#there is another ash set i plan on doing

[after-avenging-hours]

Pollinators Beware: Dante x Reader

Summary: While traveling with Dante and slicing through the roots of the Demon Tree, you accidentally cut through a flowering bud that sprays you with demonic sex pollen. Dante rushes you into a nearby, abandoned building and helps you burn the pollen out of your system.

Word Count: 13,844

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Explicit Sexual Content, Dante's Devil Trigger, Sex Pollen, Dubcon-ish

Author's Notes: I started writing this while playing DMC5 when it first came out, and then never finished it. The new anime inspired me to pull it out of my drafts, and now we're here. Enjoy this absolute filth.

I do try to establish consent before the pollen sets in, but some might still consider this dubcon. Read at your own risk.

Additional Notes: Takes place during the beginning events of DMC5, before Dante's first battle with Urizen, so he's still in his normal Devil Trigger. Although, I've got plans for a Sin Devil Trigger follow-up to this }:]

“It’s a good thing we don’t have a garden,” you huff, jamming your sword into another glowing red section of the giant, demonic root. “Because I would probably burn the whole thing to ash after dealing with this damn demon tree.” You twist and shove the hilt of your sword, cutting a deep slice into the root. The color of it changes to a sickly grey before the whole thing turns to ash.

“Don’t think you could keep a cactus alive, let alone a whole garden,” Dante quips back, thrusting his own blade into the weak spot of a different root.

“Hey! I’ve managed to keep you alive this long. At least a plant won’t talk back.”

His mouth tilts to the side, beginning to form that devil-may-care grin he’s known for. He grips Rebellion’s hilt with both hands, jerking the blade to the side to create a horizontal gash down the length of the root. He pulls the sword back out right before the Qliphoth root turns to ash as well. He swings the blade upward, resting it casually against his shoulder as he saunters toward you.

“Tell you what… When we get out of this mess and kill whatever sorry excuse of a demon is lurking up in that tree, I’ll get you a plant and you can decide if you want to keep it or light it up. I’m sure it’ll be therapeutic for you either way.”

Your lips split into a matching grin. “I appreciate you saying when we get out of this and not if.”

He lifts his free hand up and shrugs his shoulder. “When have you ever known me to be lacking in confidence?”

“Good point,” you laugh.

The two of you make your way down the city street and turn the corner, only to find a whole other series of roots tangled together and blocking your path.

“Damn it,” you groan. “Better make it something cheap, because it’s getting more and more likely that I’ll torch the damn thing.”

Dante chuckles lowly. “Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ tired.”

You tighten your grip on your sword and make your way to the closest root. “Not tired. Just annoyed with how repetitive this is getting.” You raise the sword high above your head, and swing it straight down. You pierce directly through the weak spot and slice the root into two separate pieces.

Once the root has turned to ash, you find that three Riot demons have been waiting behind it for you. The tails on their reptilian-like bodies swish from side to side as they immediately begin to close in. Razor-sharp claws click against the pavement with their every step.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Dante tells you with an amused smirk.

“What, this?” you smirk back. “This is just foreplay.” You shoot him a saucy wink before jumping right in and taking on the first demon to reach you.

You and Dante work together seamlessly, dispatching the demons and sending them back to the hell from whence they came. Dodging swipes of their claws and the swings of their tails, the two of you make quick work of them, along with the three others that spawn during the fight.

Dante finishes off the last one as you approach the next Qliphoth root.

“Well, this is new,” you mutter to yourself. Instead of glowing red, this root is glowing green and it has flowering buds growing off of it. Without much thought, you square your stance and raise your sword. “Let’s see if you come apart just as easily as the others.”

You dart forward just as Dante looks over. His eyes widen when he sees what you’re about to do. “No wait!” he shouts in warning, but it’s too late.

Your blade has already pierced directly through the middle of one of the flower buds and deep into the root. In an instant, the bud bursts from your attack and bright yellow powder shoots directly at you.

You gasp in shock, immediately inhaling a lungful of the sickly-sweet smelling powder.

“Shit!” you can vaguely hear Dante’s curse. He uses a burst of demonic energy to dart toward you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back.

You cough and hack for breath, but the yellow dust is all over your face and stuck to your hair and clothes. Dante grits his teeth, smelling the scent of it. His eyes dilate, and his mouth waters.

“Fuck, that’s not good.” He mutters under his breath. He takes a quick glance around the empty street before lifting your body into his arms and kicking the door down of a nearby building and carrying you inside.

It’s an empty bar. Dante quickly deposits you on the cushioned seat of a booth against the back wall. He then bee-lines straight for the bar, easily hopping over it, rather than going around. You continue trying to cough the powder from your lungs as he riffles around behind the bar.

When he comes back to the table, he sets down a bottle of expensive whiskey and holds a damp wash cloth in his other hand.

“What’s that for?” you question around your coughing.

“This is for you,” he raises the wash cloth up and sits next to you on the bench, reaching over to wipe the dust off your face. “Close your eyes,” he instructs. His touch is unusually gentle as he swipes the wet cloth over your features. Across your forehead, over your brows, down the slope of your nose. He’s close enough that you can hear his shallow breaths. It sounds like he’s intentionally trying not to breathe too deeply.

After he’s wiped the dust from your eyelids and cheeks, your eyes flicker open, catching the concentrated look on his own face as he finishes with a swipe over your chin and a light tug against your lips. He stares at your mouth for another moment, his blue eyes smoldering, before his gaze lifts to yours.

When he realizes you’d been watching, he swallows thickly and shifts back, tossing the cloth onto the tabletop. “This is for me,” he continues, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and uncorking the top. He lifts the bottle to his lips and takes several long gulps.

His actions are a slight cause for concern. “Dante… what did I just inhale?” you ask, feeling your heartrate picking up slightly.

His face pulls into a grimace. “Fuck,” is all the response you get before he slams the bottle back onto the table and pushes himself out of the booth. He starts to pace back and forth, looking lost in thought as he absentmindedly runs his fingers through his snowy hair and across the stubble on his jaw.

“Dante.” You say again firmly, trying desperately to keep a level head, even when you feel the panic building inside you. “Am I going to die?” you ask, point blank. You weren’t exactly one for sugar coating and wanted to know exactly what you were up against.

Dante comes to a stop, releasing a long sigh and placing his hands on his hips. “No, you’re not going to die,” he informs you, finally meeting your gaze once more. “But you might feel like it.” His gaze remains serious as it holds yours, watching for your reaction. “You just inhaled a shit ton of demonic sex pollen.”

It takes a second for his words to register in your mind. Once they do, you release a shaky breath as you start to realize all that entails. “Well, fuck.” You reach for the bottle of whiskey and take several swigs of your own. The liquor burns even more than usual with your throat already raw from coughing up the pollen. You slam the bottle back down and wipe your lips with the back of your hand. “How long before it sets in?”

“Not long,” Dante shifts his stance from one foot to the next. “Which is why we need to come up with a game plan before it does.”

You furrow your brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Dante gives you a flat look. “Babe, you’re about to be hornier than a werewolf in heat. You will do and say just about anything to find some relief, so before that starts impacting your decision-making skills, I need to know now if you want me to, you know… get involved.”

You stare at him blankly, pretty sure that his implication may have short-circuited your brain.

He grimaces again, running his hands through his hair once more. “Look, I know I’m an asshole, even on a good day, but I’m not about to take advantage of you when you’re hopped up on sex drugs. So, before the pollen takes effect, you gotta give me something.”

“Yes.” You manage to choke out, embarrassment making your face hot.

“Yes, what?” He coaxes, needing there to be absolutely no doubt.

“Yes, you have my permission to… help.”

“Okay,” he nods once. He holds your gaze for a long moment before moving back and stepping toward the next booth. He pulls Rebellion off his back and sets the sword down on the table. He shakes his head slowly and releases a long sigh, “Damn, this is not how I imagined this going.” He unholsters Ebony and Ivory next, setting the dual pistols down on either side of his blade.

“Imagined what?” you ask, desperate to keep him talking, to keep your mind distracted from what’s about to happen to your body.

He unsnaps the fastenings on the back of his leather gloves. “You and me finally breaking the sexual tension that’s been brewing since we started partnering up.” His eyes meet yours as he lifts a hand to his face. His lips soon part right before his teeth sink into the worn leather of the glove, and he uses that to leverage it free. He maintains the eye contact as he does the same with the other glove.

You squeeze your thighs together when a throb develops between them from watching the erotic sight in front of you. You’re the one to break the connection and look away this time, letting out a dry scoff. “I think you may be exaggerating that a little,” you play off. “As I recall, there was a good amount of hostility brewing in the beginning there.”

Dante shrugs his shoulders casually. “That’s because someone has an authority complex and can’t take orders for shit.”

You can’t help but smirk at that. “I’m glad to hear you can admit that about yourself now, Dante.”

He rolls his eyes, but is inwardly relieved that you seem to be falling back into your usual banter. He was fairly good at hiding it, but internally he was completely freaking out. He’d only had one other previous encounter with sex pollen in his life and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. He’d also only inhaled a small fraction of what you’ve been exposed to. He had no idea what to expect from this.

“But seriously,” your voice startles him from his thoughts. He hadn’t even noticed that you had moved and were standing right next to him. You place your hand gently on his shoulder and meet his gaze. “There isn’t a single person on this earth that I trust more than you, Dante. You know that, right?”

He looks deep into your eyes, feeling your sincerity pour down into his soul. “I know,” he confirms.

You push lightly on his shoulder to get his body to turn to face yours. He does so without protest, watching as your other hand moves up to cup his cheek. His stubble tickles your palm as you cradle his jaw. You run your fingers over the coarse hairs for a moment before you begin to guide his face to yours.

You release another shaky breath right before your lips press to his. Dante’s lips are soft and warm. A contrast to the scratch of his stubble against your smooth cheeks, but even that is a pleasant sensation. It sends prickles of awareness through your whole body.

You feel his hands grip your hips and he begins to respond to your advances. He kisses back long and slow, like he’s got all the time in the world. You feel your heartrate pick up, your body lighting up under his touch. You release a whimpering moan and pull him even closer.

You arch your back to knock your hips against his and rub up on him like a cat. You’re pressed close enough that you feel the erection beginning to form in his pants. A jolt of excitement runs up your spine, right before you feel a pang deep in your belly.

You pull out of the kiss with a gasp. “Dante,” your hands fall from his face to his shoulders, where you then grip the lapels of his coat. Another painful twinge rips through you. Your legs buckle as you hiss a breath through gritted teeth.

“Whoa! I’ve got you.” Dante pulls your body into his before you have the chance to fall. He grips the back of your thighs and lifts you up, guiding your legs around his waist. He quickly moves back to the next booth, gently placing you on the empty tabletop. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, lips pressed to your temple.

“God, that hurts like a bitch,” you release a low whimper as another pang builds up. It feels like menstrual cramps on steroids. “Is it supposed to hurt this much?”

“Unfortunately, yeah.” Dante quickly shrugs out of his signature red coat and tosses it onto the next booth with the rest of his belongings. “But that’s what you’ve got me here for.”

You reach out for him, trailing your fingers down the worn fabric of his black Henley and slipping them beneath the bottom hem. You drag your hands back up, over the hardened contours of his abs. “Take off your shirt,” you urge, wanting to explore him with more than just your hands.

He releases a low chuckle. “Yes, ma’am,” he complies, gripping the back of his collar and pulling the garment off in one fluid motion. “Now, don’t you think you might be a little overdres- Holy Hell!” His hips jerk forward, rocking against the juncture between your legs as his body reacts to the feel of your tongue licking a long, wet stripe from his collarbone and up the side of his neck, while your nails simultaneously rake down his pectorals. He blinks down at you in shock for half a second before a sly smirk tilts his lips. “Not sure if I should be getting turned on by that, but I’m totally into it.”

“I’ve kind of always wanted to do that,” you admit, your filter beginning to malfunction as the pollen takes even more effect. “God, you smell so good.” Your eyes close of their own accord as you breathe him in. The scent of his musky cologne, combined with leather and gun powder, makes your head spin. “Ah!” you cry out as another pang hits you, more powerful than the others. “Dante! I need you now!”

His smirk quickly falls and his hands move up your sides to rest on your waist. “Lay back and let me take care of you.” He guides your body down onto the tabletop.

You writhe on the hard surface, back arching as the pain and blistering need pounds between your legs. “Dante!”

“I know,” he soothes, lifting your tank top up enough to access the front of your pants. He works quickly, popping the top button and dragging down the zipper. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them halfway down your legs. “Oh fuck,” a jolt of electricity surges through him when the scent of your arousal hits him. Pulling back the denim reveals the significant wet patch that has developed in your panties and if he wasn’t hard before, he certainly was now.  He’s never smelled anything so divine.

He yanks off your boots and finishes removing your pants, tossing them quickly to the side. You spread your legs shamelessly, the cool air actually feeling somewhat nice against your heated flesh. Your hips jerk up of their own accord, feigning a sort of humping motion. “Dante, please!” you whine pitifully.

“I’m here,” he assures you, gripping your hips and dragging your ass to the edge of the table. “I’ll make you feel good. I promise.” Without wasting time, your panties are the next to go, getting flung somewhere behind him before he falls to his knees and guides your legs over his shoulders.

The table puts you at the perfect height, so he doesn’t have to strain his neck or hunch over you. This is normally the part where he would start teasing you with little nips and kisses on your thighs, but he knows that you’re in no state for getting teased. You need relief fast before you start getting sick from the pain.

So, he dives straight in, using the flat of his tongue to drag over your slick folds, getting his first taste of your wet heat. The two of you groan in unison, Dante from the taste of your sweet nectar on his tongue, and you from the first shred of relief coursing through your body. He continues to lave against your dripping entrance, back and forth, side to side.

You’re not normally this sensitive in that area, but with the pollen in your system, it feels like he’s painting a masterpiece with his tongue and your body is the canvas. Each brush stroke adds a burst of color and more wetness to the piece. “Oh God! Dante, don’t stop!” you plead. You lift your head to look down the length of your body.

Dante’s gaze flicks up to meet yours. His cerulean eyes seem to glow despite the dim lighting of the bar. The sight of him buried between your legs is enough to get another surge of wetness out of you. It’s a sight you’ve only been able to imagine so far. Dreams so filthy, you almost couldn’t look him in the eye when you saw him the next day. None of it compared to the real deal.

Your head falls to the table once more, eyes rolling back when Dante’s tongue moves up to your clit. He swirls his tongue around the tight bundle of nerves in languid strokes. You can’t help but rock your hips against him, your body begging for more. He’s more than happy to oblige, his grip tightening on your hips.

He feasts on your body like he hasn’t eaten in years. Lapping up your slick like it’s the only source sustaining his life. His hands slip down your hips to grip the tops of your thighs. With light pressure, he guides your legs open just a little more, while still keeping them pinned to his broad shoulders. This allows him to push his face that much closer, his prickly cheeks brushing right against the apex of your sex.

You reach down, weaving your fingers into his silver locks and grip them firmly. He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he practically purrs with the scratch of your nails against his scalp. You thrust your hips against his tongue, guiding him to where you need him most. Your body thrums, soaring to heights you didn’t even know existed. Yet it’s still not quite enough to push you over the edge. The higher you seem to go, the more desperate you become for release.

“Dante. More! I’m so close!” you cry.

He focuses his mouth on your clit while one of his hands slips off your thigh. You feel the press of his fingers to your entrance. He circles the pad of his middle finger around and over your folds, collecting your arousal to slick the long digit. Your whole body quivers in anticipation before he slides his finger inside you. You release a low whine, hips jerking into his touch until he’s pushed completely into the knuckle.

“Damn,” Dante chuckles deeply. “If this is how tight you’re squeezing my finger, you’re going to absolutely strangle my dick.”

“Don’t stop,” you urge, tightening your grip on his hair in order to shove him back where you want him.

“Wait. Hold up,” Dante resists the pressure you’re putting on him. You lift your head back up to protest, but stop when you see the concerned furrow of his brow. His nostrils flare as he takes in a deep breath. His pupils then completely dilate for one second before they shrink down into two thin, black, demonic slits. “Babe, you smell like-” he cuts himself off when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His lips twist into a smirk. “Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on a guy when he’s going down on his lady?”

You look back at him, confused, before you hear the low growl of a demon nearby. You unweave your fingers out of Dante’s hair and push up onto your elbows. Sure enough, three large humanoid-looking demons carrying dual meat-cleavers, and two grim reaper-type demons have appeared inside the bar. Hell Antenoras and Hell Cainas. The Antenoras swing their giant cleavers to knock tables and chairs out of their path. While the Cainas follow in pursuit, their scythes raised high and at the ready.

Dante begins to extract himself from between your legs, a dark grin splitting his face. Your body grieves the loss almost instantly. “Sit tight. I’ll make this quick.” He winks, licking your slick from his middle finger. He stands fluidly, quickly re-holstering his guns and grabbing rebellion. He moves to stand defensively in front of you, his jeans hanging low on his hips and his back muscles tensing to ready for the fight. “Like hell am I going to let any of you near her.”

He darts forward, straight at one of the Antenoras. It swings one of its cleavers in anticipation of the attack, but at the last second, Dante drops to his knees, sliding against the floor underneath the swinging blade. As he slides past, Dante uses his own sword to slice at the Antenora’s legs.

It falls forward as Dante stands back up behind it. He jams Rebellion straight through its back and unloads Ebony into the back of its head until it’s defeated and sent back to hell.

Dante yanks Rebellion back up and turns just in time to block the falling scythe from the Caina behind him. Watching Dante fight was always a sight to behold. His movements are so effortless, smoothly transitioning between his blocks and attacks. It’s almost like watching a dance. Hypnotic on its own, but watching him fight shirtless had you salivating.

The clench and release of his muscles, strengthened by years of battle-hardened labor, draws your attention. The veins bulge in his arms and his abs tighten when he braces for an attack. Then his back muscles flex as he parries before he launches his counterattack.

You want to memorize every single inch of him. First with your eyes, then with your hands, and follow that up with your mouth. Everything from the tops of his shoulders down to where that V at his waist cuts into his jeans.

You’re so enraptured by him that it takes you a second to notice one of the other Caina demons has been approaching. The tip of its scythe drags against the wood flooring, leaving little curls of wood shavings in its wake. The jaw opens to its skull-like face and some sort of black liquid begins to ooze out of its mouth. Your face scrunches in disgust when you realize that the demon is drooling.

“Not in a million years, Pal,” Dante’s voice comes from directly behind the beast. You barely see the flash of metal as Dante cuts through its neck, detaching the head from the body in one quick swipe.

He meets your gaze as the demon falls and returns to hell. A light coating of sweat now dampens his skin and adds a slight sheen to his already defined muscles. “Dante, hurry,” you whine, your hand slipping between your legs to flick your engorged clit as another pang builds up inside you.

Dante's gaze darkens, and the bulge in his pants grows uncomfortably tight. “You heard the lady,” he announces, turning to the last two demons. “Time to wrap this up.”

He takes them both on at the same time. Shooting at one with one hand while parrying and attacking the other with Rebellion. He strikes a series of rapid jabs at the Antenora, not giving it enough time to block with its cleavers before jumping above the Caina and landing a harsh blow with his blade from above.

The two, even attempting to fight together, are no match for the legendary demon hunter, and soon they have both joined their friends back in hell. Dante wastes no time in making his way back to you, a determined march to his steps as he quickly sets his weapons aside once more and begins unbuckling his belt.

“We need to make this first round quick, because you’ve got this whole place smelling like a she-devil in heat and it’s only a matter of time before more demons come to investigate.”

“Wh-what? What does that mean?” Nearly delirious with need, his words are almost beyond your comprehension.

Once Dante is back in front of you, he grabs your hips and drags your ass back to the very edge of the table, wrapping your legs back around his waist. “Those demons came here to mate with you.” Dante looks deep into your eyes to make sure you’re listening. “And the only way to stop more from coming is to cover your scent with mine.”

There’s some tiny part deep in the back of your mind that knows the idea of mating with demons should disgust you, but you’re so fucking horny, all you can focus on is the fact that Dante wants to cover you in his delectable scent. You breathe in deeply once more and your eyes glaze over. “Yeah… I like your scent.”

His serious features melt into his devil-may-care grin. He knows it’s the pollen that’s making you more candid, but his ego still perks up at the praise. “Take off your shirt.”

You comply immediately, gripping the bottom hem of your top and peeling it off your body. Dante’s hands are already working at the clasp of your bra before you even had a chance to toss your shirt to the side. Both articles of clothing are thrown carelessly against the bench seat of the booth.

Dante’s hands press gently against your back until your bare front is molded against his. “Stay close. Wrap your arms around me. We want as much body contact as possible.”

You happily do as instructed, wrapping your arms around his neck and arching up into him. His hands leave your back to unfasten the buttons down the front of his pants and push the denim and his boxers halfway down his thighs.

He releases a sigh of relief, now that the strain of confinement has been lifted from his aching cock. “I had no idea how painful fighting with a hardon could be.” He gives himself a few smooth strokes before lining up with your entrance.

The pollen is truly starting to set in, making your blood run hot, while your core weeps with need. With a steady pressure applied against your entrance, Dante slips the head of his cock inside you. He intends to take things slow, wanting to give you time to adjust to his size, but you’re so fucking wet and ready for him that there’s practically zero resistance.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, it’s the pollen that’s made it so easy to get him exactly where it wants him. You’ve been perfectly primed for getting him in deep without struggle, like bait set out for prey. Before he even realizes, his hips have become flush with yours and he’s pushed in to the hilt, but like a spring-loaded trap, your walls suddenly clamp down on him from all sides.

“Holy shit,” Dante’s entire body shudders, not expecting that to have happened. You immediately begin swirling your hips in little circles to better feel his thickness inside you, which is devastating to the last shreds of his self-control. Your walls contract and flutter around his overly sensitive cock, squeezing and pulling at his length. “Babe,” he grunts, squeezing his eyes shut. “Shit. Honey, you gotta ease up a little, or else I’m gonna-”

His hands tighten around your waist, but it’s not enough to stop your frenzied movements around his cock. Especially not the movements happening inside you. He huffs out a strained breath when one particular twinge of your walls hits him just right and sends him reeling. “Fuck! Fuckkk,” he tosses his head back, jaw slack as his cock twitches and fills your body with his sudden release.

His hips jerk against you for a few more seconds, the muscles in his jaw and neck straining.

Your movements halt, a brief flicker of clarity breaking through the desperation. “Dante, did you just…” you question, unsure if that really just happened.

“Come in two seconds flat like a teenage boy at his first strip club? Yeah,” he confirms through gritted teeth. “Damn that’s embarrassing.”

You can’t help the primal grin that you flash up at him. “I’ll take it as a compliment. The great Dante, brought low by some wet ass pussy.”

One of his hands gently cradles the back of your neck. There’s humor in his eyes when he speaks, “Just don’t hold it over my head, or I’ll say it was because of the she-devil pheromones you’re giving off. On the bright side, at least my early release should help with our demon problem. Nothing quite says ‘this one’s taken’ like a pussy full of cum.”

You have to fight your amused smile as you tighten your arms around him. “How romantic,” you quip sarcastically.

He grins openly. “Ain’t nothin’ romantic about sex pollen. We’re gonna fuck like rabbits until you pass out. If you want romance, you’ll need to take me out to dinner first.”

“Promises, promises, Dante. When are we getting to the ‘fuck like rabbits’ part?” your walls clench around his cock, more than ready. Your body very quickly starts to remind you that it has yet to reach its own climax.

Dante’s grin turns wicked. “You’re lucky half-demons don’t have much of a refractory period. I’m like the fucking Energizer bunny.” To prove his point, Dante snaps his hips against you, his rehardened length dragging against your walls and squelching back into your cum soaked cunt. “And besides, I’ve now got a reputation to salvage.”

“Oh yes!” you moan as he sets a brutal pace and the pangs in your core finally begin to ease. The steady thwack of his balls hitting your ass fills the empty bar, along with your panting breaths and heady mewls of pleasure. He fucks you hard, fast, and deep. It’s everything your body has been craving. “Yes! More. Dante, I need more!”

“I’ll give you everything I’ve got,” he vows. He keeps one arm tightly bound around your waist to keep your torso flush with his. The other moves to thread his fingers into the hair at the back of your neck. He cradles your head before slamming his lips over your own. He devours the decadent sounds that are coming out of your mouth like they’re lifesaving ambrosia.

He swallows your moans, tongue slipping between your parted lips. He explores your mouth with languid strokes, much like he had when his head was between your legs. Your hands desperately grip the back of his shoulders while you pull your body as close to his as physically possible. Even with him filling you from both ends, it still doesn’t seem to be enough. You still need more. More of him on you. More of him in you.

You’re not entirely sure if you want to completely consume him or be completely consumed by him; all you know is that you never want this to stop.

His hand at your neck slips down, fingers ghosting over your fevered skin before his palm closes around your breast. He molds the supple flesh with his whole hand then pinches your budding nipple between his thumb and forefinger. A helpless whimper escapes from your throat as the erogenous zone in your breasts seem to have become amplified tenfold by the pollen. His thumb swirls around the stiff peak and you feel the jolts of pleasure in your core as if he was directly stroking your clit.

Your entire body quivers and shakes, utterly helpless to the bombardment of pleasure that Dante is unleashing upon you. He continues to rut into your sopping wetness, like a man possessed, tongues battling for dominance, and hand fondling your breast. The pleasure builds like a snowball rolling downhill, growing in both speed and size. With a carefully timed tweak of your nipple and an angled slam of his cock into your g-spot, that giant snowball plows into you like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

Your mouth rips away from his when you throw your head back and you release the most carnal sounds you’ve made in your life. You can’t tell if they’re words, praises, or just incoherent ramblings from your utterly fucked out mind. You moan, and writhe, and scream, and pant, all while your orgasm shakes you to the core.

The gush of arousal that leaks out of you allows Dante to keep pounding into your pussy, despite the vice-like grip it has on his cock. The scent of wet, sloppy sex, along with the sounds coming out of you, are enough to push him back over the edge. Just a few more thrusts after you’ve come, Dante suddenly pulls out and grips the base of his cock while thick white spurts of cum splash against your thighs and stomach. He strokes himself until his cock is spent.

The next few seconds are blocked out by the blood rushing in your ears until you start to come down from your high. You meet Dante’s lidded gaze, both of your kiss-swollen lips parted and panting for breath. You release the grip you have on his shoulders and lean back enough to look at the mess he’s made across your skin. “Marking your territory?” you question, swiping a finger over a thick white glob before slipping that finger into your mouth.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Dante breathes, watching you suck his cum off the pad of your finger. He can’t help but imagine that pretty mouth sucking off his dick and drinking that cum from its source. Any softening that may have started to his cock is immediately reversed. He tries valiantly to push the thought out of his head, reminding himself that your needs and well-being come first. “How are you feeling now?”

You pull your finger out of your mouth with a wet pop and look back down at the mess between your legs. A steady, throbbing heat is still going strong inside your core and you’re just as wet and ready as ever. “Now?” you start, lifting your gaze back up to meet his. “Now I want you to cum all over my ass.”

With that, he’s definitely back to full mast. “That can be arranged.” He kicks off his boots and fully removes his pants and underwear, then he scoops your body back into his arms and moves to the bar. He sets you on your feet next to a plush barstool. The floor is surprisingly clean, though you’re certain it won’t remain that way for long.

With a gentle press to your back, Dante guides you in place until your torso is draped over the cushioned stool and you’re up on your tiptoes. He widens your stance with a slight kick to your ankles before he settles between them and sinks back into you from behind. The wet, greedy squelch of your body accepting his once more should embarrass you, but it only turns you on even more.

The tightening of his hands on your hips is your only warning before he’s pounding into you again. Balanced on your toes, there’s not much you can do other than just take the full force of his thrusts. He ruts into you like a beast in heat, which drives you wild. There’s nothing sweet or gentle about it, only carnal desire in its rawest form.

Dante watches your pussy stretch around his cock with every thrust and knows this sight will be seared into his memories for the rest of his life. The lights behind the bar reflect on the wet sheen covering his length before it disappears back inside you. He feels a hot trail of his earlier cum dripping down his balls before it splatters to the floor between your spread legs. Where he should feel guilt over the mess you’re both making, he only feels anticipation and excitement, wondering how much more of a mess there will be by the time you’re both done.

The steady thwack of his balls slapping against your clit becomes even faster as Dante works himself up into a frenzy. He’s spent so long wanting you and now that he has you, he doesn’t want to waste a single second. Your body feels like it was made for him, so hot and wet and supple and perfect.

He’s so wrapped up in how amazing you feel around him that he realizes too late when his balls have pulled in tight and the first spurt of cum is already shooting out of him again. He pulls out with a startled jolt and hurriedly jacks off the remaining shots of milky white cum over the globes of your ass.

“Dante…” his name comes out as a needy whine, tinged with disappointment. Your empty cunt throbs angrily, not even close to her next release.

“Fuck, babe,” he releases a low groan. “I’m so fucking sorry.” How the fuck has he already come three times when you’ve barely had one?

He normally prides himself on his stamina, but the tiny dose of pollen he got seems to have absolutely destroyed his ability to hold off his climax. Whereas you seem to be having the complete opposite problem, and the pollen has pushed your limits so far out, it’s getting harder and harder for you to reach them. You press yourself back up to standing and turn to face Dante with a determined gleam in your eyes.

“Get up on the bar.”

His eyes widen at the order, but he complies without a fuss. You follow him up onto the polished wooden surface and push his chest until he lays fully back, then you’re instantly straddling his thighs. As promised, it only takes a few jerks of your hand around his cock before he’s fully hardened once again. You line yourself up and sink back down onto his length. Once fully seated, you steady your hands on his chest and begin to slam your hips up and down.

You ride him like he’s a prized stallion and chase after that pleasure that continuously flutters just out of your grasp. He grips the back of your thighs and meets you thrust for thrust. You might be the one on top, but he’s not going to make you do all the work. His tongue darts out to moisten his lower lip as he watches the way your tits bounce. “You’re so fucking sexy,” his head has become clouded with such overwhelming pleasure, and apparently three mind blowing orgasms are all that’s needed for him to open his mouth and start spilling his deepest secrets. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this? How long I’ve wanted you?”

You continue bouncing on his cock, lips parted to release your panting breaths as you hold his gaze. “How long?”

You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows thickly. A tiny part in the back of his head can’t believe the confession he’s about to make, but any inhibitions that might have stopped him before seem to have completely flown out the window. “Ever since that time I stole your demon bounty and you got so pissed, you kicked me in the chin and I bit my tongue hard enough it started bleeding.” It’s a struggle to get the full sentence out while you’re relentlessly fucking yourself above him, but he manages it through clenched teeth.

Your bouncing slows before coming to a complete stop as you stare down at him. Surely, he can’t mean what you think he means. And yet, even after all these years of knowing each other, it’s unmistakable what time he’s referring to. “Dante… that’s literally the first day we met.”

He swallows once more. “I know.” There’s a flash of uncharacteristic vulnerability in the depths of his crystalline gaze that makes your heart skip a beat. His hands squeeze your hips like he’s scared you’re about to extract yourself from him and bolt out the front door. “And I spent nearly every day after that trying to figure out how I might get you to like me back.”

You release an incredulous laugh and raise a brow. “You were an insufferable asshole for months after we first met.” Your fingers trace the lines of his abdominals, an unconscious gesture of reassurance to let him know you’re not going anywhere.

He gives you a tilted half-grin, “Never said I was smart about it.” He waits with baited breath for your full response to his confession. It’s impossible for him to build up any sort of defense when neither his heart, nor his cock, fully belongs to him in this exact moment. You have full possession of his most sensitive pieces and all he can hope for is that you won’t break them. Break him.

You run your nails over the coarse, silvery hairs on his chest while you begin to swirl your hips torturously around his cock. “Wanna know how long I’ve wanted you?” A sultry smile slides languidly across your lips

Dante grits his teeth to prevent his eyes from rolling back while you tease him relentlessly with your rolling hips. He’s both desperate and terrified of the answer to your question. “How long?” he huffs out eventually.

You move to place your hands on either side of his head and lean down until your nose is nearly brushing his. Mercifully, your hips still their movements so that Dante can hear your own confession without any distractions. “Ever since the first time you apologized by taking me to get strawberry sundaes.”

His gaze flickers between your eyes while he takes a moment to process your words. It’s not hard to trace back to what time you’re referring to. In fact, it’s quite easy. “…That’s also the first day we met.”

The look of pure, tender affection on your face makes him forget how to breathe. “I know,” you respond before leaning the rest of the way down and pressing your lips to his. He grips the back of your head and kisses you back, moaning deep and low when you start moving your hips again.

This time, it’s a little less hurried and a lot more sensual, your bodies pressed together and moving as one. You feel the hair on his chest tickling your nipples. The hard cut of his hips flush against yours. Every place where you meet, flesh against flesh, burns with awareness. Years of secretive pining, aching longing, and pretending not to want each other have culminated into this very moment. The line has been crossed, and there would be no going back.

Dante’s free hand grips your ass while he rocks against your movements. A zing of pleasure jolts up your spine when your clit catches against the ridge of his pelvic bone. Your mouth rips away from his as you release the most delicious sounds he’s ever heard. “That feel good, babe?” he questions, rocking his hips the same way again.

Your breath shudders next to his ear, as the stubble on his jaw scrapes against your bare cheek. “Dante…” You can no longer think, yet alone formulate a response. All you can do is feel. Feel the heat coming off of him. Feel the brush of skin on skin. Feel the rush of blood in your veins. The stretch of your pussy around the cock that’s practically tattooed inside of you at this point. “Oh, Dante!” You find that spot that makes your clit go haywire and you grind into it like there’s no tomorrow.

“That’s it, babe,” he encourages, both hands gripping your ass now. “Use me. I wanna make you feel so good.”

“Right there. Ah!” you release a breathless whimper, hips circling even faster. You can feel the pleasure building in your system, but the peak still flutters out of reach. “Dante, I’m so close!”

“Touch yourself,” he grunts from the back of his throat. “Show me how you like it.”

You sit back up and with his assistance, start bouncing on his cock once more. Your middle finger swipes through the mess of cum still splattered across your lower stomach to use as a lubricant against your aching clit. You rub yourself in quick feverish circles, too keyed up to even consider any light teasing stokes. You use your thumb to push back the hooded skin, exposing even more of the rosy bud to the onslaught of your touch. “Fuck!” you cry out, the sensations in your clit so intense, they’re nearly painful.

“So fucking hot.” Dante doesn’t know how absolutely everything you do could be such a damn turn on. Watching you pleasure yourself while riding his cock is so fucking sexy, he’s going out of his mind. “Fuck yes! Just like that. Wanna feel you come around my cock.”

Your heart is pounding, your thighs are burning, and your clit throbs, but you don’t let up. You’re so fucking close! Dante’s hands grip your ass even tighter and he slams you down so hard onto his cock that it has you seeing stars. “Oh fuck! Dante!” you scream his name as you’re finally catapulted into your release. The fire that had been growing low in your belly explodes into an inferno, consuming you from the inside out.

Pleasure licks up your spine in waves, causing you to shudder and writhe above him. It’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. Just a few more thrusts up into you and he’s following you over the precipice. The sensations of your climax are too much for him to ignore and he’s soon filling you with even more cum from his aching balls.

The muscles in your body strain against your heady orgasm before losing their strength altogether as soon as it starts to ebb away. You collapse forward onto Dante’s chest, both of you panting and heaving for desperately needed air. The sweat on your bodies has your skin nearly fusing together, but neither of you seems to mind. You hear the rapid beat of his heart with your ear pressed to his chest. The sound of it is grounding, along with the rise and fall of his chest with every breath.

“That… was pretty damn incredible,” he mutters as soon as his thoughts begin to function again.

You hum in agreement, watching your fingers as they trace feathery patterns across his chest. They follow the line of his collarbone and down the middle of his pectoral muscles before diverting course to circle around his nipple.

He sucks in a breath and shifts slightly beneath you. “Okay, I know I said earlier that I’m like the Energizer bunny, but I think I need a ten-minute breather after that last round.”

You swirl your fingers around him once more before lifting your head and sucking that nipple into your mouth.

“Oh fuck!” Dante’s hips buck of their own accord. “Okay, just like 5 minutes and I promise I’ll be good to go,” he all but begs for mercy.

Your tongue flicks over the hardened bud. “Dante…” you coo his name so disastrously tempting.

“Two minutes!” he counters. “Just two and I swear-”

“Dante… I want to fuck your demon cock.” You sit back up and look down at him with a molten stare.

That sure as hell shuts him up. He gapes, slack-jawed, at you for a long moment. “Come again?” Your comment has completely fried his mental circuits, that he doesn’t even notice the double entendre behind his question.

“Fuck me in your devil trigger,” you tell him in a way that can’t be misinterpreted.

He blinks once before releasing a heavy breath and moves to sit up. His hands are firm but gentle as he lifts you off of his lap, his soaked cock sliding out of you and landing against his thigh with a wet thwack. He reaches behind the bar for a clean hand towel and presses it between your legs.

“You have no idea what you’re asking me.” There’s no trace of humor on his face and he won’t meet your eyes, instead choosing to focus on cleaning the cum off your skin.

“Yes, I do,” you insist. “It’s not just the pollen talking.”

He finally meets your gaze with a dubiously raised brow.

“Okay, fine,” you admit with a sigh. “Maybe the pollen is influencing this, but I absolutely know what I’m asking here.” You cup the sides of his face with your hands to keep his gaze locked with yours. “I may not have as much demon fighting experience as you, but I know my own body. It feels like an itch so deep under the skin that no amount of scratching can reach it. What we’ve been doing is providing temporary relief, but it’s not the treatment. There’s a reason why I’m giving off she-devil pheromones and why those lesser demons came running. We need a demon’s essence to counteract this demonic pollen.”

He reaches up to pull one hand from his cheek and places a stubbly kiss to your palm. “This sounds like a really bad idea. I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit before, but this is a bit extreme, even for me. Honestly, I don’t even know if I can,” Dante tries to get you to see reason. He laces his fingers between yours and holds your hand in his firm grip. “I know you’ve seen me in that form, it’s not like there’s anything dangling between my legs. And even if I could, it would be so fucking easy to lose control. Not only could I hurt you, I might accidentally end you. That’s not a fucking risk I’m willing to take.”

“Dante, I know you would never hurt me.” You try to argue, but you recognize the stubborn glint in his eyes.

“Not intentionally maybe, but even if it wasn’t on purpose… I would never forgive myself.” The thought of causing you pain is more terrifying than facing a thousand demons.

You want to continue arguing, but then you notice the distress hiding behind the stubborn tilt of his jaw. You decide to relent. “Okay,” you turn your joined hands and place a kiss to his knuckles. “Then we’ll just keep doing what we’re doing and wait it out.”

Dante releases a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. You wiggle your hand loose from his grasp and jump off the bar top. “Where’re you going?” he asks, following your movements with his eyes.

“Ten-minute breather, right?” You glance at him over your shoulder before moving across the room. “I’m gonna clean up a bit in the bathroom. No offense, but wiping me down with a dry cloth isn’t really-” You’re cut off by a pained gasp and stumble against the wall while your hands clench your abdomen. Rippling pain and heat claw at you from the inside.

“What the hell?” Dante is by your side just in time before your knees give out. “What’s wrong? Fuck, you’re burning up!” As Dante lifts your body into his arms, he can feel how hot to the touch your skin has suddenly become. “Hey, look at me,” he urges, using the wall to help keep your body propped up, but your eyes are unfocused and your head lulls to the side. “No. No, stay with me,” he cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth to keep you awake. He realizes that the pollen must be hitting its peak potency and it’s too much for your body to handle. If he doesn’t do something fast, you’re going to pass out from the pain.

“Fuck! Okay. You win. I’ll fucking do it. Just stay the fuck awake.”

“D-Dante?” his voice sounds far away, and you can’t entirely understand what he’s saying. Your vision goes hazy for a moment and you’re seeing two of him. You blink slowly and try to shake your head, but it takes too much effort. When you open your eyes, the silver-haired man you expect to see is no longer the being in front of you. In his place stands a hulking figure with dark, leathery skin and glowing red eyes. You gasp, eyes widening in shock, before you realize it’s still him.

He towers an extra foot above you, the heat rising off his body rivaling your own feverish skin. The scent that wafts over you isn’t what you expect. Where before he smelled like fire and brimstone, now he smells like burning incense, warm spices, and smokey oud. You’re tempted to press your nose to the orange glowing center on his chest and inhale a lungful of the tantalizing scent.

You realize that the pollen must be playing some sort of mental trick on you, because you’d never considered yourself a monster fucker before, and you’ve fought by Dante’s side a long time without ever thinking about how attractive his devil trigger is… and yet, here we are. Your hands reach out, ghosting over the horn-like protrusions along his jaw. They then fall from his face to his chest, just to either side of his molten glowing center. His skin, though tough, is smooth like aged leather stretched taught over something very solid and very warm.

“You still with me?” he asks, leaning gently into your touch.

You swallow the mouthful of saliva in your mouth before responding. “Yeah.” Were you seriously about to drool over the idea of fucking Dante’s devil trigger? You mentally scream to get a hold of yourself, but your body is in full demon seduction mode. It seems to recognize the nearness of a potential demonic mate, as the pain temporarily eases. A part of you wants to mention the “I told you so” about needing demonic essence to fight against the pollen, but that would start another argument and be counterintuitive to your current end goal.

“Babe, you know I can’t keep this up for long, so we need to figure out how to do whatever it is we’re going to do and quick.”

You meet his dragon-like gaze, “Do I still smell like a she-devil in heat?”

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. You notice the black slit in his eyes dilate. “Yeah, you sure fucking do. But you also smell like me, which is making the primal part in the back of my brain go crazy.”

The corner of your mouth lifts in pure female satisfaction. “Good. Focus on that.”

One of your hands immediately falls to the armored plating over his groin and you start exploring. “Fucking hell!” he exclaims, rocking into your touch. You feel around for a few seconds before you find the hidden slit tucked between two plates of armored skin. His wings flutter anxiously behind him, but the rest of his body goes perfectly still.

You sense the tension rising in him, so you stop your probing and look back up at him. “Dante, do you want to fuck me?”

His entire body shudders. “I don’t know, but this is making me feel really fucking weird.”

“Dante,” your fingers start moving over his slit again, coaxing whatever might be tucked inside. “Are you going to fuck me?”

He makes a tortured sound from the back of his throat. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he reiterates, but his hips are still grinding into your touch.

You feel something move beneath the skin, something hard and thick. “You’re not going to hurt me,” you say with a confidence you’re not entirely sure you can back up now that you’ve got the barest hint at what you might be working with. Your other hand tilts his chin down so you can place a chaste kiss against his lower lip, being careful not to cut yourself on the sharp teeth peeking out from the permanent grimace on his demonic face. “I trust you, Dante. I know you’ll stay in control.”

One clawed hand slams into the wall above your head, rattling the trinkets and pictures hanging there. He releases a long exhale that almost feels like steam from how hot it is. “Fuck. You’ve got me quite literally in the palm of your hand,” he admits right as you feel the slit open against your fingers and something begins to poke through.

The head of his cock glows the same glowing ember color as his chest before tapering to a dark leathery red and then to black at the base. His veins pulse with that same glowing light from root to tip. He’s fucking massive and if it weren’t for the pollen in your system making you salivate at the sight, you might have actually turned tail and ran. You hope that all your previous rounds with him have made you loose enough to take in this new girth.

He makes a sound at the back of his throat that’s both pained and relieved once the whole of his length has been unsheathed. “Gotta admit, staring at my own demon dick was not on my bingo card for this year.”

You scoff out a dry laugh and then hike up one leg to rest it atop his thigh. The dragon-like scaling over his leg feels hot against your bare skin, but is otherwise smooth. “Less staring and more shoving,” your patience is growing thin.

His hand quickly moves to support your lifted leg, being mindful of his claws. “First of all, there will be no shoving. Only a nice, gentle insertion of the very tip-”

With a quick hop, you’re wrapping your other leg around him. “Dante, if you don’t put that inside me right now, I’m going to climb you like a tree and ride you till the cows come home.”

He pins you to the wall with his chest before you have the chance to fall. “Whoa, slow down there, cowgirl.” He gets that you’re eager for this, but his mind is still wrapping around the fact that he actually has a cock in this form. Yet alone that it’s a weird ass retractable cock.

You reach down and touch a finger to the liquid pre-cum dribbling out of his tip. It has a luminescent-orange sheen that sticks to your fingers like honey. You spread that wetness across the glowing head of his cock and Dante nearly loses the will power to stay upright.

“Fuck,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “That’s really fucking sensitive.” He knows that his senses get dialed up to eleven when he’s triggered, but just the simplest touch from you seems enough to bring him to his knees.

If you weren’t in such a hurry to get him inside you, you’d thoroughly enjoy taking your time exploring every inch of him, but your body knows what it wants, and there’s no time for leisure explorations. You tilt your hips and drag your dripping folds against the underside of his cock. “Oh fuck, Dante!” your entire body shivers in delight. The bulbous head of his cock catches against your clit and the glowing fluid coming out of the tip evokes a tingling sensation where it meets your tender flesh. Your clit pulses with renewed vigor and the need to get him inside you becomes the very core of your existence.

“Holy fuck!” An animalistic growl escapes him, five clawed indentations piercing through the plaster of the wall where his hand rests above your head. His steaming breath wafts across your face as he leans in a little closer.

You glide the head of his cock between your folds, mixing your slick with his own fluids and delighting in the way that tingling sensation spreads. “I need you,” nearly delirious with desire, you rub yourself all over his cock.

“I can’t,” he grunts, claw marks dragging down the wall. “If I move right now, I’m gonna fucking rip you open.” He’s barely hanging on by a thread. Your pussy is so close, so inviting, so wet, and it’s right fucking there, ready for the taking. But his control is slipping through his fingers like fine sand, and soon there will be nothing left. “You have to do it. Guide me inside you. But please… be fucking careful,” he begs with the last shred of his humanity.

You don’t have to be told twice. Gripping the base of his shaft, you keep him steady and align his tip with your entrance. You sink down and feel the stretch instantly as your folds spread wide to accommodate the larger cock. There’s a bit of resistance, but the pollen has prepped you enough that soon the head of his cock slips passed your pulsing muscles and is finally nestled into your velvety softness. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the feeling of being breached by something so massive, and yet somehow, it’s not horribly painful. You certainly feel like your cunt is stretched to its limit, but it’s so fucking good!

It feels so incredible, in fact, that you find yourself shifting your hips back until you’re empty once more, just so you can immediately slide back down to feel him penetrate your walls all over again. The warning growl that rips out of Dante’s throat stops you from doing it a third time. Although a part of you wants to ignore his warnings and keep teasing at the head of his cock, a bigger part of you is more eager to see how that stretched feeling of fullness will increase once he’s fully seated as deep as your body will allow.

You hook your ankles around his back and brace yourself before steadily sinking further and further down his ribbed length. “Oh fuck!” you whine, your pussy stretched so taut that a fleeting flicker of panic manages to push past the sadistic need from the pollen. You slap three fingers over your clit and rub so frantically that your hand nearly vibrates. The tingling fluid from Dante’s cock has made your clit so engorged and sensitive that the ripples of pleasure from your touch are able to get your muscles to relax just enough that he sinks in another inch without tearing you apart.

You continue in this manner until he’s completely sheathed inside your body and you’re fully seated against the valley of his thighs. You’re both panting heavily, but for entirely different reasons. You’ve never felt so full in your life. It’s like your insides have been rearranged to make room for him, and you practically feel him settled against the base of your throat. His cock pulses and thrums inside of you and he’s so hot. The simmering heat of your core is like a flickering candle compared to the molten heat of him.

Meanwhile, Dante isn’t entirely sure how he’s remaining upright. You’re so fucking tight! Every clench and tug and squeeze from your cunt can be felt all along his length from base to tip. Every single inch where he’s buried in you is in both pleasurable agony and devastating ecstasy. The muscles in his neck, arms, and abs are all tensed, bracing against the instinct to rut into you like a wild beast. He wants to fuck you so bad. He wants to fuck you so good.

“Dante…” The way you say his name is utterly ruinous. “You’re so fucking big!”

He can’t help the single shallow thrust that follows. Pure male pride is like kerosene to the blazing inferno heating his blood. “Don’t fucking say shit like that right now,” the threat of the destruction he will wreak upon you can be heard in his voice.

But you’re too far gone. Too high on lust and pollen and demonic sex pheromones. “I’m so full with your cock! You’re so deep! Fuck me, Dante! I need to feel you wreck my pussy.”

The growl of a monster pushed past its limits reverberates throughout the entire bar, making glasses clink and liquid ripple within their bottles. Flecks of paint and drywall powder flutter to the floor as Dante extracts his claws from the wall and moves to evenly grip both globes of your ass. You feel the very tips of his claws against your skin, not enough to cut or draw blood, but the promise of danger sends a thrill through you.

“I told you to shut the hell up.” No more warnings, no more sifting sand, no more threads of control.

His hips snap back until only the head of his cock is still notched within your quivering heat. You’re given no time to brace before he’s surging forward and filling you once more. A frame clatters off its hook, glass shattering as it hits the floor. You hardly notice. Dante doesn’t stop, continuing to pound you against the wall as more objects come to a crashing end. Pictures of celebrities, various trophies and medallions, signed jerseys from the local sports teams, everything clatters one by one, worked loose by Dante’s brutal thrusts into your supple frame. His leathery wing flare before those clawed tips right at the first joint hook up into the already ruined wall. They serve the purpose of entirely caging you in while simultaneously protecting you from any of the debris showering down.

The screaming voice in the back of his mind begging him to be careful with you, that you’re so fucking tiny compared to his massive frame, is so far away, it might as well be a whisper. Primal instinct and carnal desire are all that drive him right now. The need to fuck. The need to claim. The need to breed. There’s no stopping now. Not until he’s filled you with his seed. Filled you with his spawn.

The thought should horrify him. God knows he’s already got enough family drama that just the idea of bringing in another fucked up, part-demon kid into this world should be more than enough to kill his libido. It should be kick-starting his common sense. And yet, his demon lizard brain wants what it wants, and instead of slowing down, he starts rutting into you even faster.

You’re not fairing much better. If someone with their logic and reasoning still intact were to suddenly switch places with you, they would probably be worried about their spine shattering from the destructive onslaught of Dante’s thrusts. But all you can do is moan and wail and scream your praises about how good he’s fucking you. “Ah! Yes, Dante! Wreck me with your massive demon cock. Filling me so good! So fucking deep!”

The ridges of his cock grind against your g-spot with every frenzied thrust. Feral, raw, untethered pleasure clouds every single one of your senses. Dante’s own demonic mating pheromones start mixing with the ones coming from the pollen. It’s a volatile cocktail of savage cravings and endless appetite. The heady scent of burning incense and warm spices is so thick, it coats your tongue. It compels you into wanting to taste even more of him.

Your hand reaches up, fingers clasping around one of the devil horns protruding past his temple and you angle his face closer to yours. He yields to your touch until your scattered breath tickles his cheeks. Your tongue darts out, licking a wet stripe across his lower lip. He purrs at your boldness. You slip further into his mouth, the tip of your tongue flicking over the sharpened point of a fang. With a steaming exhale, his jaw opens and his own tongue slides out to greet yours. It’s thick and rough and wet as it slips passed your parted lips.

Your moan is muffled against the thick appendage now exploring your mouth. Dante’s already proven that his tongue is rather dexterous, but this one is almost prehensile. It seems to wrap around your own and fills your mouth in ways you didn’t know were possible. He fucks your mouth with its unimaginable length. There’s no battling for dominance between you, just complete and utter subjugation. The conqueror and the conquered.

Dante has taken the direct source of your body’s pleasure and has crushed it within a clawed fist. It feels like a lightning strike shooting through you before your entire body starts to convulse. Pure, white-hot ecstasy fills you from head to clenching toes. Your hips buck wildly against the ruthless assault of his thrusts into you. Your breasts scrape against the rough, leathery armor of his chest. Drool slides down your chin, and your eyes lose their focus. Your mind has been fucked into oblivion.

Dante pulls his tongue out of your mouth when your jaw goes slack. He takes in the mindlessly blissed out expression on your face before a flood of fresh wetness soaks his cock. He looks down and realizes you’ve just cum so hard; you’ve squirted all over him. Your walls squeeze him so tight, he’s almost forced out of your tight hole.

His eyes blaze with determination as he fucks you through the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. He pounds into your drenched cunt, the sounds too obscene to describe. Choked cries of pleasure leak from your raw throat every time he slams home. He’s so fucking close. All the blood and heat and energy in his body seem to concentrate at the very base of him. It pulses and throbs and grows until it’s too much for him to contain.

With a mighty roar, Dante hits his final release. Energy explodes out of him, knocking over tables and chairs, shattering glass, and splattering the walls with various types of liquor. His wings stretch and twitch with every spurt of his cock as he empties himself into the deepest parts of you. Your womb fills with his demonic seed until you’re so full that it starts to force its way passed the cock that’s blocking your entrance. Golden and luminescent, it’s thick like molasses and sticks to your skin rather than running down it.

From your understanding of higher demon biology, you know that fertility is rare, so you figure the extra sticky cum must have evolved as a way to boost the chances for fertilization. You realize a bit too late that you’re not sure how well your birth control will fend against demonic sperm. The thought gets pushed from your mind as a wave of heat envelops Dante’s body, and then he’s back in his human form. His legs immediately lose all remaining strength, and he sinks to his knees, your body still connected, sliding down the wall with him.

Your arms wrap around his neck, holding his shuddering body close. Damp tendrils of white hair brush at your cheeks when he rests his forehead against yours. His cock is completely spent, though it continues to twitch from overstimulation inside you. His balls are pulled in so tight, he’s almost afraid they’re about to shrivel up and fall off. His arms barely have the strength to leave the curve of your ass before they’re curling around your back and are crushing you against his chest.

“Please tell me you’re okay,” his words are barely a whisper, ghosting over your lips, mere inches away.

“I’m okay,” you respond immediately between hastened breaths.

His eyes blink open, the blue so bright it’s like the skies after a heavy rain has cleared all the haze away. He takes in your features. Swollen, spit soaked lips. Cheeks flushed with heat. Hair sweaty and tangled all around you, sticking to the wall and your face. You’re a god damn mess, and yet, still so devastatingly beautiful. “Are you sure?”

A single breathless laugh is like a balm to his soul as you reach up and push his own sweaty bangs off his forehead. “I’m sure.” Tomorrow you might feel like you’ve been hit by a semi-truck, but for now you’re good. Well and truly satisfied. “The she-devil has been satiated.”

His own huff of amusement feels cool against your heated cheeks. “Good,” he remarks, nose brushing playfully against yours. “Because I’m completely tapped out.”

You release a low hum, feigning disappointment. “We might need to ask the Energizer Bunny for a refund.”

His laughter is lighthearted in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. “When we’ve finished dealing with this damn demon tree, I’m gonna take you home and make you eat those words. Let's see how long you last against me when you’re not all hopped up on sex pollen.”

You meet his challenging stare with a vicious grin. “I’d rather you make me eat your cock.”

The smirk slides right off his smug face. “Fucking hell, babe. Can you please have some damn mercy on me?!” His dick twitches valiantly inside you before going flaccid. It’s like the final death rattle of the last remaining soldier to die on a battlefield.

He can feel your joy as you laugh against him. “Sorry!” You don’t sound apologetic at all.

You’re too damn beautiful as you look up at him, eyes sparkling in post-coital bliss. He doesn’t even bother to resist the urge to slant his lips over yours and kiss that beautiful look right off your pretty mouth. You moan helplessly against him.

He pulls away and you find yourself chasing after him until your eyes reopen. “What was that for?” you ask blearily.

“Because I wanted to.” He grins at the surprise widening your eyes. “Because you’re fucking beautiful.”

Your hand grips the back of his neck to pull his mouth back to yours. He complies without fail, kissing you long and slow. It feels so damn good to be able to do this with you that he can’t believe how long he’s resisted it. How much longer would he have gone ignoring his feelings for you? How long denying himself from the privilege of getting to cradle your body between his arms?

His lungs feel tight with emotion and the need to breathe when he pulls back once more. He could spend the rest of the day within this bubble of bliss you both have found yourselves in, but he knows there are more pressing matters waiting beyond these four walls. He summons the strength to stand, still cradling you close. When he’s sure that he’s not going to immediately collapse back to the floor, he steps uncaringly over the bits of broken glass and splintered frames to take you back to the table where all of your things are. He sets you down on the polished wooden surface before finally pulling his limp cock out from between your legs. Your thoroughly abused cunt gapes open for a moment and he can see how full you are with glowing golden cum.

His brain seems to short-circuit and all he can do is stare until you clamp your thighs together. Embarrassment prevents you from being able to look him in the eye. “Somehow, I don’t think a wet washcloth is going to be enough for this, Dante.”

His gaze softens immediately, and he reaches a gentle hand out to lift your chin. “I’m still going to do the best I can.” He leaves a parting kiss on your lips before moving back behind the bar. He fills a large bowl with warm water and grabs a stack of towels. You try not to count how many need to be used in order to get the both of you at least somewhat decent.

Once you’re feeling mostly human again, you hop off the table and start shuffling back into your clothes. Dante does the same, keeping one protective eye on you the entire time. When you’re fully dressed, you move to grab your sword where it was haphazardly left when you both busted in here, but Dante reaches for your outstretched hand instead.

“Why don’t you head back to the shop?” he asks, his voice a little too steady. “You can use my shower to finish washing up. Power’s on, so there’ll be hot water.”

You stare at him incredulously. “Dante, what the hell are you talking about? We need to go after Urizen.”

His fingers tighten around yours, the only sign of his desperate plea. “I’ll rendezvous with Trish and Lady at the tree. The three of us will be enough to take him out.”

You square your shoulders and your gaze turns icy. “Don’t do this. Don’t start pulling some over protective bullshit just because our relationship has changed. You know we fight better together. We always have.”

“Fuck…” he mutters under his breath and then drops all pretenses and steps closer. His hand cradles the side of your neck, “I swear I’m not doubting your abilities. I know how fucking badass you are. But this guy is different. He’s going to be like nothing we’ve ever faced before. The moment he smells my demonic essence on you, he’ll see it as a challenge and will hunt you down without mercy.”

Your hand lifts up to cup over his. “If that’s true, then shouldn’t both of us go home and shower?” you ask dubiously.

He laughs without humor. “Doesn’t quite work like that. A claimed female is much more appetizing than a claimed male.”

Is that what happened here? Did you claim him? And did he claim you? In a way, you guess that maybe you have…

“Okay,” you relent just enough to try to come up with a compromise. “I’ll run home, shower really quick, then meet you back at the tree.”

He releases a low sigh and drops his forehead to yours. His actions make you feel like you’re not going to like his next words. And he knows it. “I need you to intercept Nero.”

You try to reel back, but his grip on your neck keeps you in place. You grab a fistful of his shirt instead and yank threateningly. “Are you seriously planning to keep me completely out of this fight?”

His gaze flickers between yours. “You know what he’s like. He won’t listen to me, but he’s sure as hell not strong enough to get involved in this. You’re the only one I can trust to keep him safe. You know what the kid means to me.”

“Fuck you, Dante.” Your words might be harsh, but he can tell his request is pulling on your heartstrings, and you’re starting to sway.

“Just this once,” he begs. “Stay out of the fight just this once and protect Nero.”

You bite your lip to stop the words you want to lash out at him. You understand exactly where he’s coming from regarding Nero. He may only be 1/4 Sparda, but he’s just as stubborn and blockheaded as the lot of them. “Damn it,” you huff, already feeling yourself giving into him. “Promise me you’ll be okay.”

If you weren’t staring at him so closely, you might have missed the relief easing some of the tension in his brow. He grins in that devil-may-care manner you’ve grown all too familiar with. “Haven’t come across an opponent that could beat me yet.”

You roll your eyes. “I just did about 10 minutes ago.”

He huffs out a short laugh, his forehead rocking against yours as he shakes his head. “Doesn’t count when you’re already my ultimate weakness.” And you realize that this is what Dante’s request is truly about. He scared. Not because he thinks you’re weak, but because you make him weak. You are the chink in his armor. The second Urizen realizes this, he will exploit that weakness until it becomes Dante’s undoing.

“Fine,” you release with a long breath. “I’ll stay out of the fight with Urizen. But as soon as this is all over, you and I are going to have a much longer conversation about this new dynamic. And we will be setting some ground rules.”

“Sounds like a wonderful conversation to be coming home to…” he mutters sarcastically.

“Dante, I’m being serious.”

“Oh, I know,” he responds lightly. “And I’m seriously going to be reimagining what it feels like to be inside of you, the entire time we’re apart.”

You make a sound of disgust and shove him away from you. “Ugh, you’re a pig.” He releases a low chuckle as you finally take hold of your discarded sword and attach it to the holster on your back.

He’s still smirking to himself while he finishes reholstering his own weapons.

Once the two of you are fully geared up, you move to the door and step back out into the hellscape that has become of Red Grave City. You look toward the giant demon tree looming in the distance. You know that whatever’s waiting up there… It’s going to bring one hell of a fight. Then you turn and look back toward the direction you’d come. Toward the direction of home. You clench your fists but resolve yourself to following Dante’s request.

You turn your gaze once more to find him already staring down at you. His gaze is carefully neutral, but there’s an anxious tick in his jaw as he waits to see what decision you’re going to make.

“You’ll come back to me, right?” you finally ask.

His shoulders drop slightly with released tension. “Always.”

You nod your head once, then turn a final time and begin heading back to the shop. Dante watches your first few steps, then turns and begins walking in the opposite direction. Neither of you looks back. You have no idea what the future has in store, but you trust Dante to give it his all. If he says he’s coming back, then by Hell or high water, he will. And you’ll be there, waiting for his return.

Part 2

[scrivenger-grimgar]

svsss x tgcf crossover where shen yuan is so dedicated to making sure his blorbos get everything they deserve.

shen yuan dies cursing out pidw as normal but he ends up in tgcf.

the book was his meimei's favorite and they both read each others favorites so they could yell about them together. he did not expect to end up loving this danmei so much, and shi qingxuan was his queer reality check. did he figure out that he was aroace-spec from relating to xie lian? yes. does he want to talk about it? no.

when he dies cursing out pidw he SHOULD have ended up there, but there was a glitch in the system and he ended up in a little village in tgcf. he knows all the plot points and character names, but he doesn't know where or when he is in the plot and he really wants to give his blorbos everything they deserve but he is a toddler.

so he just,,, lives. he knows he wont be able to cultivate, his family can't afford to send him to a sect, and his village doesn't have much outside of the basics. so when his family caught him teaching other kids abd realized that shen yuan could read? AND write?? AND do math!!?? well...

"meng po said i didnt need any soup." becomes the first lie he tells. he is so glad he retained his resting bitch face.

they think he might ascend as some legendary civil god. shen yuan knows he wont. and he doesnt.

his days are spent teaching other children, learning from the village craftsmen, listening to the brothel jiejies play music, panicking about his blorbos, and planning.

in his teens he becomes the village's official teacher, and officially apprentices under a cloth weaver and learns to make paper and ink.

part of him tells himself that he's learning these things ti help his family, another part says its to keep his mind off the plot.

his second death is uneventful, mostly because nobody actually realizes that he's dead. his parents were old, and his elder sister already married out, so he lived alone for 5 years already. dead at 27 due to a house fire, yet his soul is already strong enough to be wrath.

he comes to the very fair assumption that its simply due to his status not as a reincarnator, but as a millenial. the sheer amount of depression and existential dread he faced as a physically disabled terminally ill millenial in the corporate hell that is the post capitalist corporate purgatory primed his being as one that simply cultivated resentment like a finely aged wine.

but he so geniunely enjoyed teaching and learning that he just. never told anyone that he was dead. it completely slipped his mind as unimportant because he knows that ghosts in this world are just humans a bit to the left, and since he is still the same person as before, is just as much of a ghost as he was before, knows that he can still teach and learn the same as before. it doesn't change anything for him.

he just picks up his ashes, apprentices himself to the village potter, makes himself a new tea set, and weaves a beatiful tapestry dedicated to the only god who can truly do no wrong, yushi huang.

he continues teaching and learning, and genuinely caring for his village, carefully, carfully making sure he does not hurt his people, making sure he does not scare them.

the way his people discover he is a ghost is not pretty, but neither is it ugly.

a nobleman was in town to rest the night with his entourage of guards. one young lady working the local brothel is harrassed by the guards, so nervous she trips and spills wine on the young master.

the nobleman, covered in wine, tipsy and enraged, grabs her and throws her to the ground, yelling at her to grovel and apologise; he does not notice the hateful gaze of shen yuan, once playing a delicate tune only moments before.

shen yuan wants to stop this, but that would definitely reveal him as more than human. the choice is taken from him as this stranger has the gall to step on one of his own students, he feels his patience snap in the stunned silence of the entertainment hall.

faster than possible for any mortal, he stands by them, holding the nobleman by the front of his stupid fancy robes, panicked babbling about that bitch having her man-whore friend doom himself to suffer both their fates. one of the guards stabs shen yuan through the chest.

there is screaming as the village's beloved teacher is run through, even as he ignores the wound and drags the nobleman from the building, the guards running after them. shen yuan takes the entire group out to the forest with only the nobleman as bait, and uses the silence if the night as a backdrop for the unrelenting slaughter of 15 people.

when he returns, he is covered in blood, carrying everything they had on them. the word has spread. their teacher is something else. but that wasn't nesicarily bad. the nobleman's rescources are stripped of identity and spread amongst the villagers. shen yuan has not harmed them, only stepping in when one of them was in harm's way. they have known him for 30 years, they know he is nothing if not kind.

so he protects them. because they have always been his family. so for centuries he does. he watches his peers as they grow old and die, caring after their children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. he is their teacher. he is their uncle. he is their ---.

there was a period of time where the town thought shen yuan took on a heveanly tribulation only to reject godhood and return to the village. shen yuan tried to tell people that wasn't true, that he never became a god or refused godhood, that he was simply trapped in a mountain for a decade, stewing in a pot of resentment and accidentally becoming a ghost king.

he doesnt even know how he did that, just that apparently yoyos are similar enough to meteorhammers that he could apply the same concepts, and also that he had enough condenced rage and nerdiness to actually figure out anime moves with qi. so what if half of the ghosts in the kiln thought he was some kind of spider demon, he has cool threads that he can use to kill you.

and actually fuck you, spiders are pretty damn cool!

it starts not long after that. the prayers. his people are praying to him, as if he's some kind of god.

thats when he realizes. he can pray to the gods. he can pray to the gods, and they will only ever know the temple it came from. and really he's spent so long worrying over not just his blorbos but also his whole village, and really what is he if not an anonymous millenial internet troll.

and so it begins.

(remember to check reblogs for more!)

[sparklingblu]

Eroverse

Pt.6 - Resistance

ft. Karina

Family reunions can be awkward.

But none can rival this one.

Eros looks like he's going to throw up any moment - his face white as a sheet of paper. His eyes dart from Karina's face to yours. Then to the scattered naked bodies of the hunters and back to Karina's face.

“Answer me. What is this madness?”

Karina asks, the anger evident in her voice - brewing and crackling like a storm right there in the room. Her normally perfect features are twisted to a scowl that could melt any mortal into a puddle. If looks could kill, Eros would’ve been a goner five times over.

But you are now experienced enough to realize that the idol before you is indeed not an idol at all. You are not a mythology nerd but you have a vague picture of what Karina actually is.

The tingly feeling on your skin: check.

Looking like an idol: check.

Anger issues: check.

Yes. Definitely a goddess (both literally and metaphorically in this case).

“Uh….”

Eros, the literal god of love, who can make an army swoon with a wink, looks like a kid caught stealing candy. His face is pale, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. For a second, you wonder if you should step in and help, but then you remember: this is Eros’s mess. You have just narrowly escaped being slaughtered by a goddess. You are not gonna try to relive the experience.

“Mom…I…” he finally croaks, his voice cracking like a teenage boy’s.

Karina’s expression darkens. “Don’t you ‘Mom’ me, Eros,” she snaps. “Do you have any idea what you have done?”

Eros glances at you and Kazuha for backup. You give him a look that says Oh, no way, buddy. You are on your own. Kazuha seems to share your opinion but her eyes betray no emotion. You doubt even Eors’ most loyal angel is enthusiastic about dealing with an angry goddess. Especially not after what she has just gone through. Eros’s shoulders slump, realizing there’s no easy way out of this. He shuffles his feet, suddenly very interested in the floor.

“Look, it’s not that bad-” he starts.

Karina’s laugh cuts him off, sharp and humourless. “Not that bad? NOT THAT BAD? You don’t know what you are doing, Eros. You are tampering with powers you don’t understand. Stealing the helm of darkness? Doing…,” she eyes the naked spent body of Artemis aka Chaewon with disgust. “this to a daughter of Zeus? You are lucky you are not already in Tartarus”

“Mom, you don’t understand. I-”

But once again, Karina doesn’t give him a chance to speak. “And that mortal,” her gaze falls on you and you are suddenly made aware that being butt naked isn’t the best attire for a meeting with an angry goddess. In her elegant white dress, Karina may be otherworldly beautiful but the fury in her eyes is absolutely terrifying, like she can burn you to ash right on the spot. And there’s no promise that wouldn’t be the case. “has the mark of Asmodeus. The mark, Eros. Do you understand how dangerous it is? Or do you think this is another of your funny little party tricks?”

“Hey!” you protest. “I’m literally right here”

Karina shot you a look so sharp you instantly regret speaking. “Quiet, mortal. We will deal with you later”

You swallow hard and try to disappear into a wall. No such luck.

Eros raises his hands in surrender, backing up like a guy caught sneaking past curfew. “Okay, okay, I messed up! I get it, alright? But I have a plan”

Karina looks like she’s going to blow up, any moment. Her eyes, full of fury before, now seem to hold flames within. If it’s Eros’s nonchalance that sets her off or something else, you can’t be sure.

Perhaps sensing that things are going to get out of hand, Kazuha finally breaks her silence. “Your grace, ma’am Aphrodite, if I may-”

“Hold your tongue too, angel!” Karina snaps back and Kazuha gaze falls to the floor, silenced.

Lucky for you, though, because you no longer need to ask Kazuha which goddess it is again (that is, if she’s even in the mood to answer). Aphrodite, of course. It’s an easy guess,really. Who else is there aside from the goddess of beauty to take on the form of one of the top visuals of 4th gen? Even you, whose knowledge on mythology is pitiful, know that much.

Karina - no, Aphrodite - continues. “A plan?” She takes a slow, measured step towards Eros. The whole room suddenly feels hotter and you swear you are not imagining the goosebumps on your skin. She’s mad mad. “You mean the kind of plan that could unravel the balance of the cosmos, Eros? That kind of plan?”

Eros holds her gaze for a moment, then shrugs, forcing his usual smirk back onto his face. “When you put it like that, it sounds really bad ”

Karina doesn’t blink. “Because it’s really bad”

You stand off to the side, feeling like an unwanted extra in a godly family drama. It’s not everyday you see a goddess scolding her son like he’d forgotten to take out the trash - except, in this case, the trash might be something on a cosmic scale.

“So, give me a good reason Eros,” Aphrodite stops, exhaling sharply through her nose. “Or I will hand you to Zeus with my own hands”

For the first time since this whole thing started, Ero’s jolly persona is nowhere to be found. He seems to be contemplating, brows furrowed and lips stretched tight. The god of love has never looked this serious.

Finally, Eros lifts his eyes back upon Karina’s face. “Because we deserve better’” he says, and his voice, though quiet, is steady. “You deserve better”

Aphrodite’s expression froze, like she has not been expecting that.

Eros takes a step closer, his tone shifting - softer now, almost coaxing. You wonder if the ability comes with being a love god. “You were the first, mom. The first Olympian. The oldest. You were there before any of those old nutjobs were born”

The sky crackles with thunder at that, as if Zeus himself has heard Eros. And you are suddenly aware that the scenery beyond the glass has shifted - now displaying ancient Greek in its full glory, with its marble temples and bronze sculptures. The place looks eerily beautiful, deprived of people.

But Eros doesn’t seem to give two fucks about what the king of gods think, because he continues. “And yet, look where you stand now - beneath him. Beneath all of them,” his voice drips with venom. “Is that fair?”

Aphrodite is silent for a moment, then she lets out a weak chuckle. “This is crazy. You are crazy”

Nonetheless, Eros presses on. “What I’m doing….what I’ve set in motion…it’s not just for me. It’s for you. For us”

So that’s it, you think. Everything you have done so far, every near death experience you have survived; it’s all just for Eros to gain his mom’s approval. A desperate attempt of a wayward son for recognition. And you have gladly gone along with it.

You feel really stupid. But it’s too late to back out now. Because the power…..it’s addicting.

Aphrodite doesn’t speak. But she’s no longer furious, now. She’s interested. She’s listening.

Eros tilts his head towards you. “And he is the key”

You have a sudden horrible feeling that you are standing on the edge of something massive, something you weren't supposed to understand.

If Eros plans to dethrone the gods with your abilities, you doubt the outcome would be pretty. Sure, you can make goddesses and angels become your cocksleeves with your magical dick, but even that isn’t without a fight. You will literally have no chance against all the Olympians. And the mere thought of using your powers on any male god makes you shudder. Even your perverted mind has its limits.

Karina studies you as if she has read your thoughts, before turning back to Eros. “You are not the first to try” she begins slowly. “And you won’t be the first to fail. Lust can be a powerful weapon if you wield it correctly, but this? This is madness”

Eros doesn’t respond. For once, he doesn’t have a clever remark or a lazy smirk.

Aphrodite lets out a sigh. “Clean up this mess,” she gestures to the naked, spent bodies of the hunters and Artemis. “If anyone asks, I’ve never been here, got it? I’ll be watching, Eros”

And with a swish of her dress, she heads to the doorway she has come from. In an instant, the room erupts in a blinding light once more. Unfortunately, you make the mistake of staring too long and the luminous rays scorch your eyes before you shut them tight.

It takes a while for you to blink out the white spots dancing across your vision. But when you finally regain perfect sight, Aphrodite is gone.

Everything is still for a moment, before it’s broken by Eros’s voice.

“Well,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “That could’ve gone worse”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Because now, the exhaustion is hitting you all at once. The battle in Artemis’s verse, the fatigue that follows the mark’s activation, the sheer weight of what you’ve been thrown into - it crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your body feels like lead, every muscle burning, every bone aching.

The world tilts.

You sway on your feet, gripping your side as your vision blurs. Someone - Kazuha? - says your name, but it’s distant, muffled, like a sound travelling through water. Your knees buckle, and the last thing you hear before the darkness takes you is Eros’s voice, sounding oddly far away.

“Guess we push him a little too hard”

And then – nothing.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

After seeing skeletons and three headed beasts in your dreams for weeks in a row, you already know what to expect when you are beyond your consciousness. Or maybe, something far worse.

But this time, it’s different.

The material beneath you is soft, a stark contrast to the cold, hard ground you remember collapsing on. Blinking against the golden light filtering from above, you push yourself up slowly, your muscles still aching from…everything.

The room around you is massive, circular, its marble walls pristine and smooth, interrupted only by tall pillars that stretch towards a domed ceiling. It reminds you of Persephone’s chamber in the underworld, the only difference being its cold, dreadful atmosphere replaced by a cheerful one.

The air smells of salt and roses, an odd combination that somehow makes sense. Sunlight streams in through openings between the pillars, casting shifting patterns across the polished floor.

You look at yourself. Your body is still bare, but it’s not misty and see through like back in your visit to the underworld. So, you are not dead yet. That’s a relief.

But you have learnt that if something looks remotely safe or welcoming in this world, it mostly isn’t. So you try to be cautious. As cautious as someone who’s butt naked and defenseless can be.

You are starting to contemplate whether you should just go back to sleep when you see her.

Karina, leaning against one of the pillars, dresses in a different outfit now - a white tank top, perfectly fitted jeans, and sneakers that look too clean to have ever touched mortal ground. It’s nothing godly but her beauty never fails to shine through, betraying her divinity.

“You’re awake,” she notes, her voice smooth, unimpressed.

You sit up stiffly, wincing at the stiffness in your limbs. “Am I dreaming?”

“Sorta” She tilts her head slightly, regarding you like an interesting specimen. “I borrow your soul for a while”

You don’t really understand what she means but decide not to raise questions. Not out of fear but rather, the curiosity of why she has brought her here in the first place.

“I have come to offer you a gift,” Karina says, answering your thoughts.

You blink, unsure you have heard her right. “A gift?”

She hums in confirmation, but doesn’t elaborate.

You hesitate, sensing a trap somewhere in her offer. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer straight away. Instead, she studies you, her gaze sharp and knowing. And then, with the faintest of smirks, she says, “Because I feel like it”

No way you are buying that.

Your mind races back to her confrontation with Eros, how she has despised his plan to dethrone the gods. “I thought you don’t agree with Eros’s plan” you say, watching her carefully.

Her smile doesn’t falter, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She shrugs. “I didn’t say that”

That throws you off. “So you agree?”

Another shrug. “I didn’t say that either”

You stare at her, frustration creeping in. “That’s not an answer”

Aphrodite sighs, folding her arms. “No, it’s not”

She steps closer, stopping just at the edge of the bed. From this distance, you can see the way the lights catch in her dark eyes, how they shimmer like a vortex of jewels. She looks casual, relaxed even, but you can sense it’s all a mask to hide something deeper.

“You think the power you have now is impressive?” she asks. “That little trick you pulled on Artemis? That’s nothing”

You frown. “Nothing?”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “A fraction. A sliver. The barest hint of what you are capable of” Her assessing gaze hovers over you, like she’s imagining what you have become. “Right now, you are a candle in the dark. But given time….you could be a wildfire”

More power. That’s exactly what you are afraid of. If you have already developed the thirst for the mark, you wonder what will become of you if its power grows. Will you even be human?

You swallow hard. “And, you’re just telling me this out of the kindness of your heart, aren’t you?”

She smirks. “Oh, sweetheart. I don’t do anything out of kindness”

You don’t doubt that.

She steps back slightly, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “This gift I have planned to give you. It’s a taste of what to come”

You tense. “What kind of gift?”

She smiles, slow and deliberate. “A new ability. One you will unlock eventually. But I’m feeling generous today”

You don’t know if ‘generous’ is the right word. Whatever she’s offering, it’s not just for you. There’s something in it for her, too. There always is.

“What ability?” you ask carefully.

Karina’s smile deepens. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

And before you can react, she reaches out, pressing two fingers against your forehead.

The world tilts-

And everything explodes.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

When everything stops spinning, the marble room is gone.

You blink. The soft glow of divine architecture is replaced by dim fluorescents of a….classroom. You find yourself seated in a chair of a location too familiar.

It’s the kind of room you have seen a thousand times before - rows of wooden desks, a blackboard at the front, a few motivational posters peeling off the walls. The faint scent of chalk and old textbook lingers in the air. Outside the window, the world is…nothing. Just an endless, swirling void.

You barely have time to process the shift before you hear the click of heels against the floor.

When you turn, your brain nearly short-circuits.

Karina is leaning against the teacher’s desk, arms folded, one leg crossed over the others. Only now, she’s not in her usual jeans and tank top. Instead, she’s dressed like every high school fantasy rolled into one - a tight white blouse, unbuttoned just enough to reveal her ample cleavage, a red plaid skirt that barely reaches mid-thigh, thigh-high stockings, and glossy black heels. She’s twirling a piece of hair around one finger, watching you with amusement.

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

She smirks. “Welcome to my verse”

Your brain is still buffering. “Your verse is a classroom?”

“For you,” she says, hopping up onto the desk and crossing her legs. “Unlike the others you have visited, mine is unique. Do you know why?” She leans forward slightly, her tits on the brink of spilling out from the fragile fabric. “It shifts and bends…according to the visitor’s deepest kink”

You stiffen. “That - that’s not true”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Then why do I look like this?”

You have no answer.

Karina chuckles, tapping a finger against her temple. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. The Verse doesn’t lie”

You swallow hard. “You - this - you are messing with me”

“Am I?” Her lips curve into something wicked. “Or are you just embarrassed that this is what your subconscious really wants?”

You are hard. So hard that it hurts. Your cock is rigid and springing up to its full length. With the lack of clothes, you have no way to hide your arousal. But you shove it down, trying to focus. “Why bring me here? What’s the point?”

Karina hums, swinging her legs idly. “I told you - I’m giving you a gift. But power is best awakened when you are completely in sync with your own desires” She tilts her head, watching your reaction carefully. “And nothing lays a person bare quite like this”

You want to deny her, try to compose yourself. But the truth is - she’s absolutely right. She’s pushing all the right buttons, using every buried fantasy of yours to her advantage. You know what’s coming next is inevitable, even with your lust hazed brain.

Karina slides off the desk with the grace of a predator, each step deliberate, heels clicking across the floor. Her eyes lock onto yours, and you find yourself rooted in place, unable to move.

She circles around you, like she’s sizing you up. Her fingers trail across your shoulder, down your arm, sending a shiver through your body. Her touch is light, teasing, but it feels like she’s peeling off layers you didn’t even know you had.

“You’re tense.” she whispers into your ear, her breath tickling your ear. Her hands rest on your shoulders, massaging gently, but there’s a weight to her touch that makes you weak. “You shouldn’t be”

You try to keep your breathing steady but it’s a losing battle. Her presence is overwhelming, seeping into your brain, clouding your thoughts.

“What are you doing?” you manage to ask, though your voice comes out shaky.

She chuckles softly, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I’m just showing you what you are capable of.” Her hands slide down your chest, pressing lightly, and you can feel your resolve wavering, crumbling under her touch. “You have so much potential, so much power. But it’s locked away because you’re afraid”

“I’m not-” you start, but she cuts you off, spinning you around to face her. Your eyes instinctively fall on her plentiful tits, which are now on full display from this new angle.

“Eyes up here, honey,” she cups your face, forcing you to meet her eyes. “You’re afraid of the power inside you. Afraid of what you could become. Afraid of losing control” Her thumbs brush over your cheek, her touch light yet commanding. “But power is only dangerous if you don’t understand it”

Everything she’s telling you could be a lie. But you no longer care. Because all you crave now is more of this, more of her touch, her breath, her warmth. Her hand slides down , resting against your chest, and you feel your heart pounding beneath her fingertips.

“What do you want, really?” she asks, her voice a soft purr. “To be free of this? To understand it? Or maybe…” Her lips curve into a knowing smile. “To embrace it?”

Your mind is spinning, her words digging deep, unraveling desires you didn’t know were there. She rests a hand on your thigh, tracing idle patterns on your skin. Yet, her eyes never leave you, holding you captive.

“Stop fighting it,” she breathes, her voice a soft command. “Let go”

You feel the last shed of your resistance crumbles to dust. It’s intoxicating, the way she breaks down your walls, knocking them over like mere toys. And you finally relent, letting go of the fear, the doubt.

“Good boy” she praises.

And that’s when she crushes your lips with hers.

It’s not love. Far from it. It’s not affection either. But it’s equally addicting, something you want more the moment you have its taste, like an oasis in the desert. And Karina doesn’t keep you thirsty. She keeps on kissing you, letting you busk in the feeling of her silky lips, moist and soft each time they make contact with yours. Her tongue slips out to seek yours and you happily let yourself be found, intertwining it with yours, tasting her.

Her hand on your thigh isn't still either, slithering its way upwards until it finally reaches the hardness between your legs, gripping the base. You let out a moan against her lips, as her grip tightens. She can feel you throbbing. You are sure of it. She can feel how desperately you need her.

She gives you a single stroke, her fist around your length pumping a single time. And that’s enough to set you off.

Your veins flood with power. Your whole body is enveloped in gold. The upside down pentagon on your pelvis glows brighter than ever. And your cock, looks like it can destroy armies (literally).

Karina pulls back, though your lips still connect with a string of saliva. The scene turns you on so much that if it’s not been the mark, you feel like your cock would go numb from throbbing.

“And we are back,” she muses, studying your cock like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “Look at this beautiful thing”

“You are not affected by the mark?” you ask, surprised. Persephone and Artemis have become slaves to the mark’s power as soon as it activates. But Aphrodite doesn’t seem fazed. In fact, she looks mesmerized.

“The mark only punishes those who try to fight it” she says, now stroking your shaft in an agonizingly slow pace. “I embrace it”

She’s still admiring your cock with sparkling eyes. You are used to people cowering before the mark with fear or sometimes even disgust that someone worshipping it is such a strange sight. On the other hand, perhaps, you are content that someone finally acknowledges its power instead of treating it like a curse.

“Only a fool would reject something this…divine,” she mutters dreamily, her digits tightening around your shaft. “This hard. This….big”

She places a single kiss on your tip and you swear you can see stars. You can feel her breath on your skin, the phantom warmth that precedes what comes next.

“May I suck your cock, sir?” she asks, voice dripping with feigned innocence.

She’s fueling your fantasy. If the settings and the outfit aren’t enough, she has decided to roleplay too. A roleplay that’s too accurate to be a roleplay.

“You may,” you reply. You don’t know if you are in the position to give orders, but if she’s really getting into this slutty schoolgirl act, you decide you’d better too. Afterall, it takes two to tango.

“Thanks, sir” And with that, her lips part around your tip, swallowing you inch by inch until half of your shaft has disappeared into her wet warmth. Her tongue swipes at your slit and the moans spill from you before you can control yourself.

Karina pulls back, a glint of something like victory in her eyes. “You need me that bad, sir? Need that big cock in my pretty mouth?”

You can’t voice an answer. Your brain is too jumbled to string coherent words. So you give her a single nod.

“I thought so,” she says as if it isn’t obvious before she welcomes your shaft back into her mouth again.

You throw your head back in mind-numbing pleasure. Everything feels so….surreal. Her lips gliding along your veiny shaft, her tongue that darts out so often to taste your leaking slit, the loud slurping sounds she’s probably making intentionally to rile you up.

It's a mess. It’s filthy. It’s everything you want.

The goddess of love herself is blowing your shaft. Or rather, Karina, the dream woman of million fans, herself has your cock in her mouth. You doubt both are luxuries that just anyone gets to experience.

Maybe Karina is just doing this for her benefit. It would be downright idiotic to think that a goddess would blow your cock for free. But right now, your mind is blank, focused on the single blissful feeling of Karina’s mouth working your length.

A loud gurgle escapes her lips when she swallows your whole shaft, nose pressed against your pelvis. The sudden, constricting warmth of her throat is unexpected. But when a goddess deepthroats you, you don’t complain.

She locks her gaze with yours as she holds your cock captive in her throat. Seconds pass but she shows no sign of backing out, still as determined as ever to keep you trapped in her tight warmth.

As for you, each second passed is another step to utopia, wishing this euphoric feeling never ends. Let her keep your cock warm forever.

But your hope quickly crumbles when she finally releases your cock, leaving it drenched in her drool. A waterfall of saliva stains her blouse, rendering it transparent to the point you can see the slightest hint of her rosy nipples.

“Oh, look like I’ve made a mess,” she says casually, like getting drool on your clothes is a normal occurrence. “I’d better clean up, hmm?”

You don’t understand what she’s talking about until she starts unbuttoning her shirt. Each loose button reveals more of her milky, round globes, peaking around the white fabric. She gets the job done quickly but it’s not like there’s much button left to begin with. Soon, her blouse lays a crumple heap on the floor.

“Like what you see?” she asks, like that’s even a question.

You are mesmerized. You can die happily now, you think. She may not be the real Karina but she’s still….well, Karina. And a full view of her glorious tits, which have their own fandom, is a privilege.

“Yeah…..” your voice comes out a shallow whisper, unable to think of anything except tits, tits and tits.

“Thought so,” she says, standing up and for a moment, you have a horrible thought that she’s gonna leave you like this - wanton and desperate. It’s exactly the kind of thing Aphrodite would do.

Luckily, she’s not feeling cruel today because she gets right back into her schoolgirl persona. “Say, sir. What do you think about stretching me out with that big cock?”

“You don’t even need to ask”

At your reply, Karina settles on your lap, facing you as she slowly guides your throbbing shaft inside her short skirt, her hands coming to rest on the nape of your neck. You watch your cock disappear into her red clothing, until you feel a wetness connect with your tip.

“Fill me up” And just like that, she sinks herself onto your shaft. You both let out a moan in unison. Her, from being utterly stretched out and you, from the way her walls squeeze your length.

Neither of you move for a second, adapting to this new position of depravity. But it doesn’t last long as Karina starts to roll her hips slowly. Your hands instinctively rest on her waist, guiding her movements.

“Fuck, you are so big. Even bigger than Ares…” she groans. You have no idea who she’s talking about but hey, a compliment’s still a compliment.

“Come on. You want those tits, don’t you?” she urges, pushing those busty globes into your face. And you gladly oblige, latching your lips onto one of her stiff nipples.

“Mhmm fuck” she groans as you swipe your tongue at her rosy bud before moving on to the other and doing the same thing. You decide not to be too greedy for now, devoting yourself to tasting one of her milkers, sucking and licking.

She writhes and trembles at the attention you are giving her tits, but her hip action doesn’t waver. She’s still riding you steadily, letting you enjoy her goddess pussy each time your shaft splits it open.

“God, your cock feels so good. So fucking big. Nghh…” She starts to pick up the pace, literally bouncing on your cock now as you turn your attention towards her unattended nipple, enjoying it the same way you did to its predecessor.

This double pleasure, that comes from both her tits and her pussy, can’t be described with words. It’s something beyond human comprehension that you doubt any other mortal could have gone through this and survive.

Her walls squeeze you just right, as if it has memorized every vulnerable spot, tackling with a precision that leaves your mind swimming.

Each time her ass crashes down onto your cock, she lets out a guttural moan. Her huge tits are jiggling so much now that it’s now impossible to put your mouth anywhere near. So you stop trying and enjoy the view.

You feel your body tingling with power, like a nuclear reactor on the verge of exploding. The glow on your pelvis grows brighter until it bathes the classroom in gold. Nevertheless, Karina is relentless - fucking herself on your throbbing cock like a bitch in heat. Who knows goddesses can be so beautiful yet so filthy?

But even the chosen one has his limits as you feel yourself spiralling to the inevitable end of this insatiable lust. The faint tingly feeling on your cock grows stronger until it’s overwhelming and soon, you unravel.

For a moment, all you can see is white as you unload spurt after spurt of your vile seed into Karina. It just keeps coming, everything stored in your balls, spilling into Karina’s cunt as she shudders from her own release. A few grunts follow as Karina rides you until she’s sure she has squeezed out the last drop of your load.

It takes a while to gather your thoughts.

When your senses finally return, Karina has returned to her earlier position on the desk, with the same cross-legged posture. The only difference being her tits out on display and the steady droplets of your cum dripping from under her skirt.

“Well,” she begins, not a hint of exhaustion in her voice, though sweat beads her temple and her hair has become a crumpled mess. “There’s your gift”

You blink. Karina has promised you a new ability but you don’t feel any different.

Then you realize.

You don’t feel any different.

Usually, extreme exhaustion, like you have run a marathon, follows after the mark’s power subsides. But this time, you don’t feel any of the fatigue, the weariness. Then you look down and find the answer.

The mark is still there. It has not disappeared like before. It’s not alight with power but it still glows a faint gold. Does it mean you can control it now?

“The mark….” you mutter.

“Indeed, the mark,” Karina agrees, amused at your realization. “Pretty handy, isn’t it? You don’t need to keep passing out every time you use it”

She is, no doubt, correct. Not only that you haven’t passed out but a fresh surge of energy has started travelling through your body. Your breath catches in your throat as another wave of arousal overwhelms you, and your cock springs up instantly from its limp form.

Karina smirks at the sight. “Easy there, tiger. Or we might stay in this verse forever”

This power. It’s pure and absolute. There’s no more doubt. No more fear. You have embraced what you are.

You are not a god. No. You are something far better. Something a thousand times more perfect. In no time, those who call themselves the divines will cower at your feet. In fact, they already are.

You are snapped out of your triumphant thoughts by the rattling sound of the desk as Karina slides down. She approaches you in slow and measured steps, like you are a bomb which can go off anytime.

“I’m sure we will meet again, Michael,” Karina says, inches away from you now. “For now, farewell”

Once again, she presses two fingers to your forehead.

And you spiral into an endless void.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

As abruptly as it has started, you find yourself back in your room at Eros’s place. The dim glow of city light filters through the rain-streaked windows, casting shifting patterns on the walls. Outside, New York sprawls endlessly, neon signs flickering, car horns blaring faintly in the distance. The scenery has shifted again.

The storm hasn’t let up either. Rain drums steadily against the glass, its rhythm oddly soothing. You half expect to feel the ache and exhaustion after you have landed face first on the floor but instead, your body hums with a quiet, unfamiliar energy.

You feel better than you have been in days. Better than you should.

Pushing yourself up from the bed, you flex your fingers, testing the sensation. No soreness, no aches. If anything, you feel sharper, like a blade freshly honed.

Suddenly, a chime pulls you from your thoughts.

You glance to the nightstand, where your phone screen glows softly in the dim room. A single notification sits at the top: a dark heart icon from the app you are too familiar with - the Ero app.

New ability acquired.

You snort, but the amusement fades the second you swipe open the screen and catch sight of the new wallpaper.

A bright, obnoxious Hello Kitty background stares back at you.

You sigh “Eros, you motherfuck-”

Shaking your head, you open the app - the same one that dragged you into this whole mess - and freeze.

It’s different.

Before, the Ero app was nothing more than a sleek, minimalistic portal. No menus, no settings - except for some occasional forewords about your quests. But now, the interface has shifted.

At the center of the screen is you. Or at least, a stylized version of you, shirtless, standing with an aura of gold swirling around you. Below it, your Profile is displayed, listing your Abilities in neat, glowing text.

Lust Epidemic. That must be the one which got the hunters acting like bitches in heat.

Domination. You are puzzled for a moment, then remember the mark you have imprinted upon Chaewon, turning her into your obedient slave.

And last but not least.

Endless Ardor. The one Aphrodite has granted.

And then, farther down-

You narrow your eyes.

A section labeled “Goddesses Conquered”.

The figures of Shuhua(Persephone), Chaewon(Artemis) and Karina(Aphrodite) are there, fitted in borders of golden hue. But the rest? Locked Silhouettes, dark and shadowed, their names blurred.

This looks like something out of an rpg game except that everything is real.

At the bottom, something else catches your eyes. A meter labeled Perfection.

It’s at 10%.

You stare at it, a strange unease creeping in. Perfection? What is that supposed to mean? And why does it feel like the app is tracking something you don’t fully understand yet?

Before you can think further, the door swings open.

Eros strides in, smelling like he has drowned in every perfume known to man, dressed in fresh clothes - ripped jeans and a loose button-down that hangs open just enough to be obnoxious. He grins like he owns the place. Which, considering this is his place, might not be far from the truth.

“Morning sunshine,” he drawls. “I come bearing a gift”

You raise an eyebrow. “A gift?”

Eros steps aside and the angel enters.

Kazuha walks in, looking clean and fresh. The wounds on her body are nowhere to be seen. She’s dressed like some kind of agent - fitted tank top, dark jeans and combat boots. Though you have to admit she looks insanely hot, that’s not what catches your attention. It’s what she’s holding.

A leash.

Connected to a collar.

Wrapped around Chaewon’s neck.

You are speechless. The once proud goddess of the hunt, stands on all fours, no different from a dog. There’s not a piece of clothing on her except for the collar around her neck. She stares at you with curiosity, but the fire in her eyes is gone, replaced by utter and complete obedience. Somehow, you get a feeling she’s awaiting an order.

Your order.

Eros chuckles, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Congratulations, buddy. You have officially tamed a goddess”

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

This one takes quite a while because I have been procrastinating. Thankfully, I get into the mood for some mythological action again. Enjoy.

[yasministration]

congrats on 3000!! may i please request a spring - “i can’t believe you’re all mine” with james potter? thank you <3

Words by the fireplace - James potter

ʀᴀɪɴʏᴅᴀʏᴀᴛʜᴏɢᴡᴀʀᴛꜱ' 3ᴋ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ! summary: sleepy conversations with bf!james potter - also happy late valentines wc: 0.5k+

A press of soft lips on your forehead caused a smile to bloom on your face. You’d been convinced James had been asleep for the last half an hour, but you didn’t want to move, the tight hold his arms hand around your body giving you comfort and warmth. Instead of leaving James alone in the common room for him to find you’d abandoned him, you busied yourself with staring at the dancing flames of the fire at the base of the chimney.

James’s lips separated from your forehead to press another kiss to your cheek, and another down your jaw. “Thought you were taking a nap.” You muttered, hands trailing under James’s untucked shirt to set on the warm skin of his chest. “Woke up like ten minutes ago.” He replied tiredly, suppressing a yawn. You shuffled in James’s arms so you could twist your body just enough to look him in the eyes, a look of adoration on your face. James smiled, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned down to press his lips to yours in a loving kiss.

After a moment of silence, James spoke again. “You stayed.” You hummed, a hand reaching up between you and your boyfriend’s bodies to tug on the collar of James’s shirt. You pulled him closer to you by the article of clothing, digging your face in the crook of his neck and pressing a kiss on his skin. James’ arms loosened up from around your body, one hand snaking under your thigh to pull your leg over his lap. You shifted your weight over James so that you could straddle him, turning your head to rest your cheek on his chest, feeling the thump of the steady beat of his heart.

“Thought you ‘n Marlene had plans.” James whispered, one hand resting on your back as the other brushed hair away from your face. “Told her tomorrow.” You replied, sighing in satisfaction as you blinked slowly, eyelids getting heavier every time you opened them. “Could’ve slept.” He chuckled, causing a smile to tug at the corner of your lips. “I know. Don’t know why I didn’t.” “Like watching me sleep, that’s why.” It was your turn to laugh, and you finally lifted your head off James’s muscular chest. “Can’t deny that. But, I…” Your words drifted as you glanced at James, so carefully observing you, listening to each word you uttered. James hummed, cueing you to continue. “… I think we should go back to sleep. In a bed.”

A wide grin formed on James’s face, and he cupped your face, pulling you to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “I can’t believe you’re all mine.” You felt your face heat up, standing up when he tapped you twice on the leg, holding a hand out for him to hold. James took your hand, leading you to his dorm, and asking “Well if we sleep until past six and I miss practice, can I blame it one you?” You nodded before stopping in your tracks and furrowing your eyebrows. “James you’re captain. You can cancel practice.”

“Oh yeah, let me do that."

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes

[gilbertscurls]

bouquet — matt sturniolo

summary: matt gets flowers for the first time in his life

inspired by

Matt walked into the apartment after a long day of filming, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion. The apartment was dimly lit, a cozy contrast to the bustling city outside. He dropped his backpack by the door and was about to head to the kitchen for a snack when he noticed something unusual—a faint, sweet fragrance in the air.

Curious, Matt followed the scent to the living room, where a soft glow from a lamp illuminated a small table in the center of the room. There, in the middle of the table, was a beautiful bouquet of flowers. They were a mix of vibrant colors, with roses, lilies, and daisies creating a stunning display.

Matt’s eyes widened as he took in the sight. He had never received flowers before, and the gesture struck him as both surprising and deeply touching. He reached out and gently touched the petals, admiring the delicate arrangement.

Just then, you walked in from the bedroom, your face lighting up when you saw Matt’s reaction. You had been planning this surprise for days, hoping to do something special for him and show how much you appreciated him.

“Surprise!” you said with a warm smile, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

Matt turned to you, his expression a mixture of astonishment and delight. “Baby, these are… Wow. They’re beautiful. But I don’t understand—what’s the occasion?”

You walked over and stood beside him, your gaze soft and affectionate. “No special occasion, just a little something to brighten your day. I know how hard you’ve been working lately, and I wanted to do something to show you how much you mean to me.”

Matt’s heart melted at your words. He reached out and took your hand, squeezing it gently. “You didn’t have to do this. But I’m so glad you did. It means more to me than you know.”

You beamed and kissed him softly on the cheek. “I wanted to. You deserve to feel appreciated and loved, even on the tough days.”

Matt carefully picked up the bouquet, bringing it close to his face to inhale the sweet fragrance. “I’ve never gotten flowers before. I didn’t realize how special it would feel. Thank you.”

You smiled, your heart full of happiness. “I’m glad you like them. I thought they might add a bit of color and joy to your day.”

Matt set the bouquet down on the table and then pulled you into a warm embrace. “They definitely do. And this—” he said, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes “—this means more to me than any flowers ever could.”

Your eyes softened, and you leaned in for another kiss, your love for each other evident in the gentle connection.

You spent the evening together, enjoying each other’s company in the warmth of your home. The flowers, now a symbol of your love and thoughtfulness, stood proudly on the table, a vibrant reminder of the special bond you shared

As you both relaxed on the couch, Matt’s arm draped around you, he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude and contentment. The surprise of receiving flowers for the first time was more than just a gesture—it was a reflection of the love and care that defined your relationship.

And in that moment, surrounded by the gentle fragrance of the flowers and the comforting presence of you, Matt felt truly, profoundly happy.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry

[mourning-sapphire]

sundress | aemond targaryen

Summary: the annual targaryen summer party, a sundress, and almost getting caught.

Pairing: modern!aemond targaryen x fiancé!reader

Fic warnings: smut (MDNI), rich boy!aemond, semi-public sex, no panties and the heat has aemond acting dizzy, quickie in the sun/shenanigans in the garden, sundress kink, oral (f), fingering (f), being taken from behind, Aemond get's a little nasty and doesnt care that you're sweaty, almost getting caught, realising that you do infact like fucking when there's high stakes.

Word count: 11.2k

authors note: summers here and so am i with some smut, no beta just vibes and the will to live (ill catch and mistakes later and rage about it to myself)

masterlist

The Red Keep Estate

Aemond wasn’t sure if it was the relentless glare of the sun that was causing the dull, pulsing ache behind his eye, or the more likely culprit—the oppressive weight of yet another year spent sitting stiffly at this table in his mother’s garden, surrounded by family members who he’d rather lose another eye than see again.

It was a common tradition, something that had been going on much longer than he had even drawn breath, that everyone would gather at the estate during the summer for a week and pretend that they didn’t hate each other for a few moments. Every summer without fail, he’d drive out here from his place in the city, sit there and pretend he didn’t loathe his half-sister and the entitled brood she’d brought with her, nor his uncle's side of the family with the cousins that hated him. Truth be told, even his own siblings tested the last of his patience, Aegon and Daeron were too similar to mesh with his personality, and Helaena was too drawn in to be decent company.

It was something that he truly dreaded, that was until you came into his life.

While, no, he still didn’t ever want to come home for the summer and sit with his family, the idea of being there was made at least a little sweeter on his tongue by the inclusion of you in his life. Despite dating for 3 years, and now engaged, he hesitated at first to even bring him with you on these trips, he feared what proximity to his family might undo what the two of you had so carefully built together—feared that the venom and rot that clung to his bloodline might somehow seep into you too. That a single weekend at the estate might unravel everything, reduce the rare calm he’d found in you into ashes.

But surprisingly you took to the challenge easily.

You often softened his edges, dulling the sharpness he carried into every interaction he was forced to have, and gave him something to focus on that wasn’t raw frustration or contempt for his family. Aemond was truly and desperately thankful for you in his life, not just in this regard, but in every way possible.

While he usually didn’t want to attend most years, this year was especially filled with reluctance, but for good reason. At the beginning of summer, he had proposed to you, and he was set on making this summer about just the two of you. Wanting to celebrate your life together, relaxing, and getting things in place to eventually start planning a wedding. Being both busy people, all he wanted was to jet away to some sun-struck island in Essos and pretend that he couldn’t hear his phone ringing for 3-4 glorious weeks.

But things hadn’t gone to plan, and he was still kicking himself for it.

Just days before your departure, the two of you in your bedroom—your suitcases open and half-filled on the bed as you moved quickly between drawers, deciding what to bring, picking out his clothes because he thought you dressed him best. All while he sat in the bay window, silent as the night with arms resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on you while you fluttered around like his little butterfly.

“What about this one, baby?” You had mused while holding up a soft blue dress, the fabric thin for the weather and silk, floor length and low backed, “Is it too much?”

Aemond could have melted at the way you turned from the closet; eyebrows pulled in that way he loved as you looked to him for an opinion. You never realized how beautiful you were in the quiet moments. How he could fall in love with you all over again just watching you stand in your shared space, caring about the little things.

“No, my love…” He sighed softly, standing up from the bay window to approach you, his hands meeting your waist instantly as he pressed himself to your back, “However, it would look a lot better if we were on the beach, or by the sea, not at my mother’s house.”

You only smiled softly at him, lowering the dress as you looked back at him, a gentle twitch to your lips that had him relaxing instantly, “It won’t be that bad…”

“You know I hate it.” He sighed softly, head dipping down to press a kiss to your nape, “I can see my mother whenever during the year, the rest of them… I can live without…”

You didn’t answer straight away.

Instead, you hung the dress back into your closet before turning in his arms, a sweet sigh passing your lips your own wrapped around his neck. You tilted your head slightly, face soft and fingers sinking into the back of his long hair. Trying to calm his frustration in any way you could, fingers brushing the back of his scalp in a soothing rhythm.

His eye had closed at your touch.

“I know,” you whispered, and that was all it took—no rebuttal, no platitudes. Just quiet understanding. That was always the difference with you. “We only have to stay for a week, max, then what about we go on a smaller vacation, before you have to go back to work, hm?”

If he had the strength, he would have cancelled the whole bloody trip, and taken you to that island for the whole time instead. Somewhere warm and blue and so far away from his family that he might have forgotten their names eventually. Somewhere your skin would taste of salt and sunlight, and he could pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist.

He imagined you in that blue dress you just showed, walking barefoot through the pale sand of Volantis, the wind playing with your hair, your laughter carrying in the breeze. He imagined the two of you tangled in white sheets of your bed beneath an open window, your moans getting lost to the sea, the ocean murmuring back just beyond the glass.

He imagined no phones, no work, just long days, warm nights, and the chance to breathe with you.

But instead, he’d nodded, leaning down as he kissed your forehead and said, “Alright.”

And just like that, the island faded into a dream.

Now here the two of you were, stuck at his mother’s estate for about a week and a half, surrounded by everyone he hated.

As expected from his mother, the garden was in full bloom, the air heavy with the sickly-sweet scent of everything that grew on the ground. But none of it could disguise his barely concealed disdain for the situation still. Aemond still dreamed to be on a beach, but instead, he was here, jaw tight, hands folded, playing his part beneath the merciless summer sun.

He sat stiffly beneath the shade of the veranda, the collar of linen his shirt already sticking to his neck. At your instance this morning, his hair was up to try and cool him and he nursed some sweating cold drink his mother thrust into his hand.

He had little interest in talking to his family who were sparse around the grounds, his brothers off somewhere on the other side of the estate most likely getting high. His mother tucked down by the firepit, sharing conversation with his half-sister and their new baby. While his uncle was chatting mindlessly to the welp of his nephew, the familiar bunch of brown curls made Aemond want to launch the crystal glass he held at them.

So instead, his eye settled on you, chatting to his sister with the same thought he’s had for weeks; he wasn’t supposed to be here. That it was supposed to be just you and him alone. Not surrounded by his brother’s booming laughter echoing through the estate like a war drum, or rolling his eye at his uncle’s passive-aggressive barbs wrapped towards his side of the family, or his mother’s carefully worded guilt.

From his seat, he could see you clearly across the garden, standing with his Helaena near one of the tables of food laid out for everyone. Your posture open, your expression kind, as always. You laughed softly at something Helaena said, showing her the ring on your finger while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you listened to her fawning.

Aemond watched the way the sunlight caught you, how natural you looked even here, even surrounded by people who barely tried to hide their judgement towards each other.

He envied your patience sometimes, your grace.

And then, there was that dress.

The blue one you’d held up for him in your shared bedroom, voice playful, eyes bright. He hadn’t forgotten. He never would. And now, seeing it on you, draped so deliciously over your form, catching the summer breeze, it stirred something low and possessive in him, curling in the pit of his stomach.

You were truly radiant to look at even from here, all light limbs and grace. He never got the chance to ever just look from a distance, be he ate it up, the way one moment you leaned down to look at something your sister-in-law pointed out in the flower beds, and the next you twirled gently, fingers dancing across a cluster of blooms. His lips twitching as your laughter rang loud.

Aemond couldn’t look away, he didn’t care who else was watching, you were his fiancé and he’d look at you as much as he pleased.

The soft blue silk hugged your body in all the right places, loose enough to seem delicate but not so loose that it hid anything from a trained eye—his eye. The low back dipped scandalously, your skin glistening faintly under the sun, which he knew was a salty mix of sweat and the vanilla oil you put on this morning. The way the fabric shifted with every step made something inside him still.

He knew he was looking particularly hard, but it was something to do while he ignored everyone else, then he saw it. It was a single moment, a trick of movement. A subtle shift of the fabric as you stepped sideways. There was no lining of your usual panties, no outline beneath the waist, nothing beneath.

Nothing.

His breath hitched, his jaw tightening with restraint and the glass in his hand suddenly felt too fragile, too full. You weren’t wearing anything under the dress. He swallowed hard, gaze darkening, his eye dragging down your silhouette with a different kind of focus now. Everything else around him blurred—no more idle chatter, no clinking glasses or rustling leaves.

Just you. The curve of your hip as the silk slid over it. The gentle press of your breasts beneath the fabric, untethered and entirely his to imagine. The faintest imprint of your body when you turned toward the sun, arms stretched as you lifted your hair to cool your neck.

Did you do it on purpose?

He wouldn’t put it past you, you were clever like that and quietly bold. While you were never one for unnecessary attention, you did know how to drive him mad without a single word.

His hand flexed involuntarily around the glass, and he had to force his breathing to slow.

The idea of you wandering around his mother’s garden like that, unapologetically free, a secret beneath silk, set every nerve alight. It was torture, beautiful, exquisite torture.

It was like you could feel him looking from across the way as you turned your head to him, your eyes locking with his for a single, knowing second.

And in that second, Aemond knew you knew.

You smiled.

Just the softest curve of your lips, but to Aemond, it was a detonation powerful enough to knock the air from his lungs. You knew that he’d seen, that he was looking, that he couldn’t not look.

The way your head tilted slightly as you turned back to Helaena, the way your fingers played idly with the fabric of your dress as you listened—it was all intentional now.

Not for the others, not for the garden, not for the family sipping wine and gossiping between each other. This was just for him, a private performance only he could appreciate from across the perfectly manicured lawn.

Aemond felt something dark stir in his chest—want, frustration, and a deep, aching need to be anywhere else with you. Somewhere far from all of this pretence. Somewhere he could peel that dress from your body with the care of a collector unwrapping silk, not in haste, but in worship. Somewhere your laughter wouldn’t echo politely in a curated garden, but loud and breathless in a room where he could pin you to the edge of a sunlit window and finally, finally, take what you so clearly wanted him to.

The dress moved again as you stepped away from the two of you stepped away from something Helaena was showing you. He could see more now, the way the dress clung to your waist, the curve of your hips, and lower, the long line of your thighs pressed close together beneath the whisper-thin material.

And gods, there was nothing between you and the silk, not even a scrap of lace hugging the outline of you.

He wasted no time as he placed his glass down on a table, jaw flexing softly as he crossed the garden with quiet precision, his stride purposeful yet unhurried.

The afternoon sun beat down around him, but he felt cool, focused, locked in on you and nothing else. You were still standing with his sister, back partially turned, posture relaxed but too perfect to be unintentional. Helaena was still mid-thought, likely describing some dream or curious insect she’d found near the hedge.

You were nodding, listening with that soft expression that made people feel like the only one in the room. But Aemond knew better. That wasn’t real focus—not when you were glancing toward him every few moments from the corner of your eye, barely tilting your chin, barely shifting your weight, just waiting.

He didn’t stop when he reached you. Didn’t offer a polite smile. Just brushed one hand lightly along the small of your back and leaned in close, low enough that only you could hear.

“I know what you’re doing,” he murmured, his voice rough, breath warm against the shell of your ear.

You froze for the smallest fraction of a second.

Anyone else might’ve missed it—but he didn’t, the slight pause, the way your breath caught just barely. The way your fingers flexed by your sides. Then, just as quickly, you recovered—offering Helaena a small, practised smile, nodding gently to whatever she’d just said, even as Aemond’s presence curved around you like a second skin.

He let the silence stretch between the three of you a moment longer before speaking again, this time to his sister.

“Helaena,” he said smoothly, stepping just a little closer, “Would you excuse us for a moment?”

Helaena blinked up at him, always dreamlike, never quite anchored to the present. “Of course,” she said without question, her attention already drifting elsewhere, perhaps to the butterflies gathering near the stone fountain or a shadow falling across a petal in the wrong direction.

She wandered off without further comment.

You didn’t move.

Now it was just the two of them.

You turned to face him, finally, and your expression was soft. No smile, not at first—just calm, steady, like you’d been waiting. There was no defiance in your eyes. No games. Only warmth. Maybe a little shyness. Maybe a little more.

His gaze moved over you, the way the neckline of your dress skimmed the tops of your breasts, the way the silk followed the line of your body with every breath. The way the light passed through it in places towards the end of the skirt.

“I should be angry,” he said quietly, his voice lower now, more serious. “Or at least annoyed.”

You looked up at him, still calm. “Are you?”

He hesitated. Then, after a pause, allowed himself the truth.

“No.” Your lips curved, just slightly, it wasn’t a smirk, nor was it teasing. Just soft, a delicate move of your lips.

As if you knew he was trying very hard to keep himself still.

“I wasn’t trying to start anything,” you said. “It’s just too hot out here, and it's more comfortable this way.”

“I know,” He sighed, that was the maddening part.

There was nothing calculated in your choice. Not a trap. Not a test. Just instinct. And yet it left him feeling like a match held too close to a flame.

He watched you for a moment longer, taking in the way your skin glowed faintly with the heat of the sun, and the breeze fluttered your dress just enough to remind him why he was here.

He reached for your hand, his touch gentle but firm, fingers curling around yours with a soft tug to come with him. You let him like always take it without hesitation, your body falling into step beside him as if the two of you had done this a thousand times before. But this time felt different, this time, he didn’t bother with subtlety.

He didn’t speak as you moved through the garden together.

The afternoon was warm and close, the sunlight broken into patterns by the dense latticework of vines and trellises the further went down his mother’s garden. Petals falling from overgrown blooms to gather along the gravel like quiet confetti.

You passed the manicured hedges that had thousands spent on them, passed by the ornate dragon head fountain his grandfather had insisted on decades ago, and finally, further still, down to where the air grew quieter and the garden became more unruly.

At the far end of the estate, where the formal landscaping gave way to something looser, greener, lived the greenhouse—an enormous, stone structure that was left untouched, half-shrouded by climbing ivy. His mother adored the look of it as it was, and he knew spent her mornings there, thinking and pretending the rest of the house didn’t exist.

The air here smelled of earth and green things, of the memory of rain, even though it hadn’t stormed in days. Aemond led you to the back of the greenhouse, surrounded by hedges and completely covered, where there lay old stone tables that probably once got used for gatherings, but now left untouched in favour of everything towards the front of the garden.

And he couldn’t help but find himself instantly pressing you against the nearest stone table.

The stone tables behind his mother’s greenhouse were warmed by the sun, nestled deep in the lush bushes and florals she kept here, and completely detached from the rest of the garden party. The sun was just as merciless out here, at the bottom of the garden, as it was near all the tables, the familiar bite on your shoulders and the sweat beading in your hair reminding you exactly what time of year it was.

The sun, however, showed no such restraint.

It was just as merciless down here—if not more so.

The bottom of the garden trapped the heat like a basin, and you could feel pressing in on you the longer you stayed where you were. The familiar bite of the sun nipped at the tops of your shoulders, even through the silk of your sundress, all while sweat began to bead along your hairline, dampening the fine strands at the nape of your neck. The air was thick, steeped in the scent of grass, flowers, and just sheer heat.

While Aemond dragged you down here, you couldn't help but look over your shoulder, just subtle enough to confirm no one was watching, no one had followed.

But even if they had, it would have been difficult to spot anything beyond the foliage of colour and growth. His mother had planted this place like a secret, and now you were tucked in it like one.

And you were glad for it because Aemond had turned into a man possessed.

His usual control had evaporated the moment you’d slipped away with him, holding himself off just until he got out of sight of everyone else.

Now his hands gripped your waist with a quiet urgency, fingers flexing on you like he was trying to memorise the shape of you with each pull. He really wasted no time as he pressed you into the edge of the table, his mind taken over with the kind of surety that made your breath catch, his lips finding the soft spot just beneath your ear, his touch trailing like fire over your dress and down to your thighs.

His hands weren’t still, they couldn’t be.

They skimmed your sides in slow, desperate passes, fingers brushing the fabric of your dress, then slipping lower to the backs of your thighs. Digits sinking into the silk of your dress and flesh, you felt the strength coiled beneath his skin as he gripped you, the subtle shift of his body as he gathered you into his arms. With a smooth pull, he lifted you effortlessly onto the stone table, your back arching slightly at the sudden contrast between your heated skin and the rough stone beneath.

You clung to his shoulders, half for balance and half because you couldn’t bear to let him go, your fingers curling desperately into the linen fabric of his shirt. Your legs parted instinctively as he pushed between them. Your world was narrowed to just him, his breath against your neck, the heat of his palms as they roamed your body with reverence and hunger in equal measure.

“Aemond—” You giggled softly, head tilting back as his lips feasted on your skin with wet kisses, “Baby, people are going to realise we’re missing…”

It was a soft familiar grunt he gave as his lips left your neck and instead silenced you with a kiss—breathless, tasting the drink he had earlier and just pure want.

“Don’t fucking care.” He grunted again between kisses, his hand tugging at the material of your sundress, pulling it up to your thighs. “You’re the one that decided to go fucking commando for a family get-together.”

His lips moved over yours hungrily, one hand threading into your hair to tug at the warm strand, the other pressing firm against your lower back to keep you close. A shiver rolling down your spine as his fingers brushed the skin exposed by your dress.

Every part of him was alive with tension, his jaw tight, breath shallow, touch urgent as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to worship you or devour you right on the table. You could feel the hammer of his heart where your bodies pressed together, wild beneath layers of linen.

His hand fisted in the hem of your sundress, dragging it higher with rough impatience, the delicate fabric bunching at your hips as he pressed forward with each kiss. The backs of your thighs met the warm stone again, but it was short-lived as your legs came up around his hips to keep him from tipping you back onto the table completely.

You gasped into his mouth when his fingers sunk into your thighs pulling them higher on his hips; fingers firm, exploratory, like he needed to map every inch of you again, despite knowing it by heart. He pulled back from the kiss just enough to look at you, and gods—his eye was dark, blown wide with desire, the faintest flush colouring his pale cheeks from you and the sun. His hair, silvery and soft, had fallen into his face from his bun, strands catching in the corners of his lips before you reached up and brushed them back with trembling fingers.

“Gods, you test my fucking patience sometimes…” He murmured, hand skimming up your thigh to tug you as close as possible, your arms coming up around his neck. “No panties, really?” He asked again.

“I told you, it’s too hot…” You smiled faintly, your lips meeting the corner of his mouth as his head angled to you, his face furrowed with lust and annoyance. “Plus, you wouldn’t have even noticed if you weren’t staring at me so hard.”

“Can you blame me?” He hummed faintly, fingers skimming up the inside of your thigh, gripping onto the softness there, “You’re the only thing interesting to look at here, walking around in your pretty dress.”

His lips finally met your neck—slow, unhurried. His mouth moved lower, to your shoulder, brushing against the thin strap of your dress, biting ever so softly at the skin there. His hand at your waist slipped beneath the fabric, fingers finding the bare skin of your lower back. His thumb dragged across it, slowly, like he was relearning it all by touch.

His slow descent down was like a man going to pray, fingers gripping skin, lips knocking loose straps, breath meeting the tops of your breasts. It was sheer worship from Aemond the lower and lower he sunk into the ground beneath him, your body sat like his personal goddess on the stone table as he did.

You felt like something sacred in his arms.

You exhaled softly the lower he got, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt as your head tilted back just enough to let him continue.

While the sun had warmed your skin, his mouth made it feel hotter.

Everything else around you, the garden, the house, the soft rustle of trees. It blurred out behind the closeness of his breath. You ate it up, leaning into it without resistance, your palms moving and bracing behind you, chin tilted down to watch him. He looked at you like you had no idea how divine you looked there and it nearly undid him.

Aemond’s fingers dug into your thighs with a bruising grip as he eventually dropped to his knees in front of you, it was like he physically couldn’t bear another second without having you. He didn’t care that gravel bit into him—sharp against his knees, probably tearing at the fabric of his linen trousers.

But he didn’t seem to feel it, and if he did he didn’t care.

He reached for your knees first, thumbs stroking the inside of them slowly before he slid his hands up your legs, insistent on pushing your dress higher. His eyes feasted on the exposed skin as the silk bunched in the cradle of your hips, exposing more of your thighs to the warm air, Aemond’s attention never wavering.

And gods, the sight of him—there, between your legs, silver hair falling loose around his face, his hands gripping your thighs—stole the breath from your lungs.

He didn’t speak.

All that mattered at that moment to him was you, your body laid out before him on the table, flushed and breathless in the shadow of the greenhouse.

Your eyes widened as the motion hit you all at once, his urgency, his hunger, and your breath caught somewhere between your ribs as you leaned further back instinctively. Your palms flatten more against the warm stone table to steady yourself, your bottom half tilting to meet him without thought.

The sun beat down through the branches above, casting a shadow on the two of you, but it was the heat between your legs that had you reeling. The warm air licked against your exposed skin, brushing over your inner thighs, and your core—which was already damp with anticipation, already aching for him.

The small breeze there felt absolutely obscene in how intimate it was, catching the slickness gathered there, making you painfully aware of just how ready you were.

It was no secret that Aemond loved sinking between your thighs, feeling your legs bent around his broad shoulders, thighs parting as he pulled you closer, anchoring you to him with a desperation that made your core flutter.

The stone bit into your skin; but it was forgotten the moment his hands shoved the rest of your dress up—hands rough, impatient—bunching the fabric around your hips in one swift motion.

Aemond didn’t pause, didn’t breathe.

His mouth was on you almost instantly, lips dragging along the inside of your thigh in frantic, open-mouthed kisses, warming up the already hot skin there even further. It was circling desperate the way his breathing came in sharp bursts out his nose, like he was barely holding himself together while also breathing you in.

He wasted no time as his arms hooked around your legs, hoisting them over his shoulders with ease, locking you in place as he pressed closer. So close you could feel the need in him, the hunger, the desperation to taste you, to lose himself in your cunt.

He was starving.

“Baby,” One of your hands flew down to his head, fingers sinking into his soft hair to try and stop him, “I’m all sweaty, are you sure you don’t want to wait—”

“I really…,” He glanced up at you as he pulled your legs tighter around his shoulders, lips following keenly and shifting your hips to the edge of the table, closer and closer to the wetness gathering on your inner thighs, “…do not give a shit”

“Aemond…” You giggled softly, your face heating up as you tried to nudge his head away from your cunt, “Are you sure…”

He only tutted before he dove in properly, his eye closing slightly as his tongue slid out to lick a strip up your core, fingers digging further into your thighs. As always, it was instant the way he drew sounds from you, your lips parting with an airy moan, and fingers twitching in his hair as he started to lick you up. Aemond was always fond of going down on you, it wasn’t uncommon for him to wake up for work slightly earlier than needed and sink under your shared covers to bury his head in between your thighs, and it seemed like being hidden at the bottom of his family’s estate was no different.

His tongue glided between your folds with the eagerness of someone who was destined to spend the rest of his life drinking you up, fingers grasping at your thigh as his tongue circled and sucked at your clit. His mouth opened wider to accommodate his tongue travelling down to tease at your entrance. Aemond knew how to love you in many ways, but his favourite was with his mouth, wasting no time as he dipped into your entrance and started to thrust his silver tongue in and out of you, curling the appendage with each push in.

Your breathing stuttered in your chest as you shifted on the rough stone under you, hips pushing forward towards his mouth and tongue, small hiccups of pleasure spilling out as your fingers tightened in his hair. You couldn’t help but roll and shift your hips with him, chasing every single flick and movement of his head.

His tongue slipped in and out with ease into your gummy walls, nose nudging your clit while he tasted you. Your throat begged to let any of the noises building in your chest out, your teeth sinking into your lip to muffle each pant, each whine, each moan. Aemond had your toes curling in your sandals at the feeling, your heels digging into his back to draw him even closer, the burning spreading up your abdomen, forcing soft pants out of you.

“Oh gods…” You managed to moan out softly, the sound meshing with the distant call of birds and the breeze as you bloomed under his touch. “Fuck, baby, we’re going to get caught…”

"Mmm," Aemond hummed against you, ignoring your protests and worries as his eye lazily looked up at you. Watching you unfold under his touch with a greedy look in his eye. He was as into this as you, his pupil blown out and his nose glinting with the wetness of being buried in your cunt, ready to drown in you if you’d let him.

Between the heat of the outside and burning in your core, you were a mess on the table, drowning from the inside out as you felt the sweat start to gather more and more. It beaded on your neck and ran down your spine, gathered behind your knees, but you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away. You were as needy as him, as greedy as him, and it was too good to give up, even if you risked getting caught.

It was filthy, but the idea of that alone has your core fluttering even more around his tongue.

Aemond had found that rhythm that had you writhing, shifting, begging, and wishing you could moan freely into the air. Everything sparked the muscles in your legs to twitch in Aemond’s hold, thighs squeezing his head slightly as you were pushed closer and closer to your peak. It was equal measures of utterly delicious as it was sheer depravity.

The pressure in your stomach was building in a steady upsurge, budding and blooming like the flowers around you and curling up your abdomen like roots taking hold. It was getting harder and harder to keep every single noise in, and that feeling only grew as one of his hands slipped down from your hips, fingers creeping along your thigh with purpose. You knew what he was doing, but it still had you whining between your teeth all the same.

As his tongue slipped out your walls, he hummed like was eating his favourite meal, that look in his eye getting stronger as he decided to swipe back up to your clit, sucking and nipping in a way that had your hand flying finally to your mouth. While one of your hands tugged at his strands urgently, the other flew to cover your lips, teeth sinking into the skin there to finally moan out into your palm.

You knew it was coming before you could even say anything, and he had no shame as he teased your entrance with the tip of a finger. His touch was light and teasing, as he prodded at the puffy folds with gentle pressure.

“Do you want one, or two, my love?" he murmured against you, his bottom lip slightly pulled back on your clit as he asked.

Your eyes briefly looked up to the sky at that, like you were begging for the gods to grant you mercy from the demon buried face first in your cunt, but all you could do what take whatever he was giving you on the chin. A small whine bubbling in your throat as you looked back down at him. Your palm left your lips briefly to give him a response.

“Two…” You couldn’t help yourself, between his lips kissing softly at your clit and his fingers brushing softly at your core, you just couldn’t help yourself.

He chuckled slightly at you, amused by your insistence despite the situation. The sound vibrated against you, a shiver rolling up your slick spine at the feeling.

"Greedy girl," He murmured with a nip to your bud, his tone low and filled with promise.

With that, his fingers began to slowly push into you, gently but persistently, as he sunk each bump in, his movements slow like he wanted you to feel every single ridge. You could he wanted to make you feel every touch and sensation fully. "Is that what you needed, love?"

Your lips parted with a choked breath; brows furrowed with pleasure as he scissored his deft fingers in your sweet cunt, this mouth working in tandem to tug you closer and closer to that sweet abyss waiting at the end.

The hand that had been covering your mouth was forgotten, grasping onto your knee instead. Your nails sank into the sun-reddened skin as you mewled and whined softly under his caress. The hand that was tangled in his strands moved back behind you, bracing you again, to help shift your hips to the very edge of the table; uncaring that your lower spine was screaming.

You were tight around his fingers, walls clenching and relaxing the closer and closer you got to your end, it was sweet blissful torture rolled into one. Aemond didn’t stop, he didn’t hesitate, the sound of your mewls egging him on and on, curling his fingers to brush that spot inside of you as he lapped and lapped like a man completely parched of water.

The two of you were out in the open but you felt like you were in a pressure chamber the way your skin slicked and you shook on the table. Your lungs desperate for air and your body begging for release. The blooming heat from before had transformed into a blistering sun in your stomach, one that was fraying your nerves and burning at your core with a power that only Aemond could give.

The world seemed to narrow down to the sensation of him—his hands, his weight, the way his breath mingled with yours. Each movement, each press of his fingers, stoked the fire deeper, a slow and relentless burning that threatened to unravel you entirely.

It was sudden the way you broke.

You came with a broken, desperate whine, your head thrown back in helpless surrender for him. Every muscle tightening and trembling as waves of it crashed through you. Your breath hitched, ragged and shallow, as the world tilted and blurred for a few seconds.

The moment stretched into silence as his mouth started to slow down, and you clung to that feeling of lingering warmth, shivering with exhaustion and the drawn-out heat, your heartbeat pounding in your ears like a quiet, steady drum.

Aemond pulled away from your core with a look in his eye, the lower half of his face soaked with your slick as he looked up at you. He often looked at you like you were magic, some kind of personal goodness for him to worship, but now he looked at you like he was ready to give his soul to see you. You were practically a puddle on the table, face flushed beyond measure, hair curling at your temples from the sweat, nipples pebbled and pressing against the silk of your sundress. He had undone you in every way possible, and the worst part of all?

He wasn’t done.

“Baby…” You panted softly watching as your legs slipped off his shoulders, his body rising with a hum as his free hand moved to wipe some of your wetness that was coating his face, sucking his fingers off like it was no issue.

“Look at you,” he said softly, more thought than a compliment like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d made of you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but all you could manage was a shaky exhale, fingers gripping the edge of the table as you tried to sit fully up again. Your eyes tired as you found yourself looking him over, you could see just how much the experience had affected him as well. If the bump in the front of his linen pants was anything to go back. His arousal clear against the dark fabric, his length most likely aching.

He leaned in with a twinge of his lips, close enough that your noses brushed, his lips barely touching yours. “You can’t even sit up straight.”

You tried to glare at him, you really did, but your eyes fluttered shut instead. “I hate you sometimes.”

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—his version of a smile. But it didn’t last, the heat in his expression was still there, you knew that look well and you knew exactly what it meant.

He pulled back slightly, hand dropping to your arm.

“Up,” he said quietly. “Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate, you never did, as you reached for his shoulders and let him help you stand, legs wobbling slightly under you. Your hands gripped him more for balance than anything else. The stone table scraped softly against your skin as your hips shifted up and off it.

The silk of your dress dropped back down as you stood, back to brushing your ankles as his hands met the small of your back, fingers brushing the skin.

“Turn around,” Aemond murmured against your temple, voice low and firm, his hand trailing down your back to start tugging you. “And lean over.”

There was no room for teasing in his tone, no joking smirk. Just that same intensity that came with him, he wasn’t asking because he wanted to for fun, he was asking because he needed to.

Like putty in his hands, you turned without a word, still catching your breath from your orgasm, your hair sticking to the nape of your neck. And like he requested you bent forward just slightly, placing your hands on the table, feeling the roughness of the old stone against your fingertips again.

The breeze shifted around you with a noise from the bushes, cooling the skin of your back, fluttering the hem of your dress slightly like a kiss from the earth. Aemond stepped in behind you again, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body, even without the press of his chest.

But you could hear the breath leave him when he looked down.

One hand smoothed over your hip, fingers curling as he pulled the fabric of your dress further up until it gathered at your waist completely again. His other hand settled on your stomach, thumb pressing into the soft flesh there, holding you still as he leaned in, mouth near your ear.

“Still too hot for panties?” He murmured, voice quieter now, edged with the faintest bit of a smirk in his voice. Still turning over this whole thing in his mind.

You managed the barest smile. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

That earned another quiet sound from him—something between a breath and a huff, not angry. Just hungry, and patient.

His grip on your stomach tightened slightly, grounding you in place, and his other hand drifted down between your thighs again, arms catching the fabric of your dress so it didn’t slip. His touch was deliberate, slow, like he had no intention of rushing now that he had you exactly where he wanted you.

You inhaled sharply at the contact, your hands bracing against the table as your head dipped forward, jaw going slack as he stroked at your sensitive folds again. Making sure you were still ready for him.

Aemond’s lips grazed the curve of your neck, then your shoulder, breath hot against your skin.

“Gods,” he murmured, almost more to himself than to you. “You’re still shaking.”

You were, you could feel it in the way your legs trembled, in the way your body leaned into the table, pressing your hips against the stone to ground you. It was clear in the way your breaths came in short, shallow bursts, no matter how hard you tried to steady them. He wasn’t wasting time as his hand slid a little lower down between your thighs. Cupping you properly now, and all you could do was bite your lip as your hips jerked forward, instinctive and helpless under his touch.

“Still feeling greedy,” he asked after a beat, he was toying with you now.

You wanted to answer, gods you tried to, but all that came out was a sound; something soft and broken, caught between a breath and a whimper. Aemond hummed faintly behind you, clearly pleased that he’d gotten you back for the lack of underwear and riled you up to this extent. His fingers slid slowly through your slick again teasingly before retreating; drawing a quiet noise from your throat at the loss.

Then his hand on your stomach moved, dragging it slowly over your torso, up your waist, slipping beneath the bunched fabric of your dress to find your bare chest. Palm warm over the curve of your breast. He didn’t care that your skin was clammy and covered in sweat, only that your nipples were pebbled against the fabric, budding in the soft blue silk from the arousal. His hand squeezing softly at your breast while his lips met the nape of your neck, kissing the red skin, sucking softly to leave behind he was even there.

His fingers closed around the weight of your breast, thumb brushing slowly over the hardened nipples beneath the silk before he gave a soft, deliberate squeeze—just enough to make you arch slightly into his touch, mouth falling open in a soundless gasp. Being behind you wasn’t always his favourite way to take you, but being out in the open, with his warmth behind while were forced to look out, and the fear of getting caught. It was erotic, it was sinful, it was something you never knew you needed.

You could feel his fraying restraint, his hand still kneading softly at your chest, his mouth dragging wet heat across your shoulder, the weight of him behind you, cock still pressed against your rear unmoving.

Holding himself there, letting you feel everything before he ever gave you more.

You felt the shift before you heard it—the slight change in the way his body moved behind you, Aemond’s hand left your waist only briefly, and then you heard it—soft, deliberate—the quiet clink of his belt buckle coming undone and his zip being pulled.

Your breath caught at that; he wasn’t teasing anymore.

The tension between you had changed in an instant, it felt thicker now, every action now weighted with more intention. He wasn’t just begging to eat you out on a table outside, you felt him behind you, the heat of him pressed along your back, his hand efficient but unhurried as he unfastened his trousers.

You didn’t dare look back and you didn’t have to, the air shifted with him and it was like foliage around you knew that, the breeze dipping for a moment. His presence was heavier the closer he pressed. One of his hands returned to your hip, moving from your breast and holding you in place with steady pressure, the other returning brushing down the curve of your lower back, then pausing at your rear.

You could hear his breath now, low and deep.

But barely.

You stayed where you were, bent over the table, hands flat against the warm stone, dress bunched high around your hips. Your chest rose and fell steadily, despite the flutter in your ribs, despite the way your knees threatened to give at the feel of his length barely brushing you.

Aemond’s palm slid across your rear squeezing softly, silently reassuring you. And you let out a soft breath as you felt him lean in, his chest pressed to your back, his breath skating along the nape of your neck.

“Still with me?” He murmured.

You nodded, just once, voice trapped in your throat.

“Good,” he said, barely a whisper now, lips ghosting the shell of your ear, a silent kiss.

Time felt endless his hand curled back around your hip, his other adjusting himself behind you, and you felt it—his cock brushing against the inside of your thigh, hot and heavy, leaking against your skin. The tip soft and damp with pre-come, the movement smearing it against your leg.

A quiet gasp left your lips, but you silenced yourself instantly as you bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to brace for what you knew was coming. But even then, the anticipation was unbearable.

He was barely touching you, you felt his hand shift to guide himself, the tip brushing your folds in a slow, careful line, not pushing in, just feeling, poking around your puffy core with intent—teasing you just a bit more before he caved and sunk himself in.

The move made your spine curl in a reflex you couldn’t control, and your teeth sunk deeper into your cheek at the sound that threatened to spill out. Begging to be released as he passed over your clit with just enough pressure to make your knees weaken.

You tried to shift back further, hips moving on instinct, but his hand tightened on your hip in warning.

“Ah ah…” he tutted in your ear, soft but commanding, “Patience.”

You exhaled sharply at that, biting back a frustrated whine that bubbled in your throat again. Your hands gripping the stone table harder, nails scraping the stone, palms damp and unsteady against the rough surface, your arms trembling just slightly from holding still. But still, you stayed right where you were, breathing shallow, and he finally began to press into you.

Every inch of him dragged a sound from your throat you couldn’t hold back, your head dipping forward as your body adjusted around the stretch with a whine. The first inch stretched you slow and steady, heat flaring sharply between your hips as your breath caught, throat clenching around the soft, broken noise that escaped you.

Your fiancé was thick, that much you always knew, but from behind the angle was deeper—impossibly so. You felt every ridge, every shift of muscle, the slow give of your body as it opened around him. The pressure built and built with every inch he sank in, a slow, insistent push that filled you to the brim, making your legs shake, your belly coil tight with heat that was different from before.

You whined softly at the intensity of it all, head dropping forward, strands of your hair clinging to your damp skin. Aemond wasn’t going to stop until he was buried in you completely.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound barely more than a grumble, quiet and hoarse, and finally his hips met your backside with a final, grounding press. You could feel him there, rooted deep, his cock pulsing faintly in your walls as they clenched around him.

He didn’t pull back instantly; he didn’t even move, he just held you, flush against him.

“Fuck,” He whispered, voice rough and thick with restraint as his head lingered beside yours, breath warm as he huffed out.

And gods, you couldn’t even speak.

Your jaw hung open with parted lips, but all that came out were shallow, panting breaths.

Your lungs struggling to pull enough air in to keep you sane. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, your skin prickling as your gaze dropped to the table beneath you. The stone was warm and rough under your hands, scraped faintly beneath your fingertips, grounding you with its texture as you tried to stay present in the moment.

Your vision was hazy at the edges, but you forced yourself to cast your gaze up and look. Trying to focus on the garden surrounding you. You focused on the details: the ivy creeping up the edge of the greenhouse wall in the distance, the leaves stirring slightly in the breeze, the birds that would occasionally caw from the trees, and the heat of summer pressing in around you.

This part of the garden was hidden—tucked far behind the hedges and down a sloping path few people bothered to follow. You knew that. Aemond knew that. And still, the awareness of being exposed in the open air, with your dress bunched around your waist, your fiancé buried in your guts and sweat slipping slowly down your spine, made the entire thing feel sharper.

More dangerous, more real, and fuck it was a turn-on.

You could feel him still catching his breath behind you, his chest expanding with every inhale, the tension radiating off his body as he held still. So still it made you ache, for movement, for release.

“Baby, please.” You gasped softly, hips undulating, wiggling in an attempt to get him to move. You rolled back against him just slightly, enough for friction.

The effect was immediate.

His grip on your hips tightened, his fingertips digging in harder around your plush hips, the hold coming with an edge of warning that sent another shiver down your spine. He drew in a sharp breath through his nose.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low and strained. The word rasped against your skin, right beside your ear, a whisper pressed with heat.

You whimpered, the sound soft and aching, you were trembling again, legs unsteady, body thrumming with need.

Aemond stayed there for another breath.

Then, finally, he shifted, it wasn’t a full thrust, not yet.

But it was enough to make you gasp as he pulled back a fraction of an inch, just enough for you to feel the drag, the ridges of his length, before sliding back in just as slowly, hips pressing flush to yours once more.

This time, you did moan, quiet and shaky and pathetically undone.

“Gods,” Aemond muttered behind you, almost to himself. “You feel—fuck, you feel good.”

Then he did it again, fingers clenching on your hips at another slow pull, hips drawing back but he gave torturously measured push, and that was the rhythm he set. For being out in the open he was unhurried, deep, and devastatingly intentional.

And you could do nothing but take it, mouth panting, desperate.

His pace remained devastatingly slow, like he had all the time in the world to pull you apart piece by piece, fuck you like you were in the privacy of your own home.

Each stroke was deep and measured, dragging along every quivering inch inside you, igniting fresh heat with every push. The slap of his hips meeting yours echoed faintly in the still air, a notion that felt entirely forbidden to begin with.

Your knuckles tightened against the edge of the stone table as your hands sought something to hold, something to keep you grounded while he moved. It was pathetic but you couldn’t even look down anymore; your vision was too glassy, heavy-lidded, barely able to focus on anything beyond the overwhelming feel of him. It left your eyes fluttering and unfocused on the distant. Focused only on the way your body received him so greedily, so helplessly, your breath catching with each press of his hips, every grunt he made behind you.

His mouth dragged open along the curve of your shoulder, tongue tasting the sheen of sweat there before he found the bead that had begun to slide down from your hairline to the slope of your spine. He caught it with his lips, licking it away before it could even fall. That’s where his teeth followed, nipping just beneath it, leaving a sign he was even there.

You whimpered at that, sharp and helpless, and your head tipped forward again, your mouth falling open as your legs trembled beneath you. Aemond grunted against your skin, one hand releasing your hip just long enough to press flat against your stomach, drawing you back into him, flush and locked.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasped dragging his nose up your neck to speak against your ear, voice harsh, broken, possessed. “So sweet like this, for me…”

But you could feel everything in technicolour.

In the way his cock throbbed inside you with every pulse of your walls, in the trembling of his breath, in the way his hand shook slightly against your belly from the sheer force of keeping himself together. Focused on not finishing too soon, on giving you more.

He fucked you like he needed it to survive—like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, his salvation and his sin wrapped into one soft, trembling body bent over stone beneath the sun. His little beauty, ripe for the taking, as fresh as the flowers around them.

And then, just as he shifted slightly, looking changing his angle enough to make your body jolt with pleasure, enough to pull a low, broken moan from deep in your throat—you heard it.

Footsteps.

Voices.

Just faint, somewhere nearby, the sound softened by grass.

The world seemed to still.

Aemond froze mid-thrust, his hands going rigid on your body as the sounds grew clearer—muffled conversation, slow and aimless, the kind of idle garden stroll that meant nothing except the risk of everything.

Your heart froze, panic slicing through the haze of pleasure like a lightning strike.

Your body stiffened instinctively, suddenly hyper-aware of your position—of you bent over the table, your dress bunched obscenely around your waist, Aemond still buried inside you, cock pulsing and warm and unmistakable.

You didn’t move, couldn’t, you felt like an animal in headlights.

Your breath hitched in your throat as the voices came closer—one male, one female.

Familiar in cadence, it was two of Aemond’s family members; Jace and Baela. Baela was laughing lightly, a casual remark about the estate, something utterly mundane. But you barely processed the words, your heartbeat swimming in your ears, trying to focus on the direction they were coming from.

It was hard to tell but it seemed like it was just beyond the hedgerow, on the other path that led down to the lake, the one that was no more than ten or twelve steps from where you stood.

Aemond didn’t speak, he didn’t even breathe, from what you could feel of him.

His entire body was taut behind you, jaw tight, arm still curled protectively around your waist, hand still pressed to your stomach. His chest was pressed flat to your back now, shielding you as best he could, and you could feel his head lower near your shoulder, his breath brushing hot and fast against your skin.

They passed slowly, too slowly for your poor heart, their footsteps crunching faintly over gravel, voices still low but close enough to reach through the thick green of the hedge like a warning. You couldn’t see them, not fully, but you could hear everything; from the rustle of their clothing, to the occasional murmur of pleasantries, and then…

“Did you hear something?” Jace asked.

A pause that had you nearly stop breathing.

“I doubt it,” Baela replied casually. “Probably just birds again, it’s far too hot for anyone to be out here this long.”

At that, they kept walking, the voices growing softer and the crunch of their steps began to fade.

You didn’t move a single inch, not until the last of the sound slipped back into silence.

Only then did Aemond draw in a breath behind you.

It shuddered through his chest like a dam finally breaking, and you could feel the tension leave him in the way his grip shifted, fingers loosening on your skin. His forehead dropped briefly, pressed to your shoulder, his body still draped over yours like a shield, still pressed deep inside you.

You exhaled a laugh that was barely audible, thin and slightly hysterical with leftover adrenaline as you panted from fear and pleasure.

“Gods, we could’ve been caught,” you whispered, barely able to speak.

Aemond didn’t answer right away, his breath still uneven, and then kissed the slope of your neck, slowly, his lips dragging gently over sweat-damp skin.

“They wouldn’t have gotten far,” He murmured darkly, a quiet edge to his voice that sent a new shiver down your spine. “I wouldn’t let them see you like this.”

Your body clenched around him involuntarily at the sound of that, and he groaned softly, hips rocking once out of reflex. He wasted no time as he pulled back slightly, just enough to move again, and this time there was something new in the way he moved, less restraint, more need.

A lingering tension from what had almost been lost.

He didn’t even blink before he thrust into you again, it was deeper now, more purposeful. Your knees twitched slightly, a gasp tearing from your throat as you shifted forward with the movement, hips pressing back to the edge of the table.

“Still want me to stop?” he whispered, voice ragged and close to your ear.

You shook your head silently, unable to speak, the only sound from you a whimper as he began to build that rhythm again—unforgiving, but careful.

A man who knew your body and exactly what it could take.

Hearing Aemond’s grunts in your ear only pushed you further, the arousal, the feeling warming your guy with each movement. Much like the summer sun, you felt him everywhere, from his breath that hit the side of your neck to the slamming of his hips against your plump flesh as he drove his cock into you relentlessly.

His hips met yours with a force that bordered on desperation, the slap of skin a steady rhythm echoing through the thick quiet of the secluded space. Every motion sent shockwaves through your body; jolting you against the table, his body pressing into your spine, into your lungs where the air caught and stuttered.

You were coming undone.

Not just from the friction of his length, or the depth, or the heat of the afternoon pressing down on both of you—but from him. From the way he moved like he needed you, like this something carved out of devotion and frustration and longing.

Your moans had softened into breathless, broken gasps, caught between whimpers and whispered fragments of his name.

And he drank it in, all of it.

The sounds, the shuddering in your legs, the way your warm cunt welcomed him again and again without hesitation, your sweet walls fluttering around his cock, squeezing him in the way that only you could.

Aemond lips brushed the shell of your ear again, his voice low and fraying at the edges. “You take me so well.… always so good for me.”

Your fingers clutched the stone again, grounding yourself against the swell of pleasure building, your head dropping forward as your body trembled around him, helpless under the rhythm he set—deep, steady, ruinous.

Aemond’s hips rolled with increasing urgency, the slow burn of time passed without touch, without space to breathe, and now that he had you here—hidden and pressed close, surrounded by sun-warmed stone and heady blooms.

The garden blurred around you the closer you got to that edge.

The sound of your own breath, ragged and uneven in your throat. The weight of his body against yours. The way your limbs trembled, your muscles tightening with every thrust, coiling you closer and closer to that breaking point.

Aemond’s hand at your stomach flexed again, his grip no longer as controlled as before, his composure slipping just beneath the surface.

You knew he felt it too, that pull to the end.

Your back arched slightly, your hips rising to meet his thrusts even more, the tension rising through you like a tidal wave threatening to crest. And behind you, Aemond groaned, quiet and hoarse and wrecked. His mouth finding your shoulder again, his breath hot where it brushed across your damp skin.

“I’ve got you,” He whispered, more breath than sound. “Just let go for me, sweetheart.”

The words hit you harder than the motion of his thrusts—more than the rhythm of them or the friction. You let them carry you, sinking into your hazy mind until your body began to unravel, your breath caught in your throat and your fingers curled against the stone tight.

It could have been seconds or years, it made no difference to you, as you came quietly.

There were no sharp cries into the space, no frantic desperation clawing at your throat, just a trembling surrender to the pleasure. A slow-flooding warmth through your limbs, one that tightened your insides, and had your head dropping forward as your body shook under his hands.

You felt yourself tighten around him, pulling him deeper, and it was all it took to get him there too.

Aemond buried himself one last time and held.

“Fuck.” He grunted as he pressed in deep, the sound he made low and quiet, rough against your shoulder, his grip tightening as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, he went completely still, breath catching, chest rising sharply against your back—then slowly, slowly, he began to relax, his forehead pressing gently to the space between your shoulder blades.

You stayed like that for a while.

Neither of you speaking. Neither of you moving.

Just two silhouettes in a patch of garden no one ever visited, birds humming nearby, and the sharp scent of grass warmed by the sun. The stone beneath your palms was rough, and grounding, and his skin against yours was warm, familiar.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to ease the weight off you, his cock sliding out of you with a gentle whine out your lips, and a breath at the feeling of his seed slipping down your thigh. He caught it with his fingers, pressing them into you briefly to try and clean you up without anything on hand, but you knew you’d be waddling back to the main house with shame covering your face and your skin.

His hands were careful, steadying, as he moved to smooth out your dress. Letting the silk drop down gently like a whisper on your skin. He pressed a soft kiss to the base of your neck, then to your shoulder, and finally leaned his cheek there for a brief moment, letting his breathing even out.

“You alright?” he asked softly, his voice hoarse but warm.

You nodded without looking back, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah… better than alright.”

A faint chuckle escaped him, small and genuine, and he helped you turn around slowly. Holding your waist while you found your footing again, your legs wobbled slightly, but he steadied you.  Pull you close to him. When you met his gaze, his expression had softened: no longer clouded by lust or frustration, but something else.

Something quieter. Fonder.

You reached up your hand, and smoothed his hair away from his damp forehead, brushing your fingers through the strands that had fallen loose from his bun that was barely hanging on.

“Still think no panties is a bad idea?” you murmured, smiling faintly.

Aemond leaned in, brushing his nose along your cheek in a fleeting gesture of affection.

“Probably,” he replied with a slight smirk against your skin. “But I’d be more than happy to do that again if you decided to go commando the rest of the trip.”

You stood there for a moment longer, foreheads nearly touching, the scent of summer between you and the distant chatter of family still lingering faintly somewhere from the top of the garden.

“Is that a promise?” You grinned with a slight chuckle, a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Always.” He huffed, shaking his head as he dipped down to kiss you.

[briefinquiries]

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 8

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 8

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: After learning about Campbell’s plan to orchestrate an attack against the Peaky Blinders, you rush to warn Tommy before it’s too late. As the night unfolds, the Garrison becomes a battleground, forcing you to confront a past you thought you had left behind.

Word count: 7.1k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language.

--

The dim light of Campbell’s office flickered against the polished wood of his desk, casting long shadows across the floor. The air was thick with cigar smoke, curling between the two of you, but you didn’t cough. You didn’t react. You sat still, hands folded neatly in your lap, keeping your pulse steady even as unease coiled in your stomach.

Campbell leaned back in his chair, watching you with that sharp, calculating gaze, the kind that made you feel like he was peeling you apart, layer by layer, looking for weakness. 

“What do you need me to do?” you asked. 

Campbell exhaled slowly, letting the silence stretch between you. The smoke from his cigar curled upward, dissipating into the dim light as he studied you with that familiar, unsettling amusement.

"I need you to make sure all the Shelby brothers are at the Garrison at nine o’clock tonight," he finally said, his voice smooth and deliberate.

Your fingers tensed slightly in your lap. "Why?"

Campbell smiled, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. He took another slow drag from his cigar before setting it down in the ashtray, tapping a gloved finger against the desk.

“Tell me, what would you do if you knew a storm was coming?”

You kept your expression steady, unwilling to let him see the way your stomach twisted at his words. After two weeks of spying for Tommy, you knew Campbell well enough by now. He never asked rhetorical questions. Every word he spoke was a piece of a larger game, designed to see how you would react.

You tilted your chin slightly. "I suppose that depends on the storm."

Campbell exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as if amused by your answer. "No, it doesn’t." He leaned forward, resting his forearms against the desk, his sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. "You move out of its way. You prepare. You ensure that, when it passes, you are still standing."

He let the words settle before continuing, his voice dropping to something quieter, more dangerous. "But you see, the Shelby brothers… they don’t seem to have the same sense of self-preservation." He flicked the ash from his cigar, watching it fall. "They don’t step aside. They don’t move out of the way."

Campbell gave you a slow, knowing smile. He took another measured drag before setting the cigar down, his fingers tapping once against the desk.

"And because Thomas Shelby has been testing his limits for far too long." His tone was conversational, almost lazy, but you knew better. "He believes himself untouchable, beyond consequence. And men like that…" He exhaled a stream of smoke, watching it rise. "They need to be reminded of their place."

A chill crawled down your spine, but you forced yourself to keep your voice even. "What’s going to happen?”

Campbell tilted his head, studying you. "Do you know how many men would pay for the chance to watch Thomas Shelby crawl? How many would seize the opportunity to strike, given the right push?" He leaned forward slightly. "All it takes is a whisper in the right ear, a reminder of debts unsettled, and men will do what they were always going to do. Tear each other apart."

Your stomach twisted. "Who?"

Campbell exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "The who is irrelevant. What matters is that they are coming tonight. And when they do, I imagine it will be quite the spectacle." He sat back in his chair, his expression eerily calm. "A full-scale assault on the Peaky Blinders. Every man they have, armed and ready. It will be quick, brutal, and final."

Your fingers curled against your skirt. “You’re letting that happen?”

"Letting?" Campbell echoed, raising a brow. "No, my dear. I am ensuring it happens. Because Thomas Shelby has outgrown his station, and every empire must fall."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing.

"Men like the Shelbys think they own this city. But power is borrowed, not stolen. And tonight, Thomas Shelby will learn that he is not untouchable."

You forced yourself to nod, slow and deliberate, as if you were considering his words. As if you weren’t already thinking ten steps ahead.

Campbell’s gaze lingered on you, searching for cracks. He didn’t trust easily, if at all, but he trusted that people feared him. That fear kept them in line.

And he wanted you to be afraid.

You stood carefully, smoothing your hands over your skirt, your movements slow and measured. "Nine o’clock. The Garrison." Your voice didn’t waver.

Campbell’s lips twitched, barely, as he lifted his cigar again. "That’s right. And if you’re smart, you’ll make sure you aren’t there with them."

He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke as he leaned back into his chair, dismissing you without another word.

You turned and walked out, resisting the urge to slam the door behind you.

…

The night air hit you as soon as you stepped onto the street, but it did nothing to steady the storm brewing inside you. You moved quickly, each step sharper than the last, your breath coming faster than you wanted it to.

You needed to get to Tommy.

The streets of Small Heath were quieter than usual, the tension thick in the air, the kind that settled before something violent. You pushed forward, ignoring the burn in your lungs as you crossed through the market and rounded the corner to the Garrison.

Inside, the warm scent of whiskey and smoke wrapped around you, but you barely noticed. You walked past the patrons, through the familiar hallways, straight to the back room where you knew Tommy would be.

He was there, as expected, standing over a map spread across the table. Arthur sat nearby, flipping a coin between his fingers, while John leaned back in his chair, boots kicked up on the edge of the table.

Tommy didn’t look up right away. "What’d you learn?" he asked, his tone sounding distracted.

You swallowed, pushing past the tightness in your chest. "Campbell set you up."

Tommy’s cigarette paused midway to his lips. Slowly, his sharp blue eyes lifted to meet yours, the flickering lamp light casting shadows across his face.

You took a steadying breath. "He’s orchestrated an attack against you tonight. He said it’s a gang, someone with numbers, someone who hates you, is coming full force. Armed. Ready to wipe you out."

Arthur swore under his breath, sitting up straighter. John’s smirk disappeared. Tommy didn’t move, but you could see it, the flicker of calculation behind his eyes, the shift in his posture.

"Who?" Tommy asked, his voice calm. Too calm.

"He wouldn’t say," you admitted. "But he said men like you think they own this city. That power is borrowed, not stolen. And tonight, you’re going to learn that you’re not untouchable."

Tommy’s expression didn’t change, but the tension in the room sharpened like a blade.

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. "That bastard’s always talkin’ in riddles."

"This wasn’t a riddle," you said quietly. "It was a promise."

The weight of your words settled over them. You watched as Tommy flicked the ash from his cigarette, tapping it against the rim of the tray. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, measured.

"And what did he ask you to do?"

You hesitated, but only for a second. "Make sure you were all here. At nine."

A muscle in Tommy’s jaw ticked. He exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl around him before setting his cigarette down.

"So that’s the plan, then?" John leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "We sit here and let ‘em come knockin’?"

Arthur reached for the whiskey bottle on the table, pouring a drink. "Fucking hell. And here I was hopin’ for a quiet night."

Tommy didn’t move, his gaze still locked onto yours, reading everything you weren’t saying.

"What will you do?" you asked.

Tommy didn’t answer right away. He reached for his cigarette again, but instead of taking a drag, he rolled it between his fingers, slow and deliberate.

"We’ll be ready," he said.

John huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah? And what exactly does ready look like when we don’t know who’s coming?"

Tommy’s gaze flicked to him, the barest hint of impatience in his expression. "It means we prepare for anything." He leaned forward, tapping the cigarette once against the table. "If Campbell’s orchestrated this, he’s banking on us being outnumbered. So we make sure we’re not."

Arthur took a slow sip of his whiskey, then set the glass down with a heavy thunk. "You think we should call everyone in?"

"Everyone we can trust." Tommy’s voice was firm. "Not just the boys. I want eyes on the streets, I want the guns checked, and I want every single man walking into that pub tonight to know exactly what’s waiting for them if they try to cross us."

John smirked, but there was something sharper underneath it now– anticipation. "So we turn the trap back on them?"

Tommy didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

You exhaled slowly, trying to push down the weight pressing against your chest.

“How can I help?” you asked.  

Tommy's expression was unreadable. “If Campbell’s right about this, it’s going to get ugly. Men will get hurt. Maybe worse. I need someone I trust to be ready.”

Your chest tightened, but you nodded. “I can do that.”

Tommy studied you for a moment longer. "Then get what you need. When this is over, we patch up the ones who make it through."

Arthur let out a breath, shaking his head. “Jesus. Feels like France all over again.”

John cracked his knuckles, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’ll round up the boys. Looks like we’ve got a long night ahead of us." He clapped you on the shoulder before following Arthur out, the door swinging shut behind them.

Tommy rested his hands on the table, fingers lightly tapping against the wood in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. His cigarette smoldered in the ashtray, forgotten.

You shifted your weight, glancing at him. “How bad do you think it’ll be?”

Tommy finally looked up, his sharp blue eyes meeting yours. He didn’t answer right away, and that in itself was answer enough.

His jaw tensed slightly, but when he spoke, his voice was quiet, even. “Bad.”

You nodded, swallowing against the lump in your throat.

"Men will die," he continued. "Maybe ours. Maybe theirs. It doesn’t matter to Campbell, long as I come out of this weaker than before." He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. "He wants us bled dry, either by bullets or by what comes after.”

You let his words settle, the weight of them pressing down on your chest.

"And if he gets what he wants?" you asked quietly.

Tommy held your gaze, his fingers stilling against the table. Then he shrugged, just slightly. "Then we deal with it."

You nodded, though it didn’t make you feel any better.

“You’ll be alright, then?” he asked. 

You hesitated, then nodded again. "Yeah."

Tommy studied you for a second longer, then finally took a slow drag from his cigarette.

"Good."

Neither of you spoke after that. There wasn’t anything else to say.

…

By eight forty-five, the Garrison was packed, the air thick with smoke, sweat, and anticipation. 

Men stood shoulder to shoulder, hands resting near their weapons, eyes flickering toward Tommy as he moved to the center of the room. The low murmur of conversation faded as he pulled a cigarette from his case, lighting it with the kind of steady hand that made people trust him. Believe in him.

You stood near the back, pressed into the corner, heart hammering as you watched. You had done all you could to prepare– bandages, whiskey, clean water, but none of it would matter until the shooting stopped.

Until you knew who was left standing.

Tommy took a slow drag, exhaling as his gaze swept over the men in front of him. When he spoke, his voice was calm, certain.

"We’ve been here before." He rolled his shoulders back, the flickering light casting sharp shadows over his face. "We know how this goes. Men who think they’re bigger than us, stronger than us, smarter than us." He paused, eyes narrowing. "They never fucking are."

A few low chuckles rippled through the room, but the tension remained thick.

"Campbell’s counting on this fight to hurt us." Tommy flicked the ash from his cigarette, gaze settling on each man, one by one. "He’s banking on fear. On hesitation. On doubt." He took another drag, letting the silence stretch before his next words cut through the room like a knife.

"But we don’t hesitate."

A murmur of agreement. Arthur cracked his knuckles, restless energy rolling off him in waves. John stood with his arms crossed, grinning like he was already picturing the fight.

You swallowed hard, shifting on your feet. Tommy’s voice was steady, unshaken, but you knew what was coming.

"You don’t need me to tell you what to do," he continued. "You all know why you’re here. You all know what’s at stake." His cigarette burned low between his fingers. "So we do what we do best. We stand our ground, and we make sure they regret ever setting foot in Small Heath."

Another low murmur. A few nods.

The room shifted with Tommy’s words, tension hanging thick in the air. Men checked their weapons, straightened their shoulders, muttered quiet reassurances to one another.

Then, just as the silence stretched tight, the door burst open.

A boy, no older than fourteen, stumbled inside, breathless, his face flushed from the cold night air. His cap was askew, his coat too big for his frame, but his wide eyes were sharp with urgency.

"They’re coming!" he gasped, his voice cracking slightly. "Loads of ‘em– moving fast. Just turned off Watery Lane."

The room stilled.

Every man inside stiffened, the scrape of chairs and shifting boots the only sound for a long moment.

Tommy exhaled once, slow and measured. "How many?"

The boy swallowed hard, catching his breath. "At least twenty, maybe more. Got guns, clubs, all of it." He wiped his nose with his sleeve, glancing anxiously at the men surrounding him. 

Tommy nodded once, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray before turning to the boy. "Go back the way you came. Don’t stop for anything, don’t look back."

The boy hesitated, glancing at you before nodding and bolting out the door.

Everything moved at once.

Arthur downed the rest of his whiskey in a single gulp, tossing the glass aside. John was already loading his revolver, the other men shifting into position, grabbing weapons, bracing themselves.

Through it all, Tommy didn’t move. Not at first. He just stood there, watching the room settle into controlled chaos, his cigarette burning low between his fingers. Then, without a word, he crossed the room toward you.

Your breath caught as he stopped in front of you, closer than he needed to be. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, flicked over your face, searching for something.

"Stay inside," he said, voice low, clipped. "Hide in the back. Don’t come out until you hear my voice."

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped you. This wasn’t a request. It was an order.

You swallowed hard, nodding once. "Alright."

Tommy didn’t move. Didn’t step away. The tension between you felt heavier than the weight of what was coming.

"Be careful," you murmured.

Something flickered across his face, gone as quickly as it appeared. Then, with a sharp nod, he turned on his heel and walked away.

And all you could do was watch as he stepped into the storm.

…

You sat in the back room, exactly where Tommy told you to stay, but your body wouldn’t settle. Every muscle in you was tight, braced for something you couldn’t stop. Your fingers curled into fists in your lap, nails pressing into your palms.

Outside, the murmur of voices had faded. The last of the men had taken their positions. The only thing left now was the waiting.

You strained your ears, desperate for any sign of what was happening beyond the walls. But the night held its breath, stretching the silence until it felt unbearable.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. It wasn’t peaceful– it was the kind of silence that came before something terrible. The kind that pressed down on your chest, waiting to be broken.

You shifted, adjusting your position in the chair, but it didn’t help. Your body was wound too tight, your skin prickling with unease. The longer the quiet lasted, the worse it became. Every second without gunfire, without shouting, felt unnatural. Where were they?

You clenched your jaw, forcing your breathing to stay even. But the silence– God, the silence– was starting to feel like something worse than noise.

You squeezed your eyes shut, exhaling slowly. You had seen war before. You knew this feeling. The quiet before the first shot, the moment before hell broke loose. But this was different. This wasn’t a battlefield miles away. This was here.

And Tommy was out there.

The thought sent a fresh wave of unease through you. You pictured him, cigarette burning between his fingers, expression unreadable but shoulders braced like always.

Your stomach twisted.

What if Tommy was already bleeding out on the cobblestones?

What if Arthur was lying face down in the dirt?

You swallowed hard, forcing the thoughts away. No. They weren’t dead. Not yet. But the longer the silence stretched, the more your mind raced, the more you felt like you had to move, had to do something.

You turned your head sharply, staring at the door. Your fingers twitched at your sides. Tommy’s voice echoed in your head.

"Stay inside. Hide in the back. Don’t come out until you hear my voice."

But what if you never did?

Your breath hitched, and you curled your hands into fists again.

The silence returned, heavier than before.

Then, suddenly– a gunshot.

Loud. Sudden. Too close.

You flinched so hard it felt like your entire body had been shocked through the spine. Your breath caught, your limbs going rigid as your heart slammed against your ribs.

Then came another shot.

Then another.

Then chaos.

Gunfire erupted outside, sharp and unrelenting. The sound rattled the windows, slammed against the walls, filled every inch of the Garrison with deafening violence.

Your breath came in short, panicked bursts. Your hands shot up to cover your ears, but it didn’t matter– it was too loud, too close, too much.

Shouting followed. The roar of men fighting, of boots pounding against the cobblestones. The war had started just beyond the walls, but your body– your mind– was suddenly trapped somewhere else entirely.

You squeezed your eyes shut, but it didn’t help.

France. The trenches. The screaming. The smell of blood, sweat, dirt, gunpowder.

You gasped, but the air was thick, choking. Your chest ached with the effort to breathe.

More gunfire.

A scream.

Something heavy crashing to the ground.

Your knees buckled.

Your body moved without thought, sinking down into the corner of the room, curling in on itself, hands still clutching your ears, knuckles white. Your fingers dug into your scalp, pressing hard, desperate for something to ground you.

But it was too late. Your mind wasn’t here anymore. 

You were back there. 

Buried in the mud.

Drowning in the sound of bullets tearing through flesh, in the metallic scent of blood, in the thick smoke clinging to your throat, to your skin, to your lungs.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t move.

Another explosion of gunfire rattled through the walls, and something inside you snapped.

Your body shuddered violently, curling tighter into itself, your breath shallow and ragged.

The scent of damp earth, sweat, and blood filled your nostrils. The crack of gunfire tore through the air, so loud it rattled your bones. Somewhere, men were shouting orders, screams, names of the fallen.

You pressed your hands harder against your ears, but it didn’t stop.

Too loud. Too close.

Your breath came in short, panicked bursts, your chest squeezing tight like it was caving in on itself. You needed to move, needed to get up, to do something, but your body was frozen, locked in place as another explosion of gunfire tore through the air outside.

Move. Move, dammit. Get up.

Your fingers curled against the floorboards, nails digging into the wood.

The world tilted.

Your vision swam.

More shouting. More gunfire. Something crashing. Someone yelling– The voices blended together, distant and warped like you were underwater.

You sucked in a breath, too shallow, too fast.

Your chest burned.

Then, a flicker of movement.

Your head snapped up– eyes wide, searching, but you weren’t seeing the back room of the Garrison anymore. The walls had melted away, replaced with barbed wire and smoke. The floor was slick with mud, bodies strewn across it, limbs twisted at unnatural angles.

No. No, no, no, you’re not there. You’re not–

Something slammed against the outside wall of the Garrison.

You jolted so hard your back hit the wooden shelves behind you. Glass rattled.

Another shot.

Another scream.

Your vision blurred.

Your fingers dug into your scalp, pressing so hard it hurt, grounding yourself in the pain, trying to pull yourself out of it. But the harder you tried, the deeper you fell.

The war.

The blood.

The bodies.

You were trapped there, suffocating in it.

Somewhere, beyond the haze, there were voices. Muffled, distant. They slipped through the ringing in your ears, too low to make out.

Your body was locked in place, curled tight against the floor. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your pulse hammering like a drum in your skull.

The voices grew closer. Urgent. A door creaked. Heavy footsteps. 

Suddenly, warm hands cupped your face.

You jolted violently, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as your eyes snapped open.

For a split second, all you saw was the dim light flickering against a dirt-covered face, blood smeared along the temple, exhaustion clinging to sharp features. The same way you’d found him then, half-dead in the tunnels, skin clammy, breath shallow.

Tommy.

Your chest heaved as your vision sharpened, the war-torn memory melting away into something more real.

Tommy was crouched in front of you, his grip firm but careful, steadying your trembling face between his hands. His blue eyes, wide but dark under the weight of exhaustion, flickered over yours, reading everything you couldn’t say.

"You hear me?" he asked. 

Your breath hitched. The blood at his temple was fresh, smeared against his skin, but it wasn’t his. You didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

"You’re alright," he murmured.

Your breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, your body still rigid, locked in the panic that had swallowed you whole. But Tommy’s grip was steady, his thumbs brushing against your skin, his touch firm but not forceful. He wasn’t dragging you out of it– he was waiting for you to come back.

"Can you hear me?" he asked again, voice lower this time, softer.

You swallowed hard and nodded, though the movement felt weak, unconvincing. Your hands still trembled where they rested on the floor, your body too light, too unsteady.

Tommy exhaled, relief flickering over his face so briefly you might have missed it if you weren’t staring at him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the present.

"Good." His voice was rough, but not unkind. His hands lingered for a second longer before one of them slipped from your cheek and wrapped around your wrist, his grip firm, grounding. "You’re alright.”

You nodded again, slower this time. "Not France," you forced yourself to say. 

His eyes flickered over your face, searching. You wondered if he could see how deep you had gone, how close you had been to drowning. Maybe he could.

"No," he murmured. "Not France."

Your breath was still uneven, your skin clammy, but the words felt like an anchor, pulling you further out of the past. You blinked, forcing yourself to take in the dim light of the Garrison, the scattered bottles, the blood smeared across Tommy’s temple. Here. You were here.

Outside, the gunfire had thinned out. Distant shouts echoed from the streets, men running, boots slamming against cobblestone, but the worst of it had passed. The fight was ending.

Tommy studied you, his face still unreadable. Then, slowly, he pushed himself to his feet.

"Can you stand?"

You nodded, but when you braced your hands against the floor to push up, your arms trembled, too weak to lift your own weight. The exhaustion hit all at once, dragging you down, making the edges of your vision blur.

Tommy sighed through his nose, then reached down.

You hesitated, pride flickering weakly, but you took his hand. His grip was solid, steady, and he pulled you up with ease. His other hand briefly landed on your arm, grounding you as your knees wobbled beneath you.

The room tilted. You inhaled sharply.

"Breathe," he muttered.

You did. Shaky, uneven, but enough. The edges of the world started to settle, the present pushing away the past.

Tommy studied you for half a second longer, his jaw tightening. Then, abruptly, he said, “Good. Because we need you.”

Your stomach clenched.

"John’s been shot."

The words hit harder than the gunfire outside.

Your pulse lurched, panic surging up like a wave. "Where is he?"

"Out front," Tommy said, already turning toward the door. "Still breathing, but it’s bad."

You forced your limbs into motion, your body shaking but your hands already reaching for the supplies you had stashed earlier– bandages, whiskey, anything that could keep John here... alive.

You followed Tommy through the Garrison, your legs unsteady, your grip tight on the supplies as you weaved through the aftermath. The main room was in disarray– overturned chairs, broken glass, blood smeared across the floor. Bodies had been dragged out, but the scent of gunpowder and whiskey still lingered thick in the air.

Tommy led you past the chaos, down a dimly lit hallway, toward one of the back rooms.

"In here," he muttered, pushing open the door.

The sight of John nearly stopped you in your tracks.

He was slumped in a wooden chair, his shirt soaked through with blood, his head tilted back against the wall. His breaths were shallow, uneven, his skin pale in the flickering lamplight. A bottle of whiskey sat beside him, barely touched.

His eyes flickered open when he heard you enter.

"‘Bout time," he rasped, his voice raw. "Thought maybe you lot had decided to just let me bleed out over here."

Relief shot through you, he was talking, but as you moved closer, taking in the extent of the damage, the feeling faded.

"The bullet went through," you murmured, pressing your fingers lightly around the wound. "That’s the only good news."

John sucked in a sharp breath at your touch, his body tensing.

"That bad, huh?" His voice was tight.

"I need to stitch you up," you told him.

He exhaled shakily, his jaw clenched, but his gaze was sharp, steady. "Don’t sugarcoat it."

You nodded, reaching for the whiskey.

"This is going to hurt," you warned.

"No shit," John muttered. “Just do it.”

You poured the whiskey over the wound.

John let out a strangled groan, his body jerking violently from the burn.

Tommy was on him in an instant, pressing a hand against his shoulder to keep him still. "Stay down."

John gritted his teeth, his fingers curling into fists. "Fuck off, Tommy."

You clenched your jaw, threading the needle, but your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You weren’t doing your best work– you knew that. The stitches were uneven, too slow.

John’s whole body tensed as you started, his breath coming in sharp gasps, his knuckles going white where they gripped the armrests of the chair.

Then he started screaming.

The sound tore through you like a blade.

Your fingers faltered, your vision blurring as you blinked hard, trying to push through the growing sting behind your eyes. You were hurting him. You should’ve been better than this. Steadier. Faster.

John’s ragged curses broke into a strangled groan, his body twisting as if he could escape the pain. Tommy gripped his shoulder tighter, but it wasn’t enough– John was fighting too hard.

Then, suddenly, "Where is he?"

Arthur’s voice cut through the air, rough and out of breath. You barely had time to register his presence before he was shoving Tommy aside, gripping John’s arms, forcing him down.

He was a mess– shirt torn, face bloodied, his eyes dark with exhaustion, but his grip was unyielding.

"Hold him," Tommy ordered, stepping back as Arthur replaced him.

John bucked against his grip. "I swear to– fuck, Arthur, let go–"

"Shut up," Arthur snapped. "Just let her do it."

John let out another strangled yell, and your hands shook even worse. You weren’t sure how much more of this you could take.

Then, Tommy’s hands were suddenly on your wrists.

Firm. Grounding.

Your eyes snapped to his, wide, wet, desperate.

"You know what to do," he said, quiet enough so that John and Arthur couldn’t hear. His grip tightened just slightly. "So do it."

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, but you nodded.

Then you forced your hands steady, forced yourself past the guilt, the exhaustion, the panic.

And you stitched John up.

…

The storm had passed, but its remnants lingered, blood-streaked floors, shattered glass, the acrid scent of gunpowder clinging to the walls.

You sat near the back of the pub, absently rolling a strip of bandage between your fingers, staring at the small pile of used gauze and whiskey-soaked rags beside you. The worst of it had been John, but there had been others– split knuckles, shallow cuts, bruises forming beneath torn shirts. Nothing lethal. Nothing you hadn’t seen before.

Your hands ached from the hours spent cleaning wounds, your body thrumming with exhaustion. But sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight.

You exhaled, trying to will the tension from your shoulders, but it wouldn’t go. Your fingers curled tighter around the bandage in your lap as your mind drifted back, not to tonight, but to what came before.

The trenches.

The mud.

The smell of rot and sweat and gunpowder clinging to your skin.

Your throat tightened.

Tonight hadn’t been the first time you’d seen men fall, the first time you’d stitched wounds with blood soaking through your hands. It wasn’t even the first time you’d listened to the groans of the injured, the quiet prayers, the sharp, ragged breaths of men too stubborn to die.

But it was the first time you’d heard gunfire since France.

You closed your eyes, your breath stuttering in your throat. It wasn’t just memory, it wasn’t just some distant recollection of the past. When the shots rang out tonight, when the screams followed, it hadn’t felt like Small Heath anymore. It hadn’t felt like the Garrison.

It felt like then.

Like the walls around you had crumbled into an open battlefield, the floor beneath your feet turning to thick, sucking mud. The scent of whiskey and cigarettes had vanished, replaced with the acrid burn of smoke and decay. 

You sucked in a breath and opened your eyes again.

The pub was still here.

The war was not.

Your fingers uncurled from the bandage, but the tremble in them hadn’t fully faded.

You had stitched up wounds tonight. You had cleaned blood and wiped sweat from men’s brows, just as you had done before. You had done your job. But the part of you that had frozen, that had shattered at the first sound of gunfire, that part still lingered in the trenches.

And it had ripped through you like a bullet to the chest.

The bandage in your lap felt weightless, slipping from your fingers as you exhaled slowly, forcing air into your lungs, forcing yourself to be here. Not there. Not then.

But your body wasn’t listening.

Your chest still felt too tight, your skin too cold despite the warmth of the room. The echoes of gunfire hadn’t fully faded, not in your head. They lingered, stretching between the space of memory and reality, leaving you stranded somewhere in between.

A chair scraped against the floor.

Your body tensed before your mind could catch up.

Tommy sat across from you, his movements slow, deliberate. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned back in the chair, cigarette rolling between his fingers. You could feel his eyes on you, the same sharp, calculating gaze he wore when he was trying to piece something together.

"You shouldn’t be home alone."

His voice was low, steady.

You blinked, the words taking a second longer to register. "I’ll be fine."

Tommy inhaled slowly, but he didn’t light his cigarette. "You don’t look fine."

Your fingers twitched against your thigh. You weren’t sure how to respond to that.

"Come to the house," he said. It wasn’t a question.

You hesitated, glancing toward the mess of the Garrison, toward the handful of men still lingering, speaking in low voices. "Tommy, I– "

"I need you to keep an eye on John."

You stilled. You knew he didn’t need you to watch John. He had no fever, he'd make it through the night. But he said it anyway, because he knew you wouldn’t argue with that– he knew that was the only way you’d stay.

So, for a moment, you let yourself believe it.

You inhaled, slow and unsteady, then nodded. "Alright."

Tommy gave a single nod in return, as if confirming something to himself.

Then, he stood, but instead of turning toward the door, he extended his hand toward you.

You blinked at it, surprised. His hands were rough, knuckles bruised, dried blood at the edges of his fingers. And yet, his palm was open, waiting.

You hesitated only a second before slipping your hand into his.

Warm. Steady. Solid.

Your own hand still trembled slightly, but Tommy’s grip anchored it. His thumb brushed over your skin once, just the faintest, fleeting touch, before he turned and started walking, leading you toward the door. You let him.

Outside, the cold night air hit you instantly, but Tommy’s hand remained firm around yours, grounding you as you walked through the quiet streets. Small Heath was eerily still, the remnants of the fight lingering only in the bloodstains on the cobblestones, the distant sound of men muttering behind closed doors.

You barely registered any of it.

Tommy didn’t let go.

Not until the Shelby house came into view, the glow of lamplight spilling onto the street.

Inside, the warmth of the house wrapped around you. The scent of whiskey and cigarettes mixed with the faint traces of Polly’s perfume, of burning firewood, of home.

Ada was standing near the stairs, her arms crossed tightly, her expression pinched with worry. Polly was beside her, brow furrowed, her gaze snapping to Tommy the second you stepped inside.

"About time," Polly muttered, but her eyes immediately scanned over him, checking for wounds. "John’s upstairs. Didn’t go easy, but he’s comfortable now."

Tommy gave a curt nod. 

Arthur was at the washbasin, scrubbing blood from his hands, his jaw set tight. He looked up briefly as you entered but didn’t say anything. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion.

Polly turned back to Tommy. "What happened?"

Tommy exhaled, running a hand down his face before speaking.

"Campbell set it up. Had a gang hit us while we were off guard. Thought he could wipe us out in one night." His voice was even, but there was something dark underneath it. "He was wrong."

Polly’s lips pressed into a thin line. "How many did we lose?"

"None of ours," Tommy said.

You sat down in the corner of the room as Tommy recounted the rest, how they had prepared, how the fight had broken out in the streets, how John had gone down but managed to drag himself behind cover before they could finish him off.

You barely heard any of it.

Your hands were still shaking.

You pressed them against your lap, willing them to be still. Not here. Not now.

But the gunfire still echoed in your ears. The blood, the screams, the trenches– it still clung to you.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Breathed in. Out. 

Tommy’s voice cut through the haze.

"Come on."

You barely registered him at first. The warmth of the house, the low voices in the other room—it all felt distant, blurred at the edges. But then Tommy’s hand was on your arm, his grip firm, steady. He guided you up the stairs, leading you through the dimly lit hallway, past closed doors, until he stopped in front of a room.

A guest room.

He pushed the door open, motioning for you to step inside. You hesitated for a second, but your body felt too heavy to argue. You stepped past him and sat on the edge of the bed.

Tommy lingered by the door for a moment before stepping further in.

"There’s a basin over there if you need to wash up," he said, nodding toward the far corner. "Blankets in the wardrobe. Polly probably left something you can change into."

His voice was steady, practical. Giving instructions. Making sure you had what you needed.

But you weren’t listening.

You were staring at the floor, your hands clasped together, your fingers still trembling no matter how hard you tried to make them stop.

Your breath was uneven. Your skin felt too tight. You knew you were safe, but your body hadn’t caught up yet.

Tommy’s voice faded into the background, drowned beneath the sound of your own heartbeat.

Then, a shift in movement.

The bed dipped slightly beside you.

And then warm hands were on your face again.

Your breath caught as Tommy’s fingers pressed gently against your skin, tilting your head toward him. His expression was unreadable, but his thumb brushed against your cheek, and it wasn’t until then that you realized… 

You were crying.

Silent, unchecked tears had begun slipping down your face, trailing along your skin, dripping from your chin onto your lap. You hadn’t even noticed.

Tommy exhaled, slow and steady, as he wiped a tear away with his thumb.

"It’s alright." His voice was quieter now.

You nodded, trying desperately to believe him. More tears fell. 

His thumb brushed over your cheek again, a silent encouragement to talk.

You swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes shut for a second before forcing the words out. "I wasn’t here anymore,” you tried to explain. “I was back there. I–" You broke off, your hands curling against your lap. "I couldn’t get out."

Tommy didn’t speak right away. He just held you there, his hands still cradling your face, grounding you, making sure you were here.

"I know," he murmured. “But you did.”

You blinked up at him, your breath still uneven.

"You came back," Tommy said, his thumb brushing against your cheek again. "And you did what needed to be done."

You let out a shaky breath, your vision blurring again. 

"It happens to all of us," Tommy said simply.

You looked at him then, really looked at him. The exhaustion in his face, the tension in his jaw, the bruises darkening his skin.

He knew.

He understood.

That realization cracked something deep inside you.

Your shoulders sagged, your body finally giving in to the exhaustion. Tommy caught the weight of it, his hands never leaving your skin.

"Just breathe," he murmured. “That’s the only thing that gets you through.”

So you did.

In. Out. In. Out. 

You let out slow breaths, trying to even them out while your eyes flickered over his face.

"This has happened to you?" you asked.

A shadow passed behind his eyes, gone too fast for you to catch.

"Yes."

You studied him, but he didn’t elaborate.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you was different now– thicker, heavier. His hands hadn’t left your skin, hadn’t pulled away like before. He was still holding you, like he was debating something, like there was something left to be said.

His thumb lingered against your cheekbone, softer now, slower.

Your breath stilled. The air between you changed.

You weren’t sure who moved first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you. But suddenly, the space between you was smaller. His forehead nearly touched yours, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb brushed along your jaw, tracing an invisible line before his fingers slipped lower, along the column of your throat.

A shiver rolled through you.

He felt it. His grip tightened– not forceful, not possessive, but firm. Intentional.

Your lips parted, but no words came. 

Tommy’s eyes flickered to your mouth, just briefly, before he inhaled sharply and let go.

The sudden absence of his touch left you colder than before. You watched as he stood, his movements slower this time, less certain.

"Get some rest," he said, voice rougher than before. "You’ll feel better in the morning."

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure you believed him.

Tommy turned, stepping toward the door, but before he reached it, you found yourself speaking.

"Tommy."

He stopped, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

You hesitated, swallowing thickly.

"Thank you."

Tommy held your gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then, with the faintest nod, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

And for the first time that night, you were alone.

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[catiuskaa]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬.

[ synopsis. ]: you have stayed behind. it’s a bitter truth you come to realize, as you stand surrounded by friends who feel distant, the feeling cracking inside you like a small spark that threatens to become a big flame when exposed to oxygen. everyone had partners, plans for the future, a life together, and you were hopelessly alone and melancholically lonely, with a myriad of comments that were meant to help, but only managed to suffocate you. changbin, always attentive, lost in an inferno of heat, had also stayed behind. he had heard on the radio that someone was missing, and as a fireman, he couldn't help but return to the burning building. he found you in your flat, distorted in smoke and tears, and found himself physically unable to separate from you, because, as a firefighter, even if changbin was aware that fire leaves scars, what he didn’t know was that though the scars you left in his skin tore him open just a little, they would end up teaching him a lot about love.

[ word count. ]: 60k!

[ status. ] FINISHED.

firefighter!changbin x fem!victim.

[ full warnings. ] content! language, alcohol, hyunin is mentioned. angst! language, alcohol, fire and rescue situations, hospitals, mild emotional damage, trauma recovery, mild violence (action-heavy stuff), miscommunication (not with changbin but she had to be here guys i’m sorry). fluff! teasing and banter, they’re in love your honour, slow-burn romance? (at least I hope I pulled it off). smut! kisses, kisses, kisses, markings, protected piv sex (yes), and i think that’s all, folks!

[ also! ] available on AO3!

[♦️☆🔥☆♦️]

EP1: smoke and sparks. (20.7k)

syn. trapped in a devastating fire, you’re rescued by firefighter Seo Changbin, and maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s something more—either way, neither of you is walking away from this unshaken.

EP2: seven floors under ash. (17.4k)

syn. a drunk call brings a certain Seo Changbin back into your life, and an argument follows—sharp, charged, and laced with something neither of you is ready to name—, things is, the line between comfort and something more —desire?— has already begun to blur.

EP3: fire hazard. (10.6k)

syn. as much as he’d like to deny it —he wouldn’t, but still—, no one in the fire station will let him escape from the truth, but with you across the table, laughter on your lips, and something warm beneath the surface, it’s hard to refuse the truth.

EP4: tears, sweat, skin, flames (11.3k)

syn. a strained reunion with old friends helps set things clear—but a quiet visit to the fire station sparks inside both you and Changbin a flicker of something warmer. Wait until night, until he opens the door—then, that flicker catches fire.

[♦️☆🔥☆♦️]

[ a/n. ] ok first of all HIII i’m back from the dead with a REQUEST! by my baby @palindrome969 but I just have to say i’m sorry, I had started writing the first scenes and like mapping the fire and all in my head and then i texted @lyramundana and my wifey @knowbites (that btw y’all thank em’ bc they were a massive help beta reading, 10/10 moral support, and my wifey helped me with the synopsis) and I was like “girly pops help i’m at 5k and barely anything happened compared to my usual writing” but they loved it so much, specially marsy, so this is ALSO planned to (hopefully) be done (or i’ll publish the second episode at least) in her b-day!! everyone say yippie mars!! in the comments if you read this. but yeah! that’s why this is so long, because of my wifey’s support (hell yeah) but also probably because i’ve been reading too much from my darlin eff @seospicybin and the way i don’t even realize the amout of words i devour in each work of hers, just omg, total inspiration, as much as @leeknowsallyoursecrets who was another inspo for this post’s style and the sneak peaks and all bc i just reread one of her works and i’m so in love bc c’mon i’m just surrounded by awesome talented mooties like what can I do except show off 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️‼️ anyways this is a long author's note, but yeah, if you do plan to read this, i love you so much already 🎀 hope you like!!

[ permanent taglist! ] @svckrpvnch @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @/lyramundana @/cheeksung

[♦️☆🔥☆♦️]

~kats, who’s excited to publish all of it already, and even more excited to be back!! 🙂‍↕️‼️💗

catiuskaa, april 2025 ©

[neiptune]

assessment gone wrong

cw: 2.5k wc, female reader, miscommunication trope, very self indulgent, quite sappy by the end, yikes yikes yikes, oliver comes up with a not so brilliant idea to test out how much you actually like him and it blows up in his pretty face

“I think we should have a threesome”.

You damn nearly choke on the piece of whipped ricotta toast you’re eating, eyes darting to where Oliver is sitting across from you at the breakfast table he so kindly set.

“What?”, you swallow, trying really hard to hide your astonishment. He just smiles.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that for a while. What do you say?”.

You clear your throat, gaze low while you keep your fingers occupied by tapping them on the mug filled to the brim with freshly brewed tea.

Oliver relishes in that agitation and, as he brings a spoonful of spinach tofu scramble to his mouth, he secretly congratulates himself on the brilliant idea his brain came up with while on his morning run.

The thing is, you two have been dating for a while now and he truly likes you. That’s precisely why he would like to confirm that you like him too. No, more than that: he wants to understand just how much you like him. So of course the mature and adult thing to do would be to test whatever feelings you might or might not have for him through a silly trial. An assessment, if you will. All you have to do is say no, confirm that you don’t want to go through with something like that because you want him and no one else. You don’t need anyone else. He’ll take any confession, really, from the sweetly embarrassed one to the heartwarming, touched, emotional one.

It’ll be his cue to tell you, too. Tell you that he doesn’t want anyone else either.

It’s the perfect plan: you’re nervous, surely debating how it’d be best to tell him that it’s not a good idea. Victory already tastes so sweet on his tongue, like a ripe mango or a drizzle of honey…

“Okay”.

Oliver blinks.

“Sorry?”.

You offer a smile.

“Fine. Let’s do it”.

Suddenly, the taste in his mouth is sour. He clears his throat.

“You sure?”.

“Yep”, you pop the ‘p’, “how about Itoshi?”.

Oliver calmly swallows another bite of his breakfast and washes it down with a generous sip of coffee. He didn’t expect you to accept, let alone to have a preference. What the actual fuck.

“Which one?”.

“Either”, you grin, “Sae, if I had to choose”.

Why do you want to choose in the first place? He can’t wrap his head around the unexpected result of his experiment. He wasn’t prepared to face this specific scenario.

“Will you ask him?”, your tone is so sweet, as it always is when you want him to do something, “or were you thinking of someone else? Sendo is cute but I thought it’d be weird since you two are practically brothers and, like, he’s the straightest guy I know. How about Isagi or Karasu? Oh, I know! Shid-”

“I will ask him”, Oliver sternly interrupts the little philippic of possible men you’re apparently dying to sleep with. He only has one remaining wild card to play.

“How about a woman? I was thinking Anri, she’s really hot”.

Oliver almost smirks when his question is met with the hesitation he was looking forward to at last. It only lasts a second, then you offer the biggest smile as you shrug.

“Yeah, she’s beautiful. Why not?”.

The wild card burns to ashes right in front of his eyes. Fuck.

“Okay, then”, he chirps, ever the charming liar.

“Okay, then”, you say back and if Oliver wasn’t so focused on contemplating how every single one of his certainties was disrupted like a house of cards left in a rainstorm, maybe he would’ve noticed the tense corners of your smile.

A few days go by without the stupid agreement being mentioned and part of you hopes that practice and games and silly family drama will be enough to take his mind off of it. But you also know that once Oliver sets his mind to something, it’s nearly impossible for him to reconsider it.

Honestly, you were completely blindsided by the threesome idea. Not letting it get to you, not falling into the trap of thinking you may not be enough for him, has been hard. The past few days have been hard. You’ve been replying to his texts normally and it’s still quite early for him to notice that your smiles are all forced, your enthusiasm fictitious.

It’s just that it kinda felt like the dating stage was finally about to transform into something different, something more. Perhaps you’ve been too naive but the thought was there: you couldn’t help but believe he likes you as much as you like him, enough to not feel the need to see other people anymore. Clearly, not only he still wants other people, he’s also been wondering whether you’d want them too. Which is fair. Unexpected but understandable. He’s not your boyfriend, is he?

It’s your fault for having been dumb enough to say yes to something you don’t actually want to do. But the thing is, you panicked and feared that refusing would have automatically led to him breaking things off.

It’s embarrassing how badly you’re falling for Oliver Aiku, enough to blindly accept a goddamn threesome apparently. Enough to be scared of not living up to his standards as a partner. But if this is what he wants, if this is what he needs, clearly you’re not the right person for him and prolonging what’s not meant to be will only result in heartache.

Still... are you ready to just let him go? Couldn’t you maybe at least try, for his sake? Isn't this how you get to prove that you like him enough to do something like this in the first place?

These thoughts have been tormenting you day and night, you’re too embarrassed to mention the issue to any of your friends so you’re just letting the endless pondering eat away at your sanity.

Oliver casually swings by your place after practice, takes your face in his hands to kiss you when you open the door for him.

“Can I shower here? I have a change of clothes”, he murmurs against your mouth and you kiss him again, tell him he already knows where the clean towels are.

Your apartment is considerably smaller than his, so it’s easy to chat while he’s in the bathroom and you’re putting together dinner for two in the kitchen. The familiarity you have so easily fallen into feels comfortable and warm in your belly, the tune he hums in the shower making the perfect soundtrack for your quiche to bake in the oven.

Oliver smells of your shampoo and body wash when he wraps his arms around you by the kitchen counter, hair still damp tickling your collarbone when he kisses your shoulder.

“How was practice?”, you ask with a smile.

“Pretty good. Guess the best part”.

“Mmm. Sendo finally scored with a corner kick”.

He chuckles.

“He was in great shape today but no. The best part is how close practice is to your place”.

Your heart fumbles in your chest at his words and when you turn in his arms he instantly presses you against the counter to give you a proper kiss. It’s slow, sweet, his hands squeeze your hips and you angle your head to kiss him deeper, your lungs unfairly claiming their fill of oxygen too soon. You’d give up something as trivial as breathing instantly, if it meant you got to kiss Oliver forever.

“Stay here tonight?”, you ask sheepishly, thumb stroking his skin where your hand rests on his cheek. He smiles.

“If you want me”.

He’s so beautiful. And so stupid. Occasionally makes you want to hit his pretty head with a baseball bat.

“I may”, you grin, “if you wash the dishes”.

Oliver rolls his eyes with fondness.

“We have a deal”.

He pecks your lips again, then offers a sly smile.

“By the way, I just saw that Anri is currently abroad. Guess she’s off the list for now”.

You blink, then blink once more, something sour suddenly simmering in your stomach.

“Yeah, saw that too”, you lie easily, “we can wait. Or ask someone else”, clearing your throat, you slip away from his embrace and shuffle to your living room, where you let yourself fall on the couch. He soon follows, eyes wary in a way you can’t quite make sense of.

“I asked Sae”, he says quietly, “he said yes”.

You look at him, surprised.

“He said yes?”.

Oliver nods, feeling nauseous.

He is at his wits’ end and the amazement (relief? Excitement?) in your gaze isn’t helping at all.

That’s it, he decides. He’s just going to tell you it was all a giant bluff, the very reason why he stopped by in the first place. To be brave, to finally come clean and admit that his plan wasn’t so brilliant after all. And that maybe, just maybe, if this is what you really want perhaps you’d be better off with Itoshi Sae. Or Isagi. Or Karasu. Or fucking Shido-

“Oliver, I don’t want to do it”.

He looks up from his lap, lips parted.

“What?”.

You look mortified, which makes him feel like a monster.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry but I really don’t want to”.

“But”, he pauses, “you said-”

“I know what I said”, you sigh, exasperated, “I lied. I wanted to make you happy but I can’t watch you kiss, let alone fuck anyone else”.

“I wanted it to be all about you, I don’t have to-”

“Oliver”, you interrupt his stupid nonsense, too distracted to notice the joyful glint in his eyes, “I don’t care. I don’t want to bring anyone else into this, even if this is just dating casually. It’s fine if you want to, uh, end it here though. I’d get it. I wouldn’t want to hold you back or anything”.

He’s too engrossed in the way your voice trembles, in the sadness reflected in your eyes, to focus on the actual relief flooding over his chest. He just feels like a dick.

“I came here to tell you I never really intended to go through with it”, Oliver takes one of your hands in his, brings it to his mouth to kiss your wrist, “I’m sorry. It was stupid”.

“What?”, you furrow your brows, “are you joking?”.

He offers an embarrassed smile.

“I only now realize that it might’ve been a bad idea. But the way you responded… I thought you actually wanted to! You had a list ready-” 

“You’re an idiot”, you release your hand from his grasp and punch his shoulder, “are you stupid or something? And fucking insisting even after I said no because it’d be all about me! God, I’m gonna go fuck Itoshi Sae out of spite right this second”, you are snatched backwards as soon as you get up from the couch, pulled by the arm and then caged in a strong embrace you wouldn’t be able to free yourself from if you tried.

“I don’t want it to be casual”, he murmurs into your shoulder. You freeze into his hold.

“What?”.

“Not only I don’t need to bring anyone else into this, I don’t need anyone. I don’t want anyone”, Oliver rests his chin on the juncture between your neck and shouder. You can feel his breath hot on your skin when he speaks next. “Be my girlfriend”.

When you look at him, your heart squeezes at the sheer vulnerability in his hopeful gaze.  

“Like… in a relationship?”, the question makes him chuckle.

“Yeah, like in a relationship”.

“An exclusive one”.

“That’s what I had in mind, yes”.

“In a way that would make you my boyfriend”.

Oliver laughs again, the sound lighter this time.

“I believe that’s how relationships usually work”.

Your irritation dissipates, which annoys you to an extent but there’s no time to focus on that because Oliver Aiku just asked you to be his girlfriend. You never even got to dream about this scenario, that's how out of reach it felt.

When you gently take his face in your hands, something melts in your chest at the way he leans into your touch.

“I’d like that”, you murmur and Oliver smiles so big before kissing you, arms wrapping tighter around your frame.

“You have goosebumps”, he whispers, the pads of his fingers gently tracing your arm.

“Shut up”, you mutter, burying your face in his neck. He adjusts you better against his chest, kisses the crown of your head.

“S’that because I’m your boyfriend now?”, Oliver’s teasing doesn’t actually feel exasperating for once, not when it sounds so sweet. You just hum against him, an affirmative sound that makes him smile. He decides against admitting it out loud but he feels it somewhere in his chest, loud, clear, eager. He’s falling in love with you.

“Can I ask you something?”, you speak quietly after a moment of comfortable silence.

Oliver knows exactly what the question is going to be because he knows you.

“Shoot”.

“Would you have wanted it? If it was a woman or if… you know. It was all about you instead”.

He hums, pensive. This is not your way of invalidating his attraction to both men and women, it’s an insecurity he’s somehow responsible for. You’re asking because you’re still wondering if there is something else he may need from someone who is not you. You’re asking to make sure he’s sure. You’re asking because his dumb plan backfired and now there are still too many uncertain thoughts in that pretty little head of yours, the most urgent one leading you to ponder whether jealousy is the one thing holding him back. If it would’ve been different, with a swap of the right variables.

“I don’t need a man the same way I don’t need a woman”, he simply says, “I just wanted to know if I’m enough for you. The way you are enough for me”.

“You could’ve just asked, you know”.

“Where’s the fun in that?”.

He groans when you punch his shoulder again, with less strength this time.

“You’re such an idiot. I’m still mad at you”, you click your tongue.

“I’ll make it up to my girlfriend”, Oliver smiles, half apologetic, half cocky. The term conjures a storm of butterflies in your stomach, their little wings fluttering restlessly along with the pathetic muscle in your rib cage.

You choose to taste the word on his mouth, feel the texture of it with every brush of tongue against his. The way you kiss him may feel like you’ve already forgiven him but Oliver knows better. He just shuts up and counts his blessings as his hand slides up to cradle your neck and jaw to angle your head the way he needs to kiss you deeper, until you make that sweet little sound that is usually his cue to flip you on your back and devour you whole.

But then you suddenly pull away, eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?”, he asks, gaze hazy, lips swollen. You’re distracted by how beautiful he looks for just a moment.

“What are we going to tell Sae?”.

Oliver blinks once, then throws his head back in laughter.

“First, I think I’m done hearing that man’s name coming out of your mouth”, he grins and you roll your eyes, “second, I never really asked him”.

You stare at him for a moment, incredulous. Then scoff.

“You’re the fucking worst”.

“Maybe”, Oliver shrugs with a smirk, “but I’m still your boyfriend”.

[rainrot4me]

Run Rabbit Run - Chapter 3

“Claws”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

────────────────────────────────── animal - sir chloe

── .✦ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.

MAY CONTAIN SENSITIVE TOPICS

✦ . Summary: Haunted by guilt and unnerved by how easily you saw through him, Masky spirals into isolation. But when the Operator delivers a new order, the proxies set a deadly plan in motion, dragging you into the night as bait for something far worse. Secrets unravel, instincts clash, and the forest comes alive. And for the first time, blood won't be the only thing spilled.

✦ . Characters: Masky x Genderneutral Reader, Ticci Toby, Hoody, The Rake

✦ . Warning: Mental distress, emotional distress, blood, injury, guns, descriptions of wounds, chase sequences, trauma

✦ . Words: 7.9k

✦ . Note: Thank you all so much for 4,000 lovely followers!!! Longer chapter! I took my last final exam this morning, so that means I am officially done for the summer! My schedule will become more open, so expect lots more posts soon! There are a good bit of POV switches in this chapter, so I hope it doesn't become too confusing! I hope you enjoy how the story is progressing!!!

────────────────────────────────────────────

Eight Days Earlier…

He didn’t go downstairs.

Not once. Not even to glance.

He told himself it was strategy, a control maneuver, or tactical distance.

But every time he so much as passed the basement door, something twisted in his gut like barbed wire. A feeling he couldn’t place—too sharp to be guilt, too heavy to be fear, but too loud to be nothing.

You were down there. The cop. The one who saw too much in that interrogation room, who cut through layers of static and noise and found him in the middle of it all. You shouldn’t have been able to. No one ever had before without the influence of The Operator, not even Brian, not even Toby, not even himself. The Operator had twisted him, no, gutted him so brutally that Tim was barely a whisper in his mind anymore. Masky was the frontman now, and he was to remain in control as long as he was ordered to. 

So, how did Tim front?

All he could think about was the look in your eyes right before the world had shifted—right before Tim’s voice had clawed its way out of his throat and pleaded for you to listen. He couldn’t have stopped it if he tried.

Masky spat the taste of ash out of his mouth and lit another cigarette. The porch was damp with dew, the fog thick enough to press against the edges of his vision. The mansion was quiet, only the creaking of hinges and settling of floorboards as Masky leaned against the railing of the porch. The smell of cigarette smoke was thick on his jacket, but it always was nowadays. It was morning, maybe, or evening. It didn’t matter anymore. The days blended together like one long scream muffled through his own skull. All he knew was it was August, and the nights were getting colder than he preferred them to be.

He hadn’t slept since they brought you here. That’s not saying much, he doesn’t sleep at all anyway. Not really. Not since he started talking again.

Tim clawed behind his eyes like a desperate animal, whispering in his own voice, hissing nonsense and fragments of your name, begging—begging—to be let out. Masky had nearly thrown himself into the lake just to shut him up.

“You look like shit,” Toby said casually, flopping beside him on the warped porch railing. He stole the cigarette from Masky’s fingers and puffed it for himself. “You gon-gonna do anything about your stowaway in the basement? Or wait until the bo-boss gets tired of ‘em first?” Masky didn’t answer, just stared out into the trees and let the smoke curl from his nose.

Honestly, that was Masky’s main fear at the moment. The Operator liked the be in control, liked to have a say on where and when his proxies did things. Taking you back to the mansion was not in the plan, but getting himself caught and taken to the police station wasn’t in the plans, either. Masky figured it was only a matter of time before The Operator’s patience with him ran out.

Toby nudged him with a shoulder. “Oh come on, they’re gonna starve the-themselves first if we keep feeding ‘em expired protein bars.” He let the smoke roll from his lips with every word, gray plumes hazing from the wilting gash in the side of his cheek. Unlike the other two, Toby didn’t wear his mask as a safeguard; he had no qualms with his appearance or the things going on in his head, so Masky usually had the displeasure of always seeing his shit-eating grin plastered on his freckled cheeks. “Not very gentleman-like to hoard your new play-plaything down with the rats.”

“Shut up.”

“Touched a nerve,” he sang.

“Toby,” Hoody’s voice cut in from the doorway, flat and low. “That's enough.”

The hooded man stepped outside, arms crossed, unreadable behind his mask. He looked at Masky for a long moment.

“Are we going to talk about yesterday?” Hoody questioned sternly, crossing his arms. “Or are you going to keep pretending it didn’t happen?”

Masky didn’t answer. Toby watched quietly.

“Because I’d really like to know,” Hoody pressed, stepping closer. “How the hell a you got yourself dragged into a police station? That’s not just a mistake, that’s a risk to all of us.”

“I handled it,” Masky muttered.

“No,” Hoody said sharply. “We handled it.” The words hung between them like a pit. Masky’s eyes flicked up, his jaw tensing.

“Don’t start with me.”

“I will end with you if you keep putting us in danger,” Hoody snapped. “You know what we are, what we do. We don’t exist in the system. We don’t leave fingerprints. You getting picked up like some drunken vagrant for trespassing? That’s not a fluke, that’s a breach.”

“You wouldn’t care to know anyway.”

“Then explain it,” Hoody demanded. “Why were you even in that part of town?”

Masky inhaled sharply through his nose. He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to explain how the walls of the mansion had been closing in, how the Operator had been pressing harder than usual, coiling in his brain like smoke through vents. How Tim had been clawing louder and louder inside his head, and all Masky could think to do was run. Get air. Go somewhere he didn’t have to feel so damn watched.

“I needed a break,” Masky muttered finally. “Got too far out. Wasn’t paying attention. Ended up near some abandoned warehouse. Didn’t know it had surveillance. Cops picked me up for trespassing, then got all over themselves when they realized I still had my gun on me.”

Hoody’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “That ‘break’ nearly got you booked.”

“They barely had anything on me, could barely pin a name. There’s no way in hell they could trace anything back, especially now that their entire sanction is dead.”

Hoody didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his presence in the room seemed heavier now—oppressive.

“And the sheriff?” he said coldly.

Masky gripped the banister of the porch.

“They were the one who read you,” Hoody went on. “The one who watched you like they already knew what you were. They talked you down like a rabid dog.”

Masky ground out the rest of his cigarette.

“They got lucky.”

“They got too close. And you brought them back here.”

Masky turned sharply, throwing his hands up in agitation. “I didn’t plan it, Hoody. I didn’t go in there looking to bring them back here.”

“Then why?”

Masky didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know how to explain it. How strange it felt to have someone look through him like glass. How furious it made him when you asked questions that got too close to the truth—closer than anyone else ever had. And how terrified he’d been when Tim stirred because of you. Tim had been loud enough, but it was as if being talked down by you was the final push he needed to block Masky out.

Hoody stepped forward. “They got under your skin,” he said, no judgment in his tone—just fact.

Masky groaned sharply, fist tightening at his side. “Shut up.”

“You dragged them into this. You made them a part of his game now.”

Masky pressed his forehead against the hilt of his palm, breathing heavily, his other fist tight at his side. “I didn’t mean for any of this,” he growled. “But no way in hell was I going to let someone who ran around my head like a playground go scot-free.”

“They’re dangerous then,” Toby mumbled, rolling the nearly-empty cigarette around between his bandaged fingers. “We gotta kill ’em. Simple solution, end of story. Th-That’s what should’ve happened in the first place.”

He turned, face unreadable behind the cracked porcelain mask. “They’re not special. Not important. They’re information I plan to gain and then dispose of.”

Hoody’s silence stretched for a long beat. Then he stepped back toward the doorway. “For your sake,” he said quietly, “you better start believing that.”

Masky was already walking before Hoody finished the sentence, boots crunching the damp leaves as he stalked into the trees. He wandered for hours, maybe longer. The forest blurred around the edges, familiar and unknowable all at once. He liked it out here. The quiet was never silent—not like the house. Birds called, branches creaked, wind whispered through the canopy like some old god breathing overhead.

It kept Tim quiet, too. Most of the time. He lit another cigarette with shaking fingers. Hands that slit throats without flinching now trembled around a lighter.

“You’re slipping,” he whispered to himself, voice raw with exhaustion. “Get it together.”

But no matter how many hours passed…

No matter how many trees he passed or cigarettes he burned down to the filter or cups of coffee he downed until his hands went numb—

He still couldn’t stop thinking about you. Not what you said, not what you knew. But what you unlocked. And what it would cost to shut it again.

It was after midnight when Masky finally stopped walking. He always forgot just how big the woods surrounding the mansion were, designed entirely to accommodate not only the inhabitants, but to drive any unwanted company straight for their demise. It drew you in, whispered to you through wind and shadows. Masky had lost his fear of this place a long, long time ago, though.

He stood at the edge of a crumbling ravine, the moon bleeding through the branches overhead like a knife wound in the sky. Somewhere below, water trickled faintly, weaving through jagged rocks. The drop wasn’t high enough to kill him, but it might shut Tim up for a while.

He tilted his head back, letting the smoke drift past his mask, up into the dark. The cigarette burned close to his fingertips, and he let it. Let the sting remind him he was still here. Still in control.

Still the one driving.

But that wasn’t true, was it?

Tim was awake. More awake than he’d been in months. Pounding at the inside of his skull. Screaming, whispering, crying.

That was the worst part.

It wasn’t rage Masky felt behind his eyes. It wasn’t revenge or hunger or madness. It was grief. Longing. That aching, open wound of a man who’d never healed.

And all of it—all of it—was aimed at you.

Masky ground the heel of his boot into the dirt. “They didn’t do anything,” he hissed. “You’re just soft. You’re just—”

Let me talk to them, Tim whispered.

“No.”

Please.

It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.

But this time, the voice didn’t sound like an echo in his mind. It felt closer. Heavy in his chest, like an animal trapped beneath his ribs.

A bird, he realized, in a rare moment of clarity. A bird trapped in a cage.

Tim flapped against his bones like desperate wings. Bruising the inside of his skull, clawing at the corners of his consciousness for any sliver of light.

The cop had been that light. Even if they didn’t mean to be. Even if they didn’t want to be. They had seen him. Not the mask, not the killer. Him.

And Masky had slammed the cage shut.

“You think I like this?” he snarled at the nothing around him, the night listening silently. “You think I wanted to split open and find you crawling out like some pathetic kid?”

They didn’t flinch, Tim whispered.

“They should have. They all should.”

They looked at me like I was still a man.

Masky’s breath caught. Just for a moment. Just long enough.

And then he shoved the feeling deep, deep down where even Tim couldn’t reach.

He lit another cigarette with fingers that wouldn’t stop shaking. Somewhere in the mansion behind him, the sun would rise soon. Another day. Another hour. Another reason not to look them in the eyes.

Let Tim stay a bird and keep breaking his wings on the bars. Because if the door opened—if Masky let it open—then what was left of him wouldn’t survive it. The Operator wouldn’t let him.

── .✦

The mansion sat like a carcass in the woods, long dead and still refusing to rot. By the time he emerged from the trees, the sun had risen into a haze of gray and white, too dull to burn, too present to ignore. The light bothered him anyway. His head ached. His bones ached. His hands trembled from caffeine and cold and too many nights without anything but the taste of smoke in his mouth. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten something, maybe since the day they brought you here? He couldn’t tell.

Tim had been clawing at the edges again.

Go back down there, the voice whispered. You left them alone too long. They didn’t deserve that. Just talk to them. Just let me explain.

Masky grit his teeth and pushed the front door open. The hinges whined like they hated him. The house was quiet, that brittle kind of quiet that came before something broke. He didn’t have to wait long.

The pain hit his skull like a spike driven into the base of his brain. He grunted, stumbling forward, one hand braced on the wall, the other cradling the side of his head. A static hum swelled in his ears, rising to a shrill, high-pitched drone that split his thoughts in two. Everything stopped. The world folded inward. He saw nothing—but he felt it. A slithering presence like a rope coiling around his ribs, pressing into his mind with impossible weight.

THE WOODS TREMBLE.

AN OLD FRIEND STIRS.

YOU WILL CLEANSE IT.

The voice wasn’t a voice at all. It didn’t speak so much as press its meaning directly into the meat of his brain, bypassing sound and reason entirely. Masky gasped as the pressure twisted deeper. Something behind his eyes burned.

He wasn’t alone in the pain.

Toby stumbled in from the side hallway with a groan, scratching at his scalp like he could dig the Operator’s grip out with his nails. “Gah—fuckin’ ow, man—can he not do that every time?”

Hoody followed close behind, slower, more composed, but even he winced beneath the hood. He stood at the base of the stairs, arms folded, chest rising slowly. “It’s bad,” he said lowly. “He doesn’t summon like that unless something’s… distressing him.”

Masky tried to speak but choked on a cough. His knees buckled. He must have gotten caught up in The Operator’s guide in his mind, because someone else tried to slither their way in, too. For a second, Tim surged forward, panic bleeding through.

Let me out. Let me speak. LET ME—

Masky shoved him back with a snarl.

“Get it together,” Hoody barked.

“Don’t you start with me,” Masky hissed, voice ragged. “He’s in my goddamn skull.”

Toby’s smile was stretched wide and twitching now, equal parts anxious and excited. “Did you hear the boss? Something’s mo-moving in the woods—something nasty. Big teeth. Long claws. I love those jobs.” He laughed, cracking his knuckles obnoxiously loud.

“It’s the Rake,” Hoody said simply. “Or one of its spawn. Too close to the borders. The Operator wants it dead.”

“And let me guess,” Masky growled, straightening despite the tremors in his legs, “he wants us to babysit the woods all night, play exterminator while it stalks us from the trees?”

Hoody flinched, gripping his fists tight at his sides—a sign that The Operator was speaking again, just to him. “Not quite.”

The silence that followed crawled under his skin. Toby tilted his head like a dog hearing a distant whistle. Then that shit-eating smile grew. “He wants us to use the cop.”

Masky’s heart stalled.

“They’re bait,” Hoody said flatly. “They’re durable. And they draw attention. You know it too.”

“No,” Masky said instantly. “Absolutely not.”

Toby cackled. “Aw, come on, Masky. It’s not like they’re useful for anything else. And hey—ma-maybe if it eats ‘em, it’ll save you the trouble.” Masky’s fingers curled into fists. His mind buzzed. He could still see your face the last time he saw you—eyes wide, body trembling, the faint whisper of Tim on your breath.

“They’re a liability,” he snapped. “They’re not as fast as us. Or familiar with the woods. Or—”

“What happened to disposing of them?” Hoody said, voice like a blade. “That was your plan, right?”

Masky’s head whipped toward him.

“You’re unraveling,” Hoody continued, stepping forward slowly. “You haven’t slept in four days. You haven’t eaten. You walk around like a dog that’s lost its scent. Because they’re in your head. And he’s in your head. Tim’s not scratching anymore—he’s pounding.”

Toby let out a low whistle. “You gonna cry about it?”

Masky lunged.

Hoody caught his arm and shoved him back hard against the wall, pinning him in place with the force of someone who knew how to hold a struggling man down. “If you don’t get control, the Operator will cut you loose,” Hoody growled, eyes flashing behind the red-tinted fabric. “And you remember what that means. We all do.”

The thought of it silenced them. That kind of silence—the kind where pain leaves a memory so deep it becomes instinct. Masky breathed hard through his nose. Rage burned through him, bright and sharp. But under it… something worse. Guilt. Weakness.

Let me see them, the voice inside him pleaded again. Just let me explain. Let me apologize. I can’t take it anymore. I didn’t mean to—

Masky slammed the heel of his palm into the side of his head. “Shut up,” he muttered. “Shut the hell up.”

“You’re pathetic,” Hoody bit out, stepping forward, voice low and hard. “You’re the one who dragged them here, and now you can’t even look at them. You’re getting weak and sloppy.”

Masky looked up sharply, eyes flashing behind his mask. “You don’t get to talk like you’re any better.”

“I’m not,” Hoody agreed. “But I own what I am. You’re a mess of delusion and rot, letting some innocent nobody crack you open like a ribcage, and all you do is pace around like a dog too scared to go near the fire it started.”

Toby let out a low whistle and backed a few steps away, sensing the shift in the room. “Oooookay. I’ll just… go.”

“Shut it,” Hoody and Masky snapped in unison.

But Hoody didn’t take his eyes off Masky. “Since you can’t handle it,” he said, stepping toward the basement door and dragging on his gloves, “I will. I’ll get the information so you can get to the disposing part.”

Masky moved to block him on instinct. “Don’t touch them.”

Hoody stopped just inches from him. “I don’t have to. I just want to see what all this fuss is about. What Tim can’t stop clawing for.”

Masky stiffened.

Hoody’s voice dipped into something more scathing. “You think if you keep your distance, the problem will sort itself out. But it won’t, Masky. You’re rotting from the inside out.” With that, he turned and started down the stairs.

Masky stayed frozen where he stood, fists clenched so tightly the joints cracked. He stared at the wall, counting every age-line in the wooden boards. He saw Toby slip downstairs too, cheery as ever to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.

Go down there. Please. Just talk to them. Tim pleaded.

But the voice didn’t stop. It never stopped. Tim buzzed in the back of his skull like static under his skin, digging in deeper with every breath he took. Every heartbeat down in that basement. Every sob you swallowed just out of earshot. Masky could feel it all, like a splinter burrowed beneath the bone.

He snapped.

“Fine,” he hissed. “You want to see them so bad? You want to crawl back to your fucking mess and see what it did to you?” Masky stormed toward the door, vision red at the edges, rage boiling up to meet the sharp relief of decision. “Then we’ll look. We’ll see what’s left of them.”

His hand gripped the knob. Then he heard it.

A voice.

Not Hoody’s. Not Toby’s.

Yours.

Raw. Scratchy. Threadbare. So unlike the sharp, clever words you’d thrown at him that first day. Nothing steady or sure in it now—just a hoarse whimper, barely a breath through cracked lips.

It stopped him cold.

He didn’t hear the words. He didn’t need to. It was the sound. The sound of someone broken in a way that couldn’t be undone. Hollowed out and left to echo. Something in him twisted. It wasn’t Tim. It wasn’t Masky. It was just… human.

You sounded human.

Masky’s breath paused. He stood with his palm still pressed to the door, pulse hammering in his neck. That voice—it didn’t belong in the mansion. It didn’t belong in his world. It belonged somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. And he’d dragged it here. Left it to rot, just like he was.

The next breath he took came out like a snarl.

He pressed the door open, boots crashing on the stairs, fury flooding his limbs again like gasoline on fire. How dare he even contemplate such thoughts.

If Tim wanted answers, then Tim could have them.

But not the way he wanted.

Not gently.

── .✦

Present Day…

The wind bit colder out here.

Branches whispered like teeth clacking, and the night closed around you like a vice. The mansion’s looming silhouette vanished behind the treeline, swallowed in black. You had woken up in the basement, so being dragged out to the sight of a mansion was more whiplash than it was worth. You stumbled as Toby dragged you forward by the wrist, humming off-key like this was some kind of walk in the park.

He hadn’t said much since hauling you from the basement. Just little things, mostly to himself, muttered phrases like “you’ll see,” or “it’s gonna be fun, yeah?” His grip never loosened. In the fogged moonlight of the forest, you could see him more clearly now. Toby wasn’t much younger than you, probably around the same age, but the wild look in his eyes and the stress lines creasing his face made it hard to tell. Just like the other two, the masks didn’t help, hiding away all the secrets they didn’t want you to see.

“Where are we going?” you croaked. Your voice was still raw, throat bruised from days of crying, screaming, then drowning. “Toby—what the hell is this?”

He just hummed, high-pitched and jittery. “A surprise, sheriff. Our boss wants to try some-something new. Play a little game, y’know.”

“Play?” you echoed, dread tightening in your stomach.

“You’ll find out soon,” he sang.

That was it. Being scared was one thing, but teetering on the edge of terrified was enough to push your reflexes to the precipice. Instinct surged up in you. Not fear—training. You were a cop. Or used to be. Whatever you were now, you weren’t helpless. You didn’t go through years of combat simulations and skills classes just to let some kid manhandle you around. What little strength you had left, it was enough. In one smooth motion, you twisted your wrist in his grip, threw your weight forward, and slammed your shoulder into his side. He hit the ground hard, a crack of impact echoing through the trees.

You stepped back, chest heaving, muscles bracing for retaliation. But Toby just laid there, arms sprawled.

Then… he started laughing. Choking, wheezing laughter, like it had knocked the air clean out of him but he still thought it was the funniest thing in the world. He rolled onto his knees, dropping his mask just enough to wipe his nose on his sleeve. His grin never dropped.

“That was good!” he chirped, teasing and sarcasm lacing his words. “Damn, you got some gu-guts, sheriff. Do it again, maybe I’ll land on a rock next time.”

You backed away, blood pounding in your ears. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Oh, so much,” Toby said brightly, pushing himself up without a flinch. “But pain? Not one of them. Don’t feel it. Born special, ‘s what my mo-mom said.” He winked, giggling to himself. Something cold slid down your spine.

Up on the ridge, two figures stood half-shrouded by branches, stopping their pace into the forest to access the damage you clearly didn’t afflict on Toby. Masky had his arms crossed. His posture screamed irritation, but his head tilted—just a little. As if sizing you up. Hoody said nothing, but you saw the faintest nod beneath his hood. Approval? Or calculation? You couldn’t tell.

The woods thickened as Toby shoved you forward again, but now his grip had changed. Lighter. Not respectful—but curious. “C’mon,” he said. “Can’t keep the Rake waiting.”

Toby walked ahead, swinging a flashlight, your flashlight from your utility belt they had taken from you, like a toy, letting the beam skate across tree trunks and tangled brush. Shadows danced behind him—sometimes yours, sometimes not, you couldn’t be sure. Every crunch of leaves underfoot echoed too loud. Every branch looked like it might reach out and wrap around your throat.

Hoody and Masky flanked you, quiet as phantoms. You couldn’t see their eyes, but you felt them. Watching your shoulders, your hands, your steps. Not guiding you—just waiting. For something.

The deeper you went, the worse it got.

The trees were wrong. Too tall. Too thin. They leaned like they were listening. You knew the woods. Had trained in them for search and rescues, camped with your friends, lived near them. But these felt sick. And somewhere in the distance, a low rustling, soft and rhythmic, followed in your wake.

You were being led. No—you were being delivered.

When the trees finally parted, it felt like stepping off a ledge. The clearing opened like a wound in the forest. Moonlight bled across the uneven earth, silvering tufts of dying grass. It was quiet—too quiet. No bugs. No wind. Just… stillness.

And then Masky stopped walking.

“This is it,” he muttered.

You turned toward him, your voice a hoarse rasp. “What is this? Why did you bring me out here?”

He didn’t answer. Hoody stepped forward, shoulders square. “The forest’s been disturbed. Our boss doesn’t like that.” Toby twirled in place beside you, humming something just off-key. “Something’s hun-hunting in his territory. So we’re hunting it.”

You stared at them, heart crawling up your throat. “So why am I here?” Masky gave a dark, dry chuckle, low and empty. “Bait.”

Your blood turned to ice. Toby clapped his hands like you’d won a prize. “Don’t worry, you get a head start.”

“What—?”

“You better start running,” he said, eyes wide behind the goggles. “I can already hear it.”

Your legs didn’t move. Hoody turned away like he’d already dismissed you. Masky took a step back into the treeline.

And then it hit you. They were leaving you here.

“What’s coming?” you asked, voice cracking as your gaze swept the woods. “What the hell is coming?!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Masky said, giving one glance back before retreating with the others. “You’ve got maybe a minute before it’s here.”

Panic detonated inside your chest. This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t some power play. This was survival.

You tried to think—assess, assess—but nothing came. No tactics. No strategy. Just cold, raw fear chewing through your thoughts like acid. You turned. Stumbled. Then ran.

Branches tore at your pant legs, the roots of trees so prominent in the ground that it seemed as if they were trying to run away themselves. The night swallowed your breath. And somewhere, not far behind, something began to move. Something fast. Something hungry.

Your feet hit the forest floor hard—too hard. Everything was too loud. The thud of your boots, the rasp of your breath, the snarl of branches snapping past your shoulders, the wind slicing against your raw throat.

Bait.

Masky’s words kept echoing, droning itself like you were nothing more than meat strung on a hook. You had no idea what was out there. But whatever it was, it had to be worse than them.

Why? Why drag you out here? Was this Masky’s revenge? Some sick punishment for what you’d said in that interrogation room? Or maybe—maybe this was part of the same game, some twisted test to see how long you last. See how fast you run. Or maybe they just didn’t care. Maybe they really were going to let whatever was out there rip you to shreds and be done with it. This is what you get for sticking your nose in other people’s personal vendettas for so long: someone finally gets to hurt you instead.

No. No, you weren’t going to let it end like this.

You pushed through the next tangle of brush, lungs burning. Every step jarred your body like a hammer. You hadn’t eaten in days. You were dehydrated, sleep-deprived, trembling from adrenaline and cold. Your muscles screamed, but your survival instinct was louder. You had to think. Where am I? How far from town?

You tried to remember the drive, the hazy bits you could see in-between losing consciousness. The turns, the winding road before they pulled you off the map. There’d been a stream. A distant highway hum. Lights, maybe. Somewhere east?

You slowed just enough to glance around. Moonlight lanced through the canopy in broken strips. You looked for elevation, shadows, any sign of clear sky that might suggest an opening. A road. A hill. Get to higher ground. Find the ridges of the mountains. Head east.

Your hand braced against a tree as your knees wobbled. Just one second. One second to catch your breath and—

A branch snapped. Not behind you, ahead. You froze, the little breath you had caught in your throat.

Then—movement. Not big. Fast. Low to the ground.

You didn’t see it so much as feel it—a flash of pale skin cutting between trees, limbs too long, too thin, moving on all fours like a starving animal.

It stopped.

Staring.

Eyes like hollow pits, glinting silver in the dark.

It smelled you.

And it grinned.

Your scream caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat. You turned—bolted again, blindly now. Crashing through brambles, your arms shielded your face as thorns ripped into you.

Behind you, something gave chase. No footfalls, no heavy steps, just a whisper of motion. A scrape against bark. A skitter. It was faster. So much faster.

You tripped—caught yourself—kept running.

Your legs felt like wet paper. Your chest cracked with every breath. Pain lit your sides like fire. You couldn’t do this, not in this shape, not after days in the dark, starving and broken.

But still you ran.

You weren’t a victim. You weren’t going to die out here like an animal. The trees blurred around you. A root caught your boot. You fell hard—knees smashing into cold earth. You rolled, gasping, and looked back—

Nothing.

Just trees. Moonlight. Silence. Your whole body quaked. Mud coated your hands. Blood ran down your arms where the thorns had caught you.

You sat up slowly, eyes scanning the dark.

Maybe it’s gone.

A whisper of breath behind your ear. You turned—

And saw it. Not twenty feet away. Crouched, still, grinning. Waiting.

And then—it leapt.

── .✦

Masky moved like a shadow between trees, boots crunching softly over dead leaves and hardened earth. His breath came out in shallow plumes, fogging in the crisp air. Beside him, Hoody was silent—almost ghostlike, gliding just beyond his periphery. Toby brought up the rear, far less graceful, singing something under his breath. They were spread just wide enough apart to cover ground, just close enough to regroup if it came to that.

The moon was high now, an ever-present light in the foggy sky.

The forest creaked and moaned in the wind. Every crack of a branch or scuffle of animal paws sent adrenaline spiking through Masky’s limbs, not from fear, but anticipation. Something was out here with them; he could feel it in the pressure behind his eyes, like a headache waiting to happen.

“He’s watching,” Toby chirped quietly, skipping a step to keep pace. “I can hear him, somewhere past the fo-footpath.”

Masky didn’t answer. Just pressed on. Hoody, ahead, slowed to a stop. He tilted his head, listening—then murmured, “West. It’s circling.”

Masky adjusted the course without a word. His fingers twitched at his sides. He could feel the pistol's weight hidden under his coat, the familiar itch in his spine. Fight or flight had long stopped applying to them; there was only attack.

“They should’ve run farther by now,” Hoody said humorlessly, glancing back. “Or at least screamed.”

“They’re probably dead,” Toby offered, a little too snarky. “Or pissing the-themselves. I’d be pissing myself.”

“You wouldn’t know. You can’t feel anything.”

“Exactly,” Toby beamed.

Masky gritted his teeth. His mind was loud again, not just from Toby or the ambiance of the woods, but from Tim.

We have to find them, Tim murmured, barely a whisper. They’re not ready for this. They don’t even know what it is.

“They’re bait,” Masky hissed under his breath.

Hoody turned his head slightly. “Now's not the time, Masky.” He ignored him.

Branches cracked to the east, and all three men froze. Toby’s grip on his hatchet tightened, holding it at the hilt against his side. Hoody’s hand brushed the revolver at his hip.

The sound came again. Louder. Not the careful steps of a hunter, but something running.

A scream tore through the density of the forest, breaching the silence of the trees like a gunshot. All Masky could think was how human you always sounded. The air snapped like a wire pulled too tight. Masky’s head lifted toward the sound, and his blood surged. The noise sliced into his chest before he could even register it—hoarse and raw and desperate. Nothing calculated about it. No edge. No charisma attached, just your fear.

“Let’s move,” Hoody said coolly, already changing direction. Toby nodded and vanished into the dark like a dog off his leash. Masky stood rooted for half a second longer.

Tim was screaming in his head now. Screaming with you.

Go. Please.

Masky’s fists clenched. His legs moved before he could think better of it. 

── .✦

Branches tore at your arms as you pushed through the underbrush, lungs burning, legs screaming. You didn’t know where you were going anymore—just forward, forward, anywhere but here. But it was fast. You could hear it now.

Behind you, beside you, above you.

A blur of pale limbs darted between trees in your peripheral vision, flashes of bone-white skin and gleaming black eyes catching the moonlight. It didn’t sound like it ran; it slithered, it crawled, it just kept grinning.

You stumbled, caught yourself on a tree, and shoved off again. Your body was failing, muscles trembling from starvation and cold, your stomach clenching with every jolt. Your throat was raw from sucking in gasps of air, your feet were blistered in your old work shoes, and the thing behind you—whatever it was—wasn’t chasing; it was herding.

Your foot caught on a root. You hit the ground hard again, cheek scraping bark and dirt. Before you could move, you felt it: hot breath on your neck. You turned with a scream just in time to see a long, narrow limb retract into the shadows. It had touched you, tasted the moment, and let you live. This wasn’t a chase; it was hunting, playing with its prey before tiring it out.

You were the rabbit in the snare.

Tears blurred your vision. You scrambled to your feet, every instinct firing off—cop or not, your brain only told you one thing—runrunrunrunrun.

You pushed through another clearing. The woods opened for a split second, moonlight spilling across the frostbitten grass. You looked around, desperate for a path, a road, a fucking miracle.

Nothing. No direction seemed safer than the other.

“Please…” you whimpered, staggering toward a cluster of trees. “Please, Jesus, fuck…”

Snap. Behind you.

You turned—and there it was, just standing. Bare, bony, and too long in every place that should’ve been short. Knees bent backward, mouth stretched far too wide across a gaunt, eyeless face, fingers so long they nearly scraped the ground. It cocked its head.

And smiled.

You screamed and bolted again. This time it didn’t wait. It lunged.

It clipped your back, sharp fingers slashing across your shoulder. You fell hard, rolling against the grass and roots bumping up. The pain was instant—hot, ragged coils of uncomfortable shock coursing through you. You crawled forward, heaving through air and tears. Your nails dug into the earth, pulling at tufts of grass as you drug your body against the ground.

“No—no, please, please—”

It crept forward slowly, shifting between two and four legs, inspecting your movements. You pushed yourself up, dizzy and bleeding through the torn fabric of your shirt. You felt the gush down your spine, the muscles of your shoulder blade twisting and separating in all the wrong places. It had gotten a deep gash, at least deep enough to feel the cool breeze of the night against the wound.

You reached back, trying to cup the wound and stop the bleeding with the shaky press of your palm—but it was no use. Your hand came away slick with blood. Too much blood.

The Rake paused a few yards away. Its head tilted with childlike curiosity. You thought it might pounce again—but it didn’t. Not yet. You stared at it, heart hammering so loud you could feel it in your teeth. And for the first time in your life, you knew true fear. Not adrenaline, not nerves, not the fear of losing a suspect or screwing up a report.

This was fear. Animal fear. Prey-and-predator fear.

Your mind ran wild. What the hell was this thing? You’d seen monsters in movies, you’d chased killers and psychos and men with dead eyes, but this—this was something else. This wasn’t a man. This wasn’t even right, it was never meant to exist in the same world as you.

What else is out here? You thought of the mansion. Of the others—Masky, Hoody, Toby. All of them dancing like puppets on strings, pulled by something ancient and evil. Your chest tightened. What the hell did I get dragged into? What else is hiding in those walls? In these woods?

A sob slipped from your throat. Your vision swam. You’re not going to make it to morning.

You clutched your chest, trying to suck in air, your back pressed against the wet bark of a tree. Your mind scrambled for a distraction, anything you could use. Could you throw something? Hide? Make a noise and bolt the other way? But there was nothing, no tricks left, no more fight in your legs.

The Rake took another step closer. You saw every line of muscle shifting under its sickly skin. It sniffed the air, stretched the gap of its mouth, and you broke. Your body crumpled forward and you began to cry—quiet at first, then deeper. Raw, painful sobs that wracked your already-wrecked frame. You pressed your face into your hands, begging something—anything.

Please. Please, don’t let it end here. Don’t let this be it. Please. You pleaded, hiding your face in your hands.

Thud. Your head snapped up. Another step, but not from the Rake.

Thud-thud-thud.

Heavy and purposeful, two sets were coming from beyond the treeline. The Rake froze, its entire body twitching like a hound catching the scent of something new. Its head turned toward the sound, its smile slowly curling into something less amused, less playful, and more agitated.

You blinked through your tears, heart lurching toward hope and horror in equal measure. You didn’t know if it was rescue or another nightmare come to join the hunt, but they were close.

You didn’t wait.

Whoever—or whatever—was coming, it didn’t matter. You weren’t about to sit still and gamble on who arrived first. With every ounce of strength left in your trembling limbs, you staggered upright and pushed off from the tree. Your legs howled in protest, knees threatening to buckle. You grit your teeth, blood dripping from your back, hot and heavy as it soaked into your waistband and down the backs of your thighs.

Move. Just move.

The creature’s head snapped back to you. You froze. Its eyes narrowed, then let out a guttural sound, low and almost disappointed, like a cat watching a wounded bird try to limp away. But then—it moved.

It was fast. Too fast. You turned and ran.

Branches snapped against your face. Thorns tore at your arms. The world swayed as exhaustion and hunger dragged on every part of your body. You didn’t care. You couldn’t afford to. The only thing that mattered was putting as much space between you and that thing as you could. Your breath wheezed ragged in your lungs. You tripped over a root and barely caught yourself, scraping your palms raw against the forest floor. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

But then—gunfire. Cracks split the night.

You screamed, then ducked instinctively. Bullets tore through the trees just behind you, close enough to hear them snap past your ears. The Rake shrieked behind you—an unholy, metallic screech of anger and pain. You risked a glance over your shoulder and saw it dodge one shot, the next tearing straight through its arm. It reeled but didn’t fall. Its body jerked unnaturally, then launched itself forward again. Its claws tore through the ground, earth and dirt flying up behind in its wake, leaving a mess wherever it went.

Another volley of bullets exploded from behind, muzzle flashes lighting up the clearing like lightning. You screamed again—not at the Rake this time, but at them. Masky. Hoody. The gunshots were too close. Way too close. Were they aiming at the creature or at you? The panic clogged your throat, and the next step you took was too slow, too sloppy. Your foot snagged on something, and you went down hard, shoulder-first.

Before you could get up—it was on you.

The Rake tackled you like a freight train, its claws pinning your wrists down in the dirt. Its legs straddled your hips. The weight was unbearable, its body pressed so close you could see the sinew beneath its skin and smell its rancid breath as it opened its mouth and screamed in your face. The stench of rot and dead earth surrounded you, clogging your thoughts.

The sound made your vision go white. You shrieked, thrashing, the creature’s face inches from yours, saliva dripping from its yellowed teeth. Its claws dug into your arms, slicing clean through skin. You felt warm blood ooze down to your elbows. You kicked, bucked, did anything to get it off—

But it was too strong. Its claws raised. It was going to end it.

“Hey, ugly.”

A blur slammed into the Rake’s side.

You heard the impact before you could register it—flesh against flesh, then a sickening crack. The weight was gone. You sucked in a ragged breath and rolled onto your side just in time to see Toby—his usual wild grin gone—drive his hatchet down into the creature’s back. The Rake screamed again, high and desperate, lashing out and slicing across Toby’s chest—but he didn’t even flinch. Not once.

He laughed. An unhinged, manic sound. It was scary.

Toby yanked the hatchet free and slammed it down again—over and over, until the creature’s writhing turned to twitching. Until the shrieks were replaced with wet gurgles. Until the forest was silent, except for the sticky squelch of metal meeting flesh. You lay there, too stunned to scream. Blood sprayed across your face—hot and thick—mixing with tears you didn’t even know you were crying. It was everywhere, on your clothes, your lips, your hands. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look away.

The Rake's body convulsed one final time, and then it was still. Toby stood over it, chest heaving. His hatchet was slick and dripping, his eyes wide and unfocused, like he hadn’t really come back from wherever he’d gone to kill it.

He looked at you.

You flinched.

But he only blinked, wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, and grinned. The grin you’d seen before. That too-wide smile. That wrong smile. Your only saving grace from absolutely losing it was the mask covering the lower half of his face, covering the inhumanity behind it.

“Man,” he said, as if they’d just finished a football game, “that was fun.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The adrenaline was fading and leaving nothing but pain and fog in its place. Your arms trembled where the Rake had pinned them. Your lungs stuttered with shallow, broken breaths. You weren’t sure if you were safe now, or if you’d just survived one monster to be dragged back to another.

And Masky… Masky hadn’t said a word, but you felt him watching. You could feel his rage from here. You didn’t know what scared you more—the Rake’s claws, or the look in his eyes when they met yours.

Hoody wasn’t far behind, footsteps soft over the blood-dampened leaves. He crouched briefly beside the Rake’s remains, his head tilting like he was studying it—like he was already trying to commit the damage to memory. Then he looked at you.

Your body throbbed.

The ache flared all at once, like it had been waiting for your mind to calm just enough to notice. The gash in your back burned. Your arms shook under their own weight. Your legs were shredded and trembling. You could feel fresh blood seeping down your ribs, sticking your torn shirt to your skin. You reached up to your head and felt wetness there, too—had you hit it when you fell?

Everything started to swim. The forest tilted.

The air sounded too loud and too far away at the same time—Hoody saying something in a low voice to Masky, the crunch of Toby’s boots as he wandered off into the brush, humming under his breath like a psychopath. Even the wind through the trees had a static edge to it, like it was pushing in on you.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

Your breath hitched.

You tried to speak, but no words came. Just a shaky wheeze. Your knees buckled again, this time for good, and the world tilted in slow motion as you dropped to the forest floor. You barely registered someone lunging forward—boots and jeans and a mask—before hands grabbed your shoulders to steady you.

Masky.

He didn’t say anything, but you saw the way his fingers hovered near your back, hesitating. You looked up, barely able to lift your head, but it was enough. Just enough to catch it—that flicker of expression behind the eyeholes. Concern. He masked it quickly, tilting his head away like it hadn’t happened, like you didn’t see it.

But you did. And that scared you, too.

You tried to breathe, tried to hold on, but the trees blurred, and your vision tunneled. The last thing you saw was Masky’s white mask swimming above you in a haze of black and red and forest green.

You heard the muffled call of your name, then everything went dark.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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── .✦ rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ꩜ .ᐟ

[lynnieverse]

Hey GORGG

I was wondering could we get a fic where bsf!rafe is an ass to his baf bc he’s going through shit and he’s just ghosting her and is mean and when she does the same he realizes he fucked up? Angst ans fluff?

tysm luv!

ooo I got you! thank you for this rec!! :)

ghostin' // rafe cameron

oneshot

asshole!bsf!rafe cameron x reader

You knock loudly on the large wooden door of your best friend’s house before stepping back, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Rafe had been going ghost for days––ignoring text messages, skipping out on plans––and while it had concerned you in the beginning, now you’re just pissed. You tap your foot impatiently as the minutes pass, and eventually you pull out your phone. You call him five times. Five times before he answers. 

“Yes?” his tone was sharp, clearly annoyed. 

“Open the fucking door, Rafe Cameron.” 

“Why are you here, Y/N?” 

“Why do you think I’m here?! You’ve been ignoring me for days, dude. What the fuck is your problem?” You start pacing around his porch, looking in windows trying to catch a glimpse of his stupid ass. 

“Maybe take a hint then.” The words are like a slap to the face, lips parting slightly. What the fuck? After a beat, you go cold. He’s messing with the wrong bitch. 

“Alright, sure. You go off and do your little broody, pouty, ‘woe is me’ routine because daddy doesn’t love you, and see where that gets you. Meanwhile, the people who do love you, that you couldn’t give a shit about, are worried and just want to talk. Not me. You’re not going to treat me like the dirt on the bottom of your shoe and think I’ll stick around. Have a nice life.” You end your rant with a satisfying jab and end the call. You shove your phone in your pocket and storm to your car, immediately driving away without a second glance. 

Within five minutes you hear a familiar ringtone and roll your eyes. This is what he always does. He pushes and pushes until people break, and then tries to make up for it with pretty words. Not today, not ever again. 

You send him to voicemail, immediately getting a second call. Then another, then another. Eventually you resolve to turn your phone off, cutting all contact at the source. Sighing, you pull into your driveway and rest your head on the steering wheel. You could do this. 

It was his turn to be ignored. 

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Rafe expects you to call back. You always do. 

But you don’t. 

He wakes up to silence. No missed calls, no texts…nothing. He can’t help but sigh at his own stubbornness. 

At first he tells himself it’s fine, that you’re just giving him space and you’ll come around. 

Then he sees you out with your friends. 

You’re laughing, head tipped back, smile wide. Instinctively he wants to approach, but knows he shouldn’t. Not after what he did. 

He really fucked up this time. 

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Three Days Later

Rafe shows up to your house shortly after the sun dipped below the horizon, draining all the light from your street. His hands are shoved deep inside his pocket, head hung low. 

He knocks. 

No answer. 

He knocks again.

Silence.

This continued for a few more minutes before your muffled voice could be heard through the door. 

“Go home, Rafe.” 

His stomach twists painfully. He doesn’t know how to deal with you shutting him out. It was always the other way around. 

“I was an asshole. Please, Y/N, just talk to me.” The words felt like ash on his tongue. He never apologized, not to anyone. “I took my bullshit out on you and I shouldn’t have. I messed up, but this can’t be how it ends with us.”

Silence surrounds him once more. He sighs in defeat before turning around, ready to lick his wounds back to his house. As he stepped off your porch, the lock clicked.

You open the door just enough to fit your frame, arms crossed over your chest. “Do you even know what you did?” 

Rafe swallows hard. He looks at you, really looks at you—the tired set of your shoulders, the frustration flickering behind your eyes.

“I pushed you away,” he says finally. “And then when you tried to pull me back, I hurt you.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, searching for something. He looked sincere, shoulders sagging and eyebrows scrunched. 

“Yeah,” you say, voice quiet. “You did.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Okay.” 

It’s not forgiveness, not yet, but it’s enough for now. Enough to know you weren’t completely done with him yet. And Rafe will take whatever he can get. 

[writesvani]

say you remember | 02

idol!minyoongi x writer!reader

SUMMARY: You don’t expect much when your eyes meet his across the café-bar—just a fleeting glance, a moment that should mean nothing. But then there’s another look. And another. Before you know it, you’re tangled up in something that isn’t love, isn’t commitment—just an escape wrapped in late-night encounters and whispered goodbyes.

It’s fine. Until it isn’t.

When feelings start creeping in, you both decide to walk away before things get too complicated. It should have ended there. But fate has other plans. When your friend starts dating Jungkook—his best friend, his bandmate—you find yourself face to face with Yoongi once again.

The past lingers between you, heavy and unresolved. The question is—was it ever really over?

strangers-to-fwb-to-strangers-to-lovers

TRIGGER WARNINGS: jealousy, unresolved past relationships, awkward social interactions, emotional tension, flirtation, suppressed feelings, anxiety, unspoken love, betrayal, unrequited feelings, uncomfortable confrontation, smoking, drinking

comment here for to Say You Remember taglist;

SERIES M. LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 7k // date: 15th of April 2025

CHAPTER TWO — Drowning in the Silence Between Us; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hii guys. im so excited for this chapter, i LOVE it. it's so funny. like, i'm over here cackling like a mad person. it's honestly kinda self projecting but oh well, i'm embracing it. who needs boundaries when you're writing, right?

also, just to clear things up, y/n's book dear me is in no way connected with my jungkook fic dear me (imagine the drama if it was). it's just that i couldn’t think of a name for her book, so i just borrowed the name from one of my own fics. i promise i'm not secretly inserting my own universe into this. but yeah, dear me in this fic is y/n's book and it's all original with her own characters. okay, enjoy the chaos.

also, goal for this chapter is 250 notes. i am not lowering it this time. i fed you well with this one, 7k words after all, so if you want a new meal, y'all will have to work for it. get those notes in!

"Remind me again why we still don't know his name?" Chul asks, flatly, as he sets down three steaming mugs with the precision of a tired barista.

"Because it's still new," Aecha says, wrapping her hands around her cup. "And I want it to stay good before I jinx it by saying too much. You know how it goes—tell people, suddenly the whole thing collapses like a cheap tent."

You narrow your eyes, flicking ash off your cigarette with a pointed look. "People? Are we people to you now? Damn. And here I thought we made it past that stage."

Aecha just shrugs, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"It’s not just that, though," you go on, leaning forward. "It’s like you're actively enjoying this whole mystery-man act. Like you want us to suffer trying to figure out who he is."

"Maybe I do," she says, taking another sip. "You two make great detectives when you're desperate."

Chul groans, flopping onto the couch. "Great. So now we’re just a part of your little game."

"You’ve always been a part of my little game," she says with a wink.

"You see how little she thinks of us?" you say, shooting Chul a look of betrayal.

Chul nods with theatrical disappointment, letting out a long, dramatic sigh as he leans back in his chair. "Our own goddamn roommate. Best friend, even. And we’re apparently not worthy of a name."

"Ugh, it’s not like that," Aecha groans, setting her mug down with a soft clink. "It’s just… complicated, okay? You’ll understand when you meet him."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah? If we ever get to meet him. At this rate, you’ll be married with two kids before we even know his star sign."

"It would be nice to know who we’re meeting at least," Chul adds, more gently now. "Y’know, in case he’s a serial killer or a tax evader or something."

Aecha snorts. "He’s not a serial killer. Or a tax evader."

"That’s exactly what someone dating a serial killer would say," you deadpan, taking a slow drag of your cigarette.

"Oh, oh—wait. I have a theory," you say, tapping your fingers against the edge of the small wooden table. It’s sticky. "Ugh. Chul, seriously? Did you skip cleaning duty again?"

"Creative minds don't clean," Chul mumbles, unbothered.

You roll your eyes. "Anyway. Theory time. What if he's, like, a dealer? Or—wait—a vampire baby? Be honest, Aecha. Is your man an immortal bloodsucker with a side hustle in illegal substances? Because if so, I support you, I just need to emotionally prepare."

Aecha snorts into her coffee. "He is not a dealer. Or a vampire. God, what even is a vampire baby?"

"You know… baby-faced. Pale. Broody. Hangs out in corners. Likes antique furniture." You gesture vaguely, like you're describing a wine.

"Still no," Aecha says, but her smile slips just a little. "But I will say... he’s not exactly someone I can just go around telling people I’m dating."

You and Chul exchange glances.

"Jesus, who is he then?" Chul says, leaning forward with his chin on his hand. "C’mon, babe. All this secrecy is exhausting. You’re wearing us down like some kind of a psychological warfare expert."

Aecha just shrugs again, lips curving into that maddening, knowing smile. "Good things come to those who wait.”

"Aaand, c’mon, guys," Aecha sighs, blowing on her coffee before taking a small sip. "It’s not like I’m keeping you waiting forever. For fuck’s sake, you’ll be meeting him—and his closest friends—tonight."

Chul’s eyes narrow, a slow, wicked grin forming. Then, in a low, ominous whisper, he leans in toward you. "Imagine they’re a group of human traffickers... and Aecha’s just their charming recruiter."

You snort. "Okay, that’s a little too specific, Chul."

"I’m just saying," he continues, eyes wide with mock horror, "if I end up stuffed in a trunk or smuggled across borders, I want it on record that she brought me to this dinner."

"No, but seriously?" you add, more dramatic than necessary. "I’m telling my mother where I’m going. If I disappear, she will avenge me."

"God, you’re both insane," Aecha mutters, laughing into her cup.

"Insane but prepared," Chul says. "That’s how survivors think.”

The fact that Aecha won’t even tell you her boyfriend’s name is… mildly weird. Actually, scratch that—it’s very weird. She’s never been the secretive type. If anything, she’s the kind of person who gives you the full name, zodiac sign, and three red flags of any guy she’s crushing on—whether it's someone she matched with for five minutes or actually dated for five weeks.

So the silence now? The mystery? It’s not just out of character—it’s loud.

Whoever this guy is, he must matter. Like, really matter. Either that, or something about him makes things complicated. And that? That makes you uneasy.

The idea of Aecha dating an idol has crossed your mind more than once. And honestly, that would be a solid reason to keep things secret. It makes sense. It fits.

But you try not to go there. Because you know. You know how messy it gets when people get tangled up in that world—the kind of dynamic that drains you, strips your privacy, and leaves you more alone than you were to begin with. The pressure, the lies, the heartbreak that's practically guaranteed.

So you don’t think about it. Or at least you try not to. It's easier to joke about vampire boyfriends or underground crime syndicates than to face a possibility that actually makes sense. A possibility that could genuinely hurt her.

Especially with her job—working in the digital marketing team at SM Entertainment—she’s in it. Right there, in the orbit of fame and its gravitational mess. And the odds of her meeting someone who lives in that spotlight? High. Too high.

And that’s what makes it worse.

"Aight, I gotta bounce. My shift starts in 45 minutes and I actually wanna keep this job," Chul groans, tossing back the last sip of lukewarm coffee like it’s tequila.

He gets up, drags himself to the sink, and starts washing his cup with the enthusiasm of a man being held at gunpoint.

"Wow," you say, raising an eyebrow. "Look who finally discovered the kitchen sink."

"I’m only doing this so you don’t go full FBI on me about it later," he mutters.

"That’s called growth, baby."

"Okay, don’t forget dinner!" Aecha calls out as he wrestles with his shoelaces like they personally offended him. "8PM sharp. LaRoy’s. If you're late, I’m telling them you died."

"Relax," he grunts, halfway into his hoodie. "I’ll be there. But just so we’re clear—if this turns out to be some cult initiation dinner, I’m eating first, then running."

"That’s fair," you nod. "Die with a full stomach. Iconic."

"Also, if I get kidnapped, I’m haunting you both. And I’m not gonna be a chill ghost. I’ll whisper embarrassing shit during your Zoom calls."

"Joke’s on you, I already embarrass myself daily," you shrug. "You’d be background noise."

"Love the support, really. Bye, losers."

And with that, he’s gone—probably already mentally composing his resignation letter.

When Chul leaves, it’s just you and Aecha again.

She’s immediately back on her phone, nails tapping out soft clicks against the screen—the kind of ASMR sound that weirdly soothes your brain. She’s smiling. Small, but there. The kind of smile reserved for someone. Mystery Man.

You don’t poke at her this time. Instead, you open your laptop, skimming through the last chapter you wrote, wincing at some of your word choices like they personally betrayed you.

"What are you doing today?" Aecha asks without looking up, but you can tell she’s peeled her eyes away from the screen just enough to look at you.

You sigh. "Writing. Or dying. Depends how dramatic I feel in an hour. I have to finish at least one chapter today or else both my editor and publisher are going to show up at my funeral just to make sure I’m really dead."

"Damn," she laughs, "at least you're being emotionally tortured by something you love."

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter. "I do love it. I just hate the part where I have to prove I'm not a lazy roach every three days. But don’t worry, I’ll be there for dinner. There’s no way I’m missing the grand reveal of Mr. No-Name."

"Good," Aecha says, biting back a grin. "I’ll be with him today. He’s got the day off—those are basically unicorn sightings. I’ll get ready at his place."

You gape. "Wait, so I’m stuck getting ready with Chul? Girl, you know he’s gonna stand in the doorway and trash all my outfit options like he’s a one-man 'Project Runway' judge panel."

"Oh absolutely," Aecha says, nodding. "You should prepare a backup outfit he picks. Just for the chaos."

"He’d probably put me in Crocs and a poncho just to see me suffer."

"And you’d still serve."

You glance up from your laptop. "I would, wouldn’t I?”

"Of course you would," Aecha grins, all smug and mysterious.

And then? Silence. The kind where you’re both in your little bubbles—her giggling at her phone like it’s whispering sweet nothings, and you glaring at your laptop like it just slapped your mom.

You’re trying to write. You really are. But this one scene is being stubborn. No matter how many times you rewrite it, it still reads like garbage written by a sleep-deprived raccoon with WiFi.

Your eye twitches.

Then—RING RING.

"Shit, he’s here?!" Aecha yelps, launching off the couch like she just sat on a ghost. She’s grabbing her purse, her wallet, a random sock, possibly someone’s toothbrush—you’re not even sure anymore.

"Wait, where is here?" you ask, blinking through the chaos.

"Here-here! Like, downstairs-here! Picking-me-up-here!" she hisses, as she smacks on lipstick with the grace of someone who's clearly done this in moving vehicles before.

"Damn, thank god you’re chill about it," you say, watching the storm unfold.

"Shut up," she breathes, checking herself in the mirror like she’s about to accept an Oscar.

She turns to you, one shoe on, purse hanging half open, still looking criminally good. "Okay, I’m leaving. See you tonight, babe!"

"Byeeeeee," you sing, and wait exactly 2.4 seconds after the door shuts before sprinting to the window like you’re in a Netflix thriller.

Full. Detective. Mode.

If she won’t tell you who this guy is, you’re gonna Nancy Drew your way into the answer.

You peek through the blinds—subtle, of course. Very stealth. But all you see is a car.

A very nice car.

A sexy, blacked-out, borderline Batman-looking Mercedes G 63.

You whistle under your breath. “Sir, what do you do for a living? And can I do it too?”

The windows are tinted darker than your search history. There’s no way to see inside. Just Aecha getting in, flipping her hair like this is her life now and the rest of you peasants can stay pressed.

The car glides away like it’s floating on money.

You stand there, blinking, brain already spiraling. Rich? Idol? CEO? Cult leader with good branding?

You sigh and flop back down on the couch.

“Good for her,” you mumble. “Eat the rich. Or at least… ride in their cars and moisturize with their money.”

You spend the rest of your day in the most unproductive, soul-crushing spiral imaginable. The kind of spiral where you stare at your laptop for so long, the blinking cursor starts to feel like it’s mocking you. Blink. Blink. You suck. Blink.

You write half a sentence. Delete it. Write a new one. Delete that too. Open Instagram. Hate everyone. Go back to the doc. Stare at the same three words for twenty minutes.

Your brain is soup. Not even good soup. Like watery instant ramen you forgot to flavor.

At one point, you dramatically flop face-down onto the couch and heavily consider committing one of two crimes:

One: Emailing your editor a resignation letter that just says "goodbye forever."

Two: Getting blackout drunk and letting the creative spirits possess you.

Option two is dangerously tempting. Tequila does make you poetic. But… you’re going to a dinner tonight. With Aecha’s mystery man and his friends. The man who drives a car that probably costs more than your organs combined.

You want to be sober. Observant. Ready to judge.

Because listen—if the man owns a Mercedes G 63, you know he’s dropping at least a couple hundred on wine tonight. You refuse to let his overpriced bottle taste like grape vinegar just because you had a solo pity party before dinner.

So you wait. Like a sad wife staring out the window for her husband at war. Except the war is Chul’s corporate shift and the husband is your emotional stability.

“Where the hell is he…” you mutter, tapping your pen against your notebook.

You have no idea what you’re wearing tonight. You have no mental energy to figure it out. You need Chul. You need his critiques, his sighs of disappointment, his dramatic gasp when you suggest wearing sneakers.

God help you if he comes home late. Or worse—if he says he’s too tired to help.

You might genuinely cry.

When the door finally creaks open, you let out a sigh of dramatic relief, like a damsel rescued from a burning building.

“I’m baaack!” Chul calls, dragging out the vowels. You hear the familiar thud of shoes being kicked off and keys clattering into the bowl by the door before he saunters into the living room like he owns the place—which, okay, partially, he does.

He takes one look at you, curled up on the couch like a cryptid, laptop half-slid down your lap, face twisted in literary despair.

“You writing?” he asks, already suspicious.

“Trying to,” you mumble, eyes still glued to the cursed blinking cursor.

He squints at you. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Not at all.”

He flops down beside you with a grunt, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it like it personally owes him money.

“Is it like… ‘I can’t write because I’m empty inside’ trying? Or ‘I can’t write because I accidentally stalked Aecha’s mystery man via car model and now my brain is fried’ trying?”

You blink at him.

“Both.”

“Knew it. You’re a menace.”

You groan, sinking deeper into the couch. “He drives a G 63, Chul. What kind of a man does that? What kind of bank account does that?”

Chul gasps. “A dangerous one. Probably moisturizes with La Mer and screams at assistants named Greg.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, processing the sheer luxury of the situation.

“…We have to look hot tonight.” you mutter.

Chul tosses the pillow aside like it’s a grenade. “I’ll get the steamer.”

The next two hours turn into a full-blown getting ready montage, complete with outfit changes, near-death experiences with the eyelash curler, and Chul nearly setting the apartment on fire trying to steam his shirt.

By the time you’re done, you look like a Pinterest board brought to life. Your makeup is peak clean girl aesthetic—dewy skin, fluffy brows, and just the right amount of highlighter to make it look like you're always basking in golden hour. Your hair is curled to soft, effortless perfection (even though it took 45 minutes and one minor burn), and your white, off-shoulder dress hugs your body like it was custom-made for night.

Chul, on the other hand, looks like he walked straight out of a K-drama. He’s wearing these dangerously good khaki dress pants that somehow make his legs look ten feet long, and a white button-up that he very intentionally left two buttons undone. It’s giving “CEO with a tragic past”, and honestly? If he wasn’t so aggressively gay, you'd have jumped him in the hallway by now.

“Do I look hot?” he asks, spinning slowly.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Tragic,” he sighs, spritzing himself with cologne like he’s about to go on a date with destiny.

The ride to the restaurant is weirdly silent. You and Chul keep exchanging glances like you’re in a horror movie where the monster is definitely hiding in plain sight. Both of you are too nervous to say anything out loud, like the car itself might snitch to Aecha.

When you finally step inside LaRoy’s, the first thing that hits you is how insanely gorgeous the place is. It’s giving Michelin star meets royalty on vacation. Golden chandeliers, velvet chairs, waiters with actual white gloves. You’re about to comment on it when—

“Wait... where is everyone?” Chul whispers.

And yeah. That’s when it hits you. The place is completely empty. Not a single other customer in sight. Just you, Chul, and an unsettling level of ambiance.

Chul and you exchange the we’re-definitely-about-to-die look.

Then, a pristine-looking hostess materializes out of nowhere like she was programmed to show up at maximum tension.

“Chul and Y/N?”

You both answer in unison, way too synchronized for comfort:

“Yes.”

“Right this way.”

You follow her through the overly quiet restaurant like you’re walking toward your own funeral. You glance at Chul, who is now casually patting down his hair and silently mouthing, ‘We’re so screwed’.

And then—you see her.

Aecha. Sitting at a massive round table like she owns the damn place. She’s already mid-laugh when she spots you two, and her smile somehow manages to get bigger. Like she's been waiting for this exact moment of dramatic entrance.

You don’t know if you should wave or run. Probably both.

And then you see the hand.

That hand—casually draped over Aecha’s shoulder, a silent claim.

You already know where this is going, but it doesn’t stop the twist in your stomach when you finally see who’s sitting next to her.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you freeze. You don’t even care about the fact that he’s ridiculously good-looking, or how the room feels like it’s just a bit too bright. No. What hits you like a freight train is that if he’s here...

Yoongi is, too.

Fuck.

You don’t even need to look around the table to know. The feeling crawls up your spine like a warning signal, one that you’ve tried to ignore for years, but here it is, loud and unavoidable. The tightness in your chest. The pulse of nausea that makes you want to choke on your own breath.

You can’t look at Jungkook. You can’t.

Because if you do, the truth slaps you right across the face, and it’s one you’ve been running from. Jungkook is just a mess of questions you don’t care to have answered. But Yoongi? Yoongi’s the reason your heart beats too fast, why you’re still tangled in memories you should have let go of.

And then you see him.

Jesus.

The way his eyes land on you is like it’s been years since you last saw each other—and honestly, that's the truth. Two years. Two years passed. The ache that pulls at your ribs, the rawness that floods you, is something you thought had faded into oblivion. You thought you were over it.

But it’s never that easy, is it?

Chul notices immediately, the shift in your expression, the way your posture changes, rigid as though you’ve been frozen by some invisible force. His hand rests on your arm gently, a silent question. But what can you say? What can you explain without laying it all bare in front of people who have no idea about your history with him?

And you know it’s not just the fact that Yoongi is here—it’s that feeling. That damn ache that never really goes away. The past flooding back to suffocate you in this room full of people who have no clue what’s going on in your head.

You can’t breathe.

You’re not ready for this. You weren’t ready to see him again. Not like this. Not with Chul looking at you like he’s wondering if you’re okay.

But Yoongi? Yoongi’s eyes stay locked on yours. No words. No movement. Just that look. The one that says everything, even though it says nothing at all.

It’s like he’s still inside you. Like nothing has changed. You’re right back there, a thousand moments too many.

And it hits you—the final realization that this dinner isn’t just awkward. It’s a damn reminder of all the unfinished business you wish you could bury.

You’ve never felt so out of control.

“Oh my God, hi guys,” Aecha stands up with that familiar sparkle in her eye, wrapping you in a hug that feels tighter than usual. You hug her back, but your hands are clammy, your heart heavy in your chest. The warmth in her smile is real—but you can’t match it right now. Not with everything pressing down on you.

You force a breath as your gaze flickers over the table. You skip him. You skip Yoongi. On purpose.

Your hand finds the hem of your dress, discreetly wiping off the sweat as you steel yourself to be polite. Presentable. Normal.

Jungkook stands to greet you, that signature sweetness etched into every corner of his face. “Hey, I’m Jungkook,” he says, extending his hand. He doesn’t know. You see it immediately. There’s no recognition of your history—only curiosity, maybe a spark of interest, but nothing more.

You shake his hand, offering a small smile. “Nice to meet you.” Chul introduces himself too, and Jungkook lights up, immediately vibing with him, which helps, a little. The rest of the guys are friendly, laid-back. They smile, say their names, nod politely. It should feel normal.

But then.

He stands.

And everything slows.

“Min Yoongi,” he says evenly, his tone smooth and familiar in the worst way. He extends his hand, and for a moment you freeze. You think about ignoring it. About pretending. But that would draw too much attention—especially with Aecha watching so closely.

So you take it.

Your name slips from your mouth like it doesn’t belong to you. Like it’s a line from a script you’ve forgotten how to feel.

His skin is warm. You wish it wasn’t.

It lasts no more than a second. But when you sit down, your whole body feels altered.

Chul’s next, his handshake with Yoongi stiffer, his eyes avoiding yours. You don’t need to ask to know—he’s silently panicking. He knows everything. And you’re both trying to act like nothing happened, like Yoongi and you didn’t ruin each other once and then vanish from each other's worlds.

Namjoon watches. Quietly. Sharp eyes missing nothing.

You wonder if Yoongi gave him the full truth. Or just enough to keep him quiet.

Either way—this dinner is going to suck.

You settle into your chairs, side by side like you're bracing for impact. On your right sits Kim Taehyung, draped in luxury like it's a second skin, sipping water like it's champagne. On Chul’s left, Yoongi is already sprawled in his chair, legs stretched out like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Honestly? Mood.

You flick your eyes at Chul. He looks like he’s debating whether to throw up or chug the complimentary sparkling water. No in-between.

“Sooo,” Chul finally speaks, voice artificially light. “Give us the story of how you two met. Like okay, you’re dating him,” he points a thumb at Jungkook, “but you work for SM, not HYBE.”

Aecha beams, clearly ready for this part. “It was during a promotional event the guys were at. I was there handling digital strategy for EXO, and Jungkook was invited as a guest and—”

“She was holding an iPad like it was a weapon,” Jungkook cuts in with a laugh, eyes crinkling. “I was just trying to ask where the restrooms were, and she looked at me like I was trying to hack the mainframe.”

“I did,” Aecha says dramatically. “He walked up all shy like, ‘Excuse me—’ and I was like, ‘Do not distract me, I’m in the middle of an algorithmic miracle.’”

“Which turned out to be a TikTok schedule,” Jungkook deadpans.

“Hey. That TikTok trended for three days. I saved Baekhyun’s brand.”

They’re laughing. Everyone at the table joins in. Except you.

And Yoongi.

Taehyung leans a little closer, eyes twinkling. “So what about you two?” he asks innocently, gesturing between you and Chul.

“We’re not together,” you and Chul say in perfect sync, too quickly, like soldiers trained for battle.

“Oh,” Taehyung blinks. “I mean—okay.”

“Yeah,” Chul coughs, “I’m very gay and she’s very… emotionally unavailable.”

“Thanks for that,” you mutter, shooting him a glare.

“What? You are.”

“Okay but you once cried because the guy you liked didn’t like The 1975.”

“Because he had no taste,” Chul hisses back.

Namjoon snorts into his glass. Yoongi remains silent. You can feel him, though—his presence heavier than anything on the menu. He hasn’t looked at you once. Not since the handshake. But you know he’s listening. You know.

Aecha smiles brightly. “Isn’t this nice? Everyone vibing already!”

You glance at her, then at Yoongi’s shoulder half a meter away from yours. You're practically inhaling the same air and pretending he’s a stranger.

Yeah.

Nice.

Totally vibing.

“So,” Aecha starts, swirling her wine like she didn’t just drop a social grenade, “What’s everyone getting? The truffle risotto is apparently divine.”

You reach for the menu like it might shield you from the tension building beside you. Yoongi still hasn’t spoken. Still hasn’t looked at you. It’s like sitting next to a ghost you used to let touch you.

Chul nudges your knee under the table. You don’t look at him, but you know he’s silently asking if you’re okay. You’re not. But you nod anyway.

“I’ll probably get the steak,” Jungkook says. “Haven’t eaten properly all day.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Taehyung mutters. “You only drink iced americanos and chew gum like it’s a food group.”

“I’m a busy man.”

“You’re chronically late.”

“Still busy.”

Yoongi finally speaks. “Get the steak rare,” he mutters without looking up, “They overcook everything past medium.”

His voice. It slashes through the air like a knife dipped in nostalgia and regret. You freeze for half a second. Just half. But Chul notices.

“Ohhh, steak boy speaks,” Taehyung says dramatically.

Yoongi doesn’t respond. Just drinks his water.

“So, Yoongi,” Aecha smiles, “still working on that solo album?”

He nods once. “Yeah.”

“How’s it going?” she asks sweetly.

“Like a root canal. But with synths.”

The table laughs. You don’t. You remember what he sounds like at 3am talking about chord progressions and bridges like they’re living things. You remember that look in his eyes when he finished a song and asked you to listen first. You remember a version of him that smiled at you across a messy bed, not across a dinner table full of other people.

You sip your wine. You need something stronger.

Namjoon clears his throat. “So, Y/N,” he says, forcing a new topic, “Aecha said you’re a writer?”

You blink. “Uh, yeah. I write romance.”

“Like… smut?”

Taehyung leans in, curious. Too curious.

Chul coughs loudly. “Not just smut.”

“I mean… a little smut,” you admit, shrugging, because what else are you gonna do? Lie?

“That’s dope,” Jungkook grins, nodding. “That takes guts.”

Yoongi still doesn’t say anything.

“I read one of her books once,” Chul announces, like he’s proud. “Couldn’t look her in the eye for a week.”

“Because you read the scene,” you mutter.

“Oh, you know I read the scene.”

“Wait,” Taehyung interrupts, eyes wide. “Do you base your characters on real people?”

You open your mouth to answer, but before anything leaves your lips, Yoongi suddenly stands.

“I’m gonna smoke,” he mutters, already walking away before anyone can respond.

Silence follows in his wake. Chul clears his throat.

“I’d say he’s always like that but… he’s not.” Jimin sighs into his wine.

You stab at your salad like it insulted your lineage.

And Aecha, bless her clueless soul, just smiles and says, “Maybe I will get that risotto.”

When Yoongi comes back, the conversation is already flowing. The wine’s been poured (maybe a little too generously), the bread basket is on its second refill, and you’re three laughs deep into a story with Jin and Taehyung.

You didn’t dare follow him outside. Nope. Not a chance. You weren’t about to chase a ghost into the night like it’s some 2014 Tumblr breakup playlist.

So you stayed, committed to the bit, committed to pretending your past isn’t three chairs away and brooding in black. Well he was smoking outside. But you get the point.

And now? You’re vibing.

“Wait, you’re telling me you were the one who wrote Dear Me?” Taehyung says, eyes wide like you just told him you invented bread.

You nod, sipping your wine like it’s a mic drop.

“That would be me.”

“NO.” His jaw is dropped. “No no no. That book ruined my entire week. I didn't leave my room. I didn't eat.”

Jin leans forward dramatically. “I read that one. I didn’t come out of my room for three days after that. Why is it so fucking sad?”

You grin. “It’s called talent. Look it up.”

Jin places a hand over his heart like you stabbed him. “Do you thrive on making your readers cry?”

“I mean…” You shrug. “A little. It’s character development. For you, not the characters.”

“Twisted,” Taehyung mumbles. “You need therapy.”

“And yet here you are, emotionally wrecked and asking for more.”

“You’re dangerous,” Jin points at you. “You’re like one of those hot witches in fantasy novels who curse people with heartbreak and then look hot doing it.”

You raise your glass. “Cheers.”

That’s when you feel it—him.

Yoongi slides back into his chair, and even though you don’t look at him, you know. You know from the slight shift in the table. The way the energy dips by ten degrees. The way Chul subtly straightens up like he might have to go full bodyguard in two seconds.

“So,” Namjoon says, like he’s stepping between a lit fuse and a barrel of gunpowder, “Yoongi, did you smoke the entire pack or just half?”

“Depends,” Yoongi replies flatly. “Did the conversation get better while I was gone?”

“Oh,” Jin grins, “way better. She wrote Dear Me.”

Yoongi stills. You don’t look at him. But you hear it in the pause. The inhale. The weight of a book title that he knows isn’t fiction.

“That book,” Jin continues, oblivious, “is basically emotional waterboarding.”

Yoongi takes a slow sip of his drink. “Sounds familiar.”

Your hand tightens around your glass. So we’re doing this. We’re being subtle.

“It’s fiction,” you say brightly. “Totally made up. Not a single shred of truth in it.”

Yoongi finally glances at you, eyes sharp. “Right. Fiction.”

Taehyung, bless his heart, frowns. “Wait. Is this about that scene with the voicemail? ‘Cause that—”

Chul loudly coughs and drops his fork.

“Anyway,” he says, “Jungkook, how’s your dog?”

Jungkook blinks. “Uhh… he’s good?”

“Great. Cool. Let’s talk more about that.”

The table dissolves into messy conversation again, everyone just a little too loud, a little too animated. You finally risk a glance at Yoongi. He’s looking at you, of course.

And beneath the casual disinterest, his eyes say it loud and clear:

You really thought I wouldn’t recognize myself in your pages?

You take another sip of wine and look away.

You were the one who told me to write what I know.

“Sooo,” Taehyung sings, one eyebrow cocked and eyes glittering as they dart to you. His voice alone is dangerous—smooth and teasing, the kind that could talk you into trouble without breaking a sweat. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

You pause mid-sip, arching a brow. “Umm, I’m pretty sure Chul already mentioned my emotional unavailability.”

Across the table, Chul snorts. “That’s an understatement.”

“Maybe,” Taehyung leans in a little, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, “we can work on that one.”

You blink. “What, my issues?”

“No,” he grins, wolfish and playful. “Your availability.”

Hoseok doesn’t look up from cutting his steak, but his fork slows. “Taehyung.”

“What?” Taehyung says innocently, eyes still trained on you. “We’re just talking. I’m curious. I like to connect with people.”

“Yeah, well maybe let her breathe before you start undressing her with your eyes,” Jimin mutters, sipping his wine.

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, “let him. I put effort into this dress.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung points at you. “You wore it for a reason, don’t lie.”

You lean back, smirking. “I wore it for the free wine, actually.”

Yoongi mutters under his breath, “Still desperate for the buzz, huh?”

You don’t even look at him. “Still pretending like you’re too good for anything fun, huh?”

There’s a pause. A weird pause.

And then Jungkook narrows his eyes between the two of you. “Wait. Hold on. You two know each other?”

Namjoon’s knife slips and scrapes against his plate with a loud screech. Chul straight up drops his fork.

You blink slowly, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “Define know.”

“I knew it,” Taehyung leans forward, eyes wide with delight.

“No, no, no, it’s not like that,” Chul jumps in, hands raised like he’s waving off a scandal. “They… uh, they were in a workshop together.”

You shoot him a look. A “really?” kind of look.

Namjoon nods way too fast. “Yeah. Yeah! Like two years ago. They had a, uh… poetry workshop?”

“Poetry?” Jin asks, clearly unconvinced. “Yoongi?”

Yoongi just stares blankly at the table like he’s counting down the seconds till he can leave.

“Yep,” Namjoon barrels forward. “Modern poetry. Tuesdays and Thursdays, 8 a.m. Real intense syllabus.”

“Exactly,” Chul laughs awkwardly. “Like, Emily Dickinson, Rupi Kaur… very deep.”

“I dropped out after three weeks,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Oh,” Jungkook says, squinting at him, then at you. “And you stayed in?”

You nod, cheeks warm. “Loved every second of it.”

Taehyung’s trying not to laugh. “Okay, sure. What was your favorite poem?”

You deadpan, “The one about heartbreak and regret.”

Yoongi mutters under his breath, “Original.”

You snap back, “At least I read something.”

Chul loudly clears his throat. “So, um, wine! Should we order another bottle?”

Namjoon nearly slams his glass down. “Yes. Definitely. Someone flag a waiter.”

Taehyung hums, still eyeing you like he’s crafting a sonnet in his head. “Tell you what—if we survive this night, I’m taking you out. No emotional unavailability allowed.”

You raise a brow. “And what if I ghost you after?”

He smirks. “Then I’ll write a sad poem and hope it gets published. Sound familiar?”

Jimin jumps in, glancing at Chul. “So what is going on with you two, huh?”

“We’re roommates,” Chul replies, deadpan.

“Roommates who get ready together for dinner like it’s prom night?” Yoongi mutters, not even looking up from his glass.

“Dude. I already said—I’m into men. I like penises. Hope this helps.”

The entire table erupts.

Taehyung nearly falls out of his chair laughing. Jin bangs the table. Namjoon mutters, “I needed that level of honesty today.”

Jungkook wheezes, “I’m framing that quote.”

Meanwhile, you're crying from laughter and embarrassment, hiding your face in your hands. “God, Chul, you’re so dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic, I’m just tired of being confused for your boyfriend when I’m actively fantasizing about Park Seojoon,” Chul fires back.

Jimin, without even looking up from his plate, goes, “Honestly, mood.”

Jin wipes a tear from his eye. “Okay, fair. Penises. Got it.”

Taehyung raises his glass toward Chul. “To penises.”

Everyone clinks their glasses—except you, still dying inside.

“So,” Namjoon says, pointing his chopsticks at you like they’re a lie detector, “are you working on something new?”

You freeze mid-sip of your wine. “Uhh… kinda yeah.”

“Okay, so that’s a yes, but it’s going terribly,” Jin interprets, nodding sagely.

You sigh, dramatically collapsing back in your chair. “It’s like… my brain is a hamster wheel. Except the hamster died. And now the wheel is just creaking ominously in the wind.”

Taehyung gasps. “That’s so dark. I love it. Can I be the dead hamster?”

“Please,” you deadpan, “be my guest.”

Namjoon chuckles. “So it’s writer’s block?”

“Big time. Like, I’ve stared at a blank document for so long, I think it’s starting to stare back.”

Chul chimes in, “I found her today whispering ‘just one sentence’ to her laptop like it owed her money.”

“It does owe me money,” you say, poking at your food. “And dignity.”

Aecha grins. “Have you tried turning it off and crying?”

Yoongi mutters, “That’s my approach to life, honestly.”

“Oh my god, same,” you say, raising your glass toward him.

Taehyung, ever the opportunist, leans in with a flirty glint in his eye. “Maybe you just need some fresh inspiration.”

You raise a brow. “Are you volunteering?”

“I mean…” he shrugs, smirking. “I do look good in tragic love stories.”

“Tragic is right,” Yoongi mumbles under his breath.

Namjoon laughs. “Okay, okay—can we please get a live reading if she ever finishes it?”

You scoff. “Only if you promise not to cry.”

“I make no such promises,” Namjoon says, holding up his hands. “According to Tae and Jin, you write pain too well.”

Taehyung leans in again, this time resting his chin on his hand, eyes twinkling. “I’m serious. Write something hopeful. Like a tortured writer meets a charming stranger in a too-fancy restaurant. Sparks fly. Banter ensues. Maybe a little—” he pauses, eyes flickering to your lips, “—tension.”

You chuckle, but you feel the heat creep up your neck. “What are you trying to do, cast yourself as the love interest?”

Jin jumps in, laughing. “Please, the man’s been auditioning since the appetizers.”

“Can you blame me?” Taehyung says dramatically. “She’s hot, she’s funny, and she writes angst that emotionally ruins people. I’m practically in love already.”

Yoongi’s fork clinks a little too hard against his plate.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, sensing the shift. “You okay, hyung?”

Yoongi shrugs, not looking up. “Just didn’t realize we were casting for a romcom tonight.”

“You wanna audition too?” Jin grins. “Could be a love triangle.”

“I don’t do love triangles,” Yoongi mutters, swirling his drink. “Too messy.”

Chul snorts. “Says the guy who practically invented emotional mess but ‘make it music’.”

You glance at him, curious, but Yoongi doesn’t take the bait. Instead, his eyes flicker up and lock with yours for a split second—just long enough for your breath to catch.

Taehyung doesn’t miss it, and he grins wider, leaning closer to you. “Well, if it were a love triangle, I’d fight dirty.”

“Oh my god,” Chul groans. “This is officially a Wattpad fic now.”

“Shut up,” you say, biting your lip to hold back a smile.

Taehyung winks. “I’ll be waiting for my cameo in chapter five.”

Aecha leans forward, swirling her wine lazily. “Yoongi, didn’t you say you’ve been dealing with a block too?”

Yoongi gives a slow nod, jaw ticking slightly. “Yeah. It’s been rough. But, you know… it comes with the territory. It’s part of the process, unfortunately.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raising slightly as he continues.

“I’m not really in a rush, though. The next album isn’t coming out until next year anyway. D-Day’s still pretty fresh. Still got some breathing room.”

Aecha perks up instantly. “Oh my God, D-Day! We were obsessed. The three of us actually had a whole listening party when it dropped. Like, wine, snacks, full breakdowns of lyrics... tears.”

“Mostly Chul’s tears,” you chime in, smirking.

“I stand by them,” Chul says dramatically. “'Amygdala' had me pacing the hallway like a divorced man in a drama.”

Yoongi chuckles, soft and genuine. “Happy to hear D-Day landed.”

“And by ‘landed,’ he means it sucker-punched us in the gut and left us on the floor,” you mutter.

“Good,” Yoongi says, a tiny smirk playing at his lips. “That’s the goal.”

For a second, his eyes flick to yours. And something lingers there—quiet, unspoken, and just slightly bruised.

You don’t look away. Not yet.

“We actually went to the concert too,” Aecha says, casually lifting her wine glass.

Jungkook gasps, clutching his chest like she just betrayed him. “You didn’t tell me about this? You attended my hyung’s concert without me?”

“You didn’t even know me back then, Kook,” Aecha laughs, nudging his shoulder. “It was, like, peak fangirl era.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You were there?” he asks, looking at all three of you—but his gaze lands and lingers on you.

Your stomach flips. “Yeah, we were,” you say, carefully meeting his eyes. “It was… incredible.”

His expression softens, just a little. “Huh. Didn’t expect that.”

“We cried,” Chul announces dramatically, raising a hand. “Like, real tears. Especially her.” He jerks his thumb toward you.

You shoot him a look. “Chul, please.”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, grinning. “Some of us may or may not have said ‘he’s a genius’ in the middle of the second chorus.”

Yoongi’s lips twitch, that almost-smile threatening to show itself again. “Good to know I had such a poetic impact.”

You smile faintly, and something about the way he looks at you—like he's trying to read a secret you never meant to share—makes your throat tighten just a little.

Yoongi takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes still on you, like he’s trying to decide if he should say something or let the silence speak instead. He goes with the second option—until Taehyung interrupts.

“So, Y/N,” Taehyung leans in, smirking, “did you fall in love with him before or after People Pt.2?”

You snort. “Definitely after. Before that, he was still hiding behind metaphors.”

Yoongi’s mouth quirks. “You think I hide behind metaphors?”

You glance at him, heartbeat hitching just slightly. “You live behind metaphors.”

A beat of silence passes. His eyes don’t leave yours. “And yet you still showed up.”

You want to roll your eyes, but it’s too sincere to dismiss. “Yeah, well… good lyrics deserve to be heard. Doesn’t mean I know the man behind them.”

Yoongi leans back in his chair, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Maybe you did.”

taglist: @park-littlecrane @gyozajoon @knjs95s @jajabro @peacenpigeons @supertopsecretleebit @glossyfanfic @mar-lo-pap @kittyyyminnn @jennierubyjem @ot72025 @yohoosoju @diame93 @ryryvna @taekritimin123 @baechugff @enfppuff @amarawayne @134340-kr @mikrokookiex @futuristicenemychaos @shesscorpio7 @kam9404 @teaaaaaan @blubird592 @rpwprpwprpwprw @ktownshizzle @tea4sykes @jennierubyjem @butterfly-lover @jellihueni @xtracy-xd7 @annyeongbitch7 @rkivved-girl @mygtangerine @busanbby-jk @jennierubyjem @kiki-zb @marissariveraaaa

[smartkookiee]

Wounds We Never Show // Ch.1 — jjk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: 18 +explicit content, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, enemies with benefits, these two really do hate each other ❥chapter warnings: Fighting (verbal), swearing, drinking, Jungkook just being a little shit, small angst (squint) ❥word-count: 13.1k ❥Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter ❥Playlist fic is cross posted to ao3 send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Hi, checking in.” You set your bag down next to you on the ground. The front desk person took your info and handed you a key to your room. You admittedly arrive later in the day than you had intended, as it was already evening.

You noticed the sign had been placed at the entrance ‘Welcome friends and family for the Kim and Abel wedding.’ 

You had finally made it to this weekend. Namjoon and Melanie were getting married. 

You as the maid of honor had spent many months planning out every step of this wedding with Melanie. The hotel she always dreamed of, the food she insisted on having, the music down to the minute. Every detail was planned from top to bottom. 

You finally could get some sleep after today. 

You headed up the elevator to the floor Melanie said they were staying in. Her and Namjoon had elected to stay in separate rooms for the weekend. She took the honeymoon suite and Namjoon is in another room on another floor. A quick ride up the elevator basically led right to the room. 

The door was creaked open so you pushed the door open to let yourself in.

“Hello?” You dragged the word looking into the room, You immediately spotted Melanie and Ash. Sitting on the couch immediately inside the door. 

“You made it my love!” Melanie jumped to her feet. A little bit of champagne spilling from the glass she had in her hand. 

You set your bag on the ground and rounded your way around the couch to hug her.

“Your knight in shining armor has arrived.” You do a dramatic bow.

“What am I then?” Ash laughs a little at your gesture. 

“The jester obviously.” She gets up and you hug her as well. 

You had immediately noticed that they were both in matching pajamas and you could only assume that a pair was waiting for you in this room somewhere as well. Melanies had bride on the back of the top, you could only assume Ash’s had bridesmaid on the back. Which meant-

“You need your pajamas!” Melanie ran into the other room where the bed was and emerged immediately with a pair of the same silk blue pajamas. Yup, yours had maid of honor written on the back of the top. 

Ash put a glass of champagne in your hand. 

“I love them.” A little cheesy but you were happy to make her happy. 

“Yay!” Melanie bounced, she was rather red in the face, so you could only imagine she has had a bit to drink.

You began to shed your clothes from your work day. Ash and Melanie cheered at your mini non sexual strip show. 

“Stop.” You laugh at them. Throwing the pajama top on. 

“I didn’t want strippers for my bachelorette party.” Melanie teased. 

“Should have paid for a better one.” Ash giggled.

You kick her ankle, and she winces but was still laughing. 

“200 bucks and I’ll give you a real show.” You fully dress yourself now.

“Oh, sounds like a really good deal.” Melanie laughed and winked at you. You rolled your eyes, you do a little spin to show off the pajamas.

“They looked great!”

You sit yourself down on the couch with both of them and take a sip of your champagne. Finally letting the weight of the day come over you, Ash rested her head on your shoulder. 

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” You ask, looking to Melanie. 

“I just wanted an easy night in with you guys. Nothing crazy because the next three days are going to be extremely busy.” 

She was correct. Although the day tomorrow would be easy, you were having the official Bachelorette party. Melanie had never done a bar crawl before so you and Ash set that up for you guys. Then Saturday was going to be mostly spending time with the guests and family outside of the wedding and the rehearsal dinner. 

You would barely have time to yourselves really. Let alone Namjoon and Melanie will be in entertainment mode the entire time.

Basically, the lay of the land tonight was, have fun but not too much.

“Good, I’m exhausted from the travel.” You dramatically huff out. 

“Didn’t it take you like half an hour to get here from the hospital?” Melanie raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Exactly, I’m exhausted.” Throwing an arm over your eyes. Although you were surprised you still had energy after your shift today.

A knock on the hotel room interrupts you guys. Melanie was about to get up to answer it but you shot up in protest against her.

“Uh the bride does not answer the door to anyone. Allow me my lady.” You push her back down, and give a little bow.

“Stop.” She whines but also laughs. 

You trot on over to the door, and an amusing smile on your face. You swiftly open the door, only to be met with the groom himself. 

“Who is it?” Ash calls to you. 

“It’s the actual stripper!” You open the door wider so Namjoon could enter the room. He gave you half hug when entering the room. 

“Oh I can get down with this strip show.” Melanie props her legs up on the couch, taking a sip of her champagne. 

“I’ll get the bills.” Ash runs to the next room to get her bag, causing a little laughter amongst you and Melanie. Namjoon was blushing and red from ear to ear. 

“Sorry to disappoint.” He holds his hands up in surrender, “I’m only here to say goodbye for the night.” Namjoon rounds his way over to Melanie and gives her a short kiss but then Melanie begs for another one so he complies. 

“Hey, I think that’s extra.” Ash comes back in the room, she has her wallet instead. She pulls out a couple one dollar bills. “Here Namjoon for your time.”

You and Melanie are giggling again as Namjoon shoves the money back to Ash. He was just smiling but you could tell he knew he needed to get out of here fast. 

“Any big plans tonight, Namjoon?” You ask and find your way back on the couch next to Melanie. Ash follows just next to you. 

“Not sure yet. Jungkook planned the evening so I’m at his mercy.” Namjoon didn’t seem to bother but just the mention of Jungkook left a terrible taste in your mouth. 

“Ugh, good luck with him.” You take a sip of your champagne, Melanie does bump your leg with her knee, signaling to be nice. 

“You promised.” She gave you a pointed look. 

“Technically I only promised I would be nice to him. Never said I wouldn’t be mean behind his back.” You try your very best, but he just always manages to just push your buttons. 

“Well I’m making it a rule starting now.” Melanie pats your shoulder. 

“Okay, I will be nice the whole time. Namjoon I hope tonight is very fun.” Your raise your glass to him. 

“Thank you.” He bows to you slightly. “I should get going before he comes looking for me.” 

Namjoon and Melanie kiss one more time and Namjoon excuses himself. 

“Bye, Namjoon,” you and Ash sang in unison, waving dramatically as he quickly exited.

You both giggled.

Eventually the three of you moved into the room with the king size bed and all settled in. Drink champagne and turned on some random rom com that was available through the hotel. 

Settling into this very long weekend. 

At some point the three of you dozed off. You woke up to the room dark, but you felt like your mouth was completely dried out. Very carefully you tried to worm your way out of the middle of the bed. You grabbed the ice bucket because there was no way you were going to drink room temperature water.

The ice machine wasn’t too far, scooping out some ice and heading back to the room, you were stopped once up the hall you heard the elevator ding. Watching two people stumble out of the elevator into the hall. The second person catching the first. 

“I just want to see her, it’ll be so quick,” Namjoon slurred, barely able to stand on his own.

“Dude you will have the rest of life to see her, let’s get you back to the room.” The second guy, who you can clearly see now is Taehyung. Also slurring his words. Holding onto Namjoon like his life depended upon it. 

“Guys.” You made your way over. Both of them immediately take notice of you. They both stood up straight, trying to act sober. “Go back to your rooms. We have such a long weekend ahead of us.” 

“You’re right,” Namjoon sighed, but then he perked up. “Not after I do this!” He suddenly made a dash for Melanie’s door, but before you could react, someone else stepped in, pulling Namjoon back.

“Okay, that’s enough for you Casanova.” Jungkook spoke, patting Namjoon on the back. 

Your entire body physically repulsed away at the site of him. Your face immediately falling into  a displeased look at him. Jungkook noticed, and scoffed under his breath. Thinking, what could I have possibly done now?

“Aw what’s with the grumpy face? ” Taehyung comes to you and tries to poke your cheeks to make you smile, it makes you laugh. You grab both of his hands before he gets a chance. 

“Nothing, you need to get some sleep my dear Tae, you too Namjoon.” You pat Taehyung on the cheek.

 Before you can react he gives you a hug before he then breaks away and grabs Namjoon and pulls him over to the elevator pressing the button a thousand times. Jungkook stays where he was, looking at the two of them. He didn;t have any intention to get Namjoon Drunk tonight, but one too many at the hotel bar got too him. He should have been making sure he had food as much as he had drank. He paused his mental scolding to look at you.

“Yes?” You say dryly to him. Waiting for whatever retort he’s to give you. 

Jungkook lingered, his eyes sweeping over you as if sizing you up. “Nice pajamas,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He very well knew these were Melanie’s pick and he really had no issue with them. He had an issue with one particular person in them.

“Thanks? Anything else?” You couldn’t be less amused. 

You walk to the door which he was standing somewhat close too. Just close enough for you to catch a cigar smell, not his usual stink of cigarettes you were used too. 

“God you reek.” You couldn’t help but get one punch in before the weekend started officially started. After this, according to Melanie's request several months ago, rainbows and kindness.

Jungkook had gotten a  similar lecture form her as well. Bring the whole unicorn or something like that. He also wanted to get one last punch in before this all started.

“Hmm tell that to your perfume, Eau de Desperate. Seems like you wear it by the gallon these days.”

“Desperate, huh? At least I smell nice, unlike you, who’s one cigarette away from the grave.” You unlock the hotel door. You stop before you step all the way in. Melanie’s words bounced around in your head, “Listen, I’m willing to be nice this weekend if you can. Melanie made me promise, so that will be my last dig of the weekend. Deal?”

You were being genuine but it did kill you inside to have to offer something like this. 

“I can’t make you any promises, since I’m aware how unreliable you are.” Jungkook pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, putting one between his teeth. “Deal. That was my last one.” 

You took in a long breath. Hit right in the nerve he was aiming for.

“Goodnight, Jungkook.” You closed the door on him. 

Letting the door slam in Jungkook’s face, you didn’t see the subtle twitch of his jaw as he sauntered back to the elevator, trying to shake off the lingering irritation. His encounter with you had already grated on him more than he wanted to admit. You always had a way of getting under his skin. This was pretty light compared to previous spats.

As the elevator doors slid open, he found Taehyung struggling to keep Namjoon upright, the two of them stumbling in. Jungkook sighed, stepping in after them, hitting the button for their floor.

"Hey!" Namjoon suddenly yelled, his voice echoing in the small space as he pointed a wobbly finger at Jungkook. "Don’t bug Y/N this weekend."

Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly in surprise at Namjoon’s sudden outburst. "I won’t," he replied, though the agreement felt more like a reluctant surrender than a promise.

“I’m serious! They worked really hard on this wedding, so you be nice.” Namjoon’s words were slurred, his head lolling as he leaned heavily against Jungkook, who had to push him back gently to keep him from collapsing entirely.

"I’ll try my very best," Jungkook muttered, more to himself than to Namjoon, as the elevator doors opened. He really was going to do his best, this was a really important weekend for him too even though he hasn't been around to help. He tightened his grip on Namjoon’s arm, pulling him out of the elevator and into the hallway.

Taehyung dragged his feet behind them, fumbling for his room key with clumsy fingers. “Hasn’t it been five years of this back and forth between you two now?” he asked, his voice curious but also tinged with the laziness of someone who’s had a bit too much to drink.

Jungkook’s expression dropped, and a bitter taste filled his mouth at the thought of everything that had happened between him and you. "Something like that.” He said curtly, not wanting to delve into the messy history between you both. Taehyung knew the important stuff already. No one knew all the details.

Jungkook snatched the room key from Taehyung's hand, his irritation simmering just beneath the surface. He opened the door to their hotel room and flicked on the lights. The harsh brightness made him wince slightly as he helped Namjoon over to one of the beds. Namjoon collapsed face-first onto the mattress, immediately out cold.

"Do not let him leave," Jungkook ordered, pointing sternly at Taehyung, who was in the process of kicking off his shoes.

"I won’t!" Taehyung responded, holding up his hands in surrender, though there was a playful glint in his eyes.

Jungkook lingered for a moment, watching as Taehyung struggled to pull the covers over Jungkook glanced at Namjoon, who was snoring into the pillow, the room heavy with the scent of alcohol and the weight of unspoken words. He knew he should stay, sober Namjoon up, joke around like they used to, but he was too worn out. Work had been relentless, his personal life a mess, and every time he tried to help with the wedding, something pulled him away.

Jungkook made his way to his own room, guilt twisting in his gut. Namjoon had always been like a brother, always there, and Jungkook hated feeling like he’d failed him. Which meant that knowing every detail of this weekend was so important to him. And now, as if things weren’t complicated enough, there was you—always clashing with him.

He sank onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to shut out the noise in his head. This weekend was going to test him in ways he wasn’t prepared for. He checked his phone one last time, then tossed it aside, determined not to let his thoughts run wild tonight.

But the next morning, the tension was thick, and the silence between you was impossible to ignore.

"Okay, everyone should be seated! Namjoon’s at the front. First bridesmaid and groomsman, you’re up!" the wedding coordinator called out, her voice echoing in the mostly empty hall. Melanie’s sister and one of Namjoon’s friends? Brother? You weren sure, exchanged a quick glance before stepping forward. They’d only arrived today, missing the previous festivities, so they were clearly trying to get their bearings as they moved down the aisle.

“Next pair, let’s go!” The coordinator’s shortcut through the mild chatter.

Ash looped her arm through Taehyung’s, her confidence obvious even in a casual practice. You were jealous of her walking partner. She wore a small, mischievous grin as she sauntered down the aisle, adding a bit of flair that drew a few chuckles from the small group.

You barely registered it, though, because you were preoccupied with the awkward tension between you and Jungkook. Your arm rested on his like a dead weight. The idea of touching him—even for a rehearsal—made you want to squirm. The distance you both kept was almost ridiculous, but neither of you was willing to close the gap.

A hand landed firmly on both your shoulders from behind, shoving you together. Bumping your shoulders together harshly. You stumbled forward in sync, groaning under your breath like rebellious teenagers.

“You two look ridiculous standing that far apart!” Melanie hissed, shooting you both a glare. “It’s just practice, guys. You can fake it for five minutes, right?”

Before either of you could snap back, the coordinator’s voice rang out. "Maid of Honor and Best Man—go!"

You both moved forward, managing to match each other’s pace despite the obvious discomfort. The silence between you had held all morning, which at least made things less unbearable—but having him this close was testing your patience. His mere presence gnawed at your mood, a constant irritant you couldn’t escape.   

As you reached the end of the aisle, you split directions, the tension in your shoulders finally easing. You shuddered in revulsion, rubbing your arm as if you could erase the feeling of his proximity. Jungkook caught the gesture and rolled his eyes, not even trying to hide his irritation.

"Alright," the coordinator said once everyone was back in place. "After this, the music changes, everyone stands, and then Melanie will walk down the aisle." Melanie does a quick run-through, smiling as she walked toward Namjoon at the front, playfully grabbing his arm when she reached him.

“Perfect. I just needed everyone to do this once before Sunday. Does everyone get it?” The coordinator scanned the group, getting nods in response. It was simple enough.

She moved on to speak to Melanie and Namjoon, while you stepped forward to join the rest of the wedding party in a small circle. 

Namjoon and Melanie had the whole weekend scheduled down to a T. It was Jungkook’s and your job to mostly help get them from point A to point B. Today was just the parties but tomorrow they had a family breakfast, extended family pictures, lunch with the parents, some other activities and then the rehearsal dinner.  With how busy tomorrow was going to be, the easier you were going to make today. 

“See easy peasy.” Ash bumped your shoulder, knowing your disgust for Jungkook.

“I feel like I need a shower.” You shiver, folding your arms over your chest.

“Well now we just get to have an easy day, and party hard tonight.” She placed both of her hands on your shoulders and rocked your forwards and backwards in excitement, you smiled. 

Which reminded you that you did have to talk to Jungkook about making sure he got Namjoon up and going in the morning. Namjoon and Melanie had both agreed they could get super drunk at their respective parties but that someone had to make sure they made it to breakfast in the morning. The breakfast started at 9.

Jungkook was across the room preoccupied with Taehyung telling him something about the last wedding he had gone too. Jungkook had a similar feeling, your perfume lingered and he felt like he needed to get clean because it was giving him a headache. Your presence doing just the same, almost like you had heard his thoughts. He felt a pat on his shoulder. 

Turning to see you, “Yes?”

“I need to talk to you about tomorrow morning. Now the breakfast starts at 9 so we need to make sure that these two get to bed as soon as we get home.  I can come down and help get Namjoon up in th morning if you need.” You were rambling really quickly and Jungkook felt like he could barely keep up. 

“You worry about your guy and I’ll worry about mine.” Jungkook nodded, wanting to get an excuse to get you to go away. 

“I’m just suggesting it, Jungkook. Offering help is not a crime.” You steady your breathing, fighting the urge to punch him. 

“I’ll get him there in plenty of time, promise.” Jungkook not wanting to cause a scene leaves you just with that, he figures keeping his responses short will keep either of you from getting too riled up. 

Although a part of his mind wanted to make some retort about you actually arriving on time in the morning. He kept it to himself. 

“Great. I’m trying to get Melanie there by 8:45. So you don’t have to worry about being too early.”

“Sounds fine.” 

You didn’t say anything and you just walked away. He could tell you were annoyed by his lack of enthusiasm and to be fair he didn’t care to grace you with better responses. 

“Wow I think that was the most normal conversation I have ever seen between the two of you.” Taehyung nodded, patted Jungkook on the back. 

“I would  have rather stepped on a nail but, this weekend is about Namjoon. I want everything to go well.” Jungkook huffed, looking at Namjoon and Melanie who were having a quiet conversation just the two of them. You took a moment before you ended up joining them. 

Taehyung's face was twisted in confusion. Your feud had always confused him, since he loved Jungkook and loved you. Made no sense to him why you two shouldn’t get along and yet here we were. 

“So tonight…” Jungkook started

They discussed the plans for tonight. They had a similar plan to do a bar crawl, unbeknownst to you having made a similar plan. After the little practice everyone split off. Spending the hours in whatever ways every person needed too.

After a while everyone started getting ready for the evening. Melanie really loved the idea of wearing cheesy bridal party outfits, so she had a classic little white dress and a crown that said bride across it. The rest of you had matching short black dresses, you got a sash saying made of honor and Ash and Serena had ones that said bridesmaids. It was cute, and would make for good memories later. You had taken a few polaroids in the room once everyone got ready. 

It felt like the night had arrived so quickly because before you had known it your crawl had begun. The first bar was just a little irish bar that ended up being super lame, the second bar you thought was a theme bar but ended up just being a sports bar so you guys ran out of there quick. The third stop on your location was more club than bar, but you all had a few drinks now.

You were ready for some dancing. 

“Oh dude they host an emo night!” Ash points at a little flier they had posted in the hallway into the club.

“Oh we are so going to that.” You cheer, catching a glimpse of the flier to make note of the date.

The club pulsed with blinding lights and a bassline that shook the floor beneath your feet. Bodies crowded every inch of the space, and the noise was almost overwhelming. Melanie led the charge, her excitement spilling over as she flashed her “Bride” crown to anyone who glanced her way. You, Ash, and Serena followed closely behind, weaving through the throng of people with linked hands to avoid getting separated.

Ash tugged you toward the bar, quickly ordering a round of drinks. “To Melanie!” she laughed, raising her glass.

“To Melanie!” you all echoed, clinking glasses before downing the drinks in unison. The alcohol burned pleasantly, warming you from the inside out and washing away the lingering annoyance from earlier.

Melanie pulled you onto the dance floor, her infectious energy pulling you in. The music thumped around you, loud enough to drown out your thoughts, and you let it take over, swaying and spinning beside your friends. Ash was laughing as she attempted a ridiculous dance move, nearly knocking into Serena, who shoved her back playfully.

“I love this!” Melanie shouted over the music, spinning in her white dress, her joy radiating like a beacon in the dark, crowded room. She grabbed your hand and twirled you around, almost causing you to stumble. You couldn’t help but laugh, getting swept up in the carefree moment.

“Only Melanie could turn a random club into her own private party,” you teased, still holding her hand as you both moved to the beat.

As the night wore on, you found yourself momentarily breaking away from the group to catch your breath. The room was a blur of colors and sound, and you felt lighter than you had in weeks. Your job had gotten more intense lately, that on top of the wedding had gotten you completely wound up. You leaned against the bar, looking to get something a little stronger.

“What can I get for you?” The bartender leaning over the bar to you. You took a glance at his nametag then back to him. He was seriously attractive.

“I don’t know Felix.” You flirt, “Something sweet and strong. Surprise me.”

He started on something immediately, you pulled out your card and watched him. He had long blonde hair and a cute face. You tried to hide your obvious stare but the alcohol already in your system was getting the better of you. To your surprise he put two down in front of you. 

“Two?.” 

“One for the bride. Miss Honor. One is on the house.” he grinned, you tilt your head. 

“Which one?” You tease. Tapping between the two drinks. 

Felix chuckled, leaning in a little closer, his voice barely audible over the thumping bass of the music. “The one for the cuter one, obviously.” He shot you a wink, and you couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a rush of confidence bubble up. It wasn’t often that you found yourself in these kinds of playful exchanges, especially with all the stress you’d been under lately. Tonight, though, it felt good.

You picked up one of the drinks, the fruity aroma already making your mouth water, and took a sip. It was sweet with just the right amount of bite, exactly what you needed. “Damn, you’re good at this. What’s it called?”

“Midnight Kiss,” he said, resting his elbows on the bar as he watched you taste it. “Perfect for someone who looks like they need a little midnight magic.”

You humm, “Cute. Can I get two more? For the other bridesmaids.” 

“You got it.”

Felix steps away to make those and you take the opportunity to look back out to the girls. Melanie and Ash were screaming and jumping up and down at the change of the song. You laughed and were eager to get back. Felix brought over two more of the same cocktail. You began trying to figure out a way to manage to get them over to the girls. In your deep thought, you weren’t really paying attention to your surroundings. You end up getting bumped in the shoulder by someone trying to pass by.

“Sorry.” The familiar voice buzzed in your ears, there it was again, the headache. 

Jungkook stepped up, Taehyung trailing behind, a faint smile on his face as if he already knew this was a bad idea. Namjoon’s other groomsmen who you didn’t know the name of was also present. “Well if it isn’t the wicked witch of the west?” Jungkook said, his voice dripping with annoyance.

You crossed your arms, and give him a snide smile. “Funny, all I see is a cowardly lion.”

“I knew those flying monkeys we past by earlier were yours.” He took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a challenge in his gaze, one that prickled under your skin.

You crossed your arms, squaring up to him. “What are you guys even doing here anyways?”

Taehyung tried to cut in, keeping things light. “We are on a bar crawl. Funny we all ended up in the same place”

“I planned the same thing. Melanie had never done one.” You trace the rim of the drink Felix had given you.

“Jungkook’s original plan ended up falling through, so we decided this at the last second.” Taehyung added, he was doing anything to diffuse the tension between the both of you.

You forced a smile, trying to keep things civil despite the tension buzzing between you. “Great minds think alike I guess.”

Taehyung nodded, eager to steer things in a lighter direction. “Exactly. Fun coincidence.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his drink. “Coincidence or bad luck? Still figuring that out.”

You shot him a smirk, refusing to back down. “Well, if it’s bad luck, at least you’re consistent. Haven’t seen you get anything right in a long time.”

Jungkook’s mouth twitched, his frustration momentarily overshadowed by amusement. “Yeah? Well, I’m just here to collect my prize for putting up with you. Maybe they’ll name a drink after it—‘Annoyance of Honor,’ bitter with a dash of drama.”

You snorted, raising your glass. “Better than ‘Pathetic Man’ watered down and pointless.”

Taehyung stifled a laugh, stepping between the two of you before things escalated. “Alright, alright, you two—enough with the drink menu! I’m pretty sure the bar doesn’t serve ‘Petty Martini,’ but I’ll check just in case.”

Jungkook bit back his retort, the moment of humor cooling the tension a bit. You glanced at Taehyung, feeling a grudging sense of relief that he’d managed to cut in before things got out of hand.

Taehyung clapped Jungkook on the shoulder, flashing an easygoing grin. “Come on, let’s get back to the table. I’ll buy the first round if it keeps you two from turning this into a bar brawl.”

You exchanged one last look with Jungkook, the challenge still lingering but softened by the brief, unexpected exchange. For tonight, the battle would wait. Instead, you huffed and turned away, joining Melanie and the girls again, your mind still racing from the exchange. You could have definitely come up with a better come back but your inebriated mind didn’t have the patience for it.

“What took you so long?” Ash asked, raising an eyebrow as she noticed the tension in your expression.

You forced a smile, passing out the drinks. “Just dealing with a little headache,” you said, brushing off the encounter with Jungkook like it was nothing. You filled them in on Felix, the flirty bartender, hoping the distraction would lighten the mood.

Ash let out a dramatic sigh, already halfway through her drink. “I swear, you’ve got a magnet for chaos.”

You laughed, but it was hollow, the tension from earlier still simmering beneath your skin. You took a long sip of your drink, letting the sweet burn linger in your throat. Tonight was supposed to be fun—a chance to unwind after everything. 

Across the bar, Jungkook tried to shake off the encounter as well. 

“Your betrothed is here.” Taehyung nudged Namjoon with a playful smile.

Namjoon glanced up, his expression brightening as he looked around for Melanie. His smile was enough to momentarily lift the mood. “Where?”

“She’s with the rest of them on the dance floor, We saw them when we were at the bar.” Jungkook, trying to dance around the scene you two caused.

Taehyung shot a sideways glance at Jungkook before answering. “Not without a little confrontation first.”

Namjoon’s smile faltered as he turned his attention to Jungkook. “What happened?”

Jungkook shrugged, taking another long sip of his drink. “Had a run-in with the maid of honor,” he said, his tone dismissive, but his eyes betrayed the frustration still bubbling beneath the surface.

Namjoon’s brow furrowed, a hint of disappointment creeping into his features. “Small spat, nothing to fret over,” Taehyung cut in, trying to diffuse the situation before it spiraled.

“Small spat?” Namjoon’s voice was laced with disbelief. He turned to Jungkook, his tone sharper than usual. “What did you do this time?”

Jungkook bristled, his annoyance flaring up as he met Namjoon’s gaze. “Why do you always assume it’s my fault?”

Namjoon’s expression was unyielding, a mixture of concern and frustration. “Because I know you, Jungkook. And I know how you two are. You don’t need to prove a point every time you’re in the same room.”

Jungkook bit back a retort, swallowing down the urge to argue further. He knew Namjoon was right, but admitting that would mean facing the uncomfortable truth about his own behavior—and the fact that fighting with you felt almost like second nature now. Comforting in a morbid way.

“It’s not like I go looking for it, nothing happened. We were very… civil… considering.” Jungkook took another sip of his drink.

Taehyung nodded, “He’s not wrong, they have been very normal. It’s strange.” 

“That is not something I’d ever think you two would be described as.”

“Enough about Y/N.” Jungkook would use any excuse to not have to talk about you anymore, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Namjoon leaned back, trying to relax as Namjoon's brother threw an arm around Taehyung and started chatting animatedly about some old story. The conversation drifted back to lighter topics. 

Namjoon, trying to reset the mood, raised his own glass. “To tonight. And to the people who keep us on our toes.”

Jungkook smirked, a bit of his usual bravado creeping back in as he clinked his glass against the others. “To Namjoon.”

The group erupted in cheers, but beneath it all, the unresolved animosity lingered. Jungkook leaned back in his seat, the laughter ringing in his ears as he tried to shake off the encounter. 

****************************************************

Not too long after your little group ended up moving to one more bar. That is where the night took a little bit of a nose dive. Serena and Melanie had drank one too many and the night devolved into tears. Melanie talking about how in love with Namjoon she is that she couldn’t hold herself together anymore. She was a lightweight so it didn’t take much to get to this point. 

You and Ash decided it was time to call it at this point, getting the four of you back to the hotel.

You actually ended up sleeping in your own room last night. Making the morning much easier because you had set several alarms to make sure you and Melanie could both make it down to breakfast in time. That included making sure Melanie didn’t look extremely hung over. Melanie threw curses at you every so often, most of which just made you laugh as you got her down to the lobby. 

“I’ll make you a plate.” You whisper to her as you both make it into the room. She gave you a thankful smile as you made your way over to the breakfast buffet that had been set up. 

You decided to keep everything light, Melanie didn’t throw up last night but she was not feeling great this morning. So you kept the plate to fruit, and some toast. Easy things. You continue down the line, when Jungkook comes up and starts filling a plate as well. 

“Look who finally decided to show up.” He spoke behind you, you didn’t dare turn around to look at him. Your face twitching up in annoyance. A familiar sentence coming from his mouth.

“It’s 8:45, right when I said I would be here.” You continue down the line, stepping further away from him. 

“And we were here at 8:30. Since I know how Namjoon’s family are all early risers. So sad they had to wait for the bride to arrive.”

It actually annoyed you, you looked around and sure enough Namjoon was sitting with his family.

“I’ll have you know we were up and moving at 7. Either way, Melanie is the bride. She can arrive whenever she feels like.” You turn to him now.

“Well I was certainly worried. Since you have a habit of sleeping through important things.”

“Let’s not do this. After all, this isn’t about us.” You give him a flat smile, biting back your disdain. 

He couldn’t help but agree. “Fine.” 

“I have today planned down to the minute, so if we just stay out of each others way maybe that would be best.” With that you leave him. Letting that be satisfying enough.

You made your way to Melanie, who was deep in conversation with her parents. As you handed Melanie the plate you’d prepared, her grateful smile said everything words couldn’t.

“Mr. and Mrs. Abel, it’s so good to see you again,” You said warmly, shaking her father’s hand before her mother pulled you into a tight hug.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s lovely to see you too!” Mrs. Abel gushed, squeezing you affectionately.

“I hope you’ve found everything alright, and your check-in went smoothly,” you smiled, glancing between them.

“It’s been wonderful,” her father replied. “Everything’s gone off without a hitch so far.”

“You and Melanie really outdid yourselves with the schedule. It’s so thoughtful—there’s something for everyone,” Mrs. Abel added, her enthusiasm contagious. You and Melanie had spent countless hours planning every detail of the weekend, and hearing it appreciated felt like a small victory.

“Oh, I barely did anything. This was all Melanie’s vision,” you said, squeezing Melanie’s shoulder with a smile. It was true; Melanie’s dream wedding came to life with the help of a meticulous coordinator.

“You’re being too humble,” Melanie chimed in, her voice playful. “I couldn’t have done it without Y/N. They planned this entire day, down to the smallest detail.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to the pickleball match this afternoon,” her father said, chuckling. “I’ve got a rematch with Melanie’s grandpa.”

You laughed, appreciating the lightheartedness. “That’ll be one for the books.”

Just then, Jungkook appeared behind you, his presence immediately setting your nerves on edge. “That sounds like a game that I cannot miss.” he said, his tone light but with a familiar, teasing edge. You faltered for a second, your smile stiffening as Jungkook stepped closer, and you could feel the victory in his eyes.

Jungkook saw you falter for a second and took it as a small victory, “Nice to meet you, you must be Melanie’s parents. I’m Jungkook, we hadn’t had a chance to meet.” 

Jungkook shakes both of their hands. Giving his brightest and warmest smiles between the both of them. You would think it’s fake but he is genuine in his greeting. 

“Oh you’re the best man!” Melanie’s mom beamed, “I’ve heard so many stories from Namjoon and Melanie about you. It’s nice to have a face to the name now.”

“Hopefully all good things.” Jungkook grimaced, looking to Melanie and completely avoiding the daggers you were staring at him. 

You laugh to yourself, probably only bad stories with his track record. Melanie catches you and gives you a pointed look. You mouth a sorry to her. Neither of Melanie’s parents caught what you said, as Jungkook was going on and impressing them and answering questions about himself. You just kept a tight smile on your lips.

“Anyways, I am just here to help everyone get from point A to point B today.” Jungkook bloated and put a hand over his heart. “Any questions you have you can ask me or Y/N.”

He looked at you, you almost couldn’t hide the surprise you had. If anyone had any answers to any questions about the day it was you. You planned this day down. He couldn’t answer any questions.

Mrs. Abel smiled, completely unaware of the tension between you. “It must be so easy to manage all of this with a great team like you two.”

 Melanie bit her lip, trying not to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the statement. “Oh, you have no idea,” Melanie said, patting your back. “Right? A dream team.” 

You paused a little too long, “Yes… uhh Jungkook and I will be available for anything anyone needs today.”

You really stumble through your words. It's painful for you, but funny for Jungkook. Watching you force the words out even though if he was asked the same thing, he would struggle as well. 

“I just remembered,” You clear your throat, finding the first excuse to speak to Jungkook, “Namjoon’s parents wanted to meet the two of you before your joint lunch today. They are just over there.” 

You point between them close to the window where Namjoon and his brother were in a small huddle together. 

“Oh that would be lovely.” Melanie’s mom pulls her husband along over to them. Melanie decides to follow close in tow. Turning back to the two of you and wiggling her fingers between the both of you like she had her eye on both you and Jungkook. You waited until they were out of earshot.

“What's wrong with you?” You ask, keeping a smile on your face and looking at Jungkook. He feigned innocence in his smile. 

“What?” Jungkook tilted his head, wondering what you could have a problem with now?

“Since when did you decide to be so helpful? And since when were we a team?” You kept the smile up but your voice dripped with your rage. 

“I wasn’t able to help with any of the wedding planning. Believe it or not I love weddings. Namjoon is my best friend so I made sure that I knew today and tomorrow's schedules in and out. So, I could help this all move along as smoothly as possible.” He sounded genuine, but you still weren’t buying it. Weren’t buying that he was blowing smoke out of his ass. 

“Oh really?” you challenged, crossing your arms. “What’s happening at 2?”

“Wine tasting for the family or a drawing class for the artsy types,” he recited effortlessly.

“4?”

“Pickleball and the extended family photoshoot with the bride and groom in the garden.”

“11:30?” you shot back, expecting him to slip.

Jungkook smirked. “Nice try. Nothing’s planned at 11:30 because that’s when Melanie, Namjoon, and their parents are at lunch. The rest of us are on our own until activities resume at 2. Just like you scheduled.”

He didn’t just know the schedule—he’d nailed every detail. Your irritation simmered beneath your carefully composed expression, but Jungkook’s smirk told you he knew exactly how much this was getting under your skin.

“Guess I underestimated you,” you finally muttered, the words bitter in your mouth.

Jungkook leaned in just a touch, his voice low and smug. “You usually do.”

You sigh for a moment, you felt awkward because you were fighting every instinct in you to say he looks like trash or something. 

“Rainbows and kindness,” you mutter under your breath, the words a futile mantra against the frustration simmering inside you.

“What was that?” Jungkook asks, raising an eyebrow, already catching onto your annoyance.

“It’s what Melanie told me to be. So, that what I’m trying to do.”

He chuckles, the sound smug. “Yeah, well, Namjoon said something similar.”

“Again, let’s just stay as far apart as we can.” 

“Easy.”

From that point on, you’re both doing your best to stay in your own lanes, but it’s impossible. As the maid of honor and best man, your roles keep intersecting, forcing you into the same space over and over again. Family members keep approaching, asking questions, and every interaction feels like another round in a never-ending battle. It’s not enough to just help; you and Jungkook are determined to outshine each other at every turn.

When a minor crisis breaks out over the seating arrangements, you step in, taking charge and fixing the issue with quick, efficient adjustments. You’re feeling proud—until you turn around and see Jungkook guiding the servers with a charm that has them hanging on his every word.

“Make sure the champagne is properly chilled before the toasts,” he instructs, his tone smooth and authoritative. The servers nod eagerly, clearly impressed.

You sidle up to him, maintaining a smile for the benefit of the guests nearby. “Didn’t know you were the expert on bubbly now.”

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat, flashing you a grin that’s equal parts irritating and infuriating. “Well, someone’s gotta make sure it’s perfect.”

“Oh, please,” you say, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “I’ve been coordinating this for weeks. I don’t need a last-minute savior swooping in.”

He raises an eyebrow, unfazed. “I’m not trying to save anything, just making sure Namjoon and Melanie get the day they deserve, remember? You should try it sometime—teamwork.”

You don’t dignify that with a response, choosing instead to head off to the room where the drawing class is happening.. But even as you’re leaving, you can feel Jungkook’s presence on the other side of the room, always just a step behind or ahead, always in your orbit.

Later, you’re guiding Melanie’s extended family through a lineup for the family photos when you catch sight of Jungkook doing the same with Namjoon’s side. He’s charming, attentive, and he even manages to make the grumpy uncle crack a smile. It’s infuriating how good he is at this, and the worst part is that you know he’s doing it on purpose—to get under your skin and, maybe, to prove that he belongs here just as much as you.

As the day winds down, you both end up at the drinks table, refilling your glasses with water. The quiet moment feels like a truce, but not a comfortable one.

“You’ve really been busting your ass today,” you admit, your tone begrudging as you sip your water.

Jungkook leans against the table, his smirk never fully leaving his face. “Told you. I take this seriously.”

“You’ve memorized the schedule almost as well as I wrote it.” you say, half impressed, half annoyed.

“What can I say? Namjoon’s my best friend. I wanted to be ready for anything.” He shrugs, but there’s pride in his voice. “Besides, I figured you’d be busy enough handling the details. Someone had to pick up the slack.”

You roll your eyes, unable to stop yourself from retorting. “Still doesn’t mean I find you any less shitty, you know that?”

Jungkook laughs softly, a rare moment of genuine amusement. “Right back at you.”

For a brief second, the tension between you eases, replaced by an understanding that you’re both here for the same reason: to make sure your best friends have the perfect wedding. It’s fleeting, though, gone as soon as it arrives when Jungkook straightens up, that competitive glint back in his eyes.

“See you later. Let’s see who cracks first,” he says, holding out his glass in a  toast.

You raise your glass to him in a challenge, your smile more determined than ever. “Don’t hold your breath.”

As you part ways, you can already feel the simmering rivalry gearing up for another round. But deep down, there’s a tiny, begrudging respect forming—though neither of you would ever admit it.

Finally you all had made it to the rehearsal dinner though. 

Which luckily was more casual and the bridal party and all the guests got to come and say hello to the happy couple. Melanie had coordinated  a lovely dinner for tonight, and they kept it light so that everyone could just take time to meet each other. This was the first time most of the family would be meeting. 

Jungkook disappeared at some point in the afternoon. Which made you feel a little lighter and you felt like it was easier to focus on talking with family members and help people find the rehearsal dinner. 

“Feel like you have been a ghost all day.” Ash came up to you and handed you a glass with some cocktail. 

“I could say the same for you.” You take a sip. “I feel like I just floated here. So, ghost is accurate.”

“I’ve been trying to pick out the wild card for the weekend.” Ash said this in a quieter tone and you laugh.

 “Oh yeah? Who’s giving you the vibe?” You glance around the room. 

“Right now my number one is Namjoon’s uncle.” She points over to the bar, “He has taken full advantage of the open bar. He gives me the ‘takes the mic and gives his own speech’ type, I kind of want to see it happen but I’m also ready to take him down.”

“Strong contender.” You nod your head in agreement. 

“What about you, anyone giving you a vibe?” Ash leaned against you a little bit, keeping your conversation close to yourselves.

“Hmm…” You look around the room, “Definitely Melanie’s divorced aunt and uncle. She’s basically a child to them since they had none of their own. They keep trying to one up each other all day.”

Sounds familiar.

“Oh that’s solid. Well if it’s neither of those, maybe it’s you and Jungkook.” 

“Over my dead body.” You roll your eyes, “He’s insufferable but we made a promise to be civil. Although trying, I think we did really good today at keeping it casual. I'll take the win.”

“Speaking of, where is he, and Tae, where are our groomsmen?”

“Smoke break?” Wouldn’t be the first time, as much as you scrolled Jungkook for smoking. You scolded Taehyung even harder.

“Actually I was talking to a cute little thing, but I don’t think she’s interested.” Jungkook appeared behind the both of you, then he points to Namjoon’s great grandmother. You had met her earlier, she was very sweet. 

“I think she can do better.”  You take a long sip of your drink. 

Jungkook gives that same annoyed look he’s given you a thousand times before. Something about the air around him now felt different than earlier. His cool and cooperative demeanor seemed to have dropped. You knew when Jungkook was starting to get things riled up. He probably had a couple of drinks and now he was going to come over and cause a stink. Get you to embarrass yourself somehow. 

“Don’t worry I looked for a date for you as well. I did see a snake outside earlier, asked him if he could be your date for the weekend.” Jungkook met your action in turn, also taking a long sip of whatever venom he had in his cup. 

“Okay.” You keep it short and don’t look at him. You were right, you’re not sure what happened but now he was looking for a fight. 

Ash could feel the tension rising, she wanted to escape before this bomb went off. 

“Hmm… so you were serious about being nice. Shocking.” Jungkook places himself right next to you. 

“I’m going to regret this. Might I ask why you think that’s shocking? I have been doing just fine at it all day.” You sigh, but continue looking around the room, anywhere but at Jungkook. 

“Just surprised is all. I had to do it too.” 

“Yeah, barely but I appreciate it.” 

“Looks like you can keep a promise after all.”

Keeping your voice level. “Any reason, you’re trying to make it difficult now? I don’t get you.”

Jungkook smirked, leaning in closer. “Because you make it so easy.”

You took a deep breath, don’t let him get to you. “I’m not doing this with you tonight. Not here.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like anyone cares. They’re all too busy fawning over the happy couple.” he said, waving a hand dismissively towards Namjoon and Melanie.

“Still doesn’t mean we should pull attention to ourselves at all.” You tap your glass.

You both stay silent for a second. Ash was nervous standing so close to the both of you. It’s like you were two stars about to collide into each other. 

“Let’s just stay away from each other again, okay?”

“To be honest, I’d rather not be anywhere near you,” Jungkook replied, taking another sip of his drink.

“Great. We agree on something.” you said, turning away from him.

Ash grabbed the opportunity to interject. “So, uh, have you guys tried the appetizers? They’re really good.”

“Yeah, the appetizers are great,” you said, forcing a smile.

“Maybe you should eat some more,” Jungkook said, a wicked glint in his eye. “Might help with that attitude of yours.”

You clenched your jaw, fighting the urge to snap back. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re predictable,” he shot back.

“I’m done.” You turned on your heel and started to walk away, but Jungkook followed.

You had to get away, you were going to be nice but you weren’t going to take his abuse. The two of you had been doing really good, did you step on something of his and now he wants to fight again? Getting to another part of the room was the smart and sensible choice right now. To your surprise he stays in toe with you. 

“Oh running away? There’s the y/n I recognize.” He came close to your ear, and you push him away from you lightly. 

“I don’t need this right now Jungkook.” You were making your way to Melanie and Namjoon. Their presence would maybe force him to be on his best behavior. 

They were with Melanie’s parents though, you didn’t want to interrupt. You needed to retreat to another place of solitude. Saying polite hellos to people you recognized and family you had met earlier in the day. Jungkook doing the same as he continued to follow you. 

“Jungkook. You promised.” You turn to him suddenly and it makes him almost fall over, reminding him of something you can only imagine Namjoon made him promise. “Please go somewhere. Take your snake venom and use it on someone else.”

“I’d rather not.” He shrugged and placed his cup on a nearby table. Jungkook couldn’t help himself, he wanted to fight with you.

“Why?”

Jungkook thinks for a moment,“Because I’m waiting for the moment that your façade finally drops. Then everyone will see what you are truly like.” He words dripped with disdain, and he was serious. 

His goal was to see you fall. 

“My facade? Really? What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Must be taxing for you.”  You look directly into his eyes now. 

“What?” He tilted his head. 

“Being around a couple who is successful, must be taxing, knowing you will never have anyone like they have each other.” Because how could anyone ever want to be around someone like this. 

“At least I never let the same person make a fool of me over and over while I let everyone watch the wreckage.”

He spoke about David, your college ex. Again, David cheated on you and made everyone believe that you were the crazy one. You forgave David one too many times before the end.

This was enough though and ancient history. Your anger washed through you, this was not the time nor the place. You didn’t care. He was throwing this in your face again. After so much time. How childish could he be? He would stoop so low again? What was wrong with him? 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You scoff. 

“What? Can dish it but can’t take it?” He clicked his glass against yours.  

“Come here.” You basically bark at Jungkook and grab the sleeve of his jacket. You rush him out of the reception into the hall. Making it so you can keep whatever fight this could possibly turn into just between the both of you.

“Ow!” He rips his arm away, almost looking disgusted that you even touched him. 

“You know I have gone over this in my mind again and again…” you pace from left to right shaking your head, disbelief running through you.

“What are you talking about?”

“Because I thought maybe that just for one day you could put whatever problem you have with me aside. For one day we could be civil and pretend to be friendly. So Melanie and Namjoon could have a special day. I guess I was fucking wrong about you again. You simply can’t help but pick a fight.” You were spitting your words with pure disdain towards him, he had really set you off this evening. 

“Hold on, I’m perfectly capable of being on my best behavior.” His words were just as angry as yours, he had his arms crossed over his chest. Defenses up, he was ready to break you down.

“You’re fucking joking right? It’s just like you to shift blame away from yourself again. You said all of that intentionally to get some rise out of me. To get me to embarrass myself. What were you just too bored? Had to pull focus onto yourself because you couldn’t stand it being on someone else? ” You run both of your hands through your hair angrily, eyes darting all around to look at anything but him. 

He scoffed at you. 

“Trust me, I spare you zero thoughts enough to do that on purpose and I was not pulling focus to myself.”

“Please you and I both know this was damn well on purpose and now we are causing a scene.”

“Oh shut up” he dragged out his words in annoyance, “You really think I wanted this to happen? To be in a screaming match with you instead of having a good time?”

“Jungkook this is all we do! Are you fucking joking? That’s why we are never in the same room together because you’re a self-centered asshole! And I can’t stand you! No one can!” Your blood felt like it was on fire. What you were saying may not have been all true but you didn’t care. You wanted to stick him where it could hurt. Your face was completely red and your breath heavy in your chest. 

“Yeah I’m the asshole. Fucking grow up, get off your high horse, and realize you are just as bad as me!”

You were moments away from actually grabbing him and throwing him to the ground. Maybe this would be the time you actually hit Jungkook. 

Namjoon stepped between the two of you right at that second. Surprising the both of you and it was like you split like magnets. 

“Hey!” He looked between the two of you, he was fuming, “What the hell is wrong with you two? Everyone can hear the both of you. You seriously couldn’t hold it together for me or for a few fucking days?” Jungkook tries to say something in protest but Namjoon shuts him up, “Not another word. Yelling about this shit right outside the rehearsal? Get your fucking acts together and take this bullshit outside. If you can’t figure this out, you both won’t be welcome tomorrow.”

“Namjoon I’m—.” You start and he gives you an almost similar look he gave Jungkook and you stop. 

He never really spoke like that ever. He looked more worried than anything but he was serious about us not being able to come back. You heard him whisper ‘Jesus Christ’ under his breath after leaving the both of you in the hallway. How embarrassing though, getting kick out of your own friend’s celebration. Jungkook felt the same, but neither of you looked at each other or said anything for a moment. 

“Just awesome.” He said as he walked outside and you followed. Figured he made the choice for both of you to finish this outside. 

You fully expect a punch will be thrown by the end of this. Your rage had certainly been drained by Namjoon breaking you and Jungkook apart though. 

You both stood in silence outside in the cold. It was dark out now. It was still damp on the ground from a shower you hadn’t even known happened. The smell filled you with a sigh. Your skin was hugged by the cold and it made you shiver a little. Jungkook was shuffling through his pockets, looking for something. He suddenly pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“Do you really have to do that right now?” You huff and rub your arms. 

“Do you really have to bug me right now?” His voice dripping with disdain, and he places a cigarette between his lips. Lights the end of it.

“We weren’t exactly done talking in there.” 

“With Namjoon’s entrance, seemed like it. Can you leave me alone now?” he shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers. 

“I don’t fucking know where I thought we would end up coming out here. Embarrassing enough getting kicked out basically .” You rub your hands together to try to warm them up a little bit.

“That makes two of us. I don’t know why the fuck you came out here either.”

You didn’t look at each other. Only acknowledging each other in your peripherals. You feel like looking at his idiotic face you might just get angry. You wanted to at least come to a truce to be able to get back inside and have a good rest of your night. You didn’t know how to fucking talk to this guy. Even after all this time, he still just bites back at you as much as you bite at him. 

He sighs heavily and a rather large puff of smoke makes its way into your vision as the wind moves it in your direction. Jungkookw was trying to blow it in another direction, he didn't like you but wouldn’t blow smoke at you. Guess nature had a different plan.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

“Fuck off.”

“Fuck you, you know smoking is horrible for you.” 

“Oh suddenly you give a shit about what kills me and what won’t?”

“Jesus what is your problem with me? I just said you shouldn’t smoke and you told me to fuck off. You clearly have some big fucking problem with me that you need to fight all the time.” You stand square facing him now and he does the same. Matching up to your energy as best as he can. 

He holds his cigarette between his fingers and blows out another puff of smoke into the air above the both of you. 

“I think you should take a hard look at yourself first, what is your problem with me? Seems I piss you off more often then you piss me off.”

“My explanation would make no difference. Oh wait you refuse to listen anyone other than yourself, my bad.” You roll your eyes, it probably wouldn’t.

“No I seem to have done something else to you, but from where I stand. I didn’t do anything.”

“You're just a dick okay? Your personality sucks and you seem to have little care about the people around you and you don’t give second chances because one mistake is the end for you. Having zero regard about the things you can say or use against them.” You shifted your weight back and forth. 

“Last time I checked what I said or did had little meaning to you.” 

“Doesn’t mean that the things you say or do aren’t hurtful.” You march up to him and poke him in the chest and push back a little, he takes a small step back. “Doesn’t make getting called an asshole, a bitch, annoying, or anything else hurt less. Your words do mean nothing. Less than that even... It can still hurt though.”

You stare into his eyes, the fire behind your eyes must have been bright. His mood seemed to shift in front of you. Jungkook was puzzled but at this point it’s like he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help just pushing that one last button to get you into a fight, you were no better. Neither of you were like this with anyone else you knew. 

By everyone’s else accounts, the both of you were very kind and considerate people. Almost always putting others above yourselves. Except when it came to each other, fighting was all you knew. It was easy, maybe almost comforting for Jungkooks heavy heart. A thousand pound weight on yours. It was slowly going to kill the both of you. 

You realized what you had said and retreated back, holding your arms around yourself.

For one second you looked almost sad. Which Jungkook chocked up to being in his mind quickly.  

“Just forget it.” You turn around and decide to drop the whole thing, go back inside. You were tired and you wanted nothing more than to go back inside and have a good night. Jungkook jogged around in front of you and brought you both to a stop.

Nothing had been solved, Jungkook thought. This would just happen again, god forbid it happen tomorrow.

“No. Namjoon told us to take this outside. We are outside, and you said something real to me for once. So spit it out. Say what you and I both know you actually want to say.” He backed you up with several singular steps. His cigarette hung from his lips. The smell of it filling your nostrils. You eventually felt the cold wall meet your back.

“You stink.” You basically spit at him. 

He gives you a not so amused smile.

“Really had to throw one more punch my way huh?”

“What can I say. You piss me off.” 

He was much closer in proximity to you than you had realized. This was probably the closest you had ever stood to him, willingly. It was incredibly uncomfortable. Your eyes are flickering in between the cigarette in his mouth and back to a blank stare into his eyes. 

“Yeah, well you get on my last nerves.” 

“Anyways none of it matters anyways, I won’t forgive you just like you won’t forgive me.”

The distance stayed the same between the both of you. It became more and more comfortable the longer he kept the proximity. He’s wanting a specific answer from you, but he probably figures with how annoying you are you will not be giving it up. 

“Fine.”  

He blows another puff of smoke away from you. 

It was silent as some water droplets that came off the building's roof hit the ground, echoing around the both of you. 

You were going to smell like cigarettes too after this exchange. Gross. 

You both sat in silence for a while, you glance over to him every so often. Mostly examining his arm, you remember a time when he had no tattoos but now his arm had a complete sleeve. He had several tattoos that spanned down his arm. Some of them were exposed with his sleeves being rolled up. They were rather beautiful, for being on someone so vile. 

“You’re too uptight you know that?” he interrupts your thoughts. 

“Better than a loose cannon.” 

“Fuck off.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sounds like you need to relax.”

“I was relaxed before your existence came into my life,” you shot back, rolling your eyes.

Jungkook chuckles, not missing a beat. “Oh, come on. If I’m the one ruining your peace, then maybe the problem isn’t me.”

“Yeah?” you retorted, crossing your arms. “What’s your brilliant diagnosis, then?”

He leaned in just a bit, his smirk sharp. “Seems to me someone who was being satisfied correctly wouldn’t be so goddamn annoying.”

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Then you must be a virgin.”

And just like that, you were right back where you always ended up with him. The insults, the jabs—it was a fight you’d both played out countless times before. You knew the script by heart: digs at each other’s sex lives, accusations flying, and the inevitable fallback of calling each other assholes. It was exhausting, predictable, and you were painfully aware that neither of you would gain any ground this way.

Same old, same old with Jungkook.

“Trust me, I’m well taken care of.” Jungkook took in a sharp hit from his cigarette.

“I’m sure you are. Easy to stick your dick in anything when you lack human emotions.” You could cut your sarcasm with a brick.

“All talk but it seems to me no one has taken a good dip into you in a while.”

“What am I? Ranch?”

“See I would laugh but I think you know I’m right.”

It hadn’t been that long but it was disappointing the last time you slept with someone. Just a one time thing, your usual routine. You hadn’t really had time to properly date these days but weren’t really look that hard. Just needed some easy flings, and men are disappointing in bed most of the time.

“This is some major fan behavior thinking about my sex life Jungkook.” You tease.

“I’ll become your fan when I’m dead.”

“Oh can’t wait.”

“For my fan favor?”

“For you to drop dead.”

He was quiet. Didn’t make a retort back. Just stood there, staring at you with a look you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t his usual glare; it was something else. Almost like he was lost in thought. The silence between you stretched out, the usual banter gone, replaced by an unfamiliar tension that made your skin prickle.

“What if…” he finally said, voice barely audible and laced with uncertainty.

You gave him a confused look, waiting for the punchline or some snide remark, but none came. He stayed quiet, just staring, his eyes drifting from your face to the ground and back up again. The silence was starting to make you itch.

“What if...what?” you asked, crossing your arms. “Spit it out, or are you trying to communicate telepathically now?”

He hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek. “Just—hypothetically, okay? Don’t make this weird.”

“Oh, sure,” you snorted. “Because you being weirdly introspective isn’t already weird.”

Jungkook shot you a look, somewhere between exasperation and nerves. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing up at the ceiling like it might give him the right words. “Just hear me out. You and I...we don’t get along. We clash. Constantly. And it’s...annoying.”

“Wow, Jungkook. Stunning revelation,” you deadpanned, giving him a slow clap. “What’s next? Gonna tell me water is wet?”

“Just shut up for two seconds?” he snapped, but his voice lacked its usual bite. “We’ve tried talking—well, shouting—and we’re still stuck in this...thing.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Nothing gets better, and it’s just the same shit on repeat.”

“So, what? You want to, like, go to therapy together?” you joked, raising an eyebrow. “Or are we about to hug it out? ‘Cause I’m warning you, I do bite.”

Jungkook let out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “God, no. I’m not...I don’t know, looking for some emotional breakthrough. I’m just saying—talking isn’t cutting it, right?”

You squinted at him, still not catching on. “If this is your roundabout way of trying to be friends, I’ll save you the trouble. Hard pass.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to get the words out. “Not friends. Not...ugh, okay, screw it.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “What if we try something different? You know, like...a different kind of release.”

Everything about him right now felt so out of place and it made you uncomfortable. He was boyish, reminded you of how he was in college a little bit.

Your brows furrowed as he avoided your gaze, looking almost embarrassed. “What? This guessing game is not working for me.”

He took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know...what if we, like...”

You stared at him, expecting another insult or some nonsense, but he just kept hesitating. His hands fidgeted, and his eyes darted between your face and the ground. It was so out of character that it almost made you laugh. Jungkook felt so out of place, and almost wrong for even thinking of the idea. Reminded him of a stupid theory Taehyung had. 

“Jungkook, seriously, whatever ridiculous thing you’re trying to say—”

He finally looked up, meeting your eyes, and blurted it out, sounding almost relieved to get it off his chest. “What if we just...you know, slept together?”

There was a beat of silence between he two of you. you blinked at him. You weren’t even sure if you had heard him right but you before you could say anything you were laughing. A little too hysterically in his face. Until you actually looked at him, he was serious. He was serious?

“No way you want to—” you started, stifling a laugh, but his serious expression didn’t waver. “On no planet or universe are we having sex, Jungkook. That’s a horrible idea.”

He clicked his tongue, shifting his weight, trying hard to appear nonchalant even as he fidgeted. “Could help relieve some tension between the two of us. We keep fighting, but maybe we just need to, I don’t know...get it out of our systems.”

“You’re actually serious?” you asked, waiting for the punchline that never came.

“Yup.” He popped the ‘p’ with a confidence that didn’t quite reach his eyes, his bravado thinly masking the nerves underneath. “It’s a stupid theory Taehyung has. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Besides, you know...you realizing I’m right.”

You squinted at him, trying to figure out if he was just screwing with you. “Back up. What theory?”

“Sex fixes everything,” he said, deadpan.

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, the sheer absurdity of it catching you off guard. “Wow, and you’re taking that guy’s advice here?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, visibly regretting even bringing it up.

He sighed, remembering the countless times Taehyung had rambled on about his foolproof ‘solution’ back in his serial playboy days. It was the kind of theory only Taehyung could concoct. Fighting? Bang it out. Unrequited feelings? Bang it out. Stress? Bang it out. Stub your toe on the way to the bathroom? Well, bang it out. The list went on and on, a never-ending stream of inappropriate fixes for any and every problem.

And now here Jungkook was, standing in front of you, actually considering it.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you said, still laughing, your sides beginning to hurt. “You’re seriously standing here thinking Taehyung—Mr. ‘I slept with half the city before breakfast’—knows what he’s talking about?”

Jungkook let out an awkward chuckle, half embarrassed, half defensive. “I know, okay? It’s insane. But like...nothing else has worked, right? And it’s not like you’ve got any better ideas.”

You looked at him, eyebrows raised, fully enjoying watching him flounder. “So your grand solution to us hating each other is to do exactly what Taehyung would do. What’s next, you gonna get us matching bathrobes and a mini bar?”

“Hey, don’t knock the mini bar,” he retorted, unable to hold back a small smile. “But yeah, pretty much. Look, it’s stupid, but it’s Taehyung logic. He swears by it.”

You shook your head, still incredulous. “He also once swore he could cure a hangover by eating an entire pizza in one bite. The man’s not exactly a genius.”

“I’m not saying it’s perfect advice,” Jungkook mumbled, his ears turning slightly red. “I just thought...I don’t know. It’s different from whatever the hell this is.”

“Are you even attracted to me?”

He shrugged, “You don’t physically repulse me. It’s just your personality that’s the worst.”

“Says Satan’s spawn,” you shot back, but there was no real heat in your words, more shock than anything.

Jungkook let out a small, awkward laugh. “So, what do you say? For science?”

You shook your head, more bewildered than angry. “Jungkook, this is not a science experiment.”

He stepped forward, doing a small, ridiculous spin like he was modeling for you. “Come on, you gotta admit—I’m at least a solid seven. Maybe eight on a good day.”

“You’re not... ugly.” you mumbled, suddenly finding your shoes incredibly interesting.

Jungkook smirked, but it was softer, less confident than usual. “Well, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Look at us, making progress.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no denying the weird buzz of adrenaline mixed with tension in the air. This was unfamiliar territory, and you weren’t sure whether to laugh, scream, or maybe—just maybe—consider his ridiculous proposition.

“It’s’ like I said. Talking seems to get us nowhere and doesn’t make us any friendlier.”

He was actually considering this.

“You don’t actually think that could help?”

“It’s up to you. It doesn’t hurt to try. After all we have tried every other way imaginable to get along”

“You just want to get your dick wet.”

“Sue me. I’m human.” 

The ideas swirled around in your head for a while. That shit doesn’t actually work? Sex can be too weird and too emotional for people. It wouldn’t actually relieve tension between you two? He never really seemed like the hook up type, even though you were. He’s serious though, you can tell by his expression that he wants to. 

You stared at him for a second though, letting the thought sink in. What would it be like? To kiss him, to hold him. To feel– okay woah. Your skin was getting hot. The thought was exciting, you had never hate fucked someone. You hadn’t really looked at him in the eyes this whole time but he kept his sight on you to try to determine your answer on your face. Just letting you decide.

“I’m just offering the idea. You can say no.” He places a hand on the wall beside you, “I can see you seriously jumping hoops in your mind right now… I also wouldn’t tell anyone.” 

“I would kill you if you told anyone.” 

A beat of silence.

“So… is that a yes?”

“I-…” Your mouth was moving before your mind could, “Okay.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[doitforbangchan]

All Bark and No Bite

Chapter 1

It's here! This is the first chapter of my first real fic here on tumblr! I am not the best writer so please be kind :')

Series masterlist

Alternate Universe SKZ!

Chan x reader (y/n) x ot8

Previous - Next

Summary: There's no turning back now, not when you know what you left behind. A dangerous situation now replaced with another. After the omegas disappeared you have to extra careful, especially now that you have left your pack and family.  What happens when your car breaks down on another pack's land?

Series Warnings: Fem reader, Smut, verryyyy nsfw, chan x reader, OT8 x reader, A/B/O, m/m/f smut, possessive! SKZ, possessive! Reader, anxiety and depression, fluff, angst, virgin!reader, cursing, violence, pet names, dom/sub dynamics, Sub reader x mostly dom SKZ, misogyny and sexism, Ateez are depicted as terrible people (sorry Atiny!) 

Chapter warnings: Angst, anxiety, reader is VERY sad, minor violence, cursing, A/B/O (pls let me know if I missed any!)

MDNI 18+

Wc: 2400 ish

Disclaimer: The names and faces used here are just that, names and faces, and in no way reflect the real people the characters were designed after. The views and actions of these characters do not reflect the real Stray Kids in any way shape or form. This is all for fun let’s keep it that way please. 

You should have known better. All those hushed conversations your parents have been having, all the phone calls your father excused himself to take, even the trip to your packs doctor for a very extensive physical. None of it set off your mental alarm bells and that made you feel so stupid. But how could you have known that your own parents, the people who raised you and were supposed to have your best interest at heart, were planning on selling you off to the highest bidder once you became mature enough. 

That's life for omegas these days, though. After a worldwide virus a few decades ago, omegas just stopped being born. The virus wiped the gene out almost completely, leaving a very small percentage of omegas left. Unluckily for you, you happened to be the only omega born in your area in the last 40 years. That made you highly sought after by alphas, especially dangerous ones. 

Your hands were still shaking. It had been hours since you escaped your parents house in your car, yet you couldn't get your hands to stop shaking with the immense adrenaline you’re feeling. You had no plan, no money, nowhere to go and no one to help you. Your only friend, Ash, was a beta girl in your pack and as much as you liked her you knew she could do nothing to save you now. At least your car had a full tank of gas, the only good thing your father had done for you was allow you to drive to Ash's house on occasion.

All the adrenaline was starting to wear off as you drove, the realization of what this would mean for you and your life now starting to sink in. The constant looking over your shoulder, the uneasiness you will always feel, it was almost too much to handle. No. What would have been too much to handle is letting that filthy man get his hands on you. Kim Hongjoong.You had heard about the things that alpha had done to claim power over his pack. From sabotage to murder, none of it was good. From what you could gather he was on the search for an omega to complete his pack and somehow had heard whispers about you. The only known omega within a few hundred miles. He wanted an omega to raise his children and help him lead his pack and would do anything to get his hands on one; whatever necessary. 

You imagine the sum of money he offered your parents was just too good for them to pass up on. Your alpha father was too proud to accept anything less than a hefty amount. Your mother was an omega through and through. Obedient and submissive to her alpha. Just as she raised you to be. She herself was a rare omega. Though back in her day the omega population wasn't as low as it is now. Now the numbers have fallen to less than 0.2%. Your mother molded you into the perfect little doll. Almost. Never in your wildest dreams did she or your father imagine you, their doll, would be disobeying and running from all you had ever known, yet here you are. That's what real fear does to a person. Fight or flight. All your life you had been all bark and no bite. Now this is your way of biting back.

All you had to your name was this old car (technically your fathers), an old backpack with a few changes of clothes, and couple cans of spaghetti o’s. Luckily this car had an old map in the glovebox. Better than nothing especially since you had no gps and no phone. You knew better than to take the main roads. Your pack would undoubtedly be looking for you and the car. Back roads it was then.

You couldn't tell exactly how many hours you had been driving at this point, too caught up in your mind to really pay attention to the time but by now it had gotten very dark and you found yourself on this old road going through a small town in the woods. You vaguely remember passing through the small community about half an hour ago. Of course you hadn't stopped in the town in fear of being noticed or recognised somehow. But now you’re wishing you had stopped at that little gas station and at least tried to get an ounce of gas with the spare change left in the middle console. The car was officially running out of gas. In the middle of nowhere. Just your luck. 

 “Are you serious?” You asked no one with tears starting to fill your eyes.

Feeling the difference in the vehicle causes you to pull off to the side of the road with a groan. You know it won't be going any further with the way it just gives up there on the side. Turning off the car and leaning your head against the wheel you let out a light sob. This wasn't the life you had envisioned for yourself. Once upon a time you thought one day you would meet your true mate, a caring alpha who would love you for you and want to make you happy. Seems as though that was just a fairytale after all. Even your parents weren’t true mates. They just settled for each other. You knew you couldn’t let that be you. You wouldn’t settle, especially not for a vile man you didn't love. 

It was too late now to leave the car. This is where you will be staying for the night. Good thing it was late spring and not winter or you would freeze out here. Once your tears have slowed and the sobs have ceased you took a deep breath to calm yourself.

“You will be ok.” You repeat to yourself a few times. “You will be ok. You will be ok.” 

Will you though? It didn't matter. You had to be. With one last sigh you locked the doors and climbed into the backseat of the old car. Its seats were worn and uncomfortable but it somehow felt comforting. It felt like the last remaining bit you had from childhood. When things were simple for you. Were things ever that simple as you remembered it being though? Before presenting as an omega when you were 16 things were definitely simple. You had assumed along with everyone else that you would be a beta and go on to have a normal life. Sure sometimes you were a little agreeable and always had a gentle nature, but you had just thought you took after your mom in that aspect. Little did you know you would take after her in a different way. It wasn’t until you presented that it made sense to the pack why you were that way. It was then that the looks began from other pack members. The way their eyes would linger on you a little too hard. The way their nostrils would flare when you entered a room. It made your skin crawl thinking back.

From that point on there was no more public school for you. You were homeschooled the last few years of high school for your protection. “We're doing this to protect you not punish you, Y/N.” your father had said when he forbade you from going back to school. “You can't trust anyone these days. Not around an omega.” He was right. The thought never crossed your mind that you couldn't even trust your own parents. You wished you had been born a beta like your sister, or even an alpha like your brother. Being the youngest out of three you figured you would be like them. 

The worst part was you didn't have the suppressants you had been taking since you were a teen. They were almost impossible to come by normally, but your father had somehow gotten his hands on a steady supply and had been forcing you to take them. Another thing that was for your protection. To keep alphas from detecting you by scent. You hadn't taken any this morning before you left so you imagine your scent was going to start leaking out for any one nearby to smell. Great. Another problem for tomorrow.

Adjusting yourself on the seat to lay down as much as you could, you closed your eyes and focused on your breathing. It wouldn't be long before sleep overcame you. The exhaustion of the whole ordeal catching up with you. 

__________________________________________________________

The sun peaking through the trees awoke you from your surprisingly restful slumber. It seemed to be early morning if the dew on the windows was any indication. Peeking out the window you saw nothing around. Not even any animals. Perfect. You slowly unlocked the door and crept out quietly shutting the door behind you. Taking careful steps a few yards into the thickets ahead of you and relieving yourself helped you feel a little better. You made your way back to the car and took a second to breathe. In and out. In and out. The air was crisp and refreshing and helped you clear your head. 

Now feeling a little better you noticed how bad your stomach was growling at you. Reaching into the trunk of the car you pulled out a small can of spaghetti o’s. Not your first choice of a meal but when you panic you grab what you figure will be easiest to take with you. Plus you could use a can as a weapon if needed! 

Eating was the last thing on your mind yesterday, but now you knew you could no longer put it off. Popping a can open and taking a seat on the hood of the car with a spoon you dug into the food. It was….. food . Cold and disappointing but at the same time satisfying as you had an empty stomach. 

There you were, sitting there on the old car contemplating your next move from here with now a half full can of disappointment, when you catch a scent in the air getting stronger with each passing second. It was another person, no it was people. More than one. 

Fuck

You have been found. Whether by the packs that were after you or by a stranger it didn’t matter all you felt was terror. 

There was no time to flee. Before you could even move from the hood you could feel a pair of eyes on you to the right of you. You twist your head to face the eyes that are peaking out at you from the trees ahead. 

The stranger takes a tentative step towards you and comes out from hiding and you immediately go into fight or flight. 

     With an alarmed shout “NO”, you launched the half full can of spaghetti o’s at the intruder, hitting him square in the chest and sending the cold contents all across his shirt. 

“What the fuck?!” the possible assailant yelled. 

Spotting another figure approaching the first one you threw yourself back off the hood and onto the ground, then as quickly as possible you yanked the door open to the car and jammed yourself in locking it immediately. You made yourself as small as possible as to not be seen by them but you knew the damage had been done. There was no way out of this. No gas in the tank and even if there was you had no idea where your keys had gone.  

You could hear them talking but you were too frightened to pick up any of the words except girl, mess and Alpha. Now you really felt terror. Without realizing how close they had been to you, you let out a shriek when there was a sudden knock on the window next to you. 

Not daring to look at them for even a second you yelled through the glass “Please go away! Please please I don’t deserve this!” tears filled your eyes. 

__________________________________________________________

The smell of your distress was making Seungmins and Jeongins eyes water. They had never experienced such a powerful scent before. Not even the odor from the Spaghetti Os covering Seungmins shirt would distract from the one coming from within the vehicle. The beta wanted to be mad that she had pretty much assaulted him, but at the same time couldn’t find it within himself to care much given how much pure terror he smelled coming from the young woman. The omega.  

The young alpha Jeongin felt similarly now that he had eyes on her he felt this overwhelming urge to protect. He had never encountered one before and honestly thought he never would but now that he was laying eyes on her he felt his alpha side perk up. A part of him never wanted to stop looking at her.

Honestly the boys didn’t know what to expect when they came out here to investigate the scent that had appeared on their land late into the night. They truly didn’t expect the cause to be an omega girl that was holed up on the side of a path. 

Seungmin tried knocking again, a little more timid this time so as not to frighten her more. “Excuse me, we could smell your distress. Do you need any help?” He asked slowly. 

You spared him one quick glance then shrunk into yourself again. “No thank you, please go!” 

He sighed and stepped back a few feet to look at Jeongin in amazement at the situation.  Giving him one small nod he said “ We need to call Chan.” 

__________________________________________________________

What felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, passed and you stayed in your same position. The boys had remained there but not so close to the car anymore to which you were thankful. They were quietly mumbling amongst themselves, no doubt about an omega being caught out here alone. Every so often you would move your head just slightly to peer over at them. You hadn’t noticed before in your initial panic but they were pretty cute young men. A beta and an alpha from what you could tell. Even covered in your thrown breakfast (a shame about that really) they still managed to carry themselves proudly. Though your smell is causing their faces to scrunch up, you could tell it was taking it's toll on them.

Not even a moment later after taking another look at them you could feel the change in the air as another pair of people was approaching. Not just anybody was coming this way, it was an Alpha. A very strong one at that. The smell was starting to permeate all of your senses and was quickly becoming intoxicating. 

You could sense him before he even appeared. No matter how intrigued you may be though you can’t show weakness.

 ‘Keep your head down and wait it out’ you kept telling yourself like a mantra.  

You knew he was approaching your door. It took everything in you to remain still. Then as if struck by lightning you felt your body alight like it never has before. 

“Omega..” 

(A/N: Please do not steal my writing and content! Reblogs and comments are encouraged tho 😙once again i would LOVE to hear your thoughts and theories! This has not been beta read all mistakes are my own.)

©doitforbangchan 

TAGLIST

@ihrtlix @realrintaro @meowmeeps

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

A Sparrow at Sea 1/?

MDNI

Whitebeard pirates/reader (fem)

Summary: Turned into a bird as part of a slave-smuggling operation, you get your revenge - and then your revenge gets you. Panicked and alone, you crash land on a very large, very famous ship full of very large and quite infamous men.

I promised myself I wouldn't post another incomplete one-shot, but here we are! Dealing with a bit of burnout and could use the interaction, buddies. Aiming for maybe two more 'chapters.'

Enjoy!

Master List

The bastards turned you into a bird.

So, you set their fucking warehouse on fire.

You sat – perched – several rooftops away, watching the little flames you’d gathered work into the prepared kindling.

Satisfaction glowed warm in hollow bones.

It hadn’t been easy. You’d labored for hours, too angry to rest after escaping the Devil Fruit user’s sweaty hands as he tried to shake your shrunken body out of your clothes and into a cage. You’d pecked his hands bloody and taken off through a broken shutter.

The kidnappers’ second Devil Fruit user, a Zoan type, slammed into the wood behind you, the owl too big to fit through the same crack a sparrow could. He’d hooted in rage, and you went scrambling over rooftiles and windowsills, trying to understand how to grab things with your feet.

Adrenaline fed into growing anger, and your little heart pumped hard with outsized emotions. Hiding was easy when you were so small. Plenty of merchants threw covers over their market stalls at night, and every building had nooks and crannies you could hop inside. Away from the men, their fingers, and their talons.

Once the owl’s shadow stopped circling and the night lost its edge to the blue hour, you set about your revenge.

Flying was more or less intuitive (a few painful experiments aside). Figuring out what you could and couldn’t lift took longer. You’d hoped to wrap some coals to drop on your target, but they were too heavy and dangerous to manage without hands. You took to setting twigs and scraps alight in torches and open lanterns. The flames caught you more than once, but only your poor little feet. If you lost your feathers, you’d have new problems, and you’d rather struggle to stand than fail to fly. At least in your current shape.

Which you’d have to do something about.

At some point.

If it didn’t wear off.

Which was a level of horror you weren’t ready to face yet. You’d contemplate your future as you took a dust bath in the ashes.

What would’ve taken less than an hour in your human body took until daybreak as a sparrow.

You panted as you watched the fruit of your labor ignite like a second sun. Straw and twigs fed the blaze until it clawed past the shingles and into the beams, growing fast and hungry down the walls and into the great room below. You hoped their smuggled goods would go up in smoke. You hoped the man who’d taken your hand to seal a deal for a few pounds of fenced sea stone would lose skin, limb, or life.

Damned slave trader.

It had all been too well-rehearsed to be their first attempt, and the cage was old and well-used. It wasn’t a bad plan, practically speaking. None of the Yonkos liked having people from their territories poached, even if they participated in the trade themselves, and sneaking a whole person out of a busy port was no easy task, let alone a profitable number of whole persons. A cage full of sparrows, though? No one would look twice.

If you were bigger, you’d lock the doors so they could all burn together.

But maybe they would anyway. The first shouts didn’t rise until the roof had collapsed, and you imagined a room full of sleeping men slapped awake with fire and falling beams.

The flesh on your feet cracked as you adjusted your grip on the roof’s edge, but you took the pain with pride. You’d done this. They thought they stripped your power from you with your sturdy bones and your opposable thumbs, but they were all wrong. Dead wrong. Fuckers.

The smoke hung low over the town, blending with the dense fog rolling in from the sea. Leaping flames illuminated the haze and cast writhing shadows on the streets below. Just as the neighborhood woke to the smell and distant screams, and the first calls for water and aid rang out, a winged shadow launched through the hole that used to be the warehouse’s roof.

The owl looked more like a demon from your diminished perspective, and you hunkered low on instinct, hoping he wouldn’t see you – the one animal lacking common sense – lingering within blocks of the mounting inferno.

But sharp, predatory eyes locked on you, and he dove with a shriek that promised murder. He could disembowel you in the public square and no one would even know they were witness to your execution. The owl was built to stab, and rip, and tear flimsy little things like you apart.

His wings spread wide, and his talons flashed gold as they came to bear.

You flung yourself from the roof, flapping wildly to catch the air as you fell away from danger. The blades on the monster’s feet scratched into the wood where you’d just been, and your heart stuttered.

He wanted you dead as much as you wanted him to burn.

As the owl gathered himself, peering into the dark for his target, you managed to find your balance in the air. Fluttering low and fast, you took the first corner. Your hunter’s wings were silent, and you only knew how close he came when an unnatural breeze cur over your back.

Too close.

No matter how small and quick you were, so long as he kept you in sight, he was always a breath from drawing blood. He knew his shape, and you did not. Sooner or later, you’d run out of corners, out of obstacles to keep between you.

And then you would die.

As a fucking bird.

Overhead, the fog thickened as you neared the water. The smoke wasn’t so heavy, but plenty of people lost themselves in weather like this. Maybe you could lose an owl.

You pushed into the damp, white cloud, serpentining to keep the owl from diving at you again. A discontented rumble of a hoot broke the silence in your wake, and you raced on, chasing the sound of waves and the densest cover.

As the sun rose, the water vapor glowed, catching and holding the light. You hoped it blinded the predator. At least convince him the chase wasn’t worth it.

But you couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t see him. So, you kept on flying like you were being hunted. Just because you were clever didn’t mean you were the smartest one in the room. You’d learned that lesson the hard way many times over, and it rubbed itself into your fresh wounds all over again with the salty sea spray.

There was always someone quicker, someone sharper, someone stronger. Someone with better connections and greater wealth. And no one had the decency to lay their traps in the open with a warning signs for casual passersby.

Over confidence wouldn’t get you this time. You’d fly forever if meant escaping the Zoan-user.

It felt like you did fly forever.

The sun rose, the fog thinned, and you started circling to look above, below, and behind for the shadow of another, larger bird. Besides a few seagulls, though, nothing appeared. Which was a relief until the fog cleared away and nothing but ocean spread below you.

You nearly fell out of the sky when you realized you couldn’t see land. Not even a lump on the horizon. You’d thought the fog would be gone by midmorning, but you realized the sun was too high and too low at the same time, like it had already crested and started heading down.

You were lost.

Worse, you were tired.

Sparrows weren’t seabirds. They couldn’t soar through empty skies to far-flung islands without many rest points in between.

You had flown far. And you saw no rest points. Not even a rock or a breaching chunk of coral.

Panic drained into a reserve, fueling a mindless fugue state that pulled you away from your growing distress. Your wings burned, but you shouldn’t have them at all. Dangerous thoughts. If felt like you were still carrying fire in your fragile claws, and you shuddered as your legs tucked too close to your body. Wrong feet, wrong legs, wrong body.

You shouldn’t be a bird at all, and you were going to die as one because you picked a fight with many someones much bigger than you without any kind of escape plan or preparation. An idiot in feathers with a small brain and burnt toes.

How much longer could you stay aloft? If not for the strong wind, you thought you might’ve already dropped low enough for the higher waves to catch your wings. And then you’d be doomed. Death by drowning or a hungry shark. Maybe even pecked to death by the gulls loitering in your periphery.

What a way to go.

And then you saw a shape in the distance. Tall and broad. That was all you could make out. It could’ve been a sea king for all you cared, so long as it stayed above the surface and let you rest.

The thing had a whale’s face, but not a whale’s shape. A whale island? No. No, you realized those square clouds were sails. Those holes were for cannons, not little caves in a cliff. Even as a human, you distantly understood, the ship – because it could only be that – was enormous. The whale at the head made sense. Good gods, it might as well be a floating island. Or an island whale.

People milled around the deck, so you fluttered up, calling on the last of your energy and determination to find a safe roost. The top of an empty crow’s nest was just what you needed. You crashed into the platform, rolling into the mast, where you sprawled – legs up – under the crushing weight of survival.

[keehendrixx]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐭

Warnings: MDNI! 18+, Roommates, Enemies to Lovers, Smut, Dirty Talk, Rough Sex, Terry has a Dom Side. P in V, Oral (Fem Received).

Imagine waking up, walking on eggshells all because you and your roommate don't get along.

Sierra pulled herself out of bed, grabbed her house robe and walked downstairs carefully not to wake the big ass bully sleeping three doors down.

As she made her way down to the kitchen, she decided to only cook breakfast for herself since they got into a heated argument last night, she wanted Terry to suffer.

Deciding on a hearty breakfast, she made an omelette, turkey bacon, eggs with an assortment of fresh fruits, and some freshly squeezed orange juice.

Guessing the smell woke Big Grumpy up.

Terry walks in the kitchen not addressing you.

“Well good morning to you too.”

He glances at you briefly, his hazel green eyes cold and distant as he grabs a beer from the fridge.“Aight. Morning I guess.”

He pops open the can and takes a swig, his muscular tattooed arm flexing with the motion. Terry leans against the counter, eyeing you up and down appraisingly.

“Yo, you got plans today or what? Tryna keep it on the low, ya feel me?”

His voice is gruff and dismissive, clearly hoping you'll make yourself scarce so he can do whatever he pleases without interruption.

“Nah.”

He shrugs noncommittally, taking another long pull from his beer. “Cool, cool. Just don't be all up in my grill, aight?”

Terry sets the can down and starts rummaging through a drawer, pulling out a lighter and some rolling papers. He begins skillfully rolling a joint with practiced ease.

“I'm expectin' company later if you catch my drift.”

He smirks knowingly, his pink plump lips curling into a suggestive grin as he licks the edge of the paper to seal it. “So maybe bounce for a few hours, yeah? Give a bro some privacy to get his freak on.”

His tone is blunt and entitled, clearly used to you accommodating his extracurricular activities.

Terry's casual attitude and suggestive comments make it clear that he's expecting some intimate company and wants you to give him space for it. He's not shy about his intentions, using phrases like "get his freak on" and a knowing smirk to convey his plans. His request for you to "bounce for a few hours" is straightforward and assumes that you'll be accommodating his needs.

“Uhh… this is my apartment too! So no, I'm not about to ‘bounce’!”

Terry raises an eyebrow, looking at you like you're being obtuse. “Oh, word? This is your crib now too huh?” He snorts derisively, taking a hit off the joint before exhaling a stream of smoke. “Well ain't that somethin'. You best be mindin' your manners then, 'cause I run this half, understood?”

He steps closer, invading your personal space as he looms over you, his towering frame and intense gaze making you feel small. Terry flicks ash from the tip of the joint onto the floor before grinding it out under his heel. “Just remember, I'm the one payin' the bills around here. So if you wanna keep livin' here, you better learn to play nice. Capisce?” The unspoken threat hangs heavy in the air, leaving little room for argument.

“As if I don’t help you pay them too Terry.” Sierra said slamming her fork down.

Terry scoffs, rolling his eyes at your retort. “Oh please, like your measly rent check covers half the expenses.” He smirks condescendingly, leaning back against the counter once more. “I'm talkin' 'bout the real costs - utilities, property taxes, maintenance... You think you're shouldering equal weight in this arrangement? Please.” Terry crosses his bulging arms over his chest, his biceps straining against the fabric of his tank top. “But hey, since you brought it up, why don't you cough up some extra cash, aight? Maybe that'll shut you up and remind you who's really callin' the shots here.” His tone is mocking, a clear challenge aimed directly at you.

You take a deep breath, unfazed by Terry's posturing. "Oh, I see how it is," you respond, matching his condescending tone. "You think throwing your weight around is going to solve anything? Newsflash, Terry: I know exactly what the 'real costs' are. I'm not some naive little kid you can boss around."

You step closer, holding his gaze steadily. "And if you think I'm not pulling my weight, then maybe it's time you actually sit down and do the math. Maybe then you'll realize that your 'extra cash' demand is just a power trip. I pay my share, and then some. So, how about this: you back off, act like an adult, and we'll have a civil conversation about this. Otherwise, you can keep your macho act and your ridiculous demands to yourself."

Terry lets out a low, amused chuckle, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly nods. Alright then, Sierra. If you're dead set on stickin' around, I reckon I can accommodate that. He leans back, folding his arms across his broad chest once more.

“Just remember, when I bring my friends over, they're lookin' for a good time, and that includes with you if you're willin' to participate.” His tone is matter-of-fact, devoid of emotion. “So either you're down to join the fun, or you need to find somewhere else to be while I've got company. Your choice.”

Terry's gaze is challenging, daring you to defy him further. The air between you crackles with tension, each of you waiting to see how the other will react to this ultimatum.

You hold Terry's gaze, refusing to back down from his challenge. "You know what, Terry? I'm not some toy for you and your friends to play with. I have my own life, and I won't be bossed around like some kind of plaything."

You pause, letting your words sink in. "But I'm not going to run and hide either. I'll be here, and if your friends can respect that, then we won't have a problem. If they can't, well, that's on them. I'm not going to change who I am or what I do to accommodate their 'good time."

Terry raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Suit yourself, Si. But don't say I didn't warn you. My friends can get pretty rowdy, and they're not exactly known for their subtlety. If you're gonna hide in your room, make sure it's soundproof. Wouldn't want you getting disturbed by all the... fun." He winks, emphasizing the last word with a leer that makes his intentions clear.

He pushes off from the counter, taking a step closer to you. "But hey, if that's what you want, who am I to stop you? Just don't come crying to me if you change your mind and want to join in. Once the party starts, the rules are a little... different."

“I’ll rather stay in my room to be dealing with yall lame asses.”

Terry shrugs, a hint of disappointment flashing in his eyes before he quickly masks it with a nonchalant smirk. “Suit yourself, then.” He turns away, heading back toward the front door. “Just don't go gettin' all huffy puffy if you hear some moans echoin' through these walls, aight? It's just business as usual.”

With that, Terry exits the apartment, closing the door firmly behind him. The sound of his footsteps fades down the hallway as he disappears into his own unit, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the weight of his parting words.

Several hours later, the sound of raucous laughter and muffled voices filters through the thin walls of the apartment. Terry's deep baritone mingles with feminine giggles and the clinking of glasses. Suddenly, there's a sharp rap at your bedroom door, followed by Terry's voice, slightly slurred but still commanding.

“Yo, Sierra! Open up, would ya? Got someone here who's dyin' to meet you.” There's a pause, then he adds with a chuckle, “And trust me, you don't wanna miss this. C'mon out and play nice, yeah?”

You open the door. “Yes Terry?”

Terry stands in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame with a lopsided grin plastered on his face. His usually neat braids are slightly disheveled, and his shirt is untucked, giving a tantalizing glimpse of his toned abs. Behind him, you can see a group of scantily dressed women standing behind him and whoever his friend was , their eyes roving hungrily over Terry's form.

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her presence.” He slurs his words slightly, clearly a few drinks deep already. “Sierra, meet my main man, Jermaine. Jermaine, this is my sexy lil' roomie I was tellin' y'all about.” He gestures vaguely to a heavyset man with a gold chain who waves lazily in your direction.

Sierra looked at Jermaine and back at Terry with pure disgust. “Not interested.”

Jermaine, with a smirk, eyes you up and down, taking in your appearance with a slow, deliberate gaze.

“Ain't you a sight for sore eyes?” He chuckles, his voice a deep rumble. “Terry here has been talkin' 'bout you non-stop. Said you got a mouth on you and a body to match.” He flirts, his gold chain glinting in the light. “Come on in, don't be shy. We ain't got no strangers here, only friends we ain't fucked yet.” He lets out a hearty laugh, and the women around him giggle, their eyes still fixed on Terry

“Oh y’all got me bent. I’m not fucking your big ass! “You yelled as you pushed passed the both of them, going downstairs.

Terry pushes off from the doorway, stumbling slightly as he makes his way to the couch, flopping down next to Jermaine.

“Yeah, yeah, ignore his crude ass.” He waves a hand dismissively at Jermaine. “He thinks he's all that and a bag of chips” He turns to you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You wanna drink, baby? I got tequila, vodka, whiskey—you name it.”

“No Terry, I don’t want a drink.”

“Ight Si, I’m goin’ to go get the rest of us some drinks.”

Jermaine watches Terry leave, then turns his attention back to you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in your reaction.

“So, you and Terry got a thing goin' on, or what?” He asks, his voice a low growl. “He's a good dude, but he's got a wild side.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gold chain swinging freely. “You gotta keep up with him, or he'll run right over you”. He pauses, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I get the feelin' you ain't the type to back down from a challenge. Am I right?”

“To be honest, we can’t stand each other.”

Terry stumbles back into view, draping himself over the back of the couch where the women are seated. He grins at you and Jermaine, his eyes glazed over with alcohol and lust. “Aww, don't be like that, Jermaine. Sierra and I got our own special arrangement, ain't that right, baby?” He winks at you salaciously before turning his attention to the woman beside him, nuzzling into her neck and making her squeal with delight.

“A definitive statement of a hoe!” You said grabbing some snacks from the kitchen.

“Man whatever, Si! You just don’t like me cause you want me.”

“Nah nigga! YOU mad cause you can’t fuck me!”

“Oh I can, but you won't let me. That’s the difference. I’ll have your ass screaming, seeing the fucking stars. Try me, babygirl.” Terry whispered into her ear as he pushed her back into the counter.

Sierra’s legs clenched together at his words, letting them sink in slowly. She knew he wasn’t playing with her by the way his voice got lower and deeper than usual and his eyes dropped. As much as she hated to say it out loud, she’d let this man ravage her, fix her attitude & more.

She couldn’t even count the number of times she spent in her room; masturbating to the sound of his voice when he was on the phone, the vivid picture of him naked in the shower; water running down his perfect body. The grunts and moans he made when he was stroking himself, letting her purposely hear him. She’d even have wet dreams about him between her legs, tongue buried deep in her cunt.

As the party continues in full swing, Terry periodically glances over at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of challenge and desire. It's clear he's enjoying putting on a show, trying to provoke a reaction out of you. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol, perfume, and the underlying current of sexual tension.

You got up and walked to the bathroom. After handling your business, you walk back out only to meet Terry in the hallway. You can see it in his eyes that the liquor has taken an effect on him. Terry grows increasingly bold in his flirtations and provocative behavior. He saunters over to you, a fresh bottle of liquor in hand, and slings an arm around your shoulders “You know, Si”, he purrs, his words slightly slurred, “I been thinkin'. Maybe we oughta renegotiate our little living arrangement.”

He takes a long swig from the bottle, his free hand trailing down your arm. His eyes glint with mischief and barely concealed hunger as he awaits your response, the party raging on around you both.

“Boy, move. You are not my type.” You try to push Terry’s built body out your way, clearly he’s not moving and you’re not pushing him enough.

“So Jermaine is? I saw the way you looked at him when I introduced y’all. You don’t want him, you want me. Stop denying yourself that.” Terry said getting closer to you, pushing his body against yours, making you hot and flustered as he did

“You know I can’t stand you.”

“And what’s wrong with us having a little fun that we both want. You can hate me all you want Sierra, but your body can’t.”

“Well you hate me! You walk around here everyday not speaking to me or can’t even being bothered to be in the same space as me.”

Terry blinks rapidly, momentarily caught off guard by your question. He pulls back slightly, studying your face intently as if trying to discern your true intentions. “Hate you? Nah, shorty. That ain't even close to what I feel.” He shakes his head, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Truth is, you confuse me somethin' fierce. One minute I wanna wring your neck for all the lip you give me, and the next…” He trails off, his gaze drifting over your curves appreciatively before snapping back to your eyes. “Well, let's just say you got a certain... appeal, yeah?”

You chuckle, taking another sip from the bottle before handing it back to him.

"Appeal, huh? I'll take that as a compliment, Terry. And you know what? The feeling is mutual. You confuse me too, with your crazy antics and that damn charm of yours. But that's what makes life interesting, right? The unpredictability?"

You lean in a little closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"So, do we have a deal, rommie? Or are you chicken?" You wink, challenging him one last time, a playful smirk on your lips.

Terry's eyes darken with desire at your challenge, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. “Chicken? Nah, baby. You know I ain't scared of nothin', least of all a fine piece of ass like you.” He downs the rest of the bottle in one long gulp before tossing it carelessly aside, never breaking eye contact with you.

“Alright, Sierra. You want unpredictable? I'll give you the unpredictable. In one swift motion, he closes the distance between you, backing you up against the wall. His large hands come up to bracket your face as he leans in, his lips a hairsbreadth from yours. “Let's make this interestin', yeah? How 'bout we raise the stakes a bit? Winner takes all - control, submission, the whole nine yards. You game, or you gonna tap out now?”

Your heart races as you feel his breath on your lips, but you don't back down. You place your hands on his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt, and push back slightly, a defiant spark in your eyes.

"Control, huh? You think you can handle that, Terry? You think you can handle me?" You let out a soft laugh, your voice a low purr. "Alright, big talker. You're on. But remember, you asked for this. No backing out now."

You lean in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper,"And Terry? No holding back. I want to see what you've got. Let's make this night one to remember."

Terry's pupils dilate with lust at your bold challenge, a low growl rumbling in his chest as your hands press against him. In a flash, he spins you around and pins you to the wall, one powerful thigh wedged between your legs as he grinds against you. “Oh, I can handle you alright, baby. Question is, can you handle me?” He nips at your earlobe before trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline, his stubble deliciously rough against your skin.

His hands roam your curves possessively, squeezing and kneading as he maps out every dip and swell of your body. “Mmm, you feel that, Si? That's what you do to me.” He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust of his hips, letting you feel the hard evidence of his arousal.

You gasp at the sensation of his body against yours, but you don't miss a beat. You reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling his head back so you can look into his eyes.

"That's all you got, Terry? You think that's gonna break me?" You smirk, your voice breathless but determined. You wanna play rough? Let's play rough."

You grind back against him, matching his intensity, your other hand gripping his shoulder for leverage. You lean in, your teeth grazing his earlobe as you whisper, "But remember, you started this. And I always finish what I start."

Terry's eyes flash with a dangerous mix of lust and admiration at your fiery response. A feral grin splits his face as he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one large hand while the other grips your hip bruisingly tight. Fuck, Sierra. You're playing with fire, baby.” He growls, his voice low and rough with desire.

He crashes his lips against yours in a brutal kiss, all teeth and tongue as he claims your mouth thoroughly. When he finally pulls back, you're both panting harshly. “You want rough? I'll give you rough.” In a blur of motion, he hoists you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you towards his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. “Last chance to back out, shorty.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding on tight as he carries you, your legs locked around his waist. You smile against his lips, your voice a low, sultry challenge.

"Who says I want to back out? You think I'm scared of a little rough play, Terry? Bring it on. I can take whatever you dish out and give it right back. You ain't seen nothin' yet. Send your bitches and your friends home.”

Terry shouts from upstairs. “Aight, y’all ain’t gotta go home but y’all gotta get the fuck outta hea.” He makes you giggle in his neck at his remark.

He kicks the bedroom door shut behind him, stalking towards the bed with you still wrapped around him. His eyes burn with primal hunger as he lays you down, covering your body with his much larger frame. “Oh, I know you can take it, Sierra. Question is, can you handle everything that comes after?” He rumbles, his voice dripping with dark promise.

His hands make quick work of your clothes, practically tearing them off in his haste to get to your bare skin. He sits back on his haunches, drinking in the sight of you laid out before him like a feast. “Fuck, look at you.” You arch your back, presenting yourself to him, a smirk playing on your lips.

"You think you're the first to try? Bring it on, Terry. Show me what you got. But remember, two can play at this game." You reach out, your hands roaming over his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles, before moving down to his belt, slowly unbuckling it.

"You talk a big game, but actions speak louder than words. Let's see if you can back it up."

Terry releases your wrists only to grab your thighs, pushing them further apart as he settles between them. He leans down, his lips hovering just above your breasts, his hot breath ghosting over sensitive skin. “Gonna markup this pretty skin, Sierra. Let everyone know who you belong to now. He murmurs, before drawing one dusky peak into his mouth, suckling hard as his hand kneads the other roughly.

His free hand trails lower, teasing along your inner thigh, getting closer and closer to your aching center without quite touching where you need him most. He alternates between loving attention on your breasts and peppering biting kisses along your collarbone, leaving a trail of reddened skin in his wake.

You moan, your head falling back as you give in to the sensations he's stirring within you. Your nails dig into his back, urging him on.

"More, Terry. Don't hold back. Show me who's boss." You gasp as his teeth graze your nipple, the sharp pain mixing with the pleasure, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core.

You buck your hips, trying to grind against him, but he holds you in place, his strong body pinning you down.

"Please, Terry. I need you. Now."

Terry groans at your desperate pleas, the sound vibrating against your skin. He releases your nipple with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his mouth to your breast. “That's it, baby. Beg for it. Let me hear how bad you want it.” He commands, his voice rough with lust.

He sits back, making quick work of his remaining clothes, revealing his impressive physique in all its glory. His cock springs free, hard and throbbing, the swollen head already glistening with precum. He strokes himself slowly, teasingly, as he drinks in the debauched sight of you sprawled out beneath him.

“Gonna fill this tight little pretty pussy up so good, baby. You ain’t gonna want anyone else. He promises darkly, positioning himself at your entrance.

You reach down, wrapping your hand around his length, stroking him in time with his own movements.

"I want it, Terry. I want you to ruin me. To fuck me so good I'll never want anyone else. Now stop teasing and give it to me." You guide him to your entrance, your eyes locked on his, daring him to hold back any longer.

"Show me what you're made of, Big Daddy. Make me yours."

With a feral growl, Terry surges forward, sheathing himself inside you to the hilt in one powerful thrust. He hilts himself fully, stretching you wide around his thick girth. “Fuck, Sierra! So goddamn tight.” He grits out through clenched teeth, giving you a moment to adjust before he starts to move.

He sets a pace, stroking into you with deep, purposeful strokes that hit all the right spots. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of exertion. “Take it, baby. This what you wanted huh? That’s the reason why you had all that fuckin’ attitude with me for? Don’t worry, I’ma fuck right out yo bratty lil ass.”

One hand finds your clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves as he drives into you relentlessly.

You cry out, your back arching off the bed as he hits that sweet spot deep inside. Your legs wrap tighter around his waist, urging him on.

"Yes, Terry! Just like that. Harder, faster. I can take it. I want it all." Your hands grip his shoulders, your nails digging in as you meet his thrusts, our bodies slapping together in a frenzy of desire.

"Fuck, you feel so good. So deep. Don't stop, Terry. Don't you dare stop." Your words are a jumbled mess, your body on fire with pleasure as you chase your release, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Ouuuu, I can’t stand yo ass but you fuck me so gooooood!” Sierra yelps, gripping Terry’s black sheets.

Terry throws his head back with a throaty laugh, undeterred by your declaration. If anything, it seems to spur him on, his thrusts becoming even more forceful and erratic. “Aw, but your body loves me though, baby. Look how wet you are, how perfectly you're takin' my dick.” He smirks, reaching down to where you're joined, collecting some of your slick arousal and bringing it to his lips, sucking it off his fingers with a groan.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a filthy kiss, all teeth and tongue as he continues to pound into you. “You can lie to yourself all you want, mama. But we both know the truth. You crave this, crave me. I'm the only one who can satisfy you like this.”

The more you tried to deny yourself of it, you couldn’t. You most definitely did crave him. More than you admit it. The way his toned body pressed into yours, the feeling of his dick massaging your walls; making you stuffed and full, the way he had your head feeling all fuzzy and dumbfucked. But you LOVED every part of it.

You kiss him back with equal fervor, your tongue battling with his as you moan into his mouth.

"You're right, damn you. I do crave this. I crave you. Now shut up and fuck me like you mean it." Your hands roam his body, feeling the sweat-slicked muscles rippling beneath his skin as he moves above you.

You can feel your orgasm building, your body tensing as you climb higher and higher. You break the kiss, your head thrashing from side to side as you chant, "Yes, yes, yes! Right there, Terry. Right fucking there!"

Terry's thrusts become shorter, more erratic as he nears his peak. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin there, marking you as his. “Fuck. Gonna cum so deep in this pussy. Fill you up till it's leakin' outta you.” He pants against your throat, his hips stuttering as he chases his release.

You feel your own orgasm crashing over you, your inner muscles clenching and releasing around him as you cry out his name.

"Terry! Yes! I'm cumming! Fill me up, baby. Make me yours." Your nails rake down his back, leaving red welts in their wake as you hold on tight, riding out the waves of pleasure that threaten to drown you.

Your body milks him, drawing out his own release as he roars against your neck, his hot breath and the pounding of his heart the only sounds in the room as you both come down from your high.

Terry pulls out of her, only to flip Sierra on all fours, arching her back even more. He wrapped his hand on the back of her neck and the other, directly in the middle of her back. “Mmm, look at this perfect ass. Could bounce a quarter off this shit.” He groans appreciatively, giving your rear a hard smack before gripping the cheeks and spreading them wide.

He leans down, dragging his tongue along your slit from front to back, circling your puckered hole teasingly. “I’m about to eat this pussy like it's my last meal. Have you squirmin' and beggin' for more.” Without warning, he seals his lips around your clit and sucks hard, two fingers plunging knuckle-deep into your soaked channel.

“Keep that ass up, if I see it fall, I’m drilling your ass more.” A rough, hard smack clashed with her ass. This caused Sierra to yelp out in pain.

“Daddy-.”

You moan loudly, your body pushing back against his face as he devours you. Your hands grip the sheets, knuckles white as you try to maintain some semblance of control.

Your words are a jumbled mess, your body on fire with pleasure as he fingers you expertly, curling his fingers to hit that sweet spot inside.

You can feel another orgasm building, your body tensing as you push back against him, urging him deeper. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your moans filling the room as you chant.

Terry smirks against your flesh, giving your clit one last firm suck before withdrawing his fingers. He rises up behind you, gripping your hips bruisingly tight as he notches the tip of his cock at your entrance. “Greedy little thing, aren't you? Can't get enough of my dick.” He teases, circling your hole with the swollen head, coating himself in your slick arousal.

With a grunt, he sinks back into you to the hilt, bottoming out in one smooth stroke. He sets a punishing pace, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room as he beats your shit up. “Pussy gripping me so fucking tight. Creaming my shit up so mothafuckin good.” He praises, one hand fisting in your hair, yanking your head back as he rails you from behind.

You cry out, your back arching as he pulls your hair, the slight pain only heightening your pleasure. Your hands reach back, grabbing his thighs, trying to push him back a little.

Your body is a mess of sensations, the feel of his cock filling you, the slap of his skin against yours, the pull of your hair. It's all too much and not enough all at once.

His free hand grabs both of yours. “Take this dick. You got a big mouth on you so be a big girl and stop running.”

At this point, you’re completely too fucked out to put a single word together. He had you right where he wanted you and there was nothing you could do to get out of it.

“Where’s my mouthy bitch from earlier, hmm? Dick got you in a trance? Yeah, I know, baby. Daddy fucking knows.” Terry put one leg up on the bed and started going in. You could feel his tip poking at your cervix and your g-spot. It was too much pleasure for you and your body opened up like Niagara Falls on a rainy day.

“There that shit go! Wet me the fuck up, princess. Good ass pussy. You've been keeping this pretty pussy from me and I don’t like that. No, Daddy doesn’t like that at all.”

Terry leans down, nipping at your ear as he talked you through it. He definitely meant when he said about you seeing stars, your ass was seeing the whole damn galaxy. Drool was coming out the side of your mouth falling onto your chest and the bed. You were completely and utterly having an outer body experience.

“You still got them Plan B’s in your drawer?”

You shook your head “yes”

“Good, you gone need it. I’m bouta’ nut all in this wet shit.”

As your climax hits, Terry follows soon after, burying himself balls-deep one last time as he emptied himself inside you with a guttural groan. “Damn! Take it all, baby. Milk every last drop.” He rasps, his hips jerking erratically as he rides out the waves of his intense orgasm.

Finally spent, he collapses atop you, both of you struggling to catch your breath. After a moment, he carefully withdraws, rolling to the side and pulling you flush against his chest. “Damn, girl. You really tried to kill me with that pussy, huh?” He jokes weakly, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to your temple.

Coming down from your euphoric high, you cling on to him. Terry holds you close in his arms. After a couple of minutes, he gets up and walks out the room. You lay there catching your breath and looking up at the ceiling. The sound of water running snaps you back into reality.

Terry comes back into the room, grabbing you and lifts you effortlessly in his arms. He carries you to the bathroom, slowly sitting you down in the tub before getting in with you. You both sit there soaking in the hot water, your back in his chest, and his strong arms soothing your body. You relax your head on him as he works his magic onto you.

“My pretty girl. I’m sorry for treating you like shit. Truth is I was protecting my feelings from you. I was scared you weren’t gonna’ want me Si. I actually do love you.” He says kissing your temple.

To hear those words was like heaven to you. All those times where you both fought, argued, gave each other the silent treatment; it didn’t matter anymore. You know after tonight that the relationship between you was bound to change. You were his and he was yours. You fell asleep as he started washing your body.

Hours later, you were awakened by something feeling slimy and wet between your legs. You rubbed your eyes, wiping away the sleep from them. You looked down and saw a head moving and you knew exactly who it was. Terry had his entire mouth over your pussy.

“Terry?” You said sitting up a little.

“Hush, lay back down. Let Daddy eat. I got hungry and wanted something sweet.”

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