#the world needs more words out there and more words out there leads to more reading

[reignpage]

Movie Night

Summary: in which alien!reader asks Gojo to teach her a little something Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: smut, not proofread

Day 7

“What’s wrong, E?”

All fresh from a shower, you and Satoru are sitting in the sofa, watching a movie. He’s finally bought you your own clothes and you’re dressed in a warm jumper and cosy pants. Satoru won’t lie; he’s grieving the pleasure of seeing you drown in his clothes. But you were ecstatic at the sight of the space themed pjs and so he was left with nothing to do but he happy. 

Wrapped under a thick blanket, you’re huddled by his side, clutching his shirt. As with every movie, every night, you ask questions, and he answers as best as he can. He’s insanely grateful that you can understand him when he explains things like what a car is (a moving vehicle) or who Gordon Ramsey is (a famous chef known for being very wrinkly and very angry). It seems that your biggest issue, however, is stringing a full sentence together. 

You’ve been getting much better, accelerating at a rate no human could manage. It’s both impressive and terrifying. 

Right now, you’re tilting your head at a particular scene. Satoru forgot the plot of the money and he really regrets not keeping an eye out for the age rating, because on the screen plays a steamy, kiss scene. 

In fact, ‘kiss’ isn’t even the right word; they’re making out. 

How you both managed to last a week of doing nothing but watch movies without coming across a kiss scene he’ll never know. But the moment’s finally arrived and he is not any more prepared than he was on the first night.

He winces at the sound lips smacking against each other, a blush on his cheeks. A kiss is nothing -- he’s done far more than that, and multiple times. But, for some reason, he’s feeling a little shy. It might have something to do with the fact that you’re staring up at him with your big, curious eyes. 

“What they doing?” You ask. 

Satoru gulps. He’s become painfully aware of how close you are — his arm is trapped between your breasts, just a thin layer separating him from your soft flesh, and, under the blanket, your leg is strung ever so slightly on his thigh. He can smell his shampoo emanating from you with something sweet coursing just under that masculine scent. 

Chuckling uncomfortably, he explains, “They’re kissing.”

“Why?”

He has half a mind to turn the TV off and declare an earlier bedtime, but you look so innocent he feels bad that he was thinking of something indecent. He’s your friend. He can’t prey on you and take advantage of your reliance on him. Plus, how would a kiss between two people from different intergalactic species even work?

Would it be the same? Or does it lead to pregnancy straight away? What if you lay eggs in his mouth? What if he lays eggs in your mouth?

Composing himself, he searches for the right words. “It’s something people do to express their love for each other, I guess. Well, not all the time, actually. Sometimes it’s just for pleasure.”

“Pleasure?”

Why, oh, why did you have to focus on that one word? 

And why on everything that is good in this world is this scene so long?

“It means to feel good.”

The hand clutching his shirt flattens out until it’s feeling the hard planes of his chest and absorbing the vibrations of his heartbeat. You drum your fingers at the same pace, smiling softly. The heat of your hand, of your entire body, is setting his skin alight. Suddenly, it’s too hot under the blanket, there isn’t enough room or air, and he needs to go but he can’t bear to. 

Batting your lashes, you inquire, “How to make pleasure, Toru? How kiss feel good?”

Brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, he corrects you, “It’s, ‘how does kissing make you feel good’, E. Try again for me?”

You taste the words, lips stretching to practice the movement before you parrot back perfectly, “Tell me how kissing makes you feel good, Toru.”

Oh, fuck. 

Why did he make you repeat it in perfect Japanese? Why did he have to use this very moment as a learning opportunity? 

Curse his perfect teaching instincts!

He’s about to shrug you off, using sleepiness as an excuse to retreat, but then you’re leaning even closer, licking your lips and eyeing his. Warmth is spreading through his body, circulating in one particular area and he’s hoping you don’t move your leg any higher otherwise this will turn into a completely different conversation and he’s not certain he could survive giving you an anatomy lesson without getting a nosebleed. 

Licking his own lips, he grazes your cheek with his fingers. The skin he touches glows the very faintest hint of blue. He’s reeling. Up till now, he thought that your skin glows when you’re sleeping, but apparently you also glow when you’re being touched. But this isn’t the first time he’s touched you. 

Was it because before he was trying very, very hard not to stare?

He doesn’t know, and regardless, he can’t stop touching you. Satoru presses on your adorable cheeks to watch it light up, the way his is flushing red. Whispering, he asserts, “I can’t tell you how kissing feels, E.” 

Your hand presses harder against his chest, fingers splaying across the expanse. Subconsciously, he juts it out just a little. And with the most seductive voice, you demand, “Show me then, Toru. Make me feel good?”

Oh, and when you ask like that, how could anyone ever resist you?

There’s a tantalising closeness between you, just a hairsbreadth away from touching. When he finally closes that minuscule gap, a purr like thrum echoes through you. He kisses you, sweet and gentle, simply pressing his lips against yours. There’s nothing human about this, not with the invigorating taste of you, the scalding feel of your skin, and impossible softness of your body on his. 

“This is a kiss?” You mumble.

Chuckling, he says, “No, E. This is.”

With one hand holding the back of your neck, he sucks your bottom lip, unable to help himself from deepening the kiss. You gasp into his mouth, and he dives his tongue in, meeting yours. He knows he should slow down, should let you adjust to a friendly peck before he takes more than you can give, but you taste so good and it’s like he’s drunk. 

There’s a force, a gravitation pull drawing him in. He can’t resist it, can’t fight it, he isn’t even trying. 

You pull back in shock. 

Satoru chases after you, dragging you back in. He kisses you again. Groaning into your mouth, he slides a hand down to your leg, rising up your thigh. You jolt, a shiver running through your body. That electrifying purring hums in the air again and he’s smiling, hand rising and rising until he’s curving against your ass and carrying you over his thighs.

“This feels... I feel...,” you whimper, at a loss for words. 

Squeezing your thighs, he coos, “It’s alright, sweet thing. I’ve got you. You wanted to learn pleasure, right? Who better to teach you than Toru, hmm?”

You shiver again when he whispers that against your neck, nose skimming your jaw and lips curling. He’s inhaling deeply, eyes fluttering close at the weight of your body pressing down on him and your addictive scent. 

He can’t tell if this is all you or if it’s an alien thing, but he doesn’t care. Not in this moment, not when your hips are churning as he sucks at your neck, laying burning kisses against your skin, and watching the blue light dance under your skin. 

“Oh, E,” he sighs. “Are you grinding on me, baby? You want more than just a kiss, is that it? My greedy, greedygirl.”

When your clothed core rubs just right against his throbbing length, you throw your head back, that purring noise a hiss and it vibrates against his cheek as he listens to your rapid heartbeat. He can feel how wet you are; you’re soaking through your panties and pyjama bottoms.

Satoru’s growing dizzy.

One hand guides your hips to gyrate on him whilst the other clutches your throat to pull your lips back to his. Satoru knows he should stop now that he’s already taught you what you asked for, but he can’t. He just can’t. The thrill of going further, of testing your, and his, limits is too much for one man to resist. Even if that man is the strongest sorcerer in the world, even if not a whole gaggle of curses could pose a threat to him. 

“Toru!”

He thrusts upwards the same time he tugs you down and the elongated moan that leaves you, hips stuttering and hands frantically searching for purchase on his broad shoulders, leaves him feeling lightheaded. “That’s it, E. Take what you need.”

Your eyes are flashing blue, a darker hue than his own, and he’s amazed. Everything about you is incredible, like you were created to be his temptation, to be his undoing. Whether aliens have souls or not, he doesn’t know, but he does know that if you did, his and yours would be the same, all blue and perfect. 

Laughing, he leans back, hands simply resting on your thighs as you ride out your orgasm, shocked eyes pleading for explanation, for reason but finding none in his. That purring gets louder and louder, the vibrations stronger now and they’re flowing straight from your soaked pussy and right onto his cock. 

“Oh shit!” Satoru groans, nails digging suddenly. Within seconds, he’s cumming in his boxers, hot cream flooding his underwear from inside at the same time your wetness seeps through on top. “Jesus, E! That’s fucking intense, what the hell.”

He’s panting, eyes shut tightly as he keeps grinding your hips on his cock. 

You slump onto him just as he falls back. You’re completely depleted of energy, and he knows exactly what you’re feeling. Rubbing your back, he presses a kiss to your hair, muttering ‘well done’ and ‘good job’. 

“How was that for pleasure?”

Smacking his chest, you mumble a complaint. “Toru mean.”

He laughs agains.

“Sorry, E. You were just too cute.”

You raise your head, eyes bleary and fluttering shut. You meet his gaze, shaky fingers reaching for his lips and tracing them, all sore and pink, like you’re amazed at him the way he is at you. “Thank you. Kissing is nice.”

“We did a little more than just kissing, E. But sure, you’re welcome,” he chuckles. 

Eventually, you both fall asleep in each other’s arms right there on the sofa, ‘Are You Still Watching’ filling the TV screen and not the movie he can’t even remember the name of, drying cum posing a problem he’ll have to deal with in the morning.

He dreams of sapphire streaks in the air, of giant balls of fire, and an angel descending with its arms outstretched. And he hopes he never wakes up.

[concreteangel92]

“Have You Ever Tried This One?”

Noah Sebastian x female popstar reader

18+

Got this idea from @lunabuna991’s post and couldn’t get it out of my head haha this idea is so cute and I just had to do something for it but of course I added in a little bit of spice haha

Warnings: smut, PiV, praise kink, talks of edging

Permanent Noah Taglist: @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lacy1986 @fadingangelwisp @theanarchymuse95 @w0manof-flesh44 @dream-machine-love @thisbicc @amelia-acero @badomenslullaby @fadingintothegrey @tosoundlessdarkistare @ichoosetenderomens @hurricanesfollowyou @concretejunglefm

Let me know if you wish to be added!

Masterlist

The large crowd in the stadium was screaming and chanting your name as the lights came up on the first night of your sold out world tour.

You were one of the hottest A-listers of the moment with your latest album still number 1 in the charts and you were living your ultimate dream. All of the hard work has lead you to this, you had the most incredible fan base, you were selling out arenas all over the world and your music was adored by everyone.

You felt the butterflies in your stomach as you waited for your queue to take the stage, microphone already in hand.

You felt more nervous tonight, not just because it was the opening night, but because your boyfriend was watching in the VIP area of the crowd tonight.

You and Noah had been dating for 8 months now, he was your perfect man, loving, kind, funny and an absolute beast in the bedroom, he matched your energy in every way.

Hence why a lot of your songs had very provocative lyrics in them.

A particular fan favourite was your song called ‘Juno’ and you knew you wanted to give the fans a show on this tour by mimicking sexual positions after the line “Have you ever tried this one?” and then changing it in every country.

Tonight you knew you were going to do one particular move, it was going to be the same position that your boyfriend had you in the night before

Flashback

Noah’s inked fingers dug into your thighs in a bruising grip as he held your crossed legs up against his chest as he pounded into you mercilessly.

“Shit…you feel so fucking tight!”

You couldn’t respond, the only sounds that would come out were your choked cries as you squeezed your eyes shut and your head fell back onto the pillow and your hands gripped the sheets beneath you.

You could feel every inch of Noah, like he wanted to make sure you remembered all of him while you went on tour for the next few months.

Noah’s hips continued to slam into you, the sounds echoing around the room.

“You were made for me angel…so fucking perfect”

You knew you wouldn’t be lasting long, Noah had edged you by having his face in between your legs for an hour before he showed some mercy on you and gave you what you wanted, said that he’d been enjoying himself too much and needed to make sure he’d had his fill before you were separated.

“Noah…oh my…”

You felt your thighs shaking under his hands, your back arching and your body convulsing on the mattress as you screamed the house down, not caring if anything was heard.

You barely had time to come down from your high before Noah suddenly pulled out and hooked his arms around your thighs and went to dive back down again.

“I just need a little taste baby, I bet you taste fucking delicious after cumming all over my cock like that, got to make sure we make the most of tonight”

••••

You skipped out into the stage and the crowd went wild, you smiled and waved before you started your set.

You sang and danced along side your back up dancers, loving every second but what made you smile more was when you finally caught sight of Noah.

He was in the VIP section with Nicholas and Matt, he was smiling and singing along to every word you sang and they wolf whistled and cheered for you after every song.

Finally Juno had come on, you had such a cheeky smile as you got to the line “wanna try out some freaky positions?”

You ran to the front of the stage, made sure you looked directly at Noah before you lied down in your back and lifted your legs up and crossed them over each other.

“Have you ever tried this one?”

Noah’s face was priceless as the crowd roared, he smiled and his hand came up to his face as if to hide the blush on his cheeks as he shook his head, Matt and Nick instantly laughing and giving him the elbow with raised eyebrows as they laughed.

You winked in his direction, smiled and carried on with the song.

•••••

Later that evening, the concert was over and Noah had joined you at your hotel, instantly lifting you up into a huge hug and telling you how incredible you were.

You settled down in bed together knowing it was the last night for a while as you were jetting off in the morning early.

Your social media had been flooding with the fans telling you how good you were and what an amazing night they had.

Your favourite video of the night however was a video a fan had taken of Noah during ‘Juno’ and his reaction.

Just as you went into the position, Noah’s face instantly showed he remembered the night before and he was all smiley and almost blushing. It was the comment underneath it that made your night.

“Noah watching y/n’s set and you just know that he was twirling his hair and kicking his feet when she done this! Clearly something he’s seen recently 😏”

[sweetfictionalworld]

Distraction

Pairing: Seong Gi-hun x Female Reader

Requested by @queencvrdwv : hi girlyy, I just saw your request and I NEED a Seong Gi-hun x reader🙏🏽 Like idk, headcanons or maybe the bathroom scene from Season 1? I mean, Gi-hun is stressed after the first two games so Reader tries to comfort him and it leads to some lewd things in the bathroom😝

Warnings: Nsfw, Smut, Semi-public sex.

Author's notes: Thank you for the request! I hope you like it ♡

"Hey, are you okay?"

Gi-hun looked up at you and you could see the stress written all over his face.

"Hey, you did really well with that umbrella shape. I was really impressed," you said, trying to ease his troubled mind.

Gi-hun gave you a small smile. "Thanks, y/n."

You sat down next to him and saw him swallow hard and flutter his eyes as he glanced down at your arm touching his. God, he was so damn cute and awkward. Ever since he had taken you in as part of his group, you'd had a crush on him. And you suspected he felt the same about you.

"Do you maybe...want to get out of here for a bit? Distract yourself from all the horrible shit going on here?"

Gi-hun looked at you in confusion. You just smiled and stood up.

"I'm going to the bathroom. Maybe you need to go too?"

Gi-hun watched with wide eyes as you went over to the door and knocked on it. A few seconds later, one of the guards opened, and after a few persuasive words about being on your period, the guard let you outside. Gi-hun licked his bottom lip and pondered what to do, if your words really meant what he thought they meant. At last, his curiosity got the better of him and he stood up.

"Oh, Gi-hun," you moaned and grabbed his shoulder for support as you rode his cock in a soft and gentle pace, reveling in the feeling of him inside you.

Gi-hun groaned softly and stared at you in awe, at the pleasured expression on your face as you bounced up and down on his dick. Fuck, you felt so good, his cock moving so easily in and out of your warm and wet pussy. He reached underneath your t-shirt, beneath your bra, and cupped your breast, softly kneading the soft flesh gently, feeling your nipple harden from his touch.

You opened your eyes, palmed his face as you leaned down and kissed him.

Gi-hun kissed you back with eagerness, his lips getting greedier with each buck of his hips. It had been such a long time since he felt the comforting warmth of a woman, so long since he let himself indulge in the world of pleasure.

It didn’t take many more moments for him to come, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he grunted when his cock twitched and pumped his load inside you.

You followed in his path, the feeling of his swelling cock inside you bringing you over the edge with him. Grinding your hips a final time, you came with a soft moan as his cock throbbed inside you.

You giggled as you slumped down on his lap, and Gi-hun chuckled softly while gently caressing your hip.

"This was nice," you said and suddenly felt very shy, sitting there with his cock slipping out of you, followed by the slow dripping of his cum.

"It was," Gi-hun replied with a soft smile, and you could see he was feeling just as shy as you.

"I think we need to hurry, I'm guessing the guard is standing outside waiting for us," you said and stood up.

"Oh, right!" Gi-hun rushed to his feet, blushed as he quickly pulled up his pants over his cock.

You giggled at his cuteness and grabbed some toilet paper, swiftly wiping his cum off your inner thighs.

"Maybe...." You bit your lip nervously. "Maybe, we can meet up when we get out of here? Go on a date?" you asked and looked at him hopefully.

Gi-hun looked at you in surprise and then smiled cutely. "I'd like that very much."

Years after, Gi-hun would still think fondly of that single moment the two of you shared together.

[mask131]

I am re-reading the Silmarillion, and something strikes me. The women of Tolkien's world have been talked about TO DEATH especially with all the recurring debates surrounding the Rings of Power series.

As we all know, Tolkien was not a "feminist" in the modern sense of the word. He had a very male-centric point of view and appreciation of the world, he had male-driven and male-centered stories, and actual women characters were sparse and rare. There are only five really big female characters in "The Lord of the Rings" - the quintet of Galadriel, Eowyn, Goldberry, Lobelia and Shelob. [No, don't talk to me about Arwen, she only really was a character in the movies, in the book she's just there in the appendix and she was literaly an afterthought of Tolkien to act as Eowyn's romantic double...]

Consider this. Galadriel, Eowyn, Goldberry, Lobelia and Shelob. This tells you everything you need to know about Tolkien's women, in good and bad.

The Silmarillion has the same motif of having a lot of female characters, only for most of them to be just footnotes, secondary characters with no lines, under-developped one-liners... with in a contrast a handful of super-cool, super-badass, complex and developed heroines at the center of the plot.

Aka, on the bad side, when listing the Valar, while Tolkien gives an interesting personality, great domains and cool attributes to all the male ones, half of the female ones are just... there. And do one stuff. And never appear again. I mean come on... Vana and Nessa? Estë and Vairë were done dirty... That's the actual type of "non-feminism" Tolkien has. It isn't about him hating women or trying to be offensive in his depictions - it is about him just, not putting as much thought, effort and care into his female characters as his male ones, a bit the same way he creates the vast expanses of the East and South of Middle-Earth and then never bothers actually developing more of it or seeking to tell tales of it - but that's for another discussion about Tolkien's "racism". Here we talk about women.

But here's the thing, aka the good side... When Tolkien does find the time and care to develop and flesh out a female character, by Iluvatar he goes all out! Again, we are back on what I said earlier: the women of Lord of the Rings can be counted on one hand... but these fingers are Galadriel, Eowyn and Shelob, so you can't claim he isnt writing powerful, important or uninterestng female characters. Which leads me to my original remark - as usual I get driven away in digressions of all sorts and kinds.

Have you ever noticed that Melkor's greatest enemies, the ones he fears the most, and his most effective foes... are women? Tolkien might not like to put them front and center of his tales, and he might have been a man of the early 20th century England in culture and mind, but boy does he has something to say about how women are actually the first enemies of the literal embodiment of evil and destruction! I mean think about it. Varda of the Stars, and Yavanna of the trees. Nienna has her ambiguous relationship to him - her tears work against him, and yet without her plea for him he likely would not have been released from the dungeons of Mandos. You have Melian with her Girdle, and Luthien with her Hound. And of course most of all Arien, guardian of the Sun, not only one of the rare fire spirits that Melkor couldn't corrupt (despite him basically ruling over all fire), but that frightens him so much he keeps hiding away and doesn't even dare to attack her... [I also reblogged some times ago a post praising the brilliance of Tolkien keeping the old European sun-moon motifs but switching the genders. The weaker, inconsistant, lustful, whimsical, disorderly, untrustworthy Moon is now a male principle, while the steady, dangerous, strong, powerful and beautiful Sun is a woman.]

It is actually REALLY easy to do a feminist retelling of Tolkien's work. Melkor doesn't fear Manwë as much as Varda. Aulë's works and servants get corrupted by Melkor, while Yavanna's do not. Melian and Luthien actively works against him. He friggin' pisses himself when the Woman of the Sun shows up. Sure, there are some evil female characters that serve him down the line and are relegated to the "obscure footnotes and undescribed secondary characters" zone - Thuringwethil the vampire or queen Beruthiel. I coul also dropped deleted characters from early drafts, like the ogress Fluithuin. But among them stands Ungoliant... THE only true female big bad on the dark side of Arda. THE badass, nightmarish, creepy eldritch abomination. And who ends up double-crossing Melkor, almost KILLING him, and again making him basically shit in his pants - as Varda and Arien do.

The first enemies of Morgoth are not the Valar, or the Maiar, or the Elves... It's women.

[12raccoonsinadress]

Hi! So I'd like to request a Tenya Iida x Fem! Reader fic. Where the reader is friends with Tenya until Tenya walks in on Reader getting dressed and it leads to smut and fluff after?

Sensible Choices: Tenya x Fem!Reader (Smut)

Woo! Here's the longest one I've done in a while! Hope it was worth the wait ~💚

Art Cred: Ari Libella (arilibella.artstation.com)

Word Count: 5,280

Third POV

Tenya and you made very good friends. In a world where things were so confusing and uncertain, where nearly everyone had some society altering ability and villains could attack at any time, he made sense. To you, he was uncomplicated. You both valued things like routine, education, and wanting the world to be a safer place. So to others, the two of you being together was a very logical idea, even if only as friends and colleagues. You never really assessed how you felt about Tenya, leaving those thoughts to poke at you when you laid in bed at night, but still left ignored. He was one of your closest friends, and you wouldn't ruin that over what you deemed a silly crush. You couldn't handle the idea of him turning you down and losing him as a friend. He was too integrated into your routine.

Part of your weekly routine was studying with Tenya in your dorm on Friday evenings between dinner and curfew. Responsible as always, he made sure to have his things and be out at least 30 minutes before curfew started, just in case you needed to do anything before bed. Tonight was another one of those useful, but otherwise unnoteworthy study sessions. The two of you mostly worked on your math homework, tackling some of the more tricky lessons in the coming week's test. Between the two of you, it started to make sense.

As you closed the textbook for the evening, you stood up, stretching.

"It looks like it's getting late."

You noted. He checked his watch, closing his textbook as well.

"It seems so. I suppose I should be heading out then."

He stood now as well, gathering his things. You watched as he did, humming slightly.

"You'll have to let me know what you score on the test."

"I'm sure we'll both do well."

He said, turning to you with a smile.

"And if not, we can always go back and review what we missed."

You smiled too. He was so positive when it came to school work, it was a bit infectious. You usually didn't feel too strongly about homework or testing, but he still managed to make the entire thing seem more satisfying to you. You couldn't remember a time before him where you actually looked forward to studying.

He went over to your door, turning back once, briefly.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Y/n. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Tenya."

You felt a slight warmth in your chest as he stepped out. His smile was so sweet. It always filled you with such nice feelings. You didn't choose to dwell on that too much longer though. Instead, you turned your attention to changing into your pajamas and getting ready for bed. You went to your dresser, pulling out your pajamas, laying them neatly on the bed before beginning to undress.

Tenya was hardly halfway to his dorm when he reached for his phone and realized he didn't have it. He didn't think much of it, other than that he must've left it sitting on your desk. He turned heel and began back to your dorm.

Tenya was mostly sure his feelings for you were platonic, no different from the ways he thought about Ochako or Izuku. Then again, he never caught himself wondering how soft Ochako's lips were, or feel a swell of pride in his chest when making Izuku laugh. These things seemed specific to you. He tried to ignore it for the most part. After all, he was your friend, and you were his. His prettiest, most intelligent, and sweetest friend. Nothing more. At least, that's what he told himself.

It didn't register that more than a moment had passed between him closing the door and opening it again, which is probably why it didn't even cross his mind to knock before entering your room.

"Y/n, it seems I left my..."

His voice died in his throat as he saw you. How could it not have? You were standing there, topless, in nothing more than your panties, sleep shirt in hands. His eyes grew wide and his face turned red, mirroring the expression on your own face. The door quickly slammed shut, but it was too late. He'd seen you, nearly naked, and that brief moment was all it took for the image to be burned into his mind.

You quickly got dressed, nearly tripping over yourself as you did. You couldn't believe it. He saw you practically naked. It made your entire body flush red with embarrassment. You wanted to simply die in that moment, just so you'd never have to face him again. You wondered what in the world he could be thinking now. And the slightly dirtier thought, creeping into your mind from the pits of your stomach, you wondered what he thought about what he saw.

He stood on the other side of your door for a long moment, holding it shut as if it would somehow hold his own mind at bay. His first thought was noting how beautiful your body was, immediately followed by a heavy feeling of shame in even indulging the thought. It was completely inappropriate and he shouldn't entertain such devious things. He left to his dorm, not willing to attempt a second retrieval of his phone. He didn't need it badly enough to face you right now. He closed himself in his dorm and sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment, silently. The first thing he'd have to do when he saw you again would be to beg for forgiveness for barging in. And if you were so upset you didn't want to talk to him, it was completely warranted and he'd take any repercussions without argument. He should have knocked. Without question.

Though against his own will, he laid awake that night thinking about you.

Aside from getting his phone back, you and Tenya avoided each other for the following days. Neither of you really knew how to address what had happened, but at the same time it was too awkward to talk without addressing it. The week felt like a year. Occasionally, you'd glance over at him in class, and almost every time you'd see him look away from you. You quickly looked back to the front of the room or at your work, trying not to think too much about why he could be staring. Maybe he was trying to think about how to talk to you again. Maybe he wanted to apologize, but wasn't sure how. ... Maybe he was undressing you with his eyes.

It was getting harder to ignore your crush on Tenya. It was like the more you avoided one another, the more you longed for him. You wanted to imagine he liked what he saw. So much that he couldn't bare to face you. It sounded silly in your mind, and yet the thoughts ebbed into your day dreams more and more as the week went on. If only you knew how right you were.

He'd essentially fashioned his own personal hell by seeing you naked. He couldn't find the right way to apologize to you, so he had to avoid talking to you until he did. He didn't want to lie to you either. Your body was beautiful, but he couldn't say that. He wished he could have seen you under more consensual circumstances, but he definitely couldn't say that. Even with all the attempts to come up with a good apology, he couldn't stop imagining it. Imagining you standing there in those cute little panties and nothing else. It made evenings... difficult to say the least. He wouldn't touch himself though. No matter how much he ached for some kind of relief. As your friend, as someone who respects you so much, he couldn't touch himself while imagining your body. Not without permission. Which he was most certain he didn't have.

Soon enough, but also what felt like twelve years later, it was Friday evening. You paced. Now is when you and Tenya would be studying together. It was almost impossible for you to focus on studying on your own when all you could think about was how incomplete it felt. This wasn't the routine. It was all wrong. You couldn't study in these conditions. You were just about to text him when you heard a knock on your door. You went and opened it.

There before you was a very nervous Tenya, his backpack held by his side. He wouldn't look at you.

"If you aren't busy, I think we need to talk. I also brought my school work, in case you'd rather study instead."

He said, almost uncomfortable. You let him in and he looked at you now, expectant. As much as you wish things could be normal and the two of you could just go over the test from that week, you knew it was time to talk about what happened.

"We should probably talk.."

He walked in, saw you, and left. It didn't feel like you could say much about it personally to start the conversation. Thankfully, you didn't have to. He dropped his bag on the floor before bowing about as deeply as he could without dropping to his knees.

"I'm so incredibly sorry, Y/n! I didn't even think to knock at the time, but that is absolutely no excuse for barging in on you! If you feel it necessary to report me for my inappropriate behavior, I'll accept whatever punishment I am given with no argument!"

You looked at him wide eyed for a moment, surprised by the sudden outburst. You expected an apology, but it hadn't even crossed your mind to report him.

"Tenya, I'm not going to report you. It was an accident."

He looked up now, standing upright again. He looked almost panicked or confused.

"What? Surely you don't think such unbecoming behavior is appropriate."

"I mean, it wasn't polite to not knock and, um, it was sort of embarrassing for me, but it wasn't really inappropriate."

This didn't seem to make him relax. If anything it seemed like he got more tense in response.

"You don't understand. I saw you naked-"

You blushed, not getting why he was being so insistant.

"You don't need to remind me-"

"I shouldn't have seen you like that. It was private. I should be punished for the way it's made me think about you."

The words seemed to rush out faster than he could process them, but once they were out, he froze. He hadn't meant to say that much, but you were being so calm, so sweet. Such a good friend. Too good for they way he'd imagined holding your bare body against his.

"What do you mean by that, Tenya?"

He swallowed hard, looking at the floor, ashamed. He was a horrible friend. You deserved to know that. He was a pervert, and you should be able to report him as such.

"I... I haven't been able to purge the image of you from my mind. It's all I've been able to think about. I wish I had found a way of telling you how beautiful you were before this."

His fists clenched, head still hung in shame. You blushed. He was admitting to having fulfilled your smutty little desires. He had been thinking about your body. He wanted it. He continued, his voice more tense.

"Anything I say now will be tainted by the countless filthy thoughts I've had of you. Between my perverted day dreams, I've only just realized how much I care for you, not only as my friend, but as the person I want to wake to every morning and fall asleep beside every night. Not just because of how beautiful you are, but because this week has been torture without you by my side."

You stepped closer to him, only to see he had tears in his eyes. It made your heart ache. You reached up and held his face.

"I don't deserve your sweetness. Not after proving I'm such a terrible friend. If you can't trust me now, why would you ever even begin trust me as a lover?"

Lover. He was so tense, even compared to how tense he normally was. You couldn't imagine what this week had done to him with all this guilt. He was practically falling apart, and for what? Accidentally seeing you naked? So you did what any logical person would do in your situation. You kissed him. It was soft, gentle. You felt the wetness of his tears in your hands. He didn't pull away from you, as you had almost expected. His arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace and he kissed you back. You held the kiss longer than you had intended. It felt like he needed this. And maybe you did too. You had missed him, and what could have made for a better reunion after such a stressful week? Eventually, when you pulled away for air, he loosened his hold of you.

"I.. Y/n, I don't understand."

"You weren't the only one having dirty thoughts this week, Tenya. I forgive you."

He blushed, more than a little surprised. You decided to elaborate.

"I was definitely embarrassed, but at the same time, I really hoped you liked what you saw."

You admitted. He seemed a little concerned.

"Was there any doubt in your mind that I wouldn't? You're gorgeous, how could I not?"

"Not really doubt. I just hoped you liked what you saw enough to think about me a little more."

You tried to explain in the least perverted way possible. He glanced away, thinking.

"As long as we're being honest. I'll admit that the memory of you gave me some, ah, uncomfortable evenings. Just to say, you have nothing to worry about."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Yes. Thinking about you, your body, in a quite... erotic way. But, of course I couldn't do something as disrespectful as relieve myself while thinking about you. I'm already ashamed to have indulged in my thoughts of you as much as I had."

On one hand, it was incredibly sweet that he suffered as much as he did out of wanting to be respectful towards you. At the same time, however, you wouldn't have complained at all if he had gotten off thinking about you. You would have taken it as a compliment. You bit the inside of your lip, thinking.

"Thinking about me all this week got you that worked up, but you still haven't touched yourself?"

You asked, clarifying almost. He blushed a dark red, but nodded in confirmation.

"I'm sure you're awfully pent up."

He looked at you. You were trying to tell him something, he was sure of it. He just wasn't sure what yet. You continued.

"I just want you to know, for future reference, you have full permission to touch yourself while thinking of me."

His eyes lit up, like you'd suddenly taken all suffering off his shoulders.

"You mean it? You're completely sure?"

"I am. But, only if I'm allowed to think of you too."

Truthfully, you tried to avoid the thought, but now that you knew he liked you so much, you wanted to indulge.

"You want to think about me while pleasuring yourself?"

He asked, voice somewhat softer. He didn't understand.

"I haven't done anything particularly scandalous around you to fuel thoughts of that nature though... Have I?"

"You didn't have to. I'll think of you regardless."

You definitely planned to at least. It felt dirty just talking about it, but so exciting. You gathered he felt the same way based on the color of his face. He was thinking.

"That hardly seems fair. Surely, there's something you could ask of me to make things more even."

That was a tempting offer. You pursed your lips, thinking. A very filthy idea came to mind.

"You could always return the favor.. and I wouldn't mind letting you look for a little longer."

You suggested. He buffered for a moment, processing the absolutely scandalous thing you just suggested. It was beyond filthy and he should say no, especially not in the dorms. You were seniors. You were supposed to lead by example. And yet...

"That seems fair. I would appreciate getting more time to admire you."

"Why don't you start then."

He nodded. It was only fair. An equal trade. So he pulled away from you now. You sat on the edge of your bed, watching him. He took a deep breath before taking off his shirt. This part wasn't too hard, you'd seen him shirtless before. The context made him feel a bit strange though. He looked at you, assessing your reaction. He blushed when he did. You were so obviously staring, then again he supposed that was the point. Still, the way your eyes seemed to trace over his body made his heart pound.

"Should I continue?"

He asked. In part he was nervous. He'd never undressed around a girl before. The other half of him was excited, more than he should be, at the prospect of you lusting for him. You nodded, leaning back a little.

"If you're comfortable continuing."

He couldn't for certain tell if he was comfortable per say, but he knew he wanted to make things even with you. Not to mention the other feelings. So he did. He unbuckled his belt and undid his pants. There was a moment of hesitation. He looked at you.

"You intend on undressing as well, right?"

It felt odd being the only one, but it probably felt worse for you when it happened last time, since you hadn't agreed to being seen that way. And maybe he was also just eager. You pursed your lips, thinking for a moment.

"You first. We'll take turns."

You wanted to enjoy the show. It'd be too distracting to try undressing while also trying to watch him. Though blushing, he decided to finish, taking his pants off and setting them aside. He looked at you now. He felt completely naked, despite still being in his boxers. It was a strangely exciting feeling. You stood up after a moment, walking over to him. You didn't touch, as much as you wanted to.

"You can sit if you'd prefer."

You said simply. In the spirit of making things fair, he did go and sit where you had been sitting, focusing more on you now than the tinge of embarrassment he felt from being undressed.

It was tense for a moment, both of you looking at each other, but not moving. He was the one to finally say something, his voice almost sounded ragged.

You took off your shirt, though you decided you'd keep your bra on for the time being. You felt your heart pounding at just how strange this whole situation was. You didn't question it for now, pushing your pants down and stepping out of them. You kicked them off to the side, looking at Tenya now. His eyes were fixated on you and your body. You could see the subtle heaviness to his breathing. His hands fidgeted slightly. That wasn't the only thing you noticed as you looked him over though. You had noted the bulge in his boxers before, assuming it was just the way they fit and nothing more. It was more pronounced now, bigger. It made you blush harder than you already were.

"Y/n, would it be too much to ask if I could touch you?"

You were a little surprised by the requests, but even so you stepped forward, standing in front of him. He looked up at you from where he was sat on your bed. Gently, and without a word, you reached for his hands and brought them to your waist. His touches were soft, just trailing along your sides, feeling how your skin felt against his hands. They found their way to your hips, resting there. You didn't know what all you had expected, but it was more than that. You had expected him to reach up to your chest, maybe back around to your ass, or just something pushing things a little further. You weren't completely underwhelmed however. After a moment, he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your abdomen.

"I wish I could find the right way to tell you how beautiful you are. Just saying it doesn't feel like enough."

He said softly, not looking up at you. You ran your fingers through his hair, an action that seemed to be enough to bring his attention up to your face. He was being too respectful, holding back when the deepest parts of your desires wanted him to snap, to take you, to ravage you. You knew he wouldn't. He was your kind, respectful Tenya. So you leaned down and kissed him, delighting in how the action made him squeeze your hips tighter in response as he kissed you back. You pushed into him more, and he pulled you in happily, helping you fit in his lap with his arms around your waist. You ran the tip of your tongue against his lips and he took the hint to deepen the kiss, taking control of it and keeping it gentle.

When you finally had to break the kiss to breathe, he looked at you in awe. You spoke before he did.

"If it's not too much, I'd much rather indulge in you now than have to wait until later."

"Are you suggesting we have sex?"

He asked, almost baffled. You nodded, though a little embarrassed about how he reacted.

"It doesn't have to be all the way, if you don't want it to be."

"What about you? And what about protection?"

He knew he didn't keep condoms around. Truth be told, he didn't foresee himself needing them any time soon.

"I've been on birth control since first year."

"Why?"

"Um. Period problems."

He wasn't as put off by the response as you expected, just thinking now. Something seemed to change after a moment, like a new sense of confidence had hit him.

"Alright then. Y/n, I would be honored for you to be the first person I have sex with."

Your heart skipped hearing that, despite the slight silliness in how serious he sounded. You smiled.

"I would be honored for you to be my first too, Tenya."

He smiled wide. You practically melted. His hands moved up your sides.

"If we're continuing, may I remove this as well?"

He asked, referring to your bra. You nodded. Before you could reach back to help, he was already fumbling with the hooks. You let him for a little bit. It was cute to see him try at least. Eventually, he seemed to figure it out, sighing a bit in relief.

"It would appear I'm going to be needing more practice with these."

You laughed softly, sliding the straps off your shoulders.

"There will be time for that in the future."

He blushed at the mere implications of not just getting to be with you once, but again in the future. It would mean you were really his. That he was really yours. He didn't get to think about that too much though because now your exposed chest was right there in his face and he probably couldn't even tell you what his name was anymore. You guided his hands up to your chest, wanting to let him touch, wanting to feel his hands on all of your more sensitive spots. He immediately started to squeeze and pinch, leaning forward to kiss and lick as well. For someone so new at this, he seemed to know exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was to feel and taste you. His tongue laved over your nipple, his hand squeezing your other breast. You gasped softly.

With nothing but your panties and his boxers to serve as a buffer, you could feel how hard he was, pressing against you. As a finger flicked one of your nipples, your hips instinctively pushed forward, grinding into him. He groaned quietly at the feeling. You huffed, head falling back slightly. You felt his hands move, one staying firm on your hip. You took that moment to catch your breath and regain some of your composure. It was short lived as you realized what he'd been doing. He lifted you with ease, laying you on your back on the bed. He'd been thinking about how he wanted you. He pulled your panties off of you, eyes trained on your face, looking for any sign he should stop. The only clue he received one way or the other was you spreading your legs for him once they were off.

You weren't sure what you expected, maybe for him to start working you open so he could properly fuck you. Which you would be completely and utterly happy with. It seemed he hand other plans though as he leaned down, hiking your legs over his broad shoulders. You covered your mouth as he buried his face between your legs. His tongue seemed to follow some sort of pattern that you couldn't quite follow, occasionally brushing your clit and making you squirm. It seemed the sensitive spot didn't go unnoticed, because he focused there for a moment, and when you started to push your hips against his face and whine beneath him, he knew he must've found a good spot. His attention stayed there, toying with your clit with his tongue for as long as you could bare it. You could feel your orgasm building up, though you weren't sure he realized. You moaned out a little louder, which seemed to encourage him more. Your hand reached down into his hair, tugging slighting. You gasped, body tensing as you came on his face. He worked you through it and maybe a little longer than he needed to before pulling up, the lower half of his face wet from you.

"I could stay there forever if you'd let me."

He said, slightly out of breath. You reached for him, wanting him to come closer. You wanted him to lay beside you so you could return the favor and move. He gently took your hand, but didn't fully come to you as you wanted. Instead, he spoke in a low tone you hadn't heard him use before.

"If I may make a request, I don't want you to do the same."

You looked at him, confused. He continued.

"If you can manage it, I've spent nights now imagining how gorgeous you'd look riding me."

He hoped it wasn't asking too much of you. After seeing your breasts, he couldn't help but imagine the way they'd bounce while you bounced in his lap. It was a perverted fantasy, but one he still wanted to see fulfilled if you'd have him. You blushed fairly dark, but pulled him down. He let you this time, laying beside you. You kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips before straddling his lap. You wanted him, and he wanted you too. So why not satisfy you both?

He watched you in awe as you lined him up with you. You felt the tip press against your opening and how it slid in with more ease than you expected. No wonder he wanted to eat you out first. It got you worked up enough to take him. He groaned, grabbing a hold of your hips. You had to steady your breathing as you slowly started to take more of him. It was a stretch, though one you took like such a good girl. You stopped, almost fully down, wanting to take a second. Without a thought, he couldn't help but help you finish out, thrusting up into you. You let something between a gasp and a moan out.

"I'm sorry-"

He said quickly. He was so excited for you, so needy, it was hard to control himself. But he would. He didn't want to hurt you, especially while you were fulfilling his perverted fantasies. You had to take a moment before moving, pulling about half off before slowly sinking back down onto him. He watched you as you moved, loving the sight of your beautiful body taking his cock so well. You started to gradually increase your pace, moaning softly as you did. Before long, all you could hear were the sounds of your own moans, his quiet noises, and the slapping of you bouncing in his lap, just like he wanted.

You felt your orgasm building. You had hoped to get him off first, but it was hard for you to tell if he was getting as close as you were. Your movements started to slow, much to your own distress. He caught on, holding your hips tight and fucking up into you faster than the pace you had set before. You cried out his name, head falling back, inner walls squeezing around him as he continued to fuck you through it. It didn't take much more than that for him to pull you down, pushing into you as deeply as he could, and cum inside of you. Your name came out in a tight stutter as he did.

You both stayed like that for a long moment, taking in what had just happened, breathing in the now still room. You fell forward, laying on top of him. He wrapped his arms around you.

"Y/n."

He whispered. You looked up at him.

"I.. apologies for the way I went about all of this. And even though it would appear we've done things somewhat out of order, I was hoping you would... be my partner?"

You smiled, kissing him gently.

"I'd love to be your partner."

He smiled too.

"Perfect."

He pulled out of you now, making you both sigh at the feeling.

"Lay here and relax. Let me get things cleaned up."

He laid you down on the bed gently, getting up and going to your desk to get some tissues to clean everything up. After that, he pulled his boxers on and went over to your dresser. He pulled out a new pair of panties for you and a sleep shirt. He brought them back over to the bed. You went to get up so you could get dressed, but he stopped you.

"No, allow me. You've done enough tonight."

You blushed, but let him pull the shirt over your head and slide the panties up your legs. He placed the clothes you'd been wearing before in your hamper. He took a moment, thinking before looking back at you.

"Do you want me to go downstairs and get you water or anything else?"

He offered. You held out your arms for him.

"Come here, Tenya."

He smiled softly.

"Allow me to turn off the lights then."

He did as you asked now, coming back over to the bed. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him back into bed with you. He didn't argue, wrapping his arms around you as well, rubbing your back gently. He kissed the top of your head.

"I'm glad you forgave me."

He said softly. You couldn't help but smile.

"Of course, my love."

You felt him heat up at you calling him that.

"My love."

He repeated quietly, holding you a little tighter. You snuggled into him more, letting yourself get comfortable so you could sleep. Tonight wore you out and you were looking forward to waking up in the arms of not just your best friend, but your boyfriend and the love of your life.

[strwberri-milk]

May I ask how the lads men react to reader if they start dissociating in public after feeling extremely anxious all day 😩

combined these two!! also i was initially gonna write these for everyone seperately but then. they all sounded the same

He can feel you withdrawing immediately. He could already tell that something was off when the two of you went out but you were convinced that nothing was wrong. Secretly, you were just more worried about upsetting him by rejecting his request to go out today, knowing that he needed some time with you. However, you can't help that uncomfortable feeling prickling up your neck, words getting a little bit more difficult as you try to figure out if there'd be any store that you'd feel a little safer in considering how busy the plaza seems. Everything starts to irritate you, snapping a little at him as he tries to talk to you before you just decide you've had enough, following after him mechanically.

You go quiet, even more so than usual. He could feel the anxious energy radiating off of you, not mentioning it as he silently leads you back to his car. Without saying anything he'll start driving the two of you home, letting you sit in silence as you try to ground yourself. He'll give you a bit of space in hopes of giving you the opportunity to come back to him. He waits until you reach out to him before saying anything, making sure you're ready to be spoken to again after everything that happened.

If for whatever reason the two of you can't go home he'll just pull you to the side. He'll find a quiet place for the two of you to sit, holding your hands in his as he waits for you to come down from your overstimulation or come back from your disassociation. He'll lean your head on his shoulder, messing around with his phone in silence next to you. He doesn't want to add to your distress after all and when it comes to you, he's got all the patience in the world.

[women-in-ssports]

Flagrant Foul

AZZI

A lost look crept across Azzi's face, the same look she knew Paige hated when she wore it. This can’t be happening again, Azzi thought, her heart pounding as the entire arena fell silent. The only sound in the stadium was the sharp, pained groan of Paige, rolling on the floor, clutching her knee.

Azzi's body tensed, her eyes locked on Paige. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind—none of them good. What if it was serious? What if Paige couldn’t play again? The worst-case scenarios were stacking up in her head faster than she could shut them down.

Then, through the chaos, Azzi caught the faint mumble of Paige’s voice. “Flagrant foul...” Paige was still Paige, still talking, but Azzi didn’t feel any relief.

She stayed rooted to her seat, trying to calm the frantic thoughts spinning in her mind. She watched Paige struggle to her feet, wobbling slightly, then hobbling toward the tunnel leading to the locker room. The trainer would check her out, but the uncertainty hanging in the air was suffocating.

Azzi couldn’t move. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something bigger than they could control.

PAIGE

Making her way into the locker room, Paige clung to her faith, refusing to let it waver. This can’t be the worst-case scenario, she told herself. She couldn't—no, wouldn't—believe that this could be serious. The trainer spoke in a calm, measured tone, but her words didn’t bring any comfort. “We won’t know anything for sure until the MRI, Paige. I don’t want to get your hopes up just yet.”

Paige nodded, her heart sinking a little more with each word. She didn’t want to hear the uncertainty. Not right now. All she could do was nod, trusting the trainer’s advice, and slowly made her way back to the bench. Ice for her knee and ankle would have to do for now, and as much as she didn’t want to sit out, she knew she couldn’t push it.

The cameras were going to be on her as soon as she stepped back onto the floor. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but one thing was certain: she wasn’t going to let anyone see how badly she was hurting, physically or emotionally.

Plopping down on the bench next to Caroline, Paige grabbed a towel and pressed it to her face. Her mind was a whirlpool of worry, her thoughts crashing together faster than she could process. She could hear Caroline talking to her, but the words felt miles away. It was like she was on the other side of the world, disconnected from everything.

She kept the towel pressed to her face, but only for a moment. She quickly pulled it away, not wanting to break down, not in front of the team, not in front of anyone. The last thing she wanted was to lose control.

She had to stay calm. She had to keep it together. If she let go, even for a second, she knew she wouldn’t be able to reel it back in. Not out here. Not with everyone watching. Not while her future felt so uncertain.

AZZI

Azzi sat just two seats away from Paige, but the distance between them felt wider than ever. Both of them seemed to avoid looking at each other, each lost in their own worlds. Paige had completely dissociated, her mind clearly miles away from the game, trying to find somewhere—anywhere—else to focus. Azzi, on the other hand, buried herself in the game, engaging with those sitting next to her, talking strategy, offering encouragement.

She welcomed the distraction, using the noise and energy of the game to shield herself from the heavy silence between her and Paige. Anything to keep her mind from drifting back to the pain in Paige’s eyes, the quiet way she held herself.

Azzi could feel it deep in her chest—the urge to reach out, to close the space between them, but she couldn’t. Not right now. Not when everything felt so fragile. She knew Paige needed space, even if she wasn’t asking for it. The last thing Azzi wanted was for Paige to see the look on her face—the worry, the helplessness that was threatening to spill out. If Paige saw that, if she felt that weight, it might break her, and Azzi couldn’t be the reason for that.

So she kept her eyes forward, pretending to focus on the court, letting the distraction of the game drown out the growing tension in her chest. She could give Paige this moment, the space she needed, because it was what was best for her. Even if it meant staying apart.

As the game progressed, Azzi couldn’t help but inch closer to Paige with every substitution. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her feel like she was offering some kind of silent support, even if Paige wasn’t fully aware of it yet.

Finally, when the moment felt right, Azzi nudged Paige with a playful grin. “Flagrant foul, huh?” she teased, her voice light and teasing, trying to pull Paige out of her own head, even if just for a second.

Paige’s eyes flickered over to her, and for a moment, there was a hint of a smile in them—a small one, but it was enough to reassure Azzi that she hadn’t completely withdrawn. "I had to let everyone know," Paige said softly, her voice almost sheepish, but there was a hint of that old, defiant spark in her eyes.

Azzi couldn’t help but chuckle. "Oh, I know you, Paige." There was a twinkle in her eyes, an easy warmth between them that hadn’t really gone away, even with all the silence.

Paige shifted slightly, still playing it cool but leaning into the comfort of Azzi’s presence. “Az…” she began softly, her voice trailing off as if she was trying to say something she wasn’t quite ready to.

Azzi knew what she meant before the words even fully formed. "I know, P," she said, her tone gentle but teasing. "Noodles and Company later, and Frozen."

Paige’s lips quirked up at the mention of their usual post-game ritual. "Frozen is your favorite movie," she replied, almost in a whisper, like the thought was a secret between them.

Azzi smiled, her heart lightening. “Yes, I know,” she said, giving Paige a wink.

___

After the game, Paige refused to leave until she’d greeted the fans. Azzi stayed by her side, as always, even though she knew it meant staying later than most of the team. By the time they made it to the bus, everyone else was already settled in. The ride back to the airport was quiet, most of the team asleep, the exhaustion of the game finally catching up to them.

When they got to Connecticut, Azzi opened the door to her room and turned to find Paige sitting on the edge of the bed, her face pale, her eyes distant.

It wasn’t until Azzi closed the door and faced Paige that she saw the tears. Paige’s face crumpled, and before Azzi could even step forward, the first tear fell. Then another. And another. Paige wiped at her eyes quickly, but it didn’t stop the flood.

Azzi didn’t know what to say, so she just sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her best friend. Paige leaned into her, pressing her face into Azzi’s shoulder, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t matter. It was just them, silently holding each other, letting the tears flow.

Azzi didn’t need to say anything. She just let Paige cry.

THE NEXT DAY

After the long trip home, the team had the day off. It was already 2 p.m. when Azzi woke up, groggy but content, and noticed that Paige was still fast asleep, her blonde hair spread out in tangled waves across the bed. Azzi smiled softly at the sight before quietly reaching for her phone and placing an order for Paige’s favorites on Uber Eats.

About 30 minutes later, Azzi heard the familiar ding of her phone, signaling that the food had arrived. She slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Paige, and went to collect it. When she walked back in, she found Paige halfway awake, her eyes still red from the emotional night before.

“I got food,” Azzi said, holding up the bag with a small grin.

“I got Frozen,” Paige replied sleepily, reaching for the remote on the nightstand.

Azzi climbed back into bed beside her, handing Paige her bowl of food. Without a word, Paige took it with one hand, then wrapped her other arm around Azzi, pulling her in close. She placed a small, lingering kiss on Azzi’s temple.

“I love you, Az.”

Azzi’s heart fluttered at the words, a quiet warmth filling her chest. “I love you, P.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both of them content in the simple comfort of each other’s presence. Then, of course, Azzi started singing along to Frozen, her voice a little off-key but full of energy

Paige couldn’t help but laugh, her smile finally reaching her eyes.

For now, they didn’t need to think about anything else. They’d just be them—together. Tomorrow, they’d face whatever came next, but for today, they were safe in their own little bubble.

[burningembers91]

The Secretary - Park Min-Su x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Park Min-Su is the heir to a company he doesn't want. He's not made for the cutthroat world of business. His father hires you to be his secretary, nothing more than a bit of eye candy for the son he can't figure out. But you're so much more than that. And you know Min-Su is worth more than he thinks. If only you can teach him to be as confident as you are.

A/N - Picture the scene: a high stakes investment company, a heir who is terrified of his own shadow, and a sexy secretary with the patience of a Saint who'll teach Min-Su about business, power and sex. I am so excited for this storyline because I love a dominant female lead!

Park Min-Su’s life had been planned out for him before he’d even been born. His grandfather had set up an investment company in the 1970’s, one that had grown to almost dizzying heights of success. The company had then been passed to Min-Su’s father in the 1990’s, with the view to make everything his one day. But Min-Su didn’t want the company, he hated the pressure that came with being a CEO, detested the cutthroat manner his father and grandfather possessed. He didn’t have a keen eye for business, he couldn’t command a room full a people like his father could.

Min-Su was timid, and quiet, and preferred to fade quietly into the background where no one would notice him. He hated having to wear a suit every day, forced to sit in meetings about things that he didn’t fully understand. All the conversations about investments and portfolios went right over his head; he wasn’t the keen businessman his family wanted him to be. He’d thought about telling his father that he didn’t want the company, that perhaps it could be passed off to someone more deserving. But his father wasn’t in the habit of listening to Min-Su; he thought he knew best, and that his son needed to be guided by him in order to succeed.

He dreaded coming into the office, hated walking through the expansive marble hallways as people bowed to him, sucked up to him and pretended to like him. No one in that company liked Min-Su; they liked his father, and his father’s money. He’d often hide in the bathrooms at lunch, praying that no one would notice his absence. At 28 years old, he had no idea what he wanted to do with his life, but he knew he didn’t want to be a CEO.

His father could see Min-Su was struggling, but failure was not an option when it came to the business. He just needed a push, an incentive to get him to see that the path laid out for him was the right one. He knew nothing about his son and never had the inclination to attempt to bond with him. He’d given Min-Su luxury cars, villas in several countries and access to an unlimited amount of cash but couldn’t understand why his son still wasn’t happy. So, he hired you, a secretary who was easy on the eyes, someone to give Min-Su something to look at while he worked. You had a stellar CV, and excellent work ethic and his father hoped you’d bring his son out of his shell.

Min-Su had never been good with women, had never even so much as kissed a girl. He was constantly rendered speechless around you, his mouth agape whenever you walked into the room. you commanded attention in your heels and silk shirt, the lace of your bra visible through the thin fabric. He couldn’t even say his own name around you, let alone have a conversation with you, but you were so patient. You helped him get to grips with his diary, taking mundane admin tasks off his hands. You accompanied him to meetings, taking notes and then typing them up, making sure everything was in a language that Min-Su could understand. You knew he struggled with the fast-paced environment in the meetings, not entirely understanding the technical words used by the partners. You made sure his notes were clear, concise and simple, giving him the ability to get to grips with his role. You fetched his lunch, his dry cleaning, and his coffee. He never once asked you to do any of these things for him, but nothing was too much trouble for you.

His father had hired you to keep his son entertained, but Min-Su was so soft and gentle, far too kind for the cutthroat world of investments. You did your best to shield him, pretending you didn’t hear the things employees whispered about him behind his back. You did your best to encourage him to come out of his shell, telling him everything about yourself in the hopes he’d open up. But he wore the permanent look of a rabbit caught in the headlights, terrified of his own shadow. You noticed the way he stared at you; the way he stammered his words whenever he spoke to you. You so badly wanted to bolster his confidence, to show him he knew more than he thought.

You bided your time, chipping away at his terrified exterior little by little. You worked long into the night, never once giving up no matter how little he gave you. You knew there was a fire deep within Min-Su. He just needed a confident woman to help bring it out.

[rafemotherfuckingcameron]

NEW APARTMENT

Word Count: 1.2k

Pairing(s): Reader x Rafe 

Warnings: Flirting

Summary: You move into your new apartment and get more than you bargained for.

You had just moved into your new apartment, the moving trucks had come and gone, leaving a mountain of boxes scattered across your living room. After signing the paperwork and watching them drive off, you stood still, taking in the mess before you. There was a lot to be done—but first, coffee.

Luckily, there was a cozy little café tucked right beneath your apartment block. You stepped inside, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. You ordered a latte and leaned against the counter, waiting for your drink.

As you scanned the room, your eyes landed on someone—a guy across the way who instantly captured your attention. He had that effortlessly rugged charm that made your heart skip a beat.

There was something about him, a quiet confidence that made your cheeks flush. And when his eyes met yours, a small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. It was the kind of look that sent a rush of warmth through you, making your breath hitch just a little.

You quickly averted your gaze, pretending to focus on the barista calling out orders, but your heart pounded as if you'd sprinted a marathon.

-

“Latte for…?” The barista’s voice trailed off as they glanced down at the name on the cup. You stepped forward at the same time as the mystery guy, both reaching for the same cup.

“Oh, sorry,” you stammered, pulling your hand back, warmth spreading across your face.

“No worries,” he replied smoothly, his voice deep and relaxed. “I think this one’s yours.” He handed you the cup, and as your fingers brushed against his, a spark shot through you.

“Thanks,” you managed, offering a nervous smile.

“Moving in upstairs?” he asked, nodding toward the building.

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown off by his presence. “How’d you know I just moved in?”

“Good instincts,” he said, flashing a playful smirk. “Or maybe I saw the trucks earlier. Either way, welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks,” you said, still trying to regain some composure.

“I’m Rafe,” he added, extending a hand.

You hesitated for just a second before shaking it, his grip warm and firm, sending an unexpected jolt through you. “Nice to meet you, Rafe. I’m Y/N.”

He leaned casually against the counter, as if he had all the time in the world. “So, need a hand with those heavy boxes? I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

Your first instinct was to decline politely—after all, you’d just met the guy—but something about the way he looked at you made it hard to say no.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you…” you started, but Rafe cut you off with a grin.

“No trouble at all,” he said, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “I’ve got nothing better to do, and besides, I’m all for doing good deeds. What do you say?”

After a brief pause, you nodded before you could second-guess yourself. “Alright. If you’re sure, I wouldn’t mind the help.”

“Perfect,” he said, his grin widening. “Lead the way, beautiful.”

You tried to focus as you led him to the chaos of boxes. Rafe didn’t hesitate, picking up one after another with effortless ease. Each time he moved, the muscles in his arms flexed, his t-shirt stretching taut against his strong physique. You couldn’t help but sneak glances, completely captivated by the smooth, powerful movements.

“Enjoying the view?” he teased, his voice low as he caught you watching.

Your face flushed a deep red. “What? No, I was just—uh—making sure you didn’t drop anything,” you stammered.

“Right,” he said, smirking as he set down another box. “But hey, I don’t mind being admired once in a while.”

You chuckled nervously, trying to mask the growing tension. You led him into your bedroom, where boxes of clothes awaited. Rafe immediately began unpacking, his movements fluid and deliberate. You couldn’t help but notice how his muscles stretched with every task. Every now and then, he would catch your eye, that mischievous grin never far from his lips.

Then, Rafe opened a box labeled lingerie. His gaze lingered on the delicate fabrics as he pulled out a few items, holding them up to examine them closely.

“Hmm, these are nice,” he murmured, sniffing one of the pieces before almost absentmindedly pressing it to his face.

The air between you two grew thicker, charged with an undeniable tension. Rafe’s eyes met yours, and his mischievous smile returned. “Feel like giving me a private show?” he asked, his voice teasing yet full of intent. “I’d love to get a better sense of your style if I got to see these on you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. It was bold, and though a part of you hesitated, another part of you felt the stirrings of excitement. You bit your lip, trying to steady your racing pulse. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

With a hesitant glance at him, you grabbed the box and retreated to the ensuite. Your body tingled with anticipation as you closed the door behind you.

When you emerged, clad in a red lace corset that hugged your curves perfectly, Rafe’s gaze locked onto you with intensity. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you—every inch of you. There was no mistaking the hunger in his look, but it was tempered with a palpable respect.

“Well, looks like I’m getting more than I bargained for,” Rafe said, his voice low and full of appreciation. “Helping you unpack and getting a private show all at once. Lucky me.”

You stepped closer, closing the space between you, the heat between you two growing with every breath you shared. His eyes were fixed on you, but there was a trace of uncertainty, as if he was waiting for you to make the next move. You reached out, your fingers lightly grazing his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt tense at your touch.

“You’re not getting away without a reward for all this help,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You traced the outline of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his body beneath your fingertips.

Rafe’s hand found your waist, pulling you in closer as his thumb brushed along the exposed skin above your corset. “I’m more than happy to work for it,” he said, his voice dropping into a husky murmur.

Without another word, he leaned in. His lips brushed yours softly at first, teasing, as though he was savoring the moment. The kiss quickly deepened, the connection between you undeniable. His lips were insistent, warm, and he kissed you with a hunger that matched your own. His hands slid to your back, fingers grazing the skin above your corset, making you gasp as heat shot through you.

You kissed him back with equal intensity, your body pressing against his, every nerve in your body alight. His hands slid around your waist and up your back, pulling you even closer, his muscles flexing under your touch. You could feel the weight of his body, the strength in his grip, and the need in the way he kissed you.

Rafe’s lips trailed along your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “I don’t think I’ll be able to focus on unpacking with you looking like that,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear as his hands roamed down your back.

You let out a soft laugh, the air thick with desire. “You don’t have to focus on anything else,” you whispered back, your voice playful yet full of intent. “Just focus on me.” 😜

[sunny374940]

May I have this dance?

So I'm finally done with the story about Rook and Emmrich attending a ball. Or not done, because it got way too long, but at least the first part is finished (the second part wil be them jumping each other's bones).

@profoundlyfaded, this is what you made me do (thank you, I'm having a great time).

Cw: sexual harrasment directed at Rook, because nobles are annoying, but nothing terribly graphic.

Here on ao3

And here are my other stories.

“Presenting Rook, leader of The Veilguard, and his companion, Emmrich Volkarin of the Mourn Watch,” the master of ceremonies announced (and he was yelling too much, Rook thought).

The rest of their friends had all made their excuses to the Archon as to why they couldn't come (there were suddenly so many pressing matters everywhere, that Rook was surprised the world wasn't ending again), but not him, because the leader of the damn Veilguard had to attend a ball to celebrate the defeat of the Evanuris. It stood to reason, but that didn’t make it any better.

There were assorted claps and oohs and aahs from the starstruck crowd as they made their way down the stairway. Emmrich was holding onto Rook’s arm and he looked so beautiful, almost regal in his finery, clinking gently with his grave gold. One bright spot to this, at least. They finally descended onto the ballroom floor and Rook gently steered Emmrich away from the crowd. 

The ballroom of the Archon's summer “villa” (if the word could be used to describe a network of buildings several times the size of the Lighthouse) was a vast place. The ceiling was glittering with magelight and the stained glass windows were letting in the last of the sun's rays, creating a kaleidoscope of color on the walls. 

“Do we really have to be here?” he whispered through gritted teeth. He did come (almost) willingly, but the amount of people populating the ballroom and the attention they were paying to them were getting to him.

“Darling, the Archon of Tevinter himself is holding a celebration in our - and especially your - honor. So yes, we do have to be here,” Emmrich whispered back to him. He seemed to be enjoying himself, which was the only reason Rook wasn’t already begging him to leave. He knew how much Emmrich liked mingling at parties and there hadn’t been many of those while they were saving the world.

“Ugh.” Rook rolled his eyes. Emmrich had persuaded him to wear formal attire (“Darling, I must insist you wear shoes for once in your life!”) and he was very much not into it, but he would do it for him, if begrudgingly. But the damned shoes were pinching his feet and this was where he was drawing the line, regardless of the fact that it was the very love of his life who had made him wear them. 

“I'll be right back, love,” he said, kissing Emmrich on the cheek, and left under the pretense of going to eat some of the tiny cakes that were set out on the tables bordering the ballroom (though he did actually eat some, seeing as he was already there, and made a note to come back for more later). He toed off the blasted things and slid them under the table with his foot in the hope that the long tablecloth would hide them from sight.

He padded back to Emmrich, who was now engaged in conversation with Dorian and The Iron Bull, and slotted himself against his side.

“And how is being the Archon treating you, Dorian?” Emmrich said as he brought his arm up to sling it across Rook’s shoulders. He relaxed gratefully into the touch.

“Ah, yes, someone needs to lead the masses and all that,” Dorian waved his hand a touch dismissively. “Though I do hope to lead them into a better future.”

“A worthy endeavor, to be certain,” Emmrich nodded.

Dorian turned to Rook, taking in the way he was keeping his eyes down, trying to hide away from the nobles who seemed to be just itching to have a conversation with the leader of the Veilguard.

“I can see you’re suffering,” he said and Rook could only nod miserably.

“And I get him, kadan, I really do,” Bull said, flicking his eyes to Rook’s bare feet. He made no comment, but gave him a grin and a one-eyed blink (was he winking at him?).

“Yes, yes, the horrors of fine wine and noble company,” Dorian retorted with a wry chuckle.

“I could do with more wine and less company. I’ve got better ideas about spending the night than this,” Bull said and then he tilted Dorian's face up with a finger under his chin and kissed him gently, making Dorian’s cheeks turn red. 

“Bull, I am the Archon! I can’t be seen blushing like a- a maiden,” Dorian sputtered.

“You’re not the Archon of the bedroom, though,” Bull said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Bull!” Dorian smacked a hand against Bull’s arm and Rook was laughing, holding onto Emmrich, and finally the party was looking up.

“Darling!” Emmrich chided gently, but there was an amused quirk to his lips.

“Please excuse us, I have something to discuss with my husband.” Dorian bowed to them with an exaggerated flourish and then took hold of Bull’s arm, dragging him away. They heard a faint ‘finally’ from Bull as the pair made their way to the door.

“Hey, since they're leaving, can we-” But Rook wasn't allowed to finish the sentence, as a young nobleman took advantage of the opening.

“May I have a dance, ser?” he asked, voice syrupy sweet and Rook didn't want to dance with him at all.

“No, thanks, I don't dance” he said, hoping to get rid of him quickly.

“But I am sure that you would be very good at it, with a proper partner. One that could keep up with you,” he said with a sideways glance at Emmrich and touched Rook's chest in a gesture that he likely meant to be flirtatious, but it only made Rook's skin crawl. 

Rook took a breath in outrage. He might have been able to deal with him quietly, but after taking a jab at Emmrich? He would let the man know just how much he miscalculated. But as he opened his mouth to speak (and cause a scene), Emmrich placed a hand on the noble’s arm, looking the very picture of calmness.

“My dear ser, I believe you have just been told no,” he said levelly.

“I wasn't asking y-” 

There was the tiniest sound, almost lost in the noise of the ballroom, like a lightning spark earthing itself, and the noble snatched his hand back with a yelp and gave Emmrich a wide-eyed stare, before retreating without another word. Rook turned to Emmrich with a disbelieving grin.

“Emmrich?”

“Yes, darling?” Emmrich said, radiating innocence.

“Did you just zap the guy?”

“Oh, I would never! You wound me!” Emmrich put a hand to his chest in mock outrage, but then their eyes met and they burst out laughing, holding onto each other for support.  

“I believe we have earned a moment of respite, what do you think, Rook?”

“Finally,” he whispered to himself, but Emmrich’s barely audible answering snort (though he would never admit to doing something as unseemly as snorting) told him he’d been heard.

They left the ballroom hand in hand and crept along the silent corridors, giggling like schoolboys, stealing kisses in alcoves, until they found a door leading to the gardens. The moon was hanging high in the sky, casting the jasmine trees in a soft silver light. They stepped onto the grass and it was damp with evening dew, making Rook sigh in contentment at the refreshing feeling of it. He wiggled his toes, closing his eyes for a moment and Emmrich noticed his lack of footwear at last.

“Darling, where are your shoes?” Emmrich was raising an eyebrow and Rook found himself grinning sheepishly.

“They, uh, ran away? They didn't want to be here either, I guess.”

Emmrich sighed in fond exasperation and stroked his fingers against Rook's cheek. He leaned into the touch, enjoying the warmth of Emmrich's hand against his skin.

“Whatever shall I do with you?” Emmrich asked and the music from the ballroom was floating down to them from the open windows and Rook knew exactly what he wanted.

“Dance with me?” 

He held his hand out to Emmrich, who took it, but made no move to start dancing just yet.

“Weren't you saying you don't dance?” Emmrich teased. “I distinctly remember hearing it but a little while ago.”

“It's called lying, love,” Rook grinned. “But you should probably lead, I'm not very good at this,” he added bashfully.

“It would be my honor.” 

And they danced, in fits and starts at first, as Rook was figuring out where to put his feet without treading on Emmrich's, but they were growing more confident with each step. Emmrich was leading him with a sure hand at his waist and Rook surrendered to the motion, loving the way Emmrich's other hand was gently holding his, the way he was looking into his eyes with such soft adoration that it was making Rook's heart melt.

The violins swelled and Emmrich twirled him around and he laughed breathlessly, feeling like a hero of one of Lucanis’ romance novels. As the music was dying down, Emmrich dipped him, making him look up into his face and then he bent down to kiss him and there would have been fireworks if the novel he was in knew what it was doing. As it was, Rook felt his cheeks warm and returned the kiss with wild abandon and no fireworks could ever be as good as this.

“What would you like to do now, Rook?” Emmrich asked after he helped him stand up again.

Rook knew that if he asked to leave, Emmrich would oblige him, even if he would have preferred to stay himself. But he wasn't going to be that selfish, not when Emmrich was doing everything in his power to make him feel comfortable.

“I guess I could manage going back inside, if you'd like. I know you were enjoying yourself before.”

“You want an excuse to eat more dessert, don't you, darling?” Emmrich laughed softly. And it wasn't completely untrue, if Rook was being honest. 

“You know me so well. But seriously, I want you to have a good time tonight.”

“Thank you, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. And I must admit that I noticed a colleague earlier who I haven't seen in quite some time. She has made incredible advances in the preservation of the dead and I would love to discuss her findings with her.”

“Let's go then. But the shoes are staying off.”

“I wouldn't dare suggest otherwise, dearest. I have learned my lesson.”

Emmrich offered him an arm and they made their way back to the ballroom. They managed to get in through a side door, rather than the main entrance, and that thankfully meant much less attention this time. They took a moment to walk around, poking fun at the decor (“Hey, Emmrich, that candle holder looks like a pair of boobs.” “It most certainly does n- Oh.”) and then Emmrich spotted his colleague and went to greet her, but not before repeatedly assuring himself that Rook truly was okay with being left alone. And Rook really preferred not to join them, as there was only so much talk of embalming methods he could stomach before having to excuse himself.

Rook was leaning back against the dessert table, snacking on some kind of round, brightly colored pastry. It tasted faintly of almonds and he had no idea what it was, but it tasted really good, so he grabbed a few more for later. He saw that Emmrich was caught up in an animated discussion and was gesturing wildly with his hands, likely trying to get a point across and Rook smiled to himself, glad they came back in.

He was finishing his third colorful snack while watching couples twirl around on the dancefloor, lost in thought, when a large hand clapped him on the shoulder and stayed there, gripping him uncomfortably. And why the fuck did everyone think they were welcome to touch him today? Just what the fuck was wrong with them? Rook looked up, eyebrows drawn together in annoyance. A large man, a good head taller than Rook was standing next to him, giving him the worst excuse for a seductive smile he’d ever had the misfortune of seeing.

“So, you finally ditched that old windbag, eh? But a pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be left all alone-”

A thing. That was all he was to this kind of person and he definitely didn’t feel obligated to engage him more than necessary, or even let him finish speaking, so he went straight to the point.

“Fuck off,” he spat and tried to shrug off the offending hand, but the hold on him was strong and the man's other hand came to clutch at the front of Rook’s shirt, dragging him closer, until his face was inches from Rook's. 

“I could fuck the fight right out of you,” he whispered, and the smell of alcohol in his breath made Rook want to retch.

Rook glanced over to where he last spotted Emmrich and saw him still deep in conversation. Good. Emmrich would probably be a little mad at him if he knew what he was about to do, so he might as well do it while he wasn't looking. He leaned away as much as the hold on him allowed, then he brought his head forward full-force and struck his forehead against the man's nose with a resounding crack, hard enough to send him falling onto his ass.

“Ow.” 

Rook rubbed at his forehead. This would definitely bruise, but it was very much worth it. The man was holding onto his bleeding nose, trying to scramble back onto his feet and yelling at him.

“You filthy knife-ear, I’ll show you-”

He got no further than that, as he was suddenly being hoisted up by the scruff of his neck by The Iron Bull, who was grinning at Rook. He must have seen what happened and seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

“Hey, kadan, we almost missed the fun!” he shouted over his shoulder.

“You shouldn't have taken so long, then.” Dorian was sauntering towards them, straightening the collar of his robes and Rook thought he could see a faint hickey on the side of his neck, before it was quickly concealed.

“I didn't hear you complaining when I was doing it.”

“Shut up, amatus,” Dorian hissed in Bull’s direction. Then he turned to the guards who were posted at the doors closest to them to order them to take the man away, but Rook wasn't paying attention anymore, because Emmrich arrived at his side. He was looking him over with a worried expression, and his eyes widened as he took in the bruise on Rook's forehead.

“Darling, are you alright? What happened?”

“I'm fine, just a headache,” Rook grinned. “He wanted to get a piece of me. So he got it.”

This vague description was met with a singular raised eyebrow. Fine, he would tell him if he wanted to know so badly.

“He wanted to fuck me and I disagreed, so he got mad, I guess.”

“He what?” Emmrich almost shouted, outraged. “I shall have some words with him.”

Rook suspected there would be less words and more violence, if the way Emmrich's hands were shaking with barely contained anger was anything to go by.

“No need, my dear professor,” Dorian interjected. “He will get what is coming to him soon enough.”

“Very well. I trust your judgment,” Emmrich said, a tad reluctantly, but didn't press the matter.

“And you lot can go back to whatever you were doing, nothing to see here,” Dorian added, shooing away the many guests who stopped close by to pretend they weren't staring. The musicians began a new piece, prompting Bull to offer his hand to Dorian with a bow and they left for the dancefloor. 

Rook hissed at a new pang of pain from his forehead. Did he manage to give himself a concussion? Emmrich turned back to him at the sound and the pain was gone in an instant with a quick healing spell.

“Thanks, love.”

“You are welcome, my dear. Do you need to leave?” 

“I'm good. I don't think that there's anyone around who wants to try getting close to me after this. But I wouldn't mind letting them know who I belong to anyway.”

And it was just like Emmrich to completely misunderstand, worried as he was about Rook's wellbeing right now.

“Rook, I would never presume to claim ownership of you. You are your own person first and foremost,” he said sincerely.

“I know, love,” Rook chuckled. “But I like being yours,” he purred into Emmrich's ear and heard a sharp intake of breath as realization dawned. 

“Is that so, dearest?”

Rook nodded, eyes glinting with mischief, and raised himself up on his toes to kiss Emmrich passionately, heedless of the whispers he caused among the nobles who still insisted on pretending they weren't watching them. They finally parted and Emmrich’s eyes were dark with desire, making Rook’s breath hitch. 

“May I have this dance?” Emmrich asked, taking hold of his hand and kissing his knuckles. 

Rook nodded eagerly and they joined the other couples on the dancefloor. Emmrich took the lead again and Rook noticed with some satisfaction that the hand on his waist was holding onto him tighter than before, and despite all of Emmrich's protests to the contrary, he had a feeling that he did actually like showing others that Rook was his. They were swaying together to the music and Rook was doing his best to stay as close to Emmrich as possible, their bodies touching, though he did enjoy the few times Emmrich made him twirl around just for the fun of it. The music then quieted down, but they stayed pressed together, breathing heavily, though not just with the exertion of dancing.

“Rook, you have no idea what you do to me,” Emmrich said, and there was a faint flush on his cheeks. Rook liked the sight a lot.

“Oh? Wanna show me?”

“Is that a challenge, my dear?”

“And what if it is?”

Emmrich drew closer, his breath warm against Rook's lips, but he didn't kiss him just yet.

“Then I will make you mine tonight,” Emmrich whispered and Rook took him by the hand and dragged him out of the ballroom.

[sherewrytes]

Love and Gunshots, Eren x Black Reader

Gang member Eren x Introvert black reader

Summary: In a dangerous urban landscape, y/n, an introverted Criminal Law student, finds herself drawn into the violent world of the Sixx Gang through her protective cousin, Onyankopon. When she locks eyes with Eren Yeager, a hot-headed gang member, a twisted game of desire and danger begins.

As Eren becomes obsessed with y/n, he threatens to unravel the fragile balance Ony has maintained to shield her from their brutal lifestyle. With loyalty tested and violence lurking at every turn, the lines between love and danger blur, leading to a dark climax where the heart proves just as lethal as a gun.

Genre: Dark Romance/Crime Modern au

Warnings: Graphic violence, drug use, smut, obsession

Previous

Chapter 8: Breaking point

I felt numb as Erwin led me out of the room, away from the chaos. My mind was racing, still trying to process everything I had just witnessed. The last few hours felt like a blur—one moment I was dealing with the shock of seeing Eren and Ony so close to killing each other, and the next, I was being dragged into a hell I never signed up for.

I glanced over at Erwin, who kept a steady pace, his presence calming despite everything around us. The weight of the situation settled deeper into my chest as I realized how much danger I was in, how much I had been pulled into this world of violence, drugs, and lies.

Erwin stopped outside the door of the warehouse, looking back toward me. His eyes softened slightly as he spoke. "You’re safe for now, Yn. I need you to stay away from this mess. For your own good."

I swallowed hard, the words not reaching me fully. Safe? How could I feel safe when I knew my life was tangled up with these people? When I knew what was happening back inside, what might be happening to Ony, to Eren... to me?

"I don’t belong here," I whispered, more to myself than to Erwin. "None of this is my fight."

Erwin gave me a look, his lips pulling into a tight line. "It’s not your fight, but it’s been made yours. Now, you need to be smart. Don’t let yourself get dragged deeper than you already are."

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if I could keep that promise. The pull of this world, of Eren and Ony, felt like a gravitational force I couldn’t resist, no matter how hard I tried. But I had to try.

Erwin sighed, looking around cautiously before turning back to me. "I’ll take you home, but you stay low. Don’t reach out to them. Not now."

I opened my mouth to say something but stopped myself. What was there to say? That I was scared? That I didn’t know how to escape? Instead, I just nodded again, more to him than anyone else. I had no other choice.

As Erwin started the car and we pulled away from the warehouse, I glanced at my phone, a mix of texts from Ony, from Eren, from people I didn’t even know. And yet, none of them mattered as much as what was happening right now. How much farther could I go before it all shattered?

And then the thought hit me: What would happen if I did choose a side? Would it save me or destroy me?

When the car pulled up to my house, my heart sank as I saw my mom and aunt standing by the door, their expressions serious. But it was the figure beside them that made my stomach drop—my father. I hadn't seen him in years, and the last time I did, things were far from good between us.

I stepped out of the car, still in shock. "What is he doing here?" I muttered to myself, though the question was clear. I didn't expect him to be a part of this situation, especially not after all this time.

My mom looked at me, her face strained with worry. "Yn, your father wants to talk to you. We... we need to figure out what’s going on. This situation is dangerous, and—"

"You really think I want to be involved in this?!" I cut her off, the frustration bubbling over. "I didn't ask for any of this! I don't need his help now!"

My father stepped forward, his face hardened but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes—concern? Guilt? I couldn’t tell. "Yn, we need to talk. About everything," he said, his voice low but firm.

I took a step back, shaking my head. I hadn’t prepared for this. Not today. Not with everything that had happened, with the chaos, the violence, the lies. "What’s there to talk about?" I shot back. "You’ve been gone for years. You don’t get to come back now and act like everything’s fine."

My father’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced at my mom and aunt, as if silently asking for permission to continue. My aunt was quiet, her eyes scanning me with a mix of sympathy and concern, while my mom stood by, wringing her hands nervously.

I wasn’t sure how to feel anymore. The weight of the past few hours, the violence I had seen, the decisions that had been made without my consent—it was all crashing down on me. And now, my father... He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t make it go away.

“I’m not part of this world, Dad,” I finally said, my voice breaking. "I don’t know what you think you’re here to fix, but I’m not going back to any of it."

My father opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. I could see the frustration in his eyes, but there was something else there, too. Regret, maybe. But it didn’t matter now. He wasn’t going to be able to change anything, not when everything had already spiraled so far out of control.

I turned away from him, walking inside, hoping the distance would help me clear my head

"My dad glanced at me, his face unreadable, before asking, 'Is Levi running shit?'

I froze at the mention of Levi's name, my heart skipping a beat as my dad described him in that all-too-familiar way. It was like the world had shifted again. "Excuse me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. My dad's eyes narrowed at me, his tone stern.

"Short guy, white, temper—shorter than he is..." My father continued, his gaze flicking to the car still parked outside.

My mother, who had been standing in the background, sighed in resignation. "Yes, that’s the man who was here earlier," she said, sounding almost defeated.

I turned to look at my mom, then back at the car, and that’s when I saw it. Erwin. He’d opened the door and stepped out, strolling over to my dad like it was no big deal. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my mind was racing. This was impossible.

"Erwin, get yuh mother cunt out here, man." My dad’s words were harsh, but there was something about the way he spoke that made me feel like I was missing a huge part of this story.

Erwin didn’t even seem phased. He just walked up to my dad like they were old friends, a casual smile on his face. "Reggie, what’s good?" he said as if it were any other day.

This was a nightmare. I couldn’t process it. I had known Erwin for years, sure. But him being connected to my dad, to them, this—this was a whole different level. My world felt like it was turning upside down, and I couldn’t breathe for a second.

What the hell was going on here?

I stood there, completely frozen, unable to speak, as I watched my dad and Erwin interact. The realization slowly dawned on me: this wasn’t just some random group of criminals I had gotten involved with. It was bigger. So much bigger. My father knew them—had worked with them. Erwin knew my father. I was in deeper than I’d ever realized, and I had no idea what to do next.

Was I even safe anymore?

I stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to believe what was unfolding before me. My dad and Erwin talked like old friends catching up after years apart, completely ignoring the turmoil brewing inside me.

Erwin reached into his pocket, pulled out a joint, and passed it to my dad like it was a regular Sunday afternoon. "Like old times," Erwin said with a smirk.

My dad took it without hesitation, lighting it up and taking a long drag. The way they were so casual about it all made my stomach churn. How could he sit here and act like this when my life was spiraling out of control?

"So, what’s the deal with Ony?" my dad asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I hear his name mixed up in this mess."

Erwin raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the car. "What’s the deal with Jarmark?" he shot back.

My dad rolled his eyes, his tone heavy with frustration. "He’s in jail, Erwin. You know this."

Erwin’s gaze shifted to me, and my heart sank. The look he gave me wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t comforting, either. It was assessing, like he was trying to figure out what I’d do next. "Reggie," Erwin started, turning back to my dad, "she’s on Levi’s radar. And you know he’s crazy as fuck."

That statement hit like a sledgehammer. I clenched my fists, fighting the wave of panic threatening to take over.

"On Levi’s radar?" my dad repeated, his face darkening. He looked at me then, his eyes narrowing as if seeing me in a new light. "What the hell did you get yourself into, girl?"

I opened my mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words. How was I supposed to explain? That I hadn’t gotten into anything? That it was all Eren? That I was just trying to live my life, but these men kept pulling me into their chaos? My dad wouldn’t care. To him, it wouldn’t matter how it happened, only that it had.

"Don’t look at her like that," Erwin said, flicking ash from his joint. "This ain’t her fault. Blame your nephew and that stubborn-ass Jaeger kid for dragging her into this."

"Jaeger?" my dad muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. He shook his head and took another drag. "I should’ve known. Levi’s favorite little psychopath."

"Exactly," Erwin replied. "And now she’s in the middle of it. Levi’s been watching her like a hawk. You know how he gets when he sets his sights on something."

My dad cursed under his breath, pacing in front of the house. He stopped abruptly, pointing at Erwin. "You tell Levi to back off. That’s my daughter, and I won’t let him use her to settle his shit."

Erwin shrugged, his expression neutral. "You think I control Levi? If I could stop him from being Levi, the world would be a better place."

I couldn’t hold back anymore. "What does he want from me?" I snapped, my voice shaking. "Why can’t you all just leave me alone?"

Both men turned to me, my dad looking surprised while Erwin simply raised an eyebrow. My dad stepped closer, his tone softening slightly. "You’re mixed up in something bigger than you know, baby girl. I’ll fix this. Don’t worry."

His words were meant to be reassuring, but they felt like a lie. How could he fix this when he was part of the same world that was tearing my life apart?

My mom’s voice cut through the tension like a razor. "How exactly do you plan on fixing this, Reggie?" she asked, arms crossed, her glare sharp enough to cut steel.

My dad sighed, rolling his eyes in irritation. "I told you to keep her out of this neighborhood," he shot back. "You didn’t listen, and now I gotta clean up a mess I didn’t even start."

"Don’t you dare put this on me!" my mom snapped, stepping forward. "You’ve been absent for years, and now you wanna play the blame game? No, Reggie. This is on you, too."

They locked eyes, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink around their argument. I wanted to disappear, to pretend I wasn’t standing there listening to my parents argue over my life as if I wasn’t even present.

Erwin, leaning casually against the car, watched the exchange with a bemused expression. My dad turned to him abruptly, his frustration spilling over. "Where the fuck is Ony’s ass, anyway?" he demanded.

Erwin shrugged, taking another drag of his joint. "He’s with Levi," he said nonchalantly. "Handling the aftermath of all this bullshit."

My dad frowned, his jaw tightening. "Handling it how? What’s that short bastard doing to him?"

Erwin smirked, but there was no humor in it. "What Levi always does—making sure no one steps out of line again. Ony’s in it deep, Reggie. You might wanna have a word with your nephew before Levi does something permanent."

I felt my stomach drop at his words. The thought of Ony suffering because of this made my chest ache. Despite everything, Ony had always tried to protect me, even if it meant sacrificing his own peace.

"You better not let Levi go too far," my dad warned, pointing a finger at Erwin. "That boy may be my nephew, but he’s still blood. I won’t let Levi take things too far."

Erwin chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You don’t let Levi do anything, Reggie. You know that better than anyone. The best thing you can do is stay out of his way and hope he doesn’t decide Ony’s too much of a liability."

My mom gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Reggie, do something! You can’t just let this happen."

"I’m working on it," my dad snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Damn, woman, give me a minute to think!"

I wanted to scream at all of them, to tell them to stop talking about me and Ony like we were chess pieces in their game. But I stayed silent, my heart pounding as I tried to process everything.

Erwin finally stood up straight, tossing the joint onto the ground and stomping it out with his boot. "If you’re serious about fixing this, Reggie, you better move fast. Levi’s patience is already razor-thin."

He glanced at me, his gaze softening just slightly. "You might wanna stay out of sight for a while, kid. Things are gonna get uglier before they get better."

With that, he turned and walked back to the car, leaving me standing there with my parents and a thousand questions swirling in my head.

Ony’s mom started pacing the yard, her hands wringing as she muttered under her breath. “My son... turning out just like his father,” she said, her voice trembling. “I thought I raised him better. I thought—”

“Stop it,” my dad, Reggie, cut her off, his tone sharp. “This ain’t the time for this.” He turned to me, his intense gaze pinning me in place. “Tell me, Y/N. Why? How the hell did you even meet this boy, Eren?”

I froze, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. My dad stepped closer, his voice quieter but no less commanding. “Answer me. How’d you meet him?”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “It was on the porch... here,” I admitted reluctantly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Reggie’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at me like I’d just confessed to a crime. “This porch? Right here?”

I nodded. “Yes... I had just come back from class. Ony was out here... smoking with Eren.” I hesitated, unsure if I should continue.

“And?” Reggie pressed, crossing his arms over his chest. “What else?”

I glanced at my mom, who looked as if she wanted to interject but didn’t. I took a deep breath and finished, “They were cleaning guns.”

The yard went deathly silent. My dad’s expression darkened as he took in my words, his jaw clenching. Ony’s mom froze mid-step, her hands flying to her head. “Cleaning guns?!” she shrieked. “In front of my house?!”

Reggie held up a hand to stop her, his eyes never leaving mine. “So you saw him, what? Thought he was charming? Thought he was a nice guy?” His voice was dripping with disbelief.

“I didn’t think anything at first!” I shot back, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “He was just... there. I didn’t know who he was or what he was about. Ony introduced us, and that was it.”

Reggie let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “That was it, huh? That was enough for you to get mixed up in all this shit?”

“It’s not like I asked for this!” I snapped, my voice rising. “I didn’t ask for any of this, Dad! I didn’t ask to be dragged into your world or Ony’s world or Eren’s world. I just... I just wanted to come home from school, and then—”

“And then you made a choice,” Reggie interrupted, his voice hard. “You chose to let him into your life. You chose to let him pull you into this mess.”

Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “I didn’t know it would be like this,” I said quietly.

Reggie sighed, running a hand down his face. “Of course, you didn’t. None of you kids ever do. And now look at where we’re at. Ony’s in Levi’s crosshairs, Eren’s a damn loose cannon, and you’re... you’re caught in the middle of it all.”

My mom finally spoke up, her voice trembling. “Reggie, stop blaming her. She’s just a girl. She didn’t know—”

“She should’ve known better!” Reggie snapped, cutting her off. “But now it’s too late for that. The question is, how the hell are we gonna get her out of this?”

Reggie paced the yard, his frustration radiating off him in waves. He turned back to me, his finger pointed like a dagger. “You might live in the hood, Y/N, but you ain’t from it. Do you even know what kind of shit the 6ixx gang is up to? Do you even know where all this started?”

I stared at him, unsure how to answer. His words stung because they were true. I didn’t know the depths of it all—only fragments, bits and pieces from overheard conversations and Ony’s cryptic warnings.

Reggie tilted his head back, letting out a bitter laugh toward the night sky. “Lord Father, help me here tonight,” he muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath before looking back at me. “You think this is some petty beef, Y/N? Some schoolyard bullshit that’ll blow over? You’re playing with fire, girl. And the worst part is, you don’t even know how hot it burns.”

“Dad, I—”

“No,” he interrupted sharply. “You don’t get to talk. Not yet. Let me tell you what you’re tangled up in.” He gestured wildly toward the street, the porch, everything. “This ain’t just about Eren or Ony or whatever little drama you think this is. The 6ixx gang? They’re in deep—drugs, guns, money laundering, you name it. They don’t play fair, and they don’t forgive.”

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting. The weight of his words settled on my chest like a brick.

Reggie continued, his voice rising. “And you? You’re just some college girl to them. You’re a pawn. A pretty little pawn they’ll use to get what they want. Do you understand that? They don’t care about you, Y/N. Not like I do. Not like your mom does.”

I glanced at my mom, who was standing silently to the side, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Reggie,” she started softly, but he wasn’t done.

“No, don’t ‘Reggie’ me,” he snapped, turning back to her before focusing on me again. “You think Levi gives a damn about your degree? About your future? He’ll chew you up and spit you out, just like he’s done with everyone else who’s crossed him. And Eren? He’s no better.”

I flinched at his harsh tone, tears prickling at my eyes again. “I didn’t ask for this,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“But you’re in it now,” Reggie shot back. “And you need to understand what’s at stake. This ain’t just about you anymore, Y/N. It’s about your family, your future—everything.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Eren's pov 

I was exhausted, every part of my body aching from the endless assault. The pain was sharp, brutal, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. All I could think about was Y/N—her face, her voice, her refusal to choose between me and anyone else. She was the only thing that kept me grounded in the chaos.

I stole a glance at Ony. He looked just as defeated as I felt. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes empty, like the fight had drained him of everything. I could feel his pain, the weight of everything that had led to this point. And then there was his mom—her reaction had hit me harder than I expected. The way she slapped him, the way she let him go so easily. She had always treated him like the problem, like he was the one who’d brought all this mess into their lives.

I didn’t get it. Ony was just trying to protect what was his, just like me. And yet, here we were, being punished for things that weren’t entirely our fault. I hated how she treated him, hated how she kept pushing him away when all he was trying to do was survive. The look in his eyes when she slapped him—it was a mixture of hurt and resignation. He wasn’t going to fight her anymore. But I wasn’t like him. I couldn’t let go. Not yet.

As I stared at him, I started to understand a little more of what drove him, what drove me. We were both stuck in this endless cycle, bound by loyalty, by love, by the need to control something in a world that constantly felt like it was slipping away. And Y/N... Y/N was that thing for me. She was my reason to keep fighting, even when everything else was falling apart.

Levi had been right about one thing—if she wasn’t part of my world, I’d have nothing left. But I couldn’t let that happen. Not with her. Not when I knew she was the only thing that could give me a sense of peace, even if it was fleeting.

The room was silent except for the occasional grunt or mutter. My head was pounding, but I couldn’t shake the thought that everything was spiraling. Levi had pushed me to my limit, and I had barely managed to hold onto my sanity.

I looked over at him, leaning against the wall with that smirk plastered on his face, like this was all a game. And maybe to him it was. But not to me. Not to Ony.

And especially not to Y/N. She deserved better than this mess. She deserved peace.

But I wasn’t sure I could give her that anymore. Not with how things were going.

Levi’s smug face made my blood boil, but I stayed quiet. I didn’t have the energy to snap back at him anymore, not when my body was already broken and my mind felt like it was teetering on the edge. I glanced at Ony again, his head hanging low. His silence was unnerving, and it made me wonder if he was giving up entirely.

But giving up wasn’t in me. Not yet. Not while Y/N was still out there, dragged into all this chaos because of me. Levi might’ve been trying to make a point, but I wasn’t about to let him win. Not when it came to her.

Levi finally stood straight, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “Well, this has been fun, but I think you two have had enough for today.” He turned to Reiner and Jean. “Get them cleaned up and back to their places. We’ve got bigger shit to deal with tomorrow.”

Reiner gave a curt nod and moved to grab me, but I pulled away, struggling to my feet. My legs felt like they were about to give out, but I wasn’t going to let them see me weak. Not now. Not ever.

Ony slowly stood too, his movements stiff and deliberate. He didn’t even look at me as Reiner helped him walk toward the door. I could feel the tension between us, thick and suffocating. We were both pissed—at Levi, at the situation, at each other. But there was something unspoken in the air, a shared understanding that neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

As Jean shoved me forward, I couldn’t help but think about what Levi had said earlier—about Y/N being the source of all this chaos. It wasn’t true, not entirely. This wasn’t her fault. It was mine. I brought her into this world, made her a part of something she never asked to be part of. And now, she was paying the price for it.

When we got outside, the cool air hit me like a slap to the face. It felt like freedom, even if it was temporary. I looked up at the night sky, the stars barely visible through the city’s haze. For a moment, I let myself breathe, let myself feel the weight of everything that had happened.

Jean shoved me again, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Keep moving, Yeager. You’re lucky Levi didn’t put a bullet in you tonight.”

I didn’t respond. What was there to say? He was right. I was lucky. But luck wouldn’t last forever.

As we approached the cars, I caught sight of my reflection in the side mirror of Reiner’s jeep. The bruises, the dried blood, the swelling—it all stared back at me, a painful reminder of how far I’d fallen. My face didn’t even look like mine anymore, just a mess of pain and regret.

I stopped in my tracks for a moment, unable to tear my eyes away. The person staring back at me wasn’t the Eren Yeager I knew. He looked weak, broken, defeated—everything I swore I’d never be. It made my stomach turn, the bitter taste of failure sitting heavy on my tongue.

Jean noticed me lagging and shoved me hard. “Move it, Yeager. You don’t have time to admire yourself.”

I almost snapped at him but caught myself. What was the point? I had no fight left for Jean, for Reiner, for anyone. All I could think about was the reflection, the bruises, the way Levi’s words echoed in my head. You like breaking things, don’t you?

Maybe I did. Maybe I always had. But looking at myself now, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to put the pieces back together. The more I stared, the more the reflection felt like a stranger—someone I didn’t want to know, someone I didn’t want Y/N to see.

Reiner yanked open the jeep door, and Jean shoved me inside. The cold leather pressed against my back, and I leaned into it, closing my eyes to block out the reflection. It didn’t help. It was burned into my mind, just like everything else.

In the silence of the car, I could hear my own breathing, shallow and uneven. My ribs ached with every inhale, my arm throbbed with every beat of my heart, but none of it compared to the weight in my chest. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d already lost everything. And the worst part? It was all my fault.

I glanced at Ony sitting on the curb outside the warehouse, his head hanging low as he toyed with the gravel beneath his feet. He looked like a ghost of himself, a man who’d just been gutted and left to figure out how to piece himself back together. His shoulders were slouched, his usually sharp gaze now dulled, and I could tell the weight of everything that happened was crushing him.

I thought about his mom throwing him out, the slap she’d landed on him echoing in my mind. Sure, he had his own spot, but anyone could see being with his family meant something to him. He carried them in everything he did. It was obvious. Hell, it was probably why he’d even tried so hard to keep Y/N out of this mess in the first place.

For a second, a flicker of something like pity tried to surface in me. But I shoved it down as quickly as it came. I couldn’t feel sorry for him. Not when I was sitting here just as broken, just as beaten—physically and mentally. And definitely not when Y/N was at the center of it all.

This wasn’t some accident, some random twist of fate. Ony and I both knew the risks, knew the game we were playing. And if he thought he could keep someone like Y/N away from me, he was wrong. She wasn’t his to protect.

I leaned back in the seat, my gaze still locked on him as Reiner started the car. Ony didn’t look up, didn’t move. Maybe he was as lost in his head as I was, running over all the ways we’d screwed up to get here. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. I wasn’t sure which one would’ve been worse.

Connie sauntered over to Ony and plopped down beside him on the curb, stretching his legs out in front of him with a groan. The two sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds the faint hum of the night and the occasional shuffle from inside the warehouse. Connie tilted his head back to glance at Ony, whose face was blank, eyes fixed on a patch of gravel as if the weight of the world had been buried there.

“Yo,” Connie said, breaking the silence. “You wanna crash at mine tonight? Or I can drop you back at your spot if you’re feelin’ it.”

Ony didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge the question. His fingers idly pushed at the small rocks near his boots, but his focus remained distant, somewhere far from where Connie sat. It was like talking to a wall.

Connie frowned, shifting a bit to lean closer. “Hey, man. You hear me? I said you wanna come back with me or what?”

Still nothing. The silence stretched so thin it felt suffocating, like even the night itself was holding its breath. Ony’s chest rose and fell steadily, but his expression didn’t flicker. He looked more like a statue than a man, trapped in his own mind.

Finally, Connie sighed, running a hand over his buzzed head. He pulled out a pack of rolling papers and a small baggie from his pocket, shaking them in Ony’s line of vision. “Alright, how about this? I roll you a blunt instead. That sound better?”

Ony’s fingers paused for the first time. He blinked slowly, his jaw tightening as if he were weighing the offer. A long moment passed before he finally shifted his gaze toward Connie, his voice low and hoarse when he replied.

“Yeah,” Ony muttered. “Roll me a blunt.”

Connie nodded, glad to get any kind of response at this point. “Aight, bet. Don’t say I never did nothin’ for you.”

He set to work, spreading the rolling paper out on his knee with practiced ease. The weed was already ground up, and Connie’s fingers moved deftly, sprinkling the green evenly across the paper. The rhythmic movements of his hands felt calming, almost therapeutic, and he wondered if Ony felt the same way watching him.

“So, you wanna talk about it?” Connie asked casually, glancing at Ony as he started to tuck the paper and roll it up.

Ony snorted softly, shaking his head. “What’s there to talk about, Connie? It’s all fucked.”

“That’s fair,” Connie said with a shrug, licking the edge of the paper to seal it. “But, like, I’m just sayin’, gettin’ it out might help. You been bottling shit up all night.”

Ony didn’t answer, just leaned back slightly, resting his arms on his knees as he stared ahead. Connie didn’t push it. Instead, he pulled a lighter from his pocket, sparking the blunt and taking a quick hit before passing it over.

“Here,” Connie said, holding it out to Ony. “This’ll do the talkin’ for you if you don’t wanna.”

Ony took it without a word, his fingers brushing against Connie’s briefly before he brought the blunt to his lips. He inhaled deeply, the cherry glowing bright as the smoke curled up into the cool night air. For the first time since Connie had sat down, Ony’s shoulders seemed to loosen, his posture relaxing just a fraction as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke.

“Thanks,” Ony muttered, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

“Don’t mention it,” Connie said, leaning back on his palms with a smirk. “You’re not the only one who needs to chill out after all this shit.”

They sat there like that for a while, passing the blunt back and forth, letting the silence between them grow comfortable instead of heavy. Neither of them needed to say much. The weed was doing its job, and for now, that was enough.

Jean, ever the instigator, leaned against the wall of the warehouse with that signature smirk of his, the one that promised trouble. He let out a low whistle, his eyes darting between Ony and the blunt in his hand.

“So,” Jean drawled, his tone thick with mischief. “What’s Yn think about all this? Bet she’s got a lot to say, huh?”

Ony’s entire body stiffened at the mention of her name. His hand froze mid-pass, the blunt hovering in the space between him and Connie. For a moment, it seemed like Ony hadn’t heard him—or maybe he was trying to convince himself that he didn’t. But then, without warning, Ony shot up from the concrete with such force it startled even Connie.

In a split second, Ony was in Jean’s face, his movements swift and aggressive. His jaw clenched tightly, and his nostrils flared as he stared Jean down. Jean, for all his usual bravado, looked momentarily caught off guard, his smirk faltering as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Yo, chill, Ony,” Jean said, his voice laced with a nervous chuckle. “I was just messing around.”

“Don’t.” Ony’s voice was low, dangerous, like a growl that seemed to rumble up from the depths of his chest. “Don’t bring her into this. Ever.”

For a tense moment, it seemed like Ony might swing. The air between them was charged, the kind of thick that made everyone else nearby tense up instinctively. Even Connie, who usually stayed out of these kinds of things, shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting between the two.

But then, just as quickly as he’d snapped, Ony stepped back. He ran a hand down his face, letting out a long, controlled breath as if he were physically forcing himself to calm down. His gaze flickered toward the warehouse for a brief second, then back to Jean. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, but the edge hadn’t entirely disappeared.

“Watch your mouth, Jean. That’s family.”

Jean nodded, swallowing hard as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Got it, man. My bad. No harm meant.”

Ony didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his attention toward Eren, who had been watching the entire scene unfold with a knowing look. Ony’s eyes locked with his, and the intensity in them was unmistakable. It wasn’t just a warning; it was a promise. Then Ony glanced back at the warehouse door, his jaw tightening for a brief moment, before looking directly at Connie, who held the now-limp blunt.

“Roll another one,” Ony muttered, sinking back down onto the curb.

Connie raised an eyebrow but said nothing, pulling out the rolling papers again as Jean slunk off, muttering under his breath. The tension lingered in the air, but Ony seemed to retreat into his own thoughts, his fingers tapping against his knee as he stared off into the distance. Whatever was running through his mind, it was clear the storm inside him was far from over.

I leaned against Reiner's jeep for a moment, watching Ony sit stiffly on the curb. His posture screamed tension, the kind that was tightly wound and ready to snap at any moment. A lesser man would’ve backed off, but I wasn’t one to shy away from poking a bear—especially when it was this particular bear.

Reiner had been trying to talk me down, something about picking my battles and how Levi would have both our heads if he caught wind of this. But I wasn’t listening. Instead, I peeled myself away from the jeep and sauntered over to Ony, feeling Reiner’s heavy sigh follow me like a shadow.

Sliding onto the curb next to him, I made myself comfortable, deliberately invading his space. I felt him stiffen the second I sat down, his body going rigid as if bracing for whatever nonsense he knew was about to come out of my mouth. I waited a beat, letting the tension simmer, before I finally spoke.

“I’d call a truce,” I said casually, my voice low and edged with amusement. “But the thing is, I want Yn for myself. And you already know that.”

I watched as Ony’s jaw tightened, the muscle ticking as he kept his eyes fixed on the ground. His silence didn’t deter me—it only fueled me.

“So how about,” I continued, leaning in slightly, my tone dipping into something dangerously close to a taunt, “you drop this whole big brother act and let me have her?”

The air between us grew impossibly heavier, the kind that pressed down on your chest and made it hard to breathe. Ony’s head turned slowly, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a look that could’ve burned through steel. It wasn’t anger—not fully, at least. It was something deeper, something primal, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of unease.

“What did you just say?” Ony’s voice was low, steady, but it carried a weight that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“You heard me,” I said, forcing a smirk to mask the tension crawling up my spine. “She’s wasted on you. I’d treat her better. You know it, I know it, hell—she probably knows it.”

That did it.

In a flash, Ony was on his feet, towering over me with an intensity that made even the shadows around us seem to shrink away. His fists were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white, but he didn’t swing. Not yet.

“You’re walking on thin ice, Jaeger,” Ony said, his voice barely above a whisper, but it was laced with so much venom it felt louder than a shout. “And you don’t want to see what happens when it breaks.”

I stood, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to back down even as my pulse quickened. “Maybe I do,” I said, my smirk widening, though it felt more like baring teeth.

Before Ony could make his move, Reiner’s heavy hand landed on my shoulder, pulling me back with a force that made it clear I’d crossed a line.

“Enough,” Reiner said sharply, his eyes darting between the two of us. “This isn’t the time, and it sure as hell isn’t the place.”

Ony didn’t take his eyes off me, his chest rising and falling with barely contained rage. “This isn’t over,” he muttered, his voice like a low growl before turning on his heel and walking away.

Reiner shot me a look that could’ve rivaled Levi’s in its intensity. “Do you ever know when to shut up, Jaeger?”

I shrugged, my smirk returning as I watched Ony disappear into the shadows. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Connie suddenly stood up, stepping into my space with a fire in his eyes. "I thought you guys were chill. Like, is Y/N really worth all this, man?"

His words hit like a punch, but I wasn’t about to let him see how much they stung. "Ony’s not gonna forgive you, man. You know how he is about his family. He’s only doing all this shit for them. Your shit’s got him and his mama on ends."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of truth I couldn’t deny. But instead of letting the tension break me, I threw my head back and laughed—a sharp, bitter sound

I couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled up, low and dark, as Connie's words hit the air. His face was scrunched up in that mixture of confusion and frustration, but all I could think about was how badly I’d just rattled Ony. Not just him, but everything around him. Family, loyalty, everything he thought he had a grip on—I was ripping it all away, piece by piece.

I leaned back, giving Connie a look that practically oozed smugness. "You think I care about his forgiveness?" I asked, letting the amusement settle in my tone like a bitter taste. "What the fuck does forgiveness even mean in this world? This is about power, and right now, I hold it. Ony? He's just a pawn in this game."

Connie's eyes narrowed, and I could see his frustration bubbling. He probably wanted to be the peacemaker, the one who made sure everything didn't go off the rails, but that wasn’t going to happen—not on my watch.

"Man, you’re playing a dangerous game," Connie muttered, shaking his head. "Ony’s loyalty runs deep, and you’re testing that line. He's not gonna back down from this."

I shrugged nonchalantly, the weight of my words heavy in the space between us. "Let him try. He knows who I am, and right now, I’m everything he can’t handle." My gaze flicked over to where Ony had disappeared into the distance, no longer looking back. "He’s too tied up in his little 'family' to see what’s really going on. It’s cute, in a way."

Connie looked like he was about to say more, but I cut him off, unable to resist. "And as for Yn? She's mine. No one else gets a say. If Ony’s too caught up in his feelings to protect what’s his, that’s on him. But Yn's not gonna end up like him. She’s gonna end up where she belongs—next to me."

Connie looked ready to snap, his face twisted in frustration, but there was nothing he could say that would change what I was going to do. I'd already decided, and no one, not even Ony, could stand in my way.

"You really think she’s gonna fall for your bullshit?" Connie pressed, his voice rising just a bit.

I let the laughter roll out again, louder this time. "We’ll see. I always get what I want, Connie. Always."

[syoddeye]

the warren, ten - curious

price x f!reader | 3k words | series page | ao3 tags: mine/underground, gaslighting, minor injury, dual pov a/n: john takes you on a trip.🔪

"There she is. Mind locking it behind you, darl? We're closing early."

John doesn't look up from the register drawer. The bills of cash look like monopoly money in his hands. He licks the tip of his thumb and sorts through the stack, the creases in his brow cutting deep. When he's done, he tucks the tender into a scuffed leather envelope.

Embarrassment warms your face as you realize you've never handled this part of the job before. Not even when you've closed alongside him. He must always take care of it, or leave it undone until later. It stings a little. Peels up a sticking corner of your faith. He must not trust you to manage the till. You bite back a comment, shelving it for later. You have enough on your mind, thoughts teetering precariously like a cup filled to the brim, held in only by surface tension.

"Heard you went on an adventure today."

"I did."

"Gotta tell you, love, hate that you didn't ask for a ride," He sets the envelope down and slots the register back into place. He fixes you with a heavy stare, chin tucking toward his chest. "And that you went on foot."

"It's not that far. I've walked further, in the desert." You smile, trying to ease his mood, and remind him you aren't as helpless as he may believe.

But it doesn't work. If anything, your nonchalance hardens him further. 

"Yeah? Are there bears in the desert? Cougars?"

It's strange. No, not strange. This is not out of character. John's been like this since you met. Set in his ways, immovable in his convictions, the master of his domain. However he thinks things should go, how the world should spin, it's only a hair beneath the natural laws themselves. Still, you thought you moved beyond that with him and fell outside his mantle of authority. The slight condescension in his tone and body language? It needles you. Your hackles rise. It makes you think of your dad. Of Dusty. 

"There are cougars, actually. Coyotes, too. Snakes, bighorns…" You fold your arms. "Even met a surly jackrabbit, once."

John stares hard, thumb picking at a sliver of laminate peeling loose. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring. When he finally speaks, his face softens, tired lines overtaking the sharp ones. Worry seeps through the cracks like water through stone. "That so? Well. If you've taken on the desert before…"

He pushes off the counter then steps around and into the gap. The offer is clear, and you meet him halfway, pressing a kiss to his lips. It's a quiet thing, your apology tucked between tongues. When you part, you rest your head on his chest. His hand glides up your spine.

"Sorry to make you worry."

"S'alright. Stopped worrying when Soap texted that he ran into you outside the library. Bookworm couldn't wait for her next read, eh?"

That sneak. Soap must've texted when you were distracted on the drive.

Your eyes fall to the tortoiseshell button on John's shirt, rising and falling with his breathing. A loose thread sticks out from it. You relate to it.

"Yes and no," you say, lifting your head. "I woke up curious." You lick your lips, thinking about what you'd told Soap in the truck. How he reacted when you said you might get to know everyone better, should you winter in the Panhandle. "If I'm going to stay here, I want to learn more about the area."

"S'pose the library's the place to learn. Though, you could've asked me, too."

All roads lead back to John, and you'd taken the turn willingly the moment you got on your knees for him. The moment you fell into his bed.

"You were busy."

"You couldn't wait?" He echoes and it purses your lip. 

Your hackles stir again. Your fraying nerves are to blame, not him. You'll feel better once you let it out.

"Are you busy now?"

"Need to make some deliveries. Ride with me."

Another truck, another conversation about madness. You help load the bed with odds and ends. John's occupation as shop owner and local Renaissance man keeps him busy. He points out a lamp he rewired. Hand tools he sharpened. A bicycle, sporting a new chain and front tire.

The comfortable rhythm between you returns, but you feel his thumb at the edges of you. Prying like he did with that bit of laminate on the counter, trying to ease you open. He wants to know what compelled you to walk the miles to Ponderosa, to sit in the library all day.

He knows you well enough to give you space, to make you feel safe before asking. That's one of the reasons you think you might love him.

John drives, you talk. You tell him everything, skipping over Phil's ominous text and the hold waiting under your name. The hold becomes a random book plucked off a library shelf and how its defacement spurred a morbid fascination with the collapse that swallowed nearly a hundred men.

The lie slips out smoother than you'd like. You hate that it's easier now, that you can meet his eyes as you reshape the truth. He doesn't twitch or look over suspiciously. He just listens. It makes it easier to tell yourself that omission and white lies—they're not deceit, not really.

But when you get to the part about your discovery, you waver. You stumble over your words, starting and stopping like burrs catching and pulling at the fabric of your story.

John glances at you then, quick but pointed. You tugged a thread and he felt the give.

Your explanation is shoddier the second time around. 

"...and he looked exactly like Alex. I swear." 

John doesn't respond immediately. He pulls the truck off to the side of the road, stopping in front of a mailbox at the end of a long drive. Without a word, he turns the engine off, climbs out, and heads to the back.

You hear the faint click of the bicycle wheel as it spins, the dull thunk as he pulls it free. Watching through the side mirror, you see him push it to the mailbox and prop it there. He stands beside it for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, shoulders slumped.

When he turns back and catches you staring, he gives you a small, uncertain smile, sheepish and laced with pity. You drop your gaze to your shoes.

He thinks you're crazy, too. Perfect.

You're a quarter mile down the road when he finally speaks.

"That's quite the claim."

"I know. I know how it sounds. But John, if you saw him, you'd think the same thing. It's uncanny." You sigh. Every word is a shovelful of dirt. "Soap suggested it was his grandfather or something. Do you know if Alex has roots here?"

"Well, we all have roots here," He smiles a little and reaches over, brushing a hand over your knee. "But if I remember correctly, I believe he was born and raised here."

You nod. That is a comfort. It should be a comfort. It's not that you don't believe John. It's more so you want proof and know you're not sure you want to ask the man in question. Are you from here? Did your grandfather nearly die in a mine collapse?

Frustrated, you lay a hand over John's, tracing the cracks in his knuckles.

"That disappoint you?"

You shrug. "I guess I wanted a mystery."

He chuckles. "Like one of your books, no doubt."

"I suppose so." Though the unease lingers, stitched tight to your stomach lining and unwilling to unwind, you manage to smile. "I heard there's a memorial."

"There is. It's not for—"

"Tourists. Yeah, I know." His lip twitches, and you rush an apology into the gap. "Sorry for interrupting. It's just—who knows. I might not be a tourist in a few weeks. I want to know this place and the people."

That lands differently and with intent. It instantly smooths over your poor manners. His fingers stretch, drumming thoughtfully on the inside of your knee.

"We can visit, if you'd like. You'll see why they don't put in the brochures."

Your eyes widen, surprised he's indulging your curiosity.

"I'd love to. When should we go?"

The truck jerks as he brakes on a patch of gravel, a small spray of rocks pinging against the undercarriage. Dust blooms behind you like smoke.

He grins, a glint of something wild in his eyes. It's conspiratorial like the two of you are teenagers sneaking off to do something you shouldn't.

"Still light out, isn't it?"

~~

The Sawtooth Crest Mine doesn't feel so different from the ghost towns scattered across the Great Basin. A handful of sagging structures, burnt or crushed into rubble by weather and time. Others lean precariously on the verge of collapse.

You pass signs designating offices and a warehouse, bunkhouses, and a rec hall. You scan the empty windows and doorways as if you'll find answers or at least a hint.

The woods creep in, decades of reclamation around you.

After all the effort to get here, the memorial feels like a joke. A slab of stone with a tarnished plaque bolted onto the front. The text is largely illegible, worn down, and that's what's left. It looks like someone took a pickaxe to the rest of it.

You step closer, brushing your fingers over the pitted stone. John stands back, letting you have the moment. It feels intrusive, like standing at a stranger's grave. You suppose you are, in a way. Some bodies are reported unrecoverable.

The thought makes the back of your neck itch.

John waits until you're done, then gestures toward the mine itself. The main entrance gapes wide, its opening barred with iron rods and sheet metal, wired tight like a broken jaw. While you stare through the gaps, imagining further in, John steps to the side, casually working the padlock on the access door. A click, the chain slithers to the ground in a pile, and the door swings open.

"What are you—Isn't it dangerous?"

"Been here loads of times," he grins. "Drinking with the lads, mucking around. C'mon, we won't go far."

The grin isn't much comfort, but when he beckons, you follow. He leads you into the yawning dark, pulling out an emergency light clipped to his keys, throwing a small pool of light that splashes over your feet and up the closest section of wall. You stick close, your shoulder brushing his arm as the daylight behind you fades.

As you walk along, he talks. He points out the skeletal remains of machinery, rusted carts, and tools that have sat untouched for decades. The damp air thickens with the smell of soil and rust. You reach a junction where two tunnels branch off from a central chamber, a lift cage sitting in the middle, waiting.

John points to it, voice bouncing off the walls as he explains how it worked, how the whole system of pulleys and tracks kept the mine running. About the hoist operators, and how they were 'jokingly' referred to as Saint Peter. 

It's leagues more than Dusty ever shared, more than you ever overheard at the company picnics where he kept you in the dark as his smiling but simple wife. The irony isn't lost on you—standing here now, in the dark, learning more about your husband's trade from another man than you had in years.

"How do you know so much?"

John shrugs, his proud smile cast in shadow. "Talking to old-timers at The Fox Hole. They've got stories for days, especially after a few pints." His hand worries the cable like he's feeling for a pulse. "Nikolai's worse than me. The know-it-all." Then, he steps closer, his hand finding the small of your back, pulling you to him. He presses a brief kiss to your forehead.

"Hate to be crass, but I've got to take a leak. Got your phone?"

You fumble it out of your pocket, holding it up. The model is too old for a flashlight, but you turn the brightness up as far as it'll go and point it at the ground.

"Good," He sounds far too at home as if you're not both standing in the belly of a dead mine. "Stay put. I'll be right back."

He glances between the tunnels, making his choice, before he starts down the left passage.

You watch the dark swallow him whole.

"Don't go too far."

There's an answer, but it's more sound than speech and further away than it should be. 

And then his footsteps recede.

The glow of your phone barely lights your shoes. You shift your weight, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the low simmer of unease in your stomach from boiling over into something embarrassing. The flesh clenched between your teeth heats anyway.

John isn't far. He's just around the corner. If you walk down that tunnel, you'll see.

Your feet move, body ahead of your brain, the hair on the back of your neck standing straight up.

Then you catch it—nostrils flaring. Wet dog, mixed with straw. Brimstone and iron. Your shoulders tighten, a shiver running down your arms, goosebumps raising. Folding them across your chest, phone pointed out, you continue, taking tiny half-steps. Shuffling.

The tunnel warms as you go. The walls sweat. Silver flecks reflect the dim light like the creature's eyes you saw out your window.

"John?" You mean to call out, though it shakes out in a whisper. It's like trying to scream in a nightmare, stuck under the thick ice of sleep. You try again. "John?" No better.

Behind you, a metallic creak cuts through the silence. You freeze. Then your feet find full strides, the shuffle turning into a hurried walk. Pebbles slide underfoot, and you glance down, stopping short when you see it—a sandy tuft of hair, coarse and matted, lying just beside your foot.

The phone light trembles as you crouch, about to pluck the tuft from the ground.

And then another noise.

A low, guttural rumble rolls through the tunnel. You snap upright, spinning toward the direction you came from, holding your phone out as if it's an actual torch. The light catches nothing, and the growl comes again. Deeper. Closer.

You run.

The light swings wildly as you stumble forward, colliding hard with a set of support beams. They groan and slightly give at the impact, a thick cloud of dust erupting straight into your face. You cough and spin, lunging down the left passage when the tunnel splits again, painfully aware of how hopelessly lost you're becoming.

Something brushes your elbow, and every nerve in your body sounds the alarm. You jerk forward instinctively, your feet sliding on loose gravel. The ground shifts, and suddenly, you're falling, the cold floor of the mine rushing up to meet you in a bone-rattling thud.

~~

You wake to a hand stroking your head. Your cheek rests on denim, rough but warm beneath you, and the rumble of an engine. You realize you're horizontal, stretched across the front seat of John's truck, your head resting on his thigh. The road bumps and jars you as the truck barrels forward.

"John?" Your voice cracks on his name.

The hand on your head pauses, then resumes, gentler. You tilt your head, blinking spots from your vision, and catch his worried glances. His face is tight, his jaw set. "You're alright. Took a spill, I think. Found you halfway down a tunnel in a heap."

You push upright despite his protests, wincing at the pull in your muscles. Your hand drifts to your forehead, where it throbs, and you flinch at a smear of sticky, drying blood. "What…?"

"Just a scrape. I checked it. Must've clocked yourself on the way down."

The truck jolts over a bump, and you steady against the door, staring at the trees blurring past. The sun is dipping low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet as John speeds down the logging road. How long were you out?

"Thought I told you to stay put," John chides softly, a nervous smile twitching his lip. "What were you doing?"

The memory floods back. The growl. The chase. Something touched you.

You stare straight ahead, fingers feeling nothing when you check your elbow.

Sometimes our minds play tricks.

"I…I don't know." You force a shrug, licking your lips. "I don't know."

~~ 

John sees to your forehead. He dabs at the wound with a damp cloth, then spreads a layer of antibiotic over it with the tip of his finger. Twice, he asks if you're up to date on your tetanus shot, and twice, you confirm you are. 

When he smooths the bandage on, his thumbs press it into place. He gently kisses it, then tilts your chin and kisses your lips the same way.

"Skittish thing," he teases, though his eyes carry a tinge of regret. "Shouldn't have left you alone."

Before you can respond, he's kissing you again, deeper, his hands sliding down to steady you atop his kitchen table like you might slip away.

You don't slip at all. You end up underneath him.

~~~~

While his girl sleeps off the consequences of her walk, his lesson leaking out of her, John summons his Watcher.

Kate is a good woman. Useful. Steady under pressure, keen as her old man, maybe more. She shoulders the responsibility and knows better than to complain. Her father wore his duty like a crown and bore it as a source of pride. Kate treats it as a job. One she always gets done.

But she pushes it.

"Why the fed, John?" she flicks ash from her cigarette. "He was bound to give up and leave."

John picks his teeth. "Didn't like the way he looked at her."

Kate narrows her eyes, dragging smoke into her lungs. "Looking at a pretty woman isn't a crime. There'd be plenty more carcasses if it was." She exhales sharply. "You broke the conditions of the pact."

"The conditions," he sneers, "state I can harvest the unfortunates and ne'er-do-wells. Vagrants. Show me an agent of the state with clean hands, and I'll cough Mr. Graves up right now."

Her lip curls at that, distaste evident. "A technicality, then. Still don't like it. All it got you was one meal, and it invited attention."

He ignores her insubordination. "You got information on the second course?"

"Kyle Garrick. Sent to investigate Graves's disappearance…" Kate reads, stubbing her cigarette on the edge of the counter. "And to look into other disappearances in the area." 

John takes the picture Kate offers and stares at the younger man, oblivious to his new headshot. "He's looking for me, I presume?"

"Naturally, but…"

"But what?"

"He's looking for her, too."

Smoke curls between them. This fed business—it's irritating, inevitable. They've done this song and dance before. No matter the reason, the thought of some young buck sniffing around his doe sets his teeth on edge.

"Let's orchestrate a meeting then," John finally says, peeling the loose strip of laminate off in one smooth go. "Use this curious streak of hers to our advantage."

[onyxsboxes]

After seeing @avonne-writes' post, I remembered the idea I had for a fic like this some time ago but never finished it (the werewolf!au started at the same time and the rest is history)

Here's a summary of how the fic began:

After the Schweinfurt-Regensburg mission, the Buckies and everyone else are very shaken up, so the brass send them to a country estate to take the pressure off.

The Buckies find a way to be alone and relax together. They spend most of their time in each other's arms, pouring out their love to each other (and not leaving their bedroom much 😏).

Fast forward to the Bremen mission (more or less 4 weeks later we'll say), Bucky goes to London alone (Buck can't leave their boys alone and still doesn't come) and Buck goes down without either of them knowing about the baby.

After arriving at the camp wounded, Buck is quickly thrown into POW camp life. It's only at Benny's insistence that he lets the doctor examine him after not being able to keep his food down too many times.

Buck panics when he learns of the baby's existence, he knows nothing about parenting (let alone what a good parenting looks like), he's a POW in a war and Bucky isn't there. This last point is both a relief and the worst thing of all. Still, he does his best to keep a straight face for everyone, they need their Major and so he's going to look after them.

Pregnancy hormones nearly take over on several occasions, especially as the days go by with no sign of Bucky, but he keeps a strong, stoic face for everyone.

When Bucky arrives at camp, wounded and beaten, it's Buck who takes care of him. He makes sure he's okay, stays with him all the time, makes sure Bucky has everything he needs to heal (even forgetting to rest). All the while, Bucky is plunged into fever dreams, crying for Buck or moaning in pain. It takes a while for Bucky to become coherent enough to understand what's going on around him, but Buck's presence always soothes him, even in his sickly state.

It takes Bucky a week to recover enough to be aware of the world around him, for him to feel Buck's presence near him, not only as the protective, caring presence of his dreams, but also to see behind the mask he wears. The one he put on to keep a straight face in front of everyone, when he was scared, lonely and desperate. All it takes is one look for Bucky to look past and Buck to start cracking, so much going on at once and so much fear, for Bucky, for their men, for their baby who isn't yet alive and is already doomed to suffer.

Here the first time Bucky's conscious and okayish in the camp.

Pausing in his words, Bucky turns his head to look at Buck, and what he discovers breaks his heart. He finds Buck's face completely devoid of emotion, his pupils almost entirely black, his gaze unfocused and unblinking. But worst of all are his tears, the river of tears falling down his face, he doesn't make a sound, just stares at the distance. John watches him shrinking on himself more and more, his breathing quickening and stopping irregularly, soundless. A quick glance shared with Benny gets his message across, and their understanding of the situation causes DeMarco to quickly lead the other occupants of the room towards the exit, away from the panicking Buck. After making sure they're alone, Bucky turns back to Buck. He finds him still completely motionless in his seat. Although they were only inches apart, they had never seemed so far apart. John had never seen Buck like this, never so absent, looking like a broken doll. He learned during their relationship that when Buck is sad or stressed, he becomes silent and motionless. He doesn't cry, he doesn't sniffle, he becomes a marble statue, motionless and indecipherable. Immobile and unreadable. The first time it freaked him out, now, even with more experience, he's still as heartbroken as the first time, if not more so. Because now he knows why Gale reacts the way he does, or rather, why he doesn't. He knows that he's silent to avoid being heard, that he stays still to not show weakness, that he's not present because staying in his head is better than feeling the arsh outside world. When this kind of episode happens, John has only one thing on his mind: find the people who did this to Buck and kill them, kill them so Gale can sleep at night without being afraid of them, kill them because he knows it's their fault that Gale reacts the way he does when things get too much to bear. Bucky gambles, drinks and fights when it's too much, while Buck shuts down completely. He's grateful, in a sick way, that he knows how to deal with it. He just hopes Buck hasn't gone too far and is still reachable. Physical contact is both the best way to get the young Major to come back to him and the worst possible way. In this state, Buck isn't aware of anything. If Bucky touches him without warning, he'll fall like a puppet with broken strings, and it will be very difficult to bring him back to the present. Bucky needs to have his attention and quickly, even on an unconscious level. Mindful of his healing wounds, he carefully climbs out of the bunk. As he places his feet on the cold floor, a chill runs up his bones and rattle his teeth uncomfortably. “Buck, hey buddy, I need you back here, baby," he says softly as he reaches for Gale's uniform sleeve, tugging gently on it. “I need you to get out of your pretty head, Buck. Do you think you can do that for me, honey?" Hearing the soft sigh, he continues. “Yes, just like that, breathe for me, darling, softly and gentle. You're doing a great job, sunshine.” Okay, well, Buck seems a little more present, that's good, that's really good. Second step, skin contact to anchor him further. “I'm going to touch your hand, doll, it's okay, it's just me,” he says, moving his hand from his sleeve to Buck's icy hand. “There you go, just like that, you're doing great Buck, you're doing great,” the small whisper he receives in response saddens him even more. Mindful of his injured leg, John rises from his place in the dingy bed to stand beside Gale. Smoothing his thumbs over the back of the younger man's hand, he gently pulls him upright. Taking Gale in his arms, John feels him relax against him, having anticipated the action, the taller had plant his feet on the floor to support their combined weight, light, too light. ....

After Bucky coaxes Buck out of his panic attack, they soak in each other presence while clinging as much as they can, convincing each other that the other is alive and well.

I have more about this if you're interest 😊

[dissociation-station123]

Chapter Five-Good for the Soul

Warning-Mention of a panic attack

Sylus’s POV

Sylus did not like owing anyone anything. His guilt of ignoring her while he was away on business gnawed at his psyche. The way she uttered not to do it again so feebly made him feel disgusted with himself.

He was being selfish. The fact he was so easily able to open up to her. Her clever intuition and ability to read him. To hang on to what she hears and figure things out. Reminding him a bit of himself. And he didn’t know how to react.

He owed her an apology and to gain back her trust. So he invited her into his world, a safe part of it at least. He felt anxious waiting for her to agree to meeting him at his Gym. And a bit happy when she finally agreed.

I’m here

Sylus smirks as he receives a text from her. The guilt of attempting to run strangely affected him more than he thought it would, especially after hearing her faltering voice when she said to not do this again. So he wanted to make it up to her somehow. She was a bit unconventional so showering her with random gifts didn’t feel quite right.

He saunters to the main doors and laughs to himself when he sees her pacing by the entrance, her anxiety on full display, her eyes scanning around the area cautiously. She wore a hoodie that seemed to swallow her whole and off brand yoga pants that cling to her well though very worn. Her hands twisted the strap of her backpack tightly. He scolded himself when the words endearing popped into his mind.

He rushes to usher her inside, “Get in quickly before someone calls the cops thinking you're up to no good.” He enjoys the glare he receives every time he teases her.

“I didn’t expect your gym to be in the ritzy end of town!” She shouts in frustration, uncomfortable with the spot he put her in. He understood the feeling but he masked it at all times, envious she wore it so openly.

He leads her further in, past the high end work out equipment and down a hall. “It’s one of the best ways to extort the rich. They join to fulfill some type of shallow goal and then forget they are even being charged after giving up.”

Her eyes glow with a devious expression, one he has grown to enjoy as much as when her eyebrows draw together induced by anger. “Fair enough.” She simply responds and he chuckles as they make their way to a large glass room, a well maintained boxing ring in the center.

“Wow!” She yelps in surprise, her eyes widening. She walks around taking in everything. “Do you have pros here?” She asks, looking toward him with interest. Always so willing to listen and understand.

“On occasion. The true champs train at my other location.” He replies, trying to maintain his facade of mystery. She rolls her eyes then and he tries not to laugh.

“So in the N109 zone then.” Always testing him, picking at his barrier for information. Never in a way where he feels she has bad intentions. Just the lack of knowing when not to pry too deep. He simply shrugs and she groans, she amuses him. Only one other person has elicited such a response from him before.

“Fine! Whatever! Let’s just do this.” She clumsily makes her way to the equipment and attempts to pick up a glove that definitely would not have fit.

He clicks his teeth as he dashes over to stop her. “Slow down Kit-“ That glare again when he mutters the nickname she hates. “Tiger… This is not quite the right one for you. Also need to stretch a bit before going all in.” She lets out a breath and returns the gloves to their designated place. “When was the last time you had a good workout?”

Her face turns at the question to avoid his eye line, she fidgets in embarrassment. “A while…” she mutters and he barely hears her answer. “Maybe never…” She crosses her arms and he feels his lips draw up in a

bright smile.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I’m honoured to be your first physical trainer.” He knows his tone is too seductive and braces when her arm reaches up to softly punch his shoulder. “See so much untapped potential.” She scoffs but he hears her tone shift to a more light hearted one.

He explains the first stretch and demonstrates. A slight groan escapes his lips as he moves and his muscles are stretched. He feels her gaze taking him in, trailing his entire body. He knows he is not playing fair by wearing gray sweatpants and a black compression shirt that exposed all his figure. “You get that sweetie. Let’s see it.” He looks over and sees her brain snap back to reality within a few seconds and she fumbles to reply. She is so much fun to tease.

She tries to mimic his movements but it’s messy. He goes to stop her but just as she leans her face scrunches in pain. He hisses as he sees her discomfort. He quickly walks to her side chastising, “Don’t attempt it if you truly don’t understand. It can be harmful done incorrectly. May I?” He hesitates to guide her, knowing she doesn't like to be touched. She nods and he feels a sense of pride that she trusts him even a little.

He frowns when he guides her by the shoulder, she holds so much tension. “I need you to take a breath for me. Relax your arms.” She winces but nods, he feels her inhale slowly. He takes hold of her arms, crossing them in front of her, tugging her close, ignoring the feeling of her pressed against him the best he can, her curves were soft. “You ok?” He feels her shiver slightly but she gives him another nod. She smells nice…

He swallows heavily but focuses on the task at hand, pulling her upward and lets out a relieved breath when her back pops in place. A soft gasp leaves her lips and he immediately releases her, “Feel better?” He asks, surprised his voice sounded a bit huskier than normal.

He watches her lift her arm and massage her neck. She turns with a wide grin, “Yeah! Ready to try that stretch again.” He returns her smile and shows her again, this time she pays close attention, following a long pretty well. After a few more he compliments her and she looks excitedly over at the ring. “Do I get to hit you now?”

He answers with a hearty laugh and they move over to the supplies. “Take off that huge hoodie.” He orders and she tilts her head, confusion on her features. “It will stifle your movements and you will overheat.”

She looks at him as if she is suspicious of his order. Yet she nods and clumsily removes the oversized clothing. A small glimpse of her flesh peaks out as her top lifts, Sylus looks away. Why did he do that?

“Ok now what?” She asks and he turns back, maintaining a flat expression. He feels a grin form as she attempts to figure out which glove works for her. He leans over her, grabbing the ones currently in her hand, towering over her figure easily.

“Not these. Here.” He reaches his body brushes lightly against hers as he takes another pair. She does not flinch this time, at his slight touch, he feels something then but ignores it. He backs away and motions for her to give him her hands. With a sense of excitement she does, he puts them on and she giggles. He laughs when she takes an awful and untrained stance punching at the air. “Not violent yet you seem so eager to punch me.”

“It’s stupid but when I was younger I always wanted to try and box. Just as a form of exercise. But classes were too expensive so it never happened. My parents never took my interest seriously and told me to focus on academics.” She shrugged as she watched him walk towards the ring. “Aren’t you going to put on gloves?”

“No need.” Instead he picks up a large pad and tosses it in the ring. “Ready?” She bounces on her toes and then rushes in, even though he lifts the ropes she still manages to trip. Yet he notices no matter how many times that happens she always manages to catch herself before falling completely.

He instructs her as she attempts to punch the pad. Sylus frowns at the weak pressure, as if she truly is not trying. He stops her and she looks up at him, “You can do better. Use your thighs, move with the swing.”

She does as he says but the power is still lacking. “You really didn’t want to hit me did you?” He complains softly and her face scrunches in a scowl but quickly falls flat.

“Honestly?” She says with a small smile, he disliked the sadness in her eyes. “Not really. I kind of just get over things ya know. Don’t want to cause any problems or unnecessary malice. Easier to move on and stick to myself.” A rage forms and it takes him by surprise. She has let others get away with too much, even himself. “I can take care of myself just fine.” She laughs and he returns it with a grin, he respects that about her.

“I’m not going to disagree. But trust me keeping that inside does not help. Let’s refocus. Think of someone you would like to, hypothetically of course…” He raises his brow and she gives a genuine smirk in return, “punch in the face. For all the anger you couldn’t let show. All the fear and pain that you felt.”

Her eyes glaze over for a second he almost rushes towards her, worried about how her posture alters. Before he could she takes a stance and looks up at him. The fire that greets him, he lets out a breath at how breathtaking it was. She nods in his direction and he fills a wicked grin form on his face, holding up the bag at the ready.

The first crossover was as weak as the originals but then she finds her footing, determined. A barrage of fists are released and he plants his foot to maintain his stance. There was the power she was holding back. He almost erupts in a villainous chuckle but holds it in as each blow pushes harder and harder, unrelenting.

Yet his pride suddenly turns to concern as pools of tears begin to form in her eyes. Losing the strength she simply refuses to stop swinging, he sees her emotions overtaking her like a tidal wave. He drops the bag to the floor, she does not stop her fist now messily colliding with his chest and waist.

He grabs her towards him, safely pulling them both down on the mat and cradling her close. He removes the gloves from her hands delicately. Her entire body is now tense and shaking, she curls her fingers into his shirt. “It’s ok, let it out. Don’t worry.” Sobbing uncontrollably, she fights him but it makes him tighten his grasp. “Nope, I need you to breathe for me.”

She hiccups and buries her face against him, still not wanting him to see her like this. He clicks his teeth, rubbing her back soothingly. “You are brave, enduring this alone.” This makes her sob harder against him, he runs through a wave of his own emotions as he attempts to calm her.

He feels better when she lets out a heaving breath. “Yes deep breaths, good girl.” He coaches her through the attack. Silence follows as she stills, and her breathing returns to normal. He attempts to wipe her tears away but she refuses to look up still.

“I’m fine.” She mutters and she moves away quickly. Still unable to accept what just happened, she hurriedly wipes her tears away herself with the back of her hand. “Thanks.” She is not too stubborn to admit that he helped.

“Why are you thanking me? It was a good spar. You have some fight in you after all.” Sylus chooses to play ignorant and she looks at him appreciatively. “Might even have what it takes to take on my pros!” He pats her head as he walks by to pick up the fighting bag.

“Sylus, please stop.” She laughs and he is happy to hear the joy in it. “I respect those that choose this lifestyle. It takes a lot out of you.” She stretches a bit and he smiles her way.

“You are a fighter in your own way.” He says sternly as she nods, “But your punches were pretty pathetic.” He watches her roll her eyes and pout a bit.

“Yeah yeah…” She grumbles her elbow lightly bumping into his side, back to her usual self. She looks up, “Thanks for today. I think I needed this.” Her features brighten and he looks away from her a strange tightness in his chest takes form.

Her stomach growls loudly interrupting the moment. “Don’t tell me you came to work out on an empty stomach?” He glares at her and she sheepishly bounces on her toes. He couldn’t stay upset with her. “Good thing I had a plan for food after this.”

Her eyes widened with excitement then she frowns, “Please don’t say a steakhouse. I’m not dressed for anything fancy.” She grumbles a bit and he finds himself laughing.

“A burger spot.” Her grin returns in an instant. “Famous spot in the N109 zone.” She pauses at his words, she knows this is a rarity. That he is allowing her into his life step by step, so fucking clever.

“Now your talking Sylus.” She rushes to put away the gloves, clumsily throwing on her hoodie, and grabbing her bag. “Let’s go!” She announces and he gladly follows.

As he locks the doors she says, “I am surprised you picked a burger spot.” He would have never made such a decision in the past. In fact he had to ask Luke and Kieran for a recommendation. When he did they teased him relentlessly.

“Someone once told me food like that is good for the soul. Think our souls need to be rejuvenated. Don‘t you?” He turns toward her and she furiously nods in agreement, everything she does is so damn endearing…

[arcadia-smith]

TW:abuse, torture, SA.

Find Part 1 here

Simon Riley x Reader

The Interpreter's Prayer

Part 2

***

It was one of those fleeting weekends, the kind that felt stolen from time itself- where the demands of work fell silent, and the weather conspired just enough to lure you outdoors.

You and Simon, untethered from duty, had decided to take Mia to the playground, her laughter ringing out like tiny chimes against the backdrop of a breezy afternoon.

"I don't know, Simon," you murmured, exhaling a sigh that felt heavier than the wind brushing past your cheeks. Your fingers swept stray strands of hair from your face as your gaze lingered on Mia, her small figure darting through the jungle gym. "The field isn’t my place. I’m an interpreter, not a soldier."

Simon’s response was as steady as the earth beneath your feet. “You’ve passed every physical and psychological test the sergeants have thrown at you,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “And if I’m being honest, you shoot better than half of them.”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, a mixture of disbelief and reluctant amusement. “Why me, Simon? Why do you need me for this?”

He turned to you, his eyes steady, carrying the weight of unspoken truths. “Because you speak Arabic. Because you wear a woman’s face.” His voice was measured but edged with quiet urgency. “And because Basma will only trust us if she sees someone like you. It’s a simple job—quick, clean. In and out. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Your brow furrowed, doubt threading through your voice. “And what about Mia? My mum’s all the way in London, and I can’t ask her to drop everything.”

Simon reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, a silent anchor amidst the storm of your thoughts. “Johnny’s already agreed. He’ll take care of her. Three days- no more. I swear I’ll bring you back without so much as a scratch.”

He paused, his lips curving into a small, hopeful smile. “And maybe, after this, we can revisit that conversation about giving Mia a little sibling?”

You scoffed, shaking your head, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at your lips. Before you could form a reply, Mia’s voice rang out, bright and insistent.

“Daddy! Come push me on the swing!”

She bounded toward Simon, her tiny hand clasping his with the determination only a five-year-old could muster. With a soft chuckle, he let her lead him away, leaving you on the bench, the echo of their laughter swirling in the air.

Your heart wavered, caught between the unease of his request and the quiet confidence in his promise. You weren’t thrilled by the thought of stepping into the field, but you understood why he had asked. And despite your fears, you trusted Simon’s word- that you’d return home, unscathed, to the sanctuary of your daughter’s laughter and his steadfast embrace.

***

Darkness greeted you like an old enemy.

Your consciousness returned in fragments, each shard bringing new pain, your head a symphony of dull aches and dried blood turned to rust in your hair.

Movement became a study in agony — every muscle a testament to violence. The chain around your ankle sang cold songs against your skin as it trapped you in this tomb of shadows.

Awareness crept in slowly, like poison through veins: the chill air kissing bare skin, your clothes stripped away like dignity, leaving you vulnerable in cotton basics that offered no armor against the world.

Pain bloomed like dark flowers across your body — legs, arms, stomach. And deeper still, where violation lived like a curse.

The cold floor became your sanctuary as you curled inward, knees drawing close like a child seeking comfort in the womb.

Time lost meaning in the darkness, minutes or hours flowing past like black water while you lay there, a comma in death's sentence.

Tears gathered like morning dew, but pride held them prisoner. You wouldn't give them the satisfaction of salt tracks on your cheeks.

Anger rose like a tide — at Simon, whose faith in you had become a betrayal, whose love had led you from safety into nightmare. At the men who'd written their cruelty on your flesh in bruises and blood.

Then Basma's face floated through your mind like a ghost, followed by her children — and Noor, sweet Noor, whose tears had been the last light you'd seen before darkness claimed you.

The voices outside grew like thunder clouds, Arabic words seeping through walls "If she's awake, we'll make her speak."

Then another voice, smooth as silk hiding steel "I need to find my wife. That's all I care about. Do what you want with the foreign woman." Nasir — a man whose name tasted like ash and endings.

Light invaded like a blade, carving through darkness to blind you. In the doorway, a silhouette became a man whose eyes held all the warmth of winter frost, his satisfaction curved like a scythe across his face.

"Little hero awake." His words stumbled from his tongue, broken English sharp as shattered glass.

His gaze crawled across your skin like insects, his tongue darting out — a snake tasting fear in the air. He moved with the terrible patience of a predator who knows its prey is trapped, fingers suddenly tangling in your hair like thorns. Your head snapped back, neck exposed to the cold air. His other hand found your face, fingers tracing your features like a sculptor modeling clay, but there was nothing of art in his touch — only ownership and cruel intent.

"It will be more fun while you're awake." Each word fell like acid rain, promising storms to come.

Pain bloomed as he yanked you upward, your gasp a butterfly breaking free against your will.

"Tell me where that traitor wife is and I might not hurt your pretty face more than I already have." His words slithered through the air as his fingers found your throat, a collar of cruelty tightening with each breath.

Your defiant silence painted rage across his features. He threw you down like a discarded doll, but his anger transformed into something worse — a terrible pleasure that turned his mouth cruel.

He descended like a shadow, dragging you closer by your chained ankle. You fought with all the fury of a caged storm, legs kicking, but his strength overwhelmed yours like darkness swallowing light. His weight pressed you into the cold floor, a mountain you couldn't move.

Tears you held hidden now broke free, a loud scream of pain as you tried to claw at man's shoulders. To push him away, yet he seemed immune to your struggles.

Closing your eyes you drifted off. To thoughts of Simon and Mia. And a sunny day at the park. Far away from here.

The chill on bare skin once more returned. You were left raw and exposed.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Foxglove Downs Chapter 4: The Date

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Marcus finds a way to make his indiscretion up to you. Marcus girlies, this one is for you. Warnings: Love triangle, horse talk, jealousy, pining, angst, flirting, a dusting of dbf but more like dad's best mentee, smut, publicish sex, getting finger banged in an alley, age gap (Marcus is in his 40’s, Lucius is in his 20’s). Reader is in her 30's, has hair, and has a nickname: Sunny. Words: 4,500

A/N: Thank you to my lovely beta @devineconjuring. Thank you for my being my personal Pac-Man and eating all of my dots. 🫶🏻

Foxglove Downs Masterlist Masterlist

Previous Chapter

—-

Nobody watching asks how the horses get to the competitions, but you know all too well how much work and preparation goes into getting just a singular 1,200-pound animal to the arena. The stables are always abuzz during the days and weeks leading up to a match, especially when it’s the Grand Championships.

You’ve been lucky to avoid both men for the past few days, though you feel like you can still feel the sting of your hand slapping Marcus’s face, your anger and frustration with him. The softness of Lucius’s lips against yours, your hesitancy and wonder about your situation. After all these years of lingering looks and hesitant touches with Marcus, of moments where it felt like his eyes were only on you, now he feels like he owns you?

Lucius let you in to see another side of him, one more grounded and caring, less brash and arrogant. In his celebrity-filled world, why does it seem like he only wants you?

Not now, you keep repeating to yourself as you walk through the tack room with your clipboard, making notes of what needs to be packed. 

Someone clears their throat deeply, catching your attention. You freeze at the sound and look up, meeting dark brown eyes, wide under brows drawn down in apprehension. Marcus stands only a few feet away from you. 

“Sunny.”

“Marcus.” 

He takes a step closer. “I… I wanted to apologize,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “For the way I acted by the lake.”

His handsome face is etched in remorse. The room is quiet, save for the soft, distant sounds of your horses. 

“I shouldn’t have said those things,” he continues, his eyes never leaving yours. “It was out of line, and I’m sorry.” 

“I appreciate the apology. But you can’t just say and assume those things and expect it to be okay. Listen, I don’t know what you and Lucius have going on between you, but I am not part of it.” 

He nods, his jaw clenched. “I know. I let my feelings get the better of me. Sunny, I–” he begins, before taking a deep breath. “I care about you. More than I probably should. I-I’ve known you for so long, and I’ve been able to… seeing you with Lucius, it just…” He trails off, shaking his head, his fingers fidgeting at his sides. 

“Marcus, I’m not with Lucius,” you say, heart hammering in your chest. 

A bit of hope flickers across his features. “You’re not?”

“No,” you shake your head. “But the way you spoke to me still hurt me, and the accusations you made, the way you made me feel…”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he says quickly, stepping forward. “Can I please make it up to you?”

The hopeful way his voice sounds at the end makes your heart melt, like he can’t bear to think you won’t forgive him. You hesitate, staring into his vulnerable eyes. 

“Can I take you to dinner tonight? There’s a place a couple of towns away that makes me think of you every time I go. Please?”

“It’s a date,” you respond with a small smile, finding it hard to believe Marcus Acacius just asked you out on a date.

“I’ll pick you up around 8?” he says, smiling wide. You’ve only seen him smile like this when he’d won a competition. 

“Sounds good.” 

“Then it’s a date.” He nods, knocking against the door frame before striding away. You focus back on your checklist, feeling like a golden trophy. 

—-

You fret for longer than you’d ever care to admit over what dress you’ll wear. The velvet dress is too revealing. The long navy dress is too formal. The pink dress–well, that’s the dress that got you into the situation. Marcus has already seen this dress on you–under Lucius’s jacket as he dropped you off. You play it safe, choosing a simple cream dress with delicate blooms of flowers stitched across it, paired with sensible heels. 

The doorbell chimes promptly at 8:00 PM.

You straighten your dress and take a deep, centering breath before opening the door. 

Marcus Acacius stands on your doorstep wearing a dark suit that hugs his broad shoulders. He’s left the top couple of buttons undone, exposing a bit of his tanned skin. He holds a beautiful bouquet of pink foxgloves in his hand, holding them out to you with a sweet smile that falters as his eyes roam over your body. You want to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming when you follow the gulp of air he swallows down. 

“I, uh, hope you don’t mind the foxgloves again. Call me unoriginal, but I don’t know what flowers you like. Figure this honors the stables.”

“Actually, I love foxgloves, thanks,” you say, smiling and inhaling the sweet scent. “Come on in. Make yourself at home while I grab a vase.”

He hesitates before following you in. 

“I haven’t been in here since your parents moved,” he says, a bit of surprise in his voice as he takes in his surroundings. “It’s been a while.”

“I’ve tried to change some things up. It’s kind of weird still living in your childhood home, but the commute to work isn’t bad.” 

“I like it,” he says before picking up a framed photo of you with your parents. “I remember this day.”

“Of course you do,” you say nonchalantly as you fill a vase. “It was yours and Barley’s first championship.” 

“Well, yes, but I mean I remember you that day.” His voice lowers, and you almost drop the vase. 

You look up, your heart skipping a beat when you see the intensity of his eyes. 

“You had the biggest smile on your face when I won.” 

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you hide the look on your face by looking down and adjusting the flowers arranged in the vase. 

“I was just excited for you… and Barley, of course.”

He sets the frame down and hums in acknowledgment before his eyes roam around the room again. “It does feel different in here.”

—-

A simple black Audi with tinted windows. That’s what three-time world champion horse jumper Marcus Acacius drives every day. It makes sense, really–the car is understated, luxurious, and reliable, a lot like him.

The countryside is dark outside Marcus’s car as he drives you to dinner. Small talk fills the twenty-minute drive. You’re able to occasionally steal glances at him in the dark interior of the car, his features lit by the dashboard.

“It’s a beautiful night,” you say, breaking a moment of comfortable silence.

Marcus nods, his eyes fixed on the road.

“It is. I’m—” he clears his throat. “I’m glad you let me take you out.”

"I'm glad too.”

He glances over at you, his dark brown eyes twinkling in the night, and his small smile makes your heart flutter.

—- The Winding Path is unassuming and quaint. The small restaurant is tucked away inside an ivy-covered brick building, simple yet upscale.

The maître’d greets Marcus warmly, clearly recognizing him as a regular patron, before leading you to a secluded table near the back of the dining room. You slide into the plush velvet booth, and Marcus slides in next to you–closer than you expect, his thigh brushing against yours.

The candlelight from the votive on the table flickers across Marcus’s face. You can’t look away from his eyes as he holds up his tumbler of whiskey to cheers your martini.

“To you slapping me in my face,” he says with a smirk as he toasts you. “I deserved it.”

“You deserved it,” you say as you clink your glass against his with a wide grin.

"So, um, are you looking forward to Rome?" he asks while waiting for your entrees.

"I am. It's always beautiful there. Have you been practicing your Italian?"

He chuckles. "A little. I can at least order a coffee now without completely butchering the language."

“Un caffè nero per favore.” (One black coffee please.)

He hums an appreciative noise, his eyebrow quirking up. “That’s it. How’d you know I take my coffee black?”

“That’s how you used to ask for it whenever my mom would make you a cup.”

“Good memory.”

“I suppose so.”

Conversation flows easily, but moments of comfortable silence settle between you as you enjoy your meals. Each look exchanged between you lingers longer than propriety dictates. Marcus doesn’t shy away; his eyes follow the movement of your hands and the curve of your smile.

“So, I’ve been wondering. Why does this place remind you of me?” you ask as Marcus settles the check. “All I see is a nice restaurant.”

"It’s not just the restaurant. It’s how I feel when I’m here.” You tilt your head in confusion, intrigued by what he has to say. “How so?” “My first apartment when I moved here to train was across the street. The parking lot we parked in—that’s the same lot I used to park in almost twenty years ago after long training sessions at Foxglove. “When I’m here, I feel at peace. Like nobody sees the trophies or championships. They just see me, and I can exist without any pretense or expectation. I can just… breathe.”

“And that reminds you of me?”

“Yes. It reminds me of Foxglove Downs and you.”

In all the years you've known him, you've never seen this side of him, this vulnerability, this openness. It shocks you.

“Marcus–I… that means a lot.”

"Would you like to take a walk?" he asks, a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “I’d like to show you my favorite place here. There’s a park not far away."

You nod, your heart still racing at his confession and the new side of Marcus he’s showing you. He’s charming, sweeter, less gruff, and more vulnerable. You truly feel like he might be taking you on an actual date. 

"I'd love to."

Marcus offers you his arm as you step out into the cool evening air.

The park is a quick walk from the restaurant. Marcus leads you through the wrought-iron gate to a wooden bench in front of a sizable fountain.

You sit as a chill rolls through your body, and you shiver. Marcus notices, quickly removing his jacket and laying it over your shoulders.

“Better?” he asks. 

You nod, relishing the warm scent of him surrounding you.

"Did I ever tell you about my first competition?" Marcus's voice breaks through the gentle trickle of the water and brisk nighttime breeze.

“No,” you reply, genuinely curious. “But please, tell me.” 

“It was a disaster.” A chuckle escapes him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I was fifteen, perched atop a borrowed horse that was not as enthusiastic about jumping as I was."

You smile, making a little hmph at the thought. Marcus looks over and grins, encouraged by your reaction.

"The horse's name was Thunderbolt–ironic because he was the exact opposite of fast. I was convinced I was destined for the trophy. My palms were so sweaty I could barely hold the reins. My name is called. We trot into the arena and, as we approach the first jump, Thunderbolt eyes it warily, but I feel confident. We pick up speed, and just as he's about to jump, Thunderbolt decides he'd rather not. He stops dead in his tracks, so I go sailing over his head, right into the jump."

"Oh no! Were you hurt?"

Marcus shakes his head and chuckles again. "Only my pride. I landed in a heap of poles and sawdust. The crowd was dead silent for a moment, and then everyone burst into laughter."

"What did you do?"

"I stood up, dusted myself off, and took a bow. Then I led Thunderbolt out of the arena with the little dignity as I had left.”

Your laugh echoes across the nighttime air, and Marcus’s smile is wide as he watches you.

"Wow, you did need my dad."

"Indeed.”

It’s always been so clear, Marcus’s unyielding tenacity, his quiet strength—it isn’t just what makes Marcus Acacius a formidable competitor; it was what made him extraordinary, period. This feeling of admiration you have for him is rooted in something far beyond your shared love for horses and the sport.

"Thank you," you say softly after a while. "For sharing that with me."

"Only fair. I’ve known you for so long, yet I feel like I barely know you outside of Foxglove. And that could be my fault.” He lets out a long, deep sigh. “I’d like to know you.”

You feel the weight of his words settle between you.

"Marcus," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "I never realized—"

"Realized what?" he interrupts, turning towards you with a curiosity that mirrors your own.

"Never mind," you say, dismissing your half-formed thought with a wave of your hand. It's foolish, really, how one person's earnestness can suddenly make the night seem so intimate.

He reaches for your hand, his large one engulfing yours, instantly warming you. Your fingers tangle. A jolt of electricity surges through you, leaving you breathless, and you quickly withdraw your hand.

"Sorry," Marcus murmurs, but his eyes don't leave yours.

"Me too," you reply, though you're not sure what you're apologizing for—the touch or your reaction to it.

You glance up at him, and something in his gaze changes—a softening around the edges, a vulnerability that beckons you closer.

"Marcus..." you begin again. This time, you let the silence after his name hang between you, filled with all the things you want to say but can't quite voice.

He leans forward, closing the distance until you can see the flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes. "Sunny," he whispers.

And then his lips are on yours, hesitant at first, as if testing the reality of the moment. But the hesitation gives way to urgency, and you find yourself responding equally. Your hands grip the smooth fabric of his button-up shirt, pulling him closer. His kiss is everything you imagined—intense, consuming, and perfect.

Just as quickly as it begins, Marcus pulls away, his breaths coming out in short gasps. He looks around, widening his eyes when he realizes you’re both out in the open, exposed to whoever wants to walk by.

“Follow me?”

You nod and grab his hand, this time not pulling away.

—-

You follow him back through the streets, now with your hand in his, as he leads you to a narrow alley nestled between two buildings.

He gently backs you up against the rough brick wall, and his hands settle on your hips. Your breath catches as he leans in, his lips hovering right in front of yours.

You’re panting for air as he closes the distance, capturing your lips in a kiss.

Your hands slide up his chest to loop around his neck and pull him closer. His tongue brushes against your lower lip, and you happily oblige in letting him in.

A low groan rumbles in Marcus's chest as he presses his body flush against yours, the heat of him flowing through the thin fabric of your dress. His hands roam your body, caressing and kneading. Your head falls back against the brick wall as his mouth travels along your jaw, teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"I've wanted this for so long,” he breathes against your skin.

You gasp a response as Marcus's large hands clutch your ass. He pulls your hips firmly against his, his cock pressing insistently against you as he begins to grind slowly.

"Oh god, Marcus," you moan breathlessly, your nails digging into his shoulder blades as you roll your hips against him.

He hitches your leg up around his waist to allow him to grind against you harder, angling himself against you in a way that makes you bite your lip, resisting the urge to scream his name. He’s thick and throbbing against you.

“Fuck,” you whisper into the cool night air as his tongue laves across your neck.

He grunts against you when he rocks into you harder, faster. There’s a coil of tension low in your belly, winding itself tighter and tighter. The years of dreaming about him, of watching him from afar, of lingering looks and touches–you’ve been drawn to him for almost twenty years, through college, boyfriends that didn’t last, championship trophies, and now, Lucius.

Now, his strong body is pressed against yours, his hands and mouth all over you. It feels like two decades of longing are finally coming to fruition.

His hand snakes between your bodies, and his fingers slip beneath the hem of your dress to caress the smooth skin of your inner thigh. He looks up at you, his dark brown eyes almost black in the glow of the street lights and distant moon.

Slowly, he trails his fingers higher, skimming the lace edge of your panties.

He nods–an ask for permission.

You respond, nodding fervently, your mouth agape and eyes wide.

"Fuck, so wet for me already," he whispers approvingly as he feels the pool of your wetness gathered. He rubs you through the thin barrier, the pressure of his fingers against your swollen, sensitive pussy making you whimper with need.

"Shh, baby," he whispers. "We don't want anyone to hear what a needy little thing you are, do we?"

You softly groan. Fuck, he’s got a dirty mouth.

He tugs your panties to the side, exposing your wet heat to the cool night air. You gasp as his fingers finally touch you, stroking you with a maddeningly light touch. He traces your slit from bottom to top, circling your aching clit.

"Please, Marcus," you breathe.

He silences you with a deep, claiming kiss, swallowing your moans as he finally sinks one long finger into your tight hole. Your walls clench, drawing him in deeper. He pumps into you slowly, letting you feel every inch as he slowly stretches you open.

Soon, a second finger joins the first, your hips trying to meet his hand as his fingers fill and stretch you. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles around the sensitive nub in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

You grip his shirt in your fists, holding on for dear life. Your hips rock shamelessly against his hand, meeting each thrust, desperate for more. The wet sounds of his fingers plunging in and out of your soaked pussy seem obscenely loud in the quiet night air.

"Fuck my fingers, Sunny. You’re doing so good," he growls, nipping at your earlobe. "You’re taking me so well.”

His filthy words rumbling against you are nearly enough to push you over the edge. A high, keening moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, earning you a particularly hard thrust.

"Quiet, remember? Or I'll have to stop." His fingers still inside you and you clench around him frantically, silently begging him to continue. Your eyes meet his, your teeth biting down on your lip to stifle the sounds that want to escape.

You give him a singular nod.

“Good girl,” he says as he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you at a maddening pace.

Your head falls against the brick wall. His words, his touch, the feeling of his fingers buried deep inside you, the years of longing–it’s all too much. Your pussy begins to radiate heat throughout your body. Marcus backs you up farther against the wall as your knees begin to quake, and you flood his hand with your slick.

He works you through your orgasm, whispering filthy praises in your ear as you ride out the aftershocks.

“That’s it. You’re so beautiful when you cum for me. You’re squeezing my fingers so tight. I can’t wait to feel how sweet your pussy feels around m—”

BANG! The sound of a door slamming open nearby makes you both freeze.

Loud laughter and voices fill the night air as a group of bar patrons stumbles out into the street.

"Fuck," Marcus curses under his breath. He quickly withdraws his fingers from your pulsing core, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

The taste of you on his fingers makes Marcus groan softly.

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, your body still thrumming from the intense orgasm.

The drunken laughter grows louder as the group approaches. You hastily smooth down your dress and fix your panties while Marcus adjusts himself, trying to hide the obvious bulge straining against his slacks.

Just as the bar patrons round the corner, you and Marcus step out of the shadowed alley, trying your best to look casual and not like you were just getting finger-fucked against a brick wall moments ago.

"Evening," Marcus nods politely as you pass by the group. A few mumble greetings back, but most are too drunk to pay you any mind.

Once you're a safe distance away, you glance at each other and burst out laughing, giddy from the close call. Marcus takes your hand, interlacing your fingers.

"Come on, I'll drive you home," he says.

—-

Marcus keeps one hand on the wheel while the other rests high on your thigh, his thumb rubbing maddening circles across your soft flesh. You’re aching to feel his hands on you again, to finish what you started.

All too soon, he pulls onto the grounds of Foxglove Downs and up the hill to your home.

You don’t want the night to end. The anticipation that’s been building since he asked you out, how sweet he was during dinner, the other side he showed you of himself after knowing him for twenty years, the feel of his fingers on you in the darkened alley. You hope he can feel the heat you feel for him radiating off of you as it crackles in the air.

Marcus puts the car in park, and the engine quiets, leaving only the sound of your breathing.

He turns to face you, his dark eyes smoldering. “I had a wonderful time tonight.” “Me too,” you whisper with a slight tremble. “I… I don’t want it to end.”

His gaze drops to your lips, and he leans closer, his hand sliding higher up your thigh. "Neither do I.”

Emboldened by the privacy of the car and the cover of night, you place your hand over his, guiding it higher until his fingers brush the edge of your panties. "So why don't you come inside."

He inhales sharply, his eyes fluttering closed for a second as if struggling to maintain control. “I want to.”

“Then do it,” you breathe.

He takes your hand as you exit the car. You lead him up the familiar path to your door—the same one you used to watch him walk up all those years ago as you sat in your room.

As you find your keys, Marcus’s hands find your waist, his fingertips skimming the thin fabric of your dress. His breath is hot against your neck, his lips just grazing your sensitive skin. Finally, the key slides into the lock, and the door swings open.

You step inside, flicking on the entryway light. The soft glow illuminates Marcus's handsome features as he follows you in, his dark eyes sweeping over the familiar surroundings.

He pauses, his gaze landing on a framed photo on the wall - a much younger version of you grinning with your father.

The realization seems to wash over him as you turn, already skimming the sleeves of your dress down your arms.

“We’ve really known each other for so long, haven’t we?” Marcus asks, his eyes still on the photo.

You pause, your dress half-off, and follow his gaze to the photo. A younger you smiles back, the same you who dreamed about having Marcus all alone in this house with you.

"We have," you agree softly, letting your dress fall to the floor, leaving you in just your lacy bra and panties. "Sometimes it feels like a lifetime."

Marcus turns to you, his eyes widening as he takes in your nearly naked form. You can see his throat bob as he swallows hard.

"Sunny," he breathes.

"I've wanted this��wanted you–for so long," you confess.

Marcus steps forward, his hand coming up to gently cup your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean into his palm.

"Sunny," he whispers again.

Slowly, he leans in, his nose brushing against yours as he tilts your face up to his.

His eyes dart back to the photo of you and your father, and with a low, frustrated groan, Marcus backs away.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. Not… not with everything.”

Your head turns, curiosity and frustration passing across your face.

You blink in confusion, your heart sinking as Marcus takes another step back. "What do you mean?" you ask.

Marcus runs a hand through his hair, his expression torn. "Sunny, I–I like you. But your father, he's been like a mentor to me. And now, with the Rome Championship coming up..." He trails off, his eyes flickering between you and the photo on the wall.

"Marcus," you say softly, taking a step towards him. "My father doesn't have to factor into this. We're both adults."

He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. "It's not just that. There's Lucius, the competition, Foxglove. I can't afford any distractions right now."

You feel a flash of hurt at his words. "Is that what I am? A distraction?"

"No, of course not," Marcus says quickly, reaching out to touch your arm but stopping himself. "You're so much more than that. But the timing... it's all wrong."

You wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling very exposed in just your underwear. "So what was this then? Just a moment of weakness?"

Marcus's eyes soften as he looks at you. "It was real—it is real. But I can’t—I can’t lose focus. And you deserve someone who can give you their full attention."

"I'm not asking for your full attention, Marcus. I'm just asking for a chance."

Marcus sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. "I know. And believe me, I want to give us that chance. But there's so much at stake right now."

"So that's it then?" Your voice trembles slightly. "We just pretend this never happened?"

Marcus looks at you, his eyes filled with regret. "I think... I think it's for the best. At least for now."

You nod slowly, fighting back the tears that threaten to fall. "I understand. You should go."

He pauses, looking like he wants to say more. Instead, he simply nods and turns towards the door, reaching for the doorknob.

"Marcus?"

His shoulders deflate at how fragile your voice sounds. He looks back at you over his shoulder.

"Was any of it real? Tonight, I mean."

"Every second of it,” he answers, leaving you standing alone in your entryway in only your underwear.

—-

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please excuse to lack of Lucius in this chapter... Marcus girlies... you're welcome? I think?

—-

Tagging those who asked and some friends! Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@ohheypedrito, @schnarfer, @magpiepills, @sawymredfox, @devineconjuring

@mothandpidgeon, @hellfire-state-of-mind, @darkheartgatita, @umnitsa, @christinamadsen

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