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amethystarachnid · 4 months ago

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BET

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst and fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: not requested but taken from MARVEL bingo

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 10k (damn this surprises me too)

ᯓ★ Summary: When Bucky Barnes suddenly starts talking to you you don't think much of it and when he asks you out on a date you couldn't be happier, Bucky truly is everything you could ever want in a man, a man that really loves you...At least that's what you thought until you discovered that it was real all just a bet.

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of virginity and virginity loss, small mentions of a smut scene

ᯓ★ AU: college au

ᯓ★ Request: not requested

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests closed)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The music is loud, pulsing through the walls of the frat house as Bucky sits slouched on a couch, one arm draped lazily over the back. The night is already wearing on him, but he knows he’s going to be here until Sam and Steve call it a night, which—based on the collection of red solo cups by their feet—might be a while.

They’re all trading stories from the semester, voices buzzing with that blend of laughter and cheap beer. Sam is in the middle of recounting his latest dare when he nudges Bucky’s arm, catching his attention.

“Bet you couldn’t last a month with someone like her,” Sam says, nodding toward the corner of the room.

Bucky glances up, following Sam’s gaze until he spots you. You’re perched near the bookshelf, alone and fidgeting with your drink as you flip through a book someone left behind. He’s seen you around campus before, usually with your nose buried in a novel or surrounded by a pile of textbooks. There’s something unassuming about you, something quiet and untouchable. His friends know he’s more the type to go for a party girl—someone loud, someone who doesn’t ask too many questions.

“What, the bookworm?” Bucky scoffs, raising an eyebrow. But his friends don’t let up, and soon Steve and Sam are egging him on.

“You’re always chasing the same type,” Steve chimes in. “What are you afraid of, that she’d actually challenge you?”

Bucky laughs, rolling his eyes. He knows he should shut it down, but their teasing digs at him, scratching at that competitive edge that’s always lurking just beneath his smirk.

“All right,” Bucky finally says, shrugging. “I’ll do it. One month.”

His friends exchange knowing grins, slapping him on the back. But as soon as the words leave his mouth, Bucky feels a strange knot settle low in his stomach—a feeling he’s not used to. He brushes it off. It’s just a game, a challenge. It’s not like he’s actually going to care.

The next day, you’re tucked into your usual corner in the library, surrounded by a fortress of books. You barely notice him when he walks up, leaning against the edge of the table with a casual confidence that doesn’t match the usual quiet of the space.

“Mind if I join you?” His voice is smooth, low enough that you almost have to lean in to hear him clearly.

You glance up, surprised to see Bucky Barnes standing there, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You’ve seen him around campus—he’s hard to miss with that leather jacket and effortlessly messy hair, the type of guy who always has someone laughing beside him.

“Sure,” you murmur, unsure of what else to say as you move your books aside, offering him a seat. You’re used to people mostly ignoring you here. It’s your refuge, your sanctuary. So when he sits across from you, stretching out as if he belongs there, it feels jarringly out of place.

“You look like you’re buried in work,” he observes, nodding at the mountain of papers in front of you. “What’s got you so busy?”

You hesitate, but something in his easygoing manner convinces you to answer. “Just…assignments. Trying to keep up with everything.” You give him a small smile, your guard still up but feeling oddly curious.

“What’s your major?” he asks, and the question catches you off guard. Most people don’t bother to ask; they assume or don’t care enough to wonder. He listens as you talk about your studies, nodding, asking small questions. Before you know it, you’re telling him more than you intended, falling into an easy rhythm that surprises you.

It becomes a pattern. Over the next few weeks, he finds reasons to run into you—at the coffee shop, in the library, even in the quad between classes. Each time, he stays a little longer, asks a little more, his eyes holding yours with that subtle intensity he wears so well. At first, you’re wary, cautious of his attention. But Bucky is good, easing his way in like he has all the time in the world, his jokes and questions slowly weaving a thread of trust between you two.

And Bucky? He’s surprised at how much he finds himself drawn to you. Each time you laugh, he catches himself watching, feeling something strange and warm unfurl in his chest. There’s a gentleness in you, a quiet intelligence, that keeps him coming back even as he reminds himself this isn’t supposed to mean anything.

But the longer he spends time with you, the more he feels the weight of what he agreed to, creeping up on him every time he catches your smile, every time you look at him like he’s someone worth knowing.

He tells himself it’s just part of the bet. But deep down, he knows he’s starting to cross a line he never meant to touch.

It’s been a few weeks since Bucky started spending time with you, and against every reminder he gives himself, he’s found himself looking forward to it more than he wants to admit. He tells himself it’s harmless—he’s just getting to know you, just finding ways to pass the time. But he knows he’s lying, especially when he starts finding excuses to see you outside of the library or when he catches himself glancing at his phone, hoping for a text from you.

One night, back at the frat house, he’s lounging with Sam and Steve again, half-listening to their conversation when Sam nudges him.

“So, Barnes. How’s it going with the bookworm?” Sam asks with a knowing smirk. Bucky rolls his eyes, trying to brush it off, but Sam isn’t so easily deterred. “Don’t tell me you’re catching feelings.”

Bucky scoffs, forcing a laugh to keep the truth buried. “It’s going fine. Like I said, a month’s no problem.”

Sam exchanges a glance with Steve, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Let’s make this interesting then. If you really want to win this thing, you’ve got to take it further.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches. “Further?” He has a bad feeling about where this is going.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Come on, Buck. You’ve been hanging out with her, sure, but we’re talking about actually making her fall for you. Ask her out, and, you know—” He raises an eyebrow meaningfully.

“Sleep with her,” Sam adds bluntly, laughing. “Seal the deal, and there’s two hundred bucks in it for you.”

Bucky hesitates, that uncomfortable knot tightening in his stomach again. He tells himself it’s just a stupid bet. He’s done things like this before—gotten close to people just to prove he could, had plenty of meaningless hookups that never meant a thing. He’s Bucky Barnes, the guy who doesn’t do commitment or complications. But for some reason, picturing it with you makes him feel…off.

“Fine,” he says after a beat, his voice steady, betraying nothing of the uncertainty he’s trying to ignore. “Two hundred bucks. Done.”

The next day, he texts you, his fingers hovering over the keys a little too long before he finally sends, Hey, you free Friday? Let me take you out somewhere nice.

When you see his message, your heart skips a beat. It’s been a while since anyone has asked you on an actual date, and even longer since you’ve felt genuinely excited about someone. Bucky’s been different from the start—warm, attentive, and surprisingly easy to talk to. You’ve caught yourself looking forward to his company, replaying the moments he laughs at one of your jokes or leans in close enough for you to catch a hint of his cologne.

After a second, you type back, Yeah, I’d love to! You add a smiley face, feeling almost giddy as you press send.

The days leading up to Friday drag by, each one marked with bursts of nerves and anticipation. You spend a little more time getting ready than usual, finally deciding on a simple but pretty dress that makes you feel confident. When Bucky picks you up, his usual leather jacket replaced with a dark button-up, you feel a thrill of excitement. He looks genuinely happy to see you, his eyes scanning over you appreciatively as he gives you a lopsided grin.

“You look amazing,” he says, his gaze warm. There’s something softer in his eyes, something that makes you blush.

“Thanks,” you mumble, smiling as you walk beside him. He leads you to a small Italian place tucked away from campus, the kind of cozy, dimly lit restaurant you wouldn’t have expected him to know about. The conversation flows easily between you two, laughter spilling out as you talk about classes, hometowns, and childhood memories.

The night feels magical, almost surreal, and you start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s something real here. Every time his hand brushes against yours, a spark shoots up your spine. And when he reaches across the table, fingers lightly grazing your wrist as he laughs at something you said, your heart flutters in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying.

After dinner, he suggests taking a walk, and soon you’re strolling through the quiet streets, the chill of the night air making you shiver just slightly. Without a word, Bucky slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. It feels so natural, like you belong there.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date this nice,” you admit, smiling up at him, your voice soft.

He chuckles, though it sounds slightly strained. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

You shrug, trying to brush it off. “I guess I’ve just never…met anyone like you before.”

There’s a flash of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced with that charming grin. He steps closer, his arm slipping from your shoulders, and you hold your breath as he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“You’re pretty amazing, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low.

You feel like the world has stopped, your heart pounding in your chest. This is the moment you’ve been dreaming of, the moment where everything finally falls into place.

But for Bucky, something sharp and painful twists inside him. He can feel the weight of what he’s doing pressing down on him, can see the way your eyes look at him with such unguarded trust, and it’s enough to make his stomach turn. He’s never felt guilty over a stupid bet before, but right now, the idea of hurting you feels unbearable.

“Hey,” he says softly, his hand still on your cheek. “You trust me, right?”

Your eyes widen, and you nod slowly, too caught up in the moment to notice the tension in his gaze. “Yeah,” you whisper, a small smile forming on your lips.

He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours as he takes a steadying breath. “Good,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. Because if he’s going to go through with this, he tells himself he has to believe that none of it matters—that he won’t let himself care. But even as he kisses you, his lips soft and warm against yours, he knows he’s lying to himself.

The days after that first date drift into a series of moments that feel surreal, almost like they’re happening to someone else. You find yourself checking your phone at odd times, waiting for his texts, smiling down at your screen whenever his name lights up. Bucky is a part of your routine now, and it feels strange, thrilling even, like there’s this magnetic force that draws you to him despite every bit of caution you try to hold onto.

Every time you’re with him, the outside world fades. He makes you laugh with stories about his friends, leaning in close, his voice warm and low as if he’s sharing some secret just for you. You catch yourself stealing glances when he’s not looking—at the way his jaw clenches when he’s lost in thought or how his eyes soften when he looks at you, a mix of curiosity and something you can’t quite name.

It’s after one of your study sessions at the library that Bucky invites you over to his dorm room for the first time. He tells you he’s got some old movies you’ve probably never seen, and, honestly, he’s right—you’d never pictured Bucky as the type to own black-and-white classics, but that’s exactly what he has, a surprisingly large collection lined up on a low shelf near his TV. He insists you pick one, and soon you’re sitting side by side on his couch, your legs tucked up beneath you, feeling almost shy in the soft glow of the screen.

The movie starts, but his arm stretches along the back of the couch, barely brushing your shoulders. The faintest touch sends electricity through you, but you stay quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment. Then, halfway through the movie, he shifts, glancing at you.

“You can get closer, you know,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with something mischievous yet gentle.

Your heart flutters as you scoot closer, until you’re tucked into his side, his arm draped around you in a way that feels possessive yet comforting. He smells faintly like cedar and something distinctly him, a scent that’s becoming familiar. Before you know it, your head is resting on his shoulder, his hand absently tracing patterns on your arm, and you feel like you could stay there forever.

Time slips by in a collection of small, perfect moments. There are more dates—little coffee shops tucked away from campus, a bookstore where he buys you a copy of a novel you mentioned in passing, a late-night diner where you both end up after laughing so hard that you can’t breathe. You never expected him to be so attentive, so eager to listen to your stories and learn every detail about your life. He even surprises you with your favorite snack on study nights, tossing it to you with a grin before leaning in close to steal a bite for himself.

One evening, after a long day of classes and a surprise text from Bucky inviting you over, you find yourself curled up on his couch once again. This time, he’s stretched out beside you, one arm tucked under his head while the other rests around your shoulders. His fingers brush against your arm absently, and you can’t help but notice how natural this feels. It’s terrifying, too, the way he seems to melt into your life so effortlessly, as if he’s always been there.

You glance up at him, catching him mid-laugh as he recounts an embarrassing story about Sam, who apparently tried to show off on a skateboard and ended up with a sprained ankle.

“You’re terrible,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder, though you’re laughing too.

“Oh, come on. It was hilarious,” he insists, grinning down at you. He tilts his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for just a second, and your laughter fades as something shifts between you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile. “I just…can’t believe you’re real sometimes.”

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to reply. But then he leans down, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. The kiss deepens slowly, each touch feeling like a promise, and you lose yourself in the warmth of his embrace, forgetting every doubt, every insecurity that ever kept you guarded.

As the weeks pass, you find yourself falling harder than you ever expected. Bucky seems to find every crack in your armor, every scar and hidden fear, and instead of pulling away, he draws closer, listening to your stories and letting you into his own in ways that leave you breathless. He’s there to listen on your tough days, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring words of reassurance. He’s there on your good days, too, laughing with you, pressing kisses to your forehead as if he can’t believe his luck.

One night, you’re back on his couch, cuddled up under a thick blanket as a storm rages outside, the rain tapping against the windows. You’re nestled against him, his arm holding you close, and he’s quiet, his fingers tracing patterns along your shoulder absentmindedly.

“Bucky?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to yours, his eyes soft and warm in the dim light.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “For everything.”

He frowns slightly, shifting so he can look at you fully. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Being with you…it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest, and he kisses you again, slow and soft, like he’s savoring every second. It’s moments like this that make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re finally safe with someone, that this is something real.

But for Bucky, each moment with you is a double-edged sword. He’s never felt this way before—this calm, this…connected. Every time you laugh at one of his jokes or lean against him, trusting and unguarded, he feels that awful twist of guilt, the memory of that stupid bet lurking in the back of his mind.

He’s supposed to ask for more. That’s what Sam and Steve were expecting, weren’t they? They wanted him to win the bet, to seal the deal and prove he could pull this off. But every time he thinks about going further, about pushing this relationship into a place where he can’t turn back, he feels that nagging ache, that quiet, gnawing feeling that he’s crossing a line he can’t uncross.

He knows he needs to tell you. He needs to come clean, but every time he opens his mouth, the words get stuck in his throat. You look at him with those bright, trusting eyes, and he can’t bring himself to shatter the way you see him. So he holds his silence, hoping that somehow, he can bury the truth forever, that maybe you’ll never have to know.

One evening, as you’re lying together on his couch, you let out a contented sigh, resting your head on his chest as his hand traces lazy patterns along your back.

“Bucky?” you whisper, your voice soft.

He glances down at you, his fingers pausing as he meets your gaze. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, then take a steadying breath. “I…I think I’m falling for you.”

The words hang in the air, vulnerable and open, and for a second, his face goes still, his eyes widening just slightly. Then, his expression softens, and he tightens his arms around you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. But as he kisses you, the warmth of his touch hiding the flicker of guilt behind his eyes, a single thought haunts him.

She deserves the truth.

That night, Bucky barely sleeps, lying awake with the knowledge that he’s in far too deep to ever come out of this unscathed. Every soft breath you take beside him reminds him of how much he’s risking by staying silent. He knows he has to tell you, but he’s terrified—terrified that this fragile, beautiful thing you’ve built together will shatter, that you’ll look at him with betrayal instead of trust.

In the morning, he makes a decision. He’ll find a way to tell you, he promises himself, but he wants one more day, one more memory before he risks everything. Just one last perfect day where he can pretend that none of it was ever a lie.

So he takes you out, leading you down to the pier just as the sun begins to set, casting the sky in hues of pink and gold. You laugh, leaning into him, and he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, watching the waves lap against the shore.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice soft. “It is.”

But as he stands there, holding you close, he knows that the beauty of this moment is fleeting, that the truth waiting in his chest is too big to ignore. And tonight, when he finally gathers the courage to tell you, he knows there’s a chance he’ll lose you forever. But for now, he lets himself savor this last quiet moment, memorizing the feeling of you in his arms, the warmth of your laughter as it fills the air.

For now, he holds onto the hope that maybe, somehow, you’ll understand.

The sunset fades, leaving the world painted in muted purples and blues, but neither of you seem ready to break away from each other. Bucky holds you close, feeling the steady rhythm of your breath against his chest as if it’s his own. He knows he should say something—that he needs to say something—but the words seem so impossible now, tangled up in his chest. The truth would ruin this moment, shatter whatever he’s built with you. And so, he tells himself it can wait just a little longer.

As the evening slips into night, Bucky leads you back to his dorm room, his hand intertwined with yours. You can feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers wrap around yours as if he never wants to let go. The air feels charged, every touch electric, each shared glance simmering with something that feels fragile and exhilarating. Neither of you says much, as though speaking would break the quiet spell between you.

Once you’re inside, Bucky hesitates. He turns to you, his expression vulnerable, softer than you’ve ever seen it. "You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand.

“I want to,” you say, the words escaping before you can even think. There’s no hesitation in your voice, only a gentle certainty that makes his chest tighten. The way you look at him, so open and trusting, makes his heart ache with a mix of guilt and longing.

Bucky’s eyes search yours, lingering for a moment that stretches into forever. He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before his fingers trail down to your jaw, cradling your face as if you’re something fragile and precious. Slowly, he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s softer than any before. It’s unhurried, tender, as if he’s savoring every second.

The kiss deepens, and you can feel yourself melting into him, your heart pounding so hard you think it might burst. His hands move to your waist, steady and grounding, and he pulls you closer until there’s no space left between you. You can feel the strength of him, the warmth radiating through his clothes, and it makes your head spin.

Before long, you find yourselves tangled together on his bed, the world outside fading into nothingness. Each kiss is deeper than the last, each touch laced with a longing neither of you can deny. There’s a gentleness to Bucky’s movements, a quiet patience as he explores the curve of your shoulder, the softness of your waist, as if he’s memorizing every inch of you. He’s slow and careful, constantly looking at you as if to make sure this is what you want.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, his voice rough with barely-contained emotion.

You nod, feeling breathless but certain. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

His eyes darken, filled with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, and then he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, his hands skimming over your skin with a reverence that leaves you feeling cherished. You lose track of time, surrendering to the way he makes you feel—safe, wanted, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

When you finally fall back against the bed, your bodies wrapped around each other, you’re exhausted yet filled with a warmth that feels all-encompassing. The reality of what just happened settles in, but instead of feeling nervous, you feel at peace, secure in the quiet intimacy that has grown between you.

Bucky shifts beside you, pulling you closer until your head rests against his chest, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders. The steady thump of his heartbeat lulls you into a peaceful daze, and you feel his fingers trace small circles on your back, soothing and grounding.

You’re both quiet for a long time, the silence comfortable as you bask in each other’s presence. Eventually, though, you feel a need to tell him something you’ve been holding back, something you hadn’t planned on revealing but that feels right to share in this moment.

“Bucky,” you begin softly, lifting your head to look at him. He gazes down at you, his eyes warm and attentive, as if you’re the only thing he sees. “I…I want you to know that this was my first time.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re afraid he’ll pull away, that he’ll think you were too inexperienced or that you should have told him sooner. But he doesn’t flinch or hesitate. His hand moves up to gently cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.

“Your first?” he echoes, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and something that sounds almost like reverence.

You nod, feeling your cheeks heat as you look down, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah…I wanted it to be with someone who made me feel safe. Someone I trusted.”

Bucky’s chest rises and falls slowly as he takes this in, his expression softening. He seems almost humbled, like he’s just been given something rare and delicate. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his own against yours.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze, as if he’s holding back a hundred things he wants to say but can’t find the words for.

You smile, the last traces of your nervousness melting away. “Thank you, Bucky…for making it so special.”

He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you like he’s afraid to let you go. “I’d do anything to make you feel special,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

You nestle into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling safe and cherished in a way you never have before. And as you lie there, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be truly, deeply in love.

But as you fall asleep in his arms, Bucky lies awake, his heart heavy with the weight of everything he’s kept from you. He knows he should be content, that he should just let himself savor this night and the closeness you’ve shared. But the memory of that stupid, careless bet gnaws at him, a dark cloud looming over everything.

He runs a hand through his hair, staring up at the ceiling, feeling torn between the desire to protect you from the truth and the fear that he’s already crossed a line he can’t uncross. The realization that you trusted him enough to give him something so deeply personal makes the weight of his lie even heavier, almost unbearable. He swallows hard, tightening his hold on you as he resolves to tell you the truth—soon, somehow, even if it means risking everything.

But tonight, he lets himself stay silent. He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of your hair, the warmth of your body against his, and allows himself to believe, if only for a moment, that this can last.

The morning sunlight filters softly through the blinds, casting warm, golden patterns across the bed. You stir beside him, your movements gentle as you wake up, and Bucky watches you with a quiet awe, his heart racing as he takes in the peaceful expression on your face. For a moment, it feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

You blink up at him, your face lighting up with a sleepy smile that makes his chest tighten.

“Good morning,” you murmur, your voice soft and a little shy, as if the night is still too fresh, too beautiful to fully believe.

He grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Morning,” he replies, his voice low and warm. His fingers trail down to your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and you squeeze back, a shared moment of silent understanding passing between you.

The morning stretches on in a gentle haze of quiet touches and soft words. Bucky makes you coffee, insisting you stay curled up under his blanket while he brings it over to you, and you laugh, watching him with a mix of affection and disbelief. This side of him—the playful, thoughtful side—is something you never expected to see, and it makes you fall for him even harder.

You’re both lounging on his bed, your legs tangled together, talking in low voices about everything and nothing. He tells you stories about his childhood, tales about him and Steve getting into trouble, and you share your own memories, laughing as he reacts with wide eyes and exaggerated shock.

It feels so real, so natural, that you almost forget about everything outside this room, about the possibility that this could be something fleeting. You feel like you’ve found a place that’s safe, a person who makes you feel more like yourself than you ever have before.

But in the quiet moments, when you catch him staring at you with that far-off look, you wonder if there’s something he’s not telling you, a hesitation lurking behind his gaze. You don’t press, not wanting to shatter the peace between you. But part of you wonders if you’re seeing a glimpse of something deeper, something you’re not yet ready to confront.

As you leave his dorm room later that morning, he kisses you softly, lingering as if he’s trying to memorize the taste of your lips, the feel of your hand in his. There’s an unspoken promise in his touch, a silent assurance that this isn’t the end.

Later that afternoon, you make your way back to the frat house, humming softly as you climb the steps to Bucky's door. You left your notebook there, a little blue book you’re pretty sure you’ll need for your upcoming assignment. You barely slept last night, too caught up in the warmth of his touch, the memory of his whispered words that lingered long after you left his dorm this morning. You’re nervous, too; you feel so much for him that it scares you.

As you approach his room, laughter drifts out into the hallway, low voices filtering through the partially open door. You recognize Bucky’s laugh, the familiar sound stirring warmth in your chest, but the laughter feels different, carefree and loud. And then you hear a familiar voice—Sam’s—cutting through, low and joking.

"Guess she fell for it pretty hard, huh?" Sam’s voice sounds amused, lighthearted, as if he’s talking about something trivial.

You freeze, your hand hovering inches from the door. Something about his tone makes you hesitate, a strange, unsettling feeling creeping into your chest.

"Come on, Bucky," Sam presses, “don’t act all innocent now. I saw you this morning, looking like you just won the lottery.” You can hear the grin in his voice, a laugh bubbling beneath it. “So? How was it?”

Bucky laughs, the sound uncomfortable, but he doesn’t argue. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, his voice casual, light. “It was… good.”

You feel a stab in your chest, a faint panic that tells you to leave, to walk away before you hear any more. But your feet don’t move, and you find yourself listening, every word driving another splinter into your heart.

Steve’s voice joins in, chuckling. “Well, you earned it, man. She had no clue, huh?”

“No clue,” Bucky murmurs, his voice softer now, almost unreadable. You can picture him there, maybe rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when he’s nervous. But the words are there, undeniable.

Sam laughs again, louder this time. “And hey, bet’s a bet,” he says, and then there’s a pause before you hear the unmistakable rustling of bills being exchanged. “Two hundred dollars, as promised. Can’t say you didn’t earn it, though—you even managed to get her into bed. Didn’t think you had it in you, but here we are!”

Your vision blurs, the words echoing in your mind, distorting into something raw and jagged. Every affectionate touch, every gentle kiss, every whispered promise from the past few weeks twists into something ugly, something unrecognizable. You feel sick, the image of Bucky’s earnest smile, his soft words about wanting to make you feel special, tainted beyond repair. Everything you felt for him, the trust you’d handed him so freely, crumbles beneath the weight of their laughter.

Slowly, you turn and leave, gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you make your way out of the frat house. You don’t let yourself cry, not yet, not when you still feel the echo of his betrayal throbbing in your chest, too raw, too painful to acknowledge fully.

Hours later, you’re back in your dorm room, your heart aching as you sit in silence, the truth settling over you in waves. Part of you wants to believe it was a misunderstanding, that maybe there’s an explanation you’re missing. But the memory of their laughter, the casual way Sam handed him that money, makes the truth impossible to ignore.

A knock on your door interrupts your thoughts, and your heart skips a beat as you hear Bucky’s voice calling your name softly from the hallway. It’s just him now, his voice hesitant, almost as if he senses that something’s wrong. You take a steadying breath, steeling yourself before you answer the door.

When you open it, Bucky’s eyes light up, and he steps forward, a soft smile on his face as he reaches for your hand. “Hey, you,” he murmurs, his voice warm. But when he sees the look on your face, he pauses, his smile fading. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to speak. You can only look at him, trying to reconcile the gentle, caring person you thought you knew with the man who took a bet to seduce you. You pull your hand away from his, ignoring the confusion in his gaze as he watches you.

“Were you even going to tell me?” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended, a dull ache threading through every word. “Or were you just going to take the money and pretend it never happened?”

Bucky blinks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Tell you what? I—I don’t understand.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, and you look away, wrapping your arms around yourself as if it’ll keep you from falling apart. “Don’t play dumb, Bucky. I heard you. I was at the frat house earlier, and I heard everything.”

He freezes, his face going pale, and you see the truth in his eyes, clear as day. He opens his mouth, stumbling over his words. “Y/N, I—I didn’t… I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

The admission twists the knife deeper, and you feel yourself trembling as you look back at him, tears stinging your eyes. “So, it’s true, then? All of it? This whole… this whole thing was just for some stupid bet?”

He reaches for you, his expression desperate, his hands hovering just inches from your arms. “Y/N, please. Just let me explain. It wasn’t like that, I swear. It started that way, but then… then it became real. I fell for you, okay? Everything we did, everything we shared—it was real.”

You shake your head, pulling away from him, the anger and betrayal simmering beneath the surface. “Real? You think that makes this okay? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Your voice breaks, and a tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. “I trusted you, Bucky. I thought… I thought you cared about me.”

His face crumples, and he takes a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to wipe away the tear on your cheek. “I do care about you. More than anything, Y/N. That’s why I wanted to tell you, I just—”

“Wanted to tell me?” you interrupt, your voice shaking. “When, Bucky? After you cashed in your winnings? After I found out on my own?”

The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable, and Bucky’s shoulders sag as he looks away, guilt etched deeply into his face.

“Do you even realize how humiliating this is?” you continue, your voice a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “I trusted you with something… something I’d never given anyone. And the whole time, it was just part of a game to you.”

His eyes snap back to yours, filled with anguish, his voice barely a whisper. “It was never just a game, not after the first night. I swear, Y/N, I was going to tell you everything. I just… I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You didn’t want to lose me?” you repeat, laughing bitterly. “You lost me the moment you made that bet. You had no right to… to play with me like that, to make me believe that any of it was real.”

He looks at you, his blue eyes full of desperation, his voice breaking. “Y/N, please. I know I messed up. I know I hurt you, but I need you to believe me when I say I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Just stop,” you whisper, the weight of it all crashing over you. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to make me feel sorry for you when you’re the one who lied.”

Bucky’s face falls, and he drops his gaze, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I know. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But please, just… give me a chance to make it right.”

Your heart aches, torn between the memories of every gentle touch, every whispered word, and the undeniable truth of his betrayal. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to believe that somewhere in all of this, there was something real. But the pain is too deep, the wound too fresh, and you don’t know if you can ever look at him the same way again.

“I can’t do this,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I can’t just forget what you did. You hurt me, Bucky. And right now, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

He flinches, as if your words physically hurt him, and he nods slowly, a look of resignation in his eyes. “I understand. I’ll… I’ll leave, if that’s what you want.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself as he takes a step back, his gaze lingering on you one last time before he turns and walks toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob as he glances back at you, his voice soft, broken.

“For what it’s worth, Y/N… I love you. I know I don’t deserve to say that, but it’s the truth.”

You don’t reply, staring at him with tear-filled eyes as he finally steps out of your dorm, the door closing softly behind him. The silence that follows is deafening, and you sink to the floor, the weight of everything crashing down as you realize that the person you thought you loved never truly existed.

The days blur together in a haze of heartbreak and emptiness. You go through the motions, attending classes, completing assignments, and showing up to study groups, but it all feels mechanical, like you’re on autopilot. It’s as if something inside you has shut down, leaving only an echo of who you were before you met him, before he became the center of your world.

It doesn’t take long for your friends to notice the change. They ask if you’re okay, if something happened, if maybe you just need a break. But you give them the same answer each time—a nod, a small smile, and an assurance that you’re just tired. It’s easier than explaining the mess of emotions tangled inside you, the hurt that seems too big to fit into words.

Late at night, lying alone in your dorm room, you can still feel the warmth of his arms around you, the softness of his voice in the quiet hours when he’d whisper promises you thought would last forever. The memory feels cruel now, tainted by the knowledge that it was all built on a lie. And yet, despite everything, you miss him. You hate yourself for it, but you miss the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel safe, special, as if you were the only person in the world who mattered.

Bucky isn’t doing any better. In fact, he’s a mess. Days have passed, but the guilt, the emptiness—it lingers, gnawing at him, refusing to let him move on. He can barely sleep, haunted by the look in your eyes, the betrayal, the hurt he put there. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees you, hears the way your voice cracked when you told him you didn’t know who he was anymore. And the worst part is, he doesn’t blame you. He knows he did this, that he ruined everything, and now he has to live with the consequences.

Sam and Steve notice almost immediately. Bucky, the confident, charming guy they’d known for years, looks hollow, as if he’s carrying a weight he can’t shake. He barely speaks, keeps to himself, and they rarely see him at the frat house anymore. Instead, he spends most of his time shut up in his dorm, a shadow of the person he used to be.

One evening, as the sun dips below the horizon, Sam and Steve exchange a glance, silently agreeing that they need to intervene. They knock on his door, and when he doesn’t answer, Sam pushes it open, finding him lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Hey, man,” Sam says, stepping inside. Steve follows, closing the door behind them as they both approach Bucky’s bed.

Bucky doesn’t react right away, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. But eventually, he sits up, running a hand through his hair, looking exhausted and defeated.

“What’s up, guys?” he mumbles, though his voice lacks any real curiosity.

“We should be asking you that,” Steve says, his tone softer than usual. “You haven’t been yourself lately. Ever since things ended with Y/N, it’s like… you’re a completely different person.”

At the sound of your name, Bucky’s face falls, and he lets out a long, shaky breath. “Yeah,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “That’s because I am.”

Sam frowns, studying Bucky’s expression, the guilt etched into every line of his face. “Look, man, we didn’t mean for things to get this serious. But if you cared about her, really cared… why didn’t you just tell her the truth from the start?”

Bucky shakes his head, his hands gripping the edge of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white. “I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I was scared, I guess. I knew I’d screwed up, and every time I tried to tell her, I just… couldn’t. I thought I could fix things, somehow, make it up to her without her ever finding out.” He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Stupid, right?”

Steve sighs, sitting beside him on the bed. “Not stupid, just… a mistake. A big one, yeah, but you’re not the first guy to mess up. You’re just… Bucky, this isn’t like you. I’ve never seen you like this over anyone before.”

Bucky looks away, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That’s because I’ve never felt this way before. Not like this. I love her, Steve. And I threw it all away over some stupid bet that meant nothing. I hurt her in ways I can’t even fix.”

Sam places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “So what are you gonna do about it? You can’t just sit here, wallowing. If she meant that much to you, then maybe you owe it to her—and to yourself—to try and make it right.”

Bucky laughs, but it’s empty, hollow. “And how am I supposed to do that, Sam? She told me herself she doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t trust me. I don’t deserve another chance.”

Steve exchanges a look with Sam, and then he says, “Maybe. But you can’t just give up without trying. If you really love her, Bucky, you have to prove it. Show her that you’re not just the guy who hurt her, that you’re willing to fight for her. And if she doesn’t take you back… at least you’ll know you tried.”

Bucky sighs, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stares at the floor. “I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. I don’t even know if I deserve it.”

Sam crosses his arms, his expression softening. “Look, man, I get that you’re hurting. But don’t you think she’s hurting, too? She’s probably out there feeling just as broken, wondering if anything between you was ever real.”

Bucky swallows hard, his chest tightening at the thought. He knows you’re hurting, knows you trusted him with something precious, something he didn’t deserve. And knowing that he’s the reason for your pain… it’s a feeling he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Over the next few days, Bucky wrestles with himself, caught between the fear of making things worse and the desire to show you that he’s truly sorry, that he wants to be the man you thought he was. He writes and rewrites texts he never sends, shows up outside your dorm but never works up the courage to knock. He’s terrified, but he can’t ignore the way his heart aches for you, the empty, gnawing feeling that only seems to grow with each passing day.

Finally, he decides to try one last time. He doesn’t know if you’ll listen, doesn’t know if you’ll even give him a chance. But he has to try—to give you the truth, no matter how painful it might be.

And so, as the evening sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over campus, Bucky finds himself standing outside your dorm, his heart pounding as he gathers the courage to knock. He knows this is his last chance, that this is the moment that will decide everything. And he only hopes, as he takes a deep breath and raises his hand to the door, that you’ll give him the chance to show you that he’s not the man who hurt you—that he’s ready to fight for you, no matter what it takes.

The knock on your door is soft, almost hesitant, but it’s enough to pull you from your thoughts. You’ve been lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to find the strength to move forward, to somehow patch yourself up after everything that happened. When you open the door, you see him standing there, his eyes filled with an uncertainty that’s almost heartbreaking. He’s gripping a small notebook in his hands—your notebook, the one you left in his room—and his gaze is fixed on you with a desperation you’ve never seen before.

“Hi,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t reply right away, the sight of him dredging up the familiar ache in your chest. Part of you wants to slam the door and hide, to keep yourself safe from any more hurt. But you don’t. Instead, you meet his gaze, forcing yourself to remain steady.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice guarded.

He shifts on his feet, glancing down at the notebook before offering it to you. “I, uh… you left this. Thought you might need it.”

You take it from him, feeling the familiar weight of it in your hands. “Thanks.”

A heavy silence hangs between you, one that neither of you seems willing to break. Bucky swallows, his face creased with an anxious, uncertain look that makes him seem vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before.

“Can we… can we talk?” he asks, his voice almost pleading. “Please. I know I don’t deserve it, but I just need to say a few things. If you don’t want to listen, I’ll understand, and I’ll leave you alone. I just… I need you to know the truth.”

You hesitate, but finally, you nod, stepping back to let him into your room. He steps inside, closing the door softly behind him, and takes a seat in the small chair by your desk while you remain standing, arms crossed protectively over your chest.

For a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze heavy with regret. Then he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“I know you have every right to hate me,” he starts, his voice barely steady. “I know I messed up in ways I can’t even fix. And I know… I know what I did was horrible. I just—” He swallows, his throat tight. “I just need you to know that it wasn’t all a lie. When we started this… when we first got close, I didn’t expect any of this to happen. I didn’t think I’d feel the way I did.”

You look down, his words stirring a fresh wave of pain in your chest. “But it was a bet, Bucky,” you murmur, your voice trembling. “You… you did all of that just to win some money. To you, it was just a game.”

He flinches, guilt flashing in his eyes, and he nods. “I know. I won’t make excuses for it—I was stupid, and I hurt you. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about the bet. It stopped being a game. And I started… I started caring about you, more than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you force yourself to keep your voice steady. “Then why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair again, his expression tortured. “Because I was scared. I was terrified that you’d look at me the way you’re looking at me now, that I’d lose you. I know that doesn’t make it better, but it’s the truth. I tried to find the right time, tried to find the right words, but I kept putting it off, thinking maybe… maybe I could make it up to you before you ever found out.” He looks down, his voice breaking. “But that was stupid. I should’ve just been honest with you from the start.”

You take a shaky breath, feeling the full weight of everything he’s saying. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to forgive him, but the wound he left is still fresh, still raw. “I trusted you, Bucky,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I thought… I thought what we had was real.”

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a desperate sincerity that takes you off guard. “It was real. For me, it was real. And I know that doesn’t change anything, but I need you to know that. I never meant to hurt you, and I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you if you’ll let me.”

You study him for a long moment, searching his face, trying to find some indication of sincerity, something to show that he’s truly sorry. And when you see the remorse in his eyes, the sadness that mirrors your own, you feel something in your chest soften, just slightly.

“Bucky,” you begin softly, forcing yourself to stay strong, “I can’t just go back to how things were. I can’t pretend this didn’t happen. You hurt me more than anyone ever has, and it’s going to take time for me to get past that.”

He nods, his expression resigned, but he doesn’t look away. “I understand. And I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. I just… I just want the chance to prove to you that I’m more than the guy who hurt you. Even if we can’t go back, I want to be there for you, even if it’s just as a friend.”

You let his words sink in, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the ache in your heart. Part of you still longs for what you had, for the closeness you shared, but you know that you can’t rush back into it. If Bucky truly wants a second chance, he’ll have to earn it, piece by piece, day by day.

“Maybe…” You hesitate, feeling vulnerable but determined. “Maybe we can start as friends. Just… friends. No promises, no expectations. If you’re willing to do that, to rebuild things from the ground up… then maybe, someday, I’ll be able to trust you again.”

Relief floods his face, and he nods, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll take that. Anything you’re willing to give, I’ll take it. I’ll prove to you that I can be better. I’ll prove that I’m worth your trust.”

You give him a tentative smile, and for the first time in days, you feel a flicker of hope. It’s small and fragile, but it’s enough to remind you that maybe healing is possible.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky becomes a constant but careful presence in your life. He shows up when you need help with an assignment, offers a listening ear when you need to vent about a long day, and joins you for coffee on campus, keeping the conversation light and easy. He respects your boundaries, never pushing for more, never expecting anything beyond friendship. You’re surprised at how attentive he is, how willing he is to wait, to prove that he’s serious about making things right.

Slowly, the walls around your heart begin to crack. You start to feel comfortable with him again, to let your guard down, if only a little. You catch him glancing at you sometimes, a soft, almost wistful look in his eyes, as if he’s seeing something precious he thought he’d lost forever. It’s in these moments that you remember why you fell for him in the first place, why his smile used to make your heart race, why his touch felt like home.

One day, as you’re both sitting on a bench by the campus pond, he turns to you, a hesitant smile on his face. “I know we’re just friends right now, and I’m okay with that. But I want you to know that I’m grateful for every moment I get to spend with you, even if it’s just like this.”

You feel a warmth spread through you, a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Thank you, Bucky,” you say softly. “For not giving up. For being patient with me.”

He reaches out, hesitating for a moment before resting his hand on yours, his touch warm and steady. “I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’ll prove to you that I’m here for you, no matter what.”

And as you look into his eyes, you feel a flicker of something you thought was lost—a tentative, fragile hope that maybe things could be different this time. That he could truly be the person he’s trying to be, the person you wanted him to be all along. And though you know there’s a long road ahead, you’re finally willing to take that first step with him, trusting that maybe, this time, he won’t let you down.

The night is alive with music and laughter as you step into the crowded frat house. It’s your first time back here since everything happened, and you can’t deny the nervous flutter in your stomach as you take in the familiar scene. But tonight feels different—Bucky is by your side, watching you with a gentle smile as he guides you through the chaos of people, his hand warm and steady on your arm.

Over the past few weeks, things between you and Bucky have been slowly mending. He’s proven himself time and time again, showing up when it mattered, respecting your boundaries, and never pressuring you for more than you were willing to give. He’s become someone you can lean on, someone who’s earned back your trust bit by bit. And, to your own surprise, you feel something new blossoming between you—something deeper, stronger, and more genuine than before.

When you reach the main room, you spot Sam and Steve near the keg, both of them giving you a thumbs-up as soon as they see you with Bucky. You laugh, rolling your eyes, but Bucky just grins, shrugging as if to say, They’re harmless.

“Glad you came tonight,” he says, leaning closer so you can hear him over the noise. “I was worried you might skip.”

You shrug, glancing up at him. “Well, I figured it was about time I faced the frat house again.”

He chuckles, a warm, rich sound that sends a spark of something familiar through you. It’s the same feeling you used to get when you first met, when you were just getting to know him, before anything got complicated. Only now, it feels even better—because you’re finally on solid ground with him, without secrets or lies standing between you.

As the night goes on, you find yourself enjoying the party, laughing with friends, and even dancing a bit. Bucky stays close, his presence a comforting, steady anchor amidst the noise and chaos. He’s attentive, offering you drinks and glancing over every so often to make sure you’re comfortable. And every time you catch his gaze, you feel your heart race just a little faster.

At one point, as you’re talking with a friend, you feel Bucky’s hand gently touch your arm, and he leans in close, his voice soft and intimate against your ear. “Want to get some air?”

You nod, letting him lead you through the throngs of people until you step out onto the back porch. The cool night air is a welcome relief from the warmth inside, and you breathe deeply, taking in the quiet calm of the evening. Bucky leans against the railing, watching you with a soft, almost nervous smile, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” he begins, his voice low and steady, as if he’s thought about this moment a thousand times. “I know we’ve been rebuilding things, and I know you wanted to take it slow. But, Y/N… being with you these past few weeks, even just as friends, has been everything to me. And I can’t stop thinking about you. About us.”

Your heart stirs at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you, a sense of longing that’s been building quietly since the day he asked for a second chance.

“Bucky,” you say softly, stepping a little closer. “I… I feel the same. It’s been hard, letting go of the past. But I think—no, I know—I’ve forgiven you. You’ve shown me who you really are, and… I like that person.”

His eyes brighten at your words, and he reaches out, his hand brushing your cheek as his thumb strokes gently across your skin. He leans closer, his gaze searching your face as if to make sure you’re truly ready for this.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, his voice barely audible in the quiet night air.

You feel your heart skip a beat, and you give him a small, almost shy nod, your pulse racing as he leans in, closing the distance between you. The moment his lips meet yours, it’s like the world melts away, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the softness of his mouth against yours. It’s gentle at first, tentative, as if he’s afraid of breaking the spell. But as you respond, his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you a little closer, deepening the kiss with a quiet, aching intensity.

When you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath, sharing a smile that’s equal parts relief and joy.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice full of warmth, “I promise, I’m not going to mess this up again. I want this with you—for real, no games.”

You smile, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Good, because you’re stuck with me now.”

He laughs, pulling you into a tight hug, and you bury your face in his shoulder, feeling a happiness you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re finally ready to move forward with him, to start fresh, knowing that this time, it’s real.

maybe I should've made it more angsty? I love angst, request angst people! lol

2K notes · View notes

biteyoubiteme · 10 days ago

Text

raspberry stains

vampire!sunghoon x fem!reader

❦︎ synopsis: left alone on the streets of your small village you are offered the opportunity to trade your life for only a small price to pay. You are given to vampire prince sunghoon who has not had a taste for blood for almost a lifetime. Not because he does not feel hunger but because he has not found the one that temps him. ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ warnings: vampires, blood, blood drinking, angst, dark themes, reader held against her will, biting, no protection, creampie, prob forgot some sorry

⋅˚₊‧ wc: 18.5k ‧₊˚ ⋅

❦︎ ⸝⸝⸝ now playing: sacrifice (eat me up) -enhypen an: thank you to my bestie @luvsicktyun who sent me an ask after we watched so much en o'clock together on a late friday night. I do not think ill be writing a lot for enha and I will not be taking requests for them! I do hope you enjoy this tho bc I love vampires so much <33 this is not proofread pls forgive me sweet angels I am a monster

[m.list]

To be a gift was to be a blessing. Young girls and boys were picked up off the streets of dying villages, rampant with sickness and filth. The heavily coated royal servants cased the roads, their scent fragrant and foreign. Even if they were not turned they still had that enticing pull to them, lined with the beckoning aura of the vampires just by association. Or maybe it was because no one in your village had seen such decadence, that slow prowl, ruby red gems dripping from chains slung around their bodies showing you who's kingdom they belonged to.

You had only heard stories of the vampires sending to find feeders outside of their kingdoms. Not stolen, kidnapped, or captured. Persuaded by the idea of a full belly that none born to this kind of poverty had ever experienced since falling away from their mothers. It's why when the servant leaned down next to your half-stiff body, trembling from the cold wind, you let him. Let him breathe in the scent of you, eyes closing as you send a prayer for some kind of savior from this cold hell you had been born into. Fingers numb as you held them, knowing that as tight as you had gripped it should have hurt, knees pulled to your chest, the half moth eaten blanket wrapped around you the only relic you had from once living between four walls and not against one.

“Have you ever been fed from before?” It was that single question that made you blink back to reality, looking at the pale face inspecting you. He was a vampire, you could tell from the faint ring of red around his iris’ but it didn't scare you as you had been told it should have. Even if you would be taken away, anywhere would be better than the cobble street digging into you, staining your clothes. It wasn't a bed as you had tried to convince yourself every night as you faded to sleep. If they locked you in a cellar you're sure even if it's cold it would at least keep you dry from the snow, blocked from the wind.

“Never,” the word sealed your fate like a fresh wax stamp. They had not believed you, not fully. They turned over your wrists, tipped your chin looking over your neck and any hot spot most vampires liked to drink from often, just to make sure they found no puncture marks. You were weak and malleable, easy enough to pick up and carry away like the bodies they carted after the plague.

You didn't ask questions, not when they handed you broth to drink, breaking the unintentional fast you had found yourself stuck in. not when they led you out of their horse-drawn carriage and through the back doors of a towering stone castle. It had been a long journey, one you spent most of your time relishing in because of the momentary block from the constant wind you had been subjected to while on the streets. But you should have watched the way in so you could have had some hope of knowing the way back out.

Be grateful, you didn't say the words out loud but they kept on a persistent loop in your brain, rattling around your skull until you wouldn't think any other thoughts but that one demand. You should be grateful, everyone you knew would have told you the same thing. You had food coming at the same hours every day, new clothes that were nicer than you had ever worn, made of fabrics you had never seen in your town's shop before it was run down and ransacked. And they kept you in a small room with a fire, tended often by a maid who did not look at you. But it was all a very pretty cage.

And after a full belly and a right bed to sleep on your mind was clearing. Every little thing that you had been told about the vampires was coming back to you in small spurts. They did not take nicely to anyone besides themselves and their feeders, on occasion, but even then the feeders were their property and not their friends. And you knew even if they were being nice, making you stronger, and dolling you up, it all came at a price that you would have to pay in blood.

You didn't know how painful the cost would be, the stories were filled with conflicting reports. You had known a girl who had taken a vampire lover once and she had come back hazy-eyed and begging to see him again. It was not the kind of inhibition you would have wanted to lose. The girl you had once known had come back hollow, not in the sense of being bloodless but of being bound to a feeling that was unlike any other. And that made you scared. Even more so than horror stories that had come back about the burning that set place in one's veins the second they had been bitten, the draw of blood being sucked clean from them had felt like a hot iron branding them in thin lines all over their bodies. Pain was one thing, loss of oneself was another.

You had wanted help, you had not cared about what would happen to you when you were starving, cold, and so so alone. You would have let them bite you right then without a second thought but you had time to think over what it all meant now. You would be stuck here, bound and passed around like a bottle of cheap wine they found for a good deal because to them you were just a thing to be owned and put away once done. Sure they fed you but it was only in turn to feed themselves. They clothed you but only so that they could look at something pretty while they took from you. At least they had you warm with a bed you could rest on but you're sure that blood warmed was better than blood cold.

The thoughts of leaving showed up even before they came in with the pearl necklace. The length of the pearls strung together is worth more than you had thought possible for a piece of jewelry. The beads looked like white opal, heavy against your collarbone as they fasted the necklace securely. A long trail of them beaded down in a row dangled down your back as if it was a long lead. Because it was a collar, not a fashion statement. You were nothing more than a pet for them and you knew it the second one of them pulled on the string while trying to see if it was in place. The movement had sent your hand to your neck, fingers slipping between your windpipe and the beads, tugging on them to try and see if there was any give and finding none at all.

It had made you cry, feeling the pearls cold, the weight down your back made you straighten, wanting to get away from the feeling, the shock of them like frozen fingertips on your spine. They set out clothes for you, silk and chiffon, flowing around your waist and legs, your wrists wrapped in soft mesh cuffs sprayed with a faint perfume. They were making you look appealing, pinching your cheeks, your lips, trying to get more blood flow through them.

“He will find you very pretty,” one of the many handmaids muttered as she pressed a cloth to the corner of your eyes, collecting the tear that had threatened to spill. “The prince enjoys pretty things,”

You watched the way your chin trembled in the mirror, your teeth clenching to try and get the image out of your head of some prince who would want something pretty to feed from. It only made you want to run from the through, from this castle dawned in candlelight and heavily velvet-covered curtains. You haven't seen the sun in over a week, not unless they let you walk up the winding stairs from your room to the kitchen. The soft light comes through the diamond-patterned glass. But they didn't take you down to pick what you wanted for dinner anymore after you had tried to run.

It had happened in a blink, the door was open, the cold air sweeping in around your ankles the second you made it down the last step. It had been a split-second thought, your body had already been on edge, flight or flight taking over your every sense but you hadn't had an opening or outlet to get the feeling out. And so the second you had seen that bright light, blinding from only having seen the light of the fire in your room for so long, you took the opportunity and fled.

They had caught you and you didn't even have it in you to fight it anymore. The words going round and round, again and again, be grateful- be grateful- be grateful-

“You won't be staying in here for long, most gifts stay with their charge,” a handmaiden comments, fixing your skirt making sure it's laid exactly where she wants it to be. “And I've seen your room, it is very nice,” as if that was supposed to make you feel any better as if it would stop the tears from slipping.

They could set you up with everything you had ever wanted but it would not make you forget that once you had complete control over everything in your life. Yes, you had been in the streets, half alive with no hope, willing to take any option to get you away from it. But now all that was settling over you was fear. Your stomach always turned, everyday you twisted your hands together, worrying at your nails, twisting the mesh cuffs around and around your wrist, trying to distract yourself from the bugs making a home in your belly. You wonder if other gifts had felt butterflies or the same mayflies you had; the kind that picked over dead things and not sipped from vibrant flowers.

It felt wrong to enjoy something that felt like dying even if you didn't know what it felt like to have teeth scratching over a vein just yet. This was supposed to be a blessing but all you felt was the feeling of being trapped, lured in with a small chunk of cheese like a mouse right before it was snapped in half. You were wiggling, each tear a squeak, a cry for help. But no one who set a mouse trap that was intended for death helped save the mouse they had captured.

They made sure the pearls would never come off. Welding the latch shut after you had hidden them. The weight of them stuck and still not familiar when they finally got you ready to be gifted. They had prepped you enough, fed you enough to bring life back into your face, and the person you saw in the mirror was one you would have never recognized at first glance. She was not you and you hated the one who would have you because they had done this.

When they brought you from your room they twisted the pearls until the lead was in front, easy to pull you along behind the servant they had sent to bring you down. You did not fight this time, not when all their eyes were on you and you felt as if you had given up on yourself. Not only were you scared but you were done. You had missed the opportunity to make it out, they had been fast, and there had been nowhere to hide before you hit the treeline of the surrounding forest. If you ran again they had people who would see exactly where you were at any time, and you didn't know the woods or the way back to your village. There was nothing to do but give in.

They had gone over the list of things you would have to do for the vampire you would be assigned to. The long list was told to you over and over again. But they kept up the same few points, never let another feed from you, you were to be theirs alone, listen to them at all times, and follow them close. It felt silly to be treated like a puppy with attachment issues.

It wasn't until they had brought you to the throne room that you first laid eyes on Sunghoon. In an instant he had caught you in his stare, almost as quickly you saw the slight tremor in his nose, a twitch that was stilled within the second you had seen it. He swallowed thickly, jaw working as he took you in. Everyone turned to you, looking over what they had done to make you as close to perfect as you needed to be as a gift.

Your throat was tight with so many eyes on you. The rows of vampires make the air smell too sweet and alluring. Your body was telling you to run, pulse pumping and hammering in your ears. Sunghoon sat at the raised dais with his father, the throne he sat on only slightly smaller, still forged in gold, intricate patterns of ivy surrounding his head like the laurels worn by the gods.

“I got you a gift,” the sultry voice of the king was heavy in the empty air. A room full of still vampires was like a room full of statues, his voice carried between their bodies echoing even if he did not speak up louder than if he were ordering tea. “It's good luck to be gifted a feeder on a solstice and I'm sure you will find her to be very sweet, my men went out looking for only the most decedent of feasts for you,”

And Sunghoon could smell the sweetness on you, the perfume sprayed to your wrists only highlighting the temptation you should have brought to him. For a second he could feel his fangs tingle for the first time in what felt like forever and he had wanted to let them down but then he caught that faint hint of something bitter. His stomach flipped, and he tried to keep his face clear; tried not to let his weakness show. You were scared, the fear tinting your blood with something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Sunghoon had spent years unable to explain why he found it so hard to feed when it was all but expected of him if he wanted to live. He had never met a starving vampire, he had known the hungry, seen them in the streets fighting over meals but it did not feel as if they were being carved open from the hollowness. Sunghoon had been hollow for what felt like years, only stomaching drops of blood at a time before they threatened to come back up. He had never seen a vampire sick like he got, had never come across someone who shivered at the scent of a perfectly healthy girl so willing to turn her wrist to his waiting mouth. But he could not bring his fang forward to do the job, not when he smelt that faint thread of fear in their blood.

They had been tainted even if only a little bit but it was there poisoning them. And he could smell it on you even across the room, your beating heart loud to his ears, echoing the promise of being full. He did get hungry, he was always hungry, and you did tempt him, but he knew that fear was marbling your blood like the fat marbling a steak, others found it gave the blood a spice that was needed but to him it only made him cringe.

You were a gift and he could not turn you away, not when it would show weakness to those who did not know how much of a struggle it was to feed. He would look as weak as he felt when he was so empty. And if you were scared he didn't want to make it worse by trying to feed and coming away unable, then it only colored the blood with the taste of disappointment and that was worse for him to stomach.

“Thank you, my king,” it was the only response he could muster, eyes finding the pulse point at your neck, watching the thumping vein like he was expected to. But as he watched he could scent the way it made you feel, could tell the others envied him as they smelt that spicy sweetness as it flooded the room. The only other feeder here was his father's, the pearl necklace chained to the side of his seat as he had her standing right by his side.

He knew that having a feeder always available was a display of wealth, always a meal ready whenever he even felt the urge. But anything would be better than subjecting someone to be tied to his side when he was already broken. A vase that had cracks in it so that anything added would spill out of him. He didn't want to keep you any more than you must have wanted to stay by his side. Royal feeders could not be fed on by anyone else and so he knows that you were unmarked by anyone else's fangs. And he would not be able to show you that it wasn't supposed to feel bad, that he had been told it was a pleasurable feeling if one found the right match, but Sunghoon had mourned that he would never find the one.

The nights had passed with him thinking about how it was the last thing he wanted. He had lived this long with the hunger he could spend the rest of his life like this. It didn't even hurt anymore, didn't ache as it had when he was a child. Back then it had been an unbearable pain, trying to swallow fast mouthfuls to make sure that even a bit would get down, but it was only for a small time that it would curb any hunger he felt. He would curse and cry over the pain, beg to be like anyone else, and he had tried to use his compulsion on a human once, but still, even under the spell he could taste it, the overripe fruit flavor like sickening wine on his lips, staining his teeth and making him break apart into a mess of pleads.

He wanted to be like the others, even in their disgusting overindulgence, anything was worth wishing for when he was so empty. But no amount of blood could make him feel the same joy they felt when everyone else fed. So he was okay with being alone, okay with the thirst, the pain of being empty. But it was not your cross to bear, he did not want you to worry over him, hating him he could stand, he would weave that into an excuse as a reason to send you back wherever it was they had found you. But he could not say that now with the audience before them waiting for his elation at the perfectly sweet gift his father, his king, had given him.

The staff member was quick to pull you along by your pearls but at least when they pulled you forward they did not choke you as it had when they pulled you backward. He left you right at the first step, the black and white marble, glossed and reflecting the candlelight back at you. When the pearl chain was dropped it was heavy against your chest and for the first time you found comfort in the weight of it, the only thing that was now a constant, something familiar in the room of unfamiliar.

Sunghoon stood, his head dipping down as he bowed, bent halfway, one hand on his stomach and the other at his side before righting himself and meeting you at the bottom of the steps. He reached out and you flinched, eyes screwed shut, worried to feel the brush of his fingers on you when he grabbed the pearls to tug you up the steps to stand right next to the throne he had gotten up from. But the ghosting of his fingers did not come, your eyes peeling open to look down at where he held his palm up for you to place yours. It was a soft invitation that you did not want to accept.

He was so very pretty when you looked up at him, eyes following the moles on his skin like connecting the stars to make a constellation in the night. He looked at you blankly, lips set in stone, still a faint shade of pink, eyes lazy and waiting for you to put your hand in his. You could hardly see the red line around his iris, so dark it was fading into the darkness of his gaze. You watched the way his mouth opened only the smallest bit, take it, the words not even spoken so that it would only be caught by those looking at him and not heard. He blinked, slow, lashes matching the dark strands of his hair handing on his brow.

You followed his command, scared he would take the pearls and tug you like the other one had. He was cold, skin silky smooth as your fingers graced his, not wanting to give him access to your palm as if that would make it any better to have your hand in his. “Careful of your skirt,” he muttered looking down at the way the fabric pooled on the ground, easy enough to step on while you made your way up the dias. Your free hand twisted in your dress, picking it up so that you could have your slippered steps unblocked as you followed him. He did not pull you along, did not lead you, he was there as someone to make sure you did not fall and that was it, dropping your hand the second that you made it up safe.

Next to him on the armrest of his chair, a loop was welded in, the perfect spot to hook your pearls to and make sure that you wouldn't run. But he did not attach it, only let you stand there like some coat rack next to a door. Your lips pursed, you had been told not to cry, warned over again that it was not something they wanted to see; you were to be grateful, not tearful.

But Sunghoon could scent the saltiness building behind your eyes, could tell you were about to cry just by the way you had been shot through with sadness in a second. He had no way to make it better, not when they still had an hour to sit in the throne room to watch the rest of the gifts brought in. From all over people had traveled to give solstice gifts to the crown for good favor. He had no time to get away and he knew the second they dismissed everyone he would have to explain himself to you. He could already predict the way you would smell then, the sadness maybe even twinged with disappointment, that's how they usually were.

And it wasn't as if you didn't smell divine to him already. He wanted to taste you, his father was right, you were the sweetest he had ever come across, but this was still overtaken by fear. And now being closer to you he could feel the ache in his fangs more prominently, a twinge that hurt along his gums. But it faded when the tears threatened.

You stood there, looking out over the people, watching as they came up one by one and gifted things, placing them on a pile at their feet. You should have been tossed right amongst the jewels and lavish wines tainted with blood. You were no better than the spoils they collected now, only you had a heartbeat they were kind enough to recognize and put to the side as ‘extra special’ but it was only a ruse.

It took forever for them all to finally be dismissed for dinner and it was then that real panic began to sink in. You watched the way they picked themselves up, working their way out the door chatting, and going over what was waiting for them in the dining room. But your eyes were glued ahead watching how freely they walked, watching how they went left and not right where you knew the kitchen was tucked away for the feeders and remaining unused by the rest of them. If he took you out the same way you could run, head right and since your pearls were in front of you it might be easier to slip by without being tugged back.

But it was a pipedream you knew as much and it's why the tears did not stop at your lashes but finally slid down your cheeks without a sound.

“For tonight could I gain permission to skip over this feast?” The prince's voice was heavy, the question sinking into you like a stone thrown into the lake. He wanted you alone.

“Of course,” it was no secret from the king the struggle Sunghoon had. It was less a secret how much he had tried to rectify the situation. You were the last option in a long list of failures, the king did not need his people watching the way his son would react if he could not take in even a mouthful of one of the most tempting feeders found in over a century.

His finger touched the tip of your elbow, a light command for you to follow after him as he stood up. He lifted his hand out again for you when you reached the steps, your sniffling loud even to your own ears as you pressed your fingertips to his, letting him lead you down the way you had come up. “And Sunghoon,” it made the boy next to you pause in his tracks, the edges of his lips dipping, lips pursed as he waited for his order, “try this time,”

“Of course father,” but even you could tell it was strained, half said because he was expected to.

The prince did not grab your pearls only expecting you to follow behind him as his footsteps echoed in the hall, so much louder than your soft slippers they had given you. Something that you had realized was so that you wouldn't run; in the woods, you would need more than something so easily pierced through by a lone thorny branch. The thought of escaping only passed briefly once, your heart rate quickening at the idea made Sunghoon turn around, the doors already closed to the throne room, but it didn't mean his father would not be able to hear him. “No,” he didn't need to elaborate, not when you were so clearly turned to not follow him.

“I-” but he cut you off with a shake of his head, waving a pale hand in the direction of the stairs.

He did not move until you did, waiting for you to make it next to him before he continued his ascent up to wherever it was he was planning on keeping you. The castle was too large for you to remember the turns he had taken before reaching his room. Your mind was overrun with the fear of what would happen the second he closed the doors behind the two of you to focus on the left and right turns. Your breathing was coming out in huffs more focused on coming out through your nose, every drawl in from your lungs feeling erratic and strange.

The hallway to his rooms was long and dark, none of the candles lit as you felt your feet start to drag, every step slower and slower as he pushed open his door. He stood there with his arm extended, half in the dark, a soft glow of the fire inside fanning over his pale skin. He did not pressure you to go forward, let you stand there and look at him, trying to catch your breath, trying to right your mind and not turn around again to run. “I just want to talk,” he spoke low so that you wouldn't get scared by the sound.

If before you had found yourself to be caged they were testing how easy it was to recapture you now, how easy it was to get you to follow commands. But you had nowhere else to go so shakily you raised your hand to wipe at your tears, nodding as you made the last few steps towards his door. You don't want to touch him as you pass but it's inevitable in the small space, shoulder brushing his chest. It makes you shudder, you try and pull yourself together but the sound of the door closing behind you is enough to make it worse. The tremble cascading down your limbs that even the warmth from the fire does not help to calm.

The space is large enough to have been the biggest room you had ever seen, taking up more space than even the one they kept you in before with some of the other girls. The fireplace itself is larger than the one in your local town's bar, neatly tended and cleared of ash. A neat set of a couch and chairs sat right in front of the flames, perfect to cozy up and read from the bookshelf that was tucked into the corner. It was dark, the windows covered with the same thick red velvet curtains as the rest of the castle. It blocked the moonlight you're sure would have been coming in to cast the bed in a silver glow.

To the far corner, there was an archway into a bathroom, the tub partially covered with a dark wood divider. There was only one other door, half hidden behind the sheer canopy of the bed was right next to a dark nightstand with a book, left open with a thin-bladed letter opener as the bookmark. You could hear the girls telling you how lucky you were to be given to the prince of all people, not a lesser royal aristocrat with no space but to send their feeder back down to the waiting hall next to the kitchen where they had first brought you.

But even that had felt better than this. You would have been amongst humans like you, not stuck so far from where everyone was that you would have to pray you could find a way out. And it wasn't your room, it was his room that you were invading. The sheets were still slightly rumpled from where he must have been sitting before leaving. It made your stomach turn again, even if you had shared with all those other girls you wouldn't have been trapped as severely as you were now.

But Sunghoon did not move further into the space after closing the door, the survey of the room was quick so that you wouldn't have your back to him. And there he stood taking you in his hands by his sides, palms turned up. “I'm not going to feed from you, not now, and even if my father asked me to try I won't, not unless you want that but I can tell it's not in the cards right now,” he gets the words out in a rush, “the room is mostly yours now, you can have the bed, it's better than what they expected you to sleep on but I have no qualms about taking the spare room,” he nods to the door half hidden, “I won't bother you, and later we can have the wardrobes switched so that you have the space,”

The shock was quick, he was giving up the space for you, a prince shoved in a closet and for what? To make you feel less scared? It wouldn't change the situation, it wouldn't make you come around. “I don't want your pity,” it was the only word you could think of to classify the situation. It felt like pity, it was more than you had thought or asked for but it didn't make you any less fearful.

“It's not pity-”

“What is it then? Some kind of truce? A scheme? If you're going to take my blood, just take it and get it over with, pretending you won't will only make it worse,” the words are bitter to your tongue but they come out just as you had wanted them. His brows drew close, lips downturned. If you were to be nothing but a blood bag to him you didn't need to be treated nicely, you knew the truth of the situation and it was not in your favor. Let him take from you, let him be a monster but you would not let him play nice when he was anything but. Giving you the bed was not a bandage to the situation but something to make it feel as if you owed him for this small grace.

“I'm not pretending, I do not want to feed from you, and so I won't. Believe me or not I do not care but I'm not going to shove you in the closet like some petty gift I did not like and won't remember until next spring. You can have the room and it's for my own conscience that is true but also because it's right,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, taking the long way around the edge of the room so as to not get close to you, your eyes following him as he goes. “We can talk in the morning,” it's the last thing he says before he picks up his book from the nightstand, closing it around the blade you wished you could have kept before disappearing behind the door.

The soft slam is enough to make you let out a breath, the huff bringing forth a new wave of tears as you shake your head, ashamed to be crying in the first place. You didn't want to lay in his bed, not when it was still wrinkled and near the door he had gone through. You didn't want to sleep at all, not here, not when you didn't know what would happen when you closed your eyes. But you did know you wanted warmth so you curled yourself up against the bookshelf near the fire. Your back was guarded and both doors in your eyeline as you tried to get yourself to stop crying.

Sunghoon could hear the constant stream of tears, his book tossed to the floor next to him while he looked up at the ceiling from where he lay in bed. The tingle in his gums had gone, his stomach sick as he took in the unease of the situation. He didn't think he would have left you alone to cry but it had felt like the only thing he could do with everything he had been given. He wanted to say sorry, apologize for everything but not knowing if that was the right thing to do.Leaving you felt right, staying in the small bed, the small room, felt right. He didn't need the space anyway, didn't want it, and he could care less about anything else so long as you didn't think he was some hungry monster looking to drain you dry when it was farthest from the truth.

But it was impossible to convey that to you when you were so terrified, he could tell you were on the brink of giving up, that if he had turned away from you for even a second you would have run off. It was easy to let you go, he wanted you to have what you wanted but if you ran he would have to explain your absence. They would know it was a lie if he said he overfed to the point of you dying, he wouldn't smell like you not even faintly, he wouldn't have a body to prove it, and it was almost an impossible thought with his track record. If his father thought for a second that Sunghoon had fed so much as to kill a feeder he would have been ashamed for wasting a gift that he could have kept to keep him sustained for years.

He could not just let you go without consequence for that action, he needed to let you go after explaining that you were not the one. But his father had gifted you to him in front of so many people. Sunghoon knew that even if he could not feed from you, he would be told to keep you even if it was to show off a lie. People questioned why Sunghoon wasn't around at feasts, questioned what kind of king it would make him if the time ever came if he could not indulge like the rest of them. His father hadn't called him weak but he could see the word in his eyes when he confessed time and time that he could not drink from a vein.

They had given you pearls, that royal leash a life sentence whether you knew it or not. You would be tied to him until he found a way to get you out but running right now was not an option. And just like him he could tell that you got no sleep, your heartbeat never slowing down, the fear still keeping its constant trek through your bloodstream. He could not stop thinking it over, listening to your soft crying, it only made him feel like he was turning himself inside out keeping you here. He didn't want to be a captor, didn't want to be the person who was tied to another just because it was expected of them.

And when he saw you there, sitting watching the fire before you noticed him he could see the beauty behind the teartracks. They had made it so that you would look like a goddess, a blessing for him that would keep on giving, and yet neither of you felt very blessed. Not when you noticed him move just enough to catch your attention. Your heart is hammering as you push yourself to stand on weak legs. Your eyes lined in sleep, hand twisted in the dangling pearls that fell right to your navel.

“You must be hungry,” even if he could not feel the hunger anymore he knew that others kept up a comfortable schedule with the feeling if it went past curtain times. “I can take you down to the kitchen or I can have someone bring your meals here, whatever it is you want,”

You caught onto the hope of seeing the kitchen, of walking past a window to feel the sun, of being so close to the exit you knew. “The kitchen,” you kept his eye, trying to show him that you were watching him, but it felt like you were playing a game of who would back down first, a game you didn't think you would win at all.

“And after?” he tilted his head, his clothes wrinkled from his resting, the hollows of his eyes showing faint bruises from restlessness.

“After?” Sunghoon didn't need to scent your blood or hear your heart when you had the fear written so clearly all over your features.

“I don't find it fun to be locked up in the room all day, if you wanted to go to the library, the gardens, wherever it is I can take you,”

It felt like an illusion of freedom, he would not leave you alone, you were nothing more than a prisoner with her guard going around from room to room before he took his payment at the end of the day. But the gardens sounded enticing, and learning about the castle felt enticing. If going around and looking at every corner of your cell to find a loose bar you could slip from was an option you would take it, watched or not. He had not come out of the room all night, you had waited and he did not once even try the door knob. If you could find a way out today, finally count the turns on the way down and up you would be able to sneak out tonight. Your wardrobes were not switched and you could take anything you needed to make yourself unrecognizable before leaving.

Your fingers twisted in the pearls, tight enough for you to feel the pull as if leading yourself to speak. “The gardens…”

Sunghoon nodded once, “We can go after you have had a proper meal,” he gave you space to get yourself ready and waited by the door for you when you were done. He held the door open for you again just as he had when letting you in. and this time you made sure to know the way down not needing to know the way back up. You counted the right turns, the left, the amount of stairs you took, and where the kitchen doors were.

But you weren't hungry, too busy thinking over the map in your head and how it was forming along with all the other information you were keeping, like how many people you had passed. Left, right, right, stairs, left, right, left, door. It seemed so easy but you knew if you were scared it would flicker out like a candle near an open window. Sunghoon collected things for you, taking the basket with the two of you as he led you down to the gardens.

You had believed for a long time vampires could not step foot in the sun and that would have made all of this so much easier if it was true. But the vampires were only annoyed in the sunlight, eyes sensitive but not to the point they could not see. And most of the time it was grey in the sky, the clouds low most mornings just like this one where the fog settles over the emerald green hedges. Here they did not have to worry much about the direct sunlight because there hardly was any around.

The fresh air was more than enough to make you relish in one small victory on a growing list of losses. Even with the soft mist clinging to your lashes, cooling your heated cheeks it was enough to make you crack a sad smile. It had been so long since you felt anything besides worry and panic. But your smile didn't last for long, not when you lowered your head and could feel the weight of the pearls still around your neck. As much as they had become a habit to hold it was not a comfort but a reminder of being stuck and bound to them.

Sunghoon watched the way you toyed with the necklace, not even noticing that you were doing it as you watched the sunset later in the day. He did not ask when you wanted to go in, did not ask if you wanted to go anywhere else, just gave you the space to breathe even just a little bit. But he watched how your fingers tightened when it was finally dark, your food untouched in the basket he carried back up to the room. He placed it down on the nightstand when the two of you made it back.

Your nerves were on high alert being in private with him and he could tell. “You should try to eat and get some rest tonight, tomorrow we have to spend dinner with the others, and it's best to be ready,”

Dinner, vampires didn't eat anything else to sustain themselves. You knew they could but it did little to help curve their hunger. Most of them drank from a vein or a glass tainted with liquor, most of them enjoying blood laced with wine. But you knew that they would not be sitting around sipping from glasses over light conversation. Sunghoon didn't know how to explain his plan without confessing how burdened he felt. “I didn't lie when I said I wouldn't drink from you, I will keep my promise but we are still expected at the table,”

You watched the way he swallowed, his lips turned down. He felt small, the confession right at the edge of his tongue but it would not come free, “I-” he watched the way your knuckles flexed, fist twisted around the contract the two of you had found yourself bound to. And he couldn't even hold up his end of the deal. “I'll find somewhere else to sleep tonight,”

But Sunghoon had nowhere else to go, if anyone found him outside his room they would gossip. His father would hear eventually and know that he had not tried, he would know he had failed again over something so small, something that was supposed to be so natural. And so he sat right outside the door, hoping that thinking of him being somewhere else even if he was still a doorway away would help you find even a wink of sleep. But he could hear the sound of your pacing footsteps working round and round the room.

You worried at your lip, tugging at the pearls around your neck and trying to pull them free for even a moment's breath. He said he wouldn't try unless you said he could, he said he wouldn't but you had no way of knowing if he was telling the truth. You hardly knew him at all, didn't know if he was known for being deceptive and you could not afford to be lied to, not when it felt so lasting to be here. You would not only have to live with being fed from but would have to live with being played for the rest of the time you were sitting around here.

And it wasn't even about being bitten. You knew that you had given yourself up to it, knew it the second you had let them pick you up without saying anything, you had turned in so much to be here and you would sit here and try to make it okay. Tomorrow it would not surprise you if he lied and bit you right there at the table in front of them all, it wouldn't surprise you if he went back on what he said because you expected it. And at this point, it did not matter anymore because your mind was working again and again, be grateful, be grateful, be grateful.

You would have to be grateful, stomach the upset, and swallow your pride. So you sat at the side of his bed, sinking into the mattress just enough to know that if you fell back it would envelop you like the petals of a flower. And you felt so tired after being up for so long. And even with the soundtrack of your mantra ringing around in your skull you picked up the same rhythm of the floor plan. Said it again and again like counting sheep, laying over the sheets that still smelled of him. That faint scent of white flowers was sweet and alluring.

It was upsetting to like the way the smell of him made you feel. Vampires were made to be the kind of beings you could not resist even if your body was telling you that something was not quite right about the situation. You knew fight or flight and being in a room full of them only triggered the sense. But here, warm in his bed, looking up at the canopy that he must have looked up to a thousand times, resting your head on his sweet smelling pillow you could not find it in yourself to want to run. Not until after you rested at least.

But you did not tuck yourself in, facing the door and watching the handle as if that would provide you comfort with your eyes closed. You breathed in, deep and swallowing the scent you drifted off, half awake for your body wouldn't let you fall into true sleep. Sunghoon could tell this as he leaned against the wall, half wishing he would have gone into his new bed to rest but if you were to get little sleep so would he. He wanted you to trust him, not to trick you but just so that he could show his true intentions.

So early before you had even snuck to take a quick bath without him around, he went to the kitchen and collected as many red fruits as he could, dark crimson cherries, the beads of a pomegranate, and the soft easily ground raspberries, anything that would stain his lips the color of wine. He folded them up into a soft cloth, tucking them behind his back as he went back up to the room. By then you were already changed and watching the door, waiting for him.

But he did not burst in through the door as you had expected since this was his room and only partially yours, no, he knocked, knuckles light on the hardwood, he could have been confused with a branch hitting the side of the house with a soft breeze. The soft patter of your heart quickened nonetheless. Shoulders tightening, limbs locking, your flight was slowly turning to freeze without your permission.

“You can come in,” the words were necessary but sickening to pull forward.

Sunghoon was rumpled, eyes soft as he looked down at his hands revealing the bundle of fruit. He had crushed a cherry on his walk up when he passed a staff member, the juice slipping down his palm and wrist. You had only seen the red for a brief moment, the faint trail of it having your attention before he opened his hands for you to see the rest. “I know it's crazy,” he already felt small even suggesting his plan.

This wasn't something that was expected of a prince, of any vampire. It was something that he had done when he was young, hiding away from the truth and still believing that his father couldn't tell he wasn't getting enough in his system. It felt worse letting someone in on his secret. “For the dinner, you're going to have to put some of these fruits in the mesh cuffs you have on. If they are already stained they won’t think anything of it,”

It didn't make any sense to you as to why he would go to such lengths to keep up his promise to you. You could feel yourself pushing back at his kindness, he was slotted in your mind as an enemy and any amount of niceties would not place him anywhere else. “When it's time I'll grab your wrist and bite the fruit not you,”

“Why?” your confusion was a mix of distaste and curiosity, your brows drawn together as you looked at his red-stained fingers. “Why not just bite me and get it over with?”

He swallowed thickly, throat bobbing as he dropped any eye contact he had held with you. You took the opportunity to look over the moles on his face, finding the trail of them, already remembering as if it had been the map out of this room, only you didn't need to repeat it to yourself; it was as if you had already known the path. “I don't want your blood,” he clenched his jaw after he said it as if that was too much to have slipped out in the first place.

You don't know why it felt like he had slammed a door in your face, the weight of it heavy and fitting so neatly against its frame. It shouldn't have hurt, your mind trying to recoil from the pain you shouldn't feel and yet did. You had wanted to be the one to twist the lock, press your back against the wood, and keep your feet planted. But here he was doing it all on his own. And before you could ask again, the why so close to being dropped between you like a thin glassed champagne flute, he left you with nothing but the maroon cloth stuffed with fruit and your waiting question.

Before it had felt as if you had been given some kind of grace to work with. He had said he wouldn't feed from you like it was a gift you should thank him for. But now he was standing in front of you and saying he didn't want your blood, not that it was something he was holding himself back from. The words were settling over you and tightening around your limbs, you shouldn't feel anything except relief not worry about something being wrong with you. There was no reason to be thinking over this when you didn't want it in the first place, no reason to let the confession sink you so low.

But you would do what you needed to do nonetheless, turning around and tucking the fruit against the mesh at your wrist. He would have his mouth there, close to your vein in only a few hours and it set your nerves aflame. Not only would it be him around but everyone else, the other vampires who would have teeth stained with blood instead of fruit. You would see the other feeders, the ones that you were supposed to be replicated after. You would see what rumor had been real, would it hurt them, or would it feel like bliss?

Either one felt like a death sentence, slowly losing one's self with or without you noticing, one tricking you into believing it was okay and the other tearing you apart. It was all you could think about when he finally came back, his clothes changed and hair done to hang perfectly around his face. He first looked down at your wrists, laid next to you at your side neatly hiding the faint stain showing up. “It shouldn't take too long,” he whispered, fingers playing with the pearls slung across his chest.

It was the first time you had seen such a chain on him, it matched your pearls perfectly, the latch made so that he could hook you up to follow him without him having to tug you along with his own hands. It wasn't fear that was slinking through you now but anger, hot and ashamed. “You're not tying me up,” you drew the line there, he could bite you all he wanted before he found you chined to him with anything more than a speech written contract.

You backed up, legs hitting the bed and stilling you in your place. “I'm not going to be paraded around like that, like I'm a purse at your side, a dog at your feet,” you spit the words, letting them land at his feet and sticking to the world around you. It already felt like a curse to have the stupid chain around you no matter how expensive, no matter how pretty it was, nothing more than a reminder for him that you were little in comparison to him.

“I didn't say you would be, I have to wear it, I don't have to use it,” he tugged on his own pearls looking down at them for the first time, “they want us down soon and I want to go over the plan again,” he looked up, catching your eyes to make sure you were listening. You nodded to let him continue, “I won't bite you, my fangs won't even come out, I just need to stain my mouth and your wrists, nothing more and nothing less, okay?”

“Okay,” you would have to believe him now more than ever, this was a test that both of you would have to pass for both of you to feel comfortable in the situation. The trust is stretched thin enough to fall apart or be strengthened.

Sunghoon could tell you were scared the second he was at his seat with you next to him sitting on his armrest. If he had even been tempted to feed tonight it would have been washed away the second the others came in and you were faced with them and their bruised necks and wrists. The faint puncture marks made by fangs over and over again only looked worse in the candlelight. Your hands twisted in your lap, wrists turned in so that no one could see the stains already made. Sunghoon wanted to say anything to calm your nerves, whisper it if only someone would not be able to hear but he could not.

His father sat next to him at the head of the table, already ready to get the dinner over with as fast as the two of you did. He didn't want to see his son make a fool of himself if he couldn't even try to drink. He had seen Sunghoon unable to let his fangs down, watching him pull away with hardly a drop on his lips before he had to leave. He didn't care if he was putting him on the spot now with trying but he needed to know that he could get it done, needed to know he would make an effort as much as he could.

But you could hardly pay any attention to anything else besides the girl in front of you. Dressed as you were, the gauzy fabric of her dress flowed around her like a breeze while she took her seat at her vampire's armrest. She didn't seem scared, she seemed excited to sit there, leaning back against him. Her faint smile was hazy, looking from his hand in hers. It didn't settle your fears but set them in stone, her wrist covered like yours, dots of blood staining the mesh.

But It felt wrong to witness them the second the meal started, the intimacy shocking you more than the feel on sunghoons hand on your arm. In this room he was the only constant, his soft fingers tapping against your skin to get your attention. But it was hard to turn away the second the man in front of you flashed his fangs, the sight of them making your knees weak in the worst way. The soft hum of approval from the feeder he sank his teeth into slid across the table in a wave. Her lashes fluttered, pressing her wrist closer to his mouth without even having to be asked. She wanted it to happen, wanted him to take the long sips he was indulging in. No one was paying any attention to Sunghoon and you when they were so consumed by their own meals.

Sunghoon slid his hand down to your wrist, the feeling traveling up to your elbow, the hair on the back of your neck rising as he looked up at you for approval. Sitting like this, with you higher, looking down on him and his asking gaze, you felt like drowning. Because for a split second, you wanted to know what it felt like, hoped that in some way you would know even just a little bit without him going too far, taking too much. And you were scared that with one look he would know you were thinking about him in that way, thinking about him doing the one thing he said he would not because of you but because he didn't want to do it.

Every soft movement he made with your hand in his was torture, fear slinking back into you, the spicy scent of it flooding his senses. He was so close to having your wrist at his mouth, your eyes stuck on him as he pulled up the mesh just enough so that he could make it look like he could get his teeth into place, the fruit trapped in the fabric.

Your breathing was pulling closer together, each puff tumbling into the next, mouth slightly open as you watched his lips part. He didn't take his eyes off you, teeth in a neat row already looking as if they were tipped with fangs but unlike the man across from you, they did not elongate. His lips ghosted over your pulse point, the thrumming of your rushing blood soft against his mouth as he took in the first raspberry, the crunch mimicking the way it would have been when piercing into your skin. If you had to play the part you did it well, gasping as if it had been you he had bitten, shocked by the way his lips felt so gently against your delicate skin.

He pressed in further, hand wrapped around yours as you curled your fingers around his. The pitted cherry was next to find its demise at his sharp teeth, the juice of it slipping down your arm like a thin line of freshly spilled blood. Your free hand twisted in your skirt, watching the way he faked the look of pleasure from that first bite.

You shouldn't feel this way, shouldn't feel like you wanted him to just slip up, have his teeth scrape against your skin if even just a scratch. And he was so gentle with you, lips pressed like a soft kiss, feeling the warmth of you against him made him hum, it had been so long since he had felt heat like this so close to him. He tried to keep his teeth as far away from you, he didn't want to scare you much less make it seem like he was on the verge of lying. Because he might have been lying to everyone but he couldn't lie to you, not when you needed the truth the most.

Sunghoon watched the way you wet your bottom lip, watching his mouth, his throat as he swallowed. It felt dangerous and intimate, twisted in deception and staining his judgment. And for a second, the width of a hair, he could smell your blood go clean, whether it was in his imagination being this close to you or reality he had to pull away. And the spicy sweetness flooded over him again when you saw the way his mouth was stained like he had glass after glass of red wine. He licked his lips, wiping at the edge of his mouth, and tried to stomach the faint ribbons of hunger unraveling in his stomach.

He tried to ignore it, ignore the fact he knew it was wrong, and yet how wrong could it be to hope that you could curb his hunger even if it was only an inkling of the feeling? But the memory of the way he had rejected the last drop of spiced blood was still fresh in his mind. He would not try again, not now, and not when you hadn't offered. But you had been pressing back on his mouth, pressing your wrist to him like you wanted him to do it or maybe it was his own delusion teasing him with the idea.

And you would not look at him with his lips tinted a new shade of pink, the crawling on your skin closer to light touches and not the feel of spiders. He had not lied, he had kept his word and you didn't know what to do with that.

You kept your distance on the way back to the room, distracted enough to climb into his bed the second he had gone to his. You didn't fight the sleep that came over you either, the days of unrest coming back to have you pay your dues. Nothing was without a price it seemed because even in sleep you were plagued with the reality of the day. In your dreams, you begged Sunghoon to bite you; held your wrist out for him, and let him take your blood. You could see his fangs and watched them right before he pushed them into you. The pain felt blinding, racing up your arm until it circled your heart, squeezing until you felt yourself snap up in bed, half a scream caught in your throat.

Panting you held your hand over your heart, skin slick with the cold sweat you had broken out into only seconds ago that had felt like an eternity. Your subconscious was telling you no to the temptation pushed in front of you. You knew vampires held a power to pull people in, knew them to use it against even the strongest of people. And now you understand it all. He was calling on something deeply instinctual inside you, the surface layer of it making you fearful but whatever was underneath was dangerous and bewitching to your right mind.

You could not go back to sleep after you were up already. Sitting with your back against the headboard waiting for him to come out of his room while you tugged on the pearls at your neck, not strong enough to pull them free. For a short time, you had even walked over to his bookshelf to look through the boring titles he had stocked up. No more letter openers waiting between the pages as you flipped through tome after tome. It's why the second he came out from the little room he had been sleeping you asked him to go to the library.

Sunghoon was surprised by you asking him to go anywhere, you wouldn't talk to him if you didn't have to and you knew not to leave the room without him unless you did have a plan to escape. He jumped on the opportunity to please you, a silent thank you written into the action for the night before.

He could not stop thinking about your soft gasp, the way you had watched him so closely. He had grown up with so many people's eyes on him, watching every little move he made and scrutinizing every wrong turn. It was not uncommon for any aristocrat, even one held as high as he was to want one moment without eyes on them. During feedings had been one of the few moments of peace he could have in a room full of people, that was until people started to watch out to make sure he was getting food in his system. But you did not make him feel nervous, did not make him feel as if he needed to be ashamed of what he was, of what he could not do and tried so hard to accomplish. You had watched him in awe.

He liked to have your eyes on him, watching the way they fell to each spot on his face, the one right under his eyes, to the one on the side of his nose, and down to the edge of his lips. Your eyes lingered, tracing the shape of his mouth, the line he ran over his bottom lip with his tongue. He wanted you to look at him like that again because if you could persist he could drink his fill of your features, trace the line of your nose, the shape of your eyes, your lips, without fearing that you would get too scared to look at him ever again.

When you looked at him like that he was not the monster he felt you saw him but just a boy trying to find his footing amongst the rest of them just like you were. He hated to know what your blood smelled like fearless, the sweetness enough to ache his teeth in just the right way, the kind of temptation that he was told to stay away from indulging so fiercely in.

But it was a distant scent, gone as quickly as it had shown up and yet he was stuck thinking about it as he sat with you in the library. He had given you space, let you go around and around to find whatever it was you wanted to look at. Finding his seat to rest with his book but his mind did not stop moving, he watched you; followed the invisible trail you drew with your movements. You traced your finger over the spine of each book you came across, reading the names to yourself. He tried to guess the next one you would pick, stacking up the titles that seemed to have grabbed your attention enough for you to pull it from the shelf in the first place, looking for a correlation if there was any except the face they had caught your eye.

You were calmer here in the new space, even when there was not much sunlight except for a small window set into the ceiling. Just the small bit of light it let through even on a grey day was better than nothing at all. And you felt better having Sunghoon sitting around knowing he had held himself back even after being so close to your vein, even when around all the blood in the room. But it didn't put you at ease, not entirely with your dream still so close to the surface of your mind. You had never felt pain as you had imagined while asleep but even just a touch of that pain would have felt all consuming.

Picking up a book you skimmed the first few pages, flicking between the yellowing pages catching the smell of aged paper and ink stopping randomly on a page you did not care to read. You had the intention to find a book to read but it didn't have to be instantly and Sunghoon was giving you enough space to take all the time you needed to find one. But you could spend so long just doing exactly that, turning to random pages looking for something to pull your attention long enough to want to start from the beginning. And just as you started to find that interest you slide your finger along the single page you had in hand.

It was quick, the pain didn't even register until it was too late. The bubbling of blood bright red and nauseating. It was nothing but a thin line, right across the pad of your pointer finger, slicing the fingerprint in half like the visual representation of you being split down the middle. You felt heavy right at your center, a fist around your stomach, churning up your worry while the rest of your limbs felt so separate and far away.

Sunghoon could smell the blood as soon as that first bead donned your finger, pricked like a sleep-entrance princess. The cinnamon sugar scent you had been carrying turned gingery and intense around the room in an instant. Chest heaving you stood frozen watching how the line darkened with each passing second. He didn't want to make it so obvious that he was making his way to you but there was no way around it when he was in front of you, wrapping your finger up in his handkerchief instead of delighting in your slip up.

“It's okay, it's small, nothing too bad,” he tried to soothe, your hand curling around his, clenching around the cloth as if it was the only thing keeping you from that pain made from your dreamscape. Vampires were strong, you're sure that if he wanted he could rip the handkerchief in two without any struggle, just as easily as he could have split your skin like the thin sheet of paper with the edge of one fang. The fabric was keeping nothing from him, not while it soaked in the color of your blood like it would wine, the stain so close to the raspberries that had been left on your mesh cuffs only the night before.

It was hard not to think of him as you had in your dream, but here there were no fangs present, just his understanding eyes and steady hand in yours. It was not as it had been in your mind with him lunging for the opportunity to hurt you. Having him this close to you made the power of him flood your mind. Every time he got near you found yourself leaning in and not away, the time together only bringing him closer past the borders you had built around yourself.

You tried to remind yourself that this is what they did, lured you in, with their intoxicating aura, cunning and clandestine. But even as you said it to yourself, let the warnings ring out like a dinner bell. You couldn't make the thought stick any more than you could the idea that you needed to be grateful. For this small second, you were nothing more than just someone who couldn't take their eyes off of the person in front of them. Needing to be closer, needing to find whatever it was you were missing in yourself and get it from him.

The papercut was so far removed from your mind, everything blurring as you leaned closer, breathing in the same air as he did, each inhale slowing your pulse until you were just about to press your lips to his. The ghost of him just brushing your mouth is the kind of feeling that would haunt you for years to come. Both of you tugged away from the other as the sound of the library door opening echoed, the quick slink of the guillotine cutting the moment away almost as fast as it had started.

The realization of what had almost happened was blinding, cutting across your vision and clearing your head as you turned away from looking at him. You had read about vampire compulsion and knew that even if they were not trying it could slip free and confuse even the strongest person. You refused to believe it was you alone who had leaned in, refused to believe it was you who had wanted him to be so close to you in the first place. But you could not stop thinking about the round shape of his bottom lip, thinking about how it would fit so perfectly between your own.

“Dinner is soon my prince, I was told to give you fair warning,” the butler who had come in muttered, Sunghoon giving his full attention to him as if he could not bring himself to look at you. All you could focus on was the numbing of your fingers from how hard you held them, tightening and tightening with each passing second that you had to think about what had almost happened.

Wanting to kiss him was unlike wanting to be bitten by him. Being bitten was in your contract, what you had been told would happen between the two of you. Being kissed was not something that should have been crossing your mind when he was going to be the person to ruin you. You could live with him taking your blood, knowing that if anything happened between the two of you that would be it. But the magnetism was not only calling the iron in your veins but pulling back your steely inhibitions.

So much so that when you found yourself on the edge of his chair that same night, raspberries tucked in the stained mesh cuffs, pressing your wrist to his mouth without him even having to ask. His fingers curled around yours the same way, holding your hand, and wishing he was leaning back in, just enough to breathe in the same air again. Because even Sunghoon could feel his resolve tumbling down the cliff of his restraint, slowly chipping away at the hold he had because his gums ached, throat sore, his teeth scraping against your waiting vein.

Your gasp was almost as sweet as he knew your blood would be flooding his taste buds. The need was shocking enough for him to pull away from you, keep your wrist at a distance because he was worried if he was any closer, if he smelled your blood go clean for even a second like the last time he would not be able to keep his fangs back. And he felt disgusted with himself from the thought of not being able to hold himself back.

He did not want to be like the monster you must have thought that he was. Monster enough to not be able to stop himself and yet you were not thinking about him in that way. All you could think about was that you wanted it, wanted it so bad that you held onto his hand harder, waiting for him to bring your wrist back up. You could feel the part of your sanity leaving you, the part that had kept you in line long enough to think of an escape plan.

The word makes you find yourself again because while you go back up the stairs you don't even think about remembering the way back down. And it's the first night that you don't worry about him coming out from his room while you sleep. The sheets now still partially smelling of you mixed with the faint intoxicating smell of him, the pillow lulling you to sleep without much effort at all.

It was the first night you could feel the tiredness pulling in your limbs enough to where it didn't matter if you were scared it only mattered that you fell asleep. Aided by the ease you were feeling about wanting him closer to you than you should.

Sunghoon could tell the second you were asleep, breathing evening out, heart rate slowing down but it was the sweetness that did him in. The scent curled through the air, his deep inhale made the smell coat his throat, his mouth filling with venom, gums burning, body shaking. He didn't even remember making it out of his room, the darkness of his shadow pooling over you as he was backlit but the dying flames in the fireplace. But he could see the soft line of your neck, the delicate curve leading to the back of your hairline, the shell of your ear. The thin skin covering your eyes, down the shape of your cheek until he was looking down your jaw back to the curve of your neck, right over where he could see the soft rhythm of your pulse.

He didn't even feel himself open the door, his hands balled into fists by his sides, nails digging into his palms, knuckles whitening from the tightness. Watching the faint rise and fall of your sleeping chest, the way your lips parted just slightly. He could associate your mouth with wanting to bite you because of how often he found himself looking at your lips the second his teeth were close to your vein.

And for the first time in what felt like years Sunghoon felt his fangs push through his gums, digging into the unfamiliar spots of the soft flesh of his inner lips. Because you were too sweet to hold back from, the just ripe scent of fresh raspberries and the soft decadence of vanilla.

He was telling himself to pull away, to get away from the edge of the bed, lock himself in his room, and think about nothing else, think about everything that had nothing to do with you and your enticing blood. But he could not stop the thoughts from invading his brain; if before he had been physically sick he knew that this was a different kind of plague overtaking him. The kind that would have him stop at nothing to get to you, the kinda they wrote about in dystopian books about chaos and destruction. He felt like every bit the monster you must believe him to be and yet he could not find it in himself to care at all because he just wanted one taste, the smallest bit, a drop if anything else.

It takes everything in him to stop from reaching out one finger, he wants just to feel the flutter of your pulse, just to know that there, underneath your unresisting skin was the warmth and cure to his hunger that he had not even known that he had been searching for. It had been so long since that he had even felt the soft fist in his stomach, the tightening working its way up his esophagus. The feeling was so close to how he believed it to feel for you that first day standing in the hall, stuck there standing in the doorway trying to catch your breath. It's that image that makes him leave, the fear he had scented then, had seen written all over your face, your body. If it had taken you everything to step foot into his room he would give his all to walk away now.

So he ran, half stumbling to get away from the bed, the canopy swaying around the bed you lay from how close he had been to giving in and taking from you and not leaving you with the trust you had been working to give him. The door slamming is what woke you, he had not meant it but he didn't know how much he was trying to keep his distance. If he had stayed just right outside he could have smelled the fear course through you in an instant but even then he was holding his breath to make sure not even a bit more of the temptation could slip past his restraint.

But you sat up, heart picking up its speed as you looked around in the darkness, the embers in the fireplace glowing so low that they mixed in with the ash, fading down into nothing but a pale blanket of twilight. He was gone, you knew as much, his door half open could not have slammed itself. Your hand had found its way up to your throat, feeling the clammy coolness coming over you from the adrenaline finding its home around your joints and in your stomach.

The pearls you wore were warm and unwanted, a reminder of exactly how your plan had been fumbled through fingers wishing to run through Sunghoon’s dark hair. You tugged on the necklace, the leash, pulled until you could feel the pearls dimpling your skin. It felt impossibly tight to think about wanting him when still bound like this. In a single glance, anyone would know that you did not belong anywhere except under the blood-hungry. If you broke the necklace and collected the pearlescent beads they would keep you sustained long enough to go far away from here.

But in his bed, smelling the faint white floral scent of him surrounding you mixed with the heady perfume of the wood burned fire it was so difficult to pick yourself up and run. It was worse because you wanted him to want you. Why must it only be you who had to resist the pull from the other, shouldn't it have been the other way around? Didn't they tell you that he would have wanted- needed to have you around him? That he would crave you with everything in him after only a few feedings since vampires got so attached and territorial over their feeders.

You had found yourself in a thorny bush, pinched and kept in place, any slight movement left you with the stinging pain of betrayal. Flowers were supposed to be pretty not painful and yet all you could feel were the sharp thorns. He was supposed to be in your place, stuck and begging to be released by you; your blood the shears to snip away the twisted branches. But he didn’t want you, no lasting desire woven into what was supposed to be a tapestry of temptation after temptation.

There was no lying in the reason why you picked yourself up off the bed, even less when you felt the tears start. To be unwanted was worse than to be here wanted with his teeth in your vein because at least then you could pretend you didn't enjoy it or let yourself know how much you truly did enjoy it and just succumb.

So you ran, did what you said you would, and stumbled down the empty hall washed in nothing but darkness. The curtains were drawn close, the plush velvet carpet that ran over the center of the hardwood soft and slippery under your barefoot. You didn't even notice you had left your shoes behind in the room, thin and slippered or not it would have been better than nothing.

The castle groaned, the shudder of the wind hitting the stone was nothing short of frightful when gust after gust was shaking the trees lining the property. The rain pattered on the thick glass windows even if you couldn't see it, it echoed in the empty halls like a warning. But you couldn't stop yourself now, not when you knew that if you saw him even for a second you wouldn't want to go back, beg him to know why you, why not you? As the lightning started to crack, thunder rumbling felt underfoot as you pushed the doors open to the empty kitchen that you had been waiting to do.

The glow that cut across the sky lit up the whole expanse of grass and trees, the stretched limbs of the winter empty branches twisted, curling, and frightening for the second that they had been exposed by the lightning. The thunder was so close that you could feel it sync up with the unease washing over you. The rain was too loud to think and if you stepped out you would be drenched and cold by morning. Frozen over like a lake in late January. The tears came harder than before wanting to be back in his room as a redundant decorative house plant he kept alive because watching it die would be more hassle.

Sunghoon had gone all the way to the kitchen when he had left. Picking over the stocks of what they had to have them ready for you in the morning when you woke up. In some twisted sense of an apology for something you didn't even know he had done. And had tried to make sure that he could stop the hunger. Trying to stomach a handful of raspberries as if that would help him any but it would give him no sustenance. He could not go down to find a new feeder, refused to go out and try to find anyone who was willing because it had never felt right, he had never been hungry for anyone until you.

His fangs wouldn't even go back up, not when he felt as if you were invading every part of him, his flesh so weak that he was yearning to be close to you. Not only did he want his mouth pressed to your neck to eradicate his hunger but so that he could let his lips find places to remember, places that would make you feel just as weak as he did.

Then he knew you were there, the loud wash of the rain echoing in the kitchens the second you had pushed the door open. He had started to learn the rhythm of your heart just as he had known his own, softly beating faintly behind his ribcage making room to take you in without him even realizing it. He knew the only reason you would be down here was to run, he was not dense enough to believe you had wanted to stay all of the time, not when you were so fearful of him in the first place. He had known of only a few feeders who had regretted their decisions to come here and even then the stories were few and far between.

He wanted you to stay and it wasn't only because he had found himself craving you but because he had been missing something for a long time. Not only this feeling but some kind of twisted friendship or even just acquaintanceship. He had never felt so lonely, not until he wasn't alone anymore. Having someone to match up his breaths with even if they were a room away felt better than sitting alone in his room with nothing and no one to think or lean on.

And now you were leaving, standing just at the edge of the doorframe with the wind beating the rain down on you. Your dress already so thin had turned sheer with the wetness, your chin dripping with droplets of water and tears. He ached to see you so ready to run. He had never before begged for things that were outside of his control, he could find balance within the chaos of others' decisions because like so many he never had an option to change things on a whim like so many people before him. He knew being a prince set him up higher; people believed he had the world right at his fingertip but it was nothing but emptiness sitting around a fireplace waiting to feel the same kind of hunger as everyone else around you.

He wanted you now even if he had said he wouldn't, he would let you go, he would- but his fingers curled around your arm tugging you inside, away from the pelting rain, and into the circle of his arms. You were soaked clean through, shaking in his grasp but instead of pushing you away, you pressed in further.

You don't need anything more than to smell the faint white flowers that had been left on the pillowcases. You pulled him closer, the thin tunic he wore twisting in your grasp as you pressed your face into his chest, knowing you shouldn't and yet needing it nonetheless. It didn't matter if he was also getting wet just from holding you and you didn't care if his coolness was not warming you but making you shiver harder. “I don't want to leave,” it was so easy to say it this close when it felt as if it was only you and him and nothing in between.

They were words you didn't think you would say out loud let alone words that you had come to fully understand until they were leaving you. But here right against him, where you really wanted to be, it was hard not to say them.

“Don't go, you don't have to if you don't want to but if you want to leave I can find some way to make it happen,” the words felt wrong, he didn't want you to leave but he wouldn't let you suffer. But you only held on, shaking your head and letting him hold you.

“I hate this,” you grit out, wishing you knew why you felt this way. You knew yourself and this was so consuming, this need for him to want you back. Before it would not have mattered, the steps down from his room to this very door would have been going around your head, Left, right, right, stairs, left, right, left, door, not the constant echo of his deep voice telling you, ‘I don't want your blood,’ the line itself had found a way to worm under your skin. That worm burrows holes in your sound-minded reasoning, your weak heart, and even weaker flesh. “I hate that I don't want to leave and I hate how you don't-”

“How I don’t what?” Sunghoon was finding it hard to take in full breaths because instead of flooding with fear when in his grasp you were leveling out into calm serene. The swirling scent of you overwhelmed him, feet planted so stiffly and it was the only thing he could focus on this close trying to keep his fang back.

You push away keeping your fists in his shirt, his arms still circling you if he let go you would be back out the door in the rain. But you only looked at him, taking in the sight of his dark eyes searching you for an answer you didn't want to confess to. Saying it out loud, asking him all your questions would pull you apart into nothing but empty bones hollowed out as cleanly as the promises you kept for yourself. You had said you would run, promised yourself that it would be so easy to get out if you just had the way and now you stood here in his arms like it was nothing at all. But it was clawing up your back, stringing itself across your shoulders and around your neck like a damned albatross you had been burdened with; forced on you by your own hands.

But you couldn't keep it in anymore, the words spilling free like a knocked over glass of wine, deep and crimson, “I hate how you don't want me and I hate that even if your need is the only reason I'm here it should be a blessing and all I can think was that I was gifted a curse. I hate myself for wanting you so bad when you don't even think about wanting me,”

The words were like the slamming of a door, the lock heavy and twisting true as he took in your admission. He had wanted nothing more than to prove you wrong, wanted everything in him to give in but he couldn't. Not like this with you on the verge of leaving, not when you feared him still if even only a little bit. He wanted to give you everything you wanted, he needed for nothing, not until he felt this bewitchment overtake him even now opening his mouth to get the words out he felt his gums tingling.

Sunghoon had teeth that already faintly resembled fangs, the permanent outline to tell you exactly who he was even under all the promises not to bite you. But now, his lips only just parted. You watched as they elongated, they were only a bit longer, but you could see the definition. Seeing the others with their teeth in the other feeders had been scary, all the malice written over their faces even if it were only what you had painted in your minds over their lustful glances and soft hands. But now you could see why the other feeders had leaned in at the sight, turned their wrists and chins so willingly at the sight as if they were nothing but marionettes to be controlled by the sight of their vampire coming to take from them.

Seeing him, brows tight, and ashamed, he looked nothing more than a boy looking for forgiveness at the knees of your confession and you wanted nothing more than to give him the grace he so desperately sought after. You leaned in, entranced by his becoming call, every mole on his porcelain skin leading you back to the soft shape of his eyes and the plush pink of his lips.

You were magnetic, pulling him in closer to you, not even from the faint ripples of hunger but from the allure of your every passing breath where you looked at him like that. He did not care about what you had thought about him previously, not about anything else except this moment where you wanted him and he needed you.

Just one brush of his lips against yours was all that he sought after. He was so close to kissing you just like he had been in the library, so near the edge of a cliff he could not fall from and ever return, if there had been any rope tied around him it was his sanity and it had gone slack snapping halfway down once he muttered, “all I ever do is crave you, my appetite so unfulfilled not only because I'm struggling to resist you right at this very moment but because there is nothing else, no one else I have ever wanted more than you. It feels so unreasonably dangerous to subject you to my burning need and yet…” he let the soft puff of breath fall over your lips, taking it in and swallowing it down as if it were a star you had trapped in a jar.

He was so close when the thought passed over you, the fading memory of the reason why you had run. The split second was like ink in a pool of clear water, unraveling like the fingers you had fisted around his heart and soul because he could not take for you when you did not want it, not when he could smell that spicy sweetness mixing together. But even then he wanted to try, just a drop would do no matter the burn, he wanted it.

But he did not kiss you, he led you back up to your room, clenching his jaw and holding his breath all the way back up the stairs. He kept his mind on the next step he had to take and not the way the fabric of your dress clung to your skin, not the way the soft roar of your blood was the only sound he could focus on even through the storm hitting against the walls. The second he had let you go to bed and he found himself in the privacy of his own small space he could not stop the thoughts.

He was starving. Completely empty of anything he had ever felt before. He had believed he had known hunger back when he was young, believed he would never feel anything worse in his life because there was no cure. He had felt in his bones there was no cure except time and suppression but this hunger had broken something in him. He had believed himself a stone mountain, the waves of hunger hitting the side of him gone dry only now he was beginning to believe he had been hollow the whole time, a cave that had been shown the light after the tidal wave came tumbling through to make the echoing emptiness known.

He had known of the desolate expanse of his insides but had never felt as if they ran so deep. But he was a mess of nothing but clawing realization, it wasn't just that he wanted you, it was that he felt as if he would die without you. How he had distanced himself for so long, how he found himself restraining even now was taking most of his thinking because if he listened in he could still hear the pitter patter of your half asleep heartbeat waiting for him in the other room. The soft sound mixed with the mewl of his name.

You were calling for him, drunk on a dream you tossed in the sheets, the fabric twisting around your legs, bunching your dress around your hips as you turned. It was some kind of sense that let you know that he had left his room. Eyes flickering open seeing him half hidden behind the gauzy canopy. Everything felt so sudden the second you said his name in that breathy whisper again he was half hanging on by a thread, finding himself leaning over you all over again.

He loved to see you like this, whining and laying back against his pillows, tucked under him with the sweet aroma of your trust wafting from your blood. “Sunghoon,” his name is like a plea for something only he could provide. Because he knew the feeling, your name in response was the only answer he could find as he took in inhale after inhale of temptation. His fangs ached as he held back.

You lifted your hands until they cupped his face in your palms, pushing back his hair hanging by his ears. It had taken so little time to memorize his features even when you told yourself that you shouldn't have, but there was no way you could forget about a face like his. With one finger you trace across his nose, watching his lashes flutter, brows coming in together as he groans. Your finger seeks out the sound, not from his throat but at his lips, following the shape of his cupid's bow.

There was no resistance as you pressed your finger between his lips and pressed against his fang. Your shocked gasp was followed by a flood of the spicy smell of your fear but for a moment your blood was clean of anything but sweetness. You watched as Sunghoon’s eyes went unsteady, hazy from that one drop. The wash of the taste took over everything he could think about and it did not fix any emptiness but widened a cavern of uncontrollable need.

It was fast, his hips sinking into yours, keeping you locked in place, your finger gone from his mouth as both hands found homes in his hair, gently holding as you found yourself frozen still waiting for his next move. Because he was at your neck, fangs brushing over your pulse now beating erratically just beneath the surface of your thin skin. It was taking everything not to bite down, even just the faint tracing, the feel of how fragile it was to break through and take everything he had been waiting for.

“Do it,” but it felt nothing short of wrong for him to hear those words coming from you. He wanted it, could feel the way he would have begged to have more, and yet he could not take it without knowing you wanted it truly.

The coolness of his body pressed against you and the drag of his teeth sent a shiver down your body, arching up into him, giving more room for him to bite you. It was in that movement that you felt how hard he was for you. Your moving hips only make it known, your begging gasps not only for his mouth but all of him. “Please,” it was desperate and caught in the back of your mouth as you whined again.

Everything about you was so consuming, the way your fear was replaced by the sweet smell of your arousal. Your hands pulled him in closer, legs opening to push him into the cradle of your hips. And then he bit down.

It was a flood of pure unadulterated euphoria, the first taste had been nothing like this, sweet, yes, but not the sugary saccharine flavor that had now overwhelmed him to the point of uncontrollable pulls of mouthful after mouthful. He did not think that he could find a way to ever be full, not when all he wanted to do was drink. To devour you whole and never apologize for what he had done, monster or not.

And for you, the venom was numbing bliss, body going slack and malleable in response, nerves set to feel every feather light touch he gave. He was curving into you, pressing you harder into the mattress as you hummed, that hazy moan rippling through the air as you finally understood why people gave up so much for this one feeling. Nothing would be able to top this, not when you were slipping into some unknown part of yourself and finding that nothing had ever felt better. You would let him go on until you could not think but it was easy enough to do that because thoughts came in half-formed sentences, everything was by touch and sensation, stripped down to nerves that only sought out pleasure.

Sunghoon had practiced restraint all his life, he had never had to pull away from something or someone because he hadn't wanted to be there in the first place. But pulling away he found was harder than starting in the first place. Addicted in nothing more than half a second. But he knew he would have to stop and breathe, to let you breathe. His mouth stained red, he kissed over the puncture marks he had created, relishing in the tremble each brush of his lips made your body react with. “No, don’t stop-” the whine followed by the roll of your hips against him. “More, I need more,”

“Just a second, too fast and I won't stop next time,” he kept his trail going, kissing and re-kissing over the bloodstains in the pattern of his lips from your jaw back down to your collarbone. He wanted to make a mess of you, teeth lightly scratching down the column of your throat loving the sound of your sensitivity. His body was trembling with the need to sink into you in any way he could consume you, body and soul.

But it wasn't what you wanted, this whole time you had been waiting for this one moment, struggling to think you would enjoy it and now you were taught that you had been keeping yourself away from a feeling you never wanted to be out of. If he had asked for your wrist you wouldn't hold your hand behind your back but press it to his mouth. Your hands moved down his body, feeling the thin material of his shirt and needing to get your warm hands on his skin, needing the sensation to feed into your sensitivity.

And for the first time, Sunghoon was flushed, pink cheeks and lips deepening in color. Your blood was so close to how he had looked stained with raspberry marrow. “You look so pretty like this,” he whispered, thumb moving to brush at the soft skin under your eye like he would catch a tear. “Where have you been hidden all my life?”

But it didn't matter about before, not when he was all you could think about at that moment, all you could feel as you rolled your hips under him, needing him to understand that it was more that you needed. And he wanted it too, working on instinct, pushing up your thin nightgown following the line from your thigh up your hip, his fingers digging into your soft flesh at the sight of you. Neither of you worried about stripping completely, Sunghoon’s white tunic thrown aside and his pants unbuttoned by your nimble hands.

Your gasp at the stretch of him pushing into you was so like the breathy shock from the first sight of his mouth on your wrist. Clawing at him you pulled his body in closer letting him sink in as much as he could and you felt full and unbelievably greedy. One hand dragged through the silky strands of his hair, cupping his skull and pressing his face back into your neck where he breathed in the delicacy of your pleasure, hot open mouth pressed over the marks he had already made resisting from drinking again just yet. Your other hand found itself scratching at his toned back, legs widening for him.

If holding back from your blood had been difficult on its own, being this close was taking all the restraint he had mustered for years. He gave shallow languid thrusts, pressed right against a spot far enough to make your lashes flutter with every movement. You were slipping from your sane mind as if you had even been there for a long time. But his hold on your hip and the other hand fisting the sheets in a deadly strangle were the only thing grounding Sunghoon to himself without surrendering to nothing but needy instinct that ripped at his restraint. And you were whispering, lips hardly moving as you leaned your head back giving him more access to your fluttering pulse point. “Please, Sunghoon- please,”

He let his hand on your hip slip lower, wedged between the two of you he found your clit, rubbing soft circles to match the slow thrusts he found himself unable to contain. You whined as his nose brushed over the bruised space he had created, his panting inhalation twisting your insides into a tight knot that only he knew how to undo. And when he bit down again he was overtaken by the complete sense of unquenchable thirst.

For you everything was tumbling together in perfect ecstasy, his fingers, his body, his mouth, he was so in tune with you and you alone that it was easy to find yourself falling over the edge. Your moans and trembling body under him only make him lose a part of himself that he had been holding. His fingers once placed on your clit moved away so as to not overstimulate you now wrapped around your neck, gently holding you in place as he takes one final mouthful of a cure he never knew he would have found.

He pulled his mouth away from your vein, fingers curling around the pearl necklace you wore, the willpower it had taken to do so focused solely on iridescent beads under hand. And then he followed after you, filling you with everything he had, shivering as he moaned into the hollow of your neck, into your ear. The necklace snapped as he leveraged thrust after thrust into you drawing out both of your highs as the sound of spilling beads against the hardwood floor rained down. The bed is a mess of the pearls, all of them slipping and trapping themself in any spot they could find between the two of you.

You didn't want to let him go, not after the two of you were done and he was still slowly pumping his release into you and finding new places to kiss along your skin. “I would sacrifice so much to have you like this over and over again,” the rumble of his words vibrating against your chest, his voice deep and husky against your ear.

He had taken the words right from you, as if he had reached into your head and pulled them into existence. Fear had been warping the mirror of your reality, the fear of the unknown blacking out the first instinct you had when faced with a single question, ‘Have you ever been fed from before?’

You had reached out and let them take you and it had been in a state of desperate worry that you did not know how much of yourself you would have lost to him if he bit you even one time. But being here, feeling the warmth of your blood under his skin settled your unease. It was never a question, not after knowing what it felt like to be had, not after knowing how it felt to be fed from. “You have me already,” you whispered, his ghosting lips catching the words right as they left you. “Just don’t hurt me,”

“Never,” hurting a blessing felt like a crime he would never come back from. Kissing you until you tasted your blood on his tongue; until your heartbeats had synced.

🏷taglist: @xylatox @cutehoons02 @cyjhhyj @izzyy-stuff want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! I do not write for enha this is my first time and I don't know how much ill be writing for them in the future this is for the taglist for this fic only!

#enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon #sunghoon smut #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #sunghoon angst #sunghoon hard hours #sunghoon hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen angst

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maxivstappen · 7 months ago

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THE GREATEST

[ part two / masterlist / requests are open ]

☽｡⋆ being in a relationship with a formula 1 driver like lando was hard, but not impossible. right? a story based on THE GREATEST by billie eilish. — lando norris x fem!reader

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 angst! pure angst, swearing. i’ll write a part 2 if requested 𝄞 4.4k words

❝ I’m trying my best to keep you satisfied ❞

Loving a formula 1 driver, let alone being in a relationship with one, wasn’t easy. But that didn’t stop you. In fact, you were sure nothing was ever going to be able to get in between the love that Lando and you shared, the kisses and the late night cuddles, the fun family dinners and the celebrations of his milestones. Everything was so perfect.

Yes, sometimes it’s hard to meet his standards, sometimes having you leave your own family to go attend races with him, or the blatant flirting he would still be partaking in at after-race parties, it was definitely a flaw of your relationship, but maybe you should’ve just worn something prettier or done your makeup in a different way, in the end it’s your fault if his attention wasn’t keen on you, right?

But no matter what, you were ready to do it for him. He’s your main priority, just as he should be. That’s what makes a relationship a functioning one, doesn’t it?

❝ Let you get your rest while I stayed up all night ❞

Of course you weren’t always his main priority, but who were you to judge him? He’s a professional racing driver, it’s not only a job but a complete career, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in this world. Having a world championship under his belt, that was more important than you. You just have to live like that, someone had to put in the work for the relationship. And because it definitely wasn’t Lando, it was you. But you didn’t mind, you’d do it all over again for him. Because you truly loved him, and to you, there was nothing in this world stronger than love.

So when you both finally get home after a long race weekend, you don’t mind doing the cooking and cleaning and laundry for him. You also don’t mind him going to sleep while you’re up packing up luggage for him and you to depart for the next GP. You would’ve appreciated some skin contact after such a busy and nerve wrecking weekend, but if he needed rest, then he should have it. You could rest another time, maybe during the flight or while he was spending time with his friends. You weren’t sure why, but Lando always insisted on not having you with him, always making up excuses why you couldn’t come even if in reality, you were at “home” trying to get used to the new place you’d have to stay at for the next week. Maybe you would’ve preferred being with him, or having him with you, or being in your home country with your loved ones he was yet to meet, but that’s okay. He had his fun with his friends and their girlfriends, that’s what mattered.

Maybe he didn’t want you there because, while he dated a girl he’s known since forever, a girl who knew him before his win and his fame and his career, all the others were dating models and successful women. Maybe you embarrassed him a little bit, so you were understanding when he told you to stay at home. His fans didn’t exactly love you either, so actually, it was really thoughtful of him not to have you by his side when he went out, because then his fan base and the news wouldn’t be able to pick at every little flaw you had, which you had surprisingly lots of, as the media told you.

The clock read 5am when you finally finished packing up the luggage and went to bed yourself. Well, not the bed but rather the couch, because Lando had just previously told you not to wake him if he was already asleep, and who were you to rip him out of his peaceful slumber when he had so much pressure on him the last three days? It was a little cold, but that’s okay. It was just kinda difficult to fall asleep on the small, hard, uncomfortable couch.

The clock read 8am when you woke up to prepare breakfast for him and you.

❝ And you don’t wanna know how alone I’ve been ❞

You knew better than to complain. Of course you felt a little bit alone in the huge apartments while he was away, spending time at the track or in the gym with his friends. How could you not? You were in a country you’ve never been in before, a country with no familiar faces or friends or people you could talk to besides the McLaren team and well, your boyfriend. But in the end, Lando showed you the world. And you had to be grateful for that. Even if he basically just pushed you around the world and then picked you up again when it was time to travel farther. And god, how you missed your family. And how deeply you wanted them to meet your one and only love, Lando. It was sickening, the need to be at home again.

One time after a long day of qualifying, you told Lando about your homesickness and that you felt a bit alone on this journey.

He got mad and told you if you wanted, you could just leave. He’s not keeping you here. 20 minutes after, you were stood in the kitchen making dinner for the two of you. Your response to “Are you actually fucking crying right now?” was a quiet “I was just cutting onions.”

His reply to “I thought we were eating together, I made dinner” was “I’m going out to eat with Charles and his girlfriend.”

You felt your heart break in that second, but he was just mad and not thinking straight. Outbursts are okay sometimes.

❝ Let you come and go, whatever state I’m in ❞

You spent the whole evening and night crying, putting his food in the fridge in case he was hungry later. The tears didn’t stop until he came back through the door, obviously a bit tipsy. He quickly wrapped his arms around you and told you how sorry he was, telling you that next time, he would take you with him to dinner. You knew it wasn’t true, and he knew as well.

At least you felt his touch again, his arms around you and his rough fingers caressing your cheek. That was worth the tears and the unappreciated cooking.

❝ Man am I the greatest? My congratulations ❞

Miami GP ‘24. Lando’s first win in his Formula 1 career. You were the proudest girlfriend in the world and you couldn’t wait to celebrate his win with him tomorrow, knowing he’d be busy partying with the others today. You’re in Miami, after all. And he has just won. Of course he had to celebrate that with his boys, surrounded by beautiful women and loads of alcohol. He would never cheat on you, but you were sure he wouldn’t mind being in the presence of some women who were gifted with a prettier face and body than you were. That’s okay, at least he doesn’t use you for your looks.

As he stood there on the highest step of the podium, smiling like a little kid who had just fulfilled his dreams, smiling like he once had smiled at you, it made you so incredibly happy and emotional and you couldn’t wait to finally see him and give him a big celebration kiss.

Once he was back in the paddock he told you to wait until the cameras were gone. You didn’t get a hug either. Not until you were back in the apartment.

At last. you got your hug and a kiss. As a goodbye before he left with Max.

❝ All my love and patience, all my admiration ❞

The day after, you woke up at 7, waiting for him to wake up while you were already up in the kitchen, baking a small cake with a “one” on it, all decorated in orange.

Even if you were left unsatisfied yesterday, that didn’t stop you from still feeling eternally proud of him, and proud to be able to call yourself his girlfriend. He was so dedicated to the things he loved, it was a pleasure to watch him go through life with his determination. Racing was his passion, there’s no shame in sometimes forgetting your girlfriend for it.

He finally entered the kitchen at 12, smiling at the small cake placed upon the dining table. “Surprise!” You said, and he immediately went to hug and kiss you, smiling just as brightly as he did on that podium. Moments like these were a reminder that he did in fact love you, and once again, that it’s all worth it.

❝ All the times I waited for you to want me naked ❞

You often wondered how the others managed to keep up their relationships.

Just recently you were having lunch with the other WAGs at a restaurant near the circuit. Originally, you didn’t want to come, still feeling insecure about what the media has to say about you, the ugly duckling around the most beautiful women in F1 history. However, they insisted. At the table the girls began talking about the party after Lando’s win, and how proud you must’ve been to see him on that podium. You loved talking about it, until you were asked why you didn’t come with him to the party. A lame excuse of “I was just tired and not feeling well” made the others look at you weirdly. How could she be so selfish and miss her boyfriend’s afterparty for that? Alex, Charles’ girlfriend smiled at you with a knowing look, but you pretended not to notice, feeling embarrassed.

The next topic at the table was rather intimate, and you wanted to puke right then and there. Were you really the only one who hasn’t been touched in so long, because there just wasn’t enough time between all the travelling and racing and exhaustion? Or were you just not good enough? Was it really your looks? Should you change?

You missed it dearly, the intimate times with Lando. The ones where he finally took care of you instead of the other way around, the ones where you could feel the connection between you two with all your senses. Was it your fault that these times stopped? Lando was so perfect, it just couldn’t be his fault.

Maybe you just had to wait until he wanted you again.

❝ Made it all look painless, man, am I the greatest? ❞

You didn’t show your feelings often, not your real ones. The times he had catched you crying for him on you knees were pathetic little situations he shouldn’t have seen you in. When asked, you denied. “Do you feel lonely in this relationship?” — “No.” “Does he make you cry often?” — “No.” “Do you think your relationship is slowly breaking apart?” — “No.”

Talking about it with the women around the paddocks or when you’d facetime your friends from home, you never once said anything bad about Lando. Never once complained about how he treated you or how he ignored your feelings and your endeavors. Not even your closest friends knew what was really going on, or maybe, you just didn’t know that yourself. In your mind, this was just a phase where his career just made it impossible for him to focus on you. Someday this would change. Sooner or later, it would change.

For everyone else, you had the greatest, perfect, flawless relationship. And you didn’t mind keeping that imagine up. For his sake.

❝ Doing what’s right without a reward ❞

And so it kept going. You making efforts, him abandoning you. No matter what you did for him, no matter how much heart and love you put in for him, it was left unappreciated. But that‘s okay, still. You were in a relationship, your only task was to love him, and you did. Because that‘s the right thing to do in a relationship, and for him, you‘d do anything. No matter if he appreciated it or not at the moment, you knew that, eventually, he would.

❝ And we don‘t have to fight when it‘s not worth fighting for ❞

At least you hoped that he would change someday, so far he obviously hadn’t, and it was slowly getting to you in a more serious manner. In a way that might worry you and the people around you, in a way you wouldn‘t forget. That one time you prepared dinner for the both of you and he went out with Charles and Alex instead, it was all forgotten in a matter of seconds when he apologized. But now every single interaction he had with other women haunted you, asleep or awake. No apology would help you actually think he would change his current treatment towards you, and as it seemed, he didn‘t care either.

There was no point in fighting anymore, no point in telling him how you feel whenever he walks out the door, leaving you alone with nothing but your awful thoughts. For fuck‘s sake, you left all you had behind to be there for him, and how does he show his gratefulness? He doesn’t, because he isn’t fucking grateful, and he couldn’t care less about you and your dumb feelings. He doesn’t care that you want nothing more than to finally be able to introduce him to your family, he doesn’t care that you gave up your own career for his, and he doesn’t care that while he’s treating you the way he is, all the people who knew the both of you and basically the whole internet was only picking you apart. Never him.

Oh you were such a shitty girlfriend refusing to kiss him in front of the cameras after his first win, but wasn’t he the one who pushed you away? And how could you miss the party that night, the party dedicated to your oh soo perfect boyfriend? Do you not care about him enough? Were you not proud? So many girls would trade their life for a day in your shoes, and you just didn’t appreciate that? What a disappointment you are to the WAGs, and what a disappointment you must be to Lando.

“Lando please, listen to me,” — “No, I’m done with your insufferable complaining all the time. I meant it the first time I said it and I mean it now, if you wanna leave, leave.”

❝ And you don’t wanna know what I would’ve done, anything at all, worse than anyone ❞

You would’ve walked through fire for him to love you again. For everything to go back like it once was. When he would brag about you to his friends and even in interview, when he took you to hang out with his friends and to parties, always keeping an arm around your shoulders so other guys wouldn’t even dare to look at you, when he was so eager to fulfill not only his, but also your dreams, wether that be a simple one, like him meeting your parents in your childhood home, or the greater ones, like becoming not only a good, but a great graphic designer. When he would watch you draw and perfect yet the smallest details with nothing but the growing admiration for you visible in his eyes. When he would kiss you good night and good morning, when he would ask about your day and passionately tell you about his. Back to when he had loved you. But now it was too late. All the things you had done for him, all the things you would probably still do, in the end, were for nothing more than a broken heart.

The sleepless nights. The nerve wrecking days. The painful parting from your family and friends. The abandonment of the life with him you had so desperately wished for.

It was all for nothing.

❝ I loved you, and I still do. Just wanted passion from you, just wanted what I gave you ❞

Last day before the summer break, the last race. And probably, the last day of him and you.

You were done with his shit, the sad look on your face visible to everyone in the room as you sat and watched the race from the McLaren hospitality, his parents seated next to you. Something felt very off, your usual happy and optimistic demeanor completely washed off, replaced by a dark, almost expressionless look. They sensed that something might have happened between Lando and you, but nobody dared to ask, too busy watching the intense race.

The outcome was disappointing, Lando finishing behind Max, the one he’d have to beat to win the championship. The team and the people inside the paddock and the hospitality clapped for him and Oscar anyway, with Oscar finishing second and Lando fifth. You cheered and smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You knew what was to come once you’d be back in the hotel. You were scared, sure it would be the most painful thing you’d ever have to do, putting all the things you’d done for him, all the things he’d done to you, in its shadow.

The celebration went well, again, no hug or kiss for you. You were sure his mother had even scolded him for it, but that wasn’t important anymore. You didn’t really care anyway, the media would run their mouths about you anyway, and Lando surely doesn’t give a shit either way. You desperately needed an answer, you wanted him to explain it to you. What had suddenly happen, what did you do wrong, for him to suddenly act like this? And if he fell out of love, then why couldn’t he just tell you?

Meanwhile Lando was busy celebrating Oscar‘s podium, taking pictures for the McLaren instagram account and whatnot, then doing the post race interviews.

He loved you, he really did. But he just didn’t see you as someone he wanted to spend this life with. He couldn’t imagine living his private life without you by his side, he wanted you to come with him to visit his family at home, to come with him when he would meet up with Max and the others during summer break or really, he wanted to just do nothing with you, nothing but share small kisses and cuddling on his couch at home, eating some homemade food and drinking a glass of wine together. At the same time, he thought that you didn’t fit in. Not in this life.

You met when he wasn’t yet the person he is now. When he was still passionate about so many other things other than just racing. Of course this had always been a part of him, but so were you. And now its just racing that occupied his mind, no single corner in his head left for his girlfriend. He knew it hurt you, but at the same time, part of what the media had to say about you was true. The first season he had spent with you by his side, the internet was already raging about how you weren‘t the typical WAG, and how they thought seeing you next to someone like a Kelly Piquet, you did seem a little weird. Lando didn’t want to be confronted with these opinions anymore, so instead of standing up for you, he decided to ‘hide‘ you. To not put you in the center of attention after a race to hug and kiss you, to just let you stand there and wait until you were inside where no one could see you. He also avoided reading anything the internet had to say about you, so the fact that his plan had only made you gain more and more hate, went unnoticed. Just like your complaints when he didn’t want to be seen with you after races at parties or even in a restaurant for dinner with Charles and Alexandra. Of course they had invited the both of you, and not only him. Lando came up with an excuse so he the paparazzi wouldn’t see you. The rumor that Lando and you have broken up after he was seen at dinner alone didn‘t seem to bother him either, but it did you. He thought you liked it this way, as he thought, without any hate comments about your looks or the way you’d dress compared to the others. He thought you appreciated not having to dress up for parties or the countless hangouts with his friends. He thought you cried that night after he was out for dinner because you cooked for him and he just went out, not that you cried because you felt not good enough for him to want you to come with him.

He really was stupid enough to think you were happy with all of this.

And while he was happy to be able to finally spend his summer break with you and only you, it all came crashing down when you were back in your shared apartment. Tears were forming in his eyes while yours were already streaming down your face as you yelled at him, telling him every yet so small detail that left your heart crushed and broken while he was busy „hiding you“, or as he explained it to you, „protecting you.“ this wasn’t protection, this was blatant ignorance. And finally in this relationship, you did something for yourself. You left.

Maybe it was miscommunication, or him refusing to communicate at all. But that didn‘t matter now, ‘cause now, it was over. No more kisses, no more cuddles and no more meeting friends or families. But most importantly, no more crying, no more sleepless nights, no more unappreciated support, no more hiding.

❝ I waited and waited ❞

Finally at home, your family had expected to see you with Lando by your side, and they were so very excited to finally be able to meet the guy their lovely daughter was head over heels for, using every chance she had to gush over him and how unbelievably proud she was of him. So when you stood there with puffy eyes and all your luggage placed next to you, they knew the tears you cried weren’t happy tears from finally behind home again. They were tears from saying goodbye to the life you were ready to spend with your boyfriend, who was now on the other side of the world.

You knew it was stupid, but you couldn‘t help waiting for him to reach out to you again. A call or a message, hell, you hoped he was as miserable without you as you were without him so that maybe Max or even Oscar had to contact you again. Despite all the times he had hurt you, you missed him so dearly.

But after months and months of waiting, you decided that there was no use in waiting. It’s over, and its for the better, it has to be.

It was gonna be hard seeing him again, once the summer break is over. Even if the love between Lando and you ended, your love for Formula 1 didn’t, and you weren’t about to give that up just for the sake of not having to see him. You‘d be in the stands or in front of the TV, he‘d be in his car or in front of the camera. No point in worrying. But still, the first few races, you watched curled up next to your best friend and your parents from home. It was so nice to finally be able to see everyone again, everyone you had to miss all these months you were away. Your dad and you used to always watch races together, and you were more than grateful to finally be able to do exactly that again.

❝ Man am I the greatest? God, I hate it, all my love and patience – Unappreciated. You said your heart was jaded, you couldn’t even break it, I shouldn’t have to say it … ❞

His instagram and twitter definitely make it seem like your broken heart doesn’t match his perfectly fine one. He seemed happier than ever, having fun with his friends at parties and driving around different towns with different girls. Seeing him was draining, but how were you supposed to never hear about him again when the entire internet was screaming his name? You wanted your life to finally feel easier now, but it seemed to only get harder.

You felt you lost your soulmate, while he only lost his greatest burden.

It wasn’t until you watched the first race after the summer break with your dad that it all came flooding back to you. Lando crossed the finish line first, and as the camera switched to show him get out of his car and rip off his helmet to kiss his new girlfriend that looked weirdly similar to you, surrounded by loud cheers, clapping and ecstatic, smiling faces, you realize that maybe, he really didn’t love you. And that he didn’t *want* to kiss you after his races, because it seems that if he had wanted to, he would’ve.

At the same time, even while standing on the highest step of that podium, Lando couldn‘t help but think about you, how stupid he was to treat you like a piece of shit when all you wanted was to be there for him after races like this one and most importantly, why the hell no girl he‘s been with after your breakup felt even remotely close to you. You were the greatest thing he‘d ever had, no trophy, no price would ever compare, and he managed to take it all for granted.

If he had just put in a little more effort, really, you could’ve been the greatest .

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shadowbriar · 6 months ago

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Five Hargreeves - Back To You

Pairing : Five Hargreeves x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 2.8k Warning : Angst. Season 4 references. Synopsis : After one too many subway trips, Five's plan of temporal refuge extended as he met someone he refuse to lose. Notes : I refuse to acknowledge what happened in Episode 5 and 6 though I use the gif of said episodes. Don't come at me if you don't agree. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

Living in a small cottage by the lake has never been in his cards. To settle down and watch the sun sets everyday, hearing the rocking chair creak as he takes a sip of his coffee. This was beyond anything he could ever hoped for, anything he could afford. He knew that this wasn’t the life he’s supposed to lead. Lord, this wasn’t even a life he owns to begin with. But with each second passed in this universe, Five finds it hard to drag himself back to that subway and return to his own timeline.

“Enjoying the scenery, are we?” She whispers as she sits on his lap, clinging her arms around his neck “You know, I could really use the help stuffing that chicken. It is afterall your special request.”

The boy raised an eyebrow, “Shouldn’t I be off of any chores since it is my special request?”

“Just because it’s your birthday, doesn’t mean you’re having a vacation, big guy,” She reasoned “We’ve only got two hands and this house is only getting bigger than smaller.”

The boy couldn’t bite his grin when he leaned in to kiss her. His heart swells. She was right. The house feels like it’s growing along with them. They might not have much, certainly far from the wealth his father possesses, but it was much more than enough. Having her was much more than enough.

“You know that I love you, right?” Five asks as he pulls away, his left hand still cupping her cheek as his thumb caresses her gently.

“I know,” She nods, smiling “But you can’t sweet talk your way out of kitchen duty, Mister.”

Five chuckles, standing from his seat as he carried her in his arms, “Alright, Missy, let’s see what this chicken fuss is all about.”

—-

The muscles on his cheeks were aching but he couldn’t fight the need to grin as wide as he could. He was happy, watching her carry that awful looking cake out of the oven. The icing that supposedly spelled ‘happy birthday’ was crooked, its colour pale compared to the bright fondant covering it. Thank God the candles were their only source of light, otherwise she wouldn’t even bring it out, he reckons.

“It’s ugly, I know,” She says as she lets it rest on the table “But it tastes better than it looks, I promise.”

Five shakes his head, disagreeing with her discouraging comments as he steals a kiss, “It’s perfect.”

“Well, go on and make a wish!”

The boy closes his eyes. His hands holding hers as he whispers his wish: I wish for this to last forever. Her squeals of excitement was music to his ears as he blew the candles. It is indeed the best birthday of his life.

“I’d ask but I know you wouldn’t tell me your wish.”

“Who said I made any wish?”

“You did,” She says as she helps him cut the cake “You make that little frown everytime you say your little prayer, do you know that?”

“I don’t pray, Love.”

“You do. Well, not religiously, but sometimes you do. You say your little prayer, your hopes. You whisper them sometimes, but most times you just close your eyes and do that little frown thing.”

Five raised an eyebrow, “Have you been watching me?”

“I might,” She teases “I mean who wouldn’t watch such a handsome man like you?”

The night continues as the couple finishes their dinner. Fulfilled would be such an understatement for what he feels right now. Everything he ever wanted, everything he ever dreamed of, is served right in that room. He wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

“So can I take a guess about what you wished for?”

“Really, Love?” He asked, putting down his glass of wine.

She shrugs, “We’ve talked about everything else, haven’t we?”

“You know, there’s a belief that if you say your prayers, it won’t happen.”

“Well, you’re not saying what it was, I’m just taking a guess what it’s about.” She argues, still persistent “And what’s so bad with it not happening? Do you really want it that bad?”

“I— Nothing, I just don’t—”

“What is it that you could wish for? What is it that you don’t have?”

“Nothing, I’m not saying that I want anything, I just—”

“Is it your family?”

Five pauses. It was as if he was stupefied. He hadn’t thought about his family in a while. Shameful of him, sure, but after one too many subway trips, he figured that a little rest shouldn’t be so bad. He just had to find a timeline where there weren't that many people shooting at him. Perhaps take a week or two to rest and gather his strength before jumping into another subway.

It just had to be her. The girl he bumped into right after he got out of the station. He remembers vividly the concerned look on her face when she saw him. He was littered with bruises, dirt and dust covering his body. He looked more like trouble than a lover yet she still found it in her heart to ask if he needed any help.

And here he was, feeling the happiness in his heart wither as the thought of his family returned to his consciousness. He knew that the universe is cruel, that he couldn’t have the best of both worlds in this lifetime, that he had to choose between his lover or his family. Some nights he wonders if his family had succeeded in preventing another apocalypse without him. Some nights he wonders if his family had found a way to another timeline. Some nights he wonders if his family were still alive. But most nights he tried his best to ignore these wonders. His family must have found a way to stop the apocalypse, or at least escape another one.

Taking a deep breath, Five reaches for her hands. Guilt and regret were evident on her face. He knew that she didn’t mean to sound as cruel. Perhaps it was the wine that made their blood more sensitive or that the fatigue of the day had clouded their minds. Either way he knew that they both would be sorry when the morning came.

“I love you,” He starts gently “I love you more than anything in this and every timeline.”

A tear left her eye. It was painful. To love someone you know doesn’t belong to you. To desperately grasp into the moments you knew would end anytime soon. To selfishly stay in a relationship that was doom from the start. Neither of them deserved this, yet neither of them wanted to let go.

“It’s been six years, Five,” She reasoned “As much as I love you.. We can’t keep living like this.”

“Time works differently there, my love. Six years here might only mean a couple hours there.”

“That doesn’t make it any less wrong for you to stay. Those couple hours might be the most crucial hours for your family. They might be fighting for their lives right now, they might be dying, for all we know! You need to come back to them, Five. You have to.”

Five forces a laugh, “Wait, what are you saying?”

She remained silent. Her tears were falling, biting her lips to conceal her tremble. A bitter feeling is brewing in his stomach now.

“Your family needs you and—”

“Okay, stop,” He stood from his seat with an offended look “Are you breaking up with me? On my birthday?”

She looks away, unable to meet his eyes.

“Goodness, you can’t be serious.”

“What choice do we have, Five? One way or another, you’d have to go back to your family. They need you—”

“And you? You don’t need me anymore?”

Her jaw clenches, “That’s beside the point.”

“No, that is the whole point, actually,” He argues, this time coming close to her “I love you, alright? Why is it so wrong for me to want to be with the person that I love? I’ve lived more than a lifetime alone, why can’t I have someone for once?”

“You don’t belong in this timeline. I—”

“I belong with you,” He cuts in “It’s not the timeline that matters, it’s where you are. I belong with you.”

If there’s anything she loves most about Five other than his gentle and caring nature towards her, it would be how adamant he is once he’s set his mind into something. There’s no doubt in her heart about the genuinity of his words. But as much as she’s grateful and touched over it, she knew that they could only spend so long before the guilt eats them whole.

She lets go of his hands softly, placing them on his cheeks instead. She admires him. The beautiful man that’s now standing in front of her with his heart on his sleeves, announcing his devotion to her on the day when he’s supposed to be the one showered with attention and love. His eyes were glossy, clearly conflicted.

“I love you, Five,” She whispers, gently caressing his skin as if it was their last goodbye “But I can’t keep you here, I can’t. I can’t keep you from your family.”

Five looks defeated, silent.

“Don’t you want to know what happened to them? If they’re okay? If they’ve figured out how to stop the apocalypse? Don’t you want to know?”

“I— I don’t know.” He answers “What I know is that I want to be with you.”

“I’ll always be with you, Love,” She reassures, kissing his cheek “I might not understand how this whole different timelines work, but I know that whichever timeline it is, whatever universe we live in, I will always belong to you. I will always be with you.”

And he finally cries. His tears flowing and wetting her palms. His heart shatters, finally succumbing to the guilt he’s tried so hard to bury and forget. He misses his family, he wanted so badly to get back and pick up where he left off, but would it be worth it? Would leaving everything here be worth it? Would leaving her be worth it?

“We’ll find our way,” She reassures, pulling the broken man into her embrace “You’ll find me in your timeline. Maybe we’ll meet at the grocery store, or at a bar, or perhaps at another train station.”

Five chuckles a little, letting a shaky breath as he asks, “And if we don’t?”

“We will,” She says firmly, giving a little space between them so they could gaze into each other’s face “I’m too much of a troublemaker and you’re too much of a problem solver for us to not meet. It’ll be too hard to ignore each other with our nature, Love. We’re bound to meet each other, in any timeline, in any universe. Trust me.”

The boy forces a smile. He leans in, kissing his lover gently as if she’d burst into petals if he pushed too much. Her hold around his neck feels different. Like she wasn’t looking for support but giving one instead. He could feel her trembling a little as his hands pulled her closer by the waist. Her heart is breaking too, as much as his is, but they knew that it’s inevitable. It’s only a matter of time before time pulls them apart and it certainly would be much more painful then.

“I’ll find you,” He whispers “I promise.”

—-

Canada is certainly much colder than home. Five rubs his hands and blows some air to his palms in hope to gain some warmth, but it’s obvious that the only comfort he’ll find in this weather is to get in Viktor’s bar and ask for some drink. That is, if Diego could start the car and get them going.

“It says here that Viktor’s bar is only five minutes by foot,” Klaus says “Who wants to run to the bar with me?”

“No one is getting out of this car!” Diego says in frustration, irritatedly trying his best to start the engine “We’re going to get to his bar together, in this car. That’s the whole point of a family road trip. We go to the bar by car, not by foot!”

“Yes, but it’s freezing here, Diego! The heater is not even on!” Alison argues.

“Well, it won’t be unless the engine is on.”

“No shit, Luther,” Ben says “I vote to run.”

Lila raises her hand, “Second to run.”

“No! No one is getting out of this car!” Diego yells once more, hitting the steering wheel frustratedly “I just need to—”

And by God’s miracle, the engine turns back on. Though their trip would soon reach its main destination, the bicker done by the family persists. The coldness of Canadian weather and how the heater broke almost twenty kilometres ago has made the seven heads’ temper raise. They really need to get to Viktor’s bar before they start to kill each other.

“I’m out of here,” Five announce as the car gets into the parking space of the bar. He space jumped inside, finding himself on one of the empty stools “Good to see you, Viktor.”

“Five,” VIktor greets, a little startled but his smile grows “You’re here. Where are the others?”

“Still figuring their way out to get here. Can I get whiskey on rocks?”

“On it.”

Five taps on the wooden table as he waits for his drink. His heart was content, as much as it might mean now. Their plan to stop the apocalypse worked. Viktor managed to take the marigold off of Ben before the Cleanse happened and now they’re trying to get back or rebuild their life. For once they finally managed to stop the apocalypse from happening.

Right after they succeeded in preventing the cleanse, Five found himself running to the subway station. He could still feel his feet burning from how fast he tried to get back to the station, wanting to jump in the train and go back to her timeline, but once he got there, the station vanished. There was no trace of it, no matter how many times he tried to run around and look for it. The subway is gone. She is gone.

Perhaps it was the price he has to pay for saving the universe. One’s happiness in exchange for the lives of millions doesn’t seem to be a hard sacrifice to make, but it’s still a tough pill for him to swallow. He knew that she would be proud. That she would hug and kiss him for doing all the hard work in saving the world. But the more he thinks about it, the more it stings for such touch would only be as good as a dream now.

“You ordered whiskey on rocks?” A voice asked, breaking his train of thoughts.

Five’s mouth went agape. He couldn’t tell if he was daydreaming or if this was some sick new power he gained from the marigold, but she was there. Standing right in front of him with a glass of whiskey in her hand.

“Viktor said his brother ordered whiskey on rocks, I assume that’s you?”

“I— Uh, yes,” He stammers, getting off the stool “You’re here.”

Five couldn’t believe his eyes. In his heart he knew that they would meet again, that somehow the universe would let him keep both her and his family, but he never expected that it was true. He never expected that he would meet her again. Not this fast, not this way.

“Sorry?” She asks, raising an eyebrow “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” Five said, shaking his head and taking the glass “Thank you.”

The girl smiles. It was a different smile than what he’s used to seeing. There wasn’t much love in her eyes, but he wasn’t in the position to complain. The girl he’s staring at and his lover might be the same person but she’s yet to know him here. She’s yet to know that he’s hers. She’s yet to know that he loves her. She’s yet to know that he belongs to her.

“Sorry, but have we met before?” She asks, still staring back at him “You look very familiar.”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” He lied, offering his hand “I’m Five. Five Hargreeves. Viktor’s brother.”

She took his hand, telling him her name, “I didn’t know Viktor had a baby brother.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not really his baby brother. It’s— It’s complicated.” Five could feel his cheeks burning like a little boy, bashful “It’s a long story.”

“You mind telling me about it?” She asks, leaning on the table “I’ve got time. I love hearing stories.”

“I know you do,” He says with a big smile “Well, where do I start..”

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves angst #five hargreeves fluff #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #five hargreeves x oc #the umbrella academy #tua #five hargreeves scenario #five hargreeves scenarios #five hargreeves oneshot

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pedgito · 2 months ago

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𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 | Javier Pena x reader

summary | Authority looks good on him, but you think he'd look ever better on his knees.

author's note | written for @wannab-urs’s DMAMC 2025. forever and always a special thank you to @murder-wife for the beta.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, sub!javier, dom!reader (but lbr, they’re both switch) obviously. reader has vague backstory (related to work), enemies to fwb, they fuck a lot oops, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), restraints, brat!javi as god intended, choking, coming untouched, edging for the greater good, amen.

word count — 6k

Javier Peña dominated every facet of his life.

Work. Home. It was no surprise with how easily he authoritates a room.

You’ve learned to mind your business at work, keeping to the file and lunch room. There, back, never anything less or more. It was a security net, a secondary salary unless your primary fell through—it hardly did, considering there was always dirt to dig up, but it was nice to have the additional income. One less stressor among the many. The road here had been long, sinuous and complicated and you were thankful for this overdue regularity in your life.

The one thing Javier hadn’t figured out about you was that you and him had more in common than he expected. Different sides of the same coin, you yearned for the control and command in whatever situation you found yourself in, liked the idea of you having power over the outcome.

It was a high that you craved like nothing else.

“Morning,” He greets casually—you’ve known him for a distance for weeks now, only trading files in and out, turning in his paperwork, signing off on certain things without looking like a robot. Assess, find, file, repeat. It was monotonous, but it was easy, “what are we up to today, cups?”

That stupid fucking nickname.

It was a running joke amongst your co-workers—he’d only caught on recently—watching how you plowed through a pot of coffee on your own, never re-using the same flimsy cup, always grabbing a fresh one. Your stack was only about six inches tall today, but you were running on mostly fumes.

“Fuck off,” You sneer, a lighthearted roll of your eyes, “this it?”

You yank the file from his grip as he spots the watch on your wrist—he analyzes, squints, grabbing your arm without acknowledgement as he speaks his mind.

“Pretty nice for a file clerk salary,” He frowns in consideration, “Cartier?”

He’s been prying recently.

Javier didn’t have any evidence, but there was a deep suspicion.

One, you were a mole—working for Escobar, infiltrating the DEA from the inside.

Or two, you were just a liar.

Your story has never changed. You transferred from the states a few months ago. You were living at a small apartment in town that most of the staff seemed to hole up in during their transfers and long-term stays. Javier would occasionally catch you in the hallway, but he never talked. He was always pensive, stiff, odd.

You worked as a file clerk, did your job, and went home. That was it.

Except it wasn’t.

He’d figure it out. It would eat away at him until it did.

“It was a gift,” You retort, pulling your wrist from his grip as you sign on the paperwork inside the file and place it aside, fiddling with the jewelry on your wrist as you fit the watch back into place.

Also, not a lie. It was a gift…from a client.

You side eye him as he continues to stare before you finally get annoyed enough to bark at him.

“Are you lost, Peña?” You ask, “You’re holding up the line,” He peers over his shoulder at the few men that have gathered behind him, cigarettes perched on their lips and an expectation for him to hurry it up, “Keep it moving,” You tease with a nod of your chin.

He flicks at the stack of cups and sends them tumbling to the floor with a triumphant grin, watching as your mouth gaped, trying and failing to hold back the chuckle that rises in your chest.

It was a harmful back and forth—not quite enemies, not friends either.

Eventually, he finds himself with a dilemma.

Weeks and weeks of nothing on the trail to take down Escobar and he’s grasping at straws, on edge, and you’re the easiest target for him to attack.

–

It was a simple trading of evidence for payment as you were gearing to make the drive home, helping out a co-worker under very specific terms that he wouldn’t approach you during work hours—he was almost positive his wife was cheating on him, begging you to dig up information on the supposed suspect.

She was going on extended vacations for work, a traveling nurse with a bad habit of leaving evidence behind—though, with her, it seemed like less of a mistake than her poor husband thought it to be. Either way, you got the information and he handed the money over.

It was one of the easier sides of your other job, less of a risk than running surveillance or being asked to break the law by government officials who were either corrupt or just desperate for information or a helpful break in a case.

Javier was being nosey, unfortunately. And you knew he was watching, turning your head to him as he approached when the coast was clear, cornering you at your door with a mere centimeter of distance between you both.

“Insubordination, really?” Javier bites, eyebrow raised in skepticism as he looks you over, not even a twitch of intimidation in your expression. “Carrillo would have your ass over this.”

You shake your head in amusement, pressing a gentle hand against his chest to shove him backwards, patting as if to console a child, “Javier, I don’t know what you think you saw, but you might need to take a break on these late nights at the office. They’ll drive you crazy.”

“Crazy?” Javier echoes, “Estás loca,”

There’s a certain jeer to his tone, stress collecting in his furrowed brow that helps you figure out where to attack, “Are you okay?” You ask with a serious tone, “Do I need to report you to Carrillo?”

“Traidora,” He remarks, “You think I can’t tell?”

You tilt your head in question, ignoring his own.

“I haven’t had a break in this shit in weeks, chasing a fuckin’ ghost—do you work for him?”

There it was, the lapse in judgment you were waiting for.

“Who is it?” You ask, “What are you after?”

He gives you a name, a subtle amusement to his tone like you should already know. It doesn’t immediately ring a bell and it shouldn’t, considering what he was accusing you of was the furthest thing from the truth.

“Carrillo knows what I do,” You tell him honestly, “So, go ahead. Tell him. I dare you.”

You knew it was a mix of work stress and whatever demons Javier was harboring in the backseat of his mind, a job that riddles you with guilt and what-ifs, it tends to boil over.

Whatever—you’d do him this one favor.

“Te verás estúpido.”

It shuts him up, thankfully.

–

You’ve got the file on his desk by eight o’clock the next morning—a long night of extensive research that led you toward a full file of usual information, whereabouts, alias, anything that could help out, even just a little. You’re pouring up a fresh cup of coffee when he spots it, dropping his bag into his chair and picking up the file like it was a spectacle, peering around all sides before he flips it open, a pink sticky note pressed into the first page.

His nose twitches, like a sniffle as he crumples up the note and shoves it into his back pocket, his eyes peering up to lock with yours from across the room, like he sensed your gaze. A smile gracing your face as you stirred your coffee, nothing out of the ordinary.

He approaches you near lunch, the file room emptying as people are heading toward the break room, but Javier catches you at the perfect time, back turned and he’s slapping the file on the desk behind you with a distinct clearing of his throat.

“You wanna explain this?” Javier inquires, fingertips spread across the file as he slides it toward you.

You stare him down, a silent challenge as his hands settle against his hips.

You push the file back, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He digs the pink note from his pocket and flattens it out, turning over a closed file to match up the messy cursive handwriting, “Is that not your handwriting?”

You quickly snap the file closed and pick it up, shoving it into his chest.

“Take the damn file, Peña,” You order him, a sheer darkness to your gaze that glosses over, compelling Javier to take the file without another word, “I’m not a traitor, okay?”

Javier chews at his bottom lip in thought, taking a quick glimpse through the file once more, impressed by the collection of information that has had him stalled for weeks, handed to him on a silver platter.

“You wanna grab lunch?” He asks casually, peering up at you from the file, a smile curling under his thick mustache, “My treat.”

“It fucking better be,” You remark.

–

It starts that way, a gradual comradery shared over lunch and late nights, moving from twenty-four hour dine-in spots to the comforts of your own apartments, trading off in a discombobulated schedule.

A big break in the case called for celebration, having finally caught the one member of Escobar’s entourage that they had been after for months, having been helping Javier behind the scenes with no expectation of credit, thankful that it didn’t intersect with much of your other work.

“So, is it usually cheating couples?” Javier asks curiously, shooting him a look of warning, “C’mon, chiquita, I’m curious.”

You shrug, closing the file as you tossed it aside, stretching back on the couch with your open beer in hand, enjoying the soft, plushiness of Javier’s couch.

“Family, sometimes,” You add, “And strangers, more often than you think.”

Javier makes a small hmph sound through closed lips, scratching as his cheek as his thumb circles the lip of the bottle, oddly reminiscent of something far too dangerous to allow your mind to wander towards this late at night, three bottles in, and sleep deprivation on the rise.

“Do you want me to walk you back?” Javier asks after a long period of silence, still repeating the same subconscious motion to the bottle as it sits between his thighs, legs outstretched and his left knee knocking against your own that were curled underneath you know.

“Give me a minute,” You murmur, eyes falling closed as down the rest of you beer and place it on the floor, your hand failing to support you as it slips from the cushion, sending you tumbling to the floor at Javier’s feet, laughing immediately at your drunken clumsiness as he leans forward in concern, placing the beer bottle on the table as he reached for you.

“Shit, you’re a sloppy drunk,” He jokes, subtly pushing your hair back to check for injury, a sudden charge to the air as you kneel between his legs, his chest hovering above, his tongue peeking out to lick his bottom lip, “is it always that bad?”

You laugh again, a soft snort through your nose as you shake your head.

“Wouldn’t you love to know,” You remark, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he chuckles, the faint smell of barley on his breath as you’ve come to realization that not only had his hand stayed on your face, but the other had joined—it was a silent yearning that Javier couldn’t find the balls to act on, so you do it for him, “—are you gonna ask to fuck me yet or not?”

“Is that what you want?” Javier counters, “You want me to fuck you?”

“I mean,” His thumb grazed along your bottom lip, a subtle pull that has you rising to press the palms of your hands against his thigh, willing to crawl into his lap if he pulled you further into him, but instead you hovering back, a challenging gaze and smirk only our lips, “unless you want me to fuck you?”

Javier’s face pinches together in confusion, amused but still wholeheartedly confused.

“You didn’t say no,” You tease, another beat of silence as he remains undecided before you’re answering him, “yes—I want you to fuck me, Javi.”

And, god, does he.

It’s messy—sweaty, hot, sticky, and nothing near graceful.

Javier fucks like you expected he would—because, despite your best efforts, it had been a thought to cross your mind.

He ravishes, controls, demands. He’s insatiable and greedy, never enough. One orgasm, a second, a third before you’re begging, pleading for relief. He likes to work himself up—he gets you first with his fingers, then his mouth, eventually sliding the head of his cock against the seam of your soaked, oversensitive folds and catching against your entrance before he slides in with a deep, guttural groan.

But, he can’t have all the fun.

You eventually wrestle him into the cushions, on his back as he grips at your thighs, both of your hands clutched against the arm of the couch and the back, Javier entranced with you, his eyes showing as much amongst his needy, wandering hands. And he tries to hold off—he does, but his climax hits him with gusto, leaning up to levy the dominance between you both as he fucks up into you, his foot sliding to the ground to steady him, face buried in your chest as he comes inside of you, something you two hadn’t discussed beforehand and comes as an immediately apology from Javier, his cheek pressed against your breasts as you slump back into the couch, leaving Javier to catch his breath as he leaned against you.

“Don’t worry,” You assure him with a tired laugh, “I would have let you know if I wasn’t okay with it before you did it.”

Exhausted, Javier chuckles too.

It was the first of many late night meetings—some work, mostly play. Javier finds himself a little more emboldened as time goes on, interrogating you like a suspect after a long, eventful day.

“Javi,” You sigh, “your dick is still inside of me and you want to talk about work?”

Javier shrugs impishly from his position beneath you, sitting in his lap as he leaned against his headboard.

He leans forward, pressing a wet kiss against the column of your throat before his kisses trail, teeth dragging against your neck followed by another wet, sloppy kiss.

Well, now you were curious.

You grip his hair, a gentle tug to pull his head back to look at you, a profound glint in his eyes at the action.

Speak, you command silently.

“I’m just saying—if the FBI knew what you could do, they’d be killing each other to get to you,” He explains, “but you wanted to be a file clerk?”

“I like the ease of it,” You speak through the gentle caress of his hands over your ass, rocking your hips to a slow rhythm, “simple, uncomplicated—fuck, that,” You sigh, head falling into his waiting hand as he cradles your face, watching you through a half-lidded gaze as you start to succumb to the throes of pleasure, “feels so good—I just,” You blink through the haze, a little breathless as you speak, “working freelance, you know, off the books…it’s easier.”

“And risky,” He warns, “without protection—“

“Who said I wasn’t protected?” You smile, releasing your grip on his hair as he slowly flips you underneath him, pulling out briefly to adjust the duvet , kicking it down the bed as he slid into you, knees pulled high over his hips as he gripped the sheets beside your head, thrusting his hips at an impossible to focus pace.

“Be—besides,” You begin weakly and Javier offers a mocking laugh, low and full of pure adoration, even if he’d never admit it, “I’d get too pricey for you.”

“Oh, should I be paying you?”

You stop, a gawking look on your face as you steady him at his shoulders, pausing his movements, “Did you think fucking me was payment? Oh, bebé, no.”

Javier balks for a moment, in disbelief that his sexual expertise and suave looks suddenly weren’t as valuable as he thought.

“I’m fucking with you,” You tell him through gritted teeth, your hand curling around the back of his neck, eyes locked on his as you offered him a sultry smirk, a subtle twitch of your lips, “but, you do owe me.”

And he’d pay up, eventually.

—

Javier’s things start to take shape in your apartment without a word—a spare toothbrush for the nights he was too tired to leave, a spare set of clothes—maybe two. You also always had his favorite beer in your fridge and a spare pack of cigarettes sitting on top of your microwave. It was little touches, ignored and unaddressed but he was like a constant presence in your space.

You were more secluded, careful—but Javier didn’t mind.

He just gets comfortable, though you both had clear boundaries, a strict line that neither of you crossed.

Feelings, out of the question.

And honestly? Not a problem.

Javier was a good friend and even greater fuck, but he would make a terrible partner, you both knew it.

And you can feel that urge, he wants that effortless, full submission that he won’t explicitly ask for—it’s what he used to, women falling so easily to their knees and begging for him, it, whatever he had to offer.

But, you see both sides of his personality. He could be commanding and in full control of a situation, but also had a tendency to let his guard down…just a bit, enough for you to pry your way in and settle there.

It was two battling personalities, one you’ve learned to subdue with a valiant effort, meld yourself to any situation, whatever was required.

Javier follows you back that day, disregarding his own apartment for yours, in a constant fog of distraction all day. Between the news, the ramping up of Escobar’s antics, and the pressures of the higher ups weighing on his and many others shoulders, he just can’t seem to find a way to relax.

Even as you lay in bed, slung over him in your near nakedness, your white button up still covering your frame as he squeezes at the soft flesh of your hips, grinding you down against his cock, half-hard for the last fifteen minutes. He’s frustrated, evidently so.

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes, pulling away from your lips with closed eyes, rolling onto his back as he rubs his thumb and middle finger against his temples.

You’ve gotta pull his mind away, leaning up on your palms to follow him, raising your leg over his lap to straddle him.

He chuckles, reaching for his nearly empty pack of cigarettes, plucking one out lazily before he’s tossing the box aside, but you’re quickly snatching the cigarette away and tossing aside, pressing your hands against his chest with an expectant look.

“What the fuck?” He gawks, looking you up and down and toward the floor, watching you shrug in response.

He moves to push up, but you push back, the distribution of weight giving you the upper hand as he falls back against the sheets, “Alright, real funny.”

“Close your eyes,” You urge him gently, obvious skepticism on his face but eventually he succumbs, throwing his hands up in defeat as he closes his eyes, suspicious to the various shuffling noises as you lean to the side, digging in drawer of your bedside table until you find the item you’re looking for, a distinct clink of metal that Javier recognizes too late, the metal tightening around his wrists and tangled through the loop of the bed frame slats.

“The fuck are these—” He shakes his fists, pointless, “did you sneak my cuffs out of the office?”

You shake your head, slowly unbuttoning your shirt, a clear distraction that Javier tries to fight.

“They’re mine,” You tell him, simultaneously enjoying the slow rock of your hips as it seems to have found a somewhat solution to his issue, wiggling underneath you at the movements, almost urging you to quicken your pace, insistent.

Javier cocks his head in both a show of question and defiance, pressing for more.

“What?” You feign innocence, peeling the fabric over the last button as you lean forward, cradling his face with your hands as you give him a slow, explorative kiss, your tongue slipping into his open mouth, chasing you as you pull away, “Citizen’s arrests are just as legal here as they are in the states, Peńa.”

“So, this is an arrest,” He counters, licking at his lips, tugging once more at the chains.

“Do you want it to be?” You tease, hands pressed against your thighs now, finding amusement at his obvious frustration, knowing that he was completely helpless in this situation.

“Tell me you have the key.”

Your eyes widen at the sudden realization, “Oh, fuck—”

Panic rises, but you quickly quell his worries, “Just kidding,” You reply with a chipper tone, picking the key up from the table while dangling it in front of his face, “you want it?”

Javier nods, yanking against the cuffs weakly.

You contemplate, face scrunching up as you think.

“Are you sure?” You question, glancing down at the hard line of his cock defined in his jeans, rubbing your palm against the bulge in the denim, gently pulling at the button to pop them open, “I think you enjoy it.”

You place the key at the center of his bare chest, nodding toward it.

“Beg,” You tell him, voice steady and completely serious, the eerily void of emotion that has Javier thinking you might be joking, attempting to get a rise out of him, he laughs.

“You can’t be serious,” He says, but doesn’t explicitly ask.

Your eyebrows raise expectantly.

A battle of silence.

“Oh, I had that file I forgot the other day,” You switch topics, climbing off of him as you slip your unbuttoned shirt down your shoulders, revealing the bold colors and thin lace, material that hugged every curve of your body, a dark crimson red, sheer material leaving little to imagine—though, Javier had enough familiarity that he didn’t need to guess.

“Wait,” He interrupts, his hands balled into fists as you turn to him, one knee settling into the edge of the bed with the file in hand, looking at him….waiting, “come here,” He beckons, perking up as you toss the file aside and walk toward the head of the bed, fingers hovering over the key, “no—no,” He quickly interjects, “like—up here,” He explains vaguely, a weak attempt at asking you to sit on his face—he could come like that, he thinks. Eventually break you down enough. But, you remain ignorant to his demands, waiting for those specific words.

In the entirety of your midnight hook-ups with Javier he had never said please. It was a forbidden word in his vocabulary, far too confident and expectant, deserving to be knocked down a peg.

Besides, it was clearly working, the visible flush in his skin as you began to back away, his writhing against the sheets having shift his jeans further and further down his hips—never having been so thankful that Javier Peńa was a strict believer in going commando, silently helping the aid of his jeans down his legs with your bottom lip between your teeth, a predatory gaze and teasing touch at the inside of his thighs as you toss his jeans away, completely naked and at your control.

“Are you serious?” Javier asks, not an ounce of shyness when it came to his body, cock hard and leaking from the tip as he watched you turn, ignoring him as you grabbed the file and began to flip through, reading out the information as if he wasn’t even there, “Is this me owing you one?”

If there was one thing you knew about Javier, ignoring him was not the path to take.

Beg, your eyes demand.

Not a fuckin’ chance, his grimace retorts.

You twirl in the spinning desk chair, skimming silently through the papers now as Javier startle to unravel, eventually leaving you to get antsy, wandering around your room to fix the curtains, fold and tuck away a few loose pieces of clothing, only acknowledgement the small grunt he makes as you turn your backside to him, ass in the air as you picked up the discarded cigarette from earlier—he’s never needed one so bad in his entire life.

You reach for his lighter, placing it between your lips as you ignite the flame and press it to the end, awaiting the amber glow before you toss the lighter aside.

“You don’t even smoke,” He gripes, “You want me to say please? Is that it?”

You pull the cigarette from your lips and listen, approaching him so your stomach was at eye level, flicking the cigarette in the ashtray you had purchased specifically for him and cigarette after sex ritual, and he sighs, “Please,” It’s deadpan and lackluster at best, but you appreciate the effort, “baby, seriously.”

You shake your head in dismay, stubbing out the cigarette as Javier frowned.

“I’m helping,” You remind him, “I mean, I got your mind away from work, didn’t I?”

It was a slow but eventual realization that, yeah, you had. A hard task for even him.

You slowly climb over him on the mattress, dragging your hand along his chest and down his stomach, fingertips gazing against his pelvic bone, resting against his thigh.

“So, you’re going to beg,” You explain, leaning close enough to his lips that he can taste the remnants of smoke on your breath, “and I want you to, really, really mean it.”

He feels vulnerable, he is—but, he’s just desperate enough that he’ll let it slide.

For you.

He’s quiet for a stretch of time, watching as you toyed with the idea of touching his cock, watching it twitch with the slightest of touch, feeling like one tug would have him coming in your hand, a pathetic whine to follow. But, he focuses, lips parting as you finally wrap your hand around his cock, velvety soft skin as you caressed the girth of him, neatly trimmed hair at the base the peeked up toward his stomach, his tan skin almost glowing under the soft yellow light of the room, knowing you were throbbing just as bad as he was, feeling the needy pulse under your palm as you jerk your hand slow, from base to tip and back, rubbing your thumb over the slit at the head of his cock, so tantalizing you could take him in your mouth right now and take the load of him down your throat.

“Baby,” His voice relaxed but his body telling you otherwise, “Oh, fuck—you gotta go a little faster, tighter,” He directs, and you apply a minuscule amount of pressure to tease, “like that, like that,” he chants, his chest rising and falling as his brow furrowed, yanking roughly against the chain, your eyes catching at the movement. They were loose enough to avoid any discomfort, you were careful. It was mostly mind games, if Javier wanted out he could probably slip his hands through with enough concentration, but he wasn’t focused on that. He was focused on you.

He’s getting closer, the staggered breaths and soft whimpers that were like melodies, desiring nothing more than to give into your own temptation and sink down onto his cock, riding him until he was mindless.

You let go, much to his dismay, “Fuck,” He groans, eyes peeling open to look at you, “you enjoy this, don’t you?”

“A little,” You shrug, giving him a fair chance out, “do you want me to stop?”

“Where does that leave me?”

What are the consequences, he means.

“I’ll uncuff you, we’ll get dressed. I give you your file and you go home.”

You reach for his face, rubbing your thumb along his bottom lip, the unavoidable twitch of his tongue as he instinctively licks, your own lips parting in desire, the enveloping heat of his both pulling the digit in.

“Or, you beg for it hard enough and I’ll let you fuck me.”

A real, authentic plea. That’s what you wanted. One derived from desperation and primal need.

You straddle his hips slowly, pulling at the tied bows at your hip keeping your underwear in place, pulling at the thin ribbon until they loosen and fall, balling up the fabric in one hand while you hook your hand in the strap of your bra, unfastening it with ease, tossing the garment aside completely.

You position your cunt along the shaft of his cock, silently tapping at his chin until he opens his mouth expectantly, shoving the discarded fabric of your panties into his mouth without a word, an obvious smirk on his face at the action as you try to stifle the short giggle at his eagerness to accept.

“I think you really underestimate me, Peña,” You taunt, canting your hips as it drags along his cock, coating it in the sticky slick that has gathered between your thighs at your own neediness, suffering in silence and wishing for him to break, nearly caving in yourself, “Stop being so fucking stubborn all the time.”

His eyes roll back as the bulbous head of his cock catches at your entrance, nearly slipping in at how easily you slide against him, raising his foot to the mattress in an attempt to do so, his remark muffled behind the fabric, that heady taste of you on his tongue.

He’d come if he wasn’t so frustrated, but he’s there—right fucking there, the pace of your grinding quickening as you grip the balled up fabric in his mouth, using it as leverage as his eyes squeeze shut, the familiar coiling in his gut that you recognize too, slowing down considerably as you rip the fabric from his mouth.

“Say it,” You demand, slightly breathless, “just say it, Javi.”

Fuck it, he can’t do this anymore.

“Please, bebé. Please,” He begs, “this is fucking torture.”

That was the tone you were looking for, the shakiness to his voice that oozed desperation.

You nod and he’s almost expectant that you’ll undo his cuffs and let him have his way with you, but that wasn’t the plan.

Instead, you sink down onto his cock without another word, a long drawn-out groan from Javier followed by your soft moan of satisfaction, riding him almost desperately, the sound of skin and against, the sticky heat and humidity of Colombia seeping through the open window of your apartments, you both nearly delirious with overdue release.

His lip is pulled tight between his teeth, eagerly trying to match your hurried, erratic bounce of your hips as you claw at his chest, marks he’d admire for days to follow.

“Be realistic, baby,” He moans, “even like this you know that pussy belongs to me,” Your eyes flick up, greeted by the raise of his brows, tongue peeking between his lips with confidence.

Even now, he still has the nerve.

“Yeah,” You agree, egging him on with that salacious, vexatious tone, “Does it?”

He admires the slick mess at the base of his cock, angling your hips to grind down against him, cursing at his inability to grab and touch, flip you over and coax you into your climax with a twitch of his thumb, an easy fix.

Javier, unfortunately, was not a man to be tamed.

He was yours, but he’s never been solely yours.

You were special, though. He knew that.

He just needed a refresher.

“Seems a little unfair,” You shrug, his impatience growing and evident, “don’t you think?”

Your finger drags up his chest, inch by inch until the full expanse of your palm encircles his throat, his chin lifting in silent permission.

“Say it,” You counter, “come on, Peña.”

He chuckles, the sly fucker.

“Tell me this cock belongs to me,” You whisper low, close to his ear as your teeth drag along his jaw, “—that no one can make you come like I do,” You squeeze at his throat, a weak noise falling from his lips as his eyes roll back, “ and how pathetic and needy you look when I let you come inside of me.”

You squeeze once more, gentle but demanding.

He squeaks quietly, yanking weakly at the chains, “It’s all yours, bebé—fuck, it’s—right there, it’s—”

“Beg,” You urge, his mouth parts, breathing increasing more rapidly as you echo yourself, his head nodding instinctively in a desperation for relief, “beg and you can come, Peña.”

He does, a plethora of please—baby, please falling from his lips as you slide off of him, allowing him to come untouched, watching his dick twitch wildly, come coating his stomach in thick spurts as he groans, throaty and wet, eventually falling slack on the bed beneath you as you undo the cuffs without a word, a soft whine releasing from his chest as he arms fall to his side.

It takes a while, several minutes, eyes closed with a gentle and repressive touch of your thumb against his forehead, brushing away a loose strand of his hair, waiting for the haze to wear off.

“How do you do that?” Javier asks, returning the touch as his hand wraps around your wrist.

“What?” You counter with a playful smile, his tired one spreading across his features.

“You’re like…some kind of bruja,” He jokes lightheartedly, “No one’s ever—I’ve never let someone take control like that.”

“You look really pitiful when you beg,” You tease, “it drives me insane.”

You soothe his ego with a kiss, leaning over him to reach for his pack of cigarettes, squealing as his arms pull you back, swatting the contents out of your hands, wrestling you back down into the sheets with ease, your own body fighting a similar exhaustion.

“I wasn’t wrong,” Javier remarks, “estás loca.”

He sinks between your legs without a word, reminding you that he wasn’t a man to be bested, fingers stuffed inside of you as he pumped with an expertise that came with familiarity, learning what made your body tick—Peña was goddamn expert.

He’d rendered you speechless, fingers gripping the sheets, wriggling and whining without a tangible thought on your mind, words lost.

“Pobrecita,” He mocks, “come on—use your words.”

You hum weakly, wistful but hard-headed, “Make me,”

Fortunately, like you, Peña was always up for a challenge.

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier pena smut #javier peña smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #narcos smut #narcos fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #my writing #DMAMC 2025

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gurugirl · 9 months ago

Text

Daddy's Pretty Girl | dom!daddy!h

Summary: Harry just wants to make his princess happy OR The story of you and Harry, how you met, and all the rest.

A/n: Requested! This was previously posted on Patreon!

Word Count: 4,385

Warning: Smut, cock warming, exhibition kink (public), daddy kink, DDlg (consented and role play understood), dom/sub dynamic

🌸 🌸 🌸

“Princess? What are you doing?” Harry spoke calmly as he placed his hands on your hips while you balanced yourself on the counter to reach the tallest cupboard.

“I can’t reach this high so I had to climb up here to get something.”

“And why didn’t you ask me for help? Hmm?” He gripped you in his hands and pulled you down to the floor safely.

You’d been caught red-handed. Well, sort of. You hadn’t quite found what you were looking for before Harry noticed you climbing on the counter. It was the package of butter shortbread cookies with the strawberry jam and cream in the center that you were trying to find. Harry hid them from you because every time he brought home your little treats you’d ruin your appetite for dinner and so it was just easier for him to put them somewhere you couldn’t find them.

Pouting you kicked your bare foot against your shin, “Just didn’t want to bother you.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his bottom into the counter as he smirked at you, “Oh is that so? And what were you looking for then?”

You shrugged and looked up at him with your sweetest softest eyes as you bit your lip. He knew what you were looking for. He didn’t even need to ask.

Harry sighed and walked past you to the pantry and reached to the tall shelf pulling down your treats. You smiled widely and clasped your hands together, waiting patiently for him to dole out a few of them to you.

“You don’t have to sneak around, Princess. If you want a little treat I’ll give you a little treat. Just ask. But tell Daddy why he hides these from you. Want to make sure you remember.”

Nodding you responded, “Cause I’ll eat the whole box. Then I won’t eat my dinner. And my tummy always hurts after.”

“That’s right. Because you’re like a little puppy with no off switch when it comes to your treats. You’d inhale the whole package if given the chance.”

“But I just wanted one this time. Promise.”

“You never just want one, Y/n,” he took your chin in his hand, “How many do you want?”

“Can I have three?”

Harry smiled and let go of your chin as he reached into the package and pulled out four of your cookies, handing them to you. He always gave you an extra.

“Thank you, Daddy!” You bit into the first one, the buttery crust of the cookie crumbling into the tart strawberry jam with the cream coating your tongue. “Mmmm…”

“You’re welcome, Princess,” he leaned down to kiss your forehead, “Don’t climb up on the counters like that anymore. Okay? Can’t have you getting hurt over a $5 box of biscuits.”

You sighed and nodded as you chewed your next bite and then followed Harry up to his office where he was finishing work. When he sat down in his chair you sat in his lap and popped the next cookie into your mouth. Harry was used to you interrupting his work and sitting in his lap. He didn’t mind it. In fact, he preferred having you in his lap as often as possible.

“Don’t forget we’re going out tonight. I want you to wear that yellow dress I laid out for you on the bed. Okay?”

You crunched your bite and nodded as you leaned back into Harry’s chest and watched his computer screen as he did whatever it was. You didn’t really even know exactly what he did for work. Something about trading money and buying and selling things or funds or… he tried explaining it to you a few times but it went over your head. All you knew was that he got to work from home and he made a lot of money.

Life was good with Harry. You never imagined you’d have it so good. You didn’t have it easy when you were growing up. When you graduated high school you worked full-time so you could pay rent and buy food. You moved away from your dad the moment you had the chance. He was abusive and mean and he scared you.

So you didn’t go to college because your priority was to get away from your dad which meant you’d need to pay rent for a place to live. But you struggled for a long time. You only made minimum wage and you had no friends or any other family to ask for help. Your dad saw to it that any friends you made didn’t stick around.

And back then, even as hard as it had been working menial jobs and living in a rundown apartment barely scraping by, you were free from your dad. Sure things were expensive and you couldn’t always buy groceries, but you could sleep at night knowing you were safe.

But everything changed for you when you got a job as a waitress at a swanky little downtown joint. High rollers wearing expensive watches and Italian shoes would come in with large wads of cash. And the best part was that the tips they left were very very generous.

In a way, it was your lucky break. You started making a living wage when tips were included in your check and you bought yourself a used car with cash. You were able to afford health insurance, a few nice outfits, and could finally have a refrigerator full of food.

It felt like you were living in the lap of luxury. You weren’t, but you’d never felt such freedom in your life. Waitressing was a good gig for you. You were bubbly and nice and often remembered the names of your usuals. They loved it when you remembered their names.

One night, it was an extra busy shift and you’d been struggling to keep up a bit since two people had called in and you were running around every which way trying to make sure all your tables were well taken care of.

A group of four men were seated in your section and you greeted them but one of them could tell you were flustered. Taking their drink orders you scribbled on your notepad what they wanted when one of the men reached out to pull at your apron, “Take a breath, Y/n.”

You squinted your eyes at him when he said your name. You had a nametag of course, so it wasn’t like some crazy thing that he’d know your name, but your guests didn’t normally say your name to you unless they were regulars. And this man was not a regular.

“I’m serious. Take a deep breath, with me,” he kept his dazzling green eyes pinned to yours as he inhaled and you followed his lead, inhaling and then he exhaled, his breath falling from his pink lips. “See? That wasn’t bad, was it? Now, remember to keep breathing. Inhale, exhale.”

You smiled at the handsome man, “Thank you.”

“My name’s Harry.”

You giggled pointed at your name tag, “Y/n. As you know.”

“Beautiful name.”

Somehow Harry had made your busy and hectic night one of the best nights you’d ever had at the restaurant. He was so thoughtful and gentle with you. And he was handsome as hell. Tall and well built, nice hair, big hands…

So when he showed up a week later you were out of your mind giddy because he was in your section. And his genuine warmth had you flushing hot and made you all exasperated and blubbering your words.

Only that second night, instead of just paying the tab and leaving with a wave goodbye he walked up to you and handed you his card as he softly dragged his fingers over your wrist, “When’s your next day off?”

“Tomorrow,” you inhaled as you looked up at him.

“Call me tomorrow.”

So you did, obviously. And really the rest is history. Harry swept you off your feet and took such good care of you that now here you were two years later and still just as smitten with him as the day you met him.

. . .

You loved getting dressed up and going out with Harry, your big strong man who treated you like a princess. You were spoiled and doted on by him and when he took you out he was always so protective of you. Keeping your hand in his or his arm over your shoulder to hold you close.

He normally helped you pick your outfits too. You usually went with whatever he chose to make him happy. He liked having access to your skin so he could squeeze you and touch you which meant he liked you in short dresses and skirts the most. And anything that kept your shoulders bare so he could kiss them.

And depending on what kind of outing it was, he’d let you know if you were allowed to wear your panties or not. That was one decision you were not allowed to make.

Harry pulled out a pair of cotton panties with little hearts all over. Something that covered your bum in case the flimsy material of your short dress rose up.

“Gotta keep your tush covered tonight, Princess,” he said as he pointed at the bed, gesturing for you to sit down so he could help you put your panties on.

“Okay, Daddy,” you bit your lip as Harry knelt down on the floor in front of you and lifted up one of your bare feet, sliding the opening upward and then repeating on your other leg.

He liked to make a show of how he did it. Slow and teasing. He brought the fabric up to just below your knees and ran his hands up your thighs as he kept his eyes on yours, “Doesn’t mean Daddy won’t want to play with you, though. Pussy’s so good for me s��hard to resist. Maybe we’ll have you in my lap again. Let you sit on my cock right in front of all your friends. And you’ll be a good girl just like last time and keep quiet and not shift all around. How’s that sound? Wanna warm Daddy’s cock tonight when the time is right?”

You nodded and grinned, “Oh my god… I loved it when we did that so much. Love that no one knew except you, Daddy.”

By the time Harry had helped you into your panties, you were already slick from the dirty things he was saying to you and the way he was running his thumbs so close to your pussylips but just missing where you wanted to be touched.

You were meeting friends out for trivia night at the little pub that served the best pizza in town. Harry had his hand wrapped around yours as you both greeted everyone and sat at the booth with them all.

You weren’t sure how it would be possible to cock warm Harry given how many people were smushed into the booth with you both but when he pulled you into his lap, grunting, “S’not enough room, get up in m’lap,” you understood he wasn’t going to let you worry about all that. Harry was in charge. He would figure out how it would work. All you had to do was sit there, perched on his lap looking pretty.

He didn’t make a move to undo his pants or adjust you at all, first just feeling everyone out as you sat with your plush bottom over his thighs and ordered your vodka lemonade.

When the cards were all passed out and the trivia questions began to pop up on the screen everyone had their teams ready. All your friends knew better than to ask which team you wanted to be on because they already knew your answer would be that you were on whatever team Harry was on.

Maybe it was a little pathetic but you honestly didn’t care. He was the love of your life and your best friend. He loved you so much and treated you like you were the best thing that’d ever happened to him and so of course you were going to choose to be with Harry. Even if it was just for a trivia game at a bar.

His big palm splayed across your bare thigh as he whispered into your ear, “I love you.” You wiggled into him and turned to whisper back, “Love you, Daddy.”

It was sickening to everyone around you but also kind of cute in a way. You two were that couple. PDA was part of the package deal if they wanted to hang out with you. The first six months everyone kind of laughed it off. They said you two would chill out once the honeymoon phase was over. But here you were nearly 2 years later and if anything you two were even more touchy-feely.

Trivia nights were once a month. Harry liked to make sure you were spending time with other people and not just him. He wanted you to have friends and get out as much as you could.

When the game started and the pizza was plated you felt Harry’s arm slide around the front of your waist as you wrote down the answer that was discussed between your team. You were always the one in charge of writing down the answers.

“Take it easy on that vodka lemonade, Princess. Need you to have your wits about you when we get home. Okay?”

You nodded and turned to whisper in his ear, cupping around the back of it so no one could read your lips, “When are you gonna stuff me with your big cock, Daddy? Want you inside of me.”

Harry grunted and pinched your thigh shushing at you before he gulped down the last of his water. Harry didn’t drink when you two went out if he was driving. He let you drink but he didn’t like to have any alcohol in his system if he was going to be behind the wheel.

When the game was nearly coming to an end and your team was winning the final round the final category was music, as usual. 30 seconds of a song you had to guess was played for 10 songs. You could double your points if you knew both the name of the artist and the name of the song.

This was the part of the night when the people were boozed up and laughing.

Mel, who was sitting to Harry’s left tapped his arm, “Gotta go take a leak, mind if I scooch out?”

You and Harry had to move to let Mel out but when you both got back into the booth you scooted further in and realized Harry’s cock was solid under your bum. You leaned forward, putting your elbows onto the table, and felt Harry spread your skirt over his lap before he lifted his hips and the next song to guess came over the speakers.

You were distracted by Harry’s movements so you weren’t taking note of the song at all until Gessie poked your wrist with her finger, “So I think that was Bruce Springsteen. But what’s the song?” She snapped her fingers and looked at the other person who was on your team. As the pair were discussing which song it could be you felt the warm, stiff flesh of Harry’s dick under your thigh and you lifted just a bit to blurt out the name of a song you thought of off the top of your head, “Glory Days?”

Your panties were pulled to the side before you felt Harry’s fingers slip through your puffy, wet folds and then he pulled at your hips to draw you back toward him, only this time instead of sitting on his lap, you slowly, slowly slid over his cock. Your skirt was covering him and everything happening underneath.

You sighed when you had him stuffed inside of you and he panted softly into your ear, “Don’t wiggle around too much. Just sit still like a good girl.”

See, wiggling too much might have Harry coming. It’d happened before. The first time you cock warmed him in public (yes, there were multiple occurrences) you were so turned on and flustered that you kept swaying back and forth and squeezing around him. And he tried holding you in place but the whole experience of doing something like that in public was new for both of you. You were both excited and it didn’t help that you were pulsing around him and softly moaning.

When he came he had to act like you’d elbowed him in the gut when someone asked if he was okay. His pained expression and groan were easily played off as something rather innocent.

But Harry preferred coming inside of you only when it was an appropriate time. Usually in private but sometimes in the sex club you both frequented. You did have an exhibitionism kink so fucking at the sex club while others watched was welcome. But not at a local bar during trivia night.

When Mel returned you and Harry didn’t need to move as he sat at the end. You struggled to write down the last few answers as you began to pant softly and felt the liquid from your pussy dribble down.

“I’m gonna get your pants all messy, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

Harry rocked his hips up and you gasped as he adjusted your seating and pulled you closer, “It’s fine baby. You’re doing so good for me.”

And as much as you loved the thrill of secretly cock warming Harry like you were, there was always the issue of parting. If anyone was sat too close they’d see Harry’s cock in all its glory once you removed yourself from him. So you had to be careful about how it was done. Normally you’d order one last drink just as everyone else was paying their bill and getting ready to leave, that way when you two were the last to leave no one really wondered why since you still had a full drink to get through.

And that’s what you did this time as well. Mel hung around for a bit and you just hoped he couldn’t tell you were practically trembling from the way Harry’s cock was splitting you in half right in front of the guy as he yammered on about his job with Harry.

Your skin was hot and you were nearly drooling into your vodka lemonade at the way it felt.

You could tell Harry was at his wits end as well. You’d feel him throb every now and then. The small grunts he’d let out were also a good signal that he was struggling just as much as you were.

The moment Mel slid out of the booth and waved goodbye Harry’s hand was up, motioning to the waiter to ask for the bill for you two. He held your hips and rocked upward a couple of times before he began to pull out of you, “Nice and easy. Oop, stop right there,” he tightened a hand on your hip to keep you steady as he slid his pants up and kept your skirt covering the action.

You were a wobbly, sighing mess of a girl as he got you into his car and took you home.

“Daddy’s gonna take care of you baby. Gonna take away that achiness inside, yeah?” He spoke to you as you were pulled into the house before he lifted you up and carried you to the bed.

You were in a hurry. You needed him right then as you whined and began to pull at your panties but Harry swatted at your thigh, “Let Daddy do it. You just lie there and look pretty for me. My little Princess doesn’t need to lift a finger.”

That was the norm. He preferred you to lay comfortably all spread out underneath him while he did all the work.

He loved the sight of you. Your skin was hot and your limbs were already shaking with need by the time he finally began to lick your pussy. Soft strokes with his tongue only got you even more worked up and had you whimpering and fussing about, “P… please! Daddy!!”

Harry grinned into your pussy, pushing his briefs down his muscled thighs, lips wrapped around your clit as you bucked up into him and pulled at his hair. You were a mess. You needed one thing and one thing only.

“Daddy I need your cock, now!! I’m gonna die if I don’t get it! Oh my god, you’re so mean!”

You felt puffs of air against your wet slit as he laughed and looked up at you, “You’re going to die are you? Wow. That sounds like it’s bad, baby. Tell Daddy what he did that was mean,” he leaned over you, his strong arm reaching over your body to knead at your tits.

You pouted and lifted your head to look at him. You hadn’t even realized he’d already removed his briefs so he was fully naked, cock thick and hard between his thighs, “You… you’re not giving me your dick. And I need it.”

Another breathy laugh fell from his lips, “But I was licking your pussy. Making sure you were ready for me, Princess. Can’t just fuck my pretty girl without her little pussy hole being ready first now can I?”

You sniffled and kept the sad pout on your face so he knew you meant business.

Harry moved his hand up to your chin and squeezed your cheeks, “Don’t pout. Daddy always gives his pretty girl exactly what she wants. Doesn’t he?”

You nodded with a whine.

“That’s right. So don’t be a dramatic bellyaching brat with me. I’m just loving on you, Princess. Trying to take care of you the best I can. You’re hard to please sometimes.”

“Am not!” You countered, your words smushed together as you said them.

Harry let go of your cheeks and you felt him knee up between your legs, his thick masculine thighs pushed against the insides of your thighs as he smoothed his thumb over your mound and down to your clit, “You are. But that’s okay. Because you’re my little princess, aren’t you? She needs her Daddy to take good care of her.”

You began to take shallow breaths into your lungs as you watched him wrap his big hand around his cock and look into your eyes as he reared back, “And Daddy always gives his pretty girl what she wants. Do you know why, baby?”

You sighed as you felt the tip of him press against your empty hole. You wanted it so bad you could taste it, “Because I’m a good girl. Cause you love me, Daddy.”

“Fucking right, Princess. Daddy loves you,” he pressed into you, the girth of him opening your channel in one satisfyingly agonizing plunge. He didn’t snap his hips, but he drove into you until he was finally surrounded, encased fully in your pussy. And as he pulled you close to his chest he continued rocking into you with slow, languid strokes. Full length. He’d pull out to his tip and fuck back into you without pause until he met your cervix and he’d do it again. Nothing hard or fast. Just strong, deep, and teasingly slow.

His breath was on your face as he looked down into your eyes, “God… how’d I get so lucky, huh? Someone who needs me just as much as I need her.” He rolled into you slowly, the sopping mess between your legs just proving his point.

He fucked you dumb most nights. But some nights he was tender and warm. Sometimes he liked to take it slow and gaze into your eyes as he slid himself in and out of you, calling you his princess, his pretty girl, baby…

“Mm�� me too!” You breathed out, “So lucky, Daddy. I love you…”

He dropped his lips to your neck as he continued fucking into you at the same pace he had been. Dripping wet, sticky, deep thrusts as you both panted.

You began to buck your hips upward to meet each of his thrusts. You couldn’t help the motion your hips were making as you moaned when Harry took your breast into his mouth.

He sucked on your nipple and felt your cunt squeezing him tight. You were so close already, like he knew you would be. You’d gotten all worked up cock warming him earlier and now you were gagging for it.

“You’re like a little slip-and-slide, pretty girl. Pussy all slippery and soaking wet just for my cock.”

“Uhnnnghh…” you groaned as you felt your insides begin to tingle and sparkle.

“You can come, Princess. Come on Daddy’s cock. I know you want to,” he panted, his own orgasm about to burst, “Easy there…”

You began to shake, your tummy tensed and your pussy clamped down as you sputtered out your words, “Coming! C… ffffuuu… Daaaaady!”

The beautiful spiral of your orgasm wiped you out as Harry continued fucking into you, his cock spreading your walls apart as you spasmed over him, “Pretty girl… so fucking good for Daddy…”

But he could only last so long himself until he was pinning you to the bed with his hips, cock buried deep as he dumped his fertile come into your pulsing hole, “Fuck! Fuck… oh shit…” his face twisted up in bliss.

It had been a bit of a quickie. But who could blame you? After suffering through what you had to during trivia, you both needed relief.

You ran your fingers into his hair and he nuzzled into your neck with a sigh. You both needed a minute to gather your bearings.

When you felt Harry shifting and pulling back so he could look down at you he slid a hand around to your bottom, “Let’s go get your cookies, baby,” he squeezed at your bum as you sat up.

“How many can I have?” You bounced on your bottom before you began to scoot to the end of the bed to hop off.

“As many you want, Princess.”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this! 2nd part is a Patreon exclusive and is already on Patreon now! Consider joining if you'd like to see more!

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kabr0ztrousers · 18 days ago

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If you are comfortable with it, can you do chubby fem reader x orc step dad x orc dbf? Step dad's been trying to set her up with his friend but she is not interested. One day they both corner her. Step dad is mainly holding her against him while his friend is burying his face and cock in her pussy. The step dad doesn't penetrate her but gropes and says some really gross things. Heavy breeding kink on this one.

Sounds hot! And it'll be nice to get back to some high fantasy!

Kabr0z Writes episode 42: Orc Daddy

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Dubcon going to enthusiastic consent; size difference; age difference; father-daughter; arranged marriage; breeding; deep penetration; groping; extreme cum;

A/N: Wow, episode 42 already. I definitely should've written a special one for today in advance to mark this particular milestone, but oh well.

There's 10 stories in the queue at time of publication, so if you send a request and don't see it for a few days please have faith, it's coming.

On the subject of requests, please do keep them coming! I have a couple of anons claiming emojis, so if you want one then you might want to grab it early!

Any idea, kink, scenario, whatever, drop me an anon or a DM and I'll make it happen!

#####################################

The village was never quiet. Orcs all have a competitive streak, the young ones always brawling, racing, drinking, trying to outdo one another. To say nothing of the constant sounds of work being done, labourers chopping wood in the forest, mining ore out of the mountain, singing bawdy songs waiting for the charcoal to bake, and your step-father smithing the tools that made it all happen.

You'd been adopted into the village almost 15 years ago as a child after bandits attacked your family in the mountains. Only you got away and were found by a hunting party days later, half starved and freezing. They brought you back to the village, unsure about what to do with you. An extra mouth was a burden, and a human no less. You were lucky the village blacksmith, a hulking, bearded orc named Mazorn.

Of course, you're in your early 20s now. The young orcs in the village were all interested in you and while you'd had the odd roll in the hay, Mazorn wasn't keen on any of them getting too close to you. He kept on going on about one of his friends from another village nearby, a grizzled warrior called Oreg. You weren't particularly interested in the idea of an arranged marriage to begin with, let alone with some old friend of your father's.

It was raining hard when the caravan arrived. Furs and trade goods from the city, along with a huge figure clad in platemail. The whole village came out to see, the suit glowed with enchantment, emblazoned with shining gilt fittings and a rich red cloak, a matching shield on his back and a longsword on his hip. A bit much for a caravan guard. Your father stepped out towards him, and they grabbed one another in a hug, Mazorn's huge hand clapping on the shield, the knight's clanking on the orc's back. They laughed heartily before Mazorn brought him over to you

"This is the daughter I've told you about!" Mazorn gestured to you as the other man lifted his helmet.

Underneath was a scarred orc, tusks filed short and short-stubbled. "I see you raised her well, old friend!" Oreg clapped Mazorn, looking at you "Certainly haven't been under-feeding her"

You blushed, conscious of his eyes on you. You weren't sure if it was the armour, but it was kind of turning you on. Oreg and Mazorn walked back to the smithy, you in tow as they reminisced about their glory days. You hadn't taken your old dad for a warrior, but apparently they used to be shield brothers in some war or other. The ale was flowing freely between them, perhaps too freely as you noticed Oreg taking longer and longer glances at you. The armoured orc was gradually taking pieces off, bracers, greaves, miscellaneous plates protecting his joints and flanks.

You could smell him as the armour came off, strong and musky. It wasn't unpleasant per se, you'd spent your life around orcs, but it was noticeable. Oreg motioned to you to help him with some of the harder to reach buckles and straps "I'd normally have a squire around to help with this, but he's helping the caravaneers. You should know your way around all this anyway, your father made most of it"

The last plate to come off was his cuirass, once he stripped the chain surcoat and the gambesson underneath, Oreg was sat half naked and glistening with a thin layer of fresh sweat. His shoulders were broad, his back criss-crossed with scars. Only a loincloth covered his manhood. Muscles rippled under his skin as he stretched and shook himself, cushioned by the layer of fat ubiquitous among the strongest orcs in your village.

You caught yourself staring, swallowing the mouthful of drool you'd produced looking at him.

Your father looked at Oreg "Thirty gold pieces"

Oreg laughed, "Done! She's worth at least fifty"

Were they talking about you?

Mazorn lifted you, as though you weighed nothing. He held you under a shoulder and gripped your thick thighs, forcing them apart and presenting you to the other orc. You blushed, underwear wasn't a part of your wardrobe, so your unprotected pussy was completely bare to Oreg "She's useful about the house, but she's a been a bit of a whore in her time, already laid with half the lads her age. Want to get shut of her before she gets herself knocked up"

Oreg touched your pussy, opening it up with his calloused fingers "Hmm, certainly not a virgin, but clean and well cared for... Thirty is fair."

You heard a coinpurse hit the table. You'd been sold, like a prize hog at market. Or a breeding sow.

Mazorn shifted you in his grip, holding you upright by the tits, his huge hands groping you as Oreg pulled his loincloth aside

"I'd better see to her properly now she's mine" His hands were rough and strong, but his nails well manicured and clean. He tore off your skirt and got down on one knee in front of you, eyes level with your already moist pussy as you struggled against your adoptive father's grip.

Oreg held one leg up as he filled you with a thick finger, the rough skin making you shudder in anticipation as it gently worked its way inside. Another finger joined it, you whined as they stretched you, but Oreg was careful not to hurt you as he slowly twisted them inside you, going this way and that, paying attention to where made your breathing catch, your pulse quicken, your toes curl.

You'd stopped struggling now, holding your legs open for the big orc to finger you, Mazorn's voice came from beside your head "See? I told you she's a slut, already she's giving herself over to you! And after all her complaining about wanting to pick her own mate!"

You couldn't disagree. You'd fancied Oreg since you'd set eyes on him, you were probably going to try and get this orc 20 years your senior to finger you tonight anyway. You bit your lip, the sensations getting to you. Mazorn started groping at you faster, your whines cued Oreg to let go of your leg, using that hand to rub your clit.

You came with a wail, your cunt eagerly accepting the fingers rolling around in it, your hips thrusting, trying in vain to fuck him back. Oreg stood up, holding his erect member in one hand, he could probably fit two of those hands next to each other on his cock and still have length to spare.

Two of his hands, or one of you.

He lined up his cock with your pussy, looking down into your begging eyes as he rubbed it against your clit and your hole. It was almost comically thick, the head pressing against the cit and the opening at the same time.

You nodded at him, putting your hands on his waist as he gently rubbed himself into you.

"Take it, take your new husband" Mazorn growled into your ear. You knew he'd fantasized about doing this himself so many times, muttering your name as he wanked himself to sleep when he thought you were asleep. You could feel his cock getting rock-hard behind you, pressing against you through the fabric of his trousers. But you were Oreg's now, and there was nothing he could do about it as you rubbed your ass against him. The bastard had sold you, the least you could do was give him some seller's remorse.

Oreg pushed himself in. It didn't hurt, the stretching from his fingers and the liberal amount of your juices on his cockhead meant he slid in without pain. It still made your eyes water, tears building as your mouth lolled open and you groaned from the immense pressure inside you. You moved your hips against him, wrapping your legs around his trunk, but you could no more hurry him that you could pull up an old oak. Slowly, carefully, he pushed into you. You felt his tip kiss your cervix and moaned again, open mouthed and animalistic.

He stayed still for a moment, resisting the pulling of your legs, the urging in your eyes. "Please" you breathed, barely a whisper "please, more"

Mazorn laughed "See? The slut wants it all! She's well broken in, brother, you can have fun"

Oreg looked into your eyes, waiting for your nod.

You gave it.

He pushed.

You felt the cock slip by your cervix, pushing deeper into you as be bottomed out in you. Your eyes defocused as you wordlessly begged him. Your hips moved on their own, without rhythm, running on sheer desperation for his cock.

He started to fuck you properly now. Starting slowly, thrusting in and out in long motions, slathering himself in your juices and getting your fuckhole relaxed as he built up speed. You felt like you were melting into him. Your legs started to slip a little as he fucked you senseless. His hand came up to your face, the two fingers that had been inside you thrust into your mouth. You sucked on them, tasting your wetness. You felt your cunt drooling out even more as he invaded your mouth

"You like your face being fucked too?" Oreg grinned "Your father's a fine smith, but no salesman"

His fingers fucked your face harder as he pounded into your cunt. You felt your body start to twitch and tense. Your head was spinning. Your legs clenched around him. You moaned again and again, the noises merging into a wail of release as your cunt tightened and relief filled your body. You could feel the waves of warmth and pleasure making your pussy pulse around Oreg's cock.

He groaned in time with you. He thrust himself in, his balls pressed against your asshole as they pulsed and tightened into him. Surge after surge of hot liquid pumped up into you. You could feel the pressure of it squirting it into every corner of your cunt, flooding your womb and leaking out around his cock, and it kept coming.

You could hear Mazorn grunting as well as the bulge of his cock started to twitch, a damp patch spreading on your back as you leaked the younger orc's cum onto your stepfather's clothes.

Oreg wrapped his arms around you, and Mazorn released you into his embrace. The knight carried you, still buried in your cunt, and sat down.

The way he looked at you, with such tenderness, you wouldn't believe his cock was buried over a foot deep in you if you couldn't feel it in your guts. You kissed his chest and rested your head, letting the blissed-out feeling take you as you both dozed in each other's arms.

You left with him in the morning.

It was over a month until the caravan got back to Oreg's home, every night punctuated with another round of intense, yet strangely gentle, lovemaking. Your monthlies hadn't came, you reckoned that a gallon of orc cum every night had seen to that. It turned out Mazorn had rather undersold Oreg to you. He wasn't some foreign warlord, he was a duke under the Imperial crown. Apparently the old war they were drinking to was a crusade against a lich king, and for his valiance he was granted a noble title. He'd spent the last twenty years as a paladin of Pelor and had only recently received permission to take a wife and continue his lineage.

You still weren't happy about being sold, but figured you could live with it, Mazorn always was looking out for you, in his way

###############################

This is another one I really enjoyed writing! A little exposition, Oreg's actually based off a D&D character I played in my first proper campaign in that system, though his monstrous manhood never came up then. Just goes to show inspiration can strike from anywhere.

Hopefully you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and again if you have any ideas, scenarios, kinks, fanmail, hatemail, whatever, drop me a DM or an ask and I'll probably wind up writing it!

Again, there's 10 in the queue right now, but it will almost certainly get written 😁

Post-post script: I still haven't figured out how to reference the posterior fornix without feeling like I'm giving a biology lecture

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callsign-dexter · 3 months ago

Text

Critical Moments

Requests: Episode where Lucy gets stuck with needle but it's reader instead

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, hospitals, needle sticks, pregnancy talk

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you to @justabigassnerd for sending this is in. Sorry it got out sooo late!

You never know what the day will bring until it happens. You never liked surprises but being married to a police officer, being one, and having a 6-year-old daughter surprises happen all the time. However, even though you hate surprises you love your police officer husband, Tim Bradford, you love your job, and you love your daughter, Molly Bradford. You wouldn't trade anything for it.

You and Tim have been married for 12 years. Those 12 years have been wonderful. During your 6-year anniversary was when Molly was created, while you were celebrating in London, and 9 months later she was born. She is the spitting image of her father and acts like him. She officially got the nickname Mini Tim just because she was the literal female version of him and you wouldn't have it any other way.

The story of you and Tim meeting was pretty funny. You and Tim hated each other and actually butted heads. You both went against each other on every call and decision, you still do on some things. To be honest it was sexual tension and everyone could tell you were pining for each other, they all had bets on when the two of you would get together. The tension finally broke when the both of you were on call and he pulled you in the alleyway to tell you off and you weren't backing down after a few minutes of arguing and getting closer and closer he grabbed your face and you grabbed his wrists as he smashed his lips upon yours and the rest was history.

Right now, you were cuddled up with her husband sleeping soundly with your daughter two doors down on the other side of the hall. None of you had to be up for the next hour. Tim had your back pressed up against his chest as you faced the bathroom and front door. As the hour came closer to an end you began to stir and so did your husband. You turned to face him. “Good morning.” He said in a voice still full asleep.

“Good morning.” You said opening your eyes to find smirking blue ones looking back at you.

“You're so beautiful.” Tim said and you blushed and hid your face into his chest no matter how long you've been together he was still able make you blush and sweep you off your feet.

“Oh, stop it, Timothy.” You said and he chuckled as he kissed your head. You enjoyed being in each other's arms in peace and quiet. “Don't forget we have Molly's soccer game after work.” You said after a beat of silence.

“I remember. I wouldn't miss it for the world.” He said and that was true if either of you were on patrol you both would show in your shops. It was the same if one of you were on patrol and the other wasn't.

“I wouldn't either.” You said as you laid in his arms, eyes closed as he rubbed his hand up and down your back not knowing what today would bring, another hour passed and it was close to time to get up. The two of you didn't get to relax too much longer until you heard the pitter patter of a set of footsteps walking closer to your room and the door opening. You both looked over and smiled as her face appeared through the door.

“Hi, Baby Girl.” Tim said and a bright smile broke out onto her face.

“Hi Momma, hi Daddy!” She said and walked in crawling between the two of you.

“Hi, Baby.” You said and kissed her forehead as Tim snuggled her. It was scary at how strikingly similar they looked. “Are you ready for your game today?” You asked and she nodded.

“Practicing every day. I’m ready for it.” She said and you smiled.

“Daddy has been helping you, hasn’t he?” You asked looking up at Tim as Molly nodded. You would have been out there helping too but you had been feeling down and sickly for the past few weeks especially the mornings but it hadn’t hit you this morning… yet.

“He’s really good at it.” She said and you smiled.

“He really is.” You said looking up at him smiling.

“Go get ready for the day and I’ll make you breakfast.” Tim said and she nodded and headed off.

“You’re such a good dad.” You said and he rolled his eyes but smiled.

“You’re such a good mom.” He replied and you frowned.

“I haven’t been lately.” You said frowning and did too.

“It’s not your fault that you’ve been under the weather.” He said and you knew he was right but you still felt guilty. “Start getting ready and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” He said and you nodded as he kissed your head and got up heading out of the room and into the kitchen. You sighed and got up getting ready for the day.

After getting ready and throwing up in the shower you made it into the kitchen where your husband and your daughter were finishing up cooking breakfast. Having heard you, your daughter turned around and smiled at you. “Hi Momma.” She said rushing over to you and hugging you.

“Hi, Baby. What are you and Daddy cooking?” You asked

“Your favorite.” She said and you smiled as she rushed back over to Tim finishing helping him. Once the food was done, he plated up a plate for her and sent her to the table as you walked over to him.

“You doing, ok?” He asked as he was plating up another plate.

“Yea, I threw up in the shower but I’m ok now.” You said and he frowned.

“I think you need to get checked out. I’m worried about you.” He said and your heart swelled. He was so caring.

“I will at lunch.” You said and he nodded and kissed you as he handed you your plate. You kissed him back.

“Good I don’t like it when my girls are sick.” He said as he pulled back from your lips. You smiled and walked over to sit next to Molly and he was soon to join. Breakfast was eaten in love and laughter after everyone was done and you and Molly cleaned up Tim went and got ready for the day. When he was out the kitchen had been cleaned and everything Molly needed was together. Then all three of you were walking out the door heading to drop Molly off at school.

Once Molly was dropped off at school Tim drove the both of you to work. “What if I’m pregnant?” You asked as he was nearing the station.

“Then that’ll be great. We’ve talked about having another kid.” He said as he pulled into a spot and you stayed quiet. He parked and turned to you “Look at me.” He said and you did so “Whatever happens if you're pregnant or not I will be there with you every step of the way. If you are then that is great because I really want a second kid and we’re ready for it. We both have a steady income and we are in a good place right now. If you’re not then that is ok too, we’ll keep trying if you want to.” He said as tears steadily streamed down your face.

“I love you. I really want a second kid too.” You said and he smiled bringing his hands up to cup your face gently.

“I love you too.” He said and wiped the tears away with his thumbs and then kissed you. He pulled away and looked at you with so much love in his eyes that it made your heart melt. After a few minutes the both of you got out and headed into the precinct his arm slung over your shoulder and you snuggled into him. As you both were walking you ran into Angela.

“Good morning, Bradfords.” She said, smirking.

“Good morning, Angela.” You said

“You’ve been crying… are you ok? What did you do Tim?” Angela said and his mouth fell open.

“I did nothing!” He exclaimed and you chuckled.

“It’s true he didn’t do anything. I’ve just been emotional and he said the sweetest thing to me.” You said and she nodded but glared at him.

“If I find out that is not true. I know where you sleep.” She said and he rolled his eyes. “Hurry up and change, we need to get started.” She said and you smiled and nodded and that is what the two of you did. When the both of you had changed and met outside of the locker rooms the two of you headed to the briefing room and sat down together. Where Tim was a TO you were not, you had the option to be one but decided against it. The briefing went quickly and before you knew it you were out on the road starting your shift.

The start of your shift was easy and quiet and you usually liked that but now it had your mind wandering to your conversation with Tim. You both were ready and your house was big enough plus you had two extra rooms. As he said the two of you had a steady income and you both were ready for another child. As you started thinking a call came through saying that backup was needed to clear out a homeless spot, your husband responded and so did you so you drove over there. When you got there you parked next to Tim’s and Lucy Chen’s, Tim’s rookie, shop and got out as he began to speak. “All right, listen up! Till tomorrow at 3 PM the stretch of line between Melrose and Franklin will be off limits! Sanitation services will be arriving in 20 minutes, you’ll have until then to pack up!” He said as you looked back at him after checking some people out. “Rope off block.” He said to a fellow officer. He then turned to look at you “Make sure everyone moves.” He said to you and you nodded as he headed off and you and Lucy began to make people leave. You walked over to a homeless sleeping man.

“Sir,” You said as another homeless man woke him up “Sorry to wake you but I’m going to you to start packing up, alright?” You asked as he set up and looked at you.

“Bitch!” A woman yelled which caused you and Lucy to look up “Those are my sneakers! Get-” She yelled and a fight began.

“Hey hey stop it!” She yelled as the both of you took off to stop the fight. You got in between them and they started attacking each other around you and sent the three of you into a pile of trash. You felt something prick you but paid no attention to it. Tim was quick to rush over and grabbed the other woman.

“That’s enough. That’s enough.” He said as he pulled the one lady up and held her back cuffed as you got on top of the woman who started it and cuffing her.

“Hands behind your back.” You said pulling out your cuffs. “Stand up.” You said standing her up.

“Bradford.” Tim said keeping it professional you looked at him as he looked down “Stop. Don’t move.” He said and you looked down confused and then you saw the dirty needle sticking out of your side and you froze mind racing. You looked up at him with panic written on your face. Lucy took the woman you were holding and another officer took the one Tim was holding. He pulled out gloves and knelt down. “Y/N.” He said looking up at you and you looked down at him he didn’t like seeing you like this. He started to ask you questions about protocol and you answered them with ease but you weren’t really there.

“I’m going to miss Molly’s game. I’m gonna put her in danger.” You said as he worked to remove the needle.

“No no you’re not. We’re going to get this out. Then go to the hospital and get you tested. You’re going to be ok and you’ll be able to see Molly play tonight. You’re going to be ok.” He said as he pulled the needle out and dropped it in a bag. He stood and put a hand on your lower back and started to walk you to your shop. “Lucy, take the shop. Meet us at the hospital.” He said and she nodded. He put you in the passenger side of yours and then got in the driver’s side and started off towards the hospital.

“Tim, this is bad. I’m going to put everyone in danger.” You said not really making sense as sped to the hospital with lights on and it was quickly approaching.

“Baby, you’re not. You’re going to be ok.” He said as he pulled into the hospital entrance. “You’ll be ok.” He said as he parked and then got out and came over to your side and opened the door and you got out and walked into the entrance and to the receptionist and he looked up at you.

“Hi, I need to get my blood tested. I got stuck with a used hypodermic needle.” You said

“Oh. Yea. One sec.” He said as he started to look around for something and then pulled out a clipboard. “If you could fill this out and have a seat in the waiting room, we’ll be right with you.” He said and you took it looking at it so out of it not even noticing his mistake and Tim did not like what he said to you because he became furious as he walked up to the counter and you looked up at him.

“You must be new. There’s no experienced nurse that would let an armed cop sit with civilians. What do you think happens if someone attempts to grab her weapon?” He asked furiously.

“I-” He started but Tim cut him off.

“The hospital protocol dictates that an armed officer be seen immediately. So set her up in a room right now and find a doctor.” He said fuming.

“Yes sir. Right this way.” He said getting up and you looked up at him and started to follow him with Tim right behind you. They set you up in a room and you were still zoned out. Normally he would need to go back to work but there was no way in hell he was leaving you, his wife and mother of his child, alone. A doctor came and took your blood and then left. You got on your phone and started looking things up. Tim saw this and took it away from you. “Stop, please. Falling down the WebMD rabbit hole isn’t going to change the results.” He said and you nodded.

“What if I get Hep C from this needle, and one day I get shot and you’re trying to stop the bleeding and you forget that, you know you have a– you have a cut on your hand? Or I get cut and Molly gets in on her and she has a cut?”

“Then you’ll be a cop with Hep C and a cut. Baby, you signed up to put your life on the line. That also means your health, too. Focusing on fear isn’t gonna change the outcome. Do you want to hang out in the worst-case-scenario panic room, or do you want to get back to work and make it to Molly’s game?” He asked, you knew he was giving you tough love and he knew that was the only way you would listen. “Go splash some water on your face. Let's get back out there and finish the shift so we can go watch our little girl play.” He said and gave your phone back and you took it. “I love you.” He said as he brought you into a hug and kissed your head.

“I love you too.” You said hugging him back. You both walked out of the room to be met with Lucy and Wade Grey.

“How are you holding up?” He asked you.

“Shaken but ok.” You said “I’m going to stick around here until the results.” You said and he nodded and looked at Tim.

“I’m guessing you’re staying too?” He asked and nodded.

“I’m not leaving my wife in a time of need.” He said and Wade nodded.

“I understand.” He nodded “Lucy you’ll be with me until everything is figured out.” He said and she nodded and then they were leaving. You looked over at Tim who was still looking at you. Now it was time to kill time. It didn’t take long for the results to come back; you and Tim were going back into the room. The doctor did her introductions to Tim and then she was telling you the results.

“Well, the results came back and you don’t have Hep C but it also showed something interesting.” She said looking at the results and your heart started pounding. “Your hCG level was greater than 5 which usually shows when a woman is pregnant.” She said.

“Are you saying... That I’m pregnant?” You asked and she smiled.

“I am. Congratulations mom and dad.” She said and you looked at Tim and he wore an expression of many emotions but the most noticeable was happiness. “I am going to put you on antibiotics just in case of infection.” She said writing a script out and handing it to you. “Again congratulations.” She said again smiling and then walking out of the room.

“Pregnant. How are you feeling Daddy?” You asked, smiling up at him.

“Wonderful. Excited. How about you, Mommy?” He asked and you smiled.

“Pretty much the same.” You said and he smiled and kissed you “Let’s finish out the shift and get to Molly’s game.” You said and he smiled and nodded and started walking out of the room as you stopped.

“What?” He asked quickly.

“We’re gonna have to tell her she’s going to be a big sister.” You said and he smiled.

“Yea we are.” He said as he brought you under his arm and the two of you started to walk out. The rest of the shift went by with a breeze especially with you feeling like you were on cloud 9 after hearing the results you just found out. As you were back at the precinct getting ready to end the shift when Angela stopped you.

“Alright what is up with you?” She asked and you raised an eyebrow at her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said

“Bullshit. Spill.” She said and you smiled a cheeky smile.

“I don’t have Hep C but I do have another thing going on with me.” You said and she started smiling.

“Are you pregnant?” She asked and you nodded.

“I am.” You said confirming it.

“I’m so happy for you. I’m guessing Tim was there when you found out?” She asked and you nodded.

“He seemed way happier.” She said and you chuckled then the both of you were going to change. You both gossiped and talked as you changed and then you were walking out meeting Tim.

“Il take it you told her.” He said and you nodded.

“You know I was going to anyway.” You said and he nodded. You three walked out the parking lot and then said bye to her and then you and Tim were getting into his truck heading to the soccer field at the elementary school. Tim parked and the two of you got out of the truck heading to the field as a voice no voices called your name. You turned around and everyone was hurrying to meet you. “Hey guys!” You said.

“Hey.” Everyone said

“What are you guys doing here?” Tim asked

“We wanted to see Molly play.” John Nolan said and you smiled.

“Well, she’ll be happy to see that you guys are here.” You said

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Jackson West said and you smiled again.

“Well, we better go secure some seats.” Tim said and that is what you did. The game started shortly after finding seats. Everyone cheered on Molly and after 90 minutes the game was over with Molly’s team winning. After the other team and their team congratulating each other, she was running over to you and Tim. Tim picked her up and spun her around and she giggled and that brought a smile on your face and the others, they were so happy to see him happy.

“I guess with everyone here. We can share the news.” You said and Angela was smiling from ear to ear along with Tim. “Molly.” You said and she looked at you from Tim’s arms.

“How do you feel about being a big sister?” You asked and a smile broke out onto her face.

“Really?” She asked and you smiled and nodded.

“Yes, Baby.” She squealed and you chuckled. She had been asking for a sibling for a while and now you made one of her dreams come true.

“Congratulations you two!” Lucy said and you thanked her.

“Another Bradford running around. I don’t think the world is ready for that but we sure are.” Jackson said and everyone chuckled.

“That is amazing. So happy for the two of you.” Nolan said and the both of you thanked him as you did the others.

“I already knew.” Angela said and everyone chuckled. As you were surrounded by the ones you loved, the events of today were pushed to the back of your mind. Sure, it was a critical moment but you were with your husband through it all and that made it easier. You didn’t have Hep C but now you two were having a second kid and you couldn't wait.

*9 months later*

You laid in the hospital after having been in birth for 12 hours. You were exhausted but you delivered a healthy baby boy, Samuel ‘Sam’ Bradford. A shirtless Tim currently held his sleeping son as Molly was on the couch sleeping. Tim was staring down at his son with a smile and adoration on his face. You took a picture and sent it to the group message and almost immediately everyone replied. “I can feel you staring.” He said looking up and you smiled at him.

“I can’t help it.” You whispered and he smiled.

“You did great, Baby.” He said getting up and coming to sit/lay on the bed next to you, you looked down at him. You ran a finger over your son’s cheek and he stretched and then snuggled closer into Tim while leaning into your touch. He kissed your head.

“He looks like you.” You said “Which I’m not mad about.” You added and he chuckled and shook his head.

“No, he looks like you.” He said

“Whoever he looks like he is going to be a heartbreaker and a heart throb.” You said and chuckled.

“You got that right.” He said and you yawned.

“Get some sleep, we’ll be right here.” He said quietly and nodded as you leaned into him and got comfortable. As you closed your eyes as Tim’s lips met your hairline once again you smiled, you were surrounded by your family and you wouldn’t have it any other way. “I love you three.” He said quietly and with that you fell into a peaceful sleep.

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exorcxqsm · 6 months ago

Text

The price of desire.

ᯓWord Count: 4,4k

ᯓ tags - WARNINGS: mdni, reader isn’t the lnds!mc, explicit sexual content, alterations to the main story, toxic relationship, dr/y humping, t/easing, (lowkey) o/rgasm control, b/egging, f!receiving oral, p in v, unprotected sex, breath play, sensory play, spanking, mention of breeding!kink (toxic if you squint really hard), creampies, dom!sylus, use of pet names (kitten, sweetie), violence, mentions of blood and injuries.

ᯓnotes: This is my first published work here, it took me some time to write but I believe I’m content with how it came out. At first, the idea was to keep it a part one which is connected to an event of the series. Ending this part, I can think of some ways this can go, but I’d still want your opinion:) If you want to see more of this, please go ahead and ask. Any reblogs and likes will be appreciated.

You were a dangerous woman, a fact well-known throughout the N109 Zone. As the assistant to one of the most feared men in the underworld, your reputation was built on the edge of a knife.

But today, the real danger sat directly across from you at the table—your boss's most formidable and deadly rival: Sylus.

His silver-white hair fell messily over his forehead, creating a disheveled yet intentional look that only added to his unsettling charisma. A smirk played on his lips, while his crimson eyes held an unreadable intensity, as he sat on the table with his henchmen on each side of him. Luke and Kieran.

You had done your research, uncovering every scrap of information about the three men before you. It was a challenge, of course; the leader of the most notorious illegal organization in the N109 Zone wasn’t one to divulge valuable intel easily. Yet you had pieced together enough to know the depths of Sylus's ruthlessness.

You were certain of one thing: Sylus would not hesitate to sacrifice anyone—including his own men—if it suited his purpose. The black-red tendrils of his mist would mercilessly end the person and he wouldn’t blink an eye while his lethal capability, capable of extinguishing a life in an instant, would take over.

The only individuals he seemed to protect were Luke and Kieran, his unwavering henchmen, whose loyalty was both a strength and a potential weakness in this deadly game.

Everyone claimed that the twins were somewhat adopted by him—a complex relationship in which he protected and provided for them in exchange for their loyalty and services.

If you were being honest with yourself, you found yourself drawn to the twins. They exuded a carefree spirit that brought an element of fun, even in the context of business. You often wished you could shed your own uptight demeanor and embrace life as they did.

Your thoughts were abruptly pulled back to the present when one of Sylus’s men dropped two large armory boxes onto the table that separated your group from his. As the man opened the boxes, a collection of modified and illegal firearms was revealed, each piece looking as lethal as the man who had crafted them.

Dante, your boss, rose from his chair beside you to inspect the guns. After all, that was the purpose of this meeting—a trade, a business transaction between two men who despised each other's very existence, yet could not deny that, in times of crisis, their respective resources could prove invaluable to one another.

Dante provided the protocores, and Sylus expertly modified them. When Dante requested his part of the deal, the modified protocores were returned to him in the form of firearms capable of ending a life in less than the blink of an eye.

“Resourceful as always, Mr. Sylus,” your boss mused, but Sylus’s gaze was locked onto yours, seemingly ignoring Dante entirely.

“Oh, Dante,” he said, the man’s name dripping with disdain, “my little black heart is shattered into pieces. One would think you’d have learned by now not to question my methods or my work.”

You rolled your eyes at the silver-haired menace, your heels clicking against the carpet in a rhythm of impatience. You were growing weary of this standoff. Dante needed to state the agreed price and move on already.

“Set the price.”

Sylus’s smirk widened at Dante’s request, his eyes now fully focused on him. He seemed to stall deliberately, taking slow, measured steps around the room. His imposing aura filled the space, the coat draped over his broad shoulders swaying slightly with each movement. Finally, he came to a halt by the table, gripping its edge with both hands and leaning forward.

“Such a pretty kitten you have with you, hm?” he taunted.

Your gaze turned icy as Dante’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Are you referring to Miss Y/N?”

Sylus tilted his head to the side, his crimson eyes locking onto you once more, studying you with an intensity that made you uneasy. “You’re a foolish man, Dante.”

“What the hell did you just say?”

You exhaled through your nose, frustrated by your boss’s inability to keep his pride in check when it came to Sylus. This man ran an entire organization yet seemed unable to handle a little provocation.

“I said…” Sylus drawled, relishing the moment, “you’re a foolish man. Only someone with the brain capacity of a goldfish would keep a pretty kitten like her uncollared.”

You shot up from your seat faster than lightning, leaning dangerously close to Sylus, your hand itching to grab one of the weapons from the boxes in front of you.

“You should watch your mouth when speaking to a lady, Mr. Sylus,” you seethed, your voice low but fierce. “Only a man with the brain capacity of a goldfish would disrespect a woman for no apparent reason.”

Sylus chuckled at your retort, a wide grin spreading across his sharp features, revealing his teeth.

“Feisty,” he mouthed, a smirk playing on his lips, meant only for you to see.

Just then, Dante stepped up behind you, and you almost forgot he was there until his hand landed firmly on your behind, giving it a squeeze. Your hand was so close to the gun that it took all your willpower not to reach for it.

Sylus's expression shifted, the amusement fading as his brows furrowed, re-centering on his forehead.

“Set. Your. Price,” Dante reiterated, his body uncomfortably close to yours.

You had served as his assistant for far too many years, becoming accustomed to his unpredictable behavior. Yet, deep down, he knew you wouldn’t dare act against him with all his guards surrounding him.

You were a capable assassin, more than capable of matching his malevolence, but you were just one woman up against his entire army. He was well aware of your skills, which is precisely why he always kept a close contingent of guards present during your meetings in his office. You were his most valuable asset, yet he was frightened of what you could do if pushed too far.

Despite this knowledge, he often seemed to forget the extent of your capabilities, choosing instead to provoke Sylus.

“Her.”

“No.” Your response was immediate, your tone firm. He couldn’t be serious.

Dante’s chest shook with laughter beside you, his golden teeth glinting in the light.

“She’s off the table, I’m afraid,” he added, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Very well, then.” Sylus retracted from the table and rose to his full height, a shadow looming over both you and your boss. “So is the deal. Have a good one, Mr. Dante.”

Your shoulders relaxed for only a brief moment, but before you could even blink, you found yourself lifted off your feet and thrown over the table like a ragdoll.

Fucking bastard.

Of course, the deal was too important for him to let it slip away. Sylus knew exactly what he was doing when he pulled this stunt.

“Don’t even think about it,” you spat, your voice harsh and defiant. “I am your right hand; your business will crumble without me!”

Sylus seemed to revel in the chaos, leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. As his black-red mist began to swirl around the room, it coalesced around your body, lifting you off the table and bringing you effortlessly to his side.

Your struggles were utterly futile. No power could match his evol.

“Bastard!” you yelled, directing your fury at your boss.

Dante let out a deep sigh, visibly irritated but choosing to remain silent. His organization was already on the brink of collapse, a fact known only to you—and apparently Sylus too. That was the reason he had recently struck a deal with Onychinus; only their resources could possibly uplift him now—if anyone could, that is.

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Dante.”

The plush sofa of his dimly lit living room felt uncomfortably rough against your bare thighs as you took in your surroundings. Your revealing dress had ridden up significantly due to the twins’ rough handling as they placed you there, while their boss prowled around the sofa like a predator circling its prey.

The record player in the corner emitted a classical melody that only heightened the unnerving atmosphere, each note echoing with an eerie elegance.

“So uptight,” Sylus whispered in your ear, causing you to jump as his breath brushed against your skin. You hadn’t even noticed when he had gotten so close. “My, my… and so jumpy, aren’t we, kitten? Just try not to scratch my ceiling.”

You turned to glare at him, and if looks could kill, he would have been slain by the fire in your eyes. Nevertheless, you managed to keep your voice steady. “Why am I here?”

He didn’t bother to meet your gaze as he sank into his enormous cushioned chair across from you. A black-and-red mist began to swirl around your body once more, and before you could react, it lifted you off the couch and positioned you right on his lap, straddling him.

“What the hell?”

His hand shot up, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Shh, just keep your claws sheathed for a moment.”

You could feel your patience wearing thin. “Why. am I. here?”

Sylus's jaw tightened slightly, and if you weren’t intently observing his every expression, you might have missed it. “Because, kitten, Dante and I had a transaction.”

“Isn’t your typical price protocores when dealing with my boss?”

“Typically…” Sylus’s gaze was fixed on your face as an eerie silence enveloped the room.

Before you could process his words, his hand snaked around your throat, pulling you closer. His eyes locked onto your lips, a predatory glint flickering within them.

“What are you doing…” you whispered, your body tensing in instinctive response.

“Show me, kitten.”

“What?”

Sylus chuckled softly, a mocking sound that sent shivers down your spine. “I know you’re a smart kitten; don’t play dumb with me. It won’t help you.”

Of course, you understood what he was implying, but how did he know?

“I have no idea what you want,” you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

His hand tightened around your throat, making it increasingly difficult to breathe. Then you noticed it—the red glow of his eye—and you realized what he was doing. “Show me.”

Ironically, he was now in control of your actions, even though he sought the opposite.

You slowly removed your glove, compelled by the white-haired man in front of you. Your bare hand pressed firmly against his chest, and in an instant, his heartbeat ceased.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

You stared at his face, dumbfounded, as the glow in his eye faded and his complexion turned an ashen pale. Before you could comprehend what was happening, a low chuckle echoed through the dimly lit room.

Sylus’s chuckle. He was alive. Wait, what the hell?

His laughter grew more vibrant with each passing second as he took in your horrified expression. You shot your hand out again, daring to touch him, but he caught your wrist, tossing it aside with ease.

“Ravishing…” he breathed, his eyes darkening to a richer shade.

You watched him for a moment, trying to make sense of everything that had unfolded in the past few hours, until suddenly, everything clicked into place.

You gasped.

“You fucking bastard!” you shouted, fury igniting in your voice. “Is this why you didn’t take the protocores? Is this why you asked for me?”

Sylus’s arrogant smirk returned, dominating his features. “He wasn’t aware of the precious possession he had in his own house, sweetie. But I am.”

“You are… sick.” The expression on his face darkened, and something twisted in your gut, though you wished it was anything but excitement at his subtle praise. “You will not control me. I belong to no one.”

“Oh, kitten, I’m not trying to control you. This is just… a deal.” His eyebrows shot up, his face tilting slightly to the side as if he found your defiance amusing. “Isn’t business what you excel at? Or do you want me to believe it was Dante who called the shots?”

Your own expression faltered, but your body began to relax atop his, a fact he noted with a small, apprehensive smile that curled at his lips. “Are you trying to extract intel from me?”

He rolled his eyes at your tactics, a playful smirk on his face. “You are so gullible, kitten.”

He leaned in impossibly close, your breath catching in your throat and a shiver coursing through you as your body responded to his proximity. This was all so wrong.

“He didn’t value you nearly enough, sweetie,” Sylus whispered against your pulse, his warm breath sending a jolt through you. “But I can.” His teeth grazed your throat, and as your mouth opened, no sound dared to escape your lips.

“I…” You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I have no idea what—”

In one swift movement, you found yourself perched on the edge of the chair, Sylus looming over you like a consuming inferno. Your chests were nearly touching, and his eyes held a dangerous allure as he stared directly into your own. “I believe you do.”

His hand drifted from beside your head, descending to your collarbone as his fingertips caressed the delicate skin with a featherlight touch. “You can end someone with just a touch…” he whispered against your neck, and you had to fight against the electric shivers coursing through your body. “I am the only person you can’t kill, even if you tried, kitten.”

Your mind was slowly turning to mush as his hand roamed over the sensitive swell of your breasts, his lips planting tender kisses against your throat. “Don’t you see where I’m going with this? We’re meant for each other. Kindred spirits.”

“You’re insane,” you wanted to accuse him, but your voice came out breathless, betraying your mounting desire. A soft grunt escaped his lips, a sound that only fueled the tension between you.

“If I’m insane, what does that say about you, sweetie?” He began kissing his way down from your neck to your collarbone, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “I can smell your arousal from up here.”

You gasped at his bold accusation, your body jerking in response, but it only heightened the sensation as your clothed core pressed against his torso. You tensed, and his lips curled into a dangerous smirk. “So insatiable…”

“This is so wrong…”

“I’ve never been a righteous man.”

You leaned back instinctively, your hands reaching out as if to find comfort around his neck, but he halted your movement just before contact.

In your hazy state, you noticed him licking his lips, his gaze searching the floor for something—your glove.

“As much as I can’t think of another way to go, I’d prefer to be fully conscious when your pretty cunt is all over my mouth.”

“You’re… outrageous,” your voice faltered, betraying the rush of emotions coursing through you. Your body reacted in ways that contradicted your words.

“Do you prefer gentle, kitten?” Sylus asked, his fingers teasingly tugging at the neckline of your dress, unveiling your flushed skin. His tongue flicked over your right nipple, while his other hand caressed the neglected one. “Would you rather I whisper sweet nothings and cherish you gently?”

His tone dripped with playful mockery, and you arched your back, responding instinctively to his touch and taunting words.

“Would you like me to take it slow? To tell you how beautiful you are?” he teased, his laughter rumbling softly in the air.

Your resolve crumbled as he nipped at your sensitive bud, his hand expertly working the other. “No!” you moaned, your gloved fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, caught in the intoxicating desire in the air.

He growled against your chest, his body pressing forcefully against your legs as they parted to accommodate him. He felt a thrill of compliance wash over you, nearly tempting him to follow through on his suggestion to take it easy.

“More,” you demanded, your fingers tugging insistently at his head, guiding him downward to where your dress had pooled around your waist, leaving your red lace panties tantalizingly exposed.

Sylus grinned at your eagerness, his gaze lingering on your clothed cunt. “God, kitten…” he grunted, pressing his nose against the damp spot on your panties, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks as a thrill of shame coursed through you. “Did you wear my favorite color on purpose?”

His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Or did you wear it for him?”

You could only whimper in response, arching your body desperately to bring his face where you craved it most. Instead, a sharp sting greeted your cunt, your eyes widening as a gasp of surprise escaped your lips.

He slapped your pussy again, his expression darkening into a scowl. “Answer me, kitten. Did you get all dolled up for him?”

You clenched around nothing, the possessiveness in his tone igniting a deeper need within you. “No,” you whimpered softly. “It wasn’t for him.”

In an instant, he tore your panties away, his mouth descending on your cunt, his tongue skillfully lapping at your folds. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

Your fingers clawed at his shoulder, sounds of pleasure escaping you uncontrollably as he toyed with your sensitive clit. “Such a sweet pussy,” he grunted against your core, sending shivers through your body. You slid down the chair, his face pressed firmly against you, your lower body lifted almost into the air. His strong arms wrapped around your thighs, hoisting your legs over his shoulders as he devoured you.

“Say my name, kitten.”

You felt yourself teetering on the edge, already giving him too much. “N-no.”

His teeth grazed your clit, sending waves of pleasure and frustration coursing through you as he slid one finger against your entrance, teasingly. “No?”

“No.” Your voice trembled, betraying the mix of emotions swelling within you as you neared your release with each stroke of his tongue, yet your stubbornness held firm.

“Very well, then.” In an instant, his mouth was gone, leaving you feeling cold and exposed as he stood to his full height.

“What…?”

Sylus leaned over you again, delivering a sharp slap to the side of your breasts that made you squirm and gasp. “This is my zone. My side of the board. Here, you either play by my rules and win, or you go against me and lose.” His voice was low and commanding as his hand reached down again, sliding two fingers inside you, curling them to find your sweet spot. “What will it be, kitten?”

By this point, your entire body felt like it belonged to someone else. “Please…” Your voice was laced with desperation, the plea spilling from your lips, unrecognizable even to you.

“Please what? Just say it, sweetie,” he urged, a teasing glint in his eyes.

His fingers quickened their pace, and your legs trembled under the mounting pleasure, each mewl that escaped your lips a symphony to his ears. “So—Oh my god… S-so close.”

The moment he sensed your walls beginning to clench around his fingers, a satisfied smile crept across his face, and you returned it through a haze of bliss—until you felt him start to withdraw.

Your hand shot out, wrapping around his wrist with a desperate grip, pulling him back toward you. “Sylus!” you cried, your stomach twisting in knots as sweet release threatened to crash over you.

“Sylus, yes, oh my god, yes…” You were barely coherent, the words tumbling from your mouth, but Sylus grunted, his pants taut against his rock-hard cock.

“That’s it… That’s it, sweetie, I know. Drench my fingers; they’re all yours.” He moved with an urgency that took your breath away, thrusting deeply inside you, sending shivers through your entire body as you rode the wave of your climax.

You panted, your chest rising and falling heavily. As the haze began to lift, your mouth fell open in awe, watching Sylus suckle on his fingers, his eyes glowing with satisfaction as he savored your essence.

A fresh wave of slickness coated your folds, and Sylus cursed under his breath as he stood, taking you with him. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your bare, wet cunt smearing against the fabric of his pants, leaving a tantalizing mess.

The coarse material of his attire heightened your senses, making your body arch in his arms as you ground your hips down, chasing that blissful friction.

“So eager…” he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin before he nipped at your earlobe. “And so fucking wet.” He strode toward his desk just a few feet away, easing you onto your feet. “I’m going to devour you.”

In one swift motion, your belly pressed against the polished surface of his mahogany desk, your body bent over, your ass perfectly positioned for him. He didn’t allow you a moment to breathe before two sharp slaps landed on your cheeks, your body jolting forward in response.

Your moans filled the air, driving him wild, and the way your back arched instinctively shattered any semblance of his control.

You heard the unmistakable sound of his zipper, and a thrill raced through you as his cock was freed from its confines, teasingly brushing against your entrance.

Turning your head over your shoulder, your eyes fell on him, and a rush of desire coursed through you. He was enormous, his veins prominent and pulsing, the tip glistening with precum that trickled down, landing directly on your cunt.

“Sylus…” You brought his attention back to you, and the look on your face made his brows knot slightly in concern.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” he asked, his voice thick with lust yet surprisingly calm. “Do you want me to stop?”

You placed your hand lightly against his abdomen, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, and shook your head. “No, it’s just…” Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, almost mirroring the color of his eyes. “It’s not going to fit.”

Sylus paused, momentarily dumbfounded, before releasing the breath he had been holding along with a low chuckle. “We’re going to make it fit, kitten.”

Skepticism flickered in your eyes, and he noticed.

“Do you trust me?”

“No.” You answered honestly. He had been your rival until now, and you couldn’t fully grasp how your dynamic had shifted to this moment, you bent over his desk, spread and exposed.

He grinned, shaking his head in amusement. “You shouldn’t.”

In one powerful thrust, he was inside you, and your eyes rolled back in your head as pleasure surged through your body, overwhelming your senses.

“Fuck!” you cried out, but there was no pain—he seemed to know exactly how to plunge into you.

“Shit… You’re so tight,” Sylus growled, his hips slapping against yours as he took you roughly, driving deep against the surface of his desk. “It would’ve hurt more if I’d taken it slow, sweetie.”

It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to speak, but even if he could, you wouldn’t have heard him. Your mind was consumed with the exquisite fullness of his cock filling you completely.

Your eyes crossed as he continued to thrust in and out, your lips parted in a silent gasp, drool escaping the corner of your mouth and trickling down to the polished surface of his desk.

“Cock-hungry little whore,” he grunted, folding his body over yours to penetrate you even deeper. “And you claim you hate me.”

“I d-do,” you managed to moan, your legs trembling from the intensity of the sensations.

“You hate me, yet your sweet cunt is squeezing my cock like it’s her lover.”

Your mewls and whimpers grew louder with each thrust, your head spinning from the overwhelming pleasure. “Sylus…” you moaned his name, urging him onward toward his own release.

“What is it, sweetie?”

“I-I’m… s’close. So so close.” Tears were welling up in your eyes, and Sylus moaned deeply behind you as he felt your cunt squeezing him, clenching around him like he belonged there. Because he did.

His hand shot up, wrapping around your throat as he kept pounding you from behind, his whole desk shaking from the force of his thrusts. You were sure a bruise would form on your abdomen where it made contact with the wood.

Your eyes rolled as he applied more pressure, making it difficult for you to breathe. “Such a pretty kitten…” He moaned in your ear. “And now she’s collared. As she should be.”

Your orgasm broke through you with a new force, the tears escaping your eyes and your cries lulling Sylus to fall on his own release right after you.

“Fuck.” He moaned, his teeth clamping down on your shoulder. Rope after rope of cum filled your cunt, his thighs shaking slightly from behind you as he emptied himself inside you.

You were so overstimulated and sensitive by your encounter when Sylus caught his dripping cum from your thighs and pushed it right back in.

Your legs threatened to give out, your mind clouding the moment he began to fill you with his seed once more. “Such a pretty cunt, used and bred by me,” Sylus murmured, his voice low and possessive. “What will your boss say when my kids are running around his base, huh?”

You weren’t even aware of how or when it happened, but suddenly you were moaning his name, sweet and desperate, as you drenched him once again. This time, the force of your release was blinding, your vision fading to a brilliant white.

Confused, you turned to see Sylus, his abdomen glistening with your essence, his fingers slick and dripping as he stared at you with a manic edge in his eyes.

“Oh my God…” Heat rushed to your cheeks as the realization of what you had just done washed over you. “I’m sorry… Sylus, I’m—”

Before you could finish, his hand pressed firmly against your lower back, forcing you back into position as you tried to shrink away from his gaze. “Kitten…” His voice was taut, barely contained. “We’re not leaving this room until you do this again.”

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tweedlydumbtweedlydoo · 3 months ago

Text

a Second Chance | Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader

Summary: After being in a secret relationship with Rafe and becoming pregnant, he denied the entire relationship, making it known your son wasn’t his. However, he can’t deny it for much longer - your son is the spitting image of Rafe.

Part 1

A/N: This is a continuation of the fic above. This can be read as stand alone or you can read the other first for a bit of background on how things played out and telling Rafe you were expecting.

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

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Your son's giggles were music to your ears. You smiled in adoration at his uncle JJ chasing him through the yard, his little toddler legs moving as fast as they could. He loved his uncle JJ. And his other aunts and uncles too. After all the drama with Rafe, he and the other Pogues stepped in, becoming your village and boy are you glad you had them. You wouldn’t have been able to do it without them.

Rafe continued the story, the baby wasn’t his and you were never in a relationship. However, as time has passed, people are starting to get suspicious, especially as your son grows because he’s the spitting image of Rafe. It is getting to the point, Rafe truly can’t deny him.

“Come on boys, let's get to the beach before it gets crowded,” You call out to JJ and Jackson; the other Pogues loading up in the Twinkie. You and JJ worked hard, going in half on a car that JJ rebuilt to make it drivable. JJ knew the Twinkie wouldn’t be a safe vehicle to transport his tiny nephew and made it his mission to find you something sustainable and reliable.

“Mama!” Jackson squeals as he nears, jumping into your arms.

You laugh and kiss his head before placing him in his carseat and securing him. “Ready to go to the beach?”

He nods with a big grin; Rafe’s smile. The smile you’d fell in love with. You can’t deny it doesn’t hurt a little when you look at your son, because staring back is Rafe and all the hurt that came with him. But you wouldn’t trade Jackson for anything in the world. He’d brought light into your life and filled your broken heart. Jackson is so smart and intelligent, even at only 3 years old. He’s got a sweet and loving personality and he loves when he can make you laugh. And Rafe is missing it all, time he will never get back.

After settling at a spot on the beach, you all unpacked, setting the chairs and umbrella up. Pope dropping the cooler under the umbrella with a grunt, “jeez what the hell did you guys pack in that thing.”

Jackson started tugging you toward the water, “come mama!”

“No baby hold on, let's put sunscreen on first. Then you can get in the water.”

He pouts but stops tugging, letting you lather him in the sunscreen.

“Once mama is finished me and you can go check out those waves!” JJ holds his fist to Jackson, who returns with a fist bump.

“Alright you’re finished!” You kiss him on the head and he takes off toward the water with JJ. JJ picks him up and wades into the water with him. Jackson laughing hysterically as the waves crash against them.

“beer?” Kie asks, as you take a seat in the beach chair next to her.

"Yes thank you,” you sigh, taking a sip, “I love that the beach is nearly empty-”

Loud music catches you and the other Pogues attention, watching as a couple trucks and a jeep drive thru the sand behind you. You recognized Topper’s jeep and groaned.

“Please keep driving..” Sarah pleads.

“Anywhere but here.” Kie adds.

“Of course.” John B says as they stop a little ways down the beach, “This entire beach and they pick that spot?”

You take a sip of your beer, nearly choking on it as you see someone hop out of the dark blue truck. Rafe.

“Shit.” Kie mumbles.

He rounds the truck and opens the passenger side, another person gets out of the truck and it’s Sofia.

Sarah places a gentle hand on your arm, “you gonna be ok?”

You give her a reassuring smile and nod, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine.” You gaze out at the ocean, JJ has noticed the kooks and he looks over at you, a look of concern on his face. You nod at him, letting him know you’re okay. He continues to play with Jackson, holding his hand as he stands with his toes in the sand, jumping over the waves as they break against the beach.

“We’re both adults here. Maybe me more than him but it’s ok.” You glance between Sarah and Kie, “He’s living his best life - while I raise our son that he denies is his.”

John B squeezes your shoulders, “And you’re doing a damn good job at it too.”

The rest of the Pogues pipe in, “Hell ya you are,” “You’re killing it.”

“Thanks you guys,” Your eyes dance between the Pogues, “I couldn’t have done it without you guys,” Your eyes grow teary, “Ok okay stop you guys are gonna make me cry,” You shake your hands out, wiping your face, “enough sappy talk. Let’s enjoy our beach day!”

Rafe watches you and the Pogues playing with Jackson by the water, taking a sip of his beer.

Sofia comes up beside him, wrapping her arm around his waist, “Her son is cute,” She says with a smile, looking up at him.

He hums in response, not pulling his eyes from you and Jackson. He knew now, there was no denying Jackson. He looked just like him. Topper flat out asked the other day if Jackson was his.

“He looks just like you man.”

Rafe shrugged, “I don’t see it. He’s not mine though. She was screwing everyone on the island. There’s no telling who the father is.” He tried to keep up with the lie, but Topper wasn’t stupid. Topper knew you weren’t sleeping around, you’d never been like that. But he let him continue the lie, dropping the topic completely.

“I bet our kids will be cute.”

Now that caught his attention. He snaps his head toward her, “What?”

Sofia smiles, “When we have kids, I bet they will be cute.” She’s in dreamland, wondering what life with Rafe Cameron would be like. Getting married, having a big house on the island, having kids etc etc. Little did she know, Rafe wasn’t planning a future with her.

He nod and takes another sip of his beer, deciding not to say anything.

“Jackson wait-”

Rafe turns in time to see a ball rolling his way and Jackson chasing it. You weren’t too far behind.

Rafe bends down and picks up the ball, staying at Jackson’s level as he approaches. Jackson is hesitant to take it.

“Jackson, you can’t just run off-”

Rafe feels like he’s staring at a mirror. Topper’s right, he looks just like him. The little boys eyes are innocent and he’s overcome with a feeling he can’t describe. He feels protective of the small boy in front of him, like a father would. A surge of love flowing through him. How could anyone leave this boy without a dad? How could he have abandoned his son? Something changed the moment he looked into Jackson’s eyes.

“Here you go, buddy,” Rafe holds the ball out to him with a smile.

Jackson hesitantly takes it, looking up at you, with a small pout on his lips, “Sorry mama, my ball.”

Rafe slowly stands, the two of you coming face to face for the first time since you told him you were pregnant.

“It’s ok baby, you just can’t run off like that.” You run your fingers through his hair. You will yourself to meet Rafe’s eyes, “Sorry about that, we’ll get out of your way.”

“It’s ok.” Rafe can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. Is it possible to be more beautiful? Motherhood treated you well and he’s overwhelmed with pride to know you did it all on your own because of his stupid decision. His stupid immature decision.

Your eyes glance to Sofia, who steps up next to Rafe, pulling him from his trance, “your son.. he’s adorable.”

You give her a small smile, “Thank you.”

Rafe is mesmerized by you. He doesn’t know what’s over come him but the feelings that he buried deep inside have started bubbling to the surface.

“Jackson, you know you’re not suppose to talk to strangers.” JJ takes a dig at Rafe as he approaches, scooping up Jackson in his arms.

Rafe’s jaw clenches at JJ’s comment. Stranger. He’s no stranger. He’s his father- but he catches himself. JJ’s right. He truly is a stranger to him and he has no right to call himself his father.

Jackson wraps his tiny arms around JJ’s neck, snuggling into his shoulder. That stirs some jealousy within Rafe. He should be the one hugging his son and playing ball with him on the beach. He should be the one there, the three of you as a family.

“We better get back. Sorry for bothering you guys.” You apologized, following JJ back to the rest of the pogues.

Rafe watches you walk away, his heart aching. He should have told you the truth. And he shouldn’t have lied all these years about Jackson.

JJ holds Jackson with one arm and wraps his other around your shoulders, “you ok?”

You nod, “I’m good. You shouldn’t have made the comment you did”

JJ rolls his eyes, “it’s not like it wasn’t true. He’s a stranger.”

You shrug, “I know but-“

“No buts. He’s a stranger to Jackson. Even if he shares DNA with him.” He snaps back.

It was a touchy subject with JJ and you knew the conversation was over. JJ was protective over you and he held a huge grudge against Rafe for abandoning the two of you. Especially Jackson. He wanted Jackson to have a dad, something you and him didn’t have growing up.

Rafe laid in bed that night with you and Jackson on his mind. He couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning the entire night. Sofia is sound asleep next to him. He squints, peering to check the time on the clock, 6:37 am. He sighs running a hand over his face before quietly getting out of bed and toward the shower. He wanted to see you again and talk. He needed to talk to you.

“Rafe?” Sofia’s sleepy voice calls out to him, hands feeling his spot on the bed.

Rafe comes to her side, showered and dressed, kisses her forehead. “Early meeting. Be back later.”

She hums and turns back over, falling back asleep.

He pulls up to the Maybank house a little while later. Glancing over in the passenger seat, coffee for you and him. He hopes you still liked your coffee with 2 creams and 2 sugars. He also picked up some muffins and donuts, unsure what Jackson would like.

He was nervous, gripping the steering wheel. Maybe he shouldn’t do this. He can still turn around and go home. You don’t even know he’s here yet.

He shakes his head, no there’s no talking him out of this. He needs to have this talk. He’s 2 years two late. Technically almost 3 years.

Well shit there’s no turning around now cause here you come walking toward his truck. He takes a deep breath, now or never.

He steps out of the truck, “morning.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” You ask tightening your robe around you, “it’s nearly 7:30 in the morning.”

“Brought coffee and breakfast.” He says, reaching inside to grab the coffee and bag. “I was hoping we could talk?”

“Now you want to talk? You’re a couple years too late Rafe.” You’re eyeing the coffee, yearning for your boost of caffeine.

He sighs, “I know, I have no right to show up here unannounced either but, after seeing you guys yesterday I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He offers the coffee, “two cream and two sugar?”

You nod, slowly reaching to take the coffee, “you still remember?” You ask, surprised. Even after all these years he remembered? You felt a soft tug on your heart. No y/n. You tell yourself, smooshing those feelings back down. It was not the time to go soft.

He shrugs, also handing you the bag of muffins and donuts, “It’s not the hardest coffee order, but yes I still remember. There’s muffins and donuts in there, I wasn’t sure-” He scratches the back of his neck, growing uncomfortable, “I wasn’t sure what Jackson liked.”

“He’s a fan of both. He pretty much will eat anything,” You turn and head for the porch, “Everyone is still asleep, let me put this inside and we can go to the dock.”

Rafe nods and takes the time to check out what all you two have done with the place. It was different than when he was here last, new dock and boathouse, the landscaping had been cleaned up and the house actually looked livable. Jackson’s toys were strewed around the grass.

“ready?” You ask, heading down toward the dock, Rafe following. You two take a seat on the bench at the end of the dock.

“So, now that Jackson is older, people are starting to notice how much he looks just like you. You can’t keep up with whatever lie you’ve been spreading. Are you here to try and make me come up with an excuse for where his father is? So, you can go about your life?” You ask, bitterly.

“No, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to step up and apologize. And explain my immature behavior.” He stands back up, pacing the dock in front of you. His nerves are getting the best of him. He had this speech all planned out but sitting in front of you, he’s forgot what to say. “I wasn’t in the right head space. And I for sure wasn’t ready to be a father. You saw what I was like. I was drinking, partying. Hell, I was even doing coke at that point.”

You sit quietly, sipping your coffee as you listen to him. It wasn’t anything you didn't know, to tell you the truth. You also were doing all those things at the time, minus the coke, but as soon as you found out you were pregnant, you’d stepped up and knew all of that had to come to an end. You were going to be a mother.

“I was doing the same things, Rafe. I don’t see that being an excuse. I stepped up when I needed to because I had too. It was something you needed to do as well, but you weren’t ready to give up that life yet. You weren’t ready to give up your lifestyle to become a father.”

“I know. and that’s the truth, I didn’t want to give up my partying lifestyle for a kid. I was also scared what people would think of me, getting a girl from the cut pregnant. No one even knew we were dating-”

“So you were ashamed of me? You’re really not doing yourself any favors right now-” You scoffed, standing, “I get it, Rafe. It would have been the worst thing for a kook to get a pogue pregnant. People would have judged you and never looked at you the same-” You turn to head back toward the house. “I’m so tired of this kook vs pogue bullshit.”

“Baby-” He gently grabs your arm to stop you, letting the pet name slip, “I mean y/n- That’s not what I was trying to say. Fuck, this is not how I wanted this to go. Please, I’m trying to apologize. I was an immature kid back then and I’m here now to apologize, make things right and take responsibility.”

“Rafe,” you sigh, “we’re doing fine right now. Without having you in our lives. We’ve made it work. It’s been 3 years, just let it go. I’ll keep on with the lie, you can continue to live your life how you want. Get married, have other kids. Whatever you want to do.”

“I don’t want to do that, y/n. That’s what I’m here for. I want to be apart of Jackson’s life. A part of your life.” His hand has slipped down from your arm to your hand, his thumb subconsciously caressing your skin. “Please give me another chance. I’ve changed. I promise I’m not the man I was before. My dad has made me a manager at his company. I have a steady job, a house of my own. I’m not the immature teenager I was before.” His eyes are pleading for another chance to do the right thing.

You don’t know how to describe it as you stare into Rafe’s eyes, that they look the same as they did when you fell in love with him, but have a different softness to them. He’s genuine. But you don’t know if you can trust him. He broke you and you weren’t ready to open those doors again. You weren’t ready to open yourself back to him. You had Jackson to think about now and had to take his feeling into account. Could you trust Rafe?

“What about Sofia? What does she think of all this?” You remove your hand from his, crossing your arms over your chest. “She seems like a great girl.”

“If I’m honest with you, I haven’t talked to her about it. Me and her aren’t serious.”

“Maybe you should go home and talk things over with her. I can’t make a decision now. I need time to think it over.”

His shoulders sag in defeat, but he ultimately nods, “Take all the time you need.. I’ll be here waiting.”

Rafe left your house and immediately went to Tannyhill, hoping he could catch his dad before leaving for his meeting at 11. “Morning Rose,” He greets as he enters the kitchen, Rose is drinking coffee at the island, Wheezie next to her. He kisses Wheezie on the head, “Wheezie,”

“Morning,” They say in unison.

“Is Dad still here?”

“In his office,” Rose nods, “He had a couple things to finish before the meeting.”

“Thanks,” Rafe heads toward his office, knocking, “Dad?”

“Come in,” Ward calls out, “Morning Rafe, you ready for the big meeting this morning?”

“Ready. But I was hoping to talk to you about something.” He takes a seat across from Ward’s desk. Ward can tell there is something on his son’s mind and closes his laptop to give his full attention.

“What’s going on?”

Rafe takes a deep breath, clasping his hands together to stop them from shaking, “You know y/n Maybank?”

“Yes-” Ward says, leaning forward a little, “What about her?”

“Me and her dated a few years ago.”

“Mmhmm.” ward nods, “What about it?”

Rafe takes another deep shaky breath. Ward begins to think about it, remembering she had a son. Who was about 3-

“The boy- Jackson. He’s yours?” Ward asks in disbelief.

Rafe gives a short nod, “I fucked up.”

Ward slowly sits back in his chair, taking it all in. Old Ward would have blown up, told Rafe how stupid could he have been. “How long have you known?” He asks.

“Since she told me she was pregnant.” He can’t help but get teary eyed, still on edge as he waits for his dad to blow up on him. “I told you I fucked up.”

Ward mulls over this new and shocking information. “Why wouldn’t you say anything?” Ward asks.

“I was terrified. Immature. I didn’t want to be a dad. I was partying all the time and wasn’t ready to give it up and be a dad.” He tells him honestly, “It was a shitty decision and I regret it.”

“You should have took responsibility son.” He sighs, “But I know you weren’t in the right head space.” He stands and rounds his large desk, taking the seat next to his son, “Rehab changed you for the better.”

Rafe nods, “I’m trying to fix things. I want to be in his life. I went to her this morning and we talked. She’s hesitant to give me a chance.”

“She has every right to be hesitant.” Ward defends, you, “That’s her son.”

“He’s mine too,” Rafe says, but sighs, “But you’re right. It is her son. I’ve given her no reason to trust me.”

Ward nods, “Time will give her that. You’ve done the hardest part. Admitted you were wrong and apologized.” He squeezes Rafe’s shoulder, “It’s time for you to take responsibility.”

Rafe nods in response, “I’m sorry dad. I should have told you the truth.”

Ward agrees. He gives Rafe a small smile, “So I have a grandson, huh?”

Rafe was in agony. It had been a week since he talked to you. You hadn’t tried reaching out yet and he was starting to get worried that you weren’t going to give him a second chance. He’d called it quits with Sofia, who didn’t take it easily, but she admitted she knew she’d seen a change in him after the beach day. And had admitted she’d wondered about Jackson. She saw the resemblance and the way Rafe had looked at you. He was still in love with you.

You’d told the Pogues that morning over breakfast, JJ had flipped.

“Like hell he deserves another chance!”

“JJ, you don’t get to make the decision, I do.”

JJ had left with a slam of the front door. He come back a couple hours later, calm and agreed. It wasn’t his place, but he still didn’t trust him. He didn’t want to see you hurt again.

JJ had left with a slam of the front door. He come back a couple hours later, calm and agreed that it wasn’t his place, but he still didn’t trust him. He didn’t want to see you hurt again.

Your heart is pounding against your chest as you take the stairs up to Rafe’s front door. You looked around the outside of the house. It was a nice, expensive house on the water. Two story on stilts as most houses near water are built.

His truck was parked under the house so you knew he was home.

You took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Rafe was surprised to see you at his front door. It had been a week and he was beginning to wonder if you were even gonna make a decision. The longer it took the more he felt he wasn’t going to get his second chance.

“Hey,”

“Hey,” you point inside, “can I come in so we can talk?”

“Yeah yeah of course.” He opens the door wider for you to enter, closing it behind you.

The place was clean and sleek. It looked like a bachelor pad.

“You want anything to drink? I’ve got water, juice, a beer..” he chuckles softly, motioning to the kitchen.

You follow him into the kitchen, “Water is fine,” You lay your purse in the chair at the island. “I’m gonna be honest, I’m nervous.”

He fixes you a glass of water and you take a chance to look around the room.

“no need to be nervous,”

You see in the corner of the living room there’s a small kids battery powered jeep and a couple other shopping bags around it.

He sees you have noticed the stuff and slides the water to you, “my dad.. he uh he bought it for Jackson and Rose picked up a few things for him too.”

“Thats’s very sweet of them. But wait, you told your dad?” You’re surprised and look to him, “I thought you hated him.. you guys didn’t have a great relationship.”

“We patched things up after I got back from rehab.”

“Rehab?” You ask shocked, “I didn’t know, when did you go to rehab?”

He clears his throat, “few months after we broke up. Or I broke things off. Ward found me half dead on some laced coke I bought and when I woke up he made me go to rehab. Best decision I could have made.”

“That’s awesome, Rafe. Im happy for you. I know having a better relationship with your dad was what you always talked about wanting.” You give him a soft smile.

“Yeah yeah it’s good now.” He heads toward the back deck overlooking the water and you follow taking in the view but Rafe, he’s watching you, taking you in.

You catch him watching you and can’t help but blush, “why are you looking at me like that?”

Now he blushes, embarrassed he’d been caught, “sorry, we can sit here to talk.” He takes a seat on the couch and you take a seat on the other side.

You take a deep breath, “I’ve done a lot of thinking over this.”

He nods, hands clasped together he places his elbows on his thighs leaning closer, “yeah?”

You look at him, “We’ll start out easy and slow. He’s not to know you’re his dad yet. I want him to be comfortable with you. He doesn’t truly understand the whole dad thing either, so I don’t want to confuse him. We call all hang out together first and then if I feel comfortable enough maybe you can take him on your own for a couple hours. I don’t trust you yet, Rafe. You broke that trust and I need time. But I believe everyone deserves a second chance. And I want Jackson to grow up with a dad who loves him. Something JJ and I didn’t have growing up.”

He resists every muscle in his body not to hug you. “I can be that. I will be that.”

He reaches over and you let him take your hand, “thank you for this.” He gives it a gentle squeeze, “you don’t know how much this chance means to me.”

A couple days later you and Jackson meet Rafe at his house, planning to spend the day there. Rafe had asked you a million questions about Jackson; his likes, dislikes, what toys he liked to play with, what he liked to do. He wanted to know as much as he could so he could be prepared for today.

“Hey!” Rafe greets at the door, “What’s up little man?”

Jackson’s shy at first and he peeks out from your shoulder at Rafe, muttering a quiet, “Hi.”

“He’s a little shy. And he just woke up from a nap.” you follow Rafe inside and he helps to take the bag off your shoulders.

“It’s all good. I understand.” He nervously wipes his hands on his shorts, “I got his favorite foods. The kitchen is stocked and-”

“Toys!” Jackson gasps, wiggling out of your arms and immediately taking off toward the pile of toys. The jeep Ward bought him was there and a couple other new toys Rafe picked up.

“Can I play?” Jackson asks, his eyes lighting up.

“They’re yours! You can play with them all. After lunch we can take that jeep outside and you can ride around the yard.” Rafe says, taking a seat on the couch to watch him.

“You didn’t have to get all these...” You sit next to Rafe.

Rafe shrugs, “I know but he didn’t have anything here. I want him to be comfortable.” He slips off the couch and sits in the floor next to Jackson, helping him open the toys. Rafe teaches him how to play with a couple of them, showing him how they work.

You couldn’t believe the change in Rafe. It was like a different man sitting in the floor. And the resemblance between the two was uncanny. Both had the same look of concentration on their face and you laughed softly to yourself after snapping a picture. Sarah had asked how it was going, so you sent her the picture. She was happy to know her brother was stepping up and also made a comment about their same look of concentration.

As you stared at Rafe, a new feeling was starting to take form. A longing for something more and hope that maybe you could get your happy ever after and your dream of a family to become a reality.

Comments, likes, & reblogs are always greatly appreciated! I love to read your thoughts on it.

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whoreforsexymen · 3 months ago

Note

heeeey!!!! Im back with more jayce request. I would like to see jayce x reader with the prompts “Don’t act like you didn’t want to end up under me like this.” and “Shut up and take my fuckin’ cock.”. This is giving me like rivals or enemies to lovers where jayce and the reader have some heavy sexual tension under the surface. One day jayce just loses all patience and snaps and takes all of his stress and anger out on the reader

Sink Like A Stone | Jayce Talis

Prompt Fic (See, Prompt List)

Prompt(s) Used:

#2 "Don't act like you didn't want to end up under me like this."

#21 "Shut up and take my fuckin' cock."

Pairings: Jayce x Fem!Reader

Pronouns: Fem!Pronouns + Female Anatomy Descriptions

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked!

Word Count: 8.3k (IDK what happened)

Tags: Songfic, INTENSE Smut, INTENSE Angst, VERY SLIGHT dub-con (it's not really dubcon--Jayce just get's really consumed by anger at one point--the unspoken consent is there) Hate-fucking, Lovers to Enemies then back to Lovers (??), Choking, Semi-Public Sex, Biting, Slapping, etc.

Summary: You and Jayce are ex-lovers. You hate him for plagiarizing and stealing your life's work, and he hates you for leaving him over what he considered a selfless act. After months of having not seen each other, you two get into a heated screaming match turned hate-fucking. However, Jayce may have let his emotions get the better of him.

Notes: OKOKOK, so. Be warned. This one is a DOOZY. I was in no way planning on adding 90% of the elements I added to this story. They just kind of happened.

(Special note to @milkbean69 !! I really took this and ran with it. If you want me to redo it in a much tamer way. Please let me know and I will.)

((((Side note, this is going to have to be a two-parter! Stay tuned for part two, which will be much softer.))))

‘We lie,

Cold.’

Jayce.

A name so simple, so unassuming, it would slip unnoticeably through anyone else’s mind. But to you, it holds weight. Each syllable, each breath that forms it, feels impossibly significant—a name that stirs something deep within you, a quiet echo of poignancy known only by you.

Your feelings towards the Jayce Talis you once knew were complex and hard to define. On one hand, you despised the way he insinuated himself into the council of Piltover’s most prestigious Academy, taking a seat you believed was rightfully yours—one you had fought tooth and nail to earn.

‘Dam up the river,

We can go, slow.’

His so-called “vision” for Piltover’s future, with that abominable Hextech nonsense, had directly sabotaged the plans you’d spent years perfecting. You may not have had the luxury of Arcane magic to ease trade, but you had crafted a much more practical blueprint to connect Piltover to the rest of Runeterra’s trading world.

Yet the moment Jayce and his fragile “partner” wielded their so-called “magic,” your ideas were dismissed, overlooked, and ultimately erased.

‘We don’t wanna,

Know.’

On the other hand, you had always considered him a friend—seemingly more at times—until the day he practically ripped the rug of your life’s work out from under your feet.

Not to mention he had the gall to call it his idea. “His” idea? Please. It was your idea, just re-wrapped in a fancy mystical package. You had worked on it together, after all. Jayce had spent countless hours rambling about the mysticism and potential of those tiny blue stones of his, insisting they could revolutionize everything you had ever strived to achieve. Never once did you imagine that, once he unlocked their power, he’d turn against you, abandoning the partnership and the vision you had once shared.

‘Dull down our senses,

Become numb.'

What kind of name was Hextech, anyhow? It felt devoid of sophistication, lacking both subtlety and the gravitas one might expect from something so profound. It didn’t quite capture the essence of what it was—an intricate fusion of magic and technology—nor did it convey any sense of elegance or purpose.

Although, you couldn’t deny that you often reminisced in memories of your life before his grandiose “discovery”—robbery, really— of Hextech—your idea.

‘We take our time

Ignoring all the signs

Living in fear of our lies

Never bad enough to break it

Or, good enough to feel right.’

You had spent the better portion of your youth with him, much of it tangled amidst bedsheets, consumed by a shared, desperate need to relinquish each other’s physical tensions.

‘Been in overtime,

Half our lives.’

Sometimes, you could still feel the softness of his touch, the warmth of his lips grazing your skin—and other, much more tender, places. You could easily recall how your body had ached for him at times, but even more painfully, how your heart had longed for him, too. A truth you never dared to utter aloud.

The absence of anything beyond those intense moments of passion never really crossed your mind during the thick of it all. You never questioned it, and in hindsight, you’re almost thankful you didn’t—especially after what he had done after all that time. All of the time spent together, collectively fantasizing over your dreams and aspirations of a better life for all citizens, and a better future for the next generations to come.

‘Under indecision,

We become so dependent.

On the rush,

Of the moment.’

The bitterness that had consumed your heart was unbearable now, and the thought of ever confessing your feelings to him seemed almost unfathomable—impossible to imagine how much worse it could have been for you now if you had.

By this point, you were acutely aware of how deeply you loathed him. Your physical desires had long since faded, especially since you hadn’t seen or spoken to him in months. You had even gone so far as to move to a place he couldn’t find, cutting off every trace of connection, and the bond you once had.

Your skin ached with longing for him, your body and soul craving his touch once more. Yet, no matter how intense the desire, you would never allow him a single opportunity to return to your life.

It was a painful contradiction to bear—hating him, yet craving him all the same. You felt trapped, consumed by hopelessness, unable to escape the turmoil inside.

‘Sanitize

My head.’

You hadn’t moved far—just to the other side of Piltover, away from The Academy, the council, and—most importantly��-Jayce, himself.. The distance was a great relief. In your day-to-day life, there was no real risk of encountering him, and that small sense of safety gave you some peace of mind.

However…

You often found yourself testing that peace, pushing the boundaries of the distance you’d created. You weren’t entirely sure why—maybe it was the deep, unresolved desperation for him, or perhaps a semi-conscious, self-destructive choice of yours.

‘Death murders

Everything in sight.’

Each night, you found yourself walking almost the entire length of Piltover, from your new home to the Hexgate monolith on the far end—the very place you had fought so hard to escape.

Seeing the towering structure always left you with a deep, melancholic thrum in your chest. It represented everything you had once hoped for, everything you had worked and slaved over, now reduced to rubble by its mere presence.

‘Beneath the rip in the wind

The pillar push you aside.’

That tower stood as an unyielding symbol of betrayal, a constant reminder of the anger and anguish that had shattered your world at the mercy of Jayce’s hands.

‘If I make way

I can taste your sigh.

Just like the cannibal amp

It knows sound is size.’

On your nightly walks, you would make your way down the stone pier that lead to the water, your footsteps echoing in the quiet. When you reached the end, you’d grasp the railing that kept people from tumbling over the cliff’s edge, gluing yourself to the present moment.

‘Push me to

The brink, I said

Well that bitch

Is a creep

It tried to know what I think.’

There, you’d gaze up at the tower, lost in thought—re-evaluating and wondering how differently your life might have unfolded if Jayce hadn’t betrayed you—-if he hadn’t stolen your idea and torn everything apart.

‘To breathe out passion

Or suck in fate

You think the world was made

To wield your weight

And bleed out?’

Tonight was no different. Here you were, hood drawn—- hands shoved deep in your pockets—-your bodice pulled tight as you hunched in quiet disdain, eyes locked on nothing but the ground that passed underfoot.

Your expression was sour as you traced every wrong turn your life had taken to bring you here. Your chest felt heavy, as if the weight of it all pressed itself down upon you out of sheer spite.

Your mind buzzed, a relentless whirl of painful memories spinning in a dizzying menagerie inside your skull.

When your eyes met the stark, hauntingly familiar edifice, a sharper pang stabbed deep beneath your chest, more intense than you were accustomed to by now.

You weren’t sure why, of all nights, tonight seemed to bring out the most intense surge of feelings—especially since you found yourself unusually consumed by your thoughts this time around.

Especially since, long before Jayce had perfected the Hexgate, the two of you would often come here to find solace in the sound of the waves and the crisp air of the sea. You’d toss stones into the water, or compete to see who could throw them the furthest. The bittersweet memory of how often Jayce would taunt you for your lack of coordination only deepened the pain and anger digging at you.

You couldn’t control the mindless, almost reflexive way your body reacted to such intense feelings, in combination with the familiarity of the location. Without a second thought, your hand reached for a nearby rock, and before you even registered what you were doing, you hurled it as hard as you could toward the tower.

The tower, distant and perched far out in the water, seemed almost unreachable, and your rock barely made it halfway before splashing down into the water with a sound that felt like it mocked you in the same way Jayce had. You almost felt compelled to throw another rock, driven by some irrational need to make the first one atone for mocking you—despite the fact that it, like all other rocks, had no sentience to answer for its actions.

You gave in to the irrational impulse, bending down to pick up another rock, your mind still fixated on the need to make the previous one pay. But as your fingers closed around the stone, something in the corner of your vision made you pause. A pair of shoes—familiar, yet unknown—caught your eye. Shoes that were attached to feet. Feet that led up to legs. Legs that belonged to the hips and torso of an individual you couldn’t see beyond your hood.

The rock slipped from your hand, forgotten, as your attention shifted entirely to the figure standing behind you. You hadn’t heard a single indicating noise that you had been followed, or approached from behind.

The presence was sudden, unnerving, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to be afraid. If you were anywhere else, anywhere but Piltover, you’d be terrified. But here, in this ”city of wonders”, you couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, you were still safe.

If anything, it was probably an enforcer, here to reprimand you for throwing rocks in the first place. You straightened up, brushing the thought aside, and turned to face whoever had been silently looming behind you.

As you spun around, you realized—this wasn’t an enforcer.

No, far from it.

The person standing there was more terrifying than any enforcer could ever be, and certainly more annoying, infuriating, and enraging to look upon, for lack of better words to describe the instant rush of wrath that overwhelmed you.

‘Am I the reason

That you can’t look past

Your future self?’

“Your aim is still pretty shit, sunshine.” He says plainly, the nickname he had always pegged you with burning in your ears.

Your blood ran cold as your eyes locked onto the disgustingly smug expression on his face. Every hair on your body stood on end, a shiver crawling up your spine as you stood face to face with the man you now regarded with nothing but utter disdain.

You freeze, unable to muster a response, your mind clouded with a storm of rage and contemptment.

Jayce’s gaze lingers on you, almost—dare you think it—in a way that seemed concerned, longing, and worst of all—-caring.

What a hypocrite. How dare he look at you like he actually cares?

‘Got me believin’

You’ve been stuck

And glued in frequent doubt.’

“Don’t give me that look,” you snap, your fingers twitching, aching to throw a rock at his face just to make him eat his words. For a split second, you actually consider it—and you’re sure Jayce can feel exactly what’s running through your mind as he observes the way your eyes flicker between his face, and the stone you had left behind.

“What look?” he asks, concern surging through his expression again.

Did this guy have a death wish, or was he really just that oblivious? Either way, you could crack instantaneously.

“That look. The fake concern,” you snap, your eyes dropping, fists tightening, teeth grinding.

“Fake…?” He pauses, clearly lost in thought as he crosses his arms over his chest, the hint of offense hanging off his words.

You fight the urge to lash out, to make him feel something stronger than pain.

‘I know the feeling

‘Cause I can’t keep

My mind open now.’

“Yes, fake, Jayce. As in insincere. Artificial,” you spit, taking a sharp breath.

“Ersatz,” you add, the word a bitter aftertaste.

Your words cut through the air with a venomous cadence, each syllable sharp and biting, a distasteful attempt to tear through him.

Jayce looked completely dumbfounded, as if his mind had been wiped clean. The stark look of gears no longer grinding in his brain was almost comical. He was daft, no doubt. You felt a twinge of pride prod your ego upon this realization.

You couldn’t bear to stay here, not this close to him, not after everything. The thought that he was only here to twist the knife deeper into your wounds was almost more than you could handle. Your emotions, raw and overwhelming, had already drained you, and you were done. You didn’t want to give him another moment—no chance for him to make things worse, or worse still, to somehow try and redeem himself. As if he ever could.

Steeling yourself, you gather what little dignity you have left and turn away, keeping your face carefully composed. As you pass him, you deliberately knock your shoulder against his, ricocheting his shoulders in the process, a silent and singular act of defiance as you walk away.

As if to intentionally make matters worse, Jayce turns after you, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist. He makes contact, swiftly pulling you back towards him.

“___, wait—” He begins, but his words are cut short as your hand slams into his cheek. You hadn’t necessarily meant to hit him, but the motion was as instinctive as throwing the rocks—your hand connecting with the flesh of his cheek before you even had a chance to stop it—not that you necessarily would have wanted to.

The way you had wound up the slap was only amplified by the sudden pull of his hand grabbing you mid-stride, forcing you back toward him. The momentum aided the force with which you struck him.

The weight of what you’d just done hit you all at once—grief, anger, relief, all crashing together. A small part of you, the part that still cared for him, was flooded with guilt. But the darker parts of you—those that hated him, that had longed to hurt him—felt a twisted satisfaction. Besides, it was his own fault that he had grabbed you.

You’d wanted to feel his skin beneath your hands, after all, and in an oddly perfect way, this had been the way to satiate that desire.

Jayce instantly released his grip on your wrist, his hand moving to cup the spot where your slap had left its mark.

“Ah…” he groaned, wincing as he cupped the stinging flesh. His eyes snapped shut, the pain unmistakably written all over his face.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away as he stood there, his hand pressed against the raw, reddened skin of his cheek, the mark of your slap still vivid and angry. The sight of it made your chest tighten, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was you were feeling. What should you feel in a moment like this? That was the question you could neither answer or shake.

You had already acknowledged, in a quiet corner of your mind, that there was a strange satisfaction in lashing out, even if it was tangled with the thorny weight of your own hurt. There was a cruel sort of release in it, one that both thrilled and disturbed you in equal measure. Your stomach churned as you fought to suppress the abhorrent feeling of shame that crept up on you.

You could feel your instincts urging you to escape—to run, to put distance between yourself and this raw, uncomfortable moment. But you chose not to listen. The urge to flee warred with something else, something deeper, a curiosity that had begun to take root. You wanted to see how this would unfold, to witness how this tension would resolve, if it would resolve at all. The satisfaction you had felt from that sharp, ringing slap was undeniable. Maybe it had been a way to expel some of the pain that had been building inside you for so long. Maybe, just maybe, it was worth confronting whatever came next, just to relieve yourself of that heaviness, even if only for a moment.

‘Make up your mind,

We’re running out of time.’

Your heart sunk as you saw the essence of betrayal soon sweep across his face. Yet, simultaneously, that added to the anger you felt. He, of all people, felt betrayal? After the way he betrayed you? That look of his repulsed you.

He looked at you, disbelief written all over his face, his expression a mixture of shock and hurt. His hand lingered on his cheek, still tender from the sting of your slap, as though he couldn’t quite grasp the reality of the moment. The look he gave you was one of genuine confusion, as if he couldn’t fathom why you were so consumed by anger.

“___…” His voice cracked slightly, heavy with emotion, but still full of that familiar, passionate lilt, the kind that used to make your heart race. When he whispered your name—softly, almost reverently—it was as if the sound of it pained him.

‘Doubt is failure

By design.’

His eyes searched yours, full of questions that hung in the air, unanswered. Why had you struck him? Why this sudden violence? The pain in his gaze only seemed to stoke the fire inside you, making the anger flare even hotter, more reckless.

“Don’t look at me like that. Like you don’t know exactly what that was for,” you spat, each word sharp, each syllable dripping with a tang that tasted like metal on your tongue. But as the words left you, the anger morphed into something far more fragile, far more devastating. Your heart seemed to crack with the weight of it, the betrayal, the hopelessness. The tears welled up, blurring your vision as your chest tightened with sorrow.

“Why… why are you so blind to everything you’ve done?” you choked out.

“To everything we had… everything you destroyed… just so you could chase your fucking dreams?”

Your fists balled at your sides, the muscles in your arms trembling from the effort of keeping control, even though your voice shook with the strain of holding back the tidal wave of emotion threatening to break free.

‘I’m burning up

Can only take

So much.’

“What about my dreams, Jayce? What about our dreams?” you cried, your voice rising, your words feeling like they could burn everything in their path. Every inch of you ached—your body, your heart, your soul—all of it pulled taut like a string ready to snap. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep it in.

“What made sealing your own future—your destiny—more important than what we built together?” you demanded, the question sitting in the air between you like a dagger.

“Why was your ambition more sacred than our bond? More sacred than us?”

Your voice cracked on the last word, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps. The tears spilled over, leaving hot trails down your face, but you stood your ground, unwilling to back down. This—this pain, this heartbreak—was something you needed to admit, needed him to hear.

“How dare you steal my idea. How dare you take the credit, and disparage it with your stupid, fucking, magic.” You were shouting now, your voice ringing through the night air, raw and unfiltered, the weight of your anger shattering the silence that had settled over everything. The contrast between your fury and the stillness of the evening was jarring—your words felt like they were tearing through the quiet, reverberating off the walls of the world around you.

“Your idea?!” he exclaimed in response, his voice rising sharply, cutting through your tirade. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you in a few purposeful strides, his figure towering over you, his height and presence suddenly far more imposing than you remembered. His broad shoulders blocked the space between you, his stance firm, as if challenging you to face him head-on.

‘I know you

Can feel it

It’s catching up

It’s getting too heavy

For both of us.’

“Since when was it your idea?” His words were fast, biting with frustration, and he was unrelenting as he moved closer, his eyebrows knit together in upset.

“‘Cause the way I remember it—we both wanted change. We both wanted to make Piltover a better, more advanced city.” His voice was now an angry force, his face craning down to meet yours, his eyes sharp, trying to drill the point home. He wasn’t asking anymore—he was demanding you understand.

But what hit you most in that moment wasn’t just his words. It was the way his anger had suddenly shifted everything. For the first time in your life, you felt small compared to him. You had never seen him like this—not even annoyed, not in all the time you had spent together. Jayce had always been the steady one, the calm, the voice of reason. But now, his fury felt like a storm—intense, unpredictable, and completely foreign. The force of it left you unsettled, and taken aback, to say the least.

You didn’t know how to react to this. His anger was like a tidal wave, knocking the ground out from under you, and for the first time, you realized just how much power he had over you—how much he could command just by his sheer presence. The towering figure in front of you, his jaw clenched, eyes burning with emotion, made your chest tighten. You didn’t know what to do with this. His anger was new, and in some way, it was almost more frightening than anything you had ever faced.

‘We lie

Cold.’

You were baffled, not just by the words he was saying, but by the way he was saying them—like a person you didn’t recognize.

You parted your lips, ready to continue the tirade that had built up in your chest, but before you could get another word out, Jayce’s voice cut you off, raw and jagged. He didn’t give you a chance to speak, his frustration spilling over, each word more desperate than the last.

“You left me. Here. Alone.” His voice cracked, trembling under the weight of everything he, too, left unsaid, considering how you fled before he ever got a chance to explain himself. It wasn’t just anger in his tone anymore; it was pain. The kind that came from a place so deep you couldn’t ignore it, no matter how hard you tried.

“I did what I thought was best for us.” He stepped closer, his voice rising in volume, matching the intensity of your own.

“I proved what I was trying to prove. For us. For our collective aspirations.” The words came faster now, fueled by the overwhelming rush of emotion that was beginning to boil over in him.

“I worked my ass off to make sure that, with the help of my Hextech, your trade routes could flourish,” he spat, his anger now matching yours, raw and unrelenting. His face was inches from yours, his breath hot as he glared down at you.

“I won’t stand here and let you blame me, let you hate me, for acting out of what I thought was selflessness at the time. I’ve gone to bat for you, countless times, to make sure you got the credit you deserved.”

His own fists clenched at his sides, the strain of his words almost too much to bear.

“But you ran. You left, assuming my only goal was to use you, when in reality, all I ever tried to do was support you.”

His words slammed into you like a physical blow, and for a second, you were paralyzed by the force of them. But then the anger surged again, hot and insistent. Support you? The bitterness twisted in your gut, and before you even thought about it, the words exploded from your mouth.

“Support me?!” You shouted, the sound ringing through the night like a bell, sharp and accusing.

“That’s what you call abandoning me to take a seat in the highest of towers?” You could feel the heat of your own fury rising to meet his, and without thinking, you shoved both hands into his chest, pushing him back with all the force you could muster.

Jayce stumbled backward, caught off guard by the sheer force of your anger, and you weren’t done. You shoved him again, harder this time, your hands pressing against his chest until he hit the railing behind him with a loud clang. The sound echoed in the air, but you didn’t care.

“In the council, no less?! Leaving me here to fend for myself in your fucking shadow?!” Your voice was hoarse now, each scream louder and more desperate than the last. You pushed him once more, as if trying to push the weight of everything you felt, everything you couldn’t hold onto anymore, into him.

The tears you’d held back were streaming freely down your face, but there was no stopping them now. The hurt, the betrayal—it all came pouring out in that single moment. The fury and heartbreak swirled together, a force you couldn’t control, and all you could do was scream at him until your voice gave out, until he understood just how much you had suffered because of his choices.

‘Dam up the river,

We can go, slow.’

Jayce had finally reached his limit. The shouting, the anger, the constant back and forth—it was all too much. He could see now that no matter what he said, nothing would make you stop. The argument had spiraled into something beyond reason, and every word he spoke only seemed to fuel your fire. You weren’t listening anymore; you were just lashing out, consumed by rage.

Enough was enough.

‘Dull down our senses,

Become numb.’

When you shoved him again, anger blinding you, Jayce reacted quickly. His patience had worn thin, and he wasn’t about to let this go any further.

The next time your hands came at him, he caught your wrists with a swift, forceful motion, crossing them tightly over each other. Before you could react, he shoved your arms into your chest, locking you in place. Then, without warning, he spun you around, pulling you harshly against him so that your back was pressed to his chest. His grip tightened, his arms like iron bands, preventing you from thrashing away.

‘Mirin myself

All by myself.’

“Stop.” His voice was low, sharp, and commanding, vibrating against your ear as his chest caged you in. You could feel the heat of his body, the raw tension in every inch of him as he held you close, his strength completely overpowering your attempts to break free.

“___, for fucks sake! Stop!” He demands, one of his enormous hands moving to take hold of both of your wrists while the other clamped down around your jaw, bringing your face towards your shoulder, where his own chin rested in this position.

Jayce had no choice. He knew how stubborn you were, how deeply you clung to your anger when you were hurt, and how you’d never stop until you’d worn yourself out—if you ever did. But right now, he couldn’t wait for that to happen. He couldn’t let you run away from him anymore.

With one sharp, decisive movement, his lips crashed into yours. It was hard, hungry, demanding—a complete storm of sensation that left no room for resistance. Your eyes went wide in shock, your breath hitching as you tried to pull back, but he followed, his mouth pressing harder against yours, refusing to let you break free.

‘Feel the caress, so sweet

Done by my hand.’

You gasped, the sound caught between your lips, and before you could protest, his kiss deepened, his tongue slipping past your lips, twisting with yours in a way that both startled and confused you. You cried out into his mouth, the noise muffled, as his hold on you tightened, his body pressing closer to yours, grounding you in place.

Every part of you wanted to push him away, to shout, to keep fighting, but Jayce’s kiss was relentless—an anchor pulling you deeper into silence. He wasn’t pulling back, not until you stopped fighting, until you let go of that anger long enough to breathe.

And though you still burned with fury, something about the way he held you, the way his presence swallowed you whole, made it harder and harder to keep struggling.

No matter how much you had longed for his touch, how desperately you had yearned for him to kiss you like this again, you couldn’t bring yourself to accept it in a moment like this. Not when everything inside you was still burning with anger and hurt.

‘Polishing this frame of mind,

Jacked it up an ax to grind.’

You fought against him, your body stiff and tense, desperately trying to pull away from his overwhelming presence. Each movement was a silent refusal, a stubborn resistance to the way his kiss was pulling at your very core.

‘Duck n’ dodge,

Stay unaligned.'

But it was futile. You were already drained, your energy spent from the crying, the shouting, the endless cycle of rage that had led you here. As his lips pressed more insistently against yours, the fight in you began to falter. The need to escape, the impulse to run, slowly began to dissolve with every second his lips lingered on yours, and his tongue explored the depths of your mouth. What remained was the sharp sting of your rage, but even that felt like it was starting to ebb.

Gradually, your body softened, the tension in your muscles melting away. The fight left you, piece by piece, until you sighed against his mouth, the sound muffled but unmistakable. With a subtle shift, your head tilted just enough to give him more room, more access, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to stop fighting. The kiss deepened, and in that quiet surrender, Jayce released a long, relieved breath, sensing your body finally easing into his touch.

‘My recognition face

Some get withered

Some get fried.’

You kissed him back after great hesitation, your lips and tongue moving urgently against his, as if you were trying to make up for every lost moment in a single, heated breath. There was no holding back now. The memories, the longing, everything that had been buried deep inside you erupted all at once, and your mouth moved hungrily against his, each movement a desperate attempt to relive the intimacy you’d once shared.

‘I know we talked about

The shit we did

Each time.’

His grip on your wrists faltered, weakening as you started to turn toward him fully. The distance between you closed rapidly, and soon, your chest was pressed flush against his, your body responding to his presence with an intensity you couldn’t control. As your hands were freed, they instinctively traveled up to his face, your thumb brushing over the spot where you’d struck him only minutes before, feeling the remnants of your anger there, now mingling with something else.

‘Polishing this frame of mind

Jacked it up an ax to grind.’

You cupped his face, fingers digging into his jaw, pulling him even closer as if trying to erase the distance between you, to melt into him and make up for the time and pain that had come before. The urgency in your movements was raw and frantic, a wordless plea to feel everything at once—to collapse the anger, the longing, and the need that had built up inside you into this single, desperate connection.

‘Duck n’ dodge

Stay unaligned

My recognition face.’

His hands roamed over your body, searching for any way to pull you closer, his touch growing more insistent as he settled them on your hips, pulling you into him. The physical closeness only heightened the tension, the desire, but also something darker—something that still lingered between you—lust.

Though you no longer felt the need to escape, your rage simmered just below the surface, burning deep in your chest. It wasn’t gone, not by a long shot. It still gnawed at you, demanding to be felt, demanding some kind of reckoning. Part of you wanted to make him feel it, make him understand the depth of your pain. You wanted him to know what you had been through all this time.

‘Am I the reason

That you can’t

Look past your future self?’

Your tongue retracted for a moment, and you pressed your teeth against his bottom lip, the bite sharp enough to sting. It was a flash of anger, mixed with the heat of desire, and it caught Jayce off guard. You had shared passionate moments before, but nothing quite like this—nothing that carried this much intensity. He flinched at the sudden sharpness, but in that moment, something in him sparked, that familiar fire of tension growing even stronger.

If that’s what it would take to break the tension, then he’d oblige.

Jayce’s hand tangled into your hair, pulling you closer, his grip tightening. The sensation of your hair in his hand, the pressure, sent a breathless sound escaping from you—something between a gasp and a soft exhale. It was involuntary, the sound mixing with the heat building between you. Jayce had always longed to hear that from you, to feel that connection, and now that it was happening, he couldn’t stop.

For far too long, Jayce had denied himself any form of physical connection. Since you left, he’d been forced to bury his desire for you deep inside, locking it away with a painful awareness that nothing—no touch, no embrace—could compare to what he had shared with you. Each passing day, he became more acutely aware of the emptiness that lingered, knowing that any contact with anyone else would only serve as a stark reminder of the craving that burned for you.

‘Got me believin’

You’ve been stuck

And glued in frequent doubt.’

He tightened his grip, drawing another soft sound from you, the mix of pleasure and tension in the air thickening. His focus was solely on you now, on the way your body responded, on the sounds you made, and how this moment—this raw, unguarded moment—was pulling both of you closer to the unspoken lust that couldn’t be denied a moment longer.

You can’t help but let out a filthy little moan, whimpering along with it.

A shameless, guttural moan, that sent Jayce’s head into a spiral. He had been beyond desperate to coax those kinds of noises out of you for what felt like too long of an eternity. He was in no position to deny himself the opportunity to keep drawing them out of you.

His hands curled into a fist as he yanked on your hair, whimpers flying out of you like a flock of birds.

If you wanted to fight dirty, Jayce was game.

“Fuck..” He breathes out—eager, like a starved man who stumbled upon a banquet— as he pulls away from your lips, immediately pressing them against the skin of your neck he had exposed from his grip on your locks. He let his teeth drag along the skin, biting and harshly sucking on it in several places. Your reaction was deathly arousing. The slightly pained cries that flowed beside ones of pleasure sent Jayce’s burning temptation into orbit.

He knew you needed him in the way he had once gotten used to providing for you. His cock throbbed beneath his slacks, desperate to break free from the confines of the cloth that kept it contained.

It was arguably harder than it had ever been, his anger and inability to have you for so long adding fuel to the fire of his pure incessant need to bury himself deep inside you.

‘I know the feeling

Cause I can’t keep

My mind open now.’

Oh, how you both longed to be connected like that again. In the way all lovers know well—their unspoken second nature.

He ruts his hips against yours, your own body responding instinctively by meeting them in their attempt to seek friction.

You both emit low grunts at the new sensation, satiating the tension for now.

You felt as though you were being scorched from within, the intense heat of your desire and simmering rage intertwining, each stoking the other in a relentless blaze. Every nerve burned with an insatiable hunger, a craving that went beyond pleasure, pulling you deeper into a whirlwind of both ecstasy and agony.

You needed more—not just the thrill of sensation, but the raw, cathartic pain that seemed to heighten the fire within you. Your soul ached for an outlet, something that would satisfy the chaotic tension, where your lust and frustration could collide, erupting into something that might finally ease the raging storm inside.

You snaked your arms around his neck, giving a small jump into him as you anchored onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist. He hums darkly in reaction to the sudden motion, his hands releasing their clasp on your hair to instead latch onto the bottom of your ass—-supporting you as you clung to him.

Jayce’s head shot up from it’s spot between your head and chest, moving to a new vantage point in order to scan the area. He was a man with a mission.

A mission to uncover the perfect place, somewhere secluded and unremarkable—a refuge hidden from the world where he could channel the fury between you with ruthless intensity. It had to be a spot where nothing could interrupt the raw, unfiltered release of tension—a place where every movement, every act, could be as drastic and unforgiving as the anger that surged through both of you.

Needless to say—and in an extremely simple turn of phrase—-He needed to fuck the rage out of you— and he would stop at nothing to do so.

After a few tense moments, Jayce focused, his eyes landing on the perfect hidden corner in all of Piltover. His grip tightened on you as he began to lead you toward it. The alleyway was small and shadowed, tucked between two shops that had long since closed for the night. The buildings on either side pressed in tightly, their walls forming a dark, narrow passage that swallowed any light. The darkness obscured it from street lamps and passersby, though Jayce hardly seemed at all concerned about the possibility of wandering eyes, anyway.

The alley itself was already tucked away from the main streets, but the particular spot his intentions were set on was even more concealed—through the alley and to the right, behind the buildings entirely, not just in between.

Overhanging eaves, garbage bins and scattered crates cloaked the area, creating a thick, impenetrable shadow. It was a secluded pocket, completely hidden from view, untouched by the faintest glimmer from the street beyond.

A perfect haven of obscurity, though the lack of any inviting scenery was hardly worth a second thought. The cracked cobblestones, the faint smell of damp earth, rotting trash, and the forgotten clutter of the alley seemed irrelevant. In a place like this, where shadows held sway, scenery had no claim. Nothing mattered but the raw, pressing heat of the moment.

You sank your teeth into his neck, your hands exploring his shoulders with a quiet, persistent need. He groaned beneath your bite, his un-abating lust taking the lead furthermore, as he harshly slammed your back against the abrasive stone walls of the building. His mouth was quick to covet yours once more, lips voraciously seeking stimulation from them.

Your sensual tango of lips pressing against each other, hips grating and rutting into each other’s carried out, Jayce beginning to make quick work of exposing you to the elements, his cock still hard as ever as it brushed against your clit beneath the layers of clothing. You can’t help but whimper out in response.

With the new advantage of pinning you to the stone wall—-combined with the leverage of your legs still around his waist—-his hands grew eager, rushing to tear your blouse apart. His fingers slid between the buttons of the opening, pushing through the seam before he gripped tight and wrenched it apart. Several buttons flew free, briefly distracting from the sharp bite of the cold air against the newly exposed skin.

You couldn’t help but whine into the cavern of his mouth, the rough display of lust redirecting all of your aching and longing straight to your clit. It throbbed with intent, a desperate reminder that you needed more friction. You greedily rolled your hips into his, yielding another low, filthy grunt from Jayce.

“Fuck.” He pants against your mouth, hands kneading at your breasts, cock twitching beneath his trousers.

Oh, how he longed to revisit the memories of your past encounters, to re-enact the acts of pleasure he had learned to bring you. But in such a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to slow down. As much as he yearned to please you in the ways he’d spent so much time discovering, there was no time, now. The urgency of the present situation demanded everything from him. If he didn’t bury his cock deep within you, right now, and fuck you senseless, he’d probably keel over.

This was his last chance. His only chance to rewrite your history.

‘Am I the reason,

That you can’t look past,

Your future self?’

Without a second’s hesitation, Jayce tore your legs from his waist, practically dropping you to the ground. In one swift motion, he flipped you around, pressing your cheek forcefully into the cold stone wall with one hand. You groan out, the harsh force of his motions prodding your deep-seated anger once more. His chin reclaims its resting point on your shoulder, teeth claiming your earlobe between them as he pressed his mouth to your ear. You groan out of sudden distaste for the new position.

”Don’t act like you didn’t want to end up under me like this.” He growls into it, the words viscerally stabbing at your clit, earning a thirsty cry from you.

He spread your legs with his feet, his free hand clambering to release his throbbing cock from it’s fabric prison. He yanked your pants down, the sound of his belt clinking sending shivers up your spine as your cunt pulsated in anticipation.

You were beyond wet—the word a dull description of the way your cunt was absolutely sopping, dripping, and practically gushing for him.

Despite your evident arousal, you weren’t used to things happening so fast. You began to protest as your back arched against his brawny, bold, and burly chest.

“Jayce— wait!” You started to say, before his teeth clamped down onto your earlobe with increased vigor, your words fading into torrid moans as a result.

He pulls your underwear to the side, fist pumping his deprived cock before he lined himself up with your soaking cunt.

“Shut up and take my fuckin’ cock.” He barked.

Before you even had a chance to breathe, he plowed into you, curling his hips up to press flush against your ass. You had no choice but to brace yourself. Your hands flew to the cold stone wall, gripping tightly to keep from collapsing under the force of it all.

The sound that tore from deep within your chest was raw, loud enough to make anyone within a hundred feet of the building take concerned notice. Anyone outside of you and Jayce would have assumed you were being murdered.

It was a deliciously vile sound, thick with want, neediness, desperation, and all the emotions you had yet resolved.

“Fuck!” You scream, tears stinging in your eyes as Jayce began slamming up into you with at an absolutely merciless pace. He wasted no time by giving you a single moment to adjust, knowing full well the rough nature was exactly what the situation called for. If he didn’t give this his all, everything was at stake. Or so he thought.

His thrusts were, at their core, crude—filthy, vulgar.

Lascivious.

They had an animalistic quality, one that attested to his own desires, and the hurtful longing he had harbored for you.

Jayce grunted, huffing out as he ruthlessly snapped his hips against the flesh of your ass. He plunged his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, the hand that held your face against the stone withdrew from you. Jayce pulled it beneath your arm, wrapping around your chest to imperviously grip at your breast, using his hold on it to further aid in the force with which he was bucking into you.

His other hand moved to your neck, fingers tightening around it with a possessive grip. The pressure forced the air from your lungs, and you gasp, the sound barely escaping as your breath becomes shallow. You squirm, struggling to breathe, but his hold doesn’t loosen. Instead, it pulls you in deeper, mixing fury with hunger. Each ragged breath, each flicker of resistance only seems to make it worse, the heat between you both building in the space where anger and desire collide.

“Fuck you.” He spat out in sync with his thrusts.

“Fuck.” —thrust.

“You.” —thrust.

“For.” —thrust.

“Leaving.” Thrust, thrust, thrust.

The words he spat out were coated in intent, each one seething with the same anger that simmered inside of him. The way he moved, pounding into you, was frantic, his hips driven by a fire that seemed to consume him.

‘Got me believin’

You’ve been

Stuck and glued

In frequent doubt.’

You could feel it, the heat coursing through his veins with every thrust—his body shaking with the intensity of it. There was nothing controlled about the way he gripped you, no tenderness. Just a reckless, furious need, each movement angry, as if he were fighting to push the rage out of his body and into you.

His soul had been set ablaze, and all you could do was feel the burn.

“Agh—“ You pant, air still desperate to escape your lungs as he clenched your throat.

“F-fuck you for—-Pretending like—-you care.” You choke out.

Jayce’s blood boils, his grip on your throat tightening beyond the point of care.

“Pretending like I care?” He pants as well, exhausting himself from the force with which he was railing his cock up into you.

“I care. More than—anyone—sunshine.” He very well shouts, words still in sync with his thrusts, on exhaling with each. He was absolutely plowing you now, the familiar nickname cutting through the air that surrounded you.

You were groaning out in pleasure and pain, the contrasting feelings mixing into one as he continued his relentless assault on your cervix.

“T-Then why—-why couldn’t you just—-“ Your lungs begged for air.

“Love me—-like I love—- you?” You gasp, your voice barely audible above the hunger for air.

‘I know the feeling

Cause I can’t

Keep my mind

Open now.’

Jayce’s movements stopped abruptly, his hands yanking away from you as if struck by a sudden realization. You gasped, breath catching painfully in your throat, stumbling back into the wall, your body desperate for air that was slow to come. The intensity that had fueled him moments before seemed to drain in an instant, leaving you gasping in the silence.

Jayce felt an overwhelming wave of guilt crash over him, sharp and suffocating, like a bucket of ice-cold water being poured straight over his head. It hit him all at once, a gut-punch of realization that mirrored the guilt he had seen on your face earlier when you slapped him—raw, unfiltered, and impossible to escape. His chest tightened, a heaviness settling in his stomach as he stood there, frozen, unable to look at you.

His hips stilled, his body rigid as the anger that had driven him to this point shifted, replaced by something softer—-sadder. His heart felt heavy in his chest, sinking like a stone in water.

All that was left in the alley was the erratic—-uneven sound of your breathing, each inhale a struggle, sweat slicking your skin, catching the light of the moon in fragile glimmers. The silence stretched out, thick with unspoken tension, the weight of what had just transpired hanging between you like a shroud, heavy and unresolved.

His mind was a blur, thoughts scattered and jumbled, short-circuiting in a way that left him dizzy. He couldn’t make sense of the guilt spiraling through him, the crushing weight of having crossed a line he hadn’t even seen until it was too late. Until you said what you had said.

That you loved him.

He removes his chest from your back, pulling himself out of you in the process.

Jayce reached for you, his hands trembling as he gently grasped your shoulders, his touch softer than it had been all night. His fingers barely brushed your skin, as if afraid to make contact after everything that had just happened. With a careful, almost reverent motion, he spun you around to face him. The moment your eyes met, his chest seemed to cave in on itself, a sickening weight settling there.

His heart felt like it had physically dropped, plummeting to the pit of his stomach with a sickening thud. The sight of you, tears streaking down your face, the raw anguish in your expression—it shattered him. Every ounce of anger, every moment of fury that had driven him earlier seemed like a distant memory in the face of the heartbreak he had caused.

How could he have been so reckless? The thought screamed in his mind, impossible to silence. The guilt that gripped him now was suffocating, crushing. He’d seen your pain in the heat of the moment, but now it hit him full force—really hit him. The tears in your eyes weren’t just a reminder of what he’d done; they were a reflection of how far he had pushed you, how little he had cared in the frenzy of his own anger.

And now, standing in front of you, he couldn’t undo it. All he could do was stare at the damage he had inflicted, helpless, terrified of what he’d become.

“___…” He whispers.

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