#what makes or breaks a party is the guest list

[tobeafangirl]

unhinged

Words: 3,847 Rating: M | angst (language, harry is so pissed he takes a door off), fluff (happy ending!) Type: Harry Styles x Reader Taglist: @infinityxlovers @emlovesniallhoran @puzio19 ❀ Masterlist ❀ Requests ❀ Taglist ❀ 

Harry frowned, his brow furrowed in confusion. He watched Y/N move around the apartment, her movements stiff, her back rigidly turned towards him. An invisible wall seemed to have sprung up between them overnight, and he had no idea why. He'd woken up to a palpable chill in the air, a silent accusation hanging between them, thick and unyielding. What had he done? He racked his brain, replaying every moment of the previous day, searching for a misstep, a forgotten word, a careless action that could explain this sudden, icy distance. But his mind remained blank. He just didn't understand.

He'd tried to initiate conversation that morning, a lighthearted comment about their shared dream the night before, but Y/N had simply grunted in response, her shoulders stiff. It wasn't like her. Usually, she was an open book, her emotions easily readable, her affection readily given. This calculated distance was new, and it unnerved him. He felt like he was walking on eggshells, a silent alarm blaring in his head, warning him of an imminent explosion he couldn't preempt.

He watched as she picked out her clothes for the day, each movement precise and devoid of her usual fluidity. The air between them was thick with a tension he couldn't grasp, an anger he couldn't name. It was the kind of silence that screamed, louder than any argument, and it left him feeling helpless, adrift in a sea of unspoken grievances. He longed for her to just tell him, to unleash whatever fury was brewing, so he could at least understand it.

"Is everything okay?" he'd finally ventured, his voice carefully neutral, hoping to break the suffocating quiet. Y/N paused, her back still to him, and for a terrifying moment, he thought she wouldn't answer. Then, a low, controlled voice, devoid of warmth: "Fine." The single word, delivered with a chilling finality, felt like a slammed door, sealing off any possibility of immediate resolution.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the frustration beginning to bubble. "Y/N, I know something's wrong. You've been acting weird all morning. Just tell me what it is." He tried to keep his tone gentle, but a hint of impatience crept in. He hated this game, this dance around the unspoken truth. Just tell him. Let them fight it out and get it over with.

"Harry, I don't even know where to begin. I was so incredibly hurt that you didn't come to my party. I put so much thought and effort into every single detail, from the invitations to the playlist, the food, the decorations – everything. I wanted it to be perfect, not just for me, but for all our friends, and especially for you.

I remember spending weeks, truly weeks, meticulously planning everything. I agonized over the guest list, wanting to make sure everyone felt included and had a good time. I researched recipes, trying to find dishes that would cater to everyone's tastes. I spent hours decorating, trying to create an atmosphere that was both celebratory and comfortable. Every decision I made, every task I completed, I did with the hope that you would be there, enjoying yourself, making new memories with us.

And then, you just… didn't show up. No call, no text, no explanation. It felt like a punch to the gut. All that anticipation, all that hard work, all those hopes – it all just evaporated in an instant. It wasn't just about missing your presence, Harry, though that was certainly a huge part of it. It was about feeling like my efforts, my time, my feelings, meant absolutely nothing to you. It felt like you didn't care enough to even send a quick message to say you couldn't make it. That's what really stung. It made me question everything."

My chest felt tight, a familiar knot of frustration coiling in my stomach. "How was I supposed to know?" I muttered, the words barely a whisper, yet laced with a desperation I couldn't hide. It wasn't fair. Every argument felt like a replay, a loop of accusations and misunderstandings. I loved Y/N more than anything, but sometimes it felt like we were speaking two entirely different languages, constantly missing each other's signals.

Then came the familiar sting: "Because I told you." That phrase, delivered with a flat finality, always felt like a punch to the gut. Had she? Had I truly forgotten? Or was it buried under the weight of a million other unspoken things, a quiet assumption I was supposed to just get? The silence that followed was deafening, amplified by the unspoken accusation hanging in the air.

"Bullshit," I shot back, the anger bubbling to the surface. It was a raw, unfiltered response, born from a deep-seated exhaustion. I hated fighting like this, hated the way it chipped away at the foundation we'd built. But the helplessness was overwhelming. How could I fix something if I didn't even know what I'd done wrong?

"Don't bullshit me, you don't listen to me." That was it. The core of it all. The accusation that always cuts the deepest. It wasn't that I didn't listen; it was that I didn't always understand. The nuances, the unspoken expectations, the subtle shifts in tone – they often eluded me. And the fear of failing Y/N, of consistently falling short of her expectations, was a constant, nagging ache in my heart.

"I listen just fine, you just don't communicate." The words were out before I could stop them, a desperate defense. It was a vicious cycle, this back-and-forth about who was at fault for the miscommunication. All I knew was that every time we ended up here, in this painful stalemate, my heart ached for a resolution, a way to bridge the growing chasm between us.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, the words sharp, cutting through the heavy air. "What am I supposed to do, huh? Read your fucking mind?" My voice cracked on the last word, betraying the fear and hurt beneath the anger. "You're supposed to be my fiancé."

"Yeah, well, maybe we need to revisit that conversation," Y/N shot back, her voice cold, distant. It felt like a knife twisting in my gut.

My blood ran cold. "Revisit that conversation?" I echoed, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Are you serious? After everything we've been through? It was just a party, Y/N. A party! Is that what our entire future hinges on now?" The injustice of it burned, a hot, angry coal in my chest. It felt like she was weaponizing our commitment, using it as leverage in a petty argument.

"It wasn't just a party!" Y/N's voice cracked, a raw edge of pain I hadn't expected. "It meant a lot to me! You know how much I was looking forward to it, how much effort I put into planning it. And you just... dismissed it. Like it was nothing. There won't just be 'others,' not when you keep acting like this!" The force of her words hit me like a physical blow. Before I could even process it, the loud slam of a door reverberated through the apartment.

The sudden silence left in Y/N’s wake was more deafening than any shout could have been. I stood frozen in the middle of the living room, the echo of the slammed door rattling not just the apartment, but my very core. Was this really happening? Was this the end of us, all because of a party? My mind raced, trying to reconstruct the last few minutes, searching for the exact moment everything had gone so horribly wrong. But it was all a blur of accusations and pain, a tangled mess of miscommunication and hurt feelings.

A cold dread began to creep in, chilling me to the bone. This wasn't just a fight; this felt different, final. The weight of Y/N's words, "maybe we need to revisit that conversation," pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating. The thought of losing her, of our future dissolving into nothing, was unbearable. My chest tightened again, this time with a frantic, desperate need to fix it, to undo the damage that had been done.

I walked numbly to the bedroom door, the one Y/N had just slammed. My hand hovered over the doorknob, hesitating. What would I say? How could I even begin to bridge this chasm? The door itself felt like a barrier, a physical representation of the distance between us. And then, a new kind of anger, hot and sharp, began to simmer beneath the surface. How dare she walk away like that? How dare she threaten our engagement over something I truly didn't understand?

The anger morphed into something more destructive, a desperate need to assert control, to break through this suffocating silence. This door, this symbol of her departure, suddenly became the enemy. It was blocking me, preventing me from reaching her, from fixing this. A wild, illogical thought sparked in my mind, fueled by adrenaline and despair. If the door was the problem, if it was literally standing between us, then it had to go.

My hands clenched into fists, and without a moment's hesitation, I grabbed the doorknob, yanking it hard. It resisted for a moment, and then with a grunt, I pulled again, twisting and pushing, determined to remove the barrier.

The screws holding the door to its frame were stubbornly in place. I let go of the doorknob, my gaze falling to the floor, then quickly moving towards the toolbox in the corner of the living room. A screwdriver. That's what I needed. I strode over, rummaging through the various tools until my fingers closed around the familiar handle of a Phillips head. This would solve it.

I returned to the bedroom door, screwdriver in hand. "Y/N," I shouted, my voice tense but firm. "Unlock the door."

A moment of silence, then a hesitant click. The door remained closed, but the lock was now disengaged. I pushed on the door, holding it open just enough to wedge my body in. Y/N was standing on the other side, eyes wide, a mix of confusion and fresh anger clouding her features.

"What are you doing?" Y/N demanded, her voice rising. "Are you serious right now?"

Ignoring her protests, I positioned myself at the top hinge, the screwdriver ready. "I'm taking the door off," I stated, my own voice edged with a desperate resolve.

"You're what?" Y/N shrieked, moving forward as if to stop me. "No! Stop it! What is wrong with you?"

I pressed the screwdriver into the screw head, twisting with all my might. The first screw groaned, then slowly began to turn. "This door," I grunted, focused on the task, "is the problem."

"The door isn't the problem, you're the problem!" Y/N yelled, her hands flailing. "You're insane! What are you trying to prove?"

The first screw was out. I moved to the middle hinge, then the bottom, Y/N's increasingly frantic protests ringing in my ears. She tried to grab my arm, to push me away, but I held firm, my determination unyielding. Finally, with a final twist and a grunt, the last screw came free. I carefully leaned the heavy door away from the frame, lowering it to the floor with a thud.

"Are you absolutely out of your mind?!" Y/N shrieked, her voice raw with disbelief and fury as the door hit the floor. "What in God’s name did you just do?! You ripped our bedroom door off its hinges because we had a fight?! This is beyond insane, Harry! I can’t even look at you right now!" Her chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears that were quickly overshadowed by burning indignation. The entire apartment felt like it was vibrating with her outrage.

She gestured wildly at the now-empty doorframe, a stark, gaping maw in the wall. "This isn’t fixing anything, Harry! This is… this is destroying things! What kind of person does this? What is wrong with you? I was upset, yes, I was angry, but you just took it to a whole new level of crazy! How am I supposed to feel safe with you when you act like this? This isn’t a misunderstanding; this is an aggressive, destructive outburst!"

Y/N stumbled backward, putting more space between them, her gaze flicking from the dismantled door to Harry’s face, a look of profound disappointment and fear settling in. "I thought we were having an argument, a terrible one, but an argument. I didn’t think you were going to… this! I need a minute. I need to be alone, and clearly, that’s not going to happen with no door! Just… get out. Get out of my sight right now, before I say something I really regret."

Harry watched Y/N retreat further into the bedroom, her words echoing in the sudden, hollow silence of the room. The initial surge of adrenaline that had fueled his destructive act drained away, leaving behind a cold, sickening realization. He looked at the door lying on the floor, then at the empty frame, and finally back at the closed bedroom door, which now, ironically, felt even more impenetrable without its hinges.

The anger he’d felt, hot and righteous moments ago, curdled into a bitter shame. He had been so convinced he was breaking a barrier, but he’d only erected a larger, more frightening one. Y/N's words about safety, about aggression, clawed at him. He hadn't meant to scare her. He hadn't meant to destroy anything. He’d just wanted her to listen. But in his desperation, he’d done the exact opposite of what he intended. He’d pushed her further away.

"Y/N?" he called out, his voice hoarse, a stark contrast to the earlier defiance. He took a hesitant step towards the open doorway. "Please... just let me explain. I didn't... I wasn't trying to scare you. I just wanted you to see that I am listening, that I was frustrated because I feel like we're not connecting."

A muffled sob came from within the room, followed by a sharp, "Just leave me alone, Harry! I don't want to talk about it right now! Just get out!"

He stopped, his heart sinking. "But Y/N, please. I know I messed up. I know this was... I know it was crazy. But I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel unsafe. I just... I was so lost, and I thought if I could just get rid of the door, you'd have to talk to me." He winced at how desperate and pathetic it sounded, even to his own ears. "I'm not insane. I just... I don't know what to do when you shut down like this. I can't stand it."

Another moment of silence, heavier than before, then Y/N’s voice, colder and more resolute. "I said, get out. I need space. I need to process this. And I can't do that with you hovering and... and looking like you just committed a felony. Just go."

Harry finally capitulated, the last vestiges of his desperate energy draining away. He turned from the open doorway, the gaping maw of the frame a silent testament to his colossal error. He walked back to the living room, the discarded door a sprawling accusation on the floor, and sank onto the couch, the cushions offering no comfort. Guilt, cold and sharp, began to gnaw at him, consuming every thought. He’d wanted to break through, to force a connection, and instead, he’d shattered something vital. Y/N’s fear, her outright declaration of feeling unsafe, replayed in his mind, each word a fresh stab.

***

The next few days were a blur of agonizing silence. Harry tried. He sent texts, brief and apologetic, but they went unanswered. He left small, handwritten notes on the kitchen counter, expressing his remorse and his desperate need to talk, but they remained untouched. He made her favorite coffee in the mornings, the aroma filling the apartment, only for Y/N to avoid the kitchen until he'd left for work. Even her presence in the same apartment felt like a crushing weight, the unspoken distance more painful than any shouted argument. Y/N moved through their shared space like a ghost, her eyes avoiding his, her movements precise and deliberate, as if even the slightest acknowledgement of his existence was an intolerable burden. The apartment, once filled with her laughter and easy conversations, was now a monument to their fractured connection, echoing with the sound of Harry’s solitary movements and the deafening silence from the bedroom.

He decided he couldn't stand the silence anymore. This wasn't how they worked. This wasn't them. A new plan began to form in his mind, something tangible, something that spoke louder than words he couldn't seem to get right. He would cook for Y/N. Not just anything, but everything she loved. He would make the apartment feel like home again, filled with warmth and the inviting smells of their shared history.

He spent the entire day meticulously planning, making lists, and then heading to the grocery store with a desperate focus he hadn't felt in days. He bought the ingredients for Y/N's favorite pasta dish – the creamy mushroom and spinach linguine she always ordered from that little Italian place. He picked up fresh berries for a shortcake, knowing how much Y/N adored them, and a bottle of the obscure sparkling cider they only drank on special occasions. He even remembered to get the specific dark chocolate bar she always kept hidden in the pantry. He wanted to fill the space with every comfort, every reminder of the happiness they once shared.

As dusk settled, Harry began to cook. The rhythmic chop of vegetables, the sizzle of garlic in olive oil, the comforting scent of simmering sauce slowly filled the quiet apartment. He moved with a quiet intensity, each action a silent plea, a desperate offering. He set the dining table with their best plates, lit a few candles, and even found the small vase for the single rose he'd bought, placing it carefully in the center. Everything was perfect, a carefully curated scene of apology and hope. He just needed Y/N to come out of the bedroom.

He walked to the bedroom door, or rather, the empty frame where the door used to be, and gently knocked on the wall. "Y/N?" he called out, his voice soft, almost fragile. "Dinner's ready. I made your favorite pasta." He waited, his breath held, listening for any sign of movement, any indication that she might emerge from her self-imposed solitude. The silence stretched, heavy and expectant, until he heard a faint rustle, and then, slowly, the creak of the bed.

A moment later, Y/N appeared in the doorway, her expression unreadable. Her eyes, still a little puffy, flickered from Harry to the set table, then back to him. There was a weariness about her, a quiet exhaustion that twisted his gut. She didn't say anything, just stood there, her presence a fragile truce in the war of her silence. "Please," Harry whispered, gesturing towards the table. "Just... come eat."

After another long moment, Y/N slowly walked towards the dining table, her steps hesitant. She sat down opposite him, her gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight rather than on him. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the delicious aroma of the pasta doing little to dispel the heavy atmosphere. Harry served them both, his hands trembling slightly as he placed the plate in front of Y/N.

"It smells good," Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper, the first words she'd spoken directly to him in days. It wasn't an apology, or forgiveness, but it was a start. Harry felt a small, fragile spark of hope ignite within him. "Thank you," he managed, his own voice hoarse with emotion. He watched as Y/N picked up her fork, twirling a small amount of pasta, but not yet eating.

"I... I really am sorry," Harry said, breaking the strained silence. "For everything. For the door. For making you feel unsafe. I just... I panicked. I didn't know what else to do. I hate it when we're like this." He looked at her, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I know it was wrong. It was insane. But I was so desperate to get through to you."

Y/N finally met his gaze, and for the first time in days, he saw something other than anger or fear. It was still hurt, but also a flicker of something akin to reluctant understanding. "It was," Y/N agreed, her voice still quiet, but firm. "It was terrifying, Harry. And it wasn't fair. But... I hear you. About feeling shut out." She took a small bite of pasta, and the simple act felt like a monumental shift.

"I don't mean to shut you out," Y/N continued, her voice gaining a little strength. "It's just... sometimes, when we fight like that, I get overwhelmed. And I don't know how to articulate what I'm feeling without making it worse. So I retreat. It's a bad habit, I know. But it doesn't mean I don't care, or that I'm trying to punish you." She pushed the pasta around on her plate, avoiding his gaze once more. "I just... I needed to calm down. And after the door... it just made everything so much harder."

Harry reached across the table, his hand hovering uncertainly before gently covering hers. "I understand," he said, his voice raw with relief. "I know I reacted badly. I just... I saw you pull away, and I thought I was losing you. Everything we have, everything we've built, it felt like it was slipping away because I couldn't understand. And I didn't want to lose you, Y/N. Ever." His thumb stroked the back of her hand, a silent promise.

Y/N squeezed his hand, her gaze finally softening as she looked at him. "We're not losing us, Harry," she murmured, a faint smile touching her lips. "We just... we need to learn how to fight better. How to listen to each other, even when it's hard. And maybe," she added, a playful glint in her eyes, "we can start by putting that door back on its hinges." Harry laughed, a genuine, relieved sound that filled the apartment, finally dispelling the heavy silence that had lingered for so long.

"Deal," Harry agreed, his voice thick with emotion, a wide, genuine smile spreading across his face. He leaned forward, closing the small distance between them, and Y/N met him halfway. Their lips met in a tender, desperate kiss, a silent promise of mended hearts and a future they would navigate together, one difficult conversation, one act of understanding, and one repaired door at a time. It was a kiss that sealed their reconciliation, a quiet explosion of relief and love.

[firstelevens]

“Your heart's racing. Now, I know being pressed up against me is exhilerating and all, but I'm trying to concentrate on picking this lock."

In Bucky's dreams, whenever Sam shoves him up against a wall and presses his body flush against Bucky's, the events that follow tend to involve fewer weapons.

(Not none, necessarily: Sam is competent enough with a knife for it to feature in Bucky's dreams, and last month they got themselves into a situation at an abandoned circus where Sam had to use a horsewhip to disarm the self-styled ringmaster, and Bucky will be having inappropriate thoughts about that for the foreseeable future.)

Whatever is happening right now, however, is less something out of Bucky's dreams than it is an extremely specific exercise in embarrassment. Infiltrating a literal castle during a black tie gala had been risky enough, but breaking into the office in the residential wing is just asking for trouble.

Although party guests move freely up the staircase and around the upper floor, Sam and Bucky's target leads them down a roped-off hallway, and though it's shadowy enough to be hidden from a distance, any security guard worth their salt would be able to clock both of them at the end of the corridor.

Bucky is about to start picking the lock on the office door when Sam swears quietly behind him. He turns around immediately, only just suppressing the impulse to put himself between Sam and whatever is coming for them.

"What is it?" he asks, when he can't see anything in the hallway. "What's wrong?"

"Redwing flagged a guard," says Sam. "He's making his rounds early; he'll be here in thirty seconds."

Bucky is already reaching for his tranq gun when Sam plants a hand in the center of his chest and pushes him back against the door.

He gapes as Sam plucks the lockpicking set out of his hands, then leans in, his mouth right next to Bucky's ear, and murmurs, "Play along."

Understandably, having Sam pressed up against him has fried Bucky's brain a little, so Sam appears to decide that a demonstration is in order. He takes Bucky's left hand and settles it on his waist, and even though the vibranium's sensors are slightly dulled, Bucky feels the heat of Sam radiate up through his palm, and it's like it brings him back to himself.

The mission-focused part of his brain clocks what it is that Sam is trying to do, and he moves his hand to pull Sam even closer, dropping his head down to mostly hide his face in the crook of Sam's neck. As he turns his head just enough to get a vantage point on the entrance to the hallway, the corner of Bucky's mouth brushes over the side of Sam's neck, and he feels Sam's breath hitch against his chest.

"There's a tranq gun in my jacket," Sam murmurs, his breath hot against the column of Bucky's throat. "And you don't gotta be so gentle, Barnes, you can manhandle me if you need a better line to get a clear shot."

It's an extremely courteous consideration, the kind of thing that makes Sam such a great partner in the field. Unfortunately, Bucky barely hears it, because he's busy silently listing off the names of every single saint that he can think of, desperately aware of every inch of him that's in contact with Sam and desperately worried that he's about to embarrass himself over it.

He doesn't consider that it might be weird to be completely silent for that long until Sam gives him a little nudge and softly asks, "You comfortable, Buck? If this is weird, we can just fight our way out of here."

"M'fine," is all that Bucky manages, even though he would welcome a chance to punch something right about now. Sam shifts just slightly as one of the pins on the lock drops, and Bucky has to resist the urge to bury his nose in Sam's neck, right beside his pulse point.

"Are you sure?" asks Sam. "Because your heart's racing. Now, I know being pressed up against me is exhilarating and all, but I'm trying to concentrate on picking this lock."

Bucky laughs a little, which he has to guess was Sam's real goal. "I'm okay," he says. "Just wondering where this guard is."

Sam hums in acknowledgment. "Waylaid by another guest, I'm guessing. Redwing clocked an unknown obstacle and our guy's been there for a minute."

"Got it," says Bucky, before they descend into silence again. It's fine for a moment, and then Sam makes a quiet little noise of triumph as the next pin drops, and something about his enthusiasm has Bucky overwhelmed again. He casts around for something to bring up and settles on, "So lockpicking, huh? How long have you been hiding that?"

"What?" asks Sam, and Bucky instantly knows he made a mistake, because he can hear the smirk in that voice. "You're the only one who's allowed to have sexy spy skills? The rest of us can't have misspent youths?"

"Of course other people are allowed to have mysterious pasts," says Bucky. "Now tell me where you actually learned it."

"Wait just a minute," says Sam, "how do you know I didn't-"

"Sam."

Sam sighs, gusty and put upon and silly enough that Bucky knows he isn't seriously upset. "Fine. I read about it in a Hardy Boys book when I was eleven and I borrowed some old padlocks from Carlos and a book from the library and taught myself how."

There's half a second where Bucky absorbs the most adorable anecdote he's ever heard and Sam finally gets past the last part of the lock, and when he whispers a delighted, "yes!" to himself as the doorknob turns, Bucky can't help it anymore.

"Hey, Sam?" he murmurs, after he presses the door shut behind them.

"Hm?"

But Sam must see something in Bucky's eyes, because he doesn't wait for an explanation, just meets him halfway to press their lips together.

When they move apart, both of them cognizant of the ticking clock, Sam smirks at Bucky. "It was the sexy lockpicking, wasn't it?"

But Bucky shakes his head. "It was you," he says. "Just you."

[chameleonsallinvermillion]

I hate parties but when I have no choice, I do my best. I was doing my best tonight. I was smiling and being introduced to people and chatting and putting out plates and finding plasters for children with cut fingers and for some GODFORSAKEN REASON people kept wandering into the kitchen to hang out. Shoo! Out! We set up gazebos for you people! I don't want to chat to you! Do you think I'm in here doing the washing up by chance? I'm avoiding you! Go away!

[ozzgin]

More of the yandere monster???? Like their married life, him being such a cutie cutie and the reader is a willing person to his yandere tendencies. Like him physically fighting someone for flirting with her for .01 second and her just being 😍🥰

Yandere! Monster Husband x Reader

A little change of plans and the wedding you've been kidnapped for continued without a hitch, except you married the monstrous sibling instead. Made for an awkward celebratory dinner, but no one dared to oppose the Beast.

Content: female reader, monster romance, mildly NSFW, saga of the monster hoe reader continues

[First part]

The next family dinner was quiet. You couldn't help but wonder if your horniness had gone too far, slowly chewing your food and occasionally peeking at the ex-groom with remorseful eyes. Poor guy, you thought. "Well, it's quite convenient, isn't it?" he finally said, breaking the silence. The cutlery sounds paused, and you lifted your gaze again. The man flashed you a radiant smile, which emphasized his handsome features even more. "I mean, we weren't sure we'd ever find a wife for my brother. He has a bit of an attitude, and even monsters are afraid of him. The only marriage attempt-" his speech was interrupted by a grunt, and you turned towards your monstrous boyfriend. The older sibling was frowning, visibly embarrassed. "Oh, I remember!" the mother of the siblings, a halfling herself, suddenly chuckled into her glass, taking a generous sip before continuing: "We'd arranged for a fellow monster to meet him, and the poor soul got so frightened she blended in with the background! Took us two days to find her! She came from a chameleon family, I recall."

Everyone at the table began to laugh and you joined, although with a mild annoyance tinged into your voice. So what, there was no reason for you to be plagued by guilt? You even refused a night escapade with your boyfriend until things "settled", as a way to be respectful towards the cucked party. All for naught. At least now you could be ravaged without further consequences. When the mother in law had pulled you aside hours earlier to make sure you weren't coerced into this arrangement, you had to hold back from crassly confessing you'd slurp her son empty of fluids at any hour of the day. Some things are better left untold.

Unfortunately, one detail couldn't be changed in time: the guest list. As this had been an event meant to strengthen the ties between humans, no one outside of the immediate family graced the venue with their monstrous presence. Many guests were intrigued by the outcome of the affair, terribly curious to see the famed wife-to-be of the gruesome, feared Head of the royal army. Even more so once they discovered it was a regular human by all means. "Fascinating!", the old ladies would occasionally cry out, clutching the plump, expensive pearls adorning their necks. You had to frequently excuse yourself in order to dodge the rather indecent questions regarding your relationship. Except when you did manage to sneak away, one of the younger men of names and titles you never registered would approach you for a dance. "Truly a pitiful matter", they'd whisper much too close to your ear. "You would've made a lovely bride for a fellow human."

"You're unexpectedly calm about this", the prince mentioned to his older brother at some point during the wedding night. "Are you not bothered by all the acquaintances flocking to your bride?" The monster shook his head with a sigh. He hadn't known you for that long yet, but one thing he was certain of: it's not humans he needed to fear.

Indeed, having a wife with a monster kink is particularly challenging when most of the husband's work involves similar creatures. The first months after the marriage were stalked by the insidious doubt that his luck was just that: mere coincidence. Would you have displayed the same interest had he not been the only beast at the table? Would you still pick him in a room full of monsters? Such questions followed him each day, feeding into an ever-growing jealousy.

"What are you doing here!", he exclaimed in despair once he noticed your arrival at his training camp. "You forgot your lunch", you explained, eyebrows raised in confusion. Oh, for fuck's sake. He quickly pulled you away, glaring at the subordinates startled by the commotion. They must've been eyeing (Y/N) like rabid dogs, he thought. Next thing you know, you'll be scooped away by some horned scoundrel. He can't have that.

Initially, the rage-filled, obsession-driven fuck you'd receive almost daily was welcomed with shameless begging. The way your monster husband would pin you down under his claws and thrust into you so hard, you could see its movement in waves across your stomach. The way he'd forcefully spread your legs, hungrily sinking his nails into the soft flesh of your thighs and gnawing your shoulders in delirious need. The tears that sheepishly formed in the corners of your hooded eyes would only incite him more. "Bite onto my hand if you can't take it anymore", he'd coo without stopping. As much as you liked to be left a limp, drooling mess, the soreness grew unbearable. Enough was enough when you found yourself carrying a cushion to sit down on any surface.

"Listen, we need to have a talk." You greeted him solemnly once he returned from his military duties. Oh, no. Absolutely not. The monstrous husband bit his lips in panic, immediately going through a mental list of all his subordinates. Or was it someone in the family that slithered their way into your heart? Is that what it was about, that you'd found a different creature? No matter, you weren't going anywhere. "I don't want to hear about it", he declared dramatically. "I have a bruised cervix!" you shouted in disbelief. "Huh?" He stared at you. "It hurts even when I lay down, man. You have to tone it down. At least for a little while."

Ah. Awkward. You noticed his flinch, and patted the empty seat next to you. "What did you think I was going to say?" The bench groaned under the weight of his gargantuan body. Hands folded in his lap like a punished schoolboy, your husband began to narrate the tale of his seething envy and frenzied passion for you. You must understand, he's never cared for anyone as much. To hell with duty and honor, he would kill his own father if his touch on you lingered one second longer than permitted. "Alright, but you must control yourself a little", you reminded him gently. "Never, my urge to obliterate any threat in my path is insatiable", he concluded with vehemence. "Yes, yes, that I understand. The sex, I mean", you gesticulated. "Of course. My apologies, I got sidetracked."

Somehow, he didn't expect to leave this conversation with a cathartic approval of his possessiveness. "Surely you must be upset by my fanatical behavior", he suggested meekly. "Oh no, it's part of your charm", you reassured him with a smile. "It's just not that sustainable in bed without the occasional break." You pat your stomach to express your misfortune.

Sadly, your monster fucking dreams must adhere to the laws of biology.

[writingwisterias]

I was daydreaming today at college and thought about Leon absolutely ravaging me in my wedding dress... Would you be able to write the reader teasing him at the wedding all evening long, feeling him up, making him jealous until the end of the night when he finally gets you alone and just goes totally feral?! Your work is amazing, please never stop 🥰😌😵‍💫💦

YES, I CAN ANON!

I love this!!! I hope I did the idea justice! I did Death Island Leon because I rewatched it and he's on my mind. I rambled sorry this took so long, I needed it to be done right!

Warnings: Smut, MNDI, Fluff, Teasing, Praise Kink, Cowgirl, Oral (F receiving) Jealousy, Hidden touches, Comfort

Death Island! Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader

Words: 3.8k

Leon never thought he would get this chance, marriage was always just a distant dream, one that always seemed impossible with his job and lifestyle. Until you came along and made him feel easy to love for once. Your smile manages to brighten any mood he might be in. His home was dark and bare now filled with warmth and love, decorated with things that reminded him of how far you had both become. He made it his life's mission to ensure you never stopped smiling and never faced anything like he had. Your protection was his top priority as he kept you separate from his work life, a little hidden secret in this world. One for just him to enjoy.

The isle was decorated in soft greens and browns, the sun felt warm for once as it fell over his features. It felt like God was finally giving him a break from the whirlpool of life he was handed. He couldn't stop the swaying of his feet or fiddling with the tie that felt too tight around his neck. Neither of you wanted a big wedding, limiting your guest list to just close friends and family but the room still felt full. Despite the small number of people you had invited, their adoring stares at him and their whispers about what you might look like today didn't help. Leon didn’t care what dress you picked out, he gave you the budget to get the biggest one if you wanted it. All that mattered to him was that you were happy and at the end of the day were with him in an enteral promise. One he knew went deeper than simple love. 

Ignoring the waves of anxiety he felt, all the attention began to feel too much without you by his side to make it more bearable. Leon made sure to put on the biggest smile that he could muster up as he watched the wedding party begin to filter through the aisle. Soft instrumental music complimented them as they all walked down. The once red carpet is now being decorated with a range of petals as your niece went down alongside her brother who carried the rings. Everyone’s attention was drawn to them, their adorable stumbles thankfully gave him a chance to let out a shaky breath before he had to reach for the velvet box from the young boy. It felt heavy, similar to the feeling when he had the last velvet box in his pocket; a decision he would never come to regret in his life. He had thought about this moment for months, his dreams being filled by adding to the collection of rings he had given to you, all in a romantic promise that was tying your souls together forever.

Leon had memorized the order in which everyone was going to be coming through, all of them finding their place on the respected sides. Their smiles warmed his heart at how happy they were for the both of you. The love crashed over him in waves as your family welcomed him in with open arms. The change in song made his heart rate begin to pick up as you walked down. You looked like an angel, one that was finally ready to take him to salvation - a gift sent from the heavens for all of his hard work and trauma. You smiled at Leon, watching as his eyes twinkled with tears of happiness. He deserved this; there was no one more than deserving of your love. Your answer to his proposal was the easiest choice you had ever made. Just as you were for Leon he was the same for you. 

You could feel his hands shake as he lifted your veil, the sound of everyone around you melting away as he gazed upon your features like he was memorising them despite knowing that he does it every time he wakes up before you in the morning. You watched as his smile grew softer, his body trying to reign in his emotions as the tears fell slightly down his face. You felt the ghost of his breath against your palm as you wiped it away for him. Your touch is just a ghost of the love he knew you had for him. His love was always intoxicating to you. Helping your brain become fuzzy so you forget about the world around you. The nerves you had at the start of the day are now settled in a calm and peaceful feeling. That's what you loved about him, his endless ability to ease your anxiety. He was your bridge, your stable wall to lean on if you needed it. Leon had given you everything you needed and more in life; you will always be thankful for that. 

Your hands slotted in his perfectly; Leon was grasping them tightly in case you would fade away right in front of him like you were some dream he would wake up from. The vows you shared today would never be broken; the endless devotion you both shared was witnessed by everyone else in the room. “I love you” You whispered to him leaning on his shoulder as you both waited for the end of the ceremony. Leon glanced down at you, his eyes sparkling with more unshed tears, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “I love you more” 

It felt like the world stopped as you turned to face each other before you finally kissed marking your new journey as Mr and Mrs Kennedy. Neither of you needed this, the large fancy wedding or the certificate you were now both signing with shaky hands and large smiles. You both know the love you shared was solidified with the care you put towards each other in each other darkest moments. There was no end to this life without Leon being by your side.

You grasped his hand tightly as you both ran down the aisle, your laughter filling the air mixing in with the confetti that fell around you. Leon pulled you back into him, greedy for another kiss before the true celebrations began, the fabric of your dress swirling around his feet as you collided with him. 

The rest of the evening felt like a blur, the both of you being dragged around by family and friends for endless photos. The camera flash soon became a permanent fixture every time you blinked. Yet, as everyone settled down for the evening meal, plates of food were being wafted around the room and the waitresses handed them out; Leon didn’t miss the longing looks you gave him. The squeezes of his thigh underneath the table as your hand inched higher and higher. Your delicate fingers brushed along the front of his trousers all whilst glancing at him with an adoring and innocent smile. It was driving him insane with how casual you were being about it. “You alright there honey? You look a little flustered” you giggled in his ear, leaning towards him. His smirk grew on his face, his eyes hidden by his dark hair as he turned to look at you. “Someone seems to be starting something I’m not sure they can finish” He teased. Normally Leon would have touched your skin and teased the fabric of your underwear groaning at the feel of the arousal he knew was drenching the thin fabric but your damn dress was too big. He was beaten by layers of white fabric. 

“We’ve still got many hours before I can show you what's underneath this dress” you whispered again. His face flushed - turning a dark pink as his brain tried to decipher what you meant. To his credit he recovered quickly, hiding his flushed cheeks from the guests with a kiss. Coos and chuckles surrounded you as you both shared this moment. When he pulled away his eyes narrowed, a warning. That if you continued then you would be in for a long night, but then when did you ever listen to him?

The night continued with tear-jerking speeches from close family and friends and you now both stood outside the doors waiting for the events organizer to announce you both as Mr and Mrs Kennedy for your first dance. His hand held yours firmly, almost like if he loosened his grip he would wake up from this dream. 

“Ready?” You asked him, looking up at his stubble-coated face in adoration. He never got used to your twinkling eyes when you looked at him, perhaps he never would. He didn't need the three words that meant so much to many people - your eyes told your story, your feelings. “To embarrass me with how badly I dance…no” he teased a toothy grin filling his features. Your laugh was better music than the song lined up for the rest of the evening. His own eyes crinkled once again as his smile grew. You heard your name announced and both jogged out onto the dance floor.. confetti and cheers surround you once again. 

Leon's hands gripped your hips tightly as they swirled you around, opting to stick to simple swaying and a few spins. You didn't care, you were smiling anyway. That was another thing you did that caused him to fall in love with you - how easily you accepted the simplest things he gave you. The size of his gestures is never an issue with you. When the song slowed down he bought you closer, his hands lowering to the swell of your ass. Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers toying with the soft strands of his hair. His aftershave was intoxicating, filling your senses as you tucked yourself closer, his head resting on yours. The moment was peaceful, perfect. One he would remember every time a mission got too much, or he needed a reason to get back up after he's been slammed down numerous amounts of times. 

The moment was broken when one of the bridesmaids tapped him on the shoulder holding out a polaroid to him. He glanced briefly at you not failing to notice the large grin on your face. It was comical how wide his eyes went when he looked at the small picture; a choked breath following as his cheeks flushed. “What the fuck” he chuckled as he turned back to you, tucking away the Polaroid in his pocket before anyone else got to see. “There's plenty more where that came from” you spoke. Leon pulled you close again, trapping you against his body with a large grin on his features as his lips ghosted your skin. “You little minx” he whispered in your ear, his breath tickling the shell of yours. You smiled at the contact, at the small graze of his lips against your neck. Your fingers tugged gently at the hairs on the nape of his neck, swirling the soft strands in small circles. He felt you slip away leaving his arms to merge in with the rest of the dancefloor. Your white dress twirled around you as you greeted your friends. He watched with a smile, seeing your happiness leak into the people around you…into himself. 

Your feet moved gracefully along the dancefloor as you sauntered back to him often during the rest of the night. Interrupting and saving him from boring conversations with older relatives, your lips kissing in the pattern he knew would be repeated later when you were both alone. The collection of polaroids started to thicken his pockets as your bridesmaids continued to hand them to him, his face flushing each time - eyes narrowing as he found you giggling across the room from him. He was thankful as people started to wish you luck and goodnight, all heading off to their rooms. Instantly beginning to look for you to drag you to the bridal room. Leon found you helping the servers gather the remaining drinks handing them glasses over to the bar. Your hair was wild, strands sticking out of the braid it was neatly made into earlier in the day. Your makeup was smudged and the lipstick is virtually nonexistent but to him, you still looked just as beautiful at the start of the day. 

He felt giddy as you both stumbled your way back to the room, practically running through the halls. Your smile grew as you heard his laugh, the sound bouncing down the corridor. His hand held onto yours firmly not once letting go. It felt like you were teenagers again, running through the school corridors to escape school. You wished you had met him sooner in life, so you could have loved him sooner. Helped through the horrors he had told you, showed him a world of love and affection sooner before he fell into the habits he wasn't proud of.  His lips attacked yours as soon as you got through the door, the key card discarded on the desk landing on it with a clatter. Your hands slid under the shoulders of his blazer. Leon smiled into the kiss, his shoulders shaking it off in a poor attempt to help, the fabric landing with a thud on the floor. 

The contents of it scattered along the floor, his phone now hidden somewhere you'll both be scrambling to find in the morning. He smirked at the Polaroids that had now scattered everywhere, the photos of you that he kept hidden now a reminder of your promise. He felt his cock throbbing against the fabric of his trousers, he almost cummed at the idea of sinking into you finally after today. He pulled you towards the bed, pushing you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed. Leon wished he hadn’t just lost his phone so he could have taken a photo of you sprawled out on the bed beneath him surrounded by the rose petals the hotel staff had thrown on the bed. Your eyes were intense as they looked at him with pure lust, you always did love him in his suits. 

“You have a promise to keep?” He teased, bending down briefly to collect a polaroid off the floor - holding it out to you so you could see throwing it on the bed next to you. His hands began to push the layers of fabric up your legs, exposing your hips. He smiled at the garter that was still around your thigh. Leon’s head instantly lowered, his teeth tugging it down your leg, ignoring the chuckle that left your lips as he struggled to get it over your shoe. When he raised his head again you smiled at his smug look, the elastic band hanging from his teeth like a trophy. 

“You were meant to do that earlier and then see which one of your friends was getting married next” You smiled as you pulled it from his teeth, discarding the fabric somewhere else in the room. “Guess I’ll just have to marry you again” He spoke, kissing up your thighs disappearing amongst the fabric. “Already? We just made our vows” 

Leon’s head shot up again his hair falling over his eyes as he looked at you. “I’ll chant them to you every night if I have to. I’ll never forget them, nor will I let you forget them.” 

You knew if you wanted him to he would always be willing to do what it takes to prove he is forever grateful for your unwavering love and patience over the past few years. The same soft hands that now tugged his head towards your dripping cunt pulling him out of one of the worst states he’s ever been in. He didn’t like thinking about what would have happened if you hadn’t given him the final shove to pour the drink away. To stop for the first time since his 20s. His fingers looped in the waistband of the white lacy thong pulling it down your legs. You spread them, showing off your soaked core that he had skipped the cake for. Opting to save his appetite for a sweeter dessert instead. 

“I meant every single word” 

His mouth instantly latched on, sucking up the sweet arousal you were already dripping for him. Your legs wrapped tightly around his head, the fabric hiding him from sight as he worked his magic. Leon would spend hours like this if he wanted to, his head buried in a sacred space you kept so perfect for him. Forever - until death - now the only person that would be able to taste the sweet drink you created for him. Your legs shook as his tongue flicked against the sensitive bud, his nose occasionally brushing against it as he enthusiastically licked long stripes up your folds. 

You felt the incoming orgasm, your thighs shaking uncontrollably around his head only spurring Leon on to continue his assault of pleasure faster. He groaned when you finally spilt on his tongue, he lapped it up like he was dehydrated. You supposed he was, with the incoming date of your wedding you both barely had enough time for this. You moaned at the sight of his chin covered in his drool and your cum, his tongue swiping across his lips making sure he lapped it all up. He always was a messy eater. 

You could taste yourself on his as he crawled up to place a kiss on your lips. “How expensive was the dress?” he asked whilst nipping at your neck. His stubble was prickly against your skin. “Very. You gave me no budget remember” You chuckled, pulling at his hair causing him to look at you. “So if I fucked you in it, it would be a waste of money?” 

“We can always get it dry cleaned” 

He chuckled pulling away from you again. He was too slow at unbuttoning his shirt, you sat up, crawling towards the edge of the bed on shaking legs to help him. The fabric was discarded somewhere in the room with a thud. His hands worked on his trousers, his belt clinking loudly as they fell to the floor. You bit your lip at the sight of his pre cum on his boxers, both old and new stains. “Look at what you did to me all day, in this dress, the touches at dinner, the fucking photos. The day dragged on for far too long” He mumbled lowly. You loved it when he did this when his octave lowered with need and frustration for wanting you. Your teasing finally pushed him over the edge and now he had a taste there was no point in preventing him from the full meal. He was going to get it anyway. 

You stood up from the bed, spinning the both of you so he fell against the soft sheets. He waited for you to undo the dress, to let the fabric hide his trousers. Instead to crawled above him, pushing him towards the headboard. Leon pulled his boxers off, his cock thumping against his stomach at your approach. You smirked at the tip, angry and red as it waited for you. Dribbles of pre cum decorating it like candle wax, he was always so pretty.

 A large sigh from the both of you filled the room as you finally sank on him. The sight is hidden by the layers of the dress now pooling around you both. He could admire the way the bodice fit against your form, the delicate lace hems making you look even more magical. You were perfect, always were and always will be. 

Your hips moved too slow for his liking, the pleasure he needed not building up fast enough. Tired of your teasing his hips met your own. The lazy thrusts hit deeper and deeper as they collided with your own, brushing against the entrance of your cervix. He was always larger than you remembered, no amount of foreplay ever prepared you for the glorious stretch he gave you each time you fucked. His small whisps of hair tease your already sensitive clit. 

He could feel you quiver above him, your head thrown back with a large smile plastered on your face. He watched the rise and fall of your chest as it pushed out the breathless whimpers. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, the freshly painted nails leaving small crescent shapes along his already uneven skin. He wouldn’t mind a few more scars, not if they were left by you tonight. A forever memory etched onto his skin as well as in his mind. 

Had all his prayers finally been answered? All of his years of suffering finally bought to a close with the clench of your walls around his cock and a promise to love him until he gave his final breath. “I fucking love you, Mrs Kennedy” 

Hearing it made it more real somehow, made the whole day finish with another orgasm from you as you collapsed against him. Your sweaty skin cooling his down. He was so close, to his own ending. To coat and fill you with himself, the way it will always be now. Leon was now the only one who got this pleasure, that was allowed to do this. 

He was quick to move you, slipping out only briefly to place you on all fours. His cock slipped back into you; “I…will…always…fucking…love…you” he chanted with each thrust. Driving his cock deep into the velvet walls. Your whimpers and whines spur him on along with the begs to go faster and harder. The two of you lost in the moment, in the feel of each other. His ring was cool against your hip as it pressed into the flesh from his grip. Your dress rustles around you with every movement. Nothing else mattered, not the endless piles of paperwork on his desk waiting for him when he would return to the office, the complaints of customers you would eventually face in your own return to work. 

Everything could wait. Nothing would stop him from feeling this, the way you clenched and sucked him back in again. Trapped him in as he finally climaxed. His warmth flooded you, leaking out as he pulled away. Your shaking legs finally gave up as you fell onto the bed. A smile plastered on your face from where it was smooshed against the pillows. His fingers worked on undoing the back of the dress, your skin exposed to the cold. Fuck, he needed this sight engraved into his brain forever. You sat up, allowing the fabric to slip off your form with his help. The dress left to crease and crumple on the floor as you both tucked away in bed. 

He held you tightly against his chest, his heartbeat thumping loudly against your ear. Despite the great sex, this was what you cared about the most, the vulnerable moments where you slept the best. “Goodnight love” He whispered into your hair as he pressed a kiss into the crown of your head. You smiled against his skin, placing a kiss above the spot of his heart. Your fingers lazily traced along the scars that littered his chest until the room was filled with the soft snores of the newly weds. 

[webslingingslasher]

j! its been so long but omg hi

i was super obsessed with ur frat!peter hows he doing?

i just saw a tiktok that was about a frat boy yelling at a party “if youre not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!” has this been brought up in the frat!peter circle?

i have so many scenarios in my mind like at the different stages! when they first started and trouble isnt super stable in the relationship and she goes to head out but peter (or ethan omg) grabs her arm and hes like ur part of that demographic trouble. im melting 🫠

or when theyre like broken up/taking a break and she goes to leave and peter goes all sad puppy dog eyes :((

omg yes queen::

*a little something ya'll can wake up to. <3

---

'if you're not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!'

you hold in a sigh, the party's over. ally won't make it home with you tonight, she ditched you thirty minutes ago to 'go with matty,' aka, you won't see her again until tomorrow.

you glance down at your drink and debate chugging it, if you do you know you'll leave with a woozy stomach. you take two sips and dump the cup in the kitchen trash, it sends two empty beer cans falling, you shrug at the mess and keep walking.

a girl stumbles into your shoulder and profusely apologizes with tears in her eyes, you keep telling her it's okay but she doesn't let it go until her boyfriend nudges her out of the house.

the house music cuts, any stragglers were just seriously kicked out. you follow the crowd and prepare for the cold walk home, a hand loops around your upper arm before you can get through the threshold.

'where do you think you're going?' you turn around and grin at your friend. 'home? where are you going?'

'also home. i'm just waiting for everyone to clear out first.' ethan pulls you away from the dwindling party. 'you know, brother duties.' he sends a wink your way, you nod along like you understand.

'yeah, but i'm not a brother so i don't think i should help with that.'

ethan stops you again. 'parker is a brother, yes?' he is. he's also not there tonight. something about going to queens being more important than the typical friday night party. 'he is.'

'and you're fucking him, right?' you love when ethan has a little liquor in him. 'i am.'

'okay, so then you fit the requirements. hang back with me and we can go to my place together.' it's not a hard sell but you'll act like it is. 'are you sure? peter's not even here, do those rules still apply?'

'i'm a god damn chapter officer, i get to make the rules and it's everyone else's job to follow them. how about that?' you pat ethan's shoulder, you're not arguing one bit.

'can't fight you on that, can i? you twisted my arm good enough, lorax. i'm yours until peter gets home.' ethan holds out his hand, you shake it like it's a business deal.

'good. he told me to make sure you stayed.' he says it with a wink, a gentle suggestion he wasn't supposed to tell you that but you're glad he did. it makes you warm thinking peter didn't want you to feel excluded, especially because he was missing in action tonight.

'well... i am fucking a brother, right?'

'you are. and you know what that means? you have to stay here after every party.' he says it like it's a bad thing but you can get used to being on an exclusive guest list.

it feels nice. so, ‘hell yeah.’

-- vs. after the breakup--

'if you're not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!'

hearing it makes you sad. no one's going to make you stay or tell you that those exceptions still apply to you. ally gets to stay here and you have to tuck your tail between your legs and scoot out the door.

'i can leave with you.' your best friend is kind for offering, you're an even better friend for saying no. 'that's okay, stay with matt.'

'are you sure? you shouldn't have to walk out of here alone, that kinda blows.' it does and you don't like the reminder. you'd prefer if ally stays, actually. you don't want her pity.

'it's fine. beats the alternative, right?' she looks at you to say what the alternative is, you do it with a sigh. 'fucking peter. that's my other option.'

'who said it had to be peter? there's like forty guys in the frat and you're buddies with at least five, take your pick.' you've thought about it but frat boys, especially the ones from sig nu, make you queasy.

'it's fine, ally-cat. i'll walk back with one of the other girls in our dorm.' the same faces you see in the hallway at your dorm are gathering their stuff to leave, they'll have no issue with you tagging along. 'boo. i miss when we would have frat house sleepovers.'

'good. blame peter.'

'and i do. he hates to see me coming his way, he really does.'

another brother screams out the same line, you frown and decide to leave while you still have friends in eye-distance. when you reach the door you look behind one last time to send a wave to your best friend. ally sends one back and blows a kiss with it. you catch it and slam it to your cheek, she giggles, you grin. your eyes flit up to the stairs, someone's already watching you.

peter sends you a sorry smile, he hates that you don't get to stick around anymore either. you match his melancholy and give him a shrug, more like a 'whatcha gonna do?' vibe. rules are rules and you're no longer a fitting member for the requirements they need.

'you can stay.' peter mouths it, you pretend not to know what he just said. 'wait.' you're still pretending, you turn around and walk a little faster down the steps- peter catches you on the bottom step.

'i said you can stay.' you have no reason to stay behind. you're not a brother and you're no longer involved with one. you point to an imaginary watch on your wrist, 'i'm about to turn into a pumpkin.'

'yeah, you almost left a shoe running out of here so fast, cinderella.'

you grin, 'i'm just following the rules.'

peter wavers his stance, he doesn't care who said what- he wants you to hang around a little bit more. he likes seeing you around. 'you're still included. i mean, we're involved, aren't we?'

you look at him like he's crazy, you swear you see him blush before he starts fumbling over his words. 'i just meant that i'm not moving on and you're not moving on and i'm trying to get things back to how they were- no, wait, i'm trying to get things better than they were before. not that they were bad! well, i mean they were bad but not... trouble, help me out here, you know what i mean.'

you do. you just like ignoring it. 'you're cute when you grovel for me.'

'i'll get on my knees right fucking now.' he's not even drunk and he's willing to beg for you in front of his party goers. you have to hold in a smirk of pride. 'to ask me to stay or to convince me with your mouth?'

peter's eyebrows raise, 'if you're asking me to go down on you the answer is yes. it's very much a yes, my place or yours? fuck it, let's go to the bathroom.' you're halfway back inside before you realize what you started.

you rip your hand away from peter, you refuse to go back to what it was. you need more than a few apologies to make you crawl back into his bed, you need a real confession. 'nuh uh, not happening. not in a damn bathroom.'

'okay, that's fine, my place is closer.'

you have to stop yourself from following him a second time. 'no, wait! i meant no, it's not happening. period.'

'i don't care if you're on your period, i'll still do it. that's how committed i am to you.' you manage to keep from gagging at the visual, instead you shove peter's shoulder. 'ew! you're so gross! i'm not on my period, you dolt. i'm just not having sex with you.'

'cool, don't have sex with me, let me just show you i can still make you come in under five minutes.' he has no idea how tempting it is. you're being braver saying no than he is for asking, post-breakup included.

'go find another girl, i'm sure there's a whole line-up waiting to get picked on.' peter's nose wrinkles, he doesn't even think of it as a cheap shot. 'gross, other girls are icky.'

you shut it down. 'peter, i'm not a brother and i haven't touched you in two months. there's no reason for me to still be here, goodnight.' you try to leave, a whine follows behind you.

'but you're still-'

but you're not, no matter how much he says it.

'if you changed the rule to 'if you're not a brother, fucking a brother, or used to fuck a brother, then get the fuck out!' how many girls would stand around and wait on you?' peter looks at you, he doesn't say anything and silence always screams that you're right.

'mhm. rules are rules, goodnight.'

there's a sense of succeeding when all you get is a wistful goodbye behind you. it lasts until the next week when the routine friday night party comes to an end with the normal call.

'if you're not a brother, fucking a brother, or go by trouble, then get the fuck out!'

ally squeals and tells you 'that's you!' but you're too busy glaring at peter's smug face to celebrate. it's his turn to shrug, his mouth forms four words that fuck you over.

'rules are rules, trouble.' 

[rainyyynightssss]

Twisted Wonderland

Reacting to you trying to go back home

Characters: Overblotters

Notes: Yandere/Toxic themes involved

"Crowley thinks he might've found a way for me to get back home!"

Riddle Rosehearts

He looks at your smiling face and something in him breaks. He should be happy for you, he really should. This is what you had wanted from the beginning. To see your family and friends. To be free of magic and almost getting killed by overblots.

But you should've been happy here. He'd order his card soldiers to keep the rose garden in prim condition for you to gaze upon whenever you visited. The birthday parties always included a dish you liked. You got along well with Trey and Cater. Sure, Riddle was strict with his rules, but he grew more lenient with you. Surely, you could see that.

"That's wonderful news. And you're...happy to leave?" He tries not to let his voice crack as he grips one of the legs of the table they had just used to share dinner together. Apparently for the last time.

"Of course, I'll be happy to see everyone back home. It is a bittersweet feeling though. I'll miss you all." He chooses to ignore the 'all' part of your phrasing for a moment. You'd miss him and isn't that enough reason not to go?

"We'd all miss you as well....I, especially,-"

"But I think it'll be good for me to go and be back with my family, you know?" You add and he tenses again. He knows well how important family could be, and he also knows how burdensome they are. His mother forced him to adhere to strict guidelines, and while it shaped him into the respected house warden he is today, it also made him afraid. Terrified, even, that everything would go wrong if the rules were not followed.

Perhaps that's what you needed. A healthy dosage of fear and some rules to keep you in line. You were his perfect rose, blooming and unblemished. You had always managed to drag him away when he got too deep in his studies and talked him down when his face became as red as the flowers in his garden. But now your edges have grown frayed. You're trying to go back to your roots but he'd rip you out of the ground, thorns and all, to keep that from happening.

"Right. Well, it's gotten quite late and it wouldn't be proper for you to walk back to Ramshackle this late at night." He sensed your confusion even before you could voice it. You've taken plenty of late-night walks before and this would hardly be on the top list of most dangerous things you've done at the school.

"I can walk back-"

"I insist. I couldn't let you go...to your dorm! This late." Riddle shakes his head and covers his blushing face with a hand as he stands up from the table. "I have a room for you. If you'll take it?" He offers his hand to you, hoping you will miss the small trembles.

You smile at him again and take his hand, sending warmth even through his gloves.

"Just for tonight." You nod. Riddle gives you a small, though tight at the ends. His rose didn't need to know about the details of their stay, only that it was going to last longer than they thought.

"Of course. Although I must make sure you have an adequate stay. Rules indicate that guests should have the most hospitable experience, no matter how long that takes to fulfill." Riddle answers with ease and you see nothing wrong with it. His rose would blossom even more under his careful watch.

Leona Kingscholar

"And?"

The notion of you leaving was laughable to him. You had already managed to barge your way into his life, ruining his plans at the Spelldrive competition, ruining his nap routines, and ruining his pride as a prince. And he wouldn't have it any other way. Though the latter is still mostly kept intact.

You look at him, seemingly flabbergasted by his dismissal.

"And...that means I'll likely be leaving soon." You tell him. He sees your small frown. You must think he doesn't care that you're leaving. But it was quite the opposite. As much as he would never admit it to himself, he cares so much that he denies any possibility of it happening. He knows you don't actually want to leave.

Leona watches you sit up from his bed that both of you had been lying in for the past few hours. He grasps your wrist before it can leave the sheets. His grip is tighter than usual. Leona had always been like that. He demanded respect and expected you to follow. You, of course, were not so willingly submissive to him but that made it all the more fun for him to make you.

"Ruggie isn't going to be back 'till later tonight. I've got more sleep to catch up on. Especially after you bothered me last night." Leona tugs your wrist to bring you back closer to him while he rests his other arm under his head.  Last night you had came to him, clearly anxious about something and didn't want to be alone. Anyone else he would have turned away with a scoff, but he's found over time that he has a hard time refusing you. As long as it didn't involve you trying to run away from him.

"Are you even listening to me?" You narrow your eyes at him and he smirks.

"I have and it sounds like a buncha nonsense. Go back to sleep and maybe you'll forget your dumb ideas in the morning." Leona grumbles and pulls you to his chest. He hears you huff but you don't resist, lying back down beside him. He doesn't know exactly why you're having these kinds of thoughts but it doesn't really matter to him. If you want to run, he is glad to give his precious prey a chase.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul's hands freeze in the air, his fork and knife about to cut into the juicy salmon that had been plated beautifully in front of him. He glances up at you, his smile also frozen on his face, as you were just talking about how much you enjoyed Night Raven College and the Mostro Lounge. All until you abruptly switched to this topic he thought he was doing a good job at evading.

"Ah, isn't that...delightful?" His words would have come off as calm to anyone else, but you notice the slight strain in his voice. You always seem to see right through him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you-"

"Upset me? No, quite the contrary. I think it's wonderful the headmaster has finally secured your passage back home." Azul muses and goes back to cutting his salmon, though it's obvious that his cuts are a bit more jagged.

"Yes... he said it could be any day now." You respond carefully. You try to offer him a smile as you take another sip of the drink he gave you on the house. He could see the small ounce of hope in your eyes of going back to your world. That wouldn't do.

"Is that so?" Azul takes a bite of his food, swallowing before adding, "It's really too bad you won't be able to go then." He continues eating, ignoring your confused eyes as if he didn't just say the strangest thing.

"Why wouldn't I be able to go?" You ask slowly. "I mean, the transportation might be difficult but-"

"It has been a while so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you forgot." Azul sighs and dabs his face free of any smudges with his napkin. "You may not step out of the bounds of Night Raven College by any means, including the Dark Mirror."

"According to who?" You let out a disbelieving laugh.

"According to Article 3 Section 5 of the contract you signed." Azul takes another bite of the salmon, not letting himself react when you slam a hand on the table.

"What contract?! I never signed anything!" You snapped. He remains as calm as ever. This time, you couldn't read him, couldn't even see his eyes through the glint in his glasses.

"You must remember when you agreed to work in the Mostro Lounge for a couple months. I had you sign an employment contract. I warned you about reading it through to the end. A suggestion I don't give to most poor, unfortunate souls in this school." Azul answers.

He did indeed give you the small packet to look through and recommended reading it all. It wasn't his fault that Floyd made a commotion in the kitchen just as you started reading the end portion. Azul urged you to sign it while he dealt with the mess that Floyd undoubtedly caused and you did, just missing the statement that required you to be on-call even after your employment ended, and being on-call meant you always had to be within a certain range of the lounge.

"You can't be serious." You utter quietly with wide eyes, realizing exactly what he was talking about.

"I'm afraid I am. But don't fret too much. I think you'll come to like it here." Azul smiles again. A smile that's hardly recognizable.

He watches you jump up from the table and storm out of the lounge, passing confused customers who glance back at him. He takes a drink from his glass. Azul isn't worried about you walking out. You couldn't leave here, leave him, anyway. And if you tried to hide from him, he would just send Jade and Floyd to hunt you down. You have become one of his prized possessions, and he isn't going to let you go that easily.

Jamil Viper

"Really? It's about time." Jamil comments as he starts chopping the vegetables you prepared in a bowl.

He had invited you to try some new recipes with him that he'd then distribute to the Scarabia students. For the past few months, you had been inviting yourself into their kitchen, much to Jamil's annoyance. You always offered to help him and he always declined, especially when it came to Kalim's meals. He was not going to lose his job over a pretty face. You respected his refusals but you still liked to watch him for some odd reason. Today, he finally decided to let you help him.

He appears to be half paying attention to your words while you're stirring the stew. "Haven't you been waiting a while?"

"I have. Crowley's been pushing off researching but I finally made him go through with it!" You look quite proud of yourself and if Jamil wasn't so irritated, he might have thought it was cute.

He simply hums in response and continues swiping his blade through the onion, each cut sharper than the next. He should be fine with you leaving. People come and go, after all. It would make things easier for him as well. He would stop getting distracted so easily, riddling his fingers with knicks from the blade when his thoughts drifted off to you.

"Kalim also promised to help me pack my stuff. He's eager for me to see my family." He sees you smile absentmindedly as you stir. Jamil's hand clenches tighter on the knife.

"Of course he did." He mutters to himself. Kalim got everything we wanted, didn't he? He got the wins, the praise, the Housewarden title. And now he was going to send you off. Jamil bet he was even encouraging you to go and like always, Jamil would just have to accept it. Only this time, he wouldn't. Jamil never got anything he could have to himself, always having to share with Kalim. You would be the one thing he could keep just for him.

"That reminds me, I needed to ask you something," Jamil says and you look back at him. He takes a step closer to you and leans forward, whispering the name of his unique magic. His lips widen into a smirk as he watches your irises fade to red.

"You'll be staying here, won't you?"

Vil Schoenheit

He raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow as he works to pluck yours with tweezers.

"Hm? That's not the line, darling," Vil says. In your hands is the large packet of paper that contains Vil's script for his upcoming film. He had asked you to practice lines with him. You agreed and in exchange, you asked him to put some makeup on you. It was something he's been wanting to do anyway so he obliged. All was going well until you dropped this bombshell on him.

"I know, I was trying to figure out how to tell you and I accidentally just blurted it out," You sigh.

"Mhm. And Crowley has- Close your eyes, now - provided a way for you to get back home safely?" Vil asks as he moves on to your eyes, brushing an eye shadow across your lids that matches your skin.

"I don't know if anything about that man is safe, per say, but he did seem pretty confident about this." You respond as you keep your eyes closed for him. Vil shakes his head with a small 'tut'. The headmaster didn't exactly have a track record for reliability. He voiced exactly this to you.

"Crowley may just end up sending you on a one-way ride to nowhere. There's no telling where he could send you, why not wait for a few trial runs?" He places a hand under your chin. "And besides, why do you need to go home so badly?" Vil puts the palette back down and takes a tube of lipstick in his hand.

"Well, I want to see my fam-" You're forced to stop talking until he finishes applying the lipstick, "I want to see my family and finish everything I had going on there."

"If that's the case, I don't see what you could do back home that you're unable to here. And if you want to see your family, shouldn't you make sure your travel is safe so you can get back to them in the first place?" Vil questions as he wipes the small smudge of lipstick from the bottom of your lip with his thumb.

"That's...true." You nod reluctantly. Vil smirks a bit as he moves his hand towards the back of your neck, his thumb tilting your head up so you can look at him properly.

"Correct. And if I'm not mistaken, you've built quite the life here, haven't you?" He watches you slowly nod and he soothes the back of your neck with gentle fingers.

"You really want to throw that all away?" Vil looks down at you with questioning eyes even though he already knows the answer. You shake your head.

"No...but I also know that's something I'll have to do if I want to go home." You tell him firmly. Vil lets out a sigh and turns away from you for a moment.

"If you say so, but at least let me leave you with a parting gift." He turns back towards you and presents a small perfume bottle with a fancy font across the lid that you can hardly. It would no doubt cost hundreds in the market.

"My own creation that I've been working on. You're the first to have it." Vil says as he hands it over. You take it with a bright smile.

"Thank you! I'll try it on as soon as I get back to Ramshackle." You respond excitedly as you move to stand up from his makeup chair but he places a gentle hand on your wrist.

"I'd like to hear your critique as soon as possible. You are my perfect model, after all." He says with a glint in his eyes. You didn't seem to have any problem with that and sprayed a few spritz of the perfume on yourself, promptly passing out in the chair. You would get it through your head eventually that you belong here. You just need a little more convincing.

Idia Shroud

"Hold up, what?"

Your sudden words caused him to press the wrong button and his character gets brutally killed by one of the forest monsters in the game. You wince and put down your controller, turning towards him on his remarkably soft couch.

"Yeah...sorry to tell you so late but it looks like it could be soon." You say and Idia tosses his controller to the side, facing you as well.

"So you're gonna go? Just like that?" He asks in shock. You only recently just started playing video games with him in his room. Before, you had to practically beg him just to play a game with you when you were both in different dorms. It took a lot of convincing but he soon gave in after some persuasion from his brother. Once, you showed up to his room to see if you could play in person and he stared at you with wide eyes for about five seconds before slamming the door in your face, apologizing later over text.

He was unbearably anxious around you at first but he got used to the idea that you wouldn't judge him so easily. So he showed you another side, his more competitive and ill-mannered side to see if that would make you go away. And you still didn't. You instead embraced him for it. So why now were you just going to forget about all that?

"I-I mean I have to," You were clearly caught off guard by the intense look in his eyes, "I have a home and a family and friends-"

"Yeah, yeah, sure but what about everything you have here?" Idia insists.

"Everything I have here?" You ask.

"Y-Yeah, those first years, Grim, your dorm, me- many other things!" He stammers out. It would be way too cringe to mention himself deep down he hopes he's one of the things that could keep you here.

"Of course I'll miss everyone, but I miss everyone back home too," You say. Idia sighs deeply as he throws his head back on the couch.

"You're reallly set on this, huh?" Idia asks. You bite your lip and nod.

"But I still-" You try to add but he cuts you off.

"No, I get it. I wouldn't wanna be around me either." Idia sighs again. You look at him with wide eyes and fervently shake your head.

"No, it's not like-"

"You must have better friends back home if you're so desperate to see them again." He adds as he looks away with a frown. You don't notice him peeking back at you. You sigh and tilt your head so you can fully meet his gaze.

"Look, I'll talk to Crowley, see if he can push it back a bit." You tell him. He looks at you curiously.

"Are you sure? I don't wanna pressure you if-"

"No, it's okay. I want to spend more time with you and everyone anyway." You give him a small smile and he smiles back. He could play the pity card all day if it meant you'd stay.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus pauses in his steps, looking at you with a wide, curious gaze.

"You're leaving?" He utters. The two of you had been enjoying your nightly walks together back to Ramshackle. After one too many fights and attacks happening after hours on campus, he thought it best to escort you back home. He could easily teleport you both back to your dorm, but it gave him a good excuse to be around you more.

"Yes, hopefully it'll be soon. I'm excited to go back!" You smile enthusiastically and Malleus can only offer a grimace back.

"I suppose you could say I'm a little surprised. I thought you were happy here. Did I assume wrong?" He asks as he continues walking you to your dorm. Normally you would have never been able to keep up with his pace but he always kept a slower one for you.

"Oh no, I am happy here. My friends have been wonderful and I'm glad I'm friends with you. There's just some things I could do without." You mention offhandedly as you gaze up at the moon. He looks down to see it reflected in your eyes. The moon is wondrous but all he can see are the eyes that pinned a man who could never yield so deeply. You managed to befriend a dragon who is intimidating in every manner. That kind of connection isn't so flimsy that it could be dismissed by thoughts of departure.

"Things such as what?" Malleus perks up at the idea of solving one of your problems. As powerful as he is, there are a number of things he can't help you with. He couldn't do anything about your assignment getting deleted after your internet 'crashed' or about the friendship problems you once had with the Heartslabyul boys, but he's always eager to listen, just as you always do with him.

"It's just some rowdy guys from Savanaclaw who are still mad about the Spelldrive competition. They've been bothering me a bit but it's not a big deal." You tell him and he stops the both of you this time with a hand on your shoulder.

"Bothering you? For how long?" Malleus didn't mean to turn his hard glare on you but he couldn't help the fury building up inside of him. Many of the students already noticed your looming shadow that often followed you around like a lost puppy, which was usually enough to keep them from trying anything. Malleus isn't naive enough to believe that students at this school are always on their best behavior when he has his own business to deal with in the Diasomnia dorm. However, he swiftly and discretely took care of any nuisances that he happened to notice. He didn't think you were keeping anything from him.

"Like I said, it's not-" You try to soothe him but his glare only hardens.

"For how long?" Malleus repeats and he doesn't plan to a third time.

"For about a month now...but I can handle it myself!" You insist but he ignores the latter half of your sentence as his face morphs back into a gentler one.

"So that's what's been burdening you? I wish you'd have told me sooner but it's no matter. I'll take care of it." Malleus assures you.

"I mean that's one thing, but I have other reasons-" He cuts you off with a pat on your head as the two of you stop in front of Ramshackle's doors.

"You don't have to ruminate on it any longer. Do try to tell me about any other troublesome students in the future. I'll handle them and anyone else who tries to ruin your happiness here at Night Raven College." He vanishes in a flurry of lights before you can say a word. Any serious notion of you leaving is unthinkable to him, and if you do come up with more reasons, he'll make sure to take care of those as well.

[salemrph]

"A Hunter's Christmas Hustle" Sylus x MC

Summary: With Christmas around the corner, you’re on a mission to find the perfect gift for everyone, that's included Sylus, a famously tricky person to shop for. You asked for help but can the twins really help you? Sometimes the effort is the best part of the holiday magic.

Character: MC x Sylus

Genre: holiday comedy, slice-of-life, fluff | Pet names : Kitten, Sweetie, Miss Hunter.

| Word count: 3.916 | Reading Time: 16 min | AO3

A/N: Since this is the first Christmas of Love and Deepspace, at least for me, I'm looking forward for a special Event and have a cute moment between Sylus and MC.

Second part🌲: A Hunter's Christmas Hustle: X-mas morning

You lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It still feels a bit strange staying at Sylus’ place on your days off. Well, it was mostly his doing— he’d insist or come up with some random excuse or side mission to make you stay. So, at the end you agree to come visit him without needing to drag you in dirty business. It's cozy here, even if you’re not quite used to it yet.

Like always you scroll through your phone, noticing you getting a lot of Christmas ads. You squint at the screen, feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the holiday promotions. Suddenly, you glance at the date on your phone. Fuck! Christmas is in 1 week. And you haven’t prepared anything. Weren’t there also a Party coming up with the team? No, no, no! You go trough the calendar. There is it: 24 of December. Christmas Party with Team.

You need to go shopping, ordering stuff now would only arrive too late. 

“Okay, okay,” you mutter, trying to make a mental checklist. “I need a present for Tera, flowers for Grandma��s and Clab’s graves...” You pause, feeling a bit emotional at that thought. You take a deep breath and continue, making a list out loud.

“Then there’s Zayne, Xavier, and Rafayel…” Your head starts spinning as you realize just how much you have to do. 

How could you forget? Have you really been that busy lately? It’s not like the whole city isn’t decked out in lights, giant Christmas ads, and festive music playing in every store. 

You realize with a sigh that maybe you’ve been spending way too much time in the N109 Zone, far from the holiday cheer.

“What can I get for the twins...?” you mumble to yourself. Luke and Kieran can be annoying sometimes, but you do like them. Why not bring them a small gift? Then again, you hesitate. If you get something for the twins, Sylus will definitely bother you about it until the end of your days, asking why he didn’t get anything. You're starting to sweat. Maybe he locks you up again in the basement, just for fun. Or worse, he could show up at the Hunters' Association and declare that you are his lover or something. A shiver runs down your spine. This man can be terrifying. 

You know very well how to please your friends and colleagues but Sylus… What do you bring to the man that has everything? 

“Why is he even so fucking rich?” you mutter under your breath, looking around the guest room. The guest room of course has the style of the rest of the mansion. Black. You roll your eyes, feeling a mix of annoyance and admiration. You flop back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it holds the answers. You need something unique, something meaningful... but what could that be? 

You scroll through your phone frantically, searching for bundles, deals, and last-minute gift ideas. In just an hour, you’ve managed to check off most of your list.

Tera: A relaxing spa voucher—she could use a break.

Zayne: A pack of his favorite macarons, winter edition—he’ll love them.

Xavier: A cozy new sweater—you’ve told him a million times not to fall asleep everywhere. You sigh, picturing him dozing off on some random spot.

Rafayel: A unique shell you found on a mission weeks ago. You haven’t had a chance to give it to him yet, but now’s the perfect time.

Flowers: Ordered, check.

You tap your phone, thinking about the twins, Luke and Kieran. What would they like? You decide on some kind of gadget or toy—they’re like two overgrown kids sometimes, and they’ll appreciate anything they can mess around with.

Another hour passes, and you’re still glued to your phone, opening and closing tabs like a mad person. Your brain is starting to fog up from the overload of gift ideas.

“No... no... lame... oh god, definitely not.” You swipe through a blog about gifts for wealthy people and somehow end up on a page titled “Top 10 Gifts for Your Rich Boyfriend.” Your cheeks go bright red as you skim the list: sexy underwear, romantic getaways, candlelit dinners...

“NO!” You throw your phone onto the bed like it’s on fire, covering your face with your hands. What am I even doing?

You take a deep breath, trying to calm down. Maybe you could ask Luke and Kieran for help. They’re close to Sylus and probably know more about his preferences than you do. Plus, he did say you could “use” them whenever you wanted. Why not use them as counselors and pack mules?

Since you don`t want Sylus sniffing around you, you think about a small lie. Or maybe just ask without giving information. The same way he always does 

...

"I need Luke & Kieran for an important mission, can you borrow me them?"

Sylus looks up from his desk, his red eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and amusement. He leans back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he regards you. 

"Mission? What are you planning, kitten?" Sylus raises an eyebrow at your words.

"Nothing… jus- they will come back in one piece."

He studies you for a moment, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. He seems to be enjoying your vague and cryptic request, and he's clearly intrigued by what you might be up to. 

"…Alright. You can take them for whatever this 'important mission' is. But they better come back in one piece, or I'm holding you responsible, sweetie. And you don't want to pay the price...“ he snaps his fingers. Both appear immediately. As if they had been hiding in the office. 

"Luke, Kieran, the kitten needs you for a... mission. Do as they say. I expect impeccable work."

"Yes, boss!“ They say in unison.

"Let’s go, guys." I lead them out of the office. "See you, Sylus!"

That was easy. Maybe to easy.

He laughs after the door closes. Wondering how you're going to surprise him this time. He's learned to just go with the flow even though he might have the answer to your little secrets. He just smiled, turning back to focus on his paperwork.

“What are we going to do, miss?” Luke asks with a mischievous grin.

You roll your eyes. “I told you, just call me by my name.”

“Are we blowing something up?” Kieran blurts out, making an exaggerated explosion noise with his mouth.

“Or… cleaning up a messy murder scene?” Luke chimes in, smirking.

“Maybe torture someone!” Kieran’s eyes light up, clearly getting way too excited at the thought.

You sigh, regretting this decision already. They’re like two hyperactive hamsters—deadly, but still hamsters.

“No, no, and no!” you say firmly, waving your hands for emphasis.

“Uuuhhh...” They groan in unison, visibly disappointed.

“We have a better mission,” you declare, crossing your arms. “Change into something decent. We’re heading back to Lincoln City.”

Finally, you’ve arrived in the city. It’s strange seeing them without their usual uniforms and masks. Dressed in casual clothes, they look more like model college boys than the deadly assassins they actually are. Most of the girls passing by can’t help but glance their way, clearly debating whether they should approach the handsome twin brothers.

You snort to yourself. Probably they would’ve attracted less attention in their usual assassin gear.

You’re standing in the middle of the bustling shopping district, the holiday decorations casting a festive glow around you. Luke and Kieran are busy taking in the sights, clearly amused by the sudden change of scenery. You clear your throat to get their attention.

“Alright, listen up,” you say, trying to sound authoritative. “The mission is...” They lean in, eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Shopping” you declare.

“Shopping?” they repeat in unison, voices filled with disbelief.

Luke looks like he’s trying not to laugh, while Kieran’s expression twists into mock horror.

“Wait, wait,” Kieran says, holding up a hand. “You dragged us all the way out here... for shopping?”

“Yes, and you’re going to help me,” you reply.

Luke smirks, giving you a playful nudge. “You sure this isn’t just an excuse to spend time with us, Miss?”

You shoot him a glare. “Call me by my name, Luke.”

“Right, right,” he says, grinning.

“I actually need your help for...” you trail off, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. You look away, rubbing the back of your neck. “Christmas is around the corner, and I wanted to buy Sylus something. I’m not sure what it should be, so...” 

Before you can finish, Luke and Kieran burst into giggle. They exchange a quick, knowing glance, clearly delighted by your admission.

“Oh, so you want to buy our boss a present, huh? That’s pretty cute” Luke teases, smirking.

Kieran nudges him with his elbow, grinning from ear to ear. “And you’re asking us for help? Luke, maybe she does have a soft spot for boss after all.”

You feel your cheeks flush, but you roll your eyes to cover it. “Are you two going to help me or not?”

Luke straightens up, placing a hand on his chest with a mock-serious expression. “If you’re serious about buying a gift for the boss, then you’ve definitely come to the right place. We don’t call ourselves his right-hand men for nothing.”

You exhale, feeling a bit relieved now that they seem genuinely eager to help. “I want something special. Something he wouldn’t expect, but that he’d actually like.”

Kieran tilts his head, pretending to think deeply. “Something unexpected, huh? Well, that’s tricky. Sylus pretty much has everything.”

“Yeah, exactly,” you say, feeling a bit helpless. “I was thinking about getting him some records, but he already has so many...”

Luke and Kieran nod in agreement, their expressions thoughtful. 

“It’s a good start. He does love his music. But you don’t want to give him something he already has, right?” Luke asked. 

“How about something more personal?” Kieran suggests, tapping his chin. “Something that shows you put a lot of thought into it. A gift only you could give him.”

You bite your lip, considering it. “Personal... but how?”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be anything fancy,” Luke says, shrugging. “The boss isn’t as complicated as he looks. He’d appreciate anything that comes from you.”

Kieran gives a playful smirk. “You could just wrap yourself up with a bow, and he’d be over the moon.”

“Kieran!” you gasp, your cheeks turning red as you lightly smack his arm. He laughs, dodging away with a wink. 

Luke chuckles but gives you a more genuine smile. “He’s joking—mostly. But seriously, boss isn’t the kind of guy who cares about expensive gifts. He’d value something that reminds him of you, or a shared memory.”

You pause, mulling it over.

Kieran nudges Luke, a sudden spark lighting up his eyes. “Hey, what about that old record shop on the Avenue? They’ve got vintage records you can’t find anywhere else. You could look for a rare one, maybe something with a story behind it.”

Luke nods, his eyes brightening as well. “Yeah, and you could pair it with a handwritten note. Tell him why you picked it. He’d love that.”

You smile, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. “That’s... actually a great idea. Thanks, you two.”

Kieran gives you a thumbs-up. “No problem, but you owe us for this.”

Luke grins. “Yeah, and don’t forget to give us the credit when he’s showering you with kisses later.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine, fine. Now let’s go before I change my mind.”

The twins laugh, and the three of you set off down the busy shopping street, feeling a new wave of excitement. Maybe this gift hunt wasn’t going to be so impossible after all.

In the end, you managed to buy everything for your friends—even for Captain Jenna, who isn’t exactly easy to shop for. But as you wandered through the record store, flipping through album after album, nothing stood out. Everything felt generic, impersonal. And you know Sylus well enough to realize that giving him something half-hearted would just fuel his endless teasing for weeks. 

By the end of the day, the twins delivered you at home after treating them for dinner. You're tired and leave all your bags in the living room of your apartment. You throw yourself down on the couch and take out your phone. Maybe you were overthinking this. A nice accessory or a bottle of whiskey could work—he has a taste for the finer things, after all. It wouldn’t be anything cheap, either; you can afford something like that with your Hunter salary.

The day passes, only 2 days for Christmas and you still have nothing. 

Desperate for ideas, you even tried bringing it up with Tera over lunch. That turned into a chaotic disaster, though. It was exhausting dodging her barrage of questions:

“Who’s the gift for? Why are you even so worried? Wait, do you have a new boyfriend? I demand to meet him!”

You had to laugh it off, making up half-baked excuses until she finally dropped it—though you could tell she didn’t believe you.

And then there was Sylus himself. Yesterday, he sent you an invitation to a Christmas dinner. You wanted to say yes, but you had already committed to the Hunters’ Association Christmas party that same night. You tried to decline, but after some back-and-forth, you reluctantly agreed to meet him afterward.

Now, sitting alone on the couch, you can’t help but replay that conversation in your mind. The way his voice softened when you said you couldn’t make it, the slight pause before he insisted on seeing you later anyway—it made your chest tighten. He sounded almost... disappointed. And that’s what makes you want to find something truly meaningful, something that will show him how much he means to you without you having to say it out loud.

You look at your reflection in the darkened screen of your phone, feeling a mix of frustration and anticipation. You’re running out of time. If you’re going to surprise him with something from the heart, you need to figure it out now.

With a new sense of determination, you push yourself off the couch and grab your coat. Maybe you won’t find the perfect gift sitting around here. It’s time to get back out there and keep looking, because if there’s one person you want to make smile this Christmas, it’s Sylus. But be honest, you´re not going to admit that. Not yet. 

...

It’s Christmas! The party with your unit is small but cozy. The space is filled with the warm glow of twinkling lights, the scent of spiced wine, and the sound of laughter echoing off the walls. You drink, you eat, and you feel a rare sense of contentment as you watch everyone enjoying the night. It’s moments like these that remind you why you love this chaotic, ragtag team.

The gifts you bought last minute seem to have gone over well. Captain Jenna grinned when she unwrapped the sleek new knife you picked out for her—a practical gift, just like she’d like it. Xavier looked genuinely pleased with the soft, oversized sweater you chose, already pulling it on and joking about how he wouldn’t fall asleep everywhere now. Tera hugged you tight, eyes sparkling as she held up the spa voucher. “You really do know me,” she said with a teasing smile.

Earlier in the morning, you made a quick stop by the hospital to drop off the bag of special winter-edition macarons for Zayne. And you place the flower on the graveyard. Pray for them and wishing that you could spent one more day with them.

You glance at your watch. It’s getting late, and you promised Sylus you’d meet him after this. You take a deep breath, excusing yourself quietly from the party. Tera shoots you a knowing look as you head for the door, but she doesn’t say anything—just gives you a little wave, as if to say, good luck. 

You pull your coat tighter around yourself, clutching the gift in your hand as you start walking. There’s a mixture of excitement and fear bubbling up inside you.

Suddenly your watch vibrates urgently and flashes a warning: MetaFlux Fluctuation Detected. Your heart skips a beat. A Wanderer? Now?! You glance around, scanning the quiet street for any signs of danger. The distant sound of a woman’s scream breaks the silence, and without hesitation, you sprint in the direction of the noise, already reaching for your weapon. 

The first Wanderer lunges out from the shadows, its distorted form shifting and writhing in the dim light. You don’t waste a second. One precise shot, and it disintegrates into a cloud of shimmering dust.

„My child! Where is he?“ the woman cries out, panic in her voice. You look around fast, this is not over. 

„Mom!! Help!“ You hear the voice of the kid nearby and run over. You bolt towards the sound, pushing your legs harder. You reach the boy just in time, shielding him with your body as another Wanderer lunges forward. The creature’s claws slice through the air, narrowly missing you. You fire three quick shots, each one hitting its mark. The Wanderer lets out a guttural screech before it vanishes into thin air, dissolving into the night.

"Are you okay?“ you ask, your voice softer now, concerned. The boy nodded. His mother rushes over, wrapping her arms around him and thanking you over and over, her voice thick with emotion.

The mother and child thank you from the bottom of their hearts before leaving. You tell them to please stop by the hospital, just in case. You wave goodbye to the boy. Sigh. What a night!

"Where's my bag?" you mutter, scanning the area. You spot it lying on the ground, right where you dropped it before sprinting into action. Relief floods through you—until you notice the dark, wet stain spreading across the fabric. 

"No, no, no! Please no," you whisper, crouching down and unzipping the bag with trembling hands. The bottle of whiskey you were hunting down the last two days. Is shattered in thousand pieces.

Your heart sinks. This wasn’t just any whiskey—it was a rare, vintage bottle from a small distillery he’d mentioned once, in passing, when he thought you weren’t listening.

„Fuck!" 

You stand up, clutching the soaked bag, and check the time on your watch.

22:30.

You’re supposed to meet Sylus in half an hour, and you’re still a good fifteen minutes away from his place. Panic bubbles up inside you. Maybe you can find a late-night shop that carries something similar. Maybe there’s still a chance to fix this.

"I can make it," you say aloud, more to convince yourself than anything.

…

You finally arrive at the meeting point—a lookout near the water. It’s the same place where you spent last winter with him, watching the fireworks together.

“Kitten, you told me you were at a party, not a battlefield. What happened?”

“Eh?”

You’ve been running around for the last 30 minutes trying to find that stupid bottle and make it on time to meet Sylus. A little embarrassed, you attempt to fix your clothes and smooth your hair. Your cheeks are flushed from the effort. Sylus stands there in his black coat, looking amazing as always. Your heart beats hard in your chest. He watches you, trying to piece together what happened, and then a smile tugs at his lips.

“Even on days like this, you don’t get a break, Miss Hunter?” He runs his hand gently across your face. You flinch slightly, wincing in pain. “You’ve got a small cut. So... are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Nothing, just a Wanderer. It will heal,” you say with a shrug. He sighs softly.

“Careless as usual.” He pulls a small band-aid from his pocket. “Stay still.”

“Why do you have something like that?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It so happens that I have a kitten who never pays attention to their injuries,” he teases.

You make an exaggerated offended grimace, but inside, it feels like a small gesture of affection. He places the band-aid gently over the cut.

“I’ll consider this your Christmas gift,” you joke.

He laughs. “Oh no, sweetie, that wouldn’t be enough. But I’m impressed with your minimalist idea of happiness.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out an envelope.

“You didn’t have...”

“Open it up. And thank me later.”

You take the envelope cautiously, slowly peeling it open. Could it explode? You shake your head at the silly thought. When you finally look inside, your eyes widen, and you let out a soft squeal of excitement.

“Are you for real? This tickets has been sold out for months. How did you…?”

“I have my ways, sweetie,” he replies with a smug smile.

“Thank you,” you whisper, genuinely touched.

“It’s always a pleasure making you happy.”

But your excitement fades quickly as the realization sinks in. He’s managed to make you immensely happy again, while you stand here empty-handed. You have been looking for the perfect gift and you have screwed up at the last minute. On top, you haven't found a replacement for the bottle. 

"I wanted to give you something too for Christmas...“ you started. Closing the envelope and putting it in your pocket. "but... it broke while I was protecting a kid from a Wanderer.“ You look down at your feet, feeling small and pathetic, your shoulders slumping under the weight of disappointment.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Sylus gently lifts your chin with a finger, guiding your gaze back to him. He smiles, that soft, understanding smile that always makes you feel seen. Without a word, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a warm embrace. The chill of winter seems to disappear in his hold, replaced by the comforting heat of his body.

“The best gift is having you by my side, kitten.” he whispers into your ear, his voice low and sincere.

You feel your heart beating faster.

"Actions speak louder than words"

You agree with Sylus that both would be more honest with each other. Maybe now is the time to show him just how important he is to you. You spent so much time looking for something to buy that you forgot that the simplest gifts are often the most meaningful, especially when they come straight from the heart.

"Sylus… I actually have something else."

"Oh, is that so?“ 

„Can... I borrow your face?" He loosens his grip slightly and steps back, taking your hands in his, warming them up. He looks at you, amused and curious, and leans down.

"Close your eyes..." you whisper. He doesn’t say anything but does as you ask, his smile softening as he relaxes his face. You take a deep breath, feeling your heart race, each beat echoing louder in your chest.

The world falls silent for a moment—it's just the two of you, suspended in time. The anticipation tingles through you as you lean closer, closing the distance between you.

You press your lips gently against his cheek, and the warmth of his skin against your lips is electric. It’s a simple kiss, but it carries all the unspoken words you couldn’t say out loud. A silent confession. You linger there for just a heartbeat longer, feeling him inhale sharply, as if caught off guard by the intimacy of it. As you pull back, the first snowflakes begin to fall, drifting slowly from the sky. The soft touch of snow melts against your skin, but Sylus holds you close, not letting the moment slip away.

„Now... that’s a present only you could have given me." He gives you the most tender smile. "Thank you."

He looks like he wants to say something else but remains silent. Instead, he pulls you into a deeper embrace, burying his face in your hair as the snow continues to fall softly around you. You’re more than fine with that. No, you’re happy—grateful for this sweet moment.

You realize you’re a step closer to falling for him completely, accepting that the connection between you two is stronger than you ever imagined.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling with genuine joy.

“Merry Christmas, kitten.”

Second part🌲: A Hunter's Christmas Hustle: X-mas morning

[adragonprinceswhore]

Make You Feel My Love I Teaser

Aemond Targaryen x Ex-Girlfriend

Summary: A few months after you break things off with your boyfriend, Aemond, you start receiving strange messages and phone calls from an unknown number. Things escalate when you’re sent a video secretly filmed half a year ago, of you and Aemond having sex.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes (mind the tags!), obsession, stalking, exhibitionism, blackmail, threats of violence, emotional manipulation, smut

A/N: Based on this request by anon. Another spooky fic for the spooky season! 🖤

Aemond’s fingers tap restlessly against the rim of his coffee cup. The twitch in the corner of his mouth tells you he's annoyed, and the speed of which his eye darts around the coffee shop, refusing to look directly at you, lets you know it’s your fault.

You’re not sure if he can see the tears shining in your eyes, he’s barely looked at you since you came. He always saw crying as a sign of a weak mind, and so you do your best not to blink, scared a tear will fall and reveal just how pathetic you feel.

It’s not like you’re doing a good job hiding it anyway. The dark circles under your eyes and the paranoid pleading in your gaze betray all your recent troubles.

“I-, I’d like to thank you for coming here after how things… ended”

Your voice is steady, yet there is a thickness in your throat that makes you sound a bit strange, like you’re trying too hard to remain neutral. A performance you’re not quite pulling off, despite your best efforts.

“Mm”

He’s still not looking at you, stern face reflecting both disinterest and agitation. The relentless tapping of his finger continues, practically screaming at you to hurry up and confess why you asked your ex to meet up.

“I’ll get straight to it. Yesterday, I received a video of… us. At that party where we-”, you search his face for recognition, chase his eye so it meets yours. Your voice lowers, practically a whisper,

“-you know”

“No, I don’t”

“Aegon’s summer party… We snuck off to the guest room and-, you know”

Aemond finally lets his gaze meet yours, inspecting your features with a narrowed, suspicious eye.

Does he not believe you?

Before he can call you crazy, or dismiss your clear distress with a condescending laugh, you pull out your phone and show him the video. It’s a bit dark and gritty, but it’s clear that it’s the two of you, Aemond’s head between your legs, your own thrown back on the bed in bliss.

“Do-, do you know who could’ve done this?”

Aemond takes your phone and watches the video closely, pausing and zooming in on your half-naked body. He’s seen you bare and crazed with desire countless times when you were dating, yet your cheeks heat up and you feel unexplainably vulnerable as he carefully examines the video.

After a few moments of contemplation, he hums again and hands your phone back,

“I’ve no clue. I’ll ask Criston for the guest list, probably just one of Aegon’s insufferable friends having a laugh”

He stands to leave, and you momentarily panic at the thought of being alone again. Just as he turns towards the door, your hand desperately grabs the fabric of his coat, and those tears that had been threatening to spill from your eyes do just that,

“Aemond, please, I have more”

You sound so small. So defeated.

He looks at you with the same harsh, unimpressed look even as you silently cry.

So cold.

Maybe it’s what you deserve?

“I need you, Aemond. Please just stay for a few more minutes and let me explain”

He’s frozen for a while, contemplating whether he should indulge you or leave, surely eager to dismiss you just as you had done to him, only a few months ago.

With a sigh, his features soften somewhat, and he steps back, once again taking the seat opposite you.

Full fic coming on November 1st!

[writerunnamed]

note: This is something I've wanted to write for a while but I am well aware that not everyone will be into it. There are a few stories I want to tell that aren't the norm so I decided to start this nameless blog to tell them. I am not tagging anyone, if you find it then you find it. xo Joel(stepdad), significant age gap, female reader. 18+ legal, reader is 20 (warnings: pov sex, Joel spits on the 😸, boobie play, really inappropriate dirty talk, an unused sex toy [will make an appearance in another chapter], female masturbation, daddy kink, unfit parent) 5.6k word count masterlist • series masterlist • part 2

He takes up so much space, and it wasn’t just physically. He took up space emotionally, mentally. Mentally most of all. Your thoughts always drifted back to him. Cyclical. An elliptical pattern making him the top of every list you’d go through in your head. He seemed to know it too, in a stoic, quiet, largely unsettling way. Older, attractive men tended to do that. 

It started during that in-between time, when summer, losing your job, and having to move back home pushed you to figure out what the fuck you actually wanted to do with your life seemed to come together like the planets aligning. The precipice of a turning point, a ticking clock counting down the days until your childhood bedroom would be turned into a gym, or an office, or a guest bedroom. The lukewarm welcome from your mother would ice over and you’d really have to get your shit together. 

Your mother was what people who didn’t know her would call ‘a free spirit’, what you called her, was a fucking mess. 

Your earliest memories consist of having to remind her to buy milk or to pay the bill because the electricity had turned off while watching cartoons in front of the tiny, living room tv. You’d had to remind her, in not so many words, that she was the mother, and you were the child. 

To your friends, she was the cool mom. The party mom. Your house was the place to be because she didn’t ask questions, she left her cigarettes unattended and didn’t mind if a few went missing. She kept the bar cart stocked, even if there was nothing but flies in the cupboard and nothing but half-empty condiment bottles in the fridge. Your friends loved it. 

She flirted with the boys your age, she gave sex tips to the girls. 

You smiled when they congratulated you on having the cool mom, and when they all went home, you retreated and pretended to be happy. 

Joel settled her down. Met her in a bar and moved in quick. He came into the picture when you were fifteen and you were almost sure he’d be just like the rest of the lovers she’d taken over the years. You’d given the whole thing six months. Half a year for him to see what a fucking disaster she was. Six months to be a fucking creep, to cheat or get cheated on. 

The only differences you could clock at first were that he was self-employed, and marginally better looking than his predecessors.

He was firmer though, less malleable than the others she’d brought around, he seemed immune to her charms and that only inflamed her. It made her desperate for his approval and his attention. She would throw a tantrum, or play one of her mind games but he’d never rise to her bait. He was patient for the most part, until he hit his breaking point and his temper reared its head. A temper only she seemed to bring out in him. 

To you, it was pathetic. 

He didn’t try with you though, there was no flattery or strong hand, only a silent respect. In a sense, he treated you as the adult, and her as the child. It worked for you, if he’d expected you to call him dad he would have been laughed at mercilessly and he seemed to know this. 

The disturbing part was his respect and his healthy avoidance of you worked its own kind of magic. It made him an enigma, made you curious as to what he got out of the whole thing. A home, sure. A woman who was obsessed with him, yes. Sex–yes. You heard it enough for it to turn your stomach. By the sounds of it, he knew what he was doing.

The thought sickened the healthy part of your brain. The other part though, the part flooding your body with hormones, making it come to life with curiously intense sexual feelings, that part wanted to know what it was he was so good at. How could he pull those sounds out of anyone? It was easier to imagine him with some faceless woman. 

It was shameful to imagine yourself. 

The thought–although enough to fuel a desperate journey of self-exploration–always filled you with an insurmountable guilt. 

For those first few years you could barely look at him. Your mother took it as a healthy dose of teenage rebellion. That only aggravated you more. She never asked questions, never dug to see what the cause of your obvious distaste for her partner was about and so again, you retreated. He, however, kept to the outs of your path. He followed your lead, he let you control any and every part of all of your interactions. He didn’t ask questions. He kept the lights on. He kept the fridge full. 

He burrowed his way in, whether you liked it or not. 

When you turned eighteen, you moved out. He helped, did his ‘fatherly’ duties and moved you into the apartment, he urged your mother to take you on an extensive grocery trip, spoke to your landlord about the safety of the building. You supposed you should have been grateful, you should have said thank you, given him some sort of acknowledgement that you appreciated his help but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you said your mumbling goodbyes, and promptly closed the door on them. Neither of them complained. 

The euphoria of venturing out on your own had lost its shine depressingly quick. A string of chronically unserious boyfriends came and went, the rent climbed higher than you could keep up with, and while already living paycheck to paycheck, you lost your job. Your cellphone had taken the brunt of your frustration at having to call your mother, begging her to let you come back home while you got back on your feet a little more than two years after you’d left. 

Your teeth gnawed at your lips, your fingernails dug into the skin around your cuticles in the attempt to keep your voice sweet and pleading, in the end it was his voice that you’d heard in the background, telling–no, commanding her to say yes. That he would be your champion twisted at your insides. Maybe a small, healthy part of you hoped he’d put up a fight, tell you that you were too old to be coming back home and that you had to figure it out on your own like an adult. 

A healthy part of you hoped that he’d save you again, only from yourself. Hanging up with a heavy, resigned sigh, you set about starting the trek home, ignoring the swirling mess of annoyance, confusion, and perverse glee in your stomach. 

-

The first few days were spent in a depressive episode, a seemingly inescapable loop of sleeping in late, leaving your room only when the house was empty to raid the kitchen for something to eat, scrolling mindlessly–blindly–on your phone and then staying up way too late only to do it all over again. 

They didn’t bother you, but if the annoyed sighs and narrowed eyes from your mother were anything to go by, the talk was coming soon. After the third day of the cycle, you circumvent it and wake up early-ish to shower and dress in something other than ratty old sweats long forgotten by an ex you couldn’t quite remember. 

You came down to find Joel sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes tracked the lines of you, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. 

Your heart leapt. He should have been at work by now. 

“Good morning.” It came out croaky, your voice almost reluctant to come out. 

“Mornin’.” His hair was slicked back, the gray almost sparkling in the golden light. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. His eyes were so intense, you found yourself stuck in place, like a deer in headlights and that ever present, deep-seeded anger reared its head. It was irrational that he should frustrate you so much with his calm presence. 

“Coffee’s fresh, if you want some.” He jut his chin out to the pot, lowering his eyes to his paper once more. Once his gaze had shifted, you found you could breathe again. You mumbled a thanks and moved to pour yourself a cup, thankful, if unsure why, to focus on something concrete instead of abstract self-reflection.

“Your mama’s gon’ be late tonight. I thought I could pick up a pizza on the way home.” He says it offhand and again, your heart races. 

“Whatever.” You scrunch your face up in annoyance, it sounded like such a bullshit, teen response. He doesn’t comment on it, and that somehow makes it worse. You beat yourself about it as you root around in the fridge for the milk. The cereal you liked was in the top cupboard, and you’re not quite tall enough to reach it. 

You heard his chair scoot back and then suddenly he’s there, beside you, pressed up tight. You follow the long line of his throat as he stares up, reaching the box with ease while one big, warm hand lands on your lower back. He smells like the laundry detergent your mother insists on buying mixed with something else. Manly, smoky, with coffee laced through. Your cunt clenches nonconsensually as he stands there and stares down at you, his whole front pressed against your side, his hand still holding your lower back. Your mouth hangs open, stupidly, and he raises an eyebrow again forcing something to kickstart deep in your gut. 

“You okay there babygirl?” The endearment feels unwholesome.

It triggers something strange, strengthening the underlying conflict for him. There’s a lilt in his tone you don’t like, maybe because deep down you like it too much. Maybe you don’t want to admit that, or analyze anything about what the fuck is happening in your body. In your psyche. 

“Yeah.” You step out of his bubble, barely managing not to trip over yourself in your haste to get away and put a healthy distance between you. 

“Yes. Thank you.” You take a deep breath, pressing your lips together tight in what you hope to God is a neutral expression. 

He lets out a bemused huff through his nose, a mischief in his eyes shining out at you that you’ve never seen directed at you. You’ve seen it used on your mom. You’ve seen her go giggly and flirty whenever he looked at her like that. A half-formed escape plan starts to form but he saves you from the need, he puts his things in the dishwasher, and nods his head in goodbye. 

You practically hold your breath until you hear his truck rumble out of the driveway, and down the street. 

-

You manage to avoid him for a few days, staying out late catching up with friends, or feigning a need for rest. You’ve convinced your mother that your days are now spent job hunting, and for the most part they are. You leave in the morning, avoiding any and all contact and you get home late, creeping up the stairs much like you did in your teens even though you’d really never needed to. Your mother never enforced a curfew, and when Joel joined the picture, he didn’t pry. 

The luck didn’t last though, you got over-confident. He was sprawled out on the sofa, up uncharacteristically late one night when you padded through the house. 

“You’re up late.” You quickly check the accusatory tone, “Don’t you have to get up early?” Better, it comes out more concerned than annoyed and he nods. He wore a threadbare t-shirt, the fabric of it having been through the wash too many times to keep its shape. Light, gray sweats were stretched almost obscenely tight over his spread thighs, pooling at his crotch from being shoved up by the couch. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Come sit, we can watch some tv.” He pats the seat next to him and despite the deep desire to retreat into the Joel-free haven of your bedroom, you cannot seem to disobey him. 

You settle beside him on the couch, a little further away than was necessary. He chuckles softly. 

“I ain’t gonna bite you, girl. Not unless you ask nicely.” 

You pretend you don’t hear it, choosing instead to compartmentalize whatever game he’s playing and stare at the screen. He flips through the channels, settling on one thing for a few minutes before moving to something else until he finds a movie that’s already close to midway. There’s an electricity in the air, something about him galvanizing the space between you, charging it enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end. You frown to yourself, barely paying attention while fighting an increasingly confusing mental battle. Why is it so hard to be around him? Why does he inspire such scorn? Is it scorn at all?

You rub at your eyes, scrubbing your hands down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe the slate clean. 

He’s just a man, a man your mother had chosen and for better or worse they seem to work. She is happy with him and he is seemingly happy with her, why then is it so hard to accept him for what he is? Something slithers around in your brain, something that laughs darkly, something pulsing through the network of thoughts and ideas that threatens to crack open your subconscious and throw it right in your face. 

“Well now, ain’t that somethin’?” You pull your hands away from your face to see a very explicit scene playing out on the screen. Heat floods every inch of your body. 

“Almost looks like she’s enjoyin’ herself.” He leaves it on, and you feel stuck, your body betraying you yet again to see the way the woman on screen moans wantonly while under a very handsome man. You let out a non-committal sound, teetering on the edge of madness. You scold yourself, you are an adult, an adult that has had sex before and this isn’t even real. 

“Looks like fake bullshit to me.” The strength in your voice lends credence to the illusion that you aren’t affected. He laughs, calm and completely at ease and that only pulls the anger to the forefront again. 

“They can’t show the real stuff on these channels. If it were real, he’d be doin’ what she needs.” 

“And what’s that?” It comes out before you can stop it. 

“Well,” He smiles to himself, winning a duel you hadn’t even known you were fighting. 

“If it were real, he’d be pressin’ on her clit, he’d be makin’ sure she felt every inch of him and make her take his cock like a good girl.” You let out a heavy breath, half shocked, half grateful it wasn’t a whimper. 

Warning bells go off in your head, just as a heartbeat starts in your cunt because you can see it. You can see him. His face twisted up in pleasure but cocky, his hips moving, his thumb dipped into your mouth and then swirling around your clit. He smiles at catching you looking at his hands and you want to yell at him. You want to smack him across the face and kick him in the balls for saying something like that to you, his partner's daughter, but you don’t. 

Your body almost catapults you out of your seat. Barely unintelligible words come out, something about needing sleep, about being tired and then you hightailed it out of there like a bat out of hell. 

The shower was cold enough to make your teeth chatter, but it did nothing to cool the heat blooming in your core and it was with a terrifying desperation that you ground against your fingers. The slick pooling at the mouth of your pussy was enough to feel even with the water washing everything away except your shame. 

You bit your tongue to keep from moaning out the taboo and entirely inappropriate name you were dying to say out loud. His firm thighs spread on that couch filled your mind, the calloused, work-roughened hands you could practically feel on your hips, on your thighs. You could feel them holding and spreading your legs open so he could make you make those same noises you’d heard over the years. Make you take it like a good girl, his good girl. 

You came with a shudder, sagging against the chilly tile. You warmed the water with a sigh, disappointed and ashamed with yourself, trying, and failing, to put the whole thing out of your mind. 

-

You doubled down on avoiding him after that. 

Your mother worked most of the time but when she was home, things were easier. He reverted to the healthy avoidance, the proverbial disinterest that she didn’t seem to have a problem with. You still heard them some nights, the bed creaking, throaty cries, deep grunts but now they haunted you in a different way. Now you heard his words on that couch and couldn’t help but picture all manner of unsavory things that both disgusted and thrilled you. 

Being unemployed didn’t help. There was nothing to keep you out of the house most of the day, and there were only so many places that would accept you looking for a job in person. 

There was only so much time you could spend with friends too, they had their own lives and jobs and relationships. Too busy to save you from unwanted free time. 

Old habits resurface, and you retreat within yourself while pushing yourself harder. A job would fix things enough to help, you could save up enough money to leave for good and take yourself out of the equation. 

-

The powers that be momentarily take pity on you, and after what seems like a lifetime's worth of job hunting you blessedly get a call back. It’s a part time job, but at this point beggars can’t exactly be choosers. It’s a steady, if insufficient source of income that hadn’t been available to you before. Determined, you buckle down, you channel every guidance counselor you’ve ever had and ace the fuck out of that interview.

It’s not taxing work, but you put your head down and focus with the hope that if you worked hard enough, if you made a good enough impression, made yourself indispensable they’d throw you enough shifts to make up a full time job. 

It helps. Time spent away from the house, from your mothers dried up welcome, from Joel altogether genuinely helps. You feel a bit lighter, less guilty, less prone to imagine the unimaginable. You find comfort in the absence of self-imposed temptation. There is peace in the mindless work, in the life outside of the house that no longer feels like a home. 

It's a double edged sword though, because at the end of every shift, the luck–the peace–runs out. If being at work and out of the house is a respite, returning home only thickens the tension. Time spent outside the house only sharpens the discomfort, clarifies the glaring wrongness of it all when you enter it at the end of the day. What it all is, you won’t name. That way madness lies. Issue is, with every interaction, with every chance encounter in the hallway, or living room, every second spent with him in the kitchen watching his lips touch the rim of his mug the thing inside grows. Parts of him fill the corners of your mind. The curve of his shoulders filling out the flannel shirts he favors. The fullness of his bottom lip when he purses them, something he does while squinting at the paper that you’re almost sure he isn’t aware of. His neck, his hands, the dimple in his cheek when he laughs at something really funny. 

These things jump out, innocent as they may be, but other not so innocent things start to creep in. The bulge in his jeans is a mental mine, it lies in wait and every so often when you think you’ve avoided it, it detonates and you catch yourself staring, both ashamed and so inappropriately curious it eats away at you like acid. 

What you needed was something to fill the emptiness, both emotionally and physically. So you did what any modern, adult woman would do; you bought a sex toy. 

Nothing too crazy, or expensive. After perusing the site for a while you finally settled on a plain, non-threatening dildo. Nothing too big, nothing noisy, just something to be able to focus on, something to use while imagining someone giving you what you need. You ignored that dark thing inside that hissed his name, shooed it away and ordered the package for express delivery. With your mom constantly working, and Joel keeping to himself you figured it wouldn’t be an issue. Neither of them would question a package addressed to you. 

You still aren’t sure whether or not you’d do it all over again had you known the Pandora’s box that little package would open. 

You all but rushed home after work. All day, you’d imagined the relief that toy would bring. You imagined yourself using it in the shower, steam swirling as you took your pleasure. You imagined yourself laying in bed in the safety of the dark, setting a towel down on your chair and riding it to your heart's content. 

Joel’s truck is in the driveway when you pull in, but it’s secondary to the excitement at the chance to sequester yourself with your new best friend and so when you walk into the house, you don’t give him much attention. Until he opens his mouth. 

“You got a package today babygirl. I put it on your bed.” He sits on his spot on the sofa, a funny little smile on his face. A bad feeling swells in your chest, and you look up the stairs before meeting his eyes again. 

“Thanks.” You drop your bag on the little bench near the front door, trying, and failing to keep the nervous feeling out of your voice. He nods, and you make your way up, stopping yourself from taking the stairs two at a time. 

Ice flows through your veins when you see the package is open. 

He’d opened your package, he knew what you’d bought. 

Blood pounds in your ears as you stand there, limbs cold and numb at the realization that he saw it. He saw it. He opened it, and he placed it here, on the very place you fantasized about using it. Sweat beaded on your brow, the bottom of your stomach fell out of your ass as you stood there, barely feeling the soft, worn carpet under your feet. 

“Little small, f’you ask me.” His voice at the mouth of your room made your head twist fast enough to hurt your neck. You hadn’t heard him follow you up the stairs, hadn’t heard him open your door and lean against the frame, arms crossed in haughty amusement. 

“Why would you open my package?” You clutched at it, as though he could forget what he’d seen if you held it tightly enough. 

“I didn’t open it on purpose, I’m expectin’ somethin’ and I didn’t read the name.” He pushes away from the door frame, making his way closer and it’s like the air thins as the space between you shrinks.

“I mean, I could tell you been frustrated, but this doesn’t seem like it’s gon’ help much.” He reaches out, and takes the package from you. You watch him do it, watch him, frozen as he plucks it from your hands and takes the toy out. 

“This all you can take?” He holds it, contemptuously–pityingly. 

You wanted to snatch it out of his hands, the dimming voice of reason urges you to push him out of your room and remind him that he needs to keep a healthy distance but you say nothing, you stand there, and watch him. He puts it all down on your dresser, before stepping a little closer, close enough for you to have to crane your neck up to look into his eyes. 

“No boyfriends around to give you what you want?” His hand comes up, the tips of his fingers sliding across the apple of your cheek, slipping down until his thumb pressed against the cushion of your bottom lip. 

“No one around to give you what you obviously need?” He steps a little closer, until your bodies meet. This is wrong, your mind screams it but your body is frozen under his eyes, under his touch. That part, the frozen part is cheering, it’s running victory laps as it floods your cunt with slick in preparation for something unholy. 

That same, writhing, traitorous thing whispers that this is your chance, the house is empty and your body obeys. You look your fill, you take in the curve of his nose and the furrow in his brow. His eyes are black as a crow's wing, lust-blown and completely focused on your parted lips and your shallow panting. 

Adrenaline spikes and you do something you cannot take back. You rise on your tip-toes and press your mouth to his. 

He hums into it, smiling and once again you get that feeling that you’d made the exact move he’d expected you to. A vague, but fleeting inkling that you were just a pawn on his chessboard. 

At any other time you would have stepped away and repented, ate yourself alive with guilt but his hands pulled you closer, his tongue swiped at the seam of your mouth and you opened up for him. That only made it all the more real, the taste of his tongue in your mouth, feeling his hands lower to hold onto your ass. 

The rational part of you shrinks down to nothing, and that other part, the wrong part–it swells and preens under his hands. He pulls away, and embarrassingly, you chase his mouth in a daze. 

“Oh honey, you’re just dyin’ for it aren’t you?” He herds you towards your tiny bed, the twin mattress that has been the stage for every taboo fantasy about this man, your stepfather. You shoo the word away with a shiver. 

“It’s wrong-” You almost whisper, but you don’t push him away, you let him lay you down in that bed and he laughs. 

“It is, isn't it?” He pulls at the hem of your shirt, you raise your arms for him and the picture of it is wrong, daddy taking off your clothes. The thought, the word,  should disgust you but it only pulls your hands to him. You join in, and pull his shirt up and off, biting your lip at the broadness of him. You take in each freckle, the sprinkling of hair on his chest, the dip of his throat calling out for your tongue like a siren. 

He presses his lips to yours again, licking into your mouth obscenely. Unseemly. 

“You been wantin’ this for a long time, haven’t you babygirl?” He pulls your bra off, and the shock of cold air hardens your nipples. He bites his lip to see it, unable to stop himself from flattening his tongue against a hardened bud. A sound you’ve never let yourself make out loud in this room fills the space between you and that slithering thing luxuriates. 

He moves, languidly, unhurried to the other breast and holds the plump of it in his big hand and sucks at the second bud, sucks as much of the peak as he can into his mouth, breathing through his nose while you slowly spiral into madness.

When he lets go, he presses a kiss to your nipple and his facial hair tickles your skin. 

He pulls your leggings off along with your underwear in one go and the reality of it all hits you when the air hits your soaked core. That’s when the urge to put a stop to it is the clearest, when he kneels between your legs and spreads them wide, stares at the place where he’s already filled a million times in your mind. The place that’s drenched at the mere thought of him. 

“Joel-” You start, but he pushes your legs up, folding you and then he lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth slowly, aiming it, a bullseye right on the lips of your cunt. It’s too much, too filthy and you let out a whimper. 

“I think you wanna call me somethin’ else right now.” He undoes his belt and his jeans, keeping his eyes on where his saliva slides down over the open mouth of your cunt, down towards your asshole. He pulls his cock out and part of you shatters. Your eyes flit to the toy sitting on your dresser, your eyes flit to the open door of your bedroom. 

“Don’t worry, your mama ain’t gonna be home for a while.” He smiles, conspiratorially. It's too real, it’s too hypnotic, seeing him there with his cock in his hand while your legs already ache from holding them up and open. He slides the blunt end of it through the mess he’s caused, through his spit and he groans at the sight of it. 

Your heart races so hard to feel him there, that you see the pulse of it in your vision. 

“Deep breath baby.” he warns before slipping inside the tight fist of your pussy, the size of him making you gasp. This is it, there’s no coming back from this and right now, with him seated deep, his groin pressed up tight and the tip of his cock kissing your womb you cannot even think of why you’d ever care.

This is where he's meant to be. This is where you need him. 

“Oh baby, that’s so good huh?” He thrusts shallowly, pulling out a little more than halfway before shoving his hips forward again. You don’t really know how to form words, you don’t know how to take in what’s happening. This is Joel, your step-dad, fucking you in the bed you grew up in. One hand sits heavy on your shin, holding it, the other slides up and holds onto your breast. 

“Look how fuckin’ wet this little pussy is for me,” he moans the words, “you like daddy fuckin’ you?” He thrusts harder and you moan despite the word hitting you in the stomach like a big drop on a rollercoaster. He shouldn’t say that, shouldn’t call himself that, not now. 

“No-” it doesn’t come out like you mean it to, it sounds wrong, like a caress. 

“No? But I think you do-” He leans forward, keeping his pace while pressing his chest to yours, his mouth all but lining up and despite your bullshit protest, you hitch your knees high on his ribs to make room because if he stopped you’d probably die. 

“I think you want me to be your daddy, don’t you baby, it’s okay, I want to be.” He speeds up and the sounds between your legs are so wet, so filthy. 

“You can say it, I want you to say it.” He holds himself up, his elbows caging in your skull and before you can complain or moan or cry he sticks his tongue down your throat again. Your hands finally join the fray and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight to you. 

“Come on baby, say it for me, tell me how good daddy fucks you.” You moan, closing your eyes while your cunt floods him with wave after wave of slick, enough to drip down your ass and onto your bed, down his balls. Enough for it to soak the curls at the base of him. 

“Look at me when I’m fuckin’ you honey.” His hips speed up and it's hard now, his thrusts making your bounce, hitting a part of you that toy would never touch in a million years. 

You open your eyes, and look at him above you, sweat beading on his hairline. Never has he looked more fucking appealing than he does right then. The word is there, in your mouth and you know it’ll taste sweeter than anything in this world. 

The wrong thing wins.  

“Yes daddy.” You moan it, and the shameful thing sets off fireworks in your being, he smiles, and tucks his head into the damp crook of your neck, feeding his lovely filth right into your ear. 

“That’s my babygirl, that’s it, fuck baby you take it better than your mama.” Something inside recoils at that, but something else, another facet of that fucked up thing inside rejoices.

“Let me hear you say it again, say it when you come.” He licks a hot stripe up your neck. His words are a filthy groan, something to tuck away for later.

He reaches down, pressing his thumb to your clit just like he said on that couch and you keen, the slip and the pressure enough to toss you over the edge with an almost painfully intense orgasm. 

“I’m coming, daddy.” It’s a shuddering whisper as your cunt clenches around him. 

He moves quickly, kneeling between your legs to pull out and then he’s stroking himself over your cunt. It’s still pulsing when he paints it in his come. You catch your breath as he tugs at himself a few more times, milking himself against you with a disturbingly familiar groan. 

The fog clears altogether too quickly. The lights are too bright, you’re naked, and he’s still got his jeans around his thighs while the guilt creeps into your veins, replacing the euphoria. 

What have I done? What have you made me do?

[greenxgloss]

A House Full of Strangers (KNJ)

18+ MDNI

Pairing: FearfulAttachment!Namjoon x Yearning!Y/n

Summary: When Namjoon visits his cousin in a quiet town, an unexpected friendship sparks between you. Over one summer, it deepens—until timing, and a new relationship, drives a quiet wedge between you. Years later, fate brings you back together during a stormy night in the city, where unspoken feelings and unresolved tension finally resurface.

Themes: Protected sex, emotional tension, past heartbreak, pining, slight (very very slight) jealousy, brief emotional distancing and unresolved conflict

Word Count: 5k

You weren’t even sure whose idea it was to throw a birthday party for Daniel in the first place—he didn’t like cake, crowds, or the vague stress of small talk—but somehow his backyard was full of half-drunk locals and the scent of barbecued tofu, and you were tucked into a sun-bleached lawn chair nursing a fizzy kombucha like it might save your life.

And then he walked in.

Tall. Broad. A little too clean-looking for this dusty small town. City-born for sure. His hair was a soft brown under the string lights, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled like he’d folded it five minutes before showing up and called it good enough.

He glanced around, clearly trying to make sense of the guest list—then muttered, mostly to himself but just loud enough to carry, “Is it just me or does everyone here look like they kind of hate each other?”

You laughed before you could stop yourself—an unexpected, genuine sound that came from your gut, not just your mouth.

His head turned at the sound.

“You agree, huh?” he said, smile crooked and curious, like he hadn’t expected a witness. “Did I offend your friend or your ex or something?”

You shook your head. “Nah, just the girl who brought gluten-free beer. So basically the worst person here.”

That made him laugh—low and warm. “I’m Namjoon,” he said, holding out a hand. “Cousin of the birthday boy. Temporary townie.”

You took his hand. His grip was careful. “Temporary?”

“Just here for the summer,” he said, giving the backyard a once-over like he already had regrets. “Or until Daniel starts feeding me meatloaf.”

“Good luck,” you said. “He made me lentil loaf once. Still recovering.”

From that moment, you became friends. Effortlessly. Days passed, then weeks. You’d meet at the lake, legs hanging off the dock, tossing pebbles into the water and letting conversations wander. He was smart—brilliant, really—but never made you feel like he needed to prove it. Just warm, slightly awkward, poetic without trying to be. You joked about astrology, smoked exactly one joint in a parked car while laughing over conspiracy theories, and fought over who made the better playlist.

What started as playful flirting and stolen glances became something more. Not romantic. Not yet. But undeniably charged. You'd both pretend not to notice how close your knees sat, or the way his eyes lingered on your lips when you talked. Neither of you made a move.

Until you did. But not in the way he expected.

Six months in, after he’d extended his stay, gotten a job at the local froyo spot (you teased him about the apron, he let you), you told him—bright-eyed, hesitant—that you were dating someone.

His name was Ri. And just like that, something shifted in Namjoon. Slightly. Quietly. But enough for you to feel it.

He stopped finishing his thoughts. Stopped texting first. And when you brought Ri around, Namjoon always seemed to have somewhere else to be.

A year passed.

And then he was gone.

You didn’t say goodbye. You weren’t sure if he wanted you to. And life kept going, the way it always does.

About a year after that, you moved out to the city for work, thinking this was your big break. Ri had broken up with you, and you thought this was more of a reason to leave town; nothing was there for you anymore.

On moving day, you ran into none other than Namjoon. The brief interaction between the two of you taught you that he lives in the apartment just upstairs, and you made an awkward joke about how you hope he walks lightly, but it didn't land, and after that, you never really spoke again.

3 years pass and your ‘new’ job has gone nowhere, you still haven't really made any friends in he city and you’ve become a homebody. You’ve been lying to everyone back home about life in the city in fear of disappointing them.

You’d almost forgotten Namjoon lived above you.

Well—forgotten wasn’t the right word. You just stopped trying to remember. After a year of distant nods in the hallway, a shared mailbox area filled with silence, and the sound of his footsteps overhead like a heartbeat you couldn’t reach, Namjoon had become more myth than man again. A ghost in your ceiling.

It had been three years since you last spoke to him. You weren’t even sure if he still liked froyo.

Today, the storm had started slow, but now it was biblical. Rain lashed against your window like it had something to prove, and the power went out with an audible thunk that made you jump. Your apartment was cast in shadows, candles flickering like nervous thoughts.

You were halfway through lighting another when you heard it: sneakers padding up the hall and stop outside your front door.

A knock.

You hesitated. You knew that knock. It wasn’t the UPS guy. It wasn’t your neighbor with the weird cat. He still knocked like he did four years ago. It was—

Namjoon found himself in quite the predicament. He had just arrived home, his phone completely dead, and with a storm rapidly approaching, he had hurried back hoping to charge it enough to get him through the evening until his usual 10:30 PM bedtime.

In his haste, however, he underestimated his own strength. As he jammed his key into the deadbolt, a soft metallic snap echoed ominously — the key had broken off inside the lock. Staring down at the fragment in his hand, then back at the deadbolt, and once again at the now-useless shard, Namjoon let out a low groan and bowed his head in exasperation.

But then, an idea struck.

Without wasting another second, he sprinted up the stairs to the rooftop and made his way to the fire escape, descending hastily toward the window of his apartment. By now, the rain had intensified into a relentless downpour. Peering through the glass, he immediately noticed the telltale signs of a power outage: the digital clock was dark, and the small red standby light on the TV was no longer glowing. He was too late.

Still, he needed to get inside. He attempted to lift the window, only to nearly smack his face against the glass when it refused to move. Soaked and breathless, he leaned in closer and spotted the problem — the latch on the inside was locked.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with frustration, a lump forming in his throat.

Then he remembered: your place. It might not have been the best idea — for all he knew, you wouldn’t even answer the door — but at that moment, it felt like his only option. With no other choice, Namjoon made his way back down the stairs, took a steadying breath, and knocked.

-

“Hey,” came a voice, muffled but unmistakable. “…It’s Namjoon.”

You opened the door.

He was soaked. Absolutely drenched, water dripping from his hair and jacket like he’d fallen in a river, not just battled the storm. He looked ridiculous. And miserable. And beautiful in that unshakeable way he always had.

He blinked at you, sheepish. “I, uh. Locked myself out.”

Your eyes flicked over his soaked sneakers, the busted umbrella in his hand, the bend in his key that stuck awkwardly out of his other. “You okay?”

“Not really,” he laughed, breath fogging. “Tried the roof. Fire escape. Window’s locked. And I think the universe is finally done playing subtle.”

You stepped aside.

“Come in.”

Namjoon stepped inside, shaking like a storm dog, water puddling behind him. Your candlelight caught the edge of his jaw, the collarbone peeking from his drenched shirt. He looked around your apartment like he hadn’t imagined it—like it was more real than memory had allowed.

He stood awkwardly at the door while you walked off to look for a towel and clothes he could borrow. He could smell the scent of old books and the air freshener you’ve used since you met him. “It smells like your old room in here. You still read a lot, I bet?” he called out as he continued to look around.

Just then you walked back out to him and handed him a sweatshirt and a towel. You knew wearing sweatshirts three sizes too big would come in handy at some point. You had no clue a man twice your size from your past would be the one who needed it.

He pulled off his shirt and dropped it on the ground to dry himself off. 

Fuck he’s gotten bigger. Has he been working out. He did use to obsess over biking, maybe he still does. He looks like he does a whole lot more that jus biking somet–

"You gonna keep gawking, or are you gonna help me dry off?" he asked, voice low and teasing—just enough to make your cheeks heat.

You rolled your eyes in an attempt to collect yourself, snatching the towel from his hands and swatting his arm lightly. “You’re impossible.”

Still, you didn’t leave. You stood close enough to feel the residual heat rolling off him, your hand moving in slow, distracted strokes as you ran the towel across the back of his neck and over his shoulders.

He shivered—not from cold, but from the proximity.

“You didn’t have to come here,” you said after a moment, quieter now.

“Didn’t really think about it,” he admitted, still not meeting your gaze. “Just… wanted to be here.”

The rain pounded against the windows in heavy sheets. Your heartbeat echoed it, just as relentless.

He turned to face you fully now, wearing your sweatshirt like it belonged to him, his hair damp and curling at the ends. He looked softer like this—less guarded.

And maybe it was the storm, or the closeness, or the sheer intimacy of sharing space like this—but something shifted.

“I didn’t mean to show up like this,” he said, his voice gentler than you expected. “I just… didn’t know where else to go.”

You stared at him for a second too long, unsure of whether your next breath would calm you or set everything on fire.

“You’re always welcome here,” you murmured, barely audible.

The tension hummed—quiet but undeniable.

“Yeah?” he asked, taking a step closer. “Even if I’m soaked, stranded, and mildly pathetic?”

You cracked a small smile, reaching up to ruffle his damp hair. “Especially then.”

And for the first time that night, he smiled back—slow, crooked, and entirely disarming.

“I should’ve come sooner,” he said quietly, voice low.

You crossed your arms. “Three years sooner?”

He looked at you then—really looked at you, like he was seeing the version of you that had grown from that summer girl. The one who had laughed too loudly at his cousin’s party. The one who used to sing out of key in his passenger seat. The one who didn’t know how to say goodbye when he left.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted.

You swallowed. “You didn’t have to say anything. You just had to show up.”

“I’m here now.” he paused, probably thinking that this maybe wasnt a good idea after all. “I also wasn’t sure if Ri was living here with you.” he padded to the bathroom to ring out his clothes.

“We broke up before i moved here.”

“I figured when i never saw him around.” He cleared his throat and hung his shirt on the towel rack. 

You looked up at his buzzed hair, thinking about how much you missed his beautiful length. “Your hairs shorter.” 

“Memories in long hair. Not good ones.”

“Of us?”

“What i wished was us.” His voice was low but you could hear the shame he carried. He really does feel guilty for leaving. 

He broke the silence first.

"You remember that party?" he asked, almost as if reading your mind. “The one where you said you only showed up for the cake?”

You turned toward him, lips twitching. “I still stand by that. It was good cake.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That was a weird night. Didn’t think we’d end up... whatever this is.”

You met his gaze then, and something flickered between you. Not quite anger. Not quite longing. But a potent mix of both.

“You could’ve said something,” you said softly, surprising even yourself.

He looked at you like you’d just dropped a glass on the floor. “So could you.”

“I was scared,” you admitted.

“So was I,” he said. “Still am.”

That landed heavier than either of you expected. You felt it settle in your chest, sharp and warm.

You exhaled, stepping back until your spine gently brushed the wall. “So now what? You show up at my door soaked and storm-tossed, and we just pretend none of that matters?”

He laughed bitterly, raking a hand through his damp hair. “I didn’t plan this. I wasn’t trying to—” He cut himself off. “I just wanted to see you.”

Your throat tightened.

“I don’t know what we are,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “But I know what we almost were. And I can’t stop thinking about that.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeve, your eyes burning with the kind of frustration that only came from wanting something you didn’t know how to ask for.

The distance between you was still small. So small.

And still, neither of you moved.

Because whatever this was—it wasn’t ready to be named.

Not yet.

“Oh, that’s not fair,” you said, your voice breaking into a sharp exhale, thick with frustration. “That’s not fair. You left, Namjoon. You left, and when I finally moved out here—when I finally got brave enough to start over in the same city—you’ve barely said more than five words to me in three years. And now, suddenly, you're here? Would you even be standing in this apartment if your key hadn’t snapped off in the lock and the sky hadn’t decided to drown you out of hiding?”

You sighed, the kind of sigh that didn’t just carry breath, but disappointment years in the making. Your hands raked through your hair, not to fix it—just to do something. To stop yourself from shaking. “You’re real, Joon. You’ve always been real. You never stalled, never bullshitted. That’s why I liked you. That’s why I—” You stopped yourself.

“So why are you bullshitting now?”

Namjoon didn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, he busied himself with the mundane: wringing out his socks and laying those out on the side of the tub. Like it would buy him time.

But you weren't 20 anymore. You wouldn’t be pacified by silence or half-excuses dressed as distractions.

And deep down, you knew—that was exactly what he was trying to do.

The candlelight flickered, casting a pale yellow glow down the hallway. You stood there, arms crossed, picking at your cuticles and sighing hard as the rain battered against the windows like it was trying to echo your heartbeat.

He was stalling again. You knew him well enough to recognize the way he needed to breathe, to retreat and find words that felt safe. But this wasn’t the time for safe.

“Namjoon,” you called, voice low but steady.

The door creaked open. He stepped out barefoot—damp still clinging to the hem of his jeans. He looked tired. Not physically, but emotionally. Like he’d been carrying something for a long time and finally had nowhere left to put it.

“I didn’t mean to disappear,” he said, voice raw with honesty. “I just... I didn’t know how to stay.”

You blinked, stunned into silence by how simple and devastating that sounded.

“You didn’t know how to stay,” you repeated, slowly. “But I did. I waited. I texted. I asked about you. I tried to keep something—anything.”

He winced. “I know.”

“And you ignored me,” you continued, a bite to your words now. “For three years. Like I didn’t matter. Like you could just cut me out clean and walk away.”

“I thought it would be easier,” he said quietly. “For you.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “For me? You thought silence was easier than honesty?”

Namjoon stepped forward, tentative but deliberate. “I thought telling you I was in love with you, and leaving anyway, would’ve hurt you more. And if i did anyway then what? You were dating Ri.”

The air thinned.

You froze, words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat because you knew he was right. You knew that, of course, he didn't know what to do. Of course, he panicked and left without a word. But you also knew that you’d have stuck around anyway if he was the one who got a girlfriend.

He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, exhaling like it was physically painful. “You were always the one thing that felt real. Everything else... The stupid parties Dan threw, His friends, the pressure—I could compartmentalize all of that. But not you. You scared the shit out of me.”

“I scared you?” you asked, incredulous.

He nodded. “Imagine searching your whole life for someone that never made excuses, who took what they want and after what– 23 years you find it– the real thing, not some trick. Not a facade… i panicked because i didnt know what to do with it. You made me want to stay. And I couldn’t. Not then.” 

The irony is that you're 24 now. You are standing in front of the first no-bullshit person you’ve ever met, but it doesn't scare you. What scares you is that he might get cold feet and leave again.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at him while everything you’d carried—the loneliness, the anger, the what-ifs—pressed against the edges of your ribcage like a dam ready to crack.

“I didn’t want you to love me,” you said finally. “I just wanted you to choose me.”

Namjoon stepped closer. Close enough that you could see the guilt in the curve of his mouth, the sadness in the way his eyes flickered to yours and didn’t flinch away.

“I’m choosing you now,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”

Your breath hitched.

There it was—too late, too early, exactly on time.

And you had no idea what to do with it.

That’s when you began crying. Not hard, not ugly, not a sob—but a soft sniffle, an involuntary sound you tried and failed to stifle. It wasn’t a single, cinematic tear either. They came steadily, like something old and aching inside you had finally split open. Like every word you’d swallowed these past few years had liquefied into salt and memory.

“I miss you, Joonie,” you whispered, your voice trembling just enough to fracture the air between you.

Namjoon didn’t hesitate. He crossed the space between you in a heartbeat, arms wrapping around you with the kind of urgency that said me too, even before he spoke. You pressed your face to his chest, and he held you like he’d been waiting—starving—for this closeness just as long as you had.

You didn’t know how long you stood like that, the room humming with quiet and rain.

Then, gently, he tipped your chin up with one hand—thumb calloused, soft with care—and made you look at him. His other hand rose to your cheek, wiping away a tear with a touch so reverent it made your chest ache.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, voice low but sure, like he was swearing something into the marrow of you. “I mean, unless the plumbing explodes again or I catch on fire. Then I might leave. Briefly. But I’ll come right back.”

You let out a breathy laugh through your tears, the sound catching at the edges, tangled in disbelief.

“I’m serious,” he said, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, though his eyes stayed soft. “I should’ve said it before. I should’ve said a lot of things. But let me start here: I never stopped thinking about you. Even when I was silent, even when I was stupid.”

You blinked, and another tear slipped down. He caught that one too.

“I missed you so much it made everything else feel... grey,” he whispered.

And then he leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving you every opportunity to pull away. You didn’t. You tilted your head instinctively, eyes fluttering closed, and felt the warmth of his lips brush yours—a kiss so soft it felt like a memory, or maybe a promise. It lingered just long enough to burn.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath mingling with yours in the quiet.

“You still smell like cinnamon tea and old books,” he murmured, teasing affection laced in his tone. “God, I missed that.”

You huffed a soft laugh through your nose and finally let yourself hold him back.

You didn’t move at first.

Just stood there, holding each other in the soft hum of your apartment, his forehead still pressed to yours, his breath still warm against your lips. It was quiet, but your heart was loud. Every inch of you trembled—not from uncertainty, but from the kind of tension that builds over years of silence, unresolved feelings, and the ache of missing someone you never stopped needing.

Your fingers found the hem of his sweatshirt. You didn’t ask. Just tugged. He raised his arms wordlessly, letting you peel it from his body. His skin was still damp from the storm, warm from the inside out, and his eyes searched yours like he needed permission one more time.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice low and rough.

You answered by taking a step closer and guiding his hand to the small of your back, your lips brushing against his again, this time with intent. No hesitation. You kissed him like he was yours. Like he had been yours—once. Like you could reclaim something lost in time.

Namjoon groaned softly, the sound vibrating through you as he deepened the kiss. His hands roamed your back, then your waist, pulling you flush against him. Every brush of his mouth, every soft sigh between kisses, made your skin feel tighter, needier.

He lifted you without effort, as if he already knew exactly where you wanted to be. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and he carried you through the narrow hallway, lips never parting from yours, only pausing to murmur your name like it was a prayer.

When your back hit the bed, his body followed, blanketing you with warmth and weight. His hands moved with reverence, memorizing the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips. You touched him like you were relearning him, like tracing a poem you hadn’t read in years but never forgot.

“God, I missed you,” he whispered against your collarbone, then again between kisses on your chest. “I thought about this so many times and it never... it never felt this real.”

You tugged at his belt and he laughed softly, breathlessly. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

“I thought you wanted me to tell you how i feel.” He smirked playfully.

Clothes disappeared in pieces, dropped to the floor without ceremony. What mattered was the way he kissed you now—slow, like he didn’t want to rush a second of it. His mouth on your throat, his hands caressing your thighs, his words murmured between the soft rhythm of your breaths.

“You’re still the best thing I’ve ever stumbled into,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours again. “Even if it took me years to stop being an idiot,” he took the condom you handed him from your side table and rolled it on.

You smiled, eyes shining in the dark. “Less talking, more making up for lost time.”

His chuckle vibrated through his chest as he adjusted his hips, sliding inside you in one smooth motion. You both gasped—his name on your lips, yours on his. No frantic pace, just a slow, It was an aching rhythm that felt more like worship than sex. Each thrust of his hips was deliberate, his body moving in tune with yours, like he’d memorized you in a past life and was rediscovering every note. He didn’t rush, didn’t demand—he gave, patiently, attentively, reverently. Like this wasn’t just a moment, but a culmination. A return.

Namjoon moved like he was listening—to your body, to your breath, to everything you weren't saying aloud. His hand cradled the back of your thigh, guiding your leg to rest higher along his hip, opening you just slightly more to him. It sent a shiver down your spine, the way he adjusted you so gently, still keeping the rhythm steady and deep, like each movement was meant to say, I’m here. I never forgot.

Your legs wrapped loosely around his waist now, your heels pressing lightly into the curve of his lower back with each slow roll of his hips. It was instinctive, that grounding touch—holding him close, anchoring yourself to him like you were afraid this might vanish too.

Namjoon leaned down to press a trail of kisses along your throat, slow and lingering, his lips brushing over your pulse point, your collarbone, the edge of your jaw. Between each kiss, he whispered your name softly, or sighed, or let out a low, breathy moan that vibrated against your skin. It was messy in the most tender way—half-kisses against damp skin, shared gasps and stuttering breaths.

When he moaned again, it wasn’t loud. It was muffled and low, almost like he didn’t mean for it to slip out. It happened right after you clenched around him—a soft, involuntary reaction to how good he felt, how full, how there he was—and the sound made your head fall back against the pillow with a soft whimper of your own.

His pace picked up slightly then, still not frenzied, just purposeful. Like he’d found exactly what made you melt and was chasing it now, chasing you. He adjusted the angle of his hips just enough to pull another gasp from you, and when your nails dragged lightly down his back, he hissed, lips pausing against your neck.

“Shit,” he murmured, face contorting. “You feel so good—wet and warm.”

Your eyes met his in the dim light, and it was there again—the ache. The longing. The years of silence and missed connections that were now being rewritten by the way he held you, filled you, moved with you.

He brought a hand up to your cheek and brushed away a tear that had slipped free, even now. “Still with me?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, your hand finding the back of his neck. “Don’t stop,” you breathed.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

And he didn’t. He kept moving inside you, body pressed tight to yours, every inch of skin against skin, breath tangled, limbs intertwined. He thrust with more certainty now, each slow grind coaxing more soft moans from your lips, until the room was filled with the quiet, rhythmic sound of two people trying to make sense of years apart using only their bodies.

His fingers slipped down between you, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down then moving in time with the thrusts of his hips, your whole body arched up against him.

“Joon,” you cried out, more a gasp than a name, but he heard it. He swallowed it with a kiss as your body began to tighten beneath him, that pressure rising fast and deep.

“That's it, baby, you’re doing so good, so perfect. Cum for me.”

And you did.

You shattered beneath him with a soft cry, your body clenching tight around him, your hands gripping his arms like you were afraid to fall. But Namjoon was there—holding you, kissing you through it, whispering your name like a promise.

He followed right after, hips stuttering against yours, breath catching in your ear as he spilled inside you with a low, choked moan that you would carry with you forever.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

He stayed inside you, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavy, chests rising and falling in sync. His hands found yours and held them tightly, grounding you both in the moment—sweaty, tangled, bare, and finally not apart.

-

Tangled together, you rested on his chest. Blanket pooled at your hips and the rain still coming down hard outside but all od the sudden the lights cam back on and the two of you looked at each other and chuckled softly, “i guess the universe really was working for us.” You inhaled deeply as you curled further into his side. “Stay until your clothes is dry? I can get your apartment door open with my tool box.”

“You have a tool box?” He asked, probably surprised obviously because you’ve never been the type to get your hands dirty with grease and a wrench. “Every home should have a tool box, joon. I picked up a few things from–”

“Ri.. yeah lets maybe get used to never saying that name again.” He stretched before holding you tighter. “I’d love to never bring that douche up again.” You pressed kisses to his chest.

“Wanna go again?” You asked. “Yup.” He answered briefly before pulling you on top of him. 

“Might as well take advantage of being with you again right?” You smiled as you trailed your hands down his chest. 

“You’re greedy,” he bit his lip.

You grinned, settling over him like you belonged there—because, somehow, you always had. “And you like it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hands skating down your thighs. “Yeah. I really do.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of your breaths syncing, your bodies pressed close in the quiet glow of lamplight. Outside, the rain had finally stopped—leaving behind the kind of stillness that felt like a new beginning.

You looked down at him, brushing your thumb along his jaw..

“Namjoon?”

“Mm?” He looked up at you with glossy puppy eyes, the ones that you adored.

“You’re not leaving again, right?”

His expression softened completely. “No,” he whispered. “Not unless you tell me to.”

You didn’t.

And then you kissed him like that answer meant everything.

Because it did.

a/n i lowkey wanna make this into a longer series and really go into detail about everything lmk if you guys are into that idea

➽ Kpop Masterlist ➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Yoongi Masterlist ➽ G Dragon Masterlist ➽ Buy Me a Coffee

[pinkplasticfangs]

Ya got any other head canons abt the characters >:D?

I do!! I love worldbuilding, and forsaken has juuust enough vagueness for me to go a little crazy lol, ill make a rough lil list!!

- (partially inspired by the fact irl 007n7 is good at piano and acoustic guitar) 007n7 plays a little bit of music late at night on the balcony of the cabins, in the hopes c00lkidd will hear him and it'll lull him to sleep just a bit easier

- While Elliot would NEVER admit this, and 007n7/c00lkidd's hacking did long lasting tangible damage,,,, he sort of needed the break in his hellish schedule LOL

- Elliots gotta be the most straight-edge little nepo baby in Robloxia, he's probably never been to a club other than to deliver something gjkdhkdj. A rave might kill the poor bastard. He thought the first like, minute of 007n7/c00lkidd's hacking with all the flashing lights and blasting music was kind of mesmerizing and cool before the whole "oh shit the store is on fire" kicked in

- If Elliot really IS locked up somewhere like the ARG implies,,, maybe he’s specifically locked up in his own limbo outside of rounds, separately from the survivors, sort of like the killers

- C00lkidd and Mia would be friends, much to the dismay of their guardians

- We don't have a ton of info on how Noob got forsaken, but I imagine it was probably related to their drinking problem. Maybe it got a little out of control when their grief over Guest 666 finally hit?

- Noob is a party animal whose nature got them into the most strange, obscure places with the most strange, obscure items and people. They know a lot of stuff they probably shouldn't lol

- I'm kinda fond of ObliviousHD and Matt Animatez's interpretations of Guest 666, particularly with the Bloxwatch stuff. Combined with Forsaken it paints this picture of a young kid who died, came back fucked up and wrong, and is struggling to maintain normalcy and good relationships for several years until they fuck up every friendship they have, give up, and give into whatever pit has been beckoning them. Its tragic i love it lol

- I like to think Shedletsky and 1x1x1x1 are the result of Telamon getting his shit rocked and split in two by the admins in the Ye Olden Days. Probably over some typical greek god level drama too.

- All the admins are old as shit, just in different ways. Builderman is just straight up immortal while maybe Shedletsky (and 1x1x1x1 in extension) reincarnates over and over, changing a bit each time. I might flip this between the two bc Builderman has had sooo many design changes over the years but eh, i need to give it a bit more thought

- Jason kinda.... bores me as he is. I think with the context of what Area 51 might actually be in the world of Roblox (maybe just a fun scary experience in an amusement park kinda way, maybe an actual facility thats stored somewhere), maybe hes just this... robot, vessel, what have you, thats had these memories shoved in his skull and is acting on his programming, with no purpose outside of it. It'd be cool if we got more context to who Jason was in the facility and whatever the fuck happened there so we can connect to him a little more

- The Spectre's realm is this bizzaro extension of the Banlands, composed of banned and nonbanned (maybe duped?) items/maps/servers. If you look around for long enough you could probably find weird contraband stuff. If the Spectre isn't the one supplying the survivors food, then they probably gather in groups to go find and live off of it

I probably have more but that's all I can remember teehee

[aettuddae]

business matter — 143. i choose you and me, religiously.

↳ synopsis: two of the most important kpop companies covet a partnership with a huge global brand, only to be surprised when the deal is extended to both labels. fearing potential sabotage and cynical strategies to secure exclusivity for just one of them, both CEOs resort to desperate measures. in a bid to maintain trust and prevent betrayal before the signing, they come up with a pact: forcing a fake relationship between the leaders of their star girlgroups. if one side attempted to fail the other, they threaten to expose it all to the conservative south korea.

masterlist | prev

[written chapter]

23:57.

karina found herself running through the people who had attended that party.

end of the year. after a peculiar 2024, full of surprises and new people, of different emotions and discoveries, they were finally just 3 minutes away from a new year. as was customary, people all over the world were throwing parties to celebrate the beginning of 2025 with their family and friends, and for the celebrities in seoul there was also a selection to attend. among the options was the party that rosé from blackpink had organized on the top floor of a luxurious building whose terrace overlooked the center of the city.

the entire korean entertainment elite was there, from top actors to models to members of the biggest bands you could imagine. it was the party among parties. but at first, karina had other plans. she couldn't go back to her family because of work, but she still wanted to spend a quiet night at the apartment with her roommates. and that's what they were going to do,

until she found out that serim would be at rosé's party.

of course, serim would go wherever jennie kim told her to go. serim loved going to parties. she loved being around people, socializing, dancing. karina didn't dislike it when it came to her, but it certainly got her blood boiling with that quality of serim's. she didn't like her to be perceived. that's why when they talked about their plans for the end of the year, serim was hesitant to tell her. it's not that she wanted to hide things from her, she just wanted to avoid the eye rolling and sour comments for a couple more days until she eventually told the blackhaired about her plans.

listen, jimin is not crazy,

she just has serious jealousy issues,

and she's obsessed with jang serim.

when they decided to spend the night at the apartment and welcome the new year quietly and together, the aespa members already knew that the plan hung by a thread. that thread was whatever serim decided to do that night. as soon as jimin told them that jennie was taking jang to the rosé party, giselle was already texting the hostess to get her to put them on the guest list.

serim didn't mind at all. jimin was busy and every second they could spend together was gold to jang. she loved spending time with the younger girl. all night, they had been glued together like gum, drinking, chatting, flirting and dancing to the music. they were so into their own world that none of their friends thought it was weird that they disappeared for an hour and left them to make friends with each other while they had their make out session in a dark, secluded area of the terrace.

but as punishment for abandoning them, as soon as they returned with their companions, aeri, minjeong and yizhuo had forced jimin to go with them to get some air outside. winter was dizzy, while the rest were all sore and tired from dancing. they just wanted to take a break and get some fresh air, and the blackhaired had to accept it even though it was torture for her to be even two centimeters away from serim, who stayed on the dance floor with her friends.

but it was okay, jimin understood that part of forcing her members to follow her to a party when her plans were quite different had its requirements. she patiently stood there chatting with her bandmates and waiting for them to pull themselves together to go back inside, while minjeong downed a bottle of water to regain her five senses.

she was calm until she turned on her phone and saw the time.

23:57.

three minutes to new year's. she began to hurry the others back inside, where rosé's voice could already be heard through a microphone preparing to count down to midnight. they passed through the crowd quietly until they reached where serim was supposed to be with her friends, but no one was there.

23:58.

jimin turned on her phone. "we accompanied jennie to the bathroom." read a text from serim from 5 minutes ago.

the girl told her friends that she was going to look for the oldest and without waiting for an answer, she ran out, pushing through the people and making her way to the bathroom area. she entered the women's one, but there was no one there. they weren't there anymore.

she searched her phone for the woman's contact and called her. she could hear little because of the loudness of the hostess's voice over the speakers and the whispering of the large number of people at the party, but she finally managed to hear that they were on the terrace because they wanted to see the fireworks. when she hung up, she sent a quick message to giselle to tell them to go to the terrace and again, she hurried upstairs.

23:59.

she had to be serim's new year's kiss, she couldn't miss it. the elevator was busy so she took the stairs, which were not easy to climb as she was wearing heels and moving in such a hurry.

10.

everyone started shouting when they heard that the countdown had begun. jimin was on the terrace, but although she searched through the crowd, she couldn't find serim. she kept wandering around the area, her heart pounding and her breathing hectic. she looked worried and upset.

5.

she passed through a large group that was blocking her view and so she appeared at the front, almost at the edge where the wall that kept people from falling was located. as she was spat out from the crowd, she finally spotted the girl's back in the distance and hurried toward her.

3.

she ran towards serim.

2.

she reached where she was and hurriedly touched her waist, signaling her to turn towards her.

1.

serim turned to see who was pinned to her torso, turning in the arms of the younger who was visibly exhausted and trying to catch her breath as she looked up at her smiling. serim slipped her arm over the younger's body to wrap her in her hold and rest her hand on her waist while her other hand was busy with a drink.

"happy new year, baby." she said very close to her face so she could hear her amidst the shouts of congratulations from all around and the sound of fireworks.

"happy new year, my namu." she replied glad that she was able to get there in time to tell her.

jimin lifted her hands that were resting around serim's waist, sliding them up the older girl's body until she was holding her face between her fingers and pulling her close until they could connect their lips in their first kiss of the year under the moonlight in front of the fireworks show in the sky.

"it's the first year we've started together." serim observed as they pulled apart.

"it's the first of many." assured the younger girl as her hand caressed her opposite's cheek. "i thought i wouldn't get here in time to be your first kiss of the year." she stretched her neck slightly to reach up to leave a peck on the opposite's nose. "i'm always running back to you." she smiled sideways, accompanying her flirtatious comment.

"as you should." serim laughed softly and wrinkled her nose playfully to tease her. "come here." she indicated leaning down to kiss her again.

after the arrival of the new year and the end of the fireworks show the party continued, causing most of the people who were on the terrace waiting to see the colorful flames in the sky to start going down to the lower floor to return to the celebration. serim was leaning back against the edge with karina in her arms who had her hands glued to her face caressing and pampering her, so lost in each other and their conversation that they were practically alone on top of the building and that even their friends had returned downstairs.

"you know, yves wished ningie a happy new year." commented the blackhaired causing the older girl to grimace in surprise.

"what can i say." she looked up with mock pride. "she's a gentlewoman." she shrugged jokingly.

"yizhuo can do better." she refuted, shaking her head.

"better than sooyoung? impossible."

"she's a little weird." she furrowed her eyebrows pretending to be worried. "i hope she'll take care of my baby." she closed her eyes in grief.

"she'll take care of her." she assured her. "don't worry." she ran a lock of jimin's hair tucking it behind her ear. "she's a good girl."

"and you?" she looked at her expectantly.

"me?" she pointed her index finger at herself. "i'm awesome."

"no, idiot." she slapped her shoulder in embarrassment. "if you're going to take care of me." she elaborated.

"oh." she mumbled after understanding what she meant. "of course i'll take care of you." she affirmed, then leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"if you cheat on me i'll kill you." she looked into her eyes seriously.

"all right."

"i am serious, jang serim, i will kill you." she reiterated with a dark gaze, swearing every word.

"as if i have eyes for anyone else." she cocked her head to the side with narrowed eyes judging her, incredulous. "i would never hurt you." she promised.

"you better." she pointed her finger at her accusingly.

"either way," jimin turned her head abruptly, looking at her with eyes wide in surprise at the very idea that she might regret what she just promised. "you have to be my girlfriend for me to cheat on you." she raised her hands in the air innocently.

"no, sorry, serim." she pulled away, putting a hand between them, stopping her words. "your love life dies in me." she laughed sourly. "since we said 'i love you' to each other for the first time, you are doomed to me." she warned.

"what do you mean by that?" she folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "that you don't feel the need to be my girlfriend?"

"you're already my girlfriend." she copied the action of intertwining her arms over her chest, defiantly.

"no." she contradicted her. "we never established it, so we're not."

"are you saying you're single?" she clenched her fist.

"i'm saying you should ask me to be your girlfriend." she explained. "look." she turned and with her hand pointed toward the city. "we have the best view in seoul, the night is starry." she walked up to the younger girl and put her hands on her waist, trapping her in her arms. "it's new year." she murmured. "you look beautiful." she commented, earning a smile from jimin that came with a roll of her eyes at the compliment. "you love me and i love you." she added.

"and why don't you ask me?"

"no." she broke contact, pulling away and giving her a defensive look. "make amends for your mistakes." she claimed.

jimin sighed. serim was right. after so many months of doing things wrong here was her chance to have what she wanted most in the world, to have serim. the terrace was empty, it was a moment that belonged only to them. the sky was splendid, it was a beautiful night, a cool wind was blowing, but it wasn't cold, and it was a new year.

new year, new beginnings.

jimin smiled sideways, an idea popped into her head, and she approached serim. she took her hands in hers and looked into her eyes. "don't laugh at what i'm going to do." she took a breath of air.

"oh my god, you're going to sing?" the mere thought caused serim to be unable to contain a giggle that escaped her lips.

"namu!" she punched her arm gently, nagging at her.

"sorry, it's just that i imagined you asking me to be your girlfriend while you sing up." she shook her head trying to erase the idea.

"i write you a song and this is how you treat me." she bit her lower lip trying to contain the smitten grimace that was blossoming on her.

when the funny moment dissipated, they both looked seriously into each other's eyes again, to which jimin took the opportunity to clear her throat and catch her breath again to start singing a song.

"cause maybe, baby..." she began softly keeping the tenderness in the way she looked at serim. "i just wanna do you, do you..." she sang in the highest pitched voice. "do you wanna do me? do me?" she moved her shoulders up and down to the rhythm of the song and with her finger pointed at the older one. "underneath the moonlight, the moonlight." she pointed to the sky. "baby, maybe-" the girl sang excitedly, moving more and more with the song.

"stop, stop, stop." she interrupted her in horror. "stop it, dylan." she identified the modern family song she was singing. "i can't believe you ruined it like that." she covered her face in embarrassment.

jimin would have refuted her disappointment, but she was too busy choking on the laughter her own joke had generated, bending over her body trying to catch her breath. serim could only look at her skeptically, unable to understand how she had found it so funny.

"oh my god." the younger girl pulled herself together, straightening up and turning back to face her partner still letting out the occasional laugh. "how does it feel to love such a funny person?"

"i could leave you in this very moment."

"not true." she grabbed her face between her hands and pulled her to her to leave a chaste kiss on her lips. "you love me too much." she reminded as she broke apart. "this time for real." she positioned herself again, taking in puffs of air to calm her fit of laughter.

"no, i don't want to anymore." serim shook her head sideways in denial.

"yes, come on." she struggled to take her hands as the older one pulled them away from her grasp. "come here." she tugged on her grip to pull her into her personal space.

silence reigned again and though serim was unsure as to the direction the moment would take, this time jimin was solemn, focused, she was looking at her like someone looking at a shooting star while making a wish. it was that kind of tenderness, that kind of desire.

"so excuse me forgetting..." she mumbled, she wasn't intoning yet, but rather speaking the lyrics. "but these things i do," she let out shyly. "you see i've forgotten..." she raised her voice so the words could be heard more clearly. "if they're green or they're blue." a little more confidently, she began to sing the sentences. "anyway the thing is, what i really mean..." she released serim's hands to wrap herself around her torso. "yours are the sweetest eyes i've ever seen..."

now that she was singing decisively, serim had let her guard down and was lost in the way jimin was watching her. she could see in the way she was moving that she was nervous, that she was embarrassed to open up like that, and she appreciated knowing that she was still doing it to express her feelings for her in some way. she wasn't used to being sung to, so she didn't know how to react, but she understood, they were both artists and if there was anything they were in love with apart from each other, it was music. jimin's voice fascinated her, she could listen to it for hours.

"and you can tell everybody..." as the younger one sang, they both swayed to the beat. "this is your song." serim smiled tenderly at that part of the lyrics. "it may be quite simple, but," serim's hands rested on jimin's neck. "now that it's done." jimin raised her touch to the woman's nape to push it to bring their foreheads together. "i hope you don't mind... i hope you don't mind..." she lowered her voice so that if there was anyone else in the place they couldn't hear, only serim. "that i put down in words..."

"how wonderful life is..." serim joined in and now they were singing in unison. "while you're in the world." they finished together.

they both stayed in that intimate position, one against the other, holding themselves and dancing alone on the terrace in the new year for a moment, serim closed her eyes to enjoy the moment and jimin kept them open because she wanted to see her, she always wanted to see her, she wanted to be able to appreciate serim's beauty for the rest of her life.

"elton john?" serim inquired when they both stopped, lifting her eyelids so she could look at her, her forehead still pressed against the opposite one.

"moulin rouge." she corrected. "it's the only musical i know any songs from." she confessed. "and you know..." she put on a confident expression. "my girl likes musicals."

serim scoffed at her attitude. "yeah." she nodded in agreement. "your girl likes musicals."

"my girl?" she repeated. "so you agree to be my girlfriend?"

"you haven't asked me yet."

"jang serim." she called out to her and wrapped her arms around her neck, pulling her even closer, their bodies pressed against each other, their faces so close she wanted to kiss her as soon as possible. "will you be my girlfriend?" she asked, her eyes sparkling and her heart beating faster than she would have imagined.

"no."

"what?" she exclaimed offended and abruptly turned away from the oldest. "serim." she watched her as the named laughed frantically at her reaction. "serim, be my girlfriend." she commanded. "serim." she quickly approached her and began to push her arm repeatedly as if asking her to stop teasing. "namu." she herself couldn't hold back her laughter at seeing the contrary so amused, but still she kept hitting her gently to make her stop. "hey." she wanted to grab her arm to pull her closer, but serim wouldn't let her, so they started to struggle. "be my girlfriend." she reiterated exerting force trying to win serim over. "love me." she jumped on the spot anxiously because she couldn't stand the joke the older girl was playing on her. "namu!" she squealed shrilly.

"okay, okay." she raised her arms in the air, thus giving way for jimin to latch on to her waist. "i love you." she assured. "and i do want to be your girlfriend." she wrapped the girl in her grip.

"really?" she raised her eyebrow dubiously.

"really." she affirmed. "from now on i'm all yours."

jimin let out a little squeal of excitement and jumped repeatedly on the spot to then pounce on the older girl and catch her in their first kiss as an official couple.

"puppy!" a shout echoed through serim's apartment after the sound of the door closing.

it could have been just one person, other than that jang recognized the voice instantly, so she rushed out of her room to find her girlfriend in the living. she ran towards her catching her in a tight hug and lifting her slightly off the floor as she held her.

"hi, baby." she leaned forward with her eyes closed waiting patiently for jimin to give her a kiss and shaking her body slightly once she did.

"hello, namu." she replied after kissing her then continuing to fill her face with pecks.

"how are you, my love?" asked serim as she watched the girl arrange her things on the table.

"i'm fine." she answered in a good mood. "happy to see you." she gave her a smile and dropped forward being caught in serim's arms to kiss her lips again. "is sejeong here?" she straightened up and inspected the apartment looking for her girlfriend's roommate.

"no." she denied, rounding the kitchen island to face the younger girl. "she's in her apartment because she's starting the move back in there." she reported.

"is she leaving already?" she inquired arranging the things she had brought with her.

"she's been living here for a while." she recalled. "she thinks i'm better now, so she's leaving."

"that's good." she put her elbows on the table and leaned back on her arms. "i do think you are better too." she agreed. "it makes me happy to see you like this."

serim smiled shyly. she had been eating better, at first it was because of sejeong's help controlling her at meal times, but lately it was of her own free will. she was happier, she had even been smoking a little less and sleeping at reasonable times. jimin stretched her arm across the counter to give her cheek a caress.

"i brought you a present." she announced excitedly.

"presents!" she celebrated.

the younger girl took a bag and put it between both of them, opened it, reached inside and from it pulled out a small plant with heart-shaped leaves, lifted it in the air and showed it proudly, painting a big smile on her face.

"it's a plant!" happily introduced the blackhaired.

"i see!" she said wryly.

"don't you like it?" she pouted and set the plant down on the counter.

"no, love." jimin dropped her shoulders in disappointment. "i love it!" she exclaimed and then picked up the pot to begin to inspect it. her passion for gardening making kicking in instantly, making the girl pry at the soil and the state of the leaves.

"do you really like it?" she received no response and that was exactly what she needed because she understood that her hyperfixation was acting up and that was a sign that she was excited about the gift. "namu." she called out to her softly with a smile.

"what, my love?" she replied without looking up from the gift.

"do you like it?" she leaned over the counter looking at her with enamored eyes.

"it fascinates me." she raised her eyes to finally connect with hers. "i didn't have one of these." she lunged forward to press a kiss to her lips. "thank you."

"it's a hoya kerly." she reported trying to remember the plant's proper name.

"hoya kerrii." she corrected amused, looking at her tenderly at her mistake.

"that." she dropped her head. "i don't know anything about plants." she covered her face in embarrassment.

"my love." she laughed and took her hands to remove them from her face. "you don't need to know about plants just because i like them." she tried to calm her down. "i'll teach you and you'll learn."

"but i wanted to present it well because it has a special meaning." she explained frustrated.

"it's the plant of the heart." she deduced.

"yes." she confirmed. "it represents love and harmony." she added. "i bought it for us.

"really?"

"yes." she nodded. "i want us to take care of it together." she looked at the pot. "let it be like our love sapling." she finished, her cheeks turning red at the confession.

"how corny you are." a smile broke out on her face as she watched her blush. "i love you."

"i love you too."

"and we're going to be very careful with our baby." she pointed to the plant. "for a long time." she walked around the table back to where jimin was. "what shall we name it?" she took her face in her hands.

"i have a name in mind." she admitted. "but it's even cheesier." she hid her face in serim's chest.

"tell me." she encouraged. "we're in love and happy, we have permission to be cheesy." she reassured.

"canada." she announced without removing her face from the security provided by the older.

"how?"

"canada." she repeated, this time speaking to her face.

"why canada?"

"because so!yoon is our favorite artist." she explained, referring to the singer's song.

"i like it." she agreed. "i only want you close to me." she quoted the song's lyrics.

"you're the one for me, half of my body, half of my mind." the younger girl continued.

"canada." she assured.

"she's our love."

"and we're going to take care of it for a long time." guaranteed serim. "together."

"together."

— the end.

#

[a/n: thanks to everyone who read. this was one hell of a ride and it wouldn't have been possible without all of you. ♡]

(!)

— taglist [CLOSED]: @yoontoonwhs @cwpiqwon @aliceiwk @xen248 @gtfoiydlyj @rinapomu @aeriuchinarga @multiliker @somedaydream @impossiblesharkcashrebel @yjiminswallet @nwjnsloona @yerimbrit @73vyn @dni-unavailable @yizhuobberi @sewiouslyz @yeetaberry127 @masuowo @yallatalla @chaenniefirst @minfolio @starrynini05 @hotluvlet @wmnrhot @mineige @lisaswifey @brocoliisscared @fae-the-wanderer @vivilvr

[lewismcqueen]

Hello fellow Lewis wifie

Can I request the Lewis x Journalist!reader NSFW prompt you have available. I'll let you have creative freedom with the plot.

Thanks so much

journalistic integrity.

cw: none except for sex (as you can see), and corny romcom dialogue a/n: totally freewrote this but I hope you enjoy anyway!

Lewis Hamilton was far from your biggest fan--or so you believed.

Every time his eyes landed on you from behind the mic at press conferences, he gave you a tired, withering look that said 'I would really prefer it if you weren't here'.

Your hard questions were rapid-fire and relentless, and you did not let him dodge a single one. You knew how to phrase an inquiry in such a way that Hamilton often found himself giving you the precise answers you wanted without even realizing he'd done it, until the next fair-but-scathing article was published under your name. Once, the man audibly sighed the moment he saw your familiar slick bun and navy blazer enter a half-empty conference room.

So it was a surprise to you when he approached you at the after-party of tonight's gala. Smiling.

"Enjoying your night?" he asked, hand in one pocket of his loosely-draped dress pants. He wore a well-tailored suit that looked formal enough but with enough asymmetry around the lapels to be fashionable.

You swirled your flute of champagne in one hand, your scrutinizing, deep brown eyes considering him. The corner of your mouth quirked up in amusement as he gazed intently at you, awaiting an answer.

"You know you don't have to play nice for the cameras anymore, right?" You made a show of looking around the dark ballroom bustling with guests, your white evening dress fluttering around your figure as you did so. "Nobody's filming."

Lewis didn't break eye-contact for even a second, his expression settling into some sort of half-smile. "Believe it or not, I wanted to chat with you."

You took a long sip of your champagne before replying.

"I dunno, Hamilton. I just find it hard to believe."

"That someone actually wants to talk to you?" The man lifted an eyebrow teasingly.

"No, I find it hard to believe that you would rather go up to a journalist outside of race week rather than one of your little friends back there."

You tilted your chin towards a cluster of other Formula 1 drivers and B-list celebrities that could afford to dress up for the night. Lewis briefly looked over his shoulder at the group and shrugged.

"'Friends' is a bit generous," he admitted. "Anyway, I think you're a bit more interesting. Don't you think?"

You felt your face heat up, making you instinctively hide the lower half behind your glass as if you were going to take another sip. Not that Lewis would be able to detect it if you'd blushed. What was he playing at?

"I think I might be a change of pace from folks who just go buy yachts when they're bored, that's for sure."

This pulled a laugh out of him. Not a media-trained chuckle, but a genuine laugh that showed off his signature tooth gap.

"So you agree then? That you're interesting?"

You failed to hold back a grin.

"If you want a real conversation, flattery won't get you what you want."

Lewis took a deliberate but small step towards you.

"What do you think I want?"

"A puff piece, maybe? More favorable coverage?" You tilted your head, "Go softer on you on media days?"

He mirrored the action, eyes glinting playfully. "I don't need you to write me a good referral in your paper, love. I do all my shit-talking on the track."

The sudden vulgarity surprised you a bit, but you kept your composure, narrowing your eyes.

"You don't seem to like my hard-hitting questions when I ask them."

"I certainly don't like them in the moment, but...I like your honesty," he winked, "You can hit me as hard as you like."

Heat shot down through your chest and stomach, then even lower. The innuendo would've sounded crass if it wasn't softened by the man's breathy, subtle voice. It must've shown on your face that you caught on, because he looked satisfied with himself as he took a moment to register your expression. You tried to retain some of your boldness before you could unravel in front of him.

"Sure thing. I'll make sure to include in my next byline that you like it rough."

Instead of catching Lewis off-guard like you had intended, his eyes darkened, though the half-smile didn't leave his face. The staring contest was interrupted by a voice that sounded like another driver calling out his name from behind you.

"I do," was the last thing he said as he leaned in close so that only you could hear.

You caught the smell of rich cologne when he brushed past you, a consequence of you taking a deep breath to try and calm your heart as it attempted to beat out of your chest.

The plan to fluster him back had backfired, but you didn't truly realize just how much it had backfired until you found yourself following him to his hotel even later into the night. You, the skeptical journalist who brought reading glasses to press conferences and never missed a media day, following a driver you hardly know just because he made you throb a little on the inside.

Lewis was funny, you had to admit. You thought that a man as well-spoken as him would spend the whole night trying to one-up you. As much as it bothered you, he was right; he didn't speak like someone who had anything to prove. At least not here. Off-track, Lewis was keen on keeping you entertained, gauging your reaction each time he made a joke as if he fed off of your laughter. And every time, your laugh got louder.

"I've never seen you smile like that before," he observed with a grin that made his eyes crinkle. He paused, then amended, "Or at all, really."

You quipped, "Well, the only time you see me is when I'm wiping the floor with you during press conferences."

Lewis leaned his head back into the seat, lidded eyes roaming over your figure while still making conversation.

"'Wiping the floor'? Are we in a competition with each other, is that it?"

"Well, yes, Hamilton, we are in fact at war with each other every time I interview you."

"Lewis."

"Hm?"

He held your gaze this time, a more earnest expression settling onto his features.

"Call me Lewis," A sly smile broke through. "Unless you'd rather be screaming my last name, just let me know."

You snorted, "Absolutely not."

"Hey, people have got preferences. I had someone ask to call me 'Sir Hamilton' the entire time, and it was a bit weird, but it was a fun time regardless."

"Hm," you smirked, "I always thought you might like making folks call you 'Sir'. Are you not into that?"

Lewis made a face. "Nah, not my style."

"Not even as a power fantasy sort of thing?"

"Nope," he laughed. "I didn't realize you were thinkin' about it that much. Now what does that say about you?"

-

A small pit began to form in your stomach as soon as the ritzy hotel Lewis was staying at came into view. For the first time since he first struck up a conversation with you back at the after-party, you began thinking rationally.

You'd be seen in public. Following Lewis Hamilton into a hotel. In public. You began to gnaw on your bottom lip, already considering apologizing and telling the chauffeur to turn around.

Lewis seemed to notice. "Walk in a couple minutes after me. Can't guarantee no one will notice you, though."

You look away for a moment to stare out of the window.

"You do this often, huh?"

"I do this a reasonable amount."

The silent part of that sentence: 'You know what you signed up for, right?'

You did, but it was a matter of how badly you wanted it. You looked over at Lewis, who observed you mutually. Your eyes moved downward until you reached his ringed index finger, slowly tapping his thigh as he waited for you to make your decision. Tension gathered in your lower abdomen again, searingly hot and impossible to ignore.

Fuck it.

"Fine. We're here already, aren't we?"

-

"What's wrong?" Lewis asked as he began removing his suit. He opened a small closet by the door and neatly hung it up.

"Nothing's wrong. Why?"

"You're just kind of standing there."

You blinked. "Right, sorry. It's been a long time since—"

"It's fine," he turned to you with a gentle smile. He gestured towards your dress. "Need help with that?"

You drew closer to him before turning around, offering him a good view of the plunging back of the garment where the too-small zipper was.

"Yeah, definitely. My stylist actually had to help me into this thing because the zipper is fucking microscopic."

You heard a low chuckle behind you as Lewis slowly unzipped the back, the wide straps descending down your shoulders.

"Good call. It's a little stuck...there we go."

Soon there was a pool of creamy-white satin surrounding your bare legs and heeled feet, the air conditioning causing goosebumps to rise all over your skin. His eyes glinted in the low lighting as they flickered up and down your figure. You suddenly became very aware of the plain cotton panties you hastily chose before rushing out the door in the evening.

The cold metal of Lewis' wristwatch brushed the skin of your waist. Before his fingers could break past the band of your underwear, caught his wrist and turned to face him with a grin.

"Hold on, now, I can't be the first one to get fully naked. We're in this together."

Lewis snorted and shook his head as he began to undo his tie. "If you wanted me to strip for you, you could've just said so."

You watched him make a show of unbuttoning his shirt, eyes clouded over with want as they met his. By the time he reached his belt buckle, your patience had run out.

You hastily stepped out of your beige pumps. "I'll do the rest."

Palm flat on his bare chest, he let you push him gently backwards until the back of his legs hit the king-size bed. He sunk into the soft mattress and spread his thighs apart as he adjusted his weight, leaning back on his elbows to look up at you expectantly with a smile that feigned innocence.

Moving to position yourself between his thighs, you slid your hand down his chest, down his stomach, until you reached his waist and began to undo the buckle. Another rational thought resurfaced that made you pause.

"Do you have—"

"Yes," Lewis replied with a knowing grin.

Your eyebrows shot up comically. "You didn't let me finish the question."

He gave you a funny look.

"Come on, now."

Laughing, you finished undoing his belt and unzipped his pants before briefly removing yourself from between his legs.

"Tell me where you keep 'em."

"See the nightstand over there? Bottom left drawer."

"Cool."

-

It didn't take long for his pants to end up discarded on the floor next to the bed, thin fabric the only thing separating you from the growing hardness in his boxers as you leaned down for an increasingly-desperate kiss. Lewis slid his hands down from your waist to your ass, digging the tips of his fingers into the soft flesh as he squeezed.

Feeling your underwear soaking through, you rolled your hips in a slow rhythm to create even just the slightest bit of friction. He gave you what you wanted, rolling his hips upward while holding you down to make sure you felt him.

You had to practically peel your underwear off, wincing mentally at how you were going to deal with that in the morning before shoving it to the back of your mind.

Lewis had gotten rid of his boxers, hissing a little as the cool air hit him. He let you slide the thin condom over his glistening length while he watched through thick dark eyelashes, gasping when you sunk down onto it a little too quickly.

You felt his breath become heavy against your skin while you bounced up and down, starting off slow and then speeding up once you used him to find your sweetspot. Lewis lay flat on his back now, watching how your breasts moved with you as he held your hips in place.

"You're quieter than I thought you'd be," he remarked, sounding nearly out of breath in between grunts and quiet swearing.

You slowed your pace and looked down at him with a smug look, equally winded. "Thought I'd be...thought I'd be screaming your name by now?"

The implied challenge seemed to snap Lewis out of whatever haze he was in. He gave you a thin smile.

"You don't mind messing up that silk press, do you?"

You laughed, thinking of how frizzy it must be getting now that you were beginning to sweat.

"Not at this point. Why?"

His smile deepened. "Get on your back."

It took nearly all of your oxygen not to let out a moan as he hit that same spot as before, but hovering over you this time. And painfully slow.

"Keep your eyes open for me," he instructed with the terrifying calm of a surgeon that was about to perform an operation.

"I-I can't..."

You were a squirming mess, bucking your hips in the hopes that it would bring you closer to release. Lewis stopped and let you squirm for a bit before bringing a warm hand up to your face, cupping your cheek. He used his thumb to swipe away a loose strand of hair that had gotten stuck to your face before brushing it across your lower lip.

"You can do it," he pushed his thumb into your slightly open mouth, and you let your tongue glide over the digit. It was salty with sweat. "Just look at me."

He removed the wet thumb after you sucked on it and let it go with a pop. The corner of his lips quirked up in amusement when he noticed your hand had slowly traveled from your stomach to in between your thighs.

"What's funny?"

"You're not slick. Move your hand, sweetheart."

You stopped flicking your finger momentarily, but looked up with a clear defiance.

"You didn't say I had to follow instructions."

Lewis seemed to enjoy the back-talk. "I didn't have to tell you, you just did because you like doing what I say. Now move your hand before I move it for you."

You didn't budge, the low-stakes 'warning' sending a surge of adrenaline through you. The thrill of waiting for his reaction soaked the sheets even further.

As expected, both hands were shortly pinned above your head, held down by just one of Lewis's. The metal of one of his rings began to dig into your skin, but you found you didn't mind.

With the other hand, he pressed the thumb he'd just had in your mouth to where you'd just had your own finger and circled it. Your breaths grew heavier and closer together. Why he had just replaced your hand with his was lost on you until he went back to thrusting with more force than before at the same time. The plan was to overwhelm.

Still holding back from making any noise, you inhaled sharply when he began alternating between circling and rubbing, occasionally licking his thumb mid-thrust to re-lubricate. No longer needing to pin your hands down (you kept them high above your head all on your own), Lewis placed his free hand beneath your knee to hold your leg in place, keeping your thighs from coming together.

An orgasm began to build as he sped up, bringing you closer to the edge as heat spread throughout your middle and inner thighs. The air conditioner was just loud enough to somewhat mask the sound each thrust made. Then, just as you were about to release, your eyes fluttered closed for just a moment. But that was enough for Lewis to drag you back from the edge.

"Lewis, wait—"

The feeling of him pulling out caused you to make a sound like a half-moan, half-whimper.

A wicked grin spread across his face.

He said quietly but triumphantly, "There she is."

You gasped as his middle finger slid teasingly up and down your entrance.

"Fuck you," you exhaled. "Put it back in."

"I might, if you say 'please'."

"Fine. Please."

He remained still.

"No attitude."

"Please?"

"That's better."

With little to no effort, Lewis hoisted both of your legs onto his shoulders so that your ankles rested just behind his ears. Slowly, he re-entered, making you shudder. You felt him deep in your lower abdomen as he picked up the pace again, angling himself upwards to hit that spot more relentlessly than before.

Your eyes rolled back as you completely lost yourself in the feeling, forgetting all about his instructions. If he saw, he didn't care, too busy enjoying the sound of his name on your lips, repeated with increasing fervor until you reached the edge of the abyss again. Reduced to incoherent whimpering sounds, you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you as your legs trembled.

White hot pleasure finally shot through you as you tumbled over that edge, ripping from your throat a poorly-restrained, ugly cry that ended in a scream that you didn't think you were capable of.

Lewis soon followed after you as you clenched around him, his muscles tensing and rhythm becoming more erratic before he finished with a shaky sigh. You released him from the odd bear hug you had him in so he could roll over and discard the used condom in the small trash can sitting next to the bed.

The expected wave of calm washed over you, but only for a moment. A clear head meant you now needed to think about how you were gonna get back to your own hotel. It was thankfully still dark out, but the sky would turn a pale blue soon. Lewis sat on the edge of the bed to unlock his phone. You looked over his shoulder to confirm: 3:55am.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath as he tugged his boxers on. You stared up at the ceiling. 'Shit' was right. "You asleep?"

"Nope," you rasped, the night already taking its toll on your vocal cords. "I gotta figure out how I'm gonna clean up before tomorrow's press conference and explain why I left the party with you."

"I assume you're not gonna just tell the truth?"

You sat up, covering your bare chest with the sheets. "No offense, but I'm taking this shit to the grave if I can."

The mattress shifted as Lewis got up, presumably to locate his pants. He gave you a wry smile.

"None taken. I won't say anything if you don't."

Finally mustering the will to remove the warm blanket, you swung your legs over the side. As soon as you got up, your knees buckled as of you'd just exercised, a dull ache throbbing in your core. Unfortunately, Lewis caught the exact moment you fell backwards and stifled a laugh.

"It's not funny," you said, despite bursting into laughter yourself. "This is your fault, anyway!"

"I'm not the one who begged me to put it back in, mate. Are you even gonna be able to walk through the paddock?"

You shrugged before bending down to grab your panties off the floor. "I'll suck it up and blame it on leg day if anyone asks."

"How long have you got?"

"Counting the time it'll take to get back to my room? Maybe forty-five minutes, tops."

Now wearing a purple graphic tee with a yellow design on it, Lewis flopped back down onto the bed with his phone in-hand.

"I can drop you off. But I need a twenty-minute nap first."

You took a moment to consider. Not having to wait for a cab or an Uber shaved off at least a little bit of time. It's not like you could run off anywhere at the moment. Tentatively, you settled back into the sheets as he set a timer and set the phone on his nightstand. It didn't take long for sleep to take over.

[iamsebastiansstan]

got some nerve to play hard - NAC x fem!reader

summary - "Can she… can she take all of you?” 

Nicholas’ eyes widen at her boldness before they glance down, looking at his own crotch. She follows his gaze, stupidly, but his pants are too loose, giving nothing away.

“She tries, but no. Nobody could before.”

“I bet I could,” she husks before she can stop herself, bites the inside of her cheek at her stupid mistake. Talking about someone else is one thing, but putting herself in that position could ruin their little fantasy, the little game they’re playing.

wc - 6k - MINORS DNI !

warnings - strangers to lovers, lots and lots of dirty talk, talking about Nicholas being with another woman, masturbation (m and f), coming on pussy 👀

A/N - I'm sorry, this isn't proofread, I sat down and didn't get up til it was finished. I've used this introduction in two other fandoms already but I can't help it, it's my fave lmaooo might write more parts but we'll see. come and shout at me in my DMs or messages, and let me know what you think <3 enjoy!

PART 1 - SERIES MASTERLIST !

Cooper’s parties are always fun, always a blast; people dancing and drinking, enjoying themselves and letting go of their stressful day to day routines, celebrating their lives for one reckless evening. 

She loves it, whenever she gets an invite, but lately she’s been stressed out more than usual, her college workload overwhelming her and the fact that she’s here now, in Calabasas instead of at her apartment in New York, makes guilt creep up her neck, makes her think of the points on her to-do lists she could be ticking off if she pulled an all-nighter at home instead of partying her time away. Though, she’s missed Cooper a lot, and she’s glad he’s letting her stay in his guest bedroom so they can spend some time together. 

That is where she’s heading to right now, needing a breather from the crowd and the noise. Sneaking up the stairs without getting interrupted is easy, and she sighs as she opens the door, locks it for good measure. Her bag is in the corner by the closet, and she crouches down, opens it, takes out her perfume and spritzes some onto her neck to refresh her favorite scent. Letting herself plop down onto the bed, she starts massaging her right shoulder that’s been smarting a little since she got off the plane at LAX when suddenly the door of the en-suite opens, making her head snap up. 

Waltzing out comes none other than Nicholas Chavez, Cooper’s close friend and Monsters co-star, making her heart stutter in her chest. Cooper mentioned having invited him, but she hadn’t seen him downstairs yet, which she had been glad about if she’s being honest with herself. She has a tiny celebrity crush on him, but not enough for a genuine freakout. 

He stops in his tracks, then, looks at her wide-eyed. She takes in his messy hair, his rosy cheeks, a few droplets of water on his face, and smiles. 

“Hello.”

“Um, hi?” he greets, eyes darting to the door and back again. “I- I’m sorry, are you staying here? I didn’t know that- if-“

“All good,” she interrupts, sitting up straighter, smile not faltering. “Cooper has graciously let me claim this room for the weekend, and I came here to… take a breather, I guess.” 

Nicholas leans against the door, then, arms crossing over his chest. 

“I’m sorry for invading your space, then.” 

“You’re totally fine, I’m happy to share if you’d like.” 

“How very nice of you,” he says, gives her a tiny smile before stepping forward and stretching out his arm. “I’m Nicholas.” 

She takes his hand in hers, shakes it, hoping he doesn’t notice how clammy her palm is. 

“(Y/N),” she grins, “nice to meet ya.”

They stay there for a beat too long, him standing above her and her sitting, shaking hands sluggishly, before she decides to break the silence. 

“Were you okay in there?” she says and lets go of his hand, motions to the bathroom.

He drives a hand through his hair, nodding slowly. 

“Yeah… yeah, well. I had to splash some cold water on my face and just… be in silence for a bit, but I’m okay. You?” 

She scooches up the bed, leans back against the headboard and stretches her legs out in front of herself. Her back hurts a little and she was looking forward to stretching out properly for a bit, but there’s no way she’s going to sprawl across these sheets in front of him. 

“’m okay, thank you. Just overwhelmed. I can leave again, though, if you’d like. You were here first.” 

“Technically,” he starts, sauntering over to the other side of the bed, pointing at it and sitting down when she gives him a nod, “you were here first, and I can totally leave if you need me to.”

She chuckles, rolls her eyes a little, feels the three tequila shots she took before coming up here in her system.

“Sharing is caring, Nicholas, and besides, do I seem like I’d want you to leave?”

He shrugs, gives her a slow smile. “Guess not. Thanks.” 

He asks her how she knows Cooper and she tells him the story of how they met at a party and instantly hit it off, she asks him what it’s like to be working with Cooper in a professional setting, and their conversation moves from the topic of their mutual friend to various others: Nick’s career, her studies, their hobbies and so on and so forth. At one point he sneaks downstairs and comes back with four bottles clutched in his large hands: two water and two Smirnoff ice. 

“Do I look like a 17-year-old to you?” she laughs when he holds them towards her in triumph, tongue in cheek.

“C’mon, (Y/N), live a little.” 

Comfortable silence settles over them when they’ve emptied their drinks and she can’t believe just how easy he is to talk to, how much time has passed while they were having fun.

“So…” she asks, heart hammering in her chest but she swallows down her sudden nervousness, “Wanna talk about it?” 

She nods towards the bathroom and he inhales sharply once he’s understood her question.

“Not sure what you mean.”

“I mean, you clearly weren’t doing so well,” she says, smiles at him, shrugs, “I’m just saying, if you wanna talk about it, I’m here to listen. This is a judgment-free zone.” 

“I wouldn’t say that,” he frowns but the smile he’s trying to fight of betrays him, “I judged you pretty hard for your snack preferences to be honest.”

“Pickles and peanut butter are a delicious combination!” she laughs, exasperated, “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it!” 

They stay giggling like that before he shrugs, fiddling with a loose thread of the comforter they’re sitting on. 

“I just… it’s… I think I messed up,” he sighs, leaning his head back against the headboard, exposing the column of his throat that she is decidedly not looking at.

“How so?” 

“With my… ex. Well, ex I think.” 

She nods slowly, not quite following. Of course, she knows who his ex is, her name, what she looks like, the projects she’s involved in. She seems like the sweetest girl, but not much is public about her, so her curiosity is piqued. 

“Go on…” 

He exhales then, grabs his water and downs the rest of it in one go, wiping his mouth before crossing his arms across his chest. He’s frustrated, she can tell, but he looks so damn good that she feels a tad guilty for being on the verge of distraction. 

“We broke up during a fight last week. It was so bad, and… I mean, it’s been bad, right? My schedule, the distance, she grew more and more tired of it and I- I get it, y’know? It’s not easy, being with me.” 

“I see,” she nods, turns towards him more. “I can imagine that your lifestyle can get tricky for everyone involved.”

“Yeah, I can’t expect everyone to wanna keep up, y’know? And the worst part is, when she did it- because she did it, right- I felt relieved. Like somehow, she was being set free, and I didn’t have to be the asshole to do it.” 

Her eyes narrow, not quite agreeing with his statement. She saw how hard Hollywood can be on anyone, especially someone with a “normal” partner who’s got a “normal” job, but it’s not like anyone is being forced to hold on to their unhappiness. She tells him as much.

“Well, yeah, I’m being a bit dramatic. But at the end of the day, I know it’s better for us if we are separated. I still love her so much, but… I can’t. So much has happened, and I… can’t.” He gets quiet then, stares out the window into the night, before chuckling humorlessly, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. ‘m sorry for being such a downer.” 

“Hey, no worries at all,” she smiles warmly, reaches out to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezes once. “I offered, and I really am here to listen. Thank you for your trust.” 

He scoffs, not unkindly. “Yeah, you’re really easy to talk to. Thanks for that.” 

One more squeeze to his shoulder before she lets go, leans back.

“So, you feel like you fucked up by, what, letting her break it off, or…?”

Nicholas snaps out of his momentary thoughts, shakes his head.

“Oh, that wasn’t the fuck-up, no. I feel shitty because… well, because of what happened yesterday. I drove to hers to give her some stuff back,” he explains, and her stomach drops. They broke up, he drove to hers, he messed up. 

There’s only one thing that can mean, and she listens closely, waits for him to say it, but the words never come. 

Throwing caution in the wind, she dares to finish the train of thought for him.

“And you two had sex.”

Nick’s wide eyes snap to hers, a blush coloring his smooth cheeks, and she chuckles.

“C’mon, it’s okay, we’re all grown here!” 

“It was so stupid!” he exclaims, throwing his head back while she has to hold back her laughter. “Don’t make fun!”

“I’m sorry, I’m not!” she giggles, reaches out to him to get his attention. “Nicholas, that’s normal! Is it really a breakup if you don’t have breakup sex?” 

“Yes!” he laughs at her, a little manic this time, driving a hand through his tousled hair. “Fuck you mean, is it really a breakup? Having sex after is the dumbest move you could make!” 

Hiding her face in her hands, she allows herself a loud belly laugh, endlessly amused by his distress. She calms herself down, has a sip of her water.

“I disagree, sometimes it’s needed for closure.”

“Yeah, fuck that, because earlier she texted me if I could come see her again soon and that there’s things we still need to talk about. I feel like I’m back at square one.” 

“You think you’ll give in to her if she asks to give your relationship a second chance?” 

It takes a beat for him to mull it over.

“I don’t know, maybe?” 

It’s been an interesting night so far and the alcohol is still shimmying its way through her system, she’s here with her celebrity crush and having a great time, so she makes a conscious decision to be bold and see where it lands her. 

She scoots closer, turns so she’s right next to him and sits criss cross applesauce so she can lean forward and take his hands in hers. He’s looking at her questioningly but goes with her motion. 

“Nicholas, I know we don’t know each other, but I want you to tell me if you need me to be honest with you or if you want me to hype you up on getting back on your bullshit? Just say the word and I’ll do it.”

His unsure gaze darts to the side before settling on hers again, nodding dumbly.

“Tell me what you think,” he requests, and she smirks as she obliges.

“You’re being a big fucking baby and you need to get over it and tell her, once and for all, that it’s better this way. If you go there, have the conversation and then get back with her despite your gut telling you not to? That would be a fuck-up. Sex with your ex is nothing compared to what a mistake that would be.” 

The silence that settles over the room is thick, turning more uncomfortable by the second, and suddenly she feels herself sober up quickly, the realization of what she just said to this stranger, how grandiosely she stepped out of line, hitting her hard.

Apology ready on her lips, she’s just about to backtrack, when he squeezes her hands, closes his mouth in a resolute expression.

“Damn, that was… Thank you. Yeah, you’re right,” he’s muttering, and she can feel her heart in her throat, relief washing over her. “Wow, I don’t think anyone in my life would be as honest with me as you just were.” 

She smiles sheepishly, heat crawling up her neck.

“I’ll never be the friend who tells you what you want to hear, Nicholas, but I’ll always be the friend who tells you what you need to hear.”

He lets go of her, then, leans back with a calculating gaze, eyeing her up and down.

“So we friends now, you and I?” 

She shrugs. “Whaddya think?” 

He hums. “You called me a big fucking baby. Only friends get to do that.” 

He holds out his large hand and she takes it, shaking it with a smile.

“Deal.” 

She goes back to her place against the headboard and they sit in silence for a moment before she turns her head, smirks teasingly as she says, “I will say, though, you don’t look too happy for someone who’s freshly fucked.” 

His guffaw is sudden, unexpected, but it makes her laugh along, refusing to be embarrassed by her rude remark. 

“What even are you?” he asks her incredulously and she throws her head back, belly hurting from how funny he is. 

“I’m just saying! No matter who it’s with, people usually glow after, and you looked like a kicked puppy when I found you.”

He scoffs, “Found me, yeah right,” he says, but locks eyes with her and winks. 

“Yeah, well,” she muses.

“Sorry that a damper got put on my after-sex-glow and you couldn’t enjoy it, little missy!” 

“Oh, so there was a glow?” she asks, teasing him but curious, her stomach tightening. She makes sure to keep her tone light and playful but there’s nothing she wants to know more than the details of how he fucks.

She’s an open girl, sexual and talkative, and despite people in the past trying to make her feel less than for it, she lives out her personality shamelessly, unapologetically. 

His confirmation comes slow, thought-out. 

“I’d say so, yeah. There always is when it’s good, isn’t there?” 

She hums. 

“So it was good, despite everything?” 

The way he turns towards her is unhurried, deliberate, and she feels her pulse quicken, feels like she’s about to be scolded for her forwardness.

“What are you asking me there, missy?” 

Gulping down her nervousness, she answers, “Look, even though I was hoping for it, I don’t think I’ll be finding anyone to share my bed with tonight, so the least I could do is… talk about it.” 

He grins. “Someone had plans, huh? 

She shrugs nonchalantly. “I like sex.” 

“Talking about it, as well?” 

Her inhale is deep as she thinks about how to word her thoughts.

“I like knowing what others like, how they view that act of intimacy. It’s one of my favorite topics.” 

“You’re not a sellout, are you?” he questions, but the crinkles by his eyes show her he’s being humorous.

She rolls her eyes, delivering a swat to his arm.

“You’re not dumb enough to fall for shit like that, Nicholas.” 

A beat passes before she hears his voice again, “Yeah, it was good. Always is with her, to be honest.” 

“The familiarity of a long-term partner is unbeatable, isn’t it?” 

He agrees.

“How’d you have her?” 

“Fuckin’ hell, you just speak your mind, huh?” 

She’s playing with a strand of her hair, picking at the split ends, she needs a haircut. She doesn’t want to come across as eager, so she shrugs yet again, glances at him.

“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to answer.”

“Nah,” he says, clicks his tongue before replying, “You can ask. I think I’m curious to see how your mind works, (Y/N).” 

Her eyebrows raise in slight surprise, but she presses on.

“Good. So?” 

The sheets rustle as he shifts, settles in so he’d be more comfortable, sprawling on the bed like it’s his own, like he owns the place. Their thighs are this close to touching and she wills herself not to focus on that too much, rather listening to what he says next. 

“I never take her one way only,” he confesses, then, causes heat to lick up her spine. “We started kissing against the back of the couch, but I lost my patience quickly, I… I just had to fuck her.” 

“So you took her from behind? Against the couch?” 

“Nah, that came later,” he narrows his eyes as if he has to remember it, “I picked her up, that’s how we started.” 

“With her legs around you?” He nods. “Just straight into it, no foreplay?” 

He smirks, turns to her. “I tend to let my hands travel during make-out sessions, if you know what I mean.” 

She exhales sharply. “Let’s say I don’t know, Nick.” 

One thick brow of his rises teasingly, eyeing her. 

“I had some fingers in her while we were kissing, (Y/N).”

“Damn, okay. How many is some?”

“You’re real fuckin’ curious, aren’t you?” 

“Fuck off, I’m only human.” 

She’s not even ashamed of her thirst for information, his words causing a movie to form in her head and she refuses to let a cliffhanger disappoint her.

“Two this time, I was impatient. Plus, I like her tight.” 

She looks away, then, turns her head away from his so she could school her expression. His face is unreadable, charming smile in place, but his eyes give nothing away. It does little to settle the fire inside of her. 

“Did you eat her out?”

“Later on, I did.”

What a mental image.

“Did she… go down on you?” 

“Not this time.”

“Can she… can she take all of you?” 

Nicholas’ eyes widen at her boldness before they glance down, looking at his own crotch. She follows his gaze, stupidly, but his pants are too loose, giving nothing away.

“She tries, but no. Nobody could before.”

“I bet I could,” she husks before she can stop herself, bites the inside of her cheek at her stupid mistake. Talking about someone else is one thing, but putting herself in that position could ruin their little fantasy, the little game they’re playing.

It feels like her heart is going to jump out of her chest when suddenly Nicholas reaches up, wraps one hand around the front of her throat, eyeing it as if he’s inspecting it closely. He drives one finger over her hammering pulse point and chuckles before pulling away entirely.

“Yeah, maybe you could. You’d choke on it, though.” 

“Cocky bastard, don’t fucking act like you don’t love that.” 

He considers it for a moment. 

“I don’t mind it. A hand in your hair, drilling into your throat, makes for some neat little sounds, I’m sure.” 

“Fuck,” she breathes, gathering herself before pressing. “Then what? You fucked her standing up and then?”

“I carried her into her bedroom, took her missionary. I love that position, it’s so underrated.”

“It really is,” she agrees, a dreamy hush sneaking into her words. “The passion of it, the romance. Fucking eye-to-eye is not for the faint hearted.” 

A laugh escapes him at that, and he looks at her, awe written all over his face. 

“Yeah, exactly. Many variations of that, as well. My personal favorite is having her legs over my shoulders, I can get real deep that way.” 

“Oh wow, that one’s good. Plus, it allows for room. I… I find it easiest to play with myself that way.” 

The admission is very personal, she knows, but she deems it unfair to let him spill his guts while she gets to keep her secrets.

“Play with your clit, you mean?” She nods, bashful. “Do you always need to?” 

“I don’t come without it,” she says, watches his brows furrow. “What?”

“Nobody’s ever made you come on his cock only?”

The way he says it, the word, the whole sentence, as if offended on her behalf, makes her pussy clench where it’s steadily leaking.

“I don’t know if I can,” she frowns, “not every woman can.”

“Every woman I fucked could, though,” he smirks, and she hides her flaming face behind her hands.

“You’re unbelievable, fuck,” she tells him, allows him his smug smirk, though. “Did she come untouched as well?” 

“Yeah, she did.”

“Did she ask permission?”

He squints his eyes. “Permission…?”

Her mind is going into overdrive, hoping to God that she isn’t scaring him off but needing to share her deepest desire with him, needing to know his in turn.

“When I get fucked,” she starts, ignores the surprise in his face, “my orgasms aren’t mine, they’re his. Right? So, I always ask permission.”

“What if he says no?”

“Then I hold it.” 

“Fuck,” he breathes and she watches, throat dry, as he reaches down to adjust himself in his pants unabashedly. “You’re a dirty girl, aren’t you?”

“Only with men I trust.”

She tears her eyes away from his crotch to look at him.

“Is there anyone like that in your life right now?” She shakes her head no. “Good.”

It takes all of the restraint she can muster up not to beg him for something, anything, right then and there, but she focuses on the story he owes her. 

“How many times did you make her come?”

He thinks about it, shrugs. “Stopped counting at three.”

“Goddamn. How did you come?”

“Inside her, while she was riding me,” he smirks, paints the picture in her head so clearly, only that it isn’t a head full of brown hair that’s thrown back in ecstasy but-

“You asked if I ate her out?”

She’s scared to speak.

“…yes?”

“That’s when I did it, after. Cleaned her up nicely.”

She brings a hand up to her mouth and covers it, mind and heart racing. 

“Did you- Nick, did you swallow your own load?”

Nicholas clicks his tongue, trails his eyes over her rapidly moving chest, locks his eyes on hers as he delivers one devastating blow, “Aw baby, don’t tell me you’re unfamiliar with getting a mouthful of come spat onto that pretty tongue.” 

Delirium grips at her then, grabs her by the throat and doesn’t let go, takes control of her limbs and makes her straddle him quickly as he sits up to welcome her, grabs her and pushes her hips down into where he’s bucking his up. Nicholas’ tongue on her neck makes her moan, hot all over. 

“I will ask you something and I want you to be honest with me,” he rasps, bites at her earlobe, “a truth for a truth, deal?”

“Yes, please-“

“When did you start thinking about you being the one taking my cock?” 

“Fuck!” she exclaims with her hands tangled in his head, pulling a little, frustrated at being found out but relieved that he’s embracing it so openly. “When you talked about throwing her legs over your shoulders.”

“Good girl,” he says, nips at her collarbone as he holds her tight, “wanna know something? I stopped talking about what I did to her when you asked about her going down on me.”

“You lied?” she shrieks, outrage as fake as her restraint.

“I won’t disrespect her by divulging too much information, plus I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

Clever fingers reach under her shirt to unclasp her bra, helping her out of her clothes so her upper body is bare. 

“And, did you like it?”

“Fuckin’ loved it.”

He buries his face between her tits, squeezing them periodically, and she’s just about to beg for his cock when he looks up at her, apology written all over his face.

“I can’t fuck you, I’m sorry,” he says, “I shouldn’t even be touching you right now. Not until I know, for sure, where I’m at in life.” 

The telltale burning behind her nose makes her want to scream, the sexual frustration overtaking her, but she reels herself in, albeit barely. Of course it hurts, being rejected like this, but she isn’t about to make things more complicated for him than they need to be. She’ll take what she can get from him, this could be her only chance.

“Fuck, that’s okay, Nick. I understand.” 

“’m sorry, (Y/N).” 

“Fuck,” she breathes before she pushes him back, eyes on him as he puts his hands behind his head, observes her as she tries to wiggle out of her jeans. “You don’t have to touch me, we can play some other way, no?”

Nicholas closes his eyes as if in pain, exhales deeply before they open again, jet-black gaze meeting hers. He nods.

“Get back here, baby,” he groans, and soon enough she’s perched on his lap again, fully naked while he’s still dressed, rubbing her center against the material of his pants. 

“I’m dying to taste you,” she confesses, so close to tears it’s embarrassing, but with him she feels no shame. 

The hands he’s got on her hips tighten as he looks up at her through his full eyelashes, something dark in his eyes.

“So am I, you’re fucking dripping for me.” 

“And you’re hard for me,” she states, needs that equilibrium. 

“All for you, (Y/N),” he breathes, bucks his hips up once more. “Dying to touch myself.” 

“When was the last time you did?” 

“This morning.”

She believes him, knows he’s done with games, and she can’t help but picture it: his broad wet back, droplets of water falling from his soaked hair, one strong arm flexing as his hand is moving up and down his cock, mouth agape but eyes shut in ecstasy. She wishes so badly to see it, to feel it.

“You’re picturing it, aren’t you?” 

She barks out a laugh, hips still rotating. 

“Aren’t I always?” 

“Imaginative little girl,” he smirks and it sounds like praise. “Wanna see how I do it? Wanna watch me fuck myself?”

The wanton moan that escapes her can’t be helped and she’s nodding her head vigorously, not trusting her voice.

“You too, though, yeah? You show me how you work that sweet little cunt, okay?”

“Yes, yes, whatever you want… Take your cock out, please, Nick,” she whines, unable to stop her hands from shaking, from driving across her body, touching herself wherever she can reach.

He does as he’s told and soon enough his pants are down to his knees, cock hard and proud in his hand, the sight making her eyes water. It’s so thick that she knows exactly what it’d feel like deep within her.

“Touch yourself slowly, give yourself two,” he instructs, and she immediately obeys, nerves shot as she shoves two fingers into her dripping pussy.

“Jerk your dick with both hands, baby, but keep it tight. Pretend like it’s my mouth on you.” 

“Spit on it, first,” he barks and she looks at him, wide eyed, sees how serious he’s being, before collecting a glob of spit on the tip of her tongue and letting it fall onto his cockhead. The way it slowly trails down before he drives his hand over it, slicks himself up so he can obey her better, makes her gut churn.

“’m so tight, so wet for you,” she cries out, riding her own fingers painstakingly slowly, wanting to do exactly as he tells her to. “And your dick is so fucking big, oh shit.”

“Glide your clit against two fingers, but keep it loose, don’t touch with the intent to come,” he tells her while his eyes are darting between her face and what she’s doing to her pussy, not wanting to miss a thing. 

“You really are adamant about me coming from my spot only, huh?” she chuckles but does as he directs her.

“One day, I’ll train you to only come from that spot, fuck,” he spits, hand speeding up as she whines at his promise.

“Shit, my clit is so swollen, if I keep going like this, I’ll cum.” 

“You can,” he says, grabs her ass cheek with one hand as he keeps working his dick with the other, “Come as many times as you’d like, as long as you can keep coming until I’m satisfied.” 

She can’t look away from how he’s touching himself, confident in his body, jerking it tightly and switching between fast and slow strokes, his full balls following the motion. The need to have her mouth on them, lap at his full sac while he makes himself feel good, knocks the wind out of her.

“Play with your balls,” she whines, always whining desperately, “I need to see what that looks like.” 

“Oh, yeah?” his hand leaves her skin as he grabs his balls, rolls them in his palm, moans at how hungrily she’s eyeing the scene before her. “They need to be drained so bad, (Y/N).”

“We’ll take care of that together, won’t we, baby?”

“Fuck yeah,” he growls, looking between her legs again. “Give yourself one more, I want you stretched.” 

She does exactly that and moans around how full she feels, knowing that if it were him inside of her, it’d be even more overwhelming. Wishing he was shirtless, completely naked, she fucks herself hard, wanting to take her other hand and drive it along his torso but not daring to stop what he ordered her to do.

“May I come for you, please?” she gasps, hips bucking wildly. She’s not above begging, not for a man like him.

“Come for me, (Y/N),” he growls, taking his hands off himself to hold her up as she convulses with how hard her orgasm hits her, it’s been a few days since she last came. “Good fuckin’ girl, that was gorgeous, fuck.” 

Nicholas’ praise gets to her, makes her flush down to her stomach and he notices, laughs wickedly as he pushes her up so she’d sit straight, takes her hand and motions for her to keep going.

“Not done with you yet, keep playing.”

“Fuck,” she winces as she touches her sensitive clit, swollen and hard and just on the right side of painful, but his wish is her command so she can’t help but do it. “Keep touching your cock, Nicholas. I wanna come to the sight of you close to my cunt.” 

“God, you make me crazy,” he growls as he does just that, his tip this short of touching her pussy as he really goes for it, hand a blur with how fast he’s moving.

She’s got three fingers back inside of her but apart from the stretch it isn’t doing much for her, she knows he’d make it feel earth-shattering, though, would show her a completely new side of herself, and with that in mind she feels herself close to the edge again, panting.

“I’m fucking close again, oh my God-“

“You’re incredible, keep going, I’m right there.”

It puts a new kind of vigor inside of her and she moves and grinds and moans just how she thinks he’ll like it, puts on a show for him and when he starts whimpering, she knows she’s got him right where she wants him.

Or so she thinks.

She lets go first, wailing as it hits her, having wanted to share that moment with him but being unable to think as the coil inside of her snaps. Falling back onto the bed she pulls her knees to her chest, drives her fingers deep and comes hard.

“Spread your legs, let me mark you, huh?” comes his voice, snapping her out of her high, and without thinking twice she spreads her legs wide and gives him a clear view of her sloppy pussy, takes her hands away so he can shuffle between them, and it only takes him a few more pumps before he’s groaning, shooting string after string of his hot semen right onto her clit, making her shout.

It overstimulates her completely: the feeling of it, the sight of it, the way he claimed her without ever having been inside her.

Nicholas wouldn’t be Nicholas, she has learned, if he didn’t push her completely over the edge, and so through his hard breathing, with his impossibly deep voice, he demands, “Make yourself come one more time for me, baby. Fuck your clit with my come all over it, lemme see it.”

She does just that, but she feels like she passes out, because next thing she knows she’s got tears streaming down her face, his head hidden in her neck and shushing her, soothing her. The throbbing between her legs is barely noticeable through the ringing in her ears, and when he tells her to match her breathing to his, it takes her a while to comprehend.

“You back with me?” he smiles gently, tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, and she nods shakily, not trusting her voice. 

“That was… oh my God, Nicholas.”  

He laughs, a soft sound, pursing his lips.

“I don’t know what came over me. Was all of that okay?”

“More than,” she says, needing to reassure him, grabs the hand that’s on her cheek and kisses each fingertip. “I… have never felt like that. Wow. So out of my body.” 

“Me neither, I didn’t even know I could, well, do all of that.” 

They take a moment of silence to just grin at each other stupidly, gathering themselves, and she feels a ping of hurt in her stomach at the prospect of letting him leave.

“Wanna… stay with me for the night? We’ll be good, I promise, but I just can’t be alone after all of that, Nicholas. I can’t.”

The kiss he presses to her shoulder is long, contemplative.

“I can’t leave right now, I’ll be honest. I feel like you’d fall apart if I did,” he smirks, dodges the swat she so badly aims in his direction. “Nah, and I wouldn’t be well, either. That was intense.”

“So… shower and cuddles?”

“And food, I’ll have to raid Cooper’s pantry.”

The party comes to mind again, she’s already forgotten about it. The people must have already left, it’s way too quiet in comparison to what it was when she came up here.

“Sounds great. But you’ll need to help me, I think my legs are jello.” 

“Sorry not sorry,” cheeky bastard he is, but he helps her up and walks with her to the bathroom, starts the shower so it’d be hot when she gets in.

The mirror isn’t very kind to her, showing messy hair and ruined makeup, streaks of mascara running down to her neck where her tears were, but she’s got an unmistakable glow on her face, radiating satisfaction. Nicholas walks up next to her, hooks his head over her shoulder and grins. 

“Now you look happily fucked out,” she comments, laughs when he slaps her ass once, not too hard. 

“Thank you for that,” he whispers, kisses her shoulder. “I needed it.” 

“So did I.” 

Her honesty would scare her under normal circumstances, but this isn’t a normal circumstance. She steps into the shower and starts washing herself, wishing she could stay in his fluids for a little longer, rub them into her skin so she’d still know tomorrow that this night was real, but she settles for having him clean and comfortable next to her in bed. He watches her for a while before he exits the room, possibly in search of food, as he’s promised earlier.

She’ll have time for a spiral tomorrow. For now, she just looks forward to letting his breathing lull her into a deep sleep. 

[insomniac4000]

George Clarke- Gretna Green

Y/N had always imagined her wedding day as something small, intimate, and filled with love. She and George had agreed on that from the start—just a handful of close friends, a simple ceremony, and a party that didn’t break the bank. But somewhere along the way, her family had taken over.

Her mother had started by insisting they invite "just a few" more relatives

"Oh darling, you should invite your cousins, it would be rude not to!" Suddenly the guest list had doubled.

Then came You can’t just do a basic ceremony—what about a venue? A full reception? A PROPER wedding?

Her sister, who lived in Spain, was now adamant that the wedding be held there, despite neither Y/N nor George wanting a destination wedding.

“I live in Spain, Y/N,” she’d scoffed on FaceTime. “It makes so much sense to do it here! And it’s way more picturesque than— I don’t know—some dingy little registry office.”

“It’s not dingy,” Y/N had argued. “And George and I just want something small.”

Her mother had sighed dramatically. “You’ll regret not doing it properly. Think of how wonderful the pictures would be! What about your guests?”

Every conversation seemed to turn into another argument, another compromise that wasn’t really a compromise at all.

George watched as Y/N became more and more drained. She wasn’t eating properly, she barely smiled when they talked about the wedding anymore, and worst of all, she was constantly on the verge of tears.

And George couldn’t bear it any longer.

Y/N sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the guest list her mum had sent.

George walked in, fresh from filming with Max and Chris, and immediately clocked her exhausted expression. “Alright, what’s wrong?”

She exhaled, pushing her phone towards him.

George skimmed the messages, his jaw tightening. “Why are we inviting Siobhan from Pilates?”

“She’s my mum’s friend. Apparently, she’d be heartbroken not to come.”

George scoffed. “Have you ever spoken to this woman?”

“Nope.”

He set the phone down. “Babe, I cannot let you do this to yourself.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I just wanted something simple.”

“Then let’s have something simple,” he said firmly.

She sighed. “How? My mum won’t—”

“Then let’s elope.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

George grinned. “Elope. Run away. Scotland. Just us and the people we actually want there.”

She hesitated. “My mum will kill me.”

“I’ll take the hit,” George promised. “But you should be happy about getting married, not drowning in stress. Think about it. No stress, no guest lists, no family politics. Just us and the people who actually support us.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” he said. “I can’t stand watching you feel like this, and I don’t want to spend the next six months arguing with your mum about chair covers or dealing with your sister throwing a fit because it’s not in Spain. Let’s just go. Scotland, maybe? Get a little cottage, grab the lads, and do it our way.”

For the first time in weeks, Y/N felt relief.

“Let’s do it."

“Yeah.” George’s face lit up with excitement. “

A smile crept onto her lips. “Scotland?”

“Yeah, proper romantic. Lochs, mountains, a little pub to celebrate afterward.” He kissed her knuckles. “Just us, babe.”

For the first time in weeks, Y/N felt a weight lift from her shoulders. “Let’s do it.”

Y/N paced the flat, phone in hand. Chris, Max, and Harry sat on the sofa, watching with interest.

Chris leaned in. “Want me on speaker for moral support?”

“I can yell shame! if necessary,” Max offered.

Harry smirked. “I say we let her cook.”

Y/N took a deep breath and called.

“Y/N, darling!” Her mother answered. “I was just about to call! I spoke to a caterer who does the most exquisite—”

“Mum.” Y/N cut her off. “George and I have decided to have a private wedding. We’re going to Scotland next week and getting married there, just us and a few close friends.”

Silence.

Then—

“… You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Y/N said firmly.

Her mother’s voice sharpened. “You’re being selfish.”

Y/N flinched. George sat up straighter.

“It’s my wedding, Mum.”

“It’s supposed to be a family celebration,” her mother snapped. “What about your sister? What about me?”

Y/N’s chest tightened. “You should be happy for me.”

Her mother huffed. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

Y/N exhaled. “I love you. But this is our choice.”

The call ended in icy silence.

Y/N turned to George. “Well… that went well.”

Chris raised his beer. “To Scotland, then."

"To Scotland," she grinned for the first time in weeks, she had chosen her happiness.

And that happiness came in the form of George, a train ride to Scotland, and a suitcase filled with nothing but a simple white dress and a bottle of champagne.

Scotland: The Wedding They Wanted

They rented a beautiful lodge overlooking a loch. Their guest list? Their actual friends.

Chris, Max, Harry, Ethan, Simon, Talia, Faith, and both the Arthur's all came, thrilled to be part of something special.

The night before, Y/N sat outside, staring at the misty hills.

Chris walked up with two beers, handing her one. “You alright?”

She smiled. “Yeah. I just… I can’t believe we actually did it.”

Chris grinned. “No offence, but I can. George is an absolute menace when he puts his mind to something.”

She laughed. “True.”

He nudged her. “But also, this? This is you. Not a giant wedding with a guest list full of Pilates instructors.”

Y/N exhaled. “You’re right.”

Chris bumped his bottle against hers. “I usually am.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like George.”

Chris smirked. “Maybe I lived with him for too long. But from tomorrow he's your responsibility.”

The next afternoon, the sun peeked through the clouds as Y/N stood in a simple, flowing white dress, wildflowers in her hands, Chris had given her away just as she asked.

A local officiant stood before them, smiling warmly.

Max, standing beside George, gave him a cheeky nudge.

“Alright, listen up,” the officiant began. “This is a celebration of love, in the way that you two chose. No expectations, no obligations—just two people committing to each other.”

Y/N squeezed George’s hands.

“George,” the officiant said, “do you promise to love and cherish Y/N, even when she steals the duvet, forces you to take Instagram photos, and insists on watching terrible reality TV?”

George grinned. “I do.”

The officiant turned to Y/N. “Do you promise to love and cherish George, even when he’s annoying as hell, makes stupid jokes, and refuses to let you have a normal wedding?”

Y/N giggled. “I do.”

The officiant smiled. “Then, with the blessing of those present, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss.”

George wasted no time, cupping Y/N’s face and kissing her as cheers erupted around them.

Chris yelled, “ABOUT TIME!”

Ethan clapped loudly. “Look at my guy!”

Talia sniffled dramatically, making Simon laugh. “You alright, babe?”

Faith beamed. “That was perfect.”

And just like that, they had the wedding they wanted.

That night, they sat in a cosy pub by the fire, laughing over pints and whiskey. George held Y/N’s hand, thumb brushing over her wedding ring.

“See?” he murmured. “We did it our way.”

She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “Best decision we ever made.”

Chris raised his glass. “To George and Y/N—who escaped the madness.”

Max smirked. “To be fair, I kinda wish her mum had shown up mid-ceremony. That would’ve been drama.”

Everyone laughed.

And in the warmth of that little Scottish pub, surrounded by real friends, George and Y/N knew—

They wouldn’t have had it any other way.