#under the series are my own short summaries so i know what are they about 😅😅😅

[jungkoode]

OFF-LABELS | O6

→ PAIRING : Med Student!Hoseok x F!Reader (Brother’s Best Friend AU)

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: February 18th, 2025. (Hobi’s birthday special — 2 chapters! <3)

→ SUMMARY: You’ve spent four years convincing yourself that your brother’s best friend is just being nice when he remembers your coffee order, quizzes you on neuroanatomy, or lets his touch linger a second too long. Because there’s no way that the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program might actually be flirting with you. Especially when he keeps saying things that could be perfectly innocent… if only he didn’t say them in that voice.

→ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, medical school au, brother’s best friend trope, age gap (4 years), pining, touch starved, overthinking reader, confident hoseok, gentle dom hoseok, medical terminology as flirting (lmao), study sessions, domestic moments, innocent (but not really), plausible deniability king hoseok, anxiety, internal monologue, guilty crushes, subtle teasing, emotional edging, gentle manipulation, praise kink undertones, intellectual attraction, competency kink, hand fixation, voice kink, medical intern hoseok, first year med student reader, home setting, casual intimacy, unresolved sexual tension (for now), secret attraction, nervous rambling, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts, anatomy lessons with ulterior motives, competent hoseok, flustered reader, close proximity, accidental touches that aren’t accidents, virgin!reader.

→ CONTENT in this chapter: Late night study interruptions, chipmunk-themed socks that need mending, educational multitasking, thorough anatomy reviews, parasympathetic nervous system demonstrations, and party background noise that nobody seems to notice. | study breaks, bedroom setting, party backdrop, casual intimacy, domestic moments, academic testing, nervous system responses, physiological reactions, academic authority, late night encounters, casual clothing, short skirt horny trigger, theoretical demonstrations, practical applications, fingering (f).

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 2,6k

→ MINI SERIES: PREVIOUS | NEXT

→ A/N: Remember when studying used to be boring? Yeah, me neither anymore. Shoutout to everyone who's ever had their anatomy revision get thoroughly derailed. Also, apparently I have a thing for making medical terminology sound… interesting. My search history is just getting more concerning at this point. Do I care? Not really. You shouldn’t either, this is only going down south.

PLAYLIST

The knock startles you.

It’s soft, almost hesitant, but it cuts through the quiet hum of your desk lamp and the faint noise of Caleb’s party downstairs. You glance at the door, your heart already climbing into your throat. 

You don’t need to ask who it is. You know.  

Still, you move slowly, chair scraping against the floor as you stand. Your bare feet pad across the carpet, and when you open the door—of course—it’s him.  

Hoseok leans against the doorframe like he has all the time in the world, one hand tucked casually into the pocket of his baggy jeans. His green sweater hangs loose on his frame, but it does nothing to hide the way his shoulders fill it out. He looks relaxed. Effortless. Like he belongs here in a way you never quite feel like you do.  

“Hi,” you manage, voice barely above a whisper.  

His eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable under the soft glow of the hallway light. 

“Hi,” he says back, and it’s so casual—so steady—that it makes your own greeting feel ridiculous in comparison.  

Your cheeks burn as you step back instinctively, retreating to your desk like that will somehow shield you from him. 

You sit down too quickly, fumbling with your highlighter as if that’s what you were doing before he knocked—studying, not thinking about him or Thursday or the way his thumb had pressed against your tongue like he owned it.  

(He hasn’t said anything about it since then. No mention of Thursday beyond a vague text asking how your paper was coming along. Nothing to suggest that he’s been thinking about it as much as you have.)  

Your hand trembles slightly as you drag the highlighter across your notes, leaving a thick streak of neon yellow that bleeds into the next line of text.  

“You’re gonna ruin your notes like that.”  

You jump at his voice—closer now—and whip around to find him standing right behind you. 

When did he move? How did he move without you noticing?  

“I—” Your words catch in your throat as his head tilts slightly, studying your ruined page over your shoulder. His scent—clean and warm and always bergamot—wraps around you like a second skin, making it impossible to focus on anything else.  

“You’re too heavy-handed,” he murmurs, voice low enough that it feels like it’s meant just for you.

His hand reaches out—not for the highlighter but for you—and hooks a finger under the thin strap of your tank top.  

Your breath hitches as he slides it down your shoulder with deliberate care, his finger grazing your skin in its descent. The touch is light—barely there—but it leaves a trail of heat in its wake that makes your pulse stutter wildly in your chest.  

“You should use lighter strokes,” he says, like this is normal conversation, like his hand isn’t now tracing down your arm to where it rests on the desk.

His fingers brush yours briefly before continuing their path downward—to your hip, then lower still—to the bare skin of your thigh where your skirt ends.

You can’t move. Can’t breathe. Your entire body feels locked in place under his touch, every nerve ending attuned to the slow slide of his hand against your skin.

“Hoseok…” His name comes out shakier than you intended, barely audible over the pounding in your ears.

“Hmm?” 

He doesn’t look at you—his gaze is still fixed on your notes—but his hand pauses just above your inner thigh, thumb brushing idly against the sensitive skin there.

“You’re…” You swallow thickly, trying to find words that don’t sound insane or desperate or both.

“I’m what?” He finally glances at you then, head tilting slightly as if this is just idle curiosity—as if he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to you.

You shake your head quickly, dropping your gaze back to the desk because looking at him feels impossible right now.

“Nothing,” you mumble.

His lips twitch—not quite a smile but close—as his thumb traces slow circles against your skin.

“Relax,” he says softly, almost teasingly. “I’m just helping.”

Helping? Helping what? Your brain scrambles for context—for any explanation that makes this feel less dangerous than it does right now—but all you can focus on is how close his hand is getting to—

“You’re tense,” he observes quietly, fingers sliding another inch higher.

Your breath catches again as heat floods every inch of exposed skin.

“I’m not,” you say too quickly.

He hums—a low sound that vibrates through the small space between you—and leans closer until his lips are close, way too close. 

“You are.”

Lips brush against the shell of your ear, soft and fleeting, but it’s enough to send a violent shiver down your spine. The shaky exhale you let out is mortifying, and you clamp your lips shut immediately, praying he didn’t notice.  

(He noticed. Of course, he noticed.)  

But Hoseok doesn’t comment on it. 

Instead, he pulls back just enough to return his attention to the desk in front of you, his gaze flicking lazily over your notes like this is all perfectly normal. Like his hand isn’t sliding higher under the hem of your skirt, fingers skimming the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.  

“What are you studying?” he asks casually, as if his knuckles aren’t brushing against the edge of your panties now.  

You open your mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a strangled sort of sound that doesn’t resemble words at all.  

“Hmm?” His head tilts slightly, and you feel the faintest press of his lips against your shoulder—a kiss so light it might as well be a breath. “Cat got your tongue, Chip?”  

“N-no,” you stammer, forcing yourself to focus on the question. “I’m—um—neurology.”  

“Neurology,” he repeats thoughtfully, his tone almost approving. 

His fingers trace slow motions against the fabric covering your slit, and you tremble so violently that your knee knocks into the desk.  

“Relax,” he murmurs again, voice low and coaxing. “You’re usually so good at multitasking.”  

You don’t know what to say to that—don’t know how to respond when his fingers press just slightly harder against you, finding the dampness already pooling there.  

“Hoseok…” His name escapes in a broken whisper before you can stop it.  

“Shh.” His thumb strokes the outside of your thigh soothingly while his ring and middle fingers continue their slow exploration over the thin cotton barrier. “Tell me about the vagus nerve.”  

Your brain short-circuits completely at that. “W-what?”  

“The vagus nerve,” he repeats patiently, like he’s talking to a particularly slow student. “What does it control?”  

“I—” You gasp as his fingers dip lower, teasing along the edge of your panties now. “It—it controls…”  

“Come on,” he coaxes, leaving another kiss on your shoulder before resting his chin lightly there. “You know this.”  

“Autonomic functions,” you manage shakily, though it sounds more like a question than an answer.  

He hums softly in approval as his fingers brush over your clit. You mewl at the contact, thighs clenching instinctively around his hand, but he doesn’t stop—doesn’t even falter as he continues:  

“And those would include…?”  

Your mind is blank—completely blank save for the overwhelming sensation of his long fingers doing small little circle motions with deliberate care.

 “I—I don’t know,” you choke out finally.  

“You don’t know?” He tsks softly under his breath, almost disappointed. “Chip… I thought you were better than this.”  

“I am!” The protest slips out before you can stop it, but it’s hard to sound convincing when your voice is shaking so badly.  

“Then prove it.” His fingers press harder against your clit now—an all-too-knowing touch that makes you jolt in your seat—and he chuckles quietly at your reaction. “Tell me what the vagus nerve controls.”  

You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, trying desperately to remember something—anything—that will get you through this without completely falling apart under him. 

“H-heart rate,” you stammer finally. “And—and digestion.”  

“Good girl,” he murmurs approvingly, circling your clit once more before sliding lower again. His fingers tease at your entrance now. “See? I knew you could do it.”  

You whimper softly as his lips brush against your shoulder again—this time lingering just long enough for you to feel the faintest scrape of teeth against skin before he pulls away.

“I like this skirt,” he murmurs suddenly, voice still maddeningly casual even as his hand moves with devastating precision between your legs.

Your eyes snap open at that—not because of what he said but because of how he said it: low and amused and just a little too knowing.

“It’s cute,” he continues conversationally, like this is small talk over coffee instead of whatever this is right now. 

His fingers slide back up to circle your clit again—slowly, lazily—as if to punctuate his next words: 

“Easy access.”

Your breath catches sharply at his words, mind reeling as you try to process what he's implying. But before you can even attempt to form a response, he continues:

"You should wear it more often." His voice stays light, even as his fingers continue their torturous circles against your clit.

"W-what?" The word comes out breathless, uncertain.

"Around me," he clarifies softly, and there's something darker in his tone now. “I mean."

You open your mouth to respond—to say what, you're not sure—but the words die in your throat as his other hand slides up your side, fingertips ghosting over your ribs before cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your tank top.

"Now," he continues, like he hasn't just short-circuited your entire nervous system, "tell me about parasympathetic responses."

Your brain scrambles to catch up as his thumb brushes over your nipple, the fabric doing nothing to hide how it pebbles under his touch. Because of course you’re not wearing a fucking bra in your room.

“I—what?"

"Parasympathetic responses," he repeats patiently, though there's an edge of amusement in his voice now. "Basic anatomy, Chip. You should know this."

His fingers pinch your nipple lightly through the cotton, and you have to bite your lip to stifle a moan. "I do—I do know it."

"Then explain it to me." His other hand hasn't stopped moving between your legs, drawing slow, maddening circles that make it impossible to think straight. "What happens when the parasympathetic nervous system is stimulated?"

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying desperately to remember anything from your textbooks. 

You shouldn't be doing this with him. Not when he helps grade your practicals, not when he'll be observing your clinical rotations next year. But the thought only makes you wetter.

"It—it causes..." You gasp as his fingers dip lower again, teasing at your entrance. "...relaxation."

"Mm." He sounds pleased, though you can't tell if it's with your answer or with the way you're trembling under his touch. "And what else?"

"Increased..." Your voice breaks as his thumb flicks over your nipple again. "Increased blood flow."

"Where?" His breath is warm against your ear, and you can hear the smile in his voice—gentle but knowing. Always knowing.

"To—to..."

You can't say it. Can't form the words when his fingers are right there, proving your point with devastating accuracy.

"To?" he prompts softly, and now he's definitely teasing you—waiting for you to say it out loud while his hands continue their merciless exploration of your body.

Your face burns hotter. "You know where."

"Do I?" His innocent tone doesn't match the way his fingers press harder against your clit, making your hips jerk involuntarily. "I think you should tell me. For academic clarity."

His fingers slip past the damp cotton barrier of your panties without ceremony, long digits sliding through your slick with a soft, obscene sound that makes your entire body flush. 

“Ah—Hoseok—”

“Shh.” His breath fans across your ear as his middle and ring fingers begin a slow, methodical glide through your folds. “You were explaining parasympathetic vascular responses. Continue.”

His other hand moves to the hem of your tank top, lifting it slowly until both breasts are exposed to the cool air. Your nipples immediately tighten, and you hear his breath catch slightly.

“Poor circulation here though.” His palm cups your left breast, thumb rolling your nipple into a stiff peak. “Look at these.”

You don’t want to look. Can’t look. But his hand slides to your throat, tilting your head back until your neck arches over the chair’s headrest. The new angle forces your chest forward, breasts fully on display as he hums approvingly.

“Beautiful. Like two rosebuds blooming just for me,” he whispers, voice thick with something you’ve never heard from him before—something dangerously close to worship. “Keep talking, Chip.”

His hand returns to cup one breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak as you whine his name.

"Hoseok, please—"

His lips find your pulse point, pressing a soft kiss against the frantic beat there. "Come on, Chip. If you pass, I'll let you cum."

You mewl as both his fingers slide into you with ease, your walls clenching around the intrusion desperately.

"Mm, excellent lubrication," he notes, voice steady despite how his fingers curl inside you. "Explain why that's happening."

"It's—ah—" You try to focus as his palm grinds against your clit, his other hand still teasing your nipple. "I can’t—Hoseok—”

"Shh." His lips trail up the column of your throat, pausing to suck a bruise just below your ear. "You wanna cum, don’t you?"  

The stretch burns deliciously, his long fingers crooking to stroke deeper. "Then answer."  

Your nails dig into the desk, textbook pages crinkling under your grip. "T-the hypothalamus—"  

"Mm." He nips your earlobe. "Specifics."  

"Triggers—" A gasp as his palm grinds harder. “Triggers pelvic nerve activation—"  

"Which causes?" His thumb flicks your nipple sharply.  

"Blood vessel dilation!" You nearly scream it, back bowing off the chair as he scissors his fingers. "Increased—fuck—blood flow and—"  

"Secretions," he finishes for you, voice gone rough at the edges. "Good girl."  

"Please," you gasp, walls fluttering around his fingers. "Please, I can't—"

"Passed," he murmurs, and that's all it takes.

It hits like a seizure—violently, vulgarly, your cunt fluttering around his fingers as you grind mindlessly against his palm. He works you through it with brutal precision, his free hand pinching your nipple now as he mutters filth against your sweat-slick throat:  

"Look at you. Dripping like a melted marshmallow. So sweet."  

When the last aftershock fades, he withdraws his fingers with a slick pop, holding them up to inspect the glistening strands connecting to your ruined panties. 

"Saccharine, even," he declares after sucking them clean.  

Before you can process what’s happening, he’s crouching in front of your chair, hands gentle as he fixes your clothes—tugging your tank top back down, smoothing your skirt over your thighs. His fingers linger at your ankle, thumb brushing the chipmunk embroidered on your sock.

“So cute,” he sighs, pressing a kiss to the cartoon nose. “My little chipmunk.”

When he stands, he looks every bit the composed medical student—sweater undisturbed, hair barely ruffled. 

Only the faint flush high on his cheeks betrays him.

“Thursday,” he reminds you, adjusting his glasses. “Don’t forget your notes on synaptic transmission.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

Downstairs, the party continues—laughter floating up the stairs as you stare at the neon-yellow highlighter bleeding across your vagus nerve diagram.

Your phone buzzes.

𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚔’𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚔 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎. 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚌 𝚐𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎.

Next time.

You press your forehead to the cool desktop, the ghost of his fingers still throbbing between your legs. Across the room, your reflection in the vanity mirror shows tousled hair, swollen lips, and the faint red mark below your ear.

Normal Hoseok wouldn’t notice loose threads.

Normal Hoseok wouldn’t taste you like dessert.

Normal Hoseok wouldn’t—

Your phone buzzes again.

𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎. 𝙴𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚢𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚜.

You stare at the message, then at the half-empty water bottle by your desk.

Bastard.

Beautiful, terrifying bastard.

→ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @just-reading-dany @sanarin @billy-jeans23 @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7

© 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓.

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[cevansbrat0007]

Bold Moves

Summary: You decide to slip Ari your panties during an innocent encounter at the public library...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Brief Discussions of Body Image, Bird Being Brave, Going Commando, Light Roleplaying, Frisking, Manhandling, Spanking, Ass Slapping, P in V Sex, Implied Overstimulation, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Decided to finish this when I came across it in my drafts. Takes place earlier in Ari and Bird's romantic relationship. Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“I’m so glad you pitched me this idea, Marisol.” You beam as you finish writing in your notebook. “I know it’s still early yet, but I would love to collaborate with you for Halloween.”

“Yes!” The younger woman cheers, throwing her arms up in the air. “I knew I picked the right woman.”

“Just I knew they picked the right woman to run the town library.” You throw her a wink before tucking your pad and pen back into your purse. “Now, I hate to cut this meeting short…” Out of habit you press a hand against your belly, silently wishing you’d opted to throw on a pair of spanx this morning instead of a flimsy pair of panties. 

Frankly, you were tired of sucking it in. But every time you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror you looked pretty damn good. Perhaps your confidence was growing after all. 

“But I need to get home and change so I can run by the shop before it gets too late.” You finish, feeling grateful when the sweet librarian sees fit to lead you out of her office.

“Sooo…” The dark-haired woman drags out the word, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as you both come around the corner. “Word on the street is that you’ve been seeing a lot of Detective Levinson lately. Everything good, I hope?”

 “What do you mean?” You respond, willing your pulse to remain steady. “Everything’s fine. He just…likes for me to call him whenever something new pops up about Martin. That’s all.”

And whenever you lock up in the evening. And when you make it home. And then again to decide if he’s coming to your place for the night. Or, if you’re already on the back roads heading to his. 

It was all so fun and exciting. But at the same time, it was just sex. Amazing sex, mind you. But just sex all the same.    

Instead of responding immediately, Marisol simply chooses to link her arm through yours. “Mm. While I haven’t lived here long, I’ve already learned how much this town loves gossip.” She muses. “Which is why I try to fly under the radar at all times.”

“Uh huh.” You give her a gentle nudge. “Even when it comes to a certain Officer Milton?”

“Shh! We do no not speak that man’s name in this house!”

“Why not?”

“Because I feel like he always goes out of his way to just…be around. He’s like a puppy. I do not have time for puppies, chica. I’m too busy building a career amongst the books.”

“Well sugar, I suppose you might wanna tell him that.”

“Ay, but that would involve making conversation. Something I also do not have time for because–”

“Because he’s standing over there by the door, talking to our favorite resident detective.” You interrupt with a giggle, prompting the other woman to drop your arm in a flourish before racing off back in the direction of her office before squeaking out “you never saw me” - leaving you alone. 

You allow yourself to stand there for another moment, content with watching the two men talk. While both were easy on the eyes, you were only interested in one of them. Glancing down at your outfit, you once again reassure yourself that you’re looking pretty damned good. 

And then – just that fast – an idea strikes you.

Refusing to overthink what it was you were about to do, you discreetly make your way into the ladies room. After checking to make sure you were alone, you slip into a stall. Reaching underneath your skirt, you slide your lacy black panties down your thighs before stepping out of them. 

Biting your lip, you tuck the small scrap of fabric into your pocket. Once you’re finished, you go to leave. But not before stopping long enough to refresh your lip gloss and fluff your curls. And then you’re out the door.

Hopefully you’d be able to catch the handsome bounty hunter before he left.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take you long to find him. He’s right where you saw him last – near the front of the library still talking to Milton. As you near the two, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll be able to pull this off without making an absolute fool of yourself. 

But first you’d have to find a way to get rid of Officer Milton without making your intentions obvious. And then it hits you. While it might be wrong, it was officially time to pawn him off on your favorite new friend.

Marisol.

“Good afternoon, Officer Milton.” You chirp as you sidle forward, politely interrupting their conversation. “Detective Levinson.” Of course you’re immediately met with smiles from both men. 

“Well get a load a’ you.” Milton gives a playful whistle once he gets a good look at your business attire. “Lookin’ sharp, darlin. Goin’ somewhere special?”

“Actually, I just came from a meeting down at the bank.” You tell them, smoothing your hands along your gray pencil skirt. 

“Ahh.” The officer nods. “Fingers crossed all went well.”

“It did. Thank you.” Delicately clearing your throat, you make a show of glancing around before directing your complete attention to the young officer in front of you. “While I hate to interrupt you two when you’re hard at work, I think Marisol might need you.”

“She does?” The man immediately perks up, vaguely reminding you of your neighbor’s golden retriever. 

“Yep.” You wince inwardly, hating yourself for lying. “Not sure what it’s about, but I think she’s somewhere in the back.” 

Just like that, a switch has been flipped and Officer Milton is off on the hunt for a sweet little librarian who most certainly did not need him. Fingers crossed she would catch the hint and just go with it. 

And now you’re alone with the one man with the power to leave you breathless. You were constantly left tied up in knots around this man. But today it was finally time you turned the tables on this guy. 

“How’s the manhunt going, Detective? Any new leads?”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss this part of my investigation with you, Miss.” He says, flashing you a rather charming smile. “But if you hear from our guy Martin anytime soon, be sure to give me a call.”

“Of course.” You nod, feeling your cheeks heat. “Well, I’d best be goin’ now.”

“Be safe gettin’ home.” 

“Same to you. Detective.”

And then, without sparing him so much as a warning glance, you discreetly remove your panties from their hiding spot and slip them into the back pocket of his jeans. To his credit, Ari doesn’t move a muscle. Instead he continues to stare straight ahead, his gaze never wavering.  

Head held high, you manage to make it all the way to your car before collapsing in a fit of nervous laughter. While you wished you could’ve seen his face, you know deep down that you were better off running off the way you had.  

Maybe he’d call you tonight and maybe he wouldn’t. But all that mattered is that you’d mustered up enough confidence to make some bold moves this afternoon, which by all accounts made you a bad bitch.

Later That Same Evening…

It’s been hours since you pulled that stunt with Ari, but as luck would have it, you still had yet to hear from him. Not that you were worried or anything. In fact, if you had to choose an emotion, you were more disappointed than anything else.

While you’d long since abandoned your high heels by your front door, you were still wearing the outfit you’d worn to the bank. You’d simply been too excited to go by the shop so you’d decided to remain closed for the day.

Heaving a sigh as you rise from the couch, you’re in the middle of debating whether or not it’s worth trying to cobble together something for dinner when you hear the sound of your doorbell. Confused, you go to reach for your phone, only to frown when you see there’s nothing from the one man you wanted to hear from most.

The bell chimes again, prompting you to get a move on. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” You mumble, stretching your arms above your head. Opening the door, you’re treated to the sight of a large man standing on your porch with his hands in his pocket, his official badge prominently displayed on his hip. 

Hello, Detective Ari Levinson. 

“Evening, Miss. Apologies for bothering you so late.” 

“Why hello, Detective. Somethin’ I can help you with?” You do your best to keep your tone light while you wait for him to explain himself.

“Sure hope so. Got a report about someone engaging in some inappropriate behavior.” He informs you, barely concealing his smirk as he leans his big body against the porch railing.

“Is that right?”

“Fraid so.” He nods solemnly. “In fact, I actually found a trail of evidence that led me right here to your front door.”

“I…well, there has to be some mistake.” You protest, your hand flying to your chest. 

“Huh.” Ari sucks on his teeth as he reaches into his pocket to retrieve a small scrap of lacy black fabric. “Then you wouldn’t happen to know who these belong to, would you?”

Your eyes go wide at the sight of your panties dangling from one thick index finger. 

“I’m not sure what you’re implying, but they’re certainly not mine.” You sniff haughtily. “I’ve never seen those before in my life.”

“Now, Miss.” He gently chastises, taking another step towards you, invading your space. “Perhaps I should warn you that it’s a crime to lie to a member of law enforcement.” Instead of responding you simply fold your arms across your heaving bosom. 

The nerve of this man, thinking he had the right to question you like this right out in the open. Honestly, what would your neighbors think? The scandal!

“You know what? I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna need to search the premises.” The bounty hunter moves to enter your home, only to growl when your hand stops him short. “It’s also a felony to impede an official investigation.” Ari grunts, his brow furrowing in annoyance.

“And I'm thinkin’ I'm gonna need to see a warrant first, Detective.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch his eyes darken - his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. 

“I’m sure a good girl like you ain’t got nothin’ to hide.” Ari rasps, leaning in so that his mouth now hovers a mere inch above your ear. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” You respond, sounding a little more breathless than you’d like.

“Unless there’s something in there you don’t want me to find?”

“I don’t have anything to hide.” Blowing out a breath you decide to give the man what he wants, if only to see what comes next

“Not sure I believe you, sweetheart.”

“Fine.” You concede. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let you come in for a quick look. But you’ve gotta be fast.” You tell him, poking him in the shoulder before turning to lead him into your home. “Because I’m expecting company any minute and we don’t need an audience.”

“We’ll see.”

Your pulse kicks up when you hear Ari shut the door behind you, followed by the quiet snick of the lock. Guess that meant he thought he was staying awhile. Just as you open your mouth to protest, you’re caught off guard when he brushes by you, allowing you to catch a hint of his cologne. 

“I’m not sure what you’re on, Detective.” You say, shooting him your fiercest glare. Meanwhile, this man responds with his most lethal grin. “But I’m giving you five minutes to figure it out before I–” 

“You know, Miss, I didn’t wanna ask you this outside. Especially given the already delicate nature of this investigation. But do you happen to be wearing any panties?”

“Excuse me?!” His question has your mouth falling open, your cheeks burning hot with outrage.

“Answer the question.” His eyes track your every movement as you slowly back away in the direction of the stairs. “Because every good girl I know puts on a pair of panties before leaving the house for the day.”

“Goodnight, Detective Levinson.” You hiss before turning and taking the stairs two by two. “Please see yourself out before I’m forced to call your supervisor.”

Your words are met with silence. And it’s not until you reach the edge of your bedroom that you hear him moving – up the same stairs you’d just scaled only seconds before. You can hardly suppress a shiver as the heady thrum of anticipation courses through you. 

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart.” Ari growls softly as his impressive form fills your doorway, effectively blocking your only exit. “But I’m not through with my investigation.” It’s a struggle to ignore just how good he looks taking up space in your bedroom like this. 

“I want you to leave.”

“Oh, I will. As soon as I’m finished.” He takes a step towards you, rolling up his sleeves as he does. “But first, I’m gonna need you to turn and place your hands on the wall.”

“I–I will do no such thing!” Comes your almost breathless reply. “I’m not a criminal.”

“Hm.” Ari cocks his head, his magnetic blue eyes leering at your much smaller, curvier frame. “But you are a suspect.” In less than a fraction of a second, this man is now standing in front of you. “And it would be rather reckless of me if I didn’t pat you down.” One large hand curls itself around your bicep before gently leading to a nearby wall. “You should know that I’m a bit of a stickler when it comes to following protocol.” 

Blood roaring in your ears, you place both of your hands on the cool surface. Taking a deep breath, you can’t help but jump when he kicks your feet apart, forcing you to spread your legs even wider, granting him better access.

“I’m gonna report you.” Unfortunately for you, your flimsy threat does nothing to deter him.

Your eyes fall shut when you feel two large, warm hands glide their way up and down your arms. It feels as tempting as it does comforting. He repeats the action twice more, almost as if he’s trying to lull you into a false sense of security. 

Next, those wandering hands are stroking along your sides, greedily following the path of your curves. And then you feel him bury his nose in the crook of your neck. It’s impossible to miss his soft groan as he inhales your sweet scent.

“Now I’ve gotta ask you, little Bird.” He hums, his sharp teeth nipping at your ear. “Do you have anything on you that could stab, stick, or poke me?” 

“N-no.” 

God, you were so fucking wet right now it’s embarrassing. And you can’t stop the moan that catches in your throat when his sensual ministrations move to your breasts – cupping, massaging, and kneading. He lewdly palms them through your blouse, this thumps paying extra attention to your hardened nipples. Your back arches of its own accord as he continues to play with your body.

And there’s a part of you that hates yourself for the way he makes you respond.  

“Hm. So far so good, baby. Proud of you for keeping your hands where I can see ‘em.” Now his hands are skimming down your hips to toy with the hem of your skirt. His warm breath dances along your sensitive skin, making you shiver. “But now it’s time for the big question.” Ari begins inching your skirt higher and higher. “And don’t you dare lie to me. Are you–”

“This ain’t right, Detective!” You protest, protectively clenching your thighs together. However, your words only make him chuckle. “Pretty sure this is an illegal search and seizure.”

“As a member of law enforcement, I would have to respectfully disagree with you.” He says at the same time as he grinds himself against you, his massive erection pressing into your lower back. “It’s my job to keep the community safe. And to deal with naughty girls who go around handing out their unmentionables to strangers.” Your skirt inches even higher now, stopping just short of revealing your dripping cunt. 

“And what do you know?” He purrs, holding you still as his hand dips between your thighs, cupping your most intimate flesh. “Looks like we’ve got a little liar on our hands. Don’t we?”

“Don’t. We.” The renewed authority in his tone makes your pussy quiver.

“Yes, Sir.”

“And how should we handle liars, sweetheart? Hm?” Your knees go weak when you feel two thick fingers spear their way through your messy folds, lightly strumming over your clit. “What should we do with you?”

“....I…don’t know….”

His deep chuckle has you squirming in his hold, your hips bucking as he continues to grind the heel of his palm against your sensitive nub.  

“Tell you what. You and I are about to have a serious conversation about what happens to pretty young ladies who can’t seem to tell the truth. Even when it’s in their best interest. What do ya say?”

“Y–yes, Sir.” You moan as your eyes threaten to roll back in your head, sparks of pleasure dancing behind your eyes. “Whatever you want – I’ll be so, sooo good!”

Thirty Minutes Later…

“Why the fuck you keep runnin’, baby?” Ari growls, smacking your bottom hard. “Yeah, get that juicy ass back here. Love watchin’ those cheeks bounce.”

The rhythmic sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, spilling out into the hall as Ari drives into you over and over again with his impressive cock. 

He’d been hard for hours before he ever showed up on your doorstep. Frankly, he’d lost count of how many times he’d paused throughout the day to bring your panties to his nose. It was like he couldn’t seem to get enough of how good you smelled. But he also knew that wouldn’t be enough.

He needed to taste you. Needed your unique, earthy flavor on his tongue. 

Thankfully, he had no doubt that he’d have time to eat the fuck out of your sweet pussy later. After he was finished fucking you into oblivion for being such bad girl. Who would’ve guessed his little Bird had it in her to be so deliciously naughty?

Meanwhile, you’re too busy sobbing into a pillow to be proud of yourself right now, your hands fisting the sheets while your man exacts his revenge on your body. At this rate, you’d already cum twice. And here you were already roaring along to orgasm number three. 

Fuck, this man was a goddamned menace!

Your desperate cries grow louder as Ari picks up his pace, forcing you to clench around him as you finally resort to begging.

“Please, Ari!” You wail when he lifts your hips higher before adjusting the angle of his strokes. “I–ooh God–M’so close!”

“Oh yeah?” He snarls, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. “Then let me see you work for it.” A sharp hiss escapes when his heavy palm comes down on your ass again, this time smacking both cheeks without so much as missing a beat. “This is how bad girls get punished.” You tense when he delivers yet another blow. “They’ve gotta work for their pleasure.”

“I’m sorry–wooh God!” Your voice comes out raw, bordering on hoarse.       

“That’s it, baby. Yeah, there we go.” He gifts you with another slap, earning a sharp yelp from you. “Yeah, throw it back like you love it.”

After an afternoon of being bad, there’s nothing you want more than to be good for this man. You wanted to please him. Make him happy. If only so he never stopped touching you. And you were trying – honest to God, you were.

But it was all too good. Too much. 

“Just know, everytime you run, I’m gonna drag that sweet ass right back.” Ari renews his punishing grip on your hips, holding you up even as your sweat slicked body starts to give out. “Now cum for me one more time so I can finally stop takin’ it easy on you, pretty Bird.”

END

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[tthoroughfare]

kerosene // ellie williams

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: the setup of a slow burn between you and ellie.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: jackson!ellie x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: sfw

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 1.7k

so... this actually started out as NOTHING. i planned for it to be nothing. just me, my pages app and my love for jackson!ellie & that fuck ass hoodie against the world. howeverrrr i may or may not have written almost 10k so far that i'm planning to split up (and continue) into an ongoing series just focusing on you and ellie living in jackson, spending time with your friends, slowly falling in love. real piners rise

god i just love jackson ellie so much. her little nerdy cocky self

the idea of being friends and pining over each other for literal years because you’re both too scared to say anything… catching the other staring, having a few little moments here and there but chalking it up to nothing because you both don’t believe the other would see you like that.

and then she starts dating cat and you’re just like welp. guess this is really never ever gonna happen after all. you let yourself mope for a while, not wanting to go out as much for fear of seeing them together and feeling that strange pang in your chest — just overall being weird and avoiding ellie. you feel silly, really, locking yourself away and listening to sad music over someone you were never even with.

you selfishly hope it doesn’t last long, that it’s just a fling, but when months go by and they’re still together, you come to some sort of acceptance. you even date someone else for a short while to try and take your mind off of her, but quickly realize you’re just searching for scattered parts of her in someone else. and something in your gut tells you that while nothing’s wrong within the relationship, it just doesn’t feel right. doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to.

meanwhile, ellie’s mindset was that she never really saw you as attainable in the first place. and she did genuinely really like cat, so when she initiated the relationship, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t excited to see where it went. you were always at the back of her mind, though. she didn’t like the way you’d distanced yourself. you were never best friends, but definitely fairly close. she felt the switch almost overnight, the way you stopped going out of your way to talk to her, stopped asking her to tag along when you'd hang out with jesse and dina. she didn’t know what your deal was. the thought that you might be jealous did cross her mind, but she quickly swatted it away. why would you be jealous? it’s only her.

when you started seeing someone yourself, it was like confirmation. nothing was ever gonna happen, you weren’t jealous; how could any of that be the case when you were right there, with someone else? she cursed herself for even thinking about any of it, guilty conscience thick when her mind would then turn to cat. she knew she shouldn’t be deliberating whether you were jealous, whether you liked her, whether anything could ever happen between you, when she had a girlfriend.

she tried her hardest to push you out of her mind whenever you’d arise. she still saw you around, sometimes alone, sometimes with your girlfriend. you’d talk pleasantly, share a few laughs, but it wasn’t like it used to be.

and then one day, when she’s on her way home, she sees you by yourself. you’re sitting under a tree reading, headphones in. she can’t help but notice you look a little melancholy, like you don’t want to be bothered. she deliberates on whether to disturb you or not, stopping, then going to walk away, then stopping again. against her better judgement, she wanders over to you and nudges you gently with the side of her foot.

you look up, offering a small smile and tugging your headphones out. “hey.”

“hey.” ellie mirrors you, shooting back a soft smile of her own. a beat of slightly awkward silence passes as she tries to think of the reason she actually came over. she doesn’t even have one.

“what’s up?” you ask after a few seconds.

“uh… not much. just… uh… wanted to say hi.”

the corner of your mouth quirks into a slight smirk. “well… you just did.”

ellie breathes out a quiet chuckle, bringing her hands together to mess with her fingers. “very funny.” she pauses, then hesitantly crouches and sits beside you. “whatcha reading?”

you turn the cover so that she can see it. “mystery book,” you say, eyes flitting between ellie and the novel, before you rest it back in your lap, starting to lightly read again.

“you want me to tell you who the killer is?”

you chuckle, looking back up at ellie. “sure, take a stab at it.”

ellie’s eyebrows raise slightly. “pun intended?”

you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow as you realize what you just said. “nope. guess i’m just too witty.”

she looks down and smiles lightly, before looking up at the sky in feigned thought. she clicks her fingers. “it’s the priest.”

you let out a laugh. “there isn’t even a priest in it.”

“that’s what you think,” she quips back, feigning seriousness. “he will be introduced in… 43 pages.”

you roll your eyes, unable to hold back a smile. “shut up.”

“nope. wanna hear some more of my predictions? 100% accuracy guaranteed.”

“sure.”

“… you’re in a shitty mood,” ellie says matter-of-factly, before her voice softens. “seriously, you good? you look all…”

she trails off, gesturing at you slightly.

you chew at the inside of your cheek. truth be told, you are in a shitty mood, but you didn’t realize it was visible. plus, you don’t really want to talk about it. especially not to ellie, of all people. “yeah, nah, i’m fine.”

she just gives you a look in reply — one to say, ‘i’m not stupid’. to which, you let out a small sigh and shake your head. you’re not good at lying to ellie. “okay, i guess i may be in a… tiny bit of a slump.”

she shuffles a bit, leaning back on her hands. “why? what’s wrong?”

you pick at your nail, pausing. “i don’t know, man. just… yeah. stuff.”

“what kinda stuff?”

you curse her in your head for pushing, but simultaneously feel a pulse in your chest that she cares. you don’t particularly want to talk to ellie about your relationship. or lack thereof. it feels embarrassing, for some reason. in the end, you let out a small, defeated sigh. “ugh. just… so… i’m not with you-know-who anymore.”

ellie raises her eyebrows, trying to ignore the way she feels selfish relief. “damn. that sucks.”

you shrug. “i suppose so.”

another awkward pause occurs as ellie tries to think of what to say. comforting people has never really been her forte, but she wants to try for you. plus, she’s curious. “…wh-what happened?”

you look up, eyes flitting around the scenery, pulling a small face as you think. “nothing, really. just… wasn’t working. like… didn’t really feel right, y’know?”

she quirks an eyebrow, looking sideways at you. “so it was you, huh?”

you let out something between a breathed out chuckle and a groan. “…yeah. i felt really mean.”

“damn. you’re ruthless. heartbreaker,” she teases deadpan in response, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

to which, you roll your eyes and snicker, the smile lingering on your face. even in the worst mood, you’d noticed, ellie could always make you laugh somehow. “shut up. it wasn’t like that.”

“then what was it like?”

you shrug lightly, toying with the cover of your book. “i don’t know. went as best as it could, i suppose. i have nothing against her, nothing happened, it just… yeah. like i said. wasn’t right.”

ellie hums in acknowledgment, looking away in thought. her silence feels a little uncomfortable, driving you to babble on. “i don’t know, she’s nice and everything, but it just felt like we were kind of… wasting each other’s time. i didn’t see it actually going anywhere. i know we’re still young, and… y’know, it’s hardly like we have to marry each other or whatever. but something just felt missing. i don’t know.”

you glance at ellie briefly, then back down at your book, tracing the cover art with your fingertip. “like… you and cat. you guys seem happy. what does that feel like?”

she feels a little taken off guard. she’s not used to talking about this with anyone; anyway, nobody’s ever really asked. she shifts, sitting cross legged and leaning her forearms on her thighs, messing with her hands. “uh… i don’t know. i haven’t really thought about it.”

you furrow your eyebrows slightly. not really the reaction you were expecting. “oof. what does that mean?”

ellie lets out a drawn out hum, wrinkling her chin. “… i don’t know. i suppose it just feels… hm. it’s just… what it is. i guess.”

you pull a face, blowing air through your nose. “wow. don’t get too sappy on me, now. you’re gushing.”

her eyes roll in response to your sarcasm, a lopsided smirk on her face. “shut up.”

you mirror her smile, meeting her eyes for a few seconds, trying to shove down the way it burns a hole through you, makes your chest feel like it’s constricting.

the moment is broken by a call of ellie’s name. you both automatically look up, spotting cat strolling over with a bright smile on her face. 

“speak of the devil,” you murmur jokingly, turning to look back at ellie briefly.

she scoffs in response, moving to stand up. when cat presses a small kiss to her lips in greeting, resting a hand on her arm, you avert your eyes.

cat looks down at you, offering a soft smile and a wave. “hey.”

“hey,” you reply, looking back up. you did really like cat. you weren’t necessarily friends, but she was cool, and funny, and always nice to you. you flit your eyes between her and ellie as she turns back, addressing her girlfriend.

“i was on my way to yours. we still watching a movie tonight?”

ellie looks down at you, then back at cat, an unreadable expression on her face. “uh… yeah, yeah. for sure.”

cat smiles at ellie, taking her hand and lightly swinging it between them. “… well, we’ll leave you to it,” she says to you.

you nod slowly. “yup. catch you two later.”

you wave half-heartedly at them both as they walk away hand-in-hand, free hands returning the gesture. you busy yourself with putting your headphones back in and choosing a new song, but if you were looking up, you’d have seen ellie look back at you. twice.

[neocitylights]

SUMMARY: Despite the city’s fast-paced scene of street racing—in which you happen to be the name to be beaten at every race—getting to know Jeno is a steady, quiet affair. Breaking the mechanic’s walls between races and late-night rides, the two of you slowly grow closer, unknowingly surrounded by secrets neither of you are ready to reveal. Still, in a world that’s driven by speed and adrenaline like yours, surprises are inevitable—even those that end up breaking your heart before mending it. GENRE: Romance, fluff, action, street racing au WORD COUNT: 16k WARNINGS: Cursing, suggestive themes, implied sexual content, depictions of violence

NOTES: Yay to the official start of the NCU series with a Fast & Furious inspired Jeno fic! Please let me know what you think!! It’s gonna make my day!!

The atmosphere feels heavy with energy, the smell of motor oil and burned rubber lingering in the air as the hum of engines blend with the pounding bass of whatever music’s currently playing in the warehouse.

A row of neon-lit and vivid colored cars line up all the way outside, the buzzing audience placing their bets as they mingle with the racers and crew alike. 

Despite its overwhelming chaos, the environment wraps you like a second skin with ease—laced with nothing but familiarity and comfort, race nights always feel like your personal sanctuary. Under the sounds of revving engines, roaring crowds and blaring music, you’d found your own twisted kind of peace, a vicious sense of belonging that only racing could give you through its unpredictability and adrenaline. 

It also doesn’t hurt that you’re good at it. 

After all, there’s a reason why your name currently holds the highest number of bets and has been for the last five races, no competitor coming close to dethroning your streak of wins. 

While a handful of racers walk past your car, their wandering eyes occasionally lingering over the red Mazda RX-7 gleaming under the warehouse’s bright lights, anticipation slowly builds in your chest as you meticulously check the final details before the official start, brain already racing ahead through the layout until a familiar voice calls for your name.

Startled, you look up just as Gigi approaches with rapid steps. The pink-haired girl quickly intertwines your arms, pulling you closer with a grin that characteristically only means one thing, especially when knowing her antics. 

“Oh, here we go,” you tease, raising an amused eyebrow at your fellow racer turned best-friend. “I wonder what piece of gossip I’m gonna have to roll my eyes at this time.”

“I mean, if you don’t want to know about the new guy from Neo Tech that just signed up to take you…” Gigi starts, offering a nonchalant shrug with a mock dramatic touch lacing her voice. “We can totally talk about something else, if you want?”

As the words hang in the air for a second, your amusement shifts to confusion as you scan Gigi’s face for any traces of exaggeration. “What?”

“You heard me, Cherry,” she continues, excitedly cozying up to your side as her grin returns with your peaked curiosity. “Jaemin says he’s been around for two weeks—”

“There’s a new guy at Neo Tech?” you cut in, furrowing your eyebrows before offering the racer an exasperated huff. “Also, why are you making it sound like I’m having sex with him? He just signed up to take me?”

Gigi bursts into a laugh, giving you a look as mischief takes over her eyes. “I’m not. You’re the one thinking of it!”

“I’m not the one who said it,” you argue, playfully rolling your eyes at her in an attempt to play off the curiosity suddenly gnawing at your thoughts. “Who even told you this?”

“Didn’t I just say Jaemin?” she taunts, holding back another laugh at your half-hearted glare. “Apparently, Taeyong’s short on crew since Mark and Hyuck are still in Seoul, so he’s been pulling in new blood.”

Although you don’t necessarily worry about your victory streak nor being challenged for it, the new information does sound… interesting. Since Neo Tech’s more than just a regular garage, the crew notoriously known for building damn near perfect cars for a few lucky racers in the city—a short list that includes you—it’s not unusual to find one of Taeyong’s mechanics listed up for a race every now and then. 

Given their knowledge, it’s always fun racing with them, which you’ve already done several times against Mark, Jaehyun and Yuta specifically.

As you’re about to fish more details from Gigi, the low growl of a particular engine pulls your attention to the far end of the warehouse. A green Nissan Skyline GT-R turns a few heads as it crosses the lot, the car’s polished, pristine exterior looking nothing but sleek under the lights. It comes to a smooth stop just a few spots away from you, the driver’s door soon swinging open under the crowd’s attentiveness.

It’s almost impossible not looking at the guy, his tall figure turning as many heads as the car did. With a glance around the bustling place, holding a posture that looks entirely too relaxed for a first-timer, his dark eyes suddenly land on you, lingering for a second too long to be just a coincidence. 

Instinctively straightening under his gaze, your curiosity doubles as he walks over to the corner where the Neo Tech’s guys are usually posted on, almost as if he’s done this a hundred times before.

“That’s him!” Gigi murmurs, oblivious to the blasting background music while gently elbowing at your side. “That’s the new guy from Neo Tech!”

You hum softly, finally breaking your gaze from him to shoot your best-friend an inquisitive look. “Do you know his name?”

“What for?” she asks, raising a suspicious eyebrow as a knowing smirk tugs at her mouth. “Why are you suddenly so interested? Don’t tell me that you actually want him to take you—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Gigi!” you interrupt, scoffing at her words as warmth spreads through your cheeks. “I just wanted to know who I’m racing against, that’s all!”

The pink-haired racer snorts, shaking her head as she gives you a side-eye. “I don’t know his name, sorry. Maybe Jaemin told me, but you know I can’t ever remember shit, so…”

Johnny’s voice suddenly echoes over the speakers, calling the racers to the starting line with one of his quick-witted remarks. Exchanging one last look with Gigi before she leaves to her bright pink Honda S2000, the warehouse’s mood has already significantly changed, a competitive streak flaring the audience into life.

Pulling your Mazda into position on the makeshift track marked outside the warehouse, your fingers tighten around the steering wheel as you exhale, ignoring the crowd outside calling out your nickname. 

Still, you can’t help a brief glance as a certain green Skyline slides right beside you, catching Neo Tech guy’s gaze through the window. As a silent acknowledgement of the challenge set between both of you, he gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod as the corners of his mouth hint a tight-lipped smile. 

It takes Johnny to break the moment, the man hyping up the crowd before starting his usual pre-race discourse, listing a handful of rules and warnings to the racers.

“You know the drill, folks!” he remarks, finishing the speech with a grin at the racers, though it seems somewhat too directed at you. “Our current five-win streak means five grand to whoever ends it!”

The words immediately light the audience into life, engines equally roaring as the sound reverberates into the night, the flag now in Johnny’s hands. 

As you focus ahead, adrenaline settles on your stomach—whether you keep the streak or give five thousand to another racer, it doesn’t really matter. You race for yourself, not for the money, not for the praise, and most definitely not for anyone else’s ego or expectations. 

Your hands tighten on the steering wheel, foot hovering over the pedals, waiting for the signal. 

Johnny raises the flag high, his voice cutting through the roaring engines and the buzz of the crowd.

“Three!”

You inhale deeply, pulse racing as strongly as your car’s engine. 

“Two!”

Your foot presses lightly on the accelerator, the cherry red RX-7 growling in anticipation.

“One!”

Johnny drops the flag. 

The car launches forward, tires screeching against the asphalt as the racers surge ahead. Despite the force pining you back, your grip is steady, holding firm enough for the car to quickly take the lead. 

As you pick up speed to a stretch of free road ahead, Neo Tech’s guy edges right behind you, purposefully touching the rear of your Mazda a few times. Despite your annoyance—it took Jaemin a long time to perfect the cherry tone you begged for—you can’t help chuckling at the attitude, definitely impressed with his skills. 

The first turn comes fast, your hands moving with precision as the car makes a perfect curve, tight enough for you to accelerate further with the bend. With the new guy matching the move, it takes a second for him to hold the Skyline side by side with you. 

You dare a brief glance at him, catching a glimpse of his focused, determined expression. It’s clear that he’s in to win it, instantly making you wonder what’s truly driving him to it—if it’s the money, the challenge or just the sense of triumph that comes from a rookie victory. 

You do also admit to yourself that he’s… stupidly good-looking.

Once you barrel into the return stretch, both looking for an opening to overtake each other, your muscle memory takes you ahead with a slightly wider inside curve, foot heavy on the accelerator as the RX-7 takes the lead again. It’s not enough for the guy to give up, his GT-R somehow pushing harder as you approach the final section of the course. As you pour everything into the last seconds of the race, heart pounding against your chest, the finish line comes into view. 

A blur of green and red cut through the finish line together, the audience erupting in stunned and thrilled reactions as Johnny waves the flag for a second time, signaling the end of the race.

As you slam the brakes, the car skimming to a stop into the swarming crowd, your breath’s still heavy as realization strikes—without the need for Johnny’s confirmation, you know Neo Tech’s new guy just broke your infamous five-win streak. 

Once you step out of the car, adjusting your skirt with an eye-roll at Johnny’s mock astonished face, the dark-haired guy quickly emerges from his Skyline, his expression nothing but calm, almost unreadable. The mass of people around opens the way for him as he walks towards you, watching the scene with curious eyes. 

Taking the lead, you reach out a hand before offering your name, a playful smile curling on your mouth as he frowns for a second, visibly skeptical of your light attitude.

“It was a cool race,” you start, smile widening at the way his eyebrows raise upon the words. “Neo Tech guys are usually fun to race against. Good to know you are, too.”

“It was a tough one,” he answers, pausing for a second before finally taking your hand with a polite nod, the tone of his voice neutral before introducing himself. “I’m Jeno.”

The simplicity of his interaction shifts something within you. As you’re left staring bemusedly at the calm, laidback confidence in the guy’s words and body language, maybe the loss should sting… for a little, at least. 

It’s a known fact between the racers that you aren’t the type to obsess over winning, proving a point or whatever that comes with the territory of racing. That’s exactly what leaves most contenders sore about their loss whenever challenging you—while they’re racing specifically to beat you, winning has always been just a bonus for you, instead racing for the fun and your passion for cars.

Now, Jeno has not only beat your streak, but also has properly acknowledged you as an equal competitor. 

Even though he did race to win, he’d raced with you, not against you.

So for the first time in a long time, you suddenly find yourself wanting the win, for whatever twisted reason your brain has fooled you into. 

“Well, enjoy it while it lasts, Jeno,” you say, smiling mischievously before letting go of his hand, purposefully locking eyes with him. “I’ll take you for a rematch if you’re back next time.”

The corner of his mouth lifts just slightly, gaze unwavering from you as he nods firmly. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

As you turn around to leave, heading toward Gigi and the rest of her crew, you can’t help glancing over your shoulder. Already surrounded by a few of Neo Tech’s guys and curious spectators, Jeno’s eyes meet yours for a second before you disappear into the crowd again. 

Entering his third week at Neo Tech, Jeno has already grown accustomed to the garage’s bustling routine, the controlled chaos entirely familiar by now. 

With Tayeong running the crew under a sharp eye, it’s not a secret that the place holds an unique energy that’s equal parts professional and chaotic—the exact reason why the garage is so sought after in the first place, besides the highly qualified crew that works on and off the streets. 

After the race, the buzz of his win is yet to quiet down, especially with the stream of racers that stop by the garage for either routine check-ups or simply to scope out the new Neo Tech guy who’d taken a certain racer’s five-win streak. Despite the attention, Jeno keeps his head down, choosing to only acknowledge the crew’s interest every now and then and focusing on work instead.

Still, that’s not to say that he isn’t curious himself about you.

Even if he deliberately avoids the crew’s knowing glances towards him when your Mazda suddenly pulls up at the garage a few days later.

The familiar hum of your engine immediately pulls Jeno’s attention from his work, the RX-7’s contrasting cherry red easily catching his eye from outside. 

You climb out of the car with a flair to your step, coming to a stop at the entrance as you briefly scan the space, exchanging casual greetings with some of the guys on the way. As soon as you spot Jaemin hunched over a rebuild project, a grin immediately spreads across your face. 

Jeno discreetly watches as you sneak up behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a back hug that visibly startles the ever nonchalant mechanic. 

“Hi, Nana,” you greet, teasing Jaemin with a gentle squeeze while pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Did you miss me?”

“Do you really want me to answer?” he says, giving you a dry look over his shoulder despite the warmth in his voice. “Took you long enough to show up this time, didn’t you?”

“I know you missed me, but I’m a very busy woman,” you quip, flashing him a grin before jumping up to sit on a workstation nearby. “Besides, you of all people should know I’d never let my baby unattended if something had happened.”

Jaemin shakes his head with a chuckle, side-eyeing you suspiciously for a second. “Then why are you here, Cherry?”

“Just thought I’d drop by to see you,” you answer breezily, shrugging as your fingers fiddle with the two red hearts locked to your car’s keys. “We didn’t really talk last time and Gigi’s crew left the race earlier than usual, so…”

With a hum, Jaemin raises an eyebrow in his direction before turning to you again, eyes gleaming with purpose. “I take it you’ve met Jeno, then?”

As the mechanic gestures towards him, Jeno can’t help the tension from spreading through his body, caught off guard over suddenly being pulled into the conversation. For a moment that feels too long, it almost feels like he’s being sized up as your gaze lands on his frame, sharp and assessing. 

“Yeah,” you admit, a laugh escaping from your lips when catching the slight surprise on his face. “What’s up, Jeno?”

He nods politely, pursing his lips in a half-hearted, hesitant greeting. “Hey.”

“I bet you’ve had a lot of visitors dropping by to check you out after the race, right?” you ask, teasing him as your tone shifts to a mischievous one. “Are you sick of it enough for a rematch yet?”

Still holding your gaze, Jeno simply shakes his head. “They’re not here because of me.”

Despite his deadpan delivery, the way your eyes immediately flicker in understanding isn’t lost on Jeno, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as the implication behind his words settle between you. 

“Taeyong sure knows how to pick a crew,” you muse, mostly chuckling to yourself before raising an eyebrow towards him. “Have you been racing for a long time?”

Turning his attention back to the engine in front of him, Jeno nods vaguely. “A while.”

As you watch him, maybe a little too attentively for his liking, a mix of amusement and exasperation take over your face. “You don’t really talk much, do you?”

Jeno doesn’t immediately respond, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the tools spread over his workstation. As he gives a half-hearted shrug, the silence instantly serves as an answer for you.

“Right,” you mutter, chuckling softly before curiously peering at his engine from your spot. “That’s a cool V8 you’re working on, by the way.”

He quickly glances up at your words, his hands pausing the screwdriver in his grasp as a hint of intrigue replaces the indifferent attitude. “You know your way around cars.”

“It comes with the territory,” you answer, an amused smile widening on your face at his reaction. “Also, I’ve had good teachers… Vic taught me a lot about it, too.”

The name catches Jeno off guard, a frown betraying the confusion on his face. “Vic?”

As the loud, unmistakable rumble of a Dodge Charger R/T suddenly resonates through the garage, heads turning to the entrance over the black, pristine 1970’s model stopping outside Neo Tech, the question stays unanswered. 

For a second time, Jeno catches himself cautiously watching you—as the puzzled look on your face shifts to a smile of recognition over whoever’s arrived, you’re quick to jump off Jaemin’s workstation, hurrying outside with a demeanor he can’t quite figure out.

Behind the Charger’s wheel, sits a man that looks somewhat familiar, his appearance seemingly fitting around early to mid fifties given his rugged presence. 

As you share a high-five with him, leaning against the window of his car for a chat, Jeno notes how the man seems to hang onto your words, a visible sense of camaraderie laced to the interaction. Despite your childlike excitement, it doesn’t take long until he playfully waves you off, a giggle escaping from your lips while you quickly climb into your Mazda, soon leaving right behind him. 

It’s only when Jaemin clears his throat that Jeno breaks away from the scene, looking back to find the mechanic grinning knowingly at him.

“That was really interesting,” he starts, leaning back against a nearby tool cart before crossing his arms. “Cherry doesn’t usually have to work for it.”

Ignoring the insinuation of Jaemin’s comment, Jeno plays it off with an amused scoff. “Is there a reason for that nickname?”

“Everyone’s been calling her that for as long as I’ve known her.” Jaemin shrugs, chuckling fondly. “She owned up to it when she started racing, so we painted the RX-7 red to match her.”

Jeno hums, briefly shooting him an inquisitive glance. “You two seemed close.”

As he seems to understand the catch, the grin on Jaemin’s face grows even bigger. “Oh, it was a long time ago,” he explains, sounding annoyingly reassuring for no reason. “We mutually decided we’re better off as friends, so don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not,” he counters bluntly, frowning at the fellow mechanic before turning back to the V8 again. “Who was that in the black Charger?”

“That’s... Victor Torres,” Jaemin answers, seemingly puzzled at the question. “Vic’s a bit of a legend around the neighborhood. He’s been racing, mentoring a few racers around here for a while. Cherry’s one of his star pupils.”

Jeno pauses briefly, his eyebrows furrowing in thought over the memories from that night. “I don’t think I’ve seen him at the race.”

With a curious smirk curling his lips, the mechanic shakes his head. “The old man was out of the city for a dealership,” he explains, squinting his eyes in his direction for a second. “You’re settling in pretty quick for new blood.”

A half-hearted smile tugs at Jeno’s mouth, the answer measured with a nonchalant shrug. “Things aren’t too different from what I’ve done before.”

“So you have raced before,” Jaemin notes, an inquisitive edge to his voice despite the humorous gleam in his gaze. “I don’t think you’ve mentioned that when you signed up last time.”

“Nobody asked,” Jeno replies, looking up at the mechanic again with a taunting glance. “It didn’t seem important.”

Amused by the off-putting answer, Jaemin studies him for a beat before clicking his tongue. “Maybe you shouldn’t have raced against Cherry,” he says, shooting him a playful wink. “Winning against everyone’s favorite tends to draw attention.”

As Jeno stands up from his workbench, subtly signaling the end of the conversation, a touch of finality hangs to his voice. “I’m not here to impress anyone.”

“Fair enough,” Jaemin counters with a chuckle, backing off with a lazy shrug. “Just don’t think we’re not all wondering, though. People are paying attention.”

Though Jeno doesn’t react outwardly, the weight of Jaemin’s words linger over his head for the night.

Settling in at Neo Tech truly had been smoother than he’d expected—maybe a little too smooth, now that he thinks of it. Jeno knows he’s playing a careful game, but days like this make him feel like the pieces are shifting faster than he can anticipate.

Despite being as old as time, The Bluebird is considerably packed for a Friday night, the few worn-out tables of the diner all taken as you walk past through the door.

As the jingle of the bell announces your arrival, the smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee immediately surround you, welcoming and familiar as a childhood memory.

Nestled on the corner of the neighborhood’s busiest street, The Bluebird is the kind of place where the food is deliciously greasy, the coffee a little too strong and everyone knows your name even if you don’t. Though it’s not the case with Daria, one of the diner’s waitresses that has pretty much seen you grow up over your visits for their milkshakes and cheeseburgers. 

She’s quick to spot you through the diner’s buzz, gesturing for you to sit by the vacant counter with a smile. You rush through the tables, softly returning the older woman’s smile.

“I didn’t know you were back, Daria!” you start, sliding into a stool with a curious glance at her. “How was your trip? Did you see your grandkids?”

“It was wonderful!” she says, her face lighting up with warmth before setting the menu in front of you. “The little ones are growing so fast, it won’t take long until they’re taller than me.”

Leaning against the counter, you smile at her between mischief and curiosity. “What about your boyfriend? Did he go with you?”

“You know that an old woman shouldn’t kiss and tell,” Daria jokes, though her face quickly shifts as she shoots you a knowing look. “What about you? Don’t think I haven’t heard about your little things with Taeyong’s boys.”

You quickly avert your gaze to the menu on the wall, feigning a cough under her amused scrutiny. “Oh, I think I’m ready to order?”

Daria chuckles, visibly unimpressed by your poor attempt to change the subject. “I’m sure you are,” she teases, pulling a notepad from her apron. “Let me guess. A cherry milkshake, cheeseburger and fries, like always?

As you nod eagerly, a grin tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You just get me, Daria.”

The older woman laughs, jotting down your order just about to head towards the kitchen when a familiar voice cuts through the chatter around you.

“Add it to my tab.”

The sudden intrusion makes you glance over, eyes instantly locking with Jeno’s as he sits a few stools away, casually holding a steaming mug of coffee. The faintest hint of a smirk plays on his lips as he notes your surprised features, having been oblivious to his quiet presence until now.

Daria raises an eyebrow at him, suspiciously glancing between both of you. She hesitates, tapping a pen against the notepad as if weighing whether to prod further or leave her curiosity alone.

With a playful shrug, you laugh reassuringly at the waitress. “You heard the man, Daria. I’m having free dinner tonight.”

She hums, looking nothing but unconvinced as she side-eyes Jeno for a second. “Alright, then,” Daria says, ultimately tucking the notepad into her apron again. “I’m watching you two. Don’t cause trouble, I’ll bring your food soon.”

As she heads towards the kitchen, leaving you two alone in the diner’s bustling atmosphere, Daria doesn’t resist smirking knowingly at you.

Shifting on your seat to face him, you regard the racer’s laidback posture with narrowed eyes. “I can pay for my own food, you know.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jeno answers, an unexpected hint of amusement lacing his voice as he shrugs lightly. “I’ve got five grand sitting in my bank account, figured some courtesy wouldn’t hurt.”

“Oh, we’re going there now?” you argue, a scoff escaping from your lips. “There’s another race in a few days, should I expect a rematch?”

He hums, taking a sip of his coffee before offering a teasing, small smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I actually would,” you say, crossing your arms over the counter with a mock challenging glare at him. “Aren’t you talking a little too much for new blood? That entire race was mine.”

Jeno quirks an eyebrow, setting the mug down as the smile on his face widens discreetly. “Pretty sure I crossed the line first.”

“By a hair,” you counter, slumping back against your seat just as a deliberate, easy grin tugs at your mouth. “I might’ve lost but I know I made you work for it.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, the admission edged with a touch of honesty that catches you off-guard. “You really did.”

As he holds your gaze for a second longer than necessary, all traces of playfulness slowly shift to a  more thoughtful mood, a touch too serious for the moment. The air seems to shift between you—somewhat charged with something you can’t pinpoint, though neither of you back down from it. 

Before the sudden tension stretches for longer, Daria steps in, breaking the conversation’s lull with your order in hands. 

She glances between you and Jeno with an amused frown, lips twitching for a grin. “Flirting or fighting?”

Jeno snorts. “Neither.”

“Fighting,” you fire back.

Answering at the same time, the coincidence draws a snicker out of Daria before she hurries away to another customer, quickly leaving you for a second time.

“So, Jeno...” you start, attempting to lead the conversation back into your own curiosity’s territory. “What’s your deal? Taeyong’s usually so picky about his crew, I was surprised to hear there was a new guy at Neo Tech.”

Jeno takes his time to reply, almost as if weighing what to say. “Not much to tell,” he says, shaking his head before exhaling a laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “He needed someone on short notice, I needed the job.”

You pick up a fry in between bites of the cheeseburger, twirling it between your fingers with a hum. “How’d you get into racing then?”

“I grew up around cars. My dad used to work on a few for fun, so I spent a lot of time in our garage with him,” Jeno explains, looking suddenly a bit nostalgic. ”I started tinkering around, learning a bit. Racing just felt like a natural step.”

As you nod, a small smile curls on your lips over the straw of the milkshake. “Sounds like me, except it was my brother.”

He raises an eyebrow, visibly surprised by the words. “Does he race?”

“Nope,” you quickly answer, glancing down at the plate in front of you to pick on the few fries left. “Not anymore.”

As if sensing something there, Jeno chooses to not press further as he nods. “If it’s worth anything, you’re really good at it.”

You blink, feeling warmth spreading through your neck for a moment before quickly recovering, shooting him a mischievous grin instead. “Why did you decide to challenge me that day, by the way?”

Jeno pauses, lips threatening a smile as his fingers brush over the edge of his mug. “I wasn’t going to,” he confesses, chuckling humorlessly. “I wasn’t even thinking about racing that day.”

Unconsciously leaning closer, your curiosity now piqued, you frown at him. “Then... why did you?”

“I heard some racers talking about you—how you don’t race for the money or actually winning,” he starts, his tone somehow caught between amusement and exasperation. “Doing it against someone like that just seemed... fun. Just racing for the sake of it.”

Your grin returns a little wider, mischief slipping back into your tone. “All I’m hearing is that you’re signing up for the next one.”

His lips twitch, Jeno taking a last sip of his coffee under your intrigued gaze. “If you get a ten-win streak, I’ll think about it.”

You snort, feigning a peeved glare. “Is that a challenge?”

He tilts his head, the corners of his mouth curving into a small, teasing smile. “I don’t know.” Jeno chuckles quietly, a hand casually running through his hair. “Is it?”

The sudden shift in his behavior—from the guarded, almost apathetic Jeno you met at the garage to the current playful, teasing Jeno from today—has definitely given you a bit of whiplash. The easy smiles, his gentle confidence and the way he’s been quietly coaxing reactions out of you are a stark contrast to the unreadable, aloof man from days ago. Leaving you to wonder what else he’s possibly hiding underneath his layers, the change only spurs you further. 

There’s something there, a growing curiosity that you can’t ignore, making you eager to figure him out even if you’re not entirely sure why. 

As your phone buzzes inside the pockets of your hoodie, Vic’s name flashing on the screen once you pick it up, Jeno’s face quickly changes to a more reserved expression, politely turning away in an attempt to give you a little privacy. The call doesn’t last long, Vic ultimately bidding you goodbye as the line clicks off.

You pocket the phone into your hoodie again, turning back to him with an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, I’ve gotta go.”

Jeno nods, his light-hearted demeanor now eased into something more neutral. “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

“Yeah,” you reply with a small smile, lingering for just a second longer than you mean to before standing up from your stool. “Try not to miss me too much, okay? I’ll see you at the race.”

He doesn’t reply, instead only offering you an amused smile watching you skirt around the tables on the way to the door. You send him a quick, playful wink over your shoulder before finally stepping outside, holding back a smile of your own upon noticing the way he laughs. 

Heading towards your car, the glow of The Bluebird’s neon sign fading through the street, you shake off the wandering thoughts.

Back at the warehouse again, surrounded by the roar of engines and the usual heavy atmosphere that marks race day, Jeno watches the bustling crowd with attention.

It hasn’t been long he’s arrived, parking his Skyline at Neo Tech’s usual spot as a few racers stop by every now and then, attempting to find out whether his name was at the starting grid for the night. 

Though the crowd quickly turns his name into one of the most anticipated contenders once they clock his presence, Jeno knows better than racing tonight. After last time, unexpectedly battling with the scene’s most loved racer, keeping a low profile seems like the safest option for now.

As he leans against the hood of his green GT-R, taking in the line-up of cars over the warehouse, a familiar cherry red shadow easily catches his attention—except you aren’t the one behind the wheel this time. Jeno frowns, straightening slightly as he tries to recognize the figure through the windows of your Mazda until Johnny’s sudden call makes it impossible, the crowd erupting into chaos at his blasting voice.

Pushing off his car, he quickly weaves through the audience outside the warehouse, surrounding the starting line for a better view.

The pre-race procedure stays the same with Johnny listing the rules, giving a quick run-down on the night’s track before hyping up the winning prize, the crowd attentively hanging onto his words.

“We’ve got a bit of a twist tonight though,” Johnny adds, his voice laced with a cryptic touch despite the thrill on his face. “Two of our favorite racers have switched cars for today’s race.”

Before the crowd pieces it together, Jeno raises an eyebrow at his own realization. 

“In the RX-7, we’ve got Gigi taking the wheel—” Johnny pauses abruptly, grinning at the sudden cheers and whistles of both surprise and excitement coming from the audience. “—and in the S2000, we’ve got Cherry in command tonight.” 

“That’s new,” Jaemin says, chuckling as he steps beside Jeno, glancing between the two cars at the far end of the line-up with interest. “I don’t think Cherry’s ever done that.”

Following his eyes, Jeno finally glimpses your focused figure inside the pink Honda. “She seems to know what she’s doing.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he replies casually, arms crossing over his chest as a grin slowly grows on his face. “It’s not about the car with her, but I am curious as to why she’s doing it tonight.”

Jaemin gives him a sharp glance, expressive enough that Jeno immediately gets the picture he’s painting. 

Though he doesn’t respond, it feels like his silence speaks volumes. 

As Johnny finishes his speech, the roar of the engines revving up adds to the building tension. The crowd surges forward once Johnny raises the flag, pressing closer to the edge of the track as it blazes under bright headlights.

The flag drops.

Despite being at disadvantage at the corners, you easily push through with Gigi’s Honda, tires screeching against the pavement as the car takes the lead.

At his side, Jaemin lets out an amused whistle. “Yeah, she’s definitely pulling it off.”

It doesn’t take long until the cars are doubling a corner after the first long straight, the blind spot simmering the crowd with anticipation for a few minutes. As a commotion at the outskirts of the grid catches Jeno’s eyes, his attention momentarily shifts to a familiar figure stepping into the chaos. 

Victor Torres walks through the cluster of people, thoroughly scanning the place in the company of two broad-shouldered, stone-faced men right behind him. 

Jaemin notices the shift in Jeno’s attention, curiously glancing around until a puzzled sound escapes his mouth. “Oh? Vic usually doesn’t show up unless he’s got a reason.”

Trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible, Jeno clears his throat. “So he doesn’t usually watch her race.”

Though the question sounds more like a statement, the mechanic still shakes head with a thoughtful hum. “Not anymore. He could be here for literally anything, though.”

As the sounds of running engines approach, getting louder by every second, the audience quickly flares up waiting for whoever’s currently leading the race. Jeno can’t help but grin as the S2000 makes a perfect curve into the final stretch, leaving you seconds ahead as the first racer to reach the last bit of the course. 

The blur of pink easily blazes across the finish line, the atmosphere erupting with cheers and applause. Behind you, the cherry red Mazda follows close as Gigi skillfully holds the second place.

Jeno watches as you slow the car into the surging crowd, climbing out of the Honda with a thrilled glow on your face. Despite the swarm congratulating you, your attention seems to be on something else, eyes scanning the faces until unmistakably locking with his own. A grin immediately curls on your lips as you push through the handful of people, walking towards him with a poised stance.

You cast a mischievous glance at him as you approach, arms crossing over your chest. “Are you really backing out of our rematch?”

Jeno chuckles, holding a hand out for a surprise high-five. “Congratulations. That was one hell of a race.”

Jaemin clears his throat dramatically at Jeno’s side, watching you reciprocate the gesture with a frown on his face. “Oh, sure, don’t mind me,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes. “I mean, I wasn’t really here rooting for you the whole time, it’s fine.”

“Don’t be like that,” you coo at him, stepping closer before throwing your arms around Jaemin’s neck, hanging onto his figure with a laugh. “You know I love you, Nana.”

The mechanic hums, letting you go with a teasing side glance. “Do you?”

With a slap to his arm, an amused scoff escapes your lips. “You’re a menace,” you say, giving Jaemin a light, playful push. “You should go, Gigi’s probably wondering why you’re not hovering around her yet.”

Jaemin grins, ruffling your hair in retaliation before stepping back with an exaggerated bow. As he disappears into the crowd walking over to Gigi’s parked Honda, there’s a subtle change in the air now that you’re left alone. 

Despite the hectic post-race, heavy music now echoing from inside the warehouse as Johnny takes the DJ stand, a few curious eyes are still watching both of you, conversations pausing momentarily to become hushed mumbles. Whether it’s about your win over Gigi, the fact that you’re openly engaging with him of all people or something else entirely… Jeno can’t really tell.

As you turn to him again, your expression shifts to a mix of confusion and excitement. “Why did you come if you weren’t racing tonight?”

“To watch you,” he replies, the blunt answer clearly catching you off guard as your lips twitch, resisting a smile. “I told you, I don’t really race that much anymore.”

“Well, maybe you should,” you argue, offering a light shrug with a coy glance at him. “At least it’d be more fun for me.”

Jeno regards you knowingly, lips pursing in a small smile. “I’m pretty sure you were holding back on the straights tonight,” he notes, huffing a quiet laugh at your guilty wince. “How long have you known Gigi?”

“We went to school together,” you answer, fondness suddenly lacing your voice. “If my brother and Vic taught me everything I know, Jaemin and I taught her everything she knows.”

“She had a good teacher, then,” he says, still smiling with a thoughtful nod. “Seems like you’ve got a lot of people in your corner.”

You smile in a way Jeno hasn’t seen yet, a hint of pride flashing in your eyes. “I’m the luckiest to have them.”

As he studies you for a second, your expression unexpectedly wavering to a sheepish one, Jeno can’t help a soft chuckle from escaping his lips. “I can tell.”

A beat of silence passes before you break it with a playful sparkle in your eyes. “So… where’s your car, anyways?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder towards the warehouse. “I’ve never driven a Nissan before. When are you giving me a chance to drive that beauty?”

Jeno raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a teasing smile. “You sure you can handle it?” he asks, crossing his arms in a laidback gesture. “It’s not exactly a car for amateurs.”

“Are you calling me an amateur?” you provoke him, taking a step closer before playfully raising your chin at him. “If you think I can’t handle it, then let me take a ride to show you what I got.”

Though he laughs at the words, warmth slowly spreads through his body as Jeno leans closer to you, just enough to subtly tower over your figure. As his heart picks up, your dazed face just inches away from his, Jeno can’t help his eyes from dipping to your lips. 

It feels like something snaps in his brain as he suddenly looks up, instantly finding Vic near the entrance of the warehouse, the man’s gaze fixed intently on both of you. His posture is tense, arms crossed as if he’s been watching for a while.

Jeno takes a step back, exhaling sharply at the way your expression falters, looking genuinely confused by his sudden attitude.

As his voice falls into indifference again, he offers you an apologetic glance. “It’s getting late, you should probably go home.”

You huff a short laugh, a mix of bewilderment and defiance crossing your face. “Right... I probably should.”

Before Jeno can say anything else, you quickly turn around to leave—not before giving him a final, lingering look with arms crossed over your chest. As he watches you cut into the remaining crowd, your name slips from his mouth before Jeno can consciously stop it. 

“You’ll have to buy me dinner before I let you ride it.”

A grin slowly tugs at your lips before you offer him an eye-roll.

“We’ll see about that, Jeno.”

The streetlights cast dark shadows over the rows of cars parked outside Neo Tech, its large doors already halfway closed as you slowly come to stop, the engine of your Mazda humming gently in the silent neighborhood.

Inside, you can spot Jeno’s figure still moving around, his back towards the entrance as he seems to finish up for the night, clearing his workstation with a relaxed posture. 

As your fingers tap the steering wheel, you debate with yourself for a second—you hadn’t exactly planned on stopping by the garage this late, yet you’re still there with a takeout bag ready to be shared, unpretentiously anticipating his reaction over the surprise.

After the race, Jeno had left you feeling something deeper than just curiosity, especially with a certain little moment lingering at the corners of your mind for the following days. Given how much he’s changed since first meeting him at the garage, you can’t help the growing expectation inside your chest, though you’d never be one to openly admit so. 

Though before you can talk yourself out of it by overthinking, the sound of a door rolling open draws your attention. 

While throwing a few goodbyes to the crew over his shoulder, Jeno steps outside, eyebrows instantly furrowing in surprise as he spots you. Closing the garage behind him, shrugging a black hoodie jacket on, he walks towards your car with a knowing smirk breaking into his face. 

As he approaches, Jeno bends down to your window, holding an arm over the car’s roof. “If you’re here for Jaemin, he left a few minutes ago.”

“I’m here for you, actually,” you say, holding back a grin of your own at his bemused expression. “You said I should buy you dinner first, so that’s what I’m doing.”

His eyebrows shoot up briefly, the smirk widening into something caught between disbelief and amusement. “Dinner, huh?” Jeno repeats, tilting his head as if to get a better read on you. “Didn’t take you for someone who’d keep tabs on promises like that.”

“Well, I’m trying to keep things interesting for you,” you quip, starting the engine again before looking up at his figure, still leaning against your car. “I’ve got food and I know a place. Are you coming?”

Jeno just shakes his head, laughing softly as he steps back towards his GT-R. “Lead the way, let’s see what you’ve got.”

You can’t help the spark of satisfaction warming your chest as his car rumbles to life, soon pulling onto the neighborhood’s main street right behind your RX-7. Glancing in the rearview mirror every now and then, Jeno’s got the same expression from the day he’d raced you, serious and focused enough that you almost don’t resist suddenly pulling him into a challenge. 

The road stretches out ahead to a highway shortcut, the city glowing in the distance as both of you escape from it for the night. 

As the buildings and bright lights start giving way to rolling hills and open fields, you lead Jeno onto a dirt road, following it until a secluded, almost undetectable clearing. The space’s quiet, surrounded by trees, with a clear view of the stars above and the city’s skyline far ahead. 

Jeno steps out of his Skyline first, looking around with attentive eyes. “Nice spot. How’d you find this place?”

“My brother,” you answer, the diner’s bag in hands as you join him with a small smile. “He used to bring me here when I was a moody, grumpy pre-teen.”

Taking a seat on the hood of his car, Jeno hums softly. “Not anymore?”

Debating with yourself as you watch him for a moment, the words slip from your mouth with surprising ease. “He passed away, so not really,” you say, snickering softly at the quick change in his expression. “It’s been a long time though, don’t worry about it.” 

“I’m still sorry,” he starts, voice shifting to a quieter tone. “Can I ask what happened?”

You sigh wistfully, moving to sit beside him on the GT-R’s hood before starting to set up the food between you. “Would it be weird to say that I have no idea?”

Jeno frowns, visibly caught off-guard by the odd answer. “What do you mean?”

“I still don’t know what happened,” you repeat, humorlessly huffing a laugh as you pick up a fry to start. “He just… went out of town for a race one day and never came back. Vic was the one to break the news to me.”

A flicker of something you can’t read crosses his face, though he quickly recovers by offering a half uneasy, half reassuring glance. “I’m not sure what I should say—”

“It’s fine, Jeno,” you interrupt, deliberately lighting up the mood with a growing grin on your lips. “We should probably talk about how you’re letting me drive your car back to the city today.”

As Jeno chuckles, his gaze is steady but softer than usual. “You really don’t waste time, do you?”

“What can I say?” you joke, taking a sip of your milkshake with a coy shrug. “I’m a very focused person and right now my focus is exactly getting behind the wheel of your GT-R.”

Still not breaking eye contact, he shakes his head to resist his grin from growing. “So you win a few races and suddenly think that earns you the keys to my car?”

Your fingers are playing with the straw of the cherry drink as you smirk at him, tilting your head for added effect. “I mean, I did buy you dinner like you asked,” you counter, clicking your tongue. “The least you can do is uphold your promise.”

“Was it a promise?” Jeno asks, feigning confusion with a quirked eyebrow. “I don’t remember that.”

“Do you want me to remind you?” you shoot back, leaning just a little closer to taunt him. “You said that I should buy you dinner before you let me ride it. Remember that?”

As he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head again, there’s a subtle hint of a blush dusting Jeno’s cheeks. “You’re relentless.”

You smile teasingly, leaning back on your hands against his car. “Well… you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You barely finish the sentence before Jeno suddenly leans over your frame, closing the distance between you without hesitation. The kiss catches you completely off guard, your breath hitching as his lips meet yours. For a moment, your mind goes completely blank, overwhelmed by his unexpected action. 

Jeno’s hand firmly holds your jaw, anchoring you in place with the same intensity as he’s kissing you—almost as if he’s acting on an impulse after holding himself back. You can’t help giving in, something warmer and deeper quickly melting the surprise as you instinctively kiss him back, your fingers tightening around his hoodie. 

As he pulls away, exhaling a laugh against your mouth, his forehead lingers close to yours. “Sorry, that wasn’t part of the deal.”

You blink at him, trying to pace yourself again as heat rushes through your cheeks. “Not really,” you admit, grinning softly with a light-hearted shrug. “I’m not complaining, though.”

Jeno rubs the back of his neck, the action laced with a hint of bashfulness that contrasts with his usual composure. “Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“I hope you’re not implying I’m a bad kisser,” you cut in, squinting your eyes in mock annoyance before pulling back with an exaggerated gasp. “By the way, was that you giving your car to me or is this just an attempt to trick me out of it?”

He laughs, the sound coming off low and genuine, his eyes almost sparkling under the dim light. “What if it’s both?”

A grin immediately tugs at your lips before you lean forward, pressing a quick smooch to his mouth with a giddy laugh. “I’m racing your GT-R next time then, just so you know.”

Jeno shakes his head, holding back a smile as he purposefully looks away to the city’s horizon in the distance. “You’re impossible, you know that?” 

Your laughter softens as you settle back against the hood of his car, attentively watching his profile. “So I’ve been told a few times,” you answer with a playful shrug. “I prefer to think of myself as ambitious, though.”

He smirks, glancing sideways at you with raised eyebrows. “Ambitious is definitely one word for it.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease cheekily, bumping your shoulder lightly against his with a smile. “I know you like me, it’s okay to admit it.”

Jeno hums, shaking his head as something akin to tenderness flashes in his eyes for a second. “I’ll admit you keep things… interesting.”

The weight of his words subtly change the mood, especially as your heart takes the lead by racing annoyingly fast for your liking.

As the night stretches on, the two of you fall into an easy rhythm of conversation in between bites of your usual order from The Bluebird, exchanging a few stories and memories here and there. The night air feels cool against your skin by the time both of you finish, momentarily falling into a comfortable, yet charged silence. 

Jeno breaks the pause with a deep breath, glancing at his watch with a touch of reluctance. “It’s late,” he says softly, offering you a knowing glance. “We should probably head back before someone finds us here.”

Though you know that nobody’s going to find the secluded place so late, you hum softly before hopping off the hood of his car. Just as you’re about to take a step towards your Mazda, Jeno holds you back by the arm. You watch as he silently takes off his hoodie, draping the fabric over your shoulders with a satisfied nod.

Before you can thank him, he gently grabs one of your hands, pulling it out of the long sleeve with a chuckle.

Then—the keys of his green Skyline GT-R are in your palm.

Your jaw drops as you stare down at them, blinking in both disbelief and excitement. “Are you serious?”

Amused by your reaction, Jeno smirks challengingly. “You wanted to drive it, didn’t you?” he asks, leaning closer as his voice drops. “If you make it to the city in under 10 minutes, I’ll let you actually race it.”

You can only snort, tiptoeing to press another kiss to his lips. “We’re on.”

Driving his car through the highway as you head towards the city again, watching him closely follow behind with your Mazda, you can’t help but feel like the night has set something in motion—something you’re more than ready to see through now.

Looking around, Jeno can’t remember the last time he’s been in a conference room.

The place smells like burnt coffee, the hum of its fluorescent lights almost serving as white noise to mask the unnerving silence surrounding him. 

As he sits in the large, secluded corner at the agency for the first time in three months, Jeno can’t help nervously clasping his hands over the table, waiting for Doyoung to arrive.

The walls, covered in bulletin boards that display very specific files and photos, are a twisted reminder of the reason he’s there in the first place. A folder lies in front of him, his jaw tightening at the sight of it every time he glances at the worn out edges and stained cover. 

As the door suddenly clicks with a loud sound, Doyoung is quick to step inside, his sharp, intimidating features immediately softening upon seeing him in person again. Holding another handful of files, the oldest manages a brief side-hug, offering a pat to Jeno’s back before settling on a chair at the head of the desk.

“It’s good to see you in one piece,” Doyoung starts, leaning back against his seat with a knowing glance in his direction. “Sorry that we pulled you out on short notice, the order came from high-up—”

Jeno shakes his head, pursing his lips in a tight line. “It’s fine, I was probably up for a check-in anyway.”

The agent regards him for a second, humming in agreement despite the flicker of reservation in his eyes. “You were,” Doyoung admits, nodding curtly. “We’ve been looking into your intel, and it adds up with what we have so far.”

“I thought we’d already established that the last time we talked,” Jeno answers, glaring at his co-worker impatiently. 

“We did,” the man agrees, resting his elbows against the desk before huffing a peeved scoff. “Except Victor’s not a middleman like we thought, he’s actually the head of the entire thing.”

Jeno leans back against his seat, the weight of the information settling in after a second. “You’re telling me Vic’s the one running the smuggling operation?”

Doyoung nods again, sliding a file over the desk. “Everything points back to him—the money trails, the coded messages, the shipments’ timing,” he explains, his expression seemingly hardening by each word. “He’s not just managing the cargo, he’s intercepting it and passing it forward internationally.”

His jaw tightens, eyes quickly scanning the pages. “What’s his deal with the races?”

“Recruitment ground, maybe? That’s what we gathered from your intel, anyway,” Doyoung clarifies, offering a shrug. “He needs good drivers, fast ones. What’s a better way to have that than making them yourself?”

The memories of his conversations with Jaemin instantly resurface in Jeno’s mind.

Despite the relationships you’ve built through your brother, most with the guys from Neo Tech, Victor has still played a key role in your life by guiding you, eventually molding you into one of the best racers in the city. The connection isn’t just a passing detail— now it feels deliberate, purposeful. 

If Victor’s been intentionally shaping and recruiting racers, then his investment in you isn’t just about talent and skills alone. 

Jeno exhales slowly, voice giving away a hint of stress. “What’s the next step then?”

“There’s new shipment coming next week. They’re planning to take it out of the city, so we’ll be looking out for that,” Doyoung starts, leaning back with an apologetic wince. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but we can’t bring him in without solid evidence... we’re getting close, Jeno.”

“Can I join the team on that?” he asks, his expression hardening.

The agent raises an eyebrow, clicking his tongue at the request. “It’s risky but I’ll see what I can do,” he answers, hesitating for a second before shooting Jeno a meaningful glance. “I know I’ve asked before, but I just want to be sure we’re still on the same page about—”

Even though he knew it was coming, Jeno’s stomach still twists at the mention of your name. “She’s not a problem,” he firmly cuts in, body quickly growing tense. “She’s just there to race, nothing more.”

The oldest studies him carefully, visibly cautious despite the insistence. “Are you sure about that? Victor needs good drivers, and if she’s the best one in the scene—”

“I’m sure,” he interrupts again, his fists subconsciously clenching under the desk. “She’s not part of the operation.”

“You know that I trust you, Jeno,” Doyoung says quietly, though not looking entirely too convinced. “I hope you know what you’re doing. If you get too close, it’s not just you who could get hurt.”

“I’m just doing my job,” Jeno argues, glaring at the agent in a way that looks too forceful to feel genuine. “I’m undercover and she gets me closer to the scene, that’s all. I’m not about to compromise the investigation, Doyoung.”

The agent simply nods, sliding another file across the desk. “We’ve also got something new from the surveillance team. Do you recognize these names?”

Scanning the list of names printed on the paper, Jeno points at the last two ones. Shotaro and Sungchan. “I’ve seen these two race before… Vic’s drivers?”

“It seems like it, at least for the next shipment,” Doyoung confirms, regarding him with a knowing look. “If you can scout anything about them at the garage...”

He nods, closing the file before roughly pushing it over. “Sure, I’ll get back to you.”

As Doyoung gathers the files together, a deep exhale suddenly escapes from his mouth once silence settles in the conference room again. 

“Now, I’m asking you as a friend, not as a co-worker or an agent,” he starts, almost sounding exasperated under his characteristic concern. “It’s been three months. Are you sure you can keep doing this?”

The agent watches him attentively, his cranky professional facade slipping for a moment as Jeno clocks a hint of apprehension on his face. 

Doyoung has always been more than just a co-worker, having stepped into an older brother role from the moment he’d joined the agency as a fresh-faced, out-of-school rookie. 

Over the years, the oldest had become a steady presence in Jeno’s building career as one of the top agents in the team—whether through a firm warning when he pushed too far on something or simply seeing his potential when no one else would, there isn’t a single doubt that Doyoung holds a significant place in his life now.

Still, Jeno can’t help hesitating over the question, ultimately nodding despite the weight behind his words. “I’m fine.”

The agent doesn’t answer right away, watching him as though waiting for something. “Well, you don’t really seem like it,” Doyoung counters, standing up from his seat with the files in hands again. “You look like a guy who’s starting to lose sight of what side he’s on. I’d know about that.”

As the oldest steps aside to leave, the silence feels heavier than before, settling between them like the unspoken truth that Jeno’s been tightly safeguarding. Opening the door, Doyoung squeezes his shoulder in reassurance, nodding firmly despite the softness in his eyes.

“You’ve got this, Jeno.”

The sound of tires crunching against the gravel outside your place immediately draws your attention, a familiar engine’s hum echoing through the quiet evening. A small smile tugs at your mouth as recognition settles in, the sound almost unmistakable by now. Peering outside the window, you watch as Jeno’s green GT-R comes to a smooth stop into your driveway, a quiet warmth blooming in your chest.

It’s been a couple of days since you last saw each other, both staying busy enough with work and life between race days. 

In the three months since Jeno first challenged you, your relationship—or whatever that you can possibly call it—has slowly become something that’s been lingering in a space with no definitions or expectations.

Though neither of you are entirely sure of what to call it, even under the occasional teasing quips from Neo Tech’s crew, you’ve come to realize that you don’t really mind it. There’s a certain comfort in not overthinking it, trusting Jeno to exist in your life in the way he does—steady but gently, with an ease that feels very characteristic of him.

The evening chill rises shivers on your bare legs as you step outside, smirking at the way Jeno’s figure is sitting on the hood of his car, hands tucked into the pockets of a bomber jacket. His head lifts slightly at the sound of your quick footsteps, a groan escaping from his lips as you jump against him, arms wrapping around his neck in a tight hug. 

“Hello to you too,” Jeno starts, sounding nothing but amused as you pull back, a hint of surprise giving him away for a moment. “Didn’t think I’d get this kind of welcome today.”

“Why? Did you think I’d only do that when we’ve got an audience?” you ask, your tone playful as you stand between his legs, arms now loosely holding him. “I’m a loyal girl, Jeno Lee.”

He nods solemnly, a sudden flicker of seriousness catching his eyes. “I know you are.”

“You could’ve texted me,” you argue, sighing dramatically as you give him a glare. “We could’ve gone out if I knew you were coming tonight.”

Jeno smiles, his hands lightly squeezing your hips before pulling you closer. “What if I wanted to surprise you?”

Rolling your eyes, a grin spreads through your face before you can stop it. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today,” you tease, taking a step back again as you reach for his hand. “We can order some dinner then, I’ll know just the place—”

“I can’t stay tonight, Cherry,” he cuts in, gently stopping you with an apologetic glance. “I’m leaving town for a few days, I just wanted to see you before I go.”

As the words catch you off-guard, you blink confusedly at him. “You’re leaving? What for?”

“Family stuff,” Jeno answers, a heavy sigh escaping from his lips. “It came up suddenly but I’ll only be gone for a few days, a week at most.” 

You frown, pursing your lips in a pout before giving him a playful curious glance. “Family stuff? That’s all I get when there’s probably gossip?”

Jeno laughs, shaking his head in amusement for a second. “Gigi’s been rubbing off on you,” he teases, voice soon dropping to a mix of reassurance and tenderness as he exhales. “It’s not that exciting, I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You could’ve told me earlier,” you mutter, your fingers playing with the zipper of his jacket, purposefully avoiding his gaze. “The next race’s gonna suck if you’re not going to be here.”

His fingers grasp at your chin, lifting your face up until your eyes meet. “You’re the main part of these races, so I doubt that’ll happen,” he counters, clicking his tongue with a sly, playful grin tugging his lips. “I’d let my car with you but I’ll need it, so…”

With a scoff, you half-heartedly swat his chest. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He doesn’t answer, instead pausing the conversation for a moment with a soft brush of his thumb along your jaw, the warm touch contrasting against the evening. You lean closer first, but Jeno’s quick to capture your lips in a kiss that’s both tender and lingering, his hand moving from your face as he gently cups your neck. 

In the comfort of his arms, you completely lose track of time—the sounds around you become white noise, fading into the background between his embrace and the softness of his lips, one kiss turning two, then three, and so on. 

The loud rumble of a specific Charger pulls both of you from your shared bubble. Jeno’s arms drop slightly, though his hands remain resting at your hips as Vic suddenly comes into view on the street. The atmosphere instantly changes it, Jeno subtly tensing while watching the man pull up beside his Skyline. 

You don’t seem to notice the skeptical look on Victor’s face, greeting him with a smile once the car comes to a stop. “Vic? What’s up with you guys surprising me tonight?”

“Great minds think alike, Cherry,” Victor says, glancing between both of you with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just came by to say goodbye before I head out for a job.”

As Jeno’s eyes harden at Vic’s words, the quiet shift in his demeanor isn’t lost on you. There’s something in the way the two men regard each other in that moment—not hostile, but definitely not friendly either, leaving curiosity to gnaw at you. 

With a half-hearted huff, you ignore the edge in their interaction, instead glaring at both of them. “Great, I’ll just ignore the fact that you’re both suddenly leaving and just wish you a safe trip, then.”

The man’s eyes flicker to Jeno for a second, a look of subtle recognition in his gaze. “I’m sure we’ll be back soon,” Victor answers, eyes returning to you again in a sharp glance. “You and I’ll talk when I get back.”

Puzzled by the striking weight in his tone, you hum with a hesitant nod. “Take care, Vic.”

It doesn’t take long until Victor’s car disappears down the street, the red tail lights slowly growing smaller into the evening. Jeno remains quiet in front of you, his hands still resting lightly on your hips, almost as if he’s distracted. You glance up at him, noting the tension in his jaw and the way his gaze’s been fixed towards the direction Vic’s just headed to. 

Placing a hand on his shoulder, you raise an eyebrow as he glances back at you again, a touch of agitation in his eyes. “You okay?”

He blinks, expression softening slightly at your touch. “Yeah,” Jeno replies after a beat, his tone calm but not entirely convincing. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” you ask, gently hoping to pull him from whatever had him so lost in thought.

As he stands up from the hood of his car, moving both of you by a step, a half-hearted smile curls on his lips. “Nothing worth worrying about.”

“Everyone’s running off tonight,” you say, sighing in mock exasperation upon realizing that he’s leaving soon too. “Should I start taking it personally?”

“You should go visit Jaemin at the garage while I’m gone. He’s been missing you these days,” Jeno jokes, brushing his fingers against your cheek. “I’ll be back before you can even miss me.”

Not resisting the faint smile that tugs at your mouth, you roll your eyes. “Bold of you to assume I’ll miss you in the first place,” you taunt, though a little softer than intended. “Fine, I guess I’ll have to go bother him then.”

He’s the one to lean down for a kiss again, though it’s a gentle, soft one to your forehead first. It’s enough for you to tug him by his jacket, pressing your lips to his with a sigh against his mouth. When Jeno pulls back, he regards you for a second, almost as if he’s trying to commit your features to his mind. 

You watch as he climbs into the GT-R, the engine roaring back to life in its familiar growl. Giving you one last look through the open window, a faint smile plays on Jeno’s lips. 

“I’ll see you soon, Cherry.”

Crossing your arms, you smile tauntingly at him, the words slipping with a touch of fondness.

“We’ll see about that, Jeno.”

Outside the windows of his apartment, the city’s skyline is casted with a deep orange glow as the sun sets, drawing a picture that Jeno rarely indulges in whenever he’s at home. 

Now that he’s back, the sight quietly tugs at the strings of his heart, especially after everything that has happened in the last few days. It sets a strange, confusing impression in his mind—one that makes him distinctively remember Doyoung’s words from last time. 

The whiplash of feeling at home without really being at home rings several alarms in Jeno’s head, even if he’s been purposefully ignoring them for a while now. He still doesn’t know how to feel about the ease in which he slips in and out of… whatever this is supposed to be, having been toying so effortlessly with the line that draws his two personas. 

Still, despite the noise in his head, you’re the one thing that Jeno’s felt recklessly sure about. He might not know what the mission can possibly mean to the future, but he knows what it means to him, at least for now.

The knock at the door leaves him anticipating something Jeno can’t quite tell.

It almost feels like he hasn’t seen you in months, his lingering eyes getting caught as you step into his place, walking past him with a smirk on your lips. 

“Hi,” you say lightly, the familiar teasing touch in your voice pulling at his chest. “Did you miss me?”

“I don’t know,” Jeno counters, raising an eyebrow as an amused chuckle betrays him. “Did you miss me?”

As you pause for a second, your gaze suddenly hinting a mix of softness and apprehension, the last thing he’s expecting is to feel your arms wrapping him in a firm, almost distraught hug. The suddenness of it takes Jeno by surprise, his hands hovering in the air for a moment before settling reassuringly against your back. 

“Hey, look at me,” he calls, pulling back just enough to catch your eyes as his voice drops to a concerned tone. “Is there something wrong?”

You’re quick to shake your head, offering a half-hearted smile in an attempt to brush it off. “It’s nothing,” you say, stepping back from his embrace with a glance around the place, expression shifting into something lighter. “What are we having for dinner today?”

Despite his hesitation at the moment, Jeno reluctantly moves on, the dinner eventually starting off easy enough with you raving over your love for the take-out menu he’s picked. It feels that way for a while as he listens to you recount updates from the crew at Neo Tech, your win at the last race that’s just marked your second five-win streak, a few tidbits about Jaemin and Gigi fooling around with each other. 

Still, even through your laughs and the way you accept his touch every now and then, there’s a quietness about you today, an edge to the smiles that doesn’t reach your eyes. 

The subtle pauses between your words, the heavy way your eyes linger on his figure whenever you think he isn’t looking—Jeno knows there’s something on your mind, even if you’re not saying it. 

It isn’t until later, after the plates are cleared and the hues of oranges have faded to a blue evening outside the windows of his place, that your voice breaks the silence of his room. 

“You’re not really a mechanic, are you?”

The soft flow of the bedside lamp casts a warm glow to your features, seemingly devoid of any emotion. With your head resting against his chest, your fingers have been idly tracing patterns against his skin, though it immediately stops as you feel his sudden tension. 

The question hangs in the air for a second, Jeno’s heart beating hard enough that he’s sure you can hear it. 

You lift your head to look at him, your eyes quietly searching for answers. “I mean… you’re good at it, you’re an amazing racer, but—” you pause, exhaling deeply despite the ease that you continue. “It just doesn’t add up, Jeno. I think you’re something else, and… I think I know that.”

It’s clear that you’re giving him a chance to deny, to tell you that you’re wrong. The tiny hint of hope in your eyes slowly fades away as his silence stretches, serving more than a spoken confirmation as it quietly tells you everything. 

“Vic told me,” you say, voice barely a whisper. “He said you’re an agent.”

As you acknowledge the truth in the open, Jeno’s stomach sinks, a wave of unease crashing over him. He’d known that this moment would come, but not like this, not there or today or with you looking up at him like that. 

“Is he telling the truth?” you ask, arms wrapping around knees as you sit up. “Is that why you’re here? Is that why you’re… with me?”

Jeno can’t seem to find the right words to answer, hating himself the longer his silence grows between you. It seems to be your breaking point too, leaving the bed to stand up a few feet away from him. 

A look of exasperation settles on your face, sharp eyes glaring at him. “You’re not denying it, Jeno,” you urge him, your voice breaking for a second before you huff a bitter laugh. “Are you kidding me? Was any of this real or just part of your job?”

The answer is quiet, his voice almost cracking. “It’s not like that—”

“Right, then what is it like?” you snap, raising an eyebrow in a mock challenge. “I’m sorry, but it looks like you’ve been lying to me the whole time.”

Jeno exhales shakily, a frown set between his eyebrows. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Didn’t have a choice?” you repeat, an ironic chuckle escaping from your mouth. “You had a choice to not approach me at all, you had a choice to lay me off ages ago, you had a choice to tell me the truth. How’s that for you?”

“It’s not that simple,” he argues, running a hand through his hair, jaw tensing for a moment. “I wanted to tell you, but… I just couldn’t. It’d put you in risk and I wasn’t about to do that.”

“So what? You just use me instead?” you start, anger crashing down as you suddenly grow quiet, your voice trembling. “Get close to me because it’d help with whatever you’re doing here?”

Jeno’s fists clench upon the tears brimming in your eyes, his breath turning shallow as he avoids your gaze. “No,” he mutters, firm enough to contrast against the flicker of dejection on his face. “This is not what this is.”

For a moment, he wonders if you’ve picked up the white lie, your expression unreadable as you simply watch him. He hates himself for lying to you, for letting you get close when he knew he couldn’t give you the truth. More than that, he hates how much he cares—how much losing you is feeling like losing something more important than his own job, than the entire investigation itself. 

Shaking your head with a finality that’s almost meant to defy him, you harshly wipe the tears off your eyes. “Let’s just not do this anymore.”

Once the words click, Jeno can’t help but freeze for a moment before panic surges through him as you walk around the room. With shaky hands, you quickly gather your clothes, not sparing a single side-eye towards his direction.

“Look at me,” Jeno calls, voice raising to a rougher tone as he sits up, trying to get a look at your face. “Hey, look at me!”

Your movements remain frantic as you shrug a jacket on, continuing to ignore him as if you hadn’t noticed the hard change to his demeanor. Without a word, you head straight to the door, the tension between you thick enough to feel suffocating. Jeno groans, his chest twisting in frustration and regret as he scrambles off the bed. 

Just as your hand reaches for the doorknob, his hand closes around your upper arm, pulling you back with a careful force.

You finally turn around to face him, hurt and anger laced to your features. “What?”

“I don’t want to see you at the next race,” Jeno orders, the weight of his stony eyes visibly surprising you for a second. “Don’t go.”

As you frown, your confusion is evident, body almost relaxing under his touch. “What?”

With a glare, he makes sure that the words are not a request, but rather a command. “Don’t come to the next race, Cherry.”

The anger in your gaze hardens into something more painful as you pull your arm from his grasp. “Fuck off, Jeno,” you say, the venom in your words cutting deep as you open the door, this time without hesitation. “I’m the one that doesn’t want to see you at the next race.” 

The door closes with a simple click, sounding miserably loud to the silence of his apartment now. 

Jeno’s fingers curl into fists at his side, a ragged breath escaping from his lips as he stares blankly at it. Though the thought feels just as hollow as his lies, Jeno tells himself that maybe it’s better this way. After all, the job does demand sacrifice—relationships, connections, anything that can possibly jeopardize his missions. 

Now left with the company of his heavy heart, Jeno wonders how many times he’ll have to tell that lie in order to convince himself instead.

The night air feels thick with tension as Jeno comes to a stop outside the warehouse, parking in a spot away from the usual crowd and their curious eyes. The race’s just about to start, a few cars already lining up with the blasting music in the background as usual. 

Race days are always charged with a raw energy that he’s grown accustomed to, one that never failed to make him feel alive—but today, it feels skeptically different.

Jeno can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong tonight, despite Doyoung having already warned him about the change of plans in the investigation after his cover was blown by Victor. For a moment, he wonders if that’s just his mind playing games. While keeping his distance from you, Jeno has been subconsciously waiting for the other shoe to drop, anticipating you to eventually expose him. 

His arrival plays out as nothing out of the ordinary though, Jaemin and Taeyong waving off from a distance as he steps out of the car, walking through the swarm of people to scan the racers of the night. 

A part of him knew it was futile to warn you off the race, no matter how much he didn’t want you anywhere near the place tonight, regardless of the operation falling apart or not. It almost surprises him to not spot your Mazda at the starting line until he sees you, standing a few feet away from the grid while talking to Gigi, both of you visibly bickering.

He knows that your presence’s probably making things a lot more complicated to him. 

The frustration quietly builds in his chest, mostly out of his own impotence than your choice to disregard his instruction. After all, the more he thought about it, the more he realized—if Vic knows about him and has kept quiet the entire time except to turn you against him, Jeno can’t really protect you, not without giving himself away or ruining the investigation entirely. 

Given they most definitely are getting too close to Victor’s home, it feels fitting for the man to pull his own strings somehow. 

The man’s presence at the race today is a dead giveaway of that, standing by his black Charger with a few of his shady-looking guards, watching the audience with an air of stress to his face. Jeno can’t help noticing the way his eyes keep flickering through the lot and the racers, almost as if expecting something. 

Not having enough time to prod further, Jaemin suddenly approaches with a pat to his back, eyeing him with a flicker of both curiosity and exasperation in his gaze.

“You should probably fix whatever happened between you and Cherry,” the mechanic starts, snickering almost bitterly. “If neither of you are racing, who’s going to make this entire thing exciting?”

A chuckle escapes from his lips, Jeno relaxing for a second as he shakes his head at the guy. “I bet Gigi would love to hear that.”

“Please, it doesn’t seem like it but Gigi worships her,” Jaemin discloses, the playfulness on his face quickly fading to a mock warning look in his direction. “Don’t tell Cherry that if you don’t want Gigi to fuck you up.”

Before he can respond, the cars roar to life with Johnny’s voice, revving engines interrupting the conversation as the usual procedure starts. 

The crowd tenses once the countdown starts, flag up in the air. 

Then, a sharp screech of tires breaks through, the sound of approaching sirens getting louder by the second, flashes of blue and red lights quickly surrounding the warehouse. The crowd scatters around in a frenzy, running off in panic while the racers attempt to break through the chaos through a few secret exits. 

This is part of his job—the chaos, the unpredictability, the apprehension. Jeno knows better to keep it cool, keep the cover intact for as long as he can despite everything, even if it means keeping you out of it.

But you aren’t leaving. 

With Jaemin hurrying off, shouting something about meeting at the garage and finding Gigi over the booming sirens, Jeno’s eyes easily find you in the havoc of people. You’re frozen in place, simply watching the commotion with wide, confused eyes. 

“Get out of here!” he yells, shoving through the crowd as he rushes towards your direction, his outstretched hand waving you off. “Cherry! You need to fucking leave!”

You barely acknowledge him before staring at something else. Following your fixed gaze, Jeno finds Vic standing still at the same spot, unphased by the madness surrounding him.  

Something about his calmness, his tranquility in the middle of the chaos doesn’t sit right with Jeno. It’s been long proved by the investigation that Victor Torres isn’t exactly on the up-and-up, but seeing him there, just watching the mess unfold in a way that feels almost detached makes a pin immediately drop in Jeno’s mind.

Whatever’s happening tonight was not an accident—it was planned.

As he approaches you, Jeno quickly grabs your arm, guiding you away from the commotion when a sudden bang echoes through the air. Over his shoulder, he watches your body suddenly lurch as something sharp seems to cross your shoulder. You stumble, your hand instinctively reaching for the spot as Jeno pulls you closer, holding you steady as his eyes frantically search for something.

The sight of blood running from your neck and down your arm surprises him, anxiety rushing through his body as he exhales shakily. “Fuck!”

“Jeno,” you call, eyes wide with shock as your shaky hands fist his jacket. “What the hell is happening?”

“I don’t know,” Jeno answers, trying to keep his voice steady in an attempt to mend the visible fear in your eyes. “You’re going to be okay, we’ll get out here.”

A burst of gunfire sends the place into mayhem again, both of you almost losing balance over your feet as Jeno half-carries you, shielding you with his body on the escape. 

It feels like a lifetime until you reach his car, the way your body grows weaker by each second sending chills down his spine. He’s quick to help you onto the passenger seat, slamming the door shut and rushing to the driver’s side, barely managing to reach for his phone before emergency-calling Doyoung. 

It rings once, the agent’s distressed voice coming off the speaker just as Jeno starts the engine. “What’s happening?”

“You fucking tell me, Doyoung,” he starts, the tone suddenly ragged in anger as he reverses out of the corner, picking up speed while expertly dodging the few stray racers still around. “Why the fuck is the police here? I thought the plans had changed—why the fuck are they here opening gunfire out of nowhere?”

“The police’s there?” Doyoung asks, giving away his aggravation even through the phone. “We didn’t send anyone, the plans really have changed. Can’t you identify them?”

“There’s no time for that,” he bites back, hands tightening around the steering wheel as he takes a look at your unmoving, quiet figure. “She’s been shot, I’m taking her to the hospital.”

“Shit,” the agent curses, an uncharacteristic behavior that feels fitting to the sudden weight of the situation. “I’m calling the team, we’ll see what we can do. I’ll meet you at the hospital, wait for me.”

The call disconnects as Jeno takes a back exit inside the warehouse, acutely aware of your silence. You’re gripping the seat with loose fingers, breathing uneven as you stare ahead, eyes unfocused. As his Skyline reaches an empty alley on the way out of the lot, Jeno presses the accelerator harder, feeling as if there’s not much time left. 

“Look at me,” Jeno calls, the words ironically bringing a bad taste to his mouth as he presses you, still not looking at him. “Cherry, look at me!”

As you turn to him, your eyes are looking far too unfocused and dazed for his comfort. “Where’s Jaemin and Gigi?”

“At the garage,” he says, rushing to answer with an ease that he isn’t currently feeling. “They’re fine. I’ll call them—they’ll meet you at the hospital.”

Jeno feels his composure crack the longer he looks at you, taking in the blood staining your clothes and the way your breath’s slowly growing uneven. The road stretches ahead as he speeds further, though all he can focus on is the time slipping through his fingers no matter how fast he’s driving.

Pulling into the hospital’s entrance, the tires of his GT-R screeching against the asphalt, Jeno doesn’t even bother parking properly. 

As he hurries to your side, his movements grow increasingly desperate upon noticing you abruptly losing consciousness. Swinging the door open, Jeno scoops you into his arms, your head falling against his chest as your breathing slows down. 

The staff immediately rush to him as he walks through the sliding doors of the ER, fast to take you from his hold. The sight of your unconscious figure on the stretcher feels crushing, leaving him to just stand there with clenched fists as a sense of helplessness seems to weigh him down on the spot. 

It’s just when Jeno hears Doyoung calling for his name that he breaks out of the trance, turning around to find the agent’s disgruntled, but worried figure quickly approaching him. 

“Hey,” Doyoung greets, the low tone not masking the urgency laced to it. “How’s she doing?”

Stepping back to lean against the hospital’s wall, he can’t help huffing humorlessly. “What the fuck was that, Doyoung?”

“I’m still not sure, our team’s still looking into it,” the agent answers right away, sighing tensely as he glances knowingly at the youngest. “It definitely wasn’t us… but taking a wild guess? I don’t think the police were part of it.”

Jeno’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Are you saying that was Victor?”

Doyoung shrugs, scoffing a dry laugh. “He’s got the means for it, that’s for sure,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest with an eye-roll. “With us pushing back the operation, he had more than enough time to plan something.”

With a frustrated exhale, Jeno runs a hand over his face, features hardening into a frown for a second. “Listen, I don’t think my cover’s blown—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Doyoung interjects, cutting him off with a firm, yet reassuring nod. “We’ll handle the fall-out, Jeno.”

Over the older agent’s shoulder, Jeno suddenly spots Jaemin hurrying into the hospital. The mechanic’s eyes dart around the room for a moment until finding him, suspiciously eyeing the scene before taking a few steps closer. Noticing the shift on Jeno’s face, Doyoung follows his gaze, raising an eyebrow as Jaemin stops beside them. The agent is quick to take the hint, clapping Jeno’s shoulder before leaving with a mumble about needing coffee. 

Jaemin breaks the silence first, his usual playful features heavy with a mix of concern and exhaustion. “What happened? Is Cherry okay?”

Unsure of how much to reveal given his position, Jeno can’t help hesitating. “She got caught in the middle of gunfire,” he replies, pausing for a moment before glancing apologetically at the mechanic. “I got her out as fast as I could.”

“We’ve been safe for years, the cops have never bothered us before,” Jaemin argues, nervously running a hand through his hair, frowning in confusion. “Why today?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Jeno answers, trying to keep the tone as steady as possible despite the truth behind the words. “It didn’t seem like they were targeting anyone specific, if that’s worth anything.”

As Jaemin regards Jeno for a second, a chuckle escapes from his mouth, the sound coming off sharply. “She told me.”

He feels his chest tighten, taken aback by the unexpected twist. “What?”

“You’re a cop, right?” the mechanic asks, voice down to a quieter, solemn tone. “Cherry told me everything and made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone, not even you or Gigi.”

Shaking his head with a deep breath, Jeno feels the weight of his persona pressing down on him heavier than ever. “I’m sorry.”

Jaemin shrugs, surprising him by huffing a short laugh. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” he says, a flicker of something softer crossing his eyes. “Just… whatever you’re planning, make sure it doesn’t screw both of you over more than it already has.”

The nurse’s voice suddenly cuts the conversation, Jeno faltering for a moment as both of them look up at the same time, their shared tensions immediately replaced by a sense of relief with over words.

“One of you can go in and see her now.”

The soft beeping of the monitor fills the silence of the hospital room, contrasting with the lingering, annoying buzz still echoing in your ears. The bandage on your neck feels perfectly snug, covering the bullet’s graze almost down to your shoulder. 

After the chaos of earlier, you can’t help but feel misplaced once the nurse leaves, unconsciously replaying the entire night in your mind—the loud, sharp gunfire, the panic in his voice during your escape, the detachment you’d fallen into. It doesn’t take long until Jeno slowly steps into the room, features guarded despite the softness in his eyes upon meeting yours. 

There’s a sense of hesitation in the way he moves, almost as if he’s unsure of his own presence around you. Taking a seat by the chair beside your bed, the silence between you holds for a second, only for Jeno to break it with a tired sigh first. 

“Hey,” he greets quietly, glancing at the bandage on your neck with a touch of attentiveness. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug instinctively, the stiffness in your movements betraying a light discomfort. “It wasn’t as bad as it felt,” you say, placing a careful hand over the bandage with a dry chuckle. “It was just a graze. I’m just bad at handling stress and blood, apparently.”

Jeno leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looks up at you, his features looking nothing but distressed. “I’m really sorry, Cherry.”

Your lips twitch for a moment, a bitter smile almost tugging at your mouth. “For what, exactly? The cops raiding us or the lies you’ve been telling me?”

“For all of it,” Jeno answers, the words firm and steady, willingly taking the bite behind your question. “I know it’s not an excuse, but my team’s not involved in whatever happened. We’re looking into it, but…”

At the sudden pause, you lean back against the pillows on your bed, letting out a weary sigh. “Why do I feel like I know what you’re going to say?”

Jeno chuckles humorlessly, shaking his head with a grimace. “I think… I should tell you the truth about me first, right?” he begins, taking a deep breath before locking his eyes with yours again. “I’m an undercover agent. I was assigned to this case a few months ago, to investigate Victor and his crew.”

You swallow hard, doing your best to keep yourself from reacting despite the weight of his confession, the implications subtle. “What does Vic have to do with this?”

“He’s the head of an international smuggling operation in the city,” he reveals, almost looking apologetic over the words. “Everything you can think of, he’s got it—money laundering, trafficking, weapon deals. We’ve been looking into his business for a while, but it’s… complicated. He’s careful, his crew’s good.”

“Is that why you got involved with me?” you ask, the tone of your voice thoughtful, yet not particularly soft. “Did you think I was working for him?”

As he frowns, Jeno’s gaze hardens for a moment. “I’m not lying to you anymore, so I won’t say that I didn’t.”

With a hum, the words are quick to slip out of your mouth, almost too casually for the situation. “I’ve been looking into him too, you know,” you admit, chuckling quietly at the surprise on his face. “After that night, I started digging a little. I’m sure you know how easy it is to connect the dots if you keep your ears open around the racers.”

Jeno sighs, his eyebrows furrowing apologetically. “Cherry—”

“I’m not working for him,” you interrupt, frustration and disappointment laced to your broken exhale. “I don’t know what you know, but I—”

Reaching over for your hand, Jeno gently stops you from fidgeting. “I know you’re not,” he cuts in firmly, his gaze locking onto yours, the heaviness in his voice softening. “I know, baby.”

The unexpected nickname hangs in the air, catching both of you off guard. As the surprise breaks through your frustration, Jeno seems just as much taken aback, his lips parted as if realizing the slip a little too late. For a moment, the weight of the moment shifts, leaving a charged silence between you.

“So, what are you going to do now?” you ask, clearing your throat as if to recompose yourself, looking away from him. “Are you keeping the cover and continuing the investigation?”

“The investigation’s compromised now so…” Jeno hesitates, huffing a peeved laugh before slumping back against his seat. “I’ll probably have to leave. Victor knows who I am and if I stay… it’ll be just dangerous for everyone.”

You nod slowly, heart aching in a way you hadn’t anticipated. “You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do,” you say quietly, managing a playful smile despite the tears burning in your eyes, threatening to fall. “For what it’s worth, I don’t regret any of it. It was nice trusting you, Jeno… even if only for a little while.”

He looks at you then, his expression pained as a shaky sigh escapes from his mouth. “Cherry—”

Shaking your head, you silently fist his jacket to pull him up, Jeno immediately following as he stands up with a step closer to the bed. As he leans closer, carefully holding himself over your figure, you cup his face gently. Your fingertips brush against his cheeks, moving to his lips before you close the distance, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth. 

The struggle in his eyes is clear as you pull back, though Jeno doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just nods, forehead resting against yours for just a moment more before he stands up.

With a long look at you, Jeno pulls a set of keys from his jeans, reaching for your hand and dropping them into your palm. A genuine, incredulous laugh escapes from your lips over the realization, immediately drawing a small smile out of him. 

“You take care of yourself, Cherry,” he says softly, the nickname carrying more emotion than ever before.

You nod, a half-hearted, teasing smile slowly growing on your face despite the ache in your chest. “I’ll see you around, Jeno.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, you know that this the end of whatever it was you’d built together—but only the beginning of something you’ll have to build alone now.

“I can’t believe this is your first vacation since joining the agency.”

Stepping out of the elevator, Jeno lets out a soft laugh at Doyoung’s exasperation, the man walking beside him as they make their way through the lobby.

Despite the cool air conditioning of the building, the bright sunlight slipping through the glass doors hints at another warm, heavy summer day outside. Jeno tugs at the tie around his neck, loosening the knot before undoing the first buttons of his shirt.

“Taking days off under orders is hardly a vacation,” he replies, his tone dry but laced with humor.

Doyoung huffs, shaking his head as they near the building’s exit. “God knows you need some time off,” the agent argues, glancing at him knowingly. “Maybe you should go to the beach these days, you could use some vitamin D—”

As his friend continues the spiel, Jeno quickly glances outside, about to step through the glass doors when his attention’s caught by an unexpected, but familiar sight. 

Outside the agency’s building, the green Nissan Skyline GT-R contrasts with the muted, neutral colors from the other cars driving through the same street. Sitting at the hood of the car, flipping a cherry red lollipop between your fingers, you look like a mirage to Jeno’s eyes, maybe a vision brought by the heat from outside.

“—not listening to me?”

He blinks at Doyoung after a second, startled by the agent’s hand waving in front of his face. “What?”

With a suspicious frown, Doyoung trails his eyes in the same direction, a sound of surprise instantly escaping from his lips. “Is that who I think it is?”

He nods, resisting the smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah.” 

As recognition suddenly flickers in the agent’s gaze, a scoff escapes from his lips over the car, his tone laced with disbelief. “So that’s where the Skyline we gave you went?” 

Jeno chuckles, offering a half-hearted shrug at his friend. “I paid for it.”

“She’s technically a criminal,” Doyoung starts, more playful than anything, giving him a mock indignant glance. “You do know that, right? It might not seem like it but street racing is illegal—”

“I’ll see you later, Doyoung.”

Jeno’s voice cuts the oldest’s teasing, moving to step ahead through the door as Doyoung snickers behind him, shaking his head in amusement. 

It doesn’t take long for you to notice him approaching, your lips soon curling in a soft, somehow teasing smile. Despite his surprise, Jeno doesn’t hesitate stepping closer, moving to stand between your legs in a familiar move.

“Hey,” you greet, offering a pat to his chest in a coy manner. “Long time no see, huh?”

“Seven months, exactly,” Jeno answers, giving a firm nod before raising a curious eyebrow at you. “I’m not complaining, but what are you doing here?”

You sigh exaggeratedly, tilting your head at him. “You know words are quick to get around, right? I heard your first vacation ever starts today.”

“You’ve heard it right,” he says, smirking at your antics as if the past months hadn’t happened, a sense of familiarity settled between you.

As you smile, something softer flickers in your gaze. “So I was thinking… if you’ve got some time off, maybe you’d want to spend it doing something cool,” you start, shrugging lightly. “You know, like going for a drive or racing with someone?”

For a moment, Jeno can only stare at you, still taken aback by your abrupt appearance. Then, without thinking twice, he suddenly closes the distance between you, hands reaching for your face as his lips finally meet yours again. Smiling against his mouth, you lean back as your palms rest against the car’s hood, the kiss so unhurried and lingering that Jeno almost pushes you down against it after a while. 

When you pull away, his lips still following you for a split second, a smile grows on your face.

“So,” you say softly, your voice laced with amusement. “Is that a yes?”

Jeno grins, hands on your hips as he pulls you off the Skyline, arms holding you closer as if you’ve never left.

“Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @saranghoeforanton @tywritesstuff

[surftrips]

BAD REPUTATION | LUKE CASTELLAN

BIG REPUTATION — CHAPTER 01

pairing luke castellan x fem!ares!reader

summary upon her arrival at camp half-blood, y/n quickly captures the attention of the gods and the heart of a certain brunette-haired boy.

author's note so excited to make this an official series! please let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist for bad reputation and other works featuring luke. this is going to be a mix of social media posts / short fics.

→ installment of this au read for context

As a child of Ares, you were stubborn, short-tempered, and walked around camp with a permanent angry resting face. At the same time, you were known to be loyal, protective, and funny. If being funny was the same thing as being sarcastic.  

The younger campers were scared of you, the older ones around your age respected you, but everyone admired you in some way or another. If not for your excellent fighting skills, you had a demeanor that not even the gods above could ignore. The way you carried yourself was captivating, so much so that your father had claimed you within the first week of your arrival at camp, and ever since then, you had proven your worth to anyone that watched. 

Perhaps one camper kept the closest eye on you, the curly-haired brunette boy did not believe in love, let alone love at first sight— not until he saw you. You and him had arrived at camp around the same time, but your paths did not cross until a Capture the Flag game weeks later, when you both happened to be on the same team. 

Word had already gotten around about your talent with the spear. Clarisse had introduced the weapon to you, and you had caught on quickly. You were in the middle of fighting off multiple campers on the other team when Luke appeared beside you. 

“Need a little help?” he asked.

“Nope, I got it under control.”  

“Are you sure?” 

Even though you were strong, it was still three against one. 

You relented, “Fine.” 

Luke chuckled, hopping in with his sword. You couldn’t help but admire him out of the corner of your eye, and you were glad that your helmet hid the expression on your face. 

You had gone on to win that game and many others alongside each other, in an unspoken allyship. In time, both of your reputations had begun to precede you. 

Each week, campers awaited to hear if they would be playing on the same team as you and Luke, and each week, they would be disappointed to hear otherwise. But your fighting skills were not the only topic of conversation, it was becoming abundantly obvious that a certain boy had fallen for you. 

“Dude, what’s going on with you and Y/N?” Percy asked Luke over dinner one night. 

“What do you mean?” Luke responded, still chewing on his food.

“Come on, you’re not exactly being stealthy about it.” 

Luke laughed, “Yeah, alright, you got me.”

“So you do like her!”

“What? No, who said that?”

“You literally just admitted it.”

“I said, ‘you got me.’”

“Exactly, I figured it out. You have feelings for her,” Percy declared.

You happened to walk over at that moment, interrupting them. “Feelings for who?” 

Luke coughed, allowing Percy to respond for him. “Uh, uhm… no one!”

“Percy, I literally heard you.” Even though he was one of the younger campers that you were close with, the blonde boy still found himself scared of you on occasions such as this one when you were staring at him dead in the eye. 

“Sorry, Luke, you’re on your own for this one,” Percy blurted out before running away.

You turned towards Luke, who had since finished recovering from his coughing. He was nervously smiling at you, some color had slightly rushed into his cheeks. 

“So, who’s the lucky girl?” you asked, smirking at him. 

“Oh, you don’t know her,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Are you sure? I feel like I know pretty much everyone here.” 

“She…. uh… doesn’t go here.” 

You couldn’t help but let out a suppressed laugh. “She doesn’t go here,” you repeated.  

“Nope! I’m gonna go get some dessert.” With that, he left you alone at the table, quietly laughing to yourself. 

You weren’t totally oblivious, you knew that you must have come up in conversation for the two boys to have behaved that way. However, you were content to see how far this would go, and how much teasing you could get away with before Luke got the courage to do anything about it.

Besides, you had a reputation to keep up, and being soft all of a sudden was not part of the plan. 

[attapullman]

Robert From Next Door | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You've lucked out with the perfect neighbor, a kind and overly helpful WSO. He puts up Christmas lights, lends his lawn mower, and grabs your morning paper. But what happens when he's out of peppermint tea one night?

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings & Notes: Robert "Bob" Floyd x gn!reader, extremely fluffy, food mentions, heavy making out, shirtless Bob, only referred to as Robert for the series, unrealistic expectations of next door neighbors, 18+ as always. This idea hit me like a bus while walking the dog (where I almost was hit by a bus) and has been fully unable to leave my brain since then. Cozy, sweet, overly helpful Neighbor!Bob is literally all I want for Christmas. And he's my holiday present to all of you!

robert from next door | if only the neighbors knew

“I have a ladder you can borrow.” You look up from the box of Christmas lights you’re detangling in the garage to see your neighbor standing in the opening to the street. Coffee mug in hand as he watches you loop out another knot. He’d noticed your garage open that morning, too early for a Saturday, and came to investigate or possibly offer assistance. If there is one thing Robert Floyd does best, it’s help his neighbors.

You had moved into the tidy bungalow just under a year ago, placing a potted fern on the doorstep and painting over the dated beige walls. It was finally starting to feel like a home. Now with the holidays approaching (as reminded by the entirely too jolly Santas everywhere in town) you were excited to start new traditions in your humble home. And it started with putting twinkling lights on the house, lights currently tangled in the cardboard box you haphazardly threw them in twelve months ago. 

Threading out another knot, you give him a playful smile. “How do you know I don’t have a ladder?”

“Lucky guess?” He’s not going to admit he’s scanned and memorized nearly every inch of your garage.

The day after the moving truck came and went, you were thrilled when your first new neighbor rang your doorbell. While you had expected some middle aged woman with a plate of brownies and a plea for babysitting, you were pleasantly surprised at the man in a flight suit (Lt. Robert Floyd according to the stitching) with the striking blue eyes who stood there instead. He didn’t have brownies, but he happily gave you the lowdown on the neighborhood as you sat amongst moving boxes drinking lemonade out of paper cups. 

As the months passed, an easy friendship had developed amongst neighbors. In the morning before making his way to base, Robert would scoop up your morning paper and walk it up the seven steps to your porch. The paper boy always threw it short. And despite numerous pleas to leave it be - you didn’t mind the short walk - every morning when you went for the paper, there it sat neatly on your mat along with any misdelivered mail.

And when he wasn’t saving kittens from trees in his free time, Robert was a shining example of a great neighbor. Driving his truck for a trip to get plants at the nursery, lending his mower when yours broke in the heat of July, cleaning your gutters when the leaves fell…you shouldn’t be surprised he’s now offering up his ladder so you can enjoy your Christmas lights. Looking down at the tangled mess, you hadn’t even thought about how you were going to get them actually on the house. Nails? Did you even own nails?

Not even an hour later you’re standing on the sidewalk facing your home with a hot cup of coffee in your chilly hands. Propped up on a ladder with detangled lights in one hand - and a tool belt around his waist like your personal Mr. Fix It - Robert hums to himself as he hammers nails into the trim before wrapping the first strand of lights in place. 

You had accepted his ladder graciously, but mentioned you needed to hit the hardware store first for nails. With a nod of his head he left your garage and you continued on the lights. It was a tedious project, but rewarding once the final strand lay flat against the concrete floor. You were digging around in boxes for tools when your neighbor reappeared. He had a ladder and his tool belt, a full box of nails clutched in his large hand. Cheeks warm, you assured him you would buy your own. He let out a playful pfft.

“Nonsense. It’s Saturday, the hardware store will be packed. Consider them an early Christmas gift.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Let me at least trade you for them? A cup of coffee?”

“Do you still have those Kona beans?” His ocean blue eyes are hopeful.

Your smile widened as you nodded. The overpriced beans you had expensively shipped every month were a favourite of the weapons systems officer. Last month you had hosted the homeowners association meeting (for the first and hopefully only time) and Robert had raved about the coffee you served. He was used to the basic stuff they made on base, his own home brewing not much better. Your coffee was the best.

When you came back to the garage after whipping up a carafe - hot mug in hand - you shouldn’t have been surprised to see your neighbor already up the ladder, deep into the project.

You holler up to him. “Robert, get down! You don’t need to do that!”

But he waves you off, insisting that he had already started and might as well finish the job. He would just drink your delicious coffee once he was done. And so you were relegated to the sidewalk to make sure everything looked straight from the street. 

From this distance you could admire him innocently. The military-issue wire frames that catch the morning sun. Broad shoulders under the neat canvas barn coat he recently replaced when the corduroy collar ripped. His strong hands shielded from the chilled wind under his workman’s gloves. Because someone like Robert Floyd follows safety precautions and owns workman’s gloves. 

At this angle you can see the slight smile on his lips as he strings lights along your porch. For the next hour you watch him put up lights, him occasionally turning back and asking you how they look.

“Are you sure they’re straight?” You promise him they are, but he meticulously checks his work anyway. He wants your house to look perfect. 

The wind has tinged both your cheeks a deep pink and the cold is starting to seep through boots. Robert has nailed the last of your lights to the trim and deemed them faultless. He comes down the ladder and walks to stand beside you to admire his handiwork. Hands on hips - with that damn tool belt still astride his waist - he turns to you beaming at a job well done. It’s impossible not to beam back, thinking how long it would have taken you to do even a job half as good.

“Thank you for putting up the lights. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.” He isn’t sure whether your cheeks are red from the cold or something else. “I’m so lucky to have you as a neighbor.”

His smile is permanently stuck at your compliment. He opens his mouth to make a joking comment about the coffee you owe him - anything for more time together - when he feels the telltale buzz in his pocket. Pulling it reluctantly out after shedding a glove, he sees it’s Phoenix and is only semi-annoyed. They have lunch plans, which he’s running late for. And while he’s sure his front seater would approve of him blowing her off for the neighbor he can’t stop talking about, he’s a better friend than that.

Turning back to you, where you’re enjoying your freshly strung twinkling lights, Robert rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I have to head out…lunch plans. Rain check on that coffee?”

Nodding through your disappointment, you help him gather up his ladder and assure him that coffee is his whenever he wants.

The following morning you pad toward your front door, eyes bleary from a deep sleep. The house was cold and you pull your robe tighter around you. Through the glass panel in the door you can see your paper on the mat, as always, ready for you to consume over coffee and toast. As you open the oak door and scurry to shut it with the paper secured, something - or rather someone - catches your eye. 

Robert stands in the doorway of his own bungalow, calmly watching the neighborhood. The thick fair isle sweater covering his wide shoulders looks incredibly cozy, and he nurses a mug between both hands. He exists in that moment without worry, and you’re envious. 

His placid expression is broken when he feels your eyes, turning his head to see you, bedhead and newspaper clutched in your fist. His lips turn in a warm smile and he raises one hand in a slow, friendly wave. Your heart flutters, utterly taken away with how surely he carries himself, how sweetly he treats others. An emotion quickly squashed when you realize you are still standing in a bathrobe and knobby socks, flying back inside and shutting the door with heated cheeks. 

As you go about working on your Sunday chores, you keep picturing Robert’s face, that small happy smile you can’t get out of your head.

Later that night, after hours of tossing and turning in the sheets unable to find peace, you finally trudge down the hall into the living room, settling under blankets on the plush couch with a cup of chamomile. You’ve lost details of the plot of the movie you started, brain racing as your fingers fidget with the mug. 

The faint trill of your phone on the coffee table breaks you from your thoughts.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Bo-Robert…from next door?” You yawn a hello while checking the clock. It was nearly one in the morning. “I just wanted to check if everything was alright? Noticed your lights were on.” 

A warm feeling spreads through your chest at his concern. Picturing him peering out his kitchen window with the striped cotton curtains, filling up his own kettle, distressed that your house lights were on so late. You’d like to think he wore tartan pajamas, neatly buttoned. Those would suit him. 

You settle back into the cushions as you reply. “Everything’s fine. Just couldn’t sleep.”

His thoughtful nod can practically be heard through the phone.

“Better question is, what are you doing up so late?” 

The whistle and clink of boiling water and china crash over the line. A sigh pulled from his lips before responding. “I was going to make myself a cup of tea while I finished some reports, but appears that I am out.”

You glance down at your own mug of tea. It’s late, but not that late.

“What kind of tea do you like?” He muses on about his lack of preference - an equal opportunity tea lover - before admitting he was looking forward to a cup of peppermint. You make your way to the kitchen, phone pressed to your ear as you both open your cupboards. Your voice feels small as you offer, “I think I might have some.”

A silence lingers on the line. An unspoken late night implication that neither of you knows what to make of it. Your fingers flip through boxes of tea that take up too much cupboard space. Pomegranate, green, oolong. You don’t even drink tea that often. But right as you think you have too many white teas, you see the striped box of peppermint tea, one lone bag waiting for its turn.

You empty the box and walk to the window in your kitchen, where you can see the faint light on through his curtains. You clear your throat. “Look out your kitchen window.”

To your disappointment, Robert does not wear tartan pajamas to sleep. Although you are delighted to see his shirtless chest, defined from years of Navy training. He waves at you through your respective kitchen windows, holding up his mug of hot water. You lift up the tea bag, and his face splits into a toothy smile.

Before you can offer to bring it to him, he’s already turning toward his front door, speaking into the phone, “I’ll be over, just a minute. Need to find my coat.”

By the time there’s a soft knock on the door, you’ve turned on the kettle and gotten a fresh mug for him. You open the door, greeted by the tip of his nose and ears a merry red, the cold kissing his features. He’s been outside all of a minute. You usher your neighbor in, watching him observe how you’ve put up garlands and festive knickknacks in the entry since his last visit.

He slips off his boots, bare feet settling on the cold hardwood, and fingers the collar of his canvas barn coat. In his rush to come over he’d thrown his coat on forgetting his bare chest. It feels obnoxious to be half naked in your home, so he keeps his coat on and follows you to the kitchen. 

“Peppermint still good?” You tease, the packet of tea leaves in your hand. He nods, slightly distracted by how cozy you look in your soft loungewear and the robe from this morning. Dunking the bag into the hot water, you search for a topic to pass the steeping time. But when you turn to talk to him, words catch in your throat because he’s right there.

Eyes so blue the sky is jealous. Shy smile so friendly it warms the room. Your thoughts dirtily flit to the tool belt around his waist on the ladder, fingers adeptly wielding a hammer. Fingers that brush yours in the proximity. He’s so close and your brain blanks as bodies simultaneously take action.

Your mouths find each other effortlessly, bodies pressing together as if they know the moves the two of you were just figuring out. The low-lying tension building for the past year breaking the surface as the dark of the house gives you both the bravery needed. His hands are cold as they find your waist, your hands too warm on his chilled jaw.

His mouth is all soft lips and hard pressure, the faint hint of toothpaste in his taste. It’s exactly as you imagined, but better.

Lips become more desperate the longer you connect, your back suddenly against the counter as he presses into you. This moment has been building since he’d watched you first walk up the front steps with that too big moving box. A hand slips into his sun-bleached locks he always has so perfectly combed. He moans into your mouth, a sinful noise in the quiet kitchen. 

Before sense can interrupt, you’re reaching for the zipper of his coat, revealing every inch of his toned pale chest as the zipper slowly comes down. You slide a hand over the skin, a low gasp slipping out at the strong muscle. You’ve been attracted to his mind for so long, it feels unfair his body should be attractive too.

He shrugs out of the barn coat and follows you to the lowly lit living room, where the couch is softer on your back than the counter edge. Sitting side by side, knees knocking, he’s more hesitant to touch you in this context. Despite his body screaming to explore every inch of his pretty neighbor’s mind and body, he knows he’s basically barged into your home and immediately stuck his tongue in your sweet mouth. You get to set the pace. 

“This okay?” His hand encompasses your knee, thumb rubbing smoothly through the fabric. You nod, tilting your head toward him to continue kissing. He’s warmed up now, your home and body bringing him to temperature. Robert smiles into your kiss. You can’t get enough of him, wanting to consume him fully. He’s delicate with you in the most delicious of ways; gentle kisses pressed to your soft lips before sliding his tongue across to politely ask for access.

Your mouth can’t open fast enough.

You place you hand on his hip, enjoying the warm skin and lean muscle beneath your fingertips. Groaning lightly into your mouth, he blindly reaches for your hips to bring you into his lap. His tongue takes its time to taste you, learn every intricacy of your flavor. Administration so thorough your eyes roll back in your head. The sounds escaping you music in the darkened room.

Fingers dance across skin, finding purchase on thighs, shoulders, chests. You can’t get close enough to him, resting one hand on the back of his neck as your swollen lips press harder to his. Robert loves the way your thighs straddle him as he leans against the couch cushions, his warm, large hands along your back bringing you closer to him. Your sharp inhale as one hand toys with the waistband of your lounge pants.

When his lips trail down your neck, praising the delicate skin, you can’t hold back your declaration any longer. “I…I’ve wanted this for a while.”

His lips pause, brow furrowed. “This?”

“You.”

That gratified smile will forever be imprinted along your neck. “I’ve wanted you since the day you moved in.”

The whimpers that rip through you when he nips the thin skin behind your ear have him grabbing your chin and swallowing your sounds. Reveling in the shared passion you’ve both had simmering beneath the surface. Can’t help his hips rutting up into yours, glorious friction he’s been craving satisfied. You giggle through a moan against his lips.

“So, we could have been doing this all year long? What a shame, lieutenant.” 

You ground down in his lap, running your own tongue along his lips and savoring his taste. Thoughts of what he tastes like after his peppermint tea have you wrapping your arms tighter around his bare shoulders. Behind his head, outside the window, the faint glow of the Christmas lights he strung up shines in the winter night. How did you find this perfect man, and how is he your neighbor?

You express your gratitude for him with your mouth along his jaw, licking along the skin while he deliciously whimpers in your ear.You can only take so much before you’re sealing your lips over his again, inhaling his every breath.

As lips finally reach exhaustion - brains well past tired as the clock strikes a new hour - Robert and you pull apart with content smiles. Already cold without his warmth, you immediately lean back into him. He’s practically a furnace now under your ministrations. Unspoken words pass between as you invite him to sleep on your couch with you. A throw blanket produced from the nearby chair as the two of you tangle your limbs. There’s something comforting in the way he rests your head upon his arm, your knee upon his thigh. Again, it’s like your bodies know the actions like they’ve been waiting for you to finally figure them out.

You’ve just settled your head upon his warm chest when a thought strikes you, prompting you to lean up to look at those sleepy cerulean eyes. The small curious smile he gives you melting your heart.

“Did you still want your tea?” 

He shakes his head with a chuckle, using the last of his energy to tuck the blanket tighter around your body. “It’s okay. I got what I really wanted.”

Your heart feels two sizes too big as he presses a kiss to your temple before sleep takes you both. 

When the winter sunrise streams through your curtains the next morning, you refuse to get up. Perfectly warm wrapped up in the thin throw and your neighbor’s arms, you are purely too content. When Robert blinks open his eyes and gazes at your face, he sees the same placid smile he wore the morning before. The same one he’s had since you moved in next door. 

Despite both being all too happy to remain entangled on the couch, sharing small kisses on any skin within reach, the responsibilities of Monday morning dawn and you must get up. Reluctantly you release him, watching him fold the throw neatly upon the sofa arm before helping you stand. Warmth blossoms down your spine the more you’re in Robert’s presence, the little things he does meaning so much to you. Especially as he strides through your home shirtless, musing about the whereabouts of his coat on the kitchen floor.

Your eyes flit to the cold mug of abandoned peppermint tea as you offer him coffee. But he’s intent on getting home for his flight suit, the drive to base longer than he’d like. Of course, he would ideally spend the morning drinking your expensive delicious coffee and listen to you go on about the neighbors down the street with the atrocious holiday decorations. If you’d let him, he would spend every morning like that for the rest of time. But his admiral would put him in drills all week if he was any later.

You walk him to the door, robe pulled tight across your chest to keep out the cold. He’s pulled on his boots for the short walk and wraps his arms around you in an intimate embrace, disappointed this perfect night must come to an end. You bury your nose in his jacket-covered chest to enjoy the last of his herbal and citrus scent, hands reluctantly slipping from his middle. He turns to leave and both your hearts pang.

When Robert reaches the end of your path, he bends down and picks up the paper, thrown too short as always. He turns around and retraces his steps, walking back up the steps and straight up to where you reside in the doorway still. Fingers brush as he hands you the newspaper, saving you the walk as he always does. Only this morning he tips his head to press a kiss to your lips.

You’re already adding peppermint tea to your shopping list as you walk back into the house. Just for him.

see what antics happen at the next HOA meeting

taglist: @callsign-mongoose

[topscarkiller]

“i need you.” — abby anderson

hi hi! sorry it took me so long to get to this second part, i’ve been going through a lot mentally and have just been trying to get my head around things. i genuinely hope this teeters to your satisfaction ♡ thank you for all the likes on pt 1 !

summary: after tending to neglected needs, it takes 5 words to turn the tables. notes: nsfw, scissoring, oral sex, (r!receiving) fingering, (r! receiving) slight dacryphilia, a bit of hair pulling, softdom!abby, sub!reader. wc: 2,793 | tags: none

read pt 1 of " i need you " here!

moments prior,

abby’s braid slid graciously past her shoulder as she pulled away from your short lived embraced, already missing the warmth of her sun kissed skin. it seemed like she was in a hurry, scurrying out of the gym in the blink of an eye. as you took a moment to gather yourself, you realised that she’d left her bottle behind, and her bench remained uncleaned. you stood there dumbfounded, what could she have planned that was more important than gymnasium hygiene? after all, it was her that taught all you know.

when you were nothing but a baby wolf, abby took notice of you as a new recruit and instantly saw potential in you, taking you under her wing and training you like hell to fulfil your true abilities. although you were nowhere near as burly or as experienced in combat as her, you were quite good with weaponry and crafting, as well as adapting to your surroundings, making do with what you had on you during critical times.

she calls you ‘the scavenger’ when you were not present. it was her unique way of honouring how far you’d come since joining the WLF, how she paved the way for the indestructible soldier she firmly believes you’ll grow up to be one day. it’s also just her adorable little nickname for you that she beckons nobody uses in her place.

she has the upmost faith in you. growing closer with each patrol, each gym session, and sometimes just casually hanging about the FOB or at each others rooms. your friendship was something others envied; it was pure, full of trust and built upon mutual respect. but those closest to you knew it meant more than what first meets the eye.

abby was out of sight in the blink of an eye, you look around in a suspicious daze, trying to follow her whereabouts. she was quick, but not quicker than you.

you had a long-overdue session to finish, but abby looked relatively… uneasy. something was wrong, and you could feel it. the line between instincts and curiosity began to blur as your feet developed a mind of their own, your duffel bag and towel long gone as you’d already turned the corner outside the gymnasium.

maybe you were overreacting, maybe it was overkill to automatically assume the worst was happening to her. but if something was really up with abby, you wouldn’t live it down if you didn’t initiate help.

the look on abby’s face as you stared at her through the firmly rimmed glass, her beautifully arched eyebrows furrowing only ever illuminating her intense eyes — a million thoughts a minute ran through your mind, instinctively charging for two heavy silver doors and up a random stairwell. you could smell the scent of pine and sweat — that was definitely abby.

all reasoning for your unexplainable shenanigans flew out the window as you approached abby’s room, a series of shuffles followed by a supposed muffled voice echoed from the opposite side.

your hand hesitantly reached up to knock, only to realise the door was never locked to begin with. abby could never be that careless, — maybe manny, but regardless — she would sometimes recall times where she’d have to remind him to lock up before leaving during your sessions at the gym. she’d never make a mistake she so harshly scolded people for.

your face inches closer to the door, the cool solid wood sending a kiss of shivers across your exposed shoulders as it welcomingly swayed open.

with each step, the unintelligible noises grew much clearer, and it was becoming more palpable as to what that was entailing.

you’re heart only dropped to your gut at the sound of your name, uttered by a helpless, whining mess.

“please… please.”

the door conditionally, and gently swayed closed on its own behind you, a little clck locking the door in full as you took a couple steps closer. was this a figment of your twisted imagination? the soft whimpers and subsequent cries of your name begged to differ. it was no secret now. abby had a thing for you. you were almost too afraid to move as each whine only grew more vehement.

with a couple more stalled footsteps, you froze at the sight of abby, completely ruining herself at the fate of her own hand.

your eyes widened instantly, the warm air prickling your eyes as would salt water. seeing her all ruined over the thought of you was enough to lift your hands over your mouth in keen disbelief.

you attempted to gather yourself, debating whether or not confronting her on this was the best idea — but no normal person would just walk away and forget this ever happened — forgetting the image of abby anderson, issac’s top scar killer, ramming her slick-covered fingers inside her wet cunt all while repeating your name under a dumbed spell? it’s not something that can just leave your mind at the drop of a hat. it certainly wouldn’t later, neither.

while lost in your thoughts, your tense arms dropped to your sides as your feet followed closer, the sound of your boots shuffling against the smooth concrete floor not catching her attention,

“abby?”

you watched as her oceanic eyes shot open, the abby you once believed would simply chuckle and brush off the idea of this, now scurried to find something, anything to cover her herculean figure, freckled arms still just poking out the sides.

it took more than an ounce of self control to not let yourself run wild at the fact that the abby anderson had a rather strong fancy for you, not to mention she was fucking herself to the thought of you.

as your initial astonishment subsided, your body beamed with want. seeing abby flushed and heated clouded your acclaimed critical thinking.

“…can i have a turn?” slipped from your lips after tending to abby’s own neglected desires.

and here you were, moments passing almost at the speed of light. you laid flat on your back, tits perked up from the arch of your back with abby towered over you. her estranged braid slid off her shoulder with her eyes staring you down. your neck generously splayed with bruises and bite-marks, only reminding you that she’s been wanting this for god knows how long. unbeknownst to her, you did too, you just never believed you’d live to ever experience it.

her hand lightly grazed over your tit, meticulously attending to your swollen nipple. her thumb teased at it, rubbing the area in circles to provoke a much anticipated and equally expected reaction. with her hand on your chest and her lips returning to attack your already purpled skin, you stifled a whine, bottom lip bit between your teeth. she kissed along your throat, from the point of your jaw to the crook of your neck.

she continued toying with your body as her tongue traversed to your waist, laying another round of sloppy kisses to your hip bones and abdomen.

it was like your skin grew ten times more tender whilst under her touch, each breath of hers against your skin feeling like a gentle tickle, accompanied by her large and surprisingly delicate hands palming your tits, it was growing to be too much, too much being your style, anyways.

her hand left your chest to firmly grip onto your hips, pulling you closer to her lap. she took her already soaked fingers, prodding at your pussy like you’d done previously. your breaths grew shakier with each flick of your clit.

her eyes returned to that intense, fiercely glare from back at the gym, so that’s why she was so concentrated, or rather in her own dreamland.

her tongue laid a generous coat of saliva along her lips, staring at your pussy like the starved woman she was. for how long she’d ached for this, you had no clue. this was bound to be a moment to remember.

your cunts were practically hugging each other, the feeling of being so close to her pussy only added fuel to the fire that gleamed in your core. the longer abby stared, just taking in your breathtaking body, the stronger the feeling of being exposed grew.

her head dives below your eye view, feeling her nose bump at your clit. she savours it, her tongue peeling out at an antagonisingly slow pace as she glares at you through her arched brows. she could taste it all, her juices mixed with yours..

your hand gently took rest within her blonde locks, hooking into the back of her braid.

“abby,”

you huffed, sounding more like a plead than anything. with each soft, trembling breath, she’d drag her tongue along your cunt in sync.

her face would dig further into you, arms slithering to wrap themselves around your thighs. even if you begged for her to slow down, your needy hole that clenched around nothing, desperate to be touched, told her otherwise.

abby would stare at you longingly, finally able to die happy between your tensing thighs as she rapidly swabbed your clit with your tongue, dragging it along in circles and the likes.

your body jerked at the sudden change in pace, back arching instinctively off the bed. the whole lower half of your body fired up, tingly and numb. her muffled grunts sent you haywire, violently gripping onto her hair. she was like a leech that wouldn’t let go, sucking and lapping around that sweet spot like her life depended on it.

“stop squirming.” abby would demand as she shoved your hips back onto the mattress, not once detaching herself from you.

you could barely comprehend anything she’d say as she was practically suffocating herself between your thighs, and you’d both be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

abby teased your cunt with her fingers, carefully slipping her thick digits inside of you. your legs squeezed around her head at the sensation of feeling so full. her fingers, let alone hands, were thicker than yours. and they felt much more fulfilling.

your moans would blend harmoniously, both equally experiencing pleasure from the other as you climbed the ladder of your climax.

abby’s suppressed grunts would only ring through your ears. where was the abby that was so shamelessly call out your name moments ago?

your grip on her hair tightened, practically dragging her face along your cunt to accumulate as much friction as your body desired. her fingers would work wonders, unforgivingly pumping in and out of you as her tongue would rub against your clit. each time she would flick against it you’d jolt, back arched with a shy hand over your mouth.

in a matter of seconds, abby had pulled away — both her tongue and fingers. just as you were about to reach the peak, you’d tumble down with your high dropping in seconds.

“wh.. why’d you stop?” you breathed out, tears that rimmed your eyes beginning to dissipate.

as if abby could read your thoughts, she placed a leg over yours, dragging your helpless body closer to her. your cunts were mere centimetres apart, the slick that built up from your pleasure mixing with hers.

“wanted to rile you up..” she muttered, her beautifully eager smile spreading from ear to ear as she strategically began kneading her pussy against yours. abby let out a stifled whimper, her perfectly toned arms pulling your leg almost over her shoulder.

you whined as she slowly dragged her pussy back and forth. the only thing ruminating through your mind in the moment was how you wished you’d done this sooner. way sooner. if given the opportunity any earlier, you’d have jumped at it like an animal in heat.

tears generously coated your plump cheeks as abby picked up the pace, she muttered curses under her breath with each drag of her swollen cunt. it was evident she was close, her arms would needily latch onto yours in an attempt to pull you closer than you already were.

the sounds of timid whines and skin slapping echoed through the room. you hoped that nobody would mention a peculiar series of moans to you or abby the next day. but all you could focus on was her slick engulfed thighs, her chest and the hickeys that’d covered her tits. her neck that was equally as bruised, and her face that contorted into a smile once she noticed you were staring.

“this feel good?” she asks, a sudden grunt spilling from her lips a second after.

all you could do was nod. you were afraid once you spoke, you wouldn’t be able to stop. abby, abby, abby, abby, was all you could think of. how strong she was and how easily she could throw you around if she wanted to, how easily you could tug on her braid while she fucked you dumb. it drove you insane how she wanted you and nobody else. she fucked herself to the thought of you and nobody else.

she disapprovingly shook her head, slapping your thigh playfully.

“mm mm, i don’t take nods, use that pretty mouth,” abby grinned, her cunt grinding viciously fast against your own. you whined dumbly, the pleasure overpowering your body. you felt numbing tingles along each cell of your body.

you whined shamelessly loud, “it feels.. so good.” abby’s face enlightened, her hips picking up pace from your undying cooperation. anything for her to keep going.

she squeezed a handful of your thigh and massaged it, letting out her pent up urges that she was only able to let out now.

you dumbly mumbled a bunch of nonsense yes’, keep going’s and abby’s, initially climbing the tower of climax yet again. and abby was, too. as much as she tried to hide it, nothing could excuse how her hips would dig into your abdomen from how quick she practically humped your cunt.

abby held your thighs close to her, gaining the upper hand in creating more friction. her clit would bump against yours almost ever second. both your whines enveloped the air around you as the coil inside you snapped, your pleasure releasing out into a white pool underneath you.

but abby was far from finished.

she pulled your hips closer, with pussies rubbing against each other and whines echoing through the walls. you wouldn’t doubt for a second that someone could hear you.

with more than a couple grunts and calls for your name, abby came down from her own high, her hips faulting and slowly grudging to a stop.

you both panted relentlessly. you swore if she kept going you would’ve came a second time at the snap of a finger.

trying to regain your breaths, abby lets out a chuckle.

she doesn’t say anything, but she shakily pulls herself off of you, propping herself up by her elbow next to you.

a sudden wave of embarrassment washed over you as the reality of both your actions settled in. there was no hiding your attraction to one another now, none of this would’ve happened otherwise.

the never ending pining, hanging out one on one every chance you got and saying it was ‘just to train you’. you don’t know why you were surprised at the fact that abby would think about these things behind closed, or more so unlocked doors.

“..so?” abby’s voice was soft and meek, her hand fidgeting alongside her waist as her head rested on her other hand.

you hesitantly locked eyes with her, your previous shyness fading away as she planted a kiss to your forehead. something as cheesy and cute as a forehead kiss was enough to make you blush, subsiding all the things you both just did.

“..that was better than i expected.” you finally replied. abby’s eyebrow quirked, head tilting to the side.

“oh, so you thought it’d be bad?” she kids in a sly tone, that familiar smile returning once more.

you playfully punched her arm in response, the both of you knowing in reality, it felt like heaven on earth.

“does it look like it was bad?” you poke back, pointing to all the hickeys and bite marks along both your bodies.

only now did you realise how much of a mess you made. there was cum all over the bedsheets, saliva all over your cunts and what not — this place was really overdue for a cleanup.

you chuckle as you examine the aftermath.

“we should clean up..”

“we?” abby questions.

“i don’t mind, i made it too, no?”

abby couldn’t argue with that. she sighs, pulling you up and off the bed so you could both clean up. not without peppering your body with kisses first.

[nerdallwritey]

Just to Ruin Me

Summary: “You don’t have to tell me any of this right now,” you said. “A lot has changed in the past few hours and there’s no rush in sharing these things with me. I know how hard it was to talk about your past the first time.” “It was necessary, though,” Astarion looked over at you, his expression determined. “You needed to know what we might be up against. And you might need to know this too.” “If you want to tell me, then I’m happy to listen, but please don’t force yourself for my sake.” Astarion released a puff of air from his nose. “You keep doing that.” “Doing what?” “Asking me what I want. Letting me choose.” OR The morning after you spend the night with Astarion, you learn another thing or two.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word count: 12.5k CW: smut, reader is new to sex, piv sex, vaginal fingering, dry humping, mentions of Astarion's past trauma, blood drinking, mild angst, soft Astarion, porn with feelings, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), the other companions are also idiots, but don't piss of Shadowheart Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 2 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find Part 1 here. Find the masterlist here.

a/n: Thanks to everyone who read Part 1!!! Your kind comments and encouragement spurred me to write Part 2 and I hope it's a sequel that lives up to expectations!! I know the summary is a little angsty, but I promise there's more banter to be had. Everyone is still a goof, after all. Please enjoy :) (Thank you to @kermitwazowski for beta reading!) As a reminder, the last part ended with the following few lines: “For now, you were content to sleep under the stars in Astarion’s arms. It was the best sleep you’d ever had.”

Taglist: @a66-1 @khaleesiofthewolves @khywren @lollipopsandlandmines @minestrones

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the best sleep you’d ever had.

Though you’d grown accustomed to roughing it in the last few weeks since the nautiloid crash, waking up in the forest was still a shock. It had its charms, sure, like the fresh air and the breeze blowing in off the mountains, but the appeal was starting to wane. Especially after one too many nights of having to take a dip in the frigid lake next to camp to rid yourself of gnoll blood. 

This morning however, you found yourself surrounded by blankets and pillows from your camp in the middle of a clearing surrounded by large pine trees, all of which had been thoughtfully arranged by the figure trancing beside you. Your own sleeping figure sighed comfortably, unbothered by the lack of a mattress or a hot bath, just a nice deep sleep-

Astarion whacked you in the face.

Your eyes shot open.

“OW?” You scrunched your nose and blinked a few times to get your bearings. 

It was still dark. The forest around you was painted a delicate shade of periwinkle. You’d hazard a guess that it was just a little before dawn. 

At some point in the night, you’d rolled onto your back, away from Astarion, who was now curled to your right, his back facing you. He must have just rolled over, explaining the harsh wake up from his forearm. You smiled softly and instinctively brought your hand to rub your forehead where he’d made the unfortunate contact. 

Blinking a little more, your eyes were beginning to adjust. From this angle, you had a clear line of sight to the large scar that overran a majority of his back. You squinted in the dark to try and get a clearer view of the terrible thing, but came up short due to the shadows of tree branches being cast from above. Still just a mandala of jagged lines and brutal curves. When you got your hands on Cazador, you’d…

No.

No, that wasn’t your fight. 

But you’d be gods damned if you wouldn’t be there for every bloody moment Astarion faced him, giving support however you could. Though you had to admit that it would be so gratifying to corner the bastard and cast a quick little Otto’s Irresistible Dance… Assuming you’d be strong enough to cast it by then… Gods, he’d look so fucking stupid just before Astarion plunged a knife through his heart-

Enough. Battle strategies and sick, twisted (but satisfying) revenge fantasies later. Right now you noticed that the shifting of the shadows on his back wasn’t from a breeze shaking the branches above you, but because Astarion himself was trembling. 

Your first instinct was to reach out and touch him, but you quickly retracted your hand. Based on the short whimpers he was letting out, it seemed like he was having a nightmare.

How was one supposed to wake someone from a nightmare again? With Astarion you’d have to be extra careful; you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d stowed a knife somewhere within these blankets that he might reach for in a surge of waking fear. 

That… would not be pleasant. 

You shifted to sit up and look around.

Ow.

A dull throbbing made itself known between your legs.

No, that was great. Spectacular, in fact. You’d have to stop and assess later.

Gingerly, you got onto your knees and peered around at your surroundings. Astarion had done a decent job of cleaning up the clearing to make room for this blanket nest, so there wasn’t a poking stick to be seen within reaching distance.

Not that you were going to poke him with a stick… but the thought had crossed your mind. You were still tired! You’d been fucked for the first time last night! There was a lot going on! 

You shook your head to clear the stupid overlapping thoughts and set to looking around for a wayward pillow. You spotted one in the far corner and made your way over to it carefully but with some haste to end Astarion’s unconscious suffering. 

You crawled back over to him. And then backed up a little. Just in case.

“Astarion,” you sang quietly. 

Astarion continued trembling, but you heard him inhale sharply. A good sign?

You raised your voice a little, but kept the same musical cadence. “Astaaaarioooon.”

Nothing.

Okay fine. 

“Sorry,” you said quietly, then threw the pillow at Astarion, hitting him squarely on the back of the head. You leaned forward to grab your own pillow as a protective shield as he gasped and shot up.

“What the hells? What’s happening?” Astarion rolled onto his back and frantically looked around until his eyes landed on you. 

You smiled sheepishly and waved at him lamely from behind your pillow. “Hi.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes, confused. He shook his head, then lifted a hand to the back of his head where the pillow had hit him. “What did you do?”

“You were having a nightmare.”

“Oh, I know what I was doing,” his tone was sarcastic. “What were you doing?”

You looked down at your lap, guilty. “I couldn’t remember how to wake someone up from a nightmare.”

“So you assaulted me?”

“I didn’t know if you had a knife!”

“Why would I have a knife? What is happening?!” He sat up fully and brought a hand to his forehead as if he were in pain. 

“Are you okay?”

“Thankfully, I’ll live,” he opened his eyes and looked at you, his hand still on his forehead. 

You huffed. “I meant with the nightmare.”

Astarion sighed and closed his eyes again. “It’s far too early to discuss this.” He tilted his head up towards the sky, which was getting brighter with every passing moment. A practiced smirk appeared on his face and he looked at you once more. “I’d much rather know if you’re okay, darling.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“We had a lot of fun last night, didn’t we?”

“Seeing as how I’m always a lot of fun, I don’t understand why you’re posing this question.” You looked down your nose at him. 

He hung his head and sighed exasperatedly. “Will you simply allow me to work my charms on you?”

You tutted. “Is that what you were trying to do just now?”

“Attempting to, yes.” Astarion crossed his arms. “I’m usually irresistible.”

You snorted. “Okay,” you said, a small smile appearing on your face. “I’m going to ignore your lack of an answer about your nightmare and will elect to wait until you’re ready to tell me about it yourself.”

Astarion pursed his lips.

“But go ahead,” you rearranged your legs, wincing mildly as you moved to sit cross legged, “charm me.”

A look of worry flashed over Astarion’s face when he saw you wince, but the concern was quickly overtaken by an all too self-satisfied grin. “Feeling it this morning, are we?”

You rolled your eyes. “I knew you’d be happy about this.”

“Positively delighted, my sweet.” He leaned forward and kissed you gently, bringing a hand up to your cheek. You brought your own hand up to lay against his. He pulled away and appraised your face smugly. “I was completely enamored by your performance last night.” You were about to open your mouth to say something, but Astarion interrupted. “Don’t even think about mentioning that you’re a bard and that of course you’re good at performing, or something like that.”

You closed your mouth. You were going to say something like that. Instead you said, “You were pretty good yourself.”

He brought his hands up to make air quotes. “I’ve ‘ruined you,’ from what I recall.”

You groaned. “I just said that to make you cum.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, my dear.” His face was still smug, but he motioned for you to come closer. You scooted forward and he lifted you slightly to sit on his lap. 

He leaned up and kissed you deeply, his tongue swiping your bottom lip for entrance. You moaned in response and opened your mouth for him. Though the rest of his body was cold, his mouth was warm and inviting, and you leaned in further to try and get closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tilted your head slightly to get a better angle. You’d been mildly distracted last night; had he always smelled this good?

When Astarion pulled back suddenly, you couldn’t help the whine that escaped at the loss. He hummed in satisfaction, and his voice was low and seductive when he spoke.

“Every part of your perfect body whispers temptations-”

You giggled. “What?”

“Shush dear, I’m charming you.” He cleared his throat, “-it’s as if the gods made you just to ruin me.”

“So now I’ve ruined you?” You raised your eyebrows teasingly.

“Wait, no-”

You leaned your forehead onto his and laughed. “And that one usually works?”

He blew out a puff of air. “You’re an unusual one, I’ll give you that.” 

You shrugged, pleased with yourself.

“But yes,” Astarion continued, “I’ve made plenty of previous lovers swoon with that particular line.”

“Show me what else you’ve got, then,” you challenged.

Astarion tilted his head in thought. “Let’s see… I can’t use the ‘cried from your lips’ line because I used that one last night…” You scoffed joyfully, mockingly scandalized that he’d already used a line on you. He met your eye and smirked. “How about this one: When I’m with you, I feel practically alive, yet I crave only to die again, with you.”

The sultry tone of his voice did send a pang of want through your body, reminding you that you were only wearing Astarion’s shirt and nothing else. You shifted uncomfortably. 

“How romantic,” you said, trying to keep your voice nonchalant. “I didn’t think you liked dying the first time.”

Astarion narrowed his eyes, sensing your deflection and smirked, looking down at where you sat on his lap. He rolled his hips, which made you inhale sharply. “I see that one did do something for you,” he leaned forward and kissed your neck. 

You exhaled slowly, “I blame that stupid sexy voice of yours.”

Astarion growled against your throat and you shivered, bringing your hands up to his back. 

“Astarion,” you sighed and he hummed in response, licking over the twin wounds he’d left the night before. You sat up a little straighter. “Wait.”

He immediately pulled back and looked at you with concern. “What is it?”

“I just thought of something,” you said.

Astarion raised his eyebrows and nodded, wanting you to continue.

“Can I borrow your fangs?”

“My-?” His tongue instinctively flicked over his teeth.

“Because I want to leave a lasting impression on you,” you tilted your head at him to show off the marks he’d left on your throat. You shimmied your shoulders a little for good measure. 

“I’m leaving,” Astarion made to get up with you still on his lap and you laughed loudly.

“No! No! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I wanted to try a dumb line on you, too!” You threw your arms around his neck and hid your face in his shoulder. You felt him kiss your hair.

“You’re lucky I don’t travel with you for your personality,” he joked. 

“I’d say ‘I’m a lot of fun’ again but I think you’d actually stop talking to me.” You pulled back to look at him.

“And you’d be right.” He kissed you chastely and then adjusted you on his lap. You winced a little again and he looked genuinely sympathetic. “I might have a way to ease the pain from last night,” he said. “Do you trust me?”

You smiled at him. “Yes.”

He smiled back. “Good.” He positioned your arms over his shoulders. “Hang on, my love.” You crossed your arms where they hung behind him and waited to see what he would do. 

Without warning, you felt one of his cold fingers slide through your folds. You hissed at the sensation and looked at Astarion. 

“Supposedly, massaging the area can help,” he was trying to sound knowledgeable, but the look in his eyes was one full of lust. Then he tutted, looking down. “You could be wetter, darling.” His thumb began to circle your clit.

Your eyes rolled back at the sensation, and you leaned forward again to rest your forehead on his shoulder. 

“Do you want my cock again, love? You took me so well last night, I was so proud of you,” he’d moved his mouth next to your ear and was speaking with the same sultry tone that he had a minute ago. You whimpered at his praise and rolled your hips to get his thumb to press you harder. Astarion let out a low groan. “That’s it, you’re getting so wet for me, you’re so good.”

After a few more tight circles, you practically sobbed when you felt him take his thumb away from your clit.

“Shh, shh, I know,” he cooed, “but we want you to feel better, remember?”

You let out a frustrated sound. “I already was feeling better.”

Astarion chuckled. “Trust me, would you? Impatient.” His tone was nothing but fond.

His other fingers began massaging the area around your entrance. You winced and bit your lip. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” you confirmed. “I assume this will get better?”

“That’s the idea,” he kissed your ear and you nodded against his shoulder. 

You rolled your hips, attempting to get friction where you needed it. 

“Just a little longer,” Astarion said, moving his fingers gently around your cunt.

You hummed an acknowledgement and kept rolling your hips, trying to combat this weird form of edging that was happening. 

Finally, Astarion ceased his massaging and brought his thumb back to your clit. You let out a long shuddering breath and squeezed your eyes tight, adjusting your hips to roll against his thigh. 

“There you go, my love,” Astarion said, voice still in your ear. “I’ll make you cum for behaving so well.”

You whined loudly as his thumb picked up the pace. You began rolling your hips at an equally fast pace. “More,” you whined, willing your climax to approach faster.

“Not right now, darling. Let’s give you a break there, shall we?” Astarion used his free hand to pet your hair. 

“But you asked if I wanted your cock again,” you whined.

“And while I’m pleased to hear that you’d like it again, let’s relax and get you off like this for now, okay?” 

You groaned but nodded, squeezing your eyes shut again and focusing on the pleasure Astarion was currently providing. “Harder,” you instructed.

Astarion pressed down harder on your clit with his thumb. He swept his index and middle finger through your folds, coating them in your slick. He quickly swapped those fingers with his thumb, changing the sensation by swapping one finger for two and adding more of your arousal to the mix. 

You keened and gripped his bicep. “Harder!” You instructed again, desperate and approaching the edge. You could feel the coil in your stomach preparing to let go.

Astarion pushed again and brought his lips to your ear once more. 

“I just thought of something, precious thing,” he murmured.

You blinked at him, your eyes unfocused and half lidded.

“More of a question, really,” he clarified.

You squeezed your eyes tight, nodding. You were on the precipice of your orgasm and could feel it fastly approaching. You slammed your hips against Astarion’s thigh as he continued to rub your clit brutally. 

“Do you believe in love at first bite?” He leaned forward and kissed your throat, then began to suck a new mark into the flesh there. Contrary to his pun, he wouldn’t drink from you without your expressed permission first.

It did, however, send you crashing over the edge. You moaned loudly, Astarion’s name tumbling repeatedly out of your mouth. The vision behind your eyelids was white and you reached out blindly to grip Astarion’s shoulders. His lips detached themselves from your throat and found your own. His tongue was immediately in your mouth, swallowing your moans and shouts of his name.

When you came down, you disconnected from the kiss and opened your eyes, a lopsided grin on your face. 

“Thank you,” you said. “I do feel better.”

Astarion smirked. “I knew you would.” He brought his fingers, still coated in your essence, up to his mouth and sucked them clean. You watched, mesmerized by the way his cheeks hollowed and his eyes fluttered shut. He pulled them out with a lewd pop. “Delicious.”

You felt your face flush, embarrassed by his display, despite just cumming in his lap. 

“You shouldn’t feel embarrassed about this,” Astarion said, reading your expression immediately. “What you should feel embarrassed about is the fact that you came because I told a joke.”

“I did not!” You protested.

“You absolutely did,” Astarion said. “And it was a particularly bad one, too.” He clicked his tongue. “You must feel so ashamed.”

You groaned. “I came because you started kissing my neck!”

Astarion raised his eyebrows, clearly not believing you. “It’s okay, darling, no one here was under the impression that you aren’t incredibly lame.” He gave you a pitying look, then kissed your nose and you laughed. He pulled back and looked at you fondly, a dopey half smile on his face. Then he looked up at the sky.

The periwinkle you’d awoken to was now vibrant shades of orange and pink. 

“Are you okay if I move you?” Astarion asked.

“Um… sure?” You weren’t sure why he was asking, and helped to move yourself off of him. You did feel a bit less sore thanks to his help. 

He stood up and stretched his arms over his head, then bent to pick up a rag to wipe off his pants. 

“Sorry,” you said.

Astarion shook his head. “Comes with the territory.” You were about to make a joke but he held up a finger and gave you a warning look. “Don’t.”

You held up your hands innocently. 

He tossed you the rag after and then your pants and underthings.

“Clean up,” he instructed, “then get dressed.”

You furrowed your brows, your stomach dropping suddenly. He didn’t expect you to leave right now, did he? He hadn’t fucked you last night, then brought you more pleasure this morning, only for him to send you back to camp like it hadn’t happened, right?

Astarion snorted. He was watching you as he slipped on his shoes. “Relax, darling, I see that face. I just want to show you something.” He held out a hand to help you up.

“Okay,” you smiled, soothed by the pleasant look on his face. “Do you want your shirt back?” You made to lift it over your head.

“Keep it for now, dear,” Astarion said. “I rather like that on you, truthfully.” The collar was slipping off your shoulder as you pulled on your pants, and you made no move to adjust it, opting not to put your bra back on yet.

“Do you want to wear my shirt?” you teased.

“Tempting, but I fear I’d look better in it than you do.”

“Excellent point, don’t do that.” You adjusted the ruffles on Astarion’s shirt and felt a light breeze on your cleavage through the lacey opening at the collar. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he said. You looked up and caught Astarion staring at your chest.

You laughed as he cleared his throat, then gestured deeper into the woods with his head. “This way.” He held out a tentative hand and you took it eagerly, bringing the back of his palm up to your face to leave a gentle kiss. Astarion squeezed your hand slightly at the contact, and began heading further into the forest, away from camp. A pleasant silence hung between the two of you and you rubbed your thumb absently along the back of his hand.

It wasn’t long before the trees started to thin and you heard the sound of rushing water somewhere close by. You emerged from the trees to find a cliff overlooking a ravine below. On the other side of the ravine was more forest, and beyond that, you could faintly see the Sea of Swords. The sun peeked out over the horizon, bright reddish orange in the distance. Its glow was a welcome sight and you found yourself in awe of the view.

Astarion let go of your hand and sat, dangling his feet over the edge of the cliff. You hesitantly stepped forward and sat beside him, opting instead to sit with one knee up, the other leg crossed beneath it. Astarion sat back on his arms. The sun reflected off his skin in the most beautiful golden and magenta hues. His hair, somehow still perfect despite your night together, was being jostled lightly by the breeze. He’d closed his eyes and tipped his head up, basking. You couldn’t help watching him as you rested your cheek on your bent knee. 

He didn’t open his eyes when he said, “I try to come out here every morning.” 

You sat in silence, continuing to watch him as you prepared to listen to whatever he’d say next. 

“After two hundred years in darkness, you forget how lovely the sunrise is,” he said. “I don’t ever want to miss another.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like,” you said softly. 

Astarion hummed in acknowledgment and opened his eyes. “I’d catch glimpses while lurking around the city for too long before dawn, hopping from shadow to shadow until I made it back to Cazador’s manor.” His eyes didn’t waver from the sun in the distance. “But there were moments where I’d catch a glimpse of it over the Chionthar.” His tone became sardonic. “The promise of a new day emerging! Something that I would never get to participate in.” He sighed. “I’d linger as long as I could in those moments.” 

You nodded, picturing a hopeful Astarion hiding behind buildings and in alleys, trying to get a fleeting look at a phenomenon that occurred every day, one that you took for granted. Your heart ached for him. 

He continued. “I never quite told you what Cazador made his spawn do for him.”

You tried to recall what Astarion had said to you before. Only that he’d been made to go out into the city and bring back “the most beautiful souls” he could find. Then Cazador would make him either drink from a disgusting dead rat, or abuse him for refusing. The thought made you visibly shudder. 

“I know that you had to bring people back to-” you lowered your voice, as if saying his name might summon him, “-Cazador, against your will. And that he’d kill them.” 

Astarion nodded his head once, remorsefully. “I never told you how we lured them.”

You could see pain etched into his features. You reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder. He flinched a bit at the contact, but settled when he looked over at you.

“You don’t have to tell me any of this right now,” you said. “A lot has changed in the past few hours and there’s no rush in sharing these things with me. I know how hard it was to talk about your past the first time.”

“It was necessary, though,” Astarion looked over at you, his expression determined. “You needed to know what we might be up against. And you might need to know this too.”

“If you want to tell me, then I’m happy to listen, but please don’t force yourself for my sake.”

Astarion released a puff of air from his nose. “You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Asking me what I want. Letting me choose.” 

You cocked your head sympathetically. “And I take it two hundred years as a slave hasn’t really afforded you any choice.”

“Correct,” he sighed. “As a spawn, your vampiric master has complete control over your body and your actions. Even in moments where I wanted to defy or fight back, I was powerless to do anything.” 

Your heart jumped into your throat. You hadn’t realized that was how it worked. Having no control over yourself or your actions sounded like a complete nightmare and you were glad that you’d hopefully never have to experience it. Knowing that that had been Astarion’s entire existence for the past two centuries made you sick to your stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, just as you’d said the last few times he’d shared glimpses of his past.

Astarion’s eyes were closed once again as he inhaled deeply, then exhaled. He continued to bask in the rising sun for a few silent moments and you watched as it slowly rose higher into the sky. 

“That nightmare I had,” he said, his voice coming out quiet, “I’ve had it before.”

Again, you said nothing and waited for him to continue.

“I actually had the same one the night you let me drink your blood for the first time.”

“Oh, please don’t tell me that drinking my blood was some sort of revenge plot against me for haunting your nightmares.”

Astarion smiled a little. “No, it wasn’t about you. It was about Cazador.”

“You know, I’m really starting to dislike this guy,” you said, knowing how difficult this was for him and trying to keep his mood up with another little joke. 

“You and me both,” he sounded tired. “In the dream, I’m in the forest. Cazador appears and recites the rules of being his vampire spawn.” He held up his hand and recounted them on his fingers: “‘First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures. Second, thou shall obey me in all things. Third, thou shalt not leave my side, unless directed. Fourth, thou shalt know that thou art mine.’” 

You listened patiently as Astarion recited each rule almost mechanically. You scrunched your nose with each passing instruction and rolled your eyes dramatically when Astarion finished.

“What a prick.”

He smiled again. “With an archaic speech pattern.”

“I was going to mention his archaic speech pattern.”

The smile faded slowly as Astarion returned to his thoughts. “The dream ends with Cazador telling me I’m his forever. That I can never escape.” 

You let the words hang in the air for a moment. “And yet, here you are.”

“Here I am,” he said humorlessly. He laid down fully on his back, the sun high enough to bathe him completely in its glow. He rested his arms behind his head and angled himself to look at you. “I realized, if I could walk in the sun, what other vampiric laws could I break?”

You looked down at him, admiring the light glinting off his bare chest. “So you decided to test your theory on me? I’m touched.” You held a hand to your chest, pretending to be deeply moved.

“In all honesty, I thought you were the least likely to kill me if I got caught.” He smirked at you. “And it would seem I was right.”

“I wouldn’t have let any of the others kill you,” you said firmly.

Astarion chuckled. “How sweet. My brave little protector.” He reached over to pinch your cheek.

You swatted him away. “Hey, who saved your ass from a bugbear yesterday?”

He shrugged. “I would have been fine.”

You leaned forward and shoved him lightly, making him laugh and throw his arm forward as a shield. 

When his laughter died down, his face grew a touch more serious again. “When you so graciously assaulted me this morning, he’d just finished telling me rule number three; that I can’t leave him unless he tells me to.”

You thought for a moment. “Which begs the question,” Astarion looked over at you expectantly, “how did you end up out here? From what I recall, the sun was still out when the nautiloid reached the Gate. You didn’t have the tadpole yet, so how’d you escape?”

“I wouldn’t say it was much of an escape.” His eyes shifted up to the sky, his expression thoughtful. “I was looking for new victims for Cazador. It was dusk and I had just been given the order to go out and hunt. I was weaving through shadows, avoiding the setting sun, but there’s only so many places one can hide from a giant tentacle that won’t burn you to a crisp. One of the tentacles caught me when I attempted to flee down an alleyway. A complete accident.”

“If it helps, I tripped while running away.”

“Of course you did.” He sighed. “Figures it would take an alien invasion to finally free me from his clutches. Not some,” he waved his hands in the air, gesturing to nothing in particular, “heroic figure sent by the gods to save me and smite that horrible man down to somewhere further and more vile than the Nine Hells.” His hands fell ungracefully to his sides.

He wasn’t wrong. How could any god worth their salt claim to be holier than thou when such suffering was occuring right under their noses? And you were pretty sure, based on tales you’d heard of Mystra and Shar from Gale and Shadowheart, that the gods hadn’t planned for the nautiloids or the rise of the Absolute. Yet if it weren’t for any of that, Astarion would still be trapped in Baldur’s Gate and your adventure thus far would have looked very different.

“If I’d known, I would have done something,” you said, knowing it was more complicated than that, but still wanting to help somehow. 

“Darling, if I’d met you in Baldur’s Gate, I would not have hesitated to take you to Cazador.”

That hurt. 

You said as much. “Ouch.”

“Well,” he sounded angry, though he directed it up towards the sky and not at you, “I wouldn’t have had a choice! Sure, it would have been a little novel, given how inexperienced you are, but regardless, I would have handed you off to him as soon as I’d made you finish.”

Ah. So that was how he lured people. It made sense, now that you put the pieces together; Astarion was so experienced because he had to be. Of course unsuspecting victims would fall prey to the allure of an eternally beautiful vampire, especially the one laying next to you. Of course the promise of pleasure from someone that sexy would be the obvious thing to agree to. It was a wonder your paths had never crossed before the nautiloid. 

“Once,” Astarion broke the silence that had fallen between you, his tone distant, “in the first decade of my slavery, I found a darling boy who I couldn’t bear to bring back to him.” He finally looked over at you, his eyes full of sadness. “So I ran, instead of hurting that sweet man.”

You reached for his hand, then thought better of it. All his snide “don’t touch me’s” on the road now held a new, terrible weight.

“After Cazador caught me, the bastard sealed me, starving, inside a dusty tomb, all on my own, for an entire year. A year of silence”

A hand flew to your mouth. “Astarion…” you felt your eyes begin to prick with tears and did your best to will them away, fearing that they might make Astarion stop sharing.

He went on. “Months of scratching my hands raw, trying to carve my way out, more months of not moving at all. Months wishing only for death.” He took a deep breath, then blew it out shakily. “So no, I wouldn’t have hesitated, had we crossed paths.”

You opened and closed your mouth several times, attempting to find words that could possibly compose an appropriate response to the horrors you currently refused to picture. “I have no words,” is what you finally settled on, followed by an, “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing can make up for that,” he said quietly. “Not even Cazador’s death.” He paused. “Well, it would help a little, but the coward deserves a fate worse than death.”

“Can I hug you?” you blurted, unable to stop yourself.

Astarion blinked a few times, then sat up. “What?”

“I just… you’ve been through such hell and I want to hug you, but I don’t want to touch you without your permission.”

He looked you up and down and saw the sincerity evident on your face. “I… suppose.” He pulled his legs up from where they were still dangling above the ravine and turned to face you head on. 

“Thank you,” you said, still attempting to keep your tears at bay.

You leaned forward and weaved your arms beneath Astarion’s, hooking your arms up and placing your hands on his shoulder blades. You settled your face between his neck and shoulder and could feel that his arms were frozen rigidly in place in front of him. You took a shaky breath and stayed still, allowing Astarion to move at his own pace. 

His arms finally settled around you and he bent his head so his cheek rested against your hair. 

The two of you stayed like that for a while, relishing in the other’s closeness. You moved your hands back and forth across his back absently. When you caught yourself, you pulled back to look at him and asked, “Is it okay that I’m touching your back?”

Astarion chuckled softly. “Yes, my dear. It’s rather nice, actually.”

You smiled and nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck. Seriously, did he always smell this good?

Despite the pleasant distraction, something was nagging at your thoughts.

“Can I ask you something?” you murmured into his skin.

Astarion sighed dramatically. “If it has anything to do with my fangs, I’ll rip your throat out.”

You snickered to yourself. “No, not another dumb joke, I promise.”

“Then by all means.”

You pulled back once more to look at him in the face. His eyes widened when he saw your nervous expression. You avoided holding his gaze, feeling a little small. 

“Do you… want to be with me?”

Astarion looked taken aback. “What?”

“I mean… well…” You were having trouble sorting through your thoughts. Who were you to make this moment about yourself when Astarion had just been so open with you? And why couldn’t you trust him in what he had told you last night? Still, you had to know. You’d made it clear how much you cared for him and how much sleeping with him had meant to you. 

Given his past experiences, it made sense why he’d sleep with you, but you wanted to hear him say it. If this was all some ploy to manipulate you into doing what he wanted, even without Cazador’s instruction, you needed to know now. 

“Was I… just another conquest?” you asked, your tears reemerging. “Because if that’s the case, then I think we should end whatever this is.”

Astarion’s face was now inches away from yours. He moved a hand from your back and shifted it up to wipe a wayward tear that had escaped. He said your name softly.

“No, my sweet,” his other hand started rubbing soothing circles into your back. He pulled back a little. “Well, yes.”

You scoffed, another tear rolling down your cheek. 

Astarion was quick to correct. “No, no! I mean, at first, yes, it was my plan to seduce you and sleep with you.”

You let out a small whimpering noise and he tried to catch your eye. You kept your gaze glued on something in the distance, unseeing.

Astarion cleared his throat. “You- You’re valuable; someone willing to feed me, someone who advocated for me to stay with you all, even though you knew vampires were dangerous, someone who would protect me in battle, even if it meant sacrificing something important to you.”

Try as he might to get your attention back on him, your face remained blank as you stared into the distance.

“I wanted your continued protection.” He shrugged. “Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in and I thought I could secure that with sex.”

That got you to look at him, a sour expression on your face. “Have you met me?”

Astarion chuckled. “Yes, I have. And that’s what threw me for such a loop.”

You humphed.

“When I realized you’d be more of a challenge, I modified my plan.”

“I don’t love the direction this is headed.”

“Stay with me, darling” he said, “I promise I’m going somewhere with this.”

You exhaled and nodded for him to continue. 

“I did want to give you a good first experience, that much was true, but I will admit that I was still planning on using you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You realize how bad this sounds, right?”

“Will you-” he sighed. “Let me finish, damn you,” he brought his forehead to yours briefly, then pulled back. “So imagine how stupid I felt when I realized I genuinely felt something for you.”

That made you smile softly. 

He groaned. “And yes, it is because I find you to be… a lot of fun.” The last phrase sounded like it hurt coming out. 

Your soft smile transformed into one of smug satisfaction. “And when did you come to this conclusion?”

“Well first of all, look at you.” He smiled slyly and you playfully pushed his face away from yours, just as you had last night. After a moment, Astarion looked up, as if searching through his thoughts. “I suppose I’ve always found you to be amusing. You were so easy to fool in the beginning. I mean, the very first day we met, you thought I had one of those brain things cornered.”

“I had no reason not to believe you! And then you held a knife to my throat!” “Ah, memories,” he sighed wistfully. “But then we started traveling together, and I don’t think I’ve ever laughed more. Killing those goblins outside the Grove, fooling those trolls into working for us, taking out those Paladins of Tyr… you always had a sarcastic comment to contend with my sarcastic comments. Which is saying something.”

You snorted. “As if I wouldn’t have something to say.”

Astarion nodded. “You do talk a lot.” 

You chuckled softly, feeling better. Your arms were still wrapped around Astarion.

“It was when I kissed you.” His tone was thoughtful.

“Hmm?”

“When I really kissed you for the first time, there was something different about it.” His eyes flicked down to your lips momentarily. “Suddenly everything we’d been through came rushing back to my mind and there was this… pleasure I hadn’t felt. In an awfully long time.”

You smiled like a dope, bringing your forehead to his.

“I realized you weren’t going anywhere. And that you genuinely cared about what I thought and what I wanted.” He looked at you almost shyly. “No one in the past two hundred years has stayed.” Astarion pulled back and his inflection became flamboyant and playful: “Not that they had much of a choice, but it was a somewhat shocking revelation.” His tone then returned to one of sincerity: “And no one has cared for me as you have.”

You looked away, embarrassed by the kind words.“What can I say, I’m incredible.”

Astarion blew out a cool puff of air that tickled your face. “Annoyingly, you are.”

You looked back at him and smirked. “For me, it was when you asked me how I’d want to die.”

Astarion snorted. “Pardon?”

“When you asked me how I wanted to die on one of our first nights at camp. I genuinely had the thought, ‘Now here’s a guy who knows how to have a good time.’”

Astarion laughed brightly. You mirrored his grin.

“You said you wanted to be decapitated.” 

“How romantic of me,” he said, raising a seductive eyebrow. 

“Well it did spark the crush I’ve been harboring this whole time,” you felt your face heat up at the admission. “That, and your stupid beautiful face.”

Astarion sniffed mockingly. “Thank you, not enough people mention that.” Then he looked at you fondly. “But that long, eh? How adorable.” He rubbed his nose against yours teasingly. “And here you thought nothing would come of it.”

“Nothing usually does!” you exclaimed.

He laughed and leaned forward to kiss you once. “Not so loud.”

You lifted an eyebrow and gestured to the empty landscape around you. Astarion shrugged. You lowered your voice despite the lack of other people to bother.

“I am glad something came of it this time.” You settled your forehead onto his shoulder.

“As am I, my love,” he kissed your hair. “Though I have something else to admit.”

You pulled back and looked at him curiously.

Out of nowhere, he presented you with a knife.

“I did have a knife.”

You scoffed incredulously and whacked his arm. “I KNEW YOU HAD A KNIFE, YOU BASTARD!” You laughed loudly and pushed him backwards. 

He fell back onto his arms, laughing with you as you crawled on top and kissed him deeply. 

“Careful darling,” he murmured against your lips, “don’t move.”

You paused your movements, your lips still pressed firmly against his own. Astarion turned his head slightly to look over to his left at the treeline you’d emerged from not too long ago. You pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth and felt him grin. Then you felt his right arm come up and jerk slightly, followed by a “THUNK” sound off to your right. 

You waited a moment before you asked, “Can I move?” Your mouth was smushed against his face and your voice came out muffled.

He chuckled. “Yes, you can move now.” 

You sat up and looked to your right, the knife Astarion had pulled was now wedged deeply into the trunk of a nearby tree. You raised your eyebrows at him.

He stretched out like a cat in a sunbeam, his voice straining as he went. “Impressed?”

“Honestly? Yes.” You leaned back down and kissed him again. 

He hummed and his mouth moved against yours at a leisurely pace, his hands coming up to tangle in your hair. You kissed down his jaw and throat before coming to his collarbone and stopping.

“You’re sure you don’t want to fuck me again?” Your words came out a little shy and Astarion laughed. 

He twirled the ends of your hair around his finger. “Delicious as you were, my sweet, I think I’d prefer to take my time with you.” 

You pursed your lips, disappointed. 

“That’s not to say I don’t want to, darling, but…” His fingers stopped twirling your hair as he thought. “Like you said earlier, so much has changed in the last few hours. I’ve only just discovered that I can sleep with somebody because I actually want to.” His hand moved from your hair to your cheek. “I think I need some time to adjust to that.”

You nodded and bent to kiss him. “I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

He smiled up at you. “Thank you.”

You spent a few moments just looking at him, admiring how his eyes sparkled in the sun like rubies. You sighed noticeably. 

“What is it, love?”

You shook your head. “It’s nothing.”

“Darling…” He raised his eyebrows at you. 

“No, it’s inappropriate right now.” You looked away.

You felt his hand in your hair, and his voice was conspiratory, “I love when you talk dirty.”

You sighed again and looked him in the eye. “One of these days, when you’re ready, I’m going to look into your gorgeous eyes as I make you come.”

Astarion sputtered out a surprised laugh. “Easy there, lover,” he gave you a sultry look, “I may just take you up on that.”

You sat up and spread your hands over his chest. “I want to make you feel good, too.”

He brought both hands up to his face and groaned loudly before dragging them back down his face and looking at you. “Come lay in the sun with me, will you?”

You pouted but rolled off of him and curled into his side. 

“There now,” he said, arching his chest upwards towards the sky where the sun had now risen for the day, “isn’t this nice?”

You inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the trees and the sounds of the ravine below. You exhaled and closed your eyes, warmed by the sun and comforted by the presence of Astarion beside you. He himself had his eyes closed and looked peacefully content. You nuzzled further into his side, enjoying how his cool skin contrasted with the warmth coming from above.

Before you could even register that you were still tired from your early wakeup call this morning, you’d drifted back into a comfortable sleep.

~~~~~

You were awoken some time later by a lick to the face. 

You shut your eyes tighter and groaned. “Gross, Astarion, I’m trying to sleep.” You threw an arm over your eyes, the sun now directly overhead. 

“Did you find them, boy?” A voice shouted from the distance.

Your eyes shot open and found Scratch panting above you, wagging his tail excitedly. 

You sat up quickly and immediately leaned over to shake Astarion who appeared to be trancing soundly. 

“Astarion,” you shook him anxiously. 

He scowled, his eyes still closed. He groaned lowly.

“Astarion, my dear, my sweet, my beloved,” you shook him harder and his eyes opened immediately. He sat up, fast as lightning.

“What’s happening? Where’s my knife?” He looked around frantically until his eyes landed on you. “Ah,” he said, calming, “déjà vu.” 

“They’re coming,” you hissed.

“Who?” Astarion narrowed his eyes, thoughts still foggy from his trance. 

“No FUCKING way!” Came Karlach’s voice from the treeline. 

You looked over and found her with an elated grin on her face and her hands on her knees. She started laughing loudly and you hid your face in your hands. 

“You guys did NOT,” she wheezed. 

“Hello Karlach,” Astarion’s voice sounded nonchalant beside you. “What brings you out to ruin our beauty sleep?” 

“Did you find them?” Shadowheart soon emerged from the forest and stopped in her tracks. She surveyed the area and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Astarion, tell me you didn’t.”

“Did what, darling?” He sounded smug and you looked over at him. His expression matched his tone. “You’ll have to be more specific.” He rested his chin on your shoulder.

“I fucking knew this would happen,” Karlach said, coming down from her laughing fit. “Soldier’s had her eye on you for a while now, Fangs.”

“Karlach!” You whisper-shouted.

“Oh, I’m aware,” you felt Astarion turn his head to look at you. 

Suddenly Gale, Lae’zel, and Wyll joined the fray. Scratch ran to them and happily weaved between them as they emerged. 

“We heard a commotion, did you find them?” Gale halted when he saw you and Astarion sitting together on the ground, him shirtless, you wearing his shirt. “No,” he said, shaking his head.

“Yes,” Astarion said, tilting his head against yours. You gave him a dirty look. 

“Chk! Was that filthy nest of our blankets your doing?” Lae’zel asked, cradling her greatsword proudly. 

You groaned and hid your face in your hands again. 

“It would appear so,” Wyll confirmed awkwardly. 

“You vampires have a disgusting way of mating if that nest was any indication,” Lae’zel narrowed her eyes and lifted her nose in the air judgmentally. “Far too soft.”

Astarion scoffed and pulled back from you. “I’ll have you know that vampires mate in the most satisfying- well, we don’t mate, necessarily, we’re not dogs, but we, well at least I, am always an exemplary lover.”

Shadowheart ignored him and walked forward, crouching down and resting a hand on your shoulder. You looked at her. “Are you okay?”

“What?” you laughed in disbelief. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“He didn’t… coerce you into something, did he?”

“Excuse me?” Astarion sounded insulted. “I always ask permission first, darling.”

“Your charms can be quite overwhelming at times, Astarion,” Gale said. 

“And wouldn’t you like having my charms turned on you, wizard,” Astarion sneered. 

“Well, let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Wyll held up his hands, gesturing for the others to relax.

“Everyone!” You raised your voice. All eyes settled on you. “Nothing happened between us that I didn’t expressly and happily agree to.”

Karlach started chuckling again. “Good for you, Soldier.”

“Thank you, Karlach,” said Astarion. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. 

He shrugged. “What?”

You groaned and stood up, wiping grass and forest debris off your clothes. You adjusted Astarion’s shirt on your shoulders, making sure you weren’t showing off too much to your companions. 

“Is there a reason you all came out here? Or was it just to mortify me? Because mission accomplished!”

“It’s midday,” informed Wyll. “We grew worried when the two of you seemingly vanished and didn’t return.”

“Halsin and the tieflings are coming to camp tonight to celebrate our victory against the goblins,” Shadowheart crossed her arms. 

“Yes, and it wouldn’t be a great look if our leader and the gangly one were missing,” Gale said.

“Gangly?!” Astarion exclaimed, very clearly not gangly. 

“You’re- okay, well, I hadn’t seen you shirtless before now,” Gale amended. 

“Like what you see?” Astarion teased. 

“Astarion,” you scolded. 

He sighed and got up, wrapping an arm around you and resting a hand on your hip. 

You went red as you watched your companions track his hand. 

“Listen, people,” Astarion said, sounding serious. 

You saw your companions’ eyes shift to the vampire. 

“Don’t give her a hard time. This was my doing.” Shadowheart was about to say something but Astarion raised his voice a bit. “While yes, she gave permission in everything that we did, this wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t suggested it in the first place.”

“I could have suggested something much better, surely,” Lae’zel huffed.

“I mean, did you-?” Karlach thrust her hips in the air with her fists at her sides.

“Oh my gods,” you groaned.

“I don’t kiss and tell, darling,” Astarion said, squeezing your hip slightly. 

Karlach smirked smugly and winked at you both. 

You shook your head and looked up, silently begging any god that was listening to kill you and to do it quickly. 

“We should get back to camp,” Wyll suggested diplomatically. “Let these two collect themselves.” 

“So what does this mean?” Shadowheart asked, ignoring Wyll. 

“Shadowheart,” Wyll warned but she waved him off.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“Are you only going to sleep with the pathetic vampire moving forward?” Lae’zel stated bluntly.

You and Astarion looked at each other. You saw the slightest flash of uncertainty in his eyes and smiled. “If he’ll let me,” you said. 

A small smile appeared on his face in return.

Lae’zel groaned. “K'chakhi. Your loss.” She turned and walked back into the forest, slinging her greatsword over her back.

You bit your lip, feeling guilty about Lae’zel’s feelings, but Karlach soon slid into your vision. “Congrats, you crazy kids,” she laughed and pretended to punch your arm, then followed on Lae’zel’s heels, Scratch bounding close behind her.

Gale walked over, his face stoic. He stood in front of Astarion and held out his hand. 

Astarion scowled. “What is this, do you want some sort of handout?” 

“I want to shake your hand, you buffoon,” Gale sounded frustrated. 

“Gale…” you said sorrowfully. 

“No no, think nothing of it,” he waved you off. “The right man won out in the end.”

Astarion took his hand and shook it. “Better luck next time,” he jeered. 

“Astarion,” you scolded again. “You both know I’m not something to win, right?”

“Of course you’re not,” Gale nodded. “Apologies, I misspoke. I’ll see you both at camp. Lunch is bread and cheese to save room for tonight’s festivities.” He stiffly turned and walked back towards the trees. Wyll gave him a sympathetic look, then caught your eye. He nodded somewhat sadly and followed after Gale. 

“Well that certainly doesn’t feel good,” you said, holding a hand to your chest and breathing deeply.

“Not quite finished yet, love,” Astarion nodded over towards Shadowheart who lingered nearby. 

She approached slowly, holding her hands behind her back. Astarion released your hip and moved away, sensing what Shadowheart aimed to do. You looked at him curiously, but your attention was drawn back to Shadowheart as she threw her arms around your neck. 

“You’re happy?” She asked softly.

“Shadowheart…” you smiled into her hair. “Yes, I’m happy. Thank you.”

She pulled back to look at you in the eyes, double checking your expression. When she saw that you were genuine, she nodded. She cleared her throat and looked over at Astarion. 

She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Hurt her, and you will never know a happy day again.”

Astarion held up his hands defensively. “I won’t-”

“You have never known the pain of Lady Shar’s wrath, and you’d be smart to keep it that way, so help me gods, Astarion.”

“I got it,” he said flatly. 

“Our Lady of Loss would not hesitate to strike you where you stand-”

“I think he gets it,” you said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart narrowed her eyes at Astarion before she looked back at you. “I’ll see you at camp. Don’t dally.” She looked pointedly at Astarion who shrugged helplessly. 

When she headed back into the forest, you and Astarion were finally alone. 

You let out a heavy sigh.

“That was a lot,” Astarion joined you at your side.

“Wait, did you know those people?” you smirked at him.

“Vaguely,” he smirked back and caught you in a kiss. “At least I don’t have to hold back from doing that at camp now.” He held you close in his arms.

You sighed again and laid your head on his shoulder. “You were right. I didn’t realize so many of them felt something for me.”

“That seems to be because you block out the advances of others.”

You shoved him playfully. “How dare you turn my pitiful backstory against me.”

He smiled and held out his hand. “Come on, let’s go dismantle that ‘disgusting’ nest.” He did his best to impersonate Lae’zel on “disgusting.” 

It made you laugh. “Okay.”

You took his hand and let him lead you through the trees back to the blankets and pillows that you’d spent the night on. 

When you arrived, you picked up your shirt and bra, feeling mild embarrassment that the others had probably seen them and drawn (correct) conclusions. You removed Astarion’s shirt and threw it back at him, hitting him in the face and quickly covered your chest with your forearm. 

Astarion laughed as his shirt fell into his awaiting hands. “Darling, you don’t have to hide from me,” he narrowed his eyes seductively. “I’ve already seen it all.” He tossed the shirt aside and made his way over to you.

“Feels different in the light of day,” you admitted self-consciously. “Worse, I guess.”

“Now, now,” he said, gently pulling your arm away from your chest, “let me see you in the daylight.” You allowed him to move your arm but didn’t look at him. “Lovely,” he breathed, and kissed you hard. 

You inhaled in surprise, but immediately gave in and slipped your tongue into his mouth and your arms over his shoulders. His hand came up and began massaging your left breast, his icy touch sending a shock wave through you and making you moan. 

Instantly, you pulled away and took a step back. “Careful,” you said as Astarion stared at you wide-eyed, his hand frozen in the air where he’d been palming your breast, “I thought you wanted to take things slow?”

He made a sound somewhere between a groan and a dry heave. “Stop being so nice to me,” he avoided your gaze. “It makes me want to… be nice back.”

“Gods forbid,” you laughed, and bent to pick up your bra which had fallen back amongst the pillows. 

All of a sudden, you found yourself face down in the blankets, the wind knocked out of you and Astarion’s body weight pressed firmly on top of you.

“Astarion,” you wheezed, “what are you doing?”

His voice was sultry in your ear, “If you’ll remember, I said I wanted to take my time with you.”

Sexy as that was, you couldn’t breathe. You reached behind yourself and smacked Astarion’s back with your palm. “Living creatures need to breathe, idiot!”

“Oh,” he realized his error and rolled off of you. You had no time to adjust yourself before he flipped you over and hovered above you on his hands and knees. 

You blew some hair out of your face, irritated. “Did you just tackle me like I was some sort of prey?”

“My dear, I would never,” he bowed his head and kissed your neck.

“And yet I find myself on the ground, even though I didn’t put myself here,” you tangled your hands in his hair, your voice wobbly. 

“You’ve always been rather clumsy,” he murmured teasingly. 

You took a deep breath and pushed him away. His lips were still puckered, making you giggle. “Shadowheart told us not to dally,” you reminded him. “And she threatened to kill you, what? Three times?”

“You forget that I’m already dead,” he smiled. “What’s another little death?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

You snorted. “Bad.”

“I thought that was rather clever, actually.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “We should really head back.”

Astarion whined and hung his head. “Let me have you again, woman!”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said!” He lifted his head and looked you in the eye. “And while I appreciate your concern, right now, I very much want to be inside of you again.”

You smiled cautiously. “Are you sure?”

He rolled his eyes and kissed you, lowering his body to roll his hips against yours and making his erection very obviously. You jolted at the unexpected sensation and he pulled back.

“Unless this is too much for you,” he searched your face for hesitancy. “You’re probably still sore and we don’t have to rush anything-”

You gripped the back of his head and tightened your fist into his curls. “Please,” you whispered, “fuck me again.”

A wicked grin bloomed on Astarion’s face and he kissed you passionately, rolling his hips against yours for friction. You moaned into his mouth, but he broke the kiss after only a few moments. “Like I said, love, I want to take my time with you.”

He rose up onto his knees and began untying the laces of your pants. You watched him intently and bit your lip as he removed them fully from your legs. He made quick work of his own and crawled back on top of you. His thumb hooked under your panties and his eyes met yours. You nodded and he pulled them down gently and discarded them close by. He then laid beside you, his eyes heavy with lust.

“Come here, precious thing,” he purred and you inched yourself closer to him. “Turn around,” he instructed. You gave him a confused half smile but did what he asked. He reached forward and pulled your hips back, causing you to feel his still-clothed cock against your ass.

“What are you doing?” you asked nervously. 

Astarion chuckled. “Not that, fear not.” He kissed your shoulder as he slid his left arm under you and settled his hand on your lower stomach. A chill ran through you as he nuzzled his head onto your shoulder. “Fair warning,” you could hear the mischief in his voice as his right hand made itself known in front of your face. He wiggled his fingers in a delicate wave, then brought it down between your thighs. 

A gasp escaped your throat when you felt his fingers swipe through your folds.

Astarion tilted his head and kissed your throat. “So wet already, darling.”

“You’re handsome,” you said by way of explanation.

He hummed against your shoulder and began to rub your clit. A shuddering breath left your mouth and your eyes fluttered shut. Astarion paused for a moment to lift your leg and hike it back over his. “This will feel good,” he said against your skin and dragged his fingers through your folds again before inserting a digit into your cunt. 

You threw your head back in surprised pleasure, which made Astarion turn and nip at your ear. He began pumping and curling his finger slowly inside of you. Your breath caught when his thumb resumed its spot on your clit and whined when his finger inside of you hit a particularly sensitive spot. He adjusted his angle to hit it repeatedly. 

“Astarion,” you moaned, your head clouded with nothing but ecstasy. 

“Yes, my sweet, you’re gripping me so tight,” his voice was sensual in your ear. “Do you think you can take a little more?”

You nodded, your eyes shut tight. 

“Words, darling.”

“Another…” you said breathily.

“Another what?”

Your voice was sing-songy. “Astarion, if you don’t put another finger in me right now, I’m leaving you.”

He laughed loudly before moving his mouth close to your ear again. “You like me too much.” Then he leaned up a little to catch your eye, his finger still pumping between your thighs. “Right?”

You smiled sympathetically, seeing your words had spooked him a little. You reached a hand up to cup his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere,” you clarified. “But I might kill you.”

“Got it,” Astarion dragged his index finger through your folds, then carefully added it to your cunt alongside his middle finger. 

You exhaled, moving your hand down from his cheek to his hand resting on your stomach. You laced your fingers together and squeezed when he hit a particularly good spot, getting you to moan out an, “Oh, gods.”

“Like that?” He asked cockily, reaching and curling to hit the spot again. 

“Yes, my love,” you sighed, grinning upwards with your eyes closed. 

Behind you, you felt Astarion’s cock twitch.

Your eyes opened and you looked back at him. 

He smiled back at you sheepishly. “It does that sometimes, darling. When something is particularly arousing.”

Your breaths were coming out short and keeping in time with the pumping of his fingers. “Was it… ‘my love?’”

Astarion let out a low moan and hid his face in your shoulder before reemerging and nodding. “Coming from you while you’re in the throes of passion with me is really… something.”

You laughed between whimpers. “My… loooooove,” you sang, squeezing his hand again. “Your fingers feel heavenly, my looooove.”

“Fuck this,” Astarion said, pulling his fingers out of you unceremoniously and curling you forward with his body so he could shimmy out of his underwear. 

“What are you doing,” you winced and whined childishly, “I was so close!”

“Unfortunately, darling, if I’m not inside you within a matter of seconds, I’m going to lose it completely.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” you said, half dazed and still coming down from your almost climax. 

You felt his hand bump your ass as he pumped his cock and you instantly went stiff. “You’re not going to…?”

Astarion let out a breathy laugh. “Oh, my sweet, you’re not nearly ready for something like that yet.”

A relieved sigh escaped you. 

“We could always work our way up-”

“No, that’s okay,” you said quickly. 

“There’s nothing wrong with-”

“No, of course not-”

“But we can-”

“Let’s not talk about this now,” you patted Astarion’s cheek.

“Understood,” he nodded and resumed pumping his cock. “Hook your leg back over mine, darling.” When you followed his instruction, he kissed your shoulder once more. You felt the head of his cock glide through your folds until it prodded at your entrance and you let out a shaky exhale. “Don’t be scared,” he muttered, squeezing your hand. “Are you ready?”

You inhaled. “Yes.”

Just as he had last night, Astarion was slow to enter you. This time you heard him whimpering with his mouth so close to your ear. 

“Fuck,” he murmured, dragging his fangs from your shoulder to your neck, “still so tight.”

“Obviously,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut, but not feeling nearly as uncomfortable as you had the first time he’d entered you. You let out a satisfied exhale when his hips bumped your ass. 

“Let me know what I can move,” Astarion said against your skin, his words barely recognizable. 

“You can move,” you said almost immediately, reaching a hand up behind you and twisting it into Astarion’s hair. You moved it over a little to play with the tip of his ear.

He let out a loud groan and snapped his hips forward, probably with more force than he meant to. “Apologies,” he whispered, “that felt heavenly.”

“Keep going, my love,” you encouraged and he caught your eye with a seductive smile. 

He continued to pump his cock into your dripping hole and brought his right hand down to your clit. He licked a stripe from your neck up to your ear. “You know, I really did intend to take my time with you just now,” he spoke lowly from the back of his throat. As if to illustrate his point, he slowed his hips to take long, languid strokes out, and then moved back into you at an equally slow pace. His thumb on your clit slowed as he disconnected his left hand from yours and brought it up to fondle your breast. He kissed up your shoulder to your neck sloppily and sucked on the fading bite marks from last night. 

You moaned loudly, hooking your foot around his calf and tightening your fist in his hair. “We’d really be dallying, then,” you commented.

He made a frustrated noise. “Don’t even allude to the cleric right now,” he pulled away from your neck. “Unless it’s to tell me I’m a much better lover than her.” He snapped his hips into you, hard. 

“I don’t have much of a reference, genius,” you responded breathlessly. 

“Right,” he said, and picked up speed at your clit. His mouth returned to sucking on your throat. 

“Oohhh,” you sighed. You let out a gasp when Astarion’s left hand pinched your nipple.

“You feel wonderful, my darling,” spit connected him to your neck.

“So do you,” you brought your hand up to cover Astarion’s that was kneading your breast. “You can bite me, if you want.”

He groaned loudly and bumped his nose against your jaw. “Well,” he said between thrusts, “if you insist.” 

He kissed your throat before biting down, his hips instantly picking up speed. 

The ice that shot into your veins was a shock as always, but melted into a fuzzy pleasure that had your eyes drooping in ecstasy. 

Astarion took long pulls of your blood as he continued thrusting, circling your clit, and needing your breast. How he was keeping track of everything at once was beyond you in this pleasant, foggy state. 

“Darling,” he pulled away suddenly, swallowing loudly and seemingly out of breath. “May I taste you as you come?”

Your tongue lolled to the side, but his voice snapped you out of it. You nodded up at him. “Yes, please.”

“What do you need?” He licked the wounds on your neck. 

“As much as I’m enjoying you taking your time,” you said, “harder and faster.”

“Easy,” a cocky grin graced his face as a drop of your blood dripped down his chin. 

His hips picked up a brutal pace that nearly had you reaching your peak, and he pressed further onto your clit, his tight circles picking up speed as well. 

“Oh, Astarion,” you moaned loudly, reaching back again to grip his hair.

“Come for me, dearest,” he spoke softly against your throat, but loud enough that you could hear, “I want to hear you sing again. I want to taste how sweet your blood is when I make you cum on my cock.” He continued leaving sloppy kisses against your neck.

“I’m close,” you confirmed, your eyes shut tight and your body tensing. 

“Go ahead, love, I’ve got you,” his hard thrusts were becoming uneven, but ever the professional, his voice remained mostly even. “You’re so tight and warm, thank you for letting me taste you.” He kissed your mouth. “Darling.” Another kiss. “Beloved.” One more. “Mine.”

You cried out as you fell over the edge, your cunt squeezing his cock repeatedly, only to cry out again as you felt Astarion’s fangs enter your neck once more. 

“Astarion!” You shouted, squeezing his hand and pulling his hair and wrapping your shaking leg around his. Almost simultaneously, you felt Astarion spill inside you as he moaned your name loudly into your neck, his hips pulsing clumsily against you. 

The sensation of him drawing your blood was still pleasantly fuzzy, but you could feel yourself becoming light headed. You tapped his arm twice, your signal for him to stop, and he pulled away, leaning his forehead against your temple and breathing heavily. 

“Still cumming,” he groaned and clenched his teeth, his hips faltering in their rhythm. 

After another moment, his body finally relaxed and he pulled you closer into his chest, catching his breath. “That was… amazing,” he sighed happily, leaning forward to lick the remaining blood from your neck. “If I knew blood could taste that good-” His voice trailed off. “Well, I’m sure I’d do something about it if I could.” He seemed pleased with his own answer and hummed contentedly behind you.

“I’m glad it was to your liking,” you said, looking back at him with a smile. He bent forward and kissed you happily. “I’m like a fine vintage,” you teased.

Astarion pursed his lips. “You’re far from vintage, darling, you’ll have to work on your wine related japes.” 

You laughed and a comfortable silence fell between you. Astarion rested both of his hands on your stomach. Which growled suddenly.

“What’s that like?” He teased, licking a wayward drop of blood from the side of his mouth. 

Your body tensed. “Oh gods, bread and cheese!”

Astarion blinked at you. “Are those some sort of new deities I’m not aware of, or-?”

“No, that’s what Gale said we’re having for lunch.”

“And that’s important because-?”

“Because we DALLIED and there’s a PARTY tonight and now Shadowheart is going to KILL us.”

“I see.” Astarion remained still, fixed in place. Then suddenly he was pulling out of you at a breakneck speed and reaching for his clothes. 

You winced a little at the sensation but scrambled for your own clothes, wiping yourself down with the cloth Astarion provided again and got dressed in what was probably record time. 

Incredibly, you both looked presentable. 

“We do make a gorgeous pair,” Astarion cocked his hip and smirked at you, going in for a kiss.

You swatted him away. “Enough flirting, loverboy, we can talk about us later!” You started reaching for blankets and pillows. 

“Us,” Astarion stood on the sidelines, testing out the word on his tongue. “I do so like the sound of that.”

“Help me, would you?” You threw a pile of blankets at him, hitting him in the face and blowing his hair back. 

He groaned. “It should be a crime to rush after you’ve just made love to the most amazing woman.” He came up behind you and smacked your butt teasingly. 

You stood up straight and tried to look angry. “We are going to die if we don’t head back right now.” Astarion wasn’t buying your anger, so you turned bashful. “You made loooove to me?” You clasped your hands together by your face. “You think I’m amaaaazing?” You twirled some of your hair for good measure.

Astarion sighed. “Be serious, woman, we’re going to die!” His voice was exasperated but he smirked at you. He bent to pick up more blankets and pillows and you did the same until you both had piles you could barely see over and nothing was left behind.

“Ugh, I’m going to have to do so much laundry,” you muttered. “Seriously, how did you manage bringing all this out here?”

“Well first, everything was folded neatly.”

“We don’t have time.”

“And second, multiple trips, darling.”

“We can’t afford to leave camp EVER again.”

Try as you might to rush back to camp, you still had to maneuver through a forest and be careful where you stepped. The pair of you moved as quickly as you could, which wasn’t as fast as was probably necessary to avoid Shadowheart’s ire. 

“Soooo…” You broke the silence after a few moments. 

“Gods,” Astarion rolled his eyes, “what?”

“‘My love,’ huh?” You waggled your eyebrows at him.

“What about it?”

“You liiiiiiked it,” you teased. 

“I-” You could see that he thought about arguing but decided not to. “I’m not used to the pet names turned on me. It’s… nice.”

“You’re cute,” you said, looking over at him affectionately and nearly tripping over a tree root as a result.

Astarion snickered, then made his face serious. “I’m the furthest thing from cute. I’m a horrifying monster.” He lowered his voice as if that would back him up.

“Yeah, but you like being mushy.” 

“I do not.”

“You do!” You moved closer to him and bumped his hip with your own. “You were so sweet to me yesterday. And just now.” 

“It’s different with you,” he said quietly.

“Oh?” You raised your eyebrows.

“It’s… um… This is stupid, I hate it.” He tried to walk ahead of you but you caught up easily.

“No, no! Please.” You gave him a reassuring look. “I, of all people, will not judge you.”

He sighed. “It’s just… nice to feel like something is mine.” He was quick to correct, “Not that I own you but… I don’t know. You’re not a victim. Not a target. Not just… one night it’s better to forget. You’re something entirely new.”

You smiled over at him. “I like you too, weirdo.”

Astarion humphed. “Whatever.” He moved closer and bumped your hip with his own. The two of you shared a fond look, then turned back to the path ahead.

If Shadowheart was going to kill you, at least you’d die together. 

You both quickened your pace to try and avoid that fate, but it was a lovely thought.

Soon, you began to make out the bright colors of your tents through the trees and the sound of your companions chatting by the fire. 

You turned to Astarion. “See you on the other side.”

He nodded, determined. “It’s been a pleasure servicing you, darling.”

“I hope she kills you first.”

You shared a laugh before you took a calming breath. 

And stepped into camp. 

[not-neverland06]

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚍’𝚜 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

A/N: Oh. My. God. I am so sorry this got delayed so many times. This is such an important chapter to me, it plays such a pivotal role in "Y/N's" development that I kept scrapping it and starting over. I didn't want to give this to you guys until it was perfect, and I think I've gotten about as close as I can. I'm predicting one more story chapter and then possibly one short epilogue.

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: Arthur's gone and you're own once more. The familiar ache of grief lingers as it always does. But the clouds must always part for light. Through death and grief, you still manage to find yourself.

It always seems to be cold at night, now that Arthur’s no longer there to keep you warm. You curl into yourself, knees tucked to your chest as you smother your face in the thin pillow on your cot. You press the fabric tightly to your mouth, trying to keep the sounds of your crying out of the other’s dreams. 

There should be no surprise that you’re on your own again. Beating a dead horse doesn’t make it move, but somehow, you keep finding yourself tangled in the reins, dragged along by the memory of men who’ve long since let go. You wonder, sometimes, if your life is one bet of many between god and the devil, seeing which one of them can get you to break first.  What you could have done to draw their ire, you don’t know, but you’re not sure how much more pain and loss you can handle. Your lifetime is filled with the empty graves of those you’ll never see again. Now, Arthur’s is just another headstone to add to your endless cemetery.

You worry that you’re too loud on the harder nights. But no one’s ever complained that they hear you crying and you figure they’re all probably too busy mourning in their own way to notice the way you do. 

Abigail is practically an empty shell of herself without John. As much as they fought she doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. Especially knowing he’s in jail, destined for the noose, and there is nothing she can do about it. 

Karen’s not doing much better. With Sean in jail alongside John, she’s fallen to the drink. She’s adopted a fatalist view that, without Dutch, you are all doomed to die at the hands of the Pinkertons. Sometimes, looking at the depressing faces of those around you, you think she might be right.

Stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with only two rotting cabins between what was left of the gang, you are a far cry from the fearsome outlaws you once were. This is no longer the Van der Linde gang. Now, you’re barely any better than a group of desperate wanderers. 

You know sleep won’t come to you tonight, you’ve been tossing and turning for hours. Any longer and you’ll wake everyone else up. Wiping roughly at your eyes, you slip a blanket around your shoulders and head toward the creaking door of the cabin. You try to keep in mind that one wrong step and the groaning wood below you will alert everyone. 

Barefoot, you walk along the muddied planks of the porch and head towards what’s left of tonight’s fire. It’s not ever-burning as it once was. The gang takes care to ensure if anyone were to come looking for you all, you wouldn’t be such easy targets. 

You sink onto the log before the dying fire, with embers glowing faintly in the darkness. Sparks flicker and leap from the blackened wood, a futile effort to reignite the flame. Their struggle is in vain, though, there is no life left to kindle, no warmth to revive. The fire is gone. 

Light footsteps make their way towards you, but you keep your gaze steady on the flickering struggle before you. “I’m gettin’ real tired of this,” Sadie’s disappointed sigh is a familiar one as she comes to stand behind you. 

“Were you in town again?” You ask, ignoring the glare you feel boring into your back. She stares at you for a while longer before letting out a rough sigh and throwing herself down beside you. The log shifts slightly under her weight and you dip towards her. 

“I was,” she grumbles, something white balled up tightly in her fist. You turn towards her finally, eyes narrowed on the paper in her grasp. Her face is drawn tight, jaw set angrily as something vengeful burns within her gaze. 

“What is that?” You ask, tone inquisitive but not truly interested. Her eyes dart towards you before she shakes her head and tosses the paper to the dying fire. What’s left of it, licks eagerly at the paper, trying its damndest to burn brighter.

“Nothin’, don’t worry about it. Why can’t you sleep?” Her switch in conversation is quick and far from subtle. Your head tilts slightly in curiosity, gaze switching between her and the paper that’s slowly curling up at the edges. She’s hiding something, it’s easy enough to tell from the way she refuses to meet your eyes. Besides, she’s snuck into town plenty of times, you’ve never seen her come back this riled up before. 

You jump to your feet and she startles at the quick move. “Don’t,” she snaps, snatching at your wrist as you rush by her and swipe the paper from the fire pit. Sadie gets to her feet, hand held out with an expectant look as she waits for you to give her back to paper. When you don’t comply immediately, she says your name, voice low and tense, a warning. 

Lips curling up slightly in challenge, you leap back as she lunges for you, holding the paper away from her. “What is it?” You tease, curiosity curling over the lingering ache from earlier. 

She snaps your name again and you flinch back in surprise, “I mean it, don’t look at the goddamn paper.” You’d only been joking with her, trying to focus on anything other than Arthur. Now, there’s a familiar churning feeling of dread as you look at your friend. She’s not angry at you, she’s angry at the thin sheet you’re holding. There’s something on here she doesn’t want you to see, not for her own sake, but for yours. 

Your breath quickens, heart dancing dangerously fast against your ribs as you finally look at what’s in your hand. She hisses your name but you stubbornly ignore her, frowning when you realize it’s a torn-out piece of a newspaper. It’s a smaller article from the local St. Denis paper stand, talking about a ferry being lost at sea. 

“Oh, god,” you whisper, hand coming up to cover your mouth as bile rushes up your throat. You bite down on your tongue until the taste of iron fills your mouth, holding back the nausea. “This is him, isn’t it?”

Sadie lets out a rough sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“You were just gonna hide this from me?” You nearly shout, taking one angry step towards her. Her brows turn down in guilt, mouth settling into a thin line as she shakes her head. “No? You weren’t?” You demand, tone rough with grief. “You were just going to wait until I put the pieces together myself?”

“Dammit, woman, you’re barely holding it together,” she barks out, snatching the paper from you once more. She turns her back on you, shredding it into pieces so small you’ll never be able to finish reading it. “I was going to wait until I didn’t think you were on the brink of completely fallin’ apart. Besides, it doesn’t say anything about the people on the ship, we don’t know what happened.”

“We never will!” The words tear out of you, a sharp, bitter exhale. A panicked smile twists your lips as you struggle to keep yourself upright. “Sadie, your husband is dead, you know that. You have your answer. I never will. I will never know what happened to him. And it doesn’t even matter because he left me!” Your voice cracks, a sob slipping free despite your best efforts to swallow it down. “I shouldn’t care about that goddamn bastard, but I do.” You turn away from her, shoulders caving in as you wipe roughly at the tears streaming down your cheeks. 

There’s a beat of silence behind you. You miss the way her face falls, her hardened exterior falling away just for a moment. She looks at you with something like understanding, pity more likely. She steps forward, her arms winding around your shoulders, trying to hold you steady through the pain. You struggle against her hold for a moment but she keeps her grip firm, forcing you to succumb to the small comfort. 

You sink into her embrace, breath hitching as the grief claws its way up your chest, relentless and unyielding. You can’t keep doing this. You aren’t made to endlessly love and lose, to watch pieces of yourself crumble with every goodbye. It feels as though there should be nothing left of you- no bleeding heart, no raw edges. And yet, every time you think you’ve reached your limit, life finds a way to push you further. 

But life, pain, and the ugly company of grief never stops or goes away, despite how much you wish they would. 

A few weeks later

Physical pains and ailments heal. There may be scars left behind, but for the most part, you can be wholly healed. Anguish of the mind and heart is a different beast to conquer altogether. That sort of pain ebbs and flows. It doesn’t slip away neatly. It comes and goes, sneaking upon you when you least wish for it. 

Distractions can dull the edge. The looming danger of death and the law from any of your multitude of enemies helps. But more often than not, the weight remains a leaden burden on your shoulders and a gnawing ache deep in your chest.

For now, the pain has numbed into something dull that makes you clench your teeth and hiss. But if you force yourself, you can find steady ground to stand on. You can keep yourself calm and sated, if you focus yourself on the anger rather than the grief. 

Anger comes easier than healing. It lashes out at the world and balms over the constant pain, if only for a little while. You find yourself getting into more and more fights around camp. The forgiveness of shared grief has its limits and you’ve been testing them for a while. You’re curious how far you can push before you’re forced out by the rest of them. 

Sadie’s efforts of finding a new place for you all to hide don’t go unappreciated. But this cabin feels like a cage, no matter how far you’ve come from the mud and chaos of the old abandoned camp.  The tight space presses against you, the silence weighs heavy against your chest and constricts around you tightly. You hear the faint rustle of the trees in the wind, but it’s a vacuous cavern inside. 

The memories of Shady Belle plague you like a ghost. The brief moments when you could almost forget everything pressing down, but now, that place, too, is just another reminder of what’s been lost. Memories of nights spent with Arthur or sitting outside and listening to Javier play his guitar are tainted with loss and rage. 

Sadie and Charles provide you brief comfort, but it will never be enough to make this place feel like home. You try to shake thoughts of Arthur, what the gang once was, and everything that came before. You’ve been running for so long, from your past and who you once were, but it feels like you’re being dragged right back. 

Unable to handle the suffocating silence any longer, you take Arthur’s bow out from the chest under your cot. You grab a handful of arrows and jump to your feet. Throwing the door of the cabin open, you stride past everyone lingering outside. A few people give you odd looks, but they don’t stop you from leaving. You’ve become a dark cloud around camp, your presence heavy and actions unpredictable. It’s almost a relief for them when you’re gone. 

Lady’s just as restless as you are, except the dumb beast doesn’t understand that neither of them are coming back. Charles doesn’t know what happened to Diablo or the other horses when he fled St. Denis and you’re not interested in looking for them. She’ll just have to live with the pain, same as you. 

“Let’s go,” you mutter, swinging onto her saddle and leading her out of camp. It’s as if a weight slips from your shoulder the further you get from camp. The tight grip constricting around your chest loosens and for the first time in days, you can draw a full breath as the world opens before you. 

The thick groves of trees thin and give way to sprawling plains of grass and wildflowers that stretch endlessly. Steering Lady off the trail, you ride her hard and fast, determined to put as much distance between yourself and those suffocating cabins. Dirt kicks up under her hooves, flying up behind you as she pushes herself to the limit. 

The world around you blurs into streaks of green and gold as memories and grief slip away from you. You lean forward over Lady’s neck, urging her to go faster even as she huffs beneath you. You’re racing the wind, chasing after a dream that’s been lost to you. The air lashes at your face, the sting sharp and cold. Your eyes burn and you tell yourself it’s the wind, even as wet streaks drip down your cheeks.

Bright beams of sunlight streak across the ground, illuminating the path forward. Morning dew glistening under the light, transforms the earth into a field of stars beneath your boots. You draw in a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill your lungs, and tighten your legs around Lady’s sides, signaling her to slow. Her chest heaves beneath you, each breath a puff of steam in the cold air. You can feel her desire to keep running, that shared, desperate need to escape clawing at both of you. 

But she’s exhausted, and no matter how much you’d like to keep going, you can’t push her until she collapses. You’re tethered, whether you like it or not, you’re always going to be pulled back to camp. It’s a cage and a haven. Though you hate the confinement, deep down you know survival outside of it might be beyond you. You don’t trust yourself not to wither in the wilderness alone. 

The sound of water rushing draws your attention and you turn towards a green hill rousing in the distance. Guiding Lady toward it, you crest the incline and slip off her saddle, letting her graze.

Below, a river carves through the land. Its rushing currents are strong enough to carry something away with no hope of return. You step closer to the edge, peering down as the sunlight dances on the water’s surface. It runs like liquid gold, unnaturally beautiful, almost hypnotic, like the siren call of a sailor’s doom. 

A herd of deer drift alongside the river, their presence serene and almost make the idea of simply drifting away, peaceful. Your foot inches closer to the edge, slipping on the wet grass, and for a split second, the earth feels like it’s tilting forward.  

“You don’t usually ride out this far.” 

The voice snaps you back, and you gasp, spinning around. Charles stands behind you, one hand on Taima’s saddle, watching you with a calm but expectant expression. 

“I can’t stand being there,” you say, moving toward Lady. Your hands fumble with her saddlebag, needing something to occupy them. His eyes flick briefly to the river, then back to you, his gaze sharp and knowing. 

“You’re not the only one.” He strolls to the edge and whistles softly.  “Far drop.” 

You keep your hands busy, pretending to rummage through your belongings. “I’m a good swimmer,” you tell him, voice flat. 

“Not that good.” His tone is clipped, a warning wove into his words.  

You let out a sharp breath and finally turn to face him. “What do you want, Charles?”

He shrugs, resting one hand on his belt as his dark eyes assess you. “Thought you might want some company.” He pauses, his voice lowering. “Or, at least someone to keep you from doing something stupid.”

You wince, knowing how it must have looked. You’re hurt and desperate, but you’re no fool. The river might be pretty, but you’re not looking to drown yourself in it. “It wasn’t anything like that,” you insist, and Charles gives you a sharp, assessing look. “Charles,” you snap, exhaling in frustration.  “Honestly. I just,” you take in a slow breath, shaking your head, eyes downcast. “I need a break.”

“Alright,” he says simply. “We’ll take one together.” He walks back to the cliff’s edge, dropping down to sit with his legs dangling over the side. He glances over his shoulder and motions you to join him. 

Your fists clench at your sides as you take slow, reluctant steps toward him. The dew on the grass seeps into your pants as you sit beside him, hands folded in your lap. Out of the corner of his eyes, you catch his profile, calm, steady, and scarred. 

The aftermath of St. Denis lingers on his face. A fresh scar cuts along his jawline, a reminder of how close he came to joining the others who didn’t make it. Yet, with some of them gone, he seems more at ease. Charles never agreed with Dutch’s grandiose visions, and though he and Arthur had a bond, it’s clear the gang’s collapse has freed him from some invisible yoke. He wears his hair in a braid lately, speaking with nearby tribes and helping them when he’s not in camp. 

If it wasn’t for some odd honor-bound obligation he’s got to you and a few others in camp, you don’t doubt that he’d be riding free by now. Still, he stays with you, and selfishly, you’re glad for it. 

A gunshot cracks through the quiet, echoing among the hills. Birds take flight from the treetops as a hunting group crashes through the grove below. They circle around the herd of deer and let their bullets fly wild. Their hounds snap at the flanks of the animals, jaws clamping around the soft throats of the doe. 

Charles scoffs, shaking his head in disgust. “You don’t kill the does,” he mutters angrily. “Just the bucks. These men... they have no respect for the laws of nature.”

You let out a sardonic huff of laughter, gesturing toward the chaos below.  “Welcome to the future of our country,” Your gaze drifts toward the horizon, where smoke from St. Denis factories smudges the sky. Even this far out, civilization stretches its claws, unstoppable. “The west is dying, Charles. The time of outlaws, of freedom, is being shackled and destroyed.”

You turn to face him, meeting the same burning anger in his eyes that’s been smoldering in your own for weeks. It’s the first time you’ve seen that fire in him so clearly- the shared, silent rage, you’ve both been trying to suppress. “Our time is over,” you tell him, voice low with finality. 

His eyes narrow, jaw tight with defiance. For a moment, he says nothing, but then he rises to his feet, his movements purposeful. “Maybe,” he says, his voice steady, “but not today.”

Without another word, he strides toward Taima, tightening the saddle and checking the reins with precision. “What’re you doin?” You call after him, brows knitting together in confusion. 

He gestures toward the hunters below, his tone sharp. “You want to do something stupid. Fine. But take it out on someone who deserves it, not yourself.” 

His words hit like a slap, and before you know it, he’s leading Taima down the hill. 

You linger in the sharp sting of what he said only for a moment. Jumping to your feet, you rush to Lady, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you mount her. With a kick of your heels, you follow Charles down the path toward the hunters, your rage finally finding a target. 

For the first time in a long while, the weight around your chest lightens. You might not be able to fix the world, but you can make sure someone pays for tearing it apart. And as you ride beside Charles, you remember why he’s still here. He’s not just keeping you alive, he’s giving you something to live for.

Sitting inside the cabin, the smell of venison drifts toward you. After the incident with the hunting party, you and Charles salvaged what you could of the herd. Neither of you liked the idea of anything going to waste. Some materials were given to the local tribe, and the rest have been feeding the camp for days now. 

Last night, you’d scoured the woods for herbs and other ingredients and discreetly left them on Pearson’s cooking table. You were growing desperate for a flavor other than plain meat. Judging by the faint smell of mint wafting through the air, it seems he finally took the hint. 

Propped against your flimsy pillow, you run your fingers along the worn leather of the journal in your lap. For weeks, you’ve toyed with the idea of opening it, of seeing the world through Arthur’s eyes. 

Here, in the rare serenity of a quiet camp, you finally give in. The journal is as you would expect, sketches, details of some of the more pivotal moments for the gang. Every once in a while you’ll find a sketch of someone and a brutally honest recollection of how Arthur thought of them. Some of them are less flattering than you would have thought, you’re almost worried for how he might have seen you. 

You make it through his entries about Blackwater, the sun setting lower in the horizon as the light from the window gets dimmer. Outside, voices grow louder as people gather around the fire for dinner. You force your eyes to stay on the page, blocking out their drifting voices. 

His entries after the mountains are almost amusing. He’s clearly frustrated about something, though, he skirts around directly addressing what it is. Only a few times are you directly mentioned, for the most part, he avoids writing about you. But you catch glimpses of yourself hiding in the pages. A half-finished sketch of your hand holding his, the beginnings of your face abandoned before he can finish. 

There’s an entry a few weeks after you acquired Lady. A sketch of her and Diablo grazing together, their noses nearly touching as they crane their necks towards the grass. Surrounding the drawings are small notes about herbs and foliage he’d collected on his hunting trips. Among those sketches, there’s a small blurb about the horses.  

Diablo seems to be taking a liking to Lady, odd pair, I think. 

An odd pair, you suppose there’s not a better way to put it. Something that never should have worked, a devil and a lady, yet it still clawed and fought to find its way. In the end, though, one of them was always going to be left behind. You can’t help but wish it hadn’t been you.

A rough sigh escapes you, and you flip past the next few pages. Then, you stop. A familiar pair of eyes stare back at you. 

You’ve changed so much since this journey began. Your skin is weathered, your once-pristine hair is now more often than not dirtied and knotted from the wind. Your body has grown leaner, stronger, shaped by the relentless movement and harsh diet. The woman in the red dress from St Denis was already a stranger, someone you couldn’t recognize. 

Even from Arthur’s view, you still don’t know her. The general shape of your face remains. You have the same slope to your nose, your jaw still tilts the same way. But your eyes are so different. He drew them with fire, with life, with a fight you had once thought yourself incapable of. 

You feel invulnerable as you stare down at her, as though her fire can be passed so easily to you. The feeling flickers and fades, replaced with the same familiar ache you’ve grown used to. 

You can’t make sense of it, how he could have seen you so kindly, and yet still walked away. 

“Got that look in your eye again,” Sadie’s voice cuts through the stillness, startling you. She leans against the doorway, one hand lingering on the revolver strapped to her hip. 

“What look?” You mutter, glaring down at the journal. It feels too raw, too personal to keep reading. Torturing yourself with thoughts of him isn’t getting you anywhere. He’s gone. You’ve faced death all your life- mourn, move on. That’s how it’s meant to go.  

“Angry,” Sadie tells you, voice soft and knowing. “Like how I looked after I lost Jake. You ain’t look like that when you lost your husband.”

You shrug, fingers tracing the lines of your face through Arthur’s eyes. “Arthur was nothing like my husband. He leaves something to be mourned,” you tell her simply. She watches you a moment longer, but when you get to your feet, her expression sharpens. 

“Going somewhere?”

“Out,” you reply curly, the cabin walls closing in around you. You’re growing tired of the suffocating way Charles and Sadie hover as if they’re both waiting for you to break again. That moment on the cliff, your grief by the fire, it was all a lapse of judgment, nothing more. You’ve fought too damn hard for your freedom just to throw it away because the men you love always leave you behind. 

“Need some compan-”

“No,” you snap, cutting her off. Your tone leaves no room for argument. 

You step outside, the balmy evening air clinging to your skin as you head toward Lady. You don’t know where you’re going, but that’s fine. You just know you need to figure out how to live for yourself. And you can start by riding. 

The moon hangs heavy in the sky, its light threading through the plains like silver threads. Clouds roll overhead, slowly swallowing the stars. You smell rain in the air, a promise of a storm tomorrow. You’re sure you’ll be holed up in the cabins tomorrow while it pours. 

For now, you have the trail and the night for yourself. You let Lady take the lead, her slow gait a soothing rhythm as you settle into the ride. Normally, you don’t risk staying away from camp overnight. There are too many lawmen and bounty hunters looking to make a name for themselves. Tonight, though, you make an exception. 

A loud whoop cuts through the stillness, yanking you from your thoughts. You pull Lady to a halt, eyes roaming the dark horizon. A lone rider crests the hill, silhouetted against the moonlight, his path set toward something hidden around the bend.

“Must be my lucky day!” He hollers, voice manic. There’s a flash, the sharp crack of a gunshot splitting the quiet, and a scream follows. 

You curse under your breath, driving your heels into Lady’s sides. The two of you round the bend in time to see the rider poking his head into a finely adorned carriage. The driver slumps lifelessly over the reins, blood pooling beneath him.

Grimacing, you draw back into the shadows of the hill. “Alright, ladies first,” the bandit taunts. He reaches into the carriage, his groping hand causing a shrill shriek before he’s grabbing a woman and tossing her into the dirt. You grit your teeth, tucking yourself further out of sight, hoping to go unnoticed.

The glint of his revolver catches the moonlight as he climbs into the carriage. From inside, the muffled sounds of arguing give way to fists striking flesh. The woman lies with her face obscured by her hands. She flinches and sobs with each punch landed and the noises make Lady shift uneasily. Her hooves snap against the dried brambles of a dying bush. 

“Damn horse,” you mutter, eyes clenched shut as the noises momentarily pause. 

“Who’s there?” He calls out. It’s barely a moment before his patience snaps and he fires a warning shot into the air. “You don’t want me to come find you,” he warns, voice low and tight. 

Knocking the brim of your hat down, you let out a resigned sigh and turn the corner, forcing yourself into the open. “Howdy,” you call out, trying to mimic the casual confidence Arthur used to have in moments like these. Bandits, outlaws- they all recognize each other through the ease with which they face situations like this. You only hope you’re a good enough liar. “Just passin’ through, friend, no need for problems.” 

For a moment, his gun dips to his side. Then, his face is twisting into a wide, erratic grin. “Nice trail isn’t it? Perfect for catching big fish,” he says, swinging the revolver toward the woman’s husband. She whimpers loudly and grasps at the slumped-over man. You can hear his shallow, wet breaths from where you sit. 

“There ain’t no need to shoot ‘em,” you tell him, voice steady despite the tension coiling around you. “There’s a fence not far from here, you’ll get more money selling that carriage than you will killin’ them.”

He crackles and it makes your skin crawl. “Where’s the fun in that?” He sneers, cocking the hammer back as he points the gun at the woman. 

This man laughs, taking far more pleasure in tormenting others than in the act of robbery itself. He’s malicious, sadistic—the very picture of a perfect outlaw. For a fleeting moment, he sees something in you, thinks you might be cut from the same ruthless cloth. But he’s wrong, and there’s something exhilarating about stepping beyond the mold your family and husband once shaped for you, discovering who you can be on your own terms.

Your hand drifts to the revolver on your side, slowly easing it out of your holster. His head snaps toward the sound of you pulling the hammer back, but it’s too late. From your spot atop Lady, all you see is blood splatter as his body drops to the floor. The woman screaming lets you know you hit your mark near perfect. 

Opposed to the man now bleeding out in the dirt beneath you, there’s no thrill in the kill, no satisfaction. Just the cold thrum of your nerves, the slight tremor in your hands as you slide off Lady and stride toward the couple. 

With the bandit dead, the woman’s husband seems to make a miraculous recovery. He springs up, blood still streaming along his chin. “Thank God for you, sir-”

He stops short when you tip your hat back. Perhaps his ears were still ringing from one too many blows, dulling his senses, or maybe he was simply too pigheaded to grasp the fact that he’d just been rescued by a woman. You level him with an unimpressed glare. “Not a problem,” you say flatly

“Oh, good heavens,” the woman gasps, whispering your name with a startling familiarity. You freeze, eyes wide, as your blood runs cold. 

Elsbeth Morton. 

You’d know the voice anywhere. Of all the people you could have run into, she’s the last you’d ever want to see. Your tormenter through finishing school. She used to cut your hair in your sleep, stain your dress, and make your life a misery for sport. 

Her sneer hasn’t changed, though the lines around her mouth suggest her spite has only deepened. “Well,” she drawls, voice laced with faux pity, “I see nothing much has changed for you. Still scrounging out an existence in the dirt, are we?”

Your jaw tightens. “Elsbeth,” you grit out. “You’re welcome.”

She laughs, short and derisive in a way that makes you bristle. “For what? Subjecting me to this humiliating spectacle? Honestly, I think I preferred the company of the bandit. At least he had the decency to get on with it instead of pretending to play the hero.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay calm, but she doesn’t stop. “It’s almost tragic,” she continues, brushing the dirt from her skirts as if trying to erase the sight of you. “You’re still so desperate for approval, aren’t you? Trying to prove you’re something you’re not. What’s next? A big speech about how strong and independent you are?” She snickers, tugging her husband to his feet. “We both know better.”

Your voice comes out low and steady. “You’ve always been good at pretending you’re better than everyone else, Elsbeth.” God hates you, you’re sure of it. If he doesn't, why is she here? Dragging you back to everything you loathed about your former self—the vapid, dependent, hollow shell of a woman who had once believed her worth was defined by the man standing beside her.

“Pretending?” she snaps, narrowing her eyes. “Darling, I don’t need to pretend. You can wear all the trousers you want, but we both know you’re still the same timid little girl, hiding behind a man and hoping no one notices she doesn’t belong.”

Her words cut, but they don’t sting the way they once would have. Instead, they ignite something, a fire born not of anger, but clarity. 

You’re not the man bleeding out in the dirt, killing for the joy of it. But you aren’t the polished girl she remembers, desperate for a man’s approval. You’re something else entirely. Unbound by society, free to choose your own path, you’re a beast of your own creation. And if there is one thing you’ve learned about yourself- you love putting your past in the grave. 

You let out a slow breath, your hand drifting toward your revolver. “Elsbeth,” you call, voice sharp enough to cut through her self-satisfied grin.

She stops, turning back with an arched brow. “What now?” she huffs. “Come to beg for my acceptance? Or just another pathetic attempt to-”

“That husband of mine,” you interrupt, voice cool as steel, “was good for one thing.” You draw your revolver, the barrel leveling with her chest. “Teaching me to shoot.”

Her eyes widen, her sneer faltering as her hand instinctively flies to her necklace.

Your lips curl into a wicked smile. “Now, how about you hand over those pretty jewels?”

She scoffs, but you see the way her grin falters, the slight fear in her eyes. You shoot her a wink and take a step closer, reveling in how she stumbles back. 

“And while we’re at it,” you continue, voice tightening into a sharp, mocking edge, “why don’t you hand over those earrings too?” You laugh, waving your gun recklessly as you shrug with a faux playfulness. “Actually, what the hell, I think I’ll take that dress—seeing as you’ve gone and gotten it all muddy anyway.” You take a step forward, your gaze narrowing on her trembling hands. “Hell, even that hair ribbon. You always did like rubbing your finery in everyone’s face, Elsbeth. Let’s see how you like losing it.”

She stares at you, disbelief flickering in her wide eyes, her hands frozen in hesitation. “You can’t be serious,” she whispers.

“Oh, I’m dead,” you pull back the hammer of your gun with a slow, menacing click. The sound hangs in the air like a threat. Your eyes narrow, and a dangerous smile tugs at your lips. “Serious.”

She moves hesitantly, every motion weighted with reluctance, disbelief etched across her face. You, the woman she used to torment and cow with a simple look, now dismantling her composure piece by piece. The power shift is palpable, and for the first time in your life, you watch Elsbeth Morton falter.

“Go’n now,” you say, your voice cutting through her trembling silence. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Her husband flinches as she begins to remove her jewelry, her fingers trembling as she unfastens each piece. You hold out your hand, and she hesitates, her face flushed with humiliation as she steps forward to place them carefully in your palm, one by one, like a chastened child.

He glances at you, then at her, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disgust as if the sight of her submitting is too much for him to stomach.

Your eyes narrow on him, your hand tightening slightly around the revolver. The smug smile creeping onto your lips says it all—you’ll deal with him next.

You understand, finally, that you’re no longer the woman shaped by the men in your life. The husband who failed you, the outlaw who abandoned you, the society that tried to break you. People will learn that you aren’t afraid to take what’s yours anymore, because for the first time, you’re carving your own path, and God help anyone who tries to stand in your way.

Next Part end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

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[burrowdarling]

In Sickness and Health

Summary: A glimpse at what it's like when you and Joe are feeling under the weather.

Pairings: Joe burrow x grilfriend!reader

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: None, just fluff

Note: Hi all! Here's a short lil request while I get back into the swing of things. Thank you for being patient with me, I'm hoping to have the firsts of the series and more requests out soon. Thank you to this anon for requesting.

Word Count: 590

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Taglist: @burrowbarbie @definitelynotdomanique @one-sweet-gubler @plushkhiii @enchantedinfinity @iosivb9 @hellsingalucard18 @hotburreaux Feel free to comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the list!

When Joe is sick…

He’ll always try to power through, not wanting to slow down for anything. He especially won;t slow down for something as minor as a cold. It was only when those sniffles turned into much more that you were able to convince him he needed rest. You turned into his personal nurse, wanting him to get better as soon as possible. Anything he needed, you were there when you were able to be. If you thought Joe was charming on his own, add in some helplessness from being sick and he was like a puppy. It could have been medicine, snacks, or even just your touch - you were there to give him what he needed, having a hard time saying no to those eyes. Joe would always say that you were the only medicine he needed, claiming he felt much better after he spent some time in your arms (trying your hardest not to tell him it was because he had fallen asleep in your arms). He won’t always express it, but he’s grateful with how attentive you are to him, always having a knack for knowing what he needed better than he did. It’s only a few days where he’s really down for the count, getting some of his energy back after some much needed rest. You try to tell him it’s necessary to slow down once in a while, knowing he won’t listen even if he knows the consequences. You’ll always be there to nurse him back to health, saving the ‘I told you so’ as the quiet part you both know deep down. There was very little you wouldn;t do for the man you loved so dearly.

When you’re sick…

It’s probably because you were taking care of Joe, speaking of ‘I told you so’. Joe tried to tell you he didn’t want to get you sick too, but you fought him on the grounds of not getting sick often. You act like Joe in the way that you play it off as nothing, not wanting him to feel bad that he got you sick. You knew what you were getting into when you were doting on him, willing to take the risk for your lovely boyfriend. For the first part of your sickness, it overlapped with Joe’s. You guys took the time to completely rot in bed, basking in the undivided presence of each other that you weren’t always able to get during the season. You took the time to binge-watch the shows you guys have talked about for ages, catching up on some much-needed bonding. You may not have been feeling the best, but you would take what you could get during a hectic season. When Joe was finally feeling better, you were in the thick of it. Joe took on the responsibility of taking care of you, refusing to let you go through it alone. He felt the odds of him getting sick again were slim, wanting to make sure you got the same treatment you gave him all the time, sick or not. You were grateful to have such a caring boyfriend, making sure you were doing everything you had to to get better, feeling like a princess even through sickness. He felt a sense of victory when you started to feel better, grateful to have you happy and healthy again. Both of you made a pact to rest when you could, ensuring that you and the other person could avoid getting sick again so fast.

[annwrites]

⸻ my lil' cherry pie. ⸻

· pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you & billy spend the day in bed. · tags: exhibitionism, blowjob, oral (f receiving), reverse cowgirl, missionary, shower sex · word count: 5,685

Billy grinds his hips down against your ass, unable to sink any deeper inside your soaking heat. “That feel good, honey?”

You whimper in response, nearly drooling on the pillow beneath you, which your cheek rests upon—your head turned toward the curtained window. 

“Y-yes,” you say quietly, clenching around him.

“Mm, I bet,” he drawls.

He slowly eases out and then back into you, and your eyes roll back at the feeling, while slowly closing.

You grip the sheets under you.

He removes one hand from gripping the mattress and instead grips your hip instead while circling his own. “You like that, sweetheart?”

You nod, the bury your face in the pillow as he flexes his shoulder blades, gripping you harder.

“I can tell. God, you’re fucking soaked. I can hear just how wet you are.”

He isn’t wrong.

After last night—you not orgasming from penetration alone during your first time—he’d awoken shortly before dawn on a mission.

He’d woken you with hot kisses along your bare breasts and down your stomach, then back up to your lips.

You’d been half-asleep when he’d eased inside of you, which had caused you to gasp in surprise.

You’d orgasmed the second time the two of you had sex the night before, but that’d only been due to him rubbing feverishly at your clit until you did so.

You think that maybe his manhood feels a bit threatened by it. So, he’s spent hours this morning inside of you, using everything he has, everything he knows, to try and make you cum from his cock alone.

While you’ve enjoyed yourself, he seems to be treating it more like some training exercise—learning the ins and out of your body. Such as what makes you tremble and shake with pleasure and what doesn’t.

Your first ‘session’ had to be cut short because he’d gotten a cramp it was taking so long for you to reach a climax.

You hadn’t even been close when he stopped.

You’d tried explaining to him that it’s okay—you see nothing wrong with only being able to come from clitoral stimulation alone—but he’d said that wasn’t good enough.

So, a few minutes later, he’d sat you in his lap with your back pressed to his chest and his cock between your legs once more.

Halfway through, you’d reached down to begin playing with yourself, until he’d grabbed your hand, and lightly smacked it.

“Aa, none of that,” he’d said, chastising you.

That position had reached some new place inside of you, but it still hadn’t been quite right. So, he’d then laid down, gripped your hips, and told you to do whatever felt good.

You’d decided to bounce on his cock, and it’d only taken him watching you do as much for a few minutes before he’d came himself. And loudly.

He’d needed to take another break after that.

The third time, he’d had the both of you lie down on your sides with him once again pressed up behind you. He’d thrown your left leg over his hip while he gripped yours, and he fucked you fervently. He had pounded away inside of you, while both of his hands eventually moved higher to grab your tits. He’d squeezed and toyed with your nipples, and had even gone so far as to stick his fingers in your mouth, but you still didn’t cum.

And right now is his fourth attempt.

You’re so wet now that it’s all over your thighs—his as well. You can hear it every time he eases his cock in and out—you’re squelching.

It makes your face heat in embarrassment, even if he’s stressed how hot he finds it to be.

Teasing you about it earlier had not helped, however. Like when he had told you 'it's like a fuckin' slip and slide down here. At least I don't have to worry about pickin' up lube once we hit the road again'.

He reaches down and spreads your left leg until it’s bent at the knee, and he then slips slowly out, then back in.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, while his cock twitches inside of you.

You lay your cheek back against the pillow, and lightly pant at just how relaxed you feel.

He runs his palm down your spine and your body trembles, and you clench around him again.

You want so badly to reach between your legs—you’d been desperate to come hours ago, but unless it’s from his cock and only that, he won’t allow it.

He lowers himself closer to you. “C’mon, baby, I know you like this. Tell me what you need.”

Honestly, it all feels pretty good. Okay, really good. But no matter what he does, there just doesn’t seem to be some magical spot inside of you that will bring you over the edge.

“I…dunno. Mm. Feels good, though.”

His brow twitches, and his back is starting to hurt.

“Believe me, I can tell just how good you feel. Just,” he grunts. “Tell me how to get you to cum all over my cock, doll.”

You snuggle the pillow under you, and push your hips back against him. “My clit.”

He groans. “Anything else.”

You shrug slightly, now drooling. “Ah, Billy…”

He slips out of you and you pout quietly, until he flips you onto your back.

When you look up at him, you see that the curls at his hairline are now damp and sticking to his forehead, with a few drops of sweat beading there. He really is working hard at this.

“Alright, time to try something else,” he says lowly.

You spread your legs wide for him, and grip your breasts, then tug against your nipples while he takes himself in-hand, easing into you.

You sigh in satisfaction.

He then presses his right hand down on your lower stomach, applying pressure there.

He reaches up with his other hand, and sticks two fingers into your mouth and you drool all over them.

You suck, lick, and nearly gag yourself on them you’re so into it.

He turns his hips just the least bit to the left and you gasp then, pulling his fingers out. “Ah, there.”

He looks at you, stilling for only a moment, his eyes now wide—excited. “Yeah?”

You nod, then shove his fingers back in your mouth.

He keeps his body just so—his cock positioned in that exact spot, and he begins to pound away inside of you.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

You push his fingers back out, and grip his hand in both of yours—hard—as you hold on for dear life as his tip continually teases and hits that most perfect part of you inside.

At first, it almost feels like your bladder is about to let loose, but God it feels so good. You think everything else he’s been doing to you for the last few hours to have been pleasurable? Wrong. This is pleasure.

You reach back, and plant your palm flat against the headboard, arch your back, then grind your hips against his own, with your head thrown back. “Oh God, don’t stop. Please. Oh, Billy. Mm, yes, right there!”

He fucks you harder. “Oh, I’m not fucking stopping.”

He’s worn out, his calf is cramping something fucking awful, and his lower back needs a break, but this is what he’s spent all morning working toward. He can’t give in now.

“C’mon, darlin’, c’mon. Come on my cock, baby. That’s it. You’re so fucking close, I know it.”

You begin to clench rapidly around him and your eyes go wide as you draw in shallow gasps of breath in anticipation as the feeling builds and builds and then…you scream so hard you nearly choke yourself on calling out his name in ecstasy. “Billy! Yes! Oh God, yes! Ah!”

He begins to laugh as his skin slaps against yours, and he groans as he fills yet another condom to the brim, while he comes fucking hard.

“Jesus Christ, baby,” he says as he finishes.

Finally, he collapses on top of you, and the both of you heave for breath. You’re each drenched in sweat, and the sheets beneath you are an utter mess.

The room…smells of the both of you, to put it kindly. Sweat and cum and heat and something primitive. Sex. This is the smell of sex. Purely unadulterated.

He’s so weak that he can barely lift his head. So, he instead lies there—crushing you with his body weight, but having him covering you feels…nice. Secure. Safe, even.

You wrap an arm around his broad shoulders, while your other hand smooths sweat-slick curls away from his face as you kiss the side of his head.

There’s a pleasant pulse still going strong between your legs.

“So, you finally came that time?” He mutters into the mattress, his tone that of exhaustion

You giggle lightly. “Yes, I definitely did.”

“Good, because I don’t think I can take anymore. You’re fuckin’ insatiable. And I thought my sex-drive was bad.”

You burst out laughing. “Me? You’re the one who wouldn’t let it go.”

He buries his face in your shoulder. “Just like a woman to let a man do all the work without a word of thanks in return.”

You roll your eyes, then kiss the top of his head of messy hair. “Thank you, Billy.”

“You’re fuckin’ welcome.”

Currently, you and Billy are sitting in traffic at a red light while he blares the song Cherry Pie—so loudly that it makes your eardrums hurt.

He gets especially into the lyrics when he bangs the palm of his hand against the wheel—his wide smile growing even larger—to the line ‘swingin’ to the bass in the back of my car!’.

A smile crawls onto your own face—he’s been like this all morning since you’ve gotten out of bed—which you’re unsuccessful in hiding from him.

He gives you a toothy grin, slides his hand up your thigh to the edge of your skirt, and then under it. He blows you a kiss, and he evens winks, then you glance to the girls in the yellow convertible next to you, who seem to be admiring his ride.

Him as well, clearly.

And you decide now is the moment to put everything that’s developed between the two of you to the test.

You nod toward their car. “I think you have a couple of admirers!” You shout over the music.

He shrugs.

“Do I?” He asks, shifting before turning back to the windshield.

He accelerates as he drives past them—never once looking in their direction.

When Billy stops for gas, he leaves you to fill the car while he goes inside to ‘get a pack of smokes’, but actually purchases another box of condoms, since he used up all the rest of his—minus one—that morning.

When he returns, you’re just putting the nozzle back, and he comes up from behind you, and squeezes you.

When you turn around, you smile warmly, and he picks you up, and spins you around.

You laugh while placing your hands upon his shoulders to hold onto, as you gaze down at his smiling face happily.

He finally lowers you back onto the ground, then wraps an arm around your waist before pressing you up against the pump as he kisses you long, and deeply.

When he pulls back, you grip the collar of his button-up shirt. “Someone’s in a good mood today.”

He nuzzles his nose against your neck and you giggle at the ticklish gesture. “I’m in a great fucking mood, baby.”

He walks around and opens your door for you and your heart melts.

Have you finally, after all the fighting and running and pushing back against each other, reached a mutually happy place?

You lower yourself inside and he leans down and kisses you again.

“Mhm,” he hums in approval before closing the door.

When you reach Flagstaff, Billy has calmed… Minimally.

He still occasionally blares his music—particularly when AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long comes on—along with a selection of other music. He also puts his hands on you every chance he gets—you’re sure you had every line and callus memorized by now. And he’s told you a couple times how lucky he is. That he loves you.

He stresses how happy you make him.

You cry tears of joy at it all, in disbelief that he’s finally treating you the way you’ve always dreamed of being treated by another.

You had truly thought just a couple days ago that you would never find love. Now? The love of your life sits right next to you.

Once the sky grows dark, Billy pulls off into an empty lot and he turns to you, while slipping his hand, once again, between your thighs.

“Once the engine cools off a bit, I want to try something.”

You raise a brow, and slide your hand up his strong, tan arm. “Oh?”

He nods, then leans in toward you while slipping his hand into your panties. His fingers begin to slowly circle your clit.

He spends the next few minutes teasing you and toying with that sensitive bundle until you’re soaking.

He pulls away.

“So, not that I need to ask,” he says, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “But it’s safe to assume that you still want to see the West with me?”

You smile while nodding and looking at him adoringly.

He smirks. “I told you I always get what I want.”

You glance down to his hand and roll your eyes.

And then he cups your cheek. “I meant you, baby. It was always you.”

Your brows furrow, and your eyes sting, and then you kiss him again.

“Billy, if someone sees us doing this we could be arrested for…public indecency, or—”

He sighs. “Live a little, will you? C’mon, I’ve been dreaming about doing this since I had you in the driver’s seat. Alright, way before that. Like the first fuckin' day I put eyes on you.”

You look around the empty lot and jolt from nerves when you hear someone lay on their car horn in the distance.

He reaches down to the hem of your dress with a raised brow—his own shirt already unbuttoned.

You sigh. “So help me, Billy Hargrove, if we both end up in jail—”

“Y’know what, putting you in cuffs at some point does seem like a good idea, now that you mention it.”

You groan as he begins to take the rest of your clothes off.

Currently, you’re completely naked, and laid back on the hood of Billy’s Camaro. Your legs are spread, with  him standing between them.

You watch as he unbuckles his belt before tossing it inside the car, and he then unbuttons and unzips his jeans. And he eases them, along with his briefs, down to his ankles before taking himself in his hand.

And then you sit up suddenly, hang your head between your knees, and groan in irritation.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t want to now. I've had enough of you givin’ me blue balls for the last week.”

You look up at him.

He already got the two of you a room for the night at a local motel—recently opened, so for once you’re to be staying in a nice place—so all your things are there. Including condoms.

The only reason the two of you had gone back out was to get a bite to eat for dinner.

“We don’t have any protection.”

He swears and yanks his pants back up. “Fuck!”

He looks back to you—considering. “What if I use the pull-out method instead?”

You shift atop the hood. “Is that…does it always work? I mean, what is it, exactly?”

“I come anywhere but inside of you.”

“Have you done it before like that?” You ask, doubtful.

In truth, no, he hasn’t. He’s always used condoms. Always.

“First time for everything,” he says, looking at you from under his lashes, his forehead now creased, and his hands on his hips.

After a moment, you lie back down. “Okay.”

He positions himself between your legs again, and drop his pants. He leans over you, and presses a palm flat against the hood of the car, while using his other hand to guide himself inside of you.

He grips both of your hips and he begins to gently fuck you as you keep your feet planted on either side of the hood.

His eyes trail along your bare body and he grows impossibly harder. “God, you look so fucking hot right now. You’re perfect, honey.”

You scoot closer to him and try to wrap your legs around his waist, so he grips you by your thighs and he pounds away inside of you—skin slapping against skin—and his breathing grows ragged as he watches your breasts bounce with each pump of him and you claw against the hood.

He angles his hips, trying to reach that spot inside of you that you both enjoy, and he knows he’s found it when your eyes roll back and your back arches.

He smirks, then runs his hands up your thighs, then back down, and he squeezes them. “Maybe I should see what my shifter looks like inside of you next.”

You clench around him, then look up at him with curious eyes.

He shrugs. “After you polish my knob first, maybe.”

You roll your eyes, whimpering. “You need help. Who even comes up with something like that?”

“Oh, you’re definitely helping me, sweetheart,” he says, thrusting into you again and again. “And you’d be surprised.”

You then wonder what it would be like: having him in your mouth. You’ve not done that yet. Maybe an idea for when you get back to the room…

Your imagination toying with the thought gets cut short by a sudden boom of thunder overhead, and lightning flashes not far from the two of you…and then it begins to downpour.

You try to shield your eyes from the sudden onslaught of rain while Billy essentially pays it no mind as he continues to work his body with yours in tandem.

You gasp and his head jerks up and he smirks, thinking it’s from him. But it’s instead from cool droplets pelting against your hot skin—quickly cooling you.

“Now you’re really wet,” he calls to you over the rain while it pounds against the car.

You begin to shiver. “A-are you almost done yet?”

He raises a brow. “Me? What about you?”

He angles his hips yet again and you curse, saying his name.

“We’re not leaving until we’ve both come, sweetheart, so we might be here for awhile!”

He moves his hand to your clit and he begins to circle it with his thumb.

You wrap your arms around yourself. The only part of you that now feels warm is that which lies between your legs.

“Can’t we just go back and I try what you said instead?”

“What’s that?”

“You in my mouth?”

He stares at you for just a moment before quickly pulling out and moaning as he finishes all over your stomach at the thought, the rain washing it off of you.

“So…how do we uh…”

He lifts your chin with his finger—putting your eyes on his, instead of on his erection.

“Well, you’ll be on your knees either way,” he says quietly. “But I don’t know which would be easier for you: me sitting or standing.”

“Which would you prefer?” You ask nervously.

He just fucked you on the hood of his car, right out in the open, in the middle of a thunderstorm, and now you’re nervous?

He decides upon sitting to be the better option. You haven’t done this before and if it takes you awhile—which it likely will—he doesn’t want to interrupt things because his legs are tired.

He sits on the edge of the bed—the mattress dipping under his weight—and you settle onto your knees in front of him, then take him in your hand.

He knows just from the sight of you like this alone, he won’t last long.

He’s thought before that he has pretty good stamina when it comes to sex. But with you… Jesus, has it shortened.

You look at him with wide eyes, stroking him just like you did the other night. “Does that feel good?”

He quickly nods, then throws his head back and closes his eyes. “Yeah, honey, that feels good.”

You study it for a moment, then decide to just go for it.

You lower your mouth onto his length and his eyes shoot open. His hips buck, and it causes you to gag when he hits the back of your throat.

You pull back and lick your lips. “Did I do something wrong?”

He runs one of his hands through his hair, worried about coming all over you already. “No, just…try again. It was good, sweetheart.”

You lower your mouth onto him again and he curls his toes and fists the comforter underneath him. He holds on with everything he has, trying not to…not to…

You begin to bob your head, and gently suck. You swirl your tongue around him, not really sure what you’re doing, but you give it your best shot either way.

You rest your palms atop his thighs, then pull back, and he slips out of your mouth, and you stroke him again as you take a breath, then swallow the length of him again.

“Fuck,” he curses, while reaching up and gripping your hair. He makes a ponytail with both of his hands and holds it out of the way as he watches you.

“Oh God,” he mutters, and before you can ask what’s wrong, you feel him shoot his load into the back of your throat.

You gag at the unusual feeling, then pull away, and cum dribbles off of your chin.

You look up to him and remain silent for a moment.

“That…was…” Fast? You don’t think you should say that, however.

He stares down at you, mortified.

“What?” He asks, his tone unreadable.

You need to give him a reassuring answer, so you smile softly. “Different. I liked it. Did…did you? I mean, did I do okay?”

He could nearly cry from relief—you have no idea that he’d prematurely… He can’t even think of it.

He lies back on the bed and reaches toward the nightstand, and he pulls a number of tissues out of the box which sits on it.

His hips jerk when he feels you suddenly take him in your hand again.

He sits up once again, and begins to gently wipes off your face. “You were incredible, doll.”

You smile.

And he’d been worried that you would take too long, not that he wouldn’t able to last.

He lies back again and shakes his head.

Billy excuses himself to the bathroom for a moment afterward, so you sit quietly on the bed and wait patiently for him.

He may been your first in everything—minus kissing; you'd done that with a boy you can’t remember the name of now, when you were seven on the playground—but you know finishing that quickly isn’t...the norm. Not for him, at least.

If anything, though, it makes you feel flattered.

He'd enjoyed the sight of you like that in front of him—the feel of himself in your mouth—so much that he hadn't been able to hold back, or exercise practically any kind of self-control to last even a moment longer.

When he emerges, you speak. "Do you want to take a shower together?"

He smirks and his mood lightens—his embarrassment waning. "You don't have to ask me twice, darlin'."

"It's in my eyes!" You holler, wiping suds away from your face, the chemical taste also in your mouth.

Billy curses, then grabs your shoulders, and he holds you directly under the shower head, while his erection presses firmly into the small of your back.

You were trying to wash your hair when he slipped his hand between your legs.

He’d been easing his fingers inside of you when you ended up blinded by a bit of Finesse.

You keep your eyes squeezed shut as his fingers work diligently against your scalp to get all the soap out of your hair.

He then turns you around to face him. "Alright, open."

You slowly blink up at him, then scowl. "Don't ever do that again."

He shrugs, shampooing his own hair then. "Just thought your bush needed a little extra attention with the shampoo, too."

You glance down, cross your arms, then look back up to him. "You're one to talk."

He smirks. "Never said I didn't like it."

You cock your head to the side, then smile up at him.

He raises a brow in interest.

And then you pinch one of his nipples.

He reaches up and presses his palm to it. "Ow! The fuck did you do that for?"

You smirk. "Just a bit of payback for all the times you yanked on my hair in class."

He leans down toward you then, causing you to lean back against the shower wall.

He slips one hand down your waist, then grabs one of your asscheeks. "Now there's an idea. You want me to pull your hair, honey? I always wondered what it'd feel like wrapped around my fist."

You nearly make a joke and ask just how long he'd last, but don't want to hurt him.

He presses a kiss to your neck, then whispers, "Maybe I'll let you yank on mine, too, next time I have my head between your legs."

You take him in your hand, then, and he sucks in a sharp breath, watching you get on your knees.

You look up at him. "Why don't we just start now?"

You quickly swallow the length of him, and he slaps one of his hands against the wet shower wall, cursing.

He reaches down and winds your long hair around one of his fists, vowing to last longer this time. He gently pushes further into your mouth, and pulls against your hair while biting his lip.

You stare up—drooling all over him—then suck, pull your mouth away with a 'pop', and stroke him.

He closes his eyes—his brows now furrowed—and uses every ounce of strength he has in him not to come all over your face right now.

You ease back down onto him again and cup the bottom of his shaft with your tongue, and you gag when his hips jerk—sending him deeper. You pull back for a moment, take a breath, then go back in.

Billy stares up at the ceiling, his fist now iron-tight around your hair. Looking at you is not a good idea at the moment. But the fucking sounds you're making aren't helping in the least, either. Gagging and sucking and—fuck—you keep doing this thing with your tongue that no girl has ever done before. How the hell are you so good at this?

You're not afraid to get messy—that much is clear. Then again, being already in the shower will make clean-up that much easier.

He prays to God the hot water doesn't run out anytime soon.

You hollow your cheeks and suck harder, and he groans your name while his cock twitches in the back of your throat.

You wonder if you're doing alright; if he likes it—since you still don’t have much of an idea of what to do—but from the way his entire body is tensed up, you take it as a sign that you're onto something.

You swirl your tongue around the tip of him—the taste somewhat salty—then swallow while your head continues to bob along his length.

Billy looks down finally, and he sees that your eyes are closed, like you're enjoying yourself just as much as he is. "Fuck, angel. I don't know how much longer I can—"

You pull back and look up at him while batting your lashes, and continuing to stroke him in your hand. "Hm?"

He twitches in your grip and he knows he's close.

After a moment of silence, you shrug, then ease your mouth onto him once more.

You reach up and gently cup his testicles, and his eyes go wide when you gently tug against them. "Holy fuck—"

You hollow your cheeks.

"Jesus fuckin'—"

You swirl your tongue, and take him as deep as you can manage without gagging while moving your neck at a rapid pace.

And then he suddenly pulls your head closer to him, and he begins to buck his hips. His cock continuously slams against the back of your throat, until he finally throws his head back and spills down your throat as he finishes.

Once you've cleaned him with your tongue, he reaches down, and gently pulls your hand away from his softening member.

You stand then.

"Did...did you swallow again?" He asks.

Wait. Are you not supposed to do that? Is...is that bad? You did it earlier, too, and he didn’t say anything... So you just went with it, assuming that it’s a normal thing to do.

"Yes, why? Am I not supposed to—"

He smirks, shaking his head. "No, it's not that, sweetheart. Just...most girls spit."

"Oh."

Your brows furrow—sounds like a waste to you. "Well, I don't mind swallowing."

His smile grows wider, and then he leans down, muttering 'my lil' cherry pie', before kissing you passionately.

He then pulls back while his lips hover over yours. "Time to repay the favor."

He kneels down then and throws one of your legs over his shoulder.

You lean back against the corner of the shower and begins to lick while easing two fingers inside of you. He curls them inward, and begins to massage that ledge inside of you while sucking against your clit.

"Oh God, Billy..."

You grip his shoulder, until he grabs your hand and settles it on top of his head.

He glances up to you with a wicked smirk. "Fair's fair, sugar."

He goes back to teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue, and your fingers clench tightly around his wet curls as you pull his face in closer to your core.

He chuckles against you and mutters ‘needy lil thing’ into your mound before kissing you there and spearing his tongue inside of you.

You nearly slam your head back against the wall as he begins tracing his name on your clit, intent on finishing this time.

He grabs your thigh tightly when he feels you growing closer, and he begins to go faster. On the 'o' in his last name, you begin to clench more rapidly around him.

Not fucking yet, he thinks, making a swift 'v'.

You gasp, and your fingers pull so tightly against his strands that he's sure you're about to rip a few out. He hopes you fucking do.

Just as he completes the last 'e', you shatter while crying out with shaking legs and a trembling body. His fingers work rapidly inside of your tight, hot walls that squeeze against his thick digits.

He finally slips them out of you and he grips your right hip as he smiles up at you.

"You know, that is one of my favorite albums," he says while standing and smirking down at you as he cups both of your cheeks in his palms. "Slippery When Wet."

He crushes his lips against yours.

When the two of you lay down for the night, Billy is naked, as per usual, and you decide to try it out as well, knowing he'll get a kick out of it, if nothing else. Besides, if your feet get cold, you can always just stick them on his back.

He turns onto his side while you slip under the covers, and he slides his hand along your naked hip.

He immediately  hums in interest. "Look who decided she doesn't like sleeping with clothes on anymore, either."

You reply nonchalantly. "I can always put them back on."

He wraps a leg around one of yours, and he pulls you to him. "You won't hear me complaining. Besides, makes for easier access this way."

You sigh. "Go to sleep, Billy."

You fight against a smirk that he can't see anyway, as the room is pitch black.

"That's my name, please wear it out."

A beat of silence.

"Besides, how the hell am I supposed to sleep with you pressed up against me like this all night?"

"Who pressed up against who when they got into bed?"

"Oh, you were practically asking for it," he says, snuggling his face against your neck.

"How?"

"By looking like that."

You suddenly regret this decision.

He’s never going to shut up now. "You can't see anything. Now, will you please—"

"Oh, I can see it right now. All I have to do is close my eyes, doll."

"Billy—" You jerk when you feel his erection poking you in the side.

"Woops, seems someone else is up now, too. Maybe he just needs a kiss goodnight."

"You're getting on my nerves."

"Mm, which ones?" He asks, while he slides his hand between your legs.

You sigh loudly in irritation.

You can practically hear the smirk on his face when he speaks again. "That good, huh? And I've barely even touched you yet."

You flip around so you're on your side facing him, and you clamp your hand over his mouth. "Shh, go to sleep."

He licks your palm and you pull away.

"Oh, Billy, that's so gross," you say, wiping it against his chest.

"My face has been between your legs, making a meal out of the place you piss from, and that's what turns you off?"

You groan, then press your forehead against his chest.

He chuckles and wraps his arms around you while pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "Alright, I'll lay off."

You cuddle closer.

"But I can't make any promises for him," he says, pushing his hips closer to you, his erection now poking your stomach.

You squeeze your eyes shut, not bothering with replying.

[sunflowerwinds]

pulling you in | e.w

summary: the next day, new tattoo and all, you try and distract yourself from your overwhelming feelings and focus on the activities set for the day. your heart and mind are all over the place and you don’t know what to do anymore. ellie apologizes in a way that makes you even more stuck on who you want to turn to.

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

contains: mature language, reader being so confused with what she wants (bare with me), adorable pining!, more oblivious!reader: it’s painful atp

word count: 3.2K

a/n: first of all, the support for this series makes my heart soar. second of all, i’m almost to 2k follows which blows my mind. i am forever grateful for the support my writing has gotten from the little gay people on this app <3

under the summer stars masterlist

It was safe to say that you had screwed up any chance of being with Ellie. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be or in the stars for you. Whatever saying that referred to being made for each other did not apply to you and Ellie.

Maybe saying Abby was a good thing; bring you down from this fantasy world and move the hell on. You were leaning back in a lawn chair, slathered in sunscreen and wearing sunglasses to protect your retinas from the burning UV rays (and shamelessly staring at a certain somebody). The children in your cabin were playing some good old-fashioned duck-duck-goose before they had their big Tug-O-War match between all the cabins.

You could see Ellie from a distance with her own group digging in the sandbox for some ‘fossils’. Your eyes were practically formed into hearts seeing her enthusiastically explain all the dinosaur bones and which deceased animal they belonged to. Her geekiness made her even more attractive to you if that was even possible.

No. Enough.

You shook your head and found yourself glancing over at Abby’s group who were running through the extra-large bubbles, giggling happily. The tall blonde had admiration written all over her face at how much fun the kids were having; bright smile and all. You would be lying to yourself if you hadn’t been checking out Abby’s muscular arms and legs when she would break out her athletic shorts and shirts.

“You know just because you like girls doesn’t make your staring any less creepy?” You hear from beside you which causes you to jump a little.

You smack Dina’s leg for scaring you. You’re beyond glad you were wearing sunglasses as you didn’t want him to be right. Could everyone tell that you were gawking at Ellie’s fingers gently caressing the rocks like she was touching your thigh last—

My god, you needed help.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shrug your shoulders, grabbing your handheld fan from the tote bag next to you on the ground and shaking it in front of your face.

“Come on. You don’t think I know you’re eye-fucking Ellie?” She mutters close to you as you both glance around but neither of your groups were paying attention to you guys.

“Not Ellie,” you state simply.

Dina audibly gasps and kneels down next to your chair, peeing over the direction you were.

“Wait, are you gawking at Abby?” She questioned with a soft chuckle.

“Maybe?” You say unsure of what you are truly feeling.

“I mean, yum, but I didn’t you were serious about moving on from Ellie,” Dina emphasized as you both stared at Abby grabbing one of the large coolers and moving it to where the kids were.

You sighed as your eyes flickered over at the one that held your heart before fixating on Abby once again.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I’m going to do anything about Abby either. Just admiring from afar.”

“And where has that gotten you over the past three years?” Dina deadpanned, raising her brows at you as she patted her sweaty upper lip with the back of her hand.

You remained silent as she got you there. Dina stood up from her position next to you, patting your shoulder before jerking her head towards the Tug-O-War makeshift arena.

“C’mon. Enough pining. We gotta get the kids for Tug-O-War. It’s mine against yours first,” Dina cheekily responded before jogging over to her campers.

You shot up from your seat and grabbed your whistle that was dangling around your neck, slotting it into your mouth to blow to get everyone’s attention. All of your campers froze their game of Duck-Duck-Goose, immediately scurrying over to you.

“Alright, campers! You guys ready to do Tug-O-War?” You shout with enthusiasm in your voice.

The kids started screaming with excitement, matching your energy times a million. You winced a little bit but kept your smile.

“I said,” you pause for dramatics. “Are you ready for Tug-O-War?” You over-enunciate every word which resulted in an uproar of cheers.

You chuckle softly and motion for the kids to follow you to the makeshift arena. There, a few feet across, was your friend and opponent, Dina and her campers. The brunette had her arms crossed over her chest with a playful narrow, motioning that she was watching us. You mouth that she was going down to which she scoffed and rolled her eyes.

The mediator, Jesse, cleared his throat as he explained the rules of the game. Basic no-cheating, no pushing, shoving, etc. He had one hand on his hip with a megaphone in the other.

“Lookin’ good, mediator,” Dina calls over to Jesse who points warningly at her.

“You know the rules, Miss Dina. No sweet talking.” Jesse gave her one more glance before clearing his throat.

You snort to yourself before instructing your kids to keep their feet planted and wide and to tug as hard as they can. As soon as Jesse shouted ‘Go!’, everyone in your team began pulling with all their might. You watched as Dina’s team was completely thrown off guard and slipped over the dry grass beneath their sneakers. You kept shouting that the kids had it and to not let go.

After one final tug from your team, the ribbon in the middle of the rope moved past the white indicator line. You gasped as Jesse shouted, ‘One point to the Daisies!’. You huddled in with the kids, bouncing up and down with glee at the victory. In good spirit, the opposite teams gave each other high fives just like after a little league baseball game.

This went on for about an hour; each winner fighting against one another until it came to the last two. Not your surprise, you and Ellie’s campers came neck in neck with the points. On the sidelines, all of the other campers and friends of yours were cheering for both sides to not show preference for either team.

Ellie’s green eyes were narrowed at you with a taunting eyebrow raise while you scratched at your nose with your middle finger to discreetly flip her off. She caught it almost instantly and shook her head, prodding her tongue into her inner cheek.

“Our finalists, the mighty Daisies and the strong Dinos are about to have their final throw down. The winning team gets this highly expensive, one-of-a-kind trophy!” Jesse announced which caused the entirety of the camp which resulted in an uproar of cheers.

It was a trophy off of Amazon that read ‘#1 Champions’ that was 7 bucks but Jesse knew how to get the kids more and more competitive and eager to win. You locked eyes with Ellie from a few feet away, a shiver sliding down your back when she licked her lips before tightly gripping the thick rope.

The veins on her arms and hands protruded out, her sweat making them glisten under the hot sunbeams. You just needed a photo of what you were looking at and you would be content forever. Distracted by her annoying good looks, you tripped over your own feet when Jesse announced that the final Tug-O-War was on.

But you quickly held your ground and began tugging the rope as aggressively as possible, trying not to get overwhelmed by the amount of cheering coming from your friends and other campers. It took a few minutes before the Dinos did one final tug that caused the flag in the middle to move past the white line.

You glanced down at your hands, sighing at the sight of a few burn marks as you released the rope. Ellie was surrounded by her campers, all excitedly jumping up and down with her. You couldn’t even be sad about losing seeing her so happy. She had rubbed every single one of their heads, telling them how cool and strong they all were.

“Our winners; the Dino cabin!” Jesse shouts into the megaphone, jogging over to hand Ellie the medium-sized trophy.

Ellie snatched it from him to hold it up over her head to show it off. She then grabbed the megaphone from Jesse as well, clearing her throat as she began to give a speech.

“I just want to say thank you to my amazing group of campers. I couldn’t have done it without all of these Incredible Hulks over here,” Ellie smiled like a maniac as the campers started clapping. “But it’s getting too hot out here guys so let’s head over to the Arts cabin to make our bracelets with some snacks and drinks. Let’s go, everybody.”

You told your campers to follow you to the Arts cabin, making sure to let them know how great they did regardless of not being in first place. They all agreed but told you they were excited to get bracelet making. That eased your worries. As much as you enjoy these competitive activities, you are terrified that the kids will begin to feel bad about themselves.

As your group entered the cabin, you instructed your kids to wait in line to get snacks and drinks. You watch them all carefully make their way over to the four lines when you feel a hand rest on your clothed shoulder.

“I didn’t think Ellie could beat you,” Abby’s low voice mutters.

“She’s toned, Abs. I think it was a fair one so,” you shrug your shoulders as you check the list of activities on your clipboard.

“Yeah, I guess so but I was rooting for you.” Abby gave your shoulder a soft squeeze.

You turn to her with a friendly smile, raising your eyebrows at her own slightly frizzy braid.

“Well, I mean we all know why you were winning your Tug-O-Wars,” you eye her biceps, reaching one hand forward to touch the heated skin from being out in the sun.

Abby seemed to just let you touch her, the muscle tensing under your fingers. You look at her and notice how obvious you are with this weird attempt at flirting. You retract your hand and clear your throat.

“So, later when we take our campers to the campfire for s’mores, can I save you a spot?” Abby blatantly stares at your lips before flickering up to your eyes.

From across the room, you make eye contact with Ellie who seems more confused than anything. Jesse was rambling to her about something that you weren’t able to hear as she was helping him set up the bracelet-making table, twiddling with the strands.

“Yeah, Abs. That sounds good,” you nod after forcefully tearing your eyes away from Ellie’s tense posture.

“Yeah?” Abby asks once to confirm.

You hum to ease her mind, nodding with a kind smile.

“Okay, I’ll do that,” Abby nods more so to herself before jerking her head over to her group of campers.

As Abby left you by yourself with your hammering thoughts, you felt a nudge to your hip. You look down to see one of your campers holding up a string to you.

“Can you help me make a bracelet for Beth?” Carter questions, adjusting his baby. blue glasses on his face.

“Yeah, of course, bud.”

“I sorta got mad at her earlier and I want her to know that I’m sorry for doing that,” the little blonde boy expresses, shyly messing with the string.

You thought it was so adorable to see kids express their emotions differently. You’ve noticed as people age, emotions become harder to express. There was no fear in his eyes; a little timid, sure but he knew he had to express it somehow. Yes, people are complicated but children are so open; so innocent.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean it, Carter.”

From across the room you spotted Beth, giggling with Vanessa quietly as they made their own bracelets. Carter quietly told you that he noticed how much she wore the color purple so you helped him pick out the different shades of purple beads to slide onto the bracelet.

The crowd of kids chattering was a weird comfort to you. You couldn’t express it enough how much you loved this job.

After the children had their snacks and finished up the crafting, Tommy and Joel escorted everyone’s campers to their assigned cabin. The counselors cleaned up the art room during that time period. You had no desire to clean so you snuck out to sit on the steps as you waited for everyone else to be done.

As you doodle on your clipboard, you hear the door open behind you and you pretend to make notes instead. That is until you look over your shoulder to see Ellie standing with her arms crossed behind her back.

“Hey,” you grinned at her.

Ellie reciprocates the gesture, looking away from you for a moment.

“Hi,” the auburn-haired girl tilted her head at you. “I was wondering where you went.”

Was your back sweating from anxiety or the heat?

“Sorry. I… didn’t really feel like cleaning,” you weakly chuckled before focusing back on your scribbles and doodles.

“It’s not a lot to clean so you’re good. I just wanted to, uh,” Ellie cleared her throat before making her way closer to you, the boards beneath her feet slightly squeaking.

Before you knew it, an object hit your clipboard right underneath your graphite nonsense. Your eyes drop to it and your brows furrow in confusion.

“What’s this?”

You question as you stare at the bracelet that Ellie has now thrown on the clipboard in front of you resting on your knees. It was a mixture of beads of your favorite colors with your initial smack dab in the middle.

“An apology in a way. I noticed you’ve been kind of distant today so if it was something I did or said,” Ellie scratched behind her ear as she grinned weakly at you. “I’m sorry.”

So that’s why she had been making bracelets earlier. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been acting weird or distant all of today. You hadn’t talked to Ellie on your own once, which clearly didn’t go didn't go unnoticed by the freckled girl. You felt like an insensitive ass acting this way.

“Els, it’s a personal thing. I’m sorry for being weird,” you stated as you fiddled with the bracelet.

“It’s okay. Just… wanna make sure my favorite girl doesn’t hate me,” Ellie nervously chuckled.

What the hell was she doing to you?

”I don’t think I ever could,” you admit as you admire the slightly too-big bracelet.

Ellie nodded, her green eyes darting from the apology in your hands to your expression. She seemed so antsy to give it to you; secretly afraid that you would hate it or think it was strange or pushing a boundary.

“How’s your tattoo?” Ellie questioned.

“Oh, um, all good. You did amazing, Els.” You reassure her.

“Can I see it to double-check? For… irritation.”

You stare into her wide green eyes, noticing how dilated her pupils are. There was the smallest ring of green due to how much the pupils were taking up her eyes.

“Sure, yeah,” you carefully lifted up your shorts leg to show her the small sun.

It was a bit splotchy but adorable nonetheless. You had put on soothing shea butter lotion and washed it gently this morning so it was good as new. Ellie reached her fingers forward to carefully trace over the detailed spiral in the middle. Goosebumps rose instantly to the surface of your skin despite the drastic heat outside.

“Looks good. It suits you.” Ellie confesses to you, grinning as her thumb traces over the inked section of your upper thigh.

“I might visit you again to get more. Maybe some finger ones?” You suggest, holding your hands out to her.

Ellie carefully takes your hands in hers.

“It’d be pretty hot, honestly,” Ellie murmured like she didn’t want her comment to be heard.

“Yeah, I thought so too,” you add on with a cheeky smile, nudging her shoulder.

Ellie’s entire face flushed at your words, releasing your hand as she muttered a soft ‘shut up’. You simply chuckled as you rested your head on her shoulder.

“Well, I’ll see you later at the campfire. I just wanted to give that to you before I forgot.” Ellie scratched behind your ear with a chuckle, moving on from her slight mistake.

“Mmm, I would take a shower first though,” you tease.

Ellie shook her head and scoffed.

“Really? After I gave you a gift?” She muttered as she leaned down to place her sweaty front side over your seated back.

You let out a string of groans and ‘get off’ before Ellie reluctantly lifted her body up and off of you. She stood up on her feet and nudged your leg with her Converse-covered feet.

“I’ll see you in a bit.” Ellie nodded before turning on her heels.

You sigh as you twiddle with the sweet gesture from the freckled girl. You silently watch her make her to her own cabin, probably wrangling for the children to quiet down so that she can do a headcount.

“Getting over her, huh?” You hear from behind you which causes you to nearly jump out of your skin.

Dina’s standing there with her arms folded across her chest, the wooden door behind her shutting softly.

“I don’t want to hear it, D,” you sigh as you stand up on the chipping blue wooden staircase.

Dina continuously tries to voice her opinion on how she feels but you make a noise of protest every time. She walks up to you and places both hands on your shoulders, forcing you to listen to her at this point.

“I just don’t know why you’re forcing yourself to fixate on Abby and why you don’t just tell Ellie how you feel.”

You’ve heard this twice now and you can’t help but feel like maybe they’re right. It’s high-risk, high-reward explaining how you feel to Ellie. You would give anything to know exactly how she felt about you so that you could ultimately just either push the crush away or finally open your mouth to tell her you want her more than you needed oxygen.

“You think I should?” You question curiously, your eyes pouring into Dina’s heartfelt ones.

“Yes. 99%” Dina replies.

You groan at her answer, trying to move away from her. She chuckles and shakes your shoulders to refocus your attention on her.

“I’m kidding. Seriously, 110%. I don’t think you see how Ellie looks at you, dude.” Dina emphasizes this with complete sincerity.

Steve’s words, too, echoed in your brain as you took in what Dina said to you.

“I’m just saying if I know flirting,” he leaned down to mutter to you, “and I think I do, she wants you just as badly as you want her. My personal opinion is to go for it.”

Should you? You were making your head hurt with the constant back and forth. Ellie was the lucky one. She had no idea what was going on in your head and this you were thankful for. The sun was setting and it was nearly time for the campfire.

You walked away from Dina with a pounding question in your head: Abby or Ellie?

tag-list: @abbyshands @ih8chickentenders @elliesprettygirl @justhereforinspopics @be3flow3r @hearts4joongie @plutolovesyou @bready101 @joanvisitsrome @elliewilliamssrealgf @hysteriawillnotsuccumb @shady-lemur @melanie-watermelon @elliescoolerwife @ucannotcompare @sakiigami @shalalala-sana @joordynn @ummlover @thisiscarlatrying @phattywithawham @mxquelo @kisssssessssssyj @xyaxyn @claymoreshaze @a-little-bit-of-everybody

[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (11)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 5.8k

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: explicit content, mature language, mentions of strained marriage, divorce, expectations etc

A/N: so many things happening in this chapter and ahhh this jungkook is such a dream. when is it my turn to experience something like this?? like when are these fantasies going to come to life. anyways, i love where this is going and can't wait to upload the next chapter, stay tuned !!

part 11: cruising in the wildflower meadows

It’s Friday now, and the town is slowly slipping back into its usual rhythm after the frenzy of the town fair. The streets are quieter, the market stalls no longer filled with bright lights and bustling voices. The buzz of the fair has faded, leaving only the soft, steady hum of the regular daily life.

It's been two days since the fair and the unforgettable moment you and Jungkook shared at the beach, and though the days have been filled with work and routine, you can't seem to shake the memory of it. The kiss, the apology, the way he held you so close... it still feels so vivid even now, just like the moment it happened, and a soft smile curls on your lips whenever you catch yourself thinking about it.

You can’t help but look forward to Sunday, because that's when you both have planned to go out on a date as both of you have your day off then. Jungkook had kept the details of the date a mystery, only telling you to be ready by 4 p.m. and that he would come to pick you up.

The anticipation is thrilling but also nerve-wracking. What’s he planning? What’s this date going to be like? You don’t know, but you’re excited, and you can’t wait to see him again.

Today, however, after a long day of tending to customers, something shifts inside you. You suddenly have this overwhelming urge to see him. For some reason, you couldn’t catch even the briefest glimpse of Jungkook all day, and you feel a little disappointed.

You want to see him, to talk to him, to just be in his presence again. So once you close up for the day, you decide a short visit next door wouldn't hurt.

Carrying your bag on your shoulder, you head towards his place next door. You don’t exactly know why you want to see him, maybe you just miss him, maybe you just want to see him up close. But as you walk towards his shop, you realize how you've been feeling lighter and brighter these days, ever since everything between you and Jungkook started to click.

The evening air is crisp, as you walk towards his shop, your heart beating a little faster with each step. When you reach the window, you stop to peer inside, holding your breath. Through the glass, you spot him in the center of the shop, bent over a bike, his hands working diligently.

He’s so focused, so absorbed in his work, you can’t help but stare. You hesitate for a moment, taking in the scene. He looks… absolutely irresistible. He's sporting a pair of navy blue mechanic overalls, the kind that hug his broad frame just right, outlining the muscles of his chest and arms as he moves.

The fabric stretches and pulls with every motion, highlighting his strength and grace in a way that leaves you momentarily breathless. His hair is slightly damp, a few strands falling over his forehead, and the hint of sweat on his skin only adds to his rugged allure.

His face is filled with concentration, a few beads of sweat dripping down the side of his temple. The sight of him like this, so raw and focused, has you feeling some type of way.

It’s almost too much to handle... the roughness of the mechanic look mixed with the soft, intimate aura surrounding him, a contrast that stirs something deep inside you.

As you stand there, your heart races, and a rush of warmth spreads throughout your body. The longer you watch him, the thicker the air seems to grow, the space between you charged with something unspoken.

Even though he still doesn’t seem to notice you, so engrossed in his work, you just can’t stop staring. His hands are steady and skilled as they move over the bike, his body leaning into the task, his face so focused that it almost makes your throat go dry.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, somehow he glances up, his gaze locking with yours through the window. Time seems to slow as his eyes meet yours, and for a brief, fleeting moment, there’s this unspoken connection.

His expression lights up the minute he sees you, and he's quick to drop all the work he's doing. He hastily wipes his hands with the rag near him, his movements sharp and urgent, as if he's been waiting for this moment.

Without a word, he makes his way towards the door, his footsteps quick as a smile adorns his lips, almost as if he wants to close the distance between you as fast as possible. When he pulls the door open and steps outside, the first thing that hits you is just how insanely good he looks.

The overalls hug his body in a way that leaves little to the imagination, the fabric stretched taut over his chest and shoulders, a reminder of just how strong he is. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing the intricate tattoos on his forearms. The sight of them, along with the slight sheen of sweat on his skin, makes your knees feel weak.

He takes a step closer, his hands holding the door open as he innocently looks at you. His gaze is calm, clueless about the wild thoughts racing through your mind.

Your heart races, each thump growing louder in your ears. You try to steady yourself, but the proximity of him as he walks towards you, is making everything spin. All you can think about is how gorgeous he looks, how he simply approaches you so casually, completely unaware of the storm he’s stirring inside of you.

He stands right in front of you, his lips curling into a soft smile. There’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he notices your flustered state, though he doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he breaks the silence gently. “Why are you standing outside? Come on in.” he says, walking towards you, his hand reaching out in a simple, inviting gesture.

You hesitate for a moment before slipping your hand into his, the warmth of his touch sending an unexpected shiver up your spine. He guides you inside, and as the door swings shut behind you, the world outside feels like it’s miles away.

Once you’re in the middle of the shop, he turns to face you fully. “Hi.” he says softly, the word laced with a kind of boyish charm that feels entirely at odds compared to his rugged appearance.

You take a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm of nerves in your chest. “H-hey.” you manage, though your voice betrays you, trembling slightly. The second the word leaves your lips, you inwardly cringe. Why did you sound so flustered? You’re an adult, for heaven’s sake. You should be able to greet someone without stumbling over a simple syllable.

Jungkook’s sharp eyes don’t miss a thing. He notices the way your shoulders are slightly tense, the way your gaze flickers everywhere, evidently avoiding him. His head tilts just a little as he studies you, his expression shifting into something softer, more amused. And then it hits him, the reason for your unease.

Was it him? Was it the way he looked right now? His rolled-up sleeves, the grease smudges on his skin, the damp strands of hair sticking to his forehead? He realizes it all at once, the way you’re nibbling on your bottom lip, the faint blush creeping up your cheeks.

The thought sends a spark of satisfaction through him. Were you really this affected by him? The idea sure is intoxicating.

You realize Jungkook has caught on to your odd behavior when a faint smirk curls at the corners of his lips. His eyes darken slightly, lingering on your flushed cheeks, and there’s a spark of amusement dancing in them. He knows. He’s fully aware of the effect he’s having on you, and the realization only seems to fuel his confidence.

"Sooo, are you planning to stand there all day or..." he drawls, his smirk widening as he leans casually against the bike beside him "Are you going to tell me what brings you here?" His tone is teasing, his eyes looking into yours, refusing to let you escape.

You freeze for a moment, the words escaping you as your mind scrambles for an answer. Why are you here, again? What was the reason you decided to come by? You feel your face heat up further, and before you can form a coherent thought, a nervous hiccup bubbles up from your chest.

You try to stifle it, but it comes out again, followed by another one, and then another, like a series of embarrassing hiccups you can’t control.

Jungkook’s smirk deepens into a soft, amused smile as he watches you struggle to regain your composure. He can’t help but notice just how undeniably cute your flustered state is.

The way your eyes dart around, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, it all just makes you look even more endearing to him. He watches as you attempt to swallow the hiccups, each time your face reddening more, and he just can’t suppress the chuckle that escapes him.

"You're so cute." he says under his breath, more to himself than to you, the fondness in his voice making your heart skip a beat.

You manage to clear your throat, but the hiccups don’t stop, only intensifying the awkwardness of the moment. Jungkook shakes his head, still grinning as he steps closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently guide you towards the counter.

"Come here." he murmurs softly, his voice low and inviting as he guides you to one of the chairs by the counter. "Let me get you some water." You settle into the chair, trying to suppress the wave of embarrassment washing over you while he moves to the other side of the counter. His hands glide with practiced ease as he opens a cabinet, the soft clink of glass breaking the silence.

Your eyes follow him for a moment, but then your thoughts drift... back to that night. The memory of tending to Jungkook’s wounds at this very counter surfaces, vivid and consuming.

You can still feel the tension that hung in the air then, how his closeness made your heart race, how the moment seemed poised on the edge of something more. A soft sigh escapes you, and you shake your head lightly, trying to push the memory away and ground yourself in the present.

But grounding yourself feels impossible. Every time you glance at him, every movement he makes seems to spark something primal in you. It’s maddening... the effect he has on you. You’ve seen him countless times, but somehow, this is different.

It’s like every nerve in your body is hyper-aware of his presence, reacting in ways you can’t control. Heat creeps up your neck, your thoughts veering into uncharted, unrestrained territory, and you find yourself silently berating your own mind.

It’s ridiculous, really. All it took was the sight of him in those overalls, hair messy and skin glistening, to turn you into this mess of emotions and unhinged, unholy thoughts. You can’t decide whether to be mortified or just accept that Jungkook, in his current state, is your kryptonite.

You try to push all your thoughts away, focusing on him as he returns with the glass of water. He hands it to you with a soft smile, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that makes your pulse race. "Here." he says, his voice gentle. "Drink up. Hopefully, that’ll help." he smiles.

You take the glass from him, your hand brushing his for just a second, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like you're going to crumble. Jungkook watches you closely, a playful glint in his eyes as he notices how you’re avoiding his gaze. You take a sip of water and place the glass back on the counter, trying to compose yourself.

Your eyes dart from side to side, as if you’re looking for anything else to focus on but him, and it only makes him smirk wider. He leans in slightly... his voice, low and steady, but with a teasing edge. “What’s gotten you so nervous?” he asks, his words almost a challenge. He already knows what’s making you flustered, but the way you react is too irresistible to pass up.

You shift awkwardly, glancing anywhere but directly at him, and Jungkook can’t help but revel in the sight of it. The way you nibble at your bottom lip, the way your eyes flicker around the room as if you’re searching for an escape, drives him absolutely wild.

He can feel his patience thinning by the second, the sexual tension hanging thick in the air between you both. It’s all he can do to stay in place, watching you squirm. His heart races, his fingers itching to reach out and pull you into him, to close the space between you and finally do something about the way your nervous energy makes his chest tighten.

He’s trying to hold back, trying to be patient, but every second you look away from him only makes him want you more. The way you look so vulnerable, so flustered... it’s intoxicating.

Unable to fight it anymore, Jungkook walks around the counter and inches closer to you, his movements deliberate and slow, like he’s savoring every moment.

You don’t even see it coming as he suddenly pulls you up, his hands gently but firmly gripping your waist. Before you can react, he hoists you up effortlessly, making you sit on the counter with him standing right in front of you, his torso between your thighs.

A soft gasp escapes your lips at the sudden movement, the sound almost lost in the electric air between you. The moment his warmth presses against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs through the jeans you're wearing, your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind, leaving nothing but a haze of sensation.

His hands find their way to the sides of your thighs, firm yet gentle, and with a swift, confident motion, he pulls you closer, jerking you forward until there’s barely any space left between you.

You find yourself staring into his eyes, your breath caught in your throat as the situation spirals into something you can barely comprehend, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on. His gaze sharpens, his brow arching in amusement as he tilts his head. “So, you’re only going to look at me if I hold you like this?” he teases, his voice smooth, the words sinking into you like a challenge.

Your response is silence, your lips parting slightly as your eyes flit across his features, his sharp jawline, his piercings, the mole under his lip, the intensity in his gaze. Despite your attempt to maintain composure, you find yourself savoring the intoxicating closeness between you.

“You’re driving me insane, you know that?” he murmurs harshly, the frustration in his voice laced with something more primal. His hands slide to the small of your back, the pressure firm yet electrifying as he pulls you flush against him. His breath is hot against your face, each exhale a teasing whisper against your skin.

The closeness overwhelms you, the tension snapping something inside. Before you even realize it, your hips buck forward, meeting his. At that, a groan leaves Jungkook's lips as the feeling sends a jolt of pleasure through his system.

His eyes flash towards yours, dark with something wilder than before, a spark of desire. The gaze pins you to your spot, a challenge, a question, as he moves closer still. You swallow thickly, your pulse thundering in your veins as you hold his gaze.

Jungkook's fingers dig into the small of your back as he brings you closer still, until you can feel every hard line of his body against yours, his erection pressing against your core through the fabric of his overalls.

His hot breath, his hard body, his overwhelming presence, the way his fingers burn against your skin. It's like being consumed by fire, like drowning in his touch.

A choked gasp escapes you as he trails his lips down the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes close and your hands curl against the counter at the sheer sensation, your knuckles turning white. You can’t take much more of this, of being so close, yet so far.

And it’s like the entire universe is conspiring against you, because just as the moment between you and Jungkook begins to sizzle, the sound of the front door opening shatters it like glass. Startled, you and Jungkook separate, the heat of the moment still lingering in the air.

Still perched on the counter, you glance towards the door and see Yoongi standing there, frozen mid-step. His eyes are wide, as though he instantly regrets walking in, the realization of the awkward timing dawning on him.

Jungkook, standing beside your knee, looks equally caught off guard, his chest rising and falling heavily, his confusion evident. And despite his best efforts to maintain composure, it’s clear that some things are harder to hide... his flushed face, the way his jaw tightens, and the very visible evidence of how affected he is by the moment you just shared... his erection.

“I…” Yoongi begins, his voice breaking the silence, but he seems to falter, his gaze flicking anywhere but directly at the two of you. “I... umm... my phone.” he stammers, awkwardly gesturing towards a table at the far end of the room.

His unease mirrors yours as he steps inside, clearly trying to make this as quick and painless as possible. He keeps his eyes locked on his destination, his movements careful as he retrieves his phone, doing his best to avoid glancing in your direction.

However, before he leaves, Yoongi pauses at the door, glancing back over his shoulder at Jungkook specifically, with a sly look that he doesn’t even try to hide. "Didn't mean to cockblock… but it would be better if you guys did this some place private… just a suggestion." he says, the teasing smirk on his lips making the heat in your cheeks intensify tenfold.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens as he meets Yoongi’s gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly in exasperation. But before Jungkook can say anything, Yoongi gives a quick wave and is out the door, leaving the two of you alone again.

"Fuck..." Jungkook mutters under his breath, his hands quickly covering his face in embarrassment. You, still trying to process what just happened, find yourself staring at his flustered expression, and an involuntary laugh slips out.

"It's like our thing." you suddenly say, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Jungkook lowers his hands, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at you in confusion. "What?" he asks, genuinely puzzled. "Getting interrupted... it's our thing." you giggle, the tension breaking as the absurdity of the situation finally sinks in.

Jungkook can't help but laugh at your comment. Despite how embarrassing this moment is, with you here, it doesn't feel quite as mortifying. In fact, he's oddly grateful it was Yoongi who walked in on you both, and not Jimin or Hoseok because he knows all too well how that would've turned out.

"Well...that was something." you shyly say, slowly getting off the counter. Jungkook grins at you, a soft, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he steps closer, his hands instinctively finding their way to your waist.

It’s like he can’t help it anymore. Ever since the first time he held you there, he’s been addicted to the feeling, constantly looking for an excuse to pull you closer.

"I'm sorry." he whispers, his gaze softening as he looks down at you. "I didn’t know Yoongi was going to come back. I genuinely thought he was already home." he slightly pouts.

You chuckle, shaking your head. "It’s not your fault." The laugh that escapes your lips feels light, almost like the tension from earlier has completely melted away.

Jungkook's smile widens as he watches you, his eyes practically sparkling with admiration. "Now that I think about it, I never got to hear why exactly you came here." he says, the playful grin never leaving his face.

You hesitate for a moment, then, with a soft sigh, you admit, "I just wanted to see you." The words feel natural, like they’ve been building up inside of you for days and you know there’s no point hiding it now.

His heart does a little flip at your honesty, and before he can stop himself, he presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. The tenderness of the gesture makes you feel warm inside, and the simple affection causes a flutter in your chest.

Looking around, he realizes it’s getting late, and though every part of him wants to stay and savor this moment with you, he knows he has to let you go. "Want a ride home?" he asks, his voice low and sincere.

And honestly, who are you to say no to that?

//

Sunday arrives, and the day of the long-anticipated date is finally here. You’re in your room, standing in front of your mirror, eyes darting between a pile of clothes scattered across your bed.

The excitement is palpable, but so is the indecision. You want to look cute, but not too over-the-top. You want to be comfortable, but still impress him. The usual "what to wear" dilemma feels a bit more significant today.

You settle on a white, frilly lace skirt that hits right at the middle of your thighs, the delicate fabric floating around your legs, giving you a sense of whimsy. It’s just the right mix of sweet and playful. You pair it with a soft blue top that complements the skirt perfectly. The top is simple but elegant, with a delicate lace trim along the neckline that adds just a touch of charm.

It hugs your torso gently, emphasizing your figure. The color reminds you of a clear summer sky, and the way the soft fabric feels against your skin adds a layer of comfort that makes you feel at ease despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

As you finish getting ready, you glance at the clock on your wall. "3:47 PM." You're supposed to be ready by 4, and you still don’t have the faintest idea of where Jungkook is taking you, or what the date will be like.

The uncertainty only heightens the excitement, but you decide not to overthink it. It’s more about the fact that you’ll get to spend time with him... just the two of you and you honestly can’t wait for that.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your chest, and check yourself one last time in the mirror. Your hair’s styled just right, not too perfect, but enough to give you that effortless, yet polished look.

Right on cue, you hear a familiar rumble outside the window and your heart skips a beat. You walk over to the window and peek outside. There he is, revving his motorcycle. The sleek, black bike gleams under the afternoon sun, and he’s standing beside it, a grin on his face as he looks up at your window. Your breath catches in your throat as your nerves tangle with excitement.

You grab your purse, quickly walk out the door, and make your way down to meet him. Jungkook’s eyes light up when he sees you, his smile widening. “You look beautiful,” he says softly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. His voice sends a warm rush through you.

“Thanks,” you reply, trying to hide your flustered smile as you approach. "All ready for today?” you ask, wiggling your brows. He chuckles. “Of course. Hop on. I’ve got something planned.”

You follow him to his bike, and he offers you a helmet. After slipping it on, you climb onto the back of the motorcycle, wrapping your arms loosely around his waist. As soon as you’re settled, the engine roars to life, and you both take off, the wind rushing past you as you zoom through the streets. The feeling of the open air, the rush of speed, and the closeness between you fills you with a sense of freedom.

As the ride continues, the anticipation is building in your chest, but you’re too caught up in the warmth of his presence to care about the unknowns of the date.

Soon enough, Jungkook pulls up to a stunning garden, a hidden gem filled with colorful blooms and greenery that seems to go on forever. The air smells fresh, and the soft chirping of birds adds to the peaceful atmosphere.

He parks the bike and helps you off, guiding you towards a secluded spot by the flowers. He’s already laid out a blanket under a large tree, and as you sit down, you can’t help but marvel at how thoughtfully he’s planned everything. There’s a basket too, filled with snacks, fresh fruits and drinks.

"Wow... this is... this is beautiful." you breath out, stunned by the gorgeous set up in front of you. He grabs your hand, pulling you closer to the blanket and the both of you sit down side by side, your eyes taking in the beauty you're surrounded by.

"When did you set up all of this?" you ask, honestly amused by how thoughtfully this whole set up was curated. Jungkook shrugs, not wanting to bother you with the details. "Magic!" he says, acting like he's letting you in on a secret.

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the giggle that leaves your lips. This feels perfect. Everything about it. You already know this is the kind of date you’ll never be able to forget... not that you want to, anyway.

Gradually, the sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over everything. Jungkook sits beside you, his arm brushing yours, and the two of you fall into easy conversation.

“Growing up, I had a pretty chaotic childhood.” you say, your voice soft as you glance over at him. He looks over at you, his eyes curious, waiting for you to continue.

“My parents had a strained marriage, lots of arguments and drama. I spent most of my time with my grandma. She was this... she was this amazing woman, full of life and... and love, and she had this thing for flowers." you pause, the image of your grandma appearing in your head.

"I remember helping her tend to her garden every summer. It was like her little escape from everything and i guess... that’s where I got the motivation to open my shop. Flowers always felt like home to me.” You smile, a warm feeling spreading in your chest as you remember your grandma’s gentle hands working with the delicate petals.

Jungkook listens intently, nodding, his expression soft. “That’s really beautiful...” he says quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So that's your special connection with flowers, huh?” he concludes.

You nod, the memories flooding back as you continue. "It’s not just about selling flowers..." you explain. "It’s about sharing that peace and calm my grandma gave me, helping people create their own moments of beauty and joy. I've always wanted it to be more than just a business... it’s about... it's about a connection. I want to bring a little bit of that serenity into people’s lives."

Jungkook listens, his gaze thoughtful. He then leans back, looking at the sky before his eyes meet yours again. "That’s really inspiring." he says with admiration. "I'm glad you were able to bring it to life... your shop.... it's truly beautiful."

You laugh softly, feeling a sense of connection that’s deeper than you expected. "Thank you."

He smiles and takes a deep breath, his voice turning slightly more serious. "For me, it’s motorcycles."

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "I know it sounds cliché, but my parents... they always wanted me to be a prosecutor. They had this idea of me following a traditional path.. you know.. law school, a stable career, all that. But I’ve always been more interested in bikes. I guess you could say... that was my calling."

You tilt your head slightly, intrigued by his words. "So you just... dropped everything?"

Jungkook nods, his expression softening. "Yeah. I gave up everything... the expectations, the dreams my parents had for me. I wanted to be true to myself and that's why I opened my own shop, where I could focus on something I truly enjoy... I've always wanted a place where I could connect with people who shared the same passion. It's not just about bikes for me... it’s about the craftsmanship, the freedom, and the bond with people who appreciate it just as much as I do."

You smile, feeling your heart swell at how passionate he sounds when he talks about his shop. “That’s amazing.” you say sincerely. “You really went after what you love.”

Jungkook shrugs, but there’s a hint of pride in his eyes. "Yeah, it wasn’t easy, but I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. I think it’s worth it, though, you know? To be doing something that makes you feel alive." You nod, agreeing with him. His words stay with you as the evening deepens and you both shift conversations effortlessly.

You both relax further into the moment, and Jungkook notices a bunch of wildflowers near him on the ground. He carefully plucks a bunch of them and then proceeds to gently tuck them into your hair, his fingers brushing your skin as he arranges them. You smile at him, feeling a mix of joy and affection. His touch is gentle, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I think these flowers suit you.” he says softly, leaning back to admire his work. “You look even more beautiful with them in your hair.” he comments. You laugh softly, feeling the warmth spread through you. “Please...” you say, your voice filled with shyness.

Jungkook then pulls out his phone and asks if he can take a picture of you, a moment to capture your happiness. You agree, and he takes several shots of you, making you laugh with his goofy comments. You feel completely at ease with him, the world around you feeling perfectly still as you enjoy the beauty of the moment.

As the sun begins to set, the sky transforms into a breathtaking array of pinks, oranges, and purples. It’s as if the entire world is in perfect harmony. And when your gaze shifts from the sky to look at the beautiful man beside you, your eyes meet.

Smiling softly at you, he leans in, his gaze soft and affectionate, and you feel your heart race. He moves closer to you, his hand gently resting on your cheek, and in one fluid motion, he kisses you. It’s slow and tender, and for a moment, you feel like this is a dream.

When you pull apart, he whispers, “You know... I really really like you, right?"

You smile softly, your heart full. “Me too... I really really like you too.” you reply, feeling an overwhelming sense of connection. You feel his hands leave your cheek and reach for your hand that rests on the blanket. And like it's second nature, he carefully intertwines your fingers together.

As the sun sets completely and the sky darkens, Jungkook helps you up, clearing the blanket and folding it up. He grabs your hand, leading you towards his bike. “There’s one more part to the surprise.” he says, grinning. You're shocked, but you don't question him, simply allowing him to lead you through the night.

You both ride through the chilly night breeze, heading to a quaint diner that sits at the edge of the city. The soft glow of neon lights illuminates the cozy little restaurant. Jungkook parks the bike, and you both walk in, settling into a booth.

Not wanting to sit face to face, you slide in right next to him, the small space between you filling with warmth. It feels so much more better like this. Lesser distance, more closeness. The food is comforting and simple, but it’s the conversation that makes the meal so special. You talk about everything... your dreams, your hopes, your favorite memories. You both laugh, share stories, and it feels like you’re in your own little world.

When the meal ends, you both step out into the cool night air, but something feels different. The day has been so perfect, and you so badly don’t want it to end.

As you make your way to the bike, a sudden chill runs through you, and just as you’re about to climb on, the first raindrop falls. Then, suddenly, it’s pouring. The heavy rain drenches you both, and you quickly seek shelter under a nearby tree in the parking lot, trying to protect yourselves from the downpour.

Jungkook’s quick to react, pulling off his jacket and draping it over your head to shield you from the rain. His closeness in the downpour feels intimate, like the two of you are sharing this private moment away from the world.

“Maybe we... maybe we should head to my place until the rain stops.” Jungkook suggests, looking up at the sky, which shows no signs of letting up anytime soon.

You hesitate for a moment, the rain soaking through your clothes, but then you nod. You can’t really say no, especially since the rain isn’t showing any signs of stopping. The thought of waiting with him until the storm dies out, however, feels comforting, and you find yourself agreeing.

Jungkook offers you a soft smile and takes your hand. “It’s not far from here, so hopefully the ride won't be too hard. We can hang out there until the rain clears up.” he says.

A wave of nervousness washes over you, but you nod, knowing there’s no real reason to refuse. You can feel the excitement, anticipation, and the electric connection between you as you both climb onto his bike, the rain pelting down around you.

The ride back to his house is different this time... faster, wetter, but also full of excitement. By the time you arrive, you’re soaked to the bone, but the warmth of his home provides a comforting refuge from the storm. You both rush inside, giggling, laughing and drenched, and as Jungkook shuts the door behind you, he looks at you with a playful grin.

“Guess we’re stuck together for a little longer.” he says, his eyes full of affection. You smile, feeling a flutter in your chest. Whatever the weather holds, you know one thing for sure... this date has been more than perfect, and even though you're nervous, you’re curious and eager to see where the night will take you.

<- part 10 // part 12 ->

series masterlist

taglist:@kimyishin @ghijkd @dolligguk @mimi1097 @jksusawife @yooforeaa @abbie1847 @myjungkookthighs @thesarcasmqueen-22 @fairypjminie @lovelytaes-blog @jjeonjjk7 @daddyjeonnn @vantelover1306 @jeeykey @shellyyy177 @daskewl @blackswan18 @korian97 @minimoninini @ericawantstoescape @rpwprpwprpwprw @tokkiggukie @jaytheatiny

[freeabortionslol]

don't marry him (quinn hughes x bsf!reader) ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

summary: angst, quinn talks reader out of engagement, unrequited love (kinda), reader is a lawyer, lots of flashbacks, italics mean flashbacks, not a single y/n used (yay!) warnings!! anxiety, panic attacks, cursing, intense argument a/n: okay so I rly didn't know what to do with this bc it honestly felt wrong to have him confess his feelings in this moment LMAO so I think I'm def gonna do a pt 2. anyways this was the fic from my drafts that the people voted for so here it is!! hope u enjoy :)

wc: 4.1k

“You lost.” Quinn said, staring out at the Lake, not making eye contact with you.

“What?” You asked, twirling your flashy engagement ring around your finger. 

Max had come into your life at a time when everything felt uncertain. You were fresh off a series of career setbacks, questioning your worth and your ability to build the future you had always dreamed of. He was steady, charismatic, and above all, ambitious. Qualities you admired and felt you needed to anchor yourself. He made you feel secure in a world that often felt chaotic.

Quinn sighed, turning to face you slightly. “At life. You lost.” He mumbled out, taking a sip of his beer before turning back to the lake. Your face quickly softened with a hint of sadness.

“I-I didn’t lose. I’m happy and successful.” You said, your tone coming off with a hint of anger. 

You and Max met at a work conference, one of those overly formal events where you spent half the time pretending to be interested in panel discussions and the other half networking. Max had approached you during a coffee break, his easy confidence setting him apart from the crowd. His suit was perfectly tailored, his smile sharp but not unkind.

Quinn took one look at you, shifting in his seat slightly. “Y-You…you don’t want this.” Your heart thumped slightly, cracking your knuckles to drown out the sounds of your own thoughts. “I’m scared for you.” 

Max’s love came with conditions. He valued success above all else, and he expected you to do the same. Work always came first, even if it meant skipping family events or cutting vacations short for a meeting. He didn’t understand why you needed to spend time with Quinn, Luke, and Jack.

“Quinn, I love him. You know that.” Your brows furrowed in an attempt to make him understand. 

The engagement came as a surprise, even to you. It was during a charity gala, one of those glittering events Max thrived in. He had pulled you onto the stage during his speech, getting down on one knee in front of hundreds of people. The ring sparkled under the chandeliers, and the applause was deafening. You had said yes because saying no didn’t feel like an option. Not with Max’s expectant smile, the cameras flashing, and the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

“But do you like him?” His words sent a shiver down your spine as you continued to fidget with the ring on your finger. The ring that was far too heavy to be wearing constantly, its band made of gold instead of your preferred silver. His words hung in the air, the weight of them sinking in your chest like a stone tossed in the still waters of the lake. His gaze remained fixed ahead, unwavering.

Max wasn’t a bad man. He wasn’t cruel or unkind. But he didn’t see you, not the way Quinn did. He saw your potential, your ambition, but not the person you were when all the noise fell away.

“I-I…I don’t- of course I like him. What are you getting at?” You stuttered, confused about your own feelings on the matter. Quinn glanced at you with a side eye, taking another swig from his bottle before speaking.

“Really?” He asked, his heart shattering at the sight of tears welling in your eyes. “I see the face you make when he talks. It’s blank, unreadable. And when he laughs? Your eyes scrunch up like when we would drag you out of bed to get on the boat.” Quinn lets out an uncomfortable chuckle. “You really want to wake up next to his mustache every morning for the rest of your life?” You roll your eyes, posture slumping.

“Don’t make fun of him.” You warned, your voice becoming stern. Quinn bites the inside of his mouth before turning away. “I’m successful, Quinn.”

“Yeah-yeah, that’s great. You have all the fuckin’ money you could’ve wished for.” He huffs out with a sarcastic smile.

“Don’t do that. Don’t make me sound materialistic-” You crossed your arms, Quinn cutting you off quickly.

“Well it’s kind of hard when all you do is work and work-” His voice raises significantly.

“This is my dream! If you can’t accept the fact that i’m happy-”

“Yeah! And you’re so damn caught up in it that you don’t have time for us anymore!” He yells, sending you a look of anger. One you’d never seen before. He breathes heavily, trying to calm himself down as he moves to the edge of his seat. His eyes soften when he catches your expression, scared. He sighs reluctantly before he speaks again. “Luke notices the way you brush him off when Max is around. He notices how you never fly out to Jersey to see him and Jack like you used to.” Your breath hitched as Quinn’s words pierced through the air. His voice had calmed, but the raw emotion in his eyes cut deeper than his raised tone ever could. You looked away, not able to face the weight of his gaze, and stared at the rippling water instead. The golden light of the setting sun shimmered on the surface, mimicking the perfection you thought you’d built. 

“Luke said that?” You whispered, your voice barely audible. A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down, refusing to let it show. You didn’t want this, not here, not ever. 

“Yeah.” He replied softly. “Jack see’s it too. They miss you.” Quinn turned his head to face you, your gaze still not meeting his. “I miss you.” You turned to glance at him, tears bubbling as you brushed a strand of hair from your face. You continued playing with your ring, biting your lip to hold the cries. 

You sniffled, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “This is my life. I won.” You croaked out. Quinn sighed, leaning back in his seat as he swirled the beer bottle in his hand.

“When we were kids, my Aunt Julia came over to visit us during christmas. Do you remember that?” He asked quietly, catching you off guard in a moment of vulnerability. You nodded your head, continuing to bite your lip. “She asked all of us- Me, you, Jack, and Luke ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’” Your eyes softened quickly, bringing your knees to your chest. “Do you remember what you said?” He asked, his tone empathetic.

“Yeah, a lawyer-”

“A mother.” He interrupted. The words hit you like a punch to the chest, knocking the air from your lungs. You froze, staring at Quinn as the memories hit like a tidal wave.

“I…I don’t remember that.” Your voice barely above a whisper.

Quinn gave you a sad smile, his eyes softening. “You do. You just don’t want to.” He brought the bottle to his mouth, looking out at the lake again. The two of you sat in the thick silence. Quinn, knowing he was winning this conversation and you, overthinking every little moment from the past two years. Tears began to escape your eyes as you stared out at the lake, refusing to look at Quinn. He turned to you, seeing how hard this conversation was for you. He wanted to pull you into him, let you cry into his shoulder until all the pain went away, but that wasn’t his job anymore. It was Max’s. The pain burned deep into Quinn’s chest as he recalled every memory he shared with you at this house. Jumping off the boat together on hot summer days, neighborhood barbecues where you would wear those short little sundresses he liked so much, your first kiss while playing spin the bottle together, and of course every deep conversation you shared on this back deck, in these exact chairs. When he was thirteen, he was sure of the fact that he would marry you. He never expected to be sitting here, watching you fiddle with an engagement ring that he didn’t buy. 

You blinked, wiping the tears from your face as you decided to face your fear of confrontation. “I-If I don’t work hard now, I won’t have anything left when I'm old and burnt out.” Quinn’s jaw clenched as he processed your words, his gaze fixed on the lake but his mind clearly elsewhere. He tilted his head back slightly, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to suppress his frustration. Your lip trembled, more tears falling by the second as you looked away. 

“H-He um-” You paused, taking a long sigh as you looked over at Quinn. “He says there’s no time for children in our career.” Quinn whipped his head over to you, his expression softening as he got lost in your words. 

“He’s a piece of shit.” Quinn mumbled, shaking his head as he returned his gaze to the lake. 

You licked your lips as you rolled your eyes. “He’s not a piece of shit, okay? He’s a good guy, you just don’t know him.” You said, your tone growing in frustration. Quinn looked over to you, mouth open, brows furrowed as if you’d just said the most unbelievable thing. 

He huffed out a small laugh before returning his eyes to the bottle in his hand. “You’re fuckin’ delusional.” He let out quietly, taking another sip. You whipped your head to him, your frustration quickly bubbling over. 

“Excuse me-”

Quinn was quick to interrupt you, his voice raised slightly. “You heard me. You’re fucking delusional if you think that’s love.” He rolled his eyes, looking back at you. 

You scoffed, licking your bottom row of teeth as you let out an uncomfortable laugh. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” Your expression had become serious, your tears stopping in their tracks. “This is love!” Your voice carefully rose in volume. “I fell in love,” You laughed slightly, letting a slight smile escape your lips out of frustration. “You’re just jealous.” 

Quinn’s face turned bright red as he took in your words. He looked down at his lap, then back to you. He bit the inside of his cheek, letting out an uncomfortable chuckle before speaking. “Jealous?” He asked, brows furrowed. “My god, you're so full of yourself sometimes.” He didn’t mean that and he knew, but you didn’t. You bit your lip, trying to hold back tears as your best friend tore you apart. “You seriously think i’m jealous of him?” He asked, his voice just below a yell.

“No, of me!” Quinn froze, his beer bottle mid air as the words echoed between the two of you. “You’re jealous because I found love and-”

Quinn slammed the bottle on the wooden deck, the sharp sound making you flinch. “Don’t.” He snapped, his voice shaking with anger. “Don’t twist this into me being the bad guy for giving a shit about you.” 

“You don’t give a shit!” You shot back, standing up as your emotions boiled over. “You just can't stand the fact that i’m not following you around like a fucking puppy anymore!” Quinn stood too, his frame towering over you, but his expression wasn’t filled with intimidation. It was filled with raw, unfiltered pain. 

June 23rd, 2012

Dear diary, today was pretty good. In the morning, Jack and Luke jumped on my bed to wake me up which sucked, but when are they not annoying? Anyways, they dragged me down to the lake for a boat day. We went with their dad and their brother Quinn (my future husband). Jack and Luke were doing this wakeboard surfing thingy so I decided to stay close to Quinn. He’s just sooo perfect. His hair is amazing and he smells so good. I wanna be his girlfriend like literally so bad but I can’t tell if he likes me or not. He held my hand when we jumped in the water which was literally the best thing that has EVER happened to me. Anyways, that was the most important thing that happened today.

“What are you reading? You don’t read.” Jack’s piercing voice pulled Quinn straight from focus. He quickly turned around, shutting the book immediately.

“Nothing uh- just something for school.” He stammered out. Jack furrowed his brows, crossing his arms. 

“It’s summer.”

“Yeah, summer reading.” Only it wasn’t summer reading. It was your diary, something personal and private. Quinn was only reading it to find out where you hid the hockey puck you stole, but he stumbled upon a catalog of entries about himself. Do you expect a thirteen year old boy to not read it? 

“Okay well, dinner’s in five minutes.” Jack said before spinning on his heel to exit the room. You liked Quinn, like really liked him and now he knows it.

“You need to think about what you just said.” Quinn said, his voice low. “Think about that and then compare it to every time I talked you through your panic attacks, or every time I picked you up at three in the morning when we were sixteen because you were too drunk to drive home, or every time I offered you a place to stay when your parents were fighting. Then, you can tell me if you think I give a shit or not.” He stared you down, his eyes becoming tense as your bottom lip began to tremble. 

“I didn’t-”

Quinn huffed out his breath, interrupting your speech. “Do you know how hard it’s been to watch you? To see you become someone I don’t even recognize anymore?” His voice became stern, raising in volume. “You don’t smile the same way anymore. You don’t laugh like you used to!” Your breath hitched, the weight of his words suffocating. You looked down at the ring on your finger, the glittering diamond that once felt like a prize but now felt more like a shackle. “You think I don’t care?” His voice was quiet, but the pain in his voice was unmistakable. “I’ve always cared. A-And seeing you like this, wearing that ring, in this life that’s clearly eating you alive? It kills me.” 

You licked your bottom lip, tears spilling down your face as you looked up at him. You swallowed the lump in your throat, letting out a shaky breath as you gathered your thoughts.

“Hey, babe. You almost ready?” You heard Max’s voice shout from the living room as you finished putting your earrings on. 

“Yeah, just a second!” You yelled back, fluffing your freshly blown out hair in the mirror. You took a deep breath as you looked yourself up and down in the dark green bodycon dress that Quinn had gotten you for your 21st birthday. You’d never put it on, but you assumed it was fitting for a work Christmas party. Was it too much? You thought to yourself as you ran your hands down the sides, seeing that the length was about an inch above your fingertips. You decided it was fine and made your way out of the bedroom, purse in hand as you walked to the living room. Max sat on the couch in his tailored Prada suit, a bit pretentious to wear to a work party. His legs were spread wide as he had one hand on his phone, and the other on the back of the couch. He looked up from the screen to glance at you in your dress. You gave him a soft smile, your shoulders tensing up as he furrowed his eyebrows. 

“It’s a bit short, don’t you think?” He asked as he ran a hand through his blonde hair. You looked down at your dress, then back up at him. 

“W-Well, I was thinking that a little. Should I change?” Your voice was shaky, filled with nerves at Max’s disapproval. 

He shook his head, standing from the couch with his hands in his pockets as he made his way to the door. “No, no. We're already gonna be late with how long you took to get ready.”

There were little moments like that that clouded your mind as you stood in front of Quinn. Your breathing was shaky, your face now fully engulfed in hot tears as he stared into your eyes. “You don’t get it.” You let out, your voice just barely above a whisper. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to find stability. To feel…safe.” Your voice cracked on the last word, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself. 

“Safe?” Quinn repeated, his eyes locking with yours. “Is that what this is? Because it doesn’t look like it. You’re not safe. You’re trapped.” He gestured to the ring on your finger, his voice lowering at the depressed sight of you. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. You stared at him, your chest tightening as his words dug into the thoughts you’d been trying so hard to suppress. Quinn softened, stepping closer. “You deserve more than this.” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “And I think, deep down you know that.”

You bit your lip, sniffling your nose before wiping your tears with your sleeve. “I’m in too deep. I can’t get out.” You whispered, finally bringing yourself to the point to admit it. You weren’t happy, you knew that, but you couldn’t tell anyone. Well, you thought you couldn’t until Quinn finally pushed you to the point where there wasn’t another option. 

Quinn let out a sigh mixed with exhaustion and a hint of relief. He sent you an empathetic smile as he absentmindedly grabbed your hand, rubbing his thumb against the back of it. “You can.” He said, his voice quiet. “You’re not alone. I’m here…if you need help. I’m always gonna be here.” Your breath caught in your throat as Quinn’s hand enveloped yours, his warmth cutting through the icy wall you’d built around yourself. His touch was steady, grounding, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a flicker of hope. His words echoed in your head, soft and firm. You stared down at his hand, the calluses on his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as his thumb moved in slow, soothing circles. It felt so familiar, so safe, and the contrast to Max’s cold indifference hit you like a wave. You couldn’t help but let all the emotions running like a swarm through your head push you to the point of breakage. You began to sob, your eyes still looking at your hands intertwined as your breath came out in short, stammered increments. Quinn didn’t waste any time before pulling you into his chest, allowing your sobs to escape into his shirt as he wrapped his arms around your body. He held you tightly, his arms wrapping around you like a shield against everything that had been weighing you down. His chin rested on top of your head as your tears soaked into his shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, grounding you in a way you hadn’t felt in ages. 

“It’s okay,” He murmured softly into your hair. “I’ve got you.” You clung to him, your fists gripping the fabric of his shirt as if letting go would mean losing the only thing tethering you to solid ground. 

The room began to shrink in an instant, reading the text from your mother. “It’s final. Dad and I are separating. You and I are moving to Gran and Pop’s when you get back from the lake house, so I need you to pack up everything.” 

The tears came almost immediately, but that didn’t scare you. It was the feeling you got in your chest, like your heart was radiating pulses all over your body. Pounding over and over again, like the beating was the only thing you could hear. The sound of Quinn shooting pucks only made it worse, like each shot was another banging ache to your head. You tried to slow your breathing, but it felt like the most difficult challenge at that moment. Your breaths were short and hitched, gasping for air at any chance you got. Your hands shook as your phone fell out of them. You were terrified, you didn’t know what was happening. You couldn’t die, you were only sixteen. You still had so much to do in life. You tilted your head up, staring at the ceiling light, but that only made it worse. Quinn noticed when you didn’t say anything about the shot he’d just missed, immediately dropping his stick to run over to you.

“Hey, Hey. What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He said frantically as he leaned down to where you were sitting on the floor. You tried to tell him, tried to speak, but your head was stuck looking up, and you felt like you couldn’t move it. Quinn placed his hand on the back of your neck, pulling your head down to face him. Your face was covered in tears, completely red as your mouth parted slightly. “Talk to me.” He said gently. “Please?”

You licked your quivering lips, trying your hardest to breathe. “I-I…I c-can’t. I can’t b-breathe.” His heart dropped at your words, the panic in your voice cutting through him like a knife. His hands moved to gently cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears even as more fell. 

“Okay, okay,” He said softly, his own voice trembling but steadying for your sake. “You’re having a panic attack. You’re not dying, I promise.” You gasped again, your breaths shallow and uneven, your chest tightening with each attempt. “Look at me.” He instructed. “Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” He blew out softly, his eyes locked on yours as he repeated the motion.

You tried to mimic him, but your breath was quickly caught in your throat, sending you a fresh wave of panic. “I c-can’t Quinn, I can’t!” You cried.

“Yes, you can.” He reassured, his hands never leaving your face. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. Just take it slow.” You managed a small, shaky inhale, your body trembling as you followed his lead. “There you go.” He said, his voice laced with a small flicker of relief. “Now, out through your mouth.” Quinn stayed with you, guiding you through each breath as the pounding of the room began to dull. Finally, your breaths came easier, the crushing weight on your chest lifting little by little. You looked at Quinn, your face still wet with tears.

“Thank you.” You whispered, your voice hoarse.

His thumbs still traced circles on your cheeks as he sent you a soft smile. “I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”

You stayed, sobbing into Quinn’s shirt as his grip around you tightened. He listened to your breathing patterns, looking out for a sign of a panic attack. He’d memorized you at this point. He knew the exact time to jump in, and he knew how to calm you down. 

“Quinn, I’m so scared.” You cried out, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer. 

Quinn moved his hand from your back to your head, running his fingers through your hair. “I know.” He whispered. “I’m sorry.” He leaned back just enough to gently tilt your chin up with his fingers, his blue eyes meeting yours. They were soft, but filled with an intensity that made your heart ache. “You thought you had to want this.” He said, speaking the words you never had the confidence to say. “Doesn’t mean it’s right. It doesn’t mean it’s what you deserve.” You looked up at him, not seeing Quinn Hughes, captain of the Canucks, but your childhood best friend, Quinny, who talked you through every panic attack, walked you home from every party, and gave you a bed through every fight between your parents. That’s what you deserved. Someone willing to give you that much dedication, not some pretentious lawyer who only loves you for your accomplishments. In a moment of determination, after wiping your tears, you dramatically pulled off your engagement ring, slamming it on the railing of the deck. The sound of the ring hitting the wooden railing echoed in the stillness of the night, sharp and final. Quinn’s eyes darted to it, then back to you, his lips parting in surprise. You stood there trembling, not from fear but from the sheer weight of the decision you’d just made. Your chest heaved as the tears continued to fall. This time they weren’t from sadness, they were from release. Quinn hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer, his hand hovering over yours as if to silently ask for permission. When you didn’t pull away, he took your trembling hand in his, holding it like it was the most fragile thing in the world.

“You-” He started, his voice breaking slightly before he cleared his throat. “You did it.”

“I did it.” You whispered, almost in disbelief yourself. You stared at the ring, gleaming under the soft glow of the porch light. It had once symbolized everything you wanted, but now it felt like a chain you’d finally broken free from. 

[venus-haze]

You're My Best Friend (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Homelander was a test tube baby, raised in isolation in a cold, clinical lab. But that doesn’t inspire America, does it? Vought tasks you with creating the idyllic backstory for its hero, and what starts as a limited comic run spirals out of control when Homelander himself demands your help in making the story a reality.

Note: Gender neutral reader, but no other descriptors are used. Based on a request by @crash-and-cure as well as a bastardization of one of the sweetest love songs ever written (sorry, John Deacon!) This got kinda meta? Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, I guess some gaslighting on Homelander’s part? Do not interact if you’re under 18.

When Vought hired you to create their long-awaited Homelander origin comic series, you were thrilled—until they gave you so little information about his childhood to work with, you weren’t even sure you could come up with one comic, let alone the ten they requested. The details about his childhood were minimal, not even a full printed page—a loving mom and dad, played baseball, did well in school, strong sense of justice from a young age, his friends called him “Johnny.” Your requests to meet with Homelander so you could get some stories from the man himself were constantly denied.

You almost considered dropping the project, until you decided to throw caution to the wind and pull from your own childhood and set it in good ol’ generic suburbia. Some of the storylines were based on your own experiences or things that had happened to people you’d grown up with, though you changed enough names and details to not link it to anyone in particular. Except yourself, of course. Using a pseudonym professionally meant you felt no need to change your own name in the comics. Sure, making your cooler fictionalized self Homelander’s childhood best friend was a bit self-indulgent, but no one would know, really.

To your relief, the editors at Vought loved your ideas, making minor changes before bringing the storylines to their comic artists to bring it to life. The result was Finding Homelander: A Boy’s Journey To Be a Hero. The issues flew off shelves when they were first released, ironically praised for their relatability and authenticity. Vought extended your contract, asking you to produce the cartoon adaptation and another ten issues.

Still, in all of that, you’d never met Homelander. A representative from Vought emailed you to let you know to tune in to his interview on a talk show one day, saying that he’d be talking more about the cartoon project on it. You recognized the host, Tracey, always chipper and having some extravagant giveaway for her audience members. Daytime TV was never your thing, though.

“I think what resonates with so many people is how relatable your childhood is,” Tracey said, holding up a copy of Finding Homelander issue #3, where he saved ‘you’ from getting hit in the face with a baseball at one of his games, catching it with ease. It’d been the happy ending to a short storyline of him struggling to find his place on the team and you encouraging him to not give up. “You and Y/N were pretty close, do you still keep in touch?”

“You know, Tracey, not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Adulthood can be so busy, you need to cherish those childhood memories,” Homelander said. “I did give them a call when the comics first came out, and wow, the laughs we had over those old antics of ours. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”

You guessed the bullshitting was all part of the promotional circuit for Homelander. Knowing this childhood of his was your own fabrication, you couldn’t help but wonder what else about him was fake. Maybe he wanted to maintain his privacy, you could certainly understand that. You couldn’t shake the voice in the back of your mind that said it wasn’t so simple, that the narrative Vought pushed was a cover to hide something in Homelander’s past.

“Now, I’ve heard rumors of a cartoon show based on the comics in the making, is this true?”

“It is! I’m excited for this project, getting back to my ‘roots’ so to speak. I’ll be voicing myself, of course, but it’s funny you’d bring up Y/N, because they’ve agreed to voice themself, too.”

“How fun!” Tracey exclaimed over the roar of the talk show crowd’s applause and cheers. “I guess this is the hopeless romantic in me, but I hope this reconnection leads to something a little more. I’m just a sucker for childhood sweethearts!” 

Homelander laughed along with the host’s giggles, “Well, you never know.”

You balked at the television, mouth agape. Surely he couldn’t be talking about you. ‘Y/N’ could be anyone with your same features. Vought had probably hired a professional voice actor for the role and were pushing the authenticity angle. The whole situation felt odd. 

When you checked your work email again on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor. 

SUBJECT: Meeting with Homelander This Week

The email contained a list of days and times throughout the week wherein Homelander would be free, apparently wanting to meet you to thank you for the success of the comic series and discuss upcoming work. Yeah. That last part you sure as hell wanted to discuss too. You responded with the soonest time available, in a meeting room in Vought Tower the following evening. As soon as you hit ‘send’, you wondered what exactly you were getting yourself into.

Anticipation filled your gut as you went about your day leading up to meeting the supe himself. What would he be like, really be like? Was there even a version of Homelander that wasn’t hopelessly manufactured for the masses? You knew then that his upbringing was a lie, and thus stood the probability that so much else was, too. 

When you stepped into that meeting room, you hadn’t been expecting his face to light up at the sight of you. 

“Homelander, hi, it’s great to—“

“No need to be so formal, Y/N! You can call me Johnny, just like old times,” he said cheerfully, in on a joke you clearly hadn’t been aware of.

“Sorry, Johnny,” you said, playing along. “It’s great to see you again.”

He pulled you in for an unexpected hug that you returned. “Figured we should catch up before things really start getting crazy, don’t you think?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against him as you did so. Just as your lips parted to offer an apology, he smiled, shooing away the assistant who’d accompanied him out of the room. 

He sat down, motioning for you to do the same.

“Gotta say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s going on, though.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m not allowed to know more about my best friend, our lives together growing up?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, but considering everyone else around here has their head up their asses, they have no idea,” he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially and giving you a charming smile. “I haven’t told anyone. What’s a secret between friends?”

You nodded, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention on you. “What do you want to know?”

He sighed, resting his head on his hand. “Everything.”

So you told him. Not quite everything, of course, but enough to abate his curiosity. At least for the time being. His interviews were sharper, more specific with details rather than rattling off whatever had been in the comics. You watched in shock as convincing photos of his Little League days were posted to his social media accounts, anecdotes provided by his increasingly frequent conversations–or more like interrogation sessions–with you, but in his style, of course. It was almost scary what the graphic design team at Vought could accomplish, not that you’d ever know how, exactly, as they were all under the same strict NDA that you were.

He started spending more time with you, too, and after a while, it did seem like you were old friends. Part of you flinched whenever you called him Johnny, because Johnny wasn’t even real, but with your complacency, this fabrication was slowly morphing into a strikingly tangible memory. With each conversation, he drew you deeper into the world you’d been paid to create for him until you found yourself slipping up.

You’d been showing him a goofy stuffed monkey on your desk, a cute little thing with big sparkling eyes. A prize for getting two out of three at the ring toss. Probably spent more money winning it than it was actually worth, but it was about the effort, the memories made.

“You remember, don’t you? You won it for me at the county fair,” you said without thinking.

He laughed in agreement, as if he actually had. Except he hadn’t. Your high school boyfriend won it for you a week before graduation. Sensing the mood shift, he set down your prize and looked at you with the same intensity he had when you first met.

“It’s been a while since we were there, huh?” he said. “Why don’t we go back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Go where?”

“Home.”

With a strong arm around your waist, he took off for your hometown. You could hardly tell which way was up or down, he was flying so high, but he didn’t seem to mind the way you clung to him at all. When he finally landed, you recognized the community baseball field where all of his fictional games were set. 

“Geez, it’s like nothing’s changed,” he said cheerfully.

You looked at him in disbelief. How long was he going to expect you to go along with it? Or maybe the question you should have been asking was, how long were you going to enable him? The end wasn’t anywhere in sight as he took your hand, and you walked him through your childhood, further enmeshing him in it until you arrived at the house you grew up in. 

The middle of the day, no one was home, and so you let yourselves in like you owned the place. Suddenly, the house seemed too small for a man like Homelander to occupy, but he was engrossed in the details of it. He scanned the kitchen, no doubt inspecting the contents of the fridge and cabinets with his x-ray vision. Moving onto the living room, he stared at photos on the wall, the magazines and DVDs that were strewn on the coffee table, giving away your parents’ taste in entertainment.

“Which one was your room again?” he asked.

You swore you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as you wordlessly led him to your room. Each step down the hall felt dangerous, as if you were about to walk into a trap. Face-to-face with the closed door, you opened it, standing aside while Homelander looked around, from what you had hanging on the walls to the knick-knacks you’d left behind.

An uncomfortable tension settled over the room when Homelander closed the door of your childhood bedroom. An odd blend of hurt and amusement spread across his face as he observed the way you were eyeing him, body ready to fruitlessly run from him the way a rabbit would a hawk.

“C’mon, after how long we’ve been friends, I would never hurt you,” he said, as if reading your mind. “We’ve been through so much together. I mean, we were each other’s first kiss.”

You froze. Issue #9. That was something Vought’s editors had added, claiming a romance angle would make the series appeal to the younger female demographic. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

He slyly backed you into the wall, leaning over you as you slinked down the slightest bit.

“Show me how we did it,” he whispered, his hand caressing your cheek. “So clumsy and nervous, I can even feel you…quivering.”

“Homelander, I don’t know what you’re—“

He tsked. “Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Johnny—“

He hummed in satisfaction. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a while.”

You let him kiss you, sweetly in a way that put your actual first kiss to shame. His lips were soft against yours, his tender movements intentional as he cradled your face, pulling you the slightest bit closer to him when you kissed him back. 

A sense of familiarity settled over you, warm and comforting like pulling a blanket out of the dryer on a chilly evening. Every time it seemed like you were beginning to overthink the situation with Homelander, he drew you back in with the kiss, a more than effective distraction until you pulled away with a dazed smile on your face.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You've had a crush on your best friend for years, but you're slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: nice to see ya again!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Thor makes himself as permanent as the layers of sediment. Whether you’re in the dirt or looking over the charts and maps, making notes or sorting through your findings, he appears. Knowing he’ll be there keeps you coming yourself. Despite the short nights and long drives, thinking of him finding an empty site deters you from a day off, even against Sam’s pleas. 

The night before was filled with similar chiding from your friend. Sam is as persistent as ever. He always has a new account of his antics with Bucky and never forgets to tell you to take a break. You can’t stop though. You know if you do, you’ll have to think about everything you’re denying. 

The time away has given you time to breathe but it’s suffocated you in new ways. Along with that weight on your chest that has a name, there’s another you can’t quite understand. The one that sees you spending your spare hours alone and your working hours longing for anything but. You’re desperate to get out but terrified of the very same. 

When he arrives that day, you’re ready to give up. The tension in the air is giving you a headache and the dampness makes your skin feel sticky. You just feel gross. 

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d brave the weather today,” he muses as Thunder hops around his feet. You don’t look up, in a mood as grim as the sky. “You’d do well to stay in tomorrow. Trust me.” 

He’s always right about the weather. It must be the familiarity and yet it’s almost eerie how accurate he is. You might take his advice. You don’t like being wet and you’re starting to go cross-eyed from the hours and hours of concentration. 

Thunder yipes as you use your gloves to brush away clumps of dirt. Thor’s footsteps mulch patches of grass that sparsely carpet the dirt. He hums as his shadows looms in your peripheral. 

“Yes, my darling, I believe you’ve found the perfect spot,” he praises. 

You look over curiously. What is he talking about? You only notice then that he has more than the tiny dog with him. He has a basket on his elbow and a blanket under his arm. You sit up and watch him place down the former and shake out the latter.  

He spreads the blanket over the dirt and Thunder jumps onto it, rolling around on the fabric, digging her nose into the patched quilt as she wiggles across it. You clap off your hands and watch him as he gets down to his knees and flips open one side of the basket. He lays out several containers and two thermos’; one is the very same he brought you tea in.  

“I thought you could use a nice lunch before the weather turns,” he stands and nears the fence, “summer doesn’t last long here. You may as well enjoy it.” 

“Lunch?” You utter. 

“Brunch?” He suggest coyly. “Surely you can take a break. You are only human, you need to eat.” 

“You...” you lean to see around him, “you brought me lunch?” 

“I know it isn’t the most elaborate picnic but I thought it might be a pleasant surprise. I must confess I’ve been rather bored these days,” he admits, “so?” 

“Thor, that’s so... sweet,” you frown, “but...” 

“Work, work, work. Surely they can’t expect you to work yourself to the bone, pardon the pun,” he insists, “it will only be a bit.” 

“Yes, but...” you leave the sentence to hang. You don’t have a good excuse. You don’t know. It just makes you nervous. It’s a whole lot of effort for just you.  

“Oh, I don’t mind if you would rather stay over there. Only mean more for, eh, Thunder?” He asks the canine tramping around the blanket. “More than happy to sit here and enjoy my jelly cookies and hot coffee. 

“Coffee?” Your brows raise. 

“Freshly brewed. Promise, There’s nothing pickled. Though I don’t mind a nice herring,” he grins. 

Thunder bounces over and barks at you. She stands on her hind legs as she paws at the barrier between you. Now, how can you deny her? 

You stand and shed your gloves. You carry them over to the table beneath the tent and grab a wet wipe from the back. You come back under the open sky as you wipe your hands. 

“Sorry about all the dirt,” you scoff as you cross the dirt. 

“I don’t mind,” he assures you. He pulls apart the panels of the fence to let you through. It isn’t something you could ever forget but you can’t help but be stricken again by his sheer size. 

You bend to pet Thunder as she gets between your feet. She licks your fingers and you giggle. She’s cute. 

“Go on, pick her up,” Thor goads, “she loves it.” 

You scoop up the dog and stand. She squirms as she wags her tail incessantly. She swipes your chin with her tongue and you scrunch up your face. You carry her to the blanket and look over the spread. A leafy salad, pasta salad, sandwiches, cookies... There’s so much. Your protein bars and peanut butter and jelly can’t compare. 

“Oh gosh, this... a lot.” 

“Is it? Isn’t too much. We’re friends, yes?” 

“Friends?” You face him as you pet Thunder’s soft head. 

“Perhaps it is rather one-sided. You are obligated to be here, I just sort of haunt this place,” he chuckles. 

“No, no, friends,” you smile, “that sounds about right.” 

You turn away and lower yourself onto the blanket, sure to keep your boots off of it, as you hide your face. There’s a tinge of disappointment. You hear a far off echo in your head. How many times did Steve say the same; we’re friends, just friends, you’re such a good friend. Well, that’s all this is. No need to be so sensitive. 

“Do you ever take time off?” He asks as he gets to his knees. 

You look at him as you put Thunder down. He barely keeps her from chomping down on a rye crust. He lifts her easily and she kicks her legs. 

“Eh, you beast,” he points a finger at her snout, “be good.” 

He sets her back on her paws and she obeys. He tells her to sit and she does so. Her eyes continue to hungrily rove over the food. How can he resist them? 

“Like you said, the weather won’t last. Should get done what I can before the ground gets cold.” 

“Ah, yes, that is a concern,” he tuts, “how would you deal with that?” 

“Heat lamps, tiger torch... jackhammer if I really need but I’d have to put in a request for that...” you hadn’t thought too much into the inevitability of winter.  

“Ah, that’s...” he smirks, “I’m sorry but the idea of you with a jackhammer,” he snorts. 

“Hey,” you pout. 

“It isn’t to be mean but... you’re so gentle. When you dig, you’re so delicate about it.” 

“Am I?” You wonder. 

“Mm, is it a bit weird to say so?” He wonders aloud. “Yes, you are very precise, very cautious.” He takes out a set of plates and offers you one, “please, help yourself.” 

“It must be boring watching. Really, I’m the one digging and it gets dull,” you accept and pluck out one of the sandwiches. Salmon, you think. 

“You make it interesting,” he muses. “You talk to the bones.” 

“I talk to the bones?” You repeat, “what?” 

“Yes, I suppose you’re not aware of it. But your lips move when you’re focused. As if you’re chatting up the dirt,” he chuckles, “sometimes a few words do slip out.” 

“They do?” You blanch before you can help yourself to the salad. 

“You don’t say much. Usually something about the dishes, I’m not too sure.” 

“You never mentioned,” you look away shyly. 

“It’s... cute,” he shrugs. 

“You mean crazy,” you shake your head. 

“I say what I mean,” he counters. “No use in not. We can’t be happy if we’re not honest, not least of all with ourselves.” 

You’re quiet as you turn your attention to your plate. His words feel sharp despite his placid tone. You know it’s only because they’re true, especially for you. If you’d just accepted everything sooner, if you hadn’t been so dumb, if you hadn’t been so emotional, it would never have gotten so bad. No, if you’d just been honest. 

“I hope... I hope that didn’t come off wrong,” he says. 

“No, no, I’m... this all looks so good and I’m starving,” you assure him as you sit back with your plate. “Thank you again. This is... great.” 

“Well, I was thinking, you must miss your friends. I might be a paltry substitute but I thought i might fill that gap, even just for an hour.” 

“It’s really...” your eyes tingle but you push away the tinge of sadness, “it’s really nice.” 

“So tell me,” he scoops up salad onto his plate, “tell me about home.” 

“I...” you begin, surprised by the prompt. “It’s just home. New York. It’s busy and loud. Not like here.” 

“No, not that. Your friends. I want to know all about them. If I’m ever going to come up standards, I’ve got to know the competition.” 

You laugh. He speaks as if he needs to impress you. It’s nice to be somewhere where no one knows you’re not that special. You take a bite of the sandwich and chew, thinking out your question.  

You swallow, “well, my friend Sam, he calls every night to bitch at me. He’s great. Supportive but pushy. He likes to terrorise Bucky. He’s the strong and silent type, you know? Grumpy to boot but they’re... they’re awesome.” You smile without thinking, “before I left, they took me to this cocktail bar...” you blow out between your lips and roll your eyes, “real girly stuff.” 

“Ooh, cocktails. I’ve been known to indulge. I love finding new recipes.” 

“Really?” 

“Oh, yes, I love the sweet ones. I’ve only just perfected my blueberry basil concoction. I’m afraid I can’t share the secret ingredient unfortunately.” 

“Blueberry?” You ponder the flavour, “sounds yummy.” 

“Perhaps one day you can try it,” he suggest. 

“Maybe,” you say evasively. “Anyway, yeah, Sam and Bucky are... characters.” 

“They sound like it. How’d you meet?” 

“Oh, it’s boring. What about you?” 

“It’s not my turn,” he deflects, “tell me.” 

You don’t know why he cares. It’s as confounding as everything else about him. You still don’t get why he’s here watching you sit in the dirt. It sounds as grueling as watching a golfing tournament, in your opinion. Yet here he is, a man who looks like that, staring at you in your mud-stained khakis. 

“College. We met through a mutual friend,” you explain vaguely. 

“Ah, so you’ve been friends for some time. Yes, I see, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” he hums thoughtfully as he toys with the braid that hangs loose by his face, the rest of his hair twisted back as always. 

“Steve,” you say without thinking, your eyes drifting off into the distance, “he was my best friend. We met in art history. We spent almost every day together. Studying, whatever. He was more of a partier than me but... fifteen years, more than, and we saw each other...” You choke on your words and scoff darkly, “sorry, that’s... I’m homesick, I think.” 

You bat away the glaze in your eyes and focus on your food. You take a few bites as he sits quietly. Thunder stands up cautiously and crosses the blanket. She settles against your leg, leaning her head on your thigh. It’s comforting. 

“Yes, I think I would be very homesick as well. I lived in the city for a while but mother and father, they need me. And I love this mountain. It’s home. There was nothing in Oslo for me. I can work from here.” 

“Work? What exactly do you do?” You ask, happy to divert from your own painful past. “Oo, are you like a farmer? Or a shepherd. There must be sheep up here or something.” 

He laughs, “there are some sheep, yes, but those are protected by the government. We’ve not much of a choice where they settle. No, I’m not so savvy as all that.” 

“Hm, you... oh, what could do you here?” You look around, “on a mountain... oh, tours? Do you give tours?” 

He laughs, “it’s not a bad idea, but no. I’m a business owner.” 

“A business. You must sell fitness or something.” 

“Must I?” He narrows his eyes, “and what else do you assume about me?” 

“Oh, it’s only you’re so...” you cringe as you eke out the word, “big?” 

“Genetics,” he affirms, “not that but close, in a matter of looking at it. You recall that tea I brought you, with the cloudberry?” 

“Uh, yeah, it was sweet. Yummy.” 

“I’m happy you enjoyed it,” he smiles proudly, “I make superblends. All Nordic ingredients. There is a demand for wellness and organic products. I found the right niche and I’ve not done too badly.” 

“Must not if you can live all the way up here,” you remark. 

“Yes, but... it’s a reason I moved back. Business is a lonely venture. Now I’ve got it all figured out, I have my managers and my business plan, I break even, I realise how much I put to the side,” he mulls his sandwich and takes a glum bite. It’s the first time you’ve seen him anything but bright and beaming, “I feel like I’ve fallen behind. Like I’m playing catch up.” 

His words sink in and storm inside of you. You crunch on the crisp lettuce and gulp. You wipe your mouth with a napkin and clear your throat. 

“I know exactly what you mean,” you say breathily. 

“Do you? You’re out here, on an adventure all you’re own, how brave,” his voice is wistful and his gray blue eyes reminds you of the clouds above. 

“Yes, I know,” you say, “better than you. Trust me.” 

You smile, a bittersweet tug in your cheeks, and he stares back at you. Your eyes cling to each other and you feel as if the world is moving around you. He smiles and a glimmer of something unfurls in your chest. You make yourself look away. 

“Well,” you push the salad around your plate, “what about you? You must have friends, aside from the girl in the dirt.” 

He hums and scrapes up a bite of the pasta salad. He takes his time chewing before he answers. You scratch Thunder’s nose as she sniffs at your plate. 

“Yes, if you ever come to sample my cocktails, you might meet a few,” he coaxes, “I think you’d get along. Hogan and Vol, and Fandy. All good company. Sif’s not around so often when my brother’s around but he’s as fleeting as the sun.” He tuts, “I would call Loki a friend as well but he does scowl at the very thought.” 

“Loki?” 

“My brother of course,” he explains with , “yes, he is quite the dour one. He might get along with that Bucky.”