#the author always craves chaos as you know

[kisskissbanggang]

Jumpspace Renegade - ep. 17 ✨🚀

[5.4k words, 20min. read - Stray Kids Multi Fic, Scifi!au, Choose Your Own Adventure - Jisung x Fem. Reader - NSFW/Smut - Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Hooking Up, Navigating Feelings, Platonic(?) Intimacy, Ominous Plot Hints, Reader has a Another Terrible Idea, We Have to Figure Out What to Do on Sentury Station, Dressing Up, Crumbs of Backstory, Who the Hell Knows What Minho is Thinking, Chan is Not Completely a Dick?, Always Check the Tags]

[Author's Note: This is the end of season 2! Stay tuned for polls and updates about the series. Thanks as always for coming along for the ride! 💕]

[Author's Note #2: This episode is late! Voting closes on Saturday, 10 pm PST]

[Episodes on Fridays 7pm pst, Polling closes Saturdays 7pm pst]

[Series Masterlist | Come Say Hi!]

You were frustrated, hungry, and disappointed.

And confused.

Because the disappointment didn’t feel just like disappointment. Maybe you felt a little heartbroken, finding out that you were likely never going to see Seungmin again after his negotiations at Sentury.

But for now, you were hungry.

You surveyed the kitchen, hoping to see if Jeongin had left a plate out for you. Finding none, you checked the warmer. There was a plate inside, but it’d been picked clean, leaving a sad corpse of dinnerware covered in crumbs. Dejected, you grabbed an energy bar and nibbled on it while you walked back to your cabin.

In the cool air of the workshop, Felix was reclined in the hammock set up by the workbench, hanging all the way down from the catwalk. Changbin was preoccupied tuning up the four-wheeler. Someone, at some point, had written “PLACE FELIX HERE” in the middle of a circle on the cargo basket, the permanent marker ink shiny in the overhead lamps.

Just when you thought you’d slink by, letting the duo go about their business in peace, Felix’s smooth voice made you pause.

“You excited to go to the Station?”

When you turned back around, Changbin was chuckling and shaking his head. “You know it’s only folks who’ve never been that are excited to go,” he teased Felix.

The ranger’s giggle was deep, comforting despite being foreboding. He lazily kicked his feet where they hung over the side of the hammock. “Doesn’t mean she can’t be excited to dock tonight. She’s never been, after all.”

You hopped up to sit on the workbench. From here, you could see Felix looked a little bashful, maybe surprised that he and Changbin were back to bantering. But your confusion multiplied.

“Wait,” you shook your head, “tonight? I thought we were docking tomorrow!”

Felix and Changbin looked at each other, and then at you. The blonde pointed to another digital screen, like the one in the galley, this one on the wall by the door back out to the common area. Sure enough, the time and date had changed to Galactic Standard. The ship must’ve passed a Federation satellite at some point. 

You were internally screaming, but you tried to remain calm on the outside. “Well,” you heavily sighed. “I’m not even sure what to expect at Sentury. All I know is the Station is huge and there’s some casinos.”

“Some casinos?!” Changbin roared out a laugh, popping his head out from where it was focused on the four-wheeler’s engine. “There’s dozens of casinos at Sentury, maybe even a hundred. You’ll find some of the best gambling of your life there.”

“It was our home base for a few months,” Felix clarified. “Some great nightlife there, if you’re into that. They don’t even follow a day-night cycle, so you’ll run into folks out having a good time or the worst night of their life at all hours.”

You somewhat recalled this, that Felix and Changbin were a team before joining Chan. Something about Changbin rigging slot machines and Felix shaking down tourists and high rollers.

“Well I’m excited to go,” Changbin snickered to himself. “Always something going on. We just have to finish prepping first.”

The urge to share everything that had gone down was nagging at you. Felix and Changbin were clearly experts on Sentury, but you were more than a little wary of how eager Changbin was to cause some ruckus, apparently. 

“Do you need any help?” you cautiously asked. “Preparing, that is.”

A soft sigh could be heard from the hammock. “I still have to do inventory and secure the lockers,” Felix explained. “Anything bigger than a blaster needs to be deactivated or emptied before we disembark. I don’t think we need any help–”

“Or,” Changbin stiffly cut in, “maybe you could ask Nova to do the thing.”

“The thing?” you repeated.

Felix’s blonde head peeked out from the hammock. “Chan just asked if I could grab a trunk we nabbed from Floree Outpost out of the cargo hold. You don’t want to–”

“Sure!” you instantly nodded before you hopped off the workbench. “It’s no problem at all.” You could sense Changbin’s concern over Felix, and what could it hurt? There wasn’t anything to do before docking tonight.

You strode over to the mini-lift down to the cargo hold in the workshop, hearing your racing heart booming in your chest while you descended.

Tonight.

All this groundwork you wanted to do had to be done as soon as possible.

You punched the button for the lights when the lift hit the ground. The cargo hold was still an indecipherable mess in your eyes. If there was any method to the madness, you’d yet to find it. You entered the winding labyrinth of crates and boxes, trying to figure out what the hell you were looking for when you came across your old boots.

They smelled like your old apartment, something you never even considered to have a smell before.

What had it been, a week? A very long, exciting, terrifying week?

It felt like you’d been away from T’kaarm for decades.

“Looking for something?” came a voice, making you look up from the maze of cargo.

Hyunjin was leaning out of his cabin from under the stairs. You waved in greeting although you weren’t quite sure why, but Hyunjin waved back.

“A trunk? Apparently?” you asked. “From Floree Outpost?”

The appraiser nodded dutifully and made a bee-line down a path of crates. You could somewhat see him moving things out of the way, shuffling items around before he came up with a giant foot locker. The thing was gaudy, shiny magenta with gold curlicues decorating it and brass hardware. A large combo lock was on the side handle.

“Exciting,” Hyunjin laughed. “If Chan wants this, something interesting must be going on. Been hearing funny stuff about Sentury lately.”

There was that nagging feeling again, but just like with Changbin, Hyunjin came with his own risks. The appraiser was way too gossipy for your preference to ask for his help, even if he knew just about everything.

“You excited to go for the first time?” Hyunjin asked, leaning on a pile of crates.

“Er, I think so,” you waffled. “I hear there’s great night life.”

Hyunjin let out a guffaw, his laugh bright and airy. “Who told you that? Felix?”

You sheepishly nodded before Hyunjin walked back in the direction of his cabin, waving you over after him. “I love those two, him and Changbin.” Hyunjin picked up his tablet and typed something in before presenting it to you. On the screen were two mugshots: Felix, having the time of his life with a big grin on his face, and Changbin, quietly proud and giving a dazzling smolder for the camera. 

Some time had clearly passed since then. Felix’s hair was a daring shade of blue, while Changbin’s was a cute chestnut brown. Felix even had some cute extra piercings and a large love bite on his throat, while Changbin was apparently hiding all sorts of tattoos under his long-sleeve shirts if the mugshot was anything to go by.

“Look at ‘em,” Hyunjin cooed. “Felix is blacklisted from practically half the clubs and bars in Sentury, and Changbin’s not even allowed on a casino floor. Any of them.”

“Shouldn’t they have made bank then?” you wondered out loud.

Hyunjin shook his head. “They didn’t hit all these establishments, mind you, they just created enough of a reputation to become a preemptive issue. Keep a close eye on them when we disembark, and if anyone asks where they are–”

“I don’t know anything,” you innocently raised your hands. 

“Exactly,” praised Hyunjin while he looked at his wristwatch. “Now come on; it’s almost time for dinner.”

You spied the time he was looking at. “Dinner?! It was just breakfast!”

“A good crewmate is hungry when the clock says to be,” Hyunjin chided. “Much to learn, rookie.”

You sighed and returned to the trunk to haul it upstairs, fully prepared to drag it over to the lift before you realized that it was actually surprisingly light. It was difficult to figure out what was inside the foot locker; nothing was rattling inside. The most awkward part of getting it up to the common area was simply the size of the thing, trying to maneuver it up the tight staircase. You had to admit, you were still hungry.

Something smelled amazing when you got up to the galley, and you dropped the trunk by the booth before heading into the kitchen. It appeared that Jeongin was finishing getting everything set.

“Looks good, chef,” you complimented, peeking over his shoulder to the stew he had going on the stove.

“Thanks,” he humbly replied. “I’m getting more comfortable not having Felix right here to help me.”

You raised a curious eyebrow. “Didn’t do much cooking before this?”

Jeongin shook his head. “Never got a chance to learn, so Felix has been teaching me.”

“You’re doing great,” you reassured him.

“Excited to go to Sentury?” the cabin boy asked. “I’m a little nervous, honestly.”

“What?” you involuntarily laughed. “You’ve never been?!”

“No!” Jeongin laughed back, his eyes turning up into charming crescents. “Last time we passed through, Chan refused to let me go, ‘for my own good,’ he said.”

Internally, and although you’d never admit it, you commended the captain a little bit for that one.

“It’s funny,” Jeongin continued, “Lee told me something similar recently, like, when he was still in the brig. He said I should be getting off the ship and exploring as much as possible, also ‘for my own good’.”

“Is that what made you look for Jisung back on Phaborus?” you smirked. He simply nodded in return. “And were you nervous?”

“A little,” he admitted. “I know it makes me sound like a pussy, but just a little.”

“Nonsense,” you shook your head resolutely. “Doing shit when you’re nervous helps you to not be nervous the next time.”

The cabin boy smiled again, softening his sharp features, but the mention of Minho turned the wheels in your head. It felt a little selfish, but it was worth trying when you had a chance.

“Want help? I can take Minho’s food to him.”

“Sure!” Jeongin brightly agreed. “Gives me a chance to eat. Do you remember the combo?”

He asked as if you ever knew. When you shook your head, he dug in his pocket and fished out a keycard, just like the one Chan had given you. You tried not to squeal in excitement when you quickly fixed a bowl for Minho and rushed off.

Thoughts were racing through your head before you stumbled into the workshop, apparently interrupting something when you heard Felix curse from the loft. He and Changbin ducked down behind the couch, and you surreptitiously ran into the alcove between your and Minho’s cabins. You took a moment, though, pausing to make sure you had a game plan, a stance you were actually holding.

It sucked to think that Minho set you up.

Largely, you admitted to yourself, because the idea was ridiculous. In order for that to happen, Minho had to have made sure the ring not only made it to you in the first place, but that you would make it onto the ship. Yes, it was convenient that the crew got the lead, picked up Minho, and then picked you up, and you had it – but it was only that. Convenient. And conveniences did happen, you reminded yourself. 

You beeped open Minho’s door to find him examining his stubble in the mirror again, but not the one on his closet door. He was sat on the windowsill. Someone, at some point, had not only brought Minho a change of clothes, but a hand mirror and a razor. He looked comfy and refreshed in some cargo pants and a hoodie.

“Remind me what you said about facial hair the other day?” you nonchalantly asked. You helped yourself to a bite of food from his bowl, marveling for a second that Jeongin did do a good job.

“Dunno,” Minho shrugged, “but I miss growing it. When was the last time that you saw a Marine with a beard?”

You shrugged back. Actually, you don’t think you’d ever seen a member of the Federation military with facial hair. Minho cleaned off his razor in a cup of water at his side. 

“That’s because,” he continued, pulling the skin on his chin taut, “they neutralize the follicles on your face in orientation. Hurts like a motherfucker, but it’s supposed to enforce dress code. Takes some folks years to grow it reliably again. I’m still patchy as hell.”

You watched Minho shave for a little bit, lamenting that it maybe was somewhat attractive.

But you wanted to calm that relentless thought in your mind.

“Hey,” you bluntly changed the subject, “my Clessorian ring. Did you know about it before I came aboard? Like, did you know it was on T’kaarm?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Minho staunchly answered.

“Was it ever in your possession?”

Minho rinsed his razor in the water cup beside him and patted his chin dry with his hoodie. “Sure was,” he nodded. “You done eating my food?”

You swallowed your spoonful of stew before handing the bowl to him. “And what did you do with the ring?”

The bounty met your gaze but it was hard to read. “I got rid of it. Too much trouble. You excited to go to the Station?”

This was a satisfying enough answer for you. You walked back to the door. “Not really,” you shrugged. 

“Smart girl,” he praised. “I knew I liked you.”

Minho was giving you an odd look. You pointed at the bowl in his hands. “Your food’s getting cold,” you told him, before you promptly left.

The loft was empty, the workshop was empty, and the galley was empty when you entered it. You scarfed down a quick bite to eat before you crept upstairs. The boys were all assembled in the back of the bridge, with the trunk from Floree Outpost at the center. Hyunjin, Changbin, and Felix were all squished together on the couch. Chan sat at his console. You could hear faint music from the nav office, implying Seungmin was busily at work inside. Mysteriously, Jeongin and Jisung were nowhere to be seen.

Beyond the front window, a gargantuan, revolving, metal mass of a space station could be seen in the distance. This had to be Sentury.

“Enough bullshit,” Changbin ribbed. “We finally get to see what’s in this thing?” The mechanic pointed at the trunk.

Meanwhile, Chan pointed at you.

“It’s for Nova,” he cryptically explained. He tried the combo once before he broke the cheap lock with his bionic hand. Inside the tacky trunk was a tangle of fabric, all shiny and satiny textiles. The captain pulled out a couple items, revealing them to be showy dresses, the kind you’d wear to nightclubs.

Well, not you, but the kind that you could wear. 

Chan plonked the dresses into your hands. You scanned the room, confused, and caught Seungmin peeking from the nav office.

The crew were tittering and giggling. “So,” Hyunjin grinned, “it’s true about Sentury, then?”

“Is what true?!” you demanded.

The captain waved a dismissive hand at you, and then at the peanut gallery. “So we grabbed this trunk off a couple resort hostesses back on Floree Outpost,” he flippantly explained. “Pick one or two outfits you like, just to last you until you find something at the Station. And you’ll need to name an escort from the crew.”

“Excuse me?” you gawked, your arms limp in front of you.

“That’s new,” grumbled Changbin. He dug in his pocket, counted a couple credits, and placed them in Hyunjin’s waiting hand, having apparently lost some wager.

You spiked the dresses at Chan’s face. “Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on? What’s with the dresses? Why do I need an escort?!”

“It’s fine, babe,” Felix soothed you. You and Chan both turned to face him. “This happens sometimes with regime changes. Whoever runs the Entertainment Bureau gets to make the rules. One time, the Director was super into bikes so everyone was big on street racing for a bit, you know?”

“Okay, sure,” you huffed. “But what changed for there to be assigned escorts now?”

Chan mumbled something and you whipped around to look at him again. He met your eye and reluctantly began explaining. “From what I gather, the Director must have one hell of a crew of dancers or hostesses or something because ladies have preference on the Station. Their own security checkpoints, their own transports, their own reserved sections in bars, clubs, even casinos–”

“And still no decent shopping, I bet,” Felix complained. Changbin and Hyunjin nodded in agreement. 

The captain shot the three a look, gaining their silence before continuing. “The escorts have been used before, when valuable cargo was moving through Sentury. It’s basically naming your one trusted contact. If you have this escort around, they’re permitted with you, no questions asked. If someone’s with you who isn’t your escort, they can be separated from you at any time.”

“And what if I don’t name one?” you asked.

“Apparently,” he began, “one will be assigned to you. From our crew or from the Station, I don’t know which. On the flip, I’ve actually heard of cases where an escort isn’t even named, but instead a crew member is indicted. Can you fucking imagine? Even a whole crew one time, holy shit.’

“Maybe they deserved it,” Felix shrugged.

The captain and the ranger began bickering while you regarded the dresses in the trunk. Not to be that person, but you never really had the occasion to dress up back home. You sneakily pawed through the trunk while the boys were busy arguing, sort of indulging and taking a look. One little number did catch your eye, a slinky, shimmery, champagne-hued dress. 

“Is that the one?” Chan asked, almost warmly, but catching you off-guard nonetheless. “Try it on!”

“Now?” you whined. 

“He has a point, love,” Changbin admitted. “Don’t want you looking frumpy when we disembark. We can make adjustments but we can’t do magic.”

“Fine,” you huffed, ready to turn heel down the stairs. 

“Oh my god,” the captain grumbled, “just try it on here, you prude. None of us are looking, no one is gonna care.”

You were this close to tearing Chan a new asshole, breaking his knees based on principle alone… but he sort of had a point. He’d said you were part of the crew. The crew all lived in these tight quarters, seeing each other in various states of undress on regular occasions – why shouldn’t you act like part of the crew?

“Whatever,” you relented. “But if I hear one catcall, it’s gonna be a bloodbath.”

“Such big talk coming from you,” Hyunjin giggled, sliding off the couch and looking through the trunk himself. Changbin and Felix were reading something on the appraiser’s tablet. Chan even had his hands over his eyes, rich coming from the one man present who’d seen you naked.

Regardless, you were modest about it. You turned around, swiftly slipping off your shirt and pulling on the dress, finding just enough stretch in the fabric to fit around your shoulders and hug you around your waist. Then you tugged off your bottoms, yanking them over your sneakers. You turned back around, admitting to yourself that you felt really good in the garment – when you noticed Seungmin staring. His cheeks rouged immediately, his face going pink when he tried to look busy and not like he was just watching you change.

The boys all turned their attention to you when they no longer heard your clothes shuffling. Chan looked you up and down but didn’t say a word, while Felix and Changbin nodded their approval. Hyunjin, meanwhile, nudged your hip with a pair of high heels from where he was digging in the trunk. Once again, they were in your size despite never confirming it for him. 

“Oh, no,” you refused, “I’m not ready for that.”

“Then practice, you maniac,” Chan complained, taking the heels from Hyunjin and pressing them into your hands. You scooped up your clothes from the floor. “Go practice, make sure you’re presentable, and pick an escort,” the captain directed.

You sighed hot into your chest as you defeatedly nodded, turning so you could head down the stairs. 

This was a lot to take in all at once. 

Just like you’d considered who to conspire on Jisung’s lead with, now you were wondering who to name as your escort. They’d have unquestioned permission to accompany you. 

Did that mean you could force someone to help you?

Like… if you named Seungmin?

Or you could even indict someone, apparently.

Could you even… name Minho as your escort? 

That’d probably make Chan snap. Hilarious.

A rush of footsteps in the stairwell startled you, and you turned to see Hyunjin jogging down to the galley. He held out an equally gaudy train case he must’ve found in the trunk.

“Chan, that idiot,” Hyunjin smirked, “he didn’t think to give you these.” He opened the case, revealing a mess of costume jewelry, hair clips, and makeup. He then produced a small clutch purse from under his arm and held it out in his other hand. “You’re going to look amazing. Don’t overthink it.”

The appraiser pushed the case into the growing pile in your hands before heading back down the stairs to his room in the cargo hold. You were left alone with a lot to figure out. Dazed, you walked back to your cabin, lost in thought – when you ran face first into Jisung, leaving his room. He looked particularly cozy today, with a tank top and some shorts, with a backwards baseball cap holding his fringe back. It was still taking some adjusting to see him without the eyepatch. 

The pilot looked thoroughly caught, his eyes wide and his face paling, which interested you until his eyes shifted down from yours, down your collarbones and onto the dress.

“I, uhm,” you struggled to explain, “I have to name an escort.”

Jisung’s eyes lit up and he pumped his fist a little. “Fuck yes,” he cursed in celebration. “I fucking told Changbin. But… are you going to disembark? Like that?”

The look you gave must’ve been brutal with how Jisung clammed up. It didn’t help that, following your criteria, you were still pissed at him. “Er, I mean,” he babbled, reaching forward and brushing a tendril of your hair out of your face. “I just think you can do something nice, really look the part, you know?”

You continued to stare, confused. Jisung sighed helplessly and grabbed your elbow, herding you into his cabin and closing the door. He sat you down at his desk, where he had a small standing mirror that you could see yourself in. The pilot brushed his fingers through your hair, a bizarrely soothing sensation, and began parting it and sweeping your hair in different directions. When you were about to ask him what the hell he was up to, he pointed at the train case.

“What’s in there?”

Instead of answering, you simply clicked open the case and gestured for him to take a look. Jisung peered inside, stroking his chin, and then picked out a couple pins before grabbing a hairbrush. Now you could no longer hold back the question you were dying to ask.

“Jisung,” you pestered, reaching back and grabbing his hand, “what the fuck are you doing?”

“I dated a couple dancers before,” he shrugged. “You pick up a thing or two. And you deserve to look nice, don’t you think?”

Stunned wasn’t exactly the right word here, but it’s what came to mind. Jisung whipped your hair up into a casual updo with some loose tendrils framing your face, and then dug into the train case. He held up a few options before holding up two sets of simple earrings for you. When you picked the modest golden hoops, he grabbed a matching bracelet and slipped it on your wrist. You sat still when he applied some light makeup, adding just a little drama to your eyes and a hint of shimmering highlight. 

It was ridiculous, how your heart skipped a beat when you looked in the mirror. 

You reminded yourself to stay pissed at Jisung.

“Alright,” he nodded approvingly. “Now the heels.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” you stubbornly shook your head. “I haven’t worn heels in years–”

“It’s like riding a bike!” Jisung refuted. “Besides, look at these. Wide platform, ankle strap, chunky heel – you’re going to be perfectly fine. May I?”

You swallowed hard when Jisung knelt down and spun you in his desk chair so you were facing him. He pulled off your ratty sneakers and delicately slipped your right foot into the shoe before buckling the ankle strap, and then repeated the process with the left. Jisung’s gaze felt piercing when he looked up at you, and you caught yourself feeling all vulnerable again. He got up to his feet and stepped back.

“Well?” he asked. “Is it true? You can’t walk in heels?”

A small sigh escaped your lips before you got up.

You took a confident step forward–

But you over thought it. Your weight shifted weirdly, sending you stumbling over your own feet and into Jisung’s quick arms, where he awkwardly caught you but shifted you over so it looked more like he was dipping you during a waltz.

You blinked at him, haloed by the lamp in his room. “It’s too bad I’m still mad at you,” you joked halfheartedly, “because that was pretty smooth.”

“Yeah,” Jisung nodded, a little dazed. “It’s a good thing you’re still mad at me, because you look amazing.”

“Thanks,” you replied, trying to crack a lighthearted smile, “I just got my hair done.”

In a moment of terror, you realized that Jisung was leaning in towards you, and you pushed a hand into his face, smushing him back and off of you until you were properly standing up on your feet again.

You were both a little out of breath. “You, er,” you fumbled, “you didn’t formally pitch a plan to me yet, remember?”

“You’re right,” Jisung agreed, nodding and taking your hand in his. The tension was ballooning in your chest. “Can I talk to you?”

Your chin dipped in a weak nod while you leaned back to sit against Jisung’s desk, but he followed you, stepping between your knees. The following minutes were dead silent. Jisung tentatively kissed your cheek, which you permitted. He then brazenly slid his arms around your waist, and you gasped when he kissed your neck.

“I wanted to see if you’re interested in a plan of mine,” Jisung explained into your skin, his voice breathy and needy. 

“Yeah?” you replied, way too into this already. Your breath hitched when his teeth grazed your pulse.

“I know a guy, at the place I mentioned, Sunrise Casino–”

“How many guys do you know?” you teased. Jisung’s fingertips pressed tough into your waist, despite his muffled chuckle.

“I know a guy, okay?” he repeated. “He just works a door, but he’s a guy. And I haven’t heard from him in weeks–”

Jisung exclaimed as you grabbed onto his tank top, reeling him in and kissing him properly. He melted into you then, spreading your knees so he could slide between them. His fingertips found their way down below your waist, and you hissed out a curse when you felt him tease his touch inside of you. 

“Okay,” you breathlessly nodded while you pushed his shorts down under his erection, “so you haven’t heard from your guy. What then?”

You gasped into Jisung’s mouth when he kissed you again, his tongue hotly writhing against yours while he pulled his fingers out to massage the tip of his hard length against your entrance.

“What then, Jisung?” you repeated, teasing him to keep up with your little game. He sank into you then, pulling a full-bodied moan out of both of you.

“Then,” he groaned, “that means I have to rely on the one other guy I have at the moment, a jewelry dealer. He should have some direction for us to go and try to find the safety deposit box while we try to build some contacts on the inside, grease some palms and gather some intel– oh fuck–”

Jisung shuddered, getting a little distracted fucking you in earnest on his desk. He thrust into you hard, almost grinding his hips into you so he could really rub into your sweet spot. You kissed down his neck, sucking a little love bite into his collarbones. His eyes were squeezed shut, savoring the sensation of your walls enveloping his cock, and you reached up, cupping his face and encouraging him to watch you.

“Come on, tell me the rest,” you urged.

“Then, once we get a solid lead on the whereabouts of the payload,” Jisung panted, “we’ll have to decide if it’s smarter to go after it ourselves or try to make a deal–”

“That is the simplest, most run-of-the-mill plan I’ve ever heard,” you giggled, but cried out when Jisung kissed you hard again.

“It’s harder when I don’t have a guy, okay?” whined Jisung. “I gotta start all over again, do some groundwork–”

“Then I can help you,” you offered, whimpering when Jisung started pounding into you at just the right angle.

“Then I did it?” he asked eagerly. “You’re not pissed at me anymore?”

“No,” you shook your head, “I’m not pissed at you anymore, just make me cum, holy shit–”

Jisung nodded obediently, desperately grasping onto your hips and consistently thrusting into you at a steady enough rhythm. Almost risking ruining it, he sucked a thumb into his mouth before leaning you back and caressing your clit. You tensed then, grabbing onto his arm and crying out when you hit your climax. You were seeing spots, you finished so hard. Jisung came a moment afterwards, pulsing inside of you and practically collapsing, limp, on top of you where you were uncomfortably half-reclined on his desk.

The two of you took a minute to catch your breath, with Jisung’s lips buried in your neck and tickling you when he breathed. At some point, his ball cap fell off, and your hands ran through his hair and massaged the back of his neck.

“I guess that just means you need to name an escort then,” he mumbled against your skin. 

Even though you were dazed, you still tried to consider this.

But you were still seeing spots.

Well, no you weren’t. 

You saw a spot.

A light. On Jisung’s talk box by the door. 

Someone was listening to you.

Your eyes widened in horror at this realization, but you kept this to yourself. 

You were landing soon, and you needed to name an escort.

And some asshole was spying on your conversation.

You considered your options again. Jisung was an obvious choice, but it made sense to widen your resource pool. There was Seungmin, obviously. Even though he had business on the Station, maybe he’d actually help you if you named him. There was also Hyunjin, who was a clear wealth of knowledge despite being a gossip. You even humored the idea of naming Jeongin, who was green enough that you knew he’d help you with little to no arguing. Chan was an option as well, you supposed. He had skills and experience, and maybe naming him would help you keep a close eye on him. And there was Minho, obviously, a delightfully funny idea that’d stun you if it actually worked. Getting Minho’s help and getting him out of his cabin? Who knew what that would get you. And, of course, that left Felix and Changbin. A duo that already had a valuable reputation on Sentury, and knew the ins and outs better than the whole crew, most likely. Even though they’d hardly be able to accompany you anywhere, you considered that you could accompany them wherever you wanted. You wondered, for a brief moment, if you could name two escorts.

Sentury Station wasn’t too far off by now. All that you had left to do was choose who to name.

[pedgito]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐔𝐒 | General Acacius x reader x Emperor Geta

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summary | living under emperor geta's rule was never supposed to be easy, but he aims to make it nearly impossible, even if he has become fond of you.

author's note | i never really intended for this to get another part, but since seeing the movie and wanting to expand on these characters and possibly writing for geta on his own, i thought i would turn this into a little passion project. i know there's a niche group of you that have asked for a second part to this, and as much as i crave chaos, i hope you enjoy where i took this and know that i am all for the crazed man that is emperor geta. (can be read as a standalone, but the first part can be read here)

content warning | 18+ mdni, DDDNE - heavy dubcon (due to sex work, ect), heavy themes of abuse under the rule of a vile emperor (mention of injury, slapping, ect), normalized degredation, exhibitionism and exchange of bodily fluids, smut galore (oral, unprotected piv, ect), choking tw, death tw, use of opium poppy, drugging tw (not against reader), named side character, marcus acacius being the real knight in shining armor. this is unbeta'd so i apologize for any spelling mishaps.

word count — 8k

You live within him, it feels. 

Geta never let you stray farther than a touch, within arms distance. 

You were no longer yourself, rather an extension of him.

He prefers you naked. But, he often dresses you up in gowns; modest sometimes, occasionally leaning toward more revealing fabric—sheer lace, high slits, deep-cut necklines that accentuate your breasts and hips, the soft but tight curve of your ass. Sometimes you wondered if he liked the clothes more accessible to his wandering hands, his fingers fluttering under your gown during public meetings, even.

The men never said a word, they wouldn’t dare.

If you were given the opportunity to be away from him, it was always under the watchful gaze of his guards, and only to complete tasks he has ordered to you—fetching food when he was too lazy to leave his bed and when you were feigning the grimace in your face, itching to wander.

Your relationship is complicated in the beginning but easier to manage as you become accustomed to his personality and outbursts, learning what makes him tick. He’s easier to manipulate with sex, something you have no issue taking full advantage of.

And he fancies an audience, usually. Other servants, less privileged women that trembled in his presence, fearful that his next move would be their last, somehow comforted by your confident and guiding touch. It made no sense to not enjoy what you could while you were imprisoned here, even if Geta and his brother did nothing to soothe the discomfort they left in their wake, making your skin crawl as his fingers drifted along your skin.

Caracalla could not touch either, his brother forbade it. An eager boy, riddled with a brain-eating sickness, he was dutiful to his brother but harmful in his own ways, fickle with thoughtful choices and often making important decisions on impulse. 

They were destroying Rome, that much you knew to be true.

-

Geta’s hand guided up your stomach, his palm curling around your breasts as he squeezed, your own hand flat against his chest as you rode him with fervor in the early morning hours, dawn peeking over the warm, lilac sky. 

In this light, he seemed almost normal. Eyes drifting shut in the silence of his quarters, just you—just him, he often made the mistake of weakening his defenses like this. He growled, low and quiet as his hands traded your breasts for your hips, spinning you in an instant and pinning you beneath him, soon his hand like a vice grip on your neck as he thrusts into you with little care or regard, a string of spit connecting his parted lips as he laughed, an eerie cackle as he came inside of you, admiring the tremble in your lip as he released his grip on your throat, subtly intaking the breath you had been deprived of as he pulls away from you, falling against the mattress and pulling the silk bed sheet over himself.

You move to do the same, but he grips the sheet.

“Make yourself come,” He demands, a sneer across his face as he yanks the sheet away completely. 

It was routine, now. You part your thighs without hesitation, leaning back on your elbow to allow him an unobstructed view, a tired but amused expression on his face as you play with your clit, fingers sliding through your folds, eyes drifting shut as they often did. 

It was easier to picture him this way, brown curls buried between your thighs and the tanned-skin of his backside as he stretched out below you, rutting his cock into the sheets as he ate you like his final meal, eyes like warm honey as they peered up at you.

Acacius, sweet Acacius. 

You were thankful you could remember his face, a memory you would pray to the gods to stick with you forever, a blissful crest of pleasure as your middle finger circles over your clit in a hurried manner, heels digging into the sheets as you feel it—fuck, it’s there, right there—

“Look at me,” He leers, his hand twisting into your hair at the crown of your head, a searing pain that makes you gasp, but your eyes fly open, mouth parted in a mix of pain and pleasure, “tell me how generous of an emperor I am to be so kind to a little whore like you.”

You nod shakily, swallowing as your mouth dries, “You have given me everything, your highness. Everything. I may never be able to repay you such a debt,” It was a script, one you’ve memorized and dare not forget, “May I—” You’ve learned to ramp up the dramatics when he’s lips part in anticipation, fingers itching as his thigh as they curled, his dick twitching beneath the fabric, “may I come?”

So fucking full of himself.

Whether you did or not didn’t matter anymore, but he allowed it. Insists. Your eyes never leave him.

–

Even as you dress, again, he hovers. 

You’ve learned the proper customs and rules, always making sure you look perfect. Pristine. Scrubbing your body down so harsh and deep that it makes your skin feel raw, because if Geta noticed anything—anything at all, it would mean punishment. 

He liked lashings, but that was too exertive for him.

His handmaidens aided the swelling and cuts as well as they could, ice and creams, clever ways to cover the wounds to your face. You were starting to feel a numbness when the anger would rise and explode, only praying that he would remove his rings before doing so.

“He’s visiting,” Geta speaks as though it was a secret, squeezing your chin between his fingers before they predictably fall to your neck, squeezing in the perfect spot to make you feel light, airy, and not in a good way, “I best not get a whiff of contempt, understood?”

“I am yours, Geta,” You knew he liked the more relaxed approach, his grip easing up, “he is nothing, nothing compares to you.”

His nostrils flare, a half-hearted smirk crossing his face as he shrugs.

“I have a task for you,” Geta teases, before his finger trails toward your nose, thumb rubbing against the soft, bulbous curve and down your lips, pushing his fingertip inside, prying your lips apart, thumb tucking against the inside of your cheek as you mouth falls open, “but, not in this moment. The timing must be…perfect.”

Your eyes squint slightly—he was up to no good, that much you could decipher. 

–

He gave the other servants a look, shooing them away as you stayed on his heels, your dress flowing at your ankles, feet bare against the marble floor. He pulled faintly at your wrist as he took a seat, maneuvering you into his lap, his own legs outstretched, fingers traveling up the center of your chest before his hands curving around the back of your head, his thumb rubbing at your jawline.

“Try anything, I will kill him first. Then you.”

You smile, syrupy sweet, playing with a thin strand of his fiery locks underneath the lip of his crown.

“You worry so much, Emperor,” Your own hand covers his, a bold touch as you stare him down, “It does not suit you.”

He’s emotionless for a moment too long, fearing you may have finally overstepped, before he breaks out into a laugh, one final squeeze before he relinquishes his hold.

The General and his entourage arrive soon after your conversation, Caracalla having joined shortly before the approach of many guests—most thanking their Emperors for no apparent reason other than because they enjoyed watching people kneel before them, confessing their undying loyalty.

It was pathetic, but what you were doing—forced or not, was no better. It was much like being stripped bare, the way the others' eyes prowled, watchful of Geta’s wandering touch.

“Quite the whore you’ve acquired,” One embolden man comments, his slimy smirk coming moments later, before calling over his shoulder, “General Acacius, you must tell me where you acquire such…toys. Such a generous gift you gave.”

You smiled with faked confidence, sat in his lap, one leg draped over his own, the other dragging along the floor where it rested through his split thighs, a kneading hand dragging along your inner thigh. Your fingers drag along his own, his tongue shoving into his bottom lip and over his teeth, a tick you’ve learned meant no good, his eyes turning quickly to rage.

You could hear the deep timber of the general over your shoulder as he is called forward, your eyes never leaving Geta, even as he straightens in his throne, his palm flattening against the arm of the chair digging into your back. You slide a hand inside his robe, fingertips dragging along his collarbone, “He knows I am yours now, Geta.”

“General Acacius,” Geta greets with a poorly faked kindness, one that Acacius returns with a curt nod and the usual bow that one of higher ranking would offer, the traditions were different for townspeople, but it was still ridiculous in any manner, “I take you have good news to share.”

Otherwise, he would not be here.

“Austria will be conquered within the next fortnight, Emperor Geta,” He explains with a rigidness that oozed discomfort, ignoring the smarmy look of another nearby general, one of much lower important, but nonetheless—

“Ah, it must feel strange,” The man suddenly interjects, a finger circling the steel goblet in his hand, filled to the brim with wine, “trading whores, doing business—rather messy…”

Geta’s jaw tenses, his anger suddenly directed elsewhere.

But, as usual, Acacius knows how to defuse a tense situation.

“She was a gift to the Emperor,” The general clarifies, “for what he does with her is none of my business, I only knew her as a loyal servant,” not a whore, never had those words left his mouth.

Geta’s chest rumbles softly, his hand squeezing painfully tight at your thigh.

Your teeth clench to silence the pain, dreading his next words as they leave his mouth.

“Call her what she is, Acacius,” He goaded, “a whore—and she excels.” 

His other hand slides through the open back of your dress, slipping one fold of fabric down your shoulder as he grins, all of the lower society bystanders having filtered out of the palace by now, leaving a large group of generals waiting for Geta's official dismissal.

“Give them a show,” He boasts, shoving you off of him rather abruptly, but you quickly plant your bare feet into the flooring, steadying yourself as you kneel before the Emperor, spreading out the spare fabric of your dress to act as a temporary comfort to your knees as you work at Geta’s robe, hesitant as you peer up at him briefly, he nods slightly, but taunting, “go on.”

It wasn’t the first time you’ve performed for an audience, feeling eerily normal now—but in a room full of generals? Acacius? You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, deafening everything else around you as you split his robe apart and dragged your fingers up the inside of his thigh, his tongue peeling slightly through his lips as you wrapped your delicate fingers around his cock, watching as he hardened under your skilled touch, despite how incredibly awkward the air felt, some of the men murmuring around you quietly.

His fingers dig into your hair at the start of your scalp, unhappy with your pace as he grips, pulling you forward until you get the idea, your tongue licking slowly along the head of his cock, the reddened tip glistening with a small drop of precome. You circle around it, slow and tantalizing before you run down the length of his shaft, having memorized every ridge and vein by this point that it has become second nature to instinctively know what pulls him toward the edge faster, easier. But, he wasn’t even looking at you. He was staring through you, behind you.

He was staring Acacius down, guiding you down his cock without much relief as your eyes flutter shut when his cock head nears the back of your throat, using practiced breathing as you focus. He didn’t like it when you gagged, eventually allowing you up for air as you claw gently at his thigh, but the process is repeated over and over again until you’re tearing up, drool collecting down your neck and chest, hand still secured tightly at the root of your hair as he pulls you off suddenly, demanding a tense, “Open, tongue out,” as he comes in short, but forceful spurts against your tongue, swallowing the heady taste of him without another thought. 

He pats at your cheek lightly when you open your mouth, showing it empty.

“Stand,” He ordered, adjusting your dress back up slightly to cover your breast, chuckling underneath his breath at how disheveled you looked otherwise, hair an absolute mess and your chest slick with spit, “oh—why don’t you give him a kiss? As a thank you for his generosity.”

Geta covers himself lazily, uncaring as if a dozen or so men hadn’t just watched him come down your throat. You turn on your heels, approaching Acacius who was simmering with rage, it was subtle, but you could sense it as you came closer.

You smile softly, a silent apology as you touch him first, fingers curling around the side of his neck as you press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, knowing Geta would allow nothing more. And it doesn’t surprise you how easy it feels to fall back into his touch, the polite press of Acacius hand at your hip catching you by surprise, feeling the faint adjustment of fabric, invisible to the naked eye, but you feel it.

Geta doesn’t appreciate Acacius reciprocity, cutting the moment short.

But, Geta is more relaxed that night after Acacius departure than he’s ever been.

He’d won. 

At least, he thought so.

–

“An entire limb seems harsh,” Geta thinks, twisting the rings on his finger as you dry from the bath he had ordered you take before lying in bed with him, always wanting you perfect and clean, “maybe a few fingers would suffice as punishment.”

You keep your silence, letting him think aloud as you squeezed the water from your hair with the cloth, but eventually Geta’s hand wanders, pulling at the cloth covering your body, forcing it to drop to the ground, “What do you think?”

Your eyebrows raise in faint shock, that he was legitimately addressing you about a concern, a choice he would happily make himself—so, why? Why was he asking?

Whatever, you’ll bite.

“What did they do?”

“The general—from the other day, who had such choice words for your dear Acacius—”

“Geta, I have told you—”

“Do not interrupt me,” He seethes, pulling at your wrist, forcing you to be done with your hair and climb over him in bed, “He assaulted a maid of ours—or Caracalla’s specifically, we had caught him up in his room, trespassing, touching things that did not belong to him—”

People, he means. But, he would never be so generous.

“And, you think a few fingers? An arm? That taking away a limb would keep him from doing it again?” You clarify, rolling to your stomach as you crawl toward him, your face level with his own as you rest your head into your open palm.

“Unless, say, you suggest something different.”

“Kill him,” You offer lightly, “If you think one less appendage would teach him a lesson, your highness, I hate to speak out of term, but—”

Geta considers the thought, head tilting to the side before he slowly opens his mouth to speak, “No…I do understand. But, he is a general. It would be something to discuss with a council.”

Your fingers slide across his chest, fingertips rubbing against the small patch of auburn hair at the center of his sternum, slowly crawling up his neck, idle movement that you didn’t think about at all anymore.

“You are an emperor. The people of Rome listen to you,” He and his brother were burning it to the ground, but that wasn’t something you could stop alone, “you are powerful—and, forgive me, but watching you command a room,” It amazes you sometimes how easily it was to play into his weaknesses, a smile spreading across his face as you boosted his ego, “—it does things to a woman.”

His hand, like a magnet, attaches to your thigh to spread you out on top of him, straddling his groin, your bare pussy pressed tight against the cloth of his robe, your hands pressing into his naked chest.

“You are smart,” Geta notices, “educated—a keen eye unlike I have seen on someone of your social status, I do not know much about you.”

“You have never asked,” You reply honestly, “though, it does not matter. I am here for one reason, to serve you.” His grip shifts your waist slightly, aiding the slow, but gentle rock of your hips against his hardening cock and if you closed your eyes long enough, you could enjoy it.

“Yet, you may be of more use to me than I suspected,” Geta teases, his hands rising to massage at your breasts, casually nodding to the maid who had peeked her head inside after a quiet knock, nodding as he answered, “—yes, bring them in.”

A line of varying women filter into the room with somber faces.

And just like that, the moment was lost.

–

Geta was such a heavy sleeper, fortunately. Gently prying yourself away as he rolls onto his side, mumbling something unintelligible in his sleep as you quietly step toward the the attached room where you bathed, pulling at a loose tile in the floor where you had stowed away what Acacius had slipped into the fold of your dress, withholding for the right moment to peek.

It was a tiny scroll, rolled up with a thin string and no bigger than your thumb, your nails pulling at the slab until it pops free, quietly unfurling the curled up paper as you read what was carved onto the thin paper, an overuse of ink smudged in spots.

It listed a place, a monument he knew you’d remember and a promise that he would visit every night after the sun set for a small window in time, hoping to catch you. 

He was still trying to reach you, to provide himself as a comfort in such a time.

You had to plan accordingly, find someone you trusted enough, and convince Geta of your undying loyalty—though, it seemed that you were breaking him down. 

And luckily, you did have a maid you trusted, to a degree—a young woman of similar age, meek but unsuspecting, she often sensed your displeasement and unease, didn’t fit in like the rest of the women that bowed so loyal to the emperors. But, she was a gossip, a troublemaker like Caracalla who she served loyally. She tended to him more regularly, often dealing with his breakdowns and tantrums caused by Geta or, lately, anything. There was never a way to know when he would blow a fuse and cause more bloodshed, he was unruly. 

There was only one hour of the day when you see her—morning proceedings, food served to their royal highness, the two brothers chatting amongst themselves as everyone moved fluidly around them. Caracalla had requested fresh squeezed juice, a rather tedious task, but you sneak away with her as the opportunity arose, digging through the oranges without prying eyes.

“I must ask you a favor,” You begin in a hushed tone, rubbing your thumb over the skin of the orange, “and I will owe you immensely.”

She looks at you curious, but expectant.

“The stuff…that helps Caracalla sleep,” You hint at out of habit, paranoia getting the best of you, “I would…I require it, for Geta. He sleeps heavily, but I need…to be sure.”

“He is insatiable as of late, that act in front of the generals—”

“Irene, I am at my end, please—do you have any remaining?”

It was opium poppy, it had many forms but the one you knew most of was powder. Easy to slip into a drink, often undetectable. It was worth a shot, even if it meant your life.

“At dusk, by dinner. Is that enough time?” She answers easily, a sigh of relief breathing past your lips as you nod, cradling a few oranges in the crook of your elbow.

You had only prayed Acacius hadn’t given up hope, that he might still be lingering in the shadows in wait, hoping for a glimpse of you again.

-

As promised Irene delivers, dousing both of the boys inconspicuously as you kept watch, tainting their wine with the sleeping drug, watch as his eyes began to tire before you as you slipped a grape between his teeth, a sated and happy smile on his face. 

You hate it, but he almost looks normal. Like he wasn’t slaughtering people for entertainment and ruling like a madman—he was still young, just beyond his teenage years and into adulthood, like yourself. You wonder where things went wrong and why, that someone could be filled with such unrestrained rage and hate.

Caracalla beckons for Irene eventually, Dundus hopping from her shoulder to his as she trails alongside him to his quarters, suddenly feeling the nudging of a sharp nose into your neck, a faint sniff and a hum as Geta appreciates the flowery smell, a faint lavender on your skin.

“I need you,” He speaks against your skin, nearly sliding your dress down then, your hands grabbing at him quickly and his reaction is delayed, almost confused, “did you not hear me?”

“Let us retire to your bed,” You suggest, dragging your thumb along his bottom lip, watching as his wine-stained tongue licks at the digit, “and you will have all night to ravish me as you please.”

Thankfully, it doesn’t take much convincing. Though, he’s less coordinated than you’re anticipating, draping himself over you lazily as he kneads at your breasts, cupping your cunt over the fabric of your dress, the silk halfway down your body as you step beyond the threshold and Geta is on you without a moment to breath, peeling his clothes of layer by layer before he’s bare before you, a surprising gentleness to his movements.

He takes a seat on the side of his bed, at the edge as he pulls you into his lap, hands spread out against your spine, fingers digging into the skin and begging to make it ache, hurt, but he doesn’t have the strength, his kisses become increasingly more lazy as the opium takes hold.

Eventually, his eyes flutter as you pull back, your lips barely brushing against his as he fights the exhaustion, but eventually succumbs, falling slack on the bed as you climb off of him, leaving him sprawled out in his bare state to your valiant amusement, given the amount of times he’s taken to shame you rather than show sympathy, it seemed fair.

Sneaking out of the palace is easier than you expect, having spent endless weeks being mindful, watchful of even the smallest of things. Paths, open windows, learning the schedules of staff and guards, it was almost too easy as your feet fell against the broken pavement, the quiet footfalls following in your quick departure, praying to whatever deity above that General Acacius believed in you enough that you would fight to see him.

–

When you show, it is quiet. Dark, not a soul in sight, tugging the cloak hastily over your shoulders, sending a chill up your spine against the bare skin underneath, a small inkling of doubt seeping into your thoughts as you stare around aimlessly, wondering if you were too late.

Your frame slumps against a nearby pillar, secluded in the shadows, the cold night biting at your feet, the faint sound of hooves off in the distance, realizing just how noisy the streets could be outside of the palace—it was comforting, in a way.

“You came,” The words come from your left, behind you as your head whips over your shoulder and he’s touching you before you have time to take him in, a gentle but firm press against your clothed arms, holding you still, “you are here, dove.”

It was a tone of disbelief, like he had lost hope.

He wouldn’t tell you that he almost didn’t come tonight. It didn’t matter, because you were here.

The visceral reaction you have at his endearing name for you is like a vice grip on your heart, mouth opening to speak but words falling short.

Eventually, the tears fell.

“I am sorry, General,” You speak with a shaky timber, “I am—that act, his performance the other day—“

The general soothes your worry, dragging his thumb along your cheekbone to catch a stray tear, “That has no meaning to me, if anything, it was his mistake for allowing us so close. Otherwise, you would not be here with me now.”

You peer at him through tear-soaked lashes, feeling as if you would be snatched away at any moment, your fingers curling into his similar clothing, a cloak covering what you could assume to be a more relaxed attire, a toga that he would often where around his home, strolling barefoot through his atrium. 

“Why am I here, Acacius?”

“You must trust me,” He urges, “that when the time is right, I will come for you.”

“We could go now,” You plead, “he would never know, he does not care enough to go after me, I swear—“

“Little dove, he cares for you much more than you know,” The general counters, “you are valuable to him.”

“He asked something of me the other night,” You speak absently, rubbing a fingertip along the frayed thread of his cloak at your eye line, “what a fitting punishment I thought would be of a man who assaulted a servant—I believe he was testing me.”

Acacius furrows his brow, “You loyalty, it seems. You are getting under his skin, I see it. He knows of your value to me and that as much as he tries, you will not be tamed. But, he is trying.”

You chew at your bottom lip quietly, a nervous tick that Acacius picked up on long ago, both of his thumbs pulling your lip away from further mutilation.

“Little one, what is on your mind?”

“I have to go back soon,” You say with an obvious bitterness to your tone, “though, I do not wish to.”

His large hand curls around the side of your face, cradling your head as you lean into the touch, warmth spreading like fire over your skin, “You will be with me again.”

He barely registers as your lips touch his, a blink and you were there, lips pressed so tightly against his own that they might bruise, leaning into him like he was the only thing keeping you upright, pulling at the fabric of his toga as his hand wanders beyond your cloak, in search of a touch.

“Dove,” He breathes at the realization of skin, “you are bare, your clothes—“ 

“I rushed,” You stare at him impishly, “I did not think, I know, but,” the general smiles, cheeks dimpling with the show of emotion as he shakes his head.

“You have me wanting what I cannot have,” He sounds somber, his hand still lingering against your hip, “I know he does not cherish you the way he should.”

You laugh softly, your stomach fluttering at his wandering hand, drifting along your public bone before the full expanse of his hand was cupping your cunt, welcomed by warmth and the sticky wet sensation of arousal that he’s been longing for, like an addict.

“General, would you like to know something?”

“What is it?” He inquires to your obvious amusement, his and cradling your head back, neck exposed slightly, thankful that the streets around you were empty.

“He likes to watch me pleasure myself,” You admit, “mostly because he cannot achieve the feat himself, but as I close my eyes I picture those mornings when you snuck under the sheets and spread my legs open,” Acacius leans forward greedily, hot breath fanning over your face as he yearns for another kiss, moving away from him tauntingly as you finish your speech, “that sweet look on your face as you taste me, thankful that you expertise was not contained to only battle—“

“Careful,” He warns, “I am not against a reminder if you continue.”

You peer over the broken set of stairs behind him, attached to an abandoned structure, eyebrows raising expectantly, “A parting gift, General?”

—

The discomfort was nothing compared to a general kneeling into the dirt and stone without a hesitation to please you, a whore, a servant—your title no longer mattered, having carried so many. 

He’s still hooded, your legs hanging over his shoulders as he kneeled against the steps, forcing you down flat against the concrete as he licked a slow line through the seam of your cunt, again, again. A teasing trace over your clit as he pressed two thick fingers inside of you, lapping at you loudly.

“Did he bed you tonight?” Acacius inquires curiously.

“Nearly,” You sigh, a high-pitched breathy noise as his pace quickens, knowing that you both were on a time limit, “he—huh—was far too tuckered to be fulfilled.”

His brows raise subtly at your choice of words.

“I drugged him,” You admit, an unexpected moan ripping from your throat as his tongue flicks over you sensitive clit, fingers digging into his cloak-covered shoulder, “seems the Emperor is not as untouchable as he thinks, and tricked by a whore—he would have a fit.”

His fingers dip into your thighs as you squeeze them together around his head, his tongue working quickly over your clit until you’re breathless and whining, feeling the rushing wave of your climax as it crashes into you, Acacius licking up the mess like a starved man.

It takes you a few moments to come back to earth, feeling a gentle tug at your hand as Acacius helps you up, readjusting your cloak over your naked body without much of a word, knowing your time with him was up.

“Wait for the bells,” He tells you, “light, delicate—look for me, I will be near.” 

You begin to speak, but are silenced with a kiss. 

A final goodbye. 

“Remember what I told you?”

Live.

You nod.

“At whatever cost, little dove.”

—

You go to great lengths to make it back to the palace before dawn, hiding behind every pillar, sneaking around corners, somehow managing to slip back into Geta’s bed without so much as a sound, his body still mostly laid out as you had left him, aside from a little rousing around.

When morning breaks, Geta wakes with an obvious grogginess to his tone, forcing his eyes to stay open.

“You stuffed me full of wine,” Geta jokes, “I cannot remember anything from our night prior.”

You’d tried to look particularly exhausted, hair slightly disheveled and the satin bed sheet askew, “It was quite a night, your highness. Such a shame,” You reply mockingly, though there’s a sweetness to your tone, almost teasing.

And if Geta suspects anything, he doesn’t say it.

It takes a day, two, silently mulling over the events.

He wasn’t a half-wit like his brother, his brain like mush beyond repair, useless by result of the infection in his loins. He was helpless, spiraling deeper into madness.

Geta had his wits about him—his eyes drag along your body, the deep swooping fabric showing off your exposed back, the soft skin and gentle slope of your spine, a look shared between you and Caracalla’s most trusted maiden.

Along with the lightness in your tone, a revered outlook, a bounce in your step that most people wouldn’t catch, but Geta—he’s just as much an observer as yourself.

He suspects, no—senses, feels, the deceit in your challenging gazes, the additional touches with an air of confidence, too cocky for someone who has been nothing more than a whore and housemaiden.

He’d always known you were particularly special; smart by means of General Acacius, knowing how to read and write and many other things that others of your station did not have the luxury to learn. And you were hard to break, though Geta had worked at it for weeks, he’d gotten you there.

Obedient, compliant, merciful. 

At least, he’d thought so.

He knows he won’t get a word out of you.

So, he goes for Irene.

-

The guards corral you at dinner, sitting silently with Caracalla as Dundus perched on his shoulder, eating quietly. They aren’t kind either, grabbing hard at your bicep as they drag you from your spot on the floor, Geta’s throne eerily empty.

Your stomach turns at the slow realization as you’re dragged down the hall, tossed beyond the threshold of Geta’s room as you stumble to the floor, groaning at the impact, head hitting the ground first as you roll over in pain, opening your eyes to an even more horrific sight.

Geta, hovered over Irene, lifeless eyes staring back as he dropped the thick cord from his hands, something he must have ripped from the curtain as one drooped down from its normal placeholder. 

There was no blood, no mess, but the light in her eyes was gone, and Geta stumbled over, crawling—hunching down to intersect your bleary eyesight as you slowly came to the realization of what was happening.

“You have betrayed me,” He announces calmly, despite the eyes of a crazed man staring straight through you, face void of any emotion, “after all I have given you.”

“Geta—“ You plead, pushing up on your palms to sit up, his foot coming in contact with your shoulder as you roll into your back forcefully.

“I AM YOUR EMPEROR,” He seethes, spitting as the words left his mouth, “YOU—BETRAYED—ME!”

And left a mess in the process, unfortunately.

“If you would…let me explain,” He stalks closer, watching as you rise slowly before his hand is striking across your face, the sting almost immediate, “I—think…that you—“

“You do not think,” He spats through clenched teeth, shaking with rage as he kneels to your level again, like a rabid dog, “whores do not think, they are fucked until there’s nothing left and then they are tossed out. Like trash.”

In desperation, the words slip out.

“I love you,” You say softly—it was a careful bundle of words that you’ve never spoken before, not even to General Acacius, “whatever she has told you, it is lies.”

His silence isn’t an answer, but you took the opportunity, unsure if he was stunned or gearing to explode.

Convince him, at whatever cost.

“She knows—of my past with the general. She was jealous of me, you. She drugs your brother, you must know. And she tried it with you too, it is why I did not leave your side, why I insisted we come back to your room.”

“But, you knew—“

You reach for him, a hand circling his wrist.

“No, no,” You speak softly, “It was small things. Your speech, it was slurring. You were drifting away, almost as if you were floating. I could see it. I have seen it before, with your brother. The nights when he is unruly, she…calms him.”

“Her story is entirely different,” He challenges, “you see my issue, yes?”

“Geta,” You challenge him, reaching forward to cradle his face, surprised by his willingness to allow it, watching you carefully, “I am loyal to you—no one else. I do not know another way to show you, but I will. I will, you must—“

“Strip,” He orders, “—on the bed,”

It makes your stomach twist, but you follow his orders.

His demeanor is unreadable as he watches, mirroring your movements before he’s climbing over you in bed.

He settles on his calves between your open legs, a blanket of silence falling over as he reaches for your hand, a surprisingly gentle touch as he brings your fingertips to his cock, slowly hardening at the sight of you.

Your fingers circle his shaft as you lean up on your elbows, ignoring his intense eye contact as you drag your palm along the velvety soft skin, feeling him grow to a stiff hardness within a few minutes—it should disgust you.

It does, to a degree. It wasn’t that Geta was unattractive in a physical sense, but the mental picture was hard for you to overlook. But, for the moment, you could pretend like he wasn’t the worst human being to walk the earth.

His fingertips brush against your cunt slightly, fortunately your body has adjusted to the pleasure of such a complicated predicament. You’re sure if you tried hard enough, you could truly enjoy it. But, you’re thankful that your body connects with the severity of the situation, quivering slightly at his touch, mouth opening in a small gasp.

“Are you nervous?” Geta inquires.

You shake your head, “No—it is only, we have never…”

“Let us try something new, hm?” He offers with a grin and you nod instinctively, feeling two thick digits dip inside of you with no warning, not so much grace as Acacius would have, but it isn’t uncomfortable.

It seems Geta has his wits about him, fortunately, diminishing you to nothing but a whimpering mess after a while, some of it a little bolstered for his benefit, but the pleasure was real. 

And god, did you crave that release.

Soon, his hand is gripping his shaft, sliding between the folds of your pussy as he coats himself, mouth twitching at the sight as he speaks, “I want you to watch.”

And you do, his cock pressing into you slowly, “It is such a generous act, you see, feeding you my cock like this,” another slow push, “you should feel special, little dove.”

The words are jarring, but you try not to react. 

“It is not everyday you are fucked by an emperor,” The dichotomy to his words almost makes you chuckle, as if he wasn’t fucking you every day, sometimes even two or three times, “you should be thankful.”

“I am.” You quickly appease.

“Then thank me,” His voice was tense again, his neck flexing with the tightness to his words.

“T—thank you, Emperor Geta.”

“For?”

One last forceful push and he’s seated fully inside of you, your brow pulling together at the pressure, lips parting open, “For your cock, for making me feel so—oh,” His thrusts are careful, calculated, your head falling back at the divine angle he’s found, “for—oh, gods—so good.”

You fist the sheets in desperation, back arching up slightly, watching his jaw tense at the way your breasts bounce, his eyes darkening over time, only a shell of himself as he thrusts into you, two firms hands on your hips slowly making their way upwards, wondering if he was following the path toward your breasts before they are bypassing and going straight for your neck, his hands encircling your throat.

It is merely a second too late before your brain catches up, too overloaded by pleasure that you don’t see the definite switch, quickly going from gentle pressure to the type of force that makes your vision white out.

You choke, gasping for air as you try to speak his name, plead, anything—his eyes are locked on your face, a sick determination as your stronger, forceful blows to his chest quick become weaker, weaker, feeling yourself teetering on that edge before he’s releasing his hold, forcing you to gasp for air.

“Do you still love me?” Geta asks.

And despite yourself, you lie.

“Yes, I love you, Geta.”

He was a sad boy, you’ve come to realize, wanting love but also craving unyielding power. He did not want equals, he wanted subordinates, fans, people that would sacrifice everything in his name. But, underneath it all, Geta was just as broken as you suspected.

—

A parade of the gladiators wasn’t a normal occasion, but it was quite the event—a way of wealthy men showing off their new toys, dangerous murderous machines out for blood.

It was the entertainment before the big show, sitting in the expansive throne room underneath the colosseum as the rich drowned in wine and food, you and several other servants surrounding the two brothers, eagerly awaiting your next order.

At least, for you, it was being obedient.

It felt like a collar around your neck, his fingers tracing along the back of your spine and up, fingertips resting against your shoulder, his thumb rubbing against the column of your throat.

Geta spots him from a mile away, that trademark white against gold, gaudy armor fit so perfectly for a man like Acacius, you bow your head at Geta’s push, the footsteps approaching steadily.

Your throat ached still, eyes slightly bloodshot. He hid your face, the evidence, speaking to the line of approaching generals as they greeted the two men with high regard.

“I commend you, your highness,” A general speaks, faceless but you sneer at his tone, fists balling into the fabric of your dress, “she is so well behaved, you must teach me your tricks.”

You bite down at the inside of your lip as Geta pets your head, tilting your head to the side slightly as you close your eyes, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone.

“There is no trick,” He retorts, “my little dove is loyal, a hard thing to find in a world full of deceit.”

It was laughable, coming from the emperor. 

The moniker is an even lower blow, knowing that General Acacius was a few feet away, the white fabric of his traditional armor dragging along the ground.

“Ah, Acacius,” Geta boasts, “I hope you have come to bring me good news.”

It best only be good news.

As he approaches, Geta’s grip tightens, curling around the side of your neck as a show of dominance as his finger digs into your skin, daring you to defy him. 

The soreness is pertinent, causing you to grimace in pain at his actions, something that Acacius spots but does not acknowledge.

“Yes, our army is nearly ready, Emperor Geta,” He nods before acknowledging his brother, “Emperor Caracalla,” but Geta is not amiss to the way his eyes drag toward you for a brief moment.

“Careful,” He warns, “doves are…so sacred, yes?”

Your sideways gaze peeks through as his eyes bore into Acacius, the subtle glimpse of broken capillaries and a plea for help as you lock eyes with Acacius is all he needs.

It would be tonight—it had to be tonight.

—

He’s a horrid mess, drunk off his ass as he drags you back toward the room. His brother and he were always more rowdy after gladiator games, riding the high of an entertaining act of violence, slaughter for mere amusement. Geta nearly topples over you as he opens the door, pointing hastily toward the bed with a slurred speech, “Naked, on the bed.”

He’s heading for more alcohol, a table tucked away in the corner of the room with a plethora of choices, pouring lazily as he stumbles, the utensils from an earlier meal falling to the floor as he bumps into it, looking displeased at your state of dress. He grimaces, nose scrunching as he reaches for the knife that had clattered to the floor, twisting it in his hand to point it at you.

“You dare—you dare to defy me?” 

Your eyes squint, narrow as he jabs at you sloppily, dodging the action with ease.

“You cannot even see straight, your grace,” You jeer, watching as he gulped down the crimson liquid, remnants trailing down the side of his mouth as he threw the glass away carelessly, the glass shattering against the floor as he charged at you, pressing the tip of the knife under your chin as he backed you into the wall, his eyes capturing the similar essence of rage when you knew there was no saving him, determined to cause bloodshed no matter the consequence.

You can hear the soft lilt of bells in the distance, the sky as black as the darkened state of Geta’s eyes—if he had any humanity in him, it was gone.

“You are…broken,” You speak to him, accepting the consequence, even if Acacius failed to save you, “A poor, poor boy with no one to love him—your confidence, it will be your demise.”

The knife knicks your skin, a subtle sting.

“Are you unaware of Caracalla’s plans?” You inquire, privy to Caracalla’s incoherent babbling, often feeling like Geta’s scapegoat, the constant source of blame. It was true, Geta had never accepted responsibility for anything in his life, “You should be careful, Geta. He has a slippery hand and a temper. If given the opportunity, I am sure he would do away with you. I cannot say I blame him—you are a disgrace of an emperor, ruling Rome like it is a playground—”

His eye twitches, the slight hesitation. It gives you enough time to react, twisting his arm away from your neck and on himself, “Unfortunate that you cannot do that as a dead man,” You bite, pushing against the force of the knife, knowing that Geta had no instinct of survival, a feeble man raised in a glass house for the entirety of his life.

The blood quickly pooled in his mouth, pouring out as his body slumped. 

You had prayed it would be slow and painful, that the misery would last.

The rustling near the window pulls your attention, the city quiet and unsuspecting of the violence having just taken place, Acacius' frame obscuring the view of the stars as he climbs through the window.

“Oh, dove,” Acacius sighs, taking in the sight of the slowly dying emperor, his fingers weakly grabbing for you as he choked on his own blood, “you have made a mess.”

“I could not survive him any longer,” You admit, feeling his arm encircling your waist as he tugged you away, “—what—what is to happen now?”

“It is a fate he would have met eventually, if not at the end of my own blade,” Acacius admits, “–—come, we must go. We only have a few moments, my lady.”

Your breath catches at the words, nodding in agreement as you allow him to tug you along, met with a few men on the other side of the wall, catching you as you dropped, draping you in a thick cloak.

“General,” You breathe, sensing his overpowering frame behind you as he grabs the reins of the horse in front of you, assisting you in climbing on the creature, “where are we going?”

“Away,” He promises, “somewhere we can both be free.”

“But, your status—does it mean nothing?”

It never did, not since the minute Geta had stolen you away.

You peer over your shoulder, his eyes soft.

“I love you,” He utters, answering your question without direct confirmation.

And for the first time, you say it as you mean it, feeling the tug at your heart, “I love you, too.”

[spideyjimin]

Bloodlines entwined: VIII | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child. 

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  words: 7,993

—  warnings: sexual tension, strong language, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie, nipple play, a lot of teasing, nervousness, mention of death, a looot of crying, mention of murder, grieving, sadness, emotional distress, and dark thoughts

—  author’s note: soo my hand is still very much in pain, but slowly throughout the week, i’ve prepared the post because this chapter has been written like 2 weeks ago. I hope i’ll be able to post next week the next chapter because I haven’t been able to work on it at all 😕 This chapter is quite emotional, I cried writing it so be ready for what’s coming 🫣 The chapter is shorter than the previous one, but since it’s a heavy one, I decided to make it shorter 🤗 Hope you’ll enjoy it & let me know what you think ❤️

Chapter VIII: memories of the past

SERIES MASTERLIST | previous | next

Sleeping with Jungkook could have been easier if you hadn’t been so much into each other. The bed felt so small with him by your side. And man, you simply couldn’t resist him. You couldn’t resist his leg brushing against yours. You couldn’t resist his strong scent.

You tried to keep your distance, to focus on sleep rather than the way his breathing matched yours, the way his body radiated heat that pulled you closer. But resisting him was useless. His mere presence ignited something deep inside you, something impossible to ignore.

And then there were his arms—strong, inviting. One careless movement, and his hand was resting on your waist, his fingers barely brushing against your skin. A shiver ran down your spine, your heartbeat drumming in your ears.

You turned slightly, just enough to glance at him, and found his dark doe eyes already on you. The dim light caught the sharp angles of his face, the way his lips parted slightly as if he, too, was struggling to fight the pull between you.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady yourself. But with Jungkook so close, so intoxicating, you knew sleep would never come easily. His eyes roamed your face, his fingers soothing the skin of your waist, his tongue licking his lips, and his breathing was heavy. It was a matter of seconds before you’d both surrendered to temptation.

And well, before you could even register what was going on, his lips were sealed on yours, kissing you like there was no tomorrow. His hand on your waist pushed you closer to him, the other one was right under your chin to hold you. Your hands found their way to his hair, playing with it.

The kiss was far from being innocent. It was actually those kinds of kisses that only meant one thing. Sex. None of you wanted to stop. You were both craving each other so deeply. You always did. There hadn’t been a second in the past weeks that you didn’t desire this man with your entire soul.

Before you knew it, his cock was buried deep inside you as you were riding him. This was pretty much unexpected, but man, it felt so good. Yuna could come more often if it meant having Jungkook inside you. Your palms rested on his toned chest for leverage as you lifted yourself up and down on his cock.

“Shit,” you gasped.  

You were completely drunk in the feeling of his cock filling you up, his hips working in tandem with yours while your arousal dripped down your thighs, pooling around the base of his cock. Jungkook couldn’t help but love the way your body contorted with delight as you were both fucking. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, his hands holding your waist tighter when your walls squeezed him. “And making such a mess on my cock, sunshine” his deep voice sent shivers down your spine.

At this rhythm, you knew you’d be coming undone at any moment. A desperate moan fell out of your mouth, your nails digging into the skin of the muscles on his chest. Jungkook groaned when you sped up the movement of your hips, the warmth of your walls wrapping around him tighter than before as his hands went up on your body, cupping your breasts in them. He pinched your nipples between his fingers, causing you to moan louder and louder.

“You’re fucking hot, yn,” he groaned. “You’re riding me like you own this dick.”  

You could feel his cock twitch inside of you as you rocked your hips at a steady rhythm, your palms still pressed against his toned chest while his hands gripped onto the sheets.

“But I do own Jungkook Junior,” you winked at him.

“You fucking do,” he whispered.

A small moan left your lips when you looked down at him. His wet hair sticking on his face was turning him into an even hotter man. His eyes were staring up at you in that stunning way that showed you how lost in the pleasure he was. His tongue licked his lips as he moaned out your name, tugging at the sheets and thrusting up into you with more urgency each time.

Your walls clenched around his length, squeezing him hard. So far, he had let you set the pace and used him the way you wanted but it was just too slow for him. He craved more so he started thrusting up to you in a harsh way. He went deep inside of you, and you were loving it. He was stretching your insides so much with his rough thrust and it made your whole body tremble. The wave of pleasure inside you had suddenly grown so strong that you felt like you were about to come.

“Gonna cum, Jungkook,” you whimpered.

Your nails sank into his chest, making him groan at the pain and pleasure it gave him. He gripped the sheets harder as he continued to roughly thrust into you.

“Go ahead, sunshine, make a mess for me,” he groaned as he kept thrusting hard.

Those dirty words were all you needed to let go of your orgasm. You were fiercely coming, biting your lower lip to muffle your moans. Your thighs were shaking but he kept thrusting into you while you were completely high from your orgasm. Jungkook was completely loving the way you were creaming his dick. 

His pace became more brutal as he was chasing his own orgasm, making the bed creak under you. Your walls kept clenching around him and that was all he needed to come. He closed his eyes, enjoying this moment of release and you were sure he’d never look so sexy. 

You collapsed over Jungkook as you both tried to catch your breath for a little while, and you left a lot of kisses on his sweet face. He loved it and he could stay like this forever. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight in his embrace.

If temporarily living with him meant having sex at 3 am, you would be more than down for it. Then, you broke the hug to clean yourselves because both your arousals were all over you. His dick was covered with his sperm and your juices while those same things were dripping down from your pussy.

Once cleaned and back to being dressed, you fell asleep in each other arms, more than happy to be together.   

Hours later, Jungkook told you the Shadows would like to reveal your existence to your grandparents. They also asked him to be the one giving them the news. Obviously, he didn’t want to do it without your approval. He also mentioned that he wanted to do it with you by his side, which meant meeting your grandparents for the first time.

And now, you’re standing in front of their house after four hours of driving. Jungkook is firmly holding your hand while he hears your heart beating extremely fast. He can feel your nervousness radiating through his chest due to the strong bond linking the two of you. But he can’t really do much, except being there for you as he’s been doing for the past three months.

“Everything is going to be fine,” he tells you through thoughts. “I’m right here.”

“What if they don’t want me?” your eyes look up at him.

“Give them some time,” he answers. “This is going to be a shock for them.”

You’re very much aware of that. They thought you died twenty years ago, and now, you’re showing up at their door with a baby on the way. But you’re afraid they might push you away because of your true nature.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” you answer.

Jungkook knocks at the door, and the second he does it, footsteps are heard on the other side of the door. Your heart pounds faster, your hands squeezing Jungkook’s hand. You’re dying on the inside. This is way more frightening than going through a transformation or finding out that you’re part of the werewolf world.

Those two people are about to discover you’ve been alive all these years.

When the door opens, an old man of around 75 years appears. Your grandfather. The second he sees Jungkook, he bows.

“Your Majesty,” he says with a honey-like voice.

But when his eyes land on your figure, his face falls apart, and he completely freezes. He recognizes you, there’s no room for doubts. People always told you that you were the perfect mix of your parents. Apparently, you look like both of them.

“Is this real?” he finally breaks the silence.

Jungkook speaks for you because you don’t know what to say. You can’t just say ‘Hi grandpa, it’s really me, yn, the granddaughter you thought dead.’

“It is really her,” his voice is low and extremely soft.

Tears form in his eyes, and it completely breaks your heart. You can’t even imagine how he must feel right now. Seconds later, your grandmother comes into vision, and she instantly falls to the ground, tears running down her face.

What you do next catches you by surprise. You get down on your knees to be at her level before you wrap your arms around her. She hugs you back, holding you like she’s holding for dear life. She cries in your embrace, soaking your shirt, but you couldn’t care less. Tears also appear in your eyes, and you let them run down.

Since you were very little, you have desired nothing more than to meet them. Your parents barely talked about them; there was a lot of tension between them because of what they did. But today, your parents’ sins don’t matter anymore. You are finally meeting your grandparents. The werewolf grandparents whose bloods run through your veins. The ones that make you a part of this world.

“Yn,” your grandmother whispers at some point. “My dear granddaughter.”

You hold her tighter as she whispers those words. She’s devastated; you can hear it in her voice. That voice reminds you of your mother’s voice; it was a very similar one. This is, for sure, very comforting.

“I thought you were dead,” she continues. “I thought we had killed you.”

“You didn’t,” you answer. “I’m right here.”

She doesn’t stop crying, her grasp still tight around your body.

“I’m so sorry,” she adds. “I’m so sorry.”

Hearing her apologizing to you breaks your heart beyond comprehension. Is it really her fault? You’re not sure. Your parents were the ones who broke the rules in the first place. Your grandparents didn’t kill your parents, but they could have protected them. They could have protected you. But they didn’t.

However, you can’t blame them. Everybody seems to follow the rules of this universe. Hybrids are forbidden, just like the love between a human and a wolf is. They warned your parents, but they never listened. So it isn’t entirely her fault.

“I’m sorry, yn,” she repeats.

“It’s okay,” you answer.

She doesn’t answer, she only cries more. This reunion isn’t going the way you expected it. You envisioned your grandparents slamming the door at your face, and insulting you for being alive. But they didn’t do that. Your grandma is crying in your arms, apologizing for the past.

The two men watch this heartbreaking moment with tears in their eyes. Jungkook didn’t know what to expect, he knew it’d be an emotionally challenging moment, but he never thought it’d be like this.

After a moment, you put an end to this tight embrace. Your grandmother’s hands clean your face, her fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear while a small smile appears on her face. Her face is so close to yours, and you get to properly see her. Your mother looks so much like her. Her hands cup your face while she definitely looks at you.

“Welcome home, yn,” she breaks the silence.

You hug her once more before you both stand up. They let you get inside. As you walk in the hallway, you notice the many pictures hanging on the walls. You stop when you see one with your mother in it. She was so young on it, you’d say she was like 12-13 years old. She has the brightest smile on her face, and she looks absolutely wonderful. Seeing her like this reminds you of how much you miss her.

Your mother was a sunshine; she’d spread such a warm energy. You’d love being around her, your mother was your everything. Losing her was the worst thing that happened to you. Losing her comforting embrace is what still hurts the most. Nothing can ever compare to being in your mother’s arms. It’s been twenty years, but you’re not sure this pain will ever go away.

There are pictures of other people, some looking a lot like your mother. You’d guess that they might be her siblings. Uncles and aunts you never met so far. Your grandparents halt when you reach the living room. It’s a very cozy one. There’s a TV with a beautiful couch, and on the left, there is a large table. However, what catches your eye is the beautiful picture of your mom and one of you next to her. It’s a picture of you as a baby.

Seeing those two pictures hanging on the wall breaks your heart. It’s a reminder of the grief they’ve been carrying for twenty years.

They offer coffee or tea which you accept, and while they disappear for a moment, you hug Jungkook. His presence is beyond comforting, but his arms are without any doubt what you really need. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap his strong arms around you, understanding how much you need this. Having him by your side when you navigate these intense moments is what you truly need.

“The coffees are ready,” Jungkook whispers before pressing a gentle kiss on top of your head.

You step back to turn around. Your grandparents are standing behind the table and looking at the two of you with a little smile. They bring coffee, some biscuits, and pieces of cake, and everything looks exquisite. They invite you to sit down before they pour coffee into four cups and hand you a plate. At first glance, you take a piece of cake.

“Thanks for the coffee and the cake,” you offer them a little smile.

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Jungkook adds. “The cake is delicious.”

“You’re welcome,” they bow to the king.

It still amazes you how respected Jungkook is. It’s so special to see people bowing to him, and you’re not sure you’ll honestly get used to it. And one day, your son will also go through this.

“Where did you get that picture?” you ask, referring to the picture of yourself.

“Your mother sent it to us for your first birthday,” your grandmother replies. “Even though things were tense, she dropped a picture of you at our place.”

“We hid it for years,” your grandpa says. “But after that tragic night, we’ve hung it there to commemorate your and your mother’s lives.”

It doesn’t surprise you that your father is nowhere to be seen. He was a human—celebrating him wouldn’t really make sense. But he still deserved it; he was such a wonderful man.

“My mom’s picture is really beautiful,” you admit with a little smile.

Jungkook’s hand delicately rests on your thigh, a gesture indicating that he’s by your side and ready to comfort you in case you need it. For a moment, your eyes linger on him, and his fingers soothe your skin.

“I’m right here,” he mind-communicates to you.

“I know,” you answer.

Your eyes look once more at your grandparents.

“Can I ask you something?” you question, and they nod. “Why are you welcoming me so well? I’m a hybrid, and you hunted my parents and me to kill us all.”

“Life took a tragic turn the moment your parents met,” your grandmother begins, her voice laced with sorrow and longing. “They knew the risks, knew exactly what would happen if they chose to be together—but they still followed their hearts, running away to build a life of their own. We never wanted that for our daughter. We wanted her safe, by our side. But what could we do against love?”

She pauses, her gaze distant like she’s reliving the pain all over again. Seeing her like this isn’t easy because you only feel sorry. How has she kept living while thinking she has forever lost her daughter? God, the only thought of losing your baby boy devastates you, and he’s not even born yet.

“When we found out she was pregnant… we knew we had lost her forever. That pain was unbearable,” she says, shaking her head. “It only worsened when they vanished without a trace. Not only had we lost our daughter, but we knew there was a child—a grandchild—we had never met. You.”

Her voice trembles, but she composes herself. Honestly, you admire the woman standing in front of you. For sure, life forced her to make the wrong decisions, but she has been enduring the harsh consequences for the past twenty years. 

“Even when we learned what you were, it didn’t matter. You were still our blood, our family. We would have never turned our backs on you.”

A deep sigh escapes your grandfather’s lips as he finally speaks.

“After that night,” he begins. “The night we thought we lost you all, we have mourned and honored your lives. And yet, your true nature has never mattered to us. It never will. You are our grandchild, and nothing will change that.”

His eyes soften, glistening with emotions too heavy to name. Instinctively, your hand rests on top of Jungkook’s to squeeze it.

“Seeing you here, standing before us, feels like a dream. But knowing that you are alive? That is the greatest miracle of all,” he admits.

“Mr. Song saved me that night,” you tell them. “He actually wanted to save my parents too, but mom refused to be saved. She was ready to face the consequences of her sins, but she didn’t want me to pay for it. So he took me out while they were executed in our living room.”

Your words send shivers down their spines. In twenty years, they have refused to hear a word about that night, but today, they want to know how you survived.

“My dad’s friend took me in and raised me for the past twenty years. He’s my second father, and I love him with all my soul. But what I ignored all these years was the fact that the late King Taemoo was protecting us. He knew about me but kept me alive.”

This definitely takes them off guard. Their eyes move to Jungkook, asking for confirmation from him. The man nods.

“I grew up all these years ignoring my wolf side, and it’s been hard to realize that my parents hid this from me. I’ve had powers but never knew they were linked to this. I unveiled all of this when I got pregnant.”   

They don’t seem surprised, but you guess they can hear the baby’s heartbeat and his special scent.

“It hasn’t been easy. Being pregnant, discovering I’m a hybrid, discovering the real story behind my parents’ death, and navigating through this whole werewolf world have been draining me,” you continue. “But I’m glad that I got to meet you. To meet my biological family.”

A smile appears on your face. Your life has been pure chaos lately, but in the end, you’ve got to meet your maternal grandparents. You finally get to connect with your biological family. You’re not expecting things to go easy, but you’re glad to be able to meet them.

“And we’re extremely glad to see you,” your grandma smiles. “We’re happy you didn’t die that night. You’re our miracle, together with the life growing inside you.”

Your other hand goes to your little belly to caress it with your fingers. The baby inside your stomach is the reason why this all has been happening. And honestly, you’re happy because, after all these years, you’re finally getting the answers to all the questions you always had. Hearing them isn’t easy, but you finally have them.

“Is it the King’s child?” your grandpa dares to ask.

“It is,” you confirm, and Jungkook nods at the same time.

“So the next heir will carry our blood,” he whispers. “In the middle of all this pain, at least, we’ve got some wonderful news.”

You don’t doubt your family might be proud that their next King will carry their genes. It must be such a new thing to them as the royal family has always been part of the Blood’s pack.

Your grandparents proceed to tell you that you have two uncles and three aunts. All of them are married and have children. They all have two kids, except for one of your uncles, who has four kids. That’s huge, honestly. So it means that you have twelve cousins. You’re actually their oldest grandchild. Your mom is their firstborn and had you when she was 22. The next cousin born after you is actually four years younger. Your youngest cousin is actually 5; it’s crazy.

They also tell you many stories about your mother. It matches the souvenirs you have of the woman you grew up with. She had the purest of souls, always helping others and always shining through the dark. She was loved by everybody. She was the perfect firstborn, but everything fell apart when she met your father, a human. After all these years, they wondered if he was her soulmate. They believe so because who would run away like this with somebody who isn’t their soulmate?

It's something you never thought about, but now that they bring this up, it seems to make sense. It is something you’d do with Jungkook if you had to. This bond is so damn strong.

You spent the entire afternoon with them, remembering your parents and cherishing those memories. It seems like it was a lifetime ago, but hearing new stories of them is deeply comforting. You got to meet another side of them. A side where they were more than just your parents. A side where they were individuals. As their child, you only saw them as mom and dad, but they were also more than that. They were a daughter and a son, they were a sister and a brother, they were friends, they were coworkers, and above anything else, they were lovers.

They also told you how your mother looked like as a wolf. Based on what Jungkook told you, it seems like you’re identical to her. You would have loved to see her wolf side. You would have loved to share your first transformation with her. But that wasn’t the case, and it hurt. It was a blessing to have Jungkook, but you got this wolf blood thanks to her. You would have loved her to be by your side as you unveil this part of you.

So it makes you cry. Jungkook hugs you, trying to comfort you, but this time, his arms aren’t enough to appease the pain inside your heart. It doesn’t appease the hole your parents left when they were ripped from you. Your grandparents join this hug, trying to provide the same comfort, but it doesn’t work. All you want right now is your mom and dad because this isn’t your adult self crying. It’s the ten-year-old version of yourself that is crying.

On your way back home, you ask Jungkook if you can stop at the cemetery. You feel the need to speak with them tonight. It’s pretty late, but you can’t go to sleep if you don’t speak to them. They won’t be able to answer back, but at least you’ll take a weight off your shoulders.

Jungkook is waiting for you in the car, leaving you some privacy, although you know he’ll hear everything, but you don’t mind. He’s the man you’re falling in love with. You trust him so much, and you know he won’t do it in a villainous way.

“Hi, mom,” you say as you watch the picture hanging on the tombstone. “Hi, dad,” your eyes move to the right to see his picture. “Hope you’re having fun in heaven.”

A smile spreads across your face as you imagine them dancing together. They used to do that quite often to maintain the spark. That was what they said. Your right hand is holding a used tissue. You bring it with you in case you start crying all over again.

“I met grandpa and grandma today,” you say. “I was so happy to meet them and hear all the stories they had about you, mom. They also shared some stories about you two,” the smile on your face doesn’t fade away. “It was hard to hear them, and I guess I’ve never gotten over your deaths. Maybe I never will.”

This is the sad truth. You were so young when you lost them, and you’ve struggled your entire life to accept it, but unfortunately, you never did. Even now that you know the truth. You thought that knowing the full story would help, but it didn’t. Maybe you need some time, but it feels like the more time passes, the more you realize this pain will never leave you.

“I’m so sad you never got to tell me about this whole werewolf universe. I’m sad I never got to go through all of this with you. Even if I love Jungkook, it’ll never compare to how it would have been with you. I just wish you could have been here today. I just wish you could meet Jungkook and see how beautiful he is,” your eyes halt at your mom’s picture. “I wish you could help me navigate this pregnancy.”

Jungkook hears your words, a tear rolling down his face as you’re pouring your pain out. He wishes he could be enough, but he knows perfectly well he’ll never be able to fill the void in your heart. His father left one in his heart, too. He understands your pain more than anyone else. He wishes he could go and hug you right now, but he knows you need to be alone. He’ll hug you once you’re back.

“But I hope you’re watching over me from where you are. I like to think that your souls are somewhere because it helps ease the pain, but I’m not even sure you’re really there. I like to think that all these years you’ve been my guardian angels, that you protected me from being killed because of who I am. I like to think that with the late King Taemoo, you brought me and Jungkook together. I might be stupid, but it’s what helps me keep going.”

For a brief moment, you look up at the sky. The stars are shining so bright tonight, it feels like it’s a sign from them. It feels like they’re telling you they are here by your side. Your smile grows wider at the mere thought that they are with you.

“I hope one day I’ll get to see you again and hug you because your arms will forever be my favorite place. I remember I’d sometimes cry for no reason because all I wanted to see were your faces and feel your arms. I remember not being able to fall asleep without a goodnight kiss from you. I remember pretending to sleep when you’d come to check up on me and kiss my cheek. I remember going at 7 am to your bed, in the middle of you, to wake you up.”

You remember so many little silly things, and you cherish those moments. You hope one day to have them with your baby boy.

“I remember so many things that I wish I could live again one more time. It’s hard to keep living without you. It’s hard to wake up in the morning and realize you’re not here. It’s hard to hear that you saved me that tragic night because sometimes I wish you didn’t save me. Sometimes I wish that I was gone with you so I didn’t have to bear this pain.”  

Tears roll down your face as you tell them how you feel sometimes. How you feel when their passing is a heavy weight to carry. The pain is sometimes so suffocating…

Not too far from you, Jungkook cries because he never imagined how hard it truly was for you. He knew it, but it’s deeper than that. This pain is deeply rooted in your heart; he can feel it. It’s extremely hard to hear that sometimes you’d prefer to be dead.

“But now, there’s my baby boy, and I feel like I need to live for him. This whole journey to become a mother was to gain back control over my life, but I guess it truly was to give me a reason to hold onto life. To see that life can truly be beautiful too. That there isn’t just pain,” you confess while cleaning your tears. “And that journey gave me Jungkook. It gave me a man who protects, loves, cherishes me, and stands by my side in silence. His presence has comforted me in ways I can’t even explain. He’s the only one who’s come close to filling the void you left behind.”

For a moment, you think of Jungkook with a smile growing on your face.

“I’m not saying Felix didn’t give me that,” you say. “He’s loved me like a father, but Jungkook’s love is so different. It’s more precious.”

Felix is your father, his arms have given you the comfort your parents couldn’t anymore. You feel safe in his embrace, and there’s not a day that goes by where you don’t wish to be in his arms. But Jungkook is very different. The love he gives you is completely different. It’s a love you’d like to keep forever in your life.

“I know I’ve never made things easy for Felix, but he always stood there like a father would. He’d hug me when the pain was always too overwhelming. He’s my third parent. He didn’t fill the void you left but showed me that I could let him in. My heart created a special place for him. A place that only he has. I love him so much.”

You look down at your hands, fingers playing with a button on your coat.

“And now there’s Jungkook. His love has been mending my heart. It’s like he’s been picking up the pieces and putting them back together.”

You can’t picture a life without Jungkook anymore.

“And I know he’s going to be the best father to our son. Like dad, and Felix.”

Tears stream down your face, and you let yourself cry again. You wrap your arms around your chest, imagining that it’s your parents' arms, imagining them trying to comfort you from wherever they are.

In no time, Jungkook is here, his arms wrapping around you and your face falling against his chest. He doesn’t speak; he only holds you to let you know he’s here. You don’t see him silently crying. This hurts him too, not as much as you, but it still hurts.

“Can we go home?” you ask in the middle of your sobs.

“Yes, sunshine.”

Once you stop crying, the two of you quietly head to the cars. The night’s darkness feels like a fragile blessing, shielding your ravaged face from people’s eyes. Your chest still feels heavy, but you’re grateful for Jungkook’s steady presence beside you. Neither of you speaks during the ride to his place. There’s only a thick and unspoken tension that lingers in the air. The rhythmic motion of the car gradually makes you fall asleep, exhaustion pulling you under.

When you arrive, Jungkook glances over and notices your peaceful face, stains left by your tears still visible on your cheeks. He doesn’t have the heart to wake you. With careful hands, he lifts you from the car, cradling you against his chest. Your body instinctively curls closer to his warmth, seeking comfort. Each step he takes is deliberate as he carries you inside to his bedroom.

He gently lays you down on the bed, pausing for a moment to take in the softness of your sleeping form. With quiet precision, he removes your coat and shoes, his fingers brushing over your skin as if afraid you might break under his touch. After pulling the covers over you, he lingers for a moment longer—watching you breathe, watching you rest. You’ve been through too much already, and every part of him aches to shield you from more pain. But even he knows there are some battles he can’t fight for you.

Leaving the room, he descends the stairs and makes his way to his study. The air feels colder here, heavier. He pulls a crystal glass from the shelf and pours himself a generous measure of whisky. The amber liquid glows softly in the dim light as he takes a long, slow sip, hoping the burn will dull the ache in his chest. But it doesn’t.

This isn’t how he imagined becoming a father. Not surrounded by secrets, danger, and the constant threat to your lives. But despite everything—despite the weight of it all—he wouldn’t change a thing. Because loving you, protecting you, and knowing that a part of both of you is growing inside you means everything to him. Still, that love comes with an unbearable price.

And tonight, the weight of it is too much to carry alone.

With a sigh, he pulls his phone from his pocket and dials a familiar number. It doesn’t even ring twice before Taehyung picks up.

“Can you come over?” Jungkook’s voice is quieter than usual, strained with the effort of holding himself together.

“I’m on my way,” Taehyung replies without hesitation.

Fifteen minutes later, Jungkook barely manages to hold himself upright as Taehyung steps into the room. The second he closes the door behind him, Jungkook loses the battle he’s been fighting all night, and his composure crumbles.

He falls into his arms, crying about how much it pains him to see you like this. About how much this hybrid situation tortures him. About how hard it is to protect you from everything. This time, Jungkook is the one who needs some support, and he can’t seek it from you because he doesn’t want to hurt you.

“You’re not superhuman, Jungkook,” Taehyung whispers while comforting his best friend. “You’re allowed to need someone, too.”

Slowly, you wake up, your body heavy with the weight of exhaustion. Your eyelids flutter as they adjust to the soft glow of ambient light filtering through the room. Something feels different—this isn’t your bedroom, nor is it the guest room where you’ve been staying at Jungkook’s place.

The bed beneath you is larger, softer, and feels like it could swallow you whole. The faint scent of Jungkook—or should you say, his new scent mixed with yours—clings to the sheets. You’re still not really used to this new scent. It feels like it’s been the only thing you’ve been able to smell lately.

You stretch your limbs lazily, your muscles aching slightly from the emotional toll of the night before. As you shift, the absence beside you becomes obvious—the bed is empty. The warmth that should be there is missing, leaving the sheets cold to the touch.

A flicker of disappointment stirs in your chest as you push yourself upright, brushing your hair out of your face. Your gaze scans the room—a space that is unmistakably his. Wooden furniture fills the room, elegant and minimal, yet personal in the small details. A leather-bound journal rests on the nightstand beside a silver watch, both items feeling so inherently Jungkook.

Your heart skips a beat when you realize where you are—his bedroom. The most private part of his world. Somehow, while you slept, he brought you here. The thought makes warmth blossom in your chest, even as a hint of confusion lingers. Why didn’t he wake you? Where is he now?

You glance down at yourself and notice you’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes, slightly wrinkled from sleep. The memory comes back to you in fragments—the silent car ride, the heaviness of your eyelids, the way your body gave in to the pull of sleep despite your efforts to stay awake. He must have carried you here. The thought of his strong arms lifting you so gently causes a shiver to run down your spine.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stand up slowly, your bare feet sinking into the wooden floor beneath you. The house is quiet. Too quiet. But as you try to look for any sign of life, you hear the household staff talking and moving around. Your son’s heartbeat suddenly echoes in your ears.

However you’re searching for any sign of Jungkook, but you can’t find him. Most probably, he left for work reasons. He’s the werewolf king, and he always seems so busy. You still wonder how on earth he finds time for you.

You walk toward the door before opening it. You peek your head, looking around. There’s absolutely nobody in the hallway. You get back into the bedroom to find slippers. The floor is way too cold for you to walk around on barefoot. And Jungkook will kill you if he sees you walking without something on your feet. He takes his role as a protector very seriously.

It doesn't take long for you to find a pair of slippers and put them on. Then, you leave the room, heading to the downstairs dining room. Since your first time here, you’ve been having breakfast there, so you suppose it’ll be the same now that you live here. Otherwise, you’ll simply go to the kitchen. You’re so fucking hungry.

On your way down, you run into Jinwoo, who instantly bows to you. As much as you want to tell him not to do it, you can’t. He’ll get mad because it’s his job, and if he doesn’t do it, Jungkook will get mad at him.

“Good morning, Miss y/l/n,” he offers you the brightest smile on earth.

“Good morning, Jinwoo,” you smile back at him. “You know, you can call me yn. We’re going to live in the same place for a while, and I’ll be more comfortable if you call me by my name.”

Jinwoo nods. “No problem, yn.”

“Do you know where Jungkook is?”

“He had to leave,” he answers. “But asked me to ensure you’ll have your breakfast.”

“Don’t worry about that,” you say. “I’m starving!”

Jinwoo chuckles before he guides you to the dining room, the warm aroma of coffee and toasted bread filling the space. It smells so damn good! As you take a seat, he places a steaming cup of coffee in front of you, your curious eyes looking down to notice the perfect shade of light brown due to the generous amount of milk. Beside it, there is a plate of golden toast with a pat of butter melting into its surface. It looks absolutely delicious.

“You always get it right,” you glance at Jinwoo with a small smile.

“Jungkook made sure we all knew,” Jinwoo chuckles.

That makes you pause while you are reaching for your coffee. Honestly, it warms your heart the way Jungkook looks after you and makes sure you have everything you love. You couldn’t have asked for a better baby daddy.

“Of course he did,” you shake your head with an amused huff before taking a sip.

Suddenly, Jungkook walks in, and Jinwoo instantly leaves the room, leaving the two of you alone. You glance up, your sharp gaze catching the exhaustion lining his features. He’s dressed casually, but there’s a heaviness in his posture like the weight of his responsibilities hasn’t quite left him. Still, he smirks as he approaches, his eyes flickering from your coffee to your toast.

“Well, well,” he muses, sitting next to you. “Looks like someone is already making herself at home.”

“It’s not like you forced me to stay here,” you roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

Jungkook slides closer to you, reaching for your toast without hesitation. You can tell he’s about to eat it, but you’re not one to share, especially now that you’re pregnant. The little boy inside you is constantly asking for food.

“Don’t you dare,” you warn.

But it’s too late. He takes a bite, completely unfazed by your glare.

“You’re impossible,” you grumble.

“And yet, you still put up with me,” he counters smoothly, chewing leisurely.

You shake your head, pretending to be annoyed, but there’s no hiding the way your lips twitch. Then, just as effortlessly, Jungkook leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. It’s quick, teasing—like he’s simply claiming what’s his.

This new scent you both carry is still something you’re trying to adjust to. It’s a combination of his scent with yours, but it still feels weird. You constantly smell it, even when you’re alone, because it’s still very new to you.

“Do I really have much choice?” you tease him.

Jungkook pretends that you hurt his heart, his reaction being overly dramatic.

“You’re being so dramatic,” you roll your eyes before biting into your toast.

“Your words profoundly hurt me,” he says. “I’m goooing to die.”

You start laughing at his exaggeration, and he smiles when he hears that sweet melody leaving your lips. He knows how hard it was for you yesterday—it was for him, too. But he doesn’t want yesterday’s pain to ruin your day. So he’ll do whatever it takes to make you laugh.

“You’re a drama queen,” you say once you’ve swallowed.

“Eeeh, I’m no drama queen,” he pouts and crosses his arms against his chest.

A smile grows on your face before you lean closer to kiss him. His pout fades away to kiss you back.

“You’re my drama queen,” you whisper against his lips.   

The man presses a peck on your lips. Once he pulls back, his eyes roam your face with a smile on his face. He finds you absolutely breathtaking, the prettiest woman he has ever laid eyes on. This soulmate bond is so damn strong, he can feel it deep in his bones. His entire body longs for you, and he constantly finds you extremely beautiful. You’re his favorite person.     

“I’m going to take a shower while you finish eating so we can go grab lunch at your dad’s house,” he says.

Every Sunday, you have lunch at Felix’s place with Lexi. However, this time around, Jungkook is coming. Now that he’s part of your life, it seems natural to include him in those little family gatherings. And very soon, your baby boy will be joining too. You can’t wait for that.

“Can I join you?” you ask.

Jungkook arches an eyebrow.

“If it’s for naughty time, let me tell you…” you cut him short.

“You have such a naughty mind,” you tell him. “I just want to shower with you without any crazy ideas in mind.”  

“Mmm,” he narrows his eyes. “Why do I struggle to believe you?”

You roll your eyes, annoyed.

“Now, I don’t want it anymore.”

You resume eating your toast, your eyes looking at the coffee cup.

“And I’m the drama queen,” he ironically says while leaving the room.

You chuckle, your head moving to the right to take a look at his strong figure walking away. This man—your soulmate—is incredibly hot. It’s still hard to believe that he is all yours, that destiny chose him to be your forever person. It’s also hard to imagine loving him more than you do now. You know it’s only the beginning, but thinking about the love you’ll probably feel in one year seems almost unachievable.

But Jungkook is the love of your life. He’s the missing piece you’ve been looking for your entire life. He’s the reason why the chaos you’ve stepped into seems bearable. And as long as he’s by your side, nothing will ever be scary or hard to manage.

You finish your breakfast very quickly before hurrying up to his bathroom. The second you step inside the steamy room, Jungkook feels you.

“I thought you didn’t want to come,” he pokes his face from the shower.

Jungkook with wet hair is a very hot vision. One you’ll never be able to forget.

“I never said that,” you pretend as you’re stripping your clothes.

His hungry eyes never look away while you get naked to join him. A smile grows on his face when you walk in his direction. Once you’re in front of him, you lock your eyes with his, and for a moment, the world around you freezes.

“Hi, angel,” you cup his face in your hands.

“Hi, sunshine,” he answers.

His lips meet yours for a hot and passionate kiss, but you cut it short since you don’t really want to do naughty things in the shower. You just want to be with him. You just want his presence near you. Nothing else.  

You throw yourself against him, arms wrapping around his strong torso and your head falling against his chest. The sweet melody of his heartbeat appeases your soul as his hands wrap around you. His lips press a gentle kiss on top of your head.  

“Thanks for yesterday,” you murmur.

“No need to thank me, sunshine.”

“Of course I need!” you exclaim. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You’re stronger than you know,” his hands move higher to stroke your hair.

“I’m not,” you directly answer.

His hands immediately stop touching your hair to cup your face so you look at him.

“Don’t ever say that!” his tone is firm which sends shivers down your spine. “You’ve been through hell and back, but you’re still standing tall. Life didn’t spare you, especially lately, but you’re here, thriving and creating life. You should give yourself more credit,” his thumb caresses your cheek.

“From my perspective, it doesn’t feel like I’m strong,” you honestly say. “It feels like I have no choice but to face what life throws at me.”

“A lot of people would have already given up a long time ago, but you never did,” you melt under his touch. “Your strength is something I deeply admire about you. It’s what makes me fall for you more and more.”

You rest your face on his hand while your eyes close for a moment.

“I actually adore everything about you, even the way you breathe,” he chuckles. “What I want to say is that you���re a very admirable person, and you can be proud of yourself for the way you’ve been braving things so far.”

You wrap your arms tighter around him, your eyes looking up at him. 

“And I would really like to call you my girlfriend,” he admits.

Although you really want to say that he actually already did it when Yuna suddenly appeared, you don’t want to ruin this cute moment.

“As long as I can call you my boyfriend, you can do it,” you smile at him.

The biggest and brightest smile stretches across his beautiful face. You’ve never seen him react like this, and it’s by far the best thing you’ve witnessed.

“Obviously, you can,” he answers. “My sunshine.”

He presses a kiss on your lips.

“My angel,” you whisper.

Nothing can ever make you feel as happy as you do right now.  

[maximoffsgirl]

Peace in Chaos

summary: You can’t say no to the twins; Wanda, can’t say no to you. It’s a dynamic that often works in their favor—especially when they desperately want something. The twins know that, if all else fails, they can rely on you to soften Wanda’s resolve, even if they trick you along the way.

warnings: Established relationship, Wanda and Reader are married. Domestic Life. The twins are close to 7/8 years old. Wanda is referred as mama/mom, Y/N is referred as mommy. Otherwise, I think there's none, this is pure fluff

author's note: English isn't my first language :) and to the anon who requested this, I hope this is what you were thinking about❤️

word count: 3.311

not proofread!

When Wanda first joined the Avengers, she spent much of her time locked away inside the room they designated as hers, finding solace in the company of old books she had never had the chance to read before. Among those books, she stumbled upon a collection of poetry and came across a single phrase, quoted by Emily Dickinson; a phrase which was still written at the beginning of the diary Clint had gifted her for Christmas when the Avengers Tower became her home: "The heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care."

At first, Wanda found the phrase peculiar. How could her heart, which had never known a single day of peace, possibly want anything? Yet, as time passed, she began to understand. It was precisely because her heart had endured so much chaos that it longed for something different.

Stability was a foreign concept to Wanda. Her life had always been beyond her control, and when her powers came into the picture, they only added to the turmoil. But the constant inconsistency made Wanda’s heart want one thing more than anything in the whole world. A family.

She yearned for a family like the one she once had. A family she could come home to at the end of the day, where she could sink into the couch with the weight of the week pressing down on her shoulders - an uncomfortable ache, yet in a place where she felt comfortable. An environment where a television program no one was really watching played softly in the background while someone shared the details of their day. Wanda’s heart craved for care and tenderness, something solid yet gentle—a sanctuary that felt soft, safe, and unshakably real.

After the life she had lived—always running, fighting, and losing—it felt almost unbelievable that Wanda now had everything she had ever wanted cradled in her arms. Hard to believe, I know. But with your head resting against her chest, your body nestled between her legs as you scrolled through your phone, Wanda was certain that she needed nothing more. She closed her eyes  briefly, letting herself savor the peace, the warmth, and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

The sounds from your phone mingled with the lively chatter drifting down from upstairs, where the twins were deeply immersed in a passionate debate about something. It was chaos. But it was her chaos. A chaos that she chose and was looking forward to every single day live in. 

“Hm? What are you doing?” Wanda asked, her arms tightening around you as you started to move. Her voice was soft but carried a hint of reluctance. She tilted her head a little to the side, wanting to know what you were planning. 

You turned to face her, a small smile on your lips. “We forgot to put the plates in the dishwasher,” you replied casually, as if that alone was enough reason to leave Wanda's embrace. To your wife, it definitely wasn't.

Wanda let out a low, drawn-out groan, clearly unenthusiastic about you leaving the comfort of her body pressed against yours. She held you a little tighter, silently protesting your attempt to get up.

“Don’t you need to finish your mission report?” you teased gently, raising an eyebrow at her reaction. Your words made her sigh in mild defeat. She had mentioned earlier that she needed to wrap up her mission report after dinner. It wasn’t a task she enjoyed—especially when it meant sacrificing time with you—but it was something she couldn’t ignore, no matter how much she hated it.

“I do,” she complained, her tone carrying a mix of annoyance and reluctance. Her thumb gently brushed against your cheek. It was obvious she didn’t want to move, but the mission report wasn’t going to complete itself.

Before either of you could say more, a sudden, loud noise from upstairs interrupted the moment. Both your heads turned toward the ceiling in unison. Wanda frowned, her brows knitting together as she stared at the source of the commotion.

“What are they doing up there?” she muttered, her voice tinged with both curiosity and a hint of irritation.

“Probably destroying your things,” you joke, smirking at her. Wanda didn’t share your amusement; instead, she shot you a stern look, her concern evident. That only made you chuckle softly.

“Relax, baby” you murmured, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips, your way of soothing her. With a lazy stretch, you slipped out of her warm embrace, earning a soft groan of protest as you stood. “I’ll get the dishes,” you said with a playful shrug, heading toward the kitchen while Wanda remained on the couch. 

She reached out for you, calling your name with a playful pout on her lips, as if trying to coax you back into her arms. But all she got in response was a teasing kiss blown in the air, followed by a few more chuckles from you. "You're impossible," Wanda muttered, though the corners of her mouth twitched, hinting at a smile she couldn’t quite suppress

A few minutes later, Wanda mirrored your actions with a resigned sigh. With a stretch and a yawn, she slowly pushed herself off the couch, kissing your shoulder once she moved past the kitchen to her home office. She opened the door with another huff, the thought of that mission report weighed heavily on her, already draining her energy before she even began.

As peaceful as the silence was, it didn’t last longer than fifteen minutes—a brief reprieve, but in a house with twins, it felt like a blessing. The twins knew better than to disturb Wanda when her office door was closed, understanding the importance of letting her work in peace. However, today was different. They had something important to ask her, and they were certain that mama wouldn’t mind being interrupted if it was truly important.

Wanda, ever attuned to the sounds around her, heard the soft footsteps and hushed whispers before the three gentle knocks echoed on her office door. She glanced down at the mission report in front of her, then dropped her pen onto the pile of papers near the notebook, her attention fully shifting to the interruption. 

“Yes?” she called out, her voice loud enough to reach her sons, signaling they had permission to enter.

The door creaked open slightly, and two sets of curious eyes peeked through the gap. First, Tommy, with his usual impatience, then Billy, who always seemed a bit more cautious. Their wide eyes and raised eyebrows said it all—they had something to ask. Wanda couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them, her stern demeanor softening instantly. She gestured for them to come in, her smile softening as she watched them shuffle inside, their little hands fidgeting with each other in anticipation.

“Is everything alright?” Wanda asked, her voice filled with the kind of tenderness that only a mother could provide.

The twins, true to their age, began poking and nudging each other, whispering in hushed tones while they stood in front of their mother - who was looking at them with amusement as they continued to argue who would be the one to initiate the conversation. 

“Mom, we have something super important to ask. But… promise you’re going to listen first” Billy tried to negotiate, his little feet shuffled nervously as he spoke. Tommy, by his side, nodded his head in support, his wide-eyed expression practically daring Wanda to disagree.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she watched her boys’ antics. Leaning back in her chair, she murmured a soft, “Okay…” her tone amused yet curious, ready to hear what the twins were planning. 

“So.. we saw something on the internet..”

That wasn’t entirely true. Long before the twins were even born, you and Wanda had agreed, in a heartful parenting talk, that unrestricted internet access wouldn’t be part of your children’s childhood. That being established, the closest the twins got to the “internet” was their tablets - with a few games they begged to have since all their friends were active on and the little maximoffs were being left out- streaming shows, and, on some occasions like weekends, YouTube videos.

Still, Wanda stayed quiet, her expression neutral as she listened to Tommy’s words. Even if he couldn’t possibly get whatever their idea was from the ‘internet; more likely, he was just saying it as an excuse to shift the responsibility off himself and his brother. 

“And we wanted to try.. We wanted to have a night pool party”

Wanda arched an eyebrow, glancing between her sons with growing curiosity. She had a sneaking suspicion about where this was headed but decided to feign ignorance, opting to play along.

"A night pool party..." Wanda repeated slowly, dragging out the words with a hint of amusement as she looked at her sons. Her lips twitched with a barely suppressed smile. "And where would this happen, exactly?"

"Here! Tonight! We've already planned everything," Tommy blurted out, his words tumbling over each other in his excitement.

Billy immediately hissed at his brother, shooting him a sharp glare. That definitely wasn’t part of the carefully rehearsed convincing speech they had agreed on beforehand. 

Wanda frowned, her amusement fading. If it were any other season, the idea might not have bothered her as much. But her sons wanting to swim in the freezing water of the pool outside? That was a firm no. The idea would only serve so they’d catch a cold and be miserable for the rest of the week. Besides, late hours weren’t meant for pool parties—especially not in this weather and not with the age they had. 

There they stood in front of her: matching cozy pajamas, hair lazily brushed back, and fresh-faced from their recent bath. They looked absolutely adorable, and Wanda couldn’t bear the thought of letting their idea ruin that. Spring was just around the corner, and while her children were undeniably the cutest in the world, she had no interest in dealing with two sick little ones—especially when even the smallest sneeze turned them into impossibly needy bundles of chaos.

“No. It's not even hot.” she simply replied, looking back to the now black screen of her notebook. 

“But mom,” the twins protested in unison, their voices carrying the familiar tone of pleading.

Wanda, however, was unmoved. Her decision was final, and she wasn’t about to budge. Crossing her arms, she gave them a firm but gentle look that clearly said, not happening.

“No is no, boys. I’m not going to repeat myself. When it's hotter we can think about it”

The twins left her office with matching little huffs, their quiet complaints trailing behind them. They knew better than to argue further or try to reason with their mother—her decision was final, as always.

But the twins, as stubborn as any Maximoff to ever walk the Earth, weren’t ready to give up just yet. Instead, they exchanged a look, a silent agreement passing between them. They’d just have to come up with another strategy.

It was no secret that, between you and Wanda, you were the parent more likely to entertain the wild ideas your sons came up with. Camping in the backyard? Of course. Nearly a liter of milkshake, even if it was freezing outside? Without a doubt. If it sounded fun, you were usually on board.

You didn’t blame Wanda for seeing things differently. After everything she had endured in her life, control and structure brought her a sense of peace she had rarely known before. Ensuring that the household stayed balanced and comfortable wasn’t just her way of parenting—it was her way of feeling secure.

But that didn’t make her the “boring parent.” If you asked the twins, they’d insist that mama was just as fun as mommy. Sure, she was a little scarier when she got angry, but that only made her the perfect balance to your more carefree approach.

Although they knew better than anyone how to take advantage of your different personalities.

At times like this, when Billy and Tommy had their hearts set on something, they knew they could always count on you to try convincing Wanda to let them have their way.

Sometimes it didn’t work—after all, undermining Wanda’s authority wasn’t part of your parenting playbook, nor was it in hers. But there were moments when a little push for compromise didn’t hurt, especially for something harmless enough to reconsider.

That’s why you felt two little fingers poking each of your shoulders while you scrolled through your phone on the couch. Turning around, you were met with the two most adorable faces you’d ever seen.

“Hi, boys. Already tired of breaking the house upstairs?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

They responded with cheeky smiles, and without a word, Billy climbed up to sit beside you on the couch, Tommy quickly settling in next to his brother. Their mischievous grins told you they had something up their sleeves.

“Mommy…” Billy trailed off, his voice sweet and direct. “Can we have a swim party tonight?”

His question was much more straightforward than Tommy’s had been when they’d asked Wanda.

You frowned slightly at the idea. The weather wasn’t exactly cold, but it certainly wasn’t warm enough to make a pool party seem like the best choice. You thought about it for a moment. The pool was clean, they’d have fun, and it might tire them out enough for an easy bedtime.

“Hm. Why not?” you said with a shrug, giving in to their request. The twins smiled, happy to finally receive a ‘yes’ to their idea. 

“Can you convince mama then?” Tommy asked eagerly, his excitement practically radiating off him. Billy let out another huff, clearly annoyed by his brother's impatience.

You turned your body to face them, a sigh escaping your lips as you realized you'd fallen for one of their tricks, again

“Don’t turn this on me, boys,” you said, shaking your head. But when they hit you with those puppy-dog eyes, you knew you were in trouble. You sighed again, giving in.

“Okay, I guess I could try to convince her... but if she doesn’t budge, I won’t try again, alright?”

The twins nodded eagerly, their smiles growing wider once they got you to agree with their idea. You ruffled both of their messy hairs playfully before standing up, a smile tugging at your lips as you made your way toward Wanda’s office. The twins’ giggles echoed behind you, but you knew you had your work cut out for you if you were going to convince Wanda.

Just like your sons, you approached Wanda’s office quietly, giving a few light knocks before stepping inside. Wanda, who was about halfway through her report, looked up and smiled at the sight of you. Grateful for the excuse to take a break, she rolled her chair back slightly and patted her lap, inviting you to sit.

You settled sideways on her lap, and Wanda wasted no time wrapping one arm around your waist, pulling you close, sighing with the familiar weight of your body upon hers

“How’s it going?” you asked, your fingers working gently at the tense muscles in her neck. Wanda let out a soft sigh, her smile a blend of contentment and fatigue.

“Annoying, as always,” she replied, her voice laced with a hint of frustration. Her hand drifted to your thigh, her fingers lightly running over the fabric in soothing motions as she added with a small smile, “But I’m halfway through it”.

“You know... the twins mentioned something about a night swim tonight,” you said casually, your tone light but deliberate. “And, apparently, I’ve been tasked with convincing you,” you added playfully, though there was a touch of seriousness behind your words.

“Have you now?” Wanda replied, her voice mirroring your playful tone but laced with even more amusement. She arched an eyebrow knowingly, already piecing together where this conversation was heading.

“I know you already said no, but they’re so excited about it, Wands,” you said, trying to play the kids’ happiness card against her. Wanda rolled her eyes, a small smirk tugging at her lips. She saw right through your game but decided to let you play it anyway.

“And just think about it,” you continued, your hands gently moving along her neck, down to her shoulders, and back up again in soothing motions. “We can turn on the pool LEDs, make it fun. They’ll tire themselves out, and bedtime will be so much easier.”

You laid out the positives, your tone soft but persuasive, waiting patiently for her response.

“Love.. I know. But it’s late and It’s not even hot” She tried to resonate with you, sighing with each argument, knowing she has already lost. 

“They’ll be alright, babe. Let them have this,” you said with a convincing smile.”

Wanda let out a heavy sigh, her expression unamused as she looked at you. “If they catch a cold, you will be the one taking care of them,” she said firmly, pointing a finger at you for emphasis.

But despite her words, you both knew the truth. If that scenario played out, Wanda would be right there, rolling her eyes but still doting on the sick twins, as she always did.

You stayed wrapped in her embrace for a while, both of you savoring the quiet presence of each other. Wanda adjusted you on her lap, shifting just enough to free both hands so she could continue working on her report. You rested your head against her shoulder, your warm breath brushing against her neck, which made her smile softly despite her focus on the task.

The content of the report didn’t matter to you now—you’d already heard all about the mission the day after she got home. So you stayed quiet, simply enjoying the comforting warmth of her body and the peaceful moment you were sharing.

After that,  you and Wanda made your way to the living room, stepping in quietly. The twins were curled up on the couch, watching something on Netflix, completely oblivious to your arrival. Wanda stepped forward, arms crossed, hands on her hips, and her head tilted in mock frustration.

“I can’t believe you both!” she exclaimed, her tone sharp and disapproving.

The twins froze, their eyes widening as they turned to face you both. Wanda’s intimidating stance and your almost-guilty expression made them shrink in their spots, unsure of what they’d done.

“What are you two doing? You should be getting ready for the swim party!” Wanda said, feigning exasperation but failing to hide the faint twitch of a smile.

The twins blinked at her, then at each other, before springing up from the couch in pure joy. “Oh my god, seriously?!” Tommy shouted.

“YESSS!” Billy cheered, both of them jumping around excitedly as they circled their mothers, their energy contagious.

Soon, the house transformed into its familiar brand of chaos. The twins, now dressed in their swimsuits, were already splashing around in the pool, the colorful glow of the LED lights—courtesy of Tony Stark—dancing across the water. Their laughter echoed through the backyard, only occasionally interrupted by shouts of, "It's so cold!" Wanda, unimpressed, responded with a dramatic eye roll, her arms folded across her chest.

Standing at the edge of the pool, Wanda kept her distance, her arms wrapped firmly around her waist as she watched the scene unfold. She made no effort to join the fun, choosing instead to watch with a raised eyebrow and an air of feigned detachment. Yet, the slight tug at the corners of her mouth betrayed her amusement.

Somehow, despite her initial objections, Wanda found a sense of peace in the chaos surrounding her. The sound of Tommy and Billy's laughter brought a soft smile to her face, and she even chuckled at your playful teasing—directed at both her and the twins.

Two days later, the inevitable happened. The twins began sneezing, and you found yourself on the receiving end of a very pointed lecture from Wanda. But, as always, her frustration melted away with a sweet kiss, leaving her shaking her head in exasperated affection.

It was a different kind of chaos—one filled with sniffles, tissues, and extra cuddles—but it was hers. Wanda’s heart had finally found something. Had finally found peace in the beautiful mess of it all.

✄╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

thanks for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it💌

masterlist

[moonmaiden1996]

Hi! i Loved your last one piece shorts!! Can I ask for sexlife with benn and his kinks with a more inexperienced partner? i love him sm, thanks in case you'll do !

Okay I went rogue on this but in my defense I have been wanting to write Beckman for AGES so it mixed of how I imagine he treats his inexperience's partner and some kinks at the end. 18+

Benn Beckman is a man of experience, patience, and quiet intensity. Unlike the boisterous chaos of the rest of the Red Hair Pirates(Shanks), his presence is one of controlled dominance. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t waste words—he watches, assesses, and when he moves, it’s with certainty. That same demeanor extends to the bedroom, especially when faced with a more inexperienced partner.

Commanding Presence, Unshakable ConfidenceBenn Beckman isn’t just any man. He carries himself with effortless authority. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to command attention, doesn’t need to be flashy to be dangerous. The weight of his presence alone is enough to make men hesitate—and enough to make you shiver when those sharp, knowing eyes land on you.

His gaze is piercing. He doesn’t just look at you—he sees you. Every nervous swallow, every little shift of your body, every shaky breath. And he smirks because he knows exactly what you’re thinking. His voice? It’s low, steady, rich like aged whiskey—roughened by experience, yet always controlled. A voice that makes your stomach tighten when he murmurs, “Relax, sweetheart. You’ll be just fine. Just need to get you nice and ready for me.” His movements? Precise, deliberate, calculated. When he touches you, it’s never hesitant. He knows exactly where to place his hands, exactly how to draw the reaction he wants. Benn Beckman is not a man who fumbles. And he sure as hell isn’t a man who rushes.

Patience is His Biggest WeaponBenn loves slow. He doesn’t just take his time—he makes you feel every second of it. He wants you craving him. He drags his fingertips over your skin, tracing over your collarbone, down the curve of your spine—just enough pressure to make your breath catch. He watches your reactions like a strategist analyzing a battlefield. Where do you shiver? What touch makes you tremble? What sound escapes your lips when he whispers against your neck?

He doesn’t just kiss you—he teases first. Lips hovering over yours, warm breath against your mouth, so close you can feel the heat radiating from his skin—but he doesn’t close the distance until he feels you get desperate for it. And when you finally break—when you start leaning into him, reaching for more—that’s when he finally gives you what you want.

Teaching You Exactly How He Likes ItBenn knows you’re inexperienced. And that just means one thing: he gets to mold you, guide you, shape you into the perfect little partner. He takes control—not forcefully, but naturally. His hands guide you where he wants you, positioning you with ease. He whispers instructions in that deep, gravelly voice. “Just like that, sweetheart. Nice and slow.” He’s endlessly patient. If you hesitate, if you fumble—he just chuckles, tilts your chin up, and says, “Don’t think too much. Just feel.”

He doesn’t just want you to follow his lead. In time, after he’s given you a little of his experience, he hopes you’ll take your own control—even if he will never relent easily. He wants to watch you fall apart beneath him, completely lost in the pleasure he’s giving you. He wants you to challenge him, try to coax him into giving more.

The Art of Ruining You with His MouthBenn Beckman does not half-ass anything. And that includes using his mouth on you. He starts slow. Soft, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, a rough palm pressing against your hip to keep you still. He teases you with his breath alone. Lips hovering over the most sensitive part of you, warm breath sending shivers through your spine—but he doesn’t touch you until he knows you’re aching for it.

When he finally does? He works you over with agonizing precision—slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, pausing just to hear you whimper before diving back in. And when your thighs start shaking, when your hands twist in his hair, when your voice turns breathless and desperate? That’s when he pins you down harder, growling against your skin. That’s when he drags you over the edge—again and again—until you’re spent, gasping, and trembling beneath him.

And when he finally pulls away? He smirks down at you, thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips. “Didn’t know you could make such sweet noises.” His mouth glistened with you. “Hope you’re not spent already, sweetheart. I’ve only just started.”

Your First Time with Benn—Heaven and Hell All at OnceIf it’s your first time, Benn treats it like a slow-burning ritual. He makes you comfortable first. You don’t even realize you’re relaxing until his deep voice rumbles, “That’s it. Let go.” He undresses you slowly. Calloused fingers grazing over bare skin, making you feel exposed, vulnerable—but never unsafe. He touches you everywhere first. Mapping your body, feeling every inch of you before he even thinks about taking things further.

And when he finally presses inside you? He groans, low and deep, as he watches you, he wants to engrave the moment he makes you his on his brain. He low key enjoys you struggling to take him. “Fuck, sweetheart… so tight.” He won't move. Instead he will work that sweet spot till you come around him, he wants to make you cry in relief when he moves slowly at first, deep and unrelenting, letting you feel every inch of him stretching you open. He holds your wrists down, keeping you steady, whispering praises into your ear between every slow, devastating thrust. He knows it hurts even if your not a virgin he knows you're inexperienced. You have never had anyone like him and never will again. You his. Benn doesn’t just fuck you—he claims you. And when you finally fall apart beneath him, gasping his name? He just chuckles darkly and kisses you slowly—dragging you under and over the edge over and again.

Okay I got side tracked— Kinks- Warning the man is kinky ASF

Sharing You: Watching and Holding You Down

There’s something about the unspoken bond between Benn Beckman and Shanks that makes them perfectly in sync when it comes to the bedroom. It’s not just about two men with their own desires; it’s about your pleasure, and how they both enjoy watching you unravel. Benn will only share you with Shanks—he's the only man he trusts around you.

Benn enjoys the thrill of control as he holds you down, his hands anchoring you firmly, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Where they both want you. He’ll tease you relentlessly, bringing you to the edge, making you beg for Shanks to take over.

Shanks isn’t shy about stepping in—he knows how to make you feel completely his. He guides you with a steady touch, his fingers pressing into your skin as he slides into you, while Benn whispers dark encouragement in your ear. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Let him take care of you.” His voice is low and thick with satisfaction as he watches Shanks fuck into you hard.

Benn loves watching you squirm, his gaze focused and intense, as Shanks continues. He’s fascinated by how you respond, how you become his, completely. “Look at how beautiful you are, taking both of us so well.” Benn enjoys the vulnerability you give them—sharing your body with them, but also receiving every ounce of pleasure they can give. After Shanks it will be his turn– or maybe he went first. Doesn’t matter they will be taking multiple turns after all.

2. Soft Dom with Wife Kink

Benn Beckman isn’t one to rush things. When he’s with you, he’s completely attuned to your needs, guiding you with a steady hand toward complete surrender. His dominance isn’t about force or aggression; it’s the subtle, unshakable control that exudes from every move he makes.

The wife kink is one of his favorite forms of adoration. He loves calling you his, claiming you as his wife, the one he will cherish, worship, and protect. He wants you to feel like you are the most important person in his world- and wear cute little things he can rip off you.

When he’s with you, the experience is slow, reverent, and never rushed. He wants you to feel every inch of connection. His voice softens when he speaks to you, murmuring things like, “My beautiful wife,” or “You’re everything to me.” His hands never leave your body, constantly exploring every curve, memorizing every inch of you.

When he takes you, his movements are controlled and deliberate—gentle, yet firm. Every thrust is a reminder of his love, devotion, and commitment to you.

3. Heat/Smoke Play

Benn has a unique relationship with heat, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. He enjoys the burn—the burn beneath his fingertips as he smokes. He’s fond of lighting candles, the flickering light casting shadows on your body. As the wax slowly drips down your skin, he delights in the contrast of heat against your coolness, spreading it with slow, teasing fingers.

But it’s not just about the wax. Benn loves smoke too. He’ll blow smoke across your body, watching the hot air curl and lick your skin like a soft caress. He enjoys the tension it creates, the burn lingering on your skin as his breath follows it. His favorite bit is blowing it against your spent core, watching you squirm at the sensation of the warm air on your sensitive flesh.

4. Praise and Reassurance Kink

What makes Benn Beckman so captivating is his ability to make you feel perfect, no matter what. Even in his most dominant moments, he’s constantly reassuring you, making sure you know that you’re wanted, safe, and cherished.

His voice softens as he praises you during the act, and every gentle stroke, every kiss serves as a reminder of just how deeply he feels for you. “You’re perfect for me, sweetheart. You feel so good—don’t worry, I’ve got you.” He’ll murmur it all as he moves over you, making you feel like you’re the center of his world.

“My baby girl,” he says between kisses, as he continues to worship your body, reminding you that you are his.

5. Exhibitionism

In private, Benn enjoys the thrill of knowing you’re his, and the act of being with you. It’s not about showing you off; it’s about the secret pleasure of possession—the deep satisfaction of making it known to the world that you belong to him.

He loves the idea of people hearing you. Not seeing but hearing, only he get to see it’s about owning you completely. Sure, people might be concerned when they hear you scream, but that’s exactly what he wants—he wants the world to know who you belong to.

It’s not just reserved for his cabin; Benn doesn’t care where he is—pubs, forests, alleyways, even other pirate ships—nowhere is off-limits when it comes to marking you as his. He loves seeing the marks, knowing that they’re left behind from your time together.

On occasion, he might even let Shanks watch. But only if Shanks behaves—it’s a little incentive to keep his Captain in line. If Shanks has been good, he gets to share you. If he’s not? Well, he might have to sit on the sidelines and just watch... or listen to you.

LIKE. COMMENT. REQUEST

[rue-isabelle]

My requests open.

Unbothered queen

The Monaco sun shone brilliantly over the paddock as Charles walked hand-in-hand with Yn, his girlfriend of two years. Her calm presence had transformed his life, and for the first time in years, he felt like he could breathe again. Their love was evident in every glance, every smile, and the way Yn effortlessly fit into the high-octane world of Formula 1.

The other drivers adored Yn. She was genuine, kind, and always made time for everyone despite the chaos of race weekends. To them, she was not just Charles’ girlfriend; she was family.

Max leaned casually against his Red Bull garage as the couple walked by. "Yn! Charles! Over here," he called.

Yn waved, her grin lighting up her face as they approached. “Hey, Max! How are you?”

“Better now that you’re here,” Max teased. He shot Charles a playful smirk. “She makes you look good, mate.”

Charles chuckled, wrapping an arm around Yn’s waist. “I know. I’m the luckiest guy here.”

“You’ve definitely upgraded,” Max muttered under his breath, earning a snicker from Lando, who had just joined the group.

Lando grinned. “We all agree. Yn, you’re a saint for putting up with him.”

Yn laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. He’s not too bad.”

The camaraderie was interrupted by a chillingly familiar voice. “Charles. We need to talk.”

The air seemed to shift as Alexandra Saint Mleux, Charles’ ex-girlfriend, appeared out of nowhere. Her sharp gaze flickered to Yn, then back to Charles. The drivers immediately stiffened. They remembered how toxic Alexandra had been during her time with Charles—how she craved the spotlight and treated Charles as nothing more than a stepping stone to fame.

Charles’ jaw tightened. “Alexandra, what are you doing here?”

She ignored his question, her eyes narrowing as she addressed Yn. “So, you’re the new girlfriend. Charles sure knows how to downgrade.”

Lando muttered, “Oh, this is going to be good,” stepping closer to Max, who was glaring at Alexandra.

Yn, however, didn’t even flinch. Instead, she turned her attention to Max. “Max, did you hear what time the drivers' briefing starts? I think Charles forgot.”

Max smirked, catching on quickly. “Four o’clock. Don’t worry, I’ll remind him.”

Alexandra’s nostrils flared. “I’m talking to you!”

Yn finally turned her gaze to Alexandra, her expression calm and unbothered. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you still here?”

Max and Lando exchanged amused glances, barely containing their laughter.

“You think you’re better than me?” Alexandra snapped, taking a step closer to Yn. “You’re nothing but a placeholder. He’ll get bored of you, just like he did with everyone else.”

Charles stepped forward, his voice icy. “That’s enough, Alexandra. Leave.”

But Alexandra wasn’t done. “Why don’t you tell her how you used to beg me to stay? How you couldn’t live without me?”

Yn yawned dramatically. “Is this your big moment? Because honestly, it’s pretty disappointing.”

Max burst out laughing, and Lando clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles.

Alexandra’s face turned red with rage. “You little—”

She lunged forward, her hand reaching for Yn, but before she could get anywhere near her, Charles stepped in front of Yn, his protective instincts kicking in. “Don’t even think about it.”

Behind them, security had already been alerted. Two burly guards appeared, one of them grabbing Alexandra by the arm. “Ma’am, you’re not authorized to be here. You need to leave.”

“Let go of me!” Alexandra shrieked, struggling against them. “This isn’t over!”

Yn, still calm as ever, leaned into Charles and whispered, “Is it bad that I’m kind of enjoying this?”

Charles chuckled, pulling her closer. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

As Alexandra was dragged away, screaming about injustice and revenge, the paddock erupted in relieved laughter.

Carlos appeared out of nowhere, clapping his hands. “Yn, that was a masterclass. You didn’t even blink.”

Yn smiled. “Why waste energy on someone who’s not worth it?”

Charles cupped her face, his eyes filled with admiration. “You’re amazing. I don’t know how you stayed so calm.”

“Because I have you,” she said simply. “I know who you are, Charles. She can’t change that.”

Charles kissed her then, soft and full of gratitude. The world around them melted away as the drivers cheered.

Max’s voice broke through the moment. “Alright, lovebirds, save it for after the race.”

Charles pulled away with a laugh, his forehead resting against Yn’s. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” she replied.

As the couple walked away, hand-in-hand, the drivers watched them go, all of them silently agreeing on one thing: Charles had finally found someone who truly made him happy. And none of them would let anyone ruin that.

@f1gossip posted

Liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, charlesleclerc, and 5 789 993 others

Attention! Drama at the F1 paddock! After Alexandra Saint-Mleux, ex-girlfriend from Charles Leclerc, entered the paddock without an F1 pass and starting drama with his current girlfriend (trying to attack her), YN YL, Saint-Mleux was banned from the paddock for lifetime.

Comments:

@user1: Hahaha no way did she do that

@user2: The way I gasped when I read this

@user3: OMG is poor Yn OK?😟

@user9: @user3 don't worry, she is. I was there when this happened and Yn handled this whole thing like a queen

@maxverstappen: she got what she deserved.....

@user: LMAO 🤣🤣

@user: Nah, Max didn't...

@landonorris: I couldn't have said it better

@user: what is going on?!

@user: Max and Lando being sassy together on Insta was not on my bingo-card

@charlesleclerc: behaviour like that is unacceptable, how dare she try to attack my girlfriend

@ynuser: Charles... stop getting angry. It makes me all hot and botherd

@charlesleclerc: oh? Does it now ma vie😏

@ynuser: you, me, your drivers room, 5 minutes

@charlesleclerc: your wish is my command

@oscarpiastri: what the fuck did I just read..

@user5: the bitch finally got what she deserved

@user8: Alex was the worst girlfriend on earth. #QueenYn

@user: #QueenYn 💗 is the best in the world

@user: #QueenYn 💕

@user: #QueenYn 💜, you deserve the world

@user: #QueenYn 😍 she is perfect

@user: #QueenYn 🫠🥵, I would let you step on me and still thank you

@user: #QueenYn, you are so much better then Alex🤮🤢

@user: #QueenYn ♥️ till the day I die

@user: #QueenYn ☺️

@kimiraikkonen: #QueenYn🧊😎

@user: Ariana (Kimi) what are you doing here??!!

@user: no fucking way did the kimi raikkonen just comment

@lewishamilton: something like that is just unacceptable. We shouldn't allow behaviour like that towards innocent people. Yn is a lovely human being. I haven't seen Charles smile so much as he does with her.💜

@ynuser: thank you《33

@#charlesleclerc: I appreciate that♥️

@user: not Lewis defending his future daughter-in-law

@hater: Alexandra didn't do anything wrong. Yn is the real bitch here

@user: omg, some people don't get it

@user: go back to sleep, granny

@user: Yn didn't do anything wrong. It was your precious Alex that was a hoe here

@olliebearman: get of the fake account, Alexandra

@user: OLLIE. THE MAN THAT YOU ARE👏👍👌

[writesvani]

fuckbuddy!gojo x reader

pairing: gojo x reader

type of fic: short drabble, hc

tws: explicit sexual content , dom/sub themes, manipulation, coercion (implied), cheating (implied), explicit language

my note will be at the end of the chapter! 🤍

happy reading, love you all [@writesvani]

Fuckbuddy!Gojo knows you have a boyfriend. And he loves it. Loves that no matter how much you try to play house with that poor bastard, you still end up in his bed, still come crawling back when you need to be ruined.

Fuckbuddy!Gojo who sends a lazy "wya?" knowing damn well you’re curled up against that pathetic excuse of a man—wrapped up in his warmth, drowning in his affection, trying so hard to convince yourself that this is what you want.

Fuckbuddy!Gojo who doesn’t even need a reply to know you’ll see it. That your heart will stutter, thighs clenching out of instinct, mind already fogging up with thoughts of him. But he waits anyway, phone in hand, cock already straining against his sweats, knowing you’ll crack.

And when you finally sneak away—probably murmuring some excuse about needing a glass of water—just to tell him you’re busy, that your boyfriend is waiting for you to come back and finish the movie?

Gojo just smirks.

"Oh, I was just thinking sum about you."

Short. Teasing. A trap, laid out perfectly. He knows you won’t be able to stop thinking about it. Knows you’ll be shifting in your seat for the rest of the night, pretending you’re paying attention to the movie when all you can think about is him.

What was he thinking about? The way your voice breaks when he’s fucking you? The way you tighten up around him like you were made for him? The way your boyfriend will never, ever be able to touch you the way he does?

Yeah. You’ll be thinking about him all night. Gojo? He’ll be waiting.

Fuckbuddy!Gojo who already knows that the second that thing you call your boyfriend knocks out, you’ll be right there—sneaking off to the bathroom, phone in hand, voice low and breathy as you murmur, “What were you thinking about?”

Fuckbuddy!Gojo who doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t bother with sweet talk or games, just lets out a slow exhale before saying, “Just thought about making you forget your own name.”

Like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just send a pulse of heat straight between your legs, didn’t just have you pressing your thighs together, biting your lip, trying to ignore the slick pooling in your panties.

Fuckbuddy!Gojo who’s already shoving his sweats down with one hand, phone wedged between his shoulder and ear, his own breath turning ragged. He knows exactly how you look right now—back against the bathroom wall, fingers gripping the sink, head tilted back, lips parted in that soft, needy way that drives him fucking insane.

"You miss me, baby?" He asks, voice laced with amusement, but there’s a hunger behind it, something darker, something desperate.

And he knows the answer. Knows that no matter how much you pretend, no matter how safe and comfortable that loser in the other room makes you feel—this is what you really crave. This is where you really belong.

As always, he’s more than happy to remind you.

author's note:

alright, listen, i’m supposed to be working on coming down (my college gojo x college reader fic, check it out HERE if you haven’t yet, you’re missing out), but today i decided to abandon all responsibility, throw caution to the wind, and let my brain do whatever the hell it wanted. and what did it want? a chaotic, unhinged gojo drabble that basically slapped me in the face. so here we are—me, spilling this madness onto the page, because my brain is too loud for me to ignore.

so yeah, forget about coming down for a second—this drabble is now my new obsession. i hope you're as addicted to this mess as i am because honestly, i don’t even know what happened.

but don’t worry! i’m not abandoning coming down forever. a new chapter is coming out on wednesday, so mark your calendars. get ready for more messiness, more chaos, and probably more of my unhinged ramblings.

divider by: @chilumitos

[misscherry-26]

I saw you were taking requests for Bellamy Blake and I haddd to send one in!! Could you please write a lil spice fic, where they’re in the woods and get in a fight or sum n he js suddenly kissss her. Thank you twin!!

Unspoken Feelings

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x Reader

Author's Note: Hi!!! Thank you so much for this!! My first request for Bellamy Blake. Oh the things I felt while working on this...👀 By the way I had to make a few changes, this is my most polished draft, haha. I'm so excited to share it, though I don't know how good I did with the spicy. I hope you like it!! Thank you for requesting. ❤️

There could be grammar mistakes, English isn't my first language.

He really thinks he’s the leader, the king of the earth. Self-centered egoist of a man. He can go fuck himself. You think as you walk through the woods in search of the plant that Clarke needs for Finn, who was attached by the grounder that kidnapped Octavia.

They managed to get him to the ship, but now he was struggling for his life. The problem was that the knife he was stabbed with was infected. Bellamy and his group got the grounder and tortured him to get information. Of course he refused to give it, that until Octavia threatened him to harm herself with the poisoned knife. Finn would live, but Clark needed more medicinal plants for him.

But of course, Bellamy Blake had to give his ultimatum that no one would leave the camp, no after realizing that you aren’t the only survivors of earth. He could care less about saving people, but you for sure didn’t. You don’t know Finn completely but, he deserves to live.

Since the ship landed on Earth, You and Bellamy have been at each other’s throat every single moment. It’s like you are locked in a never-ending battle, a constant clash of wills. Every decision he makes seems to deliberately oppose yours, every step he takes is a challenge to your very presence. He thrives in the chaos, you can see it in the way he strides trough camp, shoulders squared, head held high, daring anyone to question him. His motto—whatever the hell we want—rings in your ears like a taunt, a reckless mantra you can’t ignore. He embodies it with every decision, with every command he gives without caring for the consequences.

When he encouraged the others to rip off their bracelets, you felt the sting of frustration burning through your veins. To him it was a bold declaration of independence from the Ark, but to you, it was a hasty move to those above thinking Earth wasn’t livable.

And then, there was the Grounder. The way he’d dragged the man into camp, beaten and bloodied, as if his very existence was a crime that needed punishing. You left the room when he ordered the torture, convinced that brute force was the only answer. The look in his eyes then—cold, calculating, determined—was a look that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

He’s always there, hiding on the edges of your vision, challenging you. It’s infuriating, the way he dismisses anything resembling compromise or collaboration as weakness, how he scoffs at your attempts to hold onto something resembling order or morality.

Yet, there’s something in his attitude —something in the way he glances at you, a flicker of underdetermination, a tension that thrums between you like a wire. It’s in the way he steps closer when you argue, his body taut, like he’s gearing up for a fight he both craves and dreads. You feel it too—the tightness in your chest, the burn of frustration that’s more than just anger, something deeper, more complicated. You don’t know whether you want to scream at him or—

But no, you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he gets under your skin.

You take a look at the sky losing its light with each minute that it passes.

Taking a deep breath, you continue.

After what feels like hours of searching, you finally spot the familiar shape of the plant you’re looking for. You remember the details Clark gave you. Crouching down you carefully pull a small bag from your pocket. You work quickly, plucking the plants and stuffing them into the bag, your movements precise and purposeful.

But then—a sudden rustling, a low whisper of movement through the leaves nearby. Your heart stutters, and your breath catches in your throat.

Instinct takes over. You drop low, pressing yourself against the cold ground, hiding behind the broad leaves of the plant. Grounders, maybe.

They could be watching, waiting.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, listening for the sound of footsteps, for the snap of a twig or the rustle of leaves that would betray their presence. But instead, you hear a low chuckle—soft, mocking, and far too familiar.

Your eyes snap open, and you whip around, breath catching in your chest.

There, arms on his waist, is Bellamy. His eyes, dark and sharp, are fixed on you like a predator who has found his prey. His brows are drawn together, the muscles in his neck tense, and there's a fire in his gaze that blazes hotter than any annoyance you've seen before.

“I see you like to test my patience, Princess.” His deep voice cuts through the silence, pulling your gaze upward. He's standing right in front of you.

You get up immediately, your breathing and muscles relaxing at the notice that you are not in danger.

“What are you doing here?” You ignore his previous comment, turning around and continuing on getting more plants.

“I remember telling everyone to not leave camp, and that includes you too, you know? There’s no special treatment here.” You hear him from behind.

“I wasn’t going to sit around. Clark needs this for Finn.”

“He’s stable enough; we don’t need anyone else getting hurt over this.” Bellamy insists, his tone sharp.

You clench your teeth and turn. “Look, I couldn’t care less what you think. I don’t go by your rules.”

Bellamy scoffs and grabs your arm. You let go of his grasp as soon as he starts walking.

“Don’t touch me!”

Bellamy watches you, wondering why you are being stubborn right now. Hell, he even wonders why he came here for the first place. Was he worried about you? Why did he come here? He questions himself. Bellamy’s mind races, battling with the tangled web of his feelings. He’s been fighting to keep everyone safe, to enforce rules that seem cold but necessary, and yet, here he is, breaking his own rule because of you.

Truth is, you have been nothing but a burden to him every single day since they put a foot on earth. Your defiance, your refusal to follow orders, your reckless bravery—all of it has been a thorn in his side. Every day, you challenged his authority and decisions, and yet, despite all the friction, despite the constant arguments and the resentment, there’s something about you that pulls at him.

He can’t quite distinguish it, but it’s there—a magnetic pull that makes him question his own motives and feelings. It’s in the way you stand up for what you believe in, even when it puts you at risk. It’s in the fire and determination in your eyes, something that resonates with him on a deeper level than he’s willing to admit.

The frustration he feels is braided with an unspoken admiration, a bittering respect that complicates his emotions even further. Bellamy is torn between his duty and the sudden impulses of something else—something he can’t easily define or control. It’s a vulnerability he hasn’t allowed himself to explore, and it confuses him.

All he knows is that despite the danger and the defiance, he can’t seem to turn his back on you. His frustration is laced with a deeper, more complex emotion that makes him question why he’s so determined to keep you safe.

He thought you would be this scared of everyone and everything type of girl, but you prove him all the opposite.

“Let’s go back—”

“I won’t.” You cut him off, not giving him a chance to say anything. You turn again and continue with your job.

Of course, you hoped that he would go and leave you alone. You hoped.

Next thing you know, your feet aren’t touching the ground and you are being lifted up by him. A few leaves escape your grasp, so you make sure to close the bag.

“Let me go!” You protest.

“Stop screaming, you are putting us in danger” He doesn’t listen to your request, instead he walks back to camp.

You scoff, moving frantically. “If you cared so much about safety, you wouldn’t be carrying me off like I’m just another pack to you!”

Bellamy's jaw clenches, and he stops abruptly, eyes scanning the surrounding woods.

“You’re the one making noise,” he retorts, setting you down but not releasing his grip entirely. “Keep quiet or—”

You hear it then—a rustling of leaves, far too close, far too deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat. It’s not just the wind. Bellamy stiffens beside you, his grip on your arm tightening reflexively.

For a split second, your eyes meet, and you both know: the Grounders.

“Run,” he whispers, urgency dripping from the word.

But there’s no time to argue. You both take off, feet pounding against the damp earth, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The sounds behind you grow closer—footsteps, which makes your heart race even faster.

Up ahead, you spot a dark opening—a cave, half-hidden by foliage. You yank Bellamy toward it without thinking, and for once, he doesn’t resist. Both dive inside, pressing against the cold rock. The cave is narrow, suffocating, but it’s cover.

Outside, you hear the murmurs and footsteps of the Grounders drawing near. You hold your breath, every muscle tense. Bellamy’s hand is still around your wrist, and you can feel his pulse racing just as fast as yours.

“We’re not going anywhere until it clears. We need to stay inside.” he mutters, barely audible.

Bellamy presses a hand against the small of your back, steering you deeper into the cave, his touch firm, almost commanding. You feel the heat of his palm through your shirt, and it sends a jolt of anger through you.

“Get your hand off me.” You snap, jerking away from his touch. But the cave is too narrow, and he doesn't give you much space to maneuver.

His jaw tightens, and he steps even closer, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I’m trying to keep you from getting killed.”

You dig your heels in, resisting just to spite him. “I don’t need you to save my life, Bellamy.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it—just a sharp, bitter edge. “You think I want to be stuck here with you? Trust me, Princess, this is the last place I want to be.”

You whirl around, stepping closer, your chest brushing against his, both of you too angry to care. “Then why are you here?” you fire back, your voice louder than you intended. “Why do you always have to control everything? Who made you the boss of me?"

His hand, still on your back, clenches into a fist, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away.

“Maybe because I’m trying to keep you alive!” he spits out, his face inches from yours, his breath hot. “You are always doing this—taking risks, getting in my way. Do you have a death wish?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, anger flaring into something more intense. “No, but maybe you do,” you whisper fiercely. “Coming out here, risking your life for someone you supposedly can’t stand. What is it, Bellamy? Why do you even care?”

He grits his teeth, and you see something flicker in his eyes—a momentary crack in his armor. “I don’t!” he snaps, but his voice lacks conviction, faltering on the last word.

“Liar,” you accuse, stepping even closer, your forehead nearly touching his. “If you didn’t care, you’d have let me go. You wouldn’t have come after me, wouldn’t have—”

His grip tightens on your arm, and his other hand moves to your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” His voice is low, almost a growl. “You think you’ve got me all figured out?”

You tilt your chin defiantly, eyes blazing. “Why don’t you just admit it? All this, you’re not really angry. You’re scared. Scared of what might happen if you lose control. Scared of what it means if something happens to m—"

But he doesn’t let you finish. In the blink of an eye, he’s on you, lips crashing against yours with a force that takes your breath away. The kiss is rough, almost bruising, a mixture of frustration and something deeper—something desperate. You freeze for a moment, caught off guard, before the shock melts into anger again, and you shove against his chest.

He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he presses you harder against the cold, cave wall, his body flush against yours. His hands move up, one sliding to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place while his mouth claims yours with a furious intensity, like he’s trying to silence every word, every protest.

Your heart is racing, your thoughts a tangled mess. You should push him away again, should shove him back and yell in his face, but instead, you find yourself kissing him back just as fiercely, your hands fisting in his shirt. It’s like all the anger, all the arguments have boiled over into this—this raw, heated clash of mouths and tongues.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are panting, breaths coming fast, and his forehead rests against yours, his eyes still dark with emotion.

“Why do you care?” you whisper again, but this time your voice is softer, less certain.

His thumb brushes your cheek, and his gaze is intense, almost searching. “I don’t know,” he mutters, but there’s something vulnerable in his tone, something that makes your heart ache even as your anger simmers beneath the surface.

“Maybe I’m frustrated…so damn frustrated because—” He hesitates, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “—because you’ve got a way of getting under my skin, and it’s driving me crazy. But yeah, there it is. I’m worried. Happy?”

His lips are so close you can feel his breath on your skin, and for a moment, it’s like the whole world has narrowed to just the two of you, trapped together in this cave, trapped by something you can’t name.

"Bell..." you start, but he silences you again, this time with a softer kiss, one that seems to ask for something instead of demand it.

His hands slips down to the curve of your waist pulling you even closer, and you feel a shiver run down your spine, heat pounding low in your belly.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers locking on his dark strands. The kids deepens, growing more urgent, desperate, as if both of you are trying to pour all this unspoken feelings into a single, shared breath.

And you know that whatever this is, you are not ready to stop it. Not yet.

[rootedinrevisions]

Attention

SUMMARY: Amidst the chaos of storm fronts and unpredictable skies, your playful bratty antics spark a fiery dynamic between you and Tyler, who knows just how to tame your spirited nature. But as passion ignites and boundaries blur, a day of teasing leads to an unforgettable night at a hotel, where he reveals a different side of the southern gentleman you’ve come to adore.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was meant to be a short drabble like yesterday's Kinktober Post (my goal is for them to be at or under 1k words). But as I was writing this one it kind of just took off and I kept going and now here we are at almost 6k words! There's also just something about Tyler and the way he would smirk whenever Kate gave him any kind of sass in the movie that screamed brat tamer to me. So I hope you all enjoy this!

PROMPT: "I'm really not in the mood for you to tease me today."

KINK: Brat / Brat Tamer

WARNINGS: Teasing. 18+ SMUT. (Spanking. Unprotected Sex. P in V Sex.) Aftercare (because we love a man who takes care of his partner after.)

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

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The day had been a whirlwind, literally and figuratively. Storm after storm popped up on the radar, each one stealing Tyler’s attention. Tyler sat behind the wheel of his truck, his eyes fixed on the screen displaying swirling wind patterns and the ominous hook echo of a forming tornado. His fingers tapped against the keyboard of his laptop, occasionally flicking to the handheld radio on the dash as he communicated with the rest of the team who were following behind.

You, on the other hand, were sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, idly watching him as he clicked through the radar images.

It wasn’t unusual for him to get this absorbed in his work. In fact, it was one of the things you admired most about him—his drive, his passion for what he did. 

But today, you were feeling a little left out. Maybe it was that normally you had his attention while you were driving to a storm. Normally he’d hold your hand or have his hand on your thigh as he drove. Or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t looked at you in over an hour, but a small part of you craved his attention.

Leaning back in your seat, you crossed your arms and let out a quiet huff, eyes narrowing as you stared at him.

Nothing. He didn’t even blink, fully engrossed in tracking the storm. You knew better than to expect him to drop everything just because you wanted some attention, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun.

“Think we’re almost done chasing storms for the day?” you asked, knowing full well what his answer would be but fishing for a little attention nonetheless.

Tyler barely looked up from the screen. “We’ve got three more cells popping up, so it’s looking like it’s gonna be a long night,” he said, his voice steady.

You frowned, crossing your arms and huffing just loud enough for him to hear. “Bet you’d marry the tornadoes if you could.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t take his eyes off the screen.

Bingo. A reaction, even if it was small.

You smirked and leaned in a bit closer, tapping your fingers against the console between you and him. “I can see why you like them. They’re unpredictable, dramatic, always showing off when they  don’t need to...”

He didn’t respond, just turned back to the radar, a smirk still playing on his lips. The lack of attention stung a little, but mostly, it ignited the brat in you. 

Ignoring you was one of his favorite tactics when you were leaning into your brat personality, but it was your least favorite. You could feel the frustration bubbling up inside you, but it only fueled your determination to push him a little further.

“They’ve got everything you love, don’t they?” You quirked a brow, turning in your seat to face him more fully. “Reckless, impossible to control, full of attitude, and always causing trouble…”

Tyler’s lips twitched as if he was fighting off a smile, but he remained focused on the road. "You describing the tornadoes or something else?" he muttered, his tone teasing.

You shift in your seat, uncrossing and recrossing your legs with a huff, making sure he heard you. You make sure as you do this that your tight denim shorts ride up just a little bit showing more of your thighs. You then reach up and adjust the white tank top you’re wearing, adjusting your bra ever slightly to push your boobs up ever so slightly.

Tyler finally shifted his gaze from the storm to you, his eyes narrowing in that way that let you know he knew exactly what you were doing.

His voice was low, almost daring you to push further as he said. "Tornadoes are unpredictable, sure. But if you know how to handle them, if you can figure out what makes them tick...”

He let the words trail off, and you felt the tension rise again, this time not because of the storm outside. You gave him a slow smile, but your pulse quickened.

“Do you know to handle them?” You teased, though your voice wavered just enough to betray the heat simmering between you.

Tyler’s gaze locked onto yours, and the air between you shifted, heavy with unspoken understanding. “Darlin', I’m really not in the mood for you to tease me today.”

The directness of his words caught you off guard, and you blinked in surprise. His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was a weight to it that told you he wasn’t messing around. He glanced back at the radar, clearly still tense from the day’s events, and you could see the stress etched in the lines of his face.

But instead of backing down, your frustration only deepened. You leaned forward in your seat, crossing your arms tighter over your chest. “Yeah? Well, I’m really not in the mood for being ignored,” you shot back, your voice laced with that bratty edge you knew would get a reaction.

Tyler let out a slow breath, his hands pausing over the keyboard for a moment before he turned his head to look at you fully. His eyes narrowed slightly, and that stern look—the one that sent a shiver of both excitement and challenge through you—was back. “There are a lot of storms happening right now. You really wanna compete with a tornado for my attention?”

You held his gaze, unyielding. “Maybe,” you said, shrugging with feigned indifference. “I think I could give them a run for their money.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The tension hung in the air, heavy and charged like the storm outside. Tyler leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving yours, but he didn’t rise to your bait just yet.

Instead, he shifted his focus back to the radar, the smirk on his face barely noticeable but definitely there. He was doing it again—ignoring you on purpose. And it was driving you mad.

You let out another exaggerated sigh, leaning closer to him, but he kept his eyes between the radar screens and the roads in front of him.

“Oh, come on,” you said, your voice playful but with a hint of challenge. “What’s more important? A tornado or me?”

Tyler didn’t even flinch. “Right now? The tornado.”

That was it. That smug, calm tone of his always got under your skin in the most thrilling way. You shifted in your seat, biting your lip as you considered your next move. You could stop here, but where was the fun in that? No, you were going to push him just a little further.

You waited for your next move until the next stop where Tyler pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of a small mom and pop type gas station. The rest of the team hurried inside to use the bathroom and grab some drinks and snacks. 

Meanwhile you and Tyler lingered in the truck for a few minutes. You leaned over the center console, your voice low and teasing as you whispered, “Maybe I should just find something else to entertain myself if you’re so busy.”

Finally, Tyler turned his head to look at you, his eyes darkening with a mixture of warning and amusement. He gave you a long, steady look, the kind that always made your pulse race, before speaking in that slow, Southern drawl of his. “I’d think real carefully about that, sweetheart.”

You smirked, unfazed by his warning. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Tyler’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but the sharpness in his gaze remained. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping so low that it sent a shiver down your spine. “Because if you keep pushing, you’re not gonna like what happens next.”

You could tell by the way his eyes lingered on you that he was reaching his breaking point, and it only made you want to push further.

You straightened up, flashing him a defiant grin. “What, you think you can handle me?” The challenge was unmistakable in your voice, and you watched his reaction closely, waiting to see if you’d finally get what you wanted.

Tyler’s eyes darkened, and in one smooth, deliberate motion, he leaned in close—so close that you could feel the warmth of his body, the faint smell of his cologne mixing with the rain-soaked air. His lips barely brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Darlin’, I tame tornadoes. You don’t think I can tame you?”

The way his voice rumbled against your skin sent a jolt of excitement through you, but you swallowed down the reaction, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you tilted your chin up defiantly, pretending his words hadn’t rattled you, even though you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Is that so?” you shot back, your voice breathy, daring him to make good on his promise.

Tyler pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with that same stern intensity. He didn’t speak for a moment, just let the weight of his gaze hang between you, thick with unspoken meaning. Then, in a voice that was all command, he said, “You better start acting like the good girl I know you are. Or you won’t be getting any of my attention for the rest of the night.”

His words hung in the air, and your heart skipped a beat. You knew that look. He was serious now. The playful banter had shifted into something more intense, and you could feel the shift in the air between you. It was a warning—one you knew better than to ignore.

But still, the brat in you wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “Guess we’ll see if you can keep that promise,” you quipped, your voice full of playful defiance as you met his gaze head-on.

Tyler raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Oh, you’ll see, alright,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. He gave you one last lingering look before reaching for the door handle and exiting the truck

As you watched him make his way into the gas station, looking hotter than should be legal in just a backwards baseball cap, a button down shirt, some Wrangler jeans, and a pair of cowboy boots, you knew you had crossed a line. The line. He was in full brat tamer mode now, you had his full attention now, and that meant you were in trouble.

* * * * *

The storm had finally passed, leaving behind soaked streets and the distant rumble of thunder as Tyler pulled into the motel parking lot around nine o’clock later that night. The quiet hum of the engine faded, replaced by the sound of rainwater trickling off the roof.

You glanced over at Tyler, but his face was unreadable, all traces of the playful banter from earlier wiped clean. He parked the vehicle, his jaw clenched as he cut the engine.

You were still trying to gauge his mood when Tyler opened his door and stepped out into the cool night air, rain droplets catching the faint glow of the streetlights. He didn’t say a word as he grabbed the keys and walked around the front of the truck. 

He opened your door and waited for you to get out. He reached into the backseat and grabbed both of your bags, throwing them over his shoulder. Then without saying a word he motioned for you to follow. A thrill of anticipation coursed through you.

When you reached the room, Tyler unlocked the door and pushed it open, gesturing for you to enter first. The door clicked shut behind you, and the sudden quiet of the room felt stifling. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your chest as you stood there, unsure of what was about to happen next.

Tyler took his time, tossing the keys onto the table by the door before slowly turning to face you. His expression was calm, but his eyes—those sharp, stormy eyes—told a different story. He was still every bit in control, but there was a spark of something dangerous beneath the surface. And you were the one who had lit the fuse.

“You’ve been testing me all day,” he said, his voice low, steady. He took a slow step toward you, closing the space between you in a way that made your breath catch. “And now, you’ve got all of my attention.”

You met his gaze, swallowing the nervous flutter in your stomach. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? His full, undivided attention. But standing here now, under the weight of his stare, you realized just how serious he was.

“I told you,” he continued, his voice dropping lower as he came even closer, “if you kept pushing, you weren’t gonna like the outcome.”

You smirked, still holding on to that last shred of defiance. “Maybe I’m still not convinced.”

Tyler’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips curling into a knowing smile. He was right in front of you now, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body, the scent of rain and earth still clinging to his clothes.

“Well,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine, “you’re about to be.”

Before you could respond, Tyler closed the distance, his hand sliding around the back of your neck as he pulled you in. His hand then moved to your hair where he tightened his grip and pulled your head back slightly.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. His kiss was hard, commanding, and you could feel the pent-up frustration from earlier in the way his lips moved against yours. 

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, heart racing as his fingers lingered in your hair. His gaze locked onto yours, and there was no mistaking the seriousness in his voice when he spoke next.

“You’ve got two choices now, darlin’,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “You can behave and I’ll give you the attention you’ve been beggin’ for all day, or…” His thumb brushed along your jaw, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can keep being a brat, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

A thrill shot through you at his words, the heat between you palpable as you weighed your options. But the brat in you wasn’t ready to give in so easily. You bit your lip, eyes gleaming with challenge as you tilted your head slightly, daring him.

“What if I like regretting it?” you quipped, your voice laced with that same teasing defiance that had gotten you into this situation in the first place.

Tyler’s eyes darkened, and for a brief moment, you could see the flicker of amusement there, quickly replaced by something far more dangerous. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice thick with Southern charm, “you really don’t know what you’re askin’ for, do you?”

And with that, he took a step back, his hand dropping from your neck as he moved over to the bed, sitting down at the edge. He leaned back casually, his hands resting on his thighs as he looked at you with a calm, almost predatory gaze.

“Come here,” he commanded, his voice soft but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated for a moment, that last flicker of defiance warring with the butterflies in your stomach. But you knew the game was over. Tyler had won, and now it was time to face the consequences.

Slowly, you stepped forward, your heart pounding in your chest as you approached him. When you reached the edge of the bed, Tyler reached out, grabbing your waist. His hands moved to the button of your jean shorts, popping it open before he hooked his fingers into the top of your shorts and pushed them down your legs.

He then reached for your wrist, pulling you down across his lap. His grip was firm, but there was no mistaking the tenderness beneath it.

“Now,” he murmured, “we’re gonna start with getting rid of that little attitude of yours.” His voice was low, filled with that unmistakable authority that always made your stomach flip. You felt one of his hands move to your back, holding you down against his thighs, and you knew exactly what was coming next.

"You’ve been a handful today, haven’t you?” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

“I wouldn’t have to be a handful if you’d given me a little attention today,” you shot back, though your voice was quieter now, that bravado fading.

Tyler chuckled, low and deep, the sound vibrating through you as his hand moved to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “Oh, you’ve got my attention now, darlin’,” he said softly. “So how many do you think you should get for running that pretty mouth of yours?”

“Two.”

He chuckled again. “Two? You really think two is enough for all the attitude you gave me today, baby?”

Suddenly, without warning, you feel the sharp, sudden sting of Tyler’s hand coming down on your ass. The impact sends a jolt through you, heat rushing to your skin, but before you can process the sensation, another smack follows on the other side.

After several smacks, you stopped keeping track after seven or eight, his hand lingers on your flushed skin, his fingers brushing lightly over the spots where his hand had made contact. The tenderness makes you shiver, and you let out a small whimper.

He hadn’t been rough—Tyler never was—but he made sure his point was clear. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, his firm control slowly giving way to a softer touch as he released you from his lap.

Without saying a word, he gently pulled you to straddle him, his hands guiding you to settle on his thighs. The change in position felt intimate, almost grounding, as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath you, and the weight of the moment shifted from tension to something deeper, something more comforting.

Tyler’s hands moved in soothing patterns up and down your spine, his touch slow and deliberate. His fingers grazed the small of your back, the motion calming, as if he was silently asking you if you were okay. You leaned into him, resting your forehead against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering trace of the storm outside.

“You alright, darlin’?” His voice was softer now, barely a whisper, laced with concern and affection.

You nodded, your breath still catching in your throat, but not from discomfort. It was the intensity of it all—the push and pull between you, the way he could shift from firm to gentle in an instant—that had you feeling unsteady, yet safe. Tyler had a way of doing that, of reminding you that even in your brattiest moments, you were always safe with him.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up with his fingers so your eyes met his. There was no trace of the stern look he'd given you earlier, no hint of the control he’d exerted when he made you bend to his will. Instead, his gaze was warm, full of care.

“You pushed me today,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along your jawline, “but I’m not going anywhere. I just need to make sure you’re good before we go any further.”

Your breath hitched at the sincerity in his tone. It wasn’t just a question of your physical comfort—Tyler was checking in with your heart, your mind, making sure you were completely with him in this moment. It was one of the things you loved about him most, the way he balanced his strength with such tenderness.

You offered him a small smile, your hands sliding up his chest to rest against his shoulders. “I’m good,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady.

He nodded, satisfied, his hands resting on your waist as he pulled you closer once more, his lips brushing against the side of your neck in a kiss so gentle it made your skin tingle. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, the words a quiet reassurance. His hands continued their slow, calming path along your back, grounding you in the safety of his embrace. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, making you feel secure.

Tyler stayed like that for a long moment, just holding you, letting the tension melt away in the quiet. His thumb traced idle circles on your lower back, a quiet reminder that no matter how far you pushed, no matter how much fire you brought, he would always be there to catch you.

It was the kind of attention you had been craving all day. Sex with Tyler was great. You loved being with him in that way. He was by far the best partner you’d ever had. But it was this kind of affection, full of love and care, that you had missed while the storms had his attention.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was a soft rumble, still laced with that familiar, protective edge. “You ready for more?” His question was a gentle nudge, letting you know that he was still in control but giving you space to choose.

You nodded again, feeling the heat rising between you once more, but this time it came with the unspoken promise of safety and care in every touch.

Tyler’s hands guided you to the bed, his grip both firm and gentle as he positioned you exactly how he wanted. The air between you felt thick with tension, charged with the anticipation of what was coming next. You could hear your own pulse in your ears as you lay on your back, Tyler standing over you with that same intense gaze that sent shivers through you.

Your heart raced as he climbed onto the bed, hovering over you with one knee pressed into the mattress and the other still on the floor, effectively trapping you beneath him. Tyler’s fingers traced along the curve of your thigh, sending electricity through your skin as he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear.

“You wanted my attention, darlin’. Now you’ve got it.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, sending a thrill down your spine as his hand slid higher, teasing the hem of your shirt.

You couldn’t resist. Despite the tension, despite the way he commanded every ounce of your focus, that last bit of brattiness bubbled up again.

“About time,” you muttered, eyes flicking up to meet his with just enough sass to provoke him further.

Tyler’s eyes darkened, his lips curling into a smirk as he pulled back, shaking his head slightly. “Still got that mouth on you, huh?”

Before you could respond, he leaned down again, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all-consuming. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. The world outside, the storms, the teasing—all of it faded as Tyler poured every bit of the attention you'd been begging for into that kiss.

When he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing was heavy, matching your own.

"You’ve been testing me all day," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "Now, sweetheart, you're gonna learn that I don’t mind giving you what you ask for—but it comes with consequences."

With that, Tyler’s hands slid up your body, his touch sending waves of heat through you. His fingers paused at the bottom of your tank top, his eyes meeting yours, waiting for the confirmation he needed.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat. You could feel the tension mounting, your body responding to the way his hands moved with both authority and tenderness. He was right—you’d pushed him, teased him, and now you were at the mercy of the man who was more than capable of taming the most dangerous storms. Taming you, however, was something entirely different.

Tyler took his time, every touch deliberate as he undressed you, leaving no inch of your skin untouched by his hands. The slow build of anticipation was almost unbearable, and by the time his lips found yours again, you were desperate for the contact.

“You’re gonna be good for me now, aren’t you?” Tyler murmured against your lips, his hand cupping your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “No more sass, no more pushing.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as you nodded again, feeling the weight of his words sinking in. “I’ll be good,” you whispered, breathless.

Tyler’s smirk softened into something more tender, though his grip on you remained just as firm, his touch as commanding as ever. "That’s what I like to hear," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Good girls get rewarded."

Without saying a word, he stood up, his movements deliberate but unhurried, giving you time to take in the shift in the air. You followed him with your eyes, feeling your pulse quicken as he reached for the hem of his flannel shirt, fingers slipping under the fabric.

With one smooth motion, he pulled the flannel off over his head and tossed it onto a nearby chair. The muscles in his shoulders flexed as he moved, and your gaze lingered on the defined lines of his chest, the way his skin gleamed in the soft light filtering through the hotel curtains. Every inch of him seemed to radiate confidence, strength—qualities you’d been drawn to from the moment you met him.

Your mouth went dry as his hands moved to his belt, unfastening the buckle with an almost lazy precision. The soft click of metal filled the room, each sound amplifying the rising anticipation in your chest. He tugged the belt free and let it drop to the floor with a soft thud, his gaze never leaving yours, as if he was fully aware of the effect his every movement had on you.

Then came his jeans—he unbuttoned them, the zipper coming down slowly, teasingly. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, the slow reveal making your skin tingle with anticipation. Tyler’s fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans, and he slid them down his hips, letting them pool at his feet before stepping out of them.

Your heart was pounding now, each layer of clothing he removed making the room feel smaller, more charged. He stood before you in nothing but his boxer briefs, and even then, he didn’t rush. Tyler’s eyes were dark, locked on yours, and the energy between you both felt electric.

You swallowed hard as his thumbs slipped beneath the band of his underwear, slowly peeling them off. The fabric slipped down his legs, revealing the rest of him, his body sculpted and strong. Your gaze trailed over every inch of him, heat pooling low in your stomach, the tension between you like a wire pulled tight.

Tyler straightened, his eyes still fixed on yours, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze settle over you like a weight. He was giving you a moment to drink him in, to take in every part of him, just as he’d done with you before. And the way he stood there—confident, steady—made your pulse race even faster.

He took a step toward you, the air between you thick with the anticipation of what was coming next, but he didn’t rush. Tyler was never in a hurry when it came to you.

You bit your lip, trying to steady your breathing, as he made his way on to the bed again. One hand slid behind your back as he unclasped your bra. He slowly removed it from you before you felt his warm lips wrap around one of your nipples, while his calloused fingers pinched the other.

Your head fell back against the pillows, a soft moan leaving your lips. The hand that had been pinching your nipple then slid down your stomach to between your thighs. You felt him run his fingers along the lace covering your center.

You tried to roll your hips down against his fingers, desperate for more of his touch. Tyler’s lips curved into a smirk as he pulled away from a kiss to look down at you.

“Need something, baby?”

You tried to grind down against his hand again, but this time he pulled away, leaving you with nothing but the musty air of the motel.

“Tyler!” You almost whined at the loss of his touch.

“What is it baby? What do you need?”

“You!”

Tyler chuckled and leaned down, his lips moving to your neck as he started gently biting at the spot below your left ear that he knew drove you insane.

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that.”

“Want you between my legs.”

Tyler’s lips curved into a grin as he moved his leg higher up on the bed, spreading your legs. He pressed one of his knees right up against your center, pressing the lace of your underwear that you still had on against your clit.

This wasn’t what you meant and he knew it. But you ground down against his leg a few times, trying to get some kind–any kind of friction that you could.

“Ty, please,” you breathed out when you realized it wasn’t helping. “Need you.”

“Was that so hard to say, baby?”

“Yes.”

Tyler chuckled again before he positioned himself between your thighs. He wrapped his hand around his dick pumping it a few times before he put the tip against your entrance. He slowly slid into you.

The feeling was overwhelming for a moment. This. This was what you had been waiting all day for. You lead out a loud moan as your eyes fluttered close as he slowly stretched your walls as he pushed further and further into you.

Once he was all the way in, he paused for a moment, letting you adjust to him. Then he started to move. His hips pulling out slightly before pushing back in. Your hands moved to his arms and then his back, your fingers digging into his skin.

Tyler began to pick up the pace of his thrusts, your hips started to move, meeting each of his thrusts. The musty motel room was filled with the sound of your soft moans and his deep grunts as both of you became lost in the moment. 

“Come on, baby. Let it go for me.” Tyler breathed out as he started thrusting faster and deeper into you.

You moaned his name as your back arched off of the sheets as your orgasm hit. Your walls clenched around him and you felt Tyler groan as something that sounded like a string of swear words left his mouth. He then stilled inside you a moment later as you felt him fill you with his release.

The room was enveloped in a warm silence, the air heavy with the aftermath of your passion. You lay side by side on the bed, hearts still racing as you both came down from the heights of your releases. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, intertwined and blissfully spent.

Tyler shifted slightly, a soft rustle of sheets breaking the quiet as he reached for a damp cloth. With careful, gentle hands, he began to clean you up, his touch tender and attentive. You could feel the warmth of his body beside you, a soothing presence that eased any remnants of tension. There was something profoundly intimate about the way he cared for you, each stroke of the cloth both practical and affectionate, reminding you of the connection you shared beyond just the physical.

Once satisfied, he set the cloth aside and padded quietly to the small fridge across the room, his movements fluid and relaxed. You watched him, a small smile tugging at your lips as he rummaged through its contents. He emerged moments later with a bottle of water, the coolness of it contrasting against the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and comforting as he handed you the bottle. “You should stay hydrated, especially after all that.” There was a playful glint in his eyes, a mixture of mischief and affection, as he leaned back against the headboard, propping himself up on one elbow.

You took a sip, the refreshing liquid quenching your thirst, and the sight of him—bare, relaxed, and utterly himself—made your heart swell. Once you set the bottle down, Tyler slid back down the bed, shifting closer to you.

“Come here,” he murmured, opening his arms invitingly. You didn’t hesitate, rolling into him and snuggling against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in tight, as if he never wanted to let go.

The warmth of his body enveloped you, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him—like fresh air and a hint of cologne, grounding and comforting all at once. Tyler’s fingers began to brush gently through your hair, the rhythm soothing as he held you close.

“Was that enough attention for you?” he asked softly, his breath warm against your forehead as he pressed a tender kiss to your temple. The teasing tone was laced with genuine affection, and you could hear the hint of a smile in his voice.

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze, your heart fluttering at the sight of him—the way his eyes sparkled with a playful challenge, but also the warmth that radiated from him. “For now,” you replied playfully, smirking slightly. “But you know I could always use more.”

Tyler chuckled, the sound rich and deep, reverberating through your shared warmth. “Well, I’ll make a note of that,” he said, his voice playful yet serious. “I’m always ready to give you the attention you need, darlin’. Just promise me you won’t be too much of a brat next time.”

You grinned, feeling the warmth of his affection envelop you, grateful for this moment of intimacy. It was in these quiet seconds, nestled against him, that you felt the strongest bond between you both—the balance of playful teasing and heartfelt connection that defined your relationship.

As you lay there together, the world outside fading into nothingness, you knew you had found your home in his arms.

[erosology]

a taste of domesticity | simon "ghost" riley

❀ cw/tw: NSFT, fem reader (afab anatomy, fem pet names), established relationship, american author trying to make an english person's dialogue sound authentic, you'll have to pry blond-haired and brown-eyed simon from my cold dead hands, tooth-rotting fluff, undertones of obsession and codependency (because duh it's me), soft dom simon, thigh riding, body worship, praise, oral (f! receiving), unprotected sex

❀ wc: 7,248

❀ a/n: i will never, ever apologize for writing simon as a lovesick slightly pathetic man

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Simon “Ghost” Riley during your time together, it’s that he takes his job very seriously. So seriously, in fact, he’s often too tired to do much other than eat the dinner you’ve prepared him, take a shower, and go straight to bed. Despite his demanding and hectic career path, you both find ways to spend time together—him allowing you to sit in his lap as he does paperwork, you sneaking into the shower as he gets ready for the night, him coming home early and helping you with dinner—all small things to piece together a picture of domesticity and love Simon has craved his entire life.

But sometimes, he thinks, things in the bedroom are a little…lacking.

He only has himself to blame, really, considering he chose a job that demands every bit of strength he has. But there are times when he’s looking at you, your body wrapped in one of his t-shirts and your hair thrown up into a messy bun as you’re curled up on the couch reading, and he wonders if being a butcher is really that bad.

It’s no matter, though, because as insane and hectic as his job might be, he knows, deep down, he wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re a breath of fresh air for the man who is constantly drowning in his desire to be useful, a lighthouse for the man who is constantly swimming in his failures, a safe place for him to strip himself of the wet clothing trying to cling on to this body (much like how his stormy thoughts try to cling on to him) and bask in your warmth. He’s enamored by your compassion, utterly and completely in love with your honesty, and bewitched by your loyalty—a soulmate for someone who has only ever known chaos.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❀ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

“We should have lemon garlic shrimp tonight,” you suggest to your partner, leaning against his office door frame in hopes maybe he’d look up.

Simon’s eyes don’t even leave his computer as he asks, “What’s the special occasion, love?”

“You’re home in time for dinner for the first time in a month.”

It’s a small stab, he knows it, but it still hurts nonetheless, and you can see him flinch at the blunt edges of your words. He fists clench and unclench, as if debating if he can physically fight off the sense of guilt wrapping around his broad shoulders, before he saves his report progress and shuts his computer down. His movements are always so methodical, measured, but there’s nothing measured about the way he nearly chokes on his own spit when his eyes land on your outfit. Dressed in nothing but one of his t-shirts, thigh high stockings, and a pair of panties, you look nothing short of absolutely divine, and Simon nearly has to check his pulse to make sure he hasn’t died and gone to heaven.

You gaze at him through your eyelashes, eyelids half-closed in lust and the smallest of smirks on your lips. “S’matter, Si? Cat got your tongue?”

It never fails to astound him how easily you rev him up, how you make him feel like some horny teenager on prom night trying to score with his date–clumsy words spilling from his mouth as he tries his hardest to find the magic words to part your legs, palms sweaty as they try to hold your hand, body vibrating with anticipation to see what your tongue tastes like. He’s so unbelievably attracted to you, it makes his head fuzzy with hormones and irrationality, even after all of this time together.

He’s careful as he walks from his desk to you, strong arms wrapping around your waist and his lips brushing your hair. “Are you my starter?” he asks and pinches your thigh for good measure.

You giggle at the rare show of unabashed flirtation from your normally stoic partner and reply coyly, “I could be your dessert if you behave.” Feeling rather bold, you pull him into the kitchen by his belt, and he has to bite his lip to keep the groan clawing at his mouth at bay. You’re too precious for something as barbaric as fevered kisses and frantic hands eager to rip your clothes off. Valuable crystals deserve only the most tender of hands, the most careful of eyes, handled with the utmost precision and patience, and he’s always considered himself a good gemologist.

“C’mere for a second, love,” he says as you turn your back to get started on dinner. Before you can fully turn towards him, he gently cups your jaw and tilts your face up towards his, lips ghosting each other before he finally slots his against yours. You can feel how eager he is, how much he’s holding himself back so as to not break you, so you wrap your arms around his neck and deepen the kiss that much more. That’s all of the motivation he needs, evidently, and he’s quick to wrap your legs around his waist and place you on top of the kitchen counter. Whatever small grip he had on self-control has snapped—a hungry beast finally let free and allowed to feast however he pleases. He wants to completely devour you and keep you safe in his chest—strong bones to keep filthy, undeserving hands from touching you. One taste of you and he’s already drunk on love and all of its promises of companionship and domesticity. 

His hands tangle themselves in your hair, fingers massaging your scalp as his tongue gently prods at your mouth. That’s when you pull away, much to your disappointment, and he groans at the lewd line of spit connecting your lips. Mind hazy with lust, he tries to tilt your face towards his again, anxious to eat until all that’s left is a pile of bones and love, but you gently stop him by pressing your fingers to his mouth.

“Was I too rough?” he asks worriedly. “We can slow down, if you want. I just…miss you, is all, and you’re right about this being the first time we’ve had some time together in God knows how long. I…I know ‘s my fault, and I want to make it up to you—if you’re alright with that.”

And he looks so sincere—dark eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort, hands resting on your thighs and not daring to move, tongue nervously darting out to lick his lips, chest rising and falling with anticipation—you nearly allow him to devour you right there on the kitchen counter. But you’re determined to have a proper dinner with the man you love more than you could ever hope to comprehend. And what’s a good dinner without a nice show?

Your hands fiddle with the collar of his shirt, teeth gnawing at the inside of your cheek in hopes it’ll calm the hunger rolling around in your stomach. “You weren’t too rough, honey, I promise.” At that, you can see relief flood his features, and you gently tug on his collar so he brings his forehead down to meet yours. The pure adoration in his eyes nearly makes you choke, and you swallow down the lump of emotion that had begun to form in your throat. Simon has always been a gentle man despite his very impassive shell, never pushing you and always ready to communicate boundaries and comfort, so to see him so unraveled after a month of missing him is bringing out a masochistic side of you you’d never knew was buried underneath all of the domesticity. Still, you want to be able to enjoy him as much as possible before the moon hangs high and exhaustion begins to settle into heavy bones.

Simon mildly pulls your hand away from nervously toying with his shirt and kisses your fingers—an action that causes you to shudder with admiration. “Did I push you too much?”

“No, sweetheart. I just really, really want to have a nice dinner with you.”

Chuckling, he kisses your temple and helps you off of the counter, his hands lingering on your hips a little longer than necessary before swatting at your bottom and allowing you to begin cooking. “Then a nice dinner together we shall have.”

It’s intoxicating how much your thighs rub together as you cook dinner, how they jiggle and ripple, and Simon isn’t sure what he’s more hungry for. Your hips sway to and fo to the music—nothing inherently sexual about the movement, but his heart speeds up nonetheless. His dark eyes drink in every inch of you like a parched man in the desert, lapping up every single drop so much, he fears his stomach may burst. But it’d be worth it. It would be absolutely worth any form of torture to be able to touch you, hold you, hear you laugh, watch your lips form the syllables of his name. His greatest high, his greatest weakness, the person he’d try to find in every life after this one, the song he hums to himself when he thinks no one is around—all wrapped up in the prettiest package he has ever had the privilege of laying his eyes on.

Simon “Ghost” Riley, special forces operator trained to deal with things most people only see portrayed in overly-budgeted action movies, is absolutely hypnotized by how absolutely gorgeous you are.

“Didn’t know I was getting dinner and a show,” he nearly purrs at you as you pour him a glass of bourbon. Kentucky, of course.

“Hmm?” You innocently cock your head. “I’m just making you dinner, silly, a very normal thing.”

“Whatever you say, love.”

Lust and hormones roll off of your body in tidal waves, nearly drowning the man under the chaotic waters, but he wouldn’t mind, not really. He could spend hours, days, weeks floating around in all of your oceans, exploring every part of you until he has a clear map ingrained in his brain. He’s in love with your heart, in lust with your body, and enamored by your mind.

A warmth only alcohol can provide spreads across his body, and Simon Riley, known by even his closest friends as stern and forthright, dares to relax in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and his eyes half-closed as they watch you sway to the music. At times like this, Simon is reminded of what it’s like to be naïve again, excited, ready to face the world and all of its possibilities. He’s content, basking in the security you provide him with and the knowledge that he has you to call home. He’s safe, and that’s something he’ll never, ever take for granted.

“You look happy,” you giggle, taking note of the pink flush to his face.

He hums, and in the blink of an eye he’s got his arms wrapped around your waist and his chin resting on your head. His lips brush against your hair, fingers fiddling with the t-shirt clinging to your body, and he swears he could stay like this forever if you allowed him to. He thinks this is what paradise must be like—his soulmate wrapped in his arms, the scent of delicious food hanging in the air, music softly playing over the sound of your giggles, his heart let free from its cage and soaring in the air.

“Must be because I am,” he utters into your hair. “I really, really am, sweetheart.”

And though he’s never been one for grandiose displays of affection, he finds himself spinning you around your shared kitchen, strong hands pressed into the small of your back and swaying your bodies to and fro, a makeshift ballroom squished in between the living room and his office.

Your hand fists his shirt, giggles bubbling out of your lips—the most beautiful sound he’ll ever hear. “Simon Riley! What has gotten into you?”

The smile he bears is a gentle one full of love and admiration, and you swear you feel your heart squeeze in your chest. “I’m very lucky to have you. In fact…” And then, his lips are ghosting over yours and his hands are clutching at your hips, desperate to feel you close but scared to admit how much he needs you. “I’d wager I’m the luckiest bastard on this shithole planet.”

“I think you’d lose,” you whisper back, a joyous light dancing in your eyes. “Because I’d wager I’m the luckiest person on this shithole planet to have you.”

He kisses you before he can stop himself, before he can second guess whether or not he’s worthy of your lips, before either of you can begin to decipher what love is and why it heals as much as it hurts. He kisses you and tries his hardest to commit dedication to memory. He kisses you and forgets what the definition of pain is and all he can feel is your fingers carding through his hair. He’s consumed by you—the smell of your shampoo stubbornly clinging to your hair, the feeling of your heart hammering against his, your eyelashes brushing against his cheek, the little squeal you let out when he picks you up, everything, everything everything. All he wants is this moment right here tattooed into his brain, burned into his eyelids so every time he closes his eyes all he can see is bliss and sunlight filtering through.

And though he’s the one with the infamous appetite, he swears he’d crack his ribcage open and allow you to feast as much as you need to. What is love if not all-consuming—cannibalistic desires flooding empty veins until the need to eat is unbearable? Hungry teeth clash against a bare tongue, and he groans loudly into your greedy mouth.

“Simon,” you gasp, “the food—”

“Can wait,” he finishes for you, and you both find yourselves stumbling into a chair. Quickly, he sits down with you on his lap, careful as to not hurt his precious meal. He can feel your cunt throb against his thigh and, god, he needs to eat, eat, eat before he goes completely mad. His thumb draws circles against the growing wet spot on your panties, a groan reverberating in his chest and deep eyes rolling to the back of his head. He sees you’re wearing the pink lacy panties with a white bow that always drive him up the walls of your shared home, and he has to fight the animalistic urge to rip them clean off of your body. No, he won’t be rough no matter how hungry he is. He’s not a beast void of all humanity. He’s simply a man with an empty stomach and the prettiest meal sitting on his lap, and his teeth miss how your skin feels pinched between them.

He easily slides your panties off, an expert in disarming prey, and brings them up to his nose, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Simon,” you moan out at the sight. “Simon, please—”

His hand strikes at your bottom before you can finish your sentence. “Ride my thigh, love.” And he pockets your panties, promising himself he’ll give them back one day.

His big, calloused hands grip your hips as you drag your pussy across his thick thigh, your juices coating his pants but he doesn’t even care. How can he when you look so precious moaning and pleading on his thigh, shaky fingers grasping at his tie to gain some sense of balance? His brown eyes gaze down at you with a predatory light, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth as your grinding becomes more and more erratic.

His voice is strained when he speaks, husky, a caged animal frustrated at not being able to roam free. “That desperate for me, hm? So impatient…” But he can’t deny the erection swelling in his boxers, nor can he deny how hypnotizing it is watching how your brow furrows in concentration with every swivel of your hips. The squelching sound of your drooling cunt is downright filthy, but it’s so intoxicating to the man who gets drunk off of your submission. Adam’s apple bobbing, he tries his hardest to swallow down all of the primal urges flooding his body, to allow you to continue chasing your high, but he can’t stop himself from planting a kiss on your exposed shoulder, nor can he stop himself from resting his forehead upon that very same shoulder. His arms wrap around your torso, bringing your body closer to his so your chests are flushed together, and he groans when he feels your leg brush against his aching cock.

“Si…,” you gasp.

“Shh, just let me do this, darling,” he whispers, his breath tickling your neck. “I want to be close to you.”

Tears poke at the corner of your eyes and your throat constricts, a small gasp leaving your lips before he kisses them gently. A vulnerable Simon is a rare one, but you’re so parched for the smallest taste of intimacy you’re nearly afraid of draining him completely. Still, you wrap your arms around his neck and quicken your pace—anything to keep him close, to keep his face buried in the crook of your neck and his hands stroking at your spine. Shaky fingers bury themselves in short blond hair, pulling at the strands and his heart strings. Trembling thighs squeeze around his own muscular one, and he feels just how hard your heart is slamming itself against your ribcage. What should’ve been an act of climacteric horniness is truly an act of desperate love, depraved intimacy that has been simmering under the surface—two people trying to find themselves buried in each other’s chests.

“Si…” His name rolls off of your tongue so easily, a sound that floods his veins with a warmth his blood couldn’t possibly supply. “Si, please!” Fingernails dig into his back, and he knows just how dire it is for you to feel all of him, but, fuck, he needs to hear you beg a bit more. He needs to be reminded that yes, he is worthy of love, and yes, even with a heart as scarred as his, he is capable of loving back. He needs his ears to be flooded with the sound of unhinged adoration and unwavering dedication. He needs to run his hands all across your skin until he’s able to commit romance to memory and he can’t bear the thought of touching anything else.

Pulling his head back, his amber eyes search your face, fingers gently tracing your bottom lip, and the sheer intensity of his expression has your movements slowing. You’re surprised to see him hesitant, unsure, because in a world of war and uncertainty, Simon Riley is a man made of osmium. He can’t afford the luxury of insecurity in a market that feeds off of humanity. But here he is, one hand keeping your hips stilled as his other one languidly traces all of the bumps and curves of your body, his brow furrowed in concentration as if afraid of breaking you with the slightest of pressure, his eyes full of worry.

“Si—”

“You know I love you, right?” he uncharacteristically cuts you off, his tone steady despite the tremble in his hand.

You answer without missing a beat. “Of course I do. I love you, too, honey.”

He nods, moreso to himself than you, and finally meets your eyes. You’re surprised to see the fire burning in them, how his soft eyes look nearly deadly as he wraps his arms around your chest and brings your body flush against his once again. “Then we’re going to do this the right way.” And before you can ask what he means by that, he lifts your body up with ease, earning a surprised squeak from you. His lips attach themselves against your shoulder, and you wrap your legs around his waist to allow him to carry you easier. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he confesses softly between kisses. “You keep me grounded, sweetheart. You keep me sane.”

Longing strangles you and you can’t help but shutter at his raw declaration of love. Simon reminding you how much you mean to him isn’t rare in the least bit–he’s rather forthcoming about his feelings after many months of you teaching him how to loosen his tongue–but to hear it said so tenderly, as if your ears are made of paper and he spits razors with every word, is something worth crying over.

And you do.

Glistening crystals poke at the corner of your eyes as he tenderly lays your body on the bed, and it’s at this moment Simon Riley thinks you’re something worth dying over. His fingers swipe at your tears, rough palm resting against your cheek, and you nuzzle your face into the callouses, a soft smile on your lips and galaxies in your eyes. He’s hopelessly, painfully, undeniably in love with you, and he absolutely hates himself for neglecting you so much.

“Sweetheart,” he begins, voice strained with love and weakness. How can he look into your eyes and apologize for being a horrible partner? You—with your patience and kindness and strength and dedication and selflessness—you deserve better, better than being left alone to wonder if he’s safe and alive. Better than brisk pecks to your forehead after a thoughtfully prepared breakfast. Better than rushed showers and swift promises of love before a day of unguaranteed nights. Better than him. Better than anything someone like him could ever hope to offer you.

And of course—because you’re you, you, you—you place a kiss on his palm. It’s an innocent enough gesture. A quick press of your lips to the palm of his hand. It’s something that he normally wouldn’t think twice about, something he would smile about and then kiss your cheek for. Definitely not something worth gasping over. Not something worth losing his breath over. Not something worth the shudder that wracks his body. Not something worth splitting his soul in two over. But, as he hovers over you, he can feel his shell crumbling away until all that’s left is the part of his heart he’s been saving for someone like you. He can’t breathe, can’t think, not when you’re kissing the same hand that has killed, that has failed, that has been scarred and covered in blood. And then you’re kissing the pulse in his wrist and then his forearm and then his bicep and before he can even warn you to save your kisses for the worthy, you’re kissing his shoulder in the same tender manner he was kissing yours moments ago.

He feels your breath dance across his neck and refuses to move until you give him permission.

“Simon,” you whisper, and his ears ring at how much affection you place in the syllables of his name. “I love you more than I could ever hope to fathom. I don’t think you realize how much you keep me sane.”

“Sweet—”

You silence him with a kiss to his neck, humming at the steady beat in his jugular. “You’re my comfort. You’re my safe space to be myself with no worries about what’s going to happen tomorrow because you’re prepared for anything. You allow me to be neurotic and moody and a ball of stress without judging me or trying to baby me. You understand that sometimes I need to be neurotic and moody and a ball of stress. You’re caring and thoughtful and straightforward and I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

You can’t be real. Even the holiest of heavens couldn’t craft something as angelic as you, and yet here you are, touching your forehead to his and filling his lungs with your stardust, divine hand caressing his cheek, sephric eyes holding so much unfiltered love he can’t stop himself from kissing you. His lips are tender at first, trying their best to memorize immortality and savoring how ethereal you taste, but when you place your hand on his neck, he feels himself giving into his mortal instincts. Using his body weight to his advantage, he lowers you back down to the mattress, never daring to break the kiss. His hands begin to tug at the shirt clinging to your torso, and you’ve never been quicker to dispose of clothes.

“So beautiful,” he mumbles against your lips, hands grazing across your thighs and squeezing them appreciatively. “You’re so beautiful, darling, do you know that?”

A sudden bashfulness warms your body, and you fight the urge to hide behind your hands. “You make me feel it,” you reply shyly and try to pull his face back down to yours, but he stops you by kissing the tips of your fingers. Pouting, you try to grab his face again, but again, he simply catches your hand and kisses your palm, his eyes resting on yours and full of unadulterated dedication. “C’mere, I wanna kiss.”

“You’ll get plenty of those, love, don’t worry.”

Forever and ever, he silently promises himself, I’m going to kiss you forever. And, keeping his promise like the dutiful man he is, he kisses his way up your arm, every touch of his lips measured and careful, until they gently brush against your cheek. You giggle at his breath tickling your neck, and he swears he feels his heart collapse in on itself like some pathetic parody of a supernova. This right here—you stripped down to your underwear and allowing him to love every inch of your supple skin, him stripped down to the bone and being forced to let go of control–is something he used to fantasize about, something he never ever thought himself worthy of, but when you look up at him with your eyes full of trust and dedication, he can’t stop himself from drinking in every second of it. His lips brush against your neck, right above the jugular so he can feel how your heart rate spikes, and then your collarbone, and then his tongue gently swipes across your nipple, earning a soft gasp from you.

“Simon,” you whine, “no teasing, please.”

His fingers brush against your cheek, lips still attached to your breast, while his other hand snakes down to your cunt. “‘m not teasing, darling, I promise. Just want to show every part of you some love.”

He’s an expert at unraveling you, at lightly grazing his fingers just above where you need him most, at dragging his tongue across your peddled nipple, at nipping and sucking at your breasts until you’re bucking against his hand. Even after all of these past weeks of quickies and fevered shower sex, Simon Riley is nothing short of a master at making you moan out his name. His penchant for precision is often deemed a tedious mindset, something to hold him back from admiring the big picture, but it’s a gift from the heavens above when it has you a writhing mess underneath him. Your juices are coating his hand and his ears are full of your vows of love and lust, but it still isn’t enough for him. He needs all of you, all of your tears, all of your gasps and whines, all of your shaking thighs wrapped around him, needs to feel skin brushing skin and the promise of loving and being loved forever.

Your shaking hands bury themselves in his hair, pulling and tugging at the strands and causing him to groan against your skin. “Simon, f-fuck, you’re so good.”

A moan stutters in his chest at the unexpected praise. He needs to feast on everything that is you until he’s full. Without so much as a warning, he kisses your forehead once more before throwing your legs over his shoulders in one swift movement. You open your mouth to protest that he deserves a little love too, but his lips are already attached to your throbbing clit and all you can do is cry out his name. You can feel another groan reverberate in his chest, his hands kneading at your plush thighs and pulling you closer, closer, closer, until his nose is buried in your pubic hair, and he looks nothing short of a man utterly in love with the person beneath him.

“Simon! Oh my fucking god, Simon!”

He slides a finger inside of your fluttering hole, and then another, curling them and scissoring just the way that has your thighs twitching around his head. Brown eyes roll to the back of his head, and he somehow manages to bury his face even further into your pussy. “Like that, baby? You like it just like that?”

“Yes, Simon, yes, please!”

“Fucking hell, darling, I could stay here forever.” Forever doesn’t seem like a long time as long as you’re by his side…

Simon isn’t sure what he’s more drunk on—the alcohol he indulged in earlier, or the juices dripping from your cunt. He’s intoxicated on submission and domination, lust and love, every saccharine memory with you in the past and every hopeful wish with you in the future, every broken piece of you and every picture he’s painted on your skin. He’s drunk on you. All of your moans and pants and pleas for more, more, more—eat until you’re full, Simon! Completely devour until all that’s left is an illustration of what love is!

He was never an indulgent man until you came into his life and discovered just how large his stomach truly is.

His tongue draws languid circles on your clit as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt, his half-lidded ambers watching the rise and fall of your chest. Once he finds a good rhythm, he brings his free hand up to pinch and roll your nipple between his nimble fingers, and you’re sure this is what heaven must feel like.

Simon Riley is almost certain you’re an angel in disguise, but you’re starting to suspect he’s a god who’s too humble to admit his omnipotence. How else would he know exactly how to curl his fingers just right to get your thighs to shake? How else would he know how much you love when he flattens his tongue and slowly drags it along your clit? How else would he know to kiss your inner thigh as he takes a minute to catch his breath and rest his jaw? He looks up at you with ambers filled to the brim with worship and adoration, but you swear you can see a flicker of greed lingering somewhere in there—obsession disguised as fascination, possession parading as love, anything to keep you by his side.

“Look at you, so wet for me,” he coos up at you, using his fingers to spread your pussy lips and admire the mess between your legs. “Do I make you feel that good, sweetheart? Can’t help but fucking drip for me, hm? So wet for me, baby, so good for me.”

“S-S-Simon!”

“Keep moaning my name, sweetheart,” he groans as he brings his mouth to your cunt again, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the tightness of his pants. “Fuck—scream it, I don’t care. Just wanna keep hearing you.”

“Simon fucking Riley, please, you feel s-so good!”

Taunt skin is pulled across knuckles as you grip the bed sheets underneath you. Eyes rolling to the back of your skull, thighs uncontrollably shaking around his head, chest heaving as if you just ran a marathon, sweat clinging to your skin, cunt throbbing rhythmically along with the pumping of your partner’s fingers, you can feel your orgasm swiftly approaching. Simon must be able to tell also, given the way his licks to your clit are becoming more and more frantic and he’s starting to goad you on.

Desperation is laced with fascination as he begs, “Go on, baby, it’s okay. Cum on my fingers. Cum for me, please, let me make you feel good. I know you can, love. Just cum for me.”

As if under his spell, you feel the control you had been trying to grip on to snap and unadulterated pleasure crash over your body, leaving you heaving and twitching underneath his touch. He easily helps you through your high, gentle as he kisses your thighs and slowly eases his fingers out of your throbbing cunt. Crystals poke at the corner of your eyes, causing them to look like stained glass on a sunny day, and Simon is sure to say his prayers as he kisses them away.

“So, so gorgeous,” he whispers between the brushes of his lips. “So pretty when you’re cumming for me. Fuck, love, you’re so beautiful.”

Relishing the praise he’s pouring on your skin, your shaking fingers begin to tug at the shirt clinging to his chest. He tries to stop your ministrations and tell you that predators typically don’t get help from their prey, but you shush him and tell him that not every prey is helpless just like not every predator is invincible. He watches your hands fumble with bemusement, and after a moment of struggling you decide to flip your bodies over so you’re now straddling him.

He’s surprised to say the least, eyes widening and body struggling to regain control, but after a kiss to his forehead and a nip at his ear, he begins to think that having control isn’t what it’s all cracked up to be. Besides, why would he deny himself the perfect view of your body—of your breasts heaving in front of him, your pulse thumping in the hollow of your throat, of your neck exposed and ready to be bitten? Why would he deny himself of the feast before him, coated in sweat and glowing with love?

“Off,” you mumble against his neck and tug at his pants. “Off, please, Simon, take them off.”

Desperation drips from every syllable that falls from your intoxicating mouth, and he’s quick to dispose of the pants that restrict him. Strong fingers cup your jaw and bring your face in front of his, hungry ambers drinking in the sight of adoration and lust. His lips slot against yours, hands grasping at your hips and dragging your cunt across his hard cock, and he swears this is the sweetest form of torture.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I want you to look at me while you put me inside of you. C’mon, baby, don’t be shy now.”

Your trembling hands find his dick, and you have to stop to admire the masterpiece laying underneath you—a pretty red head beaded with precum, a prominent vein running along the side of his shaft and wrapping until it meets with a tuft of blond pubic hair, stomach muscles contracting with every breath, pink-flushed cheeks on a stern face, a naked chest rising and falling with anticipation. He’s beautiful. He’s everything every artist has tried to capture on blank canvases and fell just short of. He’s ethereally gorgeous but also alarmingly human. He’s an angelic face with blood-stained hands. He’s Simon “Ghost” Riley, and you’ve never been more proud to be able to call him yours.

Bashful eyes meet greedy ones and you’re lowering yourself on his cock before you can begin to ask yourself who’s more vulnerable in this moment—the prey on the pedestal or the predator whose appetite can only be satiated by one person. The swollen tip of his cock rests easily inside of you, and right when you’re about to start rocking your hips, he sits up so your chests are flushed together, much like how you were in the kitchen.

His lips brush against your shoulder, and you’re reminded of how gentle he can be despite the calluses on his palms. “I want you close, baby, please. Need to feel all of you. Every inch, inside and out. Will you let me do that, sweetheart?”

A thick blanket of submission wraps itself around your shoulders, and your head is nodding before you even give it permission to. “Want all of you, Si! Need all of you! Jus’ wan’ you.”

He begins to rock his hip, bones digging into plush flesh, and swears he can see flashes of golden gates with each thrust. “That’s it, baby. Such a good girl—my good girl.”

“S-Simon!”

Watching your breasts bounce as he bucks into you is hypnotizing, and he has to dig his fingers into your thighs to keep himself from bucking into you wildly. No, he refuses to be the beast he keeps buried down. It’s taken years of self-discipline and self-discovery to keep it locked away. He can’t unleash it now during a moment of vulnerability. But there’s something so tantalizing about you, so tempting and delicious that causes his teeth to sharpen and his mouth to flood with drool…

“Roll your hips, darling,” Simon whispers into your neck. “Be my good girl and roll your hips.”

And like the obedient girl you are, you listen, clit brushing against his pelvis and sending delicious waves of pleasure over your body. He thinks he’s dragging you down to hell with him, but you’re certain this is what heaven feels like. The love of your life beneath you, a light blanket of sweat over his body, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries not to overindulge, his heart slamming against his ribcage in a frenzied attempt to reach you, his hands touching every inch of you they can reach, his lips kissing away the tears that stream down your face… No, this is better than heaven. With his hunger and your curiosity, you’ve both managed to find a place better than the promiseland, better than anything any god or mortal could even begin to hope to comprehend, a place where he’s free to feast on you as much as he wants and you can bury yourself in his ribcage.

Strong fingers slip under your chin and force you to look in a pair of shining ambers, and you swear Simon has never looked more beautiful than in this moment. “Kiss me, sweetheart,” he pleads, his hips stuttering.

Starving lips come crashing together, and it takes every ounce of self-control to not feed until his stomach ruptures.

And the worst part of it all is he knows you would allow him to.

You would absolutely allow him to eat, eat, eat, Simon, sharpen your teeth and bite as hard as you want! You’ll never go hungry as long as you’re with me! Just eat, goddammit, eat, eat, eat! Eat all of me until we aren’t sure where you end and I begin! Eat until I’m swimming in your veins! Just fucking eat!

Simon buries his face into the crook of your neck in hopes that maybe he can get through the night without any bloodshed, struggling to keep himself under control. But you have other plans. Lacing your fingers through his blond hair, you guide his face to one of your breasts in a silent plea for him to suck on it as you ride him. He obeys, of course. How could he not when you look so delicious covered in sweat and bouncing on his cock?

With teeth as sharp as diamonds, he tugs onto your nipple, and you cry out his name until it’s all you can dare to think about. “Fuck, baby,” he swears, one of his hands massaging your other breast, “you’re so beautiful. You know that right, darling? Have I ever told you how beautiful you are as you ride me?”

Your thighs begin to shake, and it’s then you both know you’re at the brink of unadulterated pleasure. Mustering as much strength as you can, you slam your hips down on his in frantic motions, feel the head of his cock prodding at your cervix, and tears poke at the corners of your eyes in anticipation of the feast about to come.

“So close, baby,” your partner moans, “so fucking close. Just a little more, love. Can you do that for me? Can my good girl ride me just a little bit more and make us both cum?”

“Y-Yes! Anything for you, Simon! Jus’ wanna be your good girl…”

Your whines and moans become more and more warbled the closer you get to your orgasm, and Simon is drinking every ounce of your submission. Unable to maintain self-control in the face of greed, sharp teeth pinch your nipple, the swell of your breasts, your shoulder, your neck, your jaw—anywhere he can feed and hear you squeal out in delight, just so long as he eats, eats, eats. Every time enamel pinches plush flesh, he can feel a piece of you slither down his throat and land in his ever-growing stomach—somewhere you’ve learned to consider home. Whispers of praise and love dance across your skin, his hands running up and down your spine as if coaxing you to give him just a little more of yourself, just a bit more so he can sedate the beast and continue to be the practical man you know and love.

“So fucking good for me,” he moans into the crook in your sweaty neck, his cock beginning to throb with the need to release. “That’s my girl, just a little more. I’m so close, love.”

Shaky hands bury themself into thick hair, and you pull until you can hear a hiss leave his lips. “Please, Simon, cum with me, please!”

“My baby wants me to cum with her, hmm?” he teases, albeit weakly. He’s losing control, you both know it. His abs flex with strain, his brow is shining with sweat, and his lips wobble with weakness, and yet he’s fighting to have you cum first just so he can taste how sweet you are on his tongue before he’s no longer human.

“Yes, please! I’m begging you, Simon, cum with me!”

“O-O-Oh, fuck...” Though he’s never been much for blind optimism, a part of him hoped maybe he finally could have control over his desires around you. A foolish thing to think, really, when you call to the beast buried in his ribcage so easily… “I’m gonna cum, darling, cum with me!”

And you do, almost embarrassingly quick. With your arms wrapped around each other, your face buried in his chest and his buried in your hair, your hips clumsily crashing together, you both cum together loudly, lewdly, your names burned into each other’s throats and echoing off of your bedroom walls. 

“You did so well for me, baby,” he mumbles against your shoulder, his lips fumbling to kiss everywhere his teeth sunk into. “I love you so much.”

You sigh and lean into his kisses as much as you can, arms still hanging loosely around his neck and your lungs trying to pull in oxygen. “I love you too, sweetheart, so, so much.”

“C’mon, I’ll go prepare a bath for us.” Gently, he untangles your limbs and lifts you in his strong arms. With one last kiss to your forehead, he begins to make his way to the bathroom, you curled up against his chest and listening to how hard his heart is hammering.

And somewhere between the sound of running water and satisfied giggles, Simon swears he hears a growl coming from his chest—low and threatening, a warning he only has so much time before he loses control and he can no longer contain how he feels about you.

And, for the first time since he discovered that wretched beast, he thinks he might be okay with that.

[kisskissbanggang]

Jumpspace Renegade - ep. 13 ✨🚀

[3.8k words, 15min. read - Stray Kids Multi Fic, Scifi!au, Choose Your Own Adventure - Minho x Fem. Reader, Seungmin x Fem. Reader, Chan x Fem. Reader - SFW/Smut in Other Chapters/SOME Spice - Navigating Feelings, Platonic(?) Intimacy, Surprisingly Sweet, Surprisingly Intimidating, Time to Question Some Ethics, Emotional Vulnerability is Hard, Ominous Plot Hints, Forming Alliances, Loyalty Crisis, Delicious Banter and Flirting and Tension, We Finally Left the Ocean Planet, Mentions of Drugging, Always Check the Tags]

[Episodes on Fridays 7pm pst, Polling closes Saturdays 7pm pst]

[Series Masterlist | Come Say Hi!]

The scent of seawater on your skin was bittersweet while you patted a towel over your damp clothes, still dripping in your cabin. To tell the truth, you were so mad that you were surprised you weren’t steaming. Your impromptu swim left you feeling a little filmy to the touch. So now you weren’t just considering venting all your garbage to Minho, but maybe taking a shower as well, just leave the salt air behind and move on.

But you were still really pissed. 

Much to your chagrin, Minho was right. Jisung was such a dick. But was Minho even in a place to talk? You figured he must’ve been wondering what was going on in the time it took for him to get locked in his cabin until it was almost time to launch. As far as you were concerned, asking first was simply a courtesy. You surveyed the room, remembering that Chan had dramatically sealed the hatches to Minho’s cabin. Both the access under the port and the one in the closet would be off-limits. You could just let yourself in, but that seemed intrusive. And what about the cameras? The security cameras around the ship helped you get into hot water with Chan in the first place. If you could avoid the cameras, that’d be even better.

You checked out the closet again. The hatches may be closed, you figured, but that wall inside the closet was still shared with Minho’s cabin, and may even be the closest to it, judging by how it was recessed. You changed into some dry clothes once you were no longer soaked, and then approached the closet. When you pressed your ear to the furthest back wall, there was no hint of activity, but you also weren’t sure what you were expecting. You tapped your fingernail against the brushed metal surface and waited.

Half a minute passed, and a tap responded to your own.

“Hey,” you grinned, “you got a minute? I want to try something.”

“Try something?” Minho repeated, amused. “Sure, just let me kick out all my dinner guests.” His voice was surprisingly clear through the wall, or at least clearer than you’d expected. 

You hung up your towel and remembered to put on your sneakers again, sullenly remembering that you’d be re-entering artificial gravity soon. The garage was cold and empty when you poked your head into the alcove that contained your and Minho’s cabins. Sure enough, there was the camera, out in the top corner of the workshop, furthest away from you. For a moment, you wondered how you could temporarily disable it, when the ship rumbled to life. This was a good development, you realized. Chan would be too busy monitoring the launch to be watching the cameras.

The keycard was slipping between your sweaty fingers while you tiptoed over to Minho’s door. Sure enough, it beeped open right away.

God, Chan was dumb. Of course the keys were universal.

But, you internally admitted, you did take advantage of a pretty dire situation to not so much steal the card as keep it. The key working on all the locks could very well be an open secret.

Inside the cabin, you expected Minho to be lounging on his bed, since that was what was on the other side of your wall. Instead, he was inspecting his chin in the mirror inside his closet. “I’m kind of glad I never could grow a beard like I used to before the Marines,” he nonchalantly remarked. “I haven’t been able to shave in days since I got grabbed at the spaceport–”

“Well, you were right,” you blurted heatedly. “I’m pissed at Jisung.”

Minho looked at you, his eyes lit up. “Is that what you’ve been up to?”

You were about to answer, go on a full tirade, when the ship rumbled underfoot again. According to the view outside, the ship was taxiing to the one boost lane in The Hatchery. The intercom must’ve been muted or deactivated in this cabin, because you could hear it muffled in your own room next door, beginning the countdown, but not in here. Minho sat on his bed.

“So you’re pissed at Jisung,” he echoed you. “What’re you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. “I don’t know what it’s going to be like at Sentury yet, or even how long we’re going to be there, so–”

You were interrupted twice. First, Minho blinked at you, clearly confused.

Then the ship launched. You didn’t quite internalize what that countdown was for, you realized. 

Minho caught you when you went flying, breaking your fall onto the bed and preventing you from slamming into the back wall. 

He was a little distracted, judging by the way he softly smiled. “You smell like the ocean. Did you have fun?” 

“I loved it,” you smirked back. 

“So, wait,” he interrupted with a shake of his head, getting you both back on topic, “I thought this was all going down at Victory Meridian.”

You watched clouds slowly turn into space outside Minho’s window. “That’s not exactly what I heard,” you clarified. “How did you get Jisung to spill anyway? All I remember is you left the port authority before us and ended up back at the ship after us.”

Minho shrugged. With how he’d caught you, he was now basically lying beside you in bed. “Jisung was being cagey so I pulled over into an alley and Hyunjin kept watch.” 

Your apparent look of horror made him pause.

“Calm down; I didn’t hurt him. I just gave him an idea of what could happen if he didn’t talk.”

“Fine,” you accepted. “So he talked.”

“Well, he clearly didn’t tell me the truth,” Minho huffed, agitated.

“I don’t think that’s the case,” you argued. “At least not entirely. Jisung told me this is going down at Sentury but the payday would be in Victory Meridian.”

Minho stroked his chin. Annoyingly, from here, he looked gorgeous in the light of the jumpspace stream. “Interesting,” he ruminated. “Anything in particular?”

You were about to answer him, tell him all about the nightclub and the safety deposit box but – at that precise moment – the door opened.

Chan stared at both of you, a tray of food from the galley in his hands. He didn’t yell, he didn’t curse; he only raised an eyebrow. The captain simply walked over to Minho’s desk, roughly set the tray down, and returned to the heavy cabin door, tongue poked into his cheek in clear frustration. He silently waited, leaning against the door with his arms folded until you warily climbed out of Minho’s bed. You were about to leave when he stopped you, expectantly waiting for you again with a hand outstretched. At this, you pulled out the keycard and spitefully dropped it into his hand.

Satisfied, he let you exit before he swung Minho’s door shut and went on his way, not even taking any time to berate you.

“Hey!” you stopped him. “Don’t you want to know what was going on?”

“No,” Chan stubbornly replied while he headed back toward the galley. “I was just wondering what you were up to since you weren’t on the bridge for launch. Sorry for interrupting.”

You almost scoffed when Chan roughly closed the workshop door behind him, and you returned to your cabin. There was a tapping sound at the back of your closet. When you approached and tapped in return, the noise stopped.

“Hey,” came Minho’s voice. “Be careful about this lead, okay? We don’t really have enough info.”

You wondered if Jisung was being careful, if that had ever been a thought in his mind when he told either of you any of this, when your stomach voiced a wretched grumble at you. Chan had been holding a tray of food, so it must be time to eat, and now your hunger caught up with you. But the thought of sharing space with either of those assholes, Chan or Jisung, was killing you. Especially Jisung. You wrinkled your nose at the conclusion that leaving to grab food would probably mean running into the pilot’s stupid face.

As if he read your mind, your intercom crackled on. “Hey,” Jisung greeted, “I know you’re pissed at me, so I just wanted to tell you I already grabbed my food.”

You felt a little ridiculous, side-eyeing the intercom as if it were Jisung himself.

“I meant it, by the way,” he added. “I bet you already talked to Minho somehow. And if you did, I’m sure you figured out I didn’t give him the whole story. I really did tell you first, just like I wanted to and just like I told you.”

There were those feelings again. You really did hate how much this complicated things.

“Hey,” came Jisung again. “You know I can activate the Talk button on your intercom, right? I better hear you leave in the next ten seconds to go get some food or I’m going to annoy the shit out of you.”

You rolled your eyes and pettily blew hard into the receiver on your intercom when you walked past it, swinging the door shut behind you for good measure to make sure you provided a good racket on Jisung’s end. Passing through the workshop, the seal of the galley door blew more chilled air at you and you were thankful you changed into some dry clothes, but now you were living with crunchy, salty hair. By now, you were bemoaning the idea of having to spend time around anyone when you’d already had such a long day. Thankfully, however, it seemed everyone felt similarly, with Hyunjin breezing out of the kitchen carrying a plate and heading right back downstairs. Jisung was upstairs, and you assumed Chan was too, and it made sense to you that Felix and Changbin were nowhere to be seen. Jeongin was busy washing dishes, assumedly having also helped take over cooking duties since Felix was indisposed, but he seemed to hear you nonetheless. He peeked over his shoulder, waving when he caught sight of you and drying his hands so he could hand you a plate he apparently had saved for you, just like Felix had begun to do. 

And despite all this, you were surprised when Seungmin emerged from the kitchen behind him, his glasses still smudged with Azure and dressed down into a sweatshirt with some joggers.

For a mortifying second, you wondered if Seungmin still liked you.

Of course he didn’t, not after Chan humiliated you at the beginning of the day, outing your escapades to everyone but especially to Seungmin, the one person who cared, apparently. 

“Hey!” the navigator acknowledged you, eyes lit up and everything. “I was just thinking about you.” 

Oh?

He sat down in the booth in the common area and waved you over. You tried to compose yourself while you sat down beside him.

“So, how was your meeting?” you tentatively asked, even though you thought you might know the answer already. Minho had mentioned something about the navigator likely dealing with some minor memory loss.

Seungmin self-consciously laughed into his coffee. “I wish I remembered it.”

“You don’t remember?” you implored. “What do you remember? From anything? From this morning?”

He held up his hand, thumb meeting his fingertips to make a “0”. “Nothing,” he chuckled. “I’m betting you already know what happened, because Chan told me when I woke up the first time, and he made sure to tell me that everyone knows. Well, I mean, everyone but me. I remember yesterday, at least. Changbin and Felix are fighting? The last thing I remember was hanging out with Jisung and Hyunjin after we landed.”

“Changbin and Felix aren’t fighting anymore…” you dazedly informed him, trailing off while you wrapped your head around this. Assumedly, from what you could tell, the last events Seungmin recalled were the two of you getting frisky on the bridge during landing and then getting ready for customs afterwards. Nothing from that morning. Nothing about Chan outing you. Seungmin didn’t know you slept with almost half the inhabitants of the ship.

If you wanted, apparently, you were in the clear. You didn’t obliterate your chances with Seungmin. 

He still liked you, and it was obvious from the way he was eager to hear more.

“What?!” he laughed. “What do you mean, they’re not fighting? This was, quite literally, the worst fight those two ever had.”

“Well,” you laughed, still trying to ground this whole revelation about Seungmin’s memory, “Felix got tagged when we were on the surface–”

“WHAT?!” Seungmin blurted again, gobsmacked.

It went back and forth like this. First, you informed Seungmin about Chan’s ridiculous punishment with the gun. You did fudge a detail or two in your retelling, mostly leaving the sordid cause of the whole debacle out of it. Instead you opted to frame it as simply Chan getting back at you for talking to Minho since you came on board.

“What a dick,” the navigator commiserated. “I don’t know what he has against you, but Chan is such a dick sometimes. It makes sense that you’d talk to Minho; he’s the first person that you met on board and you both got picked up on T’kaarm. I assume there’s some mutual interest there.”

You could think of a couple reasons Chan had it out for you. First and biggest of all was how he did not trust your interactions with Minho. That was pretty justified, but there was something about it that felt a little… personal. But that wasn’t what stood out to you most.

For some reason, it never really occurred to you that Minho hadn’t been detained long when you stumbled into the Ambler in the first place, but that instead he’d only recently been bagged. It suddenly seemed strange that you’d never run into him before then, but you pushed past this, instead regaling everything that had gone down in The Hatchery for Seungmin, from Minho saving Felix to all of you finding Jisung when you went to go spring Hyunjin out of jail. You did decide to leave out Jisung’s lead, however. Like Minho said, there still wasn’t much information surrounding it. Nevertheless, Seungmin was enraptured, following every word you said until you decided to share what Changbin and Jeongin could recall of his meeting with his clients.

Seungmin’s cheeks rouged for a minute. “I wouldn’t put it past me to mess up a drop like this,” he explained. “I’ve been a little stressed ever since I realized I needed to get those guys physical charts so I’m not surprised that I probably made it look like I was about to pull something. Can’t say I’m even mad. But Azure? I haven’t messed with that stuff since Academy and I hated it.”

“I’m glad you’re alright, though,” you worried. Feeling a little brazen, you reached for his glasses and used your shirt to wipe the remaining blue dust off the lenses. It was admittedly hilarious, feeling bashful about this when the last time you’d been close like this had been spent with you and Seungmin engaging in much more than innocent little gestures.

“I’m glad you’re alright, too,” he smiled. “Sounds like you’ve had a crazy day.” He had the kindest eyes behind those glasses. You mused for a second that this must’ve been what it was like to date normally.

In a moment that caught you viscerally off guard, Seungmin combed your hair back behind your ear with his fingers.

“You still smell like the ocean,” he sweetly observed, inadvertently echoing Minho from earlier and making your heart thump embarrassingly in your chest. “What else are you doing tonight?”

“Me?” you dumbly asked. “I was thinking a shower. Crazy day and all, like you said. And you?”

“Oh,” Seungmin shrugged flippantly. “I was thinking of turning in... Still pretty tired.”

This whole exchange felt incredibly loaded. Was Seungmin trying to see if you’d proposition him? He was expectantly lingering in the booth, his arm slung on the back of the seat where he faced you. You came to the realization that this might’ve even been an opportunity to kiss him.

But was now even the time?

You may have had a clear slate, but of the seven souls on board besides you and him, you still had the knowledge that you’d fucked three of them.

Not to mention they all knew, too.

Literally the only person who didn’t know was Seungmin.

Jisung’s remark that Seungmin was an all or nothing kind of guy was gnawing at you.

And you didn’t know how to feel about that.

Which, regrettably, meant you had to leave this be.

“I should let you get going to bed then,” you begrudgingly decided. You managed to put on a gentle smile, but that didn’t stop Seungmin from looking a little crushed.

Fine. Maybe you could cut it halfway.

You leaned forward, softly kissing his cheek. “Goodnight, Seungmin,” you smirked. You pulled back before he got any ideas. 

That same, warm smile returned. “Goodnight, Nova,” he bid you farewell, watching as you slid out of the booth and got up to your feet. 

You giddily headed back to your cabin, caught between feeling like you got away with something but also feeling the rush of having any sort of positive effect like this on a guy like Seungmin. And it wasn’t even like you were lying; you did still want to shower, the idea of some warm water really on your skin to clear your head was sounding especially refreshing after the whole day. 

The act of grabbing your toiletries was automatic, drifting through time and space and only coming back into consciousness long enough to note that Seungmin already went back upstairs by the time you retreated into the central head on board the ship. Your shower shoes did a terrible job as usual keeping you magnetized to the floor, but all that mattered was the soothing sensation of physically washing off all this action so you could recenter yourself for whatever was coming next. 

Mainly, there was the headache of this lead that Jisung had given you. Club scenes were never really your thing, but you figured they were pretty similar anywhere you went. Assumedly, if there was a hidden treasure, someone had to hate whoever was keeping it enough to spill where it was being kept and how to access it. In a club or casino setting, this was almost always some employee, but you could figure it out if this was someone in management, too, or even someone connected on the outside.

And, of course, there was the bigger headache. Did you even want to work with Jisung on this?

He stole your shit and risked losing it and went to jail for it – all for this lead.

But he also made sure to only tell you the whole truth.

Allegedly.

Following this trail of thought, something Minho had said earlier suddenly stood out to you, plain as day, lit up in neon lights:

Hyunjin was standing watch while Minho coerced Jisung into telling him the partial truth that he ended up getting. 

What exactly did that look like?

Keeping watch in an alleyway could’ve meant that Hyunjin had been meters away… or maybe right next to them.

Your mind raced when the seal of the door to the washroom hissed, making you jump.

“Hyunjin, that better not be you. I know you hate jail but if you’re wasting the filtration system again I’m gonna–”

Of course.

You and Chan stared at each other, the captain walking in on you for a second time. His eyes blew wide open upon this realization and he clapped his cybernetic hand over his eyes before he turned around. Unlike you, who preferred to walk in and out of the showers fully dressed, Chan only wore a towel secured around his hips.

“Do you want to say sorry?” you jeered. “Not very fitting behavior for a captain, walking in on a lady.” 

“Some lady,” scoffed Chan. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on between you and the bounty?” He still wasn’t looking at you from the doorway to the shower stalls.

You turned off the water, leaving the annoying hum of the vent as background noise for this confrontation. Chan’s Adam's apple visibly bobbed when you grabbed your towel near the doorway, taking your sweet time to dry off.

“You’re too paranoid, Captain,” you coolly dismissed him with a roll of your eyes. “I thought we were friends. Or at least potential friends, as you phrased it. Why are you so convinced something is going on?”

“Look,” he huffed, a hand still covering his eyes, “I need to know. Not even as a friend, not even as a potential friend, but as Captain. This guy is fucking dangerous and I need to know if anything is putting my crew or ship at risk.”

“Your ship?” you immaturely questioned.

“Jisung’s ship,” Chan grumbled. “And just because you fucked the guy doesn’t mean you know him.”

You reached for Chan’s cybernetic arm. He stubbornly closed his eyes instead, wrenching them more tightly shut when he felt you hook your used towel on his fingers. “Likewise, handsome,” you refuted. “I don’t know you because we fucked, just like you don’t know me. What’s so dangerous about him anyway?”

“You’re impossible,” the captain bit back, glaring at you until he caught sight of you still standing naked in front of him. He shut his eyes again. “I’m just asking for some fucking respect and loyalty if you’re going to be on the crew.”

“And who says you don’t have it?” you laughed, taking extra long to pull on your clean clothes. “Who says I’m not playing him?”

You finished getting dressed and teasingly pulled at Chan’s own towel. He dropped yours and immediately saved his from falling, eyes flying open in the process. There was that look again, like he could eat you alive and enjoy every minute of it. For hating being called a pirate, he pretty firmly embodied the reputation such a title would have.

But maybe the role of bounty hunter and intersystem trader carried similar connotations. Chan seemed like just as much of a scoundrel as Minho did. You respected it, at least a little.

“If that’s the case, Miss Nova,” mocked the captain, rolling his neck before he squared his shoulders across from you in the doorway, “if you are playing him, then why not make an alliance? Not to the crew or anything, just to me. Just so I know you actually have my back, no matter what you do, or who you fuck.”

Lucky for Chan, he finally cracked you. You hadn’t considered that the captain would hit you with the exact proposition Minho had, and you needed to think about this. A hint of a smirk tugged at Chan’s lips. If you took him up on this, you could approach the whole arrangement exactly like you were with Minho: say yes, and do whatever the hell you want later if it came down to it. But, obviously, there was the very real possibility that this could all blow up in your face. 

[auren-zagarra]

incendium passionis

Content Warning: Malleus x FEM!Reader, heat (the author knows the mating season only happens with female animals, however, this is just porn - let them enjoy it), MDNI

Characters Count: 8721

You should have become suspicious the moment Malleus started acting clingier toward you. He treated you like a treasure he was afraid of losing, spoiled you rotten with extravagant dresses that only the wealthiest nobles could afford, and drowned you in a passion so intense that it almost made you nauseous. His love was sweet - too sweet for your taste at times. But that was fine by you; after all, such adoration for a human like you somehow inflated your own ego. Any wish you had the soon to be king Draconia would fulfill without you having to ask him twice.

All this power over the dragon came with a price - one you weren’t exactly bothered to pay. In exchange for this burning love, born from an innocent and pure form of caring, all you had to do was lay with your beloved quite frequently. Don’t get me wrong, Malleus wasn’t with you just for the physical connection… he truly cared about your happiness and well-being. However, he couldn’t resist the feeling of seeing you so vulnerable beneath him, sharing an intimacy only he could experience. In his eyes, this wasn’t a sin or a mere act of lust, but a moment when both were blessed with heavenly sensations as your heated skins collided. Despite his reputation, the fae was kind toward his beloved princess.

But a mortal - whether human or not - had their limits. Malleus had already reached maturity, but despite being accustomed to the burning feeling that built up in his body during that time of year, it was the first time he had a special someone. He couldn’t help but become more attached to you - burying his face in your neck, holding you for a moment longer, and letting his hands travel across your body in more indecent ways. The man was addicted to your love, and his heart was screaming for your carnal affection. It was like he was stuck in some kind of spell in which he just craved you like never before.

It had been a week since you last saw your boyfriend. Draconia decided to isolate himself until that painful period passed, so he wouldn’t take it out on you. You weren’t entirely innocent - Lilia had already explained why he was acting this way. He was in mating season - or heat, to put it simply. Warnings had been given about how explosive and lustful dragons could be, and though you were told it would be better to stay away, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Your heart ached with pity… he always treated you so well, sometimes, better than what you felt you deserved. So it felt only fair to help him with this little problem, right?

As you stood frozen at the doorway, the scene before you unfolded like a twisted piece of your lover’s mind. The once sanctuary of your beloved's chamber now resembled a den of chaos. The mattress lay in shreds. Claw marks marred the furniture, making evident his lack of control. Your gaze drifted to the creature occupying the center of this turmoil - Malleus. His emerald eyes now shone with a pained vulnerability as he clutched what remained from a piece of your uniform - a blazer you had now idea how he got. Many would say he resembled some kind of monster, for you, he was just… pitiful.

Approaching the figure, you settled onto the mattress and finally had a view of the man's transformed state. His once-human features now exhibited a pronounced bestiality - scales upon his pale skin, his horns had grown larger and more menacing, and his reptilian gaze seemed to judge every wrong you dared to commit in your whole life span. A low growl rumbled from deep within his chest, causing you to pause mid-motion as your hand hovered near his hairline, attempting to offer comfort through a gentle caress. However, before you could make contact, he suddenly seized your wrist in a strong grip, effortlessly pinning you beneath him like a helpless plaything, like a doll.

Malleus’ face approached from your own, inhaling your unique fragrance as if you were an intruder trespassing upon the sacred region of his room. Yet, upon recognizing the beloved figure before him, the dragon's demeanor shifted dramatically. He nuzzled deeply into the crook of your neck, his scaled cheek pressing intimately against your own soft skin. As you tenderly stroked his back, your special other responded with a fervent affection - spoiling your complexion with tender kisses, loving bites, and playful hickies. The urge to destroy your garments and claim your body with an unrestrained passion traveled his mind, yet he managed to restrain such instincts - he was still the same Malleus Draconia you knew and loved: rational, composed and so kind.

Even in his most primal, beastly state, Malleus' primary concern remained your comfort and pleasure - an adorable thought in your own point of viewing. As you smiled up at him, you gracefully disengaged from his embrace, of course, with small complaints. Then, with deliberate slowness, you began to undo the buttons of your uniform blouse, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the divine curves beneath. Malleus watched, transfixed, as if beholding a sacrificial altar laid bare just for him. Though you'd bared your body to him countless times before, each time he saw you in such a state he fell in love again. His eyes drank in every inch of your angelic form, feeling the desire that threatened to consume him. As you stood vulnerable yet unashamed of your body, Malleus' lips traced a sensual path along your curves. He found solace in the intimate contours of your body, his mouth lingering over sensitive spots as if drinking in your essence. Finally, he found the best confort between your legs.

Sometimes, you wondered if you really were the one who teached Draconia the art of sex or if he was just a quick learner. His tongue played with your clitoris as his fingers stimulated the deepest areas of your dripping wet cunt. Each movement followed a peace which made you see stars, to moan his name, to crave his body against yours… and trust me, Malleus wanted to share this moment with you as well. However, he knew first he should treat his maiden right. But reaching your orgasm at his mouth didn’t seemed right - you knew he was suffering with the bothering size hidden away in his underwear, so, gently tapping his horns, you almost begged him: “Please Mallie, fuck me already…”

As Malleus' skilled tongue danced around your sensitive clit, his fingers delving deep into your slick folds, you marveled at the skills of your boyfriend - even for a moment wondering if you were truly the one who teached him the art of pleasure. It was as if he had been born to worship your body, his every touch calculated to drive you to the brink of ecstasy. Yet, even at the edge of release, you craved the sensation of his hard length filling you. Malleus resisted the urge to claim you fully… After all, he knew he should treat his maiden right despite his conditions. Your whispered plea as you applied gentle tap against his horns. “Please, Mallie, fuck me already…” you breathed, your voice laced with desperation and desire. In that moment, the last vestiges of restraint crumbled and the dragon surrendered himself for the lust.

With a powerful thrust, Malleus sheathed himself within you, his immense girth stretching your walls to their limits. Before you could get used enough to the sheer size of his endowment, he began to move, his hips slapping against yours in a frenzied rhythm that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your very being. The dual sensations of his pulsating cock and the relentless stimulation of your clit proved too much to bear, and you succumbed to the ecstasy, your cries echoing through the chamber. As he kept the rhythm of his moves, Malleus' lips found yours once more, sealing you in a passionate kiss that muffled your sinful dirty cries. His words, though incomprehensible to you, were filled with praise and adoration, a symphony of devotion that only served to heighten the intensity of the moment.

Both finished together, interlocked at each other and with the souls united as only one. As the last tremors of your shared climax subsided, Malleus held you close, his seed still pulsing inside you in warm, sticky rivulets. A contented smile graced your features as you caught your breath, preparing to rise and make your way to the bathroom. However, the dragon's grip on your waist stopped your plans, signaling a change in his intentions. He had a renewed hunger, pressing his rigid member against your sensitive core. It was clear that he had no intention of letting you go, he only intended on claiming you repeatedly throughout the night. Dear, you agreed to satisfy him tonight… so expect to be fucked stupid. You are his beloved princess… and one day, he’ll properly make you a queen.

[emotionaldamages]

coffee shop- lando norris

summary- lando decides to take time away from f1 talks and goes to a coffee shop where he meets someone

pairings- lando norris x nurse student!reader

authors note- not sure how to feel about this one but hopefully you enjoy

Lando Norris, had always lived life on the edge, pushing boundaries as he sped around racetracks as an F1 driver for McLaren.

Y/N, a nursing student with a heart full of compassion and eyes shining with determination, always had a knack for finding beauty in the simplest of moments.

Their paths had never crossed, until one cool, crisp autumn day, fate intervened and brought them together.

It was in the bustling city of London where their story continued. Y/N, her mind preoccupied with the pressures of exams and the weight of her dreams, sought solace in a small café tucked away on a quaint side street.

As she walked inside, the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped her senses, instantly soothing her racing thoughts. With a sigh, she found a cozy corner table, hoping the calming atmosphere would provide some respite from the chaos of her daily life.

Meanwhile, not far away, Lando had escaped the whirlwind world of racing for a few precious moments of peace. Dressed in casual attire, he craved some semblance of normalcy away from the never-ending attention that came with being a celebrated athlete.

With curiosity guiding him, Lando stumbled into the same café, his eyes scanning the room for a sign of familiarity amidst the sea of faces. And there, in the corner, his gaze locked onto Y/N, captivated by the gentle grace that radiated from her.

An inexplicable force drew them closer, as if the universe had conspired to bring them together. Lando, his heart pounding, walked over to her table, his confidence masking the nervous flutter in his chest.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice laced with a charming undertone.

Y/N, startled yet intrigued, gestured for him to take a seat. And so, as they sat across from each other, a connection sparked between them, like an invisible thread weaving its way into their souls.

Conversations flowed effortlessly, as if they had known each other for a lifetime. Lando shared stories of his adrenaline-fueled races, igniting Y/N's passion for adventure, while she painted vivid pictures of her experiences caring for others, igniting a flame of empathy within Lando's heart.

They laughed, they pondered, and they shared secret dreams that they had never dared to voice aloud before. The hours slipped away, unnoticed, as the world around them faded into the background, leaving only the enchanting dance of their words.

Little did they know, their chance encounter in that cozy café would be the beginning of a love story that would defy all expectations, transcending the boundaries of their individual worlds.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, Lando and Y/N realized that fate had brought them together for a reason. And as they left the café, hand in hand, hope soared within their hearts, for they knew their journey had only just begun.

[stars4gojo]

Coming Home

Dad!Gojo x Fem!reader, they have girl twins and also adopted tsumiki & megumi, just pure fluff a little angst if you squint your eyes, very domestic and cute!

And I’m sorry if I’m coming home too late🤍

Gojo Satoru was put on this earth to have children and be a father. No one believed him when he said he would take in Toji Zenin’s children in high school, and no one definitely believed him when he announced that you were pregnant with his child, who actually turned out to be children - two gorgeous twin girls.

At first, Gojo didn’t really get it when he told people he had been blessed with four girls, including you and Megumi. They'd always pat him on the back and joke about how tough it must be for him and Megumi to deal with four emotional girls, even suggesting he sneak away for a break. He'd just furrow his brow, not fully grasping their point. He was content with his life as it was.

I mean, It was challenging when he'd return home from a tiring mission only to find chaos. The toddlers causing trouble, Tsumiki experimenting with makeup on Megumi's face while a Taylor Swift song blared loudly in the background that he knows you picked. And one of those days, he let his emotions get the best of him, storming into the living room to vent about the mess, the noise, and how Megumi was being treated like a personal doll.

After letting off steam, he left for a calming bath. And when he returned to the living room to apologise for his sudden outburst, he found the room to be squeaky clean, the kids already in bed and a huge card on the dining table with his face sloppily drawn on it with a note that read "Sorry Dad D:" 

His eyes welled with tears as he made his way to kiss his precious girls in apology.

Then there were the days when you and the girls all had your periods synced up, and Gojo learned to tiptoe around the house to avoid setting anyone off, which could be done just by breathing the “wrong way” according to Tsumiki. So, on those days, him and Megumi would sneak out, returning with everyone’s cravings so you could all cuddle together (much to Megumi’s dismay) for a cozy family movie night. 

And those small moments - like when you sweetly call him from the bathroom all clean and ready for the night, only to ask him to clear the hair from the drain. And as gross as the task is, the way you cling to his side afterward, giving him a refreshing kiss on the cheek and calling him your "knight in shining armor" makes it all worthwhile.

Through it all, Gojo realized that despite the ups and downs, life with his five precious girls - and his quietly adoring son was in fact a blessing. This truth hit home every time he received a picture from you during his missions, like the one he got right now,  where you’re all wearing matching pajamas and headbands, with a cheeky text that read 

“We’ve got another one for you, come home soon? :p” 

He can’t wait to exorcise this curse to wear the matching hello kitty pyjamas if it means he can be with his favourite people in the world. 

More of my work!

Authors note: finalyyyy wrote an actual good piece (I think) feedback is always appreciated and also I wanna make friends on here so comment to be mutuals! :pp

[wadewnstonwilson]

logan headcanons for when he's about to meet death || suggestion by anonymous

pairing: logan howlett (wolverine) x genderneutral!reader

author note: let me know if you guys want me to make this into an actual fic!! also would love to make more headcanons in the future featuring logan or wade so please feel free to drop me an ask!

you’re not just a figure; you’re an embodiment of death, one that logan has glimpsed far too many times. over the years, your paths have crossed during moments of violence, heartbreak, or near-death experiences. each time, logan is caught off guard by your serene demeanor, a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding you.

you never linger too long, but when you do, your conversations are strangely casual, almost comforting. logan is always curious about your presence. “you here for me?” he’d grumble, his tone gruff but his eyes searching yours. you’d only smile softly, replying, “not today, logan.” there’s a quiet understanding between you, one that grows deeper with every encounter.

logan has never feared you. if anything, he’s drawn to you. you represent peace in a way he’s never known—an end to his pain, his regrets, and his long, tumultuous life. yet , every time he sees you, there’s a pang of longing, a sense that you understand him in ways no one else could.

even when you’re not visible, logan can sense you. in his most vulnerable moments, whether in pain or exhaustion, he feels the faintest whisper of your presence. it’s not threatening—it’s reassuring, like you’re watching over him, waiting for the right time.

as logan lay dying, his breath ragged and his body broken, you appeared silently beside him. he couldn’t see you yet, but laura could feel an eerie calm settle over the space. she clung to his hand, whispering through tears, but your gaze was fixed solely on him. this was the moment you’d both been waiting for, though neither of you would have chosen it to come this way.

the moment his heart stops, logan feels a strange weight lift from him. the pain, the fatigue, the burden of his years—it all fades as he opens his eyes to find you standing there. your hand reaches out to him, a gesture both familiar and final.

logan doesn’t flinch as you grab his arm, pulling him gently to his feet. his body—once battered and bruised—now feels whole, yet he knows this isn’t life anymore. he looks down to see his lifeless form, laura sobbing beside him, and he swallows hard. “she’ll be alright,” you say softly, your voice soothing. “you did enough.”

logan turns to face you fully, and for the first time, there’s no gruffness, no walls. his expression is a mix of relief and acceptance. “guess i’m finally yours,” he mutters, his voice quieter than usual. you smile, warmth in your eyes, and reply, “you always were.”

you don’t lead him away forcefully. instead, you walk beside him, matching his pace. it’s peaceful, almost serene. logan feels an odd sense of contentment, knowing he’s finally found rest—not just in death, but in you.

from that moment on, you and logan are together. no more fleeting meetings, no more stolen glances. just the two of you, side by side, existing beyond time and space. for logan, it’s the peace he’s craved his entire life. for you, it’s the companionship you’ve always hoped for.

[brucewaynehater101]

can we have chaos gremlin Tim Drake fic recs pls? 🥺

Hullo 👋

Here's some fics where Tim is a bit unhinged. I copied and pasted the summaries the author did:

Tim’s quest to bring Bruce back from his Time-Travel-Super-Vacation goes horribly topsy-turvey when Ra's takes a more pro-active approach to keeping Tim prisoner, and he ends up in an alternate universe where he never existed, and everybody is disorientingly well-adjusted and weirdly obsessed with his “wellness”, whatever that means.

Tim is a clone, Young Justice has a new BFF, and Batman's adoption tendency has been sledgehammered with Post-Ethiopia grief, which means the JLA is now in charge of a miniature Batman despite almost none of them being parents. This can't end badly, can it?

When Tim is 11 he figures it’s not hurting anyone if he. Ya know. Takes a picture in the Batmobile. But then the power goes to his head and all of a sudden he’s hacking the Batmobile and tearing through Gotham on a rescue mission.

Tim Drake fucks around with the timestream and finds out. Now, he has to suddenly deal with a baby face, his family (and hiding from them), the loss of his precious middle child status and the burgeoning realisation that Damian is taller than him.

Beneath Gotham there is something. Anyone who spends time with their feet on the ground can tell you that much. At the surface level it's goons and scared street kids. Beneath them are the sewers, haunted by endless appetites and the scraping of hide against stone. Beneath that is glowing green, craving warmth of blood and rage, hunting for its host. And even further beneath that is something other. Above Gotham there is something. Anyone who spends time in the city can tell you that much. In the shadows of tall buildings or on outcrops of stone there was movement. Flashes of color or shadows taken form. Ever watchful eyes following the movement of the cities beating heart.

He hadn’t been prepared to take on Red Hood in Titans’ Tower. No, Tim had fought cleanly. Fair. But he wasn’t in the business of making the same mistakes twice. And the Red Hood? Well… Jason Todd should have stayed dead.

On a boring night, Tim and Steph discuss their most favorite and stupid yellow-press headlines. Years later, it gives Damian the chance to witness the true unhinged potential of one Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne

Talia doesn't tell Damian his father's name before sending him off to Gotham. This sets off a series of events that no one could have predicted. On an unrelated note, Tim has always wanted to be a big brother

The kid in civvies knocking on the door to his apartment shrieks Jason's name and launches himself at Jason, who catches him on reflex. He realizes it's the Replacement at the same time he notices the kid is so tiny he could barely pass for twelve, let alone fourteen. "Jason," his Replacement mumbles again into his chest, and Jason finally regains the presence of mind to move them backwards into the apartment. If he's murdering the kid now, better to do it with privacy.

Hal Jordan finds a tiny child in the Watchtower, and appropriately decides he should not be there. Robin has other ideas.

Last one: The series "Bird's Night Out" by Calamityjim. Basically, chaotic Robin rivalry with Red Hood