#steel city back office

[notmyneighbor]

Back Alley - Doppelgänger Francis Mosses x Female Reader

Word Count 5k

Rating Explicit

CW - minor blood/injury, fluff and smut

Also available on AO3

The end of your shift. The quiet part of the evening.

Nestled downtown in the oldest part of the city, the diner you’re employed at as a waitress caters to DDD members and civilians alike. The final patrons have already filed out the front entrance, a pair of glass front doors with shiny chrome handles. You begin the process of closing the establishment for the evening, starting with a final wipe down of all the surfaces in the dining area while the young man that washes dishes works his way through the last batch of soiled utensils and plates and cups. You count the money in the register and gather the receipts, placing everything on the owner’s desk in the tiny office in back of the restaurant.

The adolescent has finished the washing in the kitchen and finds you putting leftover food scraps onto a plate, a snack for the stray cats that dwell in the alley behind the diner. He rocks on his heels, the apron he’d been wearing already removed and now anxiously wrung between his hands. “Did you want me to wait, or…”

You smile softly. “No, that’s alright. I’m just going to set this out and bring out the trash and I’ll be locking up. Go on home. Be safe.”

Needing no further encouragement, the youth darts from the kitchen. You shake your head ruefully, gathering the ends of the plastic bag in the kitchen’s rubbish bin together and knotting them. Balancing trash in one hand and the plate in the other, you manage to open the heavy steel door at the rear of the diner that leads to the alley.

Normally there are several strays to greet you as soon as you open the door, accustomed as they are to this nightly routine.

Tonight it takes you several moments to locate one solitary form after you’ve lobbed the bag into the dumpster and closed the lid, retrieving the plate you’d set by the back door.

You spy one of your usual clients hovering near the stockade fence further down the narrow passageway, a raggedy looking gray tabby with a torn ear that’s normally the friendliest of the bunch.

“Hey there. What’s wrong, you’re not hungry?” You walk forward a couple of steps, crouching down and holding out your empty hand, making little affectionate sounds to lure the animal closer.

In the distance you hear voices shouting. Not uncommon in the city, but you’re still wary as you straighten, leaving the plate on the ground.

The cat, still hunched by the fence, issues a warning growl.

You turn and see a shape moving from the opposite end of the alley where it divides into the main road, the hair on your bare forearms rising, the skin goose pimpling.

You whirl around, already making for the open door at your back, that slice of light inside a beacon that’s frustratingly so close and yet so far.

You don’t quite make it.

A hand reaches the door before you do, slamming it shut. It becomes a wall at your back as you shrink against it, recoiling from whatever just closed it.

No, not whatever. The strays knew what it was. Now you know, too.

A doppelgänger.

This one dressed in the uniform of a milkman, though his outfit had seen better days. Spattered with blood, you cannot find a single patch of the white shirt that doesn’t bear some trace of scarlet droplets. Shouting again in the distance, though this time it sounds closer.

You open your mouth to yell for help and a hand instantly clamps down over it. The doppel is breathing heavily. It must be the DDD pursuing him. Without the light of the diner’s interior, you can’t see much of the creature’s replicated features in the night shrouded alley. You wonder why he hasn’t killed you yet, your heart hammering like mad.

“I’m not going to hurt you. If you help me, I’ll do something for you in return.”

He was trying to bargain? Bad idea. Doppelgängers were notorious liars. By definition of their very existence they had to be masters of deceit. He must have been desperate if he was making this offer. Definitely being chased by the disposal team officers, the likely source of the shouting you’ve been hearing, the details of the situation coming together in your mind.

You can’t imagine a single thing the invader could offer you that you’d desire.

“I’m going to remove my hand. We’re going to go inside. You’re not going to make a sound. Agreed? Nod if you understand me.”

Wide eyed, nostrils flaring, you move your head, signaling your acceptance of his terms. What choice did you have?

The barrier over your mouth lifts and you’re pushed aside, firmly but without malice, the heavy door wrenched open. You’re shoved inside and the door is quickly shut again.

“Is the front door locked? Lights off?”

You nod, swallowing past a panicked lump in your throat as you take a couple of steps back away from the intruder.

The male copycat sighs, shoulders visibly sagging with relief.

He’s still hiding.

Still wearing the visage of the human he’d duplicated, a tired looking brunette male probably in his early thirties with tousled chestnut hair, shadowed under eyes, a long nose with the slightest bump along the bridge—an old injury that had never healed quite right, perhaps—set above thin lips.

The arm that’s been tucked tightly against his side the entire time, never once in use to restrain you or open the door, you realize, now lifts, exposing a gash across his lower abdomen, rent right through the fabric and severing the flesh beneath.

You’d incorrectly assumed the blood had been from a struggle with the original milkman he’d replicated, not from the alien himself. You suck in a deep breath, wincing as your eyes linger on the injury. “What happened?”

“Got cut jumping the fence.”

“That’s going to need stitches,” you observe as he drags the shirt’s hem free of his belted pants, hurriedly thumbing the buttons open and shrugging out of the garment, thrusting it into the garbage bin you hurriedly point to. The undershirt is similarly stained, but this he leaves in place, merely lifting the edge to better expose the wound.

His eyes meet yours. “Can you do it?”

“I mean, I’m not a physician. All I have is the sewing kit I keep in my purse to mend tears in an emergency. You need to see a doctor, go to the hospital…” Your voice trails off. Of course he couldn’t. He’d be killed instantly.

“Get it.”

You hesitate. Were you really going to risk helping this foreigner?

“Please,” he adds through gritted teeth. Perspiration beads his forehead. You wonder if he hasn’t already been exposed to something that would prove infectious later on. Not really your concern, though. You just needed to survive until you could get away from him. Somehow.

“Alright.” You don’t spare any more time debating about what the right course of action is. You grab one of the clean dish rags from under the kitchen sink and your purse stashed in the bottom desk drawer in the office.

The doppelgänger’s eyes remained fixed on your every movement, watching as you soak the wash cloth in warm water and pull the sewing kit from your purse, the fingers threading the needle shaking. You drag one of the chairs from the dining room for him to sit on, kneeling on the linoleum beside his seated form.

You hesitate again. You really didn’t have the appropriate kind of materials for this. Should you have heated the needle to try to sterilize it first? Was there even time for that? Would it be easier just to attempt to cauterize the area? Somehow you don’t think the invader would be keen on the idea of getting burned, even if the intention was to aid and not harm. “I don’t know that this is going to work, but I’ll do my best. This is going to hurt,” you caution.

“Worse than being cut open?” He asks bitterly.

“No, I suppose not.” You begin washing around the cut, scrubbing at the dried blood, trying to clean the edges of the laceration. It’s still weeping blood but the flow has slowed, the body’s natural clotting process coming into effect. The milkman he’s replicated is on the leaner side, with little softness in the abdomen you’re cleansing. “Why can’t you just replicate the skin again? Make it intact?”

“It doesn’t work like that. It’s penetrated through the outer layer. You humans are so fragile. It doesn’t take much to tear through…” He lets that thought remain unfinished.

You shiver, thinking of how, were circumstances different, he would’ve torn you to shreds without a second thought, murdering you at best, devouring you at worst. You can’t help but wonder if the doppel will turn on you once you finished patching him up.

“Okay, I’m going to try to start sewing.” Your heart is still thudding rapidly. Your eyes narrow in concentration as you pierce the skin, hurriedly seeking the adjacent flesh to sling the thread between, then drawing it taut. You’re feeling a little nauseous and lightheaded. You tell yourself you’re not piecing a person back together. Urging yourself to pretend it was something else. Mending a torn shirt. A ripped stuffed animal. Anything but the gruesome sight before you.

At last the task is completed, the pale skin sutured together. You sit back on your heels, heaving a raspy sigh, your hands clasped tightly together in your lap, willing them to stop trembling.

“You’re skilled,” the doppelgänger murmurs, looking over your handiwork, probing the closed incision gingerly. It is a rather impressive job if you’re being honest, a neat line of even stitches despite your shaking hands.

“You’ll need to keep this clean so it doesn’t get infected. And you can’t move around too much. I don’t know how well that thread will hold.” You gently push his questing digits away, applying gauze and tape from the first aid kit in the office to cover the wound and he eases the ripped undershirt back down.

“Thank you.”

Your eyes meet his. You’ve never heard of an invader asking a human for help. Being grateful. You don’t know what to make of it.

“I won’t forget this.”

You rise, tossing the used wash cloth in the trash and returning your sewing kit to the depths of your handbag. You return the chair to the dining room once he’s slid from it, watching as you settle your purse strap on your shoulder, keys to the diner in hand. The replicant opens the back door a crack, peeking outside, head cocked slightly, listening. No shouting. The DDD had passed through the area. He glances back at you a final time before slipping through the gap.

You lock the door behind him, then sag against it, exhaling a shuddering breath. He’d let you live, as promised. A doppelgänger that kept his word.

What did it mean?

***

He’s in the alley again.

You tell yourself you weren’t looking for the milkman’s clone every night for the last three shifts, merely taking out the garbage and feeding the strays per usual.

Your stomach does a little somersault as he approaches. His skin color is better, no longer so ghostly pale. The milkman uniform he’s wearing looks clean and crisp and starched. Where had he gotten it? Was he keeping a low profile, pretending to be the human he’s dressed as? There certainly seemed to be some transfer of knowledge that occurred when the replicants adopted a human form, intelligence information that surpasses beyond what could be obtained through just casual observation. The doppels knew so much about humans, and humans still knew so little about the invaders, what should have been a home field advantage hampered by the persistence of these alien visitors.

“How are you?” You greet him cautiously.

“Healing well. You did a fine job.”

What should you say to that? You’re glad you helped the enemy? You shudder to think what would happen if anyone ever found that out.

The doppelgänger steps closer. “Are you going to invite me inside?”

As if he was a vampire, seeking permission to grant entrance. You can’t imagine what he wants from you now.

Still, you push the door open wider. He eases past you, his body lightly brushing yours.

“What do you have to eat?”

“Um…” As far as you knew, the invaders only ate human flesh. “What…what did you want? I haven’t cleared out the displays yet. There’s pie, donuts from the morning, though those are probably stale by now. I can make you a sandwich, or…”

He follows you into the dining room as you list the possible offerings, reaching for one of the chocolate iced pastries tucked under the nearest glass dome. He takes an experimental bite and his mouth turns down in disgust at the flavor.

“I warned you they’d be stale.”

“It’s not that. It’s the sweetness. Overwhelming. We’re primarily carnivores.”

“Is turkey okay? Or maybe ham? I don’t know what to offer you.”

He tips his head to one side, considering. “Cow?”

“Yes, we have ground beef.”

“That would be preferable.”

“You just want it…raw?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” There are a couple of defrosted packages in the fridge. You resolve to put some of your tip money towards the meal. You don’t like the idea of stealing from the restaurant.

It feels weird just handing him the styrofoam tray, but also silly to dump the mass of pink pulverized meat onto a plate. You refuse to watch him eat, studying one of the laminated menus resting on the counter intently, unfortunately catching a glimpse of him licking the traces of blood lingering at the bottom of the package when you dare to glance over at him.

“I’m aware this adds to the debt I owe you,” he says.

You discard the tray and fold your arms across your chest, trying to exude more confidence than you felt. “I’ll put it on your tab.”

A slight frown appears as the creature processes the phrase.

“It means adding it to the list of things you already owe that you intend to repay.”

“Ah. Yes, that.” He watches you finish cleaning up after his grim repast, wiping the counter down a final time before accompanying you to the front door and waiting as you lock the entrance from the outside, tugging on the chrome handles to make sure they’ve been secured properly. “Do you live nearby?”

“Yes,” you answer, suddenly wary.

“This is not a very safe part of town for humans,” he muses.

Is anywhere safe anymore?

“Is your living space guarded by the DDD?”

“Not internally. There’s just the street patrol.”

“I’ll accompany you as far as your destination, then.”

“You don’t have to.”

The doppelgänger insists, now walking beside you. It feels unwise to allow the invader to see where you live, but then again, had he done anything to harm you thus far? Surely there had been opportunity if that was his main goal. What was his main goal? What did he want, if not to consume, to take over control of the planet like his brethren?

“You’re not like the others,” you murmur your thoughts out loud, feeling the mimic’s eyes flick in your direction.

“Do you know many doppels?” He sounds bemused.

“No,” you reply, stepping over a broken bottle littering the pavement.

“Is every human the same?”

“Of course not.”

“So why should we be any different?”

“I guess you’re right,” you concede.

You’ve reach the end of the street you’re traveling on and take a right, leading the invader onward into another back alley. You’ve barely taken a few paces before the sound of heavy footsteps alerts you to someone else’s presence.

“Disposal team.” You hear the disgust and fear in your companion’s tone as he tenses, jerking to a halt. The sounds are getting louder as the guards draw closer. “Play along. They won’t be suspicious if they see a couple.”

Suddenly you’re pushed against the wall, so abruptly the air leaves your lungs, your next desperate intake of oxygen interrupted when the doppel’s mouth covers yours.

You feel you stomach do that little somersault motion again. His tongue finds the inside of your mouth. He tastes slightly metallic. The movements are inexperienced, clumsy. Imitating something he’s seen. The teeth that nip your bottom lip are sharp.

“Hey! You there! What’s going…” The DDD officer halts, the beam of the flashlight illuminating what appears as your lover pinning you against the wall, caught up in a moment of passion. You don’t even have to fake the look of embarrassment as your eyes shyly meet the guard’s, the doppel’s mouth sliding from yours.

“Sorry, sir. Just picked my girl up from work and I couldn’t wait.” He offers a sheepish grin that looks extremely convincing.

The DDD member’s partner draws even with his cohort, the gun in his hand lowering, looking over the pastel yellow dress you’re wearing.

“I know you. You work over at the diner.”

You nod frantically.

“You should get on home. It isn’t safe out here. Even with your man with you. Especially not down the side streets.”

“Sorry, that was my idea. My feet are killing me and I just wanted to get home faster.” You pause, reaching for your purse still slung over your shoulder. “Did you want to see our IDs?”

“Nah, that’s alright. Imagine a doppel making out with a human. Right?” He elbows his companion, grinning.

“Get home safe, now. No more dallying,” the older of the pair cautions before abandoning you, resuming patrol with the more inexperienced member who’s still wearing a smirk as he trails slightly behind, darting one more glance in your direction as if hoping to catch you in the act again.

The copycat heaves a sigh of relief when they’ve both finally departed, the booted steps receding in the distance. His eyes lock with yours, and you see his nostrils flare slightly, a slight frown wrinkling the bridge of his nose, then his eyelids lift, whatever mystery he’s been puzzling over solved.

“You liked that.”

“What?” It’s your turn to be confused.

“You liked what we just did.”

Oh. Your cheeks flush again. “No, I…I was just playing along, like you said. You caught me off guard.”

“You did a good job. Thinking on your feet. Admirable, really. How deep in debt I’m getting,” the doppel hums beside your cheek. He hasn’t shifted much since your discovery, one hand still braced on the wall at your back, his body leaning close to yours. “You smell good. Good enough to eat.”

You shiver and gasp. “You promised me you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No, no. Not what I had in mind at all,” he hurriedly reassures you. The clone of the milkman plants a kiss on the side of your neck. Gentle. Not rushed, not under the guise of something to trick the guards. Repeating the process, getting accustomed to using the human body he’s replicated for this new task. He kisses your lips again, and you know you should be repulsed.

You’re not.

Your mouth parts for his, inviting him inside. He’s already growing more skilled, the tongue against yours slick, deft, curling and stroking, the fire he’d begun stoking in your core flaring anew.

You’re French kissing a doppelgänger, and you like it.

You feel a hand caressing down your body, pausing to drag the purse off your shoulder, then kneading one breast before sliding down to your hip, moving neatly around to grope the curve of one buttocks cheek. The fingers curl, dragging up the fabric of your dress.

“I can smell your arousal. Your body wants to mate.” It’s crass, vulgar, sheer filth the alien should be slapped for uttering, but there’s nothing derogatory in the way he mentions it, the words of observation that he spreads before your lips lilted with a kind of wonder, fascination, curiosity. He’s finally reached the hem of the skirt portion of your work uniform, shifting quickly to the waistband of the panties you’re wearing, dipping underneath and nudging at the fork of your body.

To be doing this, with a doppelgänger, in public…

Your legs are already shifting, your stance broadening slightly to grant him better access. A little grunt of satisfaction, and then his fingers glide through your slickened folds, searching for the source of that dampness.

You moan softly, disappointed when the fingers do not linger, instead brought up to the invader’s lips, his thumb rolling the slick of your sex over the pads of his index and middle fingers curiously before he thrusts them into his mouth, a fresh flood leaking from your canal as you watch his eyes slide closed, a sound of some rapturous enjoyment hummed around those digits.

He kneels down, the movement swift and smooth, your eyes darting nervously to the lit street so close and yet so far, the last of the street lamp glow’s reach ending just beyond the shadows you’re standing in. The doppel looks up at you and you bury a hand in the thick mane of chestnut hair, a tender gesture of permission, pleading. You don’t know if he’d stop even if you’d declined the offer, that ravenous look in his eyes intense as he impatiently shifts the hem of your dress again, dragging away the flimsy undergarment that clothes your sex, this last barrier discarded carelessly on the pavement nearby.

Your low heeled pumps scrape against the dirty gravel of the alley as you adjust your position, the alien’s face instantly at your pussy, nose digging into your mound, tongue laving the rosy sensitive flesh. He groans and you echo the sound, your legs already trembling as his tongue delves deeper, dragging fluid back, the inadvertent flick of the tip of the curled muscle against your bud making you gasp and moan, your head rocking back against the brick and mortar.

His attention focuses on that sensitive bundle of nerve endings, mouth clamping over it and sucking, slurping, nursing at it until you see spots in front your eyes. You know you’re being loud, your only saving grace being that the building at your back is a long abandoned shirt factory with no one to hear your lewd sounds of pleasure.

His fingers are at your entrance again, paired to penetrate into that opening. The milkman he’s imitating has long fingers that reach deep, curling and twisting inside, scooping out more of your arousal for him to lap at before he sups at your pussy, drinking straight from the source.

You bite your bottom lip until it bleeds when you climax, shuddering against that incessant mouth worshipping your cunt, your fingers knotting restlessly in his tresses. You cum like a freight train, hard and fast, an unstoppable force driving you right through into bliss.

He’s still lapping, enjoying the taste of you, this new creamier substance that emerges from deep within after your release. You can’t tolerate it any longer, now shoving gently at his shoulders, pleading you’re too sensitive, it’s too much, you feel as if you might faint if not for the strong building exterior supporting your spine.

The doppelgänger rises, face wet with your juices smeared across his mouth and chin and cheeks, a distinct shine visible even in this dim illumination. “Delicious,” he growls softly, dragging his fingers over his dampened features and then nursing them clean.

His gaze focuses on the smear of crimson on your lower lip and he licks at that spot, sucking the wedge into his mouth, tasting that little copper tinged leakage of your lifeforce. You whimper and keen, feeling his hand guide one of yours to his crotch, pressing it against the erection straining there.

You squeeze gently and he huffs in pleasure, dragging your hand up and down. Needing no further guidance, you begin struggling with the belt buckle and button closure and zipper keeping you from your goal, dragging his cock through the opening flap of his briefs, smearing precum over the tip and eliciting another deep growl, the mouth nuzzling your throat vibrating in pleasure.

“Want to fuck you,” he gasps, and you find yourself nodding, no longer caring about the exposed location or what you’re about to let invade your body. You want it, the brief satiety you’d just enjoyed already dissipating, leaving you hungry for more.

His hands loop around the back of your thighs, his body crouching slightly then lifting you up, your dress scraping along the bricks. He fucks up into you and your legs wrap around him, your wrists draped over his shoulders as you’re thrust into and back against the building.

The milkman’s copycat prick is large, long and thick, stretching you as he fills you when his hips snap forward. Your unprotected buttocks suffers abrasions each time you’re impaled but you couldn’t care less. The pain is lost amidst the pleasure you’re experiencing as he buries himself deeply, withdrawing just slightly before driving forward again. Your mouths seek one another’s but it’s difficult with all the jostling, a sloppy collision of wet lips and wetter tongue, trails of saliva linking your panting openings.

“Your stitches…the strain, you shouldn’t…you’re bleeding,” you gasp, the hand that snakes down finding his shirt sticky with blood.

“Don’t care…fix it later…”

Your breasts are tender from the repeated battering of his chest against yours. You’re being pummeled mercilessly now, the invader pushing so hard it’s as if he’s trying to merge completely with you. You almost think you can see, just for a moment, a shift in the facial features, a glimpse of the doppelgänger’s true form lurking beneath the false human surface, but then it’s gone and it’s just those soft tired eyes and that slack, generous mouth as his cock pounds into your cunt until your body finally surrenders to another release, your muscles clenching, sucking at his member. He chases his own climax, moaning against your mouth, pumping streams of hot seed inside of you.

You realize then you’re both sweating, both drenched in perspiration and saliva, blood from his reopened wound and cum that leaks out of you and coats the erection he withdraws from your body as he slowly lowers you back to the ground, your stockinged feet touching the dirty road, your shoes lying nearby where they’d tumbled during the rough intercourse with the alien creature.

The doppel retrieves your panties and you hastily shove them into the purse he hands you. There’s no way you’ll be putting those back on after being in the dirty alley, almost laughing aloud at the idea when you’ve just been soiled by something you should consider disgusting. The amusement fades as you watch him brush the sole of each nylon clad foot clean before assisting them back into your pumps, the gesture almost oddly tender and thoughtful.

The doppelgänger straightens, his fingers reflexively reaching for the bloodied area staining his shirt, then moving to refasten his pants. His eyes meet yours again, waiting to see what you’ll do next. Wondering if there is regret, perhaps. Or if this is the start of…something.

“I…I live two streets over. We’re nearly there.” As if you hadn’t been interrupted on your journey home. You don’t know what to say, just wanting to fill the sudden silence.

He nods and you begin walking in slow, measured steps. Your limbs are still tingling, the aftershocks of your most recent orgasm still firing through them.

You and your companion reach your destination. The building looms up between two shuttered shops. Five stories. No elevator. You resided on the top floor. A lot of stairs to tackle on a good night when you’d merely worked a shift at the diner. Now, after this…

“It’s a long trek. I’m on the fifth floor. Will you be okay walking that much? I don’t know where else to stitch you back up again. I need to wash it, I need a good light source, I…” You’re inviting him inside your apartment. The realization suddenly dawns on you.

“Yes, I’ll manage.” He pauses. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“Helping me avoid the DDD earlier. This. Letting me into your home.”

You nod, your hand resting on the rusted railing that borders a flight of cement steps leading inside the building. The nearby street lamp flickers, a bulb that was long overdue for a change, the filaments within struggling.

“Of course. People should help each other.” You ascend the stairs, holding open the door for him.

He nods gratefully. “I’m not human, though. I’m the enemy.”

“Are you?” Your voice sounds wary at this reminder and you pause at the top of the first landing.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises, following you up the next flight of stairs.

“Until the debt is repaid?”

“You don’t trust me.” It’s a statement, not a query.

“I don’t know how I feel.” You’ve reached the third floor. Despite his bravado earlier, you see him wincing slightly, his breathing ragged as he keeps one hand pressed to the injury. You wait for him to recover but he waves his other hand, indicating you should continue your journey.

“Did you enjoy it?”

The words make you halt abruptly and he nearly collides with you. You hurry up to the next landing and clear your throat before you give voice to your admission. “Yes, I enjoyed it,” you say when he reaches your side.

“Will we do that again?”

“Now?”

His solemn features break out into a smile. Handsome. The milkman whose appearance he’d copied was attractive, especially like this. You like the curve of that mouth, the flash of his teeth. “No, not now. I’m hardly in any condition to…I meant later,” he adds for clarification. “Another time.”

“Oh. Yes.” A sudden thought occurs to you. “Will you be safe from the patrol? On the way back, to wherever…”

“I’ll manage. Don’t worry.” He steps closer to you. “Are you that anxious to be rid of me?”

“No, I only meant…” You shake your head, feeling flustered.

“Were you looking for me tonight? When you were behind the diner. Hoping I’d be there, maybe?”

“Why would I…I hardly know you.”

“You know me a little better now though, right?” He crowds you back against the wall of the stairwell. You’re thinking maybe injury or not, he still wants you. You can feel the desire radiating from his eyes, his lips hovering close to yours. “You’re really something special, aren’t you? Out of all the humans to run into, and I find the only one who’s willing to take a chance on me, risk…” His voice trails off before he kisses your mouth. It seems impossible there would be any passion left inside of you to respond but you find your lips melting against his, one hand curling around the nape of his neck, holding the doppelgänger close.

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (6)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: I hope you all have found ways to cope after the breakup, but here all your questions will be answered on what went down pre-August! Special shoutout to @just-fics-station @thepurplecrown @clarkysblog @hotdismylife and @sprinklesprinkle888 for sharing your ideas and indulging me with the lovely, crazy discourse!

To everyone, I am so chuffed at how this has become OUR story - our lil self-indulgent Ewan Nation production. You all are aces <3

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

In the aftermath of the breakup, the reader and Ewan throw themselves into their work, trying (and failing) to avoid any trace of the other. Will they remain this way - former lovers doomed to drift in each other's orbit?

Some time before August

New York City

The lush office was laden with expensive wooden antiques, one side with built-in shelves displaying film awards and plaques of varying degrees of prestige. A full glass minibar occupied the other side.

The casting director introduced himself as Bruce, insisting that Ewan call him by his first name and not any of that "sir or similar stick-up-the-ass names". Ewan can see him as a mentor or maybe even a friend, Bruce insisted.

After all, they were going to help each other out a lot.

The discussion was straightforward enough, never mind the saccharine tone Bruce seemed to be so good at. Aimed at making Ewan feel welcome, coddling him, remarking with awe at his projects thus far. But there was a fakeness to it. Ewan steeled himself, trying to adapt to the style of conversation. After all, if he is in this for the long haul, then he would have to get used to these situations.

Bruce appraised him, leaning back on his leather swivel chair. "How are you with the fantasy genre? All that YA, lovesick stuff the kids eat up so eagerly nowadays? Personally, I haven't got the taste for it, but it always makes bank, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, well, I'm a fan of all movies. I definitely see why the fantasy genre has made such an impact on audiences, especially with the romance element, you know, I get the appeal."

"Well, son, we've got a solid franchise in our hands here. Some adaptation of an elf-human love story, mind you, it sound ridiculous, but you know how it is. And the team seems to be in agreement - you fit the bill for the male lead. The male elf lead - " he almost guffawed at the thought, then collected himself " - hope you don't mind my saying that you've got elvish features yourself. Long nose, long jaw, lanky. The teens are going to eat you up."

"Ah," Ewan smiled curtly, nodding. There was a backhanded compliment if he ever heard one. "Well, sir, I've read the script - at least, the bit that was sent to me - and it looks quite promising. I'd be honoured to - "

"Of course, of course!" Bruce exclaimed in pleasure, cutting Ewan off mid-sentence. "And there's the case of your leading lady, and this all boils down to chemistry as you know. Our top contender is that Jenna Ortega girl from the Netflix show, you know her?"

Ewan nodded, well aware. He's seen her work, and thinks that she is a top actress of her generation, but leave it to Bruce to reduce her to being that girl from the Netflix show.

"Yes, she's a very talented actress," Ewan replied.

Bruce hums in agreement, head bobbing as a smirk materialises on his face. "Think she's a looker?" he said openly, without shame.

Ewan laughed nervously, his words caught in his throat.

Bruce, characteriscally oblivious to the discomfort of others, carried on. "I only ask because we're going to need you two to be pretty chummy with each other when you jump on this project. It's kind of a condition of the whole thing, but really nothing to concern yourself with." He waved a hand in the air, his proposition barely carrying any weight in his mind. But Ewan was catching on, and he started to develop a dislike about the whole deal.

"What do you mean?" Ewan asked.

"It's pretty common in this business, son. There's a reason why young, new actors like yourself opt to remain unattached so to speak, so they're always open to a PR arrangement or, you know, just so their - your - hoards of fans would think they got a chance with you," Bruce explains lazily. "In this case, since you and Ortega are, as I said, unattached, getting you two together would fuckin' do wonders for our movie."

Our movie, he said, convinced that Ewan was all in, because why would any young actor refuse such a golden opportunity? Franchises like this can set up an entire mainstream Hollywood career.

Ewan thought that he wasn't unattached. Granted, his date with you was yet to happen, but he already felt bound to you. He wished you were the one tapped to be his love interest. Very little acting would be needed there. Maybe he might even be inclined to go along with the idea of selling the relationship, using it for publicity for the film, but even that made him uneasy.

The industry offered a lot of privileges, but more often than not, they come at a cost.

"Sir, I - "

"Bruce."

"Right, sorry. Bruce, I have to tell you that I'm not exactly unattached."

"Got a partner?"

Ewan actually found himself smiling at the thought of you being called his partner. His first easy smile since entering this office. "Yes, she's an actress herself," he agreed.

"I heard of her?" Bruce asked with obvious disinterest. You were but a wedge in his flawless plan.

"She's kind of a new talent like me, but she's brilliant. She plays Alyna Rivers in our show."

"Ah her," Bruce loosened up a little. "I get it, she's a piece."

Ewan cleared his throat loudly, his jaw clenching on instinct. "So, like I said, I'm with her. I'm sorry but this whole PR arrangement with Jenna wouldn't work."

"Look, kid, I want my movie to do well, alright? I got a lot invested here. This PR thing has proven to be highly bankable time and time again. If you don't trust me, I can ask the team to show you the data on all that. It's a lot of boring numbers, but shit, the numbers are never wrong."

"I don't need to see - "

"If you wanna be with your girl, you can, but you just gotta learn to hide it. Sweep it under the rug, you know. Don't canoodle in public, you crazy kids," Bruce offered, like that made things any better.

"You want me to hide my relationship?"

"Hey, now, come on. Word gets around. Isn't your girl also doing this exact same thing with Jacob Elordi?"

"Not anymore, I don't think," Ewan clarifies, "and that was... that was hardly anything. They weren't obligated to do it. It just worked by chance because they were both single for a time."

"Po-ta-to, po-tah-to." Bruce clicked his tongue before making his next point. "So you see how it works, your thing with Ortega won't be any different."

"Do I have a choice?" There it is, the defining factor.

Bruce smiled slowly. The calculating and menacing air about him intensified, and it was obvious he was not there to be Ewan's friend.

"It would be stupid to refuse something like this, kid."

Ewan's blue eyes flashed in return. None of this was ideal, but his nan raised him well, and he knew better than to falter on his values in times of trial.

"Sir, what's stupid is if you ask me to hide my real relationship for the sake of mere publicity for a film."

"Stupid you say?" Bruce sneered, having already discarded Ewan in his mind, his fragile ego bruised. "What a shame."

There wasn't much to say after that. Bruce was clearly not disinclined to reveal the ice that settled in his veins, and it dawned on Ewan that it had always been the case. There was no true hospitality here.

For bigwig casting director-slash-execs like Bruce, this was a transaction. And Ewan was not about to put what he has, or what he could have, with you on the line.

There has to be another way to advance his career. If not bigger productions, then at least those with less domineering producers.

"That is a shame," Ewan said, getting up from his seat. "I won't waste any more of your time, sir. Thank you for considering me."

Bruce's eyes darkened even further. "You're actually refusing me? For some girl?"

Another genuine smile formed on Ewan's face at the thought of you. Some girl.

But you're not just some girl. He nodded without a trace of doubt in his mind, before reaching out to shake Bruce's hand. "If you don't mind, sir... I have to go and see my darling."

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Near the end of August

Los Angeles

The modern space sported a minimalist yet rustic feel, the interiors a blend of sterile white and sleek wooden surfaces. Very LA, as they say. The windowed walls offered plenty of light, as well as precious views of the valley below.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Donna," you greeted Ewan's publicist as she ushered you in her LA office.

"No problem at all, sweetheart," she said. "Please, have a seat. Would you like some coffee or tea? Ewan always has his coffee with way, way too much sugar. Mind you, if that kid wasn't active and boxing all the time, I'd be worried for his health."

You smiled fondly at her genuine concern. "Don't even mention the cigarettes."

"Oh, yeah," she scoffed, settling down on the chair across from you. She could have sat down at her desk, making the meeting more official, but Donna's always had a friendly and open way about her. "So, my sweet, how's your new movie coming up?"

You respond eagerly. The dialogue flowed freely, talking about your film and the lukewarm reception of season 2 of House of The Dragon. And finally, Ewan.

"I really thought he would get the Greta Gerwig film," you said. "Everyone said he was perfect for it. I think Greta herself had nothing but praises for him when they met on Zoom."

She sighed thoughtfully, "I thought so too. And, theoretically, he did have that one almost booked up. But there was an issue with one of the producers, which - I don't even want to get into that."

You shook your head, catching on whom she hinted at. "Donna, I heard... well, it didn't go too well in New York, didn't it? Ewan told me about it but... if you can tell me more, I just want to understand why - "

"Sweetheart," she offered a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes, "you should talk about this with Ewan."

"I tried. But he wouldn't budge. Mallory told me... that it might have been because of me that he didn't get the role? And also why he's struggling to get roles now? Donna, I... I can't have that."

It took some time for her to formulate a response. She didn't want to step in something that's none of her business. Your relationship with Ewan is yours. But when his career is on the line, she supposed that she needed to have some say in that.

"He met with this top producer in New York. This real old money Hollywood guy. For decades, he's built careers for the greats, you know - Pitt, DiCaprio, Theron, and whatnot. There was a franchise project practically offered to him on a plate, but Ewan refused, because a non-negotiable was that he would have to hide you in favour of a PR arrangement with his leading lady."

You swallowed, the weight of the truth making itself clear. "Couldn't he have just done the movie without that?"

"You would think," she grimaced, "but some producers... when they want something, they have to get it. And well, Bruce wasn't lying, that would have sold the movie well."

"I thought we were past this," you expressed sadly. "I understand how PR relationships work. Just recently, I found myself kind of in the middle of one. But there was no pressure, it wasn't forced on us, and it was meant to be all in good fun."

"I know, sweetheart," she insisted, reaching out to squeeze your hand. "Bruce is an outlier now. Most of the time you do get lucky, with an all-around supportive production team, just like with your project with Elordi."

You hummed in agreement on that positive note, but your mind kept drifting back to Ewan.

Donna continued, wrapping up her story, "but Bruce is still here, and he still has a lot of power. But you know, it'll be fine. Ewan's got such a huge fanbase and so much talent that it'll only be a matter of time before something else knocks on his door."

You wanted to share her sense of optimism, but something ate at you. What else will Ewan have to sacrifice just to be with you? This was his dream, his one dream, and you were standing in the way. How much longer before he is offered another project but he refuses to take it for your sake? Your thoughts blurred together, bordering on irrational, but you couldn't help it.

All you could picture was the unabashed sincerity on his face, that sense of wonder, when he told you that acting had always been his dream.

Being tied down to you, this early in his career, would surely only hurt him. And you don't think you're worth it.

"Ewan loves you, sweetheart. Anyone with eyes can see that," Donna said after a while, heeding the storm brewing in your expression.

He loves you. It was true.

Less than a month in, and you've already found yourself with a love that you've never felt before. And perhaps never will again.

And that was the problem.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Late September

The podcast moderators are overly welcoming, if not a little loud for Ewan's taste.

The BBC podcast is called Loose Ends, and it's one of the first things Ewan agreed to take on upon returning to England.

He had wanted to head straight home to Derby, to bury himself in his heartache and bitterness, but the team for the show tapped him for a couple more promotional stints, riding on the high of the season finale. And who better than Ewan to offer to the media, the undeniable fan favourite.

Clad in an old gray shirt and blue jeans, people would think he just rolled right out of bed. He didn't really have the motivation to put in more effort. The only striking thing about him is his newly bleached head of hair, supervised by his stylist for a photoshoot a few days ago.

It was ironic, the timing of such a change. Ewan knew that if word got out that you dumped him, he would never hear the end of the joke of that being the reason for his hairstyle change, typical of all heartbroken sods.

Everyone bursts into laughter when he tells them about his mum's reaction to his nude scene. It feels like going through the motions, and he must have been so out of it, so forlorn, that his team prepared an outline for him prior to the interview. The questions and answers all pre-agreed.

Make them laugh. React as required. Remember to speak when spoken to. The mantra goes on in his head.

And don't think about her.

An impossible task, worsened when a moderator goes off script and asks, "Now it wasn't me who saw this, as I'm not on social media myself, but one of our interns did mention that you ventured into Instagram recently? Is that true?"

Oh fuck.

"Mmm, yeah, I guess," Ewan laughs nervously, his hand massaging the back of his neck in a self-soothing motion.

"And your first post went viral? What can you tell us about that? Our listeners would love to know."

"Uhhhm - " He remembers that the broadcast is live, and he can't exactly ask them to edit this part out, so he quickly settles for something indirect. Inconclusive. Safe. " - did it go viral? I'm not too sure how that thing works. I haven't used any kind of social media before."

"Apparently it did! And it had to do with the subject featured in that photo, Ewan. Your costar - "

"Mmm," Ewan stops him there, "didn't you say that you don't use Instagram?"

"No, I think I'm too old!" The moderator laughs.

"It's insane, that whole thing," Ewan shakes his head. "I don't know how to handle it. I'm logged off most of the time."

"Oh, you log off?"

"Yeah, yeah, helps me keep my focus, you know. Keep calm and all that."

"It can get frivolous, can't it?"

Ewan hums in agreement, and thankfully, the moderator moves on to his last question. One that does not breach the subject of you.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Another day means yet another media stint for Ewan, this time for Now TV.

Still in London, his stylist Davey and the rest of the team prepare him for a day of brief interview clips, to be posted on the social media pages of the company.

Davey had half-joked about Ewan needing even more concealer than usual, the shadows under his eyes having significantly deepened after the breakup.

Some of his team have gotten wind of what happened. They would curiously ask about you, how often Ewan keeps in touch with you while you're on set...

You must be on FaceTime everyday!

Is it hard to be doing long-distance so soon?

Do you miss her? Is that why you're not getting any rest?

...but Ewan would only laugh uncomfortably, dismiss it by bringing up another topic or shifting the attention to someone else, or excuse himself to go for a smoke.

He'd been drowning himself in cigarettes and caffeine during the day, pint after pint in the nighttime. Aimless.

He is coping. He knows how it must look, but he deserves this. He deserves to drift for a while. It's the only thing he can do to keep himself from jumping on the next flight to Atlanta and begging for your hand back.

You said you love him. You did. He hangs on to it like a beacon in a storm. No matter how pointless it may seem, with you choosing someone else over him.

Work is becoming something of an anchor, something that keeps him from spiralling. He's an actor, and he has always wanted to be an actor. People now have expectations of him, and he will answer the call.

The interview session begins with generic questioning, stuff he's answered before on several occasions.

How special is the bond between dragon and rider?

What is a funny moment from set that you can share?

How similar are Aemond and Daemon?

All safe. He's proud of himself for not breaking mental clarity thus far. You're in the back of his mind, dormant as a memory, and not something looming darkly over him. For a while, at least.

But then he is asked, If you could invite any 5 people to a Ewan Mitchell dinner party, who would you pick?

"Matthew McConaughey - "

You.

" - Bruce Lee. I think they could strike up an interesting conversation - "

Your name echoes in his mind, and he can't control it.

" - Andrea Riseborough. She's just a chameleon, like in any role she undertakes -

You have great taste. Even if you would make him eat spicy food again, he'll take it. He'll endure anything for you.

He's stumped for a second, lump in his throat, and his effort in avoiding you leads him to mention someone who will always be a comfort to him.

" - Maybe my nan, because I miss her -

Your name. He has to say your name. Who else? Think of someone else.. but who else? Who would be better?

" - and then, another person. Let's make it from the show... it would be Alyna Rivers."

"Oh really?" The interviewer asks. She's not really meant to respond in this instance, but she knows that the fans would go crazy about any mention of you or your character, so why not jump on this opportunity? "Can you tell us why you chose her?"

"Uhhm, well, she's just an amazing character, you know, fiercely loyal, beautiful, tenacious," Ewan replies easily, "so yeah, she would make for good company."

It is obvious that he is describing you just as much as he does Alyna Rivers, and no doubt, the fans will catch on to this detail.

Later, he's asked about his favourite part about season two, and he duly answers, "Seeing more of Aemond and Vhagar's bond and how that perhaps have gotten stronger. Aemond has definitely reined her in, after the accident at Storm's End."

Then, "There are some new additions to the show. Do you have a particular favourite?"

Another obvious piece of bait. And he takes it, he doesn't care anymore. What's the use of denying the truth?

"A favourite new character? Oh, well, uhmm... I really do like Alyna, and I think I've said before that Aemond and her are quite similar in a sense that they both know what they want and how to achieve it. It's just a shame they're on opposing sides, because if those two get together... " he trails off, leaving it up to the audiences to fill in the rest of the thought.

And they eagerly do. The clips where Ewan mentions Alyna get the most traction, flooded with comments that more or less talk of the same thing -

We know why you chose Alyna, Ewan. We know your ways.

He could have said Alys. Or Gwayne. Or even the ghost of Daeron ffs. But nooooo.... it's Alyna Alyna Alyna 😮‍💨

I wonder if she's there behind the scenes

yeah shes definitely lurking in the background!

Aemond and Alyna better have at least a scene together in season 3!!!!!

Someone kidnap Ryan Condal and make him write this

Ewan doesn't see any of it. Not that he's missing out, because he soon feels the need to call his younger cousin to ask her how to turn off his notifications on Instagram.

Day in and day out, his one single post gets dozens of new comments and likes, a brutal reminder of what he's lost. He could just delete it, and get rid of his profile entirely, but he hates to imagine the discourse that would follow.

All the invasive allegations and rumours. So he leaves it be. It makes no difference to him now. Let people believe what they want.

To his chagrin, he finds himself scrolling on his home page once in a while. The addictive element to it was true, and for him, it's exacerbated because the things he sees are often related to you.

Photos of you from fanpages and news accounts. Ones where your friends have tagged you. It's a toxic habit, looking through it all, but he can't help himself.

Then one day, as he's slouched on the seat in his London apartment, phone propped on his knees, he sees a cutout photo of his face on the corner of the screen. He clicks on it, and it's an image of him interposed among different posts. Posts which he apparently liked.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he cusses at himself, reading the caption.

Boyfriend lurking? - Ewan Mitchell may play a formidable TV villain, but in real life, he's just like us. Click on the link in bio to see his series of liked posts!

Dread takes root in him, followed by self-loathing. Why couldn't he just keep off this bloody thing? He takes to the comments to see what he has allegedly liked on accident and it's predictably photos of you - you at a premiere, stills of you as Alyna, and even, heavens fucking forbid, a behind the scenes shot of you getting pretty close with Jacob Elordi on the set of your film.

He vividly remembers seeing that last one, because he went on a bender after coming across it.

Cursing himself and his wayward, sticky fingers, he exits the app and deletes it from his phone.

Whatever goes on there, whatever people might leave on his profile, he washes his hands of it.

He calls up several of his mates, asking them if they want to come over for a few drinks.

"Again, Ewan?" one of them exclaims. "C'mon, you gotta take a breather, mate."

"I don't need a breather." I need her.

"Ewan - "

His composure breaks, all his damned frustrations rising to the surface, and he confesses, "I wonder if she thinks about me."

"Hang in there, mate. We're coming over."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

October

The director finally yells a satisfied, "Cut!"

It's only taken a good twenty-something takes for you and Jacob to nail a challenging scene. You had been on a roll since the beginning of the shoot, the last few weeks seemingly a breeze on paper, though it's a constant struggle to keep it together.

You've had to quell your internal dialogue so it does not stray to him. His smile. The feel of his skin against yours. His way of subtly picking up on details, and doing sweet things that surprise you as a result.

But you received word just before the scene that a few of your friends have come to visit, waiting back at your trailer - Phia, Fabien and his girlfriend, Bella.

And so, as if on instinct, Ewan is all you can focus on, every repressed memory of him rushing in like a tidal wave.

Do they know? What could you possibly say to justify what you did? You can only hope he took on that project, to give you a bitter sense of vindication.

It's the only thing that keeps it all the bay, the only thing that keeps you from jumping on the next flight to England and grovelling at his door.

Phia has her arms wrapped around you the moment you open the door to your trailer, loudly squealing, "I missed you!"

You sink into the hug, comforted by her presence.

As well as the fact that she represents some connection to Ewan.

Phia, Helaena. Helaena, Aemond. Aemond, Ewan.

It's a sick game to play, but it's what you have.

"Hey, yous," you hug Fabien and Bella in turn. Not long after, you're all lounging on director's chairs right outside your trailer, enjoying a bit of sun.

"How's our big Hollywood star?" Phia quips, her lips curling in her trademark pleasant upturn.

"Hardly a star," you shake your head fondly. "More of an indie darling."

"Of course, of course," she relents, before going on a monologue about how she's been keeping tabs on your project, how she just adores the costume designer whom she spoke to at length while you were working, and how the rest of the cast is rooting for you.

The rest of the cast.

"Ah, are they?" you ask, making a conscious effort to not simply blurt out his name. What does he think? Has he mentioned you at all?

Do they know?

Do they secretly hate you for what you did?

"Mhmm, right Fabs?" she says.

"Oh, definitely." Fabien agrees right away.

"How's your film? Are you done shooting in Philly?" you ask him.

"Just about done, but I think we're doing some final reshoots next week. I'm just glad my girl's here to visit," he slings an arm around Bella, who smiles and leans closer to him.

You smile at the sight, but it visibly falters. Ewan could be visiting you on set right now, just like Bella with Fabien, if you hadn't fucked it all up.

They notice.

"Love," Phia sighs, her tone softening. "I just want you know - we want you know - we're here for you, okay? No matter what you went through with... " A pause. Like saying his name would open up the floodgates.

Your gaze falls to your lap in shame. You pick on invisible lint on your trousers. Bite your lip. Breathe deeply.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

"So you guys know, huh?"

"Well, more or less," Phia says. "I just spoke with... Ewan... recently. He's back in Derby for the time being, and he's - "

"He's a bit rough," Fabien says firmly. He's not taking sides here, but he's heard from Ewan, and he feels the need to have his mate's back. "Look, I don't want to pry, but what happened? It seemed like you guys were doing so well together!"

"You don't have to tell us," Phia adds, shooting Fabien a look. "But if you want to, we're here to listen. We love you both and we just want to help, love."

You feel your eyes welling up. Leave it to Phia to be oh so sweet. You can't lie to them, you don't want to. Even if you did, they would see right through it.

Your friends know you too well.

"I... I miss him."

Phia squeezes your hand, and the whole story is about to spill out of you when you hear your name being called.

It's your assistant Clara, letting you know you're needed back on set.

You swallow back tears, standing on your feet, trying to maintain enough composure so you can grant yourself access back to your character.

"Go do your thing, superstar," Phia smiles comfortingly. "We'll be here when you're ready."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

November

"I'd like to propose a toast," Tom declares out loud in the empty pub, "to Ewan, Hollywood's new elf... Lord? Prince? Ah sod it, cheers!"

Round the table, Ewan, Fabien, Luke and Elliott all raise their pints with a collective, "Hear, hear!"

The pub has been cleared out for the lads, thanks to a favour called in by the twins, with the owner being their gym buddy and good friend.

"Thank you," Ewan replies, smirking. "I am your new elf prince, address me as such."

"Your ears have never been pointier, mate," Luke quips.

After a month of moping back home in Derby, or recovering as Ewan prefers to put it, he got a call from his manager telling him that the offer from Bruce still stands.

Apparently, the production team for the movie still had him tapped as the prime choice for the lead. After observing his audience metrics and overall viability, they decided that the movie would fare the best with him in it.

They had planted some half-baked announcements in the media, stating that it was Ewan against Joseph Quinn and Manny Jacinto for the role, and the fan reaction veered in Ewan's favour by a landslide.

Even though Bruce had an unsavoury word or two to say about him, he was willing to work past it, so long as Ewan would be more amenable to his demands.

After careful deliberation, Ewan chose to throw caution to the wind, and accept the role. So what if he has to pretend to have a real-life romance with Jenna? This is what you wanted.

"I'm glad you finally came out to see us, mate," Fabien says. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, fuck's sake. Remind us never to break your heart! That was tough to witness, you hunkerin' down out there all mopey and whatnot," Elliott laughs.

"Mmm." Ewan takes a swig of his beer to hide the wince he couldn't hold back. His friends, and most of the cast know by now, not in too much detail, of what went down between the two of you.

A typical short-lived romance of two actors. A summer fling. Most of them would look back and only see it as that.

Even though it was so much more. Even though Ewan still recalls how warm and soft and beautiful you felt as you whimpered underneath him, the loss of you as painful as getting hit by a freight train.

The liquor helps. Burying himself in work helps. Denial... well, that certainly helps the most.

When he goes out to the back garden for a smoke break with Fabien, he tricks himself into believing it's mere curiosity that compels him to say, "Phia mentioned that you guys went to Atlanta."

Fabien is rendered off guard, because he knows what's coming. "Yeah, we did. Bella came with us too. She was visiting me on set," he says, measuredly.

"Mmm." A long drag, a flick of ash towards the ground, an unaffected shrug - and eventually, with as impassive of a tone as he can muster, Ewan asks, "So how is she?"

Fabien smiles knowingly. "She's doing great. Her film's looking pretty good." He's privy to the truth, after he and Phia managed to gently coax it out of you over several martinis at a hotel bar in Atlanta. But he doesn't think it up to him to reveal that to Ewan, out of respect for your privacy.

While he might not share your sentiment, he thinks it's not in his place to tell Ewan that you basically lied for his sake.

But that doesn't mean he won't drop a helpful nugget or two.

"You know, I don't exactly know what's going on... but her and Jacob came across as nothing more than friends."

Ewan's hand freezes mid-air, the cigarette inches from his lips. He loathes the sense of hope that immediately bloomed in his chest. He's so bloody easy. One miniscule hint, and his delusions break through the wall of indifference he worked so hard to build.

"She said she has feelings for him," Ewan stresses, trying to convince himself. What was the fucking point of all this... this pain... if you never did?

"Hey, mate, I dunno," Fabien puts his hands up, "just telling you what I saw."

"It doesn't matter." It does. "She ended it." He wants you back, he will always want you back. "It's better this way."

"Is it?"

Ewan doesn't answer. He doesn't know how to, without grossly embellishing the truth.

Fabien watches his friend, sensing his hesitation as he averts his gaze. One thing becomes clear to him - you and Ewan are far from being over.

So he says, "She misses you, you know."

Ewan regards him with a stony look, one that slowly softens to reveal the broken boy inside. For but a moment, before he clears his throat and throws the butt of his cigarette on the ground.

"Let's head back inside."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

December

You're back in London, as production for your film is paused for the upcoming holiday season.

Work is supposed to be the last thing on your mind, but it just so happens that your manager has you booked for a chemistry read for a yet undisclosed film.

Phia came over to your apartment, insisting that she help you get ready. When you asked how she found out about your audition, she was quick to say that she was up for the role as well but didn't think it was right for her.

"Why not?" you ask, as she hovers over you, patting blush on the apples of your cheeks.

"Oh, you just get a feel for these things."

"Phi, it's just a chemistry read," you say, when she reaches for the mascara. "I don't need to get all dolled up for this."

She gasps, "Oh, but this is showbiz, darling. We always have to put a face on."

"Fine," you relent. "Do your worst."

The makeup she ends up doing on you is minimal, but it enhances your features just the right amount. You rush through your final preparations, folding up the script sample you were given and stuffing it in your purse.

Phia stands out on your balcony, in the middle of a call. The window screen is slightly open, so you hear snippets of the conversation as you walk by.

"Is he ready?" she asks. Who's he? You assume it's the guy you are doing the read with.

You don't know about him, but you are ready, so you stick your head out to say, "I gotta go, Phi."

"Oh!" She startles a little, angling her phone away. "Already?"

"Yeah, the read's at 4, I believe. Just lock the door when you leave, 'kay?"

She hurriedly whispers something to her phone, presumably ending her call. "I'll actually head out with you," she grins. "My work here is done anyway."

"Any plans for the night?"

She shrugs, "Might meet with Tom and Martha."

"Oh, why don't I meet you guys after my thing?"

"Uhhhm," she chews on her lip, thinking. Under her breath, you barely hear her mumble, "... hoping you'd be busy."

"What?" A restrained chuckle escapes you, confused as to why she's being so coy.

"Nothing," she tilts her head. "We can meet if you'd like."

The weird exchange is out of your mind when you arrive at the casting agency. You run the scene through in your head as you walk in the building, up the elevator, down the long hallway.

It's a heartfelt scene, if not a little tense, a dialogue between reunited ex-lovers.

Your manager Polina and publicist Mallory greet you at the doors, swiftly briefing you before directing you in.

"They're waiting, just walk right in, doll," Polina says.

"Okay, wish me luck!" You have your hand on the door handle when Mallory strangely remarks, "Don't hate us, sweetheart!"

"Why would I - "

"Go, go," Polina guides you in, then shuts the door behind you.

The office sports an spacious and open layout, with plenty of natural light streaming through large windows. The primary workstation is partially hidden behind a subtle partition. You see silhouettes of a few people behind it, so you walk down that way.

The figures reveal themselves soon enough - the casting agents you recognise as Patrick and Amie, sitting in front of the actor you're meant to read with.

A range of emotion washes over you, but you don't even have time to reckon with them. The casting agents divert your attention from Ewan, as they approach you with wide smiles in greeting.

"So nice to finally meet you!" Amie croons. "Take a seat. You two already know each other, of course. Between us, there won't really be a question of chemistry here."

"Right?" Patrick adds, looking between you and Ewan. "The fans sure think so, and we have to say we already agree."

"So just give us a minute to set up," Amie says. "Then we'll start."

You smile stiffly, settling down on the opposite end of the couch. You keep your gaze straight, trying to keep your attention on Patrick as he sets up the camera. Your heartbeat races the entire time, and you feel your hands getting clammy.

"They're all in on it," you hear Ewan say, prompting you to finally look at him directly. You take him in hungrily, admiring his outline, ever so handsome with his Targaryen-blonde hair and black leather jacket.

A weak "Mmm?" is all you can muster.

"Our teams, Tom, Phia... they set us up. Tom came over and I overheard him on the phone with Phia."

"Oh," you mumble. He doesn't even spare you a glance, leaning on the armrest on his side of the couch. He looks as if he'd rather be anywhere but here, next to you, and it hurts.

It's what you deserve.

"Is this not a real chemistry read?" you ask meekly.

"I suppose it is," he laughs humourlessly, "but it's not a coincidence that you and I just happen to be the only ones scheduled for today." He turns to you, giving you a critical sideways glance. "Didn't see that coming, did you?"

"I... I can leave if you want - "

"Mmm," his brows furrow, "you do seem to be good at that."

You look away. He is not being fair, but you weren't neither, that wretched night back in September.

And he is making you pay for it now.

But then you hear him speak in a softer tone, "Stay."

Stay. When you look at him once more, his attention is entirely on you, arm outstretched on the couch like he just tried to reach for you but decided against it.

Stay, he asked. So you do.

It's what you should have done, months ago.

"Okay, guys. Whenever you're ready," Amie says. She and Patrick take their seats in front of you, with the camera on a stand between them.

The script crinkles on your lap as you hold it with shaky fingers. "It's been a while," you read out your opening line.

The dialogue plays out twisted and ironic, now that you know who your scene partner is.

"Hardly," Ewan responds in character. "I feel like no time as passed."

"Feels like a lifetime."

He pauses, then sighs, "Do you even miss me?"

"How... how can you even ask me that?"

"How can I - "

"Why didn't you... why didn't you fight for me?" your voice breaks, the lines hitting a bit too close to home.

"You're a fucking hypocrite," he spits with venom. "You weren't exactly giving me anything to fight for."

"I did it for us. I did it all for us." If you didn't feel like crying at the weight of the scene, you would have rolled your eyes at the similarities.

"Like I said - nothing to fight for."

"Nothing? So you're telling me I was nothing to you."

"No," he levels you with an icy look, "you were everything to me. Everything. But you left me behind, and for what? So you can run off with the rebel sect?"

"The mission needed me. You wouldn't understand." You feel a sense of relief when the sci-fi elements roll in, otherwise you might have given in to your emotions and sobbed right there on the damn couch.

"I needed you," Ewan says, eyes not leaving yours. "I needed you and you abandoned me, just like that."

"And are you not better for it? When I left, did they not make you General?"

"See, that is the difference between you and I," he says coldly. "I wouldn't have traded what we had for anything - no position, no amount of wealth, no glory... I would have chosen us every time."

"Aaand cut!" Patrick jokes, effectively breaking the tension.

The two of you have unconsciously drifted closer, now only a foot part. Ewan does not drop your gaze, watching you closely. You see his eyes flit down to your parted lips, and he leans in almost imperceptibly.

"Alright, how about we go one more time?" Amie says, diverting your attention. "Give us a different take, and then that's it!"

Ewan settles back on his end of the couch. When he reads his lines again, his tone is harsher and he no longer meets your eyes.

Patrick and Amie commend you both afterward, singing praises about your acting abilities. Ewan is polite as always, blushing and grateful, but he practically dashes out of the door when the meeting finishes.

You're left standing with Amie, as Patrick has taken to his laptop to file the footage.

"The way he looks at you," she sighs dreamily, referring to Ewan. "You'd think the sun shone out your arse, doll."

"He... he was just in character," you disagree. "He's a good actor, as you know."

"Yeah, I mean, he nailed the part's rancour perfectly. But his eyes - oof - you've got a good one there."

Oh. Of course they would still assume you and him are together.

How desperately you want it to be true.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

An hour later, you've just sent Phia a text saying - You owe me. Where do I meet you guys?

But you hear a knock on your apartment door. If you didn't buzz anyone in, it can only be a neighbour or someone the doorman recognised.

Someone familiar to you.

And it's him.

"Ewan?"

"I need to speak with you."

You step aside so he doesn't linger at your doorway. He walks past you, a welcome if not unexpected presence in the room.

You can't decipher his expression, his gaze angled downward as he leans against your kitchen counter.

When the silence becomes almost deafening, you laugh awkwardly, about to make some silly remark on whether he is still in character. But he doesn't let you diffuse the tension.

"I want you," he blurts out without warning. "God help me, I still want you. I think I might have a fucking problem because how can I... after what you did - " A momentary glance of betrayal, but you see the spite clear in his eyes. " - but I do. I can't get you out of my system."

"I'm sorry - "

"I don't need that," he says sharply. "I don't need your sorry. I need you. I need to have you, and maybe this way, I'll satisfy whatever pointless desire I still have in me."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying - I'm asking - will you let me have you?"

"Ewan, I don't under - "

"I'm saying that we should sleep together," he says bluntly, and it feels like the rug has been pulled from under your feet, "but only just. You won't be mine, and I won't be yours."

"You're kidding."

He shakes his head, before adding, "Don't worry. It'll be our little secret. To the rest of the world, I'll have a different girlfriend anyway."

His words register, along with the bitter ache at his words, that you won't be his, he won't be yours. This is purely for pleasure. There used to be love here, and now he just craves the comfort your body allows.

You'll be using each other.

You should refuse. This is not healthy; this is not how you move on. Can you even go back to being good friends after this? But also - what have you got to lose?

What, except for him, and for good this time?

What, except everything?

"So what do you say - " He closes in on you, and with every bit of malice intended, the name no longer possessing the sweetness it once held, he sneers, "- darling?"

💌 next chapter

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @livcookesgf @onlyrealjoy (continued ... )

Some notes in the margins...

Well well well... the transition from friends to lovers to strangers to angsty FWBs sure is a slippery slope!

The time jumps are so we get through the moping quicker! It's mostly back to the regular shenanigans in the next part. Only, you know, angst-ridden. But you hurt Ewan, reader. *wags finger* Don't say you didn't expect this switch! Tsktsk

So what now - will you accept this arrangement? Will things ever be truly okay? Part 7 is going to be hot and hilarious and stupid and messy, just as the doctor ordered.

Let's hash it out in the comments, shall we? 🗡💕

[ilsanslut]

꒷♡꒷ THE DUKE'S PET!

♰ featuring: wriothesley. [genshin impact]

sypnosis: what you get from being wriothesley’s pretty puppy. content/trigger warning(s): 18+. smut mentons. PUPPY-HYBRID!READER. GENDER NEUTRAL!READER. spanking. shoe-humping mentions. cock-warming. orgasm denial. dacryphilia. overstimulation. obvious pet-play themes. name calling/degradation. punishments. tummy bulging. sharing mentions (clorinde + neuvillette). ꒷꒦

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S PET INCLUDES being given to him by none other than the iudex of fontaine himself, neuvillette, as a “gift” of sorts. more so, you were a prisoner who personally denied your trial since you knew you were guilty, so neuvillette thought of a fitting place for you instead. he knew that wriothesley wanted a pet to keep him company while within the walls of the fortress of meropide, but he refrained due to it being cruel to keep an animal somewhere in which they could never see the sun. however, a puppy-human hybrid should suffice well enough, right?

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S PET INCLUDES him not knowing what the fuck to do with you once he first got you. he understood how to take care of a dog well enough, but you were mostly human and had greater intelligence than that of a dog (most of the time). he seemed a little put-off by you at first, tensing up when you came to him for pets and affection, picking you up by the armpits (even if you were taller than him) and sitting you down on the couch of his office when you tried to smother kisses all over his face, pulling you by the back of your shirt while hissing a quick “quit it” every time you growled at someone who entered his office—even his guards, and even those times when you tried to mark his office as your territory . . .

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S PET INCLUDES him taking his sweet time to warm up to you, but once he grew comfortable with your presence, you became the most spoiled pup around. he got you your own pretty collar, but of course, in his own aesthetic. a thick, studded black strap with ruby gems and a silver loop in the center connecting to a crimson pendant ringed in silver, with his initials engraved on the back. he bought you your own toys (even though you were more inclined to gnaw your sharp canines on the steel of his boots), and he even purchased a separate couch for you in his office for your afternoon naps with your name engraved on the gold that lined the backrest.

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S PET INCLUDES going to the surface world with him any time he has a particular errand to run or just when he has free time. (he most definitely does that thing where he says a simple phrase like “outside?” or “walkies?” and has to restrain himself from cackling as he watches you go beserk in your own excitement.) hours are spent in the city of fontaine shopping for new items for you, such as clothes, toys, collars, etc. your days typically end with him allowing you to expend the rest of your energy chasing squirrels or birds in the fontainian wilderness until you eventually tucker yourself out and he carries you back to the fortress.

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S PET INCLUDES being his little (or big) lap dog whenever he’s sitting in his office. whether he’s in the middle of signing off on a boatload of documents or talking with someone who entered his office, you’d shuffle your way into his folded arms and perch yourself on his lap, nuzzling yourself against his chest. he was never one to deny you affection (unless you were bad) and would always indulge in praising you whenever he deemed fit. scratches behind your ears, on your belly, gentle kisses to the forehead—you name it! wriothesley would give it all to you since he just couldn’t say no to you. that is, until he was forced to.

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S PET INCLUDES him forgetting that while you are human, you still have the high-energy canine instincts of whatever breed you’re mixed with. that means you often get yourself into trouble more than you’d like. dashing over to others to steal their food at the coupon cafeteria because it smelled soo yummy, growling and picking fights with either the inmates or the guards who were simply minding their business, chewing on wriothesley’s boots, bookshelf, and the wood of his desk because you were bored, humping his leg or whatever you could get your needy parts on whenever your heat rolls around, and finally, his last straw, you tearing up the important documents and registration papers of the inmates because you were fed up with his silent treatment punishment.

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S PET INCLUDES includes cowering and whining in fear when you see him towering over you, a steely glare in his eyes, and a deep scowl on his face as his chest rises and falls heavily from this thoroughly wasted patience. his fists would clench so tightly by his sides that you could hear them grinding against the leather of his gloves and the metal of his rings. you would give him your best puppy eyes and cutest whimpers to try and appease his anger, but it was futile. then he would utter the words that always sent a chill down your spine.

“bedroom, now.”

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S NAUGHTY PET INCLUDES you shaking your head at him and whimpering out a ‘no’ when he orders you to his quarters. at first, he’s dumbfounded—stunned that you would even dare to disobey him when he had given you a clear, firm order—and then he’s laughing. it’s dry and humorless, and it strikes fear in the depths of your trembling little being. however, before you could react, his hand is threading itself non-too-kindly into your locks and dragging you along the steel floors of his office until you’re in your shared bedroom.

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S NAUGHTY PET INCLUDES knowing that he’s not a fan of verbal reprimanding. when he needed to correct your behavior, he was always physical. he wastes no time sitting on the edge of the bed and discarding whatever bottoms you were wearing before slinging you over his lap and popping a series of quick swats onto your ass cheeks, ringed-fingers and all. if you dared to try and use your fluffy tail to negate his hits, he was snatching it in a firm grip at the base and snarling out a bone-chilling “behave” before he would rain down more spanks onto your reddening cheeks until you’re a sniffling mess in his lap.

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S NAUGHTY PET INCLUDES you being unable to hide the arousal brewing from your nethers from being punished on wriothesley’s lap, accidentally giving yourself away when you shift on his lap, and the lewd squelch of your arousal squishing from your sex and his thigh is picked up by his stupidly good hearing.

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S NAUGHTY PET INCLUDES feeling your nethers throbbing when he utters out a “oh?” in that breathy growl that makes your head spin. “whats this?” he would inquire as he scoops up the milky fluid with two of his digits, not waiting for your pitiful answer as he uses the liquid as lube to stroke your sex with a teasing touch. “getting off on being punished?” he continues through your whimpers as your legs flail behind you from his increasing pace. “what a filthy mutt you are.”

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S NAUGHTY PET INCLUDES being edged until the depths of the sea grew dark from the long set sun and illuminated from the moon hanging high in the sky. you’d be brought to the brink of your orgasm time and time again; however, every time you were about to reach your high, wriothesley would pull away, mocking your frustrated whines and begging whimpers with a faux pout of his own. “aww, my poor baby.” he would pout in an insincere tone, using his drenched fingers to wipe the tears streaming down your cheeks. “you wanna cum, don’t you?” he’d ask, with his free hand gently stroking your sensitive sex. you would nod, babbling pleas and helpless cries for him to ‘please, please, let you cum because you’ll be a good pup for him’, only for him to grin cruelly down at you and go, “if you wanted to be good for me, you would’ve been so from the beginning. crazy how that works, hm?”

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S NAUGHTY PET INCLUDES when he finally does let you cum, he doesn’t let you stop. you’re gifted orgasm after orgasm until the sheets are ruined with your release, your poor body is trembling uncontrollably, your nethers are throbbing, and even the slightest breeze makes you wail from the overstimulation. you cry and cry and plead for him to be gentler with you, to please give you a break to let you catch your breath, but he only cackles at your misfortune and goes, “this is what you wanted, isn’t it? to make a mess like the filthy pup you are? so then take it, Y/N.”

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S NAUGHTY PET INCLUDES always being gifted with the best aftercare, no matter how tired wriothesley might be. he’ll whisper sweet nothings into your ear as he gently massages your sore limbs and nethers, praising you for being such a good pup for him. moreover, he’ll even state that he’s no longer mad at you just to see your pretty ears perk up and your fluffy tail wag. even when he’s pushed past the point of exhaustion, he’ll stagger into the bathroom, run a warm bath for the two of you, and carry your quivering body into the soothing waters. before he joins you, he always discards the messy sheets and replaces them with new ones, but not before letting them run in the dryer for a few minutes so that they’re nice and toasty for you.

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S NAUGHTY PET INCLUDES being his number one stress reliever whenever he needs to relieve some tension. you could be sitting docilely on the couch he brought you by yourself in his office, and he could just scoot his chair back while tossing his head back with a mighty sigh, and you would already know what to do. you’d prance over to him, and he would remove whatever lower garments you were wearing and dive right into you, feasting on you in your entirety until he was thoroughly relieved. if he was having a particularly rough day, he would call your name in a gruff tone and pat his lap to call you over. he would have you sit on his lap with his cock nestled deep in your walls, squeezing him so, so tightly as he tries to finish his paperwork, but he never can. nine times out of ten, it always ends with him tossing his paperwork aside, picking you up, and ravishing you right then and there on his desk.

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S NAUGHTY PET INCLUDES the amount of times guards and inmates have had to stutter over their words as they try to talk to or give reports to the duke, however, becoming thoroughly distracted by the sight of your pretty mouth swallowing inch after inch of wriothesley’s cock beneath his desk since you couldn't 'shut the fuck up and stop growling’ at the poor men and women who were just trying to do their jobs.

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S NAUGHTY PET INCLUDES servicing wriothesley’s friends whenever they visit the fortress. clorinde attaching a leather leash to your collar as she perches herself on the edge of wriothesley’s desk, using the lead to pull your kneeling form close to her pretty folds to eat her out while she makes your head dizzy as she praises and degrades you simultaneously. “what a well-trained pooch you have here, duke . . . such a pathetic, needy thing they are. i might just have to borrow them for myself sometime.” to which wriothesley, who was watching from over her shoulder with a possessive and lustful gaze in his eye, just shakes his head as he observes your lithe, sloppy, and greedy tongue eagerly lapping at the duelist’s glimmering pearl while your tail wags incessantly behind you. “nah, not a chance. they’re mine, clorinde.”

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S NAUGHTY PET INCLUDES even letting neuvillette in on the fun every once in a while. naturally, he brought you along for the ride when he had to personally meet with the iudex to discuss some business matters. neuvillette was amazed at how well his plan had worked when he saw how well-behaved and obedient you were, especially considering how you had been at first, when he had to hold you at arm's length away from him by your scruff to prevent your pointy puppy teeth from gnawing into his arms. he too would indulge in you by clearing his desk of all paperwork and fucking you right then and there on top of the expensive oak. when he told you to bark, you would. when he told you to sit on his cock, you would ride him within an inch of his sovereign life. when he told you to cum, you would not hesitate to gush all over him and yourself, effectively making a mess of both of your sweaty bodies. “such an obedient little thing. i am almost saddened that i gifted you to wriothesley and did not keep such a pretty puppy for myself.” he would growl, his slitted pupils constricting to pinpoints as they observed the way his two draconic cocks bulged your tummy.

BEING WRIOTHESLEY’S CHERISHED PET INCLUDES living out the rest of your days by his side as arguably the most spoiled and loved pup in the entirety of teyvat. you became his light in the darkness—his salvation from the perpetual state of solemn loneliness that he had isolated himself in, while he became your salvation in a surprisingly cruel world. you have never felt safer or more secure in your life than you did when you were with him. when he held you tenderly and whispered affirmations into your fluffy ears, you felt more loved than you had ever felt before. all in all, he was your second half, and you were his, and he’d be damned if he let anything change that any time soon.

ⓒ vampiie 2024 — all rights reserved. please do not repost my work outside of tumblr, modify, or translate my work in any form/means. please do not share my work to tiktok or any other site.

[jyoongim]

Hello!

I would to request if its alright.

Prisoner Human Alastor x Police!Reader.

Alastor were captured by police and was sent to jail and Reader was a professional police also she is virgin because shes too focus on her job even when she was in colloge she never experienced it.

Sorry im bad at explaining but like they fucked in alastor cell in middle of the night because Reader was assign to watch Alastor since hes the biggest criminal in the town.

So llike i dont know how reader ended up in his cell ummm you can just make a reason for it since i dont know how she also inside his cell and getting fuck

So like Reader Hate love when alastor fuck out of her brain for the first time and Instead of Escaping from the jail Alastor just Find a Toy to play with.

This been on my mind pleaseeee im on my knees just for this😭😭

THIS IS MY BIRTHDAY GIFT TO YALL

WHOOP WHOOP THATS THE SOUND OF THE POLICE!!!!

It’s giving Mrs.Officer by lil Wayne hahahaha 

themes: 18+! NSFW, fem!reader, human!alastor (criminal of the LAW), so many laws and regulations broken, flirty banter? Jail cell sex, slight dub con, manipulation, subjugation, Loss of virginity, handcuffs, black mail, humiliation, gun play, mention of murders,  toxic relationship?

Five years ago

“Alastor DuPont, you are charged with the Bayou Murders! You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law…” you snarled at the man, as you slapped your handcuffs on his wrists, hoisting him up from the ground and forcing him to the cop car.

A strained laughed escaped his throat as he glanced over his shoulder at you, white teeth showing “never would have thought you would turn on me doll hehe. How unpredictable…I like that in my women ya know?”The lanky man grinned as you slammed the door, his breath fogging up the window. His deep brown eyes were wild as he maintained a calm composure. You narrowed your eyes at him “remember that it was me who put your ass behind bars”

His eyelids dropped, his crazed smile almost splitting his face “oooh doll I’ll never forget you”

Present Day

The prison was in an uproar when the higher ups found out who they’ll be housing.

Alastor DuPont.

New Orleans Most Beloved Radio Host…was a serial killer.

And you were the unfortunate soul who was his guard.

You looked over the paperwork of your new charge, brows furrowing as you read the arrest and charges.

Disgusting scrum! You thought with a sigh, setting down the papers on your desk.

”Why is he being transferred to my floor? Ain’t that conflict of interest?” You asked the Warden, an older man in his sixties.

You were the officer who had worked the Bayou Murders case, the officer who caught Louisiana's notorious killer and arrested him. 

You were just a rookie back then, fresh out of college and putting your all into your work. You were always at the office working late and gathering evidence. Your coworkers often joked that you had no sense of fun, always refusing to go out with them for dinners or parties. You were obvious to romantic advances and often threatened to write a report for misconduct for your male officers actions.

You often heard some of the male officers describe you as ‘Stuck-up, picky, prude’ but you didn’t see an issue with that.

You took your job serious, there was never room for error in this line of work.

You were very by the book. 

You saw everything in black and white.

Control and Regulations was your game.

Which is why you were tasked guarding some of the worst criminals in the city.

That now included Alastor.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Just treat him how you do the other inmates. You’re my best officer here to handle something like him” The warden said. You were the best for this. You took a deep breath “Fine, but I want a raise” you grumbled, smiling.

—————————————————————————————

“Inmate 666 rise n shine! put your hands through the open slot” you commanded. You stood outside the steel padlock door, waiting for hands to appear to be cuffed.

Nothing.

You knocked on the door again, a warning.

You huffed, “Last chance inmate! Or I’m dragging you out!”

Silence.

You cursed under your breath and looked to your backup guard

”open the door” he looked worried but followed your orders.

The security door whirled opened and you stood in the open doorway, you hand hovered over your baton as you approached the figure laying in bed, worst case he killed himself; best case…you kick his ass out of bed. “DuPont!” You sneered, kicking the edge of his bed. The figure stirred, groaning at the bright light pouring in the small room, he stretched, joints popping and made a move to sit upon the bed.

He rubbed his eyes, reached for his glasses and finally looked at you. A smile appeared on his face “Well i must have died and went to heaven” he drawled standing up.

You took a step back out of instinct. You scoffed at him ”you wish now put your shirt on and hands behind your back.”

Alastor let out a chuckle as he reached for his shirt.

Your eyes roamed his exposed skin. Smooth, skin riddled with scars. For a lanky bastard he had quite the muscle definition.

He was handsome, the type of guy you would have happily let chat you up.

But you were the truth behind that smile.

”so what pleasure am i owed that I get to see your pretty face after so long?” He asked like he was talking about the weather. You didn’t answer him as you locked the handcuffs and nudged him towards the open door to start walking.

———————————————————————————-

“You will be provided three meals a day. One hour of outdoors activities and you’ll have recreational if you earn good behavior, but i highly doubt that. Am I clear?” You ask as he stared at you with a stupid smile. You frowned “get that smile off your face DuPont.” He only smiled harder “I can’t help it. I enjoy being in your presence my dear” 

You leaned across the table, eyes hard as you got in his face.

”listen to me you irritating prick! In here I rule. You listen to everything I say and pray I am in a good mood to deal with your shit. I can make what remains of your life hell on earth. Do I make myself clear?” You hissed.

Alastor leaned back, an amused look on his face, shrugging “Crystal”

”Good”

You walked him back to his cell after he ate and uncuffed him. Walking out you slammed the door shut and waited to hear the lock before moving to make your rounds.

”I do hope you have a good night my dear” you hear him say as you walk down the corridor, ignoring him.

—————————————————————————-

Alastor sighed as he sat on his bed. A low chuckle escaped his throat. Oh how he missed you. 

When he met you five years ago, he knew you were the one for him. There was something about you that gave him a thrill. 

He admits he didn’t count on you being a police officer; you had fooled him flawlessly. 

His cock twitched in his pants. Those pretty eyes that once held warmth were ever so chilling. 

How he couldn’t wait to break that cold demeanor of yours.

He just had to bid his time and after all he had all the time in the world with you.

————————————————————————————-

You were focused on some paperwork when two male officers popped their heads in your office.

”hey a couple of us are going for a night out you coming?” Max asked with a smile as Danny was behind him with puppy eyes.

You didn’t even look up from your work “ill pass but maybe next time guys” you hear the groan before leaving.

You shook your head lightly as you finished filling in your notes.

You looked at your watch, it was almost time to patrol.

————————————————————————————-

Alastor could hear the footsteps of the two male guards that occasionally visited his floor.

”she never wants to hang out. Fucking bitch thinks she better than us or something?” A voice whined.

”oh you know how she is. Work on the brain. She wouldn’t be so strict if she loosened up a bit hahaha i would love to fuck that.”

Alastor grimaced. Disgusting trash 

He might have been a certified lady killer, but he was still a gentleman. And lowly scrum like them didn’t even deserve to think of you that way.

You were his.

And he’ll make sure of that.

A dark smile crept on his face just at the thought.

———————————————————————————-

It was fairly quiet tonight. 

You found yourself standing outside Alastor’s cell.

”You gone say something cherie or stand guard all night. I promise I have no intention of escaping.” He purred.

You frowned “I have nothing to say to you”

You heard him laugh “really? You had a lot to say five years ago”

He was baiting you, you knew this, but your temper was hot

”You are despicable you know that? You think you so smart, but you know something Alastor? You got sloppy. Tell me. Why? Why did you kill all them girls?” You hissed, now facing the door.

You hadn’t even realized his hands were out in the slot until his large hands grasped yours.

You tensed and went to tug your hands out of his, but he firmly kept a grip.

”why? What kind of question is that? The answer is simple.” His thumbs rubbed your hands.

”No the answer was stupid. You commited those crimes, killed those innocent women for pure fun? They should have sent you to the Ward.” You said angrily.

Alastor smiled, through you couldn’t see it

”Maybe but I’m completely in my right mind I assure you. The reason for all the mess? Simple…they weren’t you” he bent down to press his lips to your knuckles.

You ripped your hands back, eyes wide “you’re sick”

He hummed, rolling his eyes.

”doesn’t change how I feel about you darlin”

He was surprise to hear the lock to his cell and the door open to reveal you.

And you were angry.

Your face was balled into a frown “It was never about me! You think I would believe that shit!” Your hand pulled your gun, aiming it at him “You’re nothin’ but a liar and a killer. Ain’t no love in that dark heart of yours. You are incapable of love.” Your lip quivered slightly, giving way to your emotions under the glare you held.

Alastor walked up to you, right up to your gun pressing against his chest, his hands were up, but he was still craning his head down at you “is that what you tell yourself about me dear?” 

That sharp smile on his face, his eyes wide “then kill me. Pull the trigger and serve justice.”

His eyes were analyzing you. You were panting, chest constricted in your uniform, cheeks flushed with anger but your plump lips wobbled.

One of his hands gently wrapped around the gun, lowering it as he pressed against your body. The other taking hold of your chin.

He lowered his head til his lips were but a whisper away, ghosting yours lightly “What i feel for you darlin, love ain’t got nothing on it”

Your brain seemed to catch up with the situation you were in and you tried to reestablish control, but Alastor had already sunk his claws in you.

Your eyes widened when his lips slammed on yours, your hand with the gun whipped to hit him across the head, but he caught it and used the momentum of your body to twirl you around and pin your arm against your back, making you drop the weapon as you wince in pain.

His lips were at your neck, nose brushing against your ear

”never drop ya guard dear, didn’t they teach you that?” He taunted.

You struggled against him as he pushed you down on the small bed, pressing you down with his weight. 

You thrashed about, body filling with panic as you couldn’t throw throw him off you.

Alastor grunted as you kicked at him, narrowing his eyes as he pressed his full weight against you.

”easy doll easy. I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Well too much hehehe” his brushed his nose against yours, trailing his lips to kiss your cheeks and jaw.

With his hips fixed between your parted thighs, he pressed his hardening length against the softness of your covered mound.

Large hands cupped your breasts, and before long you heard a tear. Your eyes widened as the cold air met your chest and gasped asho Alastor quickly made work of your bra. He let out a hoarse groan as he kneaded the tender flesh, mouth wrapping around a perky nipple, causing you to gasp.

He nipped and tugged the soft nip before lavishing it with his tongue, like an apology for the harsh treatment. ”I knew you’ll have the prettiest pair of tits. So full and soft. I can’t wait to see them bruised up from my teeth”

You clenched your teeth as you tried to ignore the rather pleasant sensations running through you. With your gun somewhere, all you had was your physical strength. You might couldn’t overpower him, but you could use his weight against him.

Taking the distraction of Alastor focusing on sucking at your chest, you tightened your legs around his waist and used his relaxed posture to flip the two of you over. With your arms free, you pressed your arm into his neck, thighs holding his hips down as you tried to regain your composure.

You tried held your elbow into his throat, glaring at him as he just smiled up you.

Alastor lazily placed his hands on your hips as he raked his eyes over you.

You were disheveled, hair fizzy and face flushed. Your eyes were filled with uncertainty and another emotion. Your lips were swollen and your neck was slowly turning red. With your uniform ripped, your tits were fully exposed, nipples perked and littered with bites.

 You were beautiful 

“I am going to walk out of here and pretend this didn’t happen. You are going to stay right here until I close that door and lock it.” You said sternly, but Alastor wasn’t listening, he was grinding up into you slowly as he trailed a hand up your front, finger fondling with your ripped uniform. You went to slap his hands away when he cupped your breasts but the cold air that met your entire body made you freeze.

”That’s much better don’t you think?” He mused, fingers tapping your hips as he palmed your ass cheeks in full.

You quickly sat up, ready to get off him, when Alastor followed you up, arms locking you against him. He whispered in your ear, voice low and deep “oh you’re so precious. I can’t wait to fuck that tight pussy of yours baby” he kissed your shoulder as he pulled your panties to dip two fingers inside you.

You pushed at his chest, trying to shift your hips away but the motion made you fall back and you grunted as you fell to the floor.

Alastor sucked his fingers, moaning at the taste of you. He sat looking at you, grinning as he moved towards you. You scrambled back, wanting to put distance between the two of you, but Alastor long legs carried him to you and he wrapped a hand around ankle and dragged you back towards him, taking top mount to prevent your from flaring about like a fish.

Tears welled in your eyes as he quickly made work of his pants, freeing his weeping cock. You pressed your hands against his chest, which he took in one hand and held them over your head. He hummed a tune as he pressed his lips to your cheeks, peppering your face in kisses before locking his lips onto yours. You tried to jerk your head away but that didn’t deter him, as he bit down on your lips, crying out, your mouth was invaded by his tongue.

You barely had time to counter, when your breath hitched in your throat, feeling an unknown pressure between your thighs.

A staggered gasp turned into a pained cry as narrow hips thrusted up into you, sheathing his cock to the brim.

Alastor laughed into your mouth, licking at your teeth “Oooh? So I’m your first hehe I’m honored.” He slotted his mouth against yours as he snapped his hips against yours, wanting you to quickly grow accustomed to his brute pace.

The sound of sticky slaps and muffled moans radiated through the cell. Your legs rested on either sides of Alastor’s hips, shaking as he rocked into your body.

“What would the other guards think if they found out you let a dangerous killer fuck you? Hmm? This breaks so many laws baby. Hehe fuck you feel good. You take me so good ha! I knew you could.” A soft whimper bubbled out your throat. Your mind was fighting, but your body was welcoming the unwanted assault. 

Your tongue lolled out your mouth as Alastor’s cock dragged along your insides, making your back arched as he hit a nerve that had you moaning.

Your soft moans spurred the man on as he angled his hips, pounding you into the cold floor.

Oh how long he had imagined fucking you. You were like nothing he could have imagined. Your tight cunt clinged to his dick as he bullied it through your walls.

He caught sight of your discarded gun and grabbed it, resting the cool metal against your skin. Your eyes widened, body freezing despite the jolts from his hips.

His brows quirked when your cunt clenched “Scared or horny baby?” He chuckled darkly, leaning back onto his knees, pulling you with him. 

He let out a soft moan as you sunk down on him, uttering dirty praise and encouragement. “You gonna ride me baby? Hmm? You gonna let a killer stretch this pussy out? Ill make you feel so good baby” he rocked up into you, softly thrusting.

You rested your head into the crook of his neck, shaking as Alatsor’s hands rubbed your back. The gun slowly trailing up your skin. One hand tangled in the roots of your hair, pulling your head back, as you felt the tip of the gun at your chin.

Alastor cooed as he pulled you down into his thrusts, making your jaw clench “k-kill me bastard” you hissed,  eyes clenched feeling his cock bury into you with a wet squish.

Alastor’s body vibrated as he let out a laugh “Kill you? Oh darlin no. then there wont be a pretty face to look forward to see everyday. I have no desire to paint the walls red with your blood haha no I want to paint your walls white” 

You leaned into his body, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. Your fingers dug into his skin and out of anger for the onslaughter of pleasure you sunk your teeth into his neck.

Alastor’s cock twitched as his hips snapped into yours as a response. 

Fuck! He eyes rolled slightly into his skull “careful baby. I hate to put a baby in you so soon” he chuckled.

Then the light bulb went off in his head

On second thought… 

————————————————————————————-

You shouldn’t be doing this as much. 

This was so wrong! On so many levels. 

Many many violations. 

Hell you could lose your job!

You almost hoped that another guard would come by and see what was happening so you could get out of here…but that wasn’t going to happen.

This is your floor and yours alone.

”OooH fuuuuccck, p-please! don’t… stop” you whined, throwing your head back, body leaned back with your arms trying to support your body as Alastor rammed up into your pussy. You hadn’t given much thought to sex, but he must be what girls in college use to call ‘packing’. His dick felt like it was splitting you in two, hitting that spongey nerve just right.

The man let out a gruff laugh beneath you, one hand on your hip to bounce you on his cock and the other holding that stupid gun against your clit. The cool metal sending shocks through your cunt. ”Oh you’ve made such a mess darlin” he tsked, eyes focused on his cock disappearing into you. A frothy cream coated the base of his cock, making both of your inner thighs sticky.

“But you’re so pretty when you’re messy.” He smirked, tilting his head

”I-I hate you!” You cried as he pinched your clit, slowly drawing tight circles on the bud. He hummed, kissing up the column of your neck “But your cunt says otherwise” he purred as he started pulling you down harder into his thrusts. Your eyes rolled as loud moans and whines left your throat. You might didn’t realize, but you had been fucking him back since the very beginning.

All that pent up frustration and tightly bound moral code snapping the second his cock breached your virgin walls.

Your cunt fluttered around him as he sucked a tit into his mouth. He released the sore nipple with a pop,tonguing it as he watched your face distort with pleasure as he had you met his thrusts.

“You’re everything I imagined and so much more” he whispered. He couldn’t help but admire you like this.

You opened your mouth to say something snarky, but he caught your lips as he sped up his pace, swallowing your gasps as he hit the sweet spot that had you mewling.

He felt your cunt clench and contract, allowing him deeper access to nirvana.

“Don’t you wanna cum baby? Because i know i do fuuck! Be a good little slut for me baby” Alastor hissed, feeling his dick twitch.

Your orgasm must have been approaching because you started to push against him, hips trying to raise and get off his dick.

Oh you weren’t going anywhere.

A gasp escaped you, your eyes wide as he tightened his hold on your hips “N-no no no no Alastor stop! Dont!” You pressed your hands against his chest to try and lift off him, but to no avail.

He laughed in your ear wickedly ”you are going to cum on my cock whether you like it or not baby ”

He wrapped his arms around you, forcing you to take the full force of his thrusts, wanting to break you from his cock.

You whimpered, eyes clenching as you buried your head in his shoulder. Your orgasm hit you like a truck, making you tense and hips grind into his to instinctively ride out the pleasure 

“I’m cumming ooh fuck fuck fuck! Alastor!” You whined loudly, body slumping as you shook against him.

Alastor kissed your shoulder as your cunt fluttered, hips stuttering and with a groan he cummed inside you, pressing you down to take all his dick as he painted your walls.

His dick twitched before he pulled out of you, smiling as his cum slowly leaked out of you as you slipped off his lap, glaring at him as he smiled at you.

Your eyes widened as he pulled a small tape recorder from his pocket.

”I think your boss would be very surprised to hear you fucking a criminal heheh”

tears welled in your eyes as you reached for the device, but he held it out of reach, opting to grab your hair and pull you flush against his cum covered cock.

”but don’t worry my dear, no one will know your little secret…as long as you play nice” his teeth split through his smile as he tapped the tip of of his dick against your lips.

”After all I wouldn’t want to lose my assistant again after breaking her in finally don’t you agree?” He hummed as he pushed his dick into your mouth, sighing as you gagged around him.

“That’s my good girl”

He never forgot about you. 

How could he?

You were his favorite doll after all….

—————————————————————————————-

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[theghostkingisdead]

dpxdc - Neglected Child AU

As one of his first acts as Ghost King, Danny basically created ghost CPS. Mostly they help new spirits come to terms with the fact that they're dead, but situations like Danny's are a lot more common than the Observants had lead him to believe. People who come back from the dead or are exposed to large quantities of unstable ectoplasm often lead sad, short second lives. Either because they are unable to obtain the nutrients their new forms require, or because their communities turn against them in fear. This is a story about Jason Todd.

There was a lot Jazz loved about her job. She loved helping young ghosts find acceptance. She loved matching cases with foster Fraids. She loved meeting new people. She loved the rare excuse to travel dimensions. But some days, Jazz was intimately reminded of why this program was formed in the first place.

Knock, knock, knock.

Jazz looked up from her laptop. “Come in!”

Apple – the ghost of a dryad whose tree was chopped down two summers ago – poked her head in.

“Uh, Lady- I mean, Ms. Phan-, no,” Apple took a shuddering breath. Jazz smiled encouragingly. The girl had only been working here for a season, and already she was making excellent progress. “Ms. Jasmine, there’s a city spirit here to see you, uh, on behalf of a uh, potential client.”

“Thank you, Apple, you can send them in.” Jazz said.

Apple flushed green, closing the door with a sigh. Jazz guessed she had about two minutes before the impromptu meeting began. She used the time to sweep some papers off her desk and into a drawer. It had been some time since she’d had a walk-in like this. Jazz had a strict open doors policy when it came to her office, despite the technical fact that her door was often closed; it was just easier to focus that way! She had no idea why most ghosts preferred to submit claims by mail, really it was much better for them to speak with an officer in person.

Thirty years ago, Jazz would’ve had trouble describing the spirit that walked through the doors. Fifty years ago, even looking at it would’ve been painful. But Jasmine Duchess Phantom had been living in the Infinite Realms for almost eighty years now, and liminal senses reached out subconsciously, cataloging scents and colors that her mortal mind would have balked at.

The shape of a steel-colored skeleton peered out at her from a billowing cloud of grey smoke, which curled around its feet and seeped across the floor. Jazz tasted gunmetal and sugar, smelled stale urine and burned bread, felt desperation-fear-hunger-love crash violently against her. Like a cliff to a wave, Jazz stood her ground, letting herself be tested. This spirit was old and afraid; when it spoke, it spoke in a million overlapping voices.

“My apologies for barging in unannounced, Your Grace. I come before you with an issue of great import. One I have reason to believe our King may have a personal interest in.”

Jazz nodded, “My doors are always open, City Spirit. I’m always happy to help. But before I hear your petition, may I know who I am addressing?”

The skeleton did not move that she could see, but Jazz heard windchimes like chittering laughter.

“I am Gotham, Your Grace. My apologies for my rudeness. I have little reason to travel these days and am unaccustomed to necessary introductions.”

Jazz nodded, committing the name and its taste to memory. “No need to apologize, Gotham. Your situation is not unique amongst your kind. Have a seat,” Jazz gestured at the plush couch across from her desk. “What troubles you so, to bring you so far from home?”

There was more windchime tittering, and Jazz wondered if the spirit was laughing or just readjusting itself on a plane she could not see. A nervous tick, perhaps? Maybe she could send Apple for something to make Gotham feel more at ease. Bullet casings or chocolate chip cookies would be equally soothing to this entity, Jazz guessed.

Gotham folded into itself, form blurring slightly before reforming on the couch, leaned forward with elbows on knees. “Many years ago, a mortal man pledged himself to my service. I accepted him as a City Guard, my mortal Champion. This man has many children who have likewise pledged themselves to my protection.”

Jazz smothered the urge to interrupt. She loathed the idea of child Guards; the fact that this City Spirit was here now asking for help meant that this instance had gone just as well as it usually did.

Unaware of her internal judgement, Gotham continued. “The second child died and revived some seven years ago, I…” This time, the rattling sound emanating from Gotham shook the room with the force of a thunderclap. “You have to understand, I don’t claim kids as champions, so technically he was never even under my protection. And when he came back, he ran! I don’t have power outside the city, you know, so even if, well, it’s not like there was anything I could have done differently,”

Jazz was aware that she was frowning. She could only guess what her aura felt like to Gotham, whose smoky aura was rapidly thickening. A bird puffing itself up to look bigger. A cheap trick. If Jazz were in a more compassionate mood, she might have felt embarrassed at such a juvenile display from a spirit decades older than herself.

“You neglected a child, or-” she cut off Gotham before it could protest, “allowed a child to be neglected. For seven years. What changed? Why petition him now and not then?”

Gotham chittered, “Well, you see, he came back to me just over a year ago, retook his pledge and everything. And, well, things were rough, I thought the fraid was just readjusting itself, but, er-”

“Tell me.”

“Well, the problem is I don’t exactly know what the boy is anymore, but he’s more ghostly than not, and his fraid’s fully human. If this infighting between my Guards goes on for any longer, it’ll tear me apart. I figured The King might want to step in, considering this boy might be a halfa, maybe he could help him and the fraid get back to normal.”

Jazz grinned. “Rest assured, Gotham, The Crown will indeed be taking special interest in your case.” Words dripped from her lips, caustic even to her own ears. “Now, why don’t you go outside and give Apple the rest of the details. I have some visits to make.”

[springtyme]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐨 ♡

Carmy x afab!reader || Series masterlist || Series playlist

Can also be read on ao3 || Main masterlist || Next chapter

chapter summary: You moved to Chicago six months ago. You still don’t really feel at home in a new city, far away from friends and family, but you make a new connection one night when your new neighbor almost set your apartment building on fire.

word count: 3.1k

warnings/tags: Eventual smut! (18+, mdni!) Language. Smoking. Angst and fluff. Slow burn. Mutual pining. Strangers to friends to lovers. Set in season one. Vague mentions of Mikey’s situation. Reader is from Copenhagen, or has at least have lived there for a longer period of time, but it isn't directly mentioned that it's her nationality, and no description of appearance is mentioned. Reader's exact age isn't mentioned either, but it is implied that she is around Carmy's age.

"My head and my heart and my hands are longing I just woke up in smoke feeling the heat coming Cause the house is on fire"

Copenhagen, six months ago 

The cool breeze from the water blows gently against your cheeks, and you can’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia creeping in. The calm waters of the harbor glisten in the evening sun, casting a mesmerizing reflection on the nearby buildings. You take a drag of your cigarette, letting the smoke caress your lungs as you contemplate the big changes that lie ahead of you, the smoke swirling around you in a hazy dance. You’re not really supposed to smoke on the platform, but since the station is almost empty you let yourself indulge this one time. You’re leaving all this behind in a week anyway.  

As you stand there, watching a lone seagull glide effortlessly above the water, its wings catching the last rays of sunlight, you can’t shake the feeling of bittersweetness that envelops you. Copenhagen has been your home for so long, filled with memories and familiar faces. But now, Chicago beckons with a new opportunity, and you’re leaving in a week, and you don’t fucking know if you have made the right decision or not. 

You’re going to miss the ocean, that’s for damn sure. You take another puff of your cigarette, the brisk air mixing with the smoke as the golden sun slowly sets over Nordhavn. The colors of the sky shift to hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over the water. The beauty of the moment is not lost on you, but neither is the weight of the decision you’ve made.

These thoughts swirl in your mind as you take a last drag of your cigarette, exhaling slowly as if trying to let go of all your worries. The sound of the approaching train brings you back to the present. You stub out your cigarette, before the red train comes to a stop in front of you, cutting off the view of the water.

With a deep breath, you gather yourself and step onto the train. As the doors close behind you, you find a seat by the window. The familiar rumble of the tracks beneath you lulls you into a sense of calm as the train begins to move. As the train starts to pick up speed, you close your eyes. It’s going to be hard to leave it all behind and start over in a whole new city, but you know deep down that you’re in need of a change.

· · · · ·

Chicago, present day

Carmy can feel the building pressure at the sides of his skull that indicates that a nasty headache is on its way. The wet rag in his hand is feeling mushy between his fingers as the scrubs away at the steel countertop, the rhythmic sound of Gary’s broom sweeping over the floor, matching up with the incipient throbs in his temples.

He needs a fucking break and a cigarette, but he can’t really take one now, he is the one who has been so insistent that they start to take prepping and cleaning of their stations more seriously and he can’t just, fucking, leave in the middle of it, he’ll get the bottle of tylenol in the desk drawer in his office after they’ve finished. 

“Chef, you want me to strain that oil for you?” Sydney asks, her voice cutting through Carmy’s pounding head.   

“Uh, no, no I got it. Thank you, chef.” He’ll finish his station, strain the oil, and then take a break. Unless something else comes up, which there most likely will.  

“Why am I using a toothbrush, chef?” Marcus asks from his place at the stove where he is scrubbing  the burners. 

Carmy blinks, trying to push aside the growing migraine as he explains, “It’s about consistency and being consistent. Can’t operate at a higher level without consistency.” He can’t help but feel a pang of guilt for pushing his team so hard with all these new changes, but he knows they need to seriously step up their game if this place is ever going to be just a little less of a shit show. 

“I like this level,” Richie exclaims. 

“Yeah, well, at The French Laundry you know how much time we’d spend-” Carmy begins, but Richie cuts him off. 

“Well, go fuck your French Laundry. Stupid fucking name.”

And yeah, Richie might be right, it kind of is a stupid name, but Carmy is not about to start a discussion over the fucking name of a French-Californian fusion place.  “All right, then at Noma.”

“Fuck your Noma too,” Richie retorts.

Carmy just shakes his head, deciding to let Richie’s attitude slide for now. He doesn’t have the energy to argue with him, not with the pain in his head steadily increasing. 

“Noma’s the shit, huh?” Marcus chimes in. 

“The best,” Carmy and Sydney respond in unison before Carmy continues. “It’ll teach you to operate at a level you didn’t even know you could operate at, Marcus,” he tells the baker before turning to address Richie again, “And just so we’re clear, I wanted to work here. Mikey wouldn’t let me.”

“Oh, no, no. You went halfway around the world to learn all this fancy, useless fucking bullshit. I went to West Lawrence Avenue and learned every level.” 

“West Lawrence? You’re talking about DeVry?” Marcus asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.  

“Yeah, exactly,” Richie confirms. 

“Oh, DeVry. ‘We’re serious about success,’” Marcus jokes, using an exaggerated deep voice.

“Is that supposed to be fucking funny, fucko?” Richie grins at Marcus before jokingly trying to tackle the younger man who by now has bursted into laughter. “Let me tell you something. No for real,” Richie lets go of Marcus pointing his finger in the air as he continues. “Where else are you gonna learn crucial database management specialization skills, huh? While troubleshooting a vented OptiSpark distributor in a Trans Am?” 

“I would never need to learn that,” Syd interjects, not pleased with Richie’s antics.

“Definitely not Noma!” Richie exclaims.   

“I would legit do anything to go to Noma,” Sydney says longingly.  

“And eat bugs?!” Richie teases.

Those ants had been a fucking pain to work with, but Carmy keeps that to himself, he is not about to give Richie that victory.  

“And be inspired, stupid,”Sydey retorts.

“God, and be lame.” Richie counters. 

But before more can be said about DeVry or inspiration or, fucking, bugs, Ebra storms into the kitchen, interrupting them. “The ice cream machine is broken!”

Just like Carmy had predicted, something else had come up. He turns to Richie. “DeVry teach you to fix that?”

“You know what? Actually, yes.” Richie says, swinging his dish towel over his shoulder before starting to pick up a bunch of random tools and utensils, including two wooden spoons, leaving the room to join Ebra at the ice cream machine.

Another fucking thing in this place that doesn’t work, Carmy should probably just call Fak before Richie can break it even more, but it is not like the old machine can really get much worse, it’s and old piece of shit and almost no one ever orders the ice cream anyway, so why not let Richie feel a little useful.

· · · · ·

A swirl of steam dances in the air as you trace the rim of the mug with your finger, the aroma of the tea is filling the room, mixing with the scent from the lavender candle you have lit, enveloping your senses with a bittersweet nostalgia. 

You are sitting in your kitchen, staring out of the window, another night unable to sleep. The vague sound of the city filters through the glass along with the warm glow from the street lights and signs which are the only cause of light  along with the candle, its flickering flame casting a gentle shadow upon the room.   

You take a sip of the tea, feeling the warmth travel down your throat, before wrapping your hands around the warm mug, seeking comfort in its gentle heat. The steam rises and dissipates into the air, mirroring the ephemeral pattern of your tired thoughts. Outside the window, the city continues its nocturnal rhythm, its heartbeat resonating with your own. The distant sounds of car horns, and the occasional sound of the L train rumbling by and the vocational sirens mixing together into a harmonious cacophony. 

You close your eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath, but you open them again quickly, wrinkling your nose. Something suddenly smells wrong… It’s vague, but it’s like burning plastic or something. You quickly look down at the candle to check if something got into it, but nothing is there. You don’t get to ponder more about it though, before a sudden, piercing sound slices through the tranquil ambiance of your kitchen. Your eyes widen in surprise as the shrill wail of a fire alarm blares from the apartment next door.

Concerned, you immediately put down your mug, while the smell of smoke starts to get more intense. This would normally be worrying enough, but what’s the real kicker to your concern is that no one’s lived in the apartment next to yours in the last four months. You stand up, stepping into your slippers while grabbing the zip up hoodie you had hanging on the back of your chair. You quickly throw the hoodie around you, slipping your arms into the sleeves and wrapping the oversized garment around you, not bothering zipping it.

You blow out the candle, as you quickly grab your phone, sliding it into the pocket of your sweatpants. You Swiftly make your way through your apartment, stepping out into the hallway, the smell of smoke now stronger. The ear-splitting beeps of the fire alarm continue to echo through the corridor as you approach the door of your neighboring apartment. You hesitate for a moment, You try to listen if you can hear anything from inside, but all you can hear is the sound of the alarm. 

Has someone really moved in without you noticing? But how likely is it that a spontaneous fire starts in an unoccupied apartment? Raising your hand you knock on the door. Nothing happens, and panic grips your chest, thoughts of evacuation and calling the fire department race through your mind, but you are pulled out of your spiraling thoughts as all of a sudden the loud beeping stops and you can now hear a vague shuffling sound from inside the apartment. 

You knock again, your heart beating fastly as you wait. There is someone in there, and you both get worried that they might not be okay and need help while you simultaneously  feel weird about someone being inside the apartment you thought was empty. 

The seconds stretch as you wait for a response. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, but in reality only is a few seconds, the door creaks open, revealing a disheveled figure standing before you, and you are met with a pair of eyes so piercing blue that it catches you off guard.  They belong to a man, around your own age if you have to guess, dirty blonde curls framing his face in a messy, yet oddly charming way. 

He is wearing a white t-shirt, which you can’t help but notice is hugging his biceps extremely nicely, with tattoos scattered across his arms and hands. He has dark circles under his eyes and a look on his face that screams of pure exhaustion, yet his eyes are wide and alert, like someone who has just been woken abruptly.

“Hi,” you stammer, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the man. “I heard the fire alarm and smelled smoke, I just wanted to check that everything was okay, I-I live next door,” you say, sheepishly pointing in the direction of your door. 

“Oh, hi,” the man replies, his voice slightly hoarse and rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in a while, yet soft. “I-I’m so sorry if I woke you. I… I accidentally burnt some shit, I’m sorry,” he says a bit bashfully, his cheeks turning slightly pink. A short moment of silence hangs between you both as you process the situation. 

You can see the genuine embarrassment in his eyes, which brings a sense of ease to your worried mind. He seems harmless enough, just a regular person who made a mistake. You decide to let him off the hook, even though his explanation doesn’t quite match up with the intensity of the burning smell that fills the air, offering him a supportive but also slightly shy smile. “Accidents happen, don’t worry about it. I’m a terrible cook too,” you say, trying to lightning the mood. 

“Well, I’m actually a chef,” he says a little awkwardly. 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mea-”, you stammer, trailing off as you realize your unintentional insult, but he cuts you off in the same sheepish tone as you.

“No, no, it’s fine I didn’t mean…” he begins to say before shutting up mid sentence, and the two of you share a brief, awkward but understanding laugh before another silence settles between you. 

Now that you have been made sure that nothing urgent is going on you take a second to take him better in, and you can’t help but notice how attractive you find him, captivated by the piercing blue eyes and intrigued by the subtle tattoos that peek out from under his short sleeves, now realizing that several of them are kitchen themed.

“So, everything’s under control now?” you ask, tearing your gaze from his arms as you realize that you had been staring for a little too long, glancing past him into the apartment. The lingering scent of smoke still hangs heavily in the air.

He nods, running a hand through his rumpled locks. “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine now,” he reassures, but the smell of smoke still hangs very heavily in the air.   

You hesitate for a moment, debating whether or not to invite him into your apartment while his gets aired out. You don’t know him, and inviting a stranger into your apartment in the middle of the night isn’t really ideal, but something about his tired eyes and disheveled appearance tugs at your heartstrings, and you can’t shake off the feeling that he might need some company. And with the tired, almost haunted look in his eyes you also can’t help but be reminded of Michael.  

Michael had lived in the apartment next to yours when you moved in six months ago. You did not know him well, but he had always been friendly when you talked to him. He seemed like the type of guy who is friends with everyone, despite it being clear that he was dealing with some internal shit. 

One night you had encountered him in the hallway and he had seemed off. You were on your way home, and he was on his way out. He appeared caught off guard by your presence, and after you greeted him, he had just turned around and walked back into his apartment instead of leaving the building like he was supposed to. Little did you know that it was the last time you would see your old neighbor. A week later, you learned that he had tragically taken his own life on the State Street Bridge, just five days after your last encounter in the hallway.

You have thought about it a lot for the past four months: how he might have planned to go to the bridge the night you ran into him in the hall, and how, if you had done the same just a few days later, things might have turned out differently for him. 

You don’t want to assume that your new neighbor’s situation is as dire, but you also don’t want to underestimate the impact a small act of kindness can have and now, seeing this man standing before you with a similar look of exhaustion and vulnerability, you can’t help but feel a sense of responsibility to offer him some support.

“Hey, um... I know this might sound a little strange, but if you need a place to stay while your apartment airs out, you’re welcome to come to my place,” you offer, your voice filled with genuine concern.

The man’s tired eyes widen slightly, clearly caught off guard by your unexpected invitation. “That’s incredibly kind of you, but I wouldn’t want you to lose any more sleep because of me,” he responds, his voice filled with gratitude and a hint of hesitation. 

You are quick to shake your head, realizing that you never told him that he didn’t wake you. “Oh, you haven’t made me lose any sleep, I was already awake, so please don’t worry about that.” The man’s shoulders relax a bit, a little of the tension melting away. He takes a moment to consider your offer, his gaze flickering between your face and the open doorway of his smoke-filled apartment. The exhaustion in his eyes is undeniable..

“No pressure,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “But, seriously you are more than welcome, I can make some coffee, I got both normal and decaf, or some tea. I also have some leftover takeout in the fridge, I could need some help to get eaten, if you’re hungry.”

The man’s hesitant expression softens, and he offers a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he says, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. “I don’t want to impose, but coffee does sound really good.”

You nod understandingly. “Of course, no imposition at all.”

“Okay, thank you. I’ll just get some of these windows cracked open then,” the man says, stepping back into his apartment and disappearing from view for a moment. You hear the sound of windows being opened, the crisp night air filtering in and mingling with the heavy aroma of smoke. 

You turn your head, for some reason you feel a little rude to stand staring into his apartment even though you just invited him into yours, your eyes landing on the nameplate next to the door. Berzatto. It has not been changed since Michael. 

After a few moments, the man reappears at the doorway, now holding a light jacket under his arm, and his keys, phone and a pack of cigarettes in his hand. His disheveled appearance remains, but there’s a glimmer of gratitude in his tired eyes. 

“Ready to go?” you ask, offering a reassuring smile.

He nods, stepping out into the hall with you. 

“You know, uhm,” you say, pointing at the nameplate. “You can talk to the resident manager.” His eyes following the direction of your finger. “He’ll help you get your name up.”

“Oh, no that’s… that’s me,” he says, sheepishly pointing at the nameplate. “Well, it’s also me,” he explains, a little clumsily, before turning to you again. “I’m Carmen… Carmen Berzatto.”

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated :) let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapter ♡

@wittyno

[idyllic-ghost]

Title: Do Stars Collapse Into Black Holes, Or Fall Into Something Unknown? Pairing: TA!Seokmin x TA!gn!reader Genre: uni au, rivals to friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, fluff, angst, slow burn romance Wordcount: 7.7k Rating: PG 15

Synopsis: Starting your second year of your master’s degree in astrophysics, and your first year as a TA, you were stressed enough - but the universe knows no bounds for your suffering. Seokmin, your handsome and annoyingly smart classmate, just had to become your colleague. As if you weren’t hard on yourself already, Seokmin’s presence only proved to fuel your self-loathing. But does he hate you too, or do you need to open your eyes and come back down to Earth?

Warnings: angst, mentions of stress, academic pressure, self-conciousness

A/N: this is a collab by @gyuswhore and @highvern! thank you to @gyuswhore for helping me with planning for and reading through this fic! see the Back to School masterlist here!

Disclaimer: The scenarios and depictions in my works are fictional and do not represent real-life situations. They do not aim to reflect the complexities of any culture, city, or individual. All characters are entirely fictional, regardless of names or descriptions.

Join my taglist // Masterlists

Seokmin stood outside his supervisor’s slightly open door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The questions he had written down in his notebook were now floating around in his mind, lingering at the tip of his tongue. The golden light of the August sun filtered through the tall windows, casting long, cool shadows on the polished linoleum floor. He had come here to discuss a few pressing issues with his thesis, but as he approached, he heard a familiar voice from within the office.

Your voice.

Seokmin knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but curiosity got the better of him. He inched closer, careful not to let his presence be known. The door was left slightly ajar, and Seokmin decided to peek through it. Through the narrow gap, he saw you sitting opposite the professor, your posture tense, hands fidgeting with the edge of your notebook. It was how he saw you most of the time, other than the few times he would see you in the library - then, your shoulders were always relaxed, your nose was in a book so big that Seokmin seriously worried for the librarian’s back, and your eyes made it seem like you were in a different dimension, completely focused.

“What do you think about becoming my TA for the undergraduate class this semester?” the professor asked, his tone encouraging yet firm.

You hesitated, your eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. “I’m not sure, Professor. I mean, I have my thesis to focus on, and I’m not sure if I can handle the extra responsibility.”

The professor leaned back in his chair, a patient smile on his face. “I understand your concerns, but I believe this experience could be invaluable for your academic and professional growth. Plus, you’ve always been one of my top students. I have faith in your abilities, you should too.”

After a moment of silence, you nodded slowly. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

Seokmin's mind raced. This was an unexpected development. He had always admired you from afar—you're beautiful, absolutely, but more importantly he admired your dedication and your passion for astrophysics—but he never had a reason to interact closely with you. Until now.

An idea sparked in his mind. If you were going to be a TA, maybe he could be one too. It would give him the perfect opportunity to be near you, to finally break the ice.

Just as you started gathering your things to leave, Seokmin quickly moved back, pressing himself against the wall to avoid being seen. You walked out of the office, your face a mixture of apprehension and determination. You don’t see him.

Seokmin took a deep breath, steeling himself. Any thoughts of his thesis vanished as he stepped forward and knocked lightly on the open door.

“Come in,” the professor called out.

Seokmin entered the room, his heart pounding in his chest. “Professor, do you have a moment?”

The professor looked up, a hint of surprise crossing his features. “Of course, Seokmin. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if there are any open TA positions for this semester,” Seokmin said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “I think it could be a great learning experience for me, especially if I decide to continue on my academic career after graduation.”

The professor's eyebrows rose in mild surprise, but he quickly nodded. “As a matter of fact, there is an opening… and I appreciate your initiative. I’ll put you with one of my other students for the undergrad course in astrophysics. The other TA was worried about it, I’m sure they’ll appreciate your help.”

Seokmin couldn't help but smile. This was his chance—not only to assist in the course but to get to know you better. As he left the office, he felt a sense of excitement bubbling within him. The semester was about to get a lot more interesting.

You step into the classroom on your first day as a TA, and a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through you. The room is bright and spacious, with large windows letting in the morning light. The faint smell of chalk and old books fills the air. A smile appears on your face as you take it all in. Although you were nervous, this was your dream– or at least one step on the way to it. You set down your bag and begin organizing the materials for the lecture, trying to focus on the tasks at hand to calm your racing thoughts.

As you arrange the papers on the desk, you hear the door creak open behind you. Turning around, you're surprised to see Seokmin walk in, a confident smile on his face. He looks perfectly put together with his glasses on the tip of his nose, his button-down neatly tucked into his trousers, and his hair adorably messy. His presence catches you off guard, and you feel a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. You had seen him around before, always talking with someone in a way that you could never execute. People often told you, when you confided in them about your awkwardness, that people who were good at academics often had a harder time socially. Therefore, Seokmin stood out to you as an enigma - a goal that you could never meet. An irritating paradox of a human.

“Hey,” he says casually, setting his own bag down and pushing his black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah, I—uh, the professor asked me to be his TA,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. “What about you?”

“Same here,” Seokmin says, his smile widening. “Looks like we’ll be working together.”

You force a smile in return, but inside, a sense of dread begins to build. Working with Seokmin is not what you had anticipated - and not what you needed.

As the students start to file into the classroom, you watch Seokmin with growing unease. He moves through the room with an easy grace, greeting the students warmly and making small talk with them. His confidence is palpable, and it sets you on edge.

In contrast, you feel more reserved, and your interactions with the students are much more subdued. You can’t help but compare yourself to Seokmin, feeling a pang of jealousy at how effortlessly he seems to connect with everyone.

When the professor arrives, he announces to the students what the course material is and the TAs tasks are for the semester. Seokmin is given the more engaging responsibilities: leading study groups, assisting with experiments, and even giving a few lectures. You, on the other hand, are assigned the more mundane tasks like grading papers and organizing materials.

As the professor continues to outline the responsibilities, you wonder why your professor ever even asked you to become a TA. Seokmin catches your eye and gives you a friendly nod, but you can't bring yourself to return the gesture. He’s been handed all the opportunities you had hoped for. While you aren’t much for small talk, you know that you could hold a lecture–talking about the subject you love most in life in front of eager listeners is all that you want.

The classroom buzzes with anticipation as Professor Jeon prepares for the next segment of the lecture. Today, he’s promised a demonstration, and everyone is eager to see what it would be. The whiteboard is filled with complex diagrams and equations, and the projector displays an intricate star map.

“Alright, everyone, I need a volunteer,” Professor Jeon announces, scanning the room. His eyes twinkle with enthusiasm behind his glasses. Most of the students are sitting still in their chair, their eyes revealing worry—as if the slightest movement would make the professor turn and pick them out of the rest.

Desperate to prove yourself, you step forward without having heard much of what the professor had said. “I can help with that, Professor,” you say, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Professor Jeon smiles warmly. “Excellent. You’ll be representing a star in our demonstration.”

You take your place at the front, slightly confused over what he was doing. The room feels larger and the students’ eyes heavier as they focus on you. Seokmin watches with interest, leaning back in his chair with a curious grin.

“Now,” Professor Jeon continues, positioning you in the center of the room, “imagine that our TA here is a star in a distant galaxy.”

Seokmin can’t resist. “Look at you, shining bright like a star!” he calls out, his voice filled with mock admiration. The class erupts into chuckles, the tension easing slightly.

You shake it off and try to stay focused on the demonstration. Professor Jeon continues, explaining how stars form, their life cycles, and how they interact with other celestial bodies, using you as the centerpiece of his explanations. He moves around you, gesturing animatedly as he describes the various phases of a star’s life.

“Stars, like our volunteer here, go through stages of birth, life, and death,” he explains, pointing to you as he illustrates each phase. “From a protostar to a main-sequence star, and eventually, to a supernova or a black hole.”

Professor Jeon continues to explain the star's relation to other galactic entities, bringing up other students—now less nervous because of your contribution—to play different roles.

Throughout the rest of the lecture, Seokmin continued to refer to you as “Star.” After the class, you stay behind to organize the materials for grading. Seokmin approaches you, a friendly smile still on his face. “Need any help with that, Star?”

“I’ve got it,” you say a bit too quickly, trying to hide your frustration. “Thanks, though.”

“No problem,” Seokmin replies, still smiling. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

You nod curtly and turn back to your work, your mind racing. He continues to complete his own tasks before saying goodbye and leaving. How could someone who seems so perfect be so infuriating? As you stack the papers, you can’t shake the feeling of inadequacy that his presence seems to amplify. Your resentment deepens, fueling a sense of rivalry that you know will only make the semester more challenging.

As you leave the classroom, you take a deep breath, trying to push aside your negative thoughts. But one thing is clear: working with Seokmin is going to be anything but easy.

Seokmin loved the first day of the semester. It was a fresh start, a new opportunity to connect with eager minds—not to mention that he got to work by your side. When he first saw you as he opened the door the the lecture hall he found himself feeling giddy for the first time in a while.

As he moved through the classroom, he made a point to greet the students, asking about their summer and what they hoped to learn this year. His easygoing nature made the students feel at ease, and soon enough, the room was filled with animated chatter.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Seokmin asked one student, who responded enthusiastically about something you couldn’t hear. He laughed and shared a quick, similar story of his own, making the students laugh as well.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you watching, a look of mixed emotions on your face. Seokmin wanted to include you, to make sure you didn’t feel left out. He knew how important it was for TAs to present a united front to the students.

“Hey, why don’t you tell them about that interesting project you worked on last semester? I’m sure they want to know what they could be doing in the future,” Seokmin suggested, turning to you with a smile.

You gave a brief, awkward nod and explained the project, but Seokmin sensed your discomfort. He tried to be supportive, but it seemed to make things worse. Nevertheless, he tried to seamlessly blend your short story with one of his own – taking away the attention from you.

Throughout the week, Seokmin continued his efforts to include you in discussions and tasks. While preparing for a lecture, he turned to you to share your insights.

“What do you think about this theory?” he asked, genuinely curious about your perspective.

You responded with a terse, “It’s interesting,” before quickly diverting back to your own tasks, having barely looked at what he was referring to.

Seokmin furrowed his brow, confusion clouding his eyes. “Have you really considered the implications of this? I’d love to hear more about what you think.”

You sighed, sensing his persistence. “I told you, it’s interesting,” you repeated, hoping he would take the hint.

Seokmin couldn’t understand why his attempts to include you were met with such resistance. He genuinely respected your intelligence and wanted to collaborate. He knew that the professor told him not to stress you out with lectures, but he couldn’t picture you as the type to get stressed out about talking about your thesis topic. Especially not when he had offered to take on the responsibilities that he thought would be the hardest for you to do. Nevertheless, every time he reached out, he felt like he was hitting a wall, further complicating the dynamic between you.

“Is everything okay?” he ventured cautiously, concern lacing his voice. “You seem... distant.”

You paused, looking up from your notes for the first time. “I appreciate your help, Seokmin, really. But I work better alone. It’s just how I am.”

He nodded slowly, trying to process your words. “I understand that, but teamwork is also important. We could achieve so much more together.”

“Maybe,” you conceded, “but I need to focus right now. Please.”

Seokmin sighed, reluctantly stepping back. “Alright. Just know that I’m here if you need anything.”

You nodded, grateful for his understanding but still feeling the weight of the unspoken tension between you. As Seokmin walked away, he couldn’t shake the feeling of frustration and confusion. He respected your need for independence, but he couldn’t help but feel that there was more to your resistance than just a preference for working alone.

The library had always been your sanctuary, a place where you could immerse yourself in your work without distractions. Other than the librarian, Jeonghan, you didn’t have to speak to many people there–and talking to Jeonghan was hardly a difficult task for you. Although he acted as if he hated you for always asking him to bring out the “biggest and dustiest books he had ever seen,” you knew very well that he enjoyed your presence. But lately, even this haven was being invaded by Seokmin. Every time you saw him, he seemed perfectly at ease, balancing his research and TA duties with an effortless grace that you envied.

One evening, you walked into the library, your mind preoccupied with the growing pile of tasks. As you made your way to your usual spot, you saw Seokmin at a nearby table, surrounded by a stack of books and papers. He looked up and smiled warmly.

“Hey, how’s it going? How’s your thesis coming along?” he asked, his tone casual.

You forced a tight smile and replied, “It’s fine, thanks.” Inside, his question felt like a reminder of your own struggles, and it irritated you that he seemed to handle everything so easily.

Seokmin’s presence, once a minor annoyance, was becoming a constant source of irritation. His casual greetings and questions about your progress felt intrusive like he was keeping tabs on you. You tried to focus on your work, but his presence loomed large, a constant reminder of your perceived inadequacies.

During a late afternoon, as you were going to the professor’s office, you overheard a conversation that stopped you in your tracks. The door was slightly ajar, and the professor’s voice carried into the hallway.

“Seokmin has been doing an outstanding job,” the professor said. “His work ethic is impressive, and his contributions to the class are invaluable.”

You felt a pang of jealousy and frustration. Hearing the professor praise Seokmin so effusively only intensified your feelings of inadequacy and rivalry. It felt like no matter how hard you worked, you were always a step behind, always overshadowed by Seokmin’s achievements. It wasn’t like you could do something about it – the professor never allowed you to show what you were truly capable of. During the times that he had offered for you to hold lectures or seminars, Seokmin came in and took the opportunity away from you. The most you had managed to do was hold a few study groups, and it was only when Seokmin had been away.

As you walked away, your mind raced with thoughts of how to prove yourself, and how to step out of Seokmin’s shadow. The rivalry that had been simmering under the surface was now boiling over, driving you to work even harder, even if it meant pushing yourself to the brink.

The library was dimly lit, the scent of old books mingling with the sterile tang of late-night coffee. Although you appreciated Jeonghan letting you borrow the coffee machine in the librarian’s office, it truly tasted horrible–you were convinced the only reason Jeonghan liked it was that he poured in at least two packets of sugar in his cup. Around you, stacks of papers towered like miniature skyscrapers, each one a testament to the endless stream of work that flooded your life.

Grading papers had become a nightly ritual, sandwiched between frantic attempts to wrangle your thesis into coherence. The weight of it all pressed down on your shoulders like an invisible burden, threatening to suffocate any semblance of calm. Meanwhile, Seokmin got to have the job with all the glory and all the fun – at this point, you were starting to question if your professor had something out for you.

Fingers numb from hours of scribbling notes, you slumped forward, rubbing your temples in a futile attempt to alleviate the headache that had been your unwelcome companion for days. The clock on your laptop blinked mockingly, its digits crawling towards midnight with relentless indifference.

It was then, in that hushed sanctuary of knowledge, that the dam finally burst. Tears welled up unexpectedly, blurring the lines of formulas, calculations, and the horrible handwriting of some of your undergrad students. The sound of your own choked sobs startled you, but you were too exhausted, too overwhelmed to care about appearances.

Unbeknownst to you, Seokmin had been nearby, engrossed in his own research until the echo of your distress reached his ears. Concern etched lines of worry across his normally composed features as he approached cautiously, unsure of how to breach the invisible barrier that separated you. 

“Hey,” his voice was soft, tentative, like a gentle breeze through a storm. He offered a tissue from his bag, the simple gesture more comforting than any words could convey. “Are you okay?”

Your initial instinct was to brush him off, to hide behind the façade of resilience you had painstakingly crafted. But tonight was different. Tonight, you were tired—bone-deep exhaustion that rendered you defenseless against the kindness in his eyes.

“I don't know.” The admission was barely a whisper, but Seokmin heard. Without hesitation, he settled into the seat beside you, the library chair creaking slightly under his weight. He didn't pry, didn't offer unsolicited advice. Instead, he simply began to gather the scattered papers, organizing them into neat piles with practiced efficiency.

You watched him in silence, marveling at the unexpected gentleness in his actions. Here was Seokmin, the academic rival who had seemed so untouchable, now offering a lifeline without expectation of reciprocity. He continued working, dividing the papers that you had graded and the papers that were untouched into two piles. Then, he silently started grading the latter. No words were needed. You wiped your tears and picked up your computer to begin working on your thesis again.

Minutes stretched into hours as the two of you worked side by side. Seokmin handled the grading, his elegant script flowing effortlessly across the pages. Meanwhile, you poured your fragmented thoughts about your thesis onto the screen, finding solace in the rhythm of typing keys.

In that shared silence, a subtle shift occurred. Walls that had once stood tall and impenetrable crumbled, revealing vulnerabilities neither of you had dared to expose before. As the night wore on, Seokmin's presence became a lifeline, anchoring you amidst the storm of deadlines and doubts.

By dawn, the library was bathed in the soft hues of morning light. The papers were graded, and the thesis draft was finally completed. Jeonghan came in just as the two of you were packing up, his long hair tied up and his glasses sitting on the tip of his nose. He looked at you with raised eyebrows and a disapproving glance—while he did allow you to stay in the library even after closing, he didn’t exactly encourage it. You sent him a tired, apologetic smile. He started walking towards you and finally spotted Seokmin. Jeonghan cleared his throat, gaining Seokmin’s attention from the pile of graded papers he was organizing.

“I’m assuming you two stayed here all night,” he said, “Otherwise, you’ve broken in before opening hours– and then I’d have to call the police.”

Seokmin immediately got flustered, profusely apologizing. The blubbering mess he became was probably from shock and sleep deprivation, but you had never seen him like this. A smile appeared on your face, and you put your hand on his shoulder.

“He’s joking, it’s fine.” You looked up at the librarian. “Right, Jeonghan?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He waved his hand nonchalantly and started to walk away now that there was no more teasing to be done. “Clean up properly and be out of here in like ten minutes. I can’t have people knowing that I give you special treatment.”

You hummed and started packing up your things. Seokmin put the graded papers into a folder and stood up, stretching out his legs and arms.

“Do you do this a lot?” he asked.

“Not for this long, usually,” you muttered. “But yeah, why?”

“... no reason.” He shrugged and sat back down. “I thought that grading papers was the easier job.”

You scoffed and sent him an irritated glance.

“You’re the lucky one,” you said. “Holding lectures actually seems fun – most of the time, I’m just trying to decipher what most of these students are even writing.”

Seokmin nods solemnly and hands you the file. You stand up and bid him goodbye, before hurrying to administration to get the grades filed.

The lecture hall was almost empty, save for a few scattered students gathering their belongings after Professor Jeon’s rigorous class on quantum mechanics. Seokmin lingered near the doorway, watching you pack up your notes with a furrowed brow. He couldn't shake off the image of you from last night in the library, vulnerable and overwhelmed. Now he had to watch you sit through the professor’s lecture, pretending like you hadn’t just stayed up all night, and soullessly give out worksheets to the students.

Newfound awareness weighed heavily on Seokmin's mind as he replayed the events of the previous evening. He had always admired your intellect and dedication, but now, seeing the toll it took on you firsthand, he understood the gravity of your struggles. The pressure of expectations, both self-imposed and external, seemed to suffocate every moment of your academic life. He thought he had been nice to you, making your life easier by taking care of all the social aspects, but his perspective had been too narrow.

With a resolve born out of newfound understanding, Seokmin decided to act. He spotted you exiting the lecture hall, shoulders slumped under the weight of exhaustion. Without a second thought, he hurried after you, a steaming cup of coffee in hand.

“Hey, Star, wait up!” he called out gently, reaching your side just as you reached the exit. “I thought you might need this.”

Exhaustion still fogged your mind, the remnants of last night's breakdown lingering like a dull ache. He was holding a cup of coffee out to you, you looked down at the paper mug and then back up at him. At Seokmin's gesture of kindness, your immediate reaction was instinctive—a defensive snap, laced with frustration and misunderstanding.

“I don't need your pity, Seokmin,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze as guilt flickered in your eyes.

Seokmin's heart sank at your words, but he didn't retaliate. He knew your reaction stemmed from exhaustion and vulnerability, not malice. Taking a deep breath, he waited patiently, understanding that healing wounds of insecurity took time and patience.

The next day, Seokmin found you in the same lecture hall, buried under a mountain of textbooks and notes. This time, he approached cautiously, his usual confidence tempered by humility. “Can we talk?” he asked softly, careful not to startle you.

You glanced up, surprise flickering across your features at his persistence. Relenting, you nodded slightly, allowing him to join you at the table littered with equations and diagrams.

“I didn't realize,” Seokmin began quietly, choosing his words with care. “I didn't realize how much pressure you were under. If I had known, I would have never added to it.”

His sincerity resonated in the quiet sincerity of his voice, catching you off guard. 

“Added to it?” you questioned.

“I asked the professor to let me take care of the lectures and study groups,” he admitted. “I was truly only thinking of you, I thought I could make it easier for you.”

A bitter taste lingered in your mouth. All this time, this had been his fault – all of the doubt over whether or not your professor wanted to break your spirit had been nothing more than a request made by Seokmin. However, you took a deep breath, closing your eyes for just a moment before looking back at him.

“You wanted to make it easier for me?”

“I thought, since you don’t talk that much… it was dumb, I’m sorry.” He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, his glasses sliding up his forehead. “I’ll go tell the professor about it, we can reschedule things.”

“... thanks.”

The days following Seokmin's gesture of understanding were a delicate dance between acceptance and wariness. Despite the lingering skepticism, you couldn't deny the shift in dynamics between you. Seokmin's actions spoke louder than words, his genuine concern slowly chipping away at the walls you had erected. He asked the professor to change some of the duties, as he had promised, and even went so far as to offer to help you with your thesis. You allowed him to proofread it for you, and the two of you started spending more and more time with each other.

Reluctant acceptance crept into your interactions as you begrudgingly allowed Seokmin's presence and assistance. He no longer seemed like an adversary lurking in the shadows of your achievements but a partner navigating the same stormy seas of academia. His willingness to help without expectation of reciprocity was both unsettling and oddly comforting.

Late afternoons in the university's coffee shop turned into impromptu discussions about the mysteries of black holes that you were writing about as well as Seokmin’s thesis on altermagnetism. Your shared passion for space and astrophysics brought you closer together, each conversation revealing layers of depth and curiosity you hadn't anticipated.

One afternoon, amidst a lively debate on the implications of quantum entanglement, you found yourself sharing a piece of your past—the months you spent as a museum guide at the Jeju Starlight World Park and Planetarium. The memories flowed freely, painting a picture of a younger version of yourself enamored with the cosmos and its infinite wonders.

It was during this conversation that Seokmin proposed a trip—an invitation wrapped in sincerity and a hint of nervousness. “There's a free weekend coming up," he began tentatively, eyes fixed on yours with unwavering determination. "I thought... maybe we could visit the museum together."

Surprise mingled with nostalgia as you considered his proposal. The Jeju Starlight World Park held a special place in your heart—a sanctuary where stars glittered like promises against the velvet canvas of the night sky. Seokmin's offer to drive felt like an extension of his desire to understand you better, a chance to revisit a place where your love for astrophysics had taken root.

After a moment's hesitation, you nodded, a tentative smile curling at the corners of your lips. “I'd like that,” you admitted softly, the weight of uncertainty lifting with each heartbeat. In Seokmin's eyes, you glimpsed a flicker of gratitude and relief, a silent acknowledgment of the fragile bond blossoming between you.

The weekend arrived with a crispness in the air, promising a respite from the relentless pace of academic life. Seokmin pulled up in front of your apartment in his modest car, a hint of nervous anticipation in his eyes as you climbed into the passenger seat. He smiled warmly, trying to hide his nerves. "Ready for a little break, Star?"

You nodded, clutching your bag tightly. "I brought some work to catch up on during the drive."

Seokmin chuckled softly. "Of course you did."

The drive to Jeju Starlight World Park and Planetarium was long, and you were determined to work during the entire trip. You pulled out your laptop and began typing furiously, barely glancing up. However, as soon as the car started moving, the soft humming of the motor and the quiet songs coming from the radio lulled you into a sense of calm you hadn’t felt in weeks. Before you knew it, you had drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up, you were just about to roll up to the museum. You noticed that your computer was neatly tucked into your bag again, and that you had Seokmin's jacket draped over your lap. He must have stopped by the side of the road to help you, but you decided not to ask about it. Seokmin noticed you stirring and gave you a gentle smile. "Hey, sleepyhead. We're almost there."

You rubbed your eyes, a bit disoriented. "I can't believe I fell asleep."

"It's okay," he said. "You needed the rest."

Arriving at the museum, you were greeted by the familiar sight of the dome-shaped building, its façade adorned with twinkling lights that mirrored the stars above. Memories flooded back as you stepped through the entrance, the air scented with nostalgia and the promise of new discoveries.

Inside, the museum buzzed with activity. Visitors young and old marveled at interactive exhibits and life-sized models of spacecrafts, their faces alight with wonder. You led Seokmin through the exhibits with the confidence of someone revisiting a cherished haven, explaining the intricacies of stellar evolution and the beauty of the night sky.

In the planetarium, darkness enveloped you both as the dome above transformed into a canvas of celestial wonders. A hush fell over the audience as the narrator's voice guided you on a journey through the cosmos—galaxies swirling, stars born and dying in spectacular bursts of light. Beside you, Seokmin watched in awe, his usual composure giving way to childlike fascination.

After the show, you found yourselves outside under a sky strewn with stars. The air was crisp and cool, carrying with it the promise of a clear night. Seokmin broke the silence, his voice soft against the backdrop of the universe. “Thank you for coming with me, Star,” he said sincerely, eyes tracing the constellations above.

You smiled, touched by his gratitude. “It's always been a special place for me,” you admitted, your gaze following his to the heavens. “Even after I stopped working here, I used to come here to find inspiration when things felt overwhelming... I don't really have time for that anymore, of course.”

After a day filled with awe and shared moments at the Jeju Starlight World Park and Planetarium, Seokmin navigated the car through winding roads leading away from the museum. The sky had darkened, and stars peppered the canvas above, casting a soft glow over the landscape. Under the stars that had witnessed countless stories of love and longing, of dreams and discoveries, you and Seokmin found a moment of quiet peace.

“We should find a place to stay for the night,” Seokmin suggested, glancing at you with a gentle smile.

You nodded in agreement. Seokmin found a quaint motel nestled on the outskirts of town, its neon sign flickering a warm welcome in the darkness. The receptionist greeted you with a friendly smile, which you couldn't seem to return out of pure embarrassment, as Seokmin checked you in for the night.

“... and here’s your key,” the receptionist said and handed you one key.

“Oh, we’ll need two rooms,” Seokmin said.

“I’m sorry, we only have one.” The receptionist gave you an apologetic smile. “We could contact someone further down the road–”

“It’s alright,” you said. “We’ll just sleep in separate beds.”

“I’m sorry.” The receptionist paused and let out an awkward chuckle. “There’s only one bed in that room.”

Both you and Seokmin looked at each other. Neither of you were fit to drive, and even if you didn’t want to sleep next to him you realized that you would have to.

Entering the room, you were met with simple yet cozy accommodations—a bed draped in crisp linens, soft lighting casting a warm ambiance. The air hummed with the unspoken understanding that lingered between you, a growing tension that spoke volumes in the silence.

Moments passed as you both settled into the space, the weight of the day's experiences hanging in the air. Seokmin's eyes searched yours, his usual confidence giving way to vulnerability as he spoke softly, “Today has been... incredible.”

You nodded, mirroring his sentiment. “It really has,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You both got into bed, laying on your backs so as to not get too close. But as the night went on, neither of you could fall asleep. It was getting cold, and even the comforter wasn’t enough. 

“I’m freezing,” Seokmin admitted.

“Me too,” you replied.

“Star... do you… want to sleep next to me?” he asked tentatively.

“I already am, stupid.” You let out a nervous chuckle.

“No I mean–” Seokmin sighed. “I don’t want to be a creep, please just tell me if this is weird… but do you want me to… hold you? Just since it’s so cold, that's all.”

“... just because it’s so cold.”

The distance between you closed with each heartbeat, drawn together by an undeniable magnetism. Tentative touches turned into embraces, hands finding solace in the warmth of each other's presence. Words became unnecessary as the night unfolded, emotions spoken through lingering gazes and tender caresses. His heart was beating fast, but with every minute that passed he calmed down. Your arms wrapped around his torso, and he got comfortable under your head and slung around your waist. He smelled of florals, and something expensive and woody. Even his cologne was perfect. You sighed and nuzzled closer to him, and his embrace 

As dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, you awoke to find Seokmins fingers tracing patterns on your skin. You pretended to be asleep for just a little longer. In that quiet morning light, amidst the remnants of dreams and the promise of new beginnings, you both understood that the journey you had embarked upon was far from over. Eventually, he got up and got dressed and you pretended to wake up as well.

Back at the university, the air between you and Seokmin crackled with new energy—a silent understanding that transcended words. Your interactions became charged with unspoken feelings, lingering glances that spoke volumes, and moments of shared laughter that echoed long after they had passed.

In lecture halls and quiet corners of the campus coffee shop, you found yourselves drawn to each other like celestial bodies caught in orbit. Seokmin's kind comments and gestures of support became a lifeline amidst the tumult of academic pressures, each act deepening the connection that had silently taken root.

One evening, as twilight painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, you found yourself seated with Jeonghan at the library. Although he would often tease you and be relentlessly cocky, he had always been a calming presence – his gentle demeanor and insightful advice made him a trusted confidant. 

“I've been feeling... confused,” you admitted softly, uncertainty lacing your words as you wrestled with emotions that had blossomed unexpectedly. “Seokmin... he's really been there for me recently, supporting me in ways I never expected.”

Jeonghan listened attentively, his warm gaze encouraging you to unravel the tangled threads of your thoughts. With each word, clarity began to emerge—a realization that the admiration and warmth you felt for Seokmin ran deeper than mere professional respect.

“He's not just a rival anymore,” you confessed, a hint of awe coloring your voice. “He's been impressing me with his kindness, his understanding...”

The admission hung between you like a delicate veil, its weight buoyed by the relief of finally voicing your inner turmoil. Jeonghan nodded knowingly, a reassuring smile gracing his lips.

“You like him,” he said.

“What? No, I don’t– he’s a friend.”

“You slept in the same bed together, didn’t you?”

“Friends can sleep together…”

“Friends don’t describe the way someone smells like you just did,” he argued, referring to what you had told him earlier of your time in the motel.

“But I can’t like him… that doesn’t seem right.”

“Sometimes, the heart finds its way through unexpected paths,” Jeonghan mused, his words carrying the wisdom of someone who had witnessed the ebb and flow of countless emotions within the walls of the library. “What matters most is how you choose to navigate this journey. Trust your heart, but also trust in Seokmin's intentions. He seems like a good guy.”

“I keep forgetting that you can actually give good advice instead of just sly remarks,” you teased him and Jeonghan scoffed.

“What do you want me to say?” He chuckled. “‘Let me know how big his dick is when you get there?’”

“Jeonghan.” You groaned as your friend laughed – you were lucky that no one was in the library at this late hour.

“Seriously, though.” Jeonghan wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Seokmin seems good for you. You’ve definitely been less stressed since I caught the two of you in here-”

“You’re making that sound weird on purpose!” you exclaimed and Jeonghan grinned.

“Whatever, whatever…” He waved his hand as if to swat away his previous words. “Just think about it– by the way you’ve been describing him, he’s probably into you too. Maybe talk to him about it?”

With Jeonghan's words echoing in your mind, you knew that the time had come to confront your feelings, to acknowledge the unspoken connection that had blossomed between you and Seokmin—a connection that promised not just the possibility of romance, but a partnership grounded in shared dreams, understanding, and the quiet strength found in moments of vulnerability and acceptance.

After Jeonghan locked up the library, Seokmin ended up meeting up with you outside the faculty building. He looked tired, probably from grading papers or looking over reports, but he still smiled when he saw you walk past him with Jeonghan.  You excused yourself to the librarian and left to walk home with Seokmin – not without Jeonghan telling you to “Go get him,” of course.

The night draped the university campus in a serene quietness, the lampposts casting gentle pools of light along the pathways as you and Seokmin strolled together. Laughter still echoed softly between you, a rare moment of levity amidst the academic rigors.

In a playful jest you quipped, “You know, Seokmin, Jeonghan suggested you might be in love with me.”

The words spilled out almost reflexively, laced with a hint of nervous humor to disguise the vulnerability beneath. Your heart skipped a beat as you waited, half-expecting Seokmin to brush off your comment with a laugh. Seokmin stopped walking, and you followed suit. 

His expression shifted, his gaze intensifying. “Actually, I think I am in love with you,” he confessed quietly, his tone devoid of jest or uncertainty.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis at that moment, your breath catching in your throat as you processed his words. The playful banter melted away, leaving behind a raw honesty that shimmered between you.

“You... you're serious?” you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper, disbelief and hope mingling in equal measure.

Seokmin nodded, his gaze unwavering as he took a step closer. “I am,” he affirmed, his voice steady and sure. “I've been struggling to find the right moment to say it, but I've known for a while now.”

His confession washed over you like a wave, carrying with it a flood of emotions—joy, disbelief, and a profound sense of connection that surpassed the academic rivalry that had once defined your relationship.

In that quiet corner of the campus, under the canopy of stars that bore witness to your revelation, a shift occurred—a mutual acknowledgment of the feelings that had quietly blossomed amidst shared moments of vulnerability and understanding.

“I don’t know what to say…” you whispered.

“Don’t say anything, Star,” Seokmin said with a sad smile. “I don’t want this to get in the way of what you want out of your career – you shouldn’t be thinking about my feelings for you when you’re about to finish your thesis… we can always take it later.”

“... okay.” You nodded. “Please, don’t take this as me rejecting you.”

“I’m not.” He gave you a big grin. “It’ll be my motivation to finally finish my thesis.”

You smiled at him in return. As you continued your walk, the air between you hummed with newfound depth and possibility—a promise of a future yet to be written, illuminated by the light of a love that had bloomed unexpectedly, nurtured by the guidance of friends like Jeonghan and the quiet courage to embrace the unknown journey ahead. Your hand brushed against Seokmin’s several times on your walk home, but neither of you mentioned it. You only relished in the sparks the small touch ignited – waiting patiently for more.

As the final weeks of our graduate studies drew near, the campus was abuzz with anticipation and fervor. It was the climax of numerous years of hard work, late nights spent poring over books, and scholarly pursuits. Both you and Seokmin immersed ourselves in meticulously shaping our theses, balancing the demands of being teaching assistants with unrelenting commitment and a strong, unwavering sense of purpose. Somehow, you got there in the end. Your theses were approved, your opposition went smoothly, and you finally got to graduate together.

Amidst the excitement and wistfulness on the morning of graduation day, the campus bustled with energy. The sight of fellow graduates dressed in gowns and mortarboards filled the air with a sense of anticipation. In the midst of it all, you and Seokmin were inexplicably drawn to each other, the atmosphere around you filled with unspoken emotions.

As the festivities and goodbyes filled the air, Seokmin decided to take you to a secluded section of the campus garden. His face held a serious, yet affectionate, expression, creating an atmosphere of warmth that couldn't be missed. You couldn’t read through his gaze, but the silence between you was deafening. 

“I heard Professor Jeon gave you a reference for the new doctorate position here, congratulations,” you said to break the silence.

“Ah, thank you… you already got accepted, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Only because I was so pushy with my reference–” You downplayed your achievement but stopped yourself once you heard what you were saying. “I did.”

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

Confess to you.

“Why did you take me here, Seokmin?” you asked. “Isn’t the ceremony about to start?”

“Just a minute, I won’t be long… I want to say something,” he began, his voice carrying a clarity and certainty that resonated deep within you.

Seokmin, with the depth of intimacy that comes from sharing emotional journeys across galaxies, once more poured out his feelings, this time with an unshakable and unwavering conviction. “I love you, Star,” he declared, his eyes locking with yours, laying bare the depth of his emotions.

When he professed his feelings for you, you found yourself overcome with a rush of emotions. Your response was filled with a deep sense of appreciation and a newfound bravery that filled your heart. “I love you too,” you whispered.

He blinked at you, momentarily speechless, his carefully thought-out plans unraveling in the face of raw emotion. His stunned expression was almost comical, and you couldn't help but laugh softly. The sound of your laughter seemed to break the tension, and you reached up, your fingers gently cradling his face. His skin was warm under your touch, and you could feel the slight roughness of his day-old stubble.

Seokmin's eyes fluttered closed, his long lashes brushing against his cheeks as he savored the delicate touch of your lips. His hands settled lightly on your waist, fingers barely pressing into the fabric of your clothes, as if afraid to break the spell. The kiss was brief, a mere whisper of the deep emotions swirling between you. When he pulled away, you could see a myriad of thoughts floating in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice soft and sincere. Almost immediately, Seokmin groaned and put his palm against his forehead, realizing how awkward his words sounded. You couldn't help but laugh at his comment, the sound light and teasing.

“I don’t want the first thing I say after our kiss to be ‘thank you,’” he muttered, looking embarrassed.

He gave you a sheepish smile, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. “Don’t laugh at me…”

“Sorry–” you said, still giggling. Then, with a playful glint in your eye, you pulled him down to your face a second time. “That one doesn’t count, then.”

You kissed him again, a quick, soft peck, and then pulled back, looking at him expectantly. Seokmin's mind seemed to be spinning as he searched for something to say. Your kiss had left him so dizzy he could hardly tell up from down.

“You’re out of this world, Star,” he finally managed, his voice breathless and sincere.

You let out a groan, shaking your head at the cheesiness of his words. Seokmin couldn’t help but laugh, the sound warm and genuine. He then pulled you into a tight embrace, resting his chin on top of your head, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go.

The tender moment was interrupted by the intercom crackling to life once more, reminding the students to proceed to the grand hall for the ceremony. With a sigh, you both reluctantly pulled apart, the reality of the event bringing you back to the present.

The graduation ceremony was a blur of speeches, applause, and the bittersweet feeling of an era ending. As the sound of applause gradually faded away, you and Seokmin found yourselves standing side by side at the entrance of the university building. The excitement of the moment mingled with a deep sense of nostalgia, the weight of the years spent here settling over you both.

You looked at each other, the shared understanding that this was both an end and a beginning reflected in your eyes. With fingers intertwined, you walked hand in hand towards the grand doors, feeling a profound sense of achievement and anticipation for the future.

Outside, the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for you to step into it. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the campus, and as you walked together, you knew that this was just the start of a new journey. The path ahead was uncertain, but with Seokmin by your side, you felt ready to face anything. Together, you stepped out into the world, ready to embrace whatever came next.

feedback is always welcome!

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[windser]

PLEASE write out that sylus work. The fandom beeds more spicy MCs and i can tell she would give him a run for his money

pairing: mc x sylus (soulmate!au) wc: 1.2k+

a/n: loooool here is just a bit of a teaser for how i imagined it all playing out. i highly doubt this is how mc and sylus will meet BUT its so fitting for how i image their dynamic playing out. but i really do want to wait for the official drop so I can confirm his characterization. [based on this post]

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ ⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

"he’s asking for me ?"

"he identified you by your mark."

your palm immediately goes to cover your wrist, blocking the neat scrawl from view. but it was little too late at this point.

you had never really taken care to hide your soulmate mark from the world. to bear it publicly was often a act of seeking from the individual, showing it proudly as if it might attract their pair sooner.

but for you, it was just as obscure seen or hidden, the mundaneness lining the words that felt like it would never truly have meaning.

‘you’re beautiful’

in your youth days, you thought it was the most romantic gesture to know that your fated person had such a high option of you at first glance. but the years tarnished that same phrase, after hearing it from too many loose lips with hollower intentions.

now it was just a first tattoo, fated second.

the slouch of your shoulder is nonchalant in gesture, though equally weighed down by the situation. “he probably just has intel on it. i’m too careless in the field if i can be identified so easily."

it was a crude bluff, a mere diversion from the pending truth. because yes, it was an indefinite, but only one individual in the world would ever need to find someone based on it.

besides this was the presumed leader of onichynus.

even considering the idea was a headache.

tara shuffles to the right at the sound of your name and you both look up to see jenna waiting, ready by the door.

her quiet nod feels like a direct pang to your temple.

right, a headache indeed.

࿓࿓༄༄࿓

though captured, albeit suspiciously easy, the operation did not come without effort. reportedly there were no casualties but it had been a battle enough in the end.

jenna warns you of as much as the two of you descend further into lower levels of the security facility. there weren’t many criminals who fit the eligibility to be locked behind maximum security. the hiss of the heavy steel doors partying to grant entry spoke volumes about the threshold needed to hold such a threat.

the leader of onichynus was an old tale but not the first. it never occurred to you until now what other individuals might be stored away here for the safety of linkon city.

“ma’am”

the hunter standing before the last sealed door saluted jenna with a stiff salute, the action drawing your attention to the smear of red against his palm.

a battle indeed.

jenna answers with a more tempered gesture, less precise with exhaustion.

“any changes?”

you’d been sent home early into the conclusion of the operation, leaving the higher ups to decide how to deal with the sour victory. it had been less than twelve hours since then and you doubted jenna spent a second of it resting.

the same could he said of the officer standing guard who looked like if he leaned against the wall for even a moment he would slump over.

“none.”

his gaze flicked briefly to you, then down. “is this...?”

it seemed that the leader of onichynus was very vocal with his demands. even without tara's penchant for information, it was now no wonder how everyone knew of your predicament.

you had taken care to clasp your arms behind your back but it seemed the damage was already done.

“the deal was confirmation enough, though at this point it’s all formality.” jenna is addressing you now. her lips turn as she observes the door as if she could see through it. perhaps feeling the aura was enough.

“this is late to mention but you don’t have to do this.”

tardy indeed given that she had already led you to the lion’s den. your face seems to display enough of that sentiment given her sigh.

“if this is true-“ if this man if truly your soulmate, goes unsaid. “then council will reassess the situation.”

the words taste asinine even when they don’t come from your mouth. it wasn’t as if your fate could twist their judgement. the man behind those doors has earned his sentence, it was too late to draw you into the equation.

besides, what would you even do with a criminal as a soulmate? this early in the game, you could cut your loses and actually prepare for a non-fated pairing.

what you did know was that nothing was going to change with one-half meeter of steel between you.

“well let’s see what’s behind door number three.”

jenna doesn’t comment on the joke, likely attributing it to nerves. but in truth, you were just as ready as everyone else to get this over with.

given you had not been present at the exact capture, the face of onichynus still a mystery to you. though this close, you couldn’t help but recall that feeling of the ominous gaze hanging over you. it was one of the few times you had placed the feeling out of your nightmares. the knowledge that it came from the individual fate had decided to pair you with may as well have been the jest of the century.

so yeah you want this over with so you could get the last laugh.

with Jenna’s assent, the officer clears the few steps needed to join his peers where after a short order, the final steel doors began to part.

jenna doesn’t move forward, so neither do you. though you can’t help the slight tense in your limbs as you prepare for ... what a fight or flight?

there was research, anecdotes and stories about the first gaze but you never really summed up what you thought your experience would be.

‘you’re beautiful’

you’d heard it so many times before. would it really be so different this time?

what you notice first is the bareness of the room, appearing as just that, an empty space. well not completely empty; for at its center was a man. one who someone took up every parameter while only being rooted in a single square.

UNICORNS holding measures were … questionable, leaving him in a simple chair with only what you imagined were handcuffs to keep him rooted. this man who nearly cleared an entire squadron. though you supposed an escape wouldn’t come easy for him.

him, who was not just a man, but the dangerous leader to an illegal organization chasing the aether core. a figure with ashen hair and vermillion eyes. a figure with ashen hair and vermillion eyes, likely deprived of rest since his capture, though he didn't give off the impression of losing any sleep over it. he also sported more than a few smudges of dark crimson, making him appear every bit as dangerous as his lore suggested.

you think you hear a sound of protest from jenna as you take a challenging step forward, but it falls on deaf ears as inquisitiveness wins out.

he certainly fit the bill of a criminal figure. yet as he sat there, chained to a simple chair, chest rising with each breath with that slight tilt of his lips. there was just something else that made it hard to believe that this could possibly be your soulmate, questionable choices aside.

the man seemed to take your silence as an invitation as he spoke first.

“you’re beautiful.”

and in that instance, all of the violence and ominousness bled away, leaving just a man tied to a chair with dark eyes looking up at you with expectation.

you don’t realize your lips are curling downward as your eyes flicker back to his hands which were pinned behind his back.

and with your next words you sealed your fate forever.

“sorry, I’m not into subs.”

[often-daydreaming]

Keep Running

In between one moment and the next reality quakes and for the briefest of moments Jason finds himself standing in the remnants of a destroyed Star City. He knows it's not real, that it's just some magical mumbo jumbo overlaying memory magic nonsense bleeding into their timeline but he can smell the smoke in the air from the fires and hear her tired laughter as the static filled image of a red haired woman sits down beside him. He knows her or at least this version of him does as they talk about the little suicide run they were planning in order to hopefully end things for good and Jason can feel how tired his alternate self is as he takes a seat on the ground beside her. It's all a rush of emotions and faint memories that were getting harder and harder to ignore before he's suddenly back on the Watchtower with every other available hero the League could call in stuck arguing about these stupid visions affecting heroes and villains all over the globe if some of Ra's latest movements were any indication. His men were searching everywhere for answers while others like Luthor were making more subtle inquiries. The only upside to all of this was the reactions coming out of Arkham but that didn't mean he wanted to be up here with the League nearly at each other's throats.

With everything he's managing to piece together through a couple of brief check-ins with Dickie and the girls he could see why B wanted answers.

As morbid as it sounded Dick and the others were a few of the lucky ones who were able to be pulled out of their memories faster since they were at ground zero when the Watchtower was pulled out of orbit. The quicker you died the quicker it was over but neither of them were as lucky.

In those jumbled memories him and Bruce were the only two left after Gotham went up in flames since Phantom went after them first and there were still a few lingering effects clinging to that since he could still remember what the older version of himself felt. It was somewhat muted now but some of it was still there and if he focused hard enough Jason could still see the makeshift doctor's office in his mind. He could feel the phantom pain and see her flowing red hair. She seemed so relieved to find him alive and he wanted his own answers but Impulse was in the wind.

The little speedster was gone before anyone could really recover from the sudden onslaught of memories and while Bruce was doing everything he could to figure out a plan of sorts the others weren't as lucky with Superman stuck bouncing between the moments of his own brutal death and worrying about his family's safety. Whoever or whatever Phantom was, he knew exactly where to hurt them with Jon nearly losing it in public after being forced to live through the memories of his mom dying and the man of steel's own death at the hands of some magical Martian whatever.

Wonder Woman seemed the most put together out of everyone but even she was kind of twitchy, her had never leaving the pummel of her sword as Zatara went over what he could piece together on his own since the bulk of JLD was still out of commission.

His own daughter was comatose from the magical backlash of whatever this was while Constantine was just missing, his home a mess of overturned books and hurried scribbles which left them on the back foot for now since the only solid lead anyone had was Impulse and Young Justice was closing ranks around their missing speedster.

With JLD in shambles and Ra's on the move Replacement was running his own investigation into whatever was going on and shutting everyone else out of his systems after the first attempt at locating Impulse through his tracker backfired horribly.

I blame my cough medicine and a love for Fallout for whatever this is turning into but I felt like adding onto Run a little. I wouldn't even begin to know how to explain it but I just have this image in my head of Bart and Danny in a Fallout like world but the whole memory thing could be anything really. I just like the idea of reality shifting to the left just enough that Bart suddenly remembers details about his past he'd forgotten thanks to time travel/reality resetting and he suddenly remembers Danny while the rest of his team remember bits and pieces of their missing teammate Phantom. Everyone else just gets doomsday memories cause I really don't care and mostly think it's funny so I'm either blaming this on the gauntlet from the movie or Clockwork but anyone could add something else if they want.

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

The Peter Pevensie post did well.

Here's Edmund.

Edmund has trouble putting down his chess pieces that first time. In Narnia he could assume his opponent knew what he was doing, that chess was not just a game, that sacrificing pieces meant a unit, an officer, a collection of friends never seen again.

No one remembers that back in England, where chess is just a game, not a play preparing you for war.

He loses badly the first few times, too often distracted by thoughts of his dead friends. Thoughts of the ones alive, that he hopes to see soon.

Then he becomes unbeatable. When chess is about strategy again, no longer conjures images of men dying, sacrificed to gain a tactical advantage, Edmund becomes a master. Chess champion, of his region, of the country. Not a piece too many suffers.

It takes a few months. Those first ones in boarding school, Peter has to guard him. When bullies gang up on him for his strange way of talking (as if generals listen to his advice), strange way of walking (as if there is a weight on his hip), strange way of behaving (as if there are servants for his every need) Peter protects him. They've seen protective brothers; they've never seen anything quite like Peter, who hits until bone breaks.

Edmund will often remark on how the punches thrown his way lack technique, don't really hurt.

Everyone wonders how a 110 lb 11 year old kid knows anything about punching technique. He's a scrawny white boy from the city, doesn't look even slightly dangerous. How many fights has he been in, everyone wonders, to know what type of blow breaks bone, how to collect fingers into a fist.

When he is not protected by his brother, he displays the tricks he learned in treacherous courts in fantasy lands where the men could snap him in half with half a finger, where monsters ruled. Where only his silver tongue kept him safe.

It keeps bullies far away from him. They're not just afraid of physical repercussions, but of being expelled, reputations ruined, careers unreachable before they begin.

Peter retaliates either way, physical punishment along with the other repercussions. Still, it's strange to hear that the lanky sleepwalking teen mostly interested in political science knows anything about fighting, about blood.

By the third month in boarding school, Edmund has the staff wrapped around his finger.

His tongue is as silver as the lion ring he wears. Ed can talk any opponent into submisson. He can talk any girl into his bed, too, despite other men vying for their company. Sometimes he does it just to prove a point. It earns him a few more fights than he had to be in, but that's okay.

The ones stupid, angry or brave enough to physically fight him learn fast Edmund isn't easy prey, that he knows how to fight, how to think, how to outmanouvre you. Peter is a tornado, all fury, but Ed fights like a chess master. No wasted movement, no unnecessary punches, not moving a single inch more than he has to.

Fighting Peter hurts. People soon find that fighting Ed discourages. He doesn't really seem all that hurt by fighting, often quips when taking a fist to the gut. He can deal blows so nasty you feel the effects two weeks after.

The ones that fight him in groups, still willing to try, meet Peter's fists in a dark ally.

Still Edmund never needed Peter. Their bond is strange, sure, Peter copying his younger brothers' notes without remark, asking for his advice often and seriously.

But both know politics is Edmund's territory. At the start, no one messes with him due to his big brother, who always seems to hit harder than boys his age.

In time, Ed is feared more. Differently.

A fight with the oldest Pevensie brother ends in the infirmary, a fight with the youngest ends your career, ambition, prospects with the ladies.

Edmund knows what he can do. Knows his brother can do it too, but does not prefer it. He is known for his silver tongue, his brilliant mind. Peter, more so for his steel boots.

He plays chess, studies politics, does it right. Highest marks in his class, many extra-curriculars, a seemingly unbreakable bond with his sisters and brother, which he visits often everyone. No one can understand them when they are together, a strange lilt in their voices. Some people are little scared of him. He's a debate champion, talks rounds around anyone. Excellent chef, even though he only cooks for friends.

He's loyal to a fault, clever like the devil, and a perfect gentleman. In an archaic way. Ed is the kind of man to have a hankerchief in his pocket.

That's why no one unserious dates Susan or Lucy. They all know anything unserious ends badly.

Gradually, people start to like Edmund, even if they feared him at first. His smile is devilish, but also charming. Ed is free in his head, in his hands. Brilliant in many different ways, including fencing. There is a rumour in the halls, after a while. That Ed likes men too.

But no one talks.

Edmund goes into politics. He has a family that is in the top echolon of decison making, an analytical mind. Edmund has a talent for justice. In his presence, no one feels left out, everybody is heard. Many feel that with Ed as their PM they are finally represented. A noble man, even with his bloody knuckles, the unimpressive surname.

A statesman in everything. Fashion, vocabulary, manners.

But still he believes in Narnia, goes to see the spectre.

He is facing his brother in the train, happy, talking about Narnia when it crashes.

[dearest-and-nearest]

Some Gortash headcanon banters, because we need it

Gale: About your Steel watch... Can you speak through it?

Gortash: And "watch", too. I don't usually see anything interesting, though, so it's more for fun.

Gale: You have a interesting view of fun.

Gortash: Don't worry, wizard, I didn't spied your party through the watchers. You make so much noise, I could do it just from my office window.

Wyll: Your parents... I can't imagine anyone capable of such cruelty to their own child

Gortash: It's not your business.

Wyll: But all I wanted to do was--

Gortash: Wyllric Ulder Ravengard, one more word and I'll kill a random slave just so you'll stop pretending to understand me.

Wyll: A monster after all.

Gortash: That's better.

Gortash: I've been meaning to ask. Your sword, it's Gith-made, isn't it?

Laezel: No, I will not let you study my sword.

Gortash: How could you think that! I'm just trying to get to know my dear friend's new companions!

Gortash: ...and what about the crossbow?

Shadowheart: So what was Ketheric like?

Gortash: Dead? Ah, though that's not saying anything in your party.

Astarion: That's very kind of you.

Gortash: Suffering for his daughter, suffering for his wife, suffering that we made a little joke of him... Didn't he also suffer when he died?

Shadowheart: Don't tell me you're feeling sorry for him.

Gortash: It's just so monotonous. I was hoping he'd surprise me before he died

Gortash: So what about the dragon under the city?

Laezel: It does not obey the githyanki and will likely burn you all. I will be saddling it.

Gortash: Oh no, no, my dear, the city is mine, so the dragon belongs to me as well. I will be its rider.

Wyll: You do know he's intelligent and unlikely to want to ride you, don't you?

Gortash: Remind me to put your father back in the Iron Throne when we get back, okay?

Astarion: And how many years did you spend in House of Hope?

Gortash: Nine years, four months and five days

Astarion: What admirable accuracy.

Gortash: I have a talent for math.

[bookuce]

Change My Mind

SUMMARY: Josh and Alina are great friends most days. Other days, they want to tear each other apart. Some days, they’re in love with each other, but neither of them will admit it. 

*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OC. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, and Alina is Alina. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *

PAIRING: Jey Uso x Black OC

TROPE: Friends to Lovers

WARNINGS: Language, 18+

WORD COUNT: 1505

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

Alina would wake up in Josh’s arms, her eyes meeting his heavily tattooed chest. She draws back a little, finding her best friend’s face. He was still peacefully sleeping, his eyelids fluttering ever so slightly. She unwraps her arm from his body before reaching down to remove his arm from hers. She moves from the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping man. 

There’s an ache in her body that only a heavy Pilates session could give her. Her entire body was sore, and the man sleeping soundly behind her was to blame. She now takes a look at the room. Clothes were tossed around it, her suitcase and all its contents on the floor, and the office chair at the desk in the corner was on its back. The lamp that was once on the desk was now hanging off the side, and her makeup box was on the floor, destroyed. She scoffs softly to herself before spotting the shirt Jey had on last night. She walks over to it, wincing with each step she takes. “Fuck…” She whispers to herself, her hands going to her hips. Slowly, she bends over, grabbing the red garment from the floor. 

With each motion to put the shirt over her bare body, she grimaces. Josh’s shirt smelled heavily of cologne, one she recognized she had bought him for Christmas. She pivots, now walking to the bathroom. She flicks on the lights, pausing when she sees her appearance in the mirror. Her hair stood wildly on her head, the leave-out from her sew-in now frizzed. Last night’s makeup smeared her face. There were streaks in her foundation and eyeshadow muddy around her eyes, but that wasn’t what shocked her the most. Along her neck were deep purple and red markings in many sizes. She sucks in a deep breath. 

Oh, he got carried away.

She forces herself to look away from her appearance, her eyes now on the bathroom counter. She grabs a brush and a scrunchie, brushing her hair back into a semi-neat ponytail. After that, she grasps a container of makeup wipes, pulling two wipes from the package. She wipes her face, ridding it of everything that could cause a breakout later. Once finished, she exited the bathroom, making her way around the bed towards the balcony doors. She needed some fresh air. 

The curtains are drawn shut, but sunshine pours through a thin opening, laying a warm, yellow streak across Josh’s sleeping frame. She grabs the thick curtain, drawing it back only a few inches so she can slip through the opening. Her fingers wrap around the doorknob as she pushes it down. It opens with a soft pop, causing Alina to look back at Josh. He didn’t move. Lucky for Alina, Josh was a heavy sleeper. If he could, he would sleep through the end of the world. She slides the door open, the outdoors filling the room with the faint ambiance of the city down below. She steps through the door, leaving it cracked only a bit.

The sunlight hit her eyes, causing a headache to build behind them. She groans softly, lifting her hand to shield herself from the light. Alina knew a hangover was coming for her after all the drinking she did last night. Her hands find the balcony railing, wrapping around the cool steel. She’d peer out at the early morning skyline. 

The sky is filled with the haze of a retreating fog, leaving the air just a bit damp. It reminded Alina of the early mornings of her childhood. Nostalgic. The Sun rays would light this haze perfectly as it moved through the tall buildings in the area. Alina would close her eyes, sucking in a slow deep breath as she did so. What a crazy turn of events this is, she thinks. What do they even do after this? How does one continue as if they didn’t fuck their best friend after a night on the town? The answer was simple, but not one she was ready to admit: She couldn’t.

Warm hands would wrap around her forearms, prompting her to close her eyes. Josh presses against her back, his head resting against hers. They would stand there in silence for what felt like forever. “Sleep well?” She asks, now wanting to hear his voice. 

“Yeah,” He breathes. “Would have slept better if I woke up next to you.” He finishes. His words would make her stomach swell with butterflies. She turns to face him, meeting those tired, dark eyes she’s grown accustomed to seeing over the last two years. 

“Next time.” She promises.

Josh leans his forehead against hers, his arms wrapping around her waist. “You want there to be a next time?” He asks. Hearing her say that eased his soul of anxiety he had about where they would stand. He knew they would have to have this talk at some point today—he just thought it would be a more complicated conversation than this. 

“Only if you want a next time.” She says, bringing her hands up to his chest. Her eyes shifted to it, noticing that she had left marks along the center of his chest and collarbone. Well, there goes fussing at him for the damage he caused. 

“Uh, yeah, I want a next time!” He says enthusiastically, pulling back to look at her. “Girl, I want a next time, a next time, and another next time!” He confesses, making her laugh. He watches her with so much adoration, a faint smile on his lips. “I been about you since the day I met you, Alina. That ain’t changing.” He tells her. Hearing that from him causes her laughter to die down. Her smile, though, remained. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he rolls his shoulders in response. “Be careful where you touch, you fucked my back up.” He tells her. She pulls back, shock on her face.

“Boy, I know you’re not talking. Do you not see me?” 

“Shit, you look loved to me.” He says, leaning over her for a kiss. His hands move to grip her ass, causing her to squeal. “And you ain’t got no drawls on?” He exclaims. Before she could fight, he had already tossed her over his shoulder. 

“Josh!” She shouts as he runs back into the room with her. 

ONE WEEK LATER

People rushed in and out of the green room the Anoa'i family occupied. They were getting ready for a segment with the quartet and Paul Heyman. Everyone was there—except for Josh. No one had heard from him for about forty-five minutes now. Jon tried to call him but was being sent straight to voicemail. Joe leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his thighs. His large hands were clasped tight while he tried to wait patiently for his cousin to arrive. 

“Jon,” He says, his voice husky.

“You ain’t even gotta say it, Uce,” Jon replies, his voice laced with slight annoyance. “Him and Lina getting on my nerves.” He mutters. Alina and Josh have been inseparable since they left that hotel room. Whatever free time they had, was spent with them ripping each other’s clothes off and going at it. He hadn’t seen his family until today.

“What Lina gotta do with this?” He asks.

“Oh, you ain’t know? They fucking.” Both Sefa and Joe look up at Jon, their thick brows furrowed. They did not know. Joe then straightens up, looking over his left shoulder for his little cousin. When he doesn’t find him there, he looks to the right. Joe lifts a tan finger at him.

“You owe me fifty.” He says. Sefa sucks his teeth at Joe, folding his arms. Right on cue, Josh comes rushing into the room. 

“Sorry, yall.” He mumbles, avoiding everyone’s eye contact. “I had to talk to Nick about something.” He lies. No one answered him straight away, but everyone was staring. He didn’t even check himself before he left that room with Alina. The black Bloodline shirt he once wore was now missing, leaving him a black jean jacket. His pants were unbuttoned, hanging off his hips, and red lipstick stained his lips. The man looked like a mess. 

“So,” Paul says, a smirk on his face. “When’s the wedding?” He asks, causing Josh to spin around.

“What?” He snaps.

“They know, Uce,” Jon says, looking up at him. “And pull your pants up before your dick falls out.” Josh glances down at his pants, pulling them up above his hips. “And clean your mouth,” He adds lastly. “Looking like you drank a pitcher of red Kool-Aid.” Josh quickly moved over to a mirror in the corner, now seeing what everyone else was seeing. He swears under his breath, turning to grab a paper towel from the snack table on the opposite wall.

Joe was amused, sitting back in his chair watching his scrambling cousin. “Wow, she got you all kinds of discombobulated, Uce.” He says, teasing him. 

“Shut up.”

NEXT PART

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

A/N: Sorry this took me so long! Idk why, but I had writer's block for a second! I want to thank you lot for the crazy amount of support and love y'all have shown me writing this! I hope you guys keep vibing with me!

🏷️list: @thesamoanqueen @siriuslycee @empressdede @reci1996 @paigereeder @pytbgeezy @whatdoeseverybodywant @southerngirl41 @sayyestoheav3nn @wrestlingprincess80 @venusesworld @fearlesschimera @tbmotw @yana3sworld @truefant4sy @sisinever @alichesmi @cyberdejos2 @trashbin-nie @meannaim @geekinstilettos @woahthatshitfat @brokenglassslippers @sageispunk @bebesobrielo

[starzshopoflove]

Sweetness

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

Notes: fem reader! i hc ghost doesn't wear a mask when he's off duty, this is just whatever rot my mouse brain creates.

WC: 2.3k

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Ghost has been weird lately—really weird. He’s not yelling at recruits; he’s not entertaining Soap's stupid arguments; he doesn't get irritated as quickly; and more noticeably, he’s been far more brutal on the field.

Ghost never hesitated to use himself as a shield, letting himself take the pain he thought they didn't deserve. He still did, but now it was different; he was a wall of muscle, but now he pushed for them to get out of fire asap. He’d kill the enemy with more prejudice, like they had already killed his most cherished friends. The look in his eyes was more wild; the adrenaline in his blood was more like fire than it was chemical. Pumping around his big body, he chanted “Protect, Protect, Protect,” which he liked much more than when it used to say “Kill Kill Kill.”

They always loved Ghost as the no-nonsense in-and-out man on the field, the one who always puts others before himself during missions, a man who'd welcome death with open hands if it meant the rest of 141 would live. They loved Simon, the man on base without the skull of a man hiding him, the one who wore a less scary baklava, the man with scars and cuts on his face when they went to the pub, the man with horrible jokes, the man who'd make the base's shitty tea somewhat edible. Simon was different too. Simon ate faster, talked a little more, and rushed to get alone as soon as he could, locking his door and not letting anyone in past dark.

Price got tipped off when he saw the little line of white peeking out of one of his vest pockets on the chopper back to base after the whole Las Almas mission. Short square over his heart under the flag that he proudly wore on his vest. He couldn't see the photo, of course, but he could tell what it was.

A captain should know everything about his force—their past, present, and future. Price knew his past and possibly knew more about his present when they weren't on duty. He knew Simon had shifted flats, moving closer to the city center, when Simon told him to update his address on his off-base database file in order to get any checks or documents for future missions. Simon didn't tell him why. Price assumed probably better rent, or maybe he was sick of the shitty neighborhood he once resided in, or maybe he was sick of walking a half hour for groceries.

Price was getting an itch—an itch he didn't like. Price hated not knowing; of course everyone was entitled to a private life, but not when it put him off.

He felt dirty snooping in Simon's office, betraying his lieutenant's trust. He waited until Simon went back to his quarters, slipping in and shutting the door behind him. Nothing felt different, and nothing looked different either. The burning fluorescent lights flickered every now and then, but the air was still stale. No photos, no knicknacks on his desk, bare. Absolute bare, devoid of any personality, anything that would tell you about him, anything you could use against him had the enemy invaded the base.

Pacing around the room, Price checked under the desk and in the drawers twice. He winced at the squeak of the steel on the wheels and how loud it sounded. He snooped through documents, flicking through them quickly, only seeing the same pen and paper against the Manila folders. His eyes scanned the room again and again, only making him bubble and sigh in frustration, running his hand through his hair and gripping his hat in the other.

He stared at the metal closet, almost like it was staring back. Open me. Open me. I have what you want. As if it were beckoning him to spill every secret inside. Everyone had the same one. No one liked opening it; doing that meant leaving, meant war, and meant more time on the field. The field where you were going to get killed or killed, feeling less human every time you shoot. You welcome the gnawing, snarling, vapid ache that takes up all the space in your lungs when you try to breathe when you open that closet.

He hesitated at first, turning the little lock handle before opening the door gently, trying not to focus on the squeaking. Everything stared back, and Ghost stared back. The mask, once plain fabric, is now soaked in years of war; the blood of war dogs saturated it, and the skull of a man no one knew was tightly bound to it.

Grim, dirt, and filth

Guns that had killed more men than one could say, knives clean but still holding the smell of iron and sweat, boots with soles dirtied with soil and dust, and his vest Almost the same one wore the UK flag stitched neatly on with the same little rectangle shape pressed behind, right over the heart.

He wanted to shut the door, he wanted to leave, and he wanted to do everything that would allow him to pretend nothing happened and that he was never in here. He didn't, justifying in his mind that he was doing the right thing.

I'm not doing anything wrong

Unhooking the vest from the inside holding it in his hands, heavy.

I'm just worried

He set the vest flat on the desk, burning holes into it with his eyes.

I just want to know whats happening

His hands almost shook, sliding 2 fingers in the pocket, a soft grip on the polaroid, a feeling that confirmed everything he thought on the heli.

I'm doing this for you

The photo was small, almost choking him when he saw it. When he saw you, A big, bright smile pulled on a young woman's face—a toothy smile you only make when you're in love. Your eyes shut so tight, your hair is messy from the wind, framing your face so delicately, and the big bouquet in your hands is held so tightly that the stems may have bent. You were beautiful, no doubt, but his eyes lingered over to the man next to you before they glanced down at the writing in the ink pen.

Simon and I, 2.6. Manchester flower festival

Simon was staring at you in the photo, not even bothering to pay attention to the camera. Even if the photo wasn't high quality, anyone could see his eyes melting at the sight of you, how relaxed his shoulders were, and the crease next to his eyes from how he was smiling. Simon was smiling, not grinning or smirking like he does after everyone groans at his awful joke; he was smiling like he'd won the powerball.

Swallowing his pride and shame, he carefully tucked the photo back in and just as cautiously put it back. Backing out of the office, he could feel every question creeping up from the back of his brain.

“Who is she?" “What was her name?”

“How old was she?”  “What does she do?”

“Does she know?"

He pushed his thoughts back down, shaming himself for suspecting anything about Simon, mentally noting to sneak him some better quality tea as a silent apology.

___

Simon isn't stupid. He can tell they're all being weird.

Is he going to ignore it? Absolutely. 

They’re all cramped up in the corner of the shitty pub booth, drinking the shitty beer, and having a shitty night. Waiting for the night before leave starts is both exciting and irritating; each of them is counting down the seconds until they're home, be it alone or with family. Anything is better than a night on their cot in a cold, soulless room on base.

Simon was letting his skin breathe, finally taking off his plain balaclava when they were far enough off base to nurse his pint while the ball of his foot anxiously bounced his leg. He needed to be home, needed to be with you, needed to hold you; he just needed you. Inside his head, he was practically foaming at the mouth, snarling at himself, trying to make every second go by faster than it should so he could finally get his fix.

While he wasn't showing it, he couldn't hide the impatience basically seeping out of his pores, eyes hazed and uninterested in anything around him, his mind drowning out the sounds of the group's conversation with all the noise in the pub combining into a numbing chatter. He was so lost in his own head that he couldn't hear soap talking to him until he felt an elbow on his side.

“Awright? a'm talking tae ye?” 

“Sorry. Say it again”

Bad choice. Soap had that stupid look on his face, a teeth-baring grin with his eyebrows slightly turned up, like he knew something he shouldn't. That alone made his eyes move on Gaz next to him, then Price. Gaz looked constipated, brows furrowed together, nostrils flared as he focused on his own pint, and suddenly Price was doing the same. Soaps eyes bored into Simons while the other 2 men had a new intense interest in their drinks.

“Said ye leek lik' yer thinking aboot yer bird”

“Don't know what your saying”  

“Och c'moan dinnae lie tae us, a' body kin tell.” 

Suddenly Simon also understood what was so interesting about his pint, bringing the drink back to his lips while his eyes gazed off at the wall next to him. He could feel his back itching and shifting in his seat, his shoulders tensing back up as he bottomed out with his drink, letting the glass sit back down on the table.

“Said, I don't know what youre talkin’ about.”

“Right, 'n' a'm king o' scotland.”

Soap was getting too close and cocky for comfort, too loudly sniffing about where he shouldn't, and poking the bear with a stick too short. Leaning back in his seat, he crossed his arms over his chest, letting the black fabric stretch as he puffed out his chest still with that fucking grin.

“Heard ye talking tae her.”

“No you didn't.”

Price's interest in his pint redirected to the tense conversation on his left; he knew he shouldn't know, but he didn't know Soap knew. The guilt from earlier that was frigid in his mind thawed a little at Simon's denial. If he was lying, that means he was right to search, right? You should never lie to your captain, after all.

“Really? Haven’t got a bird at home?”

“No.” 

“Dinnae ye know lyin a’ sin”

A gutted groan left Soap as he folded over to hold his own knee from the sudden kick under the table. At this point, there was no use lying. If anyone was going to find out about you, it was better for them than anyone else. Mental gymnastics were set aside as he made a list.

On one hand, they could act as insurance; god forbid anything happens to him, you would be safer with them alone, never knowing what happens, and maybe now you would stop pestering him about meeting his friends (he doesn't have any but them). On the other hand, the possibility of you being compromised would finally exist; that thought alone could make him sick.

A long drag of stale air settled in his lungs, slamming his eyes shut as he let that same breath out. Straightening his back and resting his arms on the table, he let them flutter open and fall on Soap.

“You get one question each. One”

Giddy laughter bubbled up out of Johnny; he was just so happy he could finally open up Simon's brain and have a peek. Shooting down both Price and Johnny's question with a quick answer of your name and age only to result in Johnny giving him a wolf whistle that rewarded him with another kick to the shin. Gaz let his nervous shifting settle now that the cat was out of the bag, with his question filling the air with a new strain of tension.

“Can we see her?”

Hair. On. Ends. 

What does he mean by can they see you? Do they want to meet you? Just a picture? Or will that put you in more danger than them now knowing you exist? Maybe it’ll be safer?

“One picture, than nothin else outta you lot for tonight” 

Digging through his album of you in search of a simple photo was tougher than he thought; most were in your shop working, you asleep, some in a more compromising position than he’d like to share, but granted, he finally found one.

You were sitting on your shop counter with your hands settled on the wood supporting you while you had that same teeth-baring smile, eyes open this time, and hair not whipped by the wind. In all honesty, Simon thought you were perfect like this, makeup or not; he loved seeing you like this. You could wear neon-colored jumpsuits for the rest of your lives, and he’d still think you're gorgeous.

It was always you to him. Anytime he sees you, he thinks he could go limp. He was hopelessly devoted to you, ready to drop to his knees and confess all his sins if it meant he could drown in you. You invaded all his senses, unearthing parts of him he didn't know were still alive. You calmed that sick mess festering in him that used to wait until it was dark to sink its teeth into him, reminding him how disgusting he was. You dragged him out of that soulless apartment and breathed life into him. Every time you flood him with ambrosia and honey with the sound of your voice or the heat of your skin.

Well, now he had to let them meet you. A photo could never do you justice.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

can u tell i let this chapter get away from me a bit near the end

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

7: BENIGN

Chapter 6B <MASTERLIST > Chapter 8

SUMMARY: You discover the Winter Soldier's true identity, but his intoxicating presence is too distracting. You have to tell him the truth... eventually.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warning: SMUT: P in V sex, Body worship — If there is any more you find not listed here please be sure to let me know so I can add it.

The Soldier had been shut away, frozen in suspended animation until he was necessary again. It was hard to say what he thought and felt as he lay dormant in his icy prison, locked away and alone. But the memory of your last encounter with him still lingered in the back of your mind, the way he had reacted to your indifference a puzzle that you couldn't quite solve. Could it be that there was more to his response than mere lust? Was there a deeper truth behind his offense at your cold demeanor?

It was unclear why there had been no repercussions for your actions. Perhaps your superiors believed in your loyalty to the organization and its goals, or perhaps they had decided that it wasn't worth the hassle to reprimand you. Or, more likely, they simply didn't care enough about the well-being of their subordinates to bother addressing the issue. Whatever the reason, you were relieved to have avoided any negative consequences for your actions with the Soldier.

The Soldier had provoked something within you, a curiosity that gnawed at your thoughts like a relentless ache. Who was the man behind the assassin, the Winter Soldier, the brainwashed Hydra agent? What memories and feelings lay hidden behind those blue eyes? The more you thought about it, the deeper your desire grew to uncover the truth behind the enigma that he was.

Using the recent lull in activity and the decreased security as cover, you quietly went about searching for information on your Soldat. Perhaps there were some records in the Hydra database that would shed some light on his past and his identity before he had become the Winter Soldier. You knew it was a risky endeavor, but your curiosity and determination to uncover the truth drove you forward.

You were all too aware of the risks involved in sneaking into Karpov's office without permission. If you were caught, there would be dire consequences. But you steeled yourself as you slipped into the room, quietly closing the door behind you. Your heart raced as you navigated the unfamiliar surroundings, searching for anything that could give you insight into who the Soldier was before he became the Winter Soldier.

As you searched the room, you came across a thick folder labeled "Winter Soldier Program". Your heart leaped in your chest, excitement and adrenaline rushing through you at the thought of finally being on the cusp of discovering the truth about the Soldier. Carefully, you picked up the file and flipped through the pages, scanning the contents with bated breath.

“Top secret: In accordance with your instructions, the KGB Directorate under the Council of Ministers of the Ukrainian SSR for the Lvov region, from October 1959 to April 1960, carried out measures to document and collect evidence about atrocities in the city of Lvov in the region committed by Oberlander and the battalion.”

You were surprised by what you were reading. The file contained documentation and evidence about atrocities committed during the period from 1959 to 1960 in Lvov. Oberlander, the leader of a battalion, was mentioned in the file as being responsible for these atrocities. This was not the type of information you were expecting to find. What could this have to do with the Soldier? Confused and intrigued, you continued to read through the file, searching for any clues or hints that would shed light on the connection.

Your breath caught in your throat as you laid eyes on an image of the Soldier, frozen in suspended animation in his cryo chamber. But the three words printed at the top of the page sent a chill down your spine: “James Buchanan Barnes.” This was it. This was the truth behind the Winter Soldier. James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, a name that was undoubtedly his true identity before he was brainwashed and reprogrammed into a mindless HYDRA assassin.

The sound of approaching footsteps in the distance sent your heart racing with alarm. You quickly closed the files and shoved them back into place, knowing that if you were caught snooping around in Karpov's office, there would be severe consequences. Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you quickly turned on your heel and fled from the office, shutting the door quietly behind you.

You found refuge in the examination room where you regularly took care of the Soldier. The familiarity of the space offered a momentary sense of security and solitude, allowing you a moment of respite to process the shocking information you had just uncovered. Your mind was racing as you tried to make sense of everything, your thoughts a tangled mess that refused to settle.

“Kotyonok?”

You were snapped out of your thoughts abruptly at the sound of the Soldier's voice. You spun around, the shock and surprise clear on your face as you found him standing there, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and concern in his eyes.

"Soldat," you said, struggling to keep your voice steady. "How long have you been there?”

"Long enough to know something’s wrong.”

You couldn't help but be taken aback by his perceptive response. The Soldier was much more observant than you had given him credit for. You hesitated, unsure of how to respond or what to say. Should you confide in him? Tell him what you had discovered?

As you hesitated, the Soldier stepped closer, closing the distance between the two of you. His eyes searched yours, looking for some hint of what was troubling you. The intensity of his gaze made you feel exposed, as if he could see through all your carefully erected defenses.

The surprise of his kiss took you off guard, but you quickly reciprocated, responding to his gentle touch with a soft sigh. Despite the turmoil stirring in your mind, the feel of his lips against yours was grounding, anchoring you in the moment and giving you a brief respite from your racing thoughts.

The closeness of his body, his arms holding you tightly, was a stark contrast to the distance he had placed between you previously. You couldn't help but wonder if he remembered the events that occurred during the chemical-induced frenzy, but you didn't dare ask. Despite the confusion and uncertainty, the warmth of his embrace and the way he was looking at you made your heart flutter in your chest.

His actions puzzled you, contradicting the memory of his cold and distant withdrawal of your last encounter with him. His embrace was tender and affectionate, filled with a familiarity that again hinted at a deeper connection between the two of you. Despite the confusion and uncertainty, a glimmer of hope flickered within you. Perhaps some part of him truly remembered and cared for you, buried deep beneath the layers of brainwashing and programming.

As he pushed you back onto the couch, a shiver of anticipation ran through your body. You could feel the intensity of his touch, the way his hands skimmed over your skin with deliberate purpose. The way he moved was practiced and confident, as if he knew exactly how to make your body react to his touch. You found yourself following his lead, responding to every movement as he positioned you just so.

His consuming touch drowned out all thought as you surrendered completely to the moment. Past revelations and discoveries faded into distant memory as his focus claimed your full attention. The world shrank until only the two of you remained, lost in a heady haze of desire and pleasure.

As he slowly undressed you, his hands on you were soft and reverent. It surprised you to see how he handled your clothes with care, as if they were precious and fragile like you. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every curve and contour with a look of admiration and longing. It was as though he was seeing you for the first time, as if your body was a treasure to be savored and cherished.

You couldn't help but melt under his touch, surrendering yourself completely to the sensations he was evoking. Every kiss, every whisper against your skin sent shivers down your spine, his words and caresses igniting a fire within you. You let him move you, shifting and arching your body as he wanted, completely consumed by the desire he sparked in you.

The way he spoke to you, the words of praise and admiration, sent a rush of warmth through your body, something more than pure lust. His eyes were fixated on your most intimate places, his gaze filled with hunger. You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, his words a soft whisper in your ear.

"Look at these breasts, so perfect."

He moved with purpose and precision, placing a pillow under your hips before positioning himself on top of you with a practiced ease. You felt the heat emanating from his body and the weight of him pinning you to the couch. His chin rested above your head and his chest mere inches from your face.

“So perfect, Kotyonok. So sweet and responsive.”

He took hold of your hands, his fingers interlacing with yours as he brought your arms above your head. The gesture, so intimate and possessive, sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine. You were completely restrained and at his mercy, yet somehow you knew you were safe in his hands.

“You feel amazing. Need your body against mine. Always.”

When he entered you, it was slow and methodical, but still filled with an urgent need that made your breath catch in your throat. The base of his shaft felt amazing against your lips and clit. He was angled slightly downward, making it easier to hit the back of your pussy. He moaned as he moved inside you, the sound filled with pleasure and satisfaction. His voice a low, rough whisper against your ear, his words carrying a hint of vulnerability that surprised you.

“You always know what I need, Kotyonok.”

He repeated the words, as if they were a mantra, a declaration of dependence and desire. His body moved against yours in a steady, gentle rhythm, each movement designed to drive you both closer to the edge of ecstasy.

No one had ever worshiped you quite the way your Soldat did. It made you wonder just how much of his true self was buried beneath layers of programming and indoctrination, and how much was left of the man he had been before Hydra had gotten their hands on him. Was he still James Buchanan Barnes inside?

As you wrapped your legs around his waist, a low gasp escaped his lips, and his movements stuttered for a brief moment.

“Ah, yes,” he murmured against your skin, “Just like that, Kotyonok. Just like that.”

He allowed you to set the pace and take control of your own pleasure, his movements matching the rhythm of your hips. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the friction and pressure as he rocked against you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. His breath was hot against your skin, his own moans of pleasure and approval sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“Feel so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “So good, Kotyonok.”

You moved with more purpose now, pushing against him as you chased your release. Your body was taut and quivering with the thrill and anticipation. The sensations building and building until you felt like you were going to burst.

"That's it," he whispered, "Give yourself to me.”

He kept up the steady rocking of his hips, matching yours and driving you closer to the edge. You could feel the tension growing within him as well, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he held back his own release.

The words he whispered against your skin and in your ear provoked something deep within you, a stirring of emotions and feelings that you couldn't quite put into words. It was more than physical pleasure, more than just the heat of the moment. There was a depth and intensity to this connection, something that felt almost sacred in its intimacy.

As you lost yourself in the intensity of the moment, you found yourself feeling a sense of vulnerability and trust you had never experienced before.

As you squeezed your thighs together, the added pressure sent a shock of pleasure through his body, making him gasp and groan in response. His breath caught in his throat as he fought to remain in control.

“Ah, Kotyonok,” he choked out, “You're going to be the death of me.”

There was a hint of playful admonishment in his voice, but also a hint of genuine surprise and pleasure. Your actions were driving him wild, and he was struggling to hold back the rising tide building within him.

“Oh Milyy, I hope not,” you cooed.

He chuckled at your response, breathless and a little strained from the effort of holding back his own climax. His eyes met yours, a mixture of amusement and desire dancing in his gaze.

"No, I guess you wouldn't want that," he conceded, "But if you keep doing that, I can't make any promises."

He shuddered as you squeezed your thighs together again, the sensation almost enough to send him over the edge. But he was holding back with every ounce of self-control he possessed, his body taut and quivering with the effort. His breath was coming in ragged gasps as he fought to prolong the pleasure, determined to wait until you reached your own release before letting himself go.

“Cum for me, Kotyonok,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Let go. I want to feel you come undone for me.”

As you finally let go, surrendering to the wave of pleasure that crashed over you, he let out a guttural groan, the sound a mixture of relief and satisfaction. He held you close, his arms encircling you as he allowed himself to follow you over the edge.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice ragged and breathless, "Just like that."

He shuddered against you as he climaxed, his body trembling with the force of his release. He buried his face in your neck, panting and sighing as he rode out the intense waves of euphoria that coursed through him.

“That's it, Kotyonok,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and admiration. “So beautiful. So perfect.”

He slowly lowered his body, sinking deeper inside you until his face was level with yours. His grip on your hands loosened, and he let his weight rest on you, his body relaxed and spent.

He nuzzled against your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed lazy kisses along your jawline and collarbone.

“You're amazing,” he murmured, his voice still ragged with pleasure. “So beautiful. All mine.”

In that moment, as you lay entwined with the assassin, you knew you had found something rare and precious inside him. A connection that defied logic and reason, a love that could conquer even the darkest of shadows. As you surrendered to the passion that burned between you, you considered the possibility of soulmates. Had you found yours - in the most unexpected of places - in the arms of a killer, in the heart of a metal soldier who had once been lost but had finally found his way back home, to you?

As you carded your fingers through his hair, he let out a low, content sigh, his eyes drifting closed as he savored the feeling of your touch. There was something so intimate and tender about the gesture, a silent expression of affection and trust that spoke volumes without words.

He nuzzled against your hand, like a cat seeking more affection, his body still pliant and relaxed from your earlier lovemaking. It was rare to see him like this - unguarded and vulnerable, completely at ease.

“That feels nice,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

"You like that... James?" His name, the name that you'd read in his file, slipped out in your post orgasmic haze.

He stiffened at the sound of his name, his eyes snapping open and his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, he seemed frozen in shock and surprise, as if he hadn't expected to hear that particular name falling from your lips.

He turned to look at you, his expression a mixture of confusion and...something else. It was as if you had jolted something loose within him, a flicker of memory sparking in his mind.

“That name?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours as he processed the words. There was a hint of recognition flickering in his gaze, a subtle shift in his expression that betrayed his surprise at hearing his name.

A million thoughts seemed to flash through his mind in that moment, memories and emotions that he hadn't dwelt on in decades swirling through his brain. It was as if you had awakened something within him, some long-forgotten piece of his identity that he thought had been lost forever.

He swallowed hard, his voice rough and uncertain.

“How… how do you know that name?”

You hesitated. "I found a file... about you.”

He tensed at your words, his body going rigid as if preparing for some unseen blow. He pulled away from you, his expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he regarded you with a mixture of suspicion and resignation. Soldat pulled on his clothes.

"A file?" he repeated, his voice a low growl. "What kind of file?”

"Information. Your information.” You followed his example, pulling on your scrubs.

He let out a ragged breath, his gaze shifting away from yours as he processed your words. It was clear that he was struggling with his emotions, his usual icy exterior slipping as he battled his inner turmoil.

"And… what did this file say about me?" he asked quietly, his voice betraying a hint of wariness.

As he sat there, trembling with emotions he was struggling to keep under control, you could see the turmoil in his eyes. It was a side of the Winter Soldier you had never seen before, a glimpse of the tormented soul hiding beneath the gruff exterior.

He clenched his metal fist, the plates shifting as his fingers flexed and unflexed. His breathing was ragged, and you could hear the faint whirring of the gears in his prosthetic arm as tension thrummed through him.

You were about to say more when the door flew open. The sudden entry of Karpov was like a bucket of cold water dousing the already tense atmosphere in the room. Bucky froze, every muscle in his body tensing in an instant, as if preparing for some unseen attack.

His expression hardened, all traces of vulnerability and emotion vanishing in an instant. He looked every bit the deadly assassin he was, his body poised and ready for combat. 

Soldat's life had been defined by the will and agendas of others for so long, to the point where the concept of thinking for himself was practically foreign. He was a puppet, a weapon wielded by whatever master held his leash. He had been brainwashed and conditioned for decades, manipulated and used like a tool. Decades of obedience and submission had worn away any sense of self-determination or autonomy.

He knew only how to follow orders, how to act as he was told. He had been a soldier, a ghost, a machine. His life was not his own. But for a while, when he was with you, he could forget.

Karpov barked out his orders, demanding that his asset return to the stasis chamber. With practiced obedience, Soldat rose to his feet at Karpov's command. There was a glazed look in his eyes, a look of resignation mixed with the haunting emptiness that had become all too familiar to you.

Karpov didn't wait to see if Soldat would comply. He knew there was no choice involved. He moved mechanically, like a puppet on strings, his body responding automatically to Karpov's orders. He didn't even look at you as he walked past, his gaze fixed straight ahead as he followed his handler without question.

You followed them to the stasis chamber room where you were ordered to insert his IV. As you were preparing him for the memory wiping procedure, his voice caught you off guard. He was usually quiet, stoic, as he waited for the sedative to take effect. But this time, he had spoken to you, his words so quiet you almost didn't catch them.

You paused, looking down at him as you tried to make sense of his words. "Next time, Kotyonok." The words hung in the air, a secret shared between you in this cold, clinical room.

Soldat lay still, his body restrained in the stasis chamber, as the memory-wiping procedure began. The machinery whirred to life, gears and fluids flowing through tubes and wires, preparing to wipe away all trace of his memories.

And then, just seconds before the process fully took hold, a single tear crept down his cheek, a small, almost imperceptible sign of the frightened man beneath the fearsome assassin. A brief moment of vulnerability before the darkness took over once again.

Chapter 6B <MASTERLIST > Chapter 8

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Get Some: Bigby Wolf x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Chapter 5

Contains: Werewolf sex, light werewolf transformation, mating, breeding, rutting, biting, vaginal licking, rough sex, creampie

This shit long >:)

You could still feel it in your ass whenever you would walk up the stairs to the Woodlands. You could still feel the way it touched you, smacking against your bare behind and shocking the life out of you in one of the most amazing ways possible. Whenever you would feel the tug of the tight muscles in your rear it made your face heat up and your heart flutter in your ribs.

Even now, you had to stifle the soft groan that wanted to make it’s way out of your mouth as you walked up the stairs of the Woodlands. You were thankful Grimble was passed out in his dingy old chair like he usually his, snoring away with his security hat covering his entire face and his jacket draped over him like a blanket. Looking at that poor overused chair from the 80’s made you stop in your tracks as a thought illuminated in your mind.

Where was Bigby?

You stood there in the lobby for a minute, looking around hazily as you tried to put the pieces back together in your mind. It had been a hectic day at work, your mind was scrambled from the load that was dumped onto you when you first walked into the building that you actually hadn’t realized that you hadn’t seen Bigby in a few days.

And that worried you.

You immediately started for the elevator, slapping the flickering button to go up as you fished your phone from your pocket. Your texts were bare save for his last text thanking you for the coffee the morning after that night he spanked you with Crowd Control, having brought it after work knowing he had been running himself ragged all day with something. He seemed fine then, or at least as fine as Bigby normally could be on the job.

It wasn’t like Bigby to suddenly go silent like this. As much of a bland texter that he is, he still texts you.

The sharp ding of the elevator startled you, nearly making you drop your phone before you hurried inside.

Should you text him? Is he actually that busy? You would’ve heard something by now if something had actually happened like the Crooked Man case. The walls of this damn apartment building are paper thin and word travels fast with these gossiping Fables.

Your thumbs swiveled before you could even think out what you should say.

‘How’s work?’

Simple. Easy. You know exactly how Bigby will answer it in own special Bigby way with one little word: Bullshit.

But as the elevator kicked off and rose with an eerie hum to fill the dreadful silence, you watched your phone screen with bated breath for him to respond. The doors opened and he still hadn’t even opened your messages.

Why were you acting like this? Bigby’s a busy guy, it’s obvious he isn’t at your beck and call 24/7. So why are you staring and worrying at your phone like a Mundy teenager?

You stepped out of the elevator and nearly turned towards your apartment at the end of the hall when you stopped in your tracks once again. Your head turned in the opposite direction to where Bigby’s apartment was. Should you go look? Knock? See if he’s home? You worried at your bottom lip before you decided that a little peek wouldn’t hurt. If he wasn’t home, he would probably be in his office swamped with paperwork or out on the shitty streets of New York City with a cigarette clamped between his teeth as he did his best to blend in with the Mundy crowd.

You knocked first, you weren’t rude after all. He didn’t call out asking who it was, it was just silence. Not even his tv had been left on and you couldn’t hear the old rotary phone being kept off the ringer. You fished out your keys and pulled out Bigby’s key from the ring and slotted it into the steel knob. The door was locked, the deadbolt unlocking with a heavy clunk before you creeked it open, revealing an empty apartment-

Until your eyes landed on the overgorged talking pig fast asleep in Bigby’s trusty chair. Your shoulders deflated as worried settled in deeper into your gut. You walked right up to Colin and tapped at the thick skin of his shoulder, startling the snoring pig from his dreams. He shot you a dirty look and snorted before realizing it was you and not Bigby.

“Do you know where Bigby is?” you questioned the animal.

Colin seemed taken back by your question before he cocked a fleshy brow.

“Bigby? I thought he was at your place?” That made you feel even worse. Colin slid off of Bigby’s chair with a heavy grunt as his hooves hit the floor. He trotted up to the small side table and did his best to stand up on his hind hooves for a brief minute, just enough to grab the cigarette carton Bigby had left on the table. “A little help?”

You rolled your eyes and fished a cigarette out of the box and lit it with the spare lighter left behind.

“I haven’t seen Bigby in a few days.”

The pig shot you a smug look, puffing smoke from his nostrils.

“Oh, you mean after he spanked you all-”

“Colin,” you glared down at the pig who only snorted out a laugh.

“No, I haven’t seen Bigby. Sorry.”

You left Bigby’s apartment with a huff, locking the door behind you and starting down the hall once again. You paused at the elevator, eyeing it as though it were Pandora’s box, like it would magically give you the answers. Should you go up to his office? Was he really just overworking himself and falling asleep up there amongst the cigarette piles and mountains of paperwork?

You decided that it wouldn’t hurt to go look. If he was actually there, that would soothe your tensed nerves for sure, even if you got to see him for only a minute before he would have to rush off to deliver something to Snow or whoever.

The ride felt even longer than the last despite only going up one floor instead of two. The hallway was empty once again, allowing you to walk faster than you normally would to Bigby’s office where you found the door closed and locked. Through the frosted glass and chipping black letters you could see the lights were off and nobody was home. You sighed through your nose, pulling out your keyring again and fishing out his office key. He had given you a spare after he kept locking himself out of his office by accident one month, feeling bad that he would have to keep asking for Flycatcher to come help him.

His office was… the usual. Dare you say it looked as though he tried to clean up a bit in here. For starters, the mountain of stubbed out cigarette butts he had stacked on an opened up chinese takeout carton was thrown out in the trashcan in the corner and he had organized the filing cabinets in his usual Bigby fashion - not by sorting the alphabetically but by how thick their files were. It’s not a shock that Gren and Bluebeard have some of the thickest files.

It didn’t look like he had been in here for a few days either. No freshly stamped out cigarettes, no cups of coffee half drunk, no takeout boxes stinking up the painfully small office. Even the file that was in front of his chair was a little old, having been dated to the morning of your little rendezvous with the paddle. You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped you when you opened the file and saw Bigby had wrote in bold red letters ‘Bullshit’ on the first page.

Typical Bigby.

You closed the file as worry bubbled in your chest like a cauldron. Where was he? You dreaded to think that he was hurt or even… worse.

You had to find out.

You locked Bigby’s office behind you and started for the Business Office. You hated the way your throat tensed up at the mere thought of Bigby getting hurt. You saw how mangled he was after his fight with Mary, and that honestly scared the shit out of you. And to think that something like that could happen again?

You opened the door to the Business Office, shocked to find nobody around. You stepped in, the magical door closing softly behind you as you walked deeper in. It looked like they were in the process of moving things around, bookshelves mismanaged as books themselves fluttered and floated from shelf to shelf. The large pirate ship creaked eerily in the background. The enchanted knights armors were alive for the first time in awhile, pushing and pulling furniture around on King Cole’s orders. You watched as two knights heaved a big bookshelf in front of you, and as they passed you saw it sitting before you: The Magic Mirror.

Long healed since the shattering incident, the crystal clear glass seemed to fade into the usual swirling green when he sensed you looking in his general direction. You swallowed thickly and walked up, fighting back the whimper that nearly escaped you when you got close. You don’t even think you could figure out a rhyme right now you were that frazzled.

Luckily you didn’t have to.

You heard the flapping of big feathery wings before you felt eyes on you. You felt him soar over your head before he landed on the genie lamp long since vacated. You turned to see Bufkin sitting tall, bald hands placed on his hairy knees as his tail swished behind him with his usual delight.

“Hello, Ms. (L/n)! It’s been a while since your last visit here,” Bufkin smiled at you. For such dark eyes, they really did sparkle with life and joy. “How are you doing today Miss?”

“I- Not so good Bufkin.” You noticed the flying monkey’s face hold some sort of hesitance, brows knit with slight worry. Though he had no irises, you could tell he was looking between you and somewhere else behind your shoulders. “Bufkin, you wouldn’t happen to know where Bigby is, do you?”

The little guy froze, wings stiffening and tail becoming straight as an arrow.

Gotcha.

“M-Mr. Bigby?” he echoed back to you. His wings drew in close to his shoulders, almost like he was trying to hide himself from your gaze. “No, ma’am!” he answered all too quickly. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Mr. Bigby in a few days!”

You made to press the monkey further when you heard two voices pipe up from somewhere amongst the mess. It was Snow - of course it would be, the woman never gets a chance to rest around here since her promotion to Deputy Mayor - and a male’s voice that sounded familiar to you. Bufkin didn’t dare take off with you this close, knowing you could snag a hold of his tail if he tried to get away, so he sat there and watched the shadows on the bookshelves grow larger.

“... should be go to go in a few more days,” you caught the tail end of what the man was saying.

You heard sigh in defeat, her heels clacking against the freshly polished floor.

“I suppose I should ask Beast if he can take over until Bigby’s back,” she stated unenthusiastically.

Your interest was peaked to say the least. Bigby wasn’t here?

The shadows eventually gave way to reveal a very tired Snow White at the end of her rope as well as Dr. Swineheart, both of whom seemed shocked to see you standing there with Bufkin as still as a statue. You saw Snow eye the doctor nervously out of the corner of her eye, but the doctor stood firm and emotionless as he always is.

If Dr. Swineheart was saying those things about Bigby, it really drove it home that something was wrong. Was Bigby sick? You’ve never seen the man sick a day in his life aside from being sick of work and the accompanying annoying fables. Injured? You’ve seen that plenty of times, that’s for sure.

“(Y/n)-” Snow swallowed thickly before putting on her best false smile. “What brings you by?”

“I think you know the answer to that, Snow.” You took a few steps forward and Bufkin took his chance, flapping off somewhere amongst the clutter, but you paid him no mind. “What’s wrong with Bigby?” you eyed the doctor warily.

“I assure you, Miss (L/n), that Sheriff Wolf is fine. He just needs… rest.”

“Why’d you word it like that?”

It was becoming more and more obvious that something was up. Snow shuffled her stance from one foot to the other, folding her hands to her front as she avoided eye contact.

“It’s complicated. Bigby cannot have visitors, especially you. I’m sorry.” You took slight offense to his statement and you saw the doctor regret his choice of words. “Miss (L/n), I promise you, he’s fine. He just needs to be alone for now.” He turned his attention back to Snow for a moment, nodding his head. “I must be off. I have to start planning for my visit to the farm. Miss White.” He spared you a worried glance. “Miss (L/n).”

He quickly exited the business office, not sparing either of you a passing glance as the door opened and shut behind him.

Snow seemed to shrink under your gaze, avoiding eye contact and all. You’ve never seen her look like this before.

“Snow-”

“(Y/n)-” You both stopped and made eye contact. The tension was so thick in the air you could choke from it let alone snuff it out like it was a dragon. Snow cleared her throat and you let her do the talking. “(Y/n), Bigby really can’t be around you right now. Trust me,” her gaze faltered, looking away with an odd look of embarrassment on her porcelain face. Was she… blushing? “I saw it happen before the first time it happened and…” she glanced your way again, “it wasn’t pretty.”

It took you a minute to piece together what the fuck she was getting at when it hit you suddenly.

“Where is he?”

Snow’s eyes widened.

“(Y/n), Bigby wouldn’t want you to see him like this-”

“Where is he, Snow?”

It took her a minute, obviously weighing her options here. She knew you weren’t going to stop looking anytime soon, and she knows Bigby won’t be able to talk himself out of it this time.

“He’s in the basement. In one of the cells towards the back of the cellar.” You nodded, thanking her under your breath. As you turned to leave, Snow stopped you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Wait.” You spared another glance at the deputy mayor who was still red in the cheeks from beating around a topic like this. “Bigby… Bigby won’t be like how he normally is.”

“Thanks, Snow.”

This place gave you the chills, filling you with a horrid sense of dread as you trekked slowly through this place. Light by dim lighting, you followed Snow’s directions through the rarely used crypt, even catching a glimpse of the witching well on your journey. Every step you took echoed, the beams in the ceilings were caked in cobwebs as spiders and other insects crawled around. It smelled musty down here, damp with the sweet smell of rot swirling around. It made your stomach rumble uncomfortably.

You eventually came up to the cell blocks, opening the heavy and very enchanted door, nearly throwing your back out as you barely opened it enough to squeeze through before it slammed shut behind you. The sound boomed down the hall. If Bigby hadn’t sniffed you out the second you stepped into the basement, he knew you were here now. You spied a light on at the end of the long hallway and started for it.

The entire way down, you could hear this odd scratching sound echoing from the room along with deep animalistic groaning and whining. You stalked forward encased in the shadows, but you knew it didn’t do anything for you.

He could smell you.

You could hear him snuffling and snorting behind the door, see the looming shadow of him pass over what little light was let out by the few short bars acting as a window. He was panting, his voice deep and heavy. There was something heavy and metallic rattling in the room as you heard his lumbering footsteps roam around as much as the room allowed him to.

You made it to the door, eyeing the handle as though it were the bane of your existence before you peered into the room only to be startled when Bigby’s clawed hand sank its nails into the door. You jumped back with a shout, your heart throbbing in your chest and blood roaring in your ears.

“Get out,” Bigby ordered.

His voice was pained, holding himself together as much as he can, but even you can tell by the way he was breathing that his mind was dwindling.

There was a wolf at the door.

“Bigby, let me help you,” your words barely made it out of your mouth. It felt like you had shot him with a silver round, your lover openly groaning as he denied his primal nature bubbling to the surface. He can’t do it, he can’t let it happen. He’ll hurt you. “Bigby, pleas-”

“Get out!” he boomed even louder.

“No!” You stood your ground, getting close to the door again as Bigby quickly retracted his claws from the bars. You stopped again when your eyes met bloody red ones. Not yellow, not those glowing golds, but red. You’ve never seen them red before. “Let me in, Bigby.”

He was half-turned already, but he looked so much bigger than he normally does. He looked more animalistic, more primal. And fuck- the way he was glaring at you through the bars had your entire body feeling feverish with carnal need. His gaze softened ever so slightly, your lover fighting for more control over the beast.

“(Y/n), I don’t wanna hurt you,” his voice was so soft.

“You won’t,” you wrapped your hands around the bars. “I trust you. You need me and I wanna help.” He hesitated, near pupilless eyes boring into your soul. “Please.”

Bigby was fighting a losing battle with himself, the scales of judgment were starting to tip in favor of his unfavorable side. He could hear the call of the wild baying loudly in the back of his mind. His body was coated in a sheen of sweat that did little to cool his overly hot body. He hated the way his ruts made him feel, like he was some sex-hungry beast Mundies make werewolves out to be in movies and smutty novels. To say he’s terrified out of his mind was a major understatement as he eyed the keys to his cell behind you. As you turned and followed his eyes, he nearly barked at you to leave, wanting to back out at the last second only to give in completely as his hardened cock seemingly throbbed at the sight of your backside.

He was ashamed of himself.

The keys felt odd when you took them down from their hook, the enchantments sending odd tingles down your fingers and settling deep in your wrist. As you turned back, Bigby’s eyes pinned you in your spot for a minute once again, your lover growing hungrier and hornier for you as the seconds passing like sand in an hourglass.

“Back up, Bigby.”

He did as you commanded, stalking back into the barely lit cell as you slotted the key into the heavy lock. It took a minute for the enchantments to finally open the damn door, almost like the witches on the thirteenth floor were giving you one last chance to get out of there. You quickly slipped into the cell, closing it behind you, turning your back to Bigby as you locked the door.

That was your mistake.

As the lock settled with a heavy thunk, Bigby had suddenly pinned you up against the cold wood, one of his hands suddenly fisting the material of your jacket as his other hand dug grooves into the stone brick wall beside your head. His nails were long and dark like obsidian, glinting dangerously as his hairy arm slowly grew bulky. You could feel his hot breath hitting the side of your face as you struggled lightly, letting out a short whimper when Bigby pressed himself closer to you.

He was completely naked.

It made your cheeks heat up for sure, especially when his cock pressed into your backside. Your eyes widened, mouth hanging open just a bit when you felt all of him. Even something else you’ve never felt before digging into your ass as Bigby shamelessly rutted into you. What was that? It was like something was swollen at the base of his cock. Was that also a part of his rut?

You could feel Bigby growing behind you, his strength increasing, see his hand and arm growing hairier and thicker with rippling muscle. You couldn’t help the meek little noise that came from you when Bigby leaned down and dragged his fangs lightly against your exposed neck, his hot breath still held the taste of cigarettes as he panted and sniffed at your skin.

Your back was suddenly against the door now, Bigby’s monstrous hands caged you in. You couldn’t help it when your eyes widened at the sight of him. He had fully turned, looking like something out of a horror movie with how he towered over you and how saliva clung to his fangs and nearly drooled from his muzzle. His eyes were hypnotizing, so big and so bright, you oddly felt calm despite a near eight foot tall werewolf was in front of you ready to fuck the lights out of you.

It’s not like you hadn’t seen Bigby like this before, hell, it’s how you both really got acquainted and soon turned it into your blossoming relationship. You’ve just never seen him like this, and you couldn’t lie to yourself: This was actually kind of hot.

And then you saw it. Your eyes made contact with his dick, and there was indeed some swelling at the base of his cock. He was so much bigger like this. Would that even fit inside of you?

“Bigby,” you whispered his name, making eye contact again. You could tell he was fighting his urges still, pupils contracting and growing, ears swiveling, claws sinking in deep into the stone. “Let-Let me get my clothes off, okay? Please?”

Bigby was lucid enough to understand that, eyes lighting up as his shoulders eased up, lowering his hands to let you out.

You quickly stepped away, shucking your jacket off of your shoulders and peeling your shirt over your head. You toed off your shoes and unhooked your bra, earning you a deep growl from Bigby as he watched your breasts be freed. As you went to unbutton your pants, you took a little inventory of his makeshift room. There was a cot in the corner with a thin looking pillow and an even thinner blanket. There was a plain wooden end table with a lamp turned on. In the other corner was a small table with a single chair, an ashtray was filled with ash and stubbed out cigarettes. Laid across the back of the chair was a change of clean clothes for Bigby when he was finally out of the woods, his usual attire of dark slacks, a button up and his tie.

When you wriggled your pants down your legs and kicked them to the side, Bigby advanced, pinning you to the wall again. You couldn’t help the moan that left you when his tongue licked a solid stripe up your neck, inhaling your scent from your pulse point. His cock pressed against your stomach, his body was radiating such intense heat, his fur started to stick lightly as sweat gathered on your skin. You placed your hands on Bigby’s hairy shoulders, nails biting in, caressing the brawny muscle as Bigby lapped at your skin.

He gathered you into his beastly arms, crooning and huffing against your skin as you combed your fingers through his fur. You moaned as his tongue traced up the column of your neck to your jaw, licking the salt that gathered on your skin and inhaled your sweet sweat. His claws dragged lightly over your flesh, catching at your panties that you had yet to take off. He knotted his fingers in the backside of your panties and tore them completely off of you, dropping the scraps of fabric to the floor before he lifted you off of the ground.

You clung to him, your legs although were starting to shake drew up to his waist, knees digging into his sides as you couldn’t link your ankles behind him. You only let go when he carelessly dropped you onto the cot, batting the blanket away as the thing rattled and shifted. Bigby had snatched the edge, the metal bar caving in under his monstrous grip as he yanked it away from the wall to give himself more room. He enjoyed the little gasp you let out, red eyes hypnotized with the way your breasts swayed at the sharp movements.

The cot was old but sturdy, although, the poor thing may not last long with how riled up Bigby was. It was at least fifty years old, probably an old one used from some war. You knew Bigby served in some wars, you saw the medals he received stuffed into one of his dresser drawers. The green canvas bedding was cold, a blessing against your hot and sweaty back as Bigby towered over you.

You felt a little embarrassed under his gaze, drawing your legs closed and pulling them up a bit to hide your cunt that was absolutely soaking wet at the thoughts of what Bigby could do to you. As if you offended the wolfman, Bigby snatched at one of your ankles with a vicious snarl curling his muzzle and spread your legs wide open. You winced as his claws sank into your ankle, blood beading at the flesh as Bigby pulled you roughly to the edge of the cot. Bigby’s other hand snatched at the meat of your waist, pressing you against the cot so you couldn’t get away. He spread you wider, crying softly as you felt the stretch burn painfully sweet between your legs. You shivered when you felt Bigby’s breath ghost over your cunt, the wolfman hunching over to sniff and indulge himself in your scent.

A loud whine slipped from you as Bigby’s tongue lapped up your cunt, his long tongue spreading your nether lips open as the tip dipped nearly into your womanhood. He growled with pleasure, almost like a purr as he drew himself closer to you. His fur clung to your sweaty skin. His shoulders were too wide and brawny, forcing you to toss your other leg over his back, the heel of your foot digging into his dense muscles.

You sighed and moaned, squeezing your eyes shut and digging the back of your head into the strong canvas. The smooth material drank up the sweat that beaded against your skin, Bigby’s body heat blanketed you, nearly suffocating you. Your hands latched onto his fuzzy shoulders, tugging on the fur and pulling deep snarls from your lover.

His tongue dove even deeper inside of you, licking at your velvety walls, tongue fucking you. The tip of his tongue reached depths inside of you neither his tongue nor your fingers could reach. You couldn’t last long like this, already feeling an immense pressure building up inside of you, the wolfman snuffling and groaning as he felt your walls flutter against his tongue. You cried even louder when he bared his fangs, grazing them against your sweet cunt to pull more noises from you. He could get high from the noises you made alone, but now?

You came suddenly on the wolfman’s face with a loud cry that rattled off of the stoney walls and echoed down the hall. If anyone was listening, they would surely be red in the face and turning around right then and there.

He wasn’t done just yet. Although he seemed satisfied to have dragged you through your first climax of the soon-to-be many, he still lapped at your cunt with his agile tongue. You whined and wheezed, begging pitifully for Bigby to let up only for it to fall on deaf ears. He lapped at your sweet nectar as though you were the fountain of life, crooning at how perfect you tasted to him. His grip on you was tight, keeping you spread like a deer about to be dressed, eating you out as though you actually were.

“B-Bigby-” you whispered out. “Bigb- Please! AH!”

He nearly drew another sweet orgasm to the surface, pulling away at nearly the last second and left you feeling hollow and blazing hot. You whined like a child, scratching at the bedding of the cot like that would do something, eyes flying open as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

Your eyes came face to face with his cock.

You felt the color nearly drain from your blazing hot cheeks. He was big. Much bigger than you’ve taken from him before. His cock was standing at full attention, hefty balls taut with his seed that was to coat your womb white, the swelling was still present at the base of his dick. Semen had leaked a bit from his head, rolling down his thick shaft, following along the vein that ran along the underside of his cock. You whimpered, eyeing between his wolfish face and his dick as he slowly advanced. Your ankle was still in his grasp, the wolfman pulling you to the edge completely so your legs fully dangled off, the edge of the cot’s metal bars cushioned your ass that laid half off the bed.

Bigby kept your ankle in his grip, his claws lightening up as blood started to roll down your calf towards your knee. His other hand caught his weight as he came close to you, planting it on the metal bar beside your head, the metal groaning and the canvas hissing under the added weight. The poor thing could probably handle two people sleeping on it, not one person and one big werewolf. Bigby’s eyes were haunting, dual seas of red, pupils dilating, your reflection obvious in the shine of his eyes.

He hesitated. You could see the strain in his eyes. He was giving you one last chance to get the fuck out of here. You only sealed your fate when you lazily laid your arms over his broad and fuzzy shoulders, nails lazily scratching him, your eyes practically begging him to fuck you until you couldn’t walk.

Until it took.

Just the thought had your cunt tightening, begging to be filled again by his thick girth. You suddenly loved the idea of being bred by him and loathed the idea of his warm and fertile seed leaking out of your abused pussy to the cot below.

You wanted to be bred.

You winced when you felt his head roughly press against you, rutting his hips in a way that slowly spread you out again. An immense pressure erupted from your passageway until a horrible pain nearly split you apart. Your core felt like it was being torn apart, your cunt aching as Bigby mounted you. You screamed and squeezed your eyes shut, your mouth hanging open as Bigby sank his cock deeper inside of you. He wasn’t quiet himself, baying and crooning and howling as your walls clamped around him. His tongue lolled out of the side of his muzzle, drool as well as your climax from minutes ago made his fangs glisten in the low lighting. He huffed and puff, snapping his maw as his claws once again sank into your ankle until it made your toes curl and your leg tense and seize in pain. His claws next to your head tore into the metal, squeezing it way beyond repair, way worse than what he had done when he dragged the cot out of the corner, bending it in a way that made the cot kind of buckle and tilt.

“Bigby!” you sobbed aloud.

He snapped his jaws again, slobber wetting the side of your face and neck as he took in your sweet scent again, huffing against the side of your neck as he fully sheathed himself inside of you. You felt the swelling at your cunt, his tip kissing your cervix. It was like he was slotted in perfectly, your entire passageway stuffed with his cock to the point you worried for when he would start thrusting. He continued to rut inside of you, barely rocking his hips in a slow motion, his head teasing your tight cervix and pulled another orgasm from you. You sobbed, chest heaving, your lungs feeling like they would pop from the pressure that's built up inside of you. Your stomach was in knots, your brain lost in a thick fog, your vision going completely white for a few seconds.

He slowly started to rock his hips a little faster, working his way up to a steady pace, fucking you into the cot as his thrusts started to get rough. You lost your voice, only able to gasp and sigh and whimper, eyes drooping as Bigby mounted you, fucking you like the animal he is.

He nosed your head to the side and started licking at your neck, favoring right where your pulse pressed against your skin.

His heavy balls smacked against your cunt, the swelling started to get a little bigger, Bigby’s thrusts began to get rougher and rougher.

He suddenly pulled out of you and turned you over so you were forced onto your hands and very shaky knees. Bigby placed a hand on your upper back between your shoulders and forced you down onto the cot face first so your ass was sticking straight up. Bigby wasted no time in remounting you, fully sheathing himself up to the root in one fluid motion. Your scream cut off with a choke, eyes flying wide open as your entire body seized up from another orgasm. Your hips nearly fell had it not been for Bigby wrapping one burly arm under your belly to keep you where you were. You groaned, feeling your body growing heavy and weary. Your entire body felt sluggish, ready to tap out, but Bigby had other plans.

He fucked you, fucked into you, rocking your near-limp body in the opposite way he was fucking you to really drive it home. The cell was filled with the quick slapping of his cock against your flesh, wet and warm and full of your breathing.

Bigby suddenly snapped his jaws and snarled, feeling his saliva lightly splatter against your naked back. You felt it, the twitching of his cock inside of you rutting against your velvety walls. The swelling at the base of his cock suddenly became thick, and in a few more thrusts, it was like Bigby was locked into you. You groaned, feeling him sink fully into you, the pressure building up, the head of his cock nestled right in that special little area inside of you. Bigby ground himself inside of you, growling and crooning as he licked at your body. His tongue ran along the curve of your neck and shoulder, favoring the crook as his teeth ghosted over your skin.

You’ve been bitten by Bigby before, plenty of times, but you knew this one would be different. You didn’t know much about this kind of thing, but you had a feeling this was something to do with his rut.

He sank his teeth into the meat of your shoulder, locking his jaws around the joint as he ground himself inside of you, desperate for any friction he could get. You screamed, tears streaming down your cheeks as you felt his fangs tear into you before a calming sensation rolled over you, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, calming your nerves as Bigby unhinged his jaws from your body. He lapped at the blood that dribbled loose, tongue rolling over the divots he made in your skin.

Bigby suddenly seized, arching his back, lifting his muzzle into the air towards the ceiling and howled, cumming deep inside of you. You moaned along with him, nails dragging down the length of the cot bedding as you felt thick ropes of his semen right into your waiting womb. He halted all movement, the head of his cock pressing right up against your cervix as he painted your womb white. The swelling around the base of his dick acted like a damn plug for the most part.

You groaned, eyes fluttering to stay open. You were practically drooling, like putty in Bigby’s beastly hands, limp and heavy and full of his cum. You felt so warm it was almost impossible.

You don’t know how long it took for the swelling to go down, but it slowly did, allowing Bigby to slowly unsheath himself from you. He gently place your belly down onto the cot and you shivered, missing his warmth at your back as well as his cum now seeped from your aching pussy and onto the canvas beneath you.

Bigby hovered over you again, a gentle croon pushing from his muzzle as he lapped at the bite that was now lightly throbbing against your shoulder. You whimpered, trying to push yourself up from the canvas only for Bigby to push you back down, and rather forcefully.

You were about to protest, trying to form words when you felt Bigby try to clamber onto the cot.

And then you felt it again, poking against your ass, slowly rutting against your cunt and using his spilled semen to lube himself back up again.