#than a damned stake through her chest?

[isagrimorie]

Criminal Minds Evolution 17x10 - Save the Children

[bijouxcarys]

Just Your Tribal Chief (Roman Reigns x fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Description: In the chaotic world of WWE, where titles and egos clash, the Women's World Champion faces a new kind of challenge: her own boyfriend, Roman Reigns...

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, angst, slight daddy kink, dirty talk, rough sex, oral sex (m recieving), semi-public sex, voyeurism, lil bit of choking, Tribal Chief-mode...

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: @trippinsorrows (literally don't know who else to tag so if you want to be tagged in any future Roman fics, let me know!)

Her face was hard as stone as she followed her boyfriend, struggling to keep pace with his towering strides. Despite her own formidable strength—she wasn’t the undisputed WWE Women’s World Champion for nothing—his height advantage was undeniable.

She had earned her title through relentless dedication, ever since she started training at fifteen. She had bulldozed through her opponents, male and female, during her NXT days and earned her place on both RAW and Smackdown. Being assigned as a Free Agent in the 2023 draft by Hunter had been the culmination of years of sacrifice.

That’s when the chaos began.

Interviews, talk show appearances, high-stakes matches—nothing could deter her from her goal. Her ultimate triumph came at Wrestlemania 39 when she vanquished the one and only Charlotte Flair. It took her long enough to comprehend that she had in fact defeated the daughter of the man she’d sat and watched hours of as a kid. But it happened.

Life was perfect; she was the champion, her boyfriend retained every time. Pure bliss, right?

No.

Just… no.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?” Y/N spat, slamming the door behind her as they entered his locker room. His. Of course, his.

“Me?” Joe laughed, running a hand over his face as he paced the length of the room. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Yeah, you. You’ve been bitching all day, Joe!” She crossed her arms, her eyes ablaze.

“Oh, I’m Joe now,” he jabbed a finger into his chest, halting his stride. “Out there, I’m Roman Reigns, undisputed champion—but in here, I’m fuckin’ Joe.”

Y/N was baffled. Joe hated being referred to by his ring name when they were alone; he despised being treated like a superstar off the clock. So what was this?

“Last time I checked, your name was Joe,” she huffed.

“And the last time I checked, my girlfriend didn’t let men leer at her like she’s a whole ass meal on a plate.”

She laughed bitterly, amused by his newfound insecurity. She had never seen this side of him before. They had joked about it, but it had always been about his magnetic presence and how women practically swooned around him.

“Aw, are you jealous?” she taunted, leaning forward. “Is that what this is about? Does my success fracture your delicate little ego?”

She wasn’t about to let anyone, especially a man, undermine her. Not even when it was hers.

“You get off on this, huh?” Joe’s brows narrowed as he stepped closer. “You get off on antagonising me all the damn time!”

“Antagonising you? I was doing a fucking interview, you insecure prick! What am I supposed to say—oh, sorry, I can’t talk today, my Tribal Chief is a little fragile, let me come back once his dick is intact again!”

“Oh, my dick be stayin’ intact, babygirl, you know that better than anyone.”

“Don’t fucking detract, Joseph.”

“I’ll stop detracting once you admit that… guy out there was gunnin’ for your number. My boy’s eyes couldn’t even stay focused!”

As they argued, they closed the distance between them, Y/N’s neck craning to meet Joe’s intense gaze. She couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing him riled up, though she knew this wasn’t genuine anger. She recognised angry Joe, and this wasn’t him.

This was angry Roman.

Narrowing her eyes, Y/N chuckled, her nose inches from his. Joe’s lips curled into a sneer before he straightened, taking a deep breath.

“Joe–”

“I’m not gon’ tell you again, Y/N…” he began, his voice measured, before he lowered his head, his eyes locking with hers, darker and more menacing. “When we in these four walls. This arena. Hell, when we at work…” He loomed over her, metaphorically trapping her, though she was free to leave if she chose to.

“I’m Roman Reigns. Ain’t no Joe here. Do you see Joe in this room right now, baby?”

She bit back a grin, revelling in the tension. Damn, she was fucked up, but she loved it.

Before she could respond, his large hand encircled her neck, holding her in place.

“I asked you a question,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding.

Her irritation melted into a dull ache low in her abdomen, her thighs clenching involuntarily. She exhaled shakily, struggling to maintain her composure.

“No…”

The whisper conveyed everything he needed to know.

“Good,” he murmured, his fingers tightening on her neck. “Now, are you gon’ make it up to me, or are we gon’ keep fighting?”

Y/N swallowed hard, the air between them electric. “Make it up to you?” she asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes, testing him.

He didn’t reply with words. Instead, he closed the distance between them, his lips crashing down on hers with a fervour that sent shivers along every inch of exposed skin on her body. The kiss was demanding, urgent, reflecting the tension that had been simmering all day.

His hands travelled down to her waist, gripping her possessively as she responded with equal passion, her fingers tangling in his hair, just below where it was all neatly held together in a characteristic man bun. They stumbled backward until her back hit the wall, pinning her in place with his weight. Breaking the kiss, he gazed down at her with dark, smouldering eyes.

“You know exactly what to do, babygirl,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that weakened her knees. “Show me just how sorry you are.”

Her breath hitched, heart racing as she nodded, her fingers already working to unbutton his pants. The anticipation was almost unbearable, but it only heightened the intensity of the moment.

She sank to her knees, a willing captive to his dominance. Joe chuckled, pleased with her compliance.

“Even when we arguin’, you still so desperate for this dick,” he taunted as she tugged down his pants and briefs. She didn’t have to look up to know he was smirking—that signature smirk that always had her pulse quicken.

“Well, sometimes it’s the only way to get you to shut up,” Y/N retorted, unabashedly cheeky as she stroked him with a deliberate slowness, savouring his reaction.

“Babygirl, that mouth of yours better get to work before I do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

Instead of following through immediately, she paused, her hands resting on her thighs. Eyes wide and provocative as she looked up at him innocently.

“What are you doing?” Joe asked, narrowing his gaze. Her innocent facade only fuelled his frustration.

She simply shrugged, maintaining her coy demeanour.

A slow, understanding smirk spread across his face. “Oh, you wanna play that today, huh?” His voice was low, almost a growl, filled with a predatory hunger.

Y/N licked her lips slowly, teasingly, her eyes glued onto his. “Maybe I do,” she murmured with a slight husk.

Joe’s smirk turned into a wicked grin. “A’ight then, babygirl, let’s see how long you can keep this up.”

Without warning, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back slightly, not enough to hurt her, but enough to assert his dominance. Y/N’s heart raced, a shiver of anticipation running down her spine. She loved when he took control, loved the raw, primal intensity that radiated from him in moments like this.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough and authoritative.

She complied, her wide eyes locking with his. The room seemed to shrink around them, the outside world fading away as their focus narrowed to just the two of them. They didn’t even care that someone could walk in at any moment.

“You know what I want, don’t you?” Even though his tone was softer, it still carried a growl in its undercurrent.

“Yes…”

“Then stop playin’ games and show me.”

With that, he released her hair, his hand moving to the back of her neck, guiding her forward. She didn’t need any more encouragement. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his length, her other hand resting on his thigh for balance, and took the bulbous head between her lips. Slowly. Just enough to savour the taste of him.

Joe let out a low groan, his eyes closing for a moment as he felt the warmth of her tongue circling the sensitive skin. “That’s it, babygirl,” he murmured, his hand tightening slightly. “Just like that…”

She worked him with a deliberate slowness, swirling and teasing around him—torturing him with every movement. She traced the tip of her tongue along the bulging vein that stood out prominent along the underside of his cock, applying pressure at the correct places. Just that alone caused a light throb against her, his breathing to grow heavier, more ragged with each passing second.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled with a strained cadence. “You gon’ make me lose my damn mind.”

Her response was a soft hum, the vibration shooting right through him. She loved having this effect on him, loved knowing she could drive him to the edge with just her mouth. Increasing the pace slightly, she took him deeper, her fingertips digging into his thigh for further leverage.

Joe’s hand slid from her neck to her jaw, guiding her movements, dark eyes surveying her every move. “That’s it, baby, take it all…” he encouraged lowly. “Show me how much you want this dick.”

It was inevitable that his gravelly words made her moan around him. Made her core tighten around nothing. Throat relaxing, she forced more of him into her mouth, pushing herself to her limits. Eyes watering from the effort.

“Fuck,” Joe hissed, his hips bucking involuntarily. “You’re so fuckin’ good at this.”

She pulled back slightly, gasping for breath as she ran her hand along his length, coating the entirety with residue spit. Before he could even process it, he was back in her mouth, and her warm palm was skillfully lowering to pay attention to his full balls. A steady massage. The combination was almost too much for him to handle.

“Shit, Y/N,” he groaned. “You keep that up, and I ain’t gon’ last much longer.”

Y/N pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his throbbing cock. She looked up at him with a hint of arrogant pride. “Maybe that’s the point,” she teased breathlessly.

“Oh, you think you’re clever, huh?”

She nodded, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Maybe.”

He grabbed her by the arm, pulling her up to her feet and pressing her back against the wall. “We’ll see how clever you are when I’m done with you,” he growled, his lips smashing against hers in a bruising kiss.

She whimpered into his mouth, hands flying to his broad shoulders as she clung to him. His punishing assault had her arching into him, her body pressing against him in a desperate attempt for any friction. She even went as far as to roughly tug at his bun, clumsily pulling the hair tie from his head and letting it snap around her wrist for the time being. The way his hair framed his face when down and free had her yearning. Every. Single. Damn. Time.

Rough, calloused hands played with her, yet failed to relieve any of the growing arousal below her waist. He squeezed at every curve he could grasp, a non-verbal worship of the woman in his arms, despite his harsh demeanour.

“You want this, babygirl?” he murmured against her lips, dragging her across the room with him. “You want me to fuck you? Here? With everyone walkin’ around outside?”

“Yes,” she gasped as she felt the back of her legs hit the couch. “Please, Joe.”

He chuckled darkly, pulling back to look at her. “Sorry, who?”

“Roman,” she corrected herself quickly, voice shaky. “Please, Roman…”

“Good girl.” Even though, in essence, he praised her, one could not miss the slight condescension woven between the words. A condescension that intensified as he guided her back until she let her weight fall onto the plush, cushiony surface behind her. With one hand propping himself up, his other traced light circles along her bare leg, slowly creeping further up until it disappeared under the skirt that started it all. The short, form-fitting skirt she chose to wear that day for her interviews. The one that showed off the shapely contours of her body—toned legs and all.

He hadn’t even gotten beneath the thin material of her underwear and he could already feel the dampness collecting on the fabric. “Damn, so wet for me already.”

She whimpered, bucking her hips against his hand, desperate for more. “Please,” she begged weakly.

Narrowing his eyes down at her, he gauged her reaction, every contortion in her face, as his fingers gingerly slid beneath her panties, barely grazing her weeping folds. That alone caused Y/N to let out a breathy moan, her head falling back against the couch as the small grant of relief encompassed her.

“You like that, huh?” he taunted, allowing the tip of his middle finger to apply the slightest pressure, scarcely touching her sensitive nub. “You like it when Daddy touches you like this?”

“Yeah…” She furrowed her brows at the sensation of Joe’s fingers dragging downwards, teasing around her entrance. He lowered his head down to hers, pressing a light kiss to her forehead before he pushed forward, allowing a single finger to slide into her with ease.

It seemed almost immediate that she clenched around him, the bare minimum sending her into utter bliss.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he groaned with a smirk, lips moving to brush against her ear. “I can’t wait to dick you down, babygirl. Feel all this,” he added his ring finger without warning, steadily stretching her in preparation, “around me.”

Y/N was trembling with need, her body threatening to take her pleasure by grinding into him, but she refrained, knowing the outcome was always a prize in the face of anticipation.

“Please, Roman,” she sighed, moving her head to look up into his eyes. “Please.”

He continued to taunt her, pulling his fingers from her pussy, only to lift them up to his mouth to suck them clean. “It’s a damn shame you ain’t gettin’ no head right now when you taste so good, baby.”

She wanted so badly to cuss him out, to stop this whole thing and make him suffer further. But she knew better. This was all part of the game, and they both loved every second of it.

“Ass up, babygirl,” he smoothly demanded, leaving no room for argument as he nodded his head to the side.

Like clockwork, she obeyed, flipping herself onto her hands and knees, finding a place on the couch arm to prop herself up. Back arched, she presented herself to him. For him to use at his disposal. One look ahead and she was caught by the sight of their own reflection in a full-length mirror. Their eyes met, and a smug little smirk appeared on his face as he braced himself on the couch behind her with one knee propped up.

“Ready, baby?” he asked, tracing the pre-cum soaked head of his cock along her folds, shimmying the tight fit of her skirt up and over her ass so he had the perfect vantage point.

“Always ready—please,” she whimpered, teeth clamping down onto her lower lip. “Please, Roman, fuck me.”

It was almost brutal, the swift motion that allowed him to sink into her tight hole. She tightened around him within seconds, the burning stretch taking over her entire being for a moment. His thickness stung her, impaled her. Claimed her.

His face strained with his stubborn attempts at refraining himself from going to town on her pussy, his hand momentarily leaving her ass to tug his shirt off. Now she had the glorious sight of not only her needy body bent over for him, but also the perfectly sculpted structure of this Godlike human’s body.

Whilst he started out slow, giving her the benefit of letting her adjust, it wasn’t long before he’d fallen into a brutal pace, hands grabbing at her hips as skin collided and sweat beaded up all over both of them.

“Mm, that pussy singin’ for me, baby, y’hear that?” he chuckled airily, leaning back to watch as her core hungrily swallowed his thick dick, the glisten of his shaft when he withdrew, just to slam it back in. The noises were lewd, and entirely theirs.

Y/N could barely think, her body consumed by sheer ecstasy, all provided for by him. Each thrust sent shockwaves through her, building a steadfast pressure as she hung onto the couch for dear life. Her body jolted forward each time his hips collided with hers, a groan reverberating in her chest when he swung particularly hard.

“Can’t even speak, I’m fuckin’ you so good…”

As much as she hated to hand him a perfectly stroked ego on a fucking platter, she couldn’t argue with that very simple fact.

“H-harder,” she managed to squeak out.

Always happy to destroy her, he lifted his leg to plant his Jordans-clad foot on the couch, allowing him to build up momentum as he obliged, his thrusts becoming animalistic. She reached back to grab at one of his hands, pulling it lower and guiding it towards her clit.

“Needy lil’ girl,” he chastised, but happily circled her swollen clit with a rhythm that matched the ferocity of his thrusts. Glancing up at the mirror, the sight sent him into overdrive; her mouth dropped open, her face flushed and makeup smudging around her eyes. “Look at you, babygirl… how fuckin’ beautiful you are takin’ this dick.”

She let out a moan, starting to viciously bounce back against his dick, a fiery look in her eyes as she, too, watched their reflection putting on a picture perfect show curated for an audience of two.

“That’s it, mama… Goddamn, you takin’ me so well.” Joe’s body careened over hers, shadowing her entire form with his. His lips were ghosting beside her ear as he roughly purred, “Remind me to make you sit on my face when we get home.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, body rippling as his large arm circled her neck, holding her against him as he went to town on her cunt. Her head fell back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as she felt her climax barreling closer.

“Nuh-uh, baby, open those eyes,” he mumbled into her ear. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I nut in this pussy.”

With a strained whine, she obeyed, forcing herself to open her eyes and look ahead of her.

“Good girl… fuck, Y/N.”

“Oh my God…” she groaned.

“Ain’t no God here, babygirl,” he started, tightening his arm around her neck. “Just your Tribal Chief.”

That did it for her, she arched painfully, pussy fluttering around his shaft. “Roman… I’m gonna cum—fuck, yess, keep going…”

“Yeah? You gon’ give me that nut, huh?” He nodded at her, his hair falling around them as he pressed his lips into her neck, dragging his long tongue over her salty skin, teeth baring down on her as he felt her clench so tightly around him. “Gon’ cum on Daddy’s dick like a good lil’ slut?”

“Yes, yes, fuck, please–”

“Ain’t nobody make you feel this good ‘cept me, baby. You got that?” he said through clenched teeth, pummelling his hips into hers. When she only responded with a shaky whimper, he yanked her against him. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes! Nobody can fuck me like you, Daddy, only you!”

“Damn right… go on, aulelei, cum for me.”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Without further effort, she let out an elongated whine, high-pitched and unbothered by the very public location. Convulsing, writhing, ears buzzing, she released harshly on his cock, squeezing him so intensely, she could see the effects of it on his face in the mirror. 

“Goddamn, that pussy cummin’ so hard,” he breathed with a low chuckle. “You want this nut, baby? You want it?”

Garnering the last of her energy, she nodded fervently.

“Tell me. Tell me you want it.”

“I-I want it…”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to cum inside me.”

“You want who to cum inside you?”

“You!”

“And who am I?”

The sensitivity was too much, and her hips jerked, the aftershocks stunning her pussy as Joe chased his high like a cheetah with its prey.

“I said,” he ripped his hand away from her clit, landing a sharp sting of a slap to the side of her ass in the position they were in. “Who. Am. I?” He emphasised each word with a jolting thrust.

“Roman Reigns! Fuck, you’re Roman Reigns…”

“That’s right… You gon’ get this Tribal Chief nut, and you gon’ take it.”

“Yes, please, please give me it all…”

“A’ight, baby.” His movements became erratic as he soon found his release, practically roaring as he hit his zenith, spilling into her in hot ropes.

All Y/N could do was stay in his grasp, her weight completely limp in his arms as she allowed him to empty his frustrations deep inside her. She already knew she’d be feeling it seeping out later into the day, but that’s what she loved so much about it; the hidden reminder that she was his, and nobody could come close.

For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies entwined, breathing heavily against each other. Eventually, with a huff, Joe pulled out, shoving himself back in his pants and turning her over to face him. His tepid fingers stroked over her hair as he gazed down at her, eyes softening.

“You okay, babygirl?”

“Mhm,” Y/N nodded, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. “More than okay,” she hummed, leaning into his touch.

Unlike last time, the kiss he planted on her lips was a stark contrast to his roughness. “Good,” he whispered against her.

“Are you actually upset with me? Y’know… about the interview stuff?” she asked quietly.

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. “Not in the slightest… I’m proud of you,” he let her know earnestly, lightly grazing his lips over her nose. “And I love you.”

Y/N grinned, almost giddily. “I love you too.”

“Dammit, Uce, again?!”

Both Joe and Y/N snapped their attention to the locker room door, where a flabbergasted Jey stood with a take out bag from Waffle House in his hand.

“Oh, yeah,” Joe smirked. “I asked the twins to get us some food,” he casually told her.

Her eyes widened, mouth dropping open a bit. “You’re such a dick.”

[andersonfilms]

whats hers is mine | abby anderson

tags: eighteen+, wlw, sexual content, gf’s roommate!abby, toxic!abby, cheating (don't go cheating on your partners this is for fantasy purposes babe), abby fr is menance in this.

an. yeah! i was horny so...this literally came out of my brain so smoothly. do i hate it? yes. but am i still going to post it nd fight my brain telling me not to? yeah! happy reading my h*rny pals.

abby being your girlfriend’s roommate who you harbor a slight attraction towards. it’s nothing big, you have this under control, or at least it’s what you tell yourself. she’s hot, gorgeous, so incredibly muscular it makes you see stars. it tears you apart thinking of all the ways her strength could make you submit to her will.

make you hers.

fuck. but you have a girlfriend.

it’s a reminder you have to repeat over in your mind anytime you catch yourself being too flirty with her, but then she gives it to you right back. now, every night you dream of her milky skin, stunning blues looking right at you, and those soft lips caressing every inch of your skin, leaving marks in their path as abby stakes her claim. yet, you wake up with your girlfriend’s arm around you with your chest feeling warm at the fantasy of someone else. you have to avoid abby before you do something completely idiotic.

yet, she’s the first one to make the first move.

abby knows you’ve been avoiding her like the plague, so when she’s presented with a perfect opportunity, the conflict at hand is met with absolutely no resistance.

“abby, you’ve blocked my car in. can you move yours?” you ask through the shut door. she gives you a soft yes and when you’re two seconds from walking downstairs to meet her in the driveway.

she opens the fucking bathroom door.

water drips down sunkissed freckled skin, glistening from the shower she obviously took. her blonde hair darker than usual, falling down her back. the smirk there is vile, begging you to look further than her blue eyes.

with the way abby is looking at you, there’s no fucking way she doesn’t want it. clearly, she’s more patient than most, waiting for you to drop the eye contact.

“well?” abby lifts her left eyebrows, cocking her head to the side as she waits for you to react, crumble, cry. you’re not sure what exactly she’s looking for. the confidence radiating from her is irritating just as it is enticing.

when you shake your head silently, repeatedly too, the tall blonde takes a one step forward, the pad of her thumb places pressure on your chin, guiding your gaze where she wants. happily, you comply.

jesus fucking christ, you’d fully believe she was made just for you if someone told you.

the auburn towel is secured around hips loosely, her toned abdomen on full display, her small breasts sit beautifully, nipples hardened from the cool air. it’s not fair how fucking perfect she looks. there’s not a damn thing you want more than to wrap your lips around her pink nipples and suck.

“now, are you going to stop pretending you don’t want to fuck me, baby?” abby taunts, her voice light and airy but it shoots right to your core.

“i-i, abby, this is wrong we shouldn’t be doing this. you need to get dressed.” you try to great some distance but abby pulls you towards her as you enter the bathroom with her, left arm shutting the door as she locks it.

“mhm, you’ve been dating for what? two months? don’t be stupid baby, think with that pretty pussy of yours. know she wants me and you do too, babygirl.” abby grabs your hand placing it on her towel, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

“you can take it off if you want. do you wanna see my pussy baby?”

shit.

your fingertip plays with the fibers, before you can process what you’re doing, it’s unraveling off her strong hips exposing more of her built physique for your greedy eyes. quads are flexing as you take her in, the muscle rippling as you feast on her.

you have never been so truly and royally fucked.

meticulously, she removes each piece of clothing you’re wearing as her lips attack your own. as if she’s been planning this moment since she laid eyes on you. she bends you over the sink, your pretty ass in the air for her and her fingers smooth over your delectable cunt, enjoying the inconsistent twitching your taut body provides.

“now, be a good girl for me and let me fuck my baby, yeah? ‘m gonna fuck you better than she ever would.”

reblogs are appreciated! ♡

DO NOT BUY TLOU, FUCK NEIL DRUCKMANN + EDUCATE YOURSELF + DAILY CLICK FOR PALESTINE + DONATE TO PALESTINE.

[cheynovak]

Whiskey, Cards, and Secrets

Dean Winchester x Y/N female character

Summary: Dean dares his best friend Y/N to a game of strip poker, unknowingly pushing her insecurities.

Warning: Plussize reader, body insecurities

English isn't my first language.

Please do not copy my work. Share/Like/Comments are welcome.

The motel room was dimly lit, the flickering of the old TV casting faint shadows across the walls. The unmistakable clink of whiskey glasses filled the quiet space as Y/N and Dean sat at the table, a deck of cards between them. It was one of those rare quiet nights where the world wasn’t ending and there were no demons to hunt — just the two of them.

Y/N shuffled the cards while Dean poured another shot, his green eyes glinting mischievously in the low light. They’d been best friends for years, and in that time, she’d always kept her secret crush hidden behind friendly banter and teasing. It wasn’t easy, especially when she saw Dean with those women—skinny, confident, the kind of girls he always seemed to go for. And then there was her, plus-size and self-conscious about it.

“You gonna deal those or just sit there looking pretty, sweetheart?” Dean smirked, taking a slow sip from his glass.

She rolled her eyes, masking the warmth that his compliment stirred. “Yeah, yeah, I’m dealing, hold your horses, Winchester.”

They played a few rounds of poker, the stakes rising with each one. It was just fun, though—until Dean raised the stakes even higher.

"How ‘bout we make this more interesting?" he asked, his voice dropping just a little, that teasing grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

Y/N glanced at him over her cards, eyebrow raised. "Oh yeah? What’re you thinking?"

Dean leaned forward, elbows on the table, his gaze steady on hers. "Strip poker."

Her stomach flipped at the suggestion, heat rushing to her face. She tried to laugh it off, but the insecurity bubbled up quickly. "Dean, c’mon. You know I’m not—" She trailed off, her throat tightening. She could barely get the words out, the thought of undressing in front of him making her want to curl up and hide.

Dean’s smile faltered for a second, and he tilted his head, studying her. "What? Scared you’re gonna lose?"

She looked down at her cards, biting her lip. The truth was, it wasn’t the losing that scared her. It was Dean seeing her body, seeing all the parts of herself she’d spent years being insecure about. He’d never been into girls like her, and she’d seen him with more women than she cared to count. They were always so… small. Slim. Everything she wasn’t.

She let out a shaky breath, dropping her cards. "Dean, you know why. I don’t— I can’t… I’m not like those girls you date, or usually see without clothes." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Dean frowned, leaning back in his chair. He reached for the whiskey bottle, pouring another shot but not drinking it. "Y/N," he said slowly, the teasing tone gone from his voice, "what’re you talking about?"

"You know what I’m talking about, Dean," she said, her voice a little stronger now, though her heart was pounding in her chest. "You’ve never been into girls like me. I mean, look at me." She gestured down at herself, the insecurities she’d buried for so long spilling out in a rush. "I’m not skinny, I’m not—"

"Hey, stop," Dean interrupted, his voice firm. He put his glass down with a hard thud, and when he looked at her, his gaze was serious, intense. "You think I don’t notice you?"

She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone.

"Y/N, you have no idea," he muttered, shaking his head, almost like he was mad at himself. "I’ve been trying to keep my damn head on straight around you for years. You think I date skinny girls because that’s what I want? Nah. That’s just me being an idiot, trying to make you jealous."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"Yeah," he huffed, running a hand through his hair, eyes locking with hers. "You drive me crazy, Y/N. Every time you walk around in those damn shorts…" His gaze dropped to her thighs, lingering there for a moment before flicking back to her face swallowing hard. "The way they hug your legs, the way your hips move when you dance. Hell, I don’t think you realize how many times I’ve had to stop myself from staring.

Y/N felt her face heat up, a deep blush spreading across her cheeks. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. She’d spent so long thinking she wasn’t his type, and now here he was, saying things that made her head spin.

"And your skin," he added, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. "I always wondered how soft it’d feel. Every time you brushed against me, it was like… I don’t know. I’m not good with this crap, but you’re more than just some friend, okay?"

"Fuck I... I try to find girls as far off from your looks because there is no way they are remotely close to your beauty... You have no idea how many times I wanted to run my hards over your curves, knead that perfect flesh."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart racing as she stared at him. "Dean… I—"

"I know you don’t like me that same way," he admitted, his voice rougher now, as if the words were being dragged out of him. "So yeah, I went for girls that didn’t mean anything, just to try and get you out of my head. But it never worked."

She swallowed hard, her emotions swirling between disbelief and the overwhelming warmth that came from hearing him finally say what she’d been wanting to hear for so long. "Dean, I’ve had a crush on you for years."

He let out a low, smirk "Yeah? Guess we’ve both been blind idiots then."He took another sip.

The tension in the room shifted, something electric crackling between them. Dean stood up slowly, walking around the table until he was standing right in front of her. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle but full of intent.

"I don’t care about those girls, Y/N. I want you. All of you. Every damn curve, every inch." His hand rested on her shoulder, then slid down her arm, his fingers trailing lightly over her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

She didn’t know what to say, her insecurities still there, but his words made them feel small, insignificant.

"I… I don’t know if I’m ready for—"

He stopped her, leaning down so their foreheads almost touched. "Hey, we don’t have to do anything tonight, alright? I just wanted you to know how I feel."

Y/N nodded, her heart still pounding, but the weight that had been sitting on her chest for so long was finally lifting. Dean wasn’t just teasing. He meant it.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe that maybe she was exactly what he wanted.

--

Taglist: @kr804573 @nancymcl @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28 @jackles010378 @hobby27 @winchesterwild78 @deans-baby-momma @soab1967 @livingdeadblondequeen @ladysparkles78 @whimsyfinny @kamisobsessed @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @ferrersbiggestfan @spxideyver @kamisobsessed @deans-queen @yvonneeeee @libby99hb

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Nightfall (4)

Vampire! Billy Russo x Female Reader

Part 1// Part 2// Part 3

Warnings: Dubious Consent, smut (18+), mostly dirty talk, some fucked up dynamics where he lets her press a stake to his heart, oral (f receiving), edging, orgasm denial, teasing.

For @stardustmorozov, Nicky I'm sorry but you're gonna yell at me again... and I'm gonna love it.

You sit on his bed, listening to the sound of the shower going. 

Your mouth tastes like spearmint, and your hair is still a little damp after your shower despite your attempts at blow drying.

You’re in one of his shirts, having raided his drawers when the duffel bag he’d given you earlier held nothing but sheer lingerie disguised as sleepwear.

Maybe you shouldn’t stay here, so instead you stand, and begin wandering around his apartment.

His bedroom is farthest from the front door, and you step out, roaming down the hallway, and stopping when you see another door.

It’s open, and you peek in to find an office that you promise yourself to explore after.

It’s the only door in the hallway, and the end of it opens up into a large area with a high ceiling. There’s his kitchen to your left, and on the opposite end of the room from where you are, is the living room area. There are no walls here, just windows that show off the glittering lights of the New York skyline at night. You wonder how he’s able to stand the sun, knowing that vampire eyes were hypersensitive to light, and that most of them avoided the sunlight. Only the very old ones, managed to walk in the sun like humans did. 

You tuck that snippet of information away for further examination.

You turn to examine the kitchen, scanning the cupboards, surprised to find regular household foods like pasta and rice, wondering if he had bought these items for you, or for other human friends of his.

Another hallway at the other end of the kitchen catches your eye, and you walk slowly, more deep in your own head than you were paying attention to the layout of his apartment.

You find the bedroom you’d first woken up in, all walls and no windows, a place that protects from the light, with its own en suite bathroom. You decide that maybe you can sleep here tonight, away from him and his wretched mouth. 

Backtracking, you look at the door for a long moment, before moving forward to examine it.

You reach for the handle, pushing down, you realise it’s locked. You sigh, eyes falling on the latched deadbolt, reaching up to open it, before trying the door handle again.

The door opens this time.

Your stomach twists.

Damn, had it really been that easy the entire time? You study the elevator just a few paces away from the door.

You don’t even think about it, closing the door and snapping the deadbolt shut.

You turn away from the door, and you gasp in fright as you see him standing just a few steps away. 

You jerk, back hitting the door as fright slams through you.

You suck in a deep breath, pressing your hand to your chest.

He’s only got a towel wrapped around his hips, his chest and shoulders still glistening with water after his shower.

You stare at each other, a silent showdown of who’s going to speak first.

Billy tilts his head, studying you intently.

“Why didn’t you leave?”

Your brain comes up with the dumbest, most obvious answer possible.

“I’m- not wearing pants.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“We could go get some. Would you leave then?”

“No, cause it’s three in the morning and I’m tired.”

He takes a step toward you, a teasing smile on his pretty face. Your eyes trace the lines of his scars as he draws nearer. You relax as he approaches.

“And in the morning?” 

He’s so close now, you’re eye level with his dripping wet chest.

“Maybe. If I feel like it.” You whisper, studying the scars on his chest, and then flitting your gaze up to meet his.

He takes a deep breath, bracing one hand beside your head, and then after a moment, uses his other hand to trap you in place.

Except that you don’t feel trapped, all you feel is heated want.

“What if I don’t want you to leave?” He asks, his voice stirs something inside of you, a dangerous feeling, something disastrous in the making.

“You can’t stop me.” You murmur, as his fingers touch the bottom of your chin, gently tilting your head higher.

He smiles then, all fangs and pearly whites on display.

“If only that were true.” He hums, leaning in till his lips brush yours.

You push against his biceps hard, and he moves back just enough so that you’re able to slip away from him.

“Why don’t you go kiss someone else. I’m going to bed.” You grit out, walking in the direction of the spare bedroom.

You don’t get very far, before he’s gripping your wrist tightly to keep you in place. You turn to face him, a look of calm irritation plastered on your face.

“That’s what this is about? The kiss?”

“It’s about nothing. Let me go.” You pull on your arm.

He doesn’t budge.

“You’re jealous?”

“I’m not-” You grunt as you pull on your hand again, “-You’re just pissing me off.”

“You’re the one that called me ‘sick’ and now you’re jealous cause I kissed someone?”

“I’m not fucking jealous-” You gasp as he pins your body to the kitchen counter, your body freezing in shock at the angry expression on his face.

“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.” He grits out, blinking after a second and seemingly calming in the same space of time.

He takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“Don’t forget I can hear every beat of your heart. I can smell your cunt. I already know how wet you are. Don’t think you’re capable of a lie.”

You let out an angry sigh, turning your head away from him.

“Whatever.” you say as harshly as you can.

There’s a moment of silence, where he looks at you, and you make a point not to look at him.

“Alright. I’m gonna fix this.” He says decidedly.

“I could care less- what the fuck are you-” You gasp as he picks you up easily, tossing you over his shoulder.

“Billy what the fuck! Put me the fuck down now you asshole!” You grunt, his shoulder digging near painfully into your hip. 

You kick your legs, trying to escape and after a moment you realise that it doesn’t make a difference.

If you really wanted to, you could maybe straighten your body and fight your way out of his grip, but there was an inevitability to his movements. It didn’t matter how long it took, or how difficult it was, Billy was persistent, and he would get what he wanted eventually.

So when your body lands softly on his bed, all you do is look up at him angrily.

“Stay there.” He orders, untucking the towel from his hips and dropping it to the floor. You look up to the ceiling to avoid looking at his nude form. You don't want to give him the satisfaction.

When he turns away, your eyes find him once more, studying the broad expanse of his back, all the way down to his ass.

You clench, grabbing a pillow and dropping it on top of your face to hide your desire. You try your very hardest not to remember the look of him, the feel of his body on yours, his cock-

He tugs the pillow away from your face, and you sigh in annoyance up at him.

You don’t want to look down, but your eyes have almost a mind of their own.

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion when you notice that he’s wearing a fitted pair of grey boxers on his lower half.

When your eyes meet his in confusion, he grins.

He finds his way up to you, hands sliding over your legs, up your calves and to your knees.

"Did you think we were gonna fuck, baby?" He teases, with a tilt of his head.

His hands slide up more, and you're just confused when he reaches under your shirt to tug at your panties.

"We're not fucking tonight, sweetheart, I just wanna talk to you."

Then why the fuck was he taking your panties off?

When he gets the garment off, you watch him close his eyes for a brief second, tilt his head up and take a deep breath.

He was-

"God. You smell good."

His eyes are red when they reconnect with yours.

You don't say anything- you find that you can't. You want him and he knows it.

He grips your thighs, pressing them upward so that your cunt is exposed to him fully.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, you're sure he can hear it. Open and vulnerable as you watch him look at your glistening cunt.

"Pretty. Did you know that?" 

You gulp, eyes glued to his form, admiring the look of his arms and the swell of his biceps.

"I want to taste you every day, all the time. You have no idea how hard it is to stop myself from dropping you on the first surface I can find and burying my face in your cunt."

He watches you clench around nothing, the corner of his mouth curling up into a smile.

He releases your legs, letting them drop a little and he looms in above you, pressing your body tightly to his.

Chest to chest, your bare centre pressed right up to the hardness of his clothed cock, there's no space to breathe where he doesn't exist.

He angles his head so that his lips are pressed to your ear.

"I want to lick that pretty little cunt till you pass out, and then wake you up so I can do it all over again." He whispers in your ear, your body tense and on edge from just his words.

"I want to fuck you till you beg me to stop, and even then, I'll still be giving you just one more."

You think you might be ruining the sheets below you with how aroused you were.

"Then do it." You challenge, hoping for some reprieve to the ache inside of you.

His hand moves up slowly, fingers tracing your cheek before covering your mouth firmly.

You make a muffled sound of protest, raising your hands to try and push him away. You hear a quiet laugh, before one of your hands is pinned above your head.

It doesn’t matter, whether you have one hand free or two- you would not be able to get out from under him on your own.

“My poor sweet little huntress,” He hums, your ear vibrating with his low words, “If you want me to fuck you till you cry, you’re going to have to ask nicely. Actually no- you’re going to have to beg.”

Your groan of annoyance is muffled behind his palm. There was no way you were going to beg him for anything.

You feel him smile against your neck, and then you still as you feel his teeth. 

He drags his sharp teeth gently over your neck, avoiding the spot where he bit you earlier.

“You’re so helpless under me, isn’t that nice? I can do anything I want to you, and you’d have no power to stop me.” 

To prove his point, you feel his tongue swipe over your shoulder, and then purposefully over your bite, sending brief little shivers down your spine, and then he trails his tongue up the column of your neck, and then even further, licking over your cheek as well.

Your body feels like a livewire, vibrating with sheer desire each time he touches you.

You want to grunt out so many things. That he was filthy, that he was just downright fucked up in the head.

That you wanted him to keep going.

“You like that, don’t you? You always have.” He lets out a slow sigh, “You always get so wet when you can’t fight back.”

Fuck you, you wanted to say. 

“What if we made this interesting?” He hums, raising his upper body off yours for a second to reach into his bedside drawer. 

You’re no longer fully trapped under him, and if you wanted to get out, you could. Instead, you wait curiously to see what he was going to do.

He pulls a stake out of his top drawer.

“You- just have that in there? I could have killed you this whole time?”

“Of course.” He teases pushing the drawer shut, “Now’s your chance.”

Before you can ask what he means, he’s sliding the silver stake into your hand.

What the fuck?

“Now, you can stop me if you really want.” Billy says ominously.

“That’s the most fucked up-” Before you can finish, he’s slapping his hand back over your mouth.

“Don’t care about what you have to say, baby, I’m gonna do what I want to you, and you can stop me if you feel like.”

And then, he starts tugging your shirt up, exposing your stomach.

In retrospect, you don’t have to kill him to make him stop, you could just mortally wound him. One well placed stab near the heart would be enough of a deterrent. You could slip free and be out the door in minutes.

Billy pulls your shirt up higher, exposing your breasts to the open air. Your hand tightens on the stake.

You should do it. You really should.

He groans when his tongue slides wetly over your left nipple. You shudder blissfully.

Your eyes roll back in your head, before fluttering shut. A breath of air leaves your mouth in a rush, fingers hold taut on the warming piece of silver in your hand.

One quick swipe of his tongue on your left breast, then your right. He raises his head.

“Do you want more?” Billy asks.

With your eyes still closed, you shake your head.

“Then stop me.” He says, before his lips wrap around your pebbled nipple. 

His short beard scratches along your sensitive breast, he kisses his way up to the spot below your collarbone, white hot sparks splintering over your body everywhere he touches.

You still when you feel his teeth graze your skin.

“Still want me to stop?” He checks in.

No you don’t.

“Yes.”

His teeth press into your skin.

A sharp cry spills out of you, tingles as he breaks skin, followed by a jolt of pain and then heat.

You jerk when he extracts his fangs.

Billy moans when he gets his first mouthful.

You pant, unable to understand how having him drink from you could hurt, and yet feel so blissfully good.

He takes another, and then another.

Was he going to kill you like this? Should you stop him now?

He rolls his hips, rock hard erection just bumping your clit and you gasp.

Fuck, why did every part of him have to feel so good? You could feel your arousal, slippery and messy between your thighs, begging you to give into him, if only for a moment so that he could ease your ache.

Instead, you move your hand, pressing the stake to his shoulder.

From his spot, drinking from your chest, you feel him make a sound of amusement.

You groan, disdain for him building in you, you press the weapon deeper till it breaks his skin.

He pauses, raising his head from your chest, lapping slowly at the trickling droplets of your blood before drawing back.

“Silly girl, didn’t anyone teach you how to kill a vampire?” He asks, grabbing your wrist in an iron grip, and though you try to fight his guidance, he’s too strong, pulling your hand until the stake is pressed to the centre of his chest.

“My heart is right here.” He murmurs softly, and with his hand on yours, he pulls the weapon closer, breaking skin once more.

“Stop.” You say, panic building inside of you, tugging at your hand in hopes that it can slip out from under his. You didn’t want this, you didn’t want to kill him.

You pull hard at your hand, gasping gratefully when you manage to pull away. 

You look at him, sharp breaths trying to calm yourself when you get your hand away. 

He gives you a soft smile, pulling the stake away from his chest and dropping it on the bed.

You gulp, watching the wound he’d caused heal before your eyes.

“You are,” You breathe, “Absolutely fucking crazy.”

“Maybe,” He agrees with a hum, “But at least you can admit to yourself now, that you want this too.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours chastely, “That maybe you actually like me.”

“Not wanting you to die is not the same as-”

“-Oh give me a fucking break.” He grunts, pulling back.

He grips your knees, and before you can figure out what he’s doing- he flips you onto your stomach.

You let out a little grunt, pushing yourself up, but suddenly pressed back down by the weight of his body covering yours.

“You’ve cum on my cock way too many times to be lying to yourself like this.” He hisses.

You turn your head, so that you can see his face in your peripherals.

"You're such an arrogant fuck." You grunt out, your rucked up shirt causing your nipples to press against the bed, the exposure of your body makes you almost quiver with delight.

He leans in, his breath against your ear as you feel his hands gripping your hips.

"Why can't you just admit to yourself that you might want me, hmm?" He hisses lowly in your ear, his breath brushing against your skin, tormenting you.

"That deep down," He continues, pressing his hand between your hips and the bed, "Somewhere in that pretty head and wet cunt," You feel his hand sliding lower, fingers touching the top of your mound, "You want me with you," He kisses your cheek, "Over you, under you, inside you." You feel him take a deep breath, his nose pressed to your neck.

"I want to lick your cunt so often that I can taste you when you're not there. Is that too much to ask for?"

Your head spins, too drunk on him to formulate words.

He makes it even harder, by slipping his hand lower, fingers meeting your wet slit.

He doesn't hesitate, fingers gliding easily down, meeting your clit and you let out a low, shuddering moan as your ache is addressed in the slightest way possible.

You tilt your hips forward, into his hand.

"Billy." You sigh, widening your legs instinctively, anything to encourage him to keep going.

“God, you’re so fucking wet.”

You mewl, nodding your head.

His finger slips gently over your clit, and your breathing pauses, you don't want to do anything that would make him stop giving you this pleasure.

He gives a firm press, and you feel your body shudder, a wave of pure bliss sinking over you.

You say his name again, shifting your body, trying to display your impatience to him.

"Ah ah ah, little girl. Where are your manners? I told you I wanted you to beg."

"Fuck you." You groan angrily.

His finger slips lower, massaging your entrance for a few moments before slipping his finger in.

You gasp, your body going lax at the feel of the pleasure building in you. It’s good. It’s so good and it’s so wrong that he makes you feel like this.

"So fucking tight." He hisses, "That cunt's begging for a stretch."

Focusing on his words are hard with the way his lone finger moves, pumping in and out of you easily, your body desperate for him.

Something goes off in your head, like a gun when he curls his finger, and touches that spot deep inside of you. It pulls a groan from the very depths of your soul. You pant, trying to keep your thinking focused with the way he’s trying to steal it.

"That's it. You like this huh? Like the way I take what I want?" He leans in till his lips are at your ear, "I like it too." You clench around his finger.

"You're a sick fuck." You groan, half your mouth muffled from where your face is pressed to the bed.

"Yeah? Am I? Do you hate me?" He pulls back, and before you can make any sound of protest, two of his fingers are sliding into you.

Fuck, you can feel your body stretching for him. He uses his other hand to grip your jaw, tilting your head up almost painfully so that your face isn’t muffled in the sheets anymore.

"Tell me you hate me." Billy whispers in your ear.

You cry, his fingers beginning to move slowly, spreading you open and forcing you to feel him, to ache for more of him.

His fingers slow when you don’t immediately answer, and you groan internally, assembling the words in your head.

“I- I,” You stutter out, tears dripping from your eyes uncontrollably and pooling around his grip on your jaw, “I h-hate you.”

“Yeah? Poor little girl. Should I stop then? Leave you alone?” He coos, voice condescending in every way possible.

“Nh-” You immediately vocalise, begging him in your head to not stop, but the words can’t seem to come out of your mouth.

He laughs in your ear, understanding what you were about to say without you having to say it. 

The pace of his fingers quicken, you hiss, arching your back, feeling your orgasm swiftly approaching. You’ve wanted him since this morning, since he pulled you onto his lap and told you that you were his.

Your body trembles, eyes rolling back in your head, on the brink of release-

-And then his fingers stop.

A cry of despair leaves your lips, and the denial in your body aches, and then hurts even more when he pulls his fingers away, withdrawing his hand from under you. His grip on your jaw loosens, until your face is pressed against the sheets once more.

You raise your head groggily, turning your body onto your side when you feel him lift himself off of you. You catch sight of him sliding his fingers, wet with your denial into his mouth.

You bite down on your bottom lip hard, on the brink of begging for him, pleading with him to make you cum, and then take you in any way he saw fit.

But that’s exactly what he wanted.

So instead, you stay still, trying not to speak, feeling the fire of denial burn through you.

You tug your shirt down, looking at him with angry eyes as he observes you.

“Are you done having your fun?” You ask bitterly.

The corner of his lip twitches.

"You know what to say if you want to cum, baby. Don't act like this isn't your choice."

You feel petulance build up inside of you, anger beyond thought.

"Go fuck yourself." You hiss, moving to slide off the bed.

He grips your hips, hauling you back, until you're on your back, looking angrily up at him.

"What's the rush, sweetness? Don't you want me to clean you up?" 

“Clean me?” You repeat in disbelief, sitting up, propping the weight of your torso onto your elbows. Your brain stalling on what that could possibly mean.

His smile is devious, the look of a man that has everything he wants and then some.

He takes his time, shouldering his body in between your thighs, his face so close to your dripping centre that you’re not sure if you have any brain cells left functional

“God.” He murmurs, his breath brushing along your mound as he takes in an unnecessary breath, his eyes immediately locking on to the messy place between your thighs, “You make me feel like the most insane person on the planet.” 

“You are the most insane person on the planet.”

He grins, lowering his head slowly, anticipation building inside of you, a simmering heat, a thrumming pulse.

“Love it when you talk dirty to me.” Is the last thing he murmurs before his lips meet your cunt.

You close your eyes, pressing your lips together, begging yourself to not make a sound. He places a gentle kiss to your slit, and then another, before you feel his lips part, and his tongue snake out.

You make a muffled groan behind your clenched teeth as he gets a taste of you.

What starts off gentle, turns slightly rougher as he lays a harsh swipe of his tongue along your pussy, a gasp leaving your lips as you feel Billy begin to slowly lick your cunt.

He’s thorough and unrelenting, his face buried between your thighs, licking at you without a care in the world.

You want to spit every degrading word you can at him, hating the way you know in the back of your head that only he has ever made you feel so good.

“Oh fuck you.” You gasp as his tongue finds your clit easily, a laugh vibrating through your nether regions as he hears you.

You give up trying to resist, reaching to grip the back of his head, hoping to urge him on.

It has the opposite effect, he raises his head, and you whine, a low, pained noise at his torment.

"I'm not clean enough yet," You argue, looking down to meet his scarlet eyes.

You look at each other for a long moment, the heat of unsaid words crackling between you.

You want to beg, you're almost on the brink of it.

"I agree." Is all he says before he lowers his head again.

"Fuck-" You gasp, your back hitting the bed as your arm refuses to support your weight for any longer. 

His tongue is too dexterous, licking at your clit, and then dipping down to your entrance. He groans, tongue catching your arousal straight from the source.

Your toes curl, blissful orgasm near, your body tingles with the anticipation of your impending release.

You moan his name, putting every ounce of desperate desire into the one word.

He pulls away right when you're on edge.

The sound that leaves you is pitiful, tears of frustration spill from your eyes as you look up at him.

"I'll give you anything if you let me come."

"You know what I want." He says, licking his lips.

"Besides that," You try to bargain, "I'll blow you again, or I'll let you bite me." 

His smile is one of amusement, it makes you feel like a child, begging for something you're not going to get.

"I think we've already established that if I wanted those things, you wouldn't stop me. Even if you could."

You frown, letting out a sharp breath, fully understanding that he would not take pity on you tonight.

"Fine, asshole, I'll do it myself." You grunt, slipping from under him and sitting up with the intention of a shower.

He grips your bicep harshly to stop you. You grit your teeth angrily, unable to look into his eyes.

"If I catch you touching that little cunt- my cunt- without permission. I'll teach what real punishment would be like."

He pulls you closer, till his lips are pressed right to your ear again, your stomach flipping at his proximity.

"I'll tie you to the bed, and edge you till you forget your name. I'll use you like my own personal fleshlight and I'll never let you cum."

You hiss angrily, nether regions throbbing at his words and you tug your arm out of his grip.

"Fuck. You." Is your only reply as you head to the bathroom for the coldest shower possible.

.

After all of that, you sleep in bed beside him.

Because you know him now a little, and you know there's no way he was letting you have your own bed.

You'd gone to sleep on opposite sides of the bed, but you'd woken up in his arms.

"Thought vampires didn't need sleep?" You ask, voice unsteady, having just woken up.

"We don't." He answers, looking down at you. 

Your eyes trace his scars, you want to touch them, ask him what happened.

"So why did you lie beside me all night?"

"Because I wanted to." He answers.

Your stomach flips, and you have to look away as you feel blood rush to your face.

"Will you tell me more about this…imprint?" You ask softly.

He makes a little sound of displeasure.

"It's not exactly an imprint- It’s like-" He lets out a low sigh.

"It sounds worse than it actually is, but- ugh- do you know what quantum entanglement is?"

"Do I look like a physicist?" You answer.

He rolls his eyes, a small smile on his face at your snark.

"As simple as I can explain, when two particles are entangled, they remain connected, regardless of distance."

"What entangles them?" You ask.

"Physical interaction, but, with people, it's a lot harder to explain because there's a lot that isn't understood. It can happen with anyone, but not everyone, and at a subconscious level, it has to be accepted by both."

"You're saying I chose this?"

"Some part of you did, yeah, some part of me too, and then, no matter how far I got from you, I could still feel you."

"Feel me?" You press, hoping for him to elaborate.

He raises a hand, his knuckles carefully brush your cheek.

"Like you were always standing in the room with me. Like I wasn't alone."

You blink, trying to figure out if you'd felt the same way. You had so many questions flying through your head and difficulty putting them into words.

“Is there any way to break it?”

You can almost feel the air go frigid between you.

“As far as I understand, nothing breaks the bond except dying.”

Great.

“And what happens if we stay together?”

“I’ve heard different things from different people.” He responds.

“Like what?” You ask, trying to think it through. You remember Ethan had mentioned that there was the prolonging of lives involved.

He closes his eyes, shakes his head.

"I don't want to tell you what I'm not sure about. I have a friend, bonded to a human, maybe you can ask them whenever."

You swallow, nodding, trying not to fret over the possibility of more vampires.

Deep in thought, you blink in surprise when you feel his thumb brush over your cheek again. You look up at him in surprise.

"I have another question, but it's very personal."

"What is it?" 

You stall for a moment, studying the look in his eyes, the dark reflectiveness of them, the way you can almost see yourself in his eyes.

"Exactly how old are you?"

It changes the sour mood, the corner of his mouth curling in amusement before he gives you a fanged grin.

"That is a personal question, and maybe I'm not comfortable with answering." He says, tapping the tip of your nose with a slender finger.

You huff.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to freak you out, and telling you my age is gonna freak you out."

Maybe he was right, maybe it was better that you didn't know.

You sigh, rolling onto your back to stare up at the ceiling. He gets closer to you, fingers tracing over your cheek and down your neck, only stopping when they reach the healing bite on your shoulder.

Experimentally, he presses his thumb against the wound. You turn your head sharply to look at him, feeling the pain swim through your body but not reacting to it.

“Ow.” You say simply.

“How bad does it hurt?” He asks quietly.

You smack his hand away, sitting up, your back to him.

“Why does it suddenly matter?” You jab, moving to dangle your feet off the side of the bed.

There’s a big silence, he doesn’t answer, and after a moment you’re forced to glance back to make sure he’s still there and hasn’t dissolved into the air because of you.

He’s looking at you, as if he somehow understands something about you that you don’t know about yourself.

“How many times have you been bitten?”

The question brings a laugh to your lips.

“Enough times that I'm used to it.”

“Does it hurt any less each time?”

You turn away, an amused and thoughtful smile rises to your face.

“Every time I get bitten, always hurts like the first time.” You say in finality, leaving the room soon after.

.

Whatever bond he was describing- you didn’t feel it. There was nothing there but a deep seated need to explore him. It was more curiosity than desire.

At least, that’s what you told yourself to feel better.

You’d showered, looking at your reflection in the fogged mirror, trying to think clearly with so much frustration in your system. In the moment, you close your eyes, and recall the first time you’d ever fucked him.

It had been frantic at first, the way he’d used his tongue on you had your body begging for more, and you honestly thought you were going to die after you’d tried to kill him.

You’d put everything into it- savouring him because you wanted to seal yourself into his memory- if he was going to kill you by the end of it.

You’d gone pliant when he'd lined himself up with your entrance, and you can still remember the way your brain spiralled in surprise at the ridiculous amount of pleasure. No one had ever made you feel like that before.

Over and over again, you’d fucked till you could barely hold yourself up, till you’d been sitting on his lap, his hands gripping your hips to do all the work because you couldn’t even lift your head from the crook of his neck.

He’d been quiet, not like the second time, or even last night, when he was so vocal, the only thing you could compare it to was sin itself.

Your lower regions pulse. You can feel the heat between your thighs, begging for him, and the pleasure he gives regardless of how annoying he was.

It’s why you grab the dress at the bottom of the duffel bag to wear, deciding that you didn’t have to beg to get what you wanted. 

It was actually a really cute dress, blue, with little printed flowers all over it. Most importantly, it was short, only coming up to mid-thigh, which meant that if you bent over, he’d see the smallest scrap of lace you’d decided to call underwear today.

If he could play games, so would you.

.

He’s making breakfast when you step into the kitchen. It kind of amuses you, that he’s only cooking for you.

“Can I help?” You ask, stepping up beside him at the stove to look down at the omelette he’d been working at.

He glances at you, looks down at the stove, before blinking to look over at you once more.

You watch his jaw stiffen, you resist the urge to bite your lip as you watch his eyes trace down your body.

Oh, what power.

“Butter.” He says, “Fridge.”

You offer him a teasing smile, before turning away.

You bend unnecessarily, feeling your skirt rise up, cool air brushing the back of your thighs. 

The butter is on the middle shelf, making your bending completely unnecessary in the first place.

He's not looking at you when you turn around. You're not even sure if he's seen your little display.

He takes the butter from you without a word, and you're very intrigued by the way he cooks, the move of his wrist to flip the omelette.

"Can you get the bread toasted for me?"

How was he doing this? Being so calm and casual with you? Seeing this side of him was so much worse for your sanity than anything else. 

"You have bread?" You ask curiously, looking around, but not able to spot any.

"Yeah, here-" He steps away from the stove to reach into one of the overhead cupboards. You glance down at the pan on the stove, to make sure nothing is burning. The deep indentations on the handle of the pan barely catches your eye, and you blink in surprise.

There were deep impressions of his fingers… caused by squeezing too hard.

Maybe he was more affected with your display than he let on.

You fight a satisfied smile, giving him a knowing look when he returns to place the bag of sliced bread into your hands.

"You bought all of this for me?" You tease, "I'm flattered."

He looks hot when he rolls his eyes.

“It’s not like I had much of a choice. I can’t let you starve.”

“Because you like me?” You pry, swaying your shoulders playfully from side to side.

He huffs, using the spatula to flip the finished omelette onto a nearby plate.

Billy doesn’t respond, simply shaking his head without looking at you.

It only urges you on, like a match, sparking as it rubs against coarse paper.

You brace your hands against his kitchen counter, stiffening your arms as you use your toes to push you into an effortless bounce, using the momentum to raise your body, sitting yourself on his counter, facing him.

He doesn’t look, simply preparing the pan for toast.

“Ah,” You tease, parting your thighs subtly, “So you don’t like me then.”

Yet still, he doesn’t respond, calmly observing the bread as it toasts, the smell of it in the air makes your mouth water a little.

But it’s not what you’re hungry for.

“Maybe you only think you like me because of how sweet my blood tastes. Maybe it’s all in your head-”

Your voice goes quiet when he finally pins you with a stern glare. 

His movements are decisive, turning the stove off, moving the pan away from the residual heat, and then turning to you.

Goddamn.

You gasp, raising a leg to back away from him while also making an attempt to push him back with your foot, but there’s nowhere for you to go, your head bumps a cupboard door, and that’s all the distraction he needs to grab your ankle.

You let out a little squeak, gasping as he pulls you forward and right up against his body, encouraging your legs to wrap around him.

You open your mouth to speak, to protest, to fight him in an unmeaningful way, but you don’t get the chance as his hand grips the back of your neck, forcing your mouth onto his.

God fucking damn.

Your eyes shut, your body relaxes, and then sings with delight as he delves his tongue past your lips.

You moan into his mouth, unable to fight it, leaning in because it feels so good to have him. 

Fuck every part of you that told you this was wrong. You wanted him and nothing would stop you.

You grip his shirt in a tight fist, leaning in, meeting his mouth with an undeniable force. He presses back, and for a moment you feel so blissfully wanted, maybe more than you’d ever been before.

Only when his hand weaves into your hair, his fist tightening to hold your head in place as he leans away, do you remember the taunting remarks that got you here.

Your scalp stings, mouth falling open to gasp in air.

His eyes are dark red, like the blood he drinks to stay alive.

He doesn’t speak, releasing your hair to support your behind as he lifts you off the counter, moving quickly with your body pressed to his.

Your vision shifts too fast for comprehension, and the next thing you can process is lying face down across the marble kitchen island.

He grips the back of your head to keep you there, warm cheek to frigid marble and you stay, refusing to move, wishing that he takes in this moment, everything that you’re willing to give.

He leans over your body, until his mouth is pressed to your ear.

“Do you ever shut up?” Billy hisses, and you have to fight a satisfied smile.

He’s not done ranting, continuing on as if he doesn’t care for your answers.

“I know you just said that to get a rise out of me, but the very idea of me only wanting your for your blood- makes me fucking sick.”

He leans in even more, taking a deep breath in the space of your neck.

“I want all of you, every single piece of you, over and over again until you’re fucking mine.”

He leans away a little.

“Is that what you wanted to hear? Hmm? When you put on this little dress and flashed that cunt at me?”

He moves away even more, and the next thing you feel is him pushing your dress up, his hand pressed securely to the small of your back so that you can’t raise your body.

He's still for a moment, and so are you, burning with anticipation, your cunt getting wetter by the second.

You gasp in surprise when you feel his nose graze the back of your thigh.

You shudder, feeling his breath along your most sensitive areas, your skin tingles as he runs his nose upward, your hands curl into fists beside your head when you feel a small puff of air against your skin.

He’s still for so long that you find your body tense with anticipation, biting down on your bottom lip hard so that you don’t beg him to just put you out of your sordid misery. 

You make a small mewling sound of surprise when you feel his tongue lick along the lace gusset of your panties. 

He tugs at the scrap of fabric, pulling it away from the tacky seam of your cunt so that he can get a better look, an uninhibited view of your desire.

You want to say his name, so badly that you can feel the resonant sound of it in the back of your throat. Instead, you repeat it in your head.

Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy…

“I can’t believe how fucking messy this cunt gets. All for me.” He says softly, as if you’re not meant to hear but you do anyway.

“Such a fucking shame that you won’t beg. The things I want to do to you, the ways I want to make you cum.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, panting hard against the kitchen counter, your inner walls fluttering, begging. 

“Fucking tease.” He breathes out, as he watches more arousal spill from between your thighs.

Billy, please-

Your gasp gets caught in your throat as his tongue licks a wet trail from your clit to your entrance.

“Fuck- didn’t mean to do that but I can’t help it.” Is all he says before his tongue starts licking you slowly.

Your eyes roll back into your head and stays there permanently for a few seconds. The flood of bliss is almost too much for your body to manage.

He grunts, his hands gripping your thighs to spread your legs further apart.

His tongue is forceful as it dances over your clit, and then, after what you assume is a moment of contemplation, you feel his tongue push its way against your entrance.

Your breathing is sharp and shallow, you reach to grip the other edge of the counter, trying to get some leverage to remain sane.

The pleasure is shallow, but your body is hypersensitive with denial, his tongue fucking into you at a reasonable pace is almost enough to have your breath stalling in your throat.

When he finally gets control of himself, his tongue slows, carefully licking you, daring your body to think about orgasm.

After a few more moments, he raises his head, and you breathe a sigh of relief, your body releasing the tension of pleasure, your hands relaxing its grip on the marble countertop.

But you should have known better than to think he was done with you, not satisfied until you know for sure that you’ve lost this interaction.

His hands on your hips, gripping them as he turns you over, pulling you up into a sitting position.

Nose to nose, you look into his eyes with a half-lidded gaze.

“Your blood is nice,” He whispers, hand raising to cup your cheek, “But it’s you I want, huntress. Don’t forget that.”

You sigh, pressing your cheek into his palm and closing your eyes.

“Say it for me. What do I want?” He asks.

You breathe out a huff, an unknown emotion squeezing your throat tightly.

“Me.” You whisper softly, eyes still shut to avoid his gaze.

He doesn’t mind, thumb caressing your cheek.

“Good girl.”

And then he’s gone- right back to toasting bread, as if nothing had ever happened.

It almost drives you insane.

.

.

.

Happy Halloween!

[emjayewrites]

fouled by fate • aurelien tchouameni (7/10)

SYNOPSIS: Aurélien Tchouaméni, one of football’s rising stars, is used to navigating the pressures of the pitch—but nothing could prepare him for an arranged marriage. With his family’s legacy and cultural traditions at stake, Aurélien reluctantly agrees to marry a woman he barely knows. But as they’re thrust into the public eye, sparks fly in unexpected ways. The two must navigate the complexities of love, duty, and fame, all while figuring out if they’re playing on the same team—or if their hearts are destined for different paths.

PAIRINGS: Aurélien Tchouaméni x Zuri Awanto Nchang (faceclaim Samira Ahmed @/iamsamiira)

WARNINGS: cursing, football b.s., dry humor/wit, slight arguing, friends to lovers, instant attraction, angst, eventual smut (18+/minors dni)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @2serenity0 @essaysbyciara @saturnville @trentswrld @planetmimi @muglermami @shepgurl @sucredreamer @julescpu @tchouathon @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @bbgkoo @lottins-only

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be removed from the tag list Thank you again for your love and appreciation!

Zuri blinked against the morning light as it filtered through the thin curtains of her room. For a moment, she wasn’t entirely sure where she was, her body still warm and heavy with sleep. Then it hit her —her bedroom. Her bed. Not Aurélien’s.

She let out a soft sigh, chastising herself as she stretched beneath the sheets. After everything that had happened the last few days, she had been so close to just staying with him. They had spent every evening together, talking, laughing, and occasionally flirting in a way that left her heart racing. Yet, she had still chosen to slip back to her own room last night, even though she wanted to be near him.

Zuri closed her eyes for a second, mentally scolding herself for the decision. It wasn’t because she didn’t feel something for him — she definitely did. In fact, that was part of the problem. She was starting to feel Aurélien a lot, more than she had expected when all of this started. He wasn’t just the guy she had been arranged to marry anymore; he was becoming someone she was genuinely drawn to. And that terrified her a little.

She didn’t want to get caught up in her emotions just because Aurélien had looked so damn sexy in his traditional Bamileke attire the other night. The memory made her groan inwardly, heat rising in her cheeks. The way the fabric had hugged his body, highlighting every muscle, and the way he carried himself with that effortless confidence — it had taken every ounce of self-control not to jump his bones right then and there.

But no, she had wanted to make sure what she was feeling was real, not just lust clouding her judgment. She needed to know that whatever was happening between them wasn’t just a product of the circumstances or physical attraction. So, she had slipped back to her own bed, hoping a little space would help her think clearly.

How’s that going for you? she thought dryly, throwing the covers off.

As she stretched and rolled out of bed, the sound of music drifted in from outside. Hip-hop. Familiar, but unexpected in the quiet morning air. Curious, Zuri padded over to the window and peered out, her eyebrows raising in surprise.

There, in the pool, was Aurélien. His broad shoulders gleamed under the early sun as he swam laps effortlessly, cutting through the water with perfect form. Zeus lay lazily by the poolside, his massive head resting on his paws, clearly content with the morning's serenity. The sight made her smile, warmth blooming in her chest. She watched Aurélien for a few moments, appreciating the fluidity of his movements, the way his muscles flexed with every stroke.

Damn, this man really is something, she thought, biting her lip before shaking her head. Her eyes flicked over to Zeus, and a soft laugh escaped her. He was always glued to Aurélien, never more than a few feet away. The two of them were practically inseparable, much like how she had been with him these past few days.

Her thoughts drifted to Senait and Jules, who had left yesterday after spending the rest of the weekend with them. Zuri had noticed how Senait seemed unusually keen on Jules, which had amused her. Her best friend had a habit of playing coy when it came to men, a tactic Zuri knew all too well. Senait would flirt, tease, and be all up in a guy’s face but rarely let her guard down. It was her way of avoiding getting hurt, a defense mechanism she had honed over the years.

Zuri couldn’t exactly blame her — Jules was handsome, with that quiet confidence and an easy smile that made him hard to resist. He was the kind of guy who could make a woman feel comfortable without even trying. But despite Senait’s usual games, Zuri could tell there was something different this time. She saw how Senait’s eyes lingered on Jules when she thought no one was watching, and how Jules seemed genuinely interested in her.

For once, Zuri doubted Senait’s playful façade would hold up. Jules didn’t seem like the type to play around, and Zuri had a feeling that if Senait let her walls down, something real could happen between them.

Zuri’s thoughts returned to the present as she watched Aurélien finish his laps, his chest rising and falling as he pulled himself out of the pool, water cascading down his body. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

What are you doing, Zuri? she asked herself, staring out at him. You’re over here, in your room, when you could be there with him.

She glanced back at her bed, then at Aurélien, who was now toweling off, his focus on Zeus as he lazily scratched the dog's head. The past week had been filled with moments — moments of connection, of unspoken understanding, of a pull that was becoming harder to ignore. But what was holding her back now?

Was she scared of what this could become, or was it just a matter of time before she let herself fully embrace it?

Zuri sighed, her heart fluttering as she looked at him one last time before turning away from the window. Maybe it was time to stop fighting it. Time to let herself explore whatever this was between them. Whether it was real or just something born out of their situation, there was only one way to find out.

With a new resolve, she headed toward the bathroom to freshen up, her thoughts still lingering on the man outside. She quickly brushed her teeth, pulling her hair into a ponytail before padding down the hallway, the smell of coffee faint but unmistakable.

As she approached the kitchen, she spotted Aurélien standing by the counter, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at the new coffee machine they had gotten as a gift during their engagement party. He was pressing buttons with the caution of someone defusing a bomb, and the sight made Zuri bite back a laugh.

"Need some help?" she teased, leaning against the doorframe.

Aurélien glanced up, flashing her a sheepish grin. "You’d think a footballer could handle a coffee machine, right? But no, this thing’s smarter than me."

Zuri chuckled, walking over to him. "It’s not that complicated. You just have to remember that it’s a gift designed to make our mornings unnecessarily fancy," she said, pushing a few buttons with ease.

In seconds, the machine whirred to life, the rich aroma of brewing coffee filling the kitchen. Zuri glanced up at Aurélien, who was watching her with a playful smirk.

"Show-off," he murmured then kissed his teeth, his voice low and teasing.

She shrugged, brushing off his comment with a grin. "Someone has to keep this household running."

He laughed, leaning in closer, and for a moment, the air between them shifted. The lightness of the banter faded as their eyes met, and Zuri felt that familiar pull again. She couldn’t deny it any longer, not with him standing this close, his presence consuming every bit of space around her. Her heart sped up as Aurélien tilted his head slightly, his lips ghosting over hers in a way that made her breath catch.

Before she knew it, his mouth was on hers, soft but insistent. Zuri kissed him back without hesitation, her body responding to the warmth of his lips, the way his hand found her waist, drawing her closer. Time seemed to slow, and for those few seconds, nothing else mattered.

When they finally pulled apart, Zuri could feel her pulse racing, though she tried to play it cool. Aurélien stepped back, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips, but there was something more in his eyes—something that mirrored what she was feeling. The unspoken acknowledgment that neither of them wanted that kiss to end.

"You’ve been kissing me more and more lately," she said, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Aurélien’s grin widened. "I like kissing you," he replied casually.

Zuri rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. "Is that so?"

"Mm-hmm." He leaned back against the counter, watching her closely, his gaze lingering on her lips before finally meeting her eyes again. "What can I say? It’s becoming my favorite pastime."

Zuri felt a flutter in her chest, the playful banter only masking the deeper emotions brewing beneath the surface.

Aurélien seemed to read her thoughts because he cleared his throat and stepped back a little more, giving them both space to breathe. "So," he said, changing the subject, "we’ve got quite the haul of gifts, don’t we?"

Zuri glanced over at the dining room, where boxes and bags were stacked high, filling the space. "I know. It’s like we’re stocking up for a small country."

"I think the coffee machine might be the most confusing one," Aurélien admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Or the juicer," Zuri added, laughing. "I don’t even know what half those buttons do."

They both chuckled, the lightness returning as they stood together in the kitchen, the tension easing for the moment. But just as quickly as the conversation shifted, Aurélien’s expression grew more serious.

"We need to get ready soon," he said, his voice softer. "Our flight leaves in a few hours."

Zuri blinked, the reality of their plans sinking in. "Paris," she murmured, the name of the city filling her with excitement. She loved Paris — the energy, the culture, the food. It was one of her favorite places in the world. But this time, the trip had added significance. Aurélien was heading there for his national team camp with Les Bleus, and she would be going with him.

"Yeah," Aurélien said, watching her carefully. "You ready?"

Zuri smiled, her excitement bubbling up. "Always ready for Paris."

"Good." Aurélien’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he leaned in closer again, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "I hope your French has gotten better."

Zuri playfully swatted at him, her eyes narrowing. "So mean," she pouted, sticking out her tongue before turning to head back to her room to finish packing.

Just as she started walking away, Aurélien’s hand came down on her ass in a playful smack, causing her to spin around, wide-eyed in surprise.

"There’s more where that came from if you keep being bratty," he said, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.

Zuri blinked, both shocked and amused. "Oh really?" she asked, trying to sound indignant but failing to hide her smile.

"Absolutely," Aurélien replied, his tone warm and teasing, his gaze lingering on her with a mix of challenge and affection.

_______________________________________________

Paris greeted Zuri and Aurélien with a blend of old-world charm and modern elegance. The sun was setting over the Seine, casting a golden glow across the city as they made their way to their hotel. The air was crisp, the sound of distant chatter and the hum of cars filling the streets as they approached the entrance of a luxurious five-star hotel, tucked away from the bustling avenues but still close to the heart of the city.

The hotel lobby was grand but understated, with sleek marble floors and intricate chandeliers casting a warm light. Zuri felt a surge of excitement as they made their way to the elevator, the plush carpet underfoot softening their steps. As they reached their suite, the door swung open to reveal a sprawling space with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower, illuminated against the fading twilight.

Zuri’s breath hitched as she took it all in. The Paris skyline stretched out before her, and she marveled at how the city seemed to pulse with life, even from this quiet, elevated distance. "Wow," she breathed, stepping closer to the windows.

Aurélien smiled as he watched her, clearly enjoying her awe. "It’s something, right?" he said, coming up behind her. His fingers lightly grazed her waist as he stood just inches away, the warmth of his body a welcome presence. "I’ll be checking in at camp soon. I have to change," he murmured, his voice dropping slightly.

Before she could reply, he tilted her chin up gently, capturing her lips in a slow, sensual kiss. Zuri melted into him, her body responding immediately. His hands slid up to cup her face as he deepened the kiss, and for a moment, she felt herself getting lost in him. When his lips trailed down to her neck, pressing soft kisses against her skin, a moan escaped her. Aurélien’s breath hitched at the sound, his restraint wavering. But he pulled back, eyes dark with desire.

"We’ll finish this later," he whispered, a teasing smirk playing on his lips as he stepped away reluctantly. "I have to get changed."

Zuri nodded, still catching her breath as she watched him disappear into the bedroom. Her skin was tingling, her thoughts scattered from the heat of the moment. She heard him rustling in the other room, and within minutes, he emerged in his tracksuit, ready for camp but still radiating that effortless allure that drove her wild.

"I’ll see you tonight," Aurélien said, giving her one last lingering look before grabbing his bag and heading for the door.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Zuri plopped down on the plush sofa with a deep sigh. Her mind raced, still caught in the warmth of his kisses and the way he’d touched her. There was no question in her mind — she was definitely going to fuck him tonight.

Before she could dwell on the thought any longer, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. It was a FaceTime request from Senait. Zuri answered, smiling when her friend’s face popped up on the screen.

"Girl, tell me everything," Senait said, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

Zuri laughed. "We just got to Paris, and this suite is… insane. The view alone, you would love it."

Senait grinned. "I bet. And what about Aurélien?"

Zuri hesitated, a sly smile creeping onto her lips. "Let’s just say… tonight might be the night."

Senait’s eyes widened in excitement. "Ohhh, finally! I knew you’d give in."

Zuri chuckled softly as Senait's excited expression filled the screen. But as the initial thrill subsided, doubt crept back in. "I don’t know, Sen. I mean, he’s my fiancé now, but it’s still… complicated." She leaned back into the plush cushions, staring at the ceiling as she tried to articulate what she was feeling. "Sex always complicates things."

Senait’s eyes narrowed, her tone unwavering. "It’s your fiancé, Zuri. Not some random guy off the street. You’ve been spending all this time together, you’re clearly into him, and you’re getting married. Why overthink it? If anything, it’ll bring you closer."

Zuri hesitated, nibbling her bottom lip. "I know, but… I just don’t want to mess anything up. What if it changes things? Makes them more intense?" Her voice wavered, betraying the uncertainty that had been swirling inside her since she started developing real feelings for Aurélien.

Senait’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Girl, you're engaged to this man! And you think sex is going to complicate things? If anything, you should be testing the waters before you dive in. You need to know if this ship can sail smoothly, if you get what I mean."

Zuri let out a laugh despite herself, shaking her head. "You’re saying I need to test drive before I marry him?"

"Exactly!" Senait’s grin widened, her eyes gleaming with playful mischief. "You’ve got to know what you’re getting into. He might be sexy as hell, but you need the full picture. And from the way he’s been all over you, I think the chemistry will speak for itself.”

Zuri couldn’t help but agree, a small smile forming on her lips. "True," she admitted, the tension loosening just a bit. "You always know how to keep it real."

"Always," Senait said confidently. "Plus, if it’s good, it’ll only make everything better."

Zuri smirked, letting the words sink in. Maybe Senait had a point. Why not enjoy what they had without worrying too much? "You’re probably right."

"I’m always right. Now, enough about you and Aurélien. Tell me when I’m coming back to Madrid," Senait said, changing the subject with an eager gleam in her eyes.

Zuri grinned. "You tell me! It was such a nice surprise having you at the engagement ceremony. I still can’t believe my mom invited you out."

Senait laughed. "I think she just wanted to make sure you had your support system. And I’m always down for a good party."

"It really was the perfect surprise. I’m so glad you came. I didn’t realize how much I needed you there until I saw you," Zuri said, her voice softening as she reflected on the whirlwind of emotions from the past few days.

"Of course. You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world. But don’t think I’m done with Madrid yet. Jules and I might have unfinished business," Senait teased, a coy smile tugging at her lips.

Zuri arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Oh? Unfinished business, huh?"

Senait winked, her smile widening. "Let’s just say… Jules is fun. We’ll see where that goes."

Zuri laughed. "Just don’t play around with him too much, you know Jules is a good guy.”

"Trust me, I know," Senait said, her tone softening a bit. “But you know me — I’ve got my walls up. I’ll figure it out."

Zuri nodded, understanding all too well. Senait had her ways of protecting herself, and while it made sense, she hoped this time, Jules would be the exception. "Well, just make sure you don’t push him away. He seems like he’s into you."

Senait sighed, her playful demeanor softening for a moment. "I’ll try. Promise."

With that, they shifted the conversation to lighter topics, laughing and chatting about their time in Madrid. But as the call came to an end, Zuri couldn’t help but feel a sense of resolve building inside her. Maybe Senait was right. Maybe it was time to stop questioning and start feeling.

Aurélien stepped out of the car, inhaling deeply. The familiar scent of freshly cut grass and the subtle hint of rubber from the training balls filled his nostrils. Clairefontaine, the heart of French football, sprawled before him in all its glory.

The vast complex, with its state-of-the-art training facilities, pristine pitches, and modern residential buildings, never failed to impress him. This place had nurtured the dreams of countless French footballers, himself included.

He entered the training camp with a sense of excitement, the familiar buzz of energy in the air as players and staff moved about. He exchanged quick nods and daps with his teammates, greeting them with easy smiles.

"Salut, mon frère (Hey, brother)," one of his teammates said, pulling him into a brief bro-hug.

"Ça fait du bien d’être de retour (Feels good to be back)," Aurélien replied, his French flowing naturally as he felt the camaraderie settle in.

The coaches stood nearby, discussing tactics for the day’s session. One of them, Coach Didier, clapped him on the back. "Prêt pour aujourd’hui? (Ready for today?)"

"Oui, Coach. Je suis chaud (Yeah, Coach. I’m ready)," Aurélien grinned. He was always ready to hit the field.

The team began their drills, moving through agility and passing exercises. The sound of cleats hitting the turf and coaches shouting instructions filled the air. As they transitioned into more complex drills, Aurélien’s thoughts drifted to Zuri. Her laugh, the way she challenged him, the way they’d kissed before he left the hotel—all of it stayed with him, making him smile even as he weaved through the cones.

He was excited about their plans — dinners at hidden restaurants, museum visits, lazy walks through Parisian streets.

As the practice continued, Aurélien moved into a passing drill, but as he pivoted to change direction, he felt a sharp pain in his foot. He grunted, stumbling as the discomfort shot up his leg.

"Ah merde (Ah, shit)," he cursed under his breath, his foot faltering beneath him.

One of the trainers noticed immediately, blowing the whistle and rushing over. "Ça va? (Are you okay?)"

Aurélien tried to walk it off, but the pain was too much. "Non… je pense que je me suis foulé le pied (No… I think I sprained my foot)," he said, wincing as he put weight on it. The medical staff quickly swooped in, helping him limp off the pitch and towards the recovery center.

Inside, the medics assessed him, gently prodding his foot as Aurélien clenched his jaw, silently worrying about another severe foot injury. After a few minutes, one of the doctors nodded. "C’est une entorse (It’s a sprain)," the doctor said, his tone calm. "Rien de grave, mais tu devrais l'élever et éviter de trop marcher dessus pendant quelques semaines." (Nothing serious, but you should elevate it and avoid putting too much weight on it for a few weeks.)

Aurélien sighed, still irritated by the situation, but somewhat happy that it wasn’t as serious as late last year. Then, his plans with Zuri flashed before him — now it all seemed out of reach. "Et l’inflammation? (And the swelling?)" he asked, hoping for a timeline.

"Repose-le pendant 24 heures. Ça devrait aider (Rest it for 24 hours. That should help)," the doctor replied, already wrapping his foot in bandages.

Just then, one of the assistants entered the room. "Aurélien, nous avons contacté tes parents et Zuri (Aurélien, we’ve contacted your parents and Zuri)," he said, looking apologetic.

Aurélien sucked his teeth in frustration. "Putain…" (Fuck) he muttered, running a hand over his face. "C’était juste une entorse…" (It’s just a sprain…)

The doctor looked at him sympathetically. "Elle arrive bientôt, ne t’inquiète pas. Ce n’est pas grave, mais c’est mieux qu’elle soit informée." (She’s on her way, don’t worry. It’s not serious, but it’s better she knows.)

Aurélien sat back, still annoyed. He and Zuri had been planning a perfect trip, and now it felt like everything was falling apart. Restaurants, museums, shopping — it was all moot. He stared at the ceiling, already dreading how limited he'd be for the next few weeks.

Soon after, the assistant returned, Zuri trailing behind her. The moment Zuri saw Aurélien, her expression softened with concern, and she rushed over, placing a gentle kiss on his lips before turning to the doctor.

"Excusez-moi, docteur," Zuri began, her French halting and unsure. "Qu'est-ce qui... um... wrong avec mon...?"

The doctor glanced at Aurélien, a bemused smile playing on his lips. He then turned back to Zuri, switching to English. "It's just a minor strain, nothing to worry about."

Zuri's relief was palpable as she nodded her understanding.

Aurélien couldn’t help but tease her. "Your French is still horrible," he said, wiping his face as he laughed softly.

Zuri rolled her eyes and pinched his bicep playfully. "Shut up."

Aurélien laughed harder, and even the doctor cracked a smile. "Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Just rest and light movement," the doctor reassured them both.

After giving him crutches, they headed out of the recovery center, where Didier was waiting to check in. "Ça va, Aurélien?" (Are you alright, Aurélien?) the coach asked in concern, glancing at Zuri.

"Oui, Coach. Je me débrouille," (Yes, Coach. I’m managing) Aurélien said before turning to Zuri. "Elle comprend mieux l’anglais," (She understands English better) he added with a smirk.

Didier switched languages, offering Zuri a warm smile. "It’s nice to meet you, Zuri. Aurélien’s told us great things."

Zuri returned the smile. "Nice to meet you too," she said, and they talked briefly before Aurélien thanked him for the concern.

As they headed back to the hotel, Aurélien sighed, feeling the weight of his injury but also Zuri’s presence next to him. They had been planning so much for their time in Paris, but now everything seemed uncertain. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that being with Zuri would make the rest of their trip worth it, even if things didn’t go exactly as planned.

Back at the hotel, Aurélien hobbled in on his crutches, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration. The suite was exactly as they’d left it — luxurious and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the bustling streets of Paris below. Normally, the view would be the first thing on his mind, but right now, he was just focused on getting off his feet.

Zuri was immediately on high alert, rushing around the room like a whirlwind. "Do you need extra pillows? Maybe you should elevate your foot higher. Wait, let me get you some water," she rambled, grabbing everything she thought he might need. "Do you want a snack?"

Aurélien chuckled as she darted from the living area to the bedroom, her voice trailing behind her. "Zuri, relax."

But she was too caught up in trying to make him comfortable. She tossed a blanket at him, then rushed over to adjust the pillows. "I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay! Do you need painkillers? I think there’s some in the bathroom."

"Mon cœur," Aurélien said gently, catching her wrist as she hurried by. “It’s just a sprain. Come sit with me. I don’t need all of this." He smiled at her, pulling her toward him. "Please."

Zuri hesitated, her brow furrowed in concern, but she finally let out a breath and sat down next to him. “I just want to help,” she said, still fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

“I know, and I appreciate it,” Aurélien replied, his voice softening. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “But right now, all I need is you. Let’s just chill, talk about something besides my foot, yeah?”

Zuri finally relaxed, leaning back against the sofa with him. “Okay, okay. No more fussing,” she promised, though her eyes still flickered to his foot, wrapped up in bandages and elevated on the coffee table.

They sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, the faint sounds of the city outside filtering through the windows. The room felt warm, cozy, and despite his injury, Aurélien found himself feeling content just being there with her.

"So," Zuri said after a beat, turning her head toward him. "What do you want to talk about?"

Aurélien smiled, relieved to move on from the whole sprain situation. "I don’t know. Anything. Tell me something random."

"Hmm…” Zuri tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Well, I was thinking about taking a cooking class while we’re in Paris. You know, since you’re supposed to be resting and all."

Aurélien raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You’re gonna show off your culinary skills, huh?"

Zuri laughed, rolling her eyes. "We’ll see how it goes. I might come back with a disaster instead of a meal."

"I’d eat anything you make," Aurélien said, leaning his head back against the sofa and giving her a playful grin. "Even if it’s a disaster."

She laughed again, shaking her head. "Don’t say that yet. Wait until I burn something first."

The conversation flowed easily after that, their playful banter filling the room. Aurélien loved these moments — when they could just talk about random things, with no pressure, no worries about anything but enjoying each other’s company. He could feel the weight of the injury lifting from his mind as they shared stories and laughs, her presence making everything feel lighter.

As the evening stretched on, Zuri finally leaned her head on his shoulder, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his arm. "You know," she murmured softly, "I’m really glad we came here. Even with the whole sprained foot thing. It feels… nice."

Aurélien looked down at her, his heart swelling as he watched her eyes flutter closed, clearly tired from all the running around. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. "Me too," he whispered. "I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else."

Zuri shifted slightly. "So, what about shopping? I was really looking forward to hitting up a few boutiques while we’re in Paris. Can we still do that?"

Aurélien tilted his head, pondering for a moment. "Maybe one or two stores," he replied, squeezing her hand gently as he brushed his lips over her fingers, savoring the soft skin beneath his mouth. He couldn’t help but glance at the delicate bracelets adorning her wrist—the Van Cleef & Arpels piece sparkling under the soft light, alongside the Cartier bracelet, both of which he had gifted her for her bride price ceremony.

"I like seeing you wear those," he murmured, a smile creeping onto his face. "They look beautiful on you."

Zuri lifted her wrist, admiring the jewelry. "Thanks. I thought I’d break them out for Paris. Maybe I’ll wear them more often," she said, her voice laced with a hint of mischief.

"You definitely should," Aurélien encouraged, a teasing lilt in his tone. "They suit you. Plus, they’re a reminder of how lucky you are."

Zuri raised an eyebrow playfully. "Oh, is that how it works? You just give me pretty things, and I’ll be reminded of my luck?"

Aurélien chuckled. "Exactly. But they’re also a reminder of my excellent taste, obviously."

"Ha! I’ll give you that one," Zuri laughed, shaking her head. "You do have great taste, especially when it comes to gifts."

After a while, Zuri sat up slightly, looking thoughtful. "What should we order for room service?"

Aurélien considered it for a moment, glancing at the menu that lay on the coffee table. "How about some classic French dishes? Maybe a nice coq au vin?"

Zuri grinned, her eyes lighting up at the thought of indulging in French cuisine. "That sounds perfect. And we can’t forget the pastries. I need something sweet to go with dinner."

"Of course, ma chérie. Order all the pastries you want," he promised, shifting slightly so he could reach for the phone.

As he began to dial, Zuri watched him with a smile, her heart swelling at how effortlessly he made her feel at home. After placing the order, they settled back into the couch, their hands still intertwined, and she leaned her head against his shoulder once more.

"Do you think we’ll get to do all the things we wanted?" Zuri asked quietly, her voice slightly pensive.

"Absolutely,” Aurélien replied, determination in his tone. "It might take a little adjusting, but we’ll make it work. You’re stuck with me, remember?"

Zuri smiled. "Unfortunately..."

"Luckily," he said, placing a light kiss on her cheek. "Don't think a little sprained foot would stop me, ZuZu."

Before Zuri could retort, there was a knock at the door, breaking the moment. She turned to answer it, revealing a waiter with a cart filled with their room service order.

_______________________________________________

After their delicious feast, the evening settled into a cozy rhythm. They found solace in the soft glow of the television and each other’s company, sprawled across the plush sofa in the living room, occasionally glancing at the screen while getting lost in conversation.

Zuri helped Aurélien navigate the bathroom, his crutches leaning against the wall. "Just call if you need anything, okay?" she said as he hopped into the shower, steam curling around him.

"Of course, I’ll be fine," he called back, his voice echoing in the tiled space.

A few minutes later, he hopped out, towel wrapped around his waist, droplets glistening on his skin. Zuri’s breath caught in her throat for a moment before she shook her head to clear it.

"Not fair," she murmured, trying to focus on anything but the sight of him.

Aurélien laughed softly, shaking his hair dry. "I have to look good, especially with my beautiful fiancée around."

She rolled her eyes playfully but couldn’t suppress a smile. "Keep that up, and I might just decide to steal those towels."

"Please don’t,” he teased, “I need at least one for after my shower."

As he fluffed the pillows under his foot on the bed, Zuri excused herself to change into her pajamas. When she returned, she wore a comfy oversized shirt and her signature bonnet, looking both adorable and relaxed.

"Feeling cozy?" Aurélien asked, his eyes sparkling as he patted the space beside him.

Zuri climbed onto the bed, sinking into the soft comforter next to him. "Definitely. I’m all about the comfort right now," she replied, snuggling closer.

"Good," Aurélien said, wrapping an arm around her. "You fit perfectly here, you know."

Zuri looked up at him, a mix of amusement and affection in her eyes. "Oh yeah? Even with my stellar French skills?"

Aurélien chuckled, remembering her adorable attempt to communicate with the doctor. "Especially with that. You're keeping everyone on their toes, ZuZu."

Zuri looked up at him, feeling the unspoken bond between them deepening. "So, what's on the agenda for tonight? More TV, or are we just going to lay here and pretend to be productive?"

"Let's be real," he chuckled, scrolling through his phone. "I'm all about pretending to be productive while I'm actually just enjoying this moment."

Zuri snorted, poking him in the side. "Look at you, getting all sappy on me. Who are you and what have you done with Aurélien Tchouaméni?"

Aurélien caught her hand, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss. "Hey, I can be sappy when I want to be. It's part of my charm."

"Uh-huh," Zuri said, her tone skeptical but her eyes sparkling. "And does this charm work on all the ladies, or am I just special?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Aurélien teased, enjoying their banter. It still amazed him sometimes, how comfortable they'd become with each other in such a short time.

His phone buzzed with a message from Jules. "Looks like the team's organizing an impromptu game night," he said, showing Zuri the text.

Aurélien felt a twinge of disappointment, glancing down at his bandaged foot. "Guess we'll have to sit this one out."

Zuri's face softened with understanding. "Hey, that's okay. We can have our own game night right here. I spotted a chess set earlier - think you can take me on?"

Aurélien raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You play chess?"

"Prepare to have your ass handed to you, Tchouaméni," Zuri grinned, already moving to fetch the board.

As she set up the pieces, Aurélien couldn't help but smile. His injury might be keeping him from the team activities, but somehow, the prospect of a quiet night in with Zuri seemed even better.

"Alright, ZuZu," he said, sitting up straighter. "Show me what you've got."

_____________________________________________

Zuri woke to the sound of muffled cursing. She cracked one eye open to see Aurélien sitting on the edge of the bed, gingerly trying to slip a shoe over his bandaged foot.

"You know," she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep, "for a world-class athlete, you're really bad at this whole 'resting' thing."

Aurélien shot her a look that was half exasperation, half amusement. "Very funny, ZuZu. We have places to be."

Zuri sat up, running a hand over her bonnet. "Places that involve hobbling around Paris?"

"We have plans, remember?" he said, finally managing to get the shoe on. "I'm not letting a little sprain ruin our day."

As Zuri watched him struggle to stand, she couldn't help but feel a mix of fondness and frustration. "You're going to make it worse if you're not careful," she warned.

Aurélien paused, looking at her with those annoyingly sincere eyes of his. "I'll be fine, ma chérie. Promise. We'll take it easy anyways."

Zuri sighed, knowing a lost cause when she saw one. "Fine. But if you come back with a broken foot, don't expect any sympathy from me."

As they got ready, Zuri couldn't help but steal glances at Aurélien. Even with his injury, he moved with a grace that made her a little envious. She watched as he struggled with his crutches, stubbornly refusing help until he nearly toppled over trying to put on his jacket.

"For the love of—" Zuri muttered, rushing over to steady him. "Will you please let me help you, you stubborn mule?"

Aurélien had the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry, ma chérie. Force of habit."

As they made their way out of their hotel, Aurélien leaning on her more than he'd probably admit, Zuri found herself thinking about how much her life had changed. Here she was, in Paris, helping her injured footballer fiancé go shopping.

And the weirdest part? She was kind of loving it.

They managed to hit up Chanel, the boutique's elegant interior a stark contrast to Aurélien's crutches clunking against the polished floor. The sales associate's eyes widened in recognition, but to her credit, she maintained her professional demeanor.

"Consider it an early wedding gift," Aurélien said with a wink as he insisted on buying Zuri a ridiculously expensive flap bag.

Zuri rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the little thrill that ran through her. "You know, if you keep spoiling me like this, I might actually start to like you."

Aurélien's answering grin was both infuriating and adorable. "That's the plan."

By the time they reached the second store, Louis Vuitton, it was clear Aurélien's foot was bothering him more than he let on.

"Okay, tough guy," Zuri said, noticing his wince as he shifted his weight. "Time to call it a day."

"But we've barely started," Aurélien protested weakly.

Zuri rolled her eyes, but there was no heat in it. "Yeah, and at this rate, you'll be out for the whole season. Come on, let's get you back to elevate that foot."

"Can we at least eat at the hotel restaurant?" Aurélien asked as they made their way back. "I'm going crazy in that room."

Zuri wanted to argue, but the pleading look in his eyes made her relent. "Fine, but your foot is going up on a chair, I don't care how fancy the place is."

At the restaurant, they found a quiet corner table. True to her word, Zuri commandeered an extra chair for Aurélien's foot, ignoring the raised eyebrows from nearby diners.

"So," Aurélien said as they perused the menus, "how are you liking Paris so far?"

Zuri looked up, catching the genuine curiosity in his eyes. "Surreal," she admitted. "Beautiful, overwhelming, exciting. Kind of like this whole situation, you know?"

Aurélien nodded, reaching across the table to take her hand. "I know it's a lot. But for what it's worth, I think you're handling it amazingly."

As they enjoyed their meal, she casually pushed her fork around her plate. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment too long, but she couldn’t help it. He was relaxed, even with the slight tension in his brow from his injury. The way his shirt stretched across his shoulders didn’t help her focus either.

"Stop staring," he teased, catching her in the act, his voice low and teasing. He took a sip of his drink, eyes never leaving hers.

"Can’t help it. You’re cute when you’re pretending your foot isn’t killing you," she shot back, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

Aurélien leaned back in his chair, stretching his arm across the backrest like he owned the place. "Trust me, I’m more worried about you making eyes at me than my foot."

Zuri’s heart did a small flip at his tone, and she tried to play it off, raising an eyebrow. "Making eyes? Please. I’m just thinking about dessert."

He smirked. "If that’s your story, I’ll let you stick to it."

The waiter interrupted their banter with dessert menus, and Zuri grabbed one like it was her lifeline, quickly burying her face in it. Aurélien’s low chuckle sent a warmth through her that she refused to acknowledge. She glanced up over the menu, catching his gaze still on her.

"So," she started, lowering the menu slightly. "What’s the plan for the rest of the night? Should I prepare for more complaints about your foot, or are you going to let me pamper you?"

Aurélien grinned, reaching across the table and lightly grazing his fingers against hers. "You’re the one with the plan. I’m just here, injured and at your mercy. Go easy on me."

After dinner, they retreated to their suite. Aurélien walked ahead of her into the living room, his movements slower due to his sprained foot. Zuri followed him, her eyes tracing the lines of his broad shoulders and the familiar way he moved, even when injured.

“I can help you with the bandage,” she offered, watching as he settled himself on the edge of the bed.

He gave her a grateful smile, and without hesitation, she knelt beside him, carefully unwrapping the now-loose gauze. The air between them was comfortable, yet charged, like both of them were aware of something lingering just beneath the surface.

“You’re getting good at this,” he mused, his fingers brushing the curve of her jaw.

She smiled softly, concentrating on her task. “I’m a fast learner.”

When she finished, she stood, watching as Aurélien made his way to the bathroom, his shirt already discarded on the way. “Just give me a few minutes. I’ll be quick,” he called over his shoulder.

Zuri nodded, finding herself staring after him. Once the door clicked shut behind him, she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The tension between them felt more tangible tonight —different. Maybe it was the intimacy of traveling together, of sharing this space.

Moments later, Aurélien emerged from the bathroom, fresh and clean, damp curls on top of his head. He gave her a lingering look before climbing into bed. Zuri followed his lead, slipping into the bathroom to change into her pajamas and tie her hair into her bonnet.

When she returned, the sight of him lying in bed, phone in hand, one leg elevated on pillows, sent a flutter through her chest. He looked relaxed, content — and undeniably attractive.

"Come here," he murmured, glancing up from his phone as she approached. "I need my personal heater."

Zuri settled into the space next to Aurélien, her head resting lightly on his chest as they lay intertwined beneath the blankets. She could hear the faint sound of him typing on his phone, but his attention drifted back to her almost immediately, the screen’s glow casting a soft light on his face.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, her voice a quiet murmur against his skin, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek.

Aurélien turned the phone towards her briefly, revealing some article he hadn’t really been focused on. "Just catching up on some news," he replied, setting the phone on the bedside table, as if realizing he didn’t need the distraction.

His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer into the curve of his body. Zuri let out a contented sigh, pressing her lips against his bare shoulder. The steady hum of his breathing relaxed her, but she could feel the slow burn of desire lingering between them, just beneath the surface.

"You’re comfortable?" Aurélien asked softly, his voice now lower, a little rougher, the playfulness from dinner replaced by something deeper.

Zuri shifted against him, looking up into his eyes, catching the way they darkened, watching her. She nodded, the tension in the air palpable now. "I am."

He held her gaze for a moment before leaning in, pressing his lips to hers in a slow, deliberate kiss. His hand slid up her back, caressing her skin through her pajama top. The kiss deepened, and Zuri’s breath caught as she felt the familiar pull, that unmistakable chemistry between them.

Aurélien’s lips trailed away from hers, moving down along her jawline, then lower, to her neck. He kissed the sensitive skin there, soft but insistent, his breath hot against her pulse point. Zuri tilted her head slightly, giving him better access, her fingers threading into his damp curls as she let out a quiet gasp.

"Take this off for me," Aurélien murmured against her neck, his fingers slipping to the hem of her pajama top. His voice was hushed, but there was an undeniable heat in his tone, an urgency.

Aurélien knew about her nipple piercings, but tonight would be the first time he’d actually see them. Without saying a word, she sat up just enough to pull the top over her head, letting it fall to the side. She lay back down, watching his reaction.

His gaze dropped to her chest, and for a moment, he just looked at her, eyes lingering on the small, silver bars that glinted in the dim light. He didn’t speak, but the slow spread of a grin tugged at his lips, his fingers tracing lightly along the curve of her breast before brushing over one of the piercings.

"Damn," he murmured, his thumb grazing the bar. "These suit you." His voice was low, thick with something that made her pulse quicken.

Zuri felt a flush of heat rise in her body, her breathing uneven. "Thought you might like them," she said softly, watching the way his eyes never left her breasts.

Aurélien’s hand cupped her breast, his thumb continuing to toy with the piercing. Then, without another word, he dipped his head, his mouth replacing his hand as he kissed the sensitive skin around the piercing before gently flicking his tongue over the metal. The contrast of the cool bar against the warmth of his mouth sent a jolt of pleasure straight through her.

Zuri gasped softly, her fingers tangling in his hair as he sucked gently, his tongue swirling around her nipple, teasing her. She shuddered under him, her back arching slightly as he kissed and sucked, his other hand coming up to toy with her other breast, thumb brushing over the second piercing in the same slow, deliberate way.

"You look so good like this," Aurélien murmured against her skin before taking her other nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly, his lips and tongue working her over until Zuri was gasping, her body trembling beneath him.

The sensation of his tongue circling her nipple, the teasing pressure, and the cool metal of the piercing heightened everything, making her breath catch in her throat. He was slow, thorough, his lips and hands never missing a beat as he lavished her with attention.

Zuri’s hands roamed over his broad back, pulling him closer, her body aching for him as his mouth worked magic against her skin. Aurélien kissed his way down between her breasts, leaving a trail of warmth before his lips returned to the metal bars, gently tugging them with his teeth, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Can’t stop touching you," Aurélien whispered, his voice thick, rough with want.

Zuri’s breath hitched as Aurélien’s hands roamed lower, igniting every inch of her skin. But when her thigh brushed against his leg, she hesitated, her palm gently resting on his chest, her eyes flickering with concern.

"Your foot," she murmured, fingers grazing his skin, her touch tender. "Are you sure we should keep going?"

Aurélien’s mouth curved into a small, confident smile, his hand settling on her waist. "I’m fine, bébé,” he whispered, his voice smooth yet playful. "But if you’re worried…" He leaned back against the pillows, his gaze steady and full of intent. "I’ve got an idea." His hands slid up her thighs, guiding her to sit up on him. "You on top," he suggested, his voice low as he tugged her closer.

Heat surged through Zuri at his words. The way he lay there, looking up at her with that signature half-smirk, sent her pulse racing. She sat astride him now, her body fitting perfectly against his, the warmth of his hands at her waist grounding her.

“You sure you’re good?” she teased, grinding her hips slowly down on him, feeling the tension ripple through his muscles.

“I’m perfect,” Aurélien groaned, his grip tightening on her waist, urging her to continue. His hands continued lower, pushing at the waistband of her pajama bottoms. “Off,” he muttered, barely breaking contact with her skin. “Take these off for me.”

Zuri lifted herself slightly to shimmy out of her pajamas, tossing them aside, leaving her completely bare. Aurélien’s hands explored her body, his palms rough against her softness, his gaze filled with hunger as he took in every inch of her.

Her hands slid down to his boxers, tugging them down over his hips, revealing the full length of his cock, hard and thick, pressing against his lower stomach. Zuri couldn’t help but stare for a moment, biting her lip at the sight of him. His cock was perfect — smooth, long, with a slight curve that she already knew would drive her wild.

“Fuck,” she breathed, her hand wrapping around him, stroking him slowly. Aurélien moaned at the contact, his hips bucking upwards as she worked her hand up and down his length. The weight of him in her hand felt incredible, and she could feel him twitching under her touch.

Aurélien let out a low growl, his hands sliding up to her hips as he watched her, his pupils blown wide with lust. “I need you, Zuri,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “Get me a condom. It’s in my bag.”

She reached over, her heart pounding, grabbing the condom from his bag. As she ripped it open and rolled it over his cock, Aurélien’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening. “Putain,” he groaned, his voice thick with need, his hands returning to her hips, guiding her as she positioned herself above him. “Put me inside you. Slowly.”

Zuri held him at her entrance, her breath shaky as she sank down, inch by inch, feeling the stretch, the delicious fullness of him. Aurélien’s hands gripped her hips tighter, his lips parting as a string of French curses spilled from him. “Mon Dieu… tu es si serrée… so tight,” he muttered, his accent making the words sound even filthier, sexier.

The sensation of Aurélien filling her made her body hum, and the slickness from her arousal enveloped him easily, suctioning him deeper. She could feel him pulsing as he settled. Her thighs trembled as she adjusted to the feel of him.

Zuri moaned, her hands pressing against his chest as she began to move, slowly rolling her hips against him. Each motion sent sparks of pleasure through her body, and the heat between them intensified. She leaned forward, her lips finding his as she kissed him deeply, the slow grind of her hips against his cock building a steady rhythm.

Aurélien groaned into her mouth, his grip on her tightening as he matched her movements, thrusting up into her. “Fuck, Zuri… faster. Don’t stop,” he rasped. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “Tu es incroyable…”

His dirty talk, the way his hands guided her, mixed with the sensation of him filling her, had Zuri’s head spinning. She rode him faster, her hips rolling harder as the pleasure built between them, every thrust sending waves of heat coursing through her body.

“Fuck….Aurél…..mhmmm,” moaned Zuri just before she let out a whimper.

“Just like that,” Aurélien praised, his head falling back, eyes heavy-lidded as he watched her. “You’re so fucking sexy… tu me rends fou.”

Zuri’s pace quickened, her body moving on instinct now, her hands braced against his chest as her moans grew louder. The friction, the heat, the sound of their bodies moving together — it was all too much. She could feel herself getting closer, her movements becoming more erratic as the pleasure mounted, her breaths coming in short gasps.

“Aurél…..fuck….I’m gonna come, baby.”

Aurélien’s hands slid up to her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipples again, pulling gently on the piercings. The mix of sensations — the pressure between her legs, the teasing of her breasts, and his filthy words in her ear — pushed her over the edge.

“Come for me, baby,” he growled, his hips bucking up into her. “Let me feel it.”

Zuri cried out, her nails digging into his skin as her orgasm crashed over her, her body trembling as she came hard around him. Aurélien groaned, his own release following moments later, his grip on her hips tightening as he thrust up into her one final time.

They stayed like that for a moment, both panting, their bodies slick with sweat, the air between them charged with the intensity of what they’d just shared. Zuri collapsed onto his chest, her breath shaky, her heart pounding in time with his.

Aurélien’s hands slid up her back, his fingers brushing over her bonnet as he kissed her forehead softly. “Mon Dieu,” he muttered again, his voice barely a whisper now, a lazy smile spreading across his lips. “You’re perfect.”

Aurélien stirred awake, stretching slowly as he came to. The warmth of the bed still cradled him, his hand reached over instinctively, landing on the soft sheets beside him where Zuri lay. She was still asleep, her body curled up slightly, her breathing slow and steady. He smiled to himself, eyes tracing the line of her bare back, the curve of her hips, the way the sheet barely covered her.

Her bonnet had slipped off in the night, now lying haphazardly beside her. She had clearly slept well—they both had. The tension that had buzzed between them for weeks had finally cracked wide open last night, leaving them tangled in each other, spent in the best way.

Aurélien propped himself up on one elbow, just watching her for a moment. Her curls, usually tucked under that bonnet, spilled out now in soft waves against the pillow. He let his gaze travel down her body, appreciating every detail—how peaceful she looked in the early light, how content he felt just lying here next to her.

He knew it had been good—better than he’d imagined. He felt it in the way his body was still heavy with satisfaction, in the way his mind drifted back to the moment she had climbed on top of him, the slow, deliberate way they had come together. And now, with the sunlight creeping in, it felt like something had changed between them. Something that had been building for so long, quietly, had finally unfolded.

He didn’t want to wake her. Not yet. He shifted carefully, moving his foot that still ached with a dull throb from the sprain. His muscles were sore, but the stiffness was a reminder of the night they shared. He reached for his phone on the bedside table, his mind already flicking through his day ahead. Foot rehab, maybe a check-in with the coach, but no meetings.

Zuri stirred, a soft sound escaping her lips as she adjusted herself in her sleep, pulling the sheet up over her shoulders. Aurélien smiled to himself again, knowing she must have slept so good after everything. He had, too.

He slid out of bed quietly, finding his sweats on the floor and pulling them on before hopping over to the bathroom. Once he was finished relieving himself and washing his hands, he stood against the doorframe to stare at her once more.

Something about seeing her like this, relaxed and unguarded, made him pause. The night before felt like they had crossed some invisible line they had both been toeing for weeks. He had known it would be good, but this — this was something else.

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a soft sigh. There was something about the way she carried herself, how she didn’t need him, but still let him in. It felt rare, special. He hadn’t expected to feel so… comfortable, like he’d been waiting for this all along.

She shifted again, this time slowly waking. Zuri blinked up at him, her eyes heavy with sleep but a small smile curling at her lips when she saw him standing there.

“Morning,” she murmured, her voice thick with the remnants of a deep sleep.

“Morning, bébé,” he replied, his voice soft. He hobbled back over to the bed, sitting on the edge beside her, his hand reaching out to brush a stray curl from her face.

“You slept good, huh?” he teased, glancing at the bonnet lying nearby.

Zuri chuckled lightly, shifting onto her back as she stretched. “I did, yeah. No thanks to you,” she teased, her voice laced with humor.

Aurélien smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to her shoulder. “No complaints, though?”

“None,” she replied, a sly smile on her lips as she looked up at him.

He exhaled slowly, letting the moment linger between them. He didn’t feel the usual rush, the need to figure out what came next. For once, everything felt just right — they felt right.

Zuri sat up slightly, the sheet falling down to reveal her bare skin, and Aurélien’s eyes darkened with a hint of desire. He could already feel the pull again, the way her presence drew him in, but this morning felt different. Softer. More meaningful.

“You thinking about last night?” Zuri asked, her voice playful as she caught his gaze.

Aurélien chuckled, shaking his head lightly. “Maybe.”

Zuri bit her lip, leaning back on her elbows. “Good. You should be.”

He laughed again, his hand sliding up her side, fingers brushing her ribs. “Trust me, I am.”

For a moment, they just sat there, quiet, soaking in the aftermath of the night they had shared. Aurélien found himself thinking about how easy this felt — how right it all seemed. And for once, he didn’t overthink it. He didn’t feel the need to define it or put it in a box.

"So," Zuri broke the silence, her tone teasing but with a hint of vulnerability, "on a scale of one to 'holy shit,' how much did we just complicate things?"

Aurélien turned to face her fully, his expression a mix of amusement and sincerity. "Honestly? I'm thinking we're somewhere around 'best complication ever.'"

Zuri snorted, but her eyes softened. "Smooth talker. But seriously, Aurél... where do we go from here?"

He reached out, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "Wherever we want, ZuZu. But you sure have a lot to say for a woman who’s been moaning my name last night."

Zuri felt her cheeks warm at his implication. "I guess I do," she murmured, leaning into his touch.

"Let me fix that then," he said.

With a swift motion, Aurélien pulled her in closer, leaning down to bridge the distance. He pressed his lips against hers, the kiss slow and deliberate. Despite the ache in his foot, he felt a surge of warmth and desire as he deepened the kiss, savoring the sweet taste of her lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him in closer, and the world around them faded away, leaving just the two of them locked in this moment.

_______________________________________________

Aurélien lay back in the plush hotel bed, the midday Paris sun filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. His muscles ached, but in the best way, and the steady throb in his foot was a constant reminder of his injury. The crutches leaning against the wall mocked him with their mere presence. His frustration wasn’t just with the pain — he could handle that. It was the way his foot limited him. Normally, he was in control, positioning them however he wanted, guiding their movements, but now, every shift had to be more calculated, and that annoyed him to no end.

And then, there was Zuri.

Her kisses. God, those kisses had always been addictive. He thought he knew how much he loved them before, the way her lips sparked something inside him. But now, after finally being able to make love to her, those kisses had become something else entirely. Each time their bodies came together, the frustration of his injury melted away, replaced by a deep, primal need for her.

He glanced over at her, her body half-covered by the sheets, her skin still glowing from their latest round. They hadn’t been leaving the suite much, except for his rehab sessions at Clairefontaine, and even then, all Aurélien could think about was getting back to her. When they weren’t in bed, they were on the sofa, the bathroom sink, wherever they could find in the suite. "Humping like deranged rabbits," Zuri had once joked with a wicked grin. He hadn’t been able to argue.

It was exhausting, but a workout he couldn’t get enough of. His foot might have limited him in some ways, but hearing her moan his name— scream it, even — made up for every single limitation. Her body seemed made for his, and even with the ache in his foot, he was obsessed with the way they fit together.

Aurélien shifted slightly, adjusting the pillow beneath his injured foot. He’d been going to rehab every afternoon, the trainers at Clairefontaine helping with the swelling and his mobility. He hated being away from Zuri, even for those couple of hours. Time spent icing his foot felt like time wasted — time he could’ve spent tangled up with her.

Zuri stirred beside him, her eyes fluttering open as she stretched with a lazy smile. "Good afternoon again," she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep — or maybe from all the times she’d moaned his name earlier.

Aurélien smirked, eyes darkening at the memory. "Afternoon, ma belle," he replied, his voice low. "How are you feeling?"

Zuri let out a soft, contented laugh, pulling the sheet up over her chest. "Exhausted. Sore. But also…" She grinned, biting her lip playfully. "Feeling pretty damn good."

He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over her arm. "Good. I’m not letting this foot hold me back."

She leaned in, her lips barely touching his. "You haven’t," she whispered before pressing her mouth to his in a soft kiss that quickly deepened. Her body shifted to press against him, and Aurélien groaned softly, his hand moving to the back of her neck to pull her closer.

Even with his limitations, Aurélien couldn’t deny the spark between them. They made it work. More than work. Every kiss, every touch, felt electric.

Zuri pulled back with that mischievous look in her eyes, the one he loved so much. "You’re insatiable, you know that?"

Aurélien chuckled, kissing her hand lightly. "And you love it."

They sat in a comfortable silence, fingers intertwined, just enjoying each other's presence. The intimacy between them felt natural, deepening with every moment they spent together.

A knock on the door eventually broke the quiet, and Zuri slipped out of bed, wrapping the sheet around her as she padded over to let in the room service. Aurélien watched her, his lips curling into a soft smile. Despite the frustrations of his injury and their limited outings, these moments together felt perfect.

The smell of freshly prepared food filled the room, and as the trays were wheeled in, Zuri glanced back at him, her eyes warm with affection. "Let’s eat. I don’t know about you, but I need to refuel after this morning."

He laughed, shifting slightly to sit up. His foot may have been an obstacle, but with Zuri by his side, even the challenges felt manageable.

Later that evening, after his usual rehab session, Aurélien hobbled back into their suite, crutches tucked under his arms. The rehab sessions were necessary, but god, were they frustrating. He hated how his foot limited him in ways that didn’t seem fair, how he had to be more careful, less free. But Zuri — being back with her made everything better. She never complained, never made him feel like a burden. Instead, she joked and laughed with him, making light of his injury in a way that eased the frustration.

Zuri was curled up on the couch, scrolling through her phone, but when she saw him, her face lit up. "You’re back," she said with a smile.

"Miss me?" he teased, dropping onto the sofa beside her, his crutches clattering against the floor.

"Maybe," she grinned, pulling him into a quick kiss. "How was rehab?"

"Same old. Ice, stretch, repeat," Aurélien groaned, leaning back into the cushions. "But at least now we can get back to more important things."

Zuri laughed, resting her head on his shoulder. "Like pretending we’re going to leave the suite?"

"Exactly." He kissed the top of her head. "Although..." Aurélien trailed off, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

Zuri lifted her head, eyeing him suspiciously. "Although what? I know that look, you're plotting something."

He grinned, not bothering to deny it. "What would you say to actually leaving the suite tonight?"

"What did you have in mind?" Zuri quipped, but her eyes sparkled with interest.

Aurélien shifted, pulling her closer. "Well, there's this little jazz club I know. Nothing fancy, but the music is incredible. Thought we could grab dinner, listen to some tunes. What do you say?"

She pretended to consider for a moment, tapping her chin dramatically. "Hmm, I don't know. Will you be buying me drinks?"

"All night long, ma chérie," he promised, his voice dropping low.

Zuri grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "Then you've got yourself—"

Aurélien's phone buzzed, interrupting the moment. He glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing. "It's my dad."

He answered, speaking in rapid French. "Allô, Papa? Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" (Hello, Dad? What's going on?)

"Aurélien, est-ce que Zuri est avec toi?" (Aurélien, is Zuri with you?)

"Oui, elle est là. Pourquoi?" (Yes, she's here. Why?)

"Mets le haut-parleur, s'il te plaît. C'est important." (Put it on speaker, please. It's important.)

Aurélien complied, switching to speaker mode. His father's voice filled the room, now in English. "Hello, Zuri. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Not at all," Zuri replied, confusion evident in her voice. "Is everything okay?"

There was a pause before Fernand continued. "I'm afraid I have some… unsettling news. Zuri, your father is attempting to end the arranged marriage."

The words hung in the air, heavy and shocking. Zuri's eyes widened, her gaze snapping to Aurélien's equally stunned face.

"Can he do that?" Zuri asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Not without a serious reason," Fernand explained. "But he's implying that Aurélien is… mistreating you."

"What?" Aurélien and Zuri exclaimed in unison.

"That's not true at all," Zuri insisted, her hand finding Aurélien's almost instinctively.

"We know," Fernand assured them. "The rest of the family agrees. It's clear this accusation is baseless. But Zuri, you'll need to talk to your father. Clear things up."

They talked for a few more minutes, discussing potential next steps before hanging up. The silence that followed was deafening.

Zuri stared at the phone in Aurélien's hand, her mind racing. "I can't believe this," she muttered, shaking her head. "What the hell is my dad thinking?"

Aurélien set the phone down, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know, ma chérie. But we'll figure it out."

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. "You want to figure it out? I mean, I know this whole thing wasn't exactly your choice…"

Aurélien's brow furrowed. "Zuri, I—"

"No, let me finish," she interrupted, holding up a hand. "I know you didn't ask for this. Hell, neither of us did. But I thought… I mean, these past few weeks…"

Aurélien reached out, cupping her face in his hands. "ZuZu, listen to me. Yeah, I wasn't thrilled about the idea of marrying a stranger. But you?" He shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You're not a stranger anymore. And I'm not about to let you go that easily."

Zuri's breath caught in her throat. "Really?"

"Really," he confirmed, leaning in to press his forehead against hers. "We're in this together, remember?"

A small laugh escaped her. "Yeah, I remember. God, what a mess."

"Maybe," Aurélien agreed, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. "But it's our mess. And I kind of like it."

Zuri smiled, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. "Me too. So what now?"

Aurélien straightened up, a determined look in his eyes. "Now? We fight for us. Starting with a call to your dad."

As Zuri nodded, reaching for her phone, Aurélien couldn't help but marvel at how quickly things had changed. A few weeks ago, he'd been dreading this arranged marriage. Now? Now he couldn't imagine his life without Zuri in it. And he'd be damned if he let anyone, even her father, take that away from them.

TO BE CONTINUED……

[justwearthegoddamncardigan]

Hi Rin! I've been reading your writings and I've been having the best fun, thanks you for the hard work! Seeing that you are accepting requests I was wondering if you could do a Minho x reader? (Female if possible but ofc if not that's good too!) With reader having a sweet and caring personality and Minho at the beginning scoffing at her bc he thinks everyone is too soft on them but newt and others commenting of him being hyper aware so they tease him saying he has a crush? And then a scene where he starts developing feels and he's like nonono but there's no way out hehe. Hope you have a very lovely day!

This is so cute!!!!!! Thanks for requesting (and waiting 😭) ❤❤

Got a very teenage vibe from this as I was writing, hence the title

Teenage dream

Minho x fem!reader

Set during tmr (movieverse, before Thomas)

Notes: this is more of a Minho pov fic? Hope that's ok :))) Kinda switches back to reader at the end though

Warnings: vomit tw, language, reader's drunkness levels change drastically within minutes, ALSO TEENAGE AWKWARDNESS TO THE MAX, I swear Minho has better game in my other fics, he's just a silly sweet guy here lmao

"Light 'em up!"

Minho stands back as the other boys throw their stakes into the bonfire, watching you giggle at their raucous cheers from across the Glade, an involuntary smile rising on his face.

Before long, the party's in full swing; meaning everyone is now yet again horribly, stupidly drunk.

Minho, as usual, has only had a bit of Gally's concoction, and is idly chatting with Ben as he hears a loud crash.

"What the..."

He leaves Ben, jogging over to the scene to see... of course.

It's you, the two-months-in newbie, and you're sprawled out on the ground in a mess of barrels that have been knocked down, potatoes spilling everywhere.

Your arms are tangled with Newt's- Newt? and you're both laughing, harder than Minho's seen Newt laugh in a while.

"We- the potatoes. The potatoes," Newt manages to say, gasping between cackles.

"Eh. Problem for tomorrow," you sing, extracting yourself from the barrels and potatoes that are now all over the ground.

"Here," says Minho, containing his eyeroll and stepping forward to offer Newt an arm.

"Thanks, man."

Minho tugs Newt up, and yep, he's plastered cause Newt flies up and stumbles forward, crashing into an amused Jeff and nearly sending them both tumbling down.

You stand beside Newt, body folding in laughter as you reach out to grab his arm.

"What's going on?" Alby's voice cuts through the chaos.

You wobble over to him, grabbing one of his hands and clasping it between both of yours in a praying motion. "Sorry, Albs. We'll clean it up in the morning, promise."

"Yeah, you better," says Alby, and his voice is stern but Minho can see the smile reaching his eyes.

What the hell? What happened to their strict leader?

"Thanks, leader man," you say with a grin, patting his chest and giving him a cheesy thumbs up.

Suddenly shouts sound out nearby, and Minho turns to see someone staggering around before turning and throwing up right onto a tabletop.

"Dammit, Ben," mutters Jeff, pinching the bridge of his nose and rushing over.

"Did someone throw up?" Minho hears you ask, before you jog over, veering slightly off to the side as you run.

He sighs and follows you, to where the Gladers are standing around Ben making various ew and gross sounds as if they don't have someone chuck up at least every couple months.

"I ain't cleaning this up for you," Minho tells Ben as he helps him up.

"The whole damn table is gonna stink for months," groans Jeff, looking over the table the Medjacks lent for the bonfire.

"Sorry," mumbles Ben, his words slurring slightly.

"It's alright," you say comfortingly, grabbing a piece of wood you got from god knows where and scraping the stuff into a bin.

"Hey, strong men," you call. "Grab this table and go spray it at the hose."

"Sorry," repeats Ben.

Minho sighs, and shakes his head. "Not your fault you're a lightweight," he says light-heartedly, punching his friend in the arm gently.

He watches as you wash your hands quickly before grabbing a cup of water and bringing it over to Ben.

"Here," you say, handing it to him. "Don't worry, the table's fine. Worst case we'll use it as firewood for next time."

You trip slightly as you step back, and Minho shoots out an arm to grab your waist before he even knows what he's doing. "Alright?" he asks.

You grin, patting his arm. "Guess I'm not as steady as I thought I was."

"Oh really," Minho lifts an eyebrow. "You thought you were steady when you fell into three barrels of potatoes?"

"Ya know, the one time that happens..."

"You mean, just now?"

"Yeah, that one time,"

"Stop with this couples banter," groans Ben. "My head hurts."

"Hungover and drunk at the same time," you say, nodding so sympathetically Minho genuinely can't tell if you're acting or not. "Here, let's get you to bed."

⭒----⭒

"Every month we manage to top the last month's mess," announces Alby, sitting on a table as he addresses the Gladers, most of whom are still waking up and groaning.

He throws out orders for each group, eyes shut and massaging his temples as he speaks, before he gets to; "Y/n, Newt. Gardeners."

"Minho and I already packed up the potatoes from yesterday," begins Alby, and Minho warms as he feels your eyes on him.

"Some of them were crushed under the barrels," Alby continues. "We lost some supplies."

You bite your lip, looking up nervously. You exchange a glance with Newt, and you're wearing identical guilty expressions.

Alby rolls his eyes. "Like scolded children, both of you. Just get to your jobs, go on."

"Thanks mate," says Newt, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

"Yeah, thanks Alby." You give him a little sheepish smile before leaving.

"I'll check on our leftover supplies," says Newt. "Minho, come with?"

"Wh- sure," says Minho, following behind.

⭒----⭒

"Something on your mind?" asks Newt, shifting some food barrels around.

"You're all too soft on her," mumbles Minho, crossing his arms.

"What's that?"

"You, all of you. With Y/n. You shouldn't be letting her get away with things just cause she smiles, or reward her cause she does one tiny nice thing."

Newt turns around, an amused expression on his face, which is infuriating but also extremely worrying.

"What," snaps Minho.

"Nothing," says Newt, all innocent. "What do you mean 'get away with'?"

"Like just then," says Minho. "She got drunk at the bonfire and made a whole mess, then what? Just flirted her way out of trouble? That's bullshit right there."

"I was with her, I made that mess too."

"You weren't the one who fell into the barrels," Minho fires back.

"And how would you know that? You must've been watching her pretty closely." Newt's full on grinning now, hands on his hips in mock sternness.

Minho deflects. "Whatever, she shouldn't get away with making a mess like that."

"Mate, everyone gets shucking plastered at the bonfires. Don't tell me you've been blind to Zart passing out on the ground every month or how Ben can hardly get through his morning runs."

"I mean, yeah, but people don't knock whole barrels of crop over."

"Winston damn near fell into the fire last month."

"That's different," insists Minho.

"Fine," says Newt, sighing. "Can we go back to when you said she flirts her way out of trouble?"

Minho freezes. "...what?"

"Go on then," says Newt, grin stretching on his face. "What'd you mean?"

Minho averts his gaze, uncharacteristically conflicted. "Ya know, just like... how she had her hands all over Alby last night, when he should've been yelling at her or something."

Newt raises an eyebrow, tilting his head at Minho. "What, did you want her to get in trouble?"

"No! Of course not," protests Minho. "Just- in general, it's not fair. To flirt like that and... you know," he finishes weakly.

"That's not flirting mate, she's just an affectionate drunk."

"Yeah... Whatever."

"You know," begins Newt. "One of these days you'll understand, and the rest of us'll be here, laughing our damn asses off at you."

Minho scrunches up his face, confused.

Newt laughs, tossing an arm around his friend. "Give it time, you'll get it."

⭒----⭒

It's a month later, after the next bonfire, that someone finally has the courage to tell it straight to Minho.

" -and people think she's like, the greatest soul to bless the Glade. It's stupid. The other day, she helped Gally carry something, ya know, cause his shoulder was shucked, and I swear, the whole of the Builders had stars in their eyes." Minho huffs, rolling his eyes.

"And," he continues. "She looks after Greenies like they're incapable of walking. Then suddenly everyone loves her?"

"Everyone loves Newt," Ben points out. "Why aren't you getting all pissed about him?"

"I'm not pissed," argues Minho. "I'm just observing... stating. People give her credit for just being a vaguely decent human being."

"Minho. You sound insane. You're literally listing good things, and twisting them into... whatever bullshit point you're trying to make."

Ben continues. "Y/n is a decent human being. She's kind, caring, better than the rest of us assholes at accommodating the newbies. She helps people out. Is that so bad?"

"I mean, no... but-,"

"But nothing!" interrupts Ben. "Why are you so obsessed, anyway? Haven't you given some thought into why you're hyperaware of her every move?"

"Oi! Are you telling him?" Newt's voice rings out from across the empty dining hall.

"Yes," says Ben, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Cause this is exhausting."

"Shuckin' finally," says Newt, clapping Ben on the shoulder as he slides into the bench beside him. "Someone needed to do it soon."

"What," snaps Minho.

"You have a crush," says Ben, tugging on his hair exasperatedly. "A stupid schoolyard crush- which I don't even have memory of, but you're just so, so-"

"What Ben is trying to say," interrupts Newt. "Is that you like Y/n."

"What? No, I-"

"And," Ben cuts in. "Somewhere in that thick head of yours, your lovey-dovey feelings are fighting with your denial and causing this." He gestures vaguely towards Minho.

"I don't know what you're talking about," retorts Minho.

"Of course not," says Ben flatly. "But now that we've told you, it should only be a matter of time."

"I mean..." Newt struggles for a second, before giving up, shoulders sagging. "Yeah, Ben's summed it up pretty well."

⭒----⭒

A crush? There's no way. Minho frowns to himself, lost in thought as he walks out of the shower block.

The Glade is in the best time of the day right now. It's when everyone's wrapping up the day's work and hitting the showers, before waiting around for dinner.

Minho's showered early today, so the dining area just has a few people idly sitting around chatting. He nods at Newt, who makes eye contact with him across the dining area and starts walking over.

Newt stops though, as someone else slides into the bench across from Minho. It's you.

Minho widens his eyes at Newt, who simply grins and turns to sit somewhere else.

Fine. Minho sighs internally, turning to you. "Y/n, hey."

"Hey," you greet, flicking your hair back. You've got a small towel resting on your shoulders to keep your clothes dry while your hair's still wet. Minho notes this information for no particular reason.

"Listen," you say, leaning forward intently. Pretty. The thought crosses Minho's mind without his consent. You look clean, fresh out of the shower, sunset casting your face in a warm glow. Nope, no way this is happening.

"Uh Minho, ya with me?"

" 'course," he responds quickly. "What's up?"

You grin, clearly seeing through him, but you continue anyway. "So, Ben tells me the forest around the Runners' hut is really pretty. Flowers and all. Is that true?"

"Yeah," says Minho. "The pond is nice too."

You hum, nodding in thought. "Take me sometime?"

"Yeah, sure," says Minho.

You know what, shuck it.

"Do you wanna go now?" he offers, resolve clicking inside him.

Minho's heart picks up at your smile, beaming at him. "Yeah, let's go."

⭒----⭒

"I can't believe you've never been here," says Minho, standing with his hands in his pockets as you wander around the forest.

"I can't believe no one ever brought me here," you reply. "It's beautiful."

"Yeah..." He trails off, watching you bend and smile at some purple orchids. "...beautiful." Fuck.

"Can I be honest with you, Minho?" he hears you ask.

"Of course," he responds, leaning on a tree.

"I was kinda worried," you begin, still looking down at the orchids. "That you didn't like me, or something."

Minho's eyebrows fly up. "Wh-"

"I just- I wanted to clear it up. Cause you seem like a cool person, and I'd like for us to be... friends." You sound uncertain, and Minho feels like an absolute shit.

"No!" As your head whips up, he hastily continues, "I mean, yes, of course, just-"

He groans. "It's my fault, I'm just- I was stupid. An idiot, actually. I've been-"

You've got a confused expression as Minho huffs out a frustrated sigh. "It wasn't anything like... what you're thinking. I just had some other feelings- thoughts, in the way. And I guess it came off like I didn't like you. But I do. I like you a lot," he admits.

You let out a soft laugh. "I'm glad. I didn't want it to be," you gesture vaguely. "Ya know."

Minho smiles, and seems to shake himself slightly, nodding towards a tree near the Runner's hut. "Come check out these ones."

He leads you to a tree with white flowers peeking through the leaves.

"Hey, Minho."

"Yeah?"

"What'd you mean 'other feelings'?"

Um. "What?" He asks nervously.

"You said there were 'other feelings' in the way. What did that mean?"

"Just... in general," he says weakly. "Feelings, thoughts. Etcetera."

You frown slightly at him, confused, but you're distracted as he reaches up to the tree.

"These're Ben's pride and joy," he says idly, plucking one of the flowers. "A damn pain to grow at first, but now they just bloom on their own."

You swallow as he turns to you, holding up the flower.

"Here."

Your heart beats fast as he steps into your space, and tucks the flower into your hair, behind your ear.

Neither of you move. Minho's hand is still hovering at your cheek, your face tilted up to meet his eyes, open and earnest.

Oh. Oh.

You break first, ducking your head down. "So, uh-"

"Yeah," says Minho, hand rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

He takes a deep breath. "So I, uh- I don't know what I'm doing, like... at all. Ya know, Ben and Newt had to sit me down and... whatever. I just- I like you," he confesses in a rush. "And I know I've done a shucked job of showing it, but I really, really like you."

You huff out a laugh, incredulous. "Minho, I like you too. That's mostly why I wanted to get closer to you."

"Oh," says Minho. "Well... do you think we could go on a date sometime? Maybe here, with the flowers. We could do dinner?"

You smile. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Great," says Minho, grinning in a way he knows looks stupid (he doesn't care). "Cool.

"I guess we should be getting back, then." Minho gestures back to where the Glade is probably eating dinner now.

"Yeah," you agree, starting off behind him.

"Minho?" He turns at your voice, looking down at the hand you've extended, palm-up.

As he puts his arm out in the same way, slightly confused, you slip your hand in his, interlocking your fingers. You see his wide grin as you glance to your side.

"Hey, Y/n, think that date can be tomorrow?"

"Yes, absolutely."

Went full teenager throwback for this one - the awkwardness is tangible

Thanks for reading <3 Requests are open as always :)

[noobiestnoober]

Shadows of Destiny (Kai x Reader)

The story is set during when Kai escapes from the Prison World with the Heretics. Y/N, being a close friend of Kai, who had developed feelings for Kai in Prison World - 1994, found out he escaped and was planning to commit mass murder at Alaric and Jo's wedding, decides to confront and stop him. But she gets restrained by Kai instead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're going to regret this," Y/N snarled, jerking against the restraints with all her might. The friction of the ropes would scrape her chafed wrists, but she didn't even give a damn; the fury inside her was burning far more than any literal pain. Kai Parker stood before her, his smile infuriatingly calm, "Regret the time spent with you? Never!" His voice was smooth, almost tender, a stark contrast to the malice in his eyes.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. She had known Kai for months. She had seen his cruelty and moments of vulnerability. But this was different; she'd always been able to keep herself cool around him, but this time, the stakes were up. Too many lives depended on her getting out of there and stopping him.

Their history was a complicated one. Y/N first met Kai in the 1994 Prison World, where she was stuck with Bonnie and Damon. Then, he was the charming sociopath who thrived off chaos and destruction. But in those quiet moments, away from Bonnie and Damon, there had been something else. Kai had a way of making Y/N blush with his relentless flirting and teasing. He had a way of getting under her skin, making her feel things she didn't want to acknowledge.

"Y/N, come on," Kai would say, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "You know you like having me around. Admit it." He'd lean in close, his breath warm against her ear, and she would feel her cheeks flush, despite herself trying to stay stoic.

"You're insufferable," she would throw back, drawing herself up and shooting him a look, but inside, she was thrilled with every fiber of her being when he did that. Faced now with the reality of his actions, those memories felt like a distant dream. The boy who had made her blush was also the man who was capable of unimaginable cruelty.

"You think this is a joke, Kai? You think you can keep playing your twisted games and get away with it?" Her voice shook with her fury, but she made herself meet his eyes steadily.

Kai tilted his head, his smile widening, "Y/N, you don't understand. It's not a game; this is beyond my control. This is destiny. This is what I was put on this earth to do."

"Destiny?" Y/N spat out, eyes blazing, "To hurt people, to cause chaos? That is not destiny, Kai. That is madness."

He took a step closer, his expression darkening, "Madness? Perhaps. But it is madness with a purpose. You see, Y/N, I have spent my whole life being told I was worthless, an abomination. But now, finally, I have power. Finally, I am in control."

Her heart ached for the pain she saw flicker across his eyes. For a moment, she saw the boy who had been discarded, who had been made to feel like nothing. But she couldn't allow herself to pity him. Not now.

"Kai, listen to me," she said, her voice softer but no less urgent, "You don't have to do this. You can choose a different path. You can use your power for good."

He laughed, a harsh, bitter sound, "Good? There's no good left for me, Y/N. Just survival. And the only way I survive now is by winning this fucking game."

Y/N's mind raced for something to say to him, "Kai, if you do this, you'll be alone. Completely and utterly alone. Is that really what you want?"

His smile faltered for just a fraction of a second; then it was back, colder than ever, "Better alone and powerful than surrounded by people who will never understand me."

Y/N felt a surge of desperation. She had to break through to him, had to find a way to make him see reason, "Kai, please. I know you. I know there's still a part of you that cares, a part of you that doesn't want to be the villain."

Kai's eyes narrowed, "It's too late for that, Y/N. It's too late for anything but this." He turned away, and for the first time, Y/N saw a hint of uncertainty in his movements.

"Kai, wait!" she cried, struggling against her restraints, "You don't have to be alone. We can find another way. Together."

He paused, his back to her, and for a moment, Y/N thought she had reached him. Then he shook his head, shoulders stiffened. "I'm sorry, Y/N. But this's the only way I know how to be."

And with that, he walked out of the door, leaving Y/N bound and desperate in the cruel world. Her heart went heavy, knowing she had come so close yet so far from being able to save him. As the door closed behind him, she vowed she would not give up. She would find a way to stop him, to save him, even if it were the last thing she did.

__________________ __________________ _____________

Read Part 2 here >>> Part 2

[gabessquishytum]

The Endless family are nothing, if not the most horrible of people. They don't care who/what they hurt to lord it over people.

Morpheus tries to have as little to do with his adoptive family (he along with a number of his other siblings were foundlings) as possible, but the family still own his apartment building and probably have found a sneaky underhanded way to have a stake in his fledgling art career. This is part of the reason he appeared when summoned to the most recent family dinner/shitty people party.

For some yet undisclosed reason, Morpheus parents were particularly smug about whatever was going to happen at the party - he just hopes it's not overt and open criming, he doesn't really want to be pressed into hiding bodies and depending on how long it takes to get to whatever their "surprise" is, Morpheus will have to stay at the party for longer than he would ever want.

The surprise is wheeled out, in a giant tank -- a captured male merperson. To Morpheus's eyes, he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen - long brown hair flowing in the water, strong chest and arms flowing seamlessly down to a golden tail, shot through with warm browns, yellows and greens. Just the colors alone spoke to Morpheus's artist soul. He knew he could happily spend the rest of his life doing nothing but attempting to recreate this beauty.

And then he locked eyes with the angry brown eyes of what was obviously the rest of his existence,,,,,,,and Morpheus's soul mark burned.

Ahhhh this is so chilling!! I like the idea of Hob being beautiful but terrifying.

Of course Dream has to do something. So he asks to stay the night at his "parents" awful mansion. After midnight he sneaks down the damp basement where the huge tank has been stored. The merman is skulking around the bottom of the tank, and those brown-gold eyes glare out through the darkness. Dream can't stop himself from stepping forward and pressing the palm of his hand against the glass.

"Well." The merman says, sending bubbles shooting out to the surface of the tank. "How are you going to get me out of here?"

It turns into a proper mini heist. Dream recruits a team to get his soulmate out: his estranged adoptive brother Ollie, his youngest sister (who still lives at home, and can let them all into the mansion), a few sketchy friends he made at university (Matthew and Cori) and, bizarrely, the director of the gallery that shows his art. Gilbert may be older in years, but he is very good with a weapon.

They take an old bathtub that Matthew dug out of a skip to the mansion in Cori's truck. And then they lug the damn thing down to the basement. Hob looks distinctly unimpressed. But when Dream begs him to get in the bath, his fierce attitude softens. Muttering about dumb humans, he flops out from the top of the tank, into the bath - bringing plenty of water along with him.

Then they have to get him back up the stairs. Dream is not super helpful tbh, he's too fixated on Hob’s beautiful tail. And his eyes. And just everything, really. Thank goodness Ollie hits the gym regularly - they make it out of the mansion before dawn. Delirium gives Hob a big kiss on the cheek, and he gets all soft and mushy, giving her a soggy hug in return before they wave goodbye and get the hell out of there. They head for Gilbert's gallery (since its on the ground floor), where Hob's eyes get all big and shiny as he looks at Dream’s art.

What the hell do they do now? No doubt Dream’s parents will notice the missing merman. And Hob can't live in a bathtub forever. Maybe it's time for Dream to get the nice cottage by the sea that he's always fancied. The question is - will Hob want to hang around, when he's free to swim away?

The answer is a grumpy "yes". As long as Dream agrees to paint him. Which obviously isn't going to be an issue at all 😄

[impala-dreamer]

His Sweetest Dream

A Supernatural Story

Benny Lafitte x Reader

1,130 Words

Bittersweet Longing, Romance, Vampire Angst ~ Requested by @deanwinchesterswitch

Cozy Drabbles ‘24 Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

The cafe was closed and the tables were clean. Wooden chairs were turned over and perched on the worn laminate tops. The napkins were replenished and the ketchup bottles were full and ready for the next day.

All was quiet. 

Except for flirtatious laughter coming from the kitchen.

“You did not say that!”

Benny lingered on her smile, on her beautiful lips, her bright, lively eyes. He grinned and threw his hands up. “I swear. That was the only way I could get his drunk ass outta here.” 

Y/N tossed her head back as she laughed at his tale and Benny tried to tear his eyes away from the delicate line of her throat and the supple skin covering her artery. 

He cleared his throat and turned away, busying himself at the sink again. 

“I miss the best stuff!” Calming herself, Y/N wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, clearing away a joyful tear. “I should work the late shift more often.” 

Benny wished for nothing more than to have her around every second, but it was too dangerous to dream. 

“Well, you gotta sleep sometime,” he said without looking back. There was only so much he could take and his willpower was dwindling. 

Over the past few months, Y/N had wormed her way into the cafe and his heart. She was kind and smart; beautiful in a relaxed sort of way that he’d never seen before. When she spoke, he was wrapped up in every word; when she smiled, he saw heaven. So many times he’d almost slipped and wrapped his arms tight around her, drawn her close, kissed those perfect lips. It had taken so much self control to keep her at arm’s length, but it was for the best. If he touched her, if she returned the kiss, it would be all over. He’d have to have her in every way, and for a vampire, that was till death. 

Sometimes he let himself dream of sweeping her off of her feet, showing her the darkness that lingered just beneath the surface of all things around her. He imagined her surprise and ultimate curiosity, the subtle excitement, the allure of being with him. She never ran in those dreams, she never flinched at his deadly kiss. 

She made a beautiful vampire. 

They lived happily together until the world burned. 

Benny shook himself to clear the dreams away. It could never happen. He refused to expose another soul to the curse that was his life. 

Y/N hissed behind him and he felt her pain. 

“Shit!” 

Spinning around, he saw her waving her finger in the air, batting her arm like a broken wing. 

He was at her side in an instant. “What happened? Are you alright?” His big hands hovered over her, afraid to land but more than worried for her safety. 

Y/N laughed at herself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just burned myself on this damned caramel.” 

A deep breath calmed his fear but staring into her eyes made him shiver inside. She smiled and he saw the blood rise to the surface of her skin, illuminating it all for his preternatural eyes. She was perfect. 

He was staring and she shied away. “I’m OK, really.” 

Benny pulled himself back to reality. “Just be more careful, cher.” 

For a moment, he thought he saw a spark of love in her gaze, a bit of hope. She smiled, reached for another apple, and jabbed a wooden stake through the core. 

Benny flinched. 

“Why are you doing this again?” he asked, rubbing at his chest.

“Because it’s almost Halloween and people like them.” Y/N dipped the base of the red macintosh into the bubbling sugar. “What, you never had a candy apple as a kid?” 

He laughed sadly. “No, ‘fraid not.” 

She swirled the fruit, coating it in the caramel. “It’s delicious,” she told him, with a hint of flirtatious smile on her lips. “Tart and sweet… sticky, crunchy… just perfect.” 

Benny felt his desire grow, his hunger for her swell. “You do make it sound amazing.” 

Y/N set the apple down on a large wax paper lined sheet pan and looked back over her shoulder. “You’re real cute, you know that?” 

His hands trembled, his heart ached. “Well…” 

Turning fully to face him, Y/N put her hands on her hips. “Here’s a little tip: you’re supposed to compliment me back now.” 

The look was back in her eyes, that tempting glow was bright on her skin. He felt the pull and leaned in. 

“Sorry,” he whispered. “You’ve got me all distracted.” 

Closer now, she held her breath and looked up into his blue eyes. “Me?”

He hummed affirmatively and lifted his hand to her cheek. A bit of caramel was stuck by her lip and he wiped it away with his thumb. Y/N shuddered at his cool touch and held his gaze. Her lips parted enticingly and she reached with her tongue to drag his finger into her mouth. 

Benny trembled with desire as she sucked the sugar from his thumb, humming around it and swallowing slowly. 

He broke down and gave in, pulling his finger free and crushing his lips into hers. She accepted with a desperate moan and wrapped her delicate hand around the back of his neck, holding him closer. 

He licked into her mouth, savored the heat of her, the taste, the life pumping through her body. He could hear her heartbeat quicken; smell the arousal release between her thighs. 

“Benny…” 

His name on her lips was like a drug he never wanted to stop taking. He kissed her again and spun, pressing her back against the counter. She moved with him, breathed into him, lavished him in her mortal heat. 

When her hand pressed against his chest, he growled deeply. As it slipped down between their bodies, he panicked and backed away. Every bit of him was burning with hunger. He clenched his fists, clamped his jaw shut, turned his eyes from her face. 

“Benny? What- what happened?” 

Sadness flooded her voice and he hated himself more than he ever had. He should have never slipped up, never brought the fantasy to life. It was too dangerous, too real. 

He rushed to the door and gave it a push, pausing before stepping through. 

“Do me a favor and lock up?” he whispered, struggling to keep the anguish out of his voice.  

Y/N took a shaky breath. Rejection tightened around her heart and he felt it like a crushing blow. 

“Yeah. No problem.” 

He was alone again in the cold night. Always alone. But it was better than hurting her. That was one thing he would never do. Not Y/N. His sweetest dream. 

[joshsindigostreak]

I See Hell in Your Eyes

Chapter Four

“I’m just a bright eyed bitch with her heart in a cage.”

Josh Kiszka x Vampire!Reader

Authors Note: WHEW this was another chapter that kind of got away from me, but I do hope you love it as much as I do! Thank y'all so much for going on this ride with me. There's so much more to come!

Word Count: 10,061

Warnings: Detailed depictions of blood, swearing, sexual content.

Your head and arms were covered, your face shielded by the shadow his jacket cast on your face, but your legs, your poor legs and feet were going in and out of the shadow as you trekked down the sidewalk. It was Sisyphean in how the lower half of your legs would burn and then try to heal themselves with each stride. The morning was still young, with barely any people out and about in the freshly risen sun, and so far there were few places for you to find any cover for a break from its light. 

Beside you, or behind you depending on the direction of the aggressive sun beams, Josh was a wreck listening to how your skin was sizzling and burning. The sound rang in his ears and it was all he could focus on, along with your constant winces and gasps. He was familiar with it, after killing several Vampires in a similar fashion. It was a trademark of his twin. Jake loved dragging Vampires out into the sunlight and lighting them up, watching them fry and turn to ash. For him, staking them wasn’t enough. It was too quick of a death, he didn’t believe they felt the gravity of their Damned existence without real pain. This strategy was something Josh never questioned until now. Now that someone he…someone he knew was going through it. 

You tried to crack a few jokes every few minutes, promising him you had a much higher pain tolerance than the current situation would suggest, but he’d shush you each time, hoping that you would focus more on walking as fast as you could instead of banter. He looked down at your feet, your poor feet, while you hobbled around in your heels. You couldn’t take them off because that would expose your skin even more, and seering your skin on the hot sidewalk was out of the question. 

On the next block, Josh spotted a covered bus stop, and nearly dragged you across the street to get you under the shelter. You collapsed onto the bench in a soft whimper, the sound made Josh’s chest feel tight. He thanked every being in the universe that no one else had been inside the bus stop, but that feeling of positivity was quickly shattered when you pulled his jacket down to drape over your shoulders and he saw just how much your mascara had run down your face from your tears. 

You could see it all over his face that he was not only worried, but turning a bit green while looking over your slowly healing wounds. 

“I’ve looked worse, I promise,” you said with a weak smile.

Josh shook his head, not only because he didn’t believe you, he also didn’t want to imagine how much worse you could possibly look, or any kind of scenario that would put you in such a state, “we’re only a few blocks away, ten minutes, tops.” 

You nodded, feeling very weak despite the skin stitching itself together on your shins and ankles. Closing your eyes for a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, you reasoned with yourself, and you started to lay down on the bench. Josh, who had been standing in front of you as another barrier between you and the outside world, did not want you to fully lay down on the disgusting bench, and quickly sat next to you before you could fully collapse, his shoulder breaking the fall of your cheek. A sigh left your lips as your eyes fluttered shut, and Josh took this time to just…look at you. By far this was the quietest he had ever seen you, and it unsettled him. 

He looked down the street in the direction of his apartment building, once again mentally calculating just how far you had left. He wasn’t used to this, feeling empathy for anyone of your species, but it was getting hard to ignore the warmth that spread through his chest when he would catch you looking at him. He couldn’t journal these thoughts down, putting them on paper made them real. It was against everything he had been taught. All the lessons his father had drilled into his head. He could practically hear the lecture about no matter how tempting it was, at the end of the day humans were a food source to them. Nothing more, nothing less. A juicebox with legs. Humans were prey and Vampires the predators, but it was a hunters job to take that power back, to maintain the status quo of the ecosystem. 

Josh cast his eyes up at the sky, which was only getting brighter by the second, and unfortunately it appeared to be a sunny day with not a single cloud on the horizon. He looked down at you, eyes closed and breathing slowly through your nose. You were still slumped against his shoulder, nearly assuming the fetal position to keep as much of your body under his jacket as possible. Your brows were knitted together in pain, and he hated the fact that you’d have to move soon, before the sun got any worse. Your legs had finally started looking normal, and his stomach lurched at the mental image of burns blistering their way through your skin again. He leaned his head down, and tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear. 

Your name left his lips in a whisper, “I know you don’t want to get up, but we have three blocks to go and then we’ll be safe.” 

You groaned in response, keeping your eyes closed. Three blocks. You could do it. Three blocks was nothing. You’re celebrating the big 3-5-0 this year, you got this. Slowly, you swung your legs off the bench, and winced as gravity put pressure on your feet in your heels. Josh stood up and got in front of you, letting you use his arms to help yourself stand up. Step one was done, and it wasn’t too bad! He pulled his jacket back over your head, and you looked up at him briefly, and saw the concern written all over his face. 

“Three blocks?” 

“Three blocks,” he confirmed. 

With one foot in front of the other, you stepped out from under the bus stop, the light immediately made contact with your skin, and the sound was audible as you burned. You tried to make a few steps further, and stumbled over your own feet again. Before you could fall, Josh caught you in his arms. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He needed to get you to his apartment and in the dark, now. 

Before he realized what he said, a soft, “c’mon sweetheart,” left his lips. The last time he called you that was in a sneer, taunting you while he bound your wrists in those blasted cuffs. He didn’t have time to analyze why he said it again, and with autopilot taking over he scooped you up into his arms and started to carry you down the street. Your legs were still exposed to the sun, but he could make better time on his own instead of helping you hobble your way there. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could do. 

He crossed the street to the next block, not caring if the light was green or not. Two blocks now. Josh wanted to break out in a full run, but he didn’t want to draw too much attention to the two of you. The last thing he needed was someone stopping him to question what was wrong. He kept his brisk pace as he stole a glance down at you. You hadn’t even protested when he picked you up, and the fact that you didn’t have the energy to make a sarcastic comment, or even call him a name, made his anxiety so much worse. 

One block to go. He could see the front door to his apartment building. He neglected to tell you that he also lived on the fourth floor, in an attic bedroom that was converted into a studio apartment, but he’d cross that bridge when he got you inside. 



A car blared its horn as he walked out in front of it, but Josh paid it no mind as he darted across the street to his block. When he first moved in, he hated the ugly blue awning that was added years ago by someone with no taste, but he was thanking his stars as he ran up the steps and got you securely under it. He wouldn’t relax until he got you all the way upstairs, but the worst was over. He plunged his hand into his pocket for his keys, and nearly got them into the lock when they slipped out of his hands due to how hard they were shaking from adrenaline. 

“God-fucking-damnit…” he cursed as he bent down to pick them up and try again, this time successfully and he wrenched the door open as fast as he could. He guided you inside and made sure to shut the door behind him. The house was old, probably Victorian, and there wasn’t a lot of natural light in the front entryway. The stairs leading up to the upper floors were almost as dark, and he was once again changing his mind over how much he hated the gloomy aesthetic at first. 

Josh gave you a few minutes to collect yourself against the front door, before slowly pulling the jacket down so it just rested on your shoulders. Your makeup was completely ruined, mascara streaks were down both cheeks, your lipstick gone from your activities the night before, but your eyes…your eyes still had that spark in them. You made eye contact with him, and while your fatigue refused to let you fully smile, your eyes said everything they needed to. 

Josh stood there, staring into your eyes with his hands in his pockets. This was probably the quietest the two of you had been around each other, but he didn’t mind it. Silence like this was nice, one could even describe it as warm. 

The dimple in his left cheek started to form as he said, “only four flights of stairs to go…”

The smile in your eyes immediately disappeared and annoyance dripped from your voice, “four flights? You live in a fourth floor walk up?” 

“I mean…it's technically the attic, but it's home for now.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, “fine I guess.” 

Now it was his turn to be annoyed, “Well I’m sorry princess, would you like me to carry you up there so it's not too much trouble?”

You pushed off the door and started for the stairs, “no, I’m fine.” 

The stairs creaked as you started your ascent, grumbling the whole time while Josh trailed behind you. He kept his ear out for any of the other tenants as you made your way through the different floors. The walls in the building were obnoxiously thin, even all the way up in the attic where he stayed. 

The main staircase ended on the third floor, and you turned to look at him for where to go next. Josh led you down the hall, where a set of steep and narrow stairs were positioned in the corner, twisting up into the wall and out of sight. You knew stairs like this very well, as they were once used for servants whenever this house was first built. You had a brief flashback of similar stairs from your life before you were turned. There was no such thing as building codes back then, and architects didn’t care about servants' safety so the stairs to their quarters were often steep, uneven, and treacherous. Sighing, you started to trudge up the stairs, one heel stomp at a time. In any other circumstance, Josh would have rolled his eyes at your dramatics, but after what he saw on the street, he knew you weren’t faking your discomfort. 

The landing at the top of the stairs was so small that the two of you were invading each other's personal space. Neither one of you acknowledged how your shoulders were touching, or how the back of your hands brushed against each other. The door to his apartment was angled with how it fit into the roof of the building, and Josh unlocked it quickly and stepped inside. When he didn’t hear your heels click clack on the wooden floor behind him, he turned around in confusion. You were standing in the doorway, hands against the frame with an expectant look on your face. Ah shit, he remembered, you had to be invited in. 

He stepped back in front of you, dramatically bowed and said, “would you like to come in?”

“Why yes, I would,” you played along before stepping into his residence. Apartment buildings were a weird supernatural gray area for Vampires. In some buildings you couldn’t enter the front door without being invited in, and in others like this one you could freely move around the building but needed an invite into individual apartments. It was annoying as fuck but it was just something you had to live with. 

It wasn’t a palace by any means, but you saw the potential in the apartment as you walked around. It was truly the definition of a studio apartment, with everything being in one whole room. The walls were painted a muted color, the floors were wooden and most likely original to the house. Josh hadn’t put much effort into decorating, mainly because he didn’t feel the need to spruce up what was essentially a crash pad. The kitchenette was to the left, a singular bowl and spoon sat in the sink, a box of cereal on the counter. There was a small, basic table between the kitchenette and the “living room” that consisted of a sofa and coffee table. Beyond that was a door to what you assumed was the bathroom, and the “bedroom” in the back. You were pleasantly surprised Josh had a real bed frame, and wasn’t a “mattress on the floor” kind of guy. 

As you stood there checking the place out, Josh was flitting about the apartment shutting the blinds to all three windows his place had. There was just enough light coming through to keep it pleasant during the day but not enough to hurt you. He started to make a mental note to get some true black out curtains, but then shook his head because it wasn’t like you were going to be coming around all the time. This was a one time thing, out of convenience. 

You walked over to the sofa, and collapsed down on it with a sigh. Josh sat next to you, grateful for the old dusty thing himself. Leaning forward, you attempted to unstrap your heels and finally free your feet of the wretched things, but the strap was being stubborn in the buckle and you almost ripped it off before you felt hands lifting your feet off the ground and onto the sofa between you and Josh. You looked up at him confused until you saw him work the buckle himself, freeing the strap and slowly sliding your shoe off your foot. Before you could protest he repeated the process with your other foot and gently placed your heels on the floor. You stared at him as he leaned back and relaxed on his end of the sofa. 

“You didn’t have-”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but out of the corner of your eye you noticed what was sprawled all over the coffee table. An unloaded black crossbow was resting on the surface, with a bunch of silver-tipped stakes strewn next to it. It was like a bucket of cold water was dumped on you. Reality set in. At the end of the day, Josh was a hunter, and not only that but he came from an entire line of hunters. And you? You were of the species his family had set out to eradicate. 

“How many Vampires have you killed?” Josh jumped at your words, not expecting that question. 

“Alone or…with my brothers?”

“Total.” 

Josh scratched under his chin, quickly adding up numbers, “Over one hundred, give or take.” 

You straightened up against the sofa, inching away from him slightly. Hearing an actual number sobered you up even more. 

“Now, it's only fair that I ask you how many humans you’ve killed.”

It was your turn to jump at his question. The first five, or even ten years of your life as a Vampire were blurry, genuinely. The Vampire that made you wasn’t very concerned about your wellbeing, and essentially turned you and set you loose onto the world with very little guidance. It took a shit ton of conscious effort on your part to hone your hunting habits, to learn from your mistakes and find as much of a peaceful existence as you could. 

“Dozens…if I had to guess.” 

He turned and looked at you, “if you had to guess?” 

“I don’t exactly write these things down. Have you ever counted how much livestock you’ve eaten?”

“That's entirely different and you know it.”

“Is it? I’m sorry we’re such imperfect creatures. I can’t go back and change any of it.” 

Josh held back a scoff, physically too exhausted to argue with you now. He sighed and let the subject drop. His eyes looked at your disheveled form once more, and realized you probably wanted to shower and change. Without a word he lifted himself off the sofa, retreating into the bedroom portion of his apartment to find you something to wear. He went through a few drawers to settle on a pair of red boxers and an old gray t-shirt, it was at least something. Walking over, he crossed in between the coffee table and the sofa, blocking your view of the crossbow and stakes. 

“Look, I don’t want to fight with you right now,” he said, holding the bundles of clothes out to you, as a small peace offering. 

You eyed the t-shirt and boxers, “I’m glad to know you’re not a tighty-whities guy.” Josh gave you a look, sarcasm was at least better than outright refusing his help. “Ok…lead me to the shower, Boy Scout.” 

For once, Josh was grateful to hear the nickname. He reached out and helped you off the sofa, as you were still a little wobbly on your feet. The door to the one bathroom he had was barely ten feet away, but he led you all the way there, opening the door and flicking on the light. The shower stall was tiny, even for him, but the water pressure was decent so he couldn’t complain too much. 

“What, no clawfoot tub?” You feigned offense, laughing a little before walking in. Before you shut the door, you gave him a serious look, “...thanks again.” He gave you a soft smile and nodded, turning away as you shut the door completely.

 When you heard his footsteps retreat away from the door, you turned around to really give the bathroom an inspection. You could tell so much about a person by their bathroom alone, and you had questions about the hunter who lived here. The first thing you checked was the shower. Pulling back the tiny curtain your eyes swept over the shower caddy that was hanging behind the showerhead. Oh thank fuck he had separate shampoo and conditioner, you thought. He even had a separate body wash, another green flag! The bar might be in hell, but at least this man kept himself actually clean. 

You twisted the shower knobs to get the ideal temperature, and as the water was heating up you turned and looked at the tiny pedestal sink on the opposite wall. It was pretty decluttered except for a toothbrush and a cup on the back of the sink. There was a free-standing basket organizer next to the sink, which seemed to be a dumping ground for a bunch of hair styling tools. Most notably was the full size hair dryer and clippers that were plugged into the wall charging. The mental image of Josh standing in front of the mirror trimming back the sides of his head flashed in your mind and you focused on it for longer than you should have. You recalled how fresh it looked when you met up in the park, and had to shake your head to focus again. Turning around you reached your hand out to test the water, thankful the temp was just right before stripping down and stepping in. 

Outside in the main living area of the apartment, Josh was zooming around the room cleaning up anything and everything. His first line of business was putting away the crossbow and stakes, throwing them in the back of his small, barely-there closet. He peeked outside one of the windows to gauge how high the sun was, and he was dismayed to find that it was still just as bright as it was before, with zero clouds in the sky. He triple checked the rest of the windows to make sure they were firmly shut and the blinds secure, so that no light would filter in accidentally. He didn’t have many lamps, but the few he did have he flicked them all on so that it didn’t look as dreary as it could. After he got done scrubbing the dishes in the sink he sat back on the sofa and took his phone out. He huffed when he saw a missed call from his brother Sam, and a bunch of texts from Jake. The voicemail Sam had left wasn’t urgent at all, just that he was pissed Josh had taken off with a bunch of the files he had put together without asking. Whatever, he’d get over it, Josh thought. But it was the texts from Jake that made him pause. 

Jake: I should be there in a few days, maybe less if I make good time. 

Shit shit shit shit shit, Josh panicked, it had completely slipped his mind that Jake was due for a visit. Well, he reasoned to himself, she won’t be here after today, so it shouldn’t be an issue. He just hoped that Jake didn’t decide to take any shortcuts while traveling. Jake wasn’t a flier, he rarely took planes unless absolutely necessary. He loved driving on the open road across the states. “You never know when you’d run into one of the Undead,” he’d always say. He didn’t mind side quests to pick off a few more Vampires as long as it didn’t interfere with his main plans. 

As he tossed his phone to the side, he heard the water shut off in the shower. The tips of his ears tinged pink when he realized just how fast he whipped his head in the direction of the bathroom door. He turned back to look down at his hands when the door opened, not wanting to be caught staring in your direction. But he couldn’t help himself, and slowly turned his head towards you as your footsteps made the old floor creak. 

He was frozen in his spot on the sofa, seeing you walk out in his boxers and t-shirt, hair still wet from the shower and pulled to the side, all of your makeup from the night before gone. He clenched his jaw to keep himself from saying, “wow” out loud. 

When you saw him look up from the sofa, you almost tripped over thin air. Those big brown eyes looked even wider, and was that a hint of red on his cheeks? His jaw was clenched tightly, but his adams apple was bobbing. Did he forget you could hear how fast his heart was beating? Did he realize you could hear it hammering in your head? Most of the time you tuned out human heartbeats. It was second nature to you. But his was too loud to ignore. Was he aware of how it stuttered when you made eye contact with him? Did he know that you could hear it thumping harder and harder as you walked closer to him? 

You stopped a couple feet away from him, shifting your weight from foot-to-foot as you looked down at him on the sofa. You felt like a silly little girl. This was just Josh.  The same man who had you up against a tree with a knife to your throat not even two nights ago. The same man who pledged his life to hunt your kind down.

Boy Scout. 

Instead, you felt your own cheeks heat up at the way he was staring at you. Why wasn’t he blinking? Why was his stare so intense? Why the fuck couldn’t you even speak? You were just standing there, still damp from the shower, wearing his old clothes. This wasn’t…this wasn’t a big deal. He was still sitting there, still in his attire from the Den, though his shoes were off and his shirt was unbuttoned a few buttons. 

But all you could lamely say was, “if you umm…if you need the shower its open…” 

You wanted to fall through the floor and never be seen again. 

At your words, he finally blinks at you and nods, “right.” 

You take turns taking airy breaths through your noses as he stands up and awkwardly side steps you on his way to the bathroom. You didn’t dare turn around as you heard him rummaging through his drawers for new clothes. It was too domestic. That's not what this was supposed to be. You were just crashing here while the sun was out. The minute it disappeared beneath the horizon you were out of there. 

At last, you heard the door to the bathroom shut. But you didn’t let your shoulders fully relax until you heard the shower start. Desperate to distract yourself, you took a glance around the apartment once more. The first thing you noticed was how the crossbow and stakes were nowhere to be found. You didn’t fight the way the corners of your mouth twitched at the observation. 

Once again you were alone, and you were taking advantage of it to be nosy. For someone who hadn’t been living there very long, Josh sure loved his knick knacks. His apartment looked so…lived in. You could tell he had tidied up while you were busy in the shower, which wasn’t helping your previous thought spiral. There was a classic ship-in-a-bottle sitting on the end table under the lamp, and you wondered where he got it from or what the significance was. The ship was specifically a pirate ship as well, which was an interesting observation to you. You’d have to ask him about-

What the fuck…

As you entered the bedroom portion of the apartment once again, you turned to the far wall that you hadn’t really paid attention to earlier. Before you was dozens of papers and photos tacked onto the wall, with an almost comical amount of red string zigzagging around from paper to paper. On the floor in front of the display were a few folders. He really wasn’t kidding, he genuinely had files on us, you thought. You got closer to the wall to inspect his handiwork. There were post-it notes slapped onto every photo, with what you realized was Josh’s chicken scratch filling up each yellow square. A lot of the photos were street views of the city, with at least 6 photos of dead humans in the corner. The bodies that had been found. You weren’t sure how to react when you recognized one of the street views. In fact it wasn’t even a street at all, but an alley. The alley that Josh had almost captured you in. A post-it was peeling off of the top corner labeled, “First Encounter.” 

You stood there, motionless while trying to decipher his evidence board. His thought process was all over the place, that much was obvious. As if he was trying every theory he could come up with and seeing what stuck. It was cute how he had papers with information about Vampires scattered amongst the “evidence”. Some of it was right…but a lot of it was blatantly wrong. Most of the papers seemed to be pages torn out of books, and you wondered what the hell kind of books he was getting these out of. There were a few “famous” books written by hunters for other hunters to give them tips on how to properly destroy the Undead. But the joke was on them, for Vampires had been spreading misinformation about their kind for centuries just to throw off hunters. The rumor that Vampires didn’t have a reflection was started by a Vampire Persuading a hunter into spreading that as fact, and even now in the present you’d still hear humans mentioning it as a “foolproof” way to spot a Vampire. 

Looking back down at the floor where the files were, you slowly sat down in front of them to start reading. Unsurprisingly, a file with your name on it was sitting on top. The first page to greet you after you opened it was a basic summary page of you. Standard stats like your name, hair color, eye color, height, age, presumed birth place, etc. The rest of the file consisted of multiple stories about you from over the centuries you lived. Places you had settled in, Nests you had been a part of, but most of it was…inaccurate at best. Or at least, whoever had gathered this information had the right idea, but most of the details were wrong. This didn’t bother you, because they didn’t need to know your real business anyway, but it was so funny to you how they tried their best and still came up short. 

One detail did catch your eye when you flipped back to the first page, at the bottom of the paper in the same scribble from the post-its were the words:

Favorite color: Purple. 

You were so engrossed in reading “about” yourself that you didn’t even hear the water shut off, or the bathroom door open. You didn’t hear the skipping heartbeat behind you, or the slow footsteps making their way over. But when you felt the floor creak next to you, and a gentle thump as your hunter sat down, that's when you looked up and turned your head towards him. His knee was so close to yours that you could feel the heat coming off of his damp skin, his leg hair gently brushing against your own knee. He was dressed similarly to you, boxers and a t-shirt. His curls were still damp and not as poofy. Once again he looked so…normal. There was worry written all over his features, as if he was bracing himself for your reaction. 

“You actually wrote that my favorite color was purple?” The way his shoulders visibly relaxed when he realized you weren’t upset at it was adorable. 

“Could be useful information, you never know.” 

“It would suck if I had just been fucking with you and it wasn’t actually purple.”

Joshs eyes went wide and he started to reach for the file, which you snatched away from him and held it above you, “is it not…?”

You laughed at him, “no Boy Scout, it is, but my age is wrong.” 

“It is?”

“Yep. I turn exactly 350 this year. Well, 325 if you don’t count my human years.”

His brows furrowed inquisitively, “You were 25 when you were turned?”

“A full quarter century of living in the sun, yes.” 

“Do you miss it?”

You hummed at him, “miss what?”

“The sun?”

“I miss when it wasn’t trying to burn me alive, but sunny days themselves? No. It took awhile to adjust to being completely nocturnal but it is what it is.” You shrugged and looked over the file again, “who put this together anyway? Did you?”

Josh shook his head, “no, my little brother Sam gets all the credit for these,” he waved his hand at the rest of the files. “He handles the bulk of our intelligence. The kid always has his nose in a book or on the internet researching things. It was his idea to start a file system. He was tired of flipping through journals and books and wanted a centralized system that he spent a week locked in the basement consolidating information not only in physical files but he digitized it as well.”

You held back a snicker, “well…no offense to Sam…but most of this is wrong. But I’m ok with that. The less your family knows about my history, the better.” 

He smiled and leaned closer to you, letting your shoulders touch, smiling, “he didn’t even know I took these…he left me a pissy voicemail earlier when he realized he had files missing.”

You laughed softly, “Whoops.” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed black markings on his right thigh, peeking out from under his boxers. “Is that a tattoo?”

Josh looked down at his leg and back up at you, before pulling up the leg of his boxers far enough to show you the mark in question. It was a triangle with a circle in the center, criss crossed with different lines. It wasn’t a small mark by any means, it took up a substantial amount of space on the top of his thigh. “Sort of…”

“What do you mean?”

Josh took a breath and answered, “it's a sigil…to prevent Vampires from using their Persuasion on me.”

Goddamnit, Les was right again. 

“How the fuck did you get a Witch to give you that?”

“My brother Jake has this Witch friend. She’s been a friend of the family for a couple years now and after a while she came to him with these to help us out.” Josh explained it so matter of fact, but your eyebrows raised nearly to your hairline at this information. 

Witches and Vampires weren’t exactly friends…but there was typically a mutual respect between supernatural creatures. Generally, Witches trusted humans about as much as Vampires did, and while friendships weren’t unheard of, a Witch going out of her way to help out a hunter? That was…that was a betrayal. You started to spiral at how wrong that was, until you looked up Josh, and remembered you’re wearing a hunters clothes, sitting in a hunters apartment, after using said hunters shower. It wasn’t the same…but it wasn’t that much different either. You did question what it was about Jake that made the Witch essentially betray her own kind to help him. 

Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and gently traced some of the lines of the sigil. The silence was deafening, and his eyes never left your hand. The muscles in his thigh felt firm, especially when they tensed under your touch. It looked like a regular tattoo, but there was a heat in the ink. You had seen sigils a few times over the years, mainly on Witches themselves, but you had never touched one. Not like this. You didn’t realize the marks felt…alive almost, as if they were living in the skin of their hosts. 

“Do you feel that all the time?”

Joshs skin felt like it was on fire, but for an entirely different reason. He wanted to answer your question, but words were escaping him. He could only focus on steadying his breathing while your fingers lightly traced his skin. 

You heard it again, his heart hammering in his chest, and it spurred you on to trail your fingers up to the top of the triangle. He was so easy to mess with. His skin was so soft? 

Goddamnit, focus.

You snatched your hand away from his thigh and turned your attention back to the files, sifting through the others. 

Josh was a mess of conflicting emotions, still watching you like a hawk while he barely moved. But finally he spoke, “to answer your question…yeah…I feel it all the time.” 

You wanted to look over, look at him again, but you didn’t allow yourself to do so. Silence filled the room once more. You needed to change the subject. 

“Dimitri is super picky about humans being turned, Monica probably didn’t want him to see how Ethan was acting last night.” 

Right, back to business, Josh thought. “He’s a walking liability. I don’t think she was telling the truth at all about how long it had been since their last “incident. But does Dimitri have any actual say over who gets turned and who doesn’t?”

“It's not like…an actual rule, but he is the oldest Vampire in this area. It's more of an unsaid agreement out of respect. He rarely turns people himself, but he’ll string along humans for years on the promise of it, before setting them loose with no memory of him at all,” you explained. 

“If that’s the case then it was pretty stupid of your friend to bring him around, especially to the Den of all places,” Josh countered.

You nodded in agreement, “definitely but I think Monica was trying to be…normal. I’ve known her for a long time and she’s always been pretty lonely.”

“Lonely enough to turn the first human to look at her twice?”

You turned to look at him, “it happens.” Josh opened his mouth to ask another question but you cut him off, “...no I have not considered doing the same.” 

Another beat of silence.

Josh reached over to grab the post-it notepad on the floor and a pen. He scribbled Monica and Ethans names and slapped the post-it on an empty spot on the wall.

“Do you think she’d be du-...naive enough to bring him back to the Den any time soon?”

“You want to go back?” You were surprised at the suggestion.

“It's not like I want to go back…but I do want to hear more about these “incidents” she mentioned, and they ran off before we could ask any real questions.” 

You chewed on your lip, “knowing her, she’d go back.”

“Tonight?”

“You want to go back tonight?”

Josh shrugged, “the faster we get more information, the faster we can figure this out,” his hand waved at the wall. Truthfully, he just wanted to get this out of the way before his brother showed up and threw a wrench into his plans. 

You blinked and considered it. “Fine, but as soon as the sun sets I’m out of here to go get ready at my place. Can’t show up wearing the same thing as last night, can I?”

Josh nodded in agreement, “deal.”

The yawn you had been fighting finally escaped you. You needed sleep, especially if you had a long night ahead of you. 

Josh jumped up and immediately went over to his bed, “if you umm…need to sleep, you can sleep here. I can take the couch.” 

You stood up and walked over and looked at the bed. Of course he’d have the standard navy blue plaid bedding. But it looked…comfortable. The mere existence of a real bed frame was a plus. “Ok…but you don’t have to sleep on that rickety couch. The bed is big enough to share.”

He donned the most skeptical look you’ve ever seen him make, “the couch is fine.”

“That couch is held together by duct tape and a wish. I know how fragile human backs are. I don’t need you hobbling around the Den because you slept funky.” 

“Fine.”

“Fine.” 

Without another word, you slipped into his bed. Josh wanted to point out that you were technically on his side, but he decided against it. It was just one night, or day? It would be fine. He climbed in on the other side, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore how close you were. You also were looking at the ceiling, refusing to look over at him. All you needed was a nap before you began your night. No big deal. 

“Good night.”

“Night,” you rolled over and clicked off the lamp, throwing that end of the apartment into darkness. Well, as dark as it could be in the middle of the day with the blinds shut. 

Sleep came for both of you pretty quickly, the exhaustion of the previous night and the walk to his apartment this morning taking its toll. 

~!~

You weren’t sure how long you slept, but the next time you opened your eyes the apartment was substantially darker than when you had fallen asleep. The second thing you noticed was an arm firmly wrapped around your waist. Josh. Shit. You started to reach down to peel his arm off of you when the arm in question suddenly tightened up and nearly yanked you backwards. What the hell? The next thing you heard was Josh mumbling in his sleep. You couldn’t understand what he was saying, but he sounded pissed. Carefully, you rolled over to face him. His eyes were screwed shut, brows deeply furrowed. His grip around your waist tightened further, and his legs started to kick. Was he having a nightmare? Oh no. The mumbling continued, and you still couldn’t understand what he was saying. 

“Get the fuck-,” was clear as day coming from his lips. 

Using your strength, You pushed him on his back and hovered over his face. He had your t-shirt balled up in his fist against your back. Softly, you reached up and gently touched his cheek, his jaw twitching under your touch. 

“Josh…Josh, wake up.” That didn’t work, and he continued to squirm underneath you. “Come on Josh, you gotta wake up. You’re having a nightmare…,” you tapped his face a little harder. “Boy Scout…wake up.” The sweat was beading up on his forehead, his breath coming out in harsh puffs. You hated seeing him like this. Reaching for his shoulders this time, you began to lightly shake him, gradually increasing the force as you did so. 

After what seemed like an eternity, his eyes shot open. Immediately, he seemed confused, as if he wasn’t sure where he was. He looked up at you, and the hand that was gripping your t-shirt flexed against your back. 

“Hey…it's ok…it's me,” you shushed him quietly. 

He sprang away from you, sitting up against his head board, still trying to get his bearings. You used this as an opportunity to flick on the light, returning to face him. 

His eyes still seemed a little lost, as if he was still trying to wake himself up and plant himself in reality. “What…what time is it?”

You looked over your shoulder at the clock on the nightstand, 7:38 PM flashed in red letters. “About twenty-to-eight. Nighttime.” 

He nodded slowly while running his hands over his face. “You should umm…you should probably head home then. To get ready.” 

“Are you ok? Do you want to talk-”

“I’m fine. It was just a nightmare.” His voice was stiff and cold. He didn’t want to talk about it, or acknowledge his bad dream at all. They were common for him, nothing to worry about. 

“You don’t seem fine,” your voice was laced with concern.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. He hadn’t used that tone with you since the other night in the park. 

Nodding, you got out of bed and began to gather your things. You peeked outside one of the windows. It wasn’t super dark yet, but it was dark enough that you could make it home without any problems. 

Josh hadn’t moved from his spot in his bed, but he was watching you move around his apartment gathering your things. You were leaving, but he would see you later tonight. He just…he needed to be alone right now. Your dress was draped over your arm, your heels in your hand and you were almost to the door before he sprung out of his bed. He wasn’t a complete douche, he’d get the door for you. As he reached for the doorknob he looked down and saw you didn’t have any real shoes to walk home in. 

“You can’t just-” he grumbled to himself before turning around and marching back to his bedroom and scooping up a well-worn pair of Birkenstocks and a zip-up hoodie. He almost let you leave without shoes. He felt even worse now. 

“Here, I think your feet have been messed up enough for one day,” he said as he met you back at the door and gently set the Birks in front of you to step in. It was the least he could do, but the thoughtful gesture struck you anyway. You eyed him for a second before slipping your feet into them and surprisingly, the size wasn’t too far off from your own. When your feet were secured he handed the jacket to you. You started to protest but he cut you off, “I don’t care if Vampires can’t get cold, you’re taking it.” 

You smiled softly at your hunter. You were just as worried about him. Did he have nightmares that bad all the time? How often? What were they about? You hated that he wouldn’t let you truly help, but you understood it. It's not easy to open up about something as personal as dreams. Your hand gently brushed his as he handed the jacket to you, and you slipped it on silently as you continued to look at him.

“Thanks Josh…,” the sheepishness in your voice was foreign to you, but you didn’t mind it. 

  “I’ll uhh…I’ll see you tonight. Same time?”

“Same tree?”

Josh nodded, “same tree.” 

“See you soon, Boy Scout.” 

With that you turned and started going down the winding stairs, a little sad when you heard the door shut behind you. But that was ok, you had a few hours before you’d see him again. As you landed on the third floor, you caught the eye of one of Josh’s neighbors in the hallway. The old man looked you up and down, noticing your attire, before glancing up at the stairs behind you. He turned to open his own door, muttering, “good for him…,” before disappearing into his apartment. 

Oh god, you rolled your eyes and beelined out of the building, needing to get home to get ready for your next exciting evening at Dimitri’s Blood Den.

~!~

This time when the two of you descended the stairs into the Den, you were ready. The game plan was more solid this time, as Josh knew what to expect. Instead of going towards the booths, you opted for one of the antique couches in the middle of the room, where you could have an even better vantage point. 

You sat next to your hunter, about to get up and go to the bar for a drink when he turned to you and said, “A-Negative Manhattan, right?” 

His assertiveness caught you off guard, but you liked seeing him more settled into your world. You nearly beamed at him and said, “of course, thank you.” He nodded before getting up and going up to the bar to order your drink. 

When you had met up in the park earlier, he hadn’t spoken that much. He seemed fine, but you could tell something was bothering him. You decided against asking him if he wanted to talk about the nightmare, or how he had tangled himself up with you in the process, in favor of keeping it light and “work” related. 

Josh was still at the bar waiting for your drink when you spotted Monica and Ethan come down the stairs. Relief flooded through you that they had showed up so quickly, and you made a big show of waving them over to sit on the couch opposite of yours. It was when they sat down that you noticed they had a human girl with them tonight.

“Who is this?” you feigned interest in their new companion. 

“Oh this is Rachael! We found her earlier tonight,” Monica replied brightly. Rachael had a dreamy expression on her face. She had definitely been Persuaded to be there. Tale as old as time. Ethan was seated between Rachael and Monica, and it made you nervous. 

You were snapped out of your reverie when a familiar cocktail was held in front of you. You took it eagerly and looked up at Josh while he sat down beside you. For the briefest of moments, the gesture felt so…normal. You were afraid of even thinking of the word domestic, but it was right there, begging to be dreamed about. 

“Oh my god you did end up keeping this one!” Monica squawked from her couch. 

“What can I say? He was too pretty to let go,” you mused, playing your part. At least you thought you were just playing long. You reached up and gave a playful pinch to his chin, which earned you a look from Josh, but you could see him fighting a smile. 

At the sight of Josh, Ethan snapped his attention from Rachael and zeroed in on the hunter. What was it about Josh that Ethan was so fascinated by? A thought occurred to you, that typically new vampires' sense of smell was especially heightened as they got used to their existence. Being able to suddenly smell blood was an indescribable experience. It was too complex to be merely described as a new type of food. The first feed one has after they’re turned is a complete out of body experience. Human psychedelics don’t even come close to how your brain warps and rewires itself in real time. In that regard, you almost pitied Ethan in his clear lack of control. It's often said that not every human is meant to be turned. It isn’t cut out for everyone. The same could be said for other supernatural creatures who have the ability to turn humans into their own kind. Someone could be a complete disaster of a Vampire, but an incredible Werewolf. But no one ever knows for sure until it happens. Until their precious human lives are completely dismantled and changed. Until their very DNA is unrecognizable. 

You wondered if Ethan was literally smelling Josh, and that's why he was acting the way he was. It was a thought you had refused to allow yourself to have. Any thought of tasting him died when you learned he was a hunter. Even when Dimitri had his teeth in him, you were more worried about his well being than what kind of snack he’d be. But what was it Dimitri said? That his blood tasted…spicy? Was he being literal? Was he just fucking with him? 

“I want him.” Ethan blurted out. 

Monica leaned over and shushed him, “no Ethan, he’s her Human Companion tonight…you have Rachael.” 

“She can share,” he gritted out. You felt Josh stiffen next to you. No. You weren’t allowing this to happen again. You took a long sip of your Manhattan, giving Monica a warning look. One hand gripped your glass, the other reached across Josh’s lap and planted itself on his right thigh. You could feel the subtle heat of the sigil through the fabric of his pants. 

Ethan grew restless in his seat, completely abandoning Rachael and turning his full attention to Josh. Monica threw you a pleading look, as if she was hoping you’d relent and let him have a taste, but you refused. Dimitri might have not given a shit about pleasantries, but he was older than you, and had more authority, and honestly intimidated the hell out of you. Monica? Not so much. She was younger than you by nearly 200 years. She was a toddler in comparison. 

Setting your drink down on the coffee table between the couches, you kept your glare steady on Ethan. Your hand moved from Josh’s thigh to his wrist, you gently rubbed your thumb over the veins and tendons. A visual reminder that if anyone was feeding from him, it was going to be you. 

Monica looked visibly panicked, “if you just let him have a taste he’ll be fine I promise…” 

“No. He’s mine.”

Josh turned to you, trying to silently give you a signal. He didn’t want to whisper to you and risk Monica, or worse, Ethan overhearing what he was saying. In the last two days, he had come to realize he had known far less about Vampires than he previously thought, but he could see a struggle for dominance when he saw one. He didn’t want a repeat of last night just as much as you did, and at this point, there was only one way to make sure that didn’t happen. 

Making eye contact with you, he slowly turned his neck to the side, offering it to you. If he was going to get fed on, by you especially, he wanted the real deal. He didn’t want his wrist used as a straw. If you were going to feed on him, you were going to feed on him. 

You saw what he was offering, and your eyes locked with his, making sure you understood him correctly. With the slightest nod, you got your answer. You threw a side eye to Monica and Ethan, it was your time to shine. At this, you took a deep breath and allowed yourself to truly inhale Josh’s scent. God, you thought. You had caught a faint whiff of him in the alley, when he was distracting you with that kiss, but this was so different. There was something bright about his scent, citrusy, clean, a hint of vanilla? It was delicious, and it was about to be yours. 

With a steady hand, you tilted his jaw to the side a little more, giving yourself better access. Nearly raising yourself to your knees on the couch, you leaned in close to his neck. Your breath fanned over his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. The one good thing about Dimitri feeding on him the night before was that he had more of a clue as to what he was in for. He thought he did, at least. He cast his eyes down towards you, your fangs descended from your upper jaw, and he realized just how well they suited you. Like they were made to be part of you, as if you were born for this. 

You gave him one last look of reassurance, before lowering your teeth to his skin. You huffed out a final breath against his neck, before your fangs finally began piercing his skin. It was quick, and the familiar burn started at the puncture wounds. But that wasn’t the best part. No…when your lips sealed themselves against his skin around the punctures, and you took that first true pull of his blood? His eyes instantly rolled back. Whatever your technique, if you could call it a technique, you used was so drastically different than Dimitri. This time, being fed on didn’t feel “weird”, it felt…good. This time, the way his blood went backwards against its natural current, it was invigorating. He felt his veins come alive. With each subsequent pull from you, he felt like he was floating higher and higher. Your hand shifted from his jaw to the other side of his neck, pulling him even closer. 

As for you, the second his blood hit your tongue you were moaning against his neck. You were right, the citrus notes, the undercurrent of vanilla, but the aftertaste was strong, and oh so Josh. You needed more of him. It felt like a privilege to feed on him, you would forever rue the day that Demitri got to be the first Vampire to taste him. He didn’t deserve that honor. But something in the back of your mind wanted to make sure you were the last Vampire to ever feed on him. There was no one else in the room in your mind other than Josh. You were so focused on his taste that you almost didn’t notice his arm snaking around your waist, pulling you to straddle his lap. Immediately you complied and settled yourself onto his thighs, your arms wrapping themselves around his neck. The growing bulge underneath you almost made you pause your feeding. It made you smile against his skin when you realized he was enjoying himself. Instinctively you grinded down against him, delighting in the moan that rattled his throat against your teeth. His hands moved to your hips and pulled them down even harder against him, gripping your hips so hard that would’ve left bruises on a human woman. But you weren’t fragile like that, you could take it, whatever he had to offer, you would take it no questions asked. 

You had been latched onto him for a while at this point, and you still had enough wits about you to listen to his heart rate. It was beginning to slow down, which was your cue that his body had enough. For now. With the slightest reluctance, you withdrew your fangs from his neck. You couldn’t resist going back, licking the excess blood around the puncture wounds, cleaning up your mess. With a flurry, you pricked your finger with your teeth to draw enough blood to heal the wounds. When they started to close up, you raised your head to look him in the eyes. Those big brown eyes, nearly black now with blown out pupils. He looked completely blissed out, and it was all because of you. 

You felt his blood dripping from the corners of your mouth, and you could feel it smeared all over your chin. Before you could push any excess back into your mouth, Josh’s hands reached up and pulled your face to crash against his. Oh god, you thought once again. The feeling of his lips against yours made you grind down on him again, and he moaned into your mouth, which gave you access to slide your tongue against his. You still had blood in your mouth, and even if he was human and not getting the full scope of how good it was, he was getting a taste of not only you, but himself. One of his hands was tangled in your hair, the other slid down to grip your ass underneath your skirt. You were vaguely aware you were causing a scene, even if enthusiastic feedings were considered the norm, the private rooms existed for a reason, and you were quickly approaching the territory of needing one. 

With the both of you wrapped up in each other, you weren’t aware of how the music changed, how the live pianist took their post at the piano bench, playing a familiar melody. You didn’t see Dimitri and Yvonne enter the room. You didn’t see how Dimitri was watching you both, an unreadable smile on his face. You especially didn’t see Yvonne’s hard stare, wheels turning in her head.

You pulled off to let Josh breathe, and you opened your eyes to stare down at him. His blood was all over his face, all in his goatee, his mustache, even dipped in his cheek scar. He looked so fucking beautiful that way, with his hooded, blissed out eyes. You wanted, no you needed all of him.

“Do you want to get out of here?” 

“My place is closer,” he breathed out. Of course, and this time you didn’t have to fight the sun to get there. The night was still young. 

You smiled and slid off of him reluctantly, reaching out to help him off the couch. As he rose to his full height, he intertwined his fingers with yours.

 Leaning in to whisper in his ear, “lead the way, Boy Scout…”

He smirked at you before leading you through the various groups of people, through an empty private room, and up the stairs to the street. This time only moonlight greeted you at the second landing, the chilly night air washing over the both of you as you went back to that cozy attic apartment you hadn’t wanted to leave hours prior. 

Maybe it was the blood talking, but you didn’t want this high to ever end. 

To be continued…

Tag List: @lightmylove-gvf , @dannyandthekiszkas , @gretasmokerising , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @gvfcinema , @sacredthethreadgvf , @losfacedevil , @jakekiszkasbuttsweat , @shutupdevvie , @hearts-hunger , @gretavanfleetposts , @ascendingtostardust , @mackalah , @andromeda-raine-gvf , @jake-kiszkas-smirk , @gracev0609 , @sacredjake ,

[k-nayee]

Damn, Forreal? JJK

wc: 3.6k

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The day was perfect.

Sun shined bright, casting a beautiful glow over the buildings as a carnival took place in the rural town.

And as event was in full swing, streets filled with laughter and joyous sounds of celebration down below; a high-stakes game of cat and mouse played out on the rooftops above.

The trio first-years of Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College (more commonly known as Tokyo Jujutsu High) moved with precision as they attempted to retrieve a finger of Sukuna that's been recently located.

What made the task easy also made it difficult, especially when the finger's presence led to the unwanted attention of nearby curses due to its dark power.

It's a battle of fierce clash, each side fighting with such ferocity it made the very air around crackle with energy.

"Itadori!"

The vessel for the King of Curses was already a step ahead, focus zeroed in on a particular curse holding their given target tightly in its grasp.

With a burst of speed, he closes the distance and lands a solid punch just as it was about to swallow the finger.

The direct hit sends the creature stumbling. Its grip loosening enough to allow Itadori to leap up and grab ahold of the ancient relic.

"I got it!!!" he yells triumphantly, holding up the cursed object with a grin.

But victory was short-lived.

Recovering quicker than anticipated, the curse charges and ram into the teen's chest.

The impact sends him reeling, doubling over with hacking coughs as the precious finger slipped from his grasp and went flying through the air. 

Nobara cackles at the sight before exercising the offending curse with practiced ease. "You had one job and blew it! Way to go."

Megumi, ever the stoic and aloof teammate, cast a worried glance in Itadori's direction. "Are you okay?!"

His call for concern is received with a thumbs-up and the pinkette's bright (albeit slightly embarrassed) smile.

"Y-yeah, I'm good!" light brown eyes light up upon spotting the dropped finger rolling away...

"Ah! There it is!"

...right off the edge of the building and into the bustling streets below.

He felt it before he saw it.

Looking up, Itadori's met the deadpanned gazes of Megumi and Nobara causing him to release a sheepish cough "Hee Hee...my bad."

|

|

Amid the vibrancy of the carnival stood a corn-dog stand.

The owner?

A sweet old man, whose face, even when marked by the creases and wrinkles of time, still held a spirited smile of youth.

His withered hands worked mechanically: dipping and frying, serving and greeting. A cycle he never tire of, always feeling as if his first day on the job.

Despite the dimming of his vision over the years, his other senses had heightened enough that the joyous sounds of families and the sweet smell of treats in the air painted a picture his eyes no longer could give...

"Thank you, Ojiisan!"

The chirping, cheerful voice brings a warm smile to his face as he turns toward the young customer.

"You're welcome! Happy to please~" Prepared by memory and touch, he carefully offers the freshly made corndog into the giddy anticipated hands of the little girl.

Her mother, watching the entire exchange, pays him with a warm grin of her own. "Thank you once again! Will you be here later? She just love your corndogs!"

"Glad you like them," he responds, tipping his faded hat at her flattering words in gratitude. "But yes, I'll still be here in the park. Tend to rotate every hour or two for better coverage! Gotta make sure everyone gets a taste of these beauts!"

Just as he gives the aging but sturdy cart a playful pat, a soft chime interrupts the moment.

Feeling his pockets for a moment, the old man pulls out a pocket watch before flashing the vintage item to them.  "Looks like it's time to do just that..."

As they prepared to part ways, the little girl suddenly stops when her attention is caught—not by the watch, but by something else within the cart.

"What's that?" she asks, pointing a corn-dog-greased finger towards the numerous pieces of papers that basically covered the entire cart.

"That?" he echo, following her line of inquiry.

His heart swell with emotions when his fingertips gently brush along crinkled edges that harbored a world of memories. 

"Ah, these are very special papers," he began, voice taking a softer, more nostalgic tone. "It is a gift from someone very dear to me—my granddaughter."

The mother paused, her interest in the conversation evident by the ensuing silence. She gives a smile and gentle nod, prompting him to continue.

"Quite the remarkable young lady; so strong and kind-hearted. Not around much these days though. Off making the world a better place in her own way..." he shares, pride twinkling within his murky eyes. "Before she left, she gave me those protective talismans. Said it would keep me safe from harm."

Fueled by imagination, the little girl leans closer, eyes wide with wonder. "Like...magic?" she whisper conspiratorially, captivated by the notion.

"Just like magic," he confirms with a chuckle. "Might not understand all that sorcerer stuff, but I do know it's her way of looking after me. And with these old eyes not being what they used to be, this little charm makes me feel safe...like she's still with me watching over my stand even when far away."

Satisfied with the tale and now fully focused on the treat in her hand, the child takes a hearty bite of her corndog causing the two adults around to laugh.

With one final nod of farewell, the woman ushers her daughter back into the carnival's lively embrace, leaving the old man alone with his thoughts.

As he watched their blurry figures merge into the crowd, a bittersweet feeling washed over him. They reminded him of his own family—his late daughter and the granddaughter he cherished.

Shaking off the memories, he began packing up his cart, preparing for the move. Methodically securing the lids on the condiment jars, he—

thump

The old man pauses. The sound was soft, easily missed to the average person amidst the carnival's bustling setting.

But to his trained ear, it was clear as day.

Hands hovering over a jar of mustard, his head slightly tilts, listening for any follow-up noises that might explain the oddity.

Hearing nothing more, he lets curiosity win and investigate. He steps slowly around the cart, his aging eyes scanning the countertops.

In the dimming light it was hard to make out its details, but he managed to see a cylinder-like object lying on the edge of the cart.

"Hmm, what's this now?" he muttered under his breath, leaning over cautiously to get a closer look.

Though his eyes was not as sharp as they used to be, it...almost looked like a....hotdog?

Then again, it wasn’t uncommon for things to get a bit jumbled during the busy hours—'must've accidentally left it out.'

"Welp. Can't waste good food," he lightly hums, body moving instinctively to retrieved to still salvageable food; the waste not, want not mentality flaring in his mind.

With a gentle hand, he picks up the object. It felt slightly heavier than a typical hotdog, its texture more leathery than smooth.

He brushes the differences off; attributing it to being overexposed to heat. 

Skewering it onto a wooden stick without much thought, he places the hotdog back into the heater next to the others immediately disappearing from sight—and, unbeknownst to him, from the world of Jujutsu sorcerers.

As the door of the hotbox clanged shut, the talismans around it unknowingly casted a veil over the finger, shielding it from magical detection. 

Humming a tune from his youth, the old man pushed his cart to the next location with a smile; blissfully unaware of the chaos his simple action had caused.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

"Look at this place!" Adora exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Where should we go next?!"

You followed her gaze, taking in the vibrant lights, the colorful booths, and the enticing aromas wafting through the air.

Hours of getting on kiddie rides and walking around and you still haven't gotten enough of it all.

"Bubba! What do you think of the carnival?" you glance down at your brother, whom you affectionately call Bubba (and he mimics back to you), as he's strapped to your chest in a baby carrier.

The toddler looks around with wide, curious eyes, soaking in the lively scene.

"Carni fun!" He babbles, clapping his hands before reaching out to grab at the colorful lights and towering rides.

Adora face flushes as she coos at his reaction. "He's loving this! You made a great choice bringing him along."

As you weave through the crowd, Bubba cutely announces "Hung'y! Wanna eat!" His small fist tugging at your shirt with growing impatience.

Laughing at his sudden proclamation, you looked at Adora with a shrug. "Time for a food break, I guess?"

Adora nods, eyes scanning the rows of food stands.

"There’s a corndog stand just over there. Looks like they’ve got the good, old-fashioned kind," she says, pointing towards the stand with a grin.

You all make your way to the corndog stand, where the scent of fried batter and sweet mustard fills the air.

The old man behind the counter, still humming to himself, turns with a welcoming smile as you approach. "Hello there! What can I serve you today?"

"We'll have two corndogs," Adora says as she hand over some cash, Bubba excitedly echoing her with a cheerful "Two!"

With a nod the old man, movements slow but precise, prepares your order. He opens the hotbox, pulling out three prepared hotdogs on a skewer.

As he dips them into the cornmeal batter, you can't help but notice a subtle tension in the air—almost as if a wave of electricity washed over the carnival. 

You break out of your trance with a nudge from Adora, her smug faced expression coming to view. "Betcha you glad I got your ass up and came out today. Great break from everything...its giving best friend of the year."

Your eyes roll at her antics, instead focusing on Bubba's gibberish with a smile. "I guess you did do your one this time. But seriously though, thanks for dragging us out."

"Anytime! What are besties for?"

Corndogs fried to a golden crisp, the old man hands them over with a bright grin. "Here you youngin's go. Enjoy the carnival~"

You break a piece of bread from the corndog off, giving the toddler something small to digest while keeping the hotdog portion for yourself.

Seizing the moment for a bit of fun, Adora holds up her corndog with a mischievous smile.

"Let's see who can eat theirs the fastest! Loser has to ride the Nightmare Drop," she challenges, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

Bubba gleefully eats what's in his hand, slobbering and chewing messily at the bread.

You agree with a laugh, raising your own corndog. "You’re on."

With that, the both of you quickly bring the corndogs to your mouths and start eating as fast as possible. You’re halfway through, about to take another giant bite, when suddenly, a darkness paints the sky.

The crowd murmurs in confusion as people glance upwards, bewildered at how it could be dark in the middle of the day.

Just as you turn to Adora with questions in your eyes, the ground beneath you shakes violently.

An explosion rocks the carnival, sending shockwaves through the crowd. People start running, scattering in every direction as the festive atmosphere turns to one of fear and panic.

You instinctively clutch Bubba closer to your chest as Adora grips your arm. "What's going on?!" she yells over the cacophony of terrified screams.

"Stay close!" you shout back, pulling her towards what you hope will be a safer spot, away from the frenzied crowd.

People scream as terrifying creatures began to materialize from thin air, their hideous forms sending waves of panic through the carnival.

You and Adora are frozen in fear, wide eyes taking in the otherworldly sight as chaos swirled around.

It wasn't until Bubba’s frightened cries did you snapped out it and you started moving, dragging Adora with you once again.

A towering monster comes into view. Its grotesque form swatting away nearby people like flies when it suddenly began to lumber closer.

Realizing it was targeting your group, you quickly unstrap Bubba from your chest harness and usher the 2 year old to hide behind some nearby rubble.

"Stay right there, Bubba. Don't come out until I tell you!" you whisper, a pang of guilt piercing your chest as you leave him trembling but safe.

It’s just you and Adora now, with the cursed creature looming before you.

Despite being shaky and on the verge of tears, you couldn't help but mutter a small joke. "Damn… I didn't even get a chance to finish my corndog."

Adora turns her gaze to you, frustration and fear written on her face. "Are you shitting me-no you know what? Gone head do it now...might as well have your last fucking supper!"

Voices cut through the panic.

"Where is it, Itadori?!" "It's close… right here!" 

Megumi and Itadori appear on the scene, their faces tense as they survey the battlefield. Their eyes land on the curse's raised hand before flickering to you standing there with the half-eaten corndog in hand.

You lift the half-eaten corndog to the sky with a sigh as if giving a grim toast. Biting down, you accept your fate with a swallow.

Megumi’s eyes widen in horror just as the curse's hand swings down to crush you and Adora.

"WAIT NO!" he screams, "STO—"

An explosion of cursed energy fills the air, blowing the creature's arm off in a burst of smoke and twisted energy.

The curse bellows out in pain, retreating a few steps as it clutches the bleeding stump. Dust swirls around the scene, cloaking everyone in a gray haze.

As the smoke clears, Megumi and Itadori’s faces twist into expressions of shock and confusion.

There you stand, unscathed, as black markings crawl along your brown face. An unsettling gleam fills your eyes, their once striking silver shifting into a deadly blood red.

Your lips curl as a sultry and sadistic laugh erupts from your mouth, echoing through the suddenly still air. 

"AHAHAHA! Finally!" you exclaim, looking down at your hands with glee. "Not the form I'd originally want, but I'll take this over being imprisoned in that brat’s body any day."

Megumi stares, frozen in shock and disbelief. "Oh…"

Itadori watches in stunned silence as the mouth on his cheek, belonging to Sukuna, widens into a big malicious grin. "Shit."

Sukuna's mouth twists into a sinister smirk, the cruel joy unmistakable. "Looks like there was someone else who could survive my power after all."

"Now, all I need to do is kill and absorb that brat's body," you say, pointing at a shocked Itadori, "find the rest of my fingers, regain my full power, and take over this pathetic planet just as I was supposed to thousands of years ago!"

Adora stands frozen, disbelief etched across her face before anger breaks her out of it. "____ are you high? W-what the FUCK are you going on about?!"

Your red eyes snap to her, causing the girl to cower at the weight of your gaze.

Your lips spread into a wicked grin, sharp canines poking out. You raise your hand menacingly. "Perfect. I needed some blood to be spilled anyways… starting to feel like I’m getting too soft."

Just as you're about to swipe at her, Itadori leaps forward and kicks you away. He lands in front of Adora, fists clenched and jaw set.

"Come on, Megumi! We have to stop him before he goes on a rampage." He glances at you, his fist raised in determination. "We got this."

|

|

"Ugh… w-we… don’t got this…" Itadori groans as he struggles to his feet, his breath labored and bruises already forming.

Right beside him laid a bloodied Megumi, barely able to lift his head.

You stride over to them, grabbing both by the collars and hauling them up like grocery bags. They groan at the movement, their faces twisted in pain.

You look at them with a pout, mockingly inspecting them like produce in a store.

"Not bad," you say before your playful demeanor drops with a sneer, "but not good enough." 

Then, with a vicious kick, you send them flying across the dirt. The two boys land painfully, rolling to a stop as they clutch their sides and gasp for breath.

It was then at that moment Gojo and Nobara finally appear.

"So... what's the damage?" Gojo asks, immediately whipping out his phone and pointing it at the battered faces of Megumi and Itadori. He snaps a few quick photos, his smile unwavering.

"Man, you guys are really messed up....the second years would love to see this! Hey Nobara, get in on this!"

"Ain't gotta tell me twice!" Nobara exclaims, squeezing between the injured duo and holding up bunny signs behind their heads with a bright grin much to Megumi’s annoyance.

His eyebrows twitch with irritation as he tries to scowl, but his battered body protests. Had he not been too injured to move, he would swear his foot would be so far up Gojo's a—

"So... did you find it?" Gojo asks casually, seemingly unconcerned about the state of his students.

Then, Megumi does something he's never done before in all the years Gojo has been his guardian: he sheepishly avoids the snow-white haired male's gaze, his lips pursed in a silent refusal to speak.

Gojo was too stunned to speak.

It wasn't until the nervous um of Itadori did the teacher break out of his shock and finally face the pinkette.

"Yes, Itadori? Do you know where the finger is?"

The first-year nervously and points a finger at you. "She… she… ate it."

"...."

"...."

"...."

"For real?" Both Gojo and Nobara ask simultaneously, their faces deadpanned.

"For real," Itadori and Megumi answer in unison.

Nobara shudders at the thought. "Ew! What the HELL is up with you guys?! First this booger-eater and now her?! What? Does the mf taste like teriyaki jerky or something?!" She sticks her tongue out and gags.

"H-Hey! If you must know, I stopped in middle school!" Itadori snaps back defensively.

"Okay!" Gojo clasps his hands with a strained smile. "First off: eww Itadori. Now! Can we please get back to the problem at hand? Was she able to gain back control from Sukuna?"

Receiving a unified shake of heads, the Limitless user release a sigh.

"...guess he really found the perfect vessel. No strings or restrictions whatsoever," Gojo muses before stretching with a grin. "Welp! I guess it’s time to get a little serious."

Adjusting his blindfold, Gojo steps forward, grin growing wider in excitement. "Not really fond of killing such a pretty lady, but duty calls~"

"Wait, wait, wait... WHAT?! You're gonna kill my best friend? The hell you will!" Adora calls out, her voice cracking, but she still steps forward defiantly.

Gojo tilts his head in confusion. "I'm afraid your best friend is dead. If you haven't noticed, she's no longer in control of her body. So we have to kill her, unless you want Sukuna to kill you."

"Enough of this!" you bellow as the powerful aura around you radiates in a mixture of red and blue. Gojo raises an eyebrow curiously—Sukuna's aura should have been entirely red. "Time to rid myself of you like I should have the first time."

Just as the two of you charge forward, ready to collide, a piercing wail cuts through the air. "BUBBA! BUBBAAAAA!"

Your gaze snaps toward the cry, dodging Gojo's attack you freeze mid-step.

"Bubba? [Brother name]?" The tattoos on your face slowly begin to fade, confusion etching across your features.

A snarl emerges from Itadori's cheek, Sukuna's voice seething with disbelief. "What? NO! IMPOSSIBLE. Not only the brat, but you too?!"

You start looking around frantically, searching for the source of the cry. "[Brother's name]!"

"BUBBAAAA!" The cry rings out again, and your head snaps toward the direction only to see the same curse from earlier, this time holding your little brother as it prepares to swallow him.

Horror washes over your face, and you release a gut-wrenching scream, "[BROTHER NAME]!"

A powerful burst of blue aura explodes around you as you sprint across the ground, leaping up in time to pull your little brother into your arms just as he drops into the curse's mouth.

Your momentum carries both of you down into the gaping jaws, and the curse swallows you whole.

For a moment, silence falls over the scene, everyone trying to process what just happened:

The curse happily rubs its bloated belly, gleefully muttering a "yummy yummy" in satisfaction.

Adora lets out a scream of disbelief, slowly sinking down to the ground in shock.

Itadori, Nobara, and Megumi could only stare, their eyes wide while Gojo scratches the side of his head with a bemused expression. "Well shit...that just happened."

Moments after his words hang in the air, the curse stops moving. Its eyes widen in sudden panic as its body begins to swell uncontrollably.

Right before it bursts, it utters a confused, "Uh wh—"(uh oh).

The curse's body explodes, energy rippling through the area with strong winds. When the dust finally settles, steam rises up from the newly made crater in the ground.

And in the place where the exorcised curse once was stood you, with Bubba securely attached to your chest in his baby strap.

A swirling aura of red and blue surrounds you, one eye glowing crimson while the other shines [eye color].

You look down to see Bubba already gazing up at you, his chubby hands grabbing your face as he coos softly, "Bubba, Bubba."

"Once again... that just fucking happened."

[gogogodzilla]

𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟼, 𝟸𝟶𝟹𝟷, 𝙰𝙼 𝟶𝟷:𝟹𝟼:𝟸𝟾

Summary: What appears to be a series of robberies escalates and brings you closer than you'd like to both Cyberlife and Gavin masterlist ✩ ao3 ✩ wattpad ✩ previous chapter ✩ next chapter ✩

Your days start and end with Gavin Reed. Well, your work days at least. You’re free of him most weeknights unless he gets called in, which is exactly what’s happening tonight.

“Damn, sweetheart. How much does Cyberlife pay you?” Gavin asks as he looks up at your apartment building through his front windshield. 

“Enough,” you grunt as you hop into his car.

He rolls his eyes, “So, you’re filthy rich. Good to know.” 

The radio plays in a low hum as Gavin navigates through the Detroit city streets. He taps impatiently on the wheel. 

“So, what do we know?” Gavin grumbles, his eyes darting between the road and you. 

You pull out a datapad that you received a few days into your partnership with Gavin, thanks to the DPD. You scan over the case file one, forcing your tired eyes to focus. 

“It’s strange. For the past few weeks, the perp has just been targeting convenience stores. It’s quite a jump to target a Cyberlife warehouse,” you sigh as your brows furrow. 

Gavin rubs the side of his face, “They’re escalating, that’s for damn sure.” 

“Do you think it’s more than one person?” 

He thinks for a moment, “Has to be. There’s no way just one person can pull this off.” 

“Maybe it’s an initiation of some sort? The convenience stores were just a test and this is the real thing.” 

“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?” Gavin raises a brow as he looks at you out of the corner of his eye. 

You hum, “Maybe, but we have to consider all of our options. We’re no closer to catching whoever did this than we were two weeks ago.” 

“Wow, Doc, I had no idea that we were making absolutely no progress in this case, thank you for this enlightening information,” he quipped, rolling his eyes. 

You resist the urge to smack him upside the head and choose to look out the window instead. Minutes pass by in tense silence and before you know it, Gavin is pulling up to the warehouse. The scene is lit up by the flashing lights of various other police cars, and Gavin parks in an unoccupied spot. You wordlessly exit the car, and the scene buzzes with activity. Various officers are scouring the scene for evidence or talking to the guards on duty tonight. 

“Let’s start inside, we can work our way out from there,” Gavin suggests as he leads you inside the warehouse. 

You scan the inside of the warehouse— various crates are opened with their lids thrown to the side with a trail leading to the exit on the far side of the warehouse. 

Gavin leads you to another officer, a young woman with short brown hair. “Chen, what the fuck happened here?” 

Officer Chen sighs, “The bastards were in and out like damn ghosts. The security footage is all scrambled. we’re trying to work through it, but it’s gonna take time.” She holds out her hand to you, “Tina Chen, I don’t believe we’ve met.” 

You take her hand and introduce yourself, giving her a grim smile. “What did they take?” you ask as you survey the scene once again. 

She looks at the datapad she had in her spare hand, “Mostly just parts. They were in and out in less than 10 minutes, so they must’ve known what they wanted and where to look.” 

“Thanks, Tina. We’re gonna take a look around,” Gavin sighs and Tina nods her goodbye. 

As you walk away you pull Gavin to the side.  “This doesn’t look good for me, Reed. We’re in charge of finding these people, and now they’ve directly targeted Cyberlife,” you hiss as your heart begins to pound in your chest. 

Gavin’s eyebrows furrow and he raises his hands, “Whoa, calm down, sweetheart.” 

“Calm down? The perp went from robbing convenience stores to a high-stakes operation against Cyberlife, and you want me to calm down?” you question, the pitch of your voice rising with each passing second.

“If anyone’s going to be targeted by Cyberlife, it’ll be me. All you’re supposed to do is watch, remember?” he assures as he places a hand on your shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze, ensuring you’re looking at him. “Take a deep breath, and calm the fuck down, sweetheart.” 

You take a few deep breaths and run a shaky hand through your hair, forcing yourself to save your freak-out for later. “I’ll check with the representative from Cyberlife, and see exactly what was taken. If we know what they were looking for, maybe we can figure out the motive,” you utter, collecting your thoughts. 

Gavin nods, giving you a once-over. “Alright, I’ll talk with some other officers, and see if I can figure out the point of entry and exit.” 

“Come find me when you’re done,” you instruct and Gavin nods once again. He turns on his heel and joins a group of officers on the other side of the warehouse. 

You seek out the most professional-looking person at the crime scene, who happens to be a woman wearing a pantsuit and a Cyberlife badge talking to a police officer. Her back is facing you, but she turns her head as you approach. Your steps falter as you’re face-to-face with the coworker who sent you to Charlie’s on your first day at Cyberlife. She dismisses the officer she’s talking to with a wave of her hand, and a smug look graces her features. 

“Well, well, look at who decided to finally show up. I was worried when I didn’t see you at the office for a few days, but then Graff told me about this little project of yours,” she sneers and places a hand on her hip.

You press your lips into a thin line, “Hello, Emily, great to see you as always.” 

“What do you want, anyways? Shouldn’t you be gallivanting around the crime scene with your boy toy instead of bothering me?” 

“Officer Reed is one of the leading officers on this case, and I happen to be his partner,” you grit out. You pause for a moment, taking a few breaths before continuing, “Regardless, I need to know specifically what parts the perps took.” You ignore the way your cheeks heat at her insinuation. She rolls her eyes but takes a look at her datapad. You’re slightly surprised she’s willing to indulge you, and you attempt to mask the way your eyebrows raise in response. 

“Looks like they were targeting specific components— high-end biocomponents and advanced processors. Not your run-of-the-mill parts, and definitely not cheap.” 

You can’t help the automatic tilt of your head as your thoughts begin to race. Android parts usually sell for a decent amount of money, so anyone lucky enough to sneak into the warehouse normally wouldn’t be picky. They could make a decent payday no matter what they chose. This perp was different, though. Maybe it isn’t about the money? 

“Hello?” Emily calls as she waves a hand in front of your face, bringing you abruptly back to reality.

You blink rapidly for a moment before looking over at her. “Thanks for your help,” you murmur before walking away. 

You can’t help the flare of annoyance at Emily’s attitude that comes over you as you walk away, but you shove it aside for another time. You have a case to solve, and you’ll have plenty of time to ruminate about it later.

Gavin’s waiting for you by the time you finish your chat with Emily, and he looks up at you as you return,  a questioning look at your obvious change in demeanor. 

“What’d you learn?” he questions warily. 

“They targeted specific and expensive parts. I’m starting to think that this was an inside job.” 

“What?”

“Think about it,” you huff, “the perps knew what parts were the most expensive, and they knew exactly which crates to find them in.” 

Gavin scans the surrounding area, and you’re right. Only a few select crates show evidence of tampering. 

He rubs his chin, “That’s what Brooks mentioned. Some of the stuff in here costs an arm and a leg, but they didn’t even touch it. Not to mention the security system.” He pauses for a moment, lost in thought. “It isn’t about the money, then. The perp is doing something else with the stolen parts.”

“Exactly.” 

You can’t help but feel a small surge of pride as Gavin easily follows your train of thought. Maybe he isn’t as lousy as a cop as you suspected. 

“Maybe this isn’t related to the convenience store robberies? I mean, this is Detroit. We’re not exactly short on crime here.” 

You frown, not fully convinced. “Maybe… I still think we need more evidence.” 

Gavin sighs, “We can regroup in the morning, but, for now, I think we got all we can.” 

You nod and he leads you back to his patrol car. Officers have slowly started to filter out of the warehouse, leaving the two of you and a few stragglers. 

You crank the heat as soon as you get comfortable in Gavin’s car. You hold your hands up to the vent for a few moments before relaxing back in your seat, exhaustion finally catching up to you. 

Gavin begins driving you back to your apartment and a comfortable silence falls over the two of you. You watch as the cityscape passes by, neon lights of various buildings brighten the night sky. 

Gavin clears his throat, “What happened between you and that Cyberlife chick? You didn’t seem completely thrilled to be talking to her.” 

You raise a brow, “Were you watching me, Officer Reed?” 

You grin as he sputters for a moment. 

“It’s my job to be observant; besides, the look you had on your face when you met back up with me wasn’t exactly friendly,” he defends himself, his gaze glued on the road. You sneak a glance at him in the light of the passing streetlights. You could’ve sworn you saw a tinge of red dusting his cheeks. 

You shrug, “She’s the one who tricked me into going to Charlie’s. We haven’t really gotten along since.” 

You decide to keep Emily’s comment about Gavin being your “boy toy” to yourself. At least for now, you can save yourself a little bit of embarrassment. 

Gavin hums in acknowledgment but says nothing. 

“What? No quip about me having to interact with the equivalent of a high school bully,” you joke, attempting to ease the tension that had settled over the car. 

He chuckles, “No, just can’t say what I want to say.” 

You raise a brow, your grin widening as you tease him. “Don’t worry, this is a safe space.” 

Gavin huffs out a laugh in response, and before you can urge him anymore he pulls up to your apartment building. 

“Do you want me to walk you up? It’s late and dark out,” Gavin questions, looking around the desolate parking lot. He avoids your gaze as you hop out of his car. 

Your apartment building has one of the most well-lit parking lots in Detroit, and you furrow your brows for a moment. 

“No, I think I can make it. Thanks, though,” you can’t help the smile that graces your features. 

You’re about to shut the door when Gavin calls your name. You hold onto the door frame and bend down to look at him. 

“Just, uh… fuck,” he grunts and runs a hand down his face. He looks down at the center console before meeting your eyes for the first time since you left the warehouse, “That chick sending you to that bar is the reason we met, so, I dunno… Maybe don’t be so pissed at her for that.” 

You tilt your head to the side, giving him a small smile. 

“Goodnight, Gavin,” you say softly before shutting the door behind you. 

Warmth floods your chest, and you’re nearly giddy as you ride the elevator up to your apartment. As you lay in bed, you replay that moment in your head. 

Maybe being partners won’t be so bad. 

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Hi!

108 new sentences for Long Death:

---

“You okay?” Buck asks. His eyes are flickering between Eddie and the house, obviously noticing the intense way he’s staring at it. Eddie gets it; it seems weird. He was inside the house earlier today. He shouldn’t be so thrown off. 

“Nervous,” Eddie admits. 

“Of the house?” Buck frowns. 

“Of Sophia,” Eddie clarifies very quietly. 

Buck’s expression darkens. “Well, don’t be. She’s put her ass on the line to look for you. She’s the only reason I won the custody fight for Chris.”

“Oh,” Eddie exhales. 

“Your sister loves you a lot.” Buck says. “Go put her out of her misery. She’s probably chewing her nails off in there.”

Eddie feels like a jerk. 

He nods. “Alright. Let’s go, then.”

The moment he steps through the front door behind Buck, Eddie is more or less tackled. His sister throws herself at him with such force, he’s nearly knocked off his feet. She squeezes him fiercely, in what is a fantastic impression of a boa constrictor.

At least she’s not afraid of him. 

“Hey, Soph,” he manages to choke out, returning her hug. 

Sophia hugs him for another five full seconds, silently, before pulling away. There is a steady flow of tears running down her cheeks. 

“Fuck you,” she hisses, then swats at his chest. He curls inward to defend against her.

“What the hell, Sophia?” He demands. 

Buck exhales heavily, wincing, and walks off towards the kitchen. Leaving Eddie to this oh so happy reunion. Traitor.

“Half a year, Eddie! No word from you! Nothing!” She scolds. She sounds a little bit like their mother. But if he says so, she’s pretty sure she’ll murder him. “It was worse than waiting for you to be blown up overseas! We didn’t even know if you were alive!” 

Fuck.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie mumbles, eyes downcast. 

“Do you have any idea what you put us through?” She demands. “You couldn’t have left a fucking note?”

“I’m sorry,” he says again. There’s nothing else to say. He can give her every reason in the book for what he did. Not one will erase her pain. 

Pain, if he’s honest, he didn’t think she’d feel quite so intensely. 

“If you ever pull shit like that again, I’ll hunt you down, and stake you like a Joss Whedon villain of the week,” she warns. 

Damn.

“Noted,” he mumbles. 

She huffs, steps forward, and hugs him again. 

Eddie feels completely whiplashed. 

“Buck says you’re the reason Chris is coming home,” Eddie says, while she’s still attached to him. “I can’t fucking thank you enough, Soph.”

She pulls away and sniffs. 

“Yeah, well… I just wanted to do right by my nephew.”

Okay. He can tell from the firm line of her mouth that she doesn’t want to talk about it yet. Whatever it was she’s had to do. Whatever consequences it’s had for her. It’s the same expression as when she competed in a spelling bee in the fifth grade and completely choked on the word diligent - said a instead of e - and bore this same expression for close to a week before anyone could dare mention the competition, the word diligent, or general literacy without risking her ire. She’s still the same little sister he remembers. He just has to get to know her again. 

“I like your hair,” he tries instead. “It suits you.”

Her lip twitches in a half smile. “Thank you. It’s new.”

Buck comes back a moment later with a glass of water and a peanut butter sandwich and hands them to Eddie. 

“Not a home cooked meal, but it’s something,” he mumbles, as Eddie practically begins devouring it.

“No. Thank you,” he says, mouth half-full. “I’m so hungry.”

“How have you been, uh, feeding yourself?” Sophia asks.

However he can. 

Eddie shrugs. He’s not ready to talk about everything, either. Sophia seems to understand the answer in his silence. 

“We can talk about everything later,” Buck says. “Eddie, I’m sure you’re exhausted. Why don’t you shower, and I’ll change the sheets on the bed and get your clothes out of storage?”

A shower sounds fucking fantastic. He has not had a lot of access to running hot water. And if he did, they weren’t often of the private, nice bathroom variety. Gyms, campsites; those kinds of things were more common. Eddie misses reliable plumbing. Not as much as, like, his kid or his people. But it’s pretty high up on the list. 

“Don’t worry about sheets,” Eddie says, finishing his sandwich and turning his attention to the water. “I can sleep on the couch.”

Buck’s expression shifts uncomfortably. “It’s your room, Eddie. Your bed.”

Yeah, and Buck gave up his entire fucking life to live here for his son and bring him home. 

“It’s fine, Buck. I’ll be fine on the couch.”

“Yeah, not up for debate, actually.” Buck says. There’s that authority again. 

[lavampira]

stay the course

summary: death isn't easily forgotten—sometimes, certain missions can bring reminders better left buried. malena shepard deals with the fallout of the geth dreadnought mission with kaidan to support her. pairing: malena shepard/kaidan alenko word count: 2k | rated: T | read on ao3 notes: set during mass effect 3. cw: ptsd.

Malena doesn’t scream when her hand misses the ledge. Her heart races like it’s in a damn marathon as she floats in zero grav, which in its defense, she has been trying to outrun the explosions behind her, and a hoarse gasp rips past her lips in sheer frustration that’s mirrored by someone swearing over the comm, but she does not scream. Not even with the imploding geth ship under her.

“Shepard!”

Tali, her brain supplies. She ignores her for the time being. She’s on autopilot now, maybe flipped that switch from the moment she had to walk her way through space not even five minutes into this mission, reliving an experience that she definitely would’ve preferred not to again. But she can think about that later.

Her mind does run through a mental list, though. Garrus. Tali. Legion, whom she hadn’t expected to see, but she can’t say that she’s unhappy about it even with that chunk of her old, charred N7 chest plate still fused over his circuits. The first two are safe. The latter snatches her hand out of the air, tugging her back to the walkway to lead her through a new escape plan.

Someone else—Joker, maybe—calls over the comm as they flee in a geth fighter, Legion at its helm. She thinks she answers this time, but she can’t be sure. Briefly, she thinks of Kaidan, still on the Normandy in a search for his students when they’d left, but she pushes aside those thoughts, too. Her teeth chatter and muscles shake with the excess of adrenaline the entire way.

As shitty as the mission has gone, she’s almost surprised that they make it back in one piece.

The relief when they finally pass through the airlock and her boots are firmly back on the Normandy floods her. It’s almost funny in a warped sort of way, considering she’d died on the last one. But Garrus lightly knocks her shoulder’s armor plate with a gentle fist on his way past her, that simple reflex of their old routine after all these years briefly settling her frayed nerves, further grounding her to the sanctuary of her ship.

Not that it lasts.

Malena stews through the Quarians’ debrief. She wants to kick the admiralty off the ship, wants to yell over the conference line that it was stupid to start a war with the galaxy at stake and even stupider to fire on a dreadnought with the woman bending over backwards to help them still on it, but she does none of those things. She bites her tongue hard enough for the metallic tang of blood to fill her mouth and plays at civility with her trembling hands folded behind her back until it’s done.

The fact is that more than her frustration that so few people are willing to consider the risks of division while the Reapers decimate whole worlds, and being the one in the unfortunate position of trying to hold them all together with scraps of hope to even stand a chance, she hates that this is the mission threatening to undo her.

All because of her own fear.

She can fight through fear—her entire career has been shaped around her capacity to do it and accomplish the impossible in spite of it. But in the aftermath when the adrenaline ebbs and the quiet sets in again, that’s the real pain in the ass. By the time that she manages to scrub the sweat from her body and soot residue from her armor, change into a plain tee that she’d confiscated from Kaidan some time ago and hangs slightly loose over her frame, and lower herself to her cabin’s lounge with her face in her hands, it’s begun to eat away at her composure.

Malena was born in space. Her childhood had been spent moving from ship to ship with parents in the Alliance, never spending much time on any singular planet besides infrequent visits. Her adult life had been dedicated to serving the Alliance herself, training at Arcturus and Grissom, going through the N7 program, and then bunking on other ships until she had one of her own to command. She’s trained so thoroughly for spacewalks that she could damn well do one in her sleep. It should’ve been like any other day for her.

The problem lies in the fact that she had died in space, too. Blown right out of her very first ship trying to save her pilot, suffocated in her own malfunctioning suit, and burned in Alchera’s atmosphere, only to wake on a Cerberus lab table two years later with recreated parts that still discomfort her thoughts and residual terror from the experience seared into her psyche, apparently.

Kaidan eventually finds her in her cabin—or theirs, she supposes, now that he’s tentatively moved in his belongings for some semblance of normalcy as a couple despite everything else going to hell around them—with a soft hiss of the door granting him access. She can tell by his quiet pause at the entry that he’s skimming the room for her.

“Hey, there you are,” he calls softly. She doesn’t know exactly what her face shows when she finally glances up, but it must be a doozy because his thick brows furrow, and he adds, “You okay?”

I’m fine, Malena wants to say. How many times does she say it in a day? Fine, fine, fine. Chin up, back straight. It’s a necessity on a ship—if others see their commanding officer lose her shit, morale goes right out the airlock. And so Commander Shepard has the situation under control, and if she doesn’t, then she’ll get it there.

She opens her mouth to speak, but her voice breaks before she can form a word.

Kaidan is there in an instant. He kneels in front of her, searching her face with those soft brown eyes until she ducks her head. If she looks at him too long, she will cry, and that will only worry him more. She can only imagine what his train of thought was already doing while she was aboard that damn ship.

Guilt pools low in her gut and propels her forward, sinking into the warmth of his arms that open instinctively to hold her. His stubbled cheek prickles against her skin as he leans his face against her, but she doesn’t mind, tethered by the familiarity of that simple gesture. She rests her own head on his shoulder, allowing herself this singular point of comfort.

“So, rough day, huh?”

Malena huffs a laugh into his neck. “Understatement of the century.”

“Yeah. If you want to talk about it… I mean, I don’t know. You’ve listened to me through the hard things. I want to be here for you, too, if you’ll let me.”

“You always are.”

“Not always,” he returns ruefully. “But I’d like us to be better.”

The heaviness in his voice forces her to draw back to see him better in the dim lighting of the room. Her palm finds his cheek, letting her thumb sweep away the regret pulling at his features. In so many ways, Horizon and Mars still haunt the space between them as much as her death, every step to get past it seemingly a monumental one at times. But they’re trying, and that’s enough for her.

She could deflect it with a joke. It would be so easy to do it, shooting him a little smirk around a teasing comment, maybe bring a soft laugh out of him for even a moment. It doesn’t feel right with all his earnesty on display, though. Not when her resolve is still so close to shattering in his arms and her latest brush with death, far too similar to the real one, lingers over their heads.

“Hey, you’ve got me,” Malena finally says, trailing her hand to brush back a dark curl fallen over his forehead. “This is when it matters. And you’re here.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as if fighting the urge to smile. “I thought I was supposed to be reassuring you.”

“Well, maybe we both need a little of it right now.”

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

Kaidan reaches for the hand still cradling his face, twisting it to press his lips to the sensitive skin of her wrist, right above her pulse. A reminder that she’s alive, though she can’t be certain if it’s more for his sake or for hers. All she knows is that it’s become a habit ever since they decided to stop holding back how they feel for each other and a comfort all the same.

Before she can react to it, he rises from the floor and slides easily into the space beside her, tugging her close with an arm wound around her back. Part of her wants to protest that she still has reports to make before she can allow herself a reprieve. But she also knows he will just fight her on it, equally stubborn and insistent in his care, and so she caves into it. She rests her head against his shoulder and settles her strong thighs over his lap, his free arm holding them in place.

“These are the moments that scare the hell out of me,” he says quietly.

“What, cuddling?”

“No.” An uneasy laugh escapes him. “Thinking of how I could’ve lost you again, and how I wasn’t even there.”

Malena swallows around a lump in her throat, but she steadies herself, tightening her grip on him for purchase. Last time he had voiced something like it, she’d quipped that she had a problem staying dead anyway. Guilt still gnaws at her chest for how horribly quiet he had gone, how tense and rigid his body had grown with her remark. No matter how much she wants to brush off the thought, even to alleviate the dour mood, she doesn’t want to go there again.

Instead, she confesses, “It scared the shit out of me, too.”

It might have been her lowest point yet. The walk between ships had seemed vast and endless, only made longer by how often she’d stopped to double check her omni-tool that her suit was still intact because everything was so silent save for her labored breathing in rattled bursts. Even with Garrus’ snark to keep her company over the comm channel, she couldn’t fully hide the damn shake in her voice with each response. Her heart had been hammering hard enough in her chest to feel lightheaded and unsteady in her boots by the time that she got the other entry open for the others.

“Yeah, I… Well, Garrus might’ve mentioned it. I mean, I’d figured it could trudge up some memories, but he seemed pretty worried, too.”

Her eyes squeeze shut as she buries her face further into him. “That traitor.”

“He’s looking out for you. Can’t fault him for that.” A placating kiss is placed on the top of her head. “You know, you’re strong, Mal. Maybe the strongest person I know. But even you can be shaken up.”

“I can’t— I’m not supposed to show it.”

“You can with me. I’ve got you, remember?”

Kaidan draws her closer to emphasize his point, or maybe out of his own reassurance as well. It doesn’t alleviate all of the residual fear and frustration, Malena finds, but some of the weight does feel marginally lifted from her chest with the fervent honesty in his words. She raises her head to respond, but her throat feels too tight to speak, forcing her to take an alternate approach.

She presses a kiss to his temple, right on the dark hair flecked in more silver than it had been a few years ago. You do.

Another kiss to his stubbled cheek. Thank you.

And a final one to his lips, ignoring the uncomfortable chafe of his fatigue pants against her legs as she shifts in his lap to face him more fully, desperate for the proximity as he matches her breath for breath. I love you.

If he doesn’t understand, Kaidan doesn’t say. He simply takes the gesture in stride as he finally allows himself a small smile against her lips. And Malena has to admit, letting herself drop the veneer of unshakable strength is as exhilarating as it is terrifying with the man who loves her doing his damnedest to get her through it, despite everything they face.

It’s a trust fall, but it’s one she realizes she’ll make every time.

[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 1: I've Got You ~ Thorin Oakenshield/OC [2,818 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here 💜✨

Erebor was beautiful. Gwen had thought so when they’d first entered – sneaking through the hidden door and doing their best not to wake the dragon slumbering within. Although she’d quickly forgotten all about it thereafter. Not because of the dragon, but because of how she was forced to watch as the Gold sickness claimed the dwarf she’d so reluctantly come to love over the months that had passed between her taking on this ‘job’ and now.

Now, though? Now that Smaug was defeated, the battle thereafter was won, all were alive, and Thorin was himself again? Now she was able to appreciate the splendour of Erebor once again. Save for the damn walkways.

“I don’t know how I feel about your sending everybody out from the Throne Room just for this,” she commented to Thorin where he stood somewhere behind her, the great walkway to the throne stretching before them.

“You said you wished for no witnesses as you overcame this.”

“Because I thought you’d find a quieter walkway to practise on.”

“I am King – and in a moon’s time, after your coronation, you will be Queen. We can order all from the mountain, if we so wish.”

“That’d make for a pretty depressing kingdom,” she said, doing what she could to keep her tone light as he led her to the main walkway that led up to her husband’s throne.

“Did you run out of stone to make railings? Is that it?”

“Dwarves are sure-footed.”

“And hard-headed.”

“I heard that.”

“I did not whisper,” she countered with a smirk that felt much too bold for the fear creeping up through her chest.

While that fear did not show on her face, however, it did in how her hand anxiously sought his where it was pressed over her hip, planting it there as if to make sure his grip remained firmly on her. Her shrewd husband recognised the gesture for what it was immediately.

“You’ve crossed higher paths than this before,” he pointed out. “On Durin’s Day.”

“That was different. I had a dragon snapping at my heels.”

“Well now you’ve your brute of a husband to offer you similar motivation.”

“Yes, well, it should warm you to hear that I much prefer you to dragons.”

Unless he was in a really foul mood.

“This is folly, Gwen.”

Thorin’s humour might have been lighter these days than it was during their quest, but an excess of patience in the face of what he viewed as foolishness was not one of his virtues. It showed now in the edge his voice gained. At least, it did until he moved from behind her back and saw just how pale her face had grown.

“I can’t help it,” she said quietly – too focused on the pit in her stomach to see how his features softened.

It was folly – he was right. If someone draw a chalk outline on a path the same width as this walkway, she could stick to it without so much as thinking about it, laughing all the while at the mere notion of being worried about somehow falling over the edge of that outline. But the mere presence of the unfathomable drop at either side of the walkway raised the stakes, and had her unable to think of anything but. It was instinct – self-preservation, the same sort of in-built thing that would have her thinking twice before she stuck her hand in a fire, or caused a problem with someone twice her size. She was unable to help it.

Nor would she be able to make a life here if she was unable to approach the throne at a speed greater than one foot per hour. The embarrassment only made this all the worse. Thorin had met her when she was a thief in Bree – hardly an occupation without its risks. Now she was paling over the prospect of placing one foot before the other. It hardly did anything to combat the beliefs of the Dwarves here who revelled in shaking their heads and grumbling over their King’s affection for a human. No doubt a Dwarrowdam would have covered the distance a hundred times or more in the span of time she’d stood here faltering like an idiot.

“Do you think I would bring you here if there was any risk of your falling?”

“I don’t think you’d love me if there was any risk of my falling, considering it would take an impressive level of idiocy to manage and you don’t suffer fools. Gladly or otherwise.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he teased. “You would make a very beautiful fool.”

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.”

He chuckled lowly.

“Whichever you choose, you’re distracted. See? We’ve already covered some distance. That is the key – do not think of it. Simply do it.”

Well, that was the sort of thinking that had gotten her here, wasn’t it? Not only to her shiny new station – regardless of how it had intimidated her, a woman of no birth who had once been a cutpurse far, far west of here – but throughout all of the hardships that had hounded their path to Erebor itself.

“All right,” she sniffed, straightening her shoulders and nodding decidedly. “All right.”

Thorin’s hand remained at her back, all the same…throughout the hundred strides up and down the walkway it took before she finally began breathing properly and trusting the fine stone beneath her feet not to suddenly crack and give way.

She did grow used to it – eventually. Over and over that day they’d strode up and down the walkway to the throne room until fear turned to unease, and unease turned to boredom. Gwen dreaded to think what the folk of Erebor thought they were up to in here that would cause their King to demand privacy for so long, but it did the trick, and she’d no longer spend this walk battling with the temptation to lower herself to the floor and crawl the distance towards the throne next time she had business here. Although that was a sight Thorin might enjoy, depending upon his mood.

Still, as she strode across the walkway not two moons later, shiny new sapphire-laden diadem upon her head, she had a surprise that she knew he’d enjoy a great deal more. And the drop on either side of the walkway was the furthest thing from her mind – a grin on her face, and a spring in her step.

The King was holding court, dealing with a visiting merchant who had seen fit to scam a number of the people, so no doubt he would be in need of a bit of levity once he was finished. She would wait on the sidelines, Gwen decided, until he was finished. Then she would tell him.

“I was not aware, your majesty, that steep prices were a crime.”

The merchant was kicking up a stink so loudly that he could be heard throughout the entirety of the hall.

“Perhaps not, but swindling the honest peoples of Erebor is,” there was a warning note in her husband’s voice. “Your trading permissions have been revoked, so unless you have some other manner of earning a living here, I suggest you leave and take your way of doing things elsewhere – and count yourself lucky that you have not found yourself in the dungeons.”

Was he so unimpressed because of the merchant’s misdeeds, she wondered, or because he was being forced to deal with something so beneath the notice of a monarch? She could hardly fault him for either one, although she suspected it was some combination of the two.

Folk cleared a path automatically to let her by as she neared the throne – something that was still taking some getting used to, even though it had been that way ever since Thorin declared his intentions to take her as his wife – but she seemed to escape the notice of one person. The merchant.

Either he thought the path had been cleared for him, or he simply did not care, whirling and beginning to storm his way down the walkway with a face like thunder – the fury in his eyes blinding him, no doubt. Or perhaps what he did next was an act of pure defiance in the wake of his dressing down. If it was, it was an incredibly stupid one.

When he barrelled into her, she thought little of it. Queening around didn’t come quite so naturally to her as to have her ordering beheadings because somebody shouldered their way past her; but it appeared the merchant himself wasn’t happy to let things lie there.

“Move!” he demanded, one hand planted flat in the centre of her chest so as to shove her backwards.

Which was when things very quickly went pear-shaped. Had she not gone on here stubbornly refusing to swap her sturdy and comfortable boots for the delicate slippers the ladies of the court here favoured, it would have been worse. Had she not had to wear a stupid number of skirts it disguise those boots, it would have been better.

For the grip of her soles stopped her from skidding back right over the edge of the walkway, but the skirts sent her tumbling to the ground, rolling to a halt not so much close to the edge, but at the very edge itself. Indeed, she feared to move at all, her body hanging over the endless drop right down to the bottom of her ribcage, face down. The silence that took over the throne room was unparalleled and stretched on and on…which was what allowed them to head her diadem clatter, and then smash, as it clattered down to the next level below.

Gwen let out a slow, shuddering breath. The angle did not allow for any purchase with which she might pull herself back, but before she could even think of how to best act, strong broad arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her back and up. She did not need to look to know who they belonged to.

“I have you. I've got you,” Thorin said, pulling her back from the edge. “Are you well?”

She took a moment to actually consider the question, rather than nodding automatically in response. Thank the stars she’d fallen on her side, and then rolled from there – her right hip ached something fierce, but her abdomen had taken none of the impact.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I’m all right.”

One hand remained at her hip – her sore hip, though she hadn’t the heart to shrug it off when he appeared just as shaken as she was. Although that worry quickly turned to ire, a positively glacial gaze turning in the direction of the merchant. At first the poor sod looked half-tempted to turn and run, but the guards at his back quickly made their presence known, and he was stuck between them and the King Under the Mountain. An unenviable position for him. The paling of his face told Gwen that he quite agreed, and the hall remained perfectly silent – all gathered dying to hear how Thorin would deal with this.

“The dungeons,” he said flatly. “Until I deem that you’ve had enough time to recall proper courtly manners.”

Which would take months. If not years. Thorin was capable of many things, but swift forgiveness was not one of them.

“Your majesty, I did not mean to-”

“Or the blade. An attempt on my queen’s life is treason.”

The merchant looked to Gwen as though hoping for an intervention. He would not find one, her hand was itching to grasp the hilt of a blade that was now seldom at her hip. In the end, he seemed relieved when the guards stepped between him and Thorin so that they might clamp irons about his wrists.

“How long will you keep him in the cells?”

Gwen asked Thorin as she changed for bed that night. In the end, she’d decided to keep her announcement for tonight, any mood having been well and truly killed stone dead by the merchant and his idiocy.

“For however long that bruise takes to heal, tenfold,” Thorin replied grimly, his eyes fixed on the angry bruise already forming at her hipbone.

She sighed quietly, slipping into the nightgown and hiding the injury from his brooding eye.

“You could have died, Gwen,” he said sharply – misinterpreting her sigh.

“It’s not that,” she shook her head.

“I’ll craft your next diadem myself,” he said. “It will be good – to make something again, rather than sitting on my backside listening to inanities. If I’d crafted the first, it would have survived the fall.”

“It’s not that, either,” she laughed softly, slipping into bed beside him. “But thank you, husband.”

“Husband, now?” he echoed with a smirk. “You seek a favour from your king, then.”

“No,” she pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw, and received one in turn at her brow for her troubles, a broad hand settling itself into the curve of her waist. “Well. Perhaps. I would ask that you don’t lose your temper when I tell you this.”

“My temper? Why?”

The lazy sort of tired humour left his face and he became all King Thorin again, eyes searching her face as if he’d find the answer to his question hidden in the gap between her eyebrows.

“The reason I came to see you today…the reason I was in the Throne Room at all…I was going to wait until you were finished holding court, and then I was going to tell you…”

“Tell me?” he pressed.

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she pressed her hand over the top of the one at her waist, and then she brought it around her abdomen until it was pressed flat over the yet-unrounded area just below her navel.

His eyes flickered down in question and then realisation hit him with the impact of an arrow, and he met her gaze with eyes wide in wonder.

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

Any who liked to dismiss Thorin as nothing but grim and dour could only do so if they’d never seen him smile – truly smile, and the way it lit up his entire face, no, the entire mountain. Gwen was powerless to do anything other than grin back, laughing softly as he used that famed Dwarvish strength to draw her up nearer to him as though she were as light as a feather.

He kissed her then – a kiss that they both smiled into – and pulled back swiftly thereafter, unable to contain his joy to an extent that a longer embrace would require.

“Why would I lose my temper over this, my love?” he chuckled. “This is…”

He trailed off as it clicked, and then he looked downright dangerous.

“I’ll have his head, Gwendolyn.”

“Thorin…”

Already, he tried to slip from the bed – but she leapt forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, dragging him bodily back to her. He allowed it, she’d have never managed it otherwise, but he didn’t make it easy for her.

“I shall try not to take it personally that you’re willing to have his life as revenge for our child, but not just for your boring old wife,” she teased, leaning forward to press a kiss to the side of his jaw.

He made a noise caught somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff, and she knew she’d just saved the merchant from being murdered by Erebor’s half-naked king.

“I would have thrown him from the walkway myself, had I not known you wouldn’t wish it. This just makes me less inclined to heed that.”

“I had no idea I had such sway over your decisions,” she planted another kiss on his neck this time, then another on his shoulder. “Perhaps I might use it to tempt you back to bed.”

“You should see a healer – after that fall.”

“I did. I’m well,” her hands trailed across the muscular expanse of his chest, fingers threading through the hair there. “My hip took the impact.”

“That does not please me, either.”

“If you’re looked to be pleased, I can think of a thing or two better than bloodshed.”

“Oh?”

“Unless I’m mistaken,” she sighed. “After all, your husbandly duty is done. Perhaps you see no reason to-”

As she put on her best show of feeling forlorn and neglected (which still was hardly very convincing), she released her grip on him and made to untangle her arms from his body – only for  strong, rough hands to catch hers and keep her where she was.

“Your machinations have lost their subtlety over time, my queen,” he all but rumbled.

“You just know me too well now for them to work,” she laughed. “But I can hardly mourn that fact.”

“Mm. Nor can I,” he said softly – and then he did return to bed.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune