#v: under an ancient sun

[florbelles]

UNDER AN ANCIENT SUN. the elder scrolls v.

[plutoswritingplanet]

In My Back (Remmick x Female! Reader)

a/n: sooo uuuh... basically yeah... never in my life had i been on such a long writer's kick. idk what they put in this irish freak but im eating it up (this is a long one, like 11k words i think). Cross Posted on AO3

Warnings: Canon Violence, Carpet Munching like crazy, P in V, just... Smut y'know, Some Plot, Manipulation, General Vampire Shenanigans

Summary: Three times he comes in the night, with offers a plenty on his fingertips. The third night, he leaves you with a gift. A Devil's kiss and a taste for freedom.

MASTERLIST

"And then, when you least expect it..." your cousin's voice dips down into a menacing tone, that only serves to push a giggle out of your chest "They sink their teeth, and suck the blood straight outta your bones"

She snaps her mouth at you, teeth clinking together, and you push her away, laughing at the story. She laughs as well, dodging skillfully, as you swipe a wet rag at her. 

"Stupid" you huff, trying to act exasperated with her antics, and failing miserably, as always. "I told you not to bother me with those silly stories."

She shrugs at that, twirls around the kitchen, like a fine lady in a coarse dress, her bare feet sliding over the linoleum tiles. You watch, as she dances out of the kitchen, grabbing a muffin from the table. You almost scold her, but decide to let it go, as you usually do. It's hard to be mad at her, damn near impossible to be honest. She always had a way of melting coldness around her. 

With a small sigh, you go back to cleaning, wiping the counter and the windows, your mind wandering to your cousin's stories. It's always ghosts and goblins with her. Some new, terrifying thing, that would surely snuff sleep off your eyelids, if your feet weren't planted firmly on the ground. That's how it's always been, since the moment you both learned to crawl. She was the flying one, the one with her head in the clouds, too preoccupied with counting the stars to look down.

And you were the complete opposite. Grass at your feet, a clear road ahead of you. No wondering, no straying. 

Sometimes you envied her lightness, sometimes you remembered, it was a burden. Especially for a woman on this earth. Despite that, she never lost herself. Despite hardship after hardship, she remained strong in her openness, in her will to think beyond, what the world offered her. How she did that, after living the past she's had, was beyond you.

God must be a cruel, cruel man, you think. For condemning the most unequipped for the biggest disappointments. 

Still, you made sure, your cousin would never have to face her life alone. Not while you're still standing, unmoving, like an ancient pine tree. You would always give her shade, always protect her from the rain, pull her down if need be.  

The sun starts to set over the horizon, the last rays of light flickering behind the woods. Your house was small, and well hidden, despite its proximity to the town. Your parents knew what they were doing, choosing this place to settle down, and you couldn't be more grateful. Before your cousin begged for shelter, you lived here alone, picking up both your parents' professions. And so, along with baking and feeding the entire area, you also became mean with any car troubles. A woman's and a man's job, both of them dancing under the sweat of your brow. 

Your cousin begged you to leave that "dirty work". To focus on opening a legitimate business, a bakery at the marketplace. She cussed, cleaning out grease stains from your skirts, and you didn't have the strength, nor patience to explain to her, how you're only able to afford the soap in her hand, because the "dirty work" payed better, than any baking. 

And so, when she stops you at the door, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her nose scrunched. She's looking you over, taking in the rough gloves and the utility belt, contrasting almost comically with the flowy material of your dress. 

"Don't start" you point at her with your wrench, and she raises her hands in a mockery of surrender.

Her mouth twists in a way, that betrays her inner thoughts, betrays her need to say more. But, to your general surprise, she swallows, shaking her head. Then, her eyes find yours, and you feel the tangible warmth of comfort, at the slight, teasing pull of her mouth.

"Don't let any monsters in" she chirps behind you, as you open the door, and start walking towards your late Daddy's workshop. 

All you can do is laugh. A rough sound, deep and dark like freshly brewed coffee. A mourning dove, and a wise owl, that's what you two were. 

Lamps guide your steps through the darkness, as you make your way towards the workshop. It's a spacious raggedy shack, your father built himself, every nook and cranny marked by his strength. You feel as if you're stepping into a church, every time you slide the barn doors open. 

It takes you a moment to light the place up, as you skip around a beaten down Buick, your feet padding softly over the recently swiped floors. The silence of the night calms you down, adds a layer of something almost sacred to your work. Night birds call out in the woods, crickets chirp in the grass, and you inhale the crisp air with your whole lungs, until they hurt. Until you feel the wind in the essence of your being. As soon as the workshop is ready, you find the ghost of your father inside every clink of metal, every grease stain. 

That's why you do, what you do. That's why you hide the woman in your pocket, tug your skirts up, tie them to your belt, throw your hair out of your face. Your father's hands guide you, years spent looking over his shoulder marr your movements. It's not work anymore. It's a ceremony, a communion. 

The Mississippi heat covers you with sweat, salty drops mixing with grease and motor oil, staining your skin. And as you wipe your face with a coarse rag, you entertain the thought, that this, here, is freedom. Your own, personal brand of freedom. Or at least some ghost of it. 

That's how he first finds you. 

Skin glistening under the warm lights, making you shine in his eyes. Your breasts exposed to a scandalous degree, your skirt hiked up so high, he sees the small stretch lines on your thighs. The sight makes his mouth water, literally. Such a wild thing, the sickly sweet scent of gasoline clinging to you, as you stretch on the little stool. A groan pushes past your lips, and he has to grip the doorway with his claws, to stop himself from pouncing. Even if he can't really do it, while you're in the safety of your workshop, he feels as if he'd be able to tear down any rules of ancient times, just to taste the nectar of your blood. 

Then you start humming. Some unknown tune from far away, long ago. Your voice dripping like molasses, filling his ears with something, he was sure damnation took away. You move around the workshop, tidying up after yourself, legs strong like an ancient tree. A tantalizing image of skin, muscle and a jiggly layer of fat, that makes him want to sink his teeth in, over and over again. 

Such temptation could not be ignored. Shouldn't be. It begged him to indulge, and who is he to deny the sweet embrace of sin? 

"A woman with a wrench is such an uncommon sight these days" he starts, and skillfully dodges the aforementioned wrench, as it flies towards his head. "Now hold on there, darlin'..."

You spin around like a storm cloud, heart jumping into your throat, at the unfamiliar, male voice. He stands in the shadows, just out of reach for the outside lamp, leaning on the workshop's door frame. His face is barely visible, but you notice the paleness of his wrists, peaking at you from his front pockets. A sillhouette of a banjo on his back, tied with a frayed string, that's digging into his chest.

The world becomes quiet around you. Not a night bird, not a cricket. Just you, and him, and the increasingly fast beating of your heart.

"Who are you?" you demand, and the suspicion in your voice lets him know, he'll have to work for it "What are you doing here?"

Raising his hands in a mockery of a friendly gesture, he takes a slow step backwards, offering space. Your shoulders don't relax, hand creeping towards the folds of your skirt, where you hide a kitchen knife. One, you've never had to use, but God help you, you will. 

"Apologies, darlin'. I didn't mean to startle you" he says, keeping his tone light, as if he's just an old friend, paying you a visit "I was walkin' down to the town, but I must've lost my way."

"Yeah, you must've." you eye him cautiously, the tartness of your voice making the corners of his mouth curl. 

"Best get back on the road then."

He laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, as he swipes a look around the workplace. 

"I saw the lights, figured there might be some good folks up in 'ere" he comes even closer to the door, lingering just outside, his well worn out boots kicking at the pebbles. 

He makes a pitiful expression, as he looks up at you through his eyebrows, and for the first time, you can take a good look at his eyes. Blue, you think. But at the same time, strangely dark. It makes your eyebrows furrow, because despite your weariness, you can most certainly say, this stranger is a handsome one. With nicely toned arms, broad shoulders, and features that look warm in their softness, as well as dangerously sharp. 

You don't like it. This strange impasse, that's seized your muscles. Like a deer stuck in the crosshair of a predator, it makes your skin crawl, and your insides tighten. 

"No good folks here, just me." your voice is like a bell in his ears, slightly out of breath from all the work, and so, so dark. 

The stranger laughs, and the sound sends an onslaught of shivers up your spine. Your fingers twitch nervously.

"See now, I find that hard to believe" the lightness in his tone starts to get to you, slithering under your skin like a snake "Surely such a sweet darlin' has some good in 'er"

God dammit, the way his head tilts to the side, as if trying to coax this mystical goodness out of you, chips away at your defenses. Your brain wrestles with your natural, tart disposition, and the facts presented before you. Here he stands, a respectful distance away, his hands in view. You don't see any weapon on him, but you see the sweat clinging to his dark hair. You see the dirt on his clothes, under his fingernails, the labored breathing he tries to conceal. He seems harmless enough, but looks can be decieving, and you'll be damned if a soft smile and a twinkling eye will be your downfall.

"You a travelin' musician or somethin'?"

He laughs, in pure delight. As if the notion is something he'd never consider, but he loves it either way. His laugh makes your cheeks tingle with warmth, and you curse yourself for such a strong reaction. 

"Something like that..." he nods, eyes shining with mischief "I follow music 'ere I go."

With a defeated sigh, your shoulders slump, as you throw the dirty rag at the car.

"I'll get you some food and drink" you concede "Then, you can go on your merry way, yeah?"

"Yes Ma'am" he agrees immediately, his eyes following you, as you exit the workshop, sliding the door closed "D'you live here alone, darlin'?"

The question makes you remember the knife in your skirts, but you don't falter in your steps, as you make your way towards the front entrance to your house. It's not wise, running from a predator, if he indeed turns out to be one. 

"That's none of your business, is it?"

"Fair enough" he nods, walking behind you, teetering the line of being much too close for comfort "Though it's a curious thing, don't you agree? A woman of your young age, alone in the woods. No ring on your finger either..."

He knows you're not alone. He smelled the other woman, felt the lazy drag of blood through her veins a mile away. But you don't need to know that, nuh huh. 

Your right hand tightens into a fist on instinct, at his observation. Skipping the steps to the porch without an answer, you leave the door open for him. 

But he doesn't enter, stopping right at the entrance, his shoulder leaning on the painted door frame, mirroring his stance from before. You shoot him a questioning glance over your shoulder, and once again, he scratches the back of his neck with a sigh. Such a boyish, shy gesture. Or a camouflage. You're undecided yet. 

"Would be improper, to walk in without an invitation..." he explains, voice quiet, and almost timid. 

Something tugs at the back of your mind. The story your cousin told you just hours ago, rings out like a sermon between your ears, and gooseflesh erupts all across your arms. Stupid. Utterly stupid and impossible, and yet... Your shoulders jump up, and down, in a nonchalant shrug, before you disappear into the kitchen. No use pondering over demons. The night is scary enough without them, and strange men can be worse than all the ghouls combined. 

As soon, as you're out of sight, Remmick growls under his breath, finger scratching at the peeling paint on the entrance. He can smell you in the house, sweetness and musk, gasoline and cherry pie. Your heartbeat has calmed down significantly, but he knows, the cards he's been dealt are tricky to play. Good thing, he's a skilled gambler, and you've already extended a hand of hospitality. Already let him see a glimmer, of what's hidden under that hard shell. The sweetness of the fruit within, warmth like the sunlight he's been denied for so long. Your blood will be exquisite, he's sure of it. But before that...

There's a thrill like no other, when playing with one's food. 

"There you go" you announce, slipping out of the kitchen, your clothes in proper place this time, obscuring the sight of your bare skin from him "Water and food, for your journey"

His eyes trail over your body, before landing on the glass in your hand, along with a package, wrapped in cloth. Another smile graces his features, this time however, he looks less like a shy farm boy, and more like a pleased man. All skin, and bone, and muscle. The transformation is quite jarring, and you have to blink a couple of times, not allowing yourself to be distracted, by the gentle shadows of his eyelashes on his cheeks. 

"Thank you, lass" he answers, taking the water first, and downing it all in one go, causing a small laugh to rip through your lips, almost despite yourself.

 "Forgive me, seems I'm more parched than I thought" he inclines his head, and you hand him the package. 

This time, his fingers run the length of your palm, sweaty and rough, as they retrieve the offering, and your mind goes to some very unsightly places. His eyes trail up slowly to your face, and you swear, you can see his pupils shining, just for a split second. 

Danger. The word climbs up your spine, takes root in your mind, as his tongue slips out to wet his chapped lips. Pink, and soft. 

Don't let the monsters in, your cousin's voice follows you. But she didn't mention anything about letting the monster stay a while, right at the threshold. She didn't mention the shivers you feel, prickling at your skin under his inquisitive gaze. And she sure as shit didn't mention, how your breathing gets slower, deeper, when you recognize that traitorous need in the depths of his eyes. 

It's been a while, since you've had a man, but you still remember, what it looks like, when you're wanted. When there's hunger crackling like fireworks between two people. And the hunger this stranger exudes, is nearly overwhelming, suffocating in the best way possible. 

Time to end this, cut the weeds out, before they overpower all rational thought.

"You should get on your way" you say, and shiver at the way his eyes snap to your lips, drinking in their shape as you speak. 

"Just one more thing..." he murmurs, low in his throat, so quiet, yet so unbelievably loud in the oppressive silence of the night. 

This time you're the one wetting your lips, preparing yourself for something, although you're not sure for what. The air feels sticky, smooth like honey, passing between you and him. An intimate sort of exchange, that slowly, but surely, melts your insides. Makes you feel a bit lighter, as if your cousin's spirit has invaded your usual hardness. 

Is this how it feels to be her? And if so, when will the first crash of thunder bring you down? Just like it brought her to the ground, again and again.

The man's eyes move back to yours, capturing your gaze and holding it hostage. 

"A cigarette for the road?" his words are a whisper now, and you feel ashamed, at how long it takes you to register his words. 

When you finally do, a single arch of your eyebrow makes his lips pull into a lazy smile. One that has no right working on you as much as it does. Alas...

"I saw you smoking in the workshop" he explains.

"...Ah..."

Your hand slips into your skirts, fingers brushing over the knife handle, and you take out a half empty pack. You offer it to him, and he reaches for the cigarette, his fingers sinfully elegant, as he presses it against his mouth, licking lightly at the tobacco. Something tightens low inside you at the movement of his pink tongue. 

He's good. You'll give him that. 

"I shall be off, then" he takes a slow step backwards, keeping his eyes on you, like he tries to pin you in place. "G'night, darlin'"

As soon as his boots hit the soft ground in front of your porch, your senses come back to you like a flood, as if some ancient spell has been lifted off your shoulders, and you straighten out with a sharp breath. 

You don't know what compels you. What wild, unfamiliar force beckons you, but before you can stop yourself, you're calling out to him.

"Stranger!"

He twirls on his heel, like a dancer on a stage.

"What's your name?"

"Remmick" he answers, voice carrying through the night. 

Then, he jumps up, dances a little jig that pushes clouds of dust into the air, and you can't help yourself. You laugh. A clear, honest sound, that surprises you in it's lightness. 

Remmick bows, turns around, and walks into the shadows of the woods, leaving an indent in the shape of his curved smile in your brain. 

"Remmick..." you repeat under your breath, before shaking your head at your own antics, and closing the door of your home.

The moon laughs at you as well, her light slipping into your room through a half open window. It's not a merry laugh however. It's a mournful, hopeless one, to which you are none the wiser, falling into dream-filled sleep. And as soon, as your eyelids close, as soon as your consciousness slips, a shadow rises from the earth, hanging over you like an executor's axe. 

***

You awake in the early morning, sweat clinging to your feverish skin, your hand squeezed tightly between your thighs. You don't remember what dream has put you in this state of mess, but your limbs shake as you stand up, your heart beating right out of your chest. It's a little disappointing, really, you think to yourself, as you wash off the slick from your thighs, that you've become reduced to this so easily. Surely not because of last night's visit. You're stronger than this. Stronger than some wanton virgin, who's never felt a man before. 

And yet, as you skip into the kitchen, and prepare for the day, you can't seem to shake the image of him from your brain. Like a sickness immune to all ointments, Remmick lingers under your skin, slithering and burning. 

Your cousin joins you downstairs some time later, lured out of bed by the smell of freshly baked goods.

"Whooo! Baby!" she sighs, taking in the kitchen, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes "You gonna sell these?" 

The sluggishness with which you turn to her, makes you realize just how distracted you've truly been. Ridiculous. You're being ridiculous, and for what?

"Yeah" you nod, wiping flour off your hands into your apron "Gonna head to town in a bit. Sure you gonna be alright on your own?" 

Your cousin rolls her eyes, and steals an apple from the fruit basket. 

"I'm not a lil' kid no more" she tells you, like she's reminding you of homework, and it's your turn to roll your eyes at her. 

Ain't you?, you wanna say, but you bite your tongue in time. She doesn't deserve your crudeness. So you cross the kitchen and peck her cheek affectionately. As if to make up for the thoughts, that are left unsaid.

"I know, I know. And you know where the shotgun is, in case trouble comes a knockin', yeah?" she nods once, with a resolute expression.

You recognize the irony in your words. Last night you practically invited a strange man into your home, just 'cause he smiled nice. In your stubborn refusal to admit your own transgression, you tell yourself, you'd shoot his ass to high heaven's, if he tried anything. Even if the notion rings hollow in your own brain. 

"What's on your mind, cuz?" 

Her voice drags you back to reality with harshness, and you take a sharp breath through your teeth. One, she immediately notices, her eyebrows scrunching into a frown. 

"Nothin'." a weak lie, a pathetic one, really "Just... Ghost and Goblins"

Concern melts into a teasing smile, as your cousin starts packing up the still steaming bread. 

"Ah..." she laughs, bright and airy "Some stranger in the night sunk his teeth into you?" 

For a moment you watch her expression carefully, trying to decipher if she knows, if she heard. Even if she sleeps long and hard, like the dead. All you can see on her face, is a smile of someone proud of her stories taking root. Relief and guilt mix in your gut, and you have to look away, before you crack. 

It doesn't matter. Nothing happened, and you'll never meet the smiling stranger again, so why do you feel so... What is it exactly that you're feeling? Disappointed? No, disappointment is for people like your cousin. For people who hope, who fly. Then what is it, biting at the back of your spine like a bloodsucking flea?

"I'll be back from town before you know it" your voice is quiet, dismissive, but she doesn't seem to hold it against you.

"Have fun" she calls after you. Then, silently, she adds "God knows you need it."

The road to town goes by smoothly, your truck jumping and bumping over stray stones. The bustle of the market welcomes you like an old friend, and just for a moment, you allow yourself to miss it. The people, filtering through the streets, laughing, talking, keeping friendly despite the underlying tensions in the air.

Your father would take you here often, while he was alive. He'd stand under the very same sign, you're lifting over your truck now, letting people come to him with business. You'd listen, like a diligent little student, soaking in the wisdom of the trade, helping him run books, count the money, catch conversations.

They all knew you here. From the very moment you've been old enough to stand on your own, you were part of something bigger, than just your family. Always your parents daughter, but so much more at the same time. And now... Now you're a ghost of your own choosing. Respected, liked even, but always on the outside, no longer part of something, but a welcomed guest nonetheless. 

Bread goes out first, then sweet rolls and pies. You've been slaving away in the kitchen since the break of dawn, but as the sunset comes closer, you'd be damned it it wasn't worth it. Soon enough, your purse is filled, and you're packing your stand back into the truck, arms burning from work. 

Wiping the sweat off your face, your neck, you make your way across the street, to the supplies store, where, as soon as the bell above rings, you're greeted by the owner. A woman, who could've been your peer, could've been a friend, if you were someone different. If you were your cousin, or at least, not a ghost.

"Look what the wind blew in." she leans on the counter, hair slipping out from under the scarf on her head "Haven't seen you in a while."

"You know me, always busy..." your eyes already scan the products, landing heavily on the prices.

She doesn't know you, though. You've never given her an opportunity to know you, and perhaps, that's why you always choose this shop. Perhaps, that's the only time you allow yourself to hope. That maybe this time, you'll be different, this time you'll let yourself be open. That's the reason you know, disappointment is for the hopeful. 

"You got some flour for me?" 

The shopkeeper nods, crosses the floor and jabs her foot into a couple of bags by the window.

"Got some milk too" she says "Hell, even some sugar, if you wanna"

To that you shake your head.

"I've got some sugar left still. And I'll pick up some eggs on the way back, from Ol' Johnson's farm"

A beat of silence.

"Oh? You haven't heard then?"

"Heard what?" you don't sound too interested, already pulling out a bunch of dollars and sliding them on the counter. 

The shopkeeper walks over to you slowly, a solemn expression on her face, and that finally gives you a pause. The sun paints the inside of the shop a deep orange color, your neck tingling with heat and sweat, hair sticking to your skin. 

"Ol' Johnson's dead. God rest his soul" the shopkeeper says, swiping a sign of the Cross over her heart, and you repeat the action, like it's second nature. 

Coldness seeps through you, a strange sort of feeling, like there's something more hidden in the revelation. Some terrible truth just waiting to bury you. You swallow thickly, trying to ground yourself. 

"What happened?"

Another moment of tension filled silence passes, as the shopkeeper takes a deep breath, eyes scrunching in sorrow. 

"His wife came back from her family down South. People said she found him, dead and burning in the morning sun."

Cold turns to freezing in your bones, brain working overtime under your skull.

"They burned him?" you ask, mindful not to sound too curious, too insensitive.

"Sheriff said they killed him first, mangled the poor man beyond recognition."

"Jesus...." you sigh, trying, and failing to push away an image of the old man's face, scorched and bloody. "What about his widow?" 

"She's staying at the Motel until they burry him. I think she'll head back South after, there ain't nothin' keeping her here anymore."

You nod solemnly at her words. A quick thought passes through you, a worry, where you'll get your eggs now. But you scold yourself hard in your mind for such heartlessness. This is not the time, nor the place for wondering about trivial matters. Not when a man's life has been snuffed out, and so brutally at that. 

"The funeral's tomorrow, if you care" the shopkeeper's words snap you back from your cold thoughts, and you realize, that yes, you do care "We'll have a small thing for him at the Joint"

"Yeah..." you speak before you have the time to think on it "I'll be there."

She helps you load your groceries into your truck, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you, and once again, you wish things would've been different. Instead, you thank her with a dollar bill, and start the car on the road back to your home, where you're not alone, but solitude still awaits. 

By the time you arrive, it's dark outside, the porch light guiding your steps. The house is quiet, your cousin asleep in her room, buried under heavy covers. You linger in her doorway for a moment, mind lost deep in thought, as you watch her peaceful form. Something tugs on your heart. Some undeniable feeling of sorrow, dragging your heart down to the wooden floors. 

What you're mourning, you're not sure. But it brings a tear to your eye nonetheless, and your feet carry you outside, into the peaceful darkness, the crisp evening air. There, you can finally breathe, you can let the tears flow easily, without worrying about your sorrow staining the warmth inside. 

Hands clutching your head, your shoulders shake in silent sobs, the heaviness, and the cold of today reaping it's spoils on your body. And you stay there, soil soaking up your tears greedily, until the steps of the porch creak loudly, tearing your heart straight from your chest. 

You shoot up, turning your whole body so fast, you nearly collide with one of the pillars supporting the roof over the porch. Hand wraps around the handle of the knife, perpetually hidden in your skirts. And then you see him.

"Heaven's you startle easy, darlin'" Remmick raises his hands, giving you a sympathetic smile. 

Here he sits, right at the porch step. The man you were sure you'd never see again, same clothes, same twinkle in his eye. He gazes at your tear stained face, with a calmness of someone who's seen more sadness, than you can comprehend. 

"The hell you doin' here?" you try to demand, but your voice is still too shaky, and your hand too weak, to hold the knife any longer. 

"Heard a bird sing in mourning" he answers, something warm slithering into his voice "Followed it's song all the way here."

You should be better than this. Stronger than this. Hell, you are stronger than this. But there's something so gentle in his presence, so different from the hunger you've felt the first time you've met. And your bones are tired, and your head is pounding, and God... 

Slowly, like a wild animal learning to trust, you sit back down on the porch, a safe distance from him. But nothing can shield you from the warmth of his body next to you. From the unexplainable sense of calm, that floods your veins with every breath you take. And the night is so quiet, not a noise around you...

"I could sing you a song" he starts, and you scoff at the notion, a wet, broken sound "Something that would lull your pain to rest..."

"I don't need cheerin' up" you cut him off, and he smiles in a way, that makes you feel exposed like a bleeding wound.

You look down at your hands, woman's hands marred with signs of hard work. No longer soft and gentle, but trembling and covered with callouses. You're proud of them, of every scar and blemish, and you wish they were clean at the same time. You wish they were made for holding silk instead. At least just for tonight, in the dead silence.

"No" he murmurs "No you don't"

His eyes meet yours, when you risk a look in his direction, and what you find, makes your heart feel light as a feather, and heavy as a stone at the same time. 

"Cheerin' doesn't bring anythin' for you, does it." he says it like it's a fact, like he knows you from within "You know the value of sufferin'."

God damn him, you think, new tears already stinging your eyes. He leans in, cold breath tickling your cheeks, and to your surprise, you don't run. You don't want to run. Not even a flinch passes you, when his fingers brush the stray hairs out your face, pushing the rest over your shoulder. 

A small hiccup rips through your throat, because you never want to be touched. Never, until now, until him. Any other boy from town would already have his neck scuffed, for even daring to get this close. But this stranger, this man, this...

"Remmick..." you whisper, something wet and broken in your tone, something you haven't heard since your mother's funeral.

He hums, deep in his chest, as if he's pleased you remember his name. As if somehow, in this state of brokenness, he's the most proud of you. Your head ducks on instinct, when he moves closer, taking a long whiff of your hair. 

"You know" he continues, low and intimate, his lips moving like the wings of a butterfly over your forehead "That tears can be sweeter, than any smile, any laughter.

Fingers pinch your chin, pulling your head up, until your glassy eyes meet his once again. For a moment, he searches your face, gaze drifting over your wet eyelashes, your trembling cheeks, your mouth opening and closing.

"Because tears are honest" he finishes, and a ragged sound of a gasp escapes through your teeth.

Your hand finds purchase on his chest, feeling the rough material of his shirt, the buttons hanging on a couple of flimsy threads. You could mend them for him, you could offer him food, drink, your bed, anything. If he'd only ask. 

But he doesn't. Instead, his large hand presses gently over the flushed skin of your cheekbone, thumb running gently under your eye, gathering saltiness as it goes. 

"Let me taste it, Sweetness" he whispers, pleading, his face leaning impossibly close "Let me taste your honesty."

His breath mingles with yours, and you can almost taste him on your tongue, so close, yet not close enough. Your fingers tighten on his chest, dragging the fabric beneath your nails, and finally he dips down. 

But before you can feel him fully, before he drinks you like communion wine, your cousin's voice rings out throughout the house.

Heart jumping into your throat, you nearly rip yourself away from him, the spell of his honeyed words gone as quick, as it appeared. You stumble back on your feet, flushed and confused, gaping at him like a fish out of water. Something flashes through his expression, quick like a band of wild horses, but you catch it, you always do.

Perhaps, just a trick of the lights, something insignificant and unreal. But just like your cousin's stories, it lingers. 

If tears are honest, then what do you call the sudden meanness in his eyes? The ghost of irritated anger, that pulls his mouth down, sets heavily over his brow? 

Danger, you brain supplies again, and as your cousin calls out your name again, dread climbs up your back. 

He repeats your name, so silent you can barely hear him, but even so, he looks victorious. Defeated, but victorious nonetheless, and your instincts kick in tenfold. The handle of the knife is cold in your grasp, a grounding weight against your hand. He doesn't move, just stares at you, expression of utter calm gracing his confusing features. 

Now that's how a proper predator looks like. Half hidden under the shadows, his mouth open and panting, as if tasting the lingering scent of you from air alone. There's no tension in his figure, only steady confidence. He's gotten your name, he's almost gotten your trust, your honesty. 

You wish you were stronger. You were taught to be stronger. 

The front door creaks open, and you turn to push your cousin back inside, scream at her to stay back, stay where it's warm, and safe. Where the darkness won't catch her. 

But just as she steps outside, her thin sleeping gown flowing around her form, your eyes flicker to the porch steps. And he's gone. 

Not a trace of the strange man, of Remmick. Only the moon and utter silence. 

"You're back" your cousin wraps her arms around your waist, tugging you inside "I fell asleep waitin', I'm sorry"

"No, I..." you try to respond, barely hearing your voice over the thundering sound of your own heart, eyes scanning the tree line, every shadow looking like him. 

"You good? You look like you've seen a ghost" 

Finally, she drags you over the threshold, closing the doors behind. 

"You've been cryin'?" 

"No it's just..." you swallow thickly, throat tight "Needed some fresh air, don't you worry your head about me"

Your cousin looks beyond skeptical, a strange reversal of your usual roles, but she doesn't push, God bless her soul. Instead, she kisses your forehead, wiping away the ghost of Remmicks lips, and at last, your shoulders relax. 

"You work too hard, y'know" she murmurs, sleep still clinging to her "It's not good for the nerves" 

You know exactly what's not good for your nerves, and it sure as shit isn't your work, but you can't say that. You can't reveal the true source of your frazzled state, if only to shield her from all the confusion. All the dread and longing, that's mixing dangerously in your gut. She's been through enough, and suddenly awave of fresh guilt crashes over you. 

Carelessness is a sin, you never thought you'd commit. Yet here you are. God forgive you, because you cannot do it yourself.

***

Leaving the window open is your continuous mistake. One, which Remmick uses generously. 

His body levitates in the cold air, unmoving like a hanged man's corpse, scraping his nails over the window frame. Stuck in perpetual stillness, the warmth of his breath fogs the glass. Two dots of red cut through the darkness, overpower the moon's cold light behind him. Like a shadow of death to come, his presence looms over your room, over your sleeping form.

You never sleep under covers. He noticed it a while back, when you didn't know him, when he still thought you were just a bag filled with blood. His for the taking, to sate his never ending thirst. 

Now, he sees the bag has arms, that curve elegantly over the pillow. He notices the smoothness of skin, the delicate slope of your neck, where your blood sings a hymn just for him. Such a sweet thing, the ripest of fruits, just waiting to be devoured. 

Later. 

He has to remind himself to be patient, no matter how hard the pull of your saccharine scent calls to him. He needs you pliant, he wants you at your fullest. He wants love dripping from your fingertips like a fountain. Just so he can lap it up like a hungry dog. 

For now, he satisfies himself with this image of you, splayed out on the covers. A ghost of a Babylonian queen, come to life in this abandoned neck of the woods. 

Remmick takes a deep breath, humming to himself, as your scent fills every pore of his damned body. Dark and heavy, sweet on his tongue. He closes his eyes, nose pressing into the glass, teeth biting into his lower lip. What sweet torture this is. Being so close, yet so far away. 

Makes the spoils all the more worth it, in the end.

***

Ol' Johnson was a good man. 

He never took more, than he needed. Greeted everyone with a smile and a story, told in a voice roughened by years of smoking cheap tobbaco. He helped you, when you couldn't bring yourself to call on anyone, and kept helping you, until you've learned to accept it. 

And now he's dead. And all you have to remember him by, are dwindling memories, and a glass of lukewarm whiskey in your hand. 

The funeral service was a miserable affair. His crying widow nearly drowned out the sounds of the sermon with her sobs, and your heart broke for the poor woman, who lost everything in one night. She didn't look at you, when you offered her condolences, and you couldn't blame her. Tear stained eyes stayed  fixed firmly on the wooden coffin, as they lowered her husband into the ground. And they didn't move an inch, when ground covered him forever. 

She's a good woman too. Kind in a natural way, that seems to spread warmth wherever she goes. Always willing to give more, than what's expected of her. Now, the burden of being warm falls on the shoulders of the town. And they all take the mantle in stride, holding her through her grief, offering her comfort, that can only be found in community. 

You don't fit in here anymore. Besides, who would want comfort from a ghost. 

So you linger at the back of the Joint, sipping whiskey through your teeth, trying to remind yourself, that solitude is what you chose. You chose safety, you chose your cousin, your family. You can't regret that, you're simply not allowed to. 

Soon enough, mourning of death becomes a celebration of life, as musicians take stage, and bodies filter onto the dance floor. Sweaty, greased with alcohol, and yearning for a moment of recklessness, they dance. And with every step, every twirl, every pull of the guitar strings, you feel Ol' Johnson's spirit. You feel every story, every helpful hand, every puff of cigarette smoke. 

You can't stay still. Despite your promises, your responsibilities, you can't let his memory fade into a sad song. So you abandon your glass, your lonesome seat at the table, and you join in dance. You dance like you've never danced before, heels stomping on the wooden floor, sweat dripping down your face like tears would've. The music swells, and swells without stopping, and you're not stopping either. Not until your legs are burning, and your breath gets stuck in your throat. 

Then, you're stumbling out the Joint, passing by the bouncer into the cold night's air. Where there's stars, and the endlessness of the skies. You want to keep dancing, even if your legs beg you to stop, even when you collide with the cool metal of your truck's door.

This is freedom. This is love. This is the only regret you have. 

Digging out the keys from your purse, you eyes catch something in the dark. Two shining points, deep ahead of you. Your blood boils under your skin, a familiar feeling, which you keep forgetting ever day. Because you know this sight, deep within your bones, it settled a long time ago, a memory of something so terrible, your mind had to protect you from it. Had to keep forgetting. It can't protect you now however, and as the familiar spell of curiosity roots you into place, Remmick steps out of the shadows. 

Moon paints his skin in glowing paleness, something otherworldly clinging to his every step. 

No knife will help you now, you realize, as your back presses further into the cold side of your truck. And no one on the Joint will hear you, should you call for help. That's the price you pay for being a ghost. Music still plays inside, a quick tune that borrows it's rhythm from your feverish heart. 

"You followin' me or somethin'?" voice cutting through the night, you feign confidence, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

Such a flimsy shield, one he'd tear without even trying. But he stops, a safe distance from you, his palms raised high in a placating gesture you know too well. There's not a trace of that alarming meanness from the night before, a lazy smile gracing his features instead. 

"I told you" he starts, tone light and friendly, like before "I follow music, that's all"

God, you wish you could believe him.

"This here a Juke Joint?" he asks, and once again, suspicion rears it's ugly head in your gut. 

"Ain't you a traveling musician? You should know where to play" 

He laughs, sheepishly. Although you're more and more convinced, it's a wolf laughing underneath sheep's hide. You can't shake the image of his face, twisted in anger, the two red dots hanging in air, just where his eyes could've been. 

"Folks wouldn't let me in" he shrugs, and you notice the considerable lack of the guitar on his back "A private celebration I think."

"A wake." you cut swiftly.

"Ah..."

He doesn't ask who died. You would've found it strange, if you didn't know. You don't want to know, fighting that awful feeling of your guts churning in premonition. But you do, and despite that, you can't run. Still, after all the dots connecting in your mind, you can't run from him, his shining eyes and his curling smile. 

Remmick comes closer, measured step after another, as if he's approaching some feral little animal, thrashing in the hunter's binds. Or a killer, that's found an easy victim. Your blood runs cold in your veins, gooseflesh covering your skin. Still, he doesn't snap his jaws, not yet. 

"You dance mighty fine, darlin'." the comment doesn't even sound like a flirtation, just a pure, bare bones fact "Saw you through the window, twirlin' and stompin'."

He doesn't wait for your reply, reaching into the pocket of his trousers, and pulling out a cigarette case. You recognize the design despite the darkness, and your throat tightens, until you can't breathe properly. God forgive you, you've almost let a killer into your home. Would've let him into your heart, if he'd ask. 

"Where'd you get that?" there's a tremble in your voice, one, that puts an edge to his easygoing smile.

"My Daddy gave it to me, for the long road ahead."

Lies come like second nature to him, leaving his lips dripping with honey. Once again, he licks at the end of the cigarette, eyes flickering up to meet yours. 

"My friend had one exactly like that" you note, still trying to cling onto some semblance of hope.

Alas, hope only breeds disappointment, you know that too well.

A slender flame from the lighter flickers in his pupils, as he lights the cigarette, taking a long drag of smoke. 

"Maybe we've got the same Daddy" he muses, clouds of white slipping past his teeth.

You'd laugh, if you were light as a feather. 

Another drag of the cigarette, and Remmick closes the distance between the two of you, standing foot to foot. Your body fails you, at this crucial moment, because all you can do is watch him, eyes wide, stuck between pleading and anger. 

"What are you?" the question leaves you, before you can catch it, and the man before you sighs, shaking his head.

"Told ya'. Travellin' musician" 

Your mouth opens, but he's quicker, flicking the cigarette to the side, and grabbing ahold of the back of your neck. You grab at his wrist, but don't go any further. His hold is gentle, despite everything you'd anticipate, and he leans his head towards your ear, like a lover whispering a secret. 

"Shhh..." he shushes you quietly, cold breath tickling your feverish skin "I've already decided I'll help you."

Confusion overrides any rational feeling, and your hands slip to the coarse fabric of his well worn shirt. The buttons are still barely hanging, but now you'd rather be caught dead, than mend them. Hell, you probably will be. Something mean and dark rises in your throat, pushing past your teeth with a hiss of a venomous snake.

"I don't need savin- ah!" 

A small, surprised moan tears it's way through your throat, as Remmick runs his tongue over the delicate spot behind your ear. His fingers bury themselves into your hair, gently massaging it in a way, that is almost grotesquely delicate. You can feel his mouth, running the length of your jaw, up your cheek, where he presses delicate kisses. The tip of your nose is next, then the softness under your eyes, the wrinkle of conflicting emotions between your eyebrows. 

"C'mon darlin'." he whispers into your hairline "Won't you let this sinner in?"

Once again, he doesn't leave time for you to reply, diving down towards your lips, taking them into a slow kiss, that makes your insides flutter. You should hate yourself for the way you're not pushing him away, for the way you chase his mouth with your own, when he pulls back for just a second. 

You should hate him for everything, but most importantly for the moan he gives out, when his tongue slips into your mouth. Such a beautiful sound, it shakes every bone in your body, makes your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt.

He tastes of iron, an unmistakable bloody residue, but it's so sweet on your tongue, you can't seem to care. Like poison attacking your senses, you let yourself be carried away, mind going deliciously blank. His hand still continues to coax you with the gentle movements of his fingers in your hair. While the other takes it's fill of your body, warm palm pressing against your waist, your hip, pushing the silken dress up your thigh. 

Then it moves higher, until he's grasping at your heart through the plush flesh of your breast, and this time you're the one moaning. His thumb brushes over your hardening nipple, pulling another sound from you, like he's playing a fiddle.

Heat rises within you like the tide, every touch, every caress building up a storm of want. Soon, it doesn't matter anymore, that he's surely the monster from your cousin's stories, because he kisses like an angel. 

His mouth leaves yours, a sticky mess of saliva that should disgust you, but God, you've never tasted anything sweeter. Once more, he attaches himself to your neck, kissing it with fervor, broken sounds escaping him, like a starved dog feasting for the first time in months. His hand palms at your breast one last time, before reaching back, and soon enough you hear the click of your truck's door. 

There's no time for questions, for concern. Not when the need runs so deep, and begs to be satiated. He pushes your body inside, splays you out on the back seat, amongst old blankets and empty bags of flour. Your thighs fall apart, to accommodate him, when he climbs over your body, like he can't bear being away from it even for a second. 

"The door..." you pant out, against the hunger of his lips.

"No one will see us" he huffs into your shoulder, and the utmost certainty in his voice makes you believe him. 

This time it's your hands doing the massaging, as you grip the black strands of his hair, trying to bring him closer. Trying to morph the Devil himself into your body. He hikes your leg up, over his waist in response, and you can feel with damning clarity, his burning hardness pressing against the flimsy cotton of your underwear. 

You want him inside so bad, it's nearly breaking you apart. 

"Too damned sweet..." he murmurs into the running pulse of your neck, and your entire body freezes, when he teases the place with surprisingly sharp teeth.

"...no..." 

It's a quiet, barely audible whisper, but he straightens himself on his arms, hovering above you with a questioning look on his flushed face. 

"No biting..." you repeat, louder this time, your heaving chest brushing over his "No pain. I don't wanna hurt tonight."

A blink, a gasp, and Remmick morphs between your very eyes. His expression turns into something so gentle, so caring, you're sure a man like him shouldn't be able to look like that. He takes a deep breath through his mouth, a broken sound emanating from deep within his chest. And then, he kisses you again. Slow, intimate, until your head is spinning.

"The things you do to me, woman" he whispers into your mouth, and starts to crawl lower. 

His tongue laps at your collarbone, lips sucking into the skin of your sternum. Your body arches off the seat, as he dips into your cleavage, letting your breasts spill out the top of your dress. He kisses them, like they're more than just a body part. It feels sacred, feels like a prayer in a language you don't fully understand. 

Another series of kisses over the fabric covering your stomach, and soon enough, he's making a home for himself between your thighs. Your body starts to shake in anticipation, half lidded eyes following the movements of his dark haired head, as he leaves wet kisses on the inside of your thighs. 

"Christ Almighty..." he groans, as his thumb runs over the wet patch steadily forming on your underwear "Like Heaven's Gates opening for me"

Your hips buck in a stuttering motion, as he puts his mouth over the cotton, tongue lapping at the fabric in a promise of things to come. 

"Knew you'd be sweet" he comments, voice dipping down so low, you can feel it in your insides.

Then, your legs get thrown over his shoulders, and before you have time to adjust, he pushes your undergarments to the side, and nearly drowns his face in your cunt. 

The sound you make is nothing short of scandalous, as he begins to lap at you, greedily soaking in the very essence of your being. His tongue finds your clit faster, than any man before, and as his mouth close over the pulsing bundle of nerves, you throw your head back. 

He's good, so good in fact, that your stomach begins to tighten in seconds. Your hands flail at your sides, nails scraping over the backseat, over your dress, his scalp. You don't know what to do with your body, completely surrendering to the ancient magic, he pulls from you with every drag of his tongue.

And God, the sounds he makes. You've never met someone so vocal, so utterly devoted to drinking every last drop you have to offer. Soon enough, your thighs start to shake, the pressure building inside you reaching levels you never thought possible. And he doesn't stop, not even for a moment, licking, sucking, flicking his tongue until your voice becomes hoarse. 

"Remmick..." you mewl.

The sound of his name feels right, leaving your lips, feels like truth. Like that mythical honesty, he wanted to taste in your tears. 

His grip on your body tightens, and it's as if he's been possessed by some demon of desire. You can feel his face pressing closer, deeper into you, and that's the final straw. Stars erupt in your vision, as you come, hard and fast, earth shattering around you. Body nearly flying off the car seat, your breath gets punched out of your lungs with the force of the most delicious of sensations. 

Remmick seems almost reluctant to part with your cunt, licking at the swollen flesh, until your hand slaps him away, too sensitive for any more attention. His face is glistening in the pale moonlight, and his sinful tongue cleans everything with an almost inhuman groan. 

"You're heaven, mo ghrà" his voice breaks "You're sunlight incarnate"

There's devotion like nothing you've heard before in his tone, and if you weren't so completely wrecked, you would've blushed. Instead, you reach for him, and he obeys, coming back up, until you can kiss him again. 

His arms sneak around your waist, pulling you up into an embrace, and your boneless body let's him do what he likes. Let's him settle you into his lap, legs nestling on both sides of his thighs. Forever greedy, he ruts into your twitching core, and you're cruelly reminded about just how empty you feel. 

"You'll never be alone" he whispers, voice muffled by the skin of your chest "You'll never be forsaken, not while I walk this earth." 

Something in the way he says that, makes your spine tingle with a dreadful sort of shiver. But there's comfort in his words, enough of it, for you to throw caution to the wind, and reach for the button of his trousers with shaky hands. 

You'll worry later. For now, you want him to make you forget what worrying even looks like. 

And as if reading your thoughts, he obliges, pushing your hands away, to do the work himself. His trousers fall open, and he frees himself with a choked groan. His cock rests on your lower stomach, hot and ready, smearing drops of precum over your skin. Your muscles tighten in anticipation, hands squeezing his shoulders.

"My girl" he murmurs "My sweet girl, let me in"

All you can do, is nod. 

Remmick lifts you up, as if you weight nothing, positioning you just right, before he slowly lowers you onto him. Your combined groans fill the silence of the truck, as you stretch around him. He's gentle, letting you adjust before pushing into you a bit further, until he's buried to the hilt in your heat. His head falls back against the headboard, hands roaming your body. You can see the treacherous light in his eyes, now, finally a tangible truth, rather than a figment of your dreams.

It doesn't scare you though, nothing scares you now. Not when he fills you up so completely, you feel like you belong for the first time in years. This moment of stillness, of silence interrupted only by laboured breathing, doesn't last long. 

Nails digging into the bottom of your thighs, he rocks you in a steady, almost languid rhythm. You flutter around him, small gasps of pleasure leaving your lips, and that familiar pressure introduces itself once again. He speeds up, guiding your hips in an up and down motion, that soon makes your teeth clink together. 

"That's right... God in Heaven... So warm... Mmmmm..." his voice flows between murmurs, groans and whispers, every word making your insides twitch, making your eyes flutter.

 "Take me in... Good... Deeper..." 

You can feel him, pressing into your bones, nestling into the deepest parts of your soul, and with every ragged moan he breathes, something close to sweet affection blossoms inside you. Honey and milk, they drip from your fingertips, as you caress his face, contorted in a beautiful image of pleasure. You could love that face. You won't, but Heaven's above, you could. 

"Christ" he chokes out, hips bucking off the seat "My sweet girl, mo ghr- ah..."

The sound of his voice alone makes you come again, lighter, but no less pleasurable. And as you tighten around him, a choked sound leaves his throat. His arms encircle you whole, pushing himself so close, he might as well find home in your chest cavity. Soon, his movements stutter, face hidden in your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your hair, and with a last, decisive thrust, he spills himself inside you. 

Bodies covered in sweat, you both shake in each other's arms, for a small, blissful moment being completely alone, shielded from the world. Remmick holds you, like you're his only hope, mouthing gently at the skin of your throat, whispering things you barely comprehend. Prayers, that are marked by something ancient, older than the trees and the rivers. Worship, that flows like blood from a wound. 

"Thabharfainn fuil mo chroí dui..."

You want to whisper back, but there are no words, that could compare to his. So you do the next best thing, running your fingers through his hair, tracing circles into his back, mapping his features with delicate kisses. He basks in the affection, eyes fluttering closed, a familiar twitch of renewed desire stirring your insides. Your thumb brushes over his bottom lip, still wet with whatever mixture of fluids, and he parts his mouth under your touch. 

And that's when it all comes shattering down. 

Because hidden beneath the chapped softness, are teeth that don't belong to a human. Sharp, pointed angrily, perfect for tearing at flesh. 

Remmick hums in his throat, feeling the way your body seizes with dread, and as his eyes slowly open, you're met with another damning sight. 

Those aren't human eyes either. They shine at you, reflecting moonlight in a haze of red that makes your skin crawl. 

People who dare to hope, are the one's crushed by disappointment. How dare you forget that?

"It all makes sense now, doesn't it?" he asks in a low voice, all traces of gentleness gone in an instance "The nightly visits, the quiet in the woods..."

His finger traces a line from between your breasts, up to your bobbing throat.

"The pull you feel, even now." a slow roll of his hips makes you choke on air.

Remmick's smile turns cruel. There's no denying, what you're seeing, and it's no longer the man you almost could've loved. It's not a man at all, but a monster your cousin's stories warned you about. Things you believed to be impossible, come to life before your very eyes.

"What are you?" your voice breaks, and he smiles, as if the question has become some sort of a joke shared between the two of you. 

"How about I make you a deal?" 

You've never noticed, how sharp his nails are, not until they drag back down your throat. Gentle enough not to break skin, but brutal enough to leave imprints in their wake. 

"I'll race you back to your house, and if you get there first, I'll leave you two be."

Dread turns your blood into ice, and all you can do, is stare in shock, as Remmick lifts you off his lap. His cock slides out of you languidly, and for the first time, since you've met him, you feel disgust. At him, at yourself, at the whole waking world. 

He brushes your sweaty hair out of your forehead, claws dragging over your face as he does so. Then, a quick press of his lips to your temple, and you shiver in your spot. 

"Be quick" he instructs in a tone that is entirely too cheerful, before he shoots you a wink, and climbs out of the truck. 

Three seconds, that's all you need, before you realize the severity, the absolute hopelessness of your situation. And as you scramble to the passenger side of the truck, thighs sticky with evidence of your misplaced affection, all you can see is your cousin's smiling face. 

***

The door to your home slams against the wall, when you stumble inside, feet barely catching up with your panicked movements. 

You scream her name through the halls, pathetic and desperate. Silence greets you, not a sound to be heard, and as tears spring from your eyes, you sprint towards the stairs. You climb the steps, hunched over like a wild animal, adrenaline pushing your every movement. And then, with the entirety of your body weight, you slam into the door of your cousin's bedroom. 

You can smell the blood, before you see it. A stench so profound, you'll never be able to get rid of it. 

And then, a scene so terrifying, so profoundly heartbreaking unfolds before your very eyes. 

Remmick stands in the middle of the room, hands folded casually behind him. His jaw clenched tightly over your cousin's throat, her lifeless body half hanging from the bed. There's blood on the floor, on the walls, on the sheer dress she wore to bed. And then, red eyes find you. 

Your cousin's form falls onto the floor with a sickening, wet sound, as Remmick let's her go, licking her blood from his gums, his chin.

"Now I understand..." he claps his hands lightly, and once again, you can't move, frozen to your spot, eyes glued to the heap of fabric and flesh, that was once your family "Why you've kept her hidden, like a princess locked in a tower."

His boots leave bloody prints on the wooden floor, as he steps closer to you, crossing the bedroom in long strides. 

"There's no worse thing, than a cruel man. Not for a woman like her." 

You can't look away from her. Not even, when Remmick's hand covers the side of your face, his thumb brushing the underside of your jaw in a gentle caress.

"I can see it all now, y'know" he murmurs "All her memories are mine. I know what a bastard her husband was. It's no wonder she ran away."

Another step closer, and his other hand finds the softness of your stomach, sharp nails scratching gently over the delicate fabric of your rumpled dress. You can still feel him, a dull ache between your legs, a stickiness of your bodies joined together. 

What a damned fool you are.

"And you took care of her so loyally" he continues, a hint of admiration entering his words "Sacrificed so much... But not anymore."

Finally, you dare to look up, and he sighs in delight, as tears fall on your cheeks. 

"I promised you" a whisper, a cold breath against your skin "No more alone, no more forsaken"

His lips kiss away the saltiness, with gentleness so unbefitting his monstrous nature, it makes your breath lock itself in the column of your throat. 

"There's only love in your future, mo ghrà. Only love."

The bundle of fabric moves. A jerky sort of motion, and your eyes snap behind his back, as your cousin's hand jumps against the bloodied floorboards. Remmick let's you go without a fight, and you stumble on your feet, falling to your knees, next to the slowly awakening corpse of your cousin. 

Her name is a prayer on your lips. You're begging for the impossible, you're aware of that, but she moves nonetheless, lifting her face. 

"Hey cuz." she croaks, the wound in her throat moving as she speaks "It's all gonna be alright now."

It's a fate worse than death, seeing the unnatural, golden shine in her eyes. The monstrous, sharpened teeth peaking from behind her smiling lips. You reel back from her, vision blurry from all the tears. She follows you, on her fours, as if she's forgotten what it means to walk. 

"I know it's scary" she stands up, blood dripping from her dress, her mangled body "I was scared too. But now... Now it's all bliss. It's all love."

Your heart breaks into a million scattered pieces, dread and pain nearly knocking you off your feet. But you keep backing away, until you stop at the very top of the stairs, swaying in your sorrow. 

"You did so much for me" you cousin closes the distance, drool slipping out her mouth, mixing with crimson on her chin "Let me repay you, let me give you a better life."

It's only as she reaches for you, fingers digging into your shoulders, teeth bared and ready to bite, do you react. A sharp yell rips through your throat, and you don't think anymore, that primal instinct of survival taking root. The world becomes a mess of limbs and screams, and soon it all spins around you. Wood of the railing breaks under your weight, when your cousin slams you into it, blood of your blood sends you flying. Your fingers grip her nightgown in a death grip however, and the both of you crash to the floor below, with a thunderous crack, that carries through the entire house.

For a moment you can't breathe, your vision going black as night. Then, everything spins, but you don't feel any teeth, any claws. Just waves of pain crashing over your back. 

You will never forget the next sound. It will haunt you through your life, turn every dream into a nightmare. The broken, ragged intake of breath on your left.

"Cuz..." 

Your head turns, and there she is. The dreamer, the flying dove, her chest split open by a stray piece of wood, blood spilling out her mouth like a fountain. 

"...no..."

Despite the blinding pain in your back, you rise to your knees, falling over her, hands trembling and for the first time, you're at a loss. What can one do in this situation? How can you fix this?

"No, no, no, no" your cousin's body twitches, her eyes growing more and more glassy with every ticking second "Please, God... Help..."

But there's no God in this house, not anymore. He's been casted out, with your cousin's last breath, and so, as desperation shakes your being, you call out to the only other option. The only way that's in the cards for you, until you too leave this earth.

"Remmick, help me!" it's hypnotizing in it's irony, you calling out to him, begging him.

He stands behind you, watching your shaking shoulders. Watching those fascinating, calloused fingers rip out hairs from your scalp. He knows, somewhere deep inside his rotten, ancient heart, that he would help you. He'd come acrawling for just one word. 

He also knows, you've been crying over a corpse, as soon as wood pierced your cousin's heart. 

And so, he lingers, a silent statue in a house, that was once a home. Like a pillar of marble, devoid of guilt, of heartbreak, stirred to life only by the misplaced fondness for a woman, who dared to hope in his presence. 

Time ticks by, your sobs turning into heaving breaths, which soon fade, leaving silence in their wake. That's when he finally makes a move, bloodied soles of his boots dragging closer, until your abused back leans against his side. It's a small touch, but for him, it means more, than any before.

There's no more strength in you, no more fight. Like a block of clay, begging to be shaped into a masterpiece, you surrender.

And it's all he's ever wanted. So then why...?

"Leave this place" his voice sounds foreign, even to his own ears "Go far, far away. And live."

You don't even lift your head, don't look at him, but he knows you listen, he knows you understand. A brush of cold lips against the gentle curvature at the back of your neck. There's no shivers, but your heart stutters, that's all he needs.

"A gift for you, mo cuishle"

***

A month later you're standing on the platform, nails drumming anxiously on the leather surface of your baggage. 

You're going far away, like he's told you, leaving behind the town, Ol' Johnsons abandoned home, the shopkeeper's smile, and the ghosts haunting the small house in the middle of the woods. 

And life goes on. You find your place in a shop of your own, in the middle of a town, that's buzzing with life. You put your talents to good use, and soon, people remember your name. They wave at you as you pass, they visit your shop, and talk to you, as if you've lived here from childhood. 

You make friends, good ones, that last through thick and thin. And despite waking up every night, covered in sweat, with the haunting images of that fateful midnight flashing behind your eyes, you're happy. You find lightness in your step, in your mind. You cradle the community within your calloused palms, and let them cradle you in turn. 

So, when the new Juke Joint opens, you don't think twice, about letting your dearest friend, Pearline, drag you with her. For a night full of drinkin', dancin', and cheerin'.

[hisfavegirl]

The Serpent’s Flame - Draco Malfoy x Reader.

Summary : Being in your sixth year at Hogwarts meant you were nearly at the top of the food chain, and with your bloodline—the legacy of Salazar Slytherin on your father’s side and the dark, mysterious Gaunt lineage from your mother—you carried a reputation that both intimidated and intrigued. Students whispered about you in the halls. Some feared you, thinking your bloodline gave you a dark edge. Others envied your beauty—long, silver-blonde waves that cascaded past your waist, your tiny frame accentuated by curves most girls only dreamed of. And your emerald green eyes? Hypnotic. Dangerous. Just like a Slytherin should be.

Warning : Smut, Reader is described of having Silver blonde hair and green eyes, Reader is the last bloodline of salazar slytherin after voldemort, Nudity, Semi Public Sexs (Bathroom), Rough Sexs, Fingering, Edging, P in V sexs, Unprotected Sexs.

Draco Malfoy Masterlist.

Wizarding World Masterlist.

Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws and @arcielee

The soft echo of your heels against the ancient stone floors of Hogwarts followed you as you strolled alongside Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson, the air crisp with that early-winter sharpness that filled the castle in November. Pansy had just delivered a biting remark about a Hufflepuff girl who nearly incinerated the entire left wing of the Potions dungeon, and you let out a low, velvety laugh that lingered in the corridor like perfume.

“Honestly, how do you almost blow up the class with a Calming Draught?” Pansy drawled dramatically.

“Talent,” you mused, your voice as sweet as honey, but threaded with the same venom all Slytherin girls were taught to perfect.

Daphne smirked. “Jealous, Pans? I think you just hate not being the most talked-about disaster in the school.”

You rolled your eyes, lips curved in amusement, fingers grazing your wand tucked discreetly in your thigh holster beneath your skirt. Today, you left your hair down—a rare, silken curtain of long, silver-blonde waves cascading down your back. It shimmered like moonlight with each step. Only Slytherin students ever saw it like this. But today, everyone would.

The towering doors of the Great Hall groaned open under the weight of centuries, and a hush fell over your group as you stepped inside. Your presence pulled heads as if drawn by invisible string—Hufflepuff girls pausing mid-bite, Ravenclaws stealing glances over books, even a few daring Gryffindor boys locking eyes before quickly looking away.

But none of them mattered.

Your gaze found him instantly.

Draco Malfoy.

He sat languidly at the Slytherin table beside Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, his fingers playing idly with the edge of his goblet, but his eyes—those piercing, storm-grey eyes—were already on you. The moment your gaze met his, everything else dulled. Sound, light, movement—it all bled into background.

He was smiling.

Not the cold, calculated smirk he gave to the rest of the world. No, this was different—private, intimate, soft only for you. Like the rare sun behind grey clouds in a storm-wrecked sky. His eyes devoured you slowly, undressing you in a way that made your skin burn beneath your uniform.

You walked toward him, slow and graceful, every sway of your hips deliberate. You were aware of the way his eyes darkened the closer you got. By the time you reached him, the tension crackled like electricity.

Draco stood up before you even reached your seat, pulling out the bench beside him. His hand brushed the small of your back as you slid in, lingering there longer than necessary, thumb tracing slow, subtle circles against your blouse. He leaned in close, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“You know what that hair does to me,” he murmured, voice low and sinfully smooth.

You turned to him, your full lips parted just slightly, heart beating like wings in your chest. “That’s why I wore it down today. For you.”

He inhaled, sharp and shallow, his hand now resting fully on your thigh beneath the table, hidden from everyone. The warmth of it spread like fire.

“You’re cruel,” he whispered, voice raw with need, “walking in like that. All sweet and untouched on the outside, but I know better.”

Your eyes glinted with mischief, lashes fluttering as you leaned in, your lips brushing his. Not kissing—almost.

“You like cruel,” you whispered. “You like knowing I’m yours and everyone else just wants.”

He groaned softly under his breath, thumb now pressing into your inner thigh. “I want you now.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence, voice breathy. “Then come find me after dinner… if you can wait that long.”

His jaw clenched, his desire so tangible you could feel it hum through him. From across the table, Blaise and Theo exchanged knowing looks, smirks playing at their lips.

“I give him ten minutes,” Theo muttered.

“Five, if she keeps playing like that,” Blaise replied. But Draco didn’t even hear them. His entire world was you and he was burning.

The golden light of the enchanted ceiling bathed the Great Hall in a twilight glow, but none of it touched the storm brewing in Draco Malfoy’s eyes.

His hand was still on your thigh, fingers tracing patterns with a possessiveness that was becoming more desperate by the second. You were whispering something soft against his jaw, your voice silk-wrapped seduction, when a voice cut through the magic between you.

The sound of it—Harry Potter’s voice—was a blade through silk.

Your head turned, thick silver-blonde hair catching the light like starlight, cascading over your shoulder as you looked up. Harry stood a few feet away, awkward, tense, holding a folded parchment in his hand. His eyes flicked from your face to Draco’s hand beneath the table.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice unusually soft, and that’s when Draco’s body turned rigid beside you.

Like a predator sensing a threat.

You blinked, curiosity creasing your brow as you tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly. “What is it?”

Before Harry could answer, Draco voice cut him like a thunder.

“That’s enough, Potter,” he said coldly, his voice a low snarl of threat and warning. “You’ve got five seconds to turn around before I forget we’re in the Great Hall.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak. He looked at you once more—something unreadable in his eyes—then turned and walked away, his shoulders tight, fists clenched at his sides.

You exhaled slowly, letting your body relax as you turned back to Draco.

“Was that necessary?” you murmured, more amused than annoyed.

Draco’s eyes stayed fixed on where Harry had walked off, his breath sharp, his jaw locked so tightly you thought it might crack.

“He said your name like he owned it,” he growled.

You shifted closer, the air between you thick, heavy with unspoken emotion and lust that simmered right beneath the surface. One of your hands slid up his thigh under the table, resting on the spot where his hand still gripped you.

“And do you?” you asked softly, tilting your face up to him, lips parted, eyes teasing.

That got his attention.

His gaze snapped to yours, dark and full of fire. “You know I do.”

You smiled, slow and sinful. “Then show me.”

And before he could say another word, you leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t a shy kiss. It wasn’t sweet or soft.

It was claiming.

Your lips molded to his, full and warm, your mouth opening slightly to invite him deeper. His hand slid up your thigh, squeezing possessively, while his other hand tangled in the back of your hair, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until the entire world dropped away.

He tasted like mint and heat, the kind that burned into you and left you gasping. Your body pressed into his beneath the table, your chest brushing his as his tongue slid against yours in slow, unhurried strokes that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

You kissed him like he was oxygen.

He kissed you like you were fire.

When you finally pulled back—lips swollen, breath caught—his eyes searched yours with something fierce, something raw.

“Mine,” he said, so quietly only you could hear it. “Don’t let him near you again.”

You smiled, brushing your lips over his jaw, down to his neck, lingering just long enough to make him shiver. “I won’t. He doesn’t get to touch what belongs to you.”

Draco’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like he was trying to center himself. When they opened again, they were full of promise—and something darker.

“You’re not going to class after dinner.”

You raised a brow, teasing. “Oh? And where will I be?”

He leaned in, his voice brushing against your lips like a spell. “Bent over the sink in the Prefects’ bathroom with my hands on your hips, making sure you remember who you belong to.”

Your breath caught in your throat, pupils blown wide, heart pounding so loud you were sure the entire table could hear it.

“Then finish your dinner,” you whispered, voice trembling with anticipation, “because I’m not going anywhere.”

The door to the Prefects’ bathroom shut behind you with a resonant click, echoing against the marble and tile like a warning bell. Before the sound even faded, Draco’s wand was in hand, lips curled in a snarl of desire as he cast a nonverbal spell—locking the door and sealing it with silence.

The room was warm with steam, candlelight flickering against the white and gold decor, casting dancing shadows over the water that shimmered in the massive tub like liquid stars.

But Draco didn’t look at any of it.

He was already on you.

His mouth crashed onto yours like a breaking wave—furious, hungry, a man lost in the storm of everything he’d held back all day. You gasped into the kiss, fingers flying into the front of his robes, clutching him as if you were trying to steady yourself on something that was already pulling you under.

“Fuck, I waited all day,” he growled against your lips, his hands gripping your waist with bruising heat.

You whimpered into his mouth as he walked you backward, and you knew exactly where he was taking you. One swift tug and your leg was lifted—his fingers digging into your thigh as he wrapped it around his waist, his hips grinding into yours through layers of fabric, teasing just enough to drive you mad.

“Draco,” you breathed, voice already wrecked, and the sound made him growl low in his throat like an animal barely restrained.

He kissed you harder.

There was no gentleness. No softness. Just raw, desperate need.

His tongue parted your lips again, claiming, deep, overwhelming. The kiss tasted like every ounce of possessiveness and frustration he’d bottled all day—watching Harry say your name, watching you smile at someone who wasn’t him.

He pressed you to the edge of the sink, lifting you up with ease, both hands gripping your thighs as he forced them wider around him. His palms slid to your ass, squeezing firmly, pulling you against him. The moan that left your lips was so helpless, so breathless, it made his jaw clench.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he rasped against your neck, dragging his lips down to taste your skin. “Walking in with your hair down… like you didn’t know exactly what that would do to me.”

You gasped as his teeth grazed your throat, your fingers twisting in his soft platinum hair. “I did,” you whispered, wicked and breathless. “I wanted you desperate.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, and what you saw in his gaze made your whole body ache.

“Then congratulations,” he said, voice dark and low, “because I am. I’ve never wanted anything like I want you.”

Your breath caught, lips trembling.

“Prove it.”

And just like that, he was on you again—kissing you with reckless intensity. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to kiss you harder. The other stayed firm on your hip, grounding you as he pressed forward between your thighs, grinding slow, hard, making your whole body tremble with every movement.

You were gasping into his mouth now, dizzy with it, with him, and the way his dominance poured into every kiss, every touch. He was everywhere—hands, mouth, body—owning you completely.

“I hate when anyone else says your name,” he muttered against your lips. “Hate when they look at you.”

“Then claim me,” you whispered, your voice low, ruined with want.

He growled, deep and primal, and for a second he just stared at you—chest heaving, lips swollen, eyes burning with a mix of love, obsession, and something far darker.

“I already have,” he said. “But I’ll do it again. And again. Until there’s no part of you that doesn’t know you belong to me.”

Your whole body pulsed with that promise. You didn’t need candles or silk sheets or whispered poetry. You needed him—here, now, and exactly like this.

And as he leaned in again, dragging your lips back to his with bruising, breathless need, you surrendered to every dark, delicious piece of him.

The mirrors fogged with every breath you took, the scent of heated skin and candle wax curling in the air like a spell. The cool marble sink pressed against the back of your thighs, your skirt bunched up carelessly around your waist. Draco stood between your legs like a storm in human form—his breath uneven, his lips swollen from kissing you senseless, and his gaze… ravenous.

His hand slipped under your skirt again, and this time he stilled.

His breath hitched.

You saw the shift in his eyes immediately—like a fuse had been lit.

“You’re not wearing panties,” he muttered, voice rough, low, and shaking with restraint.

Your lips parted, a whisper of a smirk forming on your kiss-bruised mouth. “Not since breakfast.”

His groan was guttural—frustrated, hungry, and sinful all at once.

“Fuck,” he breathed, like the word had been dragged from the deepest part of him.

You were about to tease him again, when he suddenly gripped your hips hard, and before you could gasp, two long fingers thrust into you—deep, hard, with no warning.

Your moan tore from your throat as your head fell back against the mirror behind you. His fingers didn’t hesitate. They curled inside you just right, pressing against that devastating spot he’d memorized like a spell, and your thighs instinctively squeezed around his wrist.

“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” he whispered against your throat, kissing just below your jaw, voice dark and possessive. “Walking around all day like that. Letting the whole damn castle wonder what you’ve got on under that little Slytherin skirt.”

You whimpered, biting your lip, fingers gripping the edge of the sink until your knuckles turned white.

“Do you even know what that does to me?” he growled, thrusting his fingers deeper, harder. “Knowing no one else knows how wet you are for me—but I do. I always do.”

You cried out, your body arching off the sink as he curled his fingers again, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his thumb brushing against your clit with maddening slowness. “You wanted this, didn’t you? Wanted me desperate. Wanted me angry.”

His voice dropped lower, turning darker.

“Little tease. You’re so fucking filthy, aren’t you? Sitting in class, legs crossed like a good girl, while you drip onto the seat under you. No panties. No shame.”

“Draco,” you gasped, your voice wrecked, body trembling.

He leaned in, mouth right by your ear. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you moaned, your walls clenching around his fingers, every nerve set ablaze.

“Say you did it for me.”

Your lips parted, a breath catching on your tongue. “I didn’t wear them… because I wanted you to lose control.”

And Merlin, did he.

He cursed under his breath, his fingers thrusting even faster, harder, relentless. His body pressed against you, trapping you in his arms, overwhelming you with the smell of him—cologne, sweat, lust.

You couldn’t hold back the sounds now—not when he was unraveling you with every curl of his fingers, every word dripping filth into your ear.

“You’re mine,” he snarled softly. “Every inch of you. And you’ll never go without them again unless I tell you to. Understood?”

Your body arched, overwhelmed by the wave building inside you.

“Yes—yes, Draco—please—”

“Not yet,” he hissed, pulling his hand away suddenly, leaving you aching, gasping, trembling.

You whimpered from the loss, your body shaking in need.

But Draco’s eyes were molten, burning with possession, and his mouth pressed against yours in a kiss that promised you hadn’t even seen the worst of him yet.

“You want to be my filthy little thing?” he murmured against your lips. “Then beg.”

Your breath came in sharp gasps, skin flushed and damp, as you reached out with desperate fingers and took Draco’s hand—still wet from where it had just been inside you. You guided it back between your legs, aching for the pressure, the rhythm, him.

But before you could get it where you needed, he growled—a deep, territorial sound—and yanked his hand back with a firm grip that made your whole body jolt.

“No,” he said roughly, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. “That’s not how this works.”

Your fingers tightened on the edge of the sink as your thighs trembled, frustration and need burning hot through you.

“Draco, please,” you gasped, but he only raised an eyebrow, watching you with a slow, smug tilt of his head.

“Look at you,” he whispered, dragging the backs of his fingers down the inside of your thigh, never quite where you needed. “So needy… shaking for me already. And you really thought you could take control?”

His hand hovered there—close, so close—but never touching. You reached down with your own fingers this time, slipping between your slick folds and thrusting into yourself with a pace that tried to match what he had done before. Your moan echoed through the bathroom, high and aching.

But it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t him.

Draco watched, gaze darkening, jaw clenched, as you tried to pleasure yourself in front of him—hips rolling, body straining, breath ragged. But there was no satisfaction in it. It only made the emptiness sharper. It made your body ache even more.

Your lip trembled. “It’s not the same,” you whispered.

His chuckle was low and wicked. “Of course it’s not,” he said, stepping closer, gripping your wrist and stopping your hand. “Because these—” he guided your fingers out and held your hand between you, slick and trembling— “aren’t mine.”

You whimpered, your knees threatening to give out.

“Say it,” he said, voice velvet and steel. “Say no one can make you feel the way I do.”

Your chest heaved, green eyes wide and glassy as you looked at him.

“No one,” you whispered. “No one, Draco. Please, I need—”

“You need what?” he murmured, brushing his lips against your cheek, then your jaw. “Say it. Properly.”

“I need you,” you choked out. “I need your fingers. Your mouth. Your cock. All of it. I need you. Please, Draco, I can’t—”

That was all it took.

The sharp edge of his restraint cracked in half. His eyes blazed as he growled into your mouth, crashing his lips to yours in a brutal kiss. His hand slid between your legs again, and this time, there was no teasing. No slow build.

His fingers thrust back inside you with the same devastating rhythm as before, curling just right, dragging helpless sobs from your throat as your nails raked down his shoulders. The pleasure exploded in white-hot flashes, your body melting and tightening all at once under his dominance.

“Mine,” he growled again and again, breath ragged against your neck. “You don’t touch yourself unless I say. You don’t come unless it’s by me.”

Your fingers clutched at his robes, holding on for dear life as he pushed you to the edge, again and again, the tension between you snapping like a whip in the air.

And you would’ve fallen—shattered and ruined in the best possible way—but his lips brushed your ear as he slowed, pulling back just enough to make you cry out again.

“I’m not done teaching you what happens,” he whispered, “when you forget who owns every inch of you.”

Your moan cracked into a sob of pleasure, your body trembling as Draco’s fingers refused mercy. Each thrust was precise, cruel in how perfectly they curled, making your thighs shake and your breath hitch.

“Draco,” you gasped, your head falling back against the mirror. “I—can’t—I’m—”

But he didn’t slow. He didn’t let up.

He was watching you, eyes dark and locked on your face as though trying to burn every sound and expression into his memory. And then—just when you thought you were going to tip into bliss—he groaned low in his throat, the sound thick with want.

You blinked through your haze just in time to see his free hand move. He tugged at his belt with rough fingers, popped the button, and dragged the zipper down. The sound alone sent a fresh wave of need through you.

“Draco?” you whispered, breathless and trembling.

His eyes never left yours.

He withdrew his fingers from you slowly—cruelly slow—and your body cried out at the loss. A high, helpless sound escaped your lips, your hips shifting toward him in pure instinct.

But he only smirked, gripping his now-freed length in his hand, the tip flushed and aching.

“You think I’m going to let you come without me?” he rasped, voice thick with dominance and need. “After the way you teased me all day—after you begged me like that?”

He stepped in closer, the head of his cock brushing your slick folds. You whimpered, your fingers clutching at his arms, nails digging in.

“You’re mine,” he said again, and then—

He thrust into you in one sharp, punishing stroke.

Your cry echoed through the tiled room, body arching hard against the sink, back bowed from the sudden stretch and heat and overwhelming fullness. It was too much—and not enough.

He was buried deep, deeper than his fingers ever reached, and you felt every inch of him. The thick, throbbing pulse of his cock inside you, the way he fit so perfectly, like you’d been made for him.

Draco groaned against your neck, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he held you in place. “So tight,” he breathed. “So fucking perfect around me.”

You couldn’t even form words—your hands flew up to his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he started to move. His pace was ruthless from the start, every thrust rocking you back into the mirror, each one followed by a hiss of pleasure from his lips.

The tension in the air was unbearable. The scent of sex, the heat of your bodies, the way you both breathed each other in like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

“You wanted this,” Draco snarled softly, kissing your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. “Walking around without your panties… so cocky… so filthy.”

“Draco—” you moaned, your voice wrecked.

“You thought you could drive me insane and not pay for it?” he growled, his thrusts slamming harder, faster. “I’m going to fuck you so deep, you won’t be able to think about anyone but me.”

Tears welled in your eyes—not from pain, but from the overwhelming force of it all. The way he filled you, possessed you, ruined you so thoroughly that nothing existed outside of this moment.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he said between clenched teeth, his rhythm unrelenting.

“I’m yours,” you cried, sobbing against his shoulder. “I’m yours—I’ve always been—”

He kissed you hard, a messy, claiming kiss that was all tongue and teeth and desperation.

He pulled back just far enough to press his forehead against yours, his pace never faltering, his breath hot on your lips.

“You feel that?” he whispered, low and dangerous. “That’s me. Only me.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks, moaning into his mouth as your body started to break apart beneath his.

The bathroom was filled with the symphony of slick skin, ragged breathing, and your broken cries of his name. The sound of Draco’s hips meeting yours echoed off the stone walls, relentless and sharp, a perfect rhythm that made your entire body tremble with every slam of his hips.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, your thighs shaking around his waist, and your head lolled back helplessly as his cock kept hitting that perfect spot inside you—over and over again. Your eyes rolled, jaw slack, breath catching in short sobs of pleasure.

“Right there,” you gasped, voice high and broken. “Draco—oh, my god—there—”

He growled deep in his chest, watching the way your body responded—how your breasts bounced wildly with every brutal thrust, how your legs twitched around him. His eyes darkened with hunger, possession, adoration.

“You’re a fucking vision,” he rasped, one hand sliding to your waist, the other coming up to grope at your breast, squeezing hard enough to make you whimper. “Look at you. You can’t even think, can you?”

You shook your head desperately, but no words would come. Just moans. Just his name tumbling over and over off your lips like it was the only thing left in your mind.

“Completely cockdrunk for me,” he growled with a twisted smirk, slamming into you harder, faster—each thrust stealing the breath from your lungs. “You love this. Love when I take you like this. When I ruin you.”

Your eyes fluttered, your body arching like a bow, caught between the searing edge of too much and not enough. You tried to respond, to say yes, please, always, but all you could manage was a loud, wrecked cry of his name.

“Say it,” Draco demanded, panting hard against your neck. “Tell me who does this to you. Who you belong to.”

“You—Draco!” you sobbed, lost in the haze of it all. “Only you. Always you. Please—don’t stop—”

His hands gripped you harder, fingers sinking into your hips, dragging your body onto him even deeper. He was in complete control—every move calculated to push you further, to watch you fall apart.

“I could watch you fall apart like this every damn day,” he whispered against your ear, voice thick with dark affection. “So perfect. So desperate. So mine.”

Your vision blurred as the knot inside you tightened, twisting hotter and hotter with every brutal thrust, every filthy word from his lips, every stroke of his body against yours.

And he felt it—felt you spiraling, clenching tighter around him, dragging him closer to his own edge.

“Come for me,” he commanded, slowing just enough to grind deep, right against that spot again. “Show me how much you need me.”

When you shattered, it was silent for a second—like the whole world held its breath. And then you sobbed his name so loud it echoed, your entire body shaking as you convulsed around him.

Draco didn’t stop—he rode it out, watching your face, the way your lips trembled, the tears on your cheeks, your blissed-out, cockdrunk expression like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

You trembled in his arms, your body still quaking from the intensity of your climax, your breath short and gasping—but Draco didn’t stop.

Not even close.

He was still moving inside you with an unforgiving rhythm, his hips snapping against yours, cock dragging through your oversensitive walls like he was determined to leave his mark. The pleasure had tipped over into something almost unbearable, a wildfire dancing along every nerve ending—but still, you took it. Because it was him.

“Draco—” you whimpered, voice broken, hands scrambling for purchase against his back. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled into your ear, biting lightly at your lobe. “You will. You’re gonna take everything I give you.”

The hand on your waist gripped tighter, and the other slid up, fingers curling beneath your chin until he was forcing your head back, making you look into his eyes. They were wild, half-lidded, pupils blown wide with dark lust and something far deeper.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice low and rough. “The way you’re still clenching around me, sucking me back in like you don’t want to let go?”

You cried out as he angled his hips differently—deeper, harder, making your walls flutter helplessly again, dragging you toward a second peak far too soon.

“You love this,” he whispered. “Love how I don’t let you go. How I fuck you like you’re mine.”

“Draco—please—” your words dissolved into a whimper, your body betraying you, tightening around him again like it was begging for more.

He groaned, head dropping to your shoulder for a moment as your body pulsed around him again. His control was fraying—he could feel it—but it only made him rougher, more desperate.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re gonna make me lose my damn mind.”

And then he pulled back enough to look at you, his hand still firm on your jaw, holding you in place so you couldn’t look away.

“When we get back to our dorm,” he said darkly, his voice like gravel, “I’m going to bend you over our bed and do it all over again.”

You whimpered—loud, involuntary—and your body clenched around him so hard he nearly dropped to his knees.

He smirked. “You want that, don’t you? Want me to ruin you again. Have you screaming into our sheets.”

Your nails raked down his back as you nodded, nearly delirious from the overstimulation, from how deep he was inside you, from the possessive fire in his voice. “Yes—yes—please, Draco…”

“You’re gonna fall asleep with my come still dripping out of you,” he snarled, snapping his hips harder now, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing in the chamber like something sacred, something obscene.

“And when you wake up,” he panted, “I’ll still be inside you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes—not from pain, but from how intensely you felt him, how much he overwhelmed every part of you. You felt him getting close, his rhythm growing erratic, the edge in his voice raw now, ragged.

“Say it,” he breathed. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you sobbed. “You, Draco. I’m yours—always.”

And with one final, punishing thrust, he groaned your name like it burned him, burying himself to the hilt, his whole body trembling as he emptied inside you.

He didn’t move for a long moment—just held you against the sink, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling, bodies still connected, still pulsing together like one. His hand slid down your cheek, his voice quieter now but no less intense.

“You drive me insane,” he whispered. “And I’ll never stop wanting you.”

You leaned into him, eyes fluttering closed as your fingers found his hair, soft now, comforting despite the ache in your limbs.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered back.

He smiled—dark and soft all at once.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Draco’s arms were firm around you, his stride purposeful as he carried you through the dimly lit corridors of the Slytherin common room. Your head rested weakly against his chest, breath still shallow, limbs boneless from what he’d done to you in the prefects’ bathroom—twice.

The soft crackle of the fire flickered across emerald stone walls, casting shadows as the room buzzed with low conversation. But it all came to a halt the moment the door swung open and Draco stepped inside, your limp, well-fucked form in his arms.

Pansy’s eyes widened. Daphne covered her mouth. Blaise arched a brow and let out a low whistle.

Theodore groaned, tossing his quill on the table. “Again?”

Draco didn’t even slow. His smirk was slow, arrogant, smug in the way only he could be. “She’s exhausted,” he drawled without glancing at them. “Can’t even walk. Thought I’d carry what’s mine.”

Your face flushed against his chest, but you didn’t protest. You couldn’t. You were still trembling, your thighs sticky, your throat raw from moaning his name into stone and silk. Your fingers curled weakly into the collar of his robes as he carried you past your staring friends.

Blaise gave a low chuckle, muttering something about “needing soundproofing spells.”

Draco’s smirk only deepened as he approached the stairs. “Don’t wait up.”

The door to your shared dorm clicked shut behind you, sealing you away from the world. The moment it did, the air shifted. Still thick with the heat between you, with possession and passion that hadn’t yet burned out.

He set you down on the bed gently, the first sign of softness since he had taken you hours ago. But the glint in his storm-grey eyes told you he wasn’t done—not by a long shot.

You tried to sit up, but your muscles ached. Your body trembled with exhaustion, overstimulated and aching in the most delicious way.

Draco leaned over you, brushing your hair back from your face, his thumb gliding softly across your cheek. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Good.”

“Draco…” your voice was hoarse, breathless, pleading—but even now, even broken open like this, you were still looking at him like he hung the stars.

He kissed you slowly this time. No rush. Just a claiming, a reminder.

“Think anyone else would ever see you like this?” he whispered against your lips. “Laid out. Weak. Trembling just from me?”

You shook your head, and he smiled—sharp, wicked, proud.

“Didn’t think so.”

He trailed kisses down your jaw, your throat, his fingers slowly undoing the rest of your clothes. But this time wasn’t about urgency. It was about ownership. Worship.

“You were made for me,” he breathed, eyes scanning every inch of you like he still couldn’t believe you were real. “And I’ll spend every night reminding you.”

Your hand found his hair, fingers sinking into those soft, pale strands. “You already have,” you whispered.

Draco hovered above you, his forehead pressed against yours, and for a brief moment, his eyes weren’t clouded by lust—but something deeper. Fiercer.

“I’ll never let you go,” he said softly. “Never.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I don’t want you to,” you whispered.

And in that quiet, tangled space, surrounded by soft sheets and flickering candlelight, he kissed you again—not to dominate, not to conquer—but to claim.

The moonlight spilled through the tall windows of your shared dorm, casting pale silver onto your skin like liquid stardust. The fire burned low in the hearth, its soft crackle the only sound besides your breathless moans and the rustle of the sheets as Draco moved over you like a shadow possessed.

His hands framed your waist, fingers possessive, reverent—like he was reminding himself this wasn’t a dream. That you were real. His.

He hovered above you, his eyes hooded with need as they raked over your body. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Every inch of you is perfect. You don’t even realize what you do to me, do you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were swallowed by a gasp as his lips wrapped around your nipple, hot and soft and overwhelming. Your back arched off the bed, a breathless moan escaping you as you instinctively threaded your fingers into his hair, tugging tightly.

Draco groaned low against your skin, the vibration sending tingles straight through your chest. He didn’t stop—he sucked harder, his tongue swirling deliberately, almost cruelly, around the sensitive bud. His other hand slid over the curve of your breast, fingers squeezing and massaging to match the rhythm of his mouth.

“Draco,” you whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by the twin sensations—his mouth, his hand, his heat pressing you down into the mattress.

He chuckled darkly against your skin, pulling off with a soft, wet pop. “You’re so sensitive tonight,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin as he spoke. “You like when I touch you like this, don’t you?”

You nodded, dazed and breathless, your voice barely a whisper. “Yes… always.”

That answer made his eyes flare. He lowered his mouth again, trailing his tongue across your other breast, flicking teasingly before his lips closed around your nipple once more. Your moans turned desperate, thighs shifting beneath him, seeking friction, seeking more.

He grinned against your chest. “So eager,” he breathed. “I haven’t even started yet.”

His voice was like velvet and fire, and you whimpered as he gently bit down—just enough to make you shiver—before sucking again, deeper this time, more possessive.

“Mine,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “Every part of you.”

Your hands trembled in his hair, and when he finally pulled away, your chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. He looked up at you, hair tousled from your grip, lips glistening, and that wicked gleam in his eyes.

He kissed your sternum, slow and lingering, then moved up to hover over you. His hand cupped your face gently, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip.

“You drive me mad, you know that?” he whispered. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You reached up, caressing his jaw, your voice soft and shaken. “Then show me.”

His smirk returned, full of promise and wicked heat.

“Oh, I intend to.”

Your fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles white, as Draco finally pushed inside you—one hard, deep thrust that stole the breath from your lungs. The stretch was immediate, the fullness intense, and your back arched off the bed with a cry that he swallowed in a kiss.

“Merlin,” he growled into your mouth, voice ragged, “you feel like you were made for me.”

His hips didn’t hesitate. His pace was brutal from the start—rhythmic, punishing, like he had no intention of going slow. The bed creaked under the force of his movements, protesting each thrust as he drove himself deeper into you, again and again, without mercy.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, trying to hold onto something, anything, as the pressure inside you built quickly, dizzyingly. His cock hit that spot inside you with precision, every time, like he knew—and of course he did. He knew your body better than anyone ever could. He studied it like a sacred text and mastered it like a spell.

You cried out his name, over and over, your voice shaking with each slam of his hips, and he loved it—every sound, every tremble, every time you clenched tighter around him like you couldn’t help it.

“Louder,” Draco snarled against your neck, his breath hot and ragged. “Let them all hear how good I fuck you.”

You whimpered, half from his words, half from the way your body was unraveling beneath him. He gripped your hips tighter, pulling you into each thrust with force, his nails digging into your skin, marking you.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze—stormy grey, dark with hunger, fierce with something deeper. His expression twisted with pleasure as he watched your face, saw you lose yourself completely under him.

“You’re mine,” he said, like a vow. “No one else will ever have you like this. No one can.”

You nodded through the haze, your voice breaking. “Yours… always.”

The words made him snarl with satisfaction. He leaned down and kissed you fiercely, his pace never slowing, never faltering. He poured all of it into you—every ounce of control, of possession, of worship twisted with desire.

You didn’t know how long he kept going—minutes? Hours? Time didn’t exist in that room. There was only the sound of your gasps, his groans, the sharp slap of skin against skin, and the bed that shook beneath you.

When your body finally gave out—shaking, aching, overwhelmed—Draco still didn’t stop. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he buried his face in your neck.

“You take me so well,” he whispered. “You always do.”

And in that raw, breathless space between madness and devotion, you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Because he was.The room was thick with heat, the air heavy with every moan, every gasp, every echo of skin meeting skin. Your body trembled beneath Draco’s, completely spent, completely his—but he didn’t stop.

He hadn’t slowed since your release—if anything, his thrusts had grown more relentless. Your limbs had gone limp, boneless from pleasure, eyes glazed in the haze of overwhelming sensation. Yet Draco, with that unyielding fire in his eyes, wasn’t finished.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat when he suddenly shifted, his strong hands curling under your thighs. He lifted them with ease, placing your legs over his shoulders. The angle shifted everything—deeper, fuller, blinding.

You cried out, head rolling back against the pillow, hands clutching the sheets as his cock slammed into that spot inside you over and over again with ruthless precision.

“Oh god—Draco—” you choked out, voice wrecked from pleasure.

His pace didn’t falter. If anything, your reaction only spurred him on. He looked down at you, chest heaving, golden hair clinging to his temples with sweat. And then he saw it.

A low, guttural moan left his throat as his hand moved to your lower belly, fingers brushing the slight bulge with awe and wicked satisfaction.

“Look at that,” he growled, voice rough with arousal. “You’re so full of me… I can see myself inside you.”

You sobbed from the overwhelming pleasure, your body twitching with each brutal thrust. The pressure, the stretch, the weight of his words—it all tangled together until your senses blurred.

Draco leaned down, your thighs pushed tighter against your chest, his pace never letting up. His lips brushed your ear, voice low and possessive.

“This is how I want you,” he whispered, breath warm. “Laid out, ruined, trembling—so full of me you can’t think straight.”

You whimpered, barely able to nod, and he kissed your jaw with unexpected tenderness despite the roughness of his movements.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice gentling for just a moment. “Let go, baby. I’ll hold you together.”

And with those words, your body shattered again, a wave of bliss crashing through you so hard it left you gasping for breath, clinging to him like he was the only thing tethering you to earth.

Draco moaned loudly as you clenched around him, and he drove in deeper, grinding against that spot until your vision blurred. He was wild, wrecked, lost in the feel of you, in the way your body molded to his like it was made for him alone.

When he finally stilled inside you, his breath hot and ragged against your neck, he didn’t pull away. He stayed wrapped around you, as if grounding himself in your warmth, in your surrender.

His lips pressed softly against your cheek, then your collarbone.

“I’m never letting you go,” he murmured.

And in your dazed, blissful silence—you believed him.

Tag List : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @hayleythecannibal @ceoofglytchell @ashblooddragons @laedeviour @venusbyline

[lvrclerc]

✶ UNTIL SUNRISE

summary: you and charles broke up a year ago ─ it was messy, brutal, but not unexpected. what was unexpected, though, was to see each other at a monaco party thrown by your socialite friend. between champagne, stolen stares and bittersweet regrets, things left unsaid come back to haunt the both of you.

F1 MASTERLIST | CL16 MASTERLIST | PT2: UNTIL SUNSET

pairing: charles leclercﾉex!f!reader

wc: 7k

cw: angst, bittersweet, smut (oral f!receiving, p in v, unprotected - mdni!), second chance, exes to lovers, reader is BITTER, accurate french, ocs for plot purpose, english is not my first language

a/n: the weeknd the party & the afterparty on repeat, while there is smut it's entirely skippable! if you just want to read the clean vers beginning and end will be marked by bolded words :) i'll still ask minors not to interact

DRENCHED IN SUNSET, Monaco glistened under waves of gold and orange, highlighting the marble of its buildings and the shine of the coast. The streets bustled with laughter dangerously mixed with the motor of fast cars and the crash of the waves. The air smelled like salt, and the tall buildings of the city centers looked like lazy Saturday afternoons spent losing yourself in the neverending streets. Monaco was a country of fast heartbeats and taken chances, and for a time now long past, it felt like home.

It didn’t anymore. As you stepped out of the car, you couldn’t feel more like a stranger.

You thanked the driver with a small smile and a generous tip before he turned around and drove away. The marble structure in front of you shone as the last ray of the sun caressed it ─ it was the stuff of wonder: tall windows and ancient Italian architecture. Your friend, Bridget, always knew how to go all out, but this time she had every right. It was her engagement party after all. You felt ridiculously small as the butlers opened the massive doors when you entered. Monaco and you had been estranged for more than a year now, you should be used to the feeling, but the bitter taste of heartache and tears was stuck in your throat like glue as you made your way up the stairs to the reception.

Enough of that, you thought, you came to celebrate your friend and her fiancé. You came to have fun, not to dwell on the past. You clutched your purse, plastered on a bright smile, and blended in the crowd.

Bridget didn’t make the guest list with a nimble hand, that was for sure. The room was swarming with people, all dressed to the nines, some you did and didn’t recognize. You fit in amazingly well, your dress sweeping the floor and the warm air hitting your bare back, a delicate necklace dropping between your shoulder blades. Soft jazz echoed against the walls, and conversations and champagne flowed as you took laps around the room searching for Bridget.

You knew she found you first when her hands wrapped around your waist in a bear hug. “You came!” She yelled in your ear.

A surprised screech escaped you while your friend twirled around you in ecstasy, all in silky white and tanned skin. Guests turned around, laughing at her antics, while the first real smile out of your evening broke your stunned expression. “What made you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know!” Bridget stood in front of you, holding you by the forearms as if she were afraid you’d run away. “You just─ We haven’t talked a lot the past year, and you moved out. I thought that maybe you didn’t want to come back here.”

Your chest tightened a little at her self-consciousness. Leaving was necessary, and you had found a semblance of peace by doing so, but you might have neglected a few connections in the meantime. Bridget included. “I know I haven’t been as present as I should have been, but there was no way I would have missed your engagement party,” you reassured her. “It’s just that with everything that happened, I needed some time to think. But I’m here now! We can celebrate properly. Where’s Jaime?” Her fiancé, soon-to-be husband.

The glimmer of happiness your consolation brought to Bridget’s eyes vanished as soon as you mentioned the events that caused your sudden disappearance. It had that effect on people. Nobody had expected it, except maybe you and the other party involved. “About that… the whole thing… there’s something I need to tell you about tonight, Y/N…”

“There you are, Bree! Look who I found trying to sneak his way to the piano.” You and Bridget turned at the sound of Jaime’s voice ─ and the second he came into view, the blood in your veins turned icy.

Because behind him was the reason you moved out of Monaco. Dressed in a sharp black suit with the trademark red tie around the collar of his shirt, his hair an artful mess of brown, the green eyes that promised you so much widening in recognition.

Charles Leclerc, your ex-boyfriend─ no, scratch that, the ex-love of your life, stood before you, champagne in hand, and you were mentally back in the threshold of his apartment a year ago, where your life fell apart in the slamming of a door.

You didn’t miss the way his knuckles tightened around the glass, nor how his pace faltered behind Jaime when he set his eyes upon you. The overwhelming distance between the two of you, whether physical or emotional, still stabbed you in the stomach.

You shouldn't have been surprised he was invited. He was one of Jaime's closest friends, they had known each other for years. There was a small part of you who knew but didn't want to face the possibility of Charles being here. Now, it was way more than a possibility.

The four of you went quiet. Bridget bit her lip, Jaime awkwardly stepped from one foot to the other, aware of what he’s caused, Charles’ eyes were stuck on you, almost transfixed. The air in the room became scarce, almost impossible for you to grasp fully: your world was limited to Charles. Apparently, a year was not near enough to swallow down the hurt and the gaping hole he left in you.

You couldn’t let the silence go on longer or you’d drown. Almost as a reflex, a fabricated smile made its way to your face and the split second of hurt across your face disappeared. “Doesn't surprise me at all!” You glanced at Charles, and the fake sympathy in your voice seemed to startle him out of his trance. “Well, don't let me keep you longer, Bridget. You have guests to attend to. Jaime, it was really nice to see you again. Now if you'll excuse me.”

You didn't stick around for any reactions. The bar at the other end of the room was practically screaming your name and if you were to survive tonight, you needed something stronger than champagne. Fighting to get out of the suffocating sphere around Charles, you almost dropped your whole weight on the red-cushioned stool, startling the bartender. “Can I have an Espresso Martini? Don't go easy on the vodka. Please.”

You barely had time to sip the sugary drink when the cocktail got in your hand before a dark, warm amber perfume you knew all too well grazed your nose and swallowed you whole, heart with it. Shutting your eyelids tight, you took a deep breath.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” Charles said.

He put his back against the bar, sipping from his champagne flute and carefully avoiding the distrusting glance you threw his way as if he wasn’t the one striking up a conversation with you. You couldn’t help the venom in your voice when you answered. “Well, Monaco’s not that big.” You wished it was. It would have been less painful to come back, to feel him so close to you ,and to still react to it.

That made him look your way, at least. Charles almost looked pained but quickly regained his usual composure. You graced him with a half smile, trying to sweeten your words. “And I wouldn’t miss Bridget’s engagement party.”

He chuckled at that, swirling the bubbly liquid in his glass. “We did play a big role in that happening, it would’ve been a shame.”

Yes, you did. After you and Charles got together, it was only a matter of time before both of your friend groups merged ─ friendships were extremely important to the both of you, and there was no way it was going to work if you didn’t get to know them at some point. During a dinner Charles organized for your birthday, you both noticed how Charles’ friend Jaime was making eyes at your friend Bridget, and how Bridget seemed to laugh a little too loud when he was around. Next thing you knew, you two were playing Cupid between muted giggles and stolen kisses. Not even a year later they were engaged.

And you and Charles weren’t anything anymore. The memory erased the sweetness of the sugar in your cocktail and left you with a bitter aftertaste. You didn’t want to remember anymore. It hurt too much.

“Yeah, well, looks like they’re doing much better on their own.”

You threw your head back and downed the end of your drink. If Charles wanted to answer anything, he swallowed it back, preferring to watch you with the same calculation he used on the track. For the second time in your life, you felt like a statistic in his life. The double dose of vodka you ordered was starting to wreak havoc on your empty stomach, and acidic words flew out before you could stop them. “So, still driving like you have something to prove?”

A flash of hurt distorted his delicate traits, but he didn’t miss a beat. “Still running away from your problems?”

Silence stretched between the two of you, letting the words marinate in the air. Music and chatter were getting louder but the only thing you could hear was the sharp sting of his words. You signaled the bartender for another drink ─ bad idea, but again, everything you were doing right now didn’t exactly fit in the good decision category. “That’s rich,” you laughed humorlessly, “coming from the guy who spent months pretending I didn’t exist.”

He exhaled sharply. “Don’t act like you were the only one hurting.”

“Oh, I’m sorry─ did I ruin your life by walking away? Because I remember doing it and you just─” you gestured vaguely, “letting me.”

“And what, you expected me to beg?”

Your fresh drink barely even grazed your lips before you slammed it down on the bar. The room was suddenly too loud, too crowded, too suffocating. “No, Charles, I expected you to care.” You despised how your voice broke at the end of your sentence.

That lands. His facade crumbled ever-so-slightly, enough for you to see the vulnerability you became all too familiar with. The regrets rippling in your stomach did not correlate with the words you spew out. Charles took a step closer, and suddenly his expensive cologne and something so distinctively him overwhelm you. “You think I didn’t?” Barely contained frustration curled around every syllable, his voice an octave lower. “You think it didn’t kill me to watch you go?”

“If it really killed you, you would’ve stopped me.”

His gaze dulled, and the fingers around his glass twitched. “And if you really wanted to stay, you wouldn’t have left.”

The words settled between the two of you like a live wire, buzzing and electrifying. Charles’ eyes scrutinized yours, and as he put his empty flute of champagne on the counter, you couldn’t stand how your pulse stuttered when his fingers grazed yours. The same hand flexed by his side.

Whatever anger you felt when you started spewing venom at him slowly died down, replaced by something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Acerbic regrets, maybe, mixed with the wet outrage of misplaced resentment. Your limits were drawn at the emptiness of your stomach, the hum of the vodka in your veins, and the hollow of Charles' pupils when he looked at you.

You no longer knew what it meant, and you weren’t sure you could handle the uncertainty.

“We shouldn’t be doing this at Bridget’s party,” you murmured. “She deserves to have a good night. Jaime too.”

“You’re right.” He looked at the ground, and you swore his eyes were shining. “Is there even a right time to do this?”

“There’s none for us. Not anymore, at least. You missed your opportunity a year ago.”

You slowly slid a bill toward the waiter, took your cocktail, and carefully avoided looking at Charles as you walked away. You’d have to shorten your time at this party if you wanted to survive it. Bridget would understand ─ she always did. Something cruel in the back of your mind wondered if Charles would do too.

Most of your time was spent mingling with old friends and acquaintances. You answered the same questions with the same smile and tone for each of them: Yes, you needed a fresh start, that’s why you left. No, you were at peace with your current situation, it was a clean slate. Maybe you’d want to join them for dinner, one day. No, you didn’t care Charles was there tonight, not at all.

Yet, you were painfully aware of the Monegasque’s presence. It was a magnetic pull, in the way you wanted to avoid him like the plague but neither of you could stray too far away: you were both orbiting around each other, far enough for your heart to settle but too close for comfort. It wasn’t enough ─ you didn’t know which one you were talking about.

You found Bridget after another good hour of waltzing around the room, and she dropped on you with a flurry of apologies about not telling you sooner, that she learned last minute Charles was coming. You laughed it off to reassure her, but the truth was that you were already ready to leave. A minute spent there was one more minute dipping your toes in a dangerous type of nostalgia. You didn’t feel capable of handling it any longer.

But you did promise Bridget to stay until the slow dance.

It was fairytale-like, how the jazz music and the incessant rumbling of conversation turned into soft piano and hushed whispers as Jaime and she stepped onto the dance floor. The color coordination of their clothes, their smiles as they basked into each other’s presence, happy, their graceful yet discreet movements to the music ─ they would have a beautiful wedding, and Bridget would make the most beautiful bride. A single teardrop slipped past your lashes.

You were in the first rank of the circle that formed around them. People were elbowing others to share your spot, so it wasn’t much of a shock when Charles ended up next to you. You still had to repress back a sharp gasp at his sudden proximity. “They look perfect,” he whispered, barely audible.

You didn’t know if he spoke to himself or if he noticed you next to him. You answered nonetheless. “They really do.” Charles didn’t look surprised by your interjection, which made you understand the comment was indeed directed at you.

“Do you…” He hesitated, sneaking a glance that you met by accident. “Do you think we looked like that, at some point?”

Music filled the air between you. “Yes. We did.”

A half-smile stretched your lips, though without any substance to it. Slowly, people and couples all around you joined Bridget and Jaime on the dance floor. Their partners took hold of their waist, intertwined hands, and slowly glided around the marble floor. It was hypnotizing.

Charles’ fingers twitched in the dim light of the room, brushing yours oh so innocently. Shivers ran down your spine at the soft contact. It was only a matter of seconds before you subconsciously sought his touch once more, out of habit or homesickness, you didn’t know. Casually, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world, your hands intertwined. It was hesitant, and you just kept staring at the slow dance in front of you, but the feeling of his knuckles grazing yours, the back of his hand you’d trace the veins of during long nights…

The weight of memories made you nauseous. 

You needed to get out. Now. You barely even muttered an excuse before snapping your hand back and rushing outside.

The night was sharp against your overheated skin, but the three cocktails you inhaled were enough to keep you warm. Breathe in through the nose, out by the mouth ─ again and again, until the palpitations against your ribcage finally ceased. What the hell was that?

Your fingers still tingled from where Charles had touched them ─ so innocent, so casual, like he hadn’t once held your entire world in his hand and let it slip away. You squeezed your eyes shut: you couldn’t handle this party any longer. You stuck until the slow dance, you fulfilled your promise. Except you were supposed to sleep at Bridget’s tonight, sparing you the added expense of a hotel in Monaco, and she wasn’t leaving her own engagement party anytime soon, even for you. You could hitchhike or call an Uber if you knew where her house was.

No hotel booked. No backup plan. No escape.

A familiar voice broke your thoughts. “Running again?”

You turned abruptly to see Charles at the grand entrance of the building. He stood there, hands buried in his pockets, the soft light of the entry hall graciously dancing on his features. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes─ God, his eyes. They held something between concern and something else, something unreachable and unspoken. You swallowed with difficulty.

“Not everything is about you, Charles.”

He hummed. “Didn’t say it was.”

Silence. He took a few steps closer, and the thick fog of the situation tightened around you ─ the past, the present, the fact you had nowhere to go. Charles titled his head, studying you. “You don’t have a place to stay, do you?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hating how easily he could still see right through you after everything. “I’m sleeping over at Bridget’s.”

“But you don’t want to stay until the party’s over.”

You prayed somebody would make him shut up as you answered through gritted teeth. “I’ll figure something out.”

At this point, the Monegasque was close enough that you could see the muscle ticking in his jaw, like the idea of you wandering through the city alone at this hour physically pained him. A few seconds passed before a sigh escaped him and he spoke up again.

“Come to mine.”

You blinked. “What?”

Charles' gaze softened, almost making your knees buckle under the heaviness of it, but his tone remained steady, if somewhat quieter when he confessed, “I still have some of your things. It makes sense. I know you’re not capable of waiting until the end of the party.”

It makes sense. Like it was logical, like it wasn’t dangerous for your heart to step back into the house that held so many feelings and memories. Your lips parted, forming a protest, but Charles beat you to it. “I’ll sleep on the couch if that’s what you want.” His voice dipped, now lower with insistence and blatant worry. “But don’t be stubborn. Just let me take you home.”

Home.

You exhaled shakily. The word was enough to make you shudder, or maybe it was the hopeful way Charles’ tone curled around it.

Any person in their right mind would have said no. You should say no. You should call a cab to a random hotel and make do like you always did. But your body betrayed you: you nodded, slowly, before your mind could catch up with your actions. 

Charles didn’t gloat or smile. Instead, a visible tension seemed to leave his shoulders and he stepped aside as if waiting for you to move first to his car, you could see the familiar shape of it in the distance. He was giving you the opportunity to leave, the one he never gave you back then.

You still sat in the passenger seat.

The city lights blurred past during the short ride. It was quiet, not awkward ─ just heavy. You couldn’t forget the way to his house, your house, even if you tried to. It was a tear in your soul, a reminder. Every streetlight brushed against his features in flickers. You tried your best not to stare, but his sharp jaw, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tight… Neither of you spoke. Maybe that was safer.

When he pulled into the garage and killed the engine, you finally exhaled.

“Come on,” Charles said softly, as if he was afraid too much noise would break whatever fragile thread held you together.

Walking into his house was like stepping into the remnants of a dream when the morning came.

It smelled the same ─ clean, and the faint trace of his amber cologne clung to the air and your skin like melted plastic. “I’ll get you something to sleep in,” Charles said, disappearing into his bedroom. Once, it was yours.

A few things had changed, you’re pretty sure the lamp in the corner of the living room wasn't there before and he changed the rug ─ you always hated it anyway. But some hadn’t. A red sweater you used to steal regularly hung over the couch. You ran your fingers along the kitchen counter, a ghost tracing the memories of a past life. How many times had you leaned against this exact spot, laughing at some dumb joke he made while he cooked?

When Charles returned, he was changed into a simple white tee shirt and gray sweatpants. He held out something all too familiar ─ white shorts and a tee-shirt of his, brown, soft, and worn. After a while sleeping at his, it became more yours than it was his and he ended up giving it to you. It was your favorite.

You hesitated. “You kept it?”

“I kept most of it.” He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

Your fingers brushed his as you took it and for a second, neither of you moved. “Thank you,” you whispered. Charles just nodded and you made your way to the bathroom.

You changed, hands trembling as you slipped the shirt on. It smelled like fresh laundry and something so undeniably him. You hated how much comfort it brought you. How good it felt on your skin. You looked around the bathroom, noticing some of your leftover skincare products aligned next to the mirror of what used to be your side, and you swallowed with difficulty. He kept most of it. Your heart threatened to give out right here and there. When you walked out, Charles was sitting on the couch, staring into the emptiness.

You should go to sleep. You should pretend this is normal and turn away. But there are a lot of things you should have done tonight and didn’t do, so what was one more?

Instead, you walked over and hesitantly settled beside him, a little bit closer than you should be, the pounding in your chest so loud you were afraid he could hear it. The city lights poured through the windows, drenching his face in long shadows and nostalgia. Neither of you said anything for a while, basking in the stillness of what was.

Then, so quietly you barely caught it─ “I missed you.”

The corners of your eyes started burning the second the words left his lips. His head sharply turned toward you, eyes searching for something in your face. “I know… I know I don’t get to say that, but it’s the truth.” 

Your breath hitched. If you were a better person, you would have let it go. Let it sit in the air, fade away like all the things he should have said but never did. But the weight of them, the sheer audacity they let transpire after everything ─ it would kill you to just let it be. Your fingers curled against your knees as you forced out a wet, bitter laugh that didn’t even sound like yours.

“That’s your problem, Charles. You always tell the truth when it’s too fucking late.”

His jaw visibly tensed. “That’s not fair. You’re not innocent either.”

“Isn’t it?” This time, you fully turned to face him. You were angry, but underneath all that rage was something fragile hiding in the depths of your facade, something so desperately broken, begging to be fixed. Your voice wavered as you continued. “You missed me? Where was this when I was actually there? When I was waiting for you to show up, to choose me over everything else for once?”

“You think I didn’t want to?”

You scoffed. “I think you didn’t.”

The silence was deafening. Charles leaned back against the couch, and he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You don’t understand.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and the feelings you spent a year trying to bury under the pretense of peace rushed to the surface, drowning you with it. “Then help me,” your voice broke, “make me understand, Charles, because all I can remember is feeling like I was never good enough.”

His head snapped toward you. His expression─ Raw. Devastated. Emotions painfully obvious in every trait. “You were enough. More than enough, you were everything. And I─ I just didn’t know how to keep you.” His voice was just as teary as yours, if a little stronger, as if he was mad at himself. Your heart twisted violently in your chest.

“Then why did you let me go?”

Charles ran a hand down his face, looking up at the ceiling like the answer was hidden in the dark lights. His next sentence came out in something next to a whisper. “Because I thought it’d be better for you.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” You let out a wobbly breath.

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to argue, like he wanted to take back the words and shove them back in his mouth in shame ─ but he didn’t. He let them simmer between you two, like so many other things.

You had spent so long thinking that Charles didn’t love you enough to fight for you. But now, here in the dim glow of his house, the faint sounds of cars and laughter coming from the streets echoing against the walls, you realized the truth was even crueler. He loved you enough to let you go. It didn’t make it hurt any less ─ for all you knew, it wrecked you even more.

Everything was so fragile. The tension between you, the past, the feeble source of city lights shining on you both. And then─ his fingers twitched. Just slightly, resting on the couch beside you, brushing against yours, remnants of what happened in the party hall. It was small, hesitant. A question.

You knew where this would lead. You knew that nothing had changed, that the past still sat uncomfortably between you like an open wound. But, God help you, you turned your hand over almost immediately, allowing your fingers to thread through his. A shaky breath left his lips. Relief, surrender, and his thumb traced soft circles against your skin, old habits reignited like they never left.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Charles murmured.

“Then what do you want?”

He swallowed, his grip on your hand tightening as if he was afraid you’d disappear.

“You. Just you.”

Your heart rate picked up, your resolve crumbling like sand through an hourglass. Because you wanted him too. Maybe you always would.

And so, Charles leaned in, imperceptibly, hesitant and almost afraid in his gesture. His eyes darted from your eyes to your lips to your eyes again, and there was no coming back from that. Your lips crashed onto his.

It was different, distinguished from all the other ones you shared before. It wasn’t fueled by anger, desperation, or habit. The way his lips moved against yours in perfect synchronization, the ghost-like touch of his fingers running up your arms, his shaky breath against your skin when you parted for a split second too long. It was soft, lingering. The kind of kiss that felt like home.

And maybe, just for tonight, you’d let yourself believe that was enough.

You threw your arms around his neck, and melted against him when his rough palms found the dip of your waist. It was a rhythm you didn’t forget, no matter how many months passed. Charles lifted you up easily, as if you were nothing, settling you in his lap and his lips never once leaving yours. The kiss, so delicate and gentle, grew more and more erratic and his hands started roaming your sides, lower, right above the curve of your ass.

A quiet sigh escaped you when his head buried in your neck, nibbling against your supple skin, breathing you in like a drug. Your hands tangled in his hair. Charles’ grip on your hips got tighter, pressing you against him. He hissed, and you could feel every centimeter of him through his sweatpants touching your throbbing core. The effect you still had on him would have made you smile if your senses weren’t completely captured by the feeling of his mouth on your body, the delightful friction sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. 

“Please, Y/N,” he pleaded, high-pitched and desperate into your neck. He pushed himself up against your shorts, and a moan drew out of you, louder than any of your silent sighs. “Bordel, please, let me…”

There was no hesitation in your voice when you answered. “Yes.”

Charles wasted no time. His hands grabbed your thighs hard enough to leave marks and lifted you up, lips still on yours. You locked your legs around his waist and, carefully, he walked you to the bedroom. 

He set you down on the silky sheets as if you were made of porcelain, yet the way he kissed you was anything but gentle. His tongue slipped past your lips, demanding access you offered without a second thought. You could finally taste your shared breath, remnants of champagne, espresso, and tears lingering in the way he angled his mouth. He bruised you with his kiss. How you missed it. Him. The both of you.

Charles’ hands traveled further up, slowly dipping underneath your shirt. It didn’t take long for it to end up on the floor. He leaned back, staring at your body, leaving you panting from the sudden lack of contact. He took you in like a priceless painting, breathless himself like you hung the stars in the sky for him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Charles whispered, and the ache between your legs only intensified. One hand came to knead your naked breast, fingers ghosting over your erect nipple. You whimpered at the sudden contact. “Fuck, I missed seeing you like this. Hearing you. You can’t imagine how many nights I spent thinking about what I’d do to you if you were mine again. Just once.” He pinched your sensitive bud, and this time, his name slipped past your lips.

“Charles…” You gasped, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes. His gaze darkened at the sound of his name, and you saw how cock twitch through the thin fabric of his pants.

Your hands reached to untie the knot tying his sweatpants. His hands simply grazing you weren’t enough. He wasn’t the only one who spent nights reminiscing and gasping alone at night in an empty room ─ you needed him close. In every way. You needed it to be real.

Gently, he pushed your hand away and you couldn’t stop the whine that came out of your mouth. “Doucement,” Charles whispered.

He leaned down and dragged his lips on the curve of your neck, tasting your skin. He planted a kiss in the middle of your chest, took a nipple in his mouth he swirled around on his tongue and let out with an erotic pop, followed the line of your stomach until he reached the dangerously low hem of your shorts. He would look patient if the iron grip he had on your hips wasn’t betraying him.

Your breathing was uneven, and anticipation stained your underwear and shorts with a wet patch you would be ashamed of if you weren’t so desperate for touch. Charles untied and slipped off your shorts with a timed precision, and when his fingers started playing with the border of your panties, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Please…” 

Charles dropped a kiss on your clothed cunt, and you squirmed beneath him. “Tell me you want me.”

His words didn’t register in the fog of want clouding your mind. He repeated, this time with a little more force. “Tell me you want me, Y/N. Please.”

Your chest tightened at the pathetic need in his voice. “I want you. I want you so bad, Char─”

You didn’t notice him push your panties aside. All you knew was the feeling of his tongue, a slow lap along your folds, and any words you wanted to say died on your tongue with a silent cry.

It wasn’t soft or relaxed. Charles ate you out like a starved man as if the air he needed to live was between your legs. It was messy, a newfound fervor found as he circled your clit with his tongue, sucking on it, torturing it. You bucked under his mouth, pushing your hips against him, always craving more, more, more. More of the tightness in your lower stomach, more of him. When he lowered himself further and started exploring your warmth, you could barely breathe through the gasps and whines spilling from your lips.

Charles watched you eagerly from his point of view, hooded eyes glazed over by pure lust and need. His arms were hooked beneath your thighs, smothering himself in your cunt, and with his tongue pushing deeper inside you, the pad of his fingers came pressing down on your clit, making rapid and hard circles. The pace, fast and needy, his drunken look, the familiarity of it all… it was all too overwhelming. You were a writhing mess underneath this man.

After a year, he still knew your body by heart.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him as close as you could, eliciting a groan out of him that reverberated straight into your core. The knot in your stomach grew tighter and tighter, your breathing erratic. “Charles, I’m gonna─ Fuck! I’m close, please, I’m─”

And right as you were about to let yourself go, he stopped.

The high slipping through your finger was enough to throw you in deep confusion as you glanced down at him, your hands falling from his hair to the side of his face. Charles’ lips were glistening with your arousal, his gaze dark and hair messy, heaving. He looked downright pornographic.

He spoke up before you could word your protest. “Need to be inside of you, mon amour. Need to feel you coming around me.” His voice was hoarse and possessive, leaving no room for argument. The familiar pet name sent shivers down your entire body and you couldn’t find it in you to oppose him, not when you craved the same.

Charles was a man possessed, fumbling with the waistband of his sweats as you hurriedly helped him out of his shirt. His lean muscles on display, you traced them with your palm, feeling every scattered breath and the hitches of it when your nails grazed his skin. You stopped at the waistband of his boxers. You wished you weren’t as impatient, otherwise you would have savored the begging scrunch of his eyebrows, or the quiet whimpers escaping him. Instead, you released him from torture and helped him take it off.

His cock sprung out and tapped his stomach. At some point in your life, you got used to the size of it ─ now, you weren’t sure if your body knew how to take its length anymore. Slowly, Charles' hands gripped your hips to slide you closer to him, grinding his engorged member against your entrance. The sensation, so little and so much at the same time, had you release a strangled cry.

Charles leaned in closer, upper body above you, palms pressed next to each side of your head.  “D’you want it? This? Me?” His tip nudged your hole a little harder, and the small shock had you seeing stars. “Us?”

The question was charged with emotions and tears pricked your eyes. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him as close as you could. “Yes. More than anything.”

Those were all the words he needed. In a slow, agonizing push, he slid inside of you.

Nothing in the world could ever matter after that. It was dizzying, you could get drunk on the feeling: Charles filled you up so completely, reaching every sweet spot inside of you without even trying, and your back arched as if answering to his command. He took the opportunity to capture your back with one arm, bodies flushing against the other. You couldn’t remember the last time something had felt this right.

“Fuck… you feel so good, so tight,” he moaned in your ear. “Made for me. You were made for me.”

You answered between sharp intakes of air. “Yours, Charles.”

You felt his cock twitch inside of you at your words. He bottomed out, sucking in the thin skin of your collarbone. You croaked as he asked, “Mine?”

“All yours. Always have.”

All you could remember from here was the tangled mess of limbs you both became. His thrusts were erratic, slamming his hips upon yours like he was trying to mold your body to fit his. Your nails dug into his back ─ you dragged them down, finding no other outlet for the ache within you. Twisting, biting, moaning and kissing, lips and tongues at war to see who will leave the biggest imprint. Charles’ iron-clad hold on you only intensified the feverish state of the two of you, your skin glistening, panting. You couldn’t think straight anymore. All of you was his and all of his was yours.

“Shit, ‘M getting close,” Charles managed to articulate. “Need you to finish first. Fuck, need you to fall apart so I can see.”

You could only cry out his name in response, an unanswered prayer spilling from your lips. “I’m right there,” his pace picked up, his thrusts uneven between the plush of your thighs. “C’mon, I know you can do it. Let go for me, mon ange.”

The pad of his fingers drew slow circles on your clit, his rhythm relentless. It did it for you: in a flash of white, the knot in your lower stomach snapped. Everything narrowed down to the stuttering of Charles’ hips, spilling soon after you. He coated your insides with his warmth and broken pleas escaped you as he fucked your high and his with languid movements, gradually slowing down, bringing you down in the softest way possible.

The sheets were tangled, the air of the bedroom thick with heat, but neither of you spoke as Charles collapsed next to you. It was the type of silence that only came before something inevitable.

Your chest was still rising and falling unevenly, skin warm, raw from the way you had just taken each other apart. Charles laid on his back, one arm draped over his forehead, taking steady and measured breaths─ like he was trying to regulate something deeper than exhaustion. In the dim glow of his bedroom, reality finally settled in.

What you just did, with the guilt, heartbreak, and relief coming with it.

You sat up until you reached the edge of the bed, gazing emptily in front of you, wrapped in the sheets that smelled like you and him, your fingers playing with the hem of the fabric as you tried to remember how to breathe. You didn’t know what you should do from here and desperately dug in the depths of your mind to find an answer.

Behind you, Charles shifted. The mattress dipped under his weight, and before you could register his sudden closeness, you felt the warmth of his palm grazing up and down your spine, featherlight.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You swallowed hard, staring at the Monaco lights outside his window. “I don’t know how not to.”

Silence. Then, a whisper- “Come back to bed.”

You closed your eyes. The words shouldn’t have made you feel anything. They should have been meaningless, casual, something you could ignore ─ this whole ordeal should have been a one-time thing you could have forgotten when the morning came. But they weren’t.

Because you remembered this.

The way he used to whisper it on nights where you’d get up at ungodly hours, restless. The way he always reached for you, even in sleep. You turned slightly, catching sight of him in the semi-darkness of the room: messy hair, kiss-bruised lips, green eyes heavy with a feeling you knew too well but were too scared to name.

“Charles…”

“I know,” he said, almost frustrated. “I know we─” He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair. Softer─ “I know it doesn’t fix anything. I know we’ll wake up tomorrow and we’ll still be…”

Exes. Strangers.

People who still fit together in every way that mattered, except the ones that actually kept them from breaking.

“But… just for tonight, can you stay? With me? We can talk about it tomorrow. Just… stay.”

You hesitated.

Then, gently, you let the sheets slip from your naked shoulders as you turned fully, shifting back onto the mattress beside him. For a second, neither of you moved or even dared to breathe, too afraid to ruin it. Hesitantly, carefully, Charles reached for you. It wasn’t demanding, nor possessive like he was when you were busy unraveling each other ─ it was in the heat of the moment. This was raw, emotional, uncertain. Like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

You made the choice for him. Moving closer, you tucked yourself against his side, tangling your legs with his and resting your hands on his chest in an all too familiar fashion, the heat of skin warming you up. 

Charles melted and released a slow, shaky exhale as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. His fingers retraced the same patterns he did earlier along your back. The contact made your chest twist.

You chose to ignore it. You chose to ignore it all ─ tonight, this will be enough. You, him, and the unsaid. Everything else could wait until sunrise.

©DRGNSFLY 2k25 ─ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[justaz]

thinking of percy jackson who is a natural leader even though he doesn't want to be which makes him an even better leader who commands the skies and brings down storms that blot out the sun and make the ground tremble with it's force being mistaken for a son of Zeus

thinking of percy jackson whose fatal flaw is loyalty who is completely and utterly devoted to his wife annabeth and who protects his family above all other's, honoring Hera almost like a devotee

thinking of percy jackson who commands the seas and shakes the earth, who wrestles sea monsters and helps mermaids with their hangnails, freeing sea creatures from pollution before dragging it from the depths like the son of Poseidon that he is

thinking of percy jackson who recognizes cabin 4 as his cousins where everyone else underestimates them as gardeners but percy sees kronos and rhea's daughter, a powerful ancient goddess’s children who command the earth itself, training with them and watching them grow the plants of the earth and subconsciously mimicking the motions of their hands and accidentally latching onto the water in the plants and making them move like a son of Demeter

thinking of percy jackson who spars with clarisse as one of the only other campers who can keep up with him in a one v one, fighting ruthlessly with constant simmering rage under his skin like a son of Ares

thinking of percy jackson spending years at annabeth's side and being one of the only people who can keep up with her and catch onto her plans and understand her mind inside and out, percy making his own plans, his battle iq severely overlooked until the war itself comes to his door and he has to voice his plans to his comrades and his mind shines like a son of Athena

thinking of percy jackson who dreams of the past, present, and future, who has feelings and premonitions and is more in tune with fate and prophecies like a son of Apollo

thinking of percy jackson who never goes easy on an opponent because they're a woman, percy jackson who respects the hunters and is never condescending to them, percy jackson who achieves the approval of not just artemis herself but also zoë nightshade, a hurt girl who held a grudge for millennia, one of the only boys to earn the approval and respect of Artemis

thinking of percy jackson who worked in the forges with beckendorf then down in the forges with tyson and his other cyclops brothers, percy who blows up mt st helens and impresses the god himself despite the destruction of his forge, his own (limited) immunity to fire like a son of Hephaestus

thinking of percy jackson who doesn't buy into the idea of cabin 10 being full of shallow kids of a vapid love goddess, but instead sees children of one of the oldest gods born of the sea and ouranos, the sky itself, one of the only gods percy genuinely fears. percy spending time with cabin 10 almost as if they're his own siblings, all descendants of the sea, being taught by drew how to use his looks to his advantage even if he can't recognize his own beauty, using the tactics in california to charm free food from restaurant workers or to distract cashiers as he steals from the store, being so heartachingly beautiful that he's mistaken as a son of Aphrodite

thinking of percy jackson who spent a few weeks as an unclaimed kid, training with a demigod he looked up to, luke, son of hermes, knowing how to run and steal and gamble and how to use his words to get in and out of trouble, cunning and mischievous like a son of Hermes

thinking of percy jackson who knows madness intimately, who toed the line of falling too far as he choked and poisoned a goddess and reveled in it, who can control the vines of grapes, whose blood is too watery to get properly drunk (even if he never drinks) seeming like a more wild and chaotic son of Dionysus

thinking of percy jackson who commands the rivers of the underworld, rivers that aren't even water, but that he controls as if they are, percy who has swam in three of them but never succumbs to death while in them, always reaching the other shore. percy who takes death seriously and tries not to kill enemy demigods even in the midst of war when it slows him down, but he refuses. percy who was a commander in war time and time again and knows the weight of death intimately and treats it with the respect it deserves, handing the dagger to luke because he knows that sometimes you can't avoid it, you have to just let go. percy who welcomes death time and time again and doesn't fear it, almost longs for it as release. percy who commands the earth, shaking and splitting it as son of the earthshaker being mistaken for a son of Hades

thinking of percy jackson who values his family above all others, who opens the hearth to welcome all, not just children of the twelve olympians but even the children of the minor gods, treating them as family rather than lesser. percy who plays the sacrificial lamb time and time again to protect his loved ones, percy jackson who seems like a follower and devotee of Hestia

thinking of percy jackson, son of the sea, whose nature is water - adaptable and easy to change, water as the basis of life and encompasses all things from animals to humans to plants, percy who values all not on some system of glory and kleos and power, but off of one's own character, their own choices not their parents. percy jackson who is a son of poseidon but who is a child of olympus, a child of all, a hero who all the young demigods can look up to because they can all see themselves in him on some level, percy who learns from all and finds strength in each demigod and their domain that he protects and wields as his own

[queenofhalloween94]

Master List : Chapter List

Summary: You are the beloved human mate of seven ancient vampires — Jungkook, Jimin, Jin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Taehyung — who are cold, cruel, and utterly obsessed with you. Though they hate humans, you're their exception.

Warnings: 🔞, blood drinking, vampire sex, p in v sex, possessive, dark BTS

HAPPY FESTA Army's!!! 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Kpop stan since 2022, this is the result of watching Queen of the Damned while reading BTS fanfic haha

Enjoy!

The Quick and The Hungry

"Vampires occur everywhere, but in busy cities no one notices."- Matthew Schofield

The sun was long gone by the time you unlocked the front door, sighing as you stepped into the quiet house. The grand chandelier above swayed slightly with the breeze that followed you inside, casting fractured light across the polished marble floors. Normally, they’d be waiting — at least one of them would greet you with a quiet smile or a teasing remark. But tonight… silence.

Your brows furrowed. The mansion they called home was always a little cold — a permanent chill that seemed to live within its walls. But this felt different. Heavier. Stagnant.

You toed off your shoes, the clicking of your heels replaced by the soft padding of your socks as you moved further inside. "Jungkook? Namjoon? Jin?" you called softly, your voice echoing faintly. No answer.

It wasn’t like them to ignore you. Worry twisting your gut, you climbed the grand staircase, your hand brushing along the intricately carved railing. The hallway upstairs was dimly lit by the flicker of wall sconces, but you knew the way by heart. You stopped in front of the heavy double doors of the shared bedroom, heart beating just a little too fast.

Slowly, you pushed open the door. And there they were. All seven of them sprawled across the massive bed.

Jungkook, his dark hair falling into his pale face, lay across the foot of the bed, his chest rising and falling far too slowly. Jimin was curled up near the headboard, arms wrapped around a pillow as though trying to anchor himself. Jin, elegant even in exhaustion, had his head tilted back against the headboard, his skin nearly translucent under the dim light. Hoseok and Yoongi were side by side, unnaturally still, while Taehyung and Namjoon were draped over each other like discarded dolls.

You gasped, stepping closer. They looked… weak. “Guys?” you whispered, voice trembling. “What’s wrong?”

Namjoon stirred first, his usually sharp eyes opening halfway, revealing crimson irises dulled by fatigue. His voice was barely audible. “You're home...”

You climbed onto the bed, kneeling between them, cupping his cold face with both hands. “What happened to you?”

“We’re fine,” Jin murmured weakly. “Just... tired.”

“Tired?” you repeated, your voice cracking. “You’re never like this.”

Yoongi tried to smirk but failed, his eyes fluttering shut again. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?!” you snapped, panic rising. “Look at you all! You’re barely able to move.”

Jungkook, who could barely lift his head, finally whispered, “We’ll be fine… just need some time.”

“No," you said firmly. "No more lies. You don’t get like this from just ‘being tired.’” Your eyes darted across their fragile forms, realization dawning in the pit of your stomach. The paleness. The weakness. The sluggishness. "You need blood," you said softly, voice breaking.

They didn’t answer.

The silence was enough.

"You haven’t fed properly in weeks, have you?" your voice trembled, tears burning in your eyes.

Jimin’s lip quivered. “We didn’t want to worry you…”

You looked at them — at these powerful, ancient beings reduced to such a fragile state — and your heart shattered. You knew they hated feeding from humans. Hated what they used to be. And because they refused to take blood from anyone else… they were starving.

“You should’ve told me,” you whispered. “I could’ve—”

“No.” Taehyung’s voice was sharp despite his exhaustion. “We didn’t want you involved.”

“You're human," Jin added quietly. "Your blood is too precious to us. One slip… one mistake…”

You shook your head, the first tear slipping free. “Do you think I care about that? Do you think I’d ever let you suffer like this?”

Namjoon weakly reached for your hand, gripping it like it was his lifeline. “We love you too much to risk it.”

You inhaled deeply, wiping your tears away. Your fingers gently brushed the side of Jungkook’s face as you steadied yourself. You grabbed the nearby letter opener ready to cut your wrist but Namjoon used his last of his strength to stop you. Still determined you tugged your hair gently to the side, baring your neck to them. Your pulse thrummed wildly beneath your skin.

For a moment, no one moved. And then, Namjoon slowly sat up, leaning forward with agonizing control. His breath was shaky as he lowered his lips to your neck, his fangs grazing your skin but not yet piercing.

“You’re sure?” he rasped.

“I’m sure.” You felt the sharp prick of his fangs as they sank into your skin. It hurt for a brief moment, but it was quickly replaced by a strange warmth that spread through your body. He was careful — so careful — drawing only what he needed, pulling back far sooner than you expected.

Namjoon licked the wound gently, helping it close before he leaned back, eyes brighter already. He looked healthier within seconds, his pallor fading slightly.

The others watched him with wide, desperate eyes.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “Come here.”

Jin moved next, lips brushing your skin reverently before his fangs pierced you. He drank for only a moment, then quickly withdrew, tears pooling in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

“Don’t apologize,” you murmured, stroking his hair. “You needed this.”

One by one, the others followed — Yoongi, Jimin, Hoseok, Taehyung, and finally Jungkook, who was visibly trembling as he approached you last. His hands shook as he cupped your face.

“I—I can’t… I don’t want to hurt you—”

“You won’t.”

With a strangled whimper, he leaned in and bit down. His breath hitched as he tasted you, his entire body relaxing as life returned to his pale features. His wings briefly unfurled behind him, the black membranes twitching as power flowed back into his body.

When he pulled back, he immediately checked your pulse, eyes darting across your face. “You’re okay?” he breathed.

“I’m okay.” You smiled weakly. “See? Nothing bad happened.”

They gathered around you after, wrapping you in their arms like a cocoon. The warmth of their bodies, now restored with strength, surrounded you like a protective wall.

“You’re too good to us,” Yoongi mumbled into your shoulder.

“No,” you corrected softly, “I love you. That’s different.”

Taehyung nuzzled into your hair. “We don’t deserve you.”

“Yes you do. And next time—” your tone shifted, scolding now, “—you’re going to tell me before you starve yourselves, or so help me—”

They chuckled weakly, the sound soft but genuine. Jin wiped a tear from his eye while Hoseok squeezed your hand gently.

“We promise,” Namjoon said softly. “No more secrets.”

“Good,” you said, narrowing your eyes at them for extra emphasis. “I don’t ever want to see you like this again.”

The feeding was over. The sharp sting of their fangs had faded to a dull ache that pulsed gently beneath your skin. Your blood still sang in their veins — you could see it, feel it in the way they hovered close now, vibrant and fully awake, their eyes still slightly dilated, their breathing steady but heavier. The air was thick with tension — not the weak, fragile kind from earlier — but something heady, possessive, and hungry in a much different way.

They sat around you on the bed like a pack circling its prize. Their eyes gleamed under the low amber lights. Though they had sated their thirst for blood, the ancient hunger of what they were still simmered just beneath the surface.

Vampires. Predators. Your vampires. And they had tasted you.

Namjoon was the first to touch you, brushing his knuckles along your cheek, his voice low and dangerous. “You shouldn’t have done that, sweetheart.”

You smiled lazily, leaning into his touch. “If I hadn’t, you’d all be dead. You’re welcome.”

“Reckless,” Yoongi rasped, his eyes locked on the small puncture wounds on your neck. “You’re too soft for your own good.”

“I like soft,” Jimin purred, his lips ghosting near your ear. “Especially when it’s our softness to ruin.”

Taehyung’s tongue peeked out to wet his lips. His voice came out deeper than usual, almost guttural. “You smell different now, angel. Your blood... inside us. It changes everything.”

“You’re all acting like you’re about to devour me again.” You tried to sound lighthearted, but your pulse betrayed you, quickening under the heat of their gazes.

Jungkook chuckled darkly. “That’s because we are.”

They didn’t need more blood. But tasting you had awoken something primal — something they’d kept buried for too long. Now that they’d had your blood on their tongues, it was as if every sense was heightened. The smell of you, the flush of your skin, your rapid heartbeat… all of it taunted them.

“You have no idea what you’ve done to us,” Jin murmured, eyes half-lidded as his fingers traced the curve of your throat.

“I think I do,” you teased, breath catching slightly.

Suddenly Hoseok was behind you, his cool breath skating across your exposed skin. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you against his chest. “You trust us too much, little human.”

Your eyelids fluttered as your head leaned back against him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s dangerous,” Namjoon growled, his patience thinning. “You’re tempting fate.”

You smiled playfully, even as your body buzzed with anticipation at the darkness in his voice. “I think you’re all just sore losers.”

The room went still. Their eyes sharpened at your boldness.

“Losers?” Taehyung repeated, a smirk pulling at his lips. His fangs peeked out once more. “Careful, little one.”

Jungkook’s hand closed gently but firmly around your ankle where it peeked from beneath the blanket, his thumb stroking your skin. “You’re very brave after giving us a taste.”

Yoongi shifted closer, his voice like silk and smoke. “You’ve always been our weakness. But now? Now you’re something else entirely.”

“Mine,” Jin whispered.

“Ours,” Jimin corrected, his lips finally pressing against the shell of your ear. His voice dropped into a breathless, reverent whisper, “All ours.”

The atmosphere thickened until it was nearly unbearable. You could feel yourself growing wet beneath their lingering touches, their words igniting a flame low in your belly. Every fiber of your being was screaming for them to touch you — to take what they clearly wanted — but you didn’t submit just yet.

Instead, you let out a tired little sigh, playing innocent. “Well, if you losers are done drooling over me…” You gave a dramatic yawn, nestling into Hoseok’s arms. “I think I’ll fall asleep now.”

The low growl that rumbled from Namjoon’s chest made your thighs instinctively clench.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“And I always win,” you whispered with a teasing grin, daring him.

Before you could blink, Namjoon’s hand gripped your chin gently but firmly, tilting your head back so you were forced to meet his intense gaze. The warmth of his breath ghosted across your lips. “No one wins against monsters, sweetheart.”

You swallowed, your breath hitching as the room seemed to shrink around you. All of them inched closer now, the heat of their bodies surrounding you, their hands starting to wander — brushing your thighs, your waist, your throat.

Your heartbeat thudded wildly in your chest, and you knew every one of them could hear it.

“But we won’t break you tonight,” Yoongi whispered, his voice laced with restraint and something dangerously fond. “You’ve given enough.”

Jin pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his fingers threading gently through your hair. “Sleep, beautiful girl.”

“You’ve earned it,” Hoseok whispered against the back of your neck, sending chills racing down your spine.

Jimin slid down beside you, his hand resting lightly on your stomach as if to calm you. “Tomorrow,” he promised darkly, voice low and filled with heated promise. “Tomorrow, you don’t get to tease us like this.”

Jungkook's fingers traced lazy patterns on your calf, his gaze soft but filled with something hungrier beneath. “And next time, don’t call us losers.”

“Next time,” Taehyung added with a wicked grin, “we’ll remind you exactly who’s in control.”

Their words stirred another wave of arousal in you, but your body, drained from the blood loss and overwhelmed by the possessive affection surrounding you, was already slipping into a warm, safe exhaustion.

As your eyelids grew heavy, you allowed yourself to sink into their arms, cocooned by the dangerous men who worshipped you — who would kill for you. The darkness hummed like a lullaby as seven pairs of watchful crimson eyes guarded you through the night.

Right before you drifted off completely, you whispered one last thing, your voice playful but drowsy:

“Still losers.”

Their quiet growls followed you into sleep — and you smiled, knowing exactly what tomorrow would bring.

🩸🖤❤️🩸🖤❤️🩸🖤❤️🩸🖤❤️🩸🖤❤️

Thank you for reading! ch. 2 coming soon!!

[chknbzkt]

FINALLYYY FIRST CELESTIAL IVE BEEN CHOMPING AT THE BIT TO SHOW THIS-

And a mix of various sketches and drafts!!!

Psst down here v

Since the horrific murder of a nobleman has put many people in the kingdom’s walls off the idea of letting dragons in their midst for the time being, Sundrop’s continued employ under the king as a personal jester and informant has many under the impression that the dragon himself may have had something to do with it, and that his influence is corrupting the monarch in question.

Sundrop, however, thinks the people can believe whatever they want.

While his position gives him plenty of wiggle room to lavish himself with as much luxury as he desires, truthfully he’d much rather be outside the kingdom walls than in them. No, his heart lies with the wilds of Hyde’s Crossing’s ancient forests. His hoard isn’t even as extensive as it should be, consisting of a few plushies, puzzles, and children’s toys here and there, it’s oddly… empty?

So as much as he… appreciates the fluidity, he spends most of his time trying to keep his distance from Farqur Kingdom as often as possible. Before he has to return.

When he isn’t on his perch at the king’s beck and call, he’s running into random adventurers and the odd monster hunter left and right as he continues to peruse the wilds and stir up mischief as per usual. Most of them have been called to action as of late due to the influx of shades razing settlements to the ground when they’ve been left unchecked for far too long, rising to the challenge in the hopes of scoring money to keep themselves afloat.

There have been a few stinkers regarding interactions here and there, but making new friends is still endlessly fulfilling and entertaining on the occasion that they’ll let him get close enough to actually mingle with them proper. He’s content to share stories of his findings and across the land, landmarks, places of interest, the best places to sun oneself and the loveliest fishing spots!!! This boy loves to know people and be known!!!

He never sticks around long enough to say goodbye however. Always leaves in Farqur’s general direction in a big hurry at odd beats in the conversation. Odd fellow. And he never actually clocked where his companion was from, so the chances of them meeting again are slim…

He seems very flighty for someone so pleasant…

[hannieween]

THE SUNDERING [patreon exclusive]

CHAPTER ONE — THE EXPEDITION [teaser]

❝ the world has split in two.❞

An expedition turned your life upside down. What you once knew as home is now long gone, and the way back could prove to be the most dangerous mission you’ve ever come across. No matter how sharp your wits may be, there was nothing that could’ve prepared you for your destiny.

⤿ pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader x jeon wonwoo ⤿ genres: isekai, dark fantasy, cos-horror, fluff, smut [18+] ⤿ aus: love triangle, hunter wonwoo, rebel jeonghan, archeologist researcher reader, boyfriend jeonghan, 90's au, falling out of love ⤿ word count: 1.4k teaser — 8k full chapter

⤿ warnings: [none in this teaser] — smut with plot, making out, oral sex, masturbation, love making, body worshipping, protected p in v sex, breeding kink. mentions of blood, head injury. weapons. pet names: baby, darling, sweetheart (hers) babe (jeonghan's) [full chapter]

⤿ thank you @aeristudios for helping me make the gif ♡

⤿ main masterlist

CHAPTER ONE — THE EXPEDITION

The night was hot. Even though the sun had gone down, the heat still pulsed in the air around you, wrapping you in an unwanted hug. Cicadas beat their wings in the air in rhythmic and irritating bursts, crashing against the lightbulbs, and occasionally getting sucked into the fans.

You hated this place. The air was thick and heavy, not helped at all by the fans on the ceiling that only swirled the heat around. Your room was decent enough, a couple of bunk beds and a tiny desk. What made it truly unbearable was the heat.

Books were scattered all over the desk. Your notebook lay open, pages stained with coffee and ink. Notes scribbled on napkins and scraps of paper were tucked between them messily.

It was your job to research, and you loved it. But sometimes, nothing made sense. You didn’t fully believe the translations you had come up with over the past few days. The language felt unnatural, even with all of your research put into comparison. But you had gotten to a point where ancient texts and looping symbols were all you could see every time you closed your eyes.

Your specialty was translating ancient languages and scripture. All you had to do was decipher, translate, and interpret the meaning behind fragments of alphabets. You spent your time looking at prayers, stories, and rituals etched in stone, sometimes in other odd places. That was what you’d studied for years to do.

Lately, though, even the most familiar patterns of translation began to feel foreign to you.

You took off your reading glasses with a single motion, then pinched your nose, sighing wearily.

You were supposed to be cataloguing inscriptions from a set of recently uncovered ruins deep in this jungle—ancient temple walls buried beneath centuries of earth, moss, and a lack of any human activity. But the digging team was nowhere near done yet. Instead, you were stuck in the tiny room decoding what felt more like fantasy than history.

You leaned forward on the table, letting your head fall against the wood with a dull thump.

“I just want something to happen,” you whispered into the quiet. “Give me something interesting.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, your body already sinking into sleep before you could take it back.

“Losing our minds already, I see.”

Startled, you raised your head from the desk, looking at Jeonghan, who was entering the room. He looked tired, like he had been working out or running around under the blazing hot sun. Sweat covered his sun-kissed face, and his long hair looked greasy.

Your heart jolted. “I thought you were coming much later,” you said, lifting your wrist to check the time. It was seven thirty. You sighed, you had lost track of time again.

Jeonghan hummed in acknowledgement, approaching you with a gentle look on his face. He bent down, placing a hand on the back of your chair and the other on your desk, looking at your messy scribbles. “Are you still working on this?”

You nodded, looking at his face. “I can’t get past the second page,” you sighed in frustration. “I think there’s something missing.”

“Well, yeah, there is a lot you’re missing,” he said, chuckling a laugh. “You’re supposed to wait until tomorrow, dummy.”

“There is no guarantee that we’ll find anything down there,” you blinked at him.

Jeonghan’s gaze examined the papers you had scattered across the desk. He breathed slowly, and he was so close to you that you could see the tiny mole on his cheek, the tiny beads of sweat on top of his lip.

“You’re staring at me,” Jeonghan hummed softly, looking at you through the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, because you’re sweaty, and all over me,” you laughed, shooing him away.

Jeonghan clicked his tongue, putting his hands on your head and rubbing his face against yours. You squealed and laughed, trying to back away from him, but it was too late. He had rubbed all of the sweat from his face all over yours.

“Jeonghan, you pig!” you shrieked as he pulled back, laughing merrily.

He grinned at you, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. “You’re welcome,” he sighed. “Now we could wash together.”

Your stomach jolted in nervousness. Lately, your relationship with Jeonghan has been falling apart. Not out of malice, but a worse sickness—indifference. And it was really hard for you to narrow down what the root of the problem was.

But deep down, you knew that the problem was you.

You wiped the sweat off your cheek. “I already washed, dummy,” you told him lightly. “If I break out tomorrow, I’m blaming you.”

“It was worth it,” Jeonghan said without hesitation, still holding that cute smile on his face.

You had fallen in love with that smile, long time ago. When you were teenagers, you dreamed of coming to places like this, to explore and to go on adventures. You fell in love with his passion and devotion to the art, to the science of researching. But as you grew older, you felt like something was missing.

But despite that, that smile still had some effect on you.

“Hey,” Jeonghan called, his tone falling into seriousness.

You turned on your seat to look at him. “Yes?”

He parted his mouth slightly, as though looking for words to say. “You’ve been working yourself to the ground lately,” he said, leaning against the doorframe that led to the bathroom.

You didn’t answer right away, feeling like you didn’t know where this conversation was going. “Mm-hmm,” you nodded.

He crossed his arms, and the air of hesitation lingered around him. “You get like this every time there’s something on your mind.”

Your heart fell to your stomach. “Right,” you mumbled, blinking dumbly at him. “Is this damn research, that’s what’s on my mind.”

Jeonghan saw through you. Always has. But he just nodded slowly, letting it go. “Yeah, this research is making you too tense.”

“I’m not tense,” you said, straightening your back.

“You’re always tense,” he smirked, reaching to tap your forehead gently with two fingers. “But up here. It’s like your brain is about to burst.”

You huffed a laugh, slapping his fingers away.

Jeonghan turned around, but something pulled him back. “Come sleep with me,” he said gently. “Those notes and those ruins aren’t going anywhere. But I am if I don’t lie down soon.”

You rolled your eyes again. “And you say I’m the one that’s tense.”

He offered you his hand. “Come on. You’ll think better in the morning.”

You got up, taking his hand without saying much. The room was dark, except for the only window in it that offered a view to the even darker exterior, lit only by a lone lantern outside. The whir of the fans overhead helped make the silence feel less unbearable.  

Jeonghan stretched out beside you on the lower bunk, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other extended and ready to welcome you in.

You sighed as you lay beside him, curling onto his body. Jeonghan wrapped you in instantly. This was entirely too familiar to you. You’d shared countless nights like this before with him, for years.

But it had been a while since it felt like something more than routine.

“Hey,” he said after a long silence, already knowing you’d still be awake. His voice was soft, like a cup of warm milk. “Tomorrow’s going to be big. I can feel it.”

You hummed in acknowledgement. You were staring at the slats above you, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear.

“Yeah,” you whispered after a beat. “Let’s just hope it’s worth the mosquito bites.”

He chuckled quietly. “And the sunburn.”

You responded with a laugh of your own—but it failed to soothe the tight feeling in your heart.

You turned around, facing him now.

Jeonghan curiously followed you, finding your eyes. His gaze outlined the features of your face shallowly.

You knew that look. After years together, you could almost read into his soul.

“What are we doing, Jeonghan?” you murmured. The words had slipped out, barely holding themselves. But you’d said it, and it was too late to take them back.

He looked slightly taken aback by your question. Then he shifted, tightening his arm around you, as though he could keep you from drifting too far in case you grew tired of his hesitation.

But he knew what you’d meant by that question. He was aware that your relationship had been stuck in a rut for months now. And no amount of adventures and research was changing that numbing feeling inside you.

You felt lost.

⌈READ THE FULL CHAPTER⌋

⤿ author's note: hello, hi, hello there! 🩵

so this is a project that i have been working on since waaaay before i created hannieween. i explained more in my post but i'll share this series on patreon! so check it out? it would mean the world to me 🥺

also, if you read this far and you liked this, please show it some love? thank you for reading! i am sending y'all a big big hug! 🩵

i love you all,

toodles!

other places where you can support me: ♡ ko-fi or paypal ♡

© TO HANNIEWEEN I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

[papathe5th]

I like the idea that Perpetua has more demonic traits than Copia does (fraternal twins) —& that he gets stranger and more feral on the days/nights leading up to the Full Moon. He’s not a vampire, not a werewolf- but he’s something, all right.

“Why should he have all the fun?” you say, approaching the treeline leading into the woods outside The Ministry.

“Yeah. Good. OK. Have fun.” Copia locks the door to his office.

I’ve spent too much time setting the scene, but I had a vision of a monster movie featuring a classic stock character with a demonic design and demeanour.

Ghestie, I wish you good luck on the journey under the cut.

Pairing: Papa V Perpetua x GN!Reader

Words: 2900

Rating: E (explicit)

Tags: ritual bloodletting; blood drinking; monsterfuckery

“It gets cold out there even in the summer months,” you made your case before the head of the United Clergy of Ghost, Frater Imperator. “I can pack clothes, supplies—”

“You’re not going anywhere near him tonight,” he whispered, as if worried the celestial body could hear him all the way down here on Earth, in his office with curtains pulled and doors locked. “It’s a full moon.”

“I’m not afraid,” you reassured him, proud and prepared to face the long night ahead. You were shifting from one foot to the other, your fingers fidgeting at your sides, but you weren’t afraid. You were excited.

Papa V Perpetua was last spotted crossing the gardens, climbing the gates and sprinting towards the treeline at the edge of Ministry territory.

The sun was sinking into the woods and its light gave way to the darkness of night, yet many a Sibling of Sin swore they saw him as clear as day. He stripped off his clerical robes on his trek into the wilderness.

“It gets cold out there even in the summer months,” you made your case before the head of the United Clergy of Ghost, Frater Imperator. “I can pack clothes—”

“You’re not going anywhere near him tonight,” he whispered, as if worried the celestial body could hear him all the way down here on Earth, in his office with curtains pulled and doors locked. “It’s a full moon.”

“I’m not afraid,” you reassured him, proud and prepared to face the long night ahead. You were shifting from one foot to the other, your fingers fidgeting at your sides, but you weren’t afraid. You were excited.

“You should be afraid,” he raised his voice, his shoulders slumped forward, holding himself up while hovering over his desk with his eyes on the sliver of silver straining through the slit in the curtains. “Nobody knows what V is up to during this time. He is of my blood, yes, but I’ve never been beckoned by the moon. Or the wilderness.”

Frater Imperator’s words echoed in your skull when you arrived at the treeline. They had not reached your spine as chilling as the sound of your superior cowering before his own flesh and blood was. You had no fear because you also felt the pull.

And he recognised the look in your eyes, closing the door behind you. And putting a padlock in. And moving the furniture in front of it from the sound of scraping you heard. “May Lucifer keep you safe, my child, ‘cause I sure can’t.”

With Lucifer in your thoughts and with no heed to Frater’s words, you walked in Papa V Perpetua’s footsteps, in the foliage, and into the wilderness. The moon was your guide as you were sure it had been his. As it climbed higher in the sky, you counted your steps and checked your watch. At midnight, the beams will bestow upon you knowledge long forgotten as its light will shine upon an ancient shrine.

The Ministry was a modern institution that had buried its roots in these woods. Nature is the Devil’s church, yet the Clergy shed its snake skin for a secular world and a golden cage. No wonder Lucifer’s voice on Earth chose to free himself of it every full moon. You’ve only read of the old ritual site, and tonight you would witness it for yourself. And whatever skin Papa was slipping into.

It was nearing midnight when you reached the site. A clearing encircled by engraved stones, sloped towards the centre structure: a slab of polished stone so smooth it mirrored the moon. It looked as if it had been recently restored for a ritual. The thought entered your mind and electrified your spine. You search the surrounding shadows for any sign of a sentient being. Yours stood alone in the surrounding sounds of a sleeping forest.

After discarding the bags you had draped over your back and the pouches you laced in the front, you entered the circle with nothing but an open heart and a closed clerical robe. Approaching the slab, you shone your lantern on it and found that it had recently been put to its rightful use. A pair of goat horns was the centrepiece while bloodied paw prints encircled the round edges.

With your heart beating in your eardrums, you reached for the wreath of green twigs and dried flowers onto which the horns were mounted. It was larger than any head could bear, be it of a goat’s or a man’s. Then, as if to prove you wrong, the moon summoned another contender to the crown.

It was a tall, lanky, pale monstrosity screeching into the night skies out of which it manifested. Its wingspan severed the full moon into a crescent above you. And one of its eyes caught the silver beams as it descended onto the slab.

Humans are animals. The Clergy would rather cage themselves from this truth, but you felt the beast rattling against your ribs. You heard its fear. And you listened, leaping like a long tail rabbit. The winged being was another animal. The predatory kind. As you fled from it, it followed.

Frater Imperator’s words were loud in your chest, almost as loud as your heart. As loud as the animal’s wings fighting against the winds.

May Lucifer keep you safe because I sure can’t.

Your mind was running faster than your legs could carry you. Have you angered Lucifer by stepping on unholy ground? Did he send this creature to capture you and drag you to Hell for your crime? Or was it Lucifer Himself? Did He slip into a new skin and charge towards you himself?

Your lungs burned and your legs numbed, yet it was your soul that deserted you first. Ready to be taken into your Dark Lord’s arms where it could rest, it tripped your feet and sent you speeding into a panting pile on the forest floor.

“Oh, Sathanas,” you coughed out your heart, rising to your scraped knees. “Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.” You cried, collapsing on top of your forearms. “I…I was looking for…for Papa. I didn’t want to leave him all alone in these woods. I…I don’t know if he’s safe, or…”

When you opened your mouth, tears, snot and spit came down like waterfalls. You were drowning in your own distress, choking on your syllables. Through the waterfalls in your eyes, you saw four white paws sharpened at the end by black claws. You saw them sink into the soil and braced yourself to be dragged beneath.

The beast moved its maw and a sound startlingly close to human speech came out from deep within the pit that thought itself a chest:

“I’m safe, my child.”

Its front claws crept closer and you surrendered to them as they curled under your chin. As it was being lifted ever so lightly, your teeth were clanking against each other furiously.

“Look at me and see that I’m safe.”

It spoke again, angling your face up to look at it. No, not it. Him.

Papa V Perpetua had shed his skin along with his clothes. He crouched over you wearing the skeleton of a white-boned beast with a dark mane of hair swirled around his skull like a dark storm. His pale skin was stretched thin, his lips lifted up to his cheeks and away from his new set of sharp teeth. But his eyes were as bright as they were in yesterday’s sunlight. One serene and green, the other, a moonbeam.

With the last of the air in your lungs, you exhaled. “Your Dark Eminence.”

“I am safe,” he reassures you, the words a thunder in his chest and his left eye as striking as lightning. “And you are, too. Now that I’m with you.”

Before he stretched his skin along the fresh set of limbs that spurted out of his spine, he drew you close to him and cradled you in his arms. “Are you afraid of heights?” And he lifted the both of you off the ground. “Don’t be. You are safe with me.”

His Dark Eminence had sniffed you out the second you stepped foot in the woods. He looked over you as you journeyed on the trails long forgotten, as you collected the clothes he discarded. And he chased away the animals that had reclaimed the land. He would’ve rather you hadn’t followed him, though his heart beat against your hand as if it meant to leap in your palm.

Afraid as you were of the wind whipping at your body while you two crossed the night sky, Papa’s widened, warm and hairy chest kept you grounded. Your eyes opened at his request, at the feeling of his nose nudging the crown of your head, and his growl against your forehead.

“Look at the Moon. She called to you as she had called to me.”

The moon has fallen in the wells of his eyes. The left shone so bright down on you that you went blind to all the stars you passed by. When you did get a closer look at the celestial body, it beckoned you back to your Dark Lord’s altar.

Waiting for you in the center of the circle was the crown that you could only touch with a longing look, ashamed to have even reached out to it with your now dirty hands. Papa planted your feet back on the ground, on the same spot you sprinted from, in front of the stone slab.

“You know what this is, don’t you?”

He watched your every move, every muscle on your face as your eyes took in the sight of the prints and your nose smelled the blood they were made out of.

“An offering.” A blood sacrifice. A living being had to bleed for your Dark Lord. “Was it a goat?”

“It was. Very good. Do you know what I am?”

“You are Our Dark Lord’s voice on Earth.”

The voice was low and so was his mouth, his entire elongated body bending in half when he came face to face with you. And, if it weren’t for his eyes, you wouldn’t have known him from the nightmares that haunted you at night. Because it had hunted you tonight.

“I am Our Dark Lord made of the dust of the Earth.”

Fear was to be expected when a mortal is faced with the eternal. Yet, when you get caught in the small cage that is the Clergy, the Ministry and even the entirety of the planet, any step you’ve taken outside is bigger and the fall is that much steeper. Tonight, you are met with Eternity, the Evening and the Morning Star, Your Dark Lord in the skin of Papa V Perpetua. And fear was Eternity dancing with you in the pale moonlight.

“And I am here to serve Him the way we used to,” your voice was weak, words warbling out of you. “To serve you.”

You faced Papa in all his perpetual glory, cosigning yourself to be cremated by the fire in his eyes. And you would’ve collapsed on your knees before him again, if it weren’t for all ten of his fingers trapping your torso, tenderly lifting you up and slowly setting you down on the surface of the slab.

It was Papa himself that kneeled before you, folding his frame in half. His hands stroked your shivering spine, kept it straight while his warm breath washed over the cooling sweat on your chest. Your robe had come undone in the front and he wanted to unravel you further, his face drawing closer.

“You’ve been wasting daylight in the Archives,” he inhaled you, his nostrils flaring only inches from your feverish flesh. “You didn’t see me, but I’ve been watching you. What have you learned?”

Throwing your head back, your jaw loose and your mouth slack, you present your throat to his tongue, salted by perspiration and peppered with soil. A single lick was the length of your neck, and it dragged out a moan along its trail.

“Tonight is the summer solstice.”

He lowered your body lightly, as if it were a feather, laying it on the length of the altar. Your head is caressed by the crown, propping it up like a pillow. When his warm hands surrendered you to the cold slab, you shook all over. And when the hands returned to tear your threads to shreds, your hairs stood on end, pulling at your flesh and prickling your skin.

“Tonight, the offering is the blood of a virgin.”

You held yourself still with hands on each side of your body and grabbing onto the sticky stone edges, your palms pressed into the blood prints. Papa pushed your legs apart, tacking a thigh in each paw, propping a thigh on each side of his protruding pelvic bones. The curls that covered his crotch tickled the inside of your thigh and the tip of his rising cock cried over your sex.

“You’ve taken your first Unholy Communion only three moons ago,” his voice reverberated in your chest, your heart slamming against your ribs. “Our Dark Lord’s body and blood renewed your body and blood.” His head of dark hair was outlined with silver curls, the moon a halo from above as he looked down on you. “No sinner has touched your new body, have they?”

You haven’t shared the sweetest of sins with any of your siblings. You were as clean and pristine as a white dove. In spite of your nose being in a dusty old book or mouldy scroll. You were the virgin blood sacrifice.

“I am the offering.”

“Lucifer.” He roared, his chest rumbling. “We are here for your praise.” The Earth shook under you when he screeched into the night and reached the moon. You screamed together, his formidable form shadowing you, his paws on either side of your head, his claws on your cheeks. “Sathanas, we are one out of three.” His tongue slithered down your throat and you choked. His huge cock crammed itself inside you, slick like a serpent. And his tail tightened around your thigh, strangling it like a noose.

When he allowed air to fill your lungs again, your soul was being carried by the wind. You were light, your head in a haze and your vision glazed. Papa had pulled back his tongue, soaked in your saliva, and pulled out his cock, stained with your blood. He stroked it, smearing your sacrifice on his paws and painting them on the stone surface. All the while he stroked your spasming abdomen with the tip of his tail, the skeletal ribbing on it sliding up and down your thigh.

“Thank you for your sacrifice.”

When your heart slowed its beat against your eardrums, you heard Papa purring . And when your soul returned to your body, you felt the wet strokes of his long tongue over your wounds. Your knees, your knuckles and your hole were coated in the thot and healing unholy secretions. The beast he had become was tamed by the blood you had spilled for Him.

Tonight, you rediscovered the Dark Lord’s old church. And you learned how to worship him by pleasing the Beast, Papa V Perpetua. You taught your body how to take his cock when he carved a place for himself inside of you. And you spilled your blood from every hole, from the canines you begged him to bury in your veins and the claws that caressed your flesh.

As the Evening Star became the Son of the Morning and the Moon fell silent in the face of the breaking dawn, you two flew out of the woods and back to civilization. At the edge of the wilderness, you descended, and the beast dropped you and the bags you brought onto the soft foliage as he collapsed and curled in on himself. You kissed him with your mortal mouth, wet him with your tears, held him through the suffering of shedding his unholy skin for the temporal form he would be trapped in.

“I brought clean clothes,” you stroked the bones on his back. His wings retracted and tucked themselves under them. “I had…I had a feeling you’d need them after you…you know.”

“You did good,” his voice was the last to crack when his skeleton stopped snapping into place. “You were so good for me,” his too small tongue was at your throat, tasting the damage his demonic denture had done and the drool had put back together. “So good to me.”

Eternity shrunk into himself, into your embrace, and became a small scared child again. He suckled at your skin and you let him. He ran away from home, and you didn’t chide him. And when he tried to rise to his own feet, you taught him how to walk again.

You had trouble keeping your thighs from trembling, which was a sight that brought back the smirk to his now pink and puffed lips. “How are you? Are you good?”

“Your Dark Eminence, did you not just praise me for how good I’ve been?”

Today, you carried each other across the narrow path that the Ministry laid in front of you. Frater had sent several of your Siblings to scout the surrounding territory for you. And had even driven himself to where the two of you were spotted.

“V,” he stumbled his way out of the driver’s seat. “You look like shit,” he spit out, but you didn’t taste any venom from where you were standing. He sprinted to you and you saw the shine of unshed tears in his eyes. “My child, how are you?”

“It’s good to see you too, C.” Papa stood up straighter, prouder.

Frater blinked the sadness out of his sight. “Wipe your shoes before you get in the car.”

Today, Papa V Perpetua is returning to the golden cage the Ministry built for him. And so are you. Though, today, he knows that he will not be locked up alone.

[vampiriito]

Here comes the sun. (JJ Maybank x reader)

"JJ knew it wasn't right. He knew it from the start. But nothing felt wrong about being with you when you looked at him with those eyes—eyes that seemed to pull him into a world where everything else faded away. Even for a moment. He wasn't supposed to feel this way. He wasn't supposed to let himself get caught up in fleeting moments, quiet confessions and a love that was bound to eat away at everything he had. Even if he didn't have much."

He gritted his teeth, trying to stop him self from yelling. He knew arguing didn't get either of you anywhere, but right now he was fed up, he was annoyed, he wanted answers, something anything."I'm tired of you always giving me these vague ass answers. I'm tired of you just expecting me to accept whatever you give me because you know I'll take it anyway."

–„IN WHICH you and JJ blur the line between friendship and something more on a whim, and with the intent to keep things casual. But somewhere along the way things get messy in a way that JJ isn't so sure he is fond of anymore. Especially when he finds himself as the other man.

warnings; cheating, unprotected sex and uh a lil bit of overstimulation if you squint (p in v), overall a toxic ass relationship (inspired entirely by the whole trilogy album by the weeknd)

If JJ was the king of anything, he was the undisputed monarch of plunging headlong into messy, adrenaline-fueled escapades. Ask anyone even remotely acquainted with the sun-bleached blonde, and they'd tell you exactly that. JJ Maybank lived and breathed for the thrill—the intoxicating rush of adrenaline and the exhilaration of defying every rule laid before him. Boundaries were mere suggestions in his world, lines drawn in the sand only to be crossed without a second thought.

His fingers were a little too quick, a little too light—sticky fingers, they called it. He had a knack for making things disappear, a sleight of hand that was both impressive and infamous. Sneaking off to get high in the dim corners of the school's bathroom became a regular thrill, the weed smoke a temporary escape from the constraints of small-town expectations.

Cliff-jumping from perilous heights, feeling the icy embrace of the water swallow him whole. Surfing during raging hurricanes, the colossal waves towering above like ancient, uncontrollable beasts. Sneaking onto the opulent properties on Figure Eight under the cloak of darkness, stripping down to skinny dip in pools that shimmered like liquid silver under the moonlight. Each act was a defiant laugh in the face of authority, a challenge he was all too eager to accept.

These were more than just reckless antics; they were declarations of freedom. And inevitably, each daring decision earned JJ more than just disapproving glances. The scornful looks from townsfolk, the exasperated sighs of teachers, even the familiar discomfort of the police station's hard benches—all became routine parts of his life. Yet, he reveled in it. The consequences were just another thrill, another story to tell.

Risk was the air he breathed, chaos the rhythm to which his heart beat. His mission was simple: to have a good time—all the time. Consequences be damned. After all, wasn't that what being seventeen was all about? Pushing limits, tasting the forbidden, and dancing on the edge of oblivion before the weight of the world could press down on his shoulders. For JJ, the world wasn't just a playground—it was an endless expanse of possibilities, each more exciting and perilous than the last. And he was determined to seize every moment, no matter the cost. And of course, he wasn't too keen on practicing self-preservation.

Hence, you.

Saying JJ was drunk would be an understatement. It was nearing the end of a kegger thrown down at the Boneyard—a stretch of beach where the locals and tourists alike loved to party under the stars. The bonfire had dwindled to glowing embers, and JJ was definitely more than a few drinks deep, his thoughts muddled and his inhibitions long gone. Stumbling slightly, he pulled out his phone, too intoxicated to suppress the impulse as he dialed your number—a number he hadn't dared to call in weeks. Uncertainty gnawed at him; JJ wasn't quite sure what the two of you were anymore.

Before everything went downhill and your relationship morphed into one of toxic fuck buddies, you had been best friends—childhood companions who knew each other's secrets and dreams. But luck was never on JJ's side, not now nor at any point in his life. And you weren't making it any easier for him, especially since you had a boyfriend—a guy you didn't mind being seen with in public, unlike JJ. Yet behind closed doors, you were still drawn to each other, hooking up secretly whenever you got drunk or had a spat with your so-called boyfriend.

JJ leaned against a weathered piece of driftwood, the salty breeze ruffling his hair as he listened to the ringing on the other end. His heart pounded in syncopated beats, each one echoing the turmoil inside him. The moon cast a silvery glow over the restless ocean, mirroring the confusion in his eyes. The memories of your shared laughter, stolen glances, and whispered confessions flooded his mind. He knew it was reckless, reaching out to you like this, but the alcohol had blurred the lines between right and wrong.

He couldn't help but wonder if you ever thought about him the way he thought about you. To the world, you presented a picture-perfect relationship with your boyfriend, smiling and holding hands where everyone could see. Meanwhile, JJ was the shadow you retreated to when things got tough—a secret solace in moments of weakness. It stung more than he cared to admit, but he couldn't let go. Not yet.

As the phone continued to ring, JJ closed his eyes, a mix of hope and resignation washing over him. Part of him craved your voice, needing to bridge the distance that had grown between you. Another part feared what this call might lead to—a continuation of a cycle that left him feeling emptier each time.

The sounds of the diminishing party faded into the background—the distant laughter, the crackling fire—all overshadowed by the anticipation hanging in the air. JJ took a deep breath, the taste of salt and alcohol lingering on his lips, and waited to see if you'd pick up.

After the voicemail ended, he just sat on the tailgate of his truck, staring down at his phone. He didn't know what to do when he was sober, so getting drunk sure wasn't helping. He couldn't stop thinking about you - what you were doing, if you'd even listen to that stupid voicemail, and if you ever even thought about him anymore.

He groans, tossing his phone onto the dirty tailgate and burying his face in his hands. "God damn it," he mutters to himself.

The insistent ring of your phone shattered the remnants of your sleep. Groaning, you sat up on your elbows, your eyes half-lidded with the fog of early morning as you brought the phone to your face. The harsh brightness of the screen was a rude awakening—three missed calls from JJ glared back at you.

This is great, you thought, a wry smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He was probably drunk again. You recalled all too well how your impulsive midnight calls usually ended: getting fucked into the mattress by him, only for you to vanish before the morning light could truly make you real again. It was like a routine that both of you didn't speak about, through the day. As if the sun's warmth could temper the wildness of the night and kept you both sane enough to blissfully ignore the shit show that you both got yourselves into.

Now, with the missed calls and his lingering voicemail echoing in your thoughts, you hesitated before reaching for the phone once more. Yet, drawn by a mix of longing and inevitability, you found yourself dialing him back, even if your fingers trembled with uncertainty.

He’s honestly surprised you called back - he’s not really sure what he expected to happen, but it definitely wasn’t an answered call. He grabs the phone as soon as it starts ringing, answering without even a ‘hello’. He takes a second to get over his initial surprise before he responds.

“I didn’t really think you’d call me back” He says, his speech still a little slurred from being drunk.

"Why are you calling me?" you replied, your tone harsher than you intended. The sound of his voice, and the fact that he sounded like he was plastered made your heart clench a little; but you pushed the feeling down.

He sighs, a small part of him hoping for a more emotional response from you - of course you’d never give him that though. It only ever made it hurt all the more.

“I just-“

He’s not even sure why he called you. It’s a habit at this point to call you during the wee hours of the night, when he’s not thinking straight and he can blame the alcohol for any of the stupid things he says. He doesn’t even really know what to say now, feeling too vulnerable to act like the carefree idiot he normally is.

“I just… missed you, I guess”

And now JJ feels like an idiot. His head is starting to hurt a little, not only from the alcohol but also from trying to express his feelings for once - not that you cared. You never really cared all that much for him anyway.

"That's nice... but you're drunk." you stated, sighing. You didn't mean to come off so rude, but you were half asleep; and with the way your relationship with him was going you were never... emotional with each other. You used to be, but shit happens when you grow up into dumb 17 year olds.

It was bittersweet to think about, that 6 months ago roughly, you were still best friends and that only, no fucking or arguing involved. Every time you'd be with JJ the thought of your boyfriend would haunt you, and you'd end up leaving before sunrise, ending in the same cycle. Having him drunk call you at 3 am or the other way around.

JJ rolled his eyes, though you couldn’t obviously see it. Your words stung a little more than he’d like to admit, though that was normal at this point. There was always just a part of him that hoped you’d sound excited or at least happy to hear from him - and now that you didn’t sound like it, it was almost a cold reminder of what your relationship really was. A dirty, tangled mess.

“So it’s okay when you’re drunk and can’t keep your hands off me, but it’s wrong when I’m the drunk one?” He muttered bitterly,

"Did you call me to make snarky comments?" you bit back, the reminder of your own actions feeling like a bucket of cold water, his words almost waking you up fully.

He chuckled humorlessly, almost scoffing at your words. He knew you weren’t gonna take any of this seriously - hell, he wasn’t even really expecting anything out of this call in the first place.

“No,” He paused, and for a moment he thought about telling you how he really felt and just spilling everything, but it’s not like you’d ever believe him anyway. “I just wanted to talk to you… I’m tired of you just- disappearing all the time when you’re done with me for the night.”

"I'm sorry?" you asked in mock disbelief, although you heard him clearly. You felt guilty if he put it that way, especially since you also had a boyfriend. "And what could we possibly talk about?"

He took a deep breath before sighing again, running a hand through his hair in frustration, tugging at the strands. He knew damn well you weren’t going to talk about anything serious, but he was a little too drunk at this point to think rationally.

“I dunno, our lives? The fact that you’re basically cheating on your boyfriend every time you come over and you won’t even look me in the eye the next day?”

"I don't hear you complaining when i come over. In fact you seem pretty enthusiastic to me." you spat back bitterly. That was one hell of a reality check.

He felt a pang of annoyance go through him. You always seemed to twist things around and avoid the fact that you were doing something wrong.

“Of course I’m enthusiastic-“ He said, scoffing again. “And who’s fault is that? I’m not the one with a boyfriend.”

"As if you'd do it any differently if you had a girlfriend." you scoffed, shaking your head. You knew what you were doing was morally wrong. Hell, sometimes you wanted to walk around with a sticker on your forehead that said 'cheating slut.' But he had no right to point it out when he was just as guilty as you were, given he knew about your boyfriend. "...-and you know i have a boyfriend, but that doesn't seem to stop you from sticking your dick inside me."

He felt another stab to the chest at your crude words, and he hated the fact that you had a point. “Damnit,”

He ran his hand through his hair again, trying to keep his cool. The last thing he wanted right now was some pointless argument, but of course, that’s what ended up happening anyway.

“That’s not the point, okay?” He said, almost sounding desperate to convince you to understand. Of course, you never did.

He sighed, frustrated and tired of going around in circles all the time. How many more times would you do this - how many more times was he going to let you come back just to forget everything the next day and go back to being with your boyfriend as if nothing happened in the first place?

“So are you just gonna ignore that what we’re doing is messed up, or what?” He asked, his tone harsher than before.

"I'm not ignoring anything okay? it's just-.. i can't just remove you from my life. Go ahead and do it; if you're feeling like doing the morally good thing.." you mumbled, your cold façade cracking just a little.

JJ’s heart clenched at your words. He knew you meant it, too - even if your feelings for him didn’t run too deep, there was just something in you that couldn’t just cut him off, either.

“Don’t give me that,” He said, although his voice softened a little at your tone. There was a part of him that just wanted to reach through the phone and pull you into his arms, but he held back - he knew that would only make things more complicated.

"Look, I'm just saying. You don't have to do this.. and yet here we both are.." you mumbled in something that sounded like resignation.

JJ couldn’t do much but sigh again at your words. You knew him too well, it almost frustrated him how you could see through him. The truth was, he didn’t have to do this, but for some reason he always did.

He chuckled darkly, running his hand through his hair yet again. There was a part of him that knew how toxic this relationship was, and yet he never wanted to stop either.

“Yeah, here we are..”

A silence fell between the 2 of you for a moment. It wasn’t an entirely comfortable silence, but it was a little less tense than the conversation before.

After a moment though, JJ decided to speak a question that he always wondered, but never had the courage to ask. “So… how’s your boyfriend?”

"He's.." you started, "-well, not on the island. I dunno.. he's on vacation with his parents right now.." you mumbled almost dismissively, rubbing your hand over your face to ease up the sick feeling and the slight irritation tugging at you.

JJ didn’t respond for a moment, letting the information sink in. Honestly, he was almost surprised your boyfriend was not around for once. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it made him feel a little hopeful.

He took a deep breath, gathering up his courage before speaking. “You’re uh, alone then.. huh?”

"Yeah." you answered simply, falling silent almost as soon as the words left your mouth.

JJ felt relief at your confirmation, though he could tell that there was something off in your tone. You seemed almost tired and maybe even sad. He didn’t want to ask why though - it wasn’t like you’d be telling the truth anyway, and it didn’t matter why you were alone in the first place. All that really mattered to him was the fact that you were alone right now.

He took a deep breath before speaking again, his tone a little tentative, almost as if he was feeling you out. “You… want me to come over?”

"Do you wanna come over?" you asked, narrowing your eyes even though he couldn't see it given you were on the phone.

He chuckled slightly at your response. Even when all hell broke loose between the 2 of you, you always somehow found a way to be stubborn about things. It was almost endearing, if not maddening.

“Oh, you’re asking for my opinion now, huh?” He said, his tone lighthearted - for now at least.

“Well, the answer’s yes, I want to come over. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

You hummed knowingly, "I'll leave the window open in case you follow through with that." you spoke after a small moment of silence.

JJ smiled to himself, shaking his head slightly at your words. How did you always manage to keep things so casual between the 2 of you?

“You know I will.” He said softly, already getting up from where he was sitting. “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

True to his word, JJ arrived at your place shortly after your call. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the quiet, wealthy neighborhood. He couldn't help but notice that the house was shrouded in darkness, each window unlit—a clear signal that everyone else in your household was fast asleep. A sly grin tugged at the corners of his lips. Good, that worked for him. The stillness of the night amplified the distant hum of cicadas and the gentle rustling of leaves stirred by a balmy breeze.

Navigating with practiced ease, he made his way around to the back of your house. The familiar path was etched into his memory, each step bringing back a rush of shared whispers and hidden laughter from a long time ago. A time that he tried not to think about. Your bedroom window stood slightly ajar, just as you'd promised—a silent invitation.

He hoisted himself up effortlessly, the muscles in his arms flexing as he gripped the windowsill. Careful not to make any noise that might disturb the tranquil hush, he slipped through the opening with the grace of someone who'd done this many times before. The scent of your room enveloped him—a gentle mix of lavender and the unmistakable essence that was uniquely yours. He closed the window behind him.

The dim moonlight cast long shadows, but JJ moved confidently. He had long since memorized the layout of your bedroom—the way your desk was cluttered with scattered, expensive makeup and perfume, the cozy chair draped with a soft blanket, the shelf overflowing with well-worn books. His gaze lingered on the small details, each one a reflection of you.

You heard him come through the window, slipping out of bed and walking so you were standing in front of him, watching him fix the curtains after closing the window. You scanned him as well as you could in the dim light. He looked like he always looked, handsome. Sometimes you couldn't believe your small booger infested best friend grew up into a 17 year old who looked like America's next heartthrob.

Despite that, he still looked a little wrecked, like he was plastered and he had a rough night, your tone a little softer than how it was on the phone, "you look like a mess.."

JJ chuckled lightly at your words, giving you a small smirk. He knew he looked like a wreck - his hair was messier than usual, shirt wrinkled, and eyes half-lidded with exhaustion from the alcohol.

He took a step towards you, standing right in front of you and looking down at you in the dark. He always forgot how much shorter you were than him. "So I look like a mess and you still called me over, huh?"

"I couldn't possibly know what you looked like..." you mumbled, raising your brows as you gazed up at him.

He chuckled again, a low, hoarse sound. He knew you were bullshitting, but he couldn't really care at the moment. All he wanted was you.

He lifted one of his hands, brushing his thumb over your chin. “Yeah, of course you didn't..” He said, his tone sarcastic.

“Did you call me over just to criticize the way I look? Damn, talk about rude.”

"No-.. sorry.. i just, felt like i needed to point it out." you spoke nodding along with your own words.

He could tell that you were lying again - you always apologized when you didn't mean it, but tonight he wasn't going to call you out on it. He was too drunk for that.

He chuckled again, pulling you closer to him, his other arm wrapping around your waist and keeping you against him. He leaned down a bit, speaking in a low voice by your ear.

"So then, why did you call me over?"

"Technically you suggested to come over.." you deflected given you had no answer to that. Sex? that was always the main factor either of you saw each other alone.

He snorted, a small smirk on his face at your answer. At least you were being honest about that part. He leaned down further, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke in a soft, gravelly tone.

“Now we’re just gonna be petty about technicalities?”

He heard you hum in response, your arms coming up around his shoulders, fingers tracing over the back of his neck almost lazily and making him shiver slightly against your touch.

He felt the familiar pull of lust starting to stir up in him, and suddenly he couldn’t hold back. He suddenly wrapped his arm around your thighs, easily picking you up against him and carrying you over to the bed.

He sat down on the bed, setting you down in his lap, your knees on either side of him.

He let his hands wander down to your waist, gripping your hips as he pulled you close to him, his lips pressing against your neck, trailing kisses down your throat. God, he'd missed the way you felt in his hands..

Your hands found purchase on his shoulders almost without realizing. It felt like your body already knew what to do, having done it so many times already. Despite that you always managed to get turned on in a way that it didn't feel repetitive or routinely when sleeping with JJ.

He groaned against your throat, his hands already working at the waistband of the shorts you were wearing and trying to pull them off of you in the position the two of you were in.

He left a trail of kisses down your throat to your collarbone, his teeth gently sinking into your skin, trying to find that one sensitive spot that he knew always drove you crazy.

A moan escaped your lips as soon as his teeth found the specific spot under your jaw. It was like he knew what your body liked already and in some fucked up it was endearing. Even when you were technically cheating on your boyfriend. You ground your hips gently, your hands tangling in his already messy hair, messing it up even more.

He groaned softly against your skin when he felt your hips grinding down on him almost hesitantly, his arms wrapping around your waist a little tighter. Damn how he’d missed this, even when he was aware just how wrong it was to be doing what he was doing with you.

He suddenly pulled his head back, his lips finding yours as he kissed you deeply, desperately. He always had to remind himself that he couldn’t leave any marks on you

You cupped his jaw, your fingers splayed out on his cheeks returning the kiss messily, deepening it almost instantly, again, in a practiced way.

His hands quickly found the hem of your shirt, pushing it up and over your head and tossing it onto the floor. He wanted to feel your skin, your body, everything. It'd been too long since the last time he was allowed to do this.

He pulled back from the kiss, his hands pushing your hair back and he looked up at you, his eyes roaming over your body in the dim light of the room.

He let his eyes trail down to your neck and collarbone, a little mark on your collarbone from a previous time they were together still remaining. He suddenly leaned down again, pressing kisses to it before gently biting down on your skin again, his mouth trailing the same path as his eyes towards your breasts covered by your thin bralette. He pressed soft, almost reverent kisses on the skin, his hand kneading your other breast gently.

He looked up at you again when he was done, his breath a little ragged.

"You still taking the pill?"

"You didn't bring a condom?" you asked, furrowing your brows at his question in mild annoyance. Some people had dirty talk before they fucked, you two had this. Having to make sure nothing went wrong and asking the questions you had to ask in a casual manner.

He chuckled, shaking his head and rolling his eyes slightly. Honestly, he knew he should’ve expected the question, but it still amused him how quickly you both went from being all over each other to the serious questions.

He ran his hands up your thighs and gripped your hips, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin.

"Of course I didn't.."

His hands were still at your hips, his fingers pulling at the hem of your shorts as he looked up at you. His eyes seemed just slightly darker than usual.

"So I'll take that as a yes.." It was a statement, not a question - he already knew the answer. You'd never said no before after all.

"Of course it is a yes... you never bring condoms for some reason." you muttered shaking your head in disbelief, your hands reaching behind you to unclip your bralette.

He smirked when he saw you reach back, his eyes on your hands as they unclip the clasp and push the straps over your shoulders, discarding the item of clothing somewhere on the floor.

"I told you - I don’t like them." He said simply, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip as he looked you over again, growing more uninterested in the conversation at hand.

"Yeah but we can't afford to.. have any slip ups.." your voice was slightly hesitant as you gazed down at him; still straddling him, your expression a stark contrast from the fact that you were on his lap topless. You could tell he was still drunk, and you were kinda feeling the reality of the situation settle in for a split second. After a few weeks of not talking, or sleeping with each other for that matter, you guilt came back full force. But it was pushed down quickly, as it usually was. You felt like a horrible person but you just couldn't help it. Especially when it was JJ.

He raised a hand, gently cupping your cheek, running his thumb over your skin. His touch was a little bit gentler than usual, the alcohol in his system making him a bit more sentimental and open.

"Hey - it’s okay, we won't have any slip ups. I know you’re on birth control, I know you’re careful. We’ve don’t this enough times, everything is fine."

He was reassuring you as best as he could given his state and the fact that he was trying to ignore the guilt in the pit of his own stomach.

He let his hand fall from your face to your waist again as he continued to talk, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the skin there.

"I’ve never once forgotten to pull out. It’s gonna be okay."

He could tell you were worried - you always got like this whenever you thought about the slim possibility that there could be consequences for what the two of you were doing.

You were gonna say something but held back, you were already half naked and he was already in your room; you couldn't possibly deny yourselves of this, especially when you could feel how hard he was. Stopping this one time wasn't gonna make either of you better people or fix the mess you were so deeply buried in. So, you cupped his face, leaning down to kiss him sloppily once again, the kiss hot and hurried in a way.

He groaned against your lips, his hands going to your hips and digging his fingers in to hold you in place. The taste of your lips against his and your skin against his skin sent his heart racing in a way he hadn't felt in a long time with you.

He felt your tongue against his lips and he opened his mouth, his tongue pressing against yours as he kissed you hungrily, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip gently.

He suddenly grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to his chest, your bodies now flush against his. He groaned again, and he had to stop himself from asking any stupid questions - they'd both just be lies anyway since they'd never get any answers out of you.

He pushed his tongue against your teeth, the kiss more sloppy now as he tasted the inside of your mouth, his hands roaming over your back, your sides, your hips - trying to touch you everywhere he could, cover as much skin as he could.

Your tongues tangled as you let the kiss deepen, your hands cupping his jaw holding it tightly, your head tilting to the side gently, He tasted like beer and vodka with a hint of weed, and your thoughts swirled in your head, questions and some snarky comments even. Why was he here with you when he could've hooked up with a random girl at the party he was at? why was he putting up with this shit, if you were arguing on the phone before he came over? But you guessed that just like you, this was his way of taking the frustration out his system. After all, physical was better than emotional even though you both fucked with each other's emotions more than you fucked probably.

He moved his hands from your back to your hips again, and suddenly started to pull them down against his own, forcing your hips to rock against his. He groaned softly against your lips as he felt the friction against his lap, his already half-hard cock getting even harder now. It wasn't enough though, it never was, and he always wanted more than he probably deserved when it came down to this.

He groaned again against your lips, the sound guttural as he continued to guide your hips against his - pushing your clothed core against his own still-clothed hard on.

He pulled away from your lips to start trailing kisses down your neck and your collarbone, his tongue and teeth leaving light marks against your skin that would disappear in the morning. It wasn’t like he could do much more even he wanted to, but he would always have to make sure there was no actual damage to your skin, for the sake of your boyfriend.

A soft moan escaped your lips as he pushed your hips down, all your worries vanishing for the split second of pleasure, grinding down while your hands held onto his shoulders, your breathing growing more ragged as he continued to nibble at your throat gently. You felt slightly dizzy, your head spinning a little at the overwhelming feelings which your brain tried to register all at once. The feeling of his hands holding your hips, roaming over your sides, waist and ribs, his lips moving across the sensitive skin of your throat, all of it was almost sickening in a good way.

He smirked against your neck slightly, feeling your whole body shiver under his hands. He pushed his lips down to the top of your breast, his tongue and teeth leaving a small mark on the side. It would probably just look like a regular ol' bruise and wouldn’t be an immediate cause for suspicion from anyone else, so he felt okay leaving it there.

He pulled you down from straddling him, lifting his hips off your bed so that he could flip the two of you over so that his body was on top of yours, leaning over you as he pulled his shirt off.

The skin on his chest and his abdomen were warm against your body, his broad shoulders hovering over you as he leaned down against you, his forearms rested on either side of your head. He hovered there for a second, his eyes trailing over your face and chest before he leaned down to press his lips against yours again.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, returning his kiss instantly like you always did, the warmth of his body welcome against your skin. You grazed your nails gently across his shoulder blades as you kissed him back eagerly, tongues tangling in a familiar dance.

He groaned into your mouth, his body shivering when he felt your nails on his back. He deepened the kiss in response, his hands roaming and touching your body wherever he could. He wanted to touch every bare piece of your skin underneath him - to savor every taste and sound that he could get out of you from what time you had.

He broke the kiss again, his lips going back down to the skin of your neck, his tongue leaving a wet trail over your collarbone. His teeth scraped against your throat and he had to stop himself from biting too hard, knowing that there were some limits he couldn’t pass. He had to be extra careful, as if he even could be, with things like this. He pushed that thought out of his head and continued on your skin, his lips finding their way down to your chest.

In some way you could tell that by the way he was kissing your neck he was hesitant. Afraid to push some boundary that you both set at the beginning of this whole thing. Again it was endearing in a way, if you didn't think about the fact that he respected the boundary in the first place for the sake of your relationship. In moments like these you wondered why you were even dating your boyfriend in the first place; when you and JJ obviously had something, even if it was hid underneath arguments and screaming matches peppered with snarky comments. But then it was the whole paradox of you basically cheating on your boyfriend with him, which wouldn't technically work in the long term with JJ. After all the way you win them is the way you lose them, despite knowing that you and him had something genuine you wouldn't be forced to go look for it somewhere else.

You took the time to shrug off the shorts you were wearing along with your underwear, saving him the trouble of him doing it him self, your hands going back to tugging at his hair, or run your nails along the skin of hi shoulder blades mindlessly.

He pushed himself up for a second, sitting up on his knees to get his own pants off, pushing them down over his hips and tossing them on the floor. He looked down at you, his eyes trailing up and down your body. It never failed to take his breath away, to see you like this when it was just the two of you and nothing else.

He suddenly shifted, pulling your hips roughly towards his lap again and positioning himself between your legs.

He leaned back over you, his chest against yours as he let his weight fall into you. He reached one hand down between your legs, his fingers searching for the heat between them as he looked down at you again. He saw you bite your lip, holding back a slight gasp from the touch, and that was all he needed to continue, the slight hitch in your breath sending his imagination spiraling, as if he hadn't done this more times that he could possibly keep count of.

You let your eyes flutter closed for a second as soon as his fingers made contact with you, your lips parting ever so slightly at the feather light touch and the contrast between his weight on top of you.

He continued using his fingers, moving them in rhythmic, careful motions that he knew all too well how to do. He shifted himself just slightly, making it easier to reach his other hand down to your hip, grabbing it and holding you still as he continued to use his fingers.

His fingers kept their pace, the feeling of your wetness against them making it difficult for him to do so. He wanted to lose himself in the feeling, to get you to the point where you’d make that pretty little sound that only he knew how to bring out of you.

Your brows scrunched up ever so slightly, your breathing sputtery as his fingers moved in rhythmic circular motions over your clit. You let your lips part a little, small moans escaping them as soon as they did. It was insane how he instantly knew how to move his fingers, as soon as he touched you the familiar feeling of pleasure building, the focused look in his eyes intensifying the lust filling your senses.

He smirked slightly when he heard the moans escaping your mouth, seeing the effect he had on you. It was still an ego boost for him every time he got a reaction out of you. He loved knowing that he could give you a moment of pleasure away from the rest of the world. He wanted those moments for himself, to get that one little bit of you when he could get it because he knew he wouldn’t be able to give it to you again when the sun came up.

His fingers kept their pace, keeping up with your breathing that started to get more ragged and harsh. He wanted to bring you to that point, the one where you’d get lost in the feelings he was giving you and his body pinning yours onto the bed. He wanted you to feel pleasure and only think of him, to give him everything he needed because he knew that in the morning, you’d be gone again and he’d be forced to be alone once more in the same cold bed he’d been in for a while.

Your eyes fluttered open to lock with his, your face still scrunched up in pleasure, your legs parting slightly without realizing when he slipped them inside you. His fingers although moving at a relatively fast pace, they felt almost tender even. And you were glad for that subconsciously, given it's been a while. You wouldn't admit it to JJ obviously, but when it came to doing these things with your boyfriend they felt rehearsed, like he'd do everything robotically. JJ was different, despite being rougher, you felt like it was allowed between you with how familiar you both were with each other due the long friendship backing this shit show that was unraveling more and more between you 2 the more you slept together. Like a train wreck that just kept on wrecking.

He looked back at you, his eyes locked with yours. It was stupid of him to allow himself more than this - just a moment of pure bliss between you two - but somehow he was always a fool when it came to you.

He suddenly moved his hand away from between your legs, bringing it up instead to rest next to your head, his free hand still holding your hip in place as he leaned his body down against yours

He brought his lips down to your neck again, his teeth scraping against the soft skin as he moved them further down to your collarbone, leaving more marks. He didn’t care if your boyfriend would notice them - he hated whenever he saw them on your skin - because if there was one thing JJ was it was selfish. He was selfish and he was selfish when it came to you above all others.

When he pulled his fingers away and slipped them out from inside you you were left feeling a bit empty, physically that was. Emotionally you felt empty for a long time now when it came to him. It was ridiculous. Your hands reached up to run through his hair, your fingers carding through the messy strands, allowing yourself to relish into the pleasant feeling of his warm body against yours, the way he kissed your neck more feverishly now.

He shivered against you when you ran your fingers through his hair, his breath hitching just slightly. He almost hated just how much he actually felt when you did that, to how easily you could distract him with just the simplest of touches.

He moved his attention to your chest once more, his lips and tongue marking the sensitive skin, his mouth leaving small, dark marks in their trail. He made sure to keep them mostly below your collarbone, where they’d be easy to cover up in the morning.

He kissed the skin on your chest again before pushing himself back onto his knees, still between your legs. He looked down at you, his eyes darkened and his breathing heavy. He loved seeing how wrecked you were when he got down like this with you, your skin covered in marks and small reminders of him for the days, and weeks, ahead. Reminders he knew you’d try to hide again from everyone else.

He grabbed your hips again, his grip firm as he held onto you and pulled you closer to him. He shifted, lining himself up with you as he looked down at you again, waiting for permission to continue. You found yourself nodding, granting him the permission he asked for almost mindlessly, your body taut with anticipation.

He swallowed a breath again, his eyes glancing down to what he was doing before he looked back at you, seeing your own eyes locked with his as he teased your clit with the tip of his cock. He could practically feel the anticipation from you, the same as him. He knew it was stupid, that this was the same cycle the two of you continued. You were together in the moment, and distant in the morning. But he was a fool and so were you, and that was something neither of you could help.

He pushed himself forward, sinking into you as he did. He let his eyes slip shut for a moment, a slight exhale leaving his lips as he did, the feeling of you enveloping him familiar but still overwhelming for him. It was always like the first time he got to do this with you, and it hurt him each time, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to give this up anytime soon. He wouldn’t be able to get the chance to get over you because you were always there in the middle of the night.

You drew in a breath, the physical emptiness melting as soon as he was inside you again. It was always overwhelming and mind-numbing despite being done multiple times already. Ironic. You arched up a little, despite still needing a few moments to adjust fully. The stinging wasn't unpleasant, at least not with JJ. It meant you could hold onto it and have it make your stomach constrict and your chest tighten.

He looked back down at you, seeing you arch your back against the bed, the feeling of you still wrapping around him making it hard for him to concentrate. He held onto your hips again, his fingers digging into the skin there to keep himself stable.

He had to hold himself back a little bit, from moving too quickly. He knew that even if you didn’t care, there was a risk of getting caught by your family, and he didn’t want to give them any real reason to hate him any more than they probably already did.

He let out another breath, his breathing getting quicker as he began to move in small thrusts, each one sending a ripple of pleasure through both of you. He held back a moan when he did, trying to keep quiet, and he knew that you were doing the same, the two of you having to stay quiet to avoid too much attention to the fact that he was here right now.

As he began to move you let out a small breath accompanied by a moan, which you knew you had to muffle in order not to accidentally wake up anyone, your palm moving to cover your mouth, prevent the sounds to spill out.

He let his eyes glance down, watching as your hand moved to your mouth as another small moan escaped you. It was hard for him not to pick up his pace at that sight, the fact that you felt the need to be quiet. He wanted you to be able to be loud (like obscenely loud), and to let his name fall from those pretty lips without a care in the world. But he knew that that wasn’t possible - not in this moment or ever - so he had to keep this all as a secret and a memory.

He continued doing the slow, almost rhythmic movements inside of you, the position allowing him to sink deep. His eyes stayed on your face, watching the way your eyes closed and the way your body reacted to all the feelings he was giving you. It was as if he were burning into memory every single expression you made in this moment, knowing that by the time the sun rose in the morning, this moment would be forgotten by you, but him alone. And he knew that he had to savor this, savor these moments, just to keep him going in the days and weeks to come.

"I wanna change.. behind.." you found yourself mumbling without realizing through the hesitant moans, your eyes fluttering open to lock with his.

He paused for a moment, still buried deep inside you, to take in your words. It took him a second to realize what you meant, but when he did, he couldn’t stop the small smile that appeared on his face.

He was all for trying out new things with you, but he didn’t expect you to come up with it yourself. He nodded quickly, pulling himself out of you and backing away a little to give you room to switch positions.

You shifted on your hands and knees, your forearms slipping under your pillow slightly, arching your back up a little, all the while steadying your breath.

He couldn’t help but let out a small, shaky breath upon seeing the position you were now in. Seeing you like that was always so arousing to him, especially when it was your choice to do so. It was like you were submitting to him, and it was hard to keep his own pace when you did.

He shifted closer behind you, one of his hands resting at your hip as he used the other to prop himself up, his eyes looking down at you. He swallowed a breath again, his mouth growing a little bit dry at the sight of you bent over in front of him, waiting for him to take you again. It was the best thing to him - this position. Because like this, he could pretend that you were his, and his alone, even though he knew that you would never be. And it was this moment, he felt in control of you, and it was one of the few moments where you allowed yourself to be JJ and [name] and no one else.

He took a shaky breath before sliding himself back into you, letting out another groan, louder than he meant to. Thankfully, you had buried your head in your pillow, to prevent that sweet moan you knew would let out once he was back inside you.

You arched a little more, tilting your head back allowing him to muffle your sounds more easily now that he stood up straight, his big hand almost covering the lower part of your face, the other hand holding your hip to guide him self in and out of you at a steady pace, hitting that sweet spot inside you.

He continued to thrust into you slowly, although he didn’t know how long he could keep this up, the feeling of you wrapped around him and your sounds beneath his hand beginning to get to him. He leaned closer to you, his chest against your back, and brought his mouth down to your shoulder to try and muffle his own sounds against your skin, his lips against the marks he left earlier, his own small reminders of the time he spent with you like this. The only reminders really.

He couldn’t help but feel just a little greedy, not wanting to slow down as he continued at a relentless pace now, even though he knew someone in this house could easily wake up and check on you. He wanted just a little more time, and a little more of you, even though he knew that it could mess everything up.

He pushed himself in a little rougher now, making sure not to press too hard against your shoulder to keep himself quiet. He knew he was being selfish and careless, but he just wanted these moments, to hold onto them so that he would have something to keep him from breaking in the morning. He wanted just a little more time in this bed, with you, so that he could pretend it was all okay. That he was just a dumb teenager sneaking into the room of his girlfriend and mess around, under the nose of her family. It was far from that.

He continued with the relentless pace which allowed him to kiss your cervix with every thrust, his hand on your hip gripping you tighter to keep you still against him, as his hips moved against yours, pulling more whimpers and moans out of you, even with his hand covering your mouth. It was harder to hear you now, but he was satisfied that he was able to muffle most of the sounds that came out of you. He also knew that he would be satisfied with these memories until the next time he could sneak in and this could happen again, over and over again, in a never-ending cycle.

You knees dug into the mattress for support, still resting on your forearms, back arched up perfectly so you could have him buried deep inside you, the action one akin to a cat arching its back. Your sounds muffled by his hand were growing more frequent now, although they sounded more like mewls instead of actual moans.

His own sounds got a little louder, but he was still able to keep it quiet. He let out a low moan, but it was quickly cut off by him biting into your shoulder again, trying to distract himself from the feeling by leaving more marks. He knew it was self-serving, and that you had to deal with the fallout of that in the morning, but he hoped that you wouldn't mind too much, especially since it meant he could keep a small reminder of you on him as well.

He continued to bite down onto your skin, leaving small marks there in different spots which varied from the back of your neck and your shoulder, marking and claiming you as his even if he didn't really have any right. But JJ was so used to being alone, and he just wanted something that was his, even for just this moment.

He continued to bite and suck into your skin, as his pace started to quicken, losing himself a little bit in trying to drown out the world and enjoy this moment as much as he could, in case it could be the last time it happened. He knew that he was being careless, that this could all end in an instant if someone barged in on them. But he wanted more, he wanted you all to himself, even though he knew you'd never allow it.

One of your hands reached up gently, as if trying to pry his hand from your mouth to speak. You wanted to change positions again, to maybe prolong it a little bit more, even if once it ended you didn't exactly know when you'd sleep together again.

He took a deep breath slowly removing his hand from your mouth to let you speak, curious about what you would say. He could still feel you shuddering against him, the pace of his movements not letting up, but slowing just a little bit, waiting for your next words.

"Let's switch again.." you almost whimpered out, turning your head to gaze at him over your shoulder.

He slowed down and pulled himself out, taking a moment to control his breathing before nodding. He wasn’t going to say no to you.

"How do you want it this time?"

"Missionary.." you mumbled, shifting once again, your limbs shaky and a bit uncoordinated as you moved to lay on your back.

He watched you as you moved, his eyes wandering over the marks he left on your body, some already starting to form into little bruises, like reminders of the fact that he was here, that he had been with you. His eyes glanced down at the way your body quivered and how your breath hitched as you laid down and waited for him, making his own breath hitch in response.

"Yeah, yeah… okay…" he mumbled, shifting to situate himself in front of you.

He slowly settled between your thighs, his hands on them already pushing them apart. He was a little impatient, but he tried to give himself some time to breathe and pull himself together, as he looked down at you, the sight in front of him still just as good as the first time he had you like this, just as breathtaking as it was the first time he had you underneath him.

He slowly lined himself up with your entrance, looking down at you as he did, silently asking for permission, waiting for any sign to tell him that this was what you really wanted, even though he already knew. He still wanted to be respectful, even if everything they did in these moments was the opposite of respectful, and it was hard for him to hold back the sounds that wanted to come out of his own throat when he saw you laying there, waiting for him, legs and lips parted and eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure.

You nodded eagerly, brows knitting up in desperation and plea, your tongue darting out to run over your lips.

He couldn’t help the sound of a sigh coming out of his mouth when he saw that, at your desperate nod and the way your tongue seemed to be begging without words. It made his stomach swoop and his chest tighten at the sight, the way you wanted him still surprising him every time. One might have thought that he would get used to it, but no, it just made his want for you grow.

He couldn’t hold back anymore, he pushed himself back into you once, letting out a low moan as he did, but quickly he covered his mouth at the sound that came out of him. He let out a shaky breath as he pulled his hand away, his eyes looking down at you as he pushed again, his pace starting out slow, but getting more and more rougher again.

You spread your legs a little, wrapping them around his waist loosely to fully bury him inside you, along with your arms around his neck, every time he slipped inside you felt like heaven. Your lower stomach was already beginning to grow taut again, the pleasure coiling and ready to snap. You tilted your head back into the pillow your mouth falling open slightly.

He couldn’t stop himself from watching you as he continued, the view of you laid back among the pillows, your head tilted back and your hair splayed out against the white fabric, the way you seemed to almost glow in the dim light, even through the darkness. His hand came down to your hip, holding you in place as he got more rougher with his thrusts, his breath sputtery and ragged.

He looked down at you again, his eyes taking in all of your reactions, feeling your hands and legs on him, and how you felt around him. The sounds that came out of his mouth were low, as he tried to not let his voice get too loud in case anyone in your house could hear him and what he was doing to you. But it was hard, the sight of you making him want to let out every sound he was holding back, everything he had been holding back from you and this for so long since he first had you. JJ wasn't one to be quiet during these things, he liked to talk and he wasn't afraid to moan or whimper, he was no bitch about that kind of thing. But he had to, at least when it came to you. He had to be quiet and treat this as it was- a thing that was done on a whim and that had to be kept at a low volume.

"Feels so good.. like that.." you mumbled, your eyes fluttering open, trying to suppress the sounds of pleasure escaping your lips when you spoke, your words quiet. You still clung to him, your nails digging into the soft sun-kissed skin of his shoulder blades.

He was almost surprised that you were able to speak in sentences, knowing that this must have felt just as good for you as it did for him. The sounds you made, the way you held onto him and the way you looked all served to make it hard for him to hold back.

"Yeah?" he panted, his voice coming out a little strangled even as he mumbled. "Does it feel that good?"

"Mhm..." you whimpered weakly in response, your legs wrapping around his waist to bring him even deeper, letting out a choked moan at the feeling. "Faster.. go faster J.."

He felt his stomach swoop and tighten at your response—at the small nickname, and when he felt you wrap your legs around him to bring him in deeper, he thought he saw stars for a second. He looked down at you with a desperate expression, his eyes searching your face for confirmation. When you told him to go faster, he took one breath before nodding and picking up the pace, his hips moving against you at a faster pace now.

"Fuck.. yeah.. that's good.. so good" You spoke in a hushed murmur, barely above the sound of your racing heart. Your head tilted back further into the pillow as if seeking refuge in the softness beneath, while your body instinctively arched upward into his chest. Without conscious thought, your nails dug gently into his back, and your fingers traced tender, desperate patterns, as if each scratch could etch the memory of this solace onto your skin. Every quiet touch was a silent plea for more—a wordless confession of longing and vulnerability in the darkness of the room.

He couldn’t help but let out a strangled moan when he heard you say that, the sound almost escaping from his throat before he could try to muffle it against the skin of your shoulder. The way your nails were digging into his back was sending sparks through his body, and he was sure that in the morning he would have little half-moon marks and scratches there as a reminder of this moment.

He continued to pick up the pace as you pushed closer to him, his thrusts getting a little rougher and faster than before. He could feel your back arching up into his chest, the feeling of your nails scratching against his back almost enough to send him over the edge. He bit into your shoulder to muffle another sound, and his arm wrapped around you, holding you closer to him almost tenderly.

His arm wrapped around your middle clutched at you, lifting your lower back from the bed ever so slightly, thrusting deeper and deeper causing your mouth to fall open a little, jaw slack from the white hot pleasure.

He felt the way you gasped, and he could feel the way your body trembled beneath him as he continued to hold you closer to him, his arm around you helping him with the angle. He continued to muffle his sounds against your skin, as if still trying to keep this moment a secret from the world, the sounds coming out of his own mouth just as obscene as the ones coming from your lips.

He was starting to forget about everything else in the world as the orgasm built, the world outside the window of your bedroom, the people in the house with you, even all the things around him in your room, just focusing on you and the way you felt against him, the way your body was wrapped around him and the way you sounded, your little mewls and whimpers that he loved hearing and wanted to hear even more of. He didn’t care if he was being greedy in the moment, he just wanted it to last.

You could feel yourself becoming almost mindless from the pleasure, your mouth still slightly open and writhing in his hold. The angle almost made you suffocate from the intense pleasure, still scratching and digging your nails into his shoulder blades, to the point that if he wasn't just as numb from pleasure, he'd probably hiss in pain. His pace and thrusts were messy, sloppy and uncoordinated just like his moans. You were hoping you were doing a good job at holding back your moans.

He almost tried to speak some words, tried to tell you to stop digging your nails into his flesh, but he couldn’t find the words, and he honestly kind of liked the pain. It was a token of everything that was happening here, and he could tell that he would have some little marks in the morning, and he would be able to look at them and think of you every time he saw them.

He was trying to be quiet, and he was struggling to keep his control, and this whole situation felt so wrong, and yet it felt so good that he couldn’t stop to care about it. The only thing on his mind in the moment was you and the pleasure that he was feeling, and the sound of your voice was music to his ears, even if you were trying to be quiet.

"You.. can.. finish inside.." you found yourself almost panting out, your hips moving to almost pull him even deeper than he was. Desperately.

He almost wanted to say that he shouldn’t, even though he wanted to, he didn’t want to make a mess, he wanted to be polite, and he couldn’t risk anything. But when you panted that he could, he couldn’t get himself to stop. It was like someone gave him the command, and he wanted nothing else but to comply.

He could feel himself getting there just from your words, your movements and the sounds that were coming out of your mouth. It was almost like the rest of the world had faded away and you were the only thing he could see, the only thing he wanted to see. He was desperate for you, and he knew he was a hopeless case, even if he didn’t like to admit it to himself sometimes.

He could feel the pressure building, the heat coiling in the bottom of his stomach, the way his movements were getting more sloppy, more desperate. He couldn’t hold on for much longer, he was starting to get closer now, his breath coming in quick pants, as his own sounds were starting to slip from his throat, his pace quick and messy, his mind completely focused on you.

The pleasure building in your lower stomach was getting more taut, your hands tugging at his hair or digging your nails into his back. His hand reached up, pressing his thumb between your already parted lips and pressing down on your tongue; your sounds becoming a little more obnoxious as his thrusts got more sloppy and fast, "JJ... 'm close.." you managed to mumble around his digit breathlessly, half opening your eyes to gaze at him despite his face being buried into the spot where your shoulder and neck met.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, too focused on how to keep himself under control, how not to let something that might end up being too loud escape from him, to form any coherent thought. But when he heard you say that, he looked up at you, his eyes locking with yours. He could tell you were getting close, and just the thought of that made him feel even hotter and more eager. He panted against your skin, his breath hot and shaky as he tried to form words.

"Yeah.. come on, sweetheart…"

He tried to speak again, his voice barely above a whisper, his mouth next to your ear, as his hips stuttered a little, his pace still quick and desperate. It was getting harder and harder for him to keep his eyes open, to keep his voice down and not let it escape his lips. He wanted to hear you say more, he wanted to hear you say his name, he wanted to hear you say how much you wanted him, how good he made you feel. He wanted to hear anything and everything as long as it was in that tone.

You found yourself nodding at his shaky sentence, your face scrunched up in pleasure. Your brain was too focused on the myriad of sensations, his arm wrapped around your waist holding your lower back off the bed a little, his teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder every now and then when he tried to muffle his sounds, the pleasure from the fast pace, the thumb pressing down on your tongue or caressing your bottom lip. Everything JJ had to offer you, even for a limited time. "JJ.." you mumbled, wanting to say something more than his name but your brain was too fogged up to let out other words.

He held you close to him, even though he was so worked up he couldn’t think straight, holding you tightly against him as he continued to move, his head moving so his face was right next to yours, so he could speak to you in a low, almost gruff voice, his southern drawl slipping out even more now. His nose brushed against your cheek, his mouth now next to your ear.

"Come on, sweetheart.. come on, I want you to-" He almost couldn’t control the sound of his own voice, his pants getting heavier, and he cut himself off before he could say more.

He couldn’t think straight, the feeling of your skin against his, the way you were clenching around him, the sounds coming out of your mouth, everything was overwhelming, and he could feel his mind going blank from all the pleasure and pressure he was feeling. He didn’t care about holding back anymore, he didn’t care about anything else, all that he could think about was you, and your voice, and how badly he wanted to hear you say his name in that special way you always did when you were losing your mind.

You wanted to prolong it, but you had been close so many times already, reason why you asked him to change positions two times but you couldn't hold back anymore. You found your self mumbling his name as quietly as you could, feeling the pleasure wash over you and the knot in your lower stomach snap, leaving you almost breathless. Your body shook gently for a couple of times, your jaw slack, legs wrapped around his waist in a tight lock.

He almost couldn’t breathe when he heard you say his name like that, heard the sounds that were coming out of your mouth. It was like a song to his ears, the best sound he’s ever heard, and just the way you were clenching around him, he felt like he was starting to reach the edge. But the way you were shaking, he was so overwhelmed, hearing you say his name again and again, like a prayer.

"Yeah.. keep saying that, sweetheart, just like that..."

He felt like he could get addicted to that sound, that way you spoke, all breathless and quiet, like you were barely holding on, like you couldn’t get enough of him. Every time you said his name it was like you were giving him a little piece of you, a little piece that nobody else but him was allowed to have, and he wanted more of it, he wanted more of you, he wanted to feel you all around him. Like when he'd plunge in the ocean water and he could feel it surround him.

You didn't even notice you finished because it happened really fast and he wasn't there yet. You clutched to him still, your thighs spasming a little with every of his thrusts, your voice coming into small mewls and his name like he asked. You were tugging his hair, the other hand splayed across his shoulder blade, clenching around him as if urging him to finish.

He couldn’t stop panting, he was holding you so tight against him, he could feel you clutching on to him, and he knew you were gone, but he was still chasing his own feeling of release, panting into your ear, he could feel yourself clenching around him and your fingers in his hair and he never wanted to forget this moment, he never wanted to stop feeling this feeling, and hearing how his name left your mouth, knowing he did that to you, it was so good he never wanted it to end.

He couldn’t tell if you were saying all his name because he told you to or because you were just so worked up, but he couldn’t tell if it mattered anyway, he couldn’t get his mind to wrap around anything that didn’t have to do with you and the feeling of you clenching around him and how wet and warm you were.

"Yeah.. come on, ‘m close, ‘m so close.." He could feel the knot in his stomach coiling, the heat and pressure in his lower growing hotter and hotter with each thrust.

"Come on JJ... i want you to finish.." You urged in a breathless murmur, the air in your lungs momentarily stolen as his hips shifted and the tip of his cock kissed your cervix so sweetly. Every subtle movement sent ripples of delightful overstimulation through your body—a sensation so intense yet perfectly pleasurable.

He couldn’t respond for a moment, his breath coming in ragged pants, it was getting harder and harder to form any sentences, even thoughts. But he could hear you speaking to him, and it was like his body was completely under your control, his arms tightening around you even more as he kept his face by yours.

"Yeah, yeah, sweetheart I swear, I’m- I’m almost there, I'm…" He cut himself off when a quiet moan almost escaped from his lips, almost too late, his head dropping to the crook of your neck instead.

He was so close, he was almost losing his mind, he was practically holding you against him like a lifeline, needing to feel you as close as he could get you. His movements were getting sloppy and jerky, his breath coming in quick pants, he was hanging on to you as if he couldn’t function otherwise, and the thought of that only made it better for some reason.

"Yeah.. ‘m close.. 'm.. I..” He couldn’t form words anymore, he was so overwhelmed, so desperate to finish and his arm wrapped around your middle like a vice.

He wasn’t sure if he actually finished, he wasn’t sure what happened, the whole world went a little fuzzy for a moment. All he could feel was you against him, all he could hear were the sounds you were making, and then the aftermath. His breathing was heavy, labored and shaky, and his body was completely pressed up against yours, his face still pressed against your neck. He didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to let go, he just wanted to stay like this forever if he could.

As soon as you heard the incoherent sounds from his lips followed by that one specific sound that would have you drenched and horny instantly, you knew he finished. You slumped your head on the pillow, lips parted as you panted, your thighs still spasming a little from overstimulation, your eyes closed as you tried to catch your breath. You were still wrapped around him inside and outside, your arms and legs hanging around him loosely now.

He couldn’t move, he just wanted to stay like this, keep you close to him. He was panting against your skin, trying to catch his breath, and he was completely spent. He could feel his breathing shudder as he tried to calm down, and he couldn’t stop himself from placing a small kiss against your neck, an almost instinct, as if needing to be close to you again, needing a small moment to ground himself again.

"God… damn it..” He mumbled against your skin, his voice hoarse.

He tried to lift his head up a little, looking at your face, your closed eyes and parted lips, he could see your expression, he could see how out of breath and overwhelmed you looked. It made his chest fill up with an almost primal satisfaction knowing he did that to you, that he was the reason you looked like that.

"You good..?” He asks after a moment, his voice still shaking a little, he just wanted to make sure you were alright.

"Yeah, 'm good.. just a little... out of it." you mumbled, taking a deep breath, your eyes fluttering open to gaze into his.

He nodded, taking a deep breath himself. "Yeah, same." He chuckled a little, running a hand over his face, and looking down at you.

"Damn.. we made a mess."

He let out a low chuckle as his eyes roamed over the sheets and between your bodies, the evidence of their activities staining the sheets and dripping down the inside of your thighs. He couldn’t help but smile a little, he liked making a mess of you, and his satisfied, almost cocky smirk was on display on his face as he looked back at you.

You glanced back down at your self and then back at him, raising your brows with a small smile, "yeah.. think i need to change the sheets tomorrow.."

JJ let out another small chuckle at that, resting his chin on your shoulder, still keeping his body close to yours, he didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to let go of you quite yet.

"Yeah, maybe you should. Wouldn’t want anyone to know what a dirty girl you can be, hm?" He teased lightly, a smirk on his face as raised his eyebrows at you

"I just think if anyone heard anything they'll know.. which is—scary." you sighed softly, bringing a shaky hand to rub over your face.

He hummed in agreement, resting his chin against your shoulder as his own hands started to rub small circles against the your back. "That’d be bad. What would everyone think if they knew you were letting a pogue like me in your bed in the middle of the night all the time?" He teased lightly, a small cheeky smile on his face.

"I don't think I'm supposed to let anyone in my bed, pogue or not..." you half teased back, the other half dripping with seriousness.

He was silent for a moment as you said that, his hand paused from where it was rubbing against your back, and the smile on his face faded as he thought about your words. He’d be lying if he said he never felt guilty about the whole situation.

"Right. Guess you’re a bad girl after all then, huh?" He said teasingly, his hand resuming the soothing circles on your back.

His mind was wandering, thinking about the whole situation and how screwed up it was. He knew you weren’t really supposed to be doing this, that you were off limits, he knew that you had a boyfriend who you were meant to be with instead of him. But despite all that, he couldn’t help himself whenever he was around you, he never could.

So, here he was again, in your bed, tangled up with you like that was where he was supposed to be. Like he actually belonged here.

But he didn’t, it was a shitty situation, and it was shitty of him to keep taking advantage of you like this when he knew you were supposed to be with someone else. The thought of you being with someone else while he was the one in your bed, it made him feel sick.

He wrapped his arms around you a little tighter and pulled you closer against him, as if trying to ignore the guilty thoughts in his head.

"Yeah given I'm bad at everything.." you chuckled bitterly after a few moments of silence, the reality of the situation setting in. But just like other times you pushed it down. You'd have time to wallow in your own self pity when you were with your boyfriend anyway.

He frowned at that, he hated hearing you talk about yourself like that, he hated how broken and bitter you sounded when you spoke about yourself.

"Hey, you’re not bad at everything..” He started, shifting his body so he was looking down at you. "I mean you’re really good at-” He cut himself off, his eyes trailing down your body for a moment before he cleared his throat.

"At having adulterous sex?" you smirked at him, finishing his sentence as he gazed down at you.

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that, he did like when you were like this, witty and sarcastic. It reminded him of how you were when you were kids.

"Don’t say it like that, makes it sound less dirty” He grumbled, even as a part of him did like hearing you say those kinds of things.

He hummed as he thought of other things you were good at, moving to lay on his back next to you, pulling you over so you were laid out on top of him, as he wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin against the top of your head.

"You’re good at being smart, you’re good at being funny, you’re good at.. I dunno, a lotta things. You’re not bad at everything” He shrugged, his hands running over the smoothness of your back

"Doesn't change the fact that I'm having adulterous sex with the guy i tell my boyfriend not to worry about.." you narrowed your eyes teasingly, the smirk still there. You rubbed your hand on your face again, brushing back the strands of hair sticking to your forehead and cheeks, the feeling irritating you a little bit now.

He was silent for a moment, his arms were still around you, still holding you against him, but his hands stopped moving over your skin.

"You tell him that?" He asked eventually, his tone a little more serious than before, but there was a hint of a smirk, like he knew the answer to that question already. He did. He knew your boyfriend didn’t know about the two of you. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

"Yeah... he seems to think we're prone to sleeping with each other since we're childhood best friends. What a ridiculous dumbass, right? as if that could happen.." you chuckled, shaking your head at your own sardonic words.

His chest panged a little at that, listening to you say that, like you were lying to yourself. He wanted to call you out on that, point out the fact that what your boyfriend thought was completely true, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, it would be just repeating the obvious.

"Yeah.. he is a bit of an idiot, isn’t he?” He quipped instead, playing along with your words.

He kept his arms wrapped around you, his hand still rubbing up and down your back unconsciously. He was quiet, silent as he thought. God, your boyfriend really was an idiot, he was so lucky you hadn’t told him and yet your boyfriend was still too stupid to even see what was right in front of him.

That thought made him tighten his arms around you, holding you a little closer against him. He didn’t want to let go of you, he wanted you staying on top of him like that, he wanted you in his arms and tangled up with him. He didn’t want to think about the fact that you weren’t his, that you were supposed to be with someone else, with a pogue hating, money chasing tool and not him.

He hated the situation you were both in, he wished things were different.

"You staying here or going home?" you asked after a few moments of silence, your hands carding through his hair to distract yourself.

He closed his eyes and hummed a little, melting into the feeling of your hands carding through his hair. He was quiet as he thought about your question. Truth is he didn’t want to go home, he wanted to stay with you and never leave. But that wasn’t possible.

“I don’t know” He mumbled after a moment, opening his eyes to look at you. “Why, you tryin’ to kick me out or somethin?”

He closed his eyes and hummed a little, melting into the feeling of your hands carding through his hair. He was quiet as he thought about your question. Truth is he didn’t want to go home, he wanted to stay with you and never leave. But that wasn’t possible.

“I don’t know” He mumbled after a moment, opening his eyes to look at you. “Why, you tryin’ to kick me out or somethin?”

"No. If you were to argue with me about something stupid like usual, maybe." you responded bluntly, furrowing your brows to yourself.

He chuckled at that, a small smirk on his face at your answer. He knew you were right, the two of you often did argue over stupid things. A part of him wanted to argue with you now, just for the sake of it, so he could stay.

“What about if I don’t argue.” He asked after a moment, his hands still running up and down your back. “What if I’m on my best behaviour?”

"Then i guess you could stay." you muttered, you wanted to add that he should leave in the morning, through the window still but you fought against it. That would be cruel, and it wasn't like he didn't know that.

He could tell you held yourself back from saying that part, he could tell that you wanted to be cruel to him, for him to leave. And hell, maybe he deserved that, he definitely didn’t deserve you.

But he didn’t comment on that, instead, he just hummed in response. “Fine, I’ll stay. As long as I’m allowed to be the big spoon” He teased lightly, giving you a smirk He shifted on the bed a little until he was in his desired position, with you pulled against him, your back press up against his torso, his arms wrapped around your waist, and his chin resting on your shoulder, his face buried in your hair, inhaling your familiar scent.

Usually, JJ would be the kind of person who’d fall asleep almost as soon as he lay down, but right now, he felt wide awake. He didn’t want to waste any time with you and sleeping. It was selfish of him, but it didn’t matter.

He nuzzled his face against your neck, his lips lightly brushing against your skin as he hummed a little, burying his face against the crook of your neck.

You shifted as soon as he spooned you, his chest pressing against your back. Which was kinda sweaty and sticky, but so was he. You let your eyes flutter closed, not sleeping yet but just having your eyes closed. You pulled your messy duvet over you, noting that you'd have to probably change the entire bedding, with how sweaty and sticky you both were. A small part of you said no, of course. It would be nice to have the sheets smell like JJ after he left in the morning.

He made himself comfortable against you, snuggling deeper into the crook of your neck and letting one of his hands move from your waist to splay out over your stomach as he held you.

He could smell a faint hint of your perfume through the usual sweat and sex, but he didn’t mind it, he actually kind of liked it, he liked smelling you, it felt familiar, like home in a way. If he had one. He let out a grumble as he pressed a light kiss against your shoulder, shifting a little behind you so he could pull you even closer.

His eyes closed as he breathed you in, a sort of content expression on his face as he relished the feeling of you against him. He hadn’t felt so relaxed or comfortable in a long time, he could almost pretend that things were different, that the two of you were something different, something more. But that was a dangerous thought to have, and he tried to push it from his head.

He couldn’t help but think of other times like this, when he used to sneak into your childhood bedroom late at night and stay over instead of sleeping at his own shitty house.

He hummed as he thought about that, his hand slowly tracing patterns against your stomach as he let himself think about the past for a moment. He remembered one time in particular, when there had been a big storm and he was too scared to go home drenched, with his dad still angry from the previous fight. So, he snuck over to your house, climbed through your window and spent the night. You’d both snuggled up against each other, him holding you, just like he was right now. It was a memory he often revisited, thinking about how much had changed since then.

He knew things were different now, he wasn’t staying over because he was scared of a storm or his dad, he wasn’t a kid anymore. And neither were you. So much had changed. And yet, at the same time, nothing had changed at all. He was still staying over at your house and crawling through your window. He was still snuggled up against you, the two of you still tangled up together.

He just wished things were different. He shouldn’t still be sneaking over to stay with you, he should be your boyfriend, it should be his bed you were sharing.

"Can't fall asleep..?" you asked gently, noticing he was shifting and writhing a little, instead of being knocked out cold, like he usually was when you both did this.

He looked a little startled by the sound of your voice, he hadn’t expected you to talk, he’d just assumed you were asleep. When he realized that you were asking a question though, he grunted a little in response, his chin resting on your shoulder as he cuddled you against him. “Nah, I’m a bit… wired” He admitted

"You were plastered when you got here like an hour ago.." you mumbled. You had thought he would be wasted and fall asleep instantly, especially also fucking for almost an entire hour. So his words were a bit shocking.

He felt his face grow a little red at the mention of that, he’d been so drunk then, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he fell asleep as soon as he got comfortable. But now he was surprisingly wide awake, he couldn’t explain it, he just felt a bit restless. His hands gripped your waist a little tighter as he grunted a little in response to what you said.

“I dunno why I’m still awake” He mumbled even though he knew why. Guilt kept most people awake.

His eyes fixed on his own fingers, the movement of his hands as he traced lazy circles against your bare stomach. Part of him itched for a joint, he felt restless somehow, he was craving a bit of a distraction, something to take the edge off. He usually didn’t get like this, but then again, usually it was a lot easier for him to fall asleep, especially when he was with you like this. But right now, he just felt a kind of tension running through him, and he wasn’t sure how to get rid of it.

He shifted a little again, one of his legs tangling between yours. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like that he couldn’t get his mind to calm down. He thought about the joint again, that should help, it would make it easier for him to relax.

“I’m thinking, I’d like a joint right about now” He mused quietly, his voice a deep grumble against your skin as he spoke, his fingers still tracing circles against your stomach

"Yeah a joint would absolutely slap right now.." you nodded weakly at his words. A joint would help tame the guilt and the constricting feeling in your chest and stomach. That feeling faded when you had sex but now it was creeping back in. Out with the mind numbing orgasm and in with the self hatred. So weed it was, "think i have some weed hidden around here somewhere," you muttered once again.

“Damn, you got some good stuff hidden in here? You’ll have to show me where you store it” He chuckled, his fingers still tracing lazy shapes against your skin. He liked the idea of a joint, maybe it would mellow him out a bit, help him fall asleep, at least he hoped so.

He hadn’t been able to stop dwelling on the past and how much had changed and just how much he shouldn’t be here in your bed. The best way, of course, was to forget for a bit. Usual JJ coping mechanism.

He nuzzled his face against your shoulder again, his nose nuzzling against your exposed skin as he breathed in your scent. He knew it was stupid and risky being in here in your bed, he didn’t want to think about that. All he wanted to do right now was distract himself from the feelings and thoughts bouncing around his head.

He didn’t want to think about how things were different, how he should be your boyfriend, how he should be here with you and it not be a secret in the middle of the night.

"Dunno if it's good enough for you. Given you smoke weed like 4/20 is every day but—" you trailed off, your voice trailing into uncertainty as you slowly disentangled yourself from him. You moved with a hesitant grace, your body still humming with the residual heat of intimacy, and settled on the edge of the bed. With a careful hand, you gathered your t-shirt and underwear scattered on the floor. His shirt lay next to yours—a silent invitation you longed to accept, though you resisted the urge, not wanting to blur the lines of an already delicate boundary. It was already too intimate as it was.

You slipped into your own clothes—the familiar fabric grounding you—and, with a final reluctant glance at the space between you, you slid off the bed. Each step toward the dresser felt weighted with unspoken tension. Kneeling before it, you opened the bottom drawer and sifted through its contents until your fingers closed around a small tin box. Clutching it, you made your way back to the bed, sitting beside him.

He almost pouted in response to you untangling yourself from him, but he didn’t say anything, only watched you as you got off the bed, pulling a t-shirt and panties on, a small part of him wishing he could’ve seen you naked for longer.

He sat up in the bed, crossing his legs and resting his chin on one of his hands as he watched you kneel before the dresser, searching through it as you grabbed something from the bottom drawer. He couldn’t help but admire your ass a little as you knelt down. He had to.

He watched closely as you walked back to the bed, a small smile on his face as he looked at the tin box in your hands, guessing what was in it. He uncrossed his legs and patted the spot beside him, gesturing for you to sit by him and share what you found together

The small tin box was opened and JJ’s eyes immediately fell on the pre-rolled joint and half pack of Marlboro’s stashed away inside. He raised an eyebrow in surprise, he hadn’t fully expected you to have anything besides the joint, and he found himself impressed by your stash. It was also a bit of a surprise to see the pack of Marlboro’s in there, he knew you smoked regular cigarettes, but he didn’t think you’d have them stashed away with your weed.

He hummed and picked up the joint from inside the box, his fingers playing with the paper for a moment before speaking, his eyes fixed on the joint in his hand. “How come you’ve got cigs in here?” He asked, picking up the half empty pack of Marlboro’s and giving them a little wave, before looking up at you

"Marlboro's are good to smoke with a joint.." you smiled lightly as he shook the red pack of cigarettes. "My other pack is hidden in my purse.. can't have them out and about.." how ironic. Smoking was a secret as much as screwing around with JJ was.

He chuckled a little in response, putting the pack back into the tin box and picking up the joint as he laid himself back down, propping himself up with a few pillows behind him so he could sit up a little.

“You wouldn’t want a big shot like your boyfriend to find out you smoke, huh?” He teased, the joint held between his fingers as he looked up at you with a smirk on his face

"He says it's not feminine to smoke," you scoffed, your tone a blend of amusement and something akin to disgust. Your hand slipped into the familiar tin box, fingers closing around the lighter as if it were a an extension of you. Leaning in, you hovered over him just long enough to ignite the joint that rested between his lips—a delicate, intimate act that blurred the lines between challenge and tenderness. The flicker of the flame danced across his features, making his eyes sparkle and his features more sharper and breathtaking.

He chuckled around the joint as he took his first inhale, his lips closing around the tip of the joint as he inhaled the smoke, letting his tongue dart out to brush against the side of it as he finished taking a hit

“He sounds like a real prize” He teased as he took another quick inhale and let the smoke out, his eyes going to you as he passed the joint over to you with a smirk on his face.

You watched intently as he took the first drag, another amused scoff leaving your lips at his words, taking the joint from him eagerly. You brought it to your lips taking a long drag and holding the smoke in your lungs for a good moment before exhaling it. "Yeah you could say that.."

He watched you as you smoked, his eyelids lowered in a sort of lazy, half-lidded look. His eyes were fixed on the way your lips curved against the joint, how you took the hit, the way you exhaled. He knew it was wrong for him to even look at you like this. He knew how dangerous all of this was. And he hated it.

"Why do you even put up with him?" He asked, picking up the box and taking out a Marlboro for himself, his eyes still fixed on you

He lit the cigarette, putting the still burning joint on the ashtray you had handed him and placed between the 2 of you. He didn’t smoke cigarettes often, they weren’t really his preference. But it helped dull his frustration for the time being, so he wasn’t complaining.

"He isn’t the best guy in the world, so why do you bother staying with him?" He asked, looking straight at you this time, his eyes studying your face, searching for any sign of what you were truly thinking

"It's not a matter of if he's the best guy or not.." you grimaced almost imperceptibly, laying on your back next to him, a small distance between the 2 of you for the ash tray. You grabbed a cigarette before placing the tin box on your night stand, keeping the pack of cigarettes in your lap.

"Well, what is it then. Is it the money? I know his Daddy is swimming in it." He said, taking another drag of his cigarette. The bitterness was clear in his voice, though he tried to hide it. He was jealous of your boyfriend. He was jealous of the fact that he had everything that JJ didn’t, and more. He had money, a good, proper family, decent behavior. JJ had none of that.

"Technically yeah.." you turned to side glance at him as you took a drag of your own cigarette, already feeling a bit dizzy when the nicotine and weed mixed together.

He couldn’t help the scoff that came from him at your response. It stung, it stung to know that you were staying with a douchebag because he had money. That you stayed with someone you didn’t actually like because you preferred the money he threw at you. It stung. JJ didn’t understand why though, he wouldn’t admit it, but it hurt. “So you stay with that tool for the money. You don’t actually love him?”

"God no.. Riley's good company.. sometimes. But I'm not after his money or company..." you grimaced again, tapping the cigarette gently to ash it. Your words felt a bit horrible if you thought about them. Given you were dating your boyfriend for almost 2 years now.

JJ couldn’t help the twinge of anger he felt. You were with a guy for 2 years, spending time with him, going on dates, probably doing other stuff as well, but you didn’t even like him. You just liked the money he had. While here he was, stuck with nothing and nobody. The anger was starting to become bitter resentment.

"So… what’re you with him for then? If you don’t care about the money or him?

"Cause... you know my parents.. they're really old friends with his.. and i guess it gives them a reason to combine their richness.." your frown deepened too as you spoke, taking another drag of the cigarette.

He could see your frown forming as you spoke, the words spilling out of your mouth. He hated it. Hated your parents, hated your relationship with your rich boyfriend, how you were so content with the shitty situation.

"So, you’re basically a trophy. A toy for your parents to show off" His words sounded harsher than he’d originally intended

Although technically it was kind of true you didn't like the wording of that fact. With the way they were planning on marrying you off this dude was kind of like melting 2 trophies together to create a big pile of gold. You opened your mouth to speak closing it again glaring at him slightly, "it's not that simple.. you don't even know the whole situation."

He almost bristled at your answer, his jaw clenching in frustration. You were right, he didn’t know the whole situation. And that was exactly his problem. He didn’t know why you stayed with your boyfriend, why you didn’t want to tell your parents to go screw themselves. Why couldn’t you just break up and be with him instead. JJ let out an angry exhale, another bitter scoff leaving his mouth

"Then why don’t you tell me then, princess?"

"Cause it doesn't matter, okay?" you grimaced once again, looking forward as you took another long drag from your cigarette.

He was even more pissed now, his irritation building more and more with each vague answer you gave him. He really hated when you did this. When you answered a question with a vague ass answer that left more questions than it gave answers. He stubbed his cigarette into the ash tray with more force than was necessary. He wasn’t going to keep being left in the dark by you. That wasn’t going to happen

"Bullshit it doesn’t matter! Why won’t you tell me?"

"Cause i thought this was supposed to be casual... we would fuck and then, i dunno.." god, you sounded like an asshole. Of course it wasn't casual, neither of you believed it, especially with your friendship looming over the whole ordeal like a big green monster. It made things more tangled than they would've been if JJ was a mere stranger. You like to pretend you weren't yourself when these things would happen, because you felt like another person. And yet you couldn't understand why JJ was here, putting up with your bullshit and vague answers.

He was even more hurt now, hearing you talk about your ‘relationship’ like it was nothing. He bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything he knew he’d regret, he couldn’t get caught up in the shitty emotions he was feeling, he couldn’t get attached, he couldn’t do that to himself. He knew it wasn’t going anywhere, you’d made that clear. But that didn’t make it better. "So… this is nothing then." His voice was flat, the familiar bitter undertone of resentment in it.

"No... no, it's not nothing. But explaining isn't gonna help us okay? It never does.." you mumbled the last part, your anger turning into something akin to bitterness, mixed with the guilt of the whole situation, still holding the cigarette between your fingers.

He gritted his teeth, trying to stop himself from yelling. He knew arguing didn’t get either of you anywhere, but right now he was fed up, he was annoyed, he wanted answers, something, anything.

"I’m tired of you always giving me these vague ass answers. I’m tired of you just expecting me to accept whatever you give me because you know I’ll take it anyway."

"No, because if I explain the whole situation, you'll just try to find a way out of it—even when there isn't one. I know because I've tried, okay?" you spoke bitterly, your words laced with a simmering frustration that threatened to boil over. Irritation flared up once again, a familiar heat rising in your chest. With a sharp exhale, you stubbed out the cigarette into the ashtray, the smoldering ember crushed under your fingertips. The scent of smoke lingered in the air, a hazy veil that matched the tension thickening between you.

Sitting up a little straighter, you squared your shoulders, a silent declaration of your resolve even with your eyes glazed over by the remnants of the orgasm and the weed.

The silence that followed was palpable, broken only by the distant hum of cicadas outside and the ticking of your bedside clock that seemed to mock the passing time. You could feel his eyes on you, searching for cracks in your armor, but you refused to meet his gaze. The weight of unspoken words pressed down on you, each one a stone added to the burden you carried.

A knot tightened in your stomach as you wrestled with the myriad of emotions swirling within—frustration, hurt, a flicker of hope quickly extinguished by reality. The walls felt closer now, the room smaller, as if the very space conspired to force a confrontation you weren't ready to have. One that always ended up happening anyway.

He couldn’t keep the anger and bitterness from pouring into his voice now, he was too riled up for that.

"God, why do you always do this?! Just always assume that I’m gonna try something. What do you think I’m gonna do, hm? Find out the reason and then what? Try to find a way to get out of it? Try to win you over from your rich boy? Why do you think I’d do that?"

He stood now too, facing you head-on, frustrated and upset. He didn’t like how you just thought he was gonna try and sabotage your current relationship. He couldn’t help himself, he was too frustrated, and now his irritation was starting to manifest itself into anger.

"Do you honestly think I care that much about you dating some rich douche bag that I’d try and steal you away from him?"

"Then why do you wanna know the reasoning? what does it help you with?" you were hurt at his words. Of course, you were. It already wasn't easy for you and somehow JJ made it harder. He always did. You knew he was in the same place as you emotionally, but he just hid behind this stingy persona that some how hardened any soft emotion you had. So for the time being you'd bite back if that's what he wanted. You'd get to wallow about it later.

His expression softened momentarily in surprise at your response before hardening again almost immediately. He didn’t want to feel bad for you, and yet he did. He felt bad for you because he knew you were in that shitty, uncomfortable situation, because deep down he knew you didn’t actually want to be with your rich prick boyfriend.

"Because it’s infuriating to just be left in the dark all the time. Just to be forced into something I don’t know the context of"

"Hellooo..." you dragged out the word almost mockingly, "you knew the context of this situation. When we started this bullshit the context was pretty clear. 'We'd do it once' we said... and then we started making a habit out of it." you scoffed, crosing your legs under you as you sat straighter on the bed, "—and no one is forcing you.. it's not like I'm doing something you don't participate in.."

"God, you’re impossible. Do you honestly think I’d be here if I didn’t have some kind of feelings for you, huh? You think I’d keep coming back here every time, going along with this ‘arrangement’ as you so conveniently call it, if I didn’t?” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, trying to keep his voice level but it was becoming increasingly more difficult. The things you were saying were pissing him off. Greatly.

"That just makes it worse... feelings always complicate things. You think i don't care about any of this? shit, maybe if i was a heartless slut i wouldn't.." you mumbled chewing the inside of your cheek. It felt like your stomach constricted a little when he said he had feelings for you. It was relieving to hear you weren't the only one feeling something. But the hope stoked out because it was impossible and this wasn't a romance novel.

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his throat, almost scoffing at the fact that you thought feelings were what complicated things. Feelings were what made everything make sense to him. They explained why he kept letting himself into the shitty arrangement. Why he continued coming back when he knew it was breaking his heart.

"You think I care if things are complicated? If I didn’t feel anything, if I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t let you drag me deeper into this."

"You could at least be selfish. You usually are. So i don't understand why you don't think about yourself here? If i have to live this shitty life and feel like this, why do you have to too?" you stood up and walk over to him standing in front of him as he paced a little at the foot of your bed.

"I could say the same thing to you. Why do you let yourself live this shitty life? Why are you letting some rich douche control you, huh? If you don’t want to be in that shitty life, then why don’t you just change it?"

He was getting heated now, his voice rising as he spoke louder. And yet he didn’t care if this would wake up the rest of your family, he was too riled up to take that into consideration.

"Cause it's not that simple. None of this is. Out of the two of us you have the privilege to walk out and live your life like you wanna." you scoffed, shifting your irritated gaze to the side.

“Oh please. Don’t give me that bullshit. Out of the 2 of us, no matter what I still have it worse. So don’t even think about giving me that. I come from a shitty family with a shitstain of a father. I barely have enough money to keep myself afloat. At least you have the money to fall back on!”

He hated bringing up the money, but he was so sick of you acting like you had it worse than him. Like you were some sort of sad charity case when you had money and a family that actually gave a damn.

"That's not what i meant. I wasn't flaunting my money and family to you.. i know better than anyone the differences between us." you spoke, your voice softer this time. You felt bad suddenly, cause it was true—he did have it worse. Sometimes it made you wonder how something as beautiful as JJ got such a shitty deal in life. It was ridiculous how rotten and shitty you were, and you got such a pristine life while he was left with... whatever he could get.

He hated how soft your voice had gotten all of a sudden, making him immediately feel guilty for even bringing up the money. It wasn’t your fault his family was shittier than yours, and he felt like an ass for making you feel bad.

He stayed silent for a moment, looking down at the floor for a moment until he looked back up at you. Though his voice had lost the irritation from before and was replaced with something more bitter.

"You still didn’t answer my question. Why don’t you change your life then?"

"Cause it's not changeable okay? This shit runs deeper than any of this combined.." you gestured between the 2 of you, "sometimes i think cheating on my boyfriend is the best thing i can do for myself.." you mumbled bitterly, crossing your arms over your chest and gazing to your side again, at the ashtray with the barely touched joint on the bed.

When you mumbled that you thought cheating on your boyfriend was the best thing you could do for yourself, a scoff escaped his throat.

“That doesn’t make sense. How can cheating on him be the best thing when it’s something that’s tearing you up inside and making you hate yourself even more than I know you already do?”

"Cause at least it's something i wanna do. I wanna sleep with you. It's not like anyone is forcing me to be with you." you turned to him, furrowing your brows and letting a scoff of your own.

He didn’t know why, but something about the way you said that riled him up again. His body tensed and his face hardened into that expression he usually donned at the Boneyard when he saw something he didn’t like. That cold, emotionless facade that always had people pissing themselves when they saw it.

"Oh really, that’s why you cheat on your boyfriend, huh? Cuz you want to be with me. Because you want me this much. Right?”

You averted you gaze again, scowling to yourself. You weren't scared of him, hell you knew him since he was eating his boogers. You were just exhausted of arguing and falling into the same cycle. All of it because you couldn't stay friends when puberty hit. It was angering and sad.

"You never answer me when I ask that question. Whenever I ask if you actually want me, if you actually want what we have or if this is just a way to pass time. You always get silent or deflect. So, answer me for once. Do you want me? Do you want this?”

Maybe it was a bad idea to keep pushing, JJ already knew you wouldn’t answer but something inside him made him continue despite being a masochistic idiot.

"Do you think i'd be doing this if i didn't want you?. You think i use sex just to pass time?" you scoffed bitterly. You weren't surprised he thought that, after all you would act like a cruel bitch sometimes despite loving JJ more than you would ever admit to anyone, yourself included.

He couldn’t do anything other than scoff at your scoff as he ran his hand through his hair once more. Frustration coursing through his veins and his jaw clenched so tight he wouldn’t be surprised if his teeth cracked. He was tired of this. Having to ask you the same question and never getting an answer. Never knowing anything about what was going on in your head.

"You’re never direct with any of your answers, you always have to be vague or snarky. Can you blame me if I think that? You never actually tell me what you want from me.”

"I dunno okay? Sometimes i pray to God you just brush me off when i show up to your door drunk." you knitted your brows up in exhaustion. You knew, since your parents basically married you off to someone else, that you and JJ couldn't have anything. You convinced yourself that if he did casual hooking up with girls at parties, it would work in your case too. Spoiler alert: it was back firing more than you could handle.

Again, another vague response and once again, he felt his irritation spike. He clenched and unclenched his jaw as he felt the urge to scream from frustration, but instead, he just let out a scoff-like laugh.

"Of course, that’s your answer. ‘I dunno’, you never know.” He stepped towards you, narrowing his eyes at you. He didn’t care that his voice was borderline yelling and that it was a quiet summer night outside.

"You never know, no matter how many times I ask, you never know."

He got right in your face, closing whatever distance was between you two so that he was looking down directly into your eyes. He wanted you to look at him, to look him in the eyes and actually speak to him for once without any vague answers.

"What do you want me to do? You want me to just blow you off? Ignore you completely? Not answer your calls and not give you the time of day anymore? You want me to do that, huh?”

"Well if you don't like this.." you shrugged, raising your brows and fixing him with your gaze, although a small part of you hoped he would take the words back and maybe you'd go back to smoking the joint and cuddling until the morning when he had to leave.

He hated it when you did that, when you looked up at him with that expression, so emotionless and vague. But he wasn’t a complete moron, and he could see the hints of hope in your eyes, despite it being barely noticeable. He was tempted, he was so completely tempted to just drop this and go back to smoking and snuggling. He always was. “No, no, answer me. That’s all I’m asking for. Tell me what you want.”

"I want things to be different okay? that's all i wanted and I'll want until i die. Sounds dramatic but it sums up this whole situation." god, someone who finally asked what you wanted, the wrong person at that, because you had no reason. You wanted to keep him here with you, and have him do this, repeat the cycle. But if you were him you'd get fed up too. Hell. you'd probably not take the bullshit you gave him.

He let out a frustrated huff as he once again ran his hand through his hair, pulling a little at the ends. How in the hell was he supposed to respond to that? How was he supposed to react to the fact that you were unhappy and that it was something they both couldn’t change?

“You can’t say that and just leave it at that, we both know that there’s a million different outcomes for how things could be different.”

"You don't understand that it can't be. It just can't. It's not as easy as breaking up with my boyfriend and dating you. Although that's what i wanted from the start of this." you looked up at him, scrunching up your face in sort of desperate expression, whisper shouting at him.

JJ felt his insides twist and turn, his frustration only getting worse. You didn’t even have the faintest of ideas about how much he wished that were actually a viable option. How he wanted to be able to wake up in the same bed as you and not have to worry about sneaking out the window in the middle of the night so no one saw.

"Well, yeah. I do understand that, that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it? I get that it’s not easy to just break it off with him and start dating me."

He clenched his jaw as he looked away from you, a part of him still desperately wishing he could grab you and kiss you right here, right now, and pretend that everything was fine. But he couldn’t, especially now, and he knew it.

"It’s more than just ‘not easy’ it’s pretty much impossible. Or at least impossible to change right now, I mean we still got one more year before graduation, and we both know that your parents aren’t just gonna let you ditch college prep for a life with me.”

"It's not like I'm going to a college that i wanna go to..." you mumbled, scoffing bitterly.

"That doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what you want, it’s what your parents want. And they don’t want some stupid pogue kid to ruin their perfect little college prep daughter’s future." he replied bitterly.

"Yeah it doesn't matter. It never does. It didn't matter when i told them i didn't want to date Riley and it won't when it comes to college or any other life plans. Because they have that all planned out. Hell, they probably planned my first kid already and I'm only 17." you turned your head back to him, scowling and raising your shoulders in a half shrug.

His heart ached at the expression on your face, you looked so damn miserable. So damn broken and defeated. But he knew that it was the truth. He had always known it, that your life would never be your own. That you’d be forced into the future your parents wanted for you, whether you liked it or not. And he knew there was nothing either of you could do about it.

"I know, princess. I know."

It was the pet name. That was his one big fatal flaw. Whenever he called you that he would instantly get this overwhelming need to protect you, hold you tight, and try and shield you from the rest of the damn world. And that was exactly what he did in that moment, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest, holding you tight against him as if he could shield you from your shitty parent's influence.

You didn't hesitate to wrap your arms around his neck, despite the hostility and anger that was felt before the hug, your stomach doing a little flip at the softness in his eyes and the pet-name. A hug was probably some sort of mistake even if not directly, but you needed and he offered it and that's all you could get. So you'd gladly take it.

He held you close for several moments, letting himself savor the feeling of holding you again, relishing the feeling of running his hand through your hair and having you against his chest. Even if it was a mistake, he was happy to make it. Because all he wanted was to hold you, to hug and kiss and comfort you whenever he could. He just wished that things were different, that he didn’t have to be a little secret. But he was, and there was little he could do about that.

Eventually, he felt his will and self-control slowly but surely beginning to crumble. He shouldn’t be doing this, he knew that, but goddammit, he was only human. He was a pogue, it wasn’t as if he had endless supplies of self-discipline.

He gently pulled you back onto the bed and laid down with you, letting out a soft sigh as he continued to run his hands through your hair and hold you close, one hand trailing down your spine.

You let him guide you back to the bed, laying back down with him after placing the ashtray with the stubbed out cigarettes and the barely touched joint as he wrapped and slipped his hand under your shirt, tracing the outline of your spine, your face buried in his chest.

He couldn’t help the way his hand traced its way up and down your spine, gently trailing his fingers down the smooth skin and feeling the bumps of your vertebrae. It helped keep his mind occupied, it was a nice distraction from the feeling of wanting to give in to his emotions and kiss you and shower you in all the attention you deserved. But he was also finding it harder and harder to fight that feeling, especially as he felt the warmth of your body against his chest, the feeling of your breath fanning across his collarbone. It was making him want to pull you closer and just hold you forever.

He was losing the fight against himself, and he knew it. But it was too difficult, it was too difficult to go this long without feeling you or holding you close. He just missed you, he missed you so incredibly much. And he hadn’t noticed that he was slowly starting to pull you even closer, almost as if he was pulling you on top of him. And he wasn’t even aware of the fact that his lips were gently trailing across your forehead, as if he was subconsciously craving the feeling of having you so close.

It always surprised you how gentle JJ could be, not only after arguments or sex. Just generally, and you were probably the only person who could say that and mean it. He just was. And it broke your heart a little every time he held and touched you like you were some kind of porcelain doll he treasured and wanted to gaze at. You knew that he'd be such a great boyfriend if you both had it differently. He would. A small part of you, the one that wasn't as selfish as the bigger one, hoped he'd find someone and ditch this situation you both kept sinking further down in. You'd just have to marry some man you didn't love and before you'd realized it you had became an alcoholic living in a shitty suburban home with a husband who cheated as much as you did. Although you wouldn't see Riley doing that, and he probably hadn't done it in the time you had been "dating."

JJ's hand continued its gentle tracing up and down your back, his touch was always strangely sweet and gentle. As if you were the most precious thing in the world to him, as if he couldn’t bear to hurt you. As if he was trying to savor these little moments of being able to touch you, to have you close, as if these little moments would suddenly disappear and never come again. Which, technically speaking, could happen. Anything was possible.

"Why do you do this to yourself..?" you asked quietly, playing with the small shark tooth necklace around his neck, your brows furrowed as you studied it.

JJ was taken off guard by the question, not expecting it. Why did he do this to himself? Because he was a stupid, selfish addict is why. An addict for you, at the very least. Despite knowing that this was all just some terrible mistake, he craved you so badly, that he couldn’t stop himself from giving in time and time again. So in a way, he was doing this to himself, he was the one getting himself into these stupid situations.

“I don’t know.” He mumbled, not knowing what else he was supposed to say.

He leaned forward and rested his chin on top of your head, letting out a soft hum as his eyes fluttered shut. He was still holding you incredibly close, his arms wrapped tight around your waist, almost as if he was terrified that this would all slip through his fingers and you would be gone when he'd open his eyes.

“Why do you let me do this to myself?” He mumbled, trying to turn the question back on you.

"Because I'm selfish.. duh." you mumbled, wrapping one arm around his neck and resting it on his shoulder, a small bitter scoff leaving your mouth.

“Oh, I know that princess, I know that real damn well.” He hummed sarcastically, one hand slowly trailing up and down your bare back under your shirt.

“But why? You could easily find someone else, hell you could do a lot better than me.”

"You think i'd do this with someone else..? i take mindless sex in stride already." you chuckled dryly at his statement, of course he'd say that. He always did. In different words but essentially the same essence. And the truth was you were honest, if you did sleep with your boyfriend it would mindless and meaningless. You'd just rather get your self off instead of sleep with him. At least you'd come. "the same goes for you.. i think you could easily find someone less complicated and with less baggage."

He chuckled softly, his hand continuing to slowly move over your back, tracing up and down. “Yeah, of course I could. I’ve had people lining up and throwing themselves at me my whole life. I’ve just conveniently ignored every single one of them.”

He said bluntly, as if it was a ridiculous thing to think otherwise. Not that you didn’t already know him well enough to know that he wasn’t lying.

He let out a soft sigh as his hand stopped on your lower back, pressing you a little closer than you already were.

“I think… I think we’re both too screwed up to be with anyone else.” He mumbled, gently pressing his lips to your forehead.

"A masochist and a cruel bitch with an emotional baggage that could easily crush him into alcoholism.. picture perfect couple material." you mumbled letting out another bitter laugh. You were still mindlessly playing with his necklace, your eyes trained on the shiny shark-tooth, sparkling once in a while in the dim light of your room.

He couldn’t stop the half laugh half scoff that escaped his lips at that. You were right of course, the two of you combined were a recipe for disaster. He tried to picture you, as a couple going on dates and holding hands and being happy and all that. It made him want to throw up in his mouth a little, a sort of anxiety settled in his stomach at the thought.

The hand he was using to trace your back came up to gently grab your hand, stopping you from playing with the necklace “Don’t do that, you’re gonna get it tangled up.”

JJ didn’t like it when you played with the necklace, it made him uncomfortable, nervous, the thought of someone else’s hands touching it, messing with it, made him more than a little uncomfortable and he would do damn well to never admit it. “And it’s an ugly necklace anyway, why do you always play with it?” He said, trying to play it cool, hide the nervousness he felt.

"Lemme play with it." you mumbled, furrowing your brows stubbornly as you moved your head to gaze at him, "and it's not ugly.. where did you even get that?"

He raised an eyebrow at you, looking down at you with a slightly annoyed expression, you always were a stubborn girl, it drove him crazy sometimes.

“Don’t be so stubborn, I don’t want it to get messed up.”

He gently grabbed your chin, tilting your head back so that you were looking at him. To stop you from focusing on the necklace for a moment. “Someone gave it to me a long time ago, just don’t touch it."

"No-.. i meant where did you get the idea that it was ugly.." you sat up a little straighter to look at him curiously, "...but now you made me curious. Who's this person who gave it to you?"

He sighed. He really was hoping you wouldn’t ask that. The person who’d given it to him had to be a touchy subject, but he also knew you, and he knew that you wouldn’t let it rest until he told you who it was. As soon as he saw the look in your eyes, he knew you were going to keep bugging him until he told you, he just was too tired (and slightly drunk) to try and deny it anymore.

“Why do you want to know?”

"Just kinda curious is all.." you grimaced at how strange and secretive he was being, over a necklace which looked like it was bought from the souvenir shop on the highway reserved for tourons.

JJ huffed softly at your grimace, he knew his secrecy was going to seem suspicious. But at the same time, he also had a very good reason not to tell you who the necklace actually came from.

“..It was a friend. A long time ago.”

He mumbled, trying to keep his tone nonchalant, even and normal. But the way he was speaking, as if he was purposefully avoiding giving details was anything but normal and nonchalant.

JJ tensed up at the mention of her name, quickly becoming uncomfortable. He should’ve known you’d think it was Kiara, that the two of you were close, and it made sense.

“No. It wasn’t her.”

He mumbled, avoiding your eyes. His mind immediately going to the person who it really was, and the thought filled him with a feeling of anxiety. But it’s not like he could tell you the truth. "Why would think it was her?"

"—Cause Kiara looks at you like she's in love with you. And she is. And that's not a problem itself, if she wasn't hopping from John B to Pope and then realizing that the one she wants is you." you shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and his question was stupid. Because it was, you could tell by the way he stiffened under you slightly.

He didn’t really have a response to that. You were right, and he knew it. How was he supposed to say “yeah I know a girl is in love with me but I’m obsessed with a girl that’s in a relationship with someone else” without sounding like a scumbag?

He huffed again, turning his head and refusing to look at you. “..Why do you have to bring her up?”

"Cause it pisses me off how easily she got off the hook with it. She's my friend, yeah.. but it doesn't change the fact that she's a homie hopper and that in a way it made things awkward between all of us. Reason why i hang out with the group rarely now." your grimace turned into a scowl at your own words, your eyes directing it to your leg mindlessly.

JJ found himself grimacing again as you continued. You weren’t exactly wrong, in his eyes Kiara had pretty much gotten off the hook without a scratch. And he was too soft on her, not that she’d ever done anything to upset him personally, he understood why it annoyed you.

“..She’s just confused.. she doesn’t understand her own feelings.”

"Can you just.. not?" your scowl melted into a glare as you turned to glance at him, your voice low and uncomfortable.

He tensed again, his eyes narrowing at you as he met your glare. He felt slightly defensive suddenly, what the hell was your problem?

“How about you just not get pissy over every little thing you don’t like?”

"Oh, excuse me for getting pissy over your little Kie.." you scoffed incredulously at his words, voice dripping with sarcasm.

JJ clenched his jaw as you mocked Kiara’s nickname. Something about it struck a cord in him for some reason. He really shouldn’t care that you were making fun of a friend, but he did anyway and it was just pissing him off more. He rolled his eyes at you, his annoyance now fully directed towards you instead of just the topic of Kiara. “For god's sake why do you have to be so damn jealous all the time?”

"You call it jealousy, i call it being the only one in that group who's not head over heels in love with Kiara Carrera. For fuck's sake, you don't remember what she did to Pope, after also kissing John B? How was any of that normal? She slept with him knowing he was in love with her, and then decided to play the 'i wanna stay friends' card." the words came out before you could filter the resentment and bitterness out of them. It was stupid and it was more stupider JJ was being defensive of it. Showed you what kind of guy he was. Not that you were a better kind of girl inherently.

His expression darkened even more than before, his annoyance quickly turning to straight up anger. You were not gonna sit here and talk like that about Kiara, who was also one of his friends and had done nothing to you. Sure, she’d messed up, but everyone did sometimes. JJ knew that well enough. He didn’t bother trying to keep the venom out of his words as he spoke.

“You know what, you’re being a damn bitch. Yeah, Kiara made mistakes, but everyone does.”

You couldn't believe him, but then again you never could. So, it wasn't anything new that he was defending her to the heavens like that. You turned your head to the side, frowning and letting your eyes fall onto your window. You knew in a way, that if JJ was in love with her, that it would be better for him in a way. They had the perfect set-up for a friends-to-lovers thing. You and him were a shittier, much more toxic knockout version of the trope.

He clenched his jaw, his anger slowly growing. He noticed you looking out the window, avoiding his eyes, but he didn’t care. This stupid argument was starting to bother him enough to want to look your in the eyes and make you look back, but he also wasn’t gonna risk it turning into something more.. physical. He ran a hand over his face again, frustrated. “You know, maybe she is perfect for me. We’d probably make a hell of a lot more sense as a couple than whatever the hell you and I were.”

He immediately wanted to take the words back. It was a low-blow, and he knew it. He knew better than anyone just how hard it was to admit you and him would never be “officially” together. But he also couldn’t help it, you being a jealous idiot over Kiara of all people was infuriating and he was drunk enough to be angrier over it than he normally would be.

You felt the sting of the words like that one time when your mom slapped you when you were 14 for something stupid. Just like the slap, the words were fleeting and said out of anger, but what was worse was that they were, in fact true. You were thinking the same thing and he was voicing it out. You shouldn't care, not when you were such an asshole and dragging JJ into in your own pile of shit willingly. It still hurt you.

You tried to hide the sad frown that came over your face as soon as he said that by still avoiding his gaze. You weren't going to let him see your face, because with how emotionally drained and exhausted you were you'd just.. cry.

He immediately regretted saying it as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but once the words were there, they were impossible to take back. JJ felt his heart clench as he saw you try to hide your face from him, trying to make yourself seem unbothered. No matter how many times he saw it, he could always tell though. A part of him wanted to apologize, just apologize and tell you he didn’t mean it. But he didn’t.

He let the silence settle over both of you for a few moments more, not knowing what to say.

He sat silently for a few more long, drawn out moments before he spoke again. He knew he shouldn’t say it, but something in him felt like he needed to.

“I mean it, y’know. Kiara would be more of a proper girlfriend than you could ever be.. I wouldn't have to worry about her sneaking off to cheat on me.” He tried to sound convinced, but the words sounded half-hearted to his own ears.

Once he spoke the words, the reality of what he had just said settled in. His heart squeezed painfully, but he pushed the feeling aside and continued trying to convince himself.

“Hell, she’s probably better for me anyway. Doesn’t put me on edge like you do.. wouldn’t just disappear at the mention of her parents or your boyfriend..” He stopped himself, the words coming out in a quiet, bitter scoff. It shouldn’t sting to say, not when you were basically nothing to each other.

Of course he would say that. You knew he believed it, and in moments like these you didn't know why he was putting up with you then. If he wanted he'd probably get sex from her too. It wasn't like it was hard. So then why did JJ hang around you? It was always your biggest question, given you had your answer to it.

Your frown deepened even more, your lip sticking out a little, now that you were actually suppressing the urge to actually cry. It wasn't like that was the cruelest thing he said to you, but it was cruel enough to slowly set you off the edge into a free fall basically. You just were so angry and frustrated at everything and sometimes your body thought crying was what was best for it. You still didn't cry but you were damn near it.

Seeing your expression twisted painfully in his stomach again, but it wasn’t like he didn’t mean it. He knew things between you weren’t going anywhere, and yet he kept going back on you like a fool. So why didn’t he just admit it to himself, that you were both just playing with fire with these meetings?

He was just drunk and angry enough to keep going, to keep feeding the fire.

“She’s probably not even gonna go off to some fancy college and leave me behind, like you are..”

A pang of guilt flashed through him again after saying the words, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. It was the truth, after all. He wasn’t stupid. You were going to eventually go off to college and ditch all his stupid-ass friends and leave the life you had here behind. You had bigger things ahead of you, and you were definitely smart enough to achieve it. He was just some burnout loser who was probably gonna end up arrested or in an early grave.

By now you would've turned to him and told him to get the fuck out of your room and wherever he would sleep at, when he wasn't here or at John B's house. Screamed at him until he left through the window and then smoke the entire joint alone to cry yourself to sleep. But your mouth already felt watery, like when you'd hold tears and your stomach felt absolutely sick. A small sob escaped you and then it was like a match to a drizzle of gasoline. Your head dropped on top of your knees, your arms wrapped around it as you sobbed quietly. You knew it was dumb, and that he'd probably just get up and leave, too weirded out and not wanting to deal with it. You didn't know if that was good or not.

At the sound of you crying, all the fight that built up within JJ was suddenly gone.

Now that he did feel guilty. The sight of you made his heart clench in a way that felt almost physically painful, and he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. The last time he had seen you cry like that was when your dog died, and he knew it was usually only something like that that would reduce you to this.

But he was the one causing it this time.

He scooted closer to you, hesitating for a second before bringing an arm around your shoulders. It felt weird to do, and he knew you probably didn’t want him to. It reminded him of all those times when the two of you were kids, and he used to hold and comfort you after a nightmare or when you got hurt. How you would clutch his shirt and hide your face against him, knowing he would keep anything from hurting you.

He knew things weren’t the same anymore, but he still pulled you towards him either way..

He sat silently for a few moments, the sound of your quiet sobbing filling the room in a way that somehow made everything feel so wrong. He didn’t say anything, not really sure what to say. Part of him wanted to try and comfort you, tell you it was just a joke and it wasn’t actually true. But he knew that wasn’t the issue, that it was the fact that he wasn’t wrong. And you knew that.

He clenched his jaw again, his own words replaying in his head again.

“M’ sorry.. I didn’t mean it..” He said the words quietly, his heart clenching once more at the sound of your sobbing. It hurt to be the cause of these tears, the one to make you crumble and fall apart in such a way. Not for the first time he wondered how he ended up here, how he could’ve managed to destroy the one thing he’d ever loved. Well, it wasn’t really destroyed, yet..

And you didn't care because it didn't change the fact that the words were as true as the sky was blue. That wasn't the main reason you were crying. You were angry. At yourself, at your parents at everything. At the fact that your friendship was ruined by lust and other factors and that you had lost your best friend to. The only one you had, if you were honest with yourself. And you didn't do that. Not when you knew you were madly in love with him, or when most of you resentment towards Kiara was because she was in fact, the better option and probably the only one.

You palms were covering your face, crying into them softly at everything that was gnawing away at you up until that moment, your body not even registering that he was now next to you, comforting you just like when you were both kids.

It was strange - the way being with you again, the way holding and comforting you in such an intimate way took him right back to your childhood days. Back to when he would hold and comfort you after a bad day or a nightmare, you clinging to him and him relishing the feel of your body against his.

Except now it was different. You didn’t hug onto him like you used to, you didn’t bury your face against him. You were no longer the little girl he used to look after, and he was no longer the boy who would fix all your problems.

He felt like he needed to say something, to say anything. But every time he went to say anything, the words got stuck in his throat. The sight of you like this, so torn apart and broken - it made his stomach twist in a way that felt almost painful, and his heart ached for you like it never had before.

He clenched his jaw again, hating himself, hating the situation. He suddenly understood how the saying “I’d rather watch you walk away than watch you hate or cry” came to be.

He felt like a fool for letting himself get into this mess. For letting himself fall for you the way he did, for letting himself get attached like an idiot. He knew better than that. People like him didn’t get the girl, they were never supposed to.

He thought about all the times as a child like this you had held onto him, the way he would do anything to make you happy again, and he wondered why he couldn’t do that now, why he was so unable to just do something to make it better..

It was still surprising to you that he was still there. He wasn't doing or saying much, but he could've left. Especially with the harsh words he said. It was weird, confusing and it always made your mind flood with questions that you knew you wouldn't get an answer to. Your sobs weren't loud or anything but you were still crying, your face hidden in your knees. The awkward side hug wasn't doing anything to soothe you, and in the back of your mind you were thinking how stupid you looked, breaking down over some words that were true, despite being said so harshly.

The sight of you crying against your knees, trying to hide yourself from him as if he had never seen you cry before, it made his chest ache once more. He had seen you cry hundreds of times before, in all kinds of situations and circumstances, but somehow, this one was hitting him especially hard. Seeing you broken and crying like this, and knowing it was all his fault, hurt more than any of his father’s drunken blows to his face or his ribs.

He clenched his jaw again, taking a breath to steady himself before he spoke.

“Stop cryin’ sweetheart, m’ sorry..”

He didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know what he could possibly say to make this better. Even the nickname slipped out before he could fully register it, reminding him of all those times he would use it to make you stop bawling as a child.

The sound of his voice made you actually raise your head to side glance at him, and by the look on his face you imagined how you looked. You furrowed your brows, as if questioning him about his words, your face going back to being buried in your knees, small hitched sobs escaping you from time to time as you cried.

The sight of you turning to look at him, your red puffy eyes meeting his own and making his chest clench, made him wonder if he had said something wrong. Should he repeat himself? Should he not say anything at all? He felt completely lost and stuck, like no matter what he did this situation could never be made better.

He hesitated for a moment before bringing up a hand to gently run through your hair, the same little thing he used to do all the time when you were little to soothe you.

He couldn’t help but recall those days when he used to sneak over in the later hours of the night, or the early hours of the morning. When you would cling to him like he was your lifeline, the only one keeping you from drowning, and sometimes he wondered if it was true. If he was the one keeping you afloat for so long.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, still running his hand through your hair. It was an attempt to give some sort of comfort to you as you cried..

The sobs died down after almost 10 more minutes of crying, raising your head to wipe the remnants of tears streaming down your face. Now that the tears had mellowed down, the sadness was replaced by a sense of shame at crying cause of some words that were said in an argument. That made you wonder how did you two let it get it so far and complicated. The sex, the arguments, the toxicity; it was all now defining your once beautiful childhood friendship. It felt like a joke, and a bad one at that. One that lacked a punchline or any humor.

You turned to look at him, still sniffling from time to time, "why are you still here?" you asked quietly, your voice a little broken and shaky still.

He took a breath, surprised at your question. He knew he probably should’ve left by now, it was clear you didn’t want him here anymore, and after what he had said he honestly wouldn’t blame you for it.

But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to leave you here on your own like this, not when you were still so upset and clearly broken up. He had never been able to leave you alone and crying, not even once.

“..I ain’t gonna leave you like this..”

He ran his hand through your hair again, his expression almost sad as he looked at you. It was as if he was studying you, taking in your appearance as if he thought he might never see you again.

His heart was aching again, hating how broken up you looked and knowing that he was the cause of it. He remembered all those times when you would smile, laugh, laugh at him or just be happy, and he couldn’t recall if he had seen you like that for him in months..

"Wow.. thanks." you mumbled sarcastically, taking a deep breath to calm down fully, the inhale still sounding shaky and broken up.

He tensed a bit at your sarcastic comment, sighing in slight irritation. After everything, you still had that attitude on you, the same one that got you into this whole damned mess.

“Really?”

His voice was almost snappy, clearly irritated at your sarcastic comment. He didn’t move his hand from your hair, as if trying to make up for his tone with the soothing action.

"Yeah.." you smiled slightly although it didn't reach your puffy eyes, as if you were pleased with how the comment had rubbed him.

Another scoff left his mouth at your tone, his irritation growing more. This was always how you were though, stubborn and quick to anger him. He hated it, even when he knew you most likely did it on purpose.

“God, when are you gonna learn to knock that attitude off?” His hand kept running through your hair, even as he spoke to you.

"I don't have an attitude.." you muttered, sighing in resignation when sensing he was getting irritated at you again. The thirst to argue had died down completely with the tears and you were left with a sense of sickness and sadness. Regret at all the things that led to this.

That sarcastic attitude of yours again. He gritted his teeth, knowing that you were just being stubborn again, but he was still determined to try and calm down himself as he spoke.

“Yes you do. Ever since middle school that damn attitude of yours had gotten worse and worse.” His voice had a bitter sort of tone, almost resenting you for it.

His hand stilled in your hair, trying to ignore the thoughts that came to mind. Memories of the two of you growing up together, the way you would follow him around when you were younger, always by his side no matter what. Now look at the two of you. Fighting constantly, and hating each other for the most part. Hell, he even hated himself for the things he said to you.

His hand moved from your hair to your chin, gently turning your face to the side so you’d be facing him. He studied your face, taking in every detail of it, committing every feature to memory for some reason he couldn’t quite grasp..

“How’d we even get here, huh? How’d it end up like this..?” His voice was quiet, with a sort of longing to it.

"I have no idea.." you shrugged, chewing the inside of your cheek as you mulled over his words. How exactly did you two get here? you'd never stop saying that it was almost ridiculous; having something so pretty reduced to something as stupid as lust and toxicity.

He shook his head slight in response to your shrug, feeling a sort of anger bubble up inside of him. It was always the same, the same damn situation, no matter what. But he couldn’t help himself, no matter how much he tried to stop it, he was always going to want you…

“..Don’t give me that. You know how we got here, you’re as much to blame as I am..”

"Didn't say i wasn't.. -think most of the blame goes to me if I'm being honest.." you spoke evenly, fidgeting with your rings mindlessly.

He watched as you fidgeted with your rings, the sight strangely familiar. It was something you always did when you were nervous. He had seen you fidget like this so many times, before exams, when you were worried about something, hell you even did it back when you had your first date.

He huffed in response to your statement, his eyes focused on your hands and their fiddling. “..Why you saying that?..”

"Dunno.. most of the bullshit in my life is from my stupid decisions.." you raised your eyes to lock them with his, brows raising at the same time.

His gaze snapped back to your face when you looked back at him, meeting your eyes, taking a moment to register what you said before answering.

“..I’ve made plenty stupid decisions myself, you know that. Don’t go putting all the blame on yourself now, you weren’t the only one involved here..”

He paused a moment, the realization settling in as he spoke again.

“..You’re being too hard on yourself..” His voice was almost gentle, that hint of irritation from before gone. He hated that you always had to take the blame for things, even when it wasn’t your fault. He knew that you were just worried all the time, that you had anxiety about everything, and that even when things weren’t entirely your fault, you’d still blame yourself.

The way the former comment sounded. 'Involved', like it was a past situation you weren't part of anymore, like this whole thing between you was ending. Or had ended already. And you remembered his words about Kiara being better for him and how'd they make a more healthier couple than whatever you had going on; and it kinda clicked in your head. Maybe this was the time where you'd finally stop being selfish and bring everyone in your situations, "So, what now?" you settled on asking, the question being the less loaded one out of your brain.

His eyes were still on yours as he studied you, sensing the shift in mood, seeing the realization come over your face.

His own gut squeezed, knowing exactly what you were alluding to. But he wouldn’t admit it, wouldn’t admit that it sounded a little too much like an “end”. He didn’t want to think about it like that, didn’t want to admit that he might be losing you for real..

He took a moment to answer your question, his voice still gentle. “..What do you mean..?”

He raised his hand to your face, softly brushing a piece of your hair out of your face and behind your ear. Part of him wanted to hold you tighter, pull you against his chest and never let go again. But the other part, the logical one, told him that this needed to end, that there was no point in keeping up a facade of some thing that was bound to fall apart regardless..

"You know what i mean.. you said some things that hinted at something and i wanna know what you're planning on doing from now on.." you sighed, looking at him with a mix of sadness and determination, your eyes raking over his face in the dim lighting of your room.

JJ looked away from you, his jaw tense. The sadness and determination in your eyes made his heart hurt, and he knew what you were hinting at. But he kept telling himself that it wasn’t like that, not really.

He was quiet for a second, trying to find the words, when suddenly he felt a wave of drunken honesty hit him.

“..It’s not like we can keep on doing this forever, you know...”

His voice was barely above a whisper, and for a moment he looked vulnerable, the cool nonchalance of before gone as he met your gaze again. His hand was still gently cupping your face, his thumb softly rubbing against your skin as a wave of emotions took over him.

“Eventually it’s gonna get too complicated, too messy. We’ll get caught, or you’re gonna stop looking for some stupid thrill to do when your boyfriend pisses you off and you remember you have a good ole boy toy waiting on the side..”

"This was never about the thrill of it.." you muttered, your face twisted into an almost offended look.

“Bullshit-“ He said it before he could stop himself, and he immediately regretted it as he watched your expression, but a part of him still couldn’t bite the words back.

“..C’mon, you tellin’ me that you’re sneaking out to be with me cause your in love with me and not cause you get some sort of thrill out of this?” He spoke in a sardonic tone.

He knew he was crossing a line, but the alcohol was still coursing through his veins and he couldn’t help himself.

“You’ve got a boyfriend that you already said you care for enough to consider marrying, hell you’ve got more than enough reasons to stop hooking up with me.”

He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince you or himself at this point, but the words just kept falling from his lips like earlier, like word vomit.

"I am not considering marrying him.. it's not up to me, and it doesn't matter who I'm in love with. Not to my parents anyway.." you shook your head in slight disbelief at his words.

It took a moment for your statement to sink in, the realization that your parents didn’t care who you actually cared for..

A pang of anger, or maybe jealousy, went through him at the thought, and he found himself pushing further.

“Exactly.. you don’t actually get to choose anyway, so why bother hooking up behind his back? Is it just some kind of stupid form of rebellion..”

"If i told you that i loved you and it wasn't some sort of rebellion what would you say?" you asked bluntly, too worked up now to stop saying the words you were trying to hold back for the sake of not making the situation more messier than it already was.

JJ’s eyes widened in surprise at your blunt question, part of him not expecting to actually get an admission from you. He was silent for a long moment, just looking at you, taking in the words you just said.

“..I’d say you’re lying to yourself,” he said quietly, his eyes holding a challenge in them as he refused to look away from you.

You shook your head chewing on the inside of your cheek, fixing him with your gaze silently. This was probably the only time in your life where you weren't lying to yourself. But it seemed like he didn't believe you. Or just didn't want to.

His jaw tensed slightly as he saw how genuine your expression was. He wanted to believe you, but for some reason part of him was still hesitant, still needed more.

“Say I actually believed you.. what would that change? You’ve still got a boyfriend, and your parents..” He stopped, his gaze hardening slightly.

"The way you think i look at this situation... i don't do it cause i get a kick out of it." you shrugged, a sense of desperation lingering in your voice.

JJ’s expression softened slightly, a pang of guilt going through him at the tone of your voice.

“..if it’s not because you’re getting off on it… then why do you do it, huh? Why do you keep going back to me if you don’t even love me?”

"That's what I'm trying to tell you... that's the reason why i keep coming back. But you obviously can't wrap your head around the fact that i actually care about you, as if we weren't friends for so long before this." your face contorted into the desperate expression even more, gesturing a little as you whispered at him.

JJ’s expression darkened at your statement, his body tensing up. He didn’t respond for a long, drawn out moment, still reeling from the words you had said.

“..bullshit. You don’t get to say that you care about me. We aren’t friends like we used to be, we’re.. something else entirely. And don’t even think for a second that I buy what you’re saying. Because you don’t actually care about me.”

"Okay then leave." you whispered softly, your expression hardening as he brushed off your admission and words, too exhausted to argue or scream at each other, especially since it was the early morning now. “Gladly.” He sneered, his expression dark as he pushed himself off the bed, moving towards the window after putting his clothes and shoes back on in a infuriated hurry. But before he left, he couldn’t stop himself from looking back at you one last time, his expression becoming almost soft and vulnerable again

“…You know that I care about you too.”

He said quietly, the confession slipping out before he climbed out the window. JJ made his way back to his house, the cold air biting his skin and sobering him up a little too much for his liking. But the night air couldn’t stop his mind from spinning, going over the words you had whispered to him, over and over like a broken record..

Bye lmao, i went thru like 3000 emotions while re-writing and editing this. Here's smut, i guess? this is the most angstiest smut ever written prolly. Let me know ur thoughts and if you want a part 2 to this one too. I promise summer was my first love is also getting another chapter.

Tag-list*:･ﾟ✧ @cali-888, @bee-43, @jjscoquette, @melsbels-zip, @stanseventeen

Divider credits:✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ @strangergraphics, @cafekitsune

[i-am-countess-olivia]

That little Jamie Fitzjames ficlet from earlier

Reposted now, with kind permission from MH gremlins. Francis helps Jamie pack for the hospital.

----

Francis is fussing with the hospital bag again.

"Earplugs," he says when he spots Jamie’s raised brow. "Putting them in your wash bag."

"I already packed some."

"These are loads better, we use them down below. Did you charge your headphones?"

"Yes, Francis."

"I put in a travel-sized thing of that orange toothpaste you like. Did you see?"

"Yes, Francis."

"Did you want me to go get those cashmere bed socks you got for Christmas?"

Jamie grins. "Stop it, Francis."

Francis heaves a sigh. Jamie wraps her arms around him from behind, chin on his shoulder and fingers prodding gently at his middle podge.

Crisp sunshine streams in from the garden, Monty on full alert by the sliding doors as she watches a squirrel scurry up the bare lilac. Years of anxious waiting have come to meet their end here, on the cusp of spring.

One day to go.

"I'm sorry I won't be here for you."

"You will be. You're not leaving for like three days after I'm home."

"Too soon." Francis slumps in her arms, fiddles with a zipper on the bag. "They pay top rate. I couldn't say no."

"Aye, Captain," Jamie murmurs. "I understand. The sea calls and you must obey." She kisses the soft spot under his ear. "Francis, it's only a vag. It's not like I'm coming out of there with a newborn." She smiles when she glimpses Francis' crooked grin in her periphery. "Modern medicine hasn't quite perfected that one. Anyway, Will's gonna come by every day. Dundy's on Monty duty. All will be well."

Francis nods, sighs again. He takes one of her hands from his stomach and brings it to his lips. He holds it there, doesn’t let go for a long time.

Jamie would never trivialise his worries — and yet she finds she cannot keep up with Francis’ ceaseless fretting. Her own great fears and questions have long been named, answered and tidied away. Francis is here. He will be there when she wakes. He will be here next year, reading her Wikipedia trivia off his ancient iPad or fixing the decking in the same crisp English sunshine.

With one last kiss, Francis lets go of her hand and gently eases them apart. “I’ll go get those socks.”

At the garden doors, the squirrel now gone, Monty's ears perk up at one of her favourite words. When Francis goes to leave the room, she trots over, tail wagging knowingly, to join him.

"Don't let her near the drawer," Jamie calls after. "She'll devour another pair."

When she's alone, she looks for a long moment at the golden rectangles of sunshine painted on the carpet like spectral beds. Then she steps into one, lowers herself to the ground and stretches out inside it, head to foot.

She fishes out her phone and squints up at the screen, scrolling. “OMG T-minus one day J!!!" shrieks the "Jamie's V-Day Support!!!" chat. There are fewer Fitzpussy jokes now that the day has drawn near, replaced by hearts and hugs and hints at fun surprises to help her through recovery. Will's Liz says she's making those brownies Jamie likes. Dundy texts again to check which human food Monty is allowed, if any.

Jamie closes her eyes and lets warmth seep into her toes, knees, belly, chest, chin. She feels charged and lulled all at once, shivery and serene. All will be well. The sun blankets her eyelids and behind them she sees only the blue Francis promised her: water and sky, the Aegean they said they will sail to after those first tough months are behind her.

Francis will find the perfect spot to anchor, their boat like a grain of sand on the vast polished jewel of a perfect flat sea. Jamie will dive off the boat in her brand new red bikini, kick up from the depths and emerge out of the watery murk to float on the surface, her body offered up to a brighter, warmer sun.

[altuspavus]

@whalefelled

"How do you like snow without liking everything terrible which it brings alongside it, hm?" Dorian teases in response. It's an easy back-and-forth to fall into, it's always so surprisingly easy to fall into any conversation with Bull, he's found. Less surprising as time goes on, even. He can feel Bull's gaze upon him and preens, just a bit. Even swathed in so many layers as he might be, even ridiculous as he knows he must look, a man can appreciate being appreciated.

"Mmmm, Maker, don't say such things and tempt me, Bull," Dorian chastises. But oh he's right, it would be lovely. "Do those even exist so far south as we are?" Worldly, Bull had called himself earlier. The mage presumes, should anyone know, it would have to be him. Or, perhaps, any random Fereldan, but he has no reason nor want to ask them when Bull exists as a much more enjoyable option. Perhaps he asks for unspoken greedy reasons, such as spending time with Bull somewhere nice, somewhere away from the pressures of assisting in saving the world and all of the terrible things that go along with it.

altuspavus​:

          Dorian’s face scrunches up nearly immediately at the qunari’s comment. Liking snow, what a concept. How… terrible. Dorian could never. He shakes his head and snuggles down further into his coat and blanket cocoon. Bull could take all of this blighted snow, if it meant he’d never deal with it again.

          ❝ Antivans are a lot to deal with, though rather talented at the production of brandy and the…. wielding of needles for the purposes of aesthetics. ❞ Dorian laughs to himself. He had gotten the majority of his piercings in Antiva, since there was a difference in skill between them and the rest of the world. ❝ You’ve just said you enjoy snow. Surely this is perfect for you, ‘lucky’, as it were. ❞ Bull having to put up with Dorain’s complaints, however? Certainly not as lucky.

“I like snow, I don’t like my nipples freezing off… or the chafing–” Bull muses. Bull takes a quick stock of the other’s piercings, humming in appreciation, at least Dorian knew where the superior craftsmanship laid in that case. With a little click of his tongue, Bull leaned back into the warmth of the fire a moment and away from Dorian.

“What I’d really like, is a nice hot spring.” he mused with a teasing lilt to his voice. It’d been a long while since he’d indulged in one, but he imagines the wonders it’d do after spending the past few days in the fucking snowy wasteland here.

[genshin-impact-updates]

Day of the Flame's Return Version 5.5 Update Details

Dear Traveler,

Below are the details of the Version 5.5 update "Day of the Flame's Return" and the update compensation.

〓Compensation Details〓

Maintenance Compensation: Primogems ×300 (60 Primogems per hour the servers are down)

Issue Fix Compensation: Primogems ×300 (please refer to the relevant compensation mail for more details)

〓Scope of Compensation〓

Maintenance Compensation: Travelers who have reached Adventure Rank 5 or above by 2025/03/26 06:00 (UTC+8).

Compensation must be claimed before the end of Version 5.5.

Issue Fix Compensation: Travelers who have reached Adventure Rank 5 or above by 2025/03/26 06:00 (UTC+8).

Please log in and claim your compensation before 2025/03/29 06:00 (UTC+8).

Our developers will distribute compensation to Travelers via in-game mail within 5 hours after the update maintenance is finished. The mail will expire after 30 days, so don't forget to claim the attached compensation in time.

〓Update Schedule〓

Update maintenance begins

2025/03/26 06:00 (UTC+8) and is estimated to take 5 hours.

〓How to Update Game Client〓

PC: Close the game, open the Genshin Impact Launcher, and click Update.

iOS: Open the App Store and tap Update.

Android: Open the game and follow the directions on-screen.

PS5™ and PS4™: Highlight Genshin Impact from the Home Screen, press the OPTIONS button and select "Check for Update."

Xbox Series X|S: Open the system main menu, select "My games & apps," select the "Manage" tab, and on the "Updates" page, find "Genshin Impact" and confirm to update.

Please do not hesitate to contact Customer Service if you encounter any issues installing the new version. We will do our very best to resolve the issue.

〓Update Details〓

I. New Areas

New Areas Now Available

◇ New Areas: In Version 5.5, the following areas in Natlan will become available: Atocpan and Ancient Sacred Mountain.

※ As long as you have completed Archon Quest Prologue: Act III "Song of the Dragon and Freedom," a Teleport Waypoint will be automatically unlocked near Atocpan in the southwest of Natlan's Stadium of the Sacred Flame. (If you have already completed this Archon Quest, the Teleport Waypoint will be unlocked after the update). You'll also receive the Primogem reward for this Teleport Waypoint when it unlocks automatically.

◇ Natlan Reputation System Update: With the opening of new areas, the Natlan Reputation System now includes Tribe Reputation for the Collective of Plenty.

◆ Unlock Criteria:

• Complete "Pilgrimage of the Return of the Sacred Flame" in Archon Quest Chapter V: Act I "Flowers Resplendent on the Sun-Scorched Sojourn"

In addition, there will be new Fishing Points and "Radiant Spincrystals" in Natlan.

II. New Characters

5-Star Character "Strength in Serenity" Varesa (Electro)

◇ Vision: Electro

◇ Weapon: Catalyst

◇ A laid-back orchard manager and warrior of the Collective of Plenty. An aspiring hero who hungers for justice... and lots and lots of food!

◆ Varesa is a DPS character who specializes in Plunging Attacks and possesses high-speed movement.

By tapping her Elemental Skill, Varesa can quickly cycle through her Elemental Skill, Charged Attacks, and Plunging Attacks, making for an exciting battle. By holding her Elemental Skill, Varesa enters a high-speed movement mode, allowing her to explore the open world with ease.

Varesa enters the Fiery Passion state, which enhances all her skills and increases her DMG. Under certain conditions, she can ignore her skill CD and trigger her special Elemental Burst once while consuming less Energy, providing her with a significant advantage in combat.

4-Star Character "Tempered in Molten Stone" Iansan (Electro)

◇ Vision: Electro

◇ Weapon: Polearm

◇ Head coach of the fitness club at the Collective of Plenty, and a renowned Natlanese nutritionist.

◆ Iansan is an Electro support character who provides various buffs for on-field characters.

After using her Elemental Skill, she will enter the Nightsoul's Blessing state, greatly increasing her movement SPD. Performing Special Charged Attacks will grant her buff effects.

Her Elemental Burst provides an ATK Bonus to the active character. During this time, the active character's movement will restore Nightsoul points for Iansan, providing additional bonuses.

Additionally, under specific conditions, Iansan's Passive Talent can also restore HP for the active character.

III. New Domain

Domain of Blessing: Derelict Masonry Dock

◇ An environment incomprehensible to the inhabitants of today's lands, one where ash-gray mechanisms driven by golden runes replaced the toil of flesh, effortlessly bringing brilliance and imagination to life above pools of flame. After this era was ended by tyrannical outsiders, the once-powerful race stagnated in their submission. Now, the only visitors left to this place are mourners of a bygone era.

◇ Unlock Criteria (satisfy any one of the criteria below to unlock):

• Reach Adventure Rank 10 or above

• Complete Archon Quest Prologue: Act III "Song of the Dragon and Freedom"

◆ Challenge the Domain to obtain artifacts in the "Long Night's Oath" and "Finale of the Deep Galleries" sets.

IV. New Equipment

1. New Weapon (Examples based on Refinement Rank 1)

Vivid Notions (5-Star Catalyst)

ATK is increased by 28%. When you use a Plunging Attack, you will gain the "Dawn's First Hue" effect: Plunging Attack CRIT DMG is increased by 28%. When you use an Elemental Skill or Burst, you will gain the "Twilight's Splendor" effect: Plunging Attack CRIT DMG is increased by 40%. The two effects above each last for 15s, and will be canceled 0.1s after the ground impact deals DMG.

◆ The event-exclusive 5-star weapon "Vivid Notions" (Catalyst) can be obtained from the Event Wish. Please refer to the relevant official Event Notices for specific acquisition details.

2. New Artifact Sets

Long Night's Oath (4-Star and 5-Star)

◇ 2-Piece Set: Increases Plunging Attack DMG by 25%.

◇ 4-Piece Set: After the equipping character's Plunging Attack/Charged Attack/Elemental Skill hits an opponent, they will gain 1/2/2 stack(s) of "Radiance Everlasting." Plunging Attacks, Charged Attacks, or Elemental Skills can each trigger this effect once every 1s. Radiance Everlasting: Plunging Attacks deal 15% increased DMG for 6s. Max 5 stacks. Each stack's duration is counted independently.

Finale of the Deep Galleries (4-Star and 5-Star)

◇ 2-Piece Set: Cryo DMG Bonus +15%.

◇ 4-Piece Set: When the equipping character has 0 Elemental Energy, Normal Attack DMG is increased by 60% and Elemental Burst DMG is increased by 60%. After the equipping character deals Normal Attack DMG, the aforementioned Elemental Burst effect will stop applying for 6s. After the equipping character deals Elemental Burst DMG, the aforementioned Normal Attack effect will stop applying for 6s. This effect can trigger even if the equipping character is off the field.

Obtain the following artifact sets from Derelict Masonry Dock, the new Domain of Blessing in Natlan: "Long Night's Oath" and "Finale of the Deep Galleries."

V. New Main Story

1. New Tribal Chronicles

Mushroom Realm Mystery

Act I – Act III of "Mushroom Realm Mystery" will be permanently available after the Version 5.5 update

◆ Act I and Act II Quest Unlock Criteria:

• Reach Adventure Rank 28 or above

• Complete "Pilgrimage of the Return of the Sacred Flame" in Archon Quest Chapter V: Act I "Flowers Resplendent on the Sun-Scorched Sojourn"

◆ Act III Quest Unlock Criteria:

• Reach Adventure Rank 28 or above

• Complete Archon Quest Chapter V: Act V "Incandescent Ode of Resurrection"

• The "Focused Experience Mode" function is available for this quest.

The three acts must be experienced in sequence. You can only unlock the next act after completing the previous one and meeting the corresponding unlock criteria.

You can use the "Quick Start" function to accept Archon Quest Chapter V: Act I "Flowers Resplendent on the Sun-Scorched Sojourn." After completing Archon Quest Chapter V: Act I, you can continue to accept and complete the subsequent Acts of Chapter V until you unlock the latest Tribal Chronicles introduced in the current version update.

Additionally, after Version 5.5 update until 2025/04/15 17:59, the "Quick Start" function will be available for Tribal Chronicles "Mushroom Realm Mystery": Act III. If you have completed Act II but don't meet the unlock criteria to start Act III, you can use the "Quick Start" function to unlock Act III in the "Events Overview" interface.

*Tribal Chronicles "Mushroom Realm Mystery": Act III takes place after Archon Quest Chapter V: Act V "Incandescent Ode of Resurrection." Regardless of the order in which you complete the quests, the Pilgrim's Chronicle will only record the content related to the Tribal Chronicles "Mushroom Realm Mystery" after both Tribal Chronicles "Mushroom Realm Mystery": Act III and Archon Quest Chapter V: Act V "Incandescent Ode of Resurrection" are completed.

2. New World Quests

New World Quests

Path to the Flaming Peaks Quest Chain, "Chronicler of the Crumbling City" Quest Chain, "A Finale Emberforged" Quest Chain, "Is 'Intensity' Really the Key," "Sing, Ho, For the Greatness of Fat!," and "Someday, We All Must Walk Alone," etc.

A Finale Emberforged Quest Chain Unlock Criteria: Complete the "Between Pledge and Forgettance" Quest Chain and "Lost Traveler in the Ashen Realm" Quest Chain, as well as obtain two Golden Entreaties.

VI. New Enemies

Lava Dragon Statue

◇ A creature with two forms that is capable of continuously generating heat.

When in its "Geohuman" form, you can use Pyro attacks to cause it to enter its "Molten Dragon" form. At this point, if you continue to use Pyro attacks, it will enter an Overburn state... However, if you manage to cool it down, it will revert back to its "Geohuman" form...

Located in Atocpan.

Furnace Shell Mountain Weasel

◇ A unique ancient species of mountain beast that has long lived in the Sacred Mountain Ruins and has formed an interdependent relationship with the Source Mechanism.

During battle, the Furnace Shell Mountain Weasel will burrow underground and activate its "Secret Source Core" to periodically attack surrounding enemies. At this time, dealing enough damage to the "Secret Source Core" will force it to emerge from underground. However, since it is hiding underground, using a Plunging Attack might prove more effective...

Wayob Manifestation

Thundering Wayob Manifestation

◇ The Wayob worshipped by the various tribes of Natlan manifest themselves in the form of these obsidian totems.

In battle, the Wayob Manifestation will deploy its Arena: Moment of Trial, creating a shield for itself and absorbing the Elemental Energy of all characters in the Arena. Characters in the Arena deal greatly increased DMG. If the shield is broken before the Arena expires, they will also regain a large amount of Energy. However, if they fail to break the Shield, the Manifestation will generate an Elemental Ward based on the value of the remaining Shield.

Natlan Saurians

Tatankasaurus and Tatankasaur Whelp

◇ The Saurians that inhabit the land of Natlan.

Special dragons that were better able to adapt to their environments, taking on different shapes and forms based on their surroundings.

Sauroform Tribal Warriors

Ferocious Warrior: Human Ram, Ferocious Warrior: Wrestler, Ferocious Warrior: Grappler, Tatankasaurus Warrior: Skybreaker, and Tatankasaurus Warrior: Spiritlight Chaser

◇ The warriors of Natlan's great tribes who fight for the honor and glory of their people.

Over long years of living and fighting alongside their Saurian companions, these tribal warriors have gradually acquired their traits and learned how to apply them on the field of battle.

VII. Genius Invokation TCG

Genius Invokation TCG Gameplay Update

New Character Cards: Kachina, Emilie, and their corresponding Talent cards. Corresponding invitation duel and guest challenges have been added to the Player List.

New Action Cards "Waverider," "Masters of the Night-Wind," "In the Name of the Extreme," and "Mystique Soup" have been added which can be purchased from Prince at The Cat's Tail.

The Forge Realm's Temper is once again available. The theme of this edition is "The Forge Realm's Temper: Endless Swarm":

(1) Defeat endless waves of enemies during the rounds in "The Forge Realm's Temper: Endless Swarm" to accrue score.

(2) After you complete the stage battle, you will gain a score and the corresponding rewards based on the highest score you got in the stage.

(3) Different stages will contain different special rules that grant buffs. Use these rules well to fight more effectively.

VIII. Imaginarium Theater

Imaginarium Theater Update

After the Version 5.5 update, the two Imaginarium Theater seasons will be as follows:

○ The first season of "Imaginarium Theater" will be available on April 1, 2025.

Required Elemental Types: Pyro, Electro, and Anemo

Opening Characters: Yoimiya, Thoma, Clorinde, Beidou, Xiao, and Sucrose

When Imaginarium Theater is open, the corresponding Opening Characters will obtain Fantastical Blessings.

Special Guest Stars: Xilonen, Alhaitham, Yaoyao, and Mika

After the first season of Imaginarium Theater begins, the characters Wanderer, Ganyu, Lisa, and Xinyan will each gain a new "Thespian Trick" that can be exchanged from the NPC Wolfy.

○ The second season of "Imaginarium Theater" will be available on May 1, 2025.

Required Elemental Types: Hydro, Cryo, and Geo

Opening Characters: Neuvillette, Candace, Kamisato Ayaka, Charlotte, Albedo, and Kachina

When Imaginarium Theater is open, the corresponding Opening Characters will obtain Fantastical Blessings.

Special Guest Stars: Venti, Hu Tao, Kaveh, and Kuki Shinobu

After the second season of Imaginarium Theater begins, the characters Mona, Tighnari, Ningguang, and Freminet will each gain a new "Thespian Trick" that can be exchanged from the NPC Wolfy.

Envisaged Echoes Update

After the Version 5.5 update, new challenge stages and Echo cosmetics for Venti and Dehya will be added.

IX. Spiral Abyss

Spiral Abyss Update

After the Version 5.5 update, Phase 1 of the Spiral Abyss will be updated on April 16.

◆ Floor 11 Ley Line Disorder changed to:

• All party members gain a 75% Cryo DMG Bonus.

◆ Floor 12 Ley Line Disorders changed to:

• First Half: Characters' Elemental Skill Geo DMG increased by 75%.

• Second Half: Characters' Elemental Skill Cryo DMG increased by 75%.

◆ Updated the monster lineup on Floors 11 – 12 of the Spiral Abyss.

◆ Blessing of the Abyssal Moon:

Dreadfrost Moon

When a character triggers Cryo-related reactions, a shockwave will be released at the opponent's position, dealing True DMG. This effect can be triggered once every 4s.

X. Other Update Details

New Recipes:

○ Exploration or Quest Rewards: Magma Eggs, Puffed Grainfruit Bars, Cheesy Mushroom Skewer, and Fruits Aplenty

○ Natlan Reputation System Rewards: Harvest's Boon and Cheesy Crab Hotpot

New Character Specialty Dishes:

○ Varesa's specialty: Mt. Mushroom (For One)

○ Iansan's specialty: Gold-Standard Healthy Meal

Adds new "Sacred Mountain's Fading Glow" and "Duelist: Series III" Achievement categories, and adds new Achievements to the "Wonders of the World" category.

Adds Set 39 of "Paimon's Paintings" chat emojis.

Adds some prompts for loading screens.

New Namecards:

Varesa: Powerhouse: Reward for reaching Friendship Lv. 10 with Varesa

Iansan: Unyielding: Reward for reaching Friendship Lv. 10 with Iansan

Natlan: Draconic Gaze: Reward for completing all achievements under "Sacred Mountain's Fading Glow"

Achievement: Tranquil Peace: Reward for completing all achievements under "Duelist: Series III"

Travel Notes: Blooming Glory: Reward obtained via the BP system

Adds some of the Harvestable seeds from Natlan to the Seed Dispensary.

Adds new Wildlife: Ancient Firewalker Spoonbill and Ancient Glazeback Turtle.

Adds Natlan wildlife that can be captured by the Omni-Ubiquity Net: Ancient Scarlet-Plume Finch and Ancient Red-Mane Boar.

Adds new Fish: Secret Source Scout Sweeper.

Adds a Natlanese "Gift Set" to the Serenitea Pot, which can be purchased from Tubby in the Realm Depot.

Another 4 sets of Artifacts are available to exchange in the Mystic Offering system: Artifact Strongbox: Song of Days Past, Artifact Strongbox: Nighttime Whispers in the Echoing Woods, Artifact Strongbox: Fragment of Harmonic Whimsy, and Artifact Strongbox: Unfinished Reverie.

Tona's Flame: Increase in the Level Cap of Tona's Flame to Level 40.

Repertoire of Myriad Melodies Update:

Adds new music album "Natlan: Land of Tleyaoyotl."

Adds new score themes "Fire and War" and "Ode to Azure Skies."

〓Adjustments & Optimizations〓

● Artifacts

In the "Artifact" interface, the "Quick Select" option in "Artifact Salvage" automatically selects all Artifacts by default.

In the "Artifact Enhancement" interface, when using the "Quick Select" function, Artifact Enhancement Materials are prioritized over 5-star Artifacts.

After the version update, Artifacts defined through the consumption of Sanctifying Elixirs will be marked, and are guaranteed to get at least 2 rolls for the defined Minor Affixes when fully leveled up.

● Serenitea Pot

Adjusts the layout of the "Realm Depot" interface to display more items.

Adjusts the "Realm Depot" interface by adding a "Exchange List" feature, which allows you to add items to a list for redemption, adjust quantities, and perform batch redemptions within the list.

● Android Controller Support

Adds controller support for Android devices. The following are the supported controller models and system requirements:

DualSense™ Wireless Controller: Android 12.0 and above;

DUALSHOCK®4 Wireless Controller: Android 10.0 and above;

Xbox Wireless Controller: Android 9.0 and above;

Xbox Elite Wireless Controller Series 2: Android 9.0 and above.

*The controller needs to be connected to the device in Bluetooth mode.

● Controller

Optimizes the operation experience of certain wheel-related button combinations in controller mode (taking DualSense™ wireless controller as an example):

a. Slightly increases the time required to hold L1 button to display the wheel interface.

b. The "L1 + right stick" combination is still able to quickly open the wheel interface.

c. Other button combinations will no longer open the wheel interface (e.g., when interacting with the Four-Leaf Sigil, activating Elemental Sight, etc.), and will instead perform the corresponding action immediately upon pressing.

● Mail

In the "Mail" interface, a search function has been added to the "Gift Mail Box."

In the "Mail" interface, certain event-related notification mails now include direct links to jump to their respective event pages.

Adds mail reminder for when "Blessing of the Welkin Moon" expires.

● Crafting

Adds an "Original Resin" amount display in the top-right corner of the "Craft" interface when crafting "Condensed Resin", as well as a button that can be pressed to refill Original Resin (similar to the "Map" page).

When crafting "Condensed Resin" on the "Craft" interface, if there is insufficient Original Resin but replenishment options are available, a prompt will appear with options to replenish Original Resin.

● Audio

Optimizes Chinese, English, and Japanese voice-overs in certain quests, and improves sound effects for certain Chinese voice-overs.

After Version 5.5 is updated, Kinich's VA will be updated to Jacob Takanashi (this change only applies to new content in Version 5.5, historical content will be gradually updated in subsequent versions).

After the Version 5.5 update, the character Ifa's Japanese VA will be updated to Terashima Junta.

● Other Systems

Removing friends, adding friends to the blacklist, or removing a friend from the blacklist will no longer refresh the scrolling interface for the "Friends" and "Blacklist" interfaces.

Adds the Astral Mark feature to the "Food" interface. Marked food items will be prioritized in the "Food" interface and other interfaces where Food items are used.

Adds a new icon for food effects.

If there are entrances to other environment maps in the "Map" interface, (such as "Enkanomiya"), an icon will be displayed. Press it to view information about the corresponding environment.

Optimizes the display logic for red dots of the "Spiral Abyss" in the "Events Overview" interface.

When tracking boss enemies in the "Adventurer Handbook" or "Events" menu:

a. If the nearest Teleport Waypoint to the enemy has been unlocked, you can use the sidebar in the "Map" interface to directly teleport to that waypoint and track the enemy.

b. If the nearest Teleport Waypoint to the enemy is not unlocked, the "Map" interface will track and guide the Traveler to the enemy's location.

*In Version 5.5, this feature will support boss enemies in the "Natlan" region, as well as boss enemies related to the 5-star characters featured during Version 5.5. In Version 5.6, this feature will support all boss enemies.

● Other

Optimizes the scrolling speed of scrollbars in some interfaces and makes them easier to press. In controller mode, the corresponding operation buttons for certain lists scrolled using the right joystick will be displayed.

Optimizes the "Paimon" menu on PC, adds the "Exit to Desktop" option to the interface when choosing to quit the game from this menu.

Reduces the cooldown time for successfully locating an Oculus using the "Oculus Resonance Stone" from 5 minutes to 2 minutes.

When tracking a quest in the "Quest" interface, if the quest is located in another scene, the map of the corresponding scene will now open and track the quest (this function is currently not supported in Domains, including the Theater Lobby).

Adds compatibility support for iPad Air (M3) and iPad (A16) devices.

Decreases the maximum amount of reaction DMG caused by Burning grass and Electro-Charged water bodies in Domains.

〓Bug Fixes〓

● Enemies

Fixes an issue whereby the head model of certain "Sauroform Tribal Warriors" would occasionally display abnormally when casting skills.

● Characters

Fixes an issue where the hair effects of Mavuika would display incorrectly during Nightsoul's Blessing at certain angles on some mobile devices.

Fixes an issue where after Xiangling switches to the "New Year's Cheer" outfit, her feet would float abnormally when selecting "Upbeat Encouragement" in "Take Photo" > "Pose."

Fixes an issue where, under certain circumstances, triggering the "Hypersense" effect from Ororon's Passive Talent "Nightshade Synesthesia" would consume Nightsoul points without dealing damage.

Fixes an issue whereby under specific circumstances, when Ororon was equipped with the Artifact Sets "Gilded Dreams" or "Flower of Paradise Lost," the on-field character triggering Ororon's "Hypersense" effect would not simultaneously activate Ororon's Artifact Set Bonus.

Fixes an issue whereby Yumemizuki Mizuki's weapon model would display abnormally after performing Plunging Attacks.

Fixes an issue whereby Yumemizuki Mizuki's hair had minor display abnormalities.

Fixes an issue whereby Yumemizuki Mizuki had a chance of prematurely ending her Dreamdrifter state when launched into the air while in Dreamdrifter state.

● Imaginarium Theater

Fixes an issue whereby some Overloaded DMG could not trigger the Thunderstrikes effect of "Brilliant Blessings."

Fixes some text description errors in "Brilliant Blessings."

● System

Fixes an issue where, under certain circumstances, the material quantity would display incorrectly when using the "Quick Select" function to add refinement materials in the "Weapon Refinement" interface.

Fixes an issue where, after the Version 5.4 update, under certain circumstances, there was a chance that the tutorial "Unlocking Domains" would be unable to trigger normally. After the version update, Travelers who have met the trigger conditions but have not triggered this tutorial will automatically trigger the relevant tutorial upon logging in.

Fixes an issue where, under certain circumstances, the completion rate would display abnormally when completing a performance in Repertoire of Myriad Melodies.

● Audio

Fixes an issue of abnormal sound effects and music playing.

Fixes an issue whereby some background music would play abnormally in areas near the enemy "Rilai."

Fixes an issue whereby when using a controller, the musical instrument sound effects would be abnormal when choosing to try out the instruments during dialogue with NPC "Sansa" under specific circumstances.

Fixes an issue where adjusting the key sound volume in the "Instrument Settings" menu within the "Settings" interface of "Repertoire of Myriad Melodies" did not affect the volume of the Floral Zither, Festive Drum, and Djem Djem Drum.

● Other

Fixes an issue where the "Ley Line Disorder" effects in the Domain of Guyun and Floor 1 of the Spiral Abyss did not match their descriptions.

Fixes an issue where characters or Iktomisaurs could not interact with certain activated Phlogiston supply objects while in the Spiritspeaker state.

Fixes some text errors in certain languages and optimizes text. (Note: Related in-game functions have not changed. Travelers can view the changes in different languages by going to the Paimon Menu > Settings > Language and changing the Game Language.)

◆ Optimizes inconsistencies between certain voice-overs and the corresponding lines.

◆ Optimizes certain English translations.

〓Genius Invokation TCG Balance Adjustment〓

Adjusts the initial max HP of Character Cards "Sigewinne," "Sangonomiya Kokomi," "Venti," "Ganyu," "Hu Tao," "Zhongli," "Noelle," and "Jean" from 10 to 12.

Adjusts the effect of Event Card "Elemental Resonance: High Voltage" to: "Your active character and your next character without maximum Energy gain 1 Energy."

Adjusts the effect of Event Card "Elemental Resonance: Impetuous Winds" to: "The next time you perform 'Switch Character': This action will be considered a Fast Action instead of a Combat Action. It will also cost 1 less Elemental Die. The next Swirl Reaction you trigger deals +1 DMG to all opposing characters except the target."

Adjusts the effect of Event Card "Elemental Resonance: Sprawling Greenery" to: "If you have Burning Flame/Dendro Core/Catalyzing Field on the field, deal 1 Pyro DMG/Hydro DMG/Electro DMG to the opposing active character."

Adjusts the effect of Event Card "Elemental Resonance: Enduring Rock" to: "Provides 3 Shield points for your active character."

*This is a work of fiction and is not related to any actual people, events, groups, or organizations.

PlayStation, "PS5", "PS4", "DualSense", "DUALSHOCK" are registered trademarks or trademarks of Sony Interactive Entertainment Inc.

[1920sladydectective]

Romans V Elephants - Professors AU 2.9K

Here it is my loves, part one of my modern Professor x Student AU.

I hope you like it, hoping for it to be around 3/4 parts.

No smut in part one as its just the set up, but boy oh boy is it coming.

Let me know!!

tag list: @nikaachuuuu @shinyshayminflower @chocolate-quotes @fruitfulfashion @wolfessa @lia-winther @ivorydevil @borderline-fixated

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61817521/chapters/158064463

She's Got A Wicked Smile, Angel Eyes:

Gentle summer sun lingered on the autumn winds as you slipped through the ancient cobbled halls with a steady thwack thwack thwack. 

Cambridge was as imposing and beautiful as you’d hoped. It spoke for itself, history resting tenderly in every crack and crevice. You didn’t belong yet, but you were determined to pretend. You deserved your place here and each morning waking up in a tiny, poorly insulated room you reminded yourself of that. 

There was an odd balance here of knowing you were privileged to learn in such hallowed halls and rolling your eyes at the insensitivity of your comfortable, rich classmates. Each night out at a fancy pub had to be budgeted, beans instead of mince in your dinner, as they racked up tabs higher than your monthly food budget in an hour and then failed to turn up to their lectures. Still you smiled and nursed a cider, nodding as you discussed your latest charity shop find. That was cool here, trendy and sustainable, just as long as you pretended to have a Barbour coat and signet ring to wear with your £2.50 jumper. 

One such evening had drained you of all energy and thus you had overslept, curled obviously under a thick gingham duvet set. Now, as penance, you were dashing as fast as you could to your first lecture at half nine. It was naturally with your most important Professor. 

Professor Medarda was a legend. Her presence lingered around the Humanities buildings as some kind of God. A Professor of History, with a specialisation in Ancient Rome, she had seen more of the world and knew more of its jaded growth than you could ever hope to. She was precise, exacting and unforgiving. That’s to say, lateness to her was as much a sin as murder. 

You knew this theoretically, but feeling her amber eyes cut into you as you slipped into the room at 9:03 was entirely different. 

“You’re late,” Her gruff voice froze you in place, halfway to your seat. 

“I-Im sorry, I”

“And now you’re being disruptive, sit down and be quiet,” It was a command, wrapped in a sardonic smile. 

You sat, hands trembling in your lap, trying to absorb literally anything she said. 

Her classroom, distinct in its opulent furnishings and softer lighting, offered little comfort. Matters were made worse by your jittery, illegible notes and her closing statement. 

“Now, as I’m sure you know, I only accept two thesis proposals a year, and the other nine of you will have to work with the other Professors in the department,” Professor Medarda spoke plainly, deft fingers slamming a book on her desk shut, “I expect to have all of your proposals in my inbox by four o’clock on Friday,” 

It was Wednesday, and you had somehow missed this memo. You needed her as your thesis advisor. She was the best and you hadn’t fought this far just to settle for less than at the final hurdle. So the whole being late thing was great, you’d really put yourself on the map, really pissed her off. Your body grew tenser, as you mutely packed up and left the room amidst the throng of perfume and dark academia pinterest. 

Hours slipped by meaninglessly as you stared at your battered Dell laptop. You had direction, you had purpose and you had a boulder of anxiety blocking the flow of anything else. 

Romans V War Elephants. 

That’s all you’d written so far. You knew it was a good idea, with a rich pool of resources to rely on, and yet. There was always a yet with you. A crumbling Nature Valley bar made a sandy blanket on your lap. Your tea was cold and your mind was empty. 

Friday morning came and you had poured your soul into a Thesis proposal you were certain was not going to earn you a spot with your dream Professor. Her lecture was eleven am, and at no point did she even acknowledge the prospect of making a choice. You would know when you knew, it seemed. 

Tuesday, bleak as summer recessed into the fickle British memory and autumn summoned brutal winds. You were halfway through a disappointing panini, essay mostly written, when a gmail ding made you jump. Sriracha spilled down your front, clumsy hands mopping it with a tea towel. Onto Mount Laundry it went, as your eyes darted over this new email. 

Three times and still the words would not compute. 

‘..consideration, I am pleased to extend an offer to be your Thesis advisor,

Blah blah blah scheduling hours blah blah resource allowance blah

Professor Medarda’ 

Lukewarm ham and cheese forgotten, sharp and unsure breaths rattled against your laptop screen. Somehow, fuelled by Lidl energy drinks, you’d done it. She was yours and that almost guaranteed major success. 

Your email was redrafted nine times, as you sought to teeter on the edge between ass kissing and nonchalant. Three times a week you would spend time with her, learning as much as you could, crafting a paper you could be proud of. You needed to invest in a better alarm clock immediately. 

Cambridge was well and truly orange now, leaves and litter scattered everywhere as you fought to keep your hat on your head. Your next lecture was with Professor Medarda, and after that came your first supervision session. New stationary, thick ringed notebooks from your sister back home and a lipsticked smile, you could almost pretend that you were confident and prepared. Almost. Pale skin and twitching limbs gave it away. Quarter past twelve, and your wobbly knees lingered. 

She gathered her things silently, tucking them under a muscular arm and strolling into her adjourning office. A pause, rustling and the bounce of curls reappearing. 

“Do you wish to use your time or not?” 

Shit. “Yes, of course,” You fell over yourself to follow her, the elusive space suddenly enveloping you. 

Walls filled with aged wood shelves, perfectly varnished and housing more books than you could hope to own. Leather Bound tomes, first editions, signed copies. All amazing, all pretentious, all very Cambridge. A spiced scent lingered in the air, oaky and deep, as your gaze flicked to a dancing flame. 

“I thought you weren’t allowed candles in these buildings, just in case,” You regretted it before you’d even finished speaking. 

She snorted, her gaze set on yours, “Going to tell on me, child?” 

“Course not,” 

“Can be our secret then,” She passed you a small, china cup of tea, “Sugar?”

You shook your head, taking the black murky tea and adding a drop of milk.

It was like a warm blanket, soft and tender. Oh. So she could be nice. You nodded your thanks, and took a scalding sip. The heavy door clicked shut at her bidding, sealing you away into a little pocket world with her.  

“So,” Her strong voice commanded the room, “Show me why you’re worth it, Dear,” 

Not why the topic mattered or how sound your research was, why you were worth it. The room narrowed, as did your windpipe. Selling yourself was part and parcel of the academia world, but to her? You’d already used that energy for a babbled report. 

Still, smooth and confident words left your mouth, a dance and proposition in one. Your eyes had cleared, a dissociation sailing you through the initial conversation. Your charm bled through, thick and false, as the need to succeed overtook the doubt. As it always did. You were here after all. 

“Well, I suppose  this will be of use then,” She grinned, a haphazard throw landing a gilded book in your lap, relishing in your gasp. 

“This is impossible to source,” It was a book you’d seen snippets of, and nothing more, “I didn’t realise the University had one,” 

“It doesn’t,” The clink of a cup on a saucer, “I do,”

“T-That’s amazing,”

“Read it, make notes and write me a list of other resources you need but cannot find,” a thick stack of papers, essays presumably, “Whilst you do, I shall mark these,”

“Now?”

“Do you suggest some other time?” Her eyebrow raised, “This is rather the point of this time,” 

A laugh, high and choked, as you nodded. “Yes, I’ll get on it,”

Professor Medarda cleared a part of her desk for you to rest your possessions and you tugged the heavy chair forward against the patterned carpet so that you could read and type at the same time. You worked silently, as she laughed and rolled her eyes at the papers that red pen seemed to reduce to shreds. She seemed totally used to you, as if you were another little trinket in her space, and though she was still stern, eyes focused, her charismatic nature was potent here. Constant tea, biscuits and an apple when you wrinkled at the fourth bourbon cream. 

You tilted your head, taking the royal gala from her grasp. 

“First piece of fruit you’ve had since moving here?” 

“Well,” A slight giggle, “I had dried mango yesterday,”

“Big spender, expensive stuff,” 

“Not at Lidl,” A slight cringe in your soul. She was Waitrose through and through. You idiot. 

“Not at Lidl,” She repeated, smirk on her face, “Thanks for the tip,”

When your allotted time finished, you folded yourself away back into your satchel and thrust the book towards, with a slip of paper on top, “That’s the list, only managed to read half today,”

She crossed her arms, jewellery twinkling prettily, as she snatched one and handed back the other, “Finish it for Monday, we can discuss where it will fit in your thesis then,”

“You’d let me take it?”

“Is this your way of saying I shouldn’t trust you?”

“Of course not, Professor,” A gulp, “It’s just so precious,”

She was ushering you out with a smile, hand on your shoulder,”Then treat it as such, see you on Monday,”

The door shut. Pop. The bubble of her pocket world shattered around you, leaving a magic book and a grumbling stomach. 

When you’d told your mother that at Cambridge you wouldn’t be allowed to work, that it was against policy because of the shortened terms and immense workload, she had laughed in your face. No help from me, she had reminded you again and again. You’re on your own. Laughable, as if you hadn’t been fending for yourself for years. Now, as you bundled in your bed with a packet of crisps, you wished she was somebody she was not, somebody with endless money and kind words. You had your waitressing job, which had worked you into the ground, and now you lived off the pittance you had been able to save and a maintenance loan that left your account for rent before you’d even noticed it. 

In short, it was lunch OR dinner, and this time lunch had won out. Dinner was aforementioned crisps and a good helping of tap water, mixed with the nurturing words of your newest book. 

Weeks slipped by under the iron thumb of Ambessa Medarda, your workload heavier than ever as she steered you as if you were a little remote control sailboat. It was a wonder she managed to see any other students, you seemed forever in her office listening to her dulcet tones or cataloguing research papers. Sometimes, on less busy days, she lets you hang around to study rather than forcing you to go to the library. She seemed to read you as easily as her books, amber eyes welcoming and dangerous. 

“Some of the best places in the world to study,” Her voice started one wednesday, “and yet here you stay,”

“Bit too much noise for me,” You muttered half into a textbook, “Too many of Daddy’s credit cards,”

Her barked laugh brought you back, “Well, feel free then,”

You hadn’t meant to say that, not at all. You resembled a tomato, “Just prefer the quiet,”

A knock at the door saved you. Her Chinese food had arrived. It smelt divine, and you let out a little sigh. 

She sat eating, composed and methodical. Several times she had prompted you to eat your own lunch, until you meekly admitted you had none. Narrowed eyes pinned you in place. 

“Why?”

“More of a dinner perso-” A loud, unavoidable grumble from your torso. 

“Your stomach doesn’t seem to be,” Her chair creaked as she chucked you a small bag, gaze straight back at her things. 

It was a hot, slightly greased bag. Spring rolls. Twelve of them, warm and crunchy, begging to be eaten, “Are you sure, Professor?”

“Eat,” was the only word she gave you. 

Winter crept up on you, frozen air a shock as you walked back with groceries. Somehow you’d been in Cambridge for nearly two months and spent most of that time with Professor Medarda or curled on your plastic desk chair. Still, the magic of Christmas began to loom in the early November air. It came sooner and sooner, as did the expenses. That’s why you sat once again in the pub, this time with mulled wine and a mince pie, chattering away with your tiny circle of friends. 

“So,” Matilda asked, focusing directly on you,“Any developments? Any new friends? Cheap dinner deals?”

Fabulous, an audience to make you feel like a lifeless loser, “Not really, just been work work-”

“Work,” Nat interrupted with a giggle, “We know babe,” 

“At least you’ve got that sexy Professor to while away the days, I could climb her” Matilda continued, sipping her beer. 

You were a tableau, brows crinkled in confusion. “Climb who?”

“Professor Medarda, you tit,” Her eyes rolled, “Who else? Professor Daniels, the seventy-six year old?”

“I-I don’t, I mean she’s pretty I guess,” You stammered, “I don’t really see her like that,”

“Then you’re fucking blind,”

You laughed. Forced. Was Professor Medarda hot? You guessed her face was nice, all angular and sharp, with soft edges that made her seem inviting. She did have that towering frame, honeyed voice, plush curves. You were warm. It was not because of the wine. You pushed that confusing train of thought into a distant, long since abandoned station.

Something about that night had set you off balance, mind muddling over old interactions with a new rosy hue. She was nothing but professional, considerate and gentle, a guiding hand to your education. But her words, her voice, were they suggestive? Fuck. You hated your friends, they made everything confusing. That was why you were cold, that was why you were suffering. They had made you forget your scarf and gloves. It had nothing to do with finding your Professor attractive. 

She was late which was unusual. You were anxious, which was not. When she wandered in, a small bag in hand, your eyes met and you felt a jolt that had not been there a few days before. Was the golden glimmer brighter now? More alluring? You couldn’t tell. 

“Come on in then,” She muttered, key clicking pleasantly to unlock the office, “I grabbed us some pastries,” 

You beamed, taking the brown paper bag she offered, as you situated yourself in your chair. 

There was nothing majorly different and yet everything had changed. 

She was a beautiful, majestic thing and you felt like a lump of neglected, sprouting potatoes. If she noticed your repetitive glances she did not comment on them, merely continuing to offer feedback on your work and provide advice on what to explore next. You had a lot more than Romans V War Elephants written down now. 

The croissant was perfect, its flakiness distracting you for mere moments, before you fixated on a tiny bit of pastry attached to her red lips. A practiced tongue darted out to steal the offender, wetting her lips as she scrawled down words. Your stomach clenched. This nonsense was not going to end well. 

Finally, mercifully, the day’s session ended, and with it did the proximity that made your mind fuzzy.

It was bitter now, as she walked with you out of the Humanities building, colder than perhaps any other day yet. You murmured nonsense, distracted replies to her conversation and all at once she stopped you, abrupt and calculating. 

“You forgot your scarf today,” It wasn’t a question. 

“Y-yes,” You nodded, cheeks already red from wind burn, “Was in a rush,” 

“You have a twenty minute walk ahead of you,” She frowned, a ghost of concern and something else in her eyes, “Whereas my car is a few steps ahead,”

“I don’t-” Heated cashmere fabric collided with you, as her hands deftly wound her own scarf into a knot on your neck. 

“There you are,” She cooed, tucking it into your coat, “Can’t have you getting cold, Sweet Pea,”

“Thank you, Professor,” You almost slurred, mind fixated on something else, “I’ll give it back when I next see you,”

“No rush,” With that, she was climbing into her car with a wave. 

It was all you could think, smell, understand. Honey, loose leaf Earl Grey and the woodiness from the office candle.

Numb, dazed feet dragged you home, where you curled into sheets, scarf still on.

You were drowning in the smell of her. You wanted to bottle it, choke on it forever. 

Proper crush on your thesis advisor? Tick. 

Professor Ambessa Medarda was the most gorgeous woman you had ever met, and you were the shittiest, stupidest cliche. 

[iiseult]

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐹𝑜𝓊𝓇: 𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝐿𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒲𝒾𝒻𝑒

CWs →  BALDWIN OILS HIMSELF UP, angst, love letters, themes of war and death, historical inaccuracies, slow burn, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, eventual smut (once reader and baldwin are both over 18), leprosy, time-period accurate sexism

Wordcount: 3.3k

Note: This might be my favorite chapter. Please let me know your thoughts, and pay special attention to the cross necklace. You'll see what I mean. <3

It was not so dramatic, the way his illness progressed, but progress it did. The Holy Disease was inevitable, and he’d always known that. Six months and he was losing sight in his left eye, his peripheral vision effectively ceasing to exist. Twelve months and the eye was becoming clouded and sapped of its color, like something bleached by the sun, only a baby blue now when it used to be so much deeper. Eighteen months and everything through the eye was covered in an indispersable layer of silver mist. And then there was his little finger, the poor little finger on his left hand which he could no longer feel, and when he commanded it to move, it was as if a phantom were possessing it. If it weren’t for the fact that he could see it moving, wiggling back and forth, he likely wouldn’t have any idea whether or not it was really happening. Often he frowned at it in concentration, exercising his will over it and forcing it to move, desperately trying to feel something. Every time he was forced to give up, frustrated. However, the majority of his skin and all of his features were still perfectly intact, and for that he was grateful. 

That September he fell ill with fever. Forty-two days and nights he laid in bed, watching drowsily as the sun made its daily voyage across the heavens, warming his too-warm skin and blinding his aching eyes. In periods of occasional lucidity his thoughts lingered only on you. He would see a flash; then the fullness of your lips, the sweet curve of your neck, the shape of your back, and were you wearing your sapphire today? He could picture it clearly, lying against the firm softness of your full bosom, gleaming like a winking eye. Ah, sick mind. Shameful thoughts. He redirected them. What of the kingdom, his kingdom? What of his sister Sybilla, and her son, his baby nephew Baldwin V? They did not come to visit because Sybilla claimed she couldn’t bear the sight of her beloved brother in so much pain. And then his mother was dead, a few months buried. Nobody left to come visit.

He continued to read during this time. He was brought books on war and strategy, classic and ancient tales of love and romance, history, and Greek literature, of which he had always been very fond. Perhaps it was these such books that gave him his next brilliant idea. 

He sent for ink and parchment, lots of parchment, and when he felt well enough he sat up in bed and took up his supplies and got to work. Pages upon pages he produced, many times rambling and repetitive in nature because of his fever-addled mind, but always strikingly sincere. From his very heart he wrote, hours each day, and he didn’t share his work with anyone. When Raymond visited he would conceal everything under the covers, or else slide them under the bed. 

It was a woman, always the same woman, that he wrote about or wrote to or described in as much detail as he could. Each time he painted a picture of her with his words, a new facet of her beauty was revealed, a new angle, a new reason to love her. And he knew that he did love her. Completely enchanted. Utterly enraptured. Such tender feelings, such longing! He found himself writing cliches while trying to adequately express the extent of his feelings. And each one of these pieces of writing was addressed to you. 

“By chance, I met you in the library. I was playing chess. Raymond likes to cheat when I look away from the chessboard because he says the battlefield is just like a game of chess, and in a real battle you must never look away because your opponent does not always play fair. But I would forfeit all my knights and rooks for you, so I looked away from him and towards you instead. 

“And when you looked at me, my heart leapt in my chest and a feeling like warm water cascading down my shoulders overtook me and I could not speak. I held my hand out to you and did your bidding, and then I could stand it no longer so I went away. The warmth was becoming unbearable. I was overcome. As if I were a cauldron of boiling water, I burned and then softened and turned pink as something bubbled up inside me. I know all this happened for you. And when ever I thought of you and your exquisite beauty for the rest of the day the same feeling came, tingling in all my nerves. I thought then that it was not unlike having a fever. 

“But now I know better, and now that I know with refreshed memory what fever is like, I can say that it’s nothing like you. This fever is harsh and unrelenting. This fever is painful, not pleasurable. There is a heat threatening to overtake me so that I never cool down. But what is this feeling that comes when ever I see you? Dearest Lady, I suspect that this must be love.”

But those were the good days. Those days he could think clearly and articulate properly. So many more of his days were spent too sick to stay awake, drifting in and out of this mortal plane, tangled up in a haze of confusion and stale bedsheets, having long since sweated through them. 

His birthday passed. Sixteen, finally, but he didn’t know it until days later, when came his next period of lucidity. His sister sent a gift– fresh, new robes made of silk to soothe his raw skin, embroidered in rich, gold thread. Raymond brought him a quill made from a peacock feather, blue and green and shimmering. It made him laugh when he saw it. Raymond was referencing a joke between the two of them, where the peacocks in the garden often interrupted their conversations with their awful, hideous squawking (for such magnificent looking creatures, their calls were surprisingly grating). And from you, lying on the bedside table, was a parcel of brown parchment tied with a thick white ribbon. He knew that ribbon, for he had seen you wear it in your hair once. 

He pulled it loose and placed it aside, intending on keeping it on his person at all times so he might always carry a piece of you wherever may go. He peeled back the paper, sliding it off to reveal a mahogany box. It was unremarkable, but his heart was beating wildly in his throat as he flipped up the delixate metal latch and opened the sleek lid. Resting against the silk-lined interior were two things; a large glass jar full of an amber-colored liquid, sealed with a cork; and a delicate chain with a plain gold cross hanging from it. And then, under the jar, he saw something else– the corner of a folded piece of parchment. A note! He snatched it up and unfolded it hungrily. It was written in your pretty feminine hand, which sent a fiery gust of heat blasting through his veins. 

“Your Majesty, happy sixteenth birthday. I know this is but a meager gift for a king, but I fear I cannot match your wealth or creativity. The necklace is one of the only things I brought from home. I wore it round my own neck every day then, and I do believe it has served me quite well, given my current position as queen. I am giving it to you in hopes that, God willing, your condition might improve. The oil is what I use after my baths to soothe dry skin, especially in these coming winter months. Perhaps it will help you in a more practical sense. Many birthday wishes, and prayers for a speedy recovery. Sincerely, your wife, Y/N.” 

He pressed the letter to his chest, almost as if he were trying to become one with it. Then he took the delicate gold chain between his fingers and unclasped it, draping it across his neck and securing it again. It fell against his collarbones and glistened handsomely, feeling very cold against his feverish skin, and yet his heart warmed when he thought of you wearing this very chain, day in and day out. What had touched your skin was now touching his. The very notion was enough to make him shiver. 

He did not take the necklace off again, not even for his bath that evening, or after it when he retired to his chambers for the remainder of the night. 

Baldwin shrugged off his bathrobe and layed, completely nude, on his silk sheets, where the jar of oil from you was waiting. He savored the feeling of its cool glass against his hands, still rife with fever, and then pressed his cheek to its surface, deeply inhaling the rich scent of the night air which drifted through the open window. To know that your hands had touched that very jar made him pulse with excitement. That you had thought of him with some amount of tenderness, that you had thought of him at all, touched him. 

Carefully he pulled the cork from the mouth of the jar with a gentle “pop,” and set it aside. He brought the jar up to his nose. It smelled sweet and flowery, very fresh. Clean. Comforting. Smelled like you. He sucked in another deep breath through his nose, letting the gentle fragrance wash over him and sink into his pores. Then he dipped two fingers into the jar and spread the thick liquid along his forearm, coating the skin there thoroughly. It was silky and cool and left a gloss in its wake. His dry, parched skin drank it up greedily, plumping up almost immediately. It was delicious. 

He poured a dollop of the stuff into his hands and rubbed them together, relishing the feeling of his slick palms sliding against each other. Languidly he massaged it into his chest, his arms, and his robust shoulders. He threw back his head and slowly worked the pads of his fingers into his delicate neck, feeling the tendons there roll beneach his touch. A small sound escaped his throat. Then he moved his hands lower, not neglecting a single inch of flesh. He splayed his fingers out over the white planes of his thighs, well-toned as they were, and then slid lower, past his knees and to his ankles. It was pure bliss. 

Once he was satisfied, he popped the cork back in the jar and leaned over, placing it on the side table, then blew out the candle, laying down finally with a sigh. His body sunk into the cloud of his mattress, his aching limbs met with instant relief. Beneath his pillow was your letter and ribbon. He slid his hand under it to feel for them, just to make sure they were still there, and once he was convinced, he slipped right under into a dreamless sleep. 

The very next morning, he woke to find that his fever had miraculously relented, leaving his forehead cool and dry. Amelia immediately informed you of his recovery, and though you were relieved, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from your shoulders, you couldn’t help but wonder how he had recovered literally overnight. It seemed nobody knew the answer, not even the physicians that came to examine him throughout the rest of the day. But perhaps it was better not to question it. 

Baldwin had but a few days to enjoy his renewed health before he thrust himself urgently back into work. During his prolonged illness, the ever-fickle political state of Jerusalem had become alarmingly unstable. The Saracens were threatening to wage war, led by the wise and formidable Saladin and his army, rumored to be made up of some 20,000 men. So Baldwin was faced with a harrowing decision, with thousands of lives hanging in the balance. Should he send his men to battle despite their meager numbers, where they would inevitably be met with death and destruction? Most of his knights had already been laid to waste, leaving behind largely unskilled fighters, and only 4,000 of them at that. And could he fulfill his kingly duty to fight alongside them, or would his frail body betray him? Such questions made him wonder if he was even worthy of his title. 

Self-loathing ate at him over the coming week until finally, he was forced to take action. Reynald de Châtillon had been pressuring him incessantly to fight, no matter the risk, arguing that it is God’s will and therefore Jerusalem could never fall. Baldwin wasn’t so sure. But deep in his heart, he knew he had no more time left to waste. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The morning was fair and the early sunlight mild, falling through the trees in pale yellow streaks. The trees had been turning all shades of red and orange for the past month, and now they were withering brown, falling, falling. The smell of smoke and chill was perpetual, and very pleasant. The month of November. Autumn in its prime. You woke up that morning not to the melodic calling of birds, which you had become accustomed to, nor the gentle rustling of leaves stirred by the wind, but the muffled cries of Amelia as she came to rouse you from your slumber. Though she had stuffed a handkerchief against her mouth to dampen the sounds, it was no use, and she could not stop it. You had woken up before she even made it to your bedside.

“Oh Amelia, whatever is the matter?” you asked, sitting up in bed with alarm and looking at her, concern heavy in your gaze. You’d seen her upset before, and it wasn’t an uncommon thing to see, but never had she been so outwardly aggrieved in your presence. The poor girl’s shoulders shook with every breath she took. As gently as you could, you got out of bed and guided her to sit on the edge of your mattress, where she promptly collapsed. 

“Oh, Your Majesty,” she wailed, looking up at you through tear-filled eyes, “the most awful, terrible thing has happened!”

Her bottom lip trembled, and her cheeks seemed to be flushing darker by the second. In fact, she seemed on the verge of hyperventilating, sensitive soul that she was. 

“What? What’s happened, dear girl?” you urged, wiping a runaway tear from her chin. An anticipatory panic had begun to build up inside you. All you could think was that somebody must be dead. Suddenly you were very worried for Matilda, whose frail, brittle bones would likely not survive an accident, which was a very real possibility. In her line of work, what with all the manual labor, you often feared for her health, though she always insisted on being fine. But those thoughts were soon completely dashed from your mind. 

“The Saracens…they’ve come! They’re here to take Jerusalem!” 

You were stunned into speechlessness. You did not quite know the full gravity of such a thing, of how dire this could be for your whole way of life, and that of your mother before you and of her mother before her. How much would change, were the crusaders to fall! But Amelia’s next words gave you a relative idea. 

“They say they’ve brought 20,000 men to Montisgard, to match our army of 4,000. Oh, Your Majesty, we are lost, lost!” she wailed, burying her tear-stained face in your shoulder. For a moment after that she continued talking, uttering those same words over and over again, “lost, lost,” as if trying to understand the meaning of them. But to you the message had been clear enough, and your heart dropped all the way down to your bowels and all you could think was; Baldwin. 

Baldwin, the sweet fair-haired boy who’d kissed your hand like it was a holy relic on your wedding day; the one who’d known you well enough from a scant few glimpses here and there to know which gifts to buy for your birthday– and, for the record, they had been the most thoughtful gifts you’d ever received; the one who, unbeknownst to you, prayed for you every night and every morning; the one who had loved you since the beginning. That one, going to fight in a war he was doomed to lose. 

And then you were crying too. Great, fat, burning tears glided down your cheeks and into your mouth and onto yours and Amelia’s dresses as you clutched her to you. Your breath could come only in heaving gasps, ripping through your chest painfully. So great was your pain! You could not see that boy die. Then came an image of his broken body lying alone on the muddy battlefield, indistinguishable from all the others in death. Snot dripped down your nose. You cared not. 

Matilda opened the door and came in quietly. Your eyes pleaded with her not to deliver to you any more bad news. Her face, drawn into a solid, impassible mask, revealed nothing, except that it looked wan and much older. In her hands was a towering stack of parchment, so tall that it obscured her entire chest from your view. 

“Your Majesty,” she called demurely, much softer than usual, “before his departure this morning the King instructed me to bring these for you.” 

Rather violently, you wiped the tears from your eyes and wordlessly took the stack into your own hands, taking great care not to drop any. Everything was blurry but you flipped through the pages nonetheless, sinking further and further into a state of hysteria as you did so, realizing with a pang of horror that each and every sheet was a letter from Baldwin, addressed to you. There must have been a thousand of them, enough for one every day since your marriage.

Three years worth of love letters. 

You clamped a hand over your mouth, trying in vain to abate the new volley of tears welling up inside you. Never had you known such love and devotion from another human being, and you couldn’t even say thank you.

Or goodbye.

As you flipped through the pages, you became grave and still. 

“My Dear Little Wife, you were beautiful today. I could smell your rose-scented oil from down the corridor. How I love that good smell…”

“My Dear Little Wife, would that I could take you out to the city on my horse, that your beloved arms could wrap tightly around me as we gallop across the orange earth…”

“My Dear Little Wife, as the imminence of war falls upon me, I know that my time may soon come to an end. If I could wish for one thing in all the world, it would not be to cure myself of this accursed affliction, but to have more days to spend living in bliss under the same roof as you. To know you is to love you, my dear. I am sorry if we lose this battle and you are stripped of your queenly title. I am sorry for all that might happen then. Understand that I fight for you, ma cherie. With all the love and tenderness one man can hold in his heart, I bid you goodnight, as your faithful husband, Baldwin IV.”

Yes, that was it, the last letter in the stack, dated only yesterday, and presumably at night. You promised to yourself, and whatever else was listening, that in the event that he did not return, you would read and cherish each and every letter. But you could not dwell on that thought. He would come back. He must. Because you needed him. 

“Heavenly father, if you would bring him back to me, I swear I will spend every last day by his darling side.” 

//taglist: @lzsia @eatmeandbirthmeagain @likeanecho344 @lunargraveyard @yoursoulisinyourkeepingalone @stickparrot

if anyone else would like to be added, please comment to let me know!

[marshed---mallow]

ah ha ha ha murder drones TWILIGHT AU

crawls out from my coffin... brushes off cobwebs hello!! have this!!

guess the main character level impossible uh lore under the cut!!

SO SO basically this is kinda like Twilight, it takes place in the same high-school type thing from in the first episode N and V are vampires and V is in the school trying to disguise herself,, for reasons I'm still working on Their personalities are VERY different V, her name is Vivenne in this, still has that snark to her but she's more quiet and reserved; she's about 1000 years old, a baby vampire really N, aka Nicholas, is a silent killer, a quiet personality but bolder than V. He stays in the shadows, doing most of the hunting. He's about 1087 years old, they were both in the Victorian era except Nicholas dresses more to his time because he's not accustomed to modernity, meanwhile Vivienne has lived through all of it in the suburbs Uzi is 17, she's a junior in high school and begrudgingly spoke to V because they were forced to partner up for a project, but ended up liking her for her style and how quiet she is. She's a huge Twilight fan… as she does.. This universe doesn't believe in vampires, that's why there's so much pop culture surrounding it but oh boy were they wrong J is Jesper, I have yet to do her design and lore, but she's 6,000 years old, she was from the Ancient Egyptian era She wasn't part of the culture because they always laid under the sun, but blended in enough in the shadows. She lived in a burrow for most of her life, consuming the dreams of the people who lived there her power is sleep and dreams and such each of them have a unique power Vivienne has telekinesis, Nicholas has mind-reading Oh I'm also gonna have Jesper fall in love with a human that sacrificed herself for her (tessa) coughs And my plan for plot is the main three all have a magic symbol of binding on their palm (that's why they wear fingerless gloves) And when they're near each other it activates and they can enter a bunch of secret spaces it's like a prophecy thing the symbols will line up like puzzle pieces to form a whole picture Fun fact! Even though Nicholas seems the least hostile of the group, he's a cold, strategic killer and has a higher body count than both Vivienne and Jesper. he uses his charisma as a way to lure victims He's usually very outward with humans for that reason but with Uzi... he's more reserved because he doesn't actually want to kill her.

also here symbol