite the pain, he managed to have a proper look at you. To others, you looked cold, but he saw how your body was tense, your fists clenched. You weren’t indifferent after all and this small fact comforted him.

“What should we do with him?” One of them asked, eying you as if you were the one to decide.

“We should kill him.” Another suggested as he pointed at Hyunjin with his gun. Someone was eager to get rid of him. Hyunjin would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little bit worried for his safety. If you didn’t intervene, he would have to fight his way out.

Too concentrated on you, Hyunjin didn’t pay any attention to the other three men. He should have. One of them closed the distance between them and drove his knee into the back of Hyunjin’s, forcing him to the ground. Hyunjin groaned, his instincts wanting him to fight back – he didn’t. No, Hyunjin’s whole attention was only on you.

“Who sent you?” One of them crunched to his level but despite his closeness, Hyunjin’s eye were still on you. That, didn’t go unnoticed. The man punched his face, not liking Hyunjin’s behavior. “I asked you a question.”

“What make you think someone sent me?” Hyunjin finally answered but still was not looking at him. He was watching you. And only you. He didn’t want to miss any flinch, any twitch of your eyes, every twitch in your jaw. He wanted to see how you reacted to the violence. See if you cared. “Have you seen this lady?” Hyunjin pointed at you. “What make you think that I’m not here because of her? Because she had me completely bewitched?”

The man scoffed and straightened up. “This bastard is crazy.”

The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Nobody talked. Hyunjin because there was nothing left to say. You, because you were staring back at him. As for the men, they felt there was something going on but couldn’t understand it.

“Leave us.” You ordered without looking at the men.

“Y/N. You don’t have time. Boss wants to see you.” One of them reminded you.

The only sign of your annoyance was your clenched jaw but you still weren’t looking at them.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” You warned them.

But they weren’t listening to you. Or maybe they didn’t know you well enough not to push you. “Let us deal with him.”

A knife flew straight to the man’s shoulder making him cry out in pain and stumble.

“I’ll deal with him and then I’ll meet with boss.” You assured them with one deadly glare. “Now, get lost.”

And this time, they did.

Hyunjin had hoped you would drop your act with their absence, that you would explain yourself – except you didn’t. You stared at him with annoyance and already another knife in your hand.

Hyunjin got back on his feet. He wished he could come closer to you, could wrap his arms around you and make sure that everything was fine. But for once, he listened to the little voice in his head, telling him to stay alert. It wasn’t over yet.

“They respect you.” He commented.

You shrugged and your eyes darted on your knife. “They do. Most of the time.”

“Who are they, Y/N?” Hyunjin wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to his question.

“Idiots working for the crows.”

Hyunjin’s breath hitched in his throat. “And their boss wants to see you.”

You tuck the knife back in your boot and took a deep breath. The situation couldn’t get any worse, but it somehow did. “Yes.”

There was one question that Hyunjin should be asking. One question that was right on the tip of his tongue and yet, he couldn’t do it. Asking it would complicate things.

“Ask it, Hyunjin.” As you grew nearer, Hyunjin’s heart beat faster. The way you looked at him, the way your body moved – it screamed danger. You halted right before him. Gently, you stroked his cheek.

Hyunjin didn’t want to ask because now he knew, the moment you would give him your answer; his bubble of happiness would burst for good. He did it anyway. “Are you working for the crows?”

Please, say no.

“Yes.”

Hyunjin barely had time to hear your answer. To understand it. Everything turned black.

Rage nearly consumed you.

Hyunjin shouldn’t have been here. He shouldn’t have been seen by these idiots. The moment Jun had pointed his gun at Hyunjin, you had to fight the need to step in and damn the consequences. But then, when Doyun forced Hyunjin on his knees, the urge to hurt someone got so strong, you weren’t sure what compelled you to keep your composure. From outside you had looked indifferent, cold, but inside? You were screaming and burning with the urge to kill and get Hyunjin far from this damn place.

You were late and judging by how anxious the guys were, you could only imagine in what kind of mood the boss was. But you didn’t care. Not when another man occupied all your thoughts.

You pulled your phone from your pocket and dialed Jisung’s number. You prayed for his own good that he wouldn’t make you wait and answer the god damn phone. There was only one, insufferable person, who could have told Hyunjin where you were.

He answered. “Listen,” Jisung tried but you didn’t let him talk.

“Shut up! You little piece of shit!” You yelled, your grip on your phone was so strong, you wouldn’t be surprised if it cracked. “What were you thinking, Jisung?”

Jisung sighed on the other side. He had been your friend long enough to know that whatever excuses he would try to give you, in this state, you wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t care. “Hello to you too, sunshine.” He chose to say instead.

He had a dead wish. “Don’t.” you warned him with a growl.

“Y/N…”

“What were you thinking?” You repeated again.

There was a loud noise from Jisung’s side, as if he had either pushed something or maybe smashed it. “He was worried, ok? What were you expecting me to tell him?”

“Anything! What if I was with my uncle?” You refused to imagine what could have possibly happened but your brain still did it. You closed your eyes, wanting to erase the image from your mind but it wouldn’t go. You kept seeing Hyunjin and the damn gun.

Your hand shook and at any moment you could let go of your phone. “He would have killed him on the spot, Ji. No question asked.”

Jisung didn’t say anything for a moment, proceeding your words. “And it bothers you?”

“Of course, it does!” The moment those words left your mouth, you realized two things: one, how true they sounded and two, you regretted admitting it to Jisung out of all people. You adored your friend, but he was noisy and would make sure to remind you every day your confession.

“Oh Y/N,” Jisung cooed, forgetting for a second that you were in a sour mood. “Do you actually like Hyunjin?”

Yes. But you held back those words. He didn’t need to know it. “You’re next on my shit list.” And you hung up.

He wasn’t really on your list. Would probably never be, but you didn’t mind him worrying over it.

You stared at your phone for a moment, considering your next step. The reasonable thing to do would go and meet with the boss as it was expected of you but one glance at the door behind you and your resolution wavered. You couldn’t leave Hyunjin unattended. You couldn’t let someone find him and hurt him.

Fuck it.

You opened your conversation with Chris and quickly texted him.

‘I need your help.’

***

Your uncle was indeed incredibly pissed. Not that you expected anything less and not that you could blame him. After all, he had been working on his little project for a year, making sure that everybody was on board with his plan. Making sure to drive Park Minjun in a corner, leaving him with no choice but beg for his help. And what help. A shitty contract. The control of his business in exchange for safety. If only he knew that his current situation was because of him.

Lee Beomseok, your uncle, and the boss of the crows. A man known for his business, for his methods, for his cruelty and zero bullshit policy. He was respected and feared in the underground world. Sometimes, you were impressed with his accomplishment. But most of the times, you wanted to see his world burn.

“Confess!” He yelled at the poor, shaking man at his feet. So maybe Jun wasn’t exaggerating when he said your uncle had finally lost it and started killing every suspect, even if it meant killing his own men.

“Please.” The man begged, his shaking only intensifying as your uncle pressed the gun harder to his head. “It’s not me. I would ne-“ But your uncle didn’t give a damn about his talk of loyalty. He shot the poor man in the head.

You whistled, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest, a look of indifference on your face. “Someone is in a mood.”

You didn’t think his face could get any angrier but it did. The veins in his neck were showing, his face red. “Leave us!” he barked.

Nobody protested, they scurried away in fright.

Your uncle stared at you, his breath shallow. He kept clenching and unclenching his fists, probably trying to calm himself down. You weren’t one of his men, his outbursts didn’t faze you. Not anymore. You weren’t ten anymore and he knew it.

“You were supposed to lead them astray.” He said after a moment of silence. He walked to his chair and took seat.

“I did.” You reminded him without bothering to look at him, instead you checked your nails, knowing damn well that your lack of reaction would only fuel his anger. Maybe it amused you a little to see him in this state, his composure long forgotten.

“Y/N.” He warned you.

“What?” You sighed and looked at him, “It’s not my fault if someone gave them your stupid contract and the list. How did you even manage to lose it?” Were you enjoying yourself reminding him his own failures? Absolutely.

You noticed how his left eye twitched at your words, you bet he wanted to grab his gun and shot you on the spot – he wouldn’t. After years of working for him, you knew he valued you too much to kill you.

He slumped further into his chair. “I’m still looking for the fucker who dared to betray me.”

You pushed yourself of the wall and took seat. “Where did you keep it?”

He looked at you, annoyed. “Where do you think?”

“Your safe then. Not many people know where you hide it.” You noted, “Maybe, instead of shooting all your poor men, you should look into your closest circle.” Not that he would find the traitor among them but you wouldn’t mind seeing him kill some of his trusted men.

He considered your advice for a moment and nodded his head. “When I find the traitor, I’ll make him pay his mistake.” He promised.

Except he would never find the traitor. For two simple reasons. One, he underestimated his own son too much and two you made sure while Yeonjun was helping you to steal from his old daddy, Jisung erased all traces of him ever being present in this place.

“Do you need my help?”

Your uncle shook his head. “No. I need you to take care of some business partners who became too bold.”

Of course, the answer to all his problems was always to kill.

“How should I deal with them?”

“Do what you do best.”

A small smile spread on your face. His order was clear. But there was something else you were better at. He just didn’t know it yet.

Hyunjin woke up with his head killing him. It took him a moment to force his eyes to open. He tried to straighten himself in the bed, only to groan in pain. Fuck my life. He palmed his forehead, trying to sooth the pain.

It took him another five minutes to notice his surroundings.

A room. A very unfamiliar room. And then everything flashed through his mind.

The bar. You. The crows. You. Him almost dying because he cared too much. Him being an idiot. You. A damn spy right under their noses.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His head was no longer the only thing that hurt. His chest. His heart clenching so tightly, he thought he could die. Hyunjin couldn’t breathe properly with all the thoughts and images running wild in his head. And yet, with his panic came one realization.

He was still alive.

Hyunjin forced his breath to slow down and had a proper look at his surroundings. It was clear to him that he was no longer in the bar. The room was too nice and looked to expensive. Had he been taken prisoner?

Hyunjin climbed off the bed and slowly approached the door, expecting that any second someone would pop out of nowhere and attack him and finish the job.

None of that happened.

He tried the door and surprisingly it was unlocked which left Hyunjin even more confused. Was he not a prisoner? Why would they let him roam free? With this thought on mind, he left his room, trying not to make any sound until he was certain that he wasn’t in danger.

Hyunjin’s confusion grew with every step he took. The place he was being held in was really too nice and looked expensive. He quickly realized it wasn’t a house but a damn penthouse. Would the crows keep him in a place like this? He doubted.

Instead of finding a stranger or you, Hyunjin found Chris on his phone, wearing comfortable clothes. That was not how he expected things to turn out.

“Oh. Good, you’re awake.” Chris offered him a comforting smile. “How’s your head?”

Hyunjin opened his mouth and closed it right away. He didn’t know what to say, what to ask. Nothing made sense anymore. He went for the easy answer, “I’ll survive.”

Chris hummed. “She didn’t need to smash your head so hard. But then again, it’s Y/N we’re talking about.”

“Why am I alive?” Hyunjin asked. It was the question that had been plaguing his mind the most.

Chris looked confused for a second. He cocked his brow, “Why shouldn’t you be?”

Because you had betrayed them all. Because while Hyunjin was slowly falling in love, you were only using him as a distraction and a means to an end. And yet, despite your harsh words, he was alive and safe. It bothered him and left him with even more questions.

“Because none of it was real.” Hyunjin finally admitted.

Chris got back on his feet and slowly approached him. “You’re alive because most of it was real.”

Hyunjin wanted to protest but Chris was right. He was alive which had to mean something. “You knew.” He said instead.

“Which part exactly?”

“That I couldn’t be her husband. And that she’s working for the crows.” The first time Hyunjin had met Chris, he had thought the man was suspicious because there was something going on between him and you. But maybe, he was wrong. Maybe, it had everything to do with Chris knowing exactly who you were.

“I had my suspicions for the husband part. But honestly, knowing Y/N, I wouldn’t be completely surprised either. As for the last part.” Chris paused and for a second it seemed to Hyunjin that he was somewhere else, lost in a memory. But then, his smile widened, his dimples showing up. “Yes. I wouldn’t have met her otherwise. She saved my ass.”

Chris put his hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder and gave it a strong yet comforting squeeze. “I think you know by now that our little Y/N is a little crazy and dangerous. She has been working her ass off to get what she wants. She was ready to sacrifice everything and everybody in exchange for her revenge. But not you.”

It was obvious by now that Chris knew everything about you. It would have bothered him another time, but now it comforted him more than he was willing to admit. Your betrayal still left him confused and hurt, but he found solace in his words.

Chris’s eyes softened while observing him. “She asked me to get you out and keep you safe for a while. But I figured you’d need some company, so I called for back-ups. They should arrive shortly.”

****

When Chris mentioned back-ups, Hyunjin didn’t think much of it, mainly because he had no clue who could help him out. Turns out, Chris knew exactly who Hyunjin needed to see. How he knew Jisung, Hyunjin could guess. But Namjoon? That was a whole new mystery for him to figure out.

“Dude, you look like shit.” Jisung commented and playfully patted his cheeks.

Hyunjin swatted his hands away from his face. He should probably feel concerned that Jisung kept telling him how bad he looked, but he was too tired and not in the mood for his playfulness. “Oh, fuck you.”

If he thought Jisung would be offended, he was wrong. Jisung chuckled and glanced at Chris, sharing a knowing look. “Sounds a lot like her.”

Namjoon sighed. “I think I need a drink. Or two.” As if Chris had sensed his need, he brought him a glass of what looked like whiskey and a second one for himself. “Thank you. Did you hear from her?”

Chris shook his head as he took a sip. “Not since I confirmed her I retrieved Hyunjin from the bar.”

While they talked, Hyunjin listened and watched. They all seemed so relaxed, unbothered and friendly with each other. And Hyunjin just couldn’t understand why. He never would have guessed that Jisung and Namjoon would actually meet outside of work. Scratch that, he wasn’t even aware they talked, despite Namjoon being their boss.

Sensing Hyunjin’s eyes on him, Namjoon stopped talking and instead approached him. “I have something for you.” He took out his phone and shoved it into his hands. “It’s all the information I have on Y/N.”

Hyunjin hesitated for only a second. Or maybe two. He started reading, surprised Namjoon had so much on her. After his encounter with you, Hyunjin didn’t know what to expect but every word he read about you made his heart clench painfully. A happy family torn apart by a terrible accident which left you an orphan at such young age.

“Lee Beomseok is her uncle. He took her in after her parents’ death.” Namjoon stopped his reading. “Instead of giving her a loving family, he raised her to become a killer. His personal weapon.”

No wonder they respected and feared her so much.

“He made sure she was the best at everything. And she is.” Namjoon continued, “But despite knowing how clever she was, he underestimated her.”

Hyunjin could barely imagine what life was for you. You were just a child, grieving, and yet forced to become something that was not in your nature. Hyunjin’s heart ached for your lost childhood, for the little girl turned into a killer for someone’s greediness.

“What changed?” Hyunjin asked. They hadn’t confirmed him that you weren’t a villain in the story, but it was implied.

“She found out he killed her parents.” Chris was the one to answer his question.

“What?” Hyunjin couldn’t believe it.

Namjoon nodded, confirming Chris’s words. “Being the closest to him, she could have easily killed him. But Y/N plays the long game. When he asked her to infiltrate our ranks, she saw it as an opportunity.”

“And you let her?” Hyunjin had a hard time believing that. Namjoon seemed as someone who always went by the rules. But apparently, Hyunjin was wrong once again.

“Oh believe me, I wanted to arrest her the moment she told me who she was.” Namjoon confessed, his eyes on his glass as he swirled the whiskey around in his glass, a small smile on his face. “But she was hella convincing.”

Yeah, he bet you were.

***

When Jisung and Namjoon left, Hyunjin returned to his room. He needed some time alone, even if he appreciated Chris’s company and willingness to answer almost all his questions. He needed to think, to proceed with all the information he had heard tonight about you.

Tonight, Hyunjin realized just how strong you were. Not only physical strength but also mentally. You managed to hide all your hatred, anger and resentment for years for the man only to have a chance to watch his empire crumble. But also, he admired how despite all the ugliness and death you had witnessed through the years, you still saw the good in people and the world.

Only one question remained. What of you two?

Before Hyunjin could dwell on the matter, he heard familiar voices from afar. Your voice. You were back and safe. It should have been enough for him, for now. But no. Bewitched, he followed your voice.

“You should talk to him.” Chris advised you.

You disregarded your jacket along with your gun and few knives. “That’s not a good idea.”

You didn’t look like yourself. Your hair was a mess. Dark circles under your eyes. He wondered how long he had been unconscious because you looked exhausted and unsteady. At least, you weren’t hurt.

Chris sighed and ruffled his hair in frustration. “Stop being a coward.” You snarled in response, eyes shooting daggers. But Chris wasn’t impressed with your attempt at intimidating him. “You care for him and he cares for you. Don’t run away from something good in your life.”

“Me caring for someone never ends well.” You whispered and avoided his eyes.

“I disagree.” Chris put his hands on your shoulders and gave it a squeeze. “Yeonjun would disagree too.”

“You know it will put a target on his back.” You protested.

Hyunjin decided that you should have this conversation with him and not Chris. He couldn’t hide his presence any longer. “I think; I have a say in this.”

Chris didn’t seem surprised seeing him in the room. Or maybe he had spotted him from the beginning and was trying to make you confess so Hyunjin would know how you truly felt. You, on the other hand, froze on the spot. You couldn’t look at him.

Chris walked to Hyunjin, patted his back and smiled. “Good luck.”

Yeah, he would need it.

For a while, you looked everywhere but at him. It annoyed Hyunjin that you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t talk to him. After everything they went through together, he didn’t think you would try to avoid a confrontation.

Hyunjin considered what he should say. Ask about your life with the crows? Ask about your family? Or should he just ask what he meant to you? Now, he knew that you cared more than you were willing to admit and this thought comforted him. Not everything was a lie. Not everything was a game.

“Namjoon told me your story.” Hyunjin finally said and started walking toward you.

That got a reaction from you. Your eyes widened in surprise. “Namjoon was here?”

Hyunjin nodded. “Chris called Namjoon and Jisung. He figured I’d need their help to understand.” And then another step toward you. But you, you took a step back, trying to keep the distance between the two of you. As if it would stop Hyunjin.

More you tried to escape and more it amused him. Until there was nowhere else to go. You had your back pressed to the wall and Hyunjin stood right before you, giving you no choice but to look at him.

“Stop it.” You put your hands on his chest and gave it a push. He didn’t budge. “Hyunjin.”

“I’m sorry he stole your childhood.” He said instead. His voice soft. Compassionate.

You averted your eyes. You didn’t want to see the emotions in his eyes. You didn’t want him to convince you there was a something out there for the two of you. “Don’t be.”

“You deserve to be happy too, Y/N.”

“I’ll be happy if you stay away from me.” You snapped and looked at him. The need to push him away was strong but the moment your eyes locked, your heart missed a beat. Despite your outburst, Hyunjin was smiling fondly at you. “There’s something incredibly wrong with you, Hwang.”

Hyunjin chuckled, agreeing with you. He leaned closer, his lips hovering over yours. “You’re a very bad influence.”

You sucked in a breath. “Even more reasons for you to stay away from me.”

He hummed. His lips brushed yours, so lightly, it could have been your imagination. “I don’t want to. And I don’t think you really want me to either.” And then another press of his lips, this time a little stronger. “You can’t get rid of me now.”

“I’m going to kick you.” You threatened. You would do no such things. Not when he kissed the corner of your mouth. “Or punch you.” You sounded less and less convincing. With every small kiss, your resolution crumbled.

But then he stopped. Hyunjin grabbed your chin, his grip strong. “You’re not getting rid of me, Y/N.”

“When did you get so bold?”

“When I realized I fell for you.” Hyunjin admitted. There was no point denying it. No point hiding it. Despite knowing now everything you had done, some terrible things to get what you wanted, Hyunjin couldn’t deny how he felt. Couldn’t unsee the good person hiding in you. “That’s why, my lovely, murderous, Y/N, there’s no getting rid of me.”

Slowly, you pushed yourself from the wall and wrapped your arms around his neck. “You are in trouble, Hwang.”

“Worth it.”

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